#i initially wanted it to look like a page from her sketchbook but i got render-happy

[iindigoeyed]

saw this dress and purse and i KNEW i had to draw this, it's so her!!

[ohitshoneybee]

Don’t Fear the Reaper

Chapter 3

Movie!William Afton x OC

Series Content Warning: SUBJECT TO CHANGE AT ANY TIME, kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, murder, MASSIVE age gap (it’s like 30 years), smut, like, a lot of smut, much more to come im sure

Chapter Content Warning: swearing, spooky, big loving dilfs hours

Credit and thank you to @bowersbubbles for the divider and beta reading!

Claras phone rings, waking her from her nap before class. She’s tempted to throw it across the room, but she knows better. She sits up, stretches, and flips it open, pressing the answer button. “Clara speaking.” She yawns, waiting a few seconds for a response.

“Hi, Clara, this is Steve. Steve Raglan. From the hiring agency. I just wanted to check in, see how your first night on the job went.” “Oh! Yeah, no, it was good. Mmm.. thanks for calling.” She smiles as she answers, still half asleep. “Good, good. Listen, if there’s anything you need, anything happens, call me.”

“Yeah, noted. Thanks again.” Clara mumbles, as she looks up at her clock, trying to read it in her half awake state. Almost 9:40 am. “FUCK, shit oh god, fuck fuck fuck!” She drops her phone on her pillow and stumbles out of bed, haphazardly throwing on a sweater and pants before throwing her sketchbook and some pencils into her bag. She snatches her phone from her bed and throws it in her bag, not realizing she didn’t hang up. She pulls her boots on and grabs her keys, her keychains rattling as she shoves them in her pocket. A soft thud on the floor and she looks down, her lucky rabbit's foot sitting at her feet. “God fucking damn it.. Fuck! Shit! I don’t have time for this!” Clara snatches the foot and stuffs it in her bag, barely making it out the door.

She makes it to her 10 am class in okay time, a little frazzled and worse for wear, but in one piece. The lesson isn’t exactly riveting, and she’s struggling to stay awake after the initial adrenaline from almost being late wears off. She catches bits and pieces, something about live subject sketching, but she can’t shake the feeling of someone watching her. It’s similar to the previous night. 

She makes it back to her apartment around 2 pm, the four hour lecture one of her least favorite things every week. She catches another couple of hours of sleep before waking up around 10 pm, making dinner to take with her, and heading back out to work. 

Night two. Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. 

Clara pulls into the parking lot and parks in the same spot as the previous night, her eyes set on the door and she sighs, grabbing her bag and her keys. This time, she’s got a book and her sketchbook. 

The door opens with a little extra effort, and she locks it behind her, making a beeline towards the office to drop her stuff before she starts a routine. Go through all the cameras, put the too-big vest on and do a couple laps of the building. It takes about an hour, going through the entire building, and she manages to shake the feeling of being watched by going through her new routine.

Tonight, Clara pokes around the stages and finds a pulley to manually open the curtains, rather than starting up the whole song and dance again. She sits in a booth facing the main stage, her sketchbook open on the table in front of her as she doodles, little cartoon versions of all the animatronics spread across a couple pages, a Memphis pattern filling in the empty spaces. She starts to doze off around three in the morning and her watch beeps at 3:30, startling her awake. She gets up and stretches, trying to wake herself up. “Y’know, you guys would be a lot more fun if you could do things without the music playing.. I don’t think I can listen to that song anymore for the next month.” She crosses her arms and stares at Freddy, the tune to Talking In Your Sleep stuck in her head already. 

A faint clank comes from the kitchen, and freaks Clara out. “Okay, I didn’t mean do spooky shit like that, guys.” She peeks through the cashier window into the kitchen and sees one of the fridge doors cracked open. “I swear to God, it better be a raccoon or a squirrel or something, this isn’t fucking funny..” She takes a second to hyper herself up before throwing the kitchen door open, doing a full sweep before stalking over to the fridge and throwing the door open all the way, only to be met with Cupcake sitting on a shelf. 

“What the fuck?” She takes a half step back and looks back over her shoulder to the door. “But.. You were just with the others? How the fuck did you get here?” She picks Cupcake up and kicks the door shut, truly baffled as she makes her way back to the main stage. “I’m serious, no more spooky shit. It really freaks me out.” She sets the animatronic back on Chicas tray and hops off the stage, grabbing her sketchbook from the table. Clara wanders back to the office and plops herself down in the chair again, flipping through the cameras over and over until she’s sure she’s seen every video feed four times. She leans back in the chair with an exasperated groan, staring at the ceiling as she spins in the chair. Her watch beeps - four in the morning. She whines as she gets up, pacing around the room as she clicks through her speed dial on her phone. 

Tyler.

Ella.

Mom.

Dad.

Kelcee.

Steve Raglan.

The only contact in her phone she’s bothers to save with a last name. The only contact in her phone to call in the past week. The only contact in her phone that said to call if anything happened. She pushes the last thought from her head, not daring to explore those thoughts tonight.

Clara sits at the desk and fishes her fork and tupperware of salad from her bag, as well as her book. She opens up to her bookmark and starts reading, occupying her last two hours with said book before her watch beeps at six.

[daintyduck99]

Cuddle prompts! 14 and 26 for ship of your choice.

14. cuddles after being touch-starved & 26. sitting in their lap & cuddling

Julie does her damndest not to stare.

It's just that Bobby's back, and he always returns worse for wear. Brittle. He's got crescent moons stamped under his eyes, and a hunch to his shoulders that curls him in on himself, another sliver of the moon.

She's never met his parents, but she can't stand them for doing this to him.

Julie keeps her head carefully bowed over her sketchbook, stealing glances through the curtain of her curls. She aches to help, but she doesn't know how. Possibly, her presence is enough. He's content to sit nearby in silence, it seems, like a cat.

You're supposed to wait for cats to come to you, and in a way, she supposes he has. This is her mom's studio, after all. They all hang out here, but it's just the two of them this morning. He could've left, but he came, and he took the coffee she offered with a little grunt that might’ve made her giggle if he wasn't so exhausted.

He stayed. She can wait a little longer.

It would be so much easier if the other guys were here. Reggie and Luke especially. They bring out a certain brightness in Bobby, and he doesn't shy away from them as much as anyone else. They can get away with touching him, sometimes, and it fascinates her in a way it probably shouldn't.

She traces her thumb over the stark eyes that stare up at her from the page. They're intimidating, at a glance, but they don't mean to be, not usually. They're cautious, really. Shrewd. Sort of beautiful with their seemingly endless depths.

"What are you working on?"

Maybe she's the cat, because she nearly startles out of her skin.

"Oh! Um…"

Bobby makes an intrigued sound. He carefully perches on the edge of the sofa.

"Is that me?"

She nods, swallowing the dumb thing she's been calling it in her head.

The Man In The Moon.

She tips the sketchbook in his direction, along with a nervous smile.

"What do you think?"

He leans in, and their shoulders brush.

"You're too generous. I'm not that…pretty."

"You are," she breathes, then bites her lip.

He's barely touching her, and she's losing her mind. You'd think she'd be used to pretty boys hanging all over her, she's friends with several of them, but maybe it's different because it's Bobby. It's special.

Not that…no no no, that's a bad rabbit hole to wander into. Losing her mind!

Boys. They'll be the death of her.

She feels it when Bobby shrugs, burning all along her arm.

"If you say so. I don't look like that now, that's for sure. I know I look like shit."

"None of you can take a compliment, can you?" She pauses. "Except Luke."

Bobby snorts. "You're not wrong. I don't know what you said to him last week, but it made him even more of a damn bouncy ball than Reggie. He wouldn't stop smiling either, like—"

They turn towards one another, pressed lightly together, curled like parenthesis. She almost misses the face he's making, a smug smile that startles a laugh out of her. His smile settles into something more genuine, a little half-smile, and it's nearly too much on top of the memory with Luke.

I think we make each other better.

Yeah. She's losing her mind. She swallows.

"Hey, so…do you want to see the rest of my sketches?"

That little smile leaves a glowing imprint on her heart. It melts into the shape of a moon, bright with his light.

As they sit there, flipping through her sketches, and he leans over every time to see better, gently jostling her, she decides that she's waited long enough.

Maybe that's the last of her sanity fleeing the scene, but he keeps initiating contact, so she's going to do it back.

"You know, you'd have an easier time if you just sat in my lap."

He makes an interesting sputtering sound, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"What? Julie, I'd crush you."

"Reggie sits in my lap all the time! And he gives me really good reviews, five stars. You should listen to him."

Bobby mumbles something that she doesn't catch, and she grips the edges of her sketchbook a little tighter.

"What?"

"No, it was dumb—"

"No! Please tell me, Bobby."

He sighs, raking his bangs out of his face.

"I said that it would probably be easiest if you sat in my lap. I could just look over your shoulder. It'd take less maneuvering."

Maybe she is a lunatic. Maybe this isn't real. Either way, she smiles wide.

"That sounds good to me."

She scoots into his lap with her sketchbook clutched to her chest, and he wraps his arms around her waist, which prompts her to exhale. Unspool.

He's…very comfortable. Calm. The rise and fall of his chest is almost hypnotic against her back. If she simply tipped her head back a little further, letting it rest on him, she could…sleep. She could sleep.

Eventually, his cheek settles in her hair, and she smiles again, a Cheshire cat smile since no one can see.

So yeah. Maybe she is, in fact, the cat, purring in his lap.

Maybe she's mad, but who wouldn't be at least a little mad about the moon?

[desperatehornet]

Animation Practise Week 1: Character Design (Class)

Our class assignment for week 1 was to start researching ideas for a character design. We got to pick a random time period, a personality trait and a physical trait.

I (for better or for worse) ended up picking some quite difficult options. My character has to be from colonial Canada, they have to be conniving, but also dishevelled.

I started off by creating a new Pinterest board for this character, and looking for any reference I could find. one silver lining of my prompts was that colonialism in Canada spanned around a century, so I had many periods of fashion to choose from. I mainly looked into the early-mid colonial references I could find, putting main focus on the 1810s, the 1830s and the 1860s. I also looked for references on poses, messy/unkempt appearances, and evil/plotting poses. Finally, I also looked into cartoon concept art, looking at how other artists interpreted a more 18th century outfit into an animated character.

I wasn't sure where to even start with these prompts, so I just opened to a random page in my new sketchbook and started scribbling figures, to warm up. I wasn't concerned with making these pages look nice at all, and just wanted to get as many ideas down as I could. this was quite difficult to start with because not only do I find most day-wear from the 18th century quite ugly personally, but drawing long, ballgown-esque skirts is one of my struggles.

After drawing some quite poor sketches, I started to gain somewhat of an idea for my character. I wanted to make her slightly older, around mid-30s. I decided to stick mainly with the shape motif of a triangle, to express her as abrasive and vengeful. I wanted to stick to the 1860s at first, as I thought they were the most visually appealing to me. I decided that she would be an actress, which would fit with the shape motif of a triangle, to show that she is active.

As I kept drawing, something just wasn't right. she just looked boring to look at, no matter how much I redrew her. After a moment of desperation, I took a look at one of my 1830s references. I find the 1830s to be quite unappealing in terms of fashion, so I didn't want to initially use it for my character. However, looking at it through the eyes of a character to animate, I realised that the outfits provide a very unique silhouette. The sleeves, the hats and the skirts all gave a clear silhouette, making me want to start experimenting. After sketching out some drawings inspired by my 1830s dress references, the character started to form in my head even more. The exaggerated sleeves and giant hat made her look quite silly, making me realise: instead of making her an abrasive, plotting villain who looks exhausted, I could instead make her a whimsical, erratic woman who is unpredictable and unorganized. (Around this time, I also started researching a particular actress known as Polaire, a late 1800s, early 1900s actress who gained fame for her own bold, offensive personality. I want to take inspiration from her legacy in making my character.) I started to love this idea, and soon came up with a distinct silhouette for her, filling the page and refining her design bit by bit. I decided to stick with the shape motif of triangles and circles mainly, as I want her to come off as active, bold and rude, but also happy and bouncy.

I'm still going to do some experimenting with her character as I complete the home task for this week, but for now I'm very happy with the progress I've made today, and I feel like I already have a strong idea of who my character is.

As of right now: She is an 1830s actress in her early 30s, who gained fame for her strange and outlandish acts, who will do anything to get ahead in life.

[minileena-sfw]

Zookeeper - part 6

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“Hey, Layna!”

“Hi, Evelyn.”

Ooh, a proper response! She must be in a good mood today. Too bad I was just about to tell her something that was going to ruin it.

“What kind of stuff did you bring?” She asked hopefully, stepping away from her sketchbook and walking over to the glass, pressing her hands against it as she looked up at me hopefully.

I grimaced. “I’m really, really sorry, but management told me I wasn’t allowed to bring you any clothes. Apparently because we’re so close to the university, they want to keep everything in here fully in-view in case any bio students want to come by for projects. I guess one of the professors really encourages alumni to check out the zoo and some of them write papers on anatomy or something?”

Layna’s hopeful twinkle in her pitch-black eyes faded, and she immediately turned to head back to her bed. “Right. Of course. Gotta keep the specimens unobstructed for studying.”

“I’m sorry, Layna,” I said again.

“Why? It’s not like it’s your fault.”

We stayed silent for a few moments longer while I worked on maintenance. Layna went back to drawing.

“Do you know the etymology of my species’ name?” Layna suddenly asked.

I paused, surprised at the question. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I did.

“Funny you should ask that,” I said with a smile. “I actually looked it up last night, ‘cus I got curious, too. Apparently, when you were first discovered, people just kinda called you ‘tiny people,’ and because people are lazy, that eventually got shortened to ‘tiny,’ used as a noun. The scientific community wanted you to have a different name, because calling you ‘tinies’ is stupid, and, I mean… your anatomy is pretty one-to-one with humans’, so the name they came up with was ‘homo sapiens parvus.’ In case you don’t know, the scientific name for humans is ‘homo sapiens sapiens,’ and ‘parvus’ is Latin for, uh, ‘small.’ Your species’ scientific name is something else now, since you’re not actually an evolutionary offshoot of humans. You’re a very strange branch of the lorisidae family, in fact. Anyways, I don’t know where the ‘innet’ came from, but ‘parv’ comes from that initial ‘parvus’ from your older, more inaccurate scientific name.”

Layna blinked.

“…Sounds like someone was bored last night,” she muttered as she went back to drawing. “And, uh, apparently thinking a lot about me.”

…Why was that a little bit embarrassing?

“I… o-our conversations have, uh… been on my mind,” I admitted. “I feel weird about everything. I don’t know why.”

“Don’t worry, I know why,” Layna interjected.

I cocked an eyebrow as I dumped her cage’s septic tank into the waste bin before sealing it back up. “Oh do you now?”

She nodded. “You’re conflicted because you realized that the meaning of ‘sapience’ is a lot more blurry than you initially thought,” she muttered, sketching another few lines and stepping back for a better view of the page. “You used to think the word only applied to humanity. You saw intellect in other creatures, sure, but in your mind they were still beneath you. Now you realize that things aren’t that black and white. You realize that I possess awareness of the self.”

Ste moved back towards her drawing, casually sketching out another few lines. “You probably used to use, like, chimps who know sign language as a benchmark for my level of awareness, but now you realize that I’m a lot more comparable to you than I am to an ape. You’ve seen me make connections and judgements with sound reasoning, and you’ve seen a level of emotional nuance within me that rivals your own. But!” She said with a flair as she flicked her pencil lead in a bold stroke before standing up and tilting her head to the side, checking her picture from a different angle. “If that were all really true—that I’m self-aware and intelligent and possess the same capacity for emotions that you do, I mean—then that would mean that it’s really fucked up that I’m here on display, forced to pose for the cameras with my titties and my coochie out in full view. Which, by the way, it is.”

She frowned at the page in front of her, tilting her head the other direction. “But if that were true, then it would mean that you, as my warden, are a part of the problem. It would mean that you’re partly responsible for my situation, and that makes you uncomfortable and probably more than a little guilty, so you’re bottling those feelings up and not really thinking about them all that much. They manifest in the form of little gifts and concessions that you know aren’t really enough to make what I’m going through okay, but you don’t know what else to do. This situation is distressing for you, so you’re compartmentalizing and not thinking about it, hence your vague language—saying you ‘feeling weird about everything’ rather than anything more concise. Also, can you come over here for a sec? I need a reference for the folds in the human ear, I think mine are a little fucked up.”

…Uh.

Christ.

I wordlessly made my way over and knelt down, ear next to the glass.

“Uhhh… oh! That’s… yep, there we go.” She moved back to her paper and reshaped one of the lines.

Layna could not have been more right. I realized that I saw her as one of my peers, and I had been repressing it because… well. I was currently getting paid to clean out her piss and shit from a tank while I talked to her through a glass wall. I was about to feed her to prepare her to be a live specimen at a fucking zoo.

She’s… she’s an artist. She’s smart. She’s not only capable of psychoanalyzing me, she’s fucking good at it.

And I get paid to keep her trapped in a terrarium.

“…Layna…”

I didn’t really know what else to add.

“It’s alright,” she offered. “Take it in. Process it. I’ve been here three years, I’m used to it by now. Just, uhm…” Her head lowered just the tiniest bit. Her shoulders hunched up, a movement so small it was barely perceptible. The air of nonchalance and hollow irony in her voice dissipated ever so slightly. “…Promise that you will think about it? For as long as you want, and take your time, but…” She trailed off.

I let out an exhale. “I… even if I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t be able to,” I breathed. How could I ever hope to just… not think about this?

I tried to lose myself in my work. Layna kept drawing, not prompting me anymore about… about her situation. I finished up and started packing everything for the end of my shift. I paused before I left.

“I, uh… I’m sorry, Layna,” I said meekly.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her, but I could hear the soft smile in her voice. “Being sorry is the only thing I need from you to forgive you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I paused a moment longer.

“See you tomorrow,” I replied before heading back home.

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[cryoaquila]

spin the bottle pt. 3

prompt: you play spin the bottle, part 3. pairings: albedo x gn!reader, mona x gn!reader, keqing x gn!reader  word count: ~1.5k tags: kissing, very suggestive themes, light teasing a/n: you can find part one here and part two here!

minors dni.

you spin the bottle at a party. it lands on...

albedo

he wasn’t even paying attention. instead, he had a pen and notebook and was sketching something. you tap his arm to get him to notice the bottle.

“oh right, the game,” he replies simply before leaning toward you, giving you a small peck on the cheek before going back to his drawing.

wait, what? you weren’t expecting a small peck like that. no way, you wanted more of a kiss than that from such a cute guy! you whine and pout, uncaring how selfish you were sounding - you wanted a kiss on the lips from him and you were going to get it!

he can’t hide his little smirk and snicker, “oh you were hoping for more? how interesting.” he closes his notebook, taking your chin in his hands as he looks at you with a gleam in his eyes, “i guess i’ll give you what you want then, greedy little thing.”

now that he got his results from a little peck on the cheek, it was time to get results from a longer, more passionate kiss. he leans in to initiate but stops before your lips meet, analyzing your expression. you scowl, pressing your lips to his and he chuckles at your impatience.

he hums against you, eyes watching you carefully as he slips his tongue into your mouth. his taste, well, you can’t quite put your finger on it, it’s a very intricate taste that you’ve never had in your mouth before.

his tongue prods around, exploring every little inch of what it was given, and you couldn’t help but wonder if his tongue would do the same in... other areas.

when the kiss finishes, he flips to a new page in his notebook, writing something.

“what are you writing down?” you can’t help but wonder out loud.

“your reaction to kissing and how naughty you are, wanting more.” you felt your cheeks heat up, but he wasn’t wrong, you did want a kiss on the lips. yet, you still wanted more than that with the thought of his tongue exploring your body still on your mind...

after the game finishes, he shows you his notebook and what he was working on. it’s a drawing of you. 

he says as soon as he laid eyes on you he couldn’t help but draw you for you were far too beautiful to not be a part of his sketchbook. you blusha at the kind sentiment and tell him you enjoyed his kiss, even the little bit of teasing that was involved.

he chuckles, saying he enjoyed the kissing experiment you both partook in as well. he added in a low tone that he wouldn’t mind conducting more experiments later with you, but fewer clothes would be required for what he had in mind. you know. for science.

you would never do something to harm the progress of science so of course you quickly agree to his request.

you don’t even recall how many experiments you end up helping him with that night in his room.

mona

mona recites something about how the stars showed her that when you spun the bottle it would pick her but that kissing you wouldn’t be a good idea because of your conflicting signs along with other excuses including, “the stars. can’t do it. not today.”

but when she glances at you and sees your saddened look she quickly stammers over her words before admitting defeat and agreeing to the kiss. she looks very embarrassed, her cheeks turning red and her hands, which were resting on her lap, were clenched into fists. 

feeling bad for her, you decide to only give her a small kiss and move on, but when you try to pull away she pushes forward, locking your lips once more in a sloppy, wet kiss.

you’ve never had a messier kiss. your lips would part to allow her inside your mouth and then she’d let you into hers, both of you eager for a taste. gasps of air were the only other sound besides a few soft, muffled moans as neither you nor she would let the other pull away.

eventually, you both end up on the floor, her on top of you. she ran a hand through your hair as you wrap your hands around her waist before bringing them down to her ass for a squeeze, causing her to smirk against your mouth.

finally, you end the kiss, the need for oxygen too grand, a string of saliva still connecting you both before it broke. that’s when you realize the other two that agreed to play had left you and her alone.

well, now that the game was apparently over, you ask if she’d like to leave and get some better food elsewhere together.

she looks a little sad suddenly and mutters that she doesn’t have any money on her.

you pause for a moment, taken by surprise, and you tell her that her company is more than any amount of money and that you’d pay for her and she didn’t have to worry about paying you back.

she suddenly looks like she’s about to burst into tears from your offer. you worry that you were too forward.

she jumps off you and, before you even realize what’s happening, she starts dragging you by your hand out of the party, talking about what food she’s going to order.

while out eating she admits that she was really lying earlier and the readings she conducted said you and her would meet at the party and be completely compatible and a perfect match but she was nervous since she hadn’t kissed nor been with anyone in a long time.

she then starts talking about tomorrow’s date, which you hadn’t even realized was happening until now. 

she says she’s glad the stars like you because she’s enjoying her time with you a lot.

and you’re glad both she and the stars like you, too.

keqing

the fact she’s even at the party still boggles everyone’s mind since her high-profile job never allowed her any free time. yet here she was, a rare break in her schedule allowing her to attend.

but you noticed she didn��t seem very comfortable in such a setting. a few times she tried to recite rules to the partygoers, things like you can’t be too loud after a certain time and how it’s important to not leave litter lying about, etc. this caused them to whisper behind her back in quiet mocks. she was actually about to leave before you asked her to play spin the bottle, and she decided a quick party game before she left would be alright for memories.

as the bottle comes to a stop, pointing towards her, a shocked expression crosses her face before she glances away, her cheeks pinkening. 

little did you know, she had already planned exactly how the kiss would go should the bottle land on her. she knew what she would do, right down to her hand position and tongue placement. she had seen others make out before and read books a few times involving couples, so she felt confident.

she doesn’t waste any time, per usual for her since she’s so efficient. 

she takes your hand in hers and pulls you toward her, your lips crashing together.

but, as soon as your lips touch a little shock zaps you both, causing you to yank back in surprise. she bites the bottom of her lip, wide-eyed.

the stress of the party and the many, many people, all surprised by her appearance, all watching her, talking about her, along with the kiss not ending up how she wanted, all of it causes her confident façade to crumble. her lip quivers as she mumbles an apology, upset that, since she’s arrived, all she’s done is mess things up. she tries to leave, but you take her hand in yours and ask her to not go just yet, that’d you miss her company. 

she pauses for a moment before sitting back down, hiding her face in her hands.

you gently rub the tight, overworked muscles in the back of her neck, and she looks at you with appreciation. your hand slides to the side of her face where you caress her, your thumb gently wiping away a few tears. she was so beautiful, even with such a sorrowful look.

she sniffs, still smiling, and asks in a quiet tone, “can we try again?”

the second time around, everything went right. the kiss was just a small, sweet kiss, yet it was special in its own, simple way.

once your lips part from each other, she presses her forehead against yours happily and the crazy environment surrounding you two seems to disappear for a few moments.

afterward, she rests her head on your shoulder and you wrap an arm around her. you two stay like that for a while, the sounds of the chaotic party dulled by the comfort of one another.

“want to come see the work i do for the city tomorrow?” she asks you.

“sure, i’m free. is it... a date?”

she smiles up at you with a flushed expression but doesn’t answer you. guess you’d just have to wait and see what tomorrow brought.

[jihyuncompass]

A Birthday Visit

Well well well would you look at that. My very first Tears of Themis fic is for Marius’s birthday who could have guessed (anyone who knows me) Happy Birthday Marius, I can’t wait to see you again <3

For future reference, this fic was written for Marius’s 2021 birthday. As of yet Tears of Themis has not been released for the English audiences. I have played the beta but there is a chance Marius will be a little out of character as a result of the timing. 

Summary: You visit Marius’s work to celebrate his birthday with him, even if he’s a little busy 

Marius x MC

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: N/A

----------------------------------------

The PAX building was an intimidating one. That thought always came into your mind when you approached it. While the Law Firm was also one of the large skyscrapers that made up the Stellis skyline, the PAX building was taller, and quite the intimidating addition to said skyline. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d been here, far from it, but it was rare for you to go into PAX for a non professional reason, or without being explicitly invited by Marius. You looked up at the building, even without meaning to your eyes focused on the window you knew belonged to Marius’s office. There was a good chance he was in there right now. 

Adjusting your bag over your shoulder you walked through the doors and into the bustling first floor.  

You walked through the groups of professionally dressed employees standing to chat idly, or summarize the recent meetings they had. Or stop to enjoy their coffee for a little while before getting back to work. 

“Welcome to the PAX group.” One of the receptionists started as you walked to the desk. “How can I help you today?” You cleared your throat, speaking as eloquently as you can. 

“Hello, I’m here to see Mr. Von Hagen? I’m a friend.” You said to the receptionist. She raised an eyebrow and looked up at you. Scrutinizing your appearance.  

“I’m sorry, Mr. Von Hagen doesn’t see anyone without a meeting.” You pressed your lips together, 

“I can promise you he’s a good friend of mine, it’s his birthday and-” 

“I’m sorry I have no way to verify that you are who you say you are.” The receptionist said. You reviewed your options in your head, clearly she wasn't going to let you go up there on the promise of being a friend. 

After a moment of brainstorming an idea came to you, digging through your bag you showed the receptionist your work ID badge, listing you as a lawyer for the Themis Law Firm. 

“I’m also Mr. Von Hagen’s personal lawyer, he knows who I am.” The receptionist squinted at the ID, hesitant of it’s quality and authenticity. After typing at her computer briefly she sighed and relented. 

“Aright, I do see your name here. I’ll let you up there and I’ll give a call to Mr. Von Hagen’s assistant to let them know you’re here.” You thanked her and hurried to the elevator. The first challenge was dealt with, now it was just time to go through with the rest of the plan.  

You piled into the elevator with a group of suited men heading to what you assumed were their own desks and offices throughout the building, but you’d be one of the only people going as far up, to nearly the top floor where Marius’s office would be found. 

The elevator was nearly empty by the time you made it up, only a few people exiting with you. 

One of Marius’s assistants was waiting for you on the other side of the elevator. They greeted you as you approached them. 

“Good afternoon.” They said. “I’m afraid to say that Mr. Von Hagen has been stuck in meetings all day so I’m not sure if he’ll be able to see you.” 

You pressed your lips together, you should have asked him in advance, he was usually busier than he always let on. 

“Well I just have a couple things I want to show him, I’m happy to wait for when he has a spare moment.” The assistant seemed unsure but shrugged. 

“Very well, I’ll take you to his office, you can wait there. I’ll let him know that you’re there.” You followed the assistant down the long hallway to the office at the end, the largest by far, belonging to Marius. 

The assistant closed the door behind you, the office was neat and tidy as it always was. Although it was Marius’s office, you were always a little disappointed by just how little of Marius seemed to be in the office. The sleek professional furniture, the carefully organized files, cup full of standard ballpoint pens didn’t seem like Marius. The rebellious, creative and playful Marius you knew well and had grown to adore. 

Sitting on the couch in his office you decided to make use of your time by setting the present you’d gotten him out on the table, along with the small cake box. With your job and caseload you hadn’t had the time to make a particularly fancy or intricate cake. But something small the two of you could easily share.  

You hummed to yourself gently as you got everything set up. Your eyes focused on the work in front of you. So much so you didn’t even notice as the office doors opened while your back was turned. 

“So.” A voice said from behind you. The sudden noise startled you, making you jump. Quickly turning around you were face to face with Marius. Dressed with a full suit, although he had that playful gaze he kept around you. Seeing him, your shoulders relaxed, and a smile crossed your face. “I heard you wanted to see me.” 

“I hoped I could catch you for a minute for your birthday.” You explained to him. “I should have asked about your schedule, I wouldn’t have come if I knew you were so busy.” Marius shook his head. 

“Nah I’m glad you’re here. It’s a perfect surprise.” Marius looked past you and to the table behind you where everything was set up. His eyes lighting up with that almost childlike excitement he got. However that excitement was quickly clouded. 

You frowned. “You don’t have a lot of time huh?”

Marius hesitated to answer you. “I don’t have a lot of time, I have a meeting in a half hour.” 

As you looked from Marius to the table you straighten your back and beamed at him. “Well then let’s make this a fun half hour! Enjoy the time we have.” With this the playfulness returned. The Marius you loved to see. 

Sitting beside one another, you made quick work of slicing the cake into two even slices for the two of you. 

“I’m afraid it’s nothing fancy.” You said. “But I have no doubt it tastes good and that’s what matters, doesn't it?” 

“Did you make it?” Marius asked, a brow raised curiously. 

“I did, I’m not a baker though so be warned.” Marius picked up the fork, picking up the perfect bite of cake to get both the cake and the frosting on top. Watching him closely you made note of his reaction. “What do you think?”

Marius nodded. “It’s good, I think I would even say I’m impressed.” You relaxed against the couch. 

“I’m glad you like it.” You said. “I was worried it wasn’t going to be very good.” You took a bite to taste it yourself, the sweetness of the cake hitting your tongue immediately. You’d had better cakes, but still you couldn’t deny the little part of you that was proud of what you’d made. 

Not wanting to waste your time you quickly leaned forward to push some presents closer. This seemed to grab Marius’s attention away from the cake in his hand. He set it down to pick up one of the gifts, looking over the basic wrapping paper. 

“Go ahead.” You encouraged. “Open it up! Take a look.”  Marius stared with the smallest one, quickly tearing off the paper without much thought. He pulled out two tickets, reading the tiny text on them. “They’re for an upcoming art exhibition I read about online, I thought it’d be fun to go together. I don’t know nearly as much about art as you do but maybe you could teach me some stuff.” 

Marius smirked. “I guess I could spare some of my expansive art knowledge to impart some on you.” 

Holding back from rolling your eyes instead you gave him your best genuine smile. “I would love that. I’d love to learn from you.” Marius seemed pleased by this, as evidenced by the redness that quickly started growing on his face. Looking back at the gift he tried to get himself back under control. 

Similar to the first gift Marius tore the wrapping paper off the second one. This one, a hand held sketchbook, bound nicely with a leather cover, his initials MVH put onto the front. A small note you’d written scribbled onto the first page. 

“This is-”

“Well, you’re always working so hard here, or studying hard at university, and I know you would probably much prefer to be in your studio painting. So, that’s a little sketchbook, one you can carry anywhere.” Flipping through the pages, Marius’s expression turned soft, warm, happy, not holding that playful spark. “I know you probably could afford any notebook in the world, but this one is customized just for you, not another one of these exists just like it.” 

The softness in his face stayed even when he looked up at you, even when he looked down again. 

“Thank you, for this.” He held it carefully in his hands, as if he was afraid of damaging it too soon. Before he could even put pencil to paper for the first time. There were still a couple gifts left, but you let him linger on that one. Trying to memorize every single second in your mind. 

The rest of the gifts were more basic things, special sweets, some art supplies you’d seen when you passed by the art store on your way home. Despite how basic many of these smaller gifts were, he never seemed ungrateful, and equally happy to see each one. 

All the presents unwrapped, and cake nearly finished you both sat together happily. Looking at Marius with the initial excitement wearing off you started to see the exhaustion peeking through. The heaviness in his eyes, the way his shoulders were stiff yet slumped. He looked tired, worn out already. 

“Your assistant said you’ve been in meetings all day?” 

Marius rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, PAX has a big thing coming up. I’ve been in meetings since eight. This is the first break I’ve had all day.” As he spoke he loosened his tie, letting it release some of the tension in his shoulders and neck. 

“You look exhausted.” You said. He sighed and closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Have you been resting?” 

Marius’s eyes opened again. “I was at my studio late last night. But I’m fine.” 

You looked more concerned, you doubted he was really resting enough. With everything he did, there was no possible way he was letting himself take breaks. Even on his birthday he seemed to be working full steam ahead. 

“Marius, why don’t you lay down for a bit? Let yourself rest?” Marius looked over at you, as if he was trying to think through it, crunching the numbers in his head. Gently touching his shoulder you turned him to face you, his eyes raised to look at your face. You loosened up his tie some more and unbuttoned the top button on his dress shirt to let him relax. 

 “Come on.” You said in a soft voice. “Rest for a little bit.” 

He considered this for a little while longer. Then let long a long sigh, he let himself lean forward enough to rest his forehead against your shoulder. Reaching up you rubbed his back, gently massaging to let him relax against you. 

“I can’t rest for long.” Marius muttered. “There’s that meeting-”

“Something is better than nothing.” You reminded him. “How about you lie down? You can rest with me until your meeting.” He was still for a little while longer, then lifted his head long enough to move. 

Marius’s head was laying in your lap. You gently played with his hair, running your fingers through the strands. Marius’s eyes slipped closed, his breaths long and even. 

“My meeting-” 

“I’ll get you up when it’s time. Rest right now.” You told him. He sighed and let himself fully rest. 

“Thank you.” He muttered. 

“Happy birthday Marius.” You whispered to him. Watching him rest, you couldn’t help but smile. This moment was going to be over sooner than later, soon he’d have to get up and get himself cleaned up, he’d go to that meeting, and then the next one and the next one until he could call it a day. He’ll probably go to his studio again, even if he’s exhausted. He’ll try and get some rest, but eventually he’ll get up and start it all again. 

But right now he’s with you and resting. Enjoying the short break he could afford. Maybe not the best birthday one could have, but one that was more than happy. 

[randomrosewrites]

Could you do an Albedo x reader where the reader is Klee's actual older sibling?

a/n: This idea is really cute and I kinda got ahead of myself and it's almost 3 pages lol

Life and Love

Pairing: Albedo x GN reader Tags: Fluff, domestic life, shyness, Klee being adorable as always

Albedo is first introduced to you from Alice when he first arrives in Mondstat. Though he doesn’t learn much from you, as Klee’s the one that bombards him with questions and chats excitedly with him.

Being her older sibling, you share some physical traits with Klee, like her pointed ears. Though the two of you couldn’t be more different in terms of personality.

While Klee runs around, full of energy, you’re always following behind her, carefully watching to make sure that she doesn’t hurt herself or others.

Albedo doesn’t see much of you initially, he’s always busy in his lab or up on the mountains. Though he does drop by your house as a common courtesy, or when he walks Klee home after a long day.

One day, he’s on Dragonspine, deep into an experiment when he hears a familiar cry. He turns around and makes out two figures in the snow.

“Hello Mister Albedo!” Klee waves at him. She runs forward and jumps into his arms, making him stumble backward. He shifts his arms to hold her better.

“What are you doing here, Klee?”

“We came to see you here!” she exclaims, cheeks red with the cold. “I wanted to see you so bad.”

“She wouldn’t stop asking to come until I brought her,” you sigh, brushing the snow from your coat. “So here we are.”

Albedo sets Klee down by the fire. “I see. Well, can I get you anything to drink? I’m sure it was a cold trip.”

“Ooh, I want hot coco!” Klee chips.

Klee drinks her coco then promptly falls asleep, curled up against your side, tiny hands grabbing onto your coat. It’s here that you and Albedo have your first real conversion. A bit rocky and awkward, but the more you talk, the more you begin to warm up to each other.

In the following weeks, your trips to the mountain or to his lab are more frequent. Klee is always eager to see him, sometimes bringing gifts of crayoned drawings or fresh fish (totally not ones she blasted with her pyro bombs). Albedo always accepts them gratefully, cooking up Sunshrine Sprat for you to take home and hanging up the drawings on his wall. It’s a warm welcome to his life.

Sometimes, on the odd occasion that he’s stuck, you’re more than willing to listen to him talk through his experiment and give your opinion. Even if you know next to nothing about what he’s doing, Albedo appreciates that he can talk with you.

Romantic feelings creep up on Albedo slowly over time. He finds himself wishing for you and Klee to visit him more often, he gifts you warming bottles and bioluminescent crystalfly cores to keep you warm at night, he clears a chair and a small stool to make things more comfortable for you and Klee when you come to visit.

Even then, he’s not aware of his own feelings until Kaeya jokingly teases him for his ‘uncharacteristic fascination’ in you. Which makes him consider the weight of his feelings.

He’s not really sure what to make of it. His relationship with you and Klee is very precious to him, he doesn’t want to ruin it by overstepping any boundaries.

So, for the most part, his feelings remain buried, only showing themselves in small ways. Albedo and Klee will gather your favourite flowers and then surprise you with them. Albedo asks Klee what drinks you like, then always makes sure that he has a supply in his lab.

Inevitably, Klee’s the one that lets it slip that Albedo’s feelings might be a bit more than platonic.

“Are you here to help Mister Albedo Draw?” Klee asks when you enter his lab one day. Crayoned drawings are scattered across the table, mixed in with official reports written in Albedo’s neat script.

Albedo, working on an experiment, freezes as if he’s been hit with a cryo attack. You raise a brow, confused. “What are you talking about, Klee?”

“His sketchbooks are full of pictures of you! I saw him trying to hide them when I came in but I saw them!”

Across the room, Albedo’s ears turn bright red. Your stomach flutters and your heart races.

Does he? Albedo only draws things that pique his interest. While he’s shown you some of his drawings of Sucrose or Klee, you’ve never heard anything about drawings of you.

You clear your throat. “You weren’t snooping again, were you?”

“Nuh-uh!” she protests. “I’ve been a good girl, promise!” she looks between you and Albedo, frowning. “...Did I say something wrong?”

You pat her head, ruffling her hat. “No sweetie, you’re fine. I came by to tell you that Mister Kaeya’s taking a trip to Starfell lake. Wanna join him?”

Klee’s eyes light up. “Yes!” She hops off her stool, stuffing drawings and crayons into her bag as she goes. Klee gives you a hug before racing to the door.

“I’ll be back before supper. Bye! Bye bye Mr. Albedo!”

“Goodbye Klee, stay safe,” the alchemist says.

She races out of the room, shutting the door a bit too hard. Some of the bottles in the shelves rattle. The tension in the laboratory is suffocating. Neither of you dare to look each other in the eye.

“So, you draw me?” you begin.

Albedo pauses and inhales sharply. “Yes. I apologize if that makes you feel uncomfortable, I’ll stop if that’s what you want.”

“No it’s...fine. I’m surprised, but I don’t mind.”

Albedo turns to look at you, head tilted slightly. “Why would you be surprised, you’re a beautiful person.”

His confession, pure and honest, has you at a loss for words. “I just...didn’t think I was that interesting to you.”

Albedo’s gaze turns from soft to alluring. “You’re very interesting to me, Y/N.”

Even though you both have your suspicions about the other’s romantic interest, it goes unspoken until a few more weeks go by. It’s almost comical how natural the transition feels, when Albedo suddenly asks if you’d allow him to court you.

You nearly drop the book you’re holding and stare at Albedo as if he’s sprouted a second head. “What did you just say?”

Albedo’s face is blank as he repeats himself. “I said, would you like to be courted next week?”

“...Albedo, are you trying to ask me out?”

“Yes...did I say something wrong? I’m not really used to Mondstadt romance customs…”

A smile spreads across your face and you can’t help the laugh that exits your throat. “No one says it like that. Who told you that’s how you ask someone out? Kaeya?”

The blush on his cheeks is all the answer you need.

Needless to say, you accept. The shift from platonic to romantic with him isn’t all that different from how things normally are.

Albedo’s not really one for hard labels or tradition. He doesn’t feel the need to outwardly say the two of you are dating, or even call your relationship ‘dating’ either. He’s romantically interested in you. You’re romantically interested in him. That’s all there is to it.

You do make a point to tell Klee, among other people close to you, and it goes rather smoothly.

“Hey Klee.”

“Mhm?”

“Me and Mister Albedo like each other. Kiss on the lips like each other.”

“Oh wow! Does that mean he’s my big brother?”

She’s very sweet and happy about it, even if she’s not too sure what people in romantic relationships do.

Dates are odd. Half the time they’re crashed by Klee, who insists on joining in whenever the two of you have ‘playdates’. Albedo’s schedule also makes it hard for anything formal to happen.

Affection is also tough. Albedo’s not one for PDA in the slightest, but anything behind the doors of his lab is fair game. Kisses, hugs, cuddles, etc.

...the only problem is that there’s been numerous times where Klee has barged in suddenly, making the two of you jump away from each other, embarrassed.

It’s never something that bothers you or Albedo, just frustrating. But Klee makes it hard for you to remain that way when she acts so cute, telling you about the latest thing Kaeya told her.

Whenever you do want some alone time, you hand her off to Kaeya, who makes sure to keep her entertained while you and Abledo get some alone time. (He returns Klee later on with his hair braided poorly and a bunch of hairpins stuck in it.)

Sometimes, when the weather is nice, all three of you go to starsnatch cliff and have a picnic. Klee chases the dandelions in the wind while you and Albedo watch her from the blanket, fingers interlaced together.

And on those clear-blue days, where the wind blows through your hair gently, drying the paint on Albedo’s paintings, you feel nothing in your heart but love.

It’s perfect, a small slice of Celestia for the three of you as a family.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

Fics Masterlist

Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.  

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.  

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”  

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.  

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

[entishramblings]

The Restricted Section [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: hey guys! sO I ended up getting like super into this one-shot and it got a little off track but I feel as if it still matches up to the request! Also I do lowkey mention some “first age lore” but I pulled it out of my ass.....just go with it tho it’s fanfiction lol

Request: Anon — I've been seeing your AMAZING writing pop up on my dash and I love it!!!! If you're not too busy (and no pressure at all to write this in a timely manner), could you possibly write a short one-shot of Legolas' reaction to unexpectedly finding someone sketching him? Bonus points if the sketch is really good, and EXTRA bonus points (and digital cookies!!) if he secretly has a crush on the person sketching? Again, no pressure!!!

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N) is Greenwood’s library archivist. Legolas comes to do some research. goddamn why does this summary sound dirty??

Word Count: 2,840

Warnings: none

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST

Being Greenwood’s Archivist for the thousands upon thousands of treasured papers, scrolls, and books did have its perks one could say. (Y/N) not only wanted to be immersed in the secrets and stories of the world, but she was required to. She spent much of her time reading and cataloguing—not that she minded considering the knowledge she had obtained was vast and fruitful. Furthermore, she was basically permitted to do whatever she wished given that she only had to give reports to the King every couple of weeks. This left her with much appreciated free time.

Currently, the Greenwood castle was hushed as every elf was sound asleep, basking in their own dreams and memories, well...almost every elf. (Y/N) was wide awake. Her favorite time of the solar cycle was the silent hours of the night; because, here in the darkness of the sky, there was nothing more enticing than being alone in the vast silence of written secrets—especially when no one was around to catch you sneaking a peek in the restricted section.

(Y/N)’s preferred spot in the library was a very specific little nook for a handful of reasons. First of all, it was lined with tall shelves filled with different volumes and ledgers that created a private and secluded feeling. Furthermore, the lucky position of these paper-filled towers allowed for a clear eye-line to the main area of the library—an eye-line that could not be seen from outside the special little cranny. This, of course, was perfect for handling prohibited materials. Lastly, she was adjacent to a large stone fireplace where light and warmth were compelled to pour into her form. (Y/N) appreciated this, especially during the coldness of the winter months.

So here Greenwood’s Archivist sat, curled into a dark cushioned armchair within a shrouded crevice of the Library, sketching the forbidden monsters from first age lore.

The faint scrapping sound of charcoal against yellowing paper faded into the crackling of the flames while (Y/N) skillfully manipulated the material in her small, leather-bound, sketchbook. Every so often, she would pause to take a sip from the tea cup that she placed on one of bookshelves. The flavor of the warm liquid melded into the woman’s mouth; the taste of ginger and cloves folded around her tongue and initiated a warm sensation throughout her body. She really did feel at peace in this moment, cloaked in the secrets of the night.

However, that tranquility was reshaped into alarm at the sound of the large wooden doors creaking open. (Y/N) stopped her sketching and cautiously peeked through the shelves. Her lips parted and her brows furrowed when her eyes rested on the intruder.

What could the Prince of Greenwood want from the library at this hour?

(Y/N)’s eyes widened when yet another thought crossed her mind.

What would the Prince of Greenwood do if he saw a book—a restricted book—in her grasp?

Quietly, the archivist tucked the dusty green volume under the armchair and turned her sketchbook to an unmarked page. But, before she started sketching something new, her curiousness compelled her to watch the Prince.

(Y/N) smiled softly as Legolas’s calloused hand gently stroked the leather spins of every book as he strolled through the aisles. His brilliant blue eyes wandered across each title, clearly searching for something. His dark brows furrowed when he reached the end of the shelf, apparently not finding what he had been looking for. The Prince continued weaving his way between stacks of books until he was directly on the other side of (Y/N)’s shelf.

The young woman held her breath as her heart pounded.

What if he caught her in here?

She inwardly chided herself. Why would she—the archivist—get in trouble for being in the library? This was her domain, her job. Her anxieties were completely unrational.

(Y/N)’s frantic thoughts froze when one of the books began to slide away.

Still unaware of her presence, Legolas opened it to read the text on the first page. It seemed that he was content with his selection for he turned on his heal. The Prince made his was to the center of the library and sat down at one of the tables that was lit with candlelight.

After a couple moments, (Y/N) quietly stood up and walked towards the shelf. She laid her hand on the now spacious gap. The young woman frowned. He had taken a book on forestry—the sickness index. Was there something going on within the trees of her home?

Deciding to push her concerns aside, for now that is, she snuggled back into the comfort of the armchair.

From her position she was able to see the elvish prince clearly.

A little grin stretched across (Y/N)’s lips. She picked up her charcoal once more and began to sketch the outline of his form. As time went on, she shaded in the curves of his jaw, the bend of his lip, and the scowl upon his brow. It was coming together quite nicely.

She did not know how much time had past, but when she looked up from her sketch Legolas was gone. (Y/N) tilted her head slightly in confusion.

She was just looking at him.

He wouldn’t leave a burning candle and opened book unattended, would he?

The sound of paper-filled leather sliding from the shelf behind her made the archivist turn quickly. The person on the other side had sensed her movement and peaked through the hole where the book had previously rested.

“My apologies, Archivist (Y/N). I knew not that you were here.”

The young woman stuttered out a response, “Oh um, it is alright, My Prince. I....I...was just—

A smirk pulled at his pink lips when his gaze landed on her open sketchbook. “Is that me?” He questioned.

(Y/N) cheeks began to heat as she slammed the sketchbook closed, “No.”

He raised an eyebrow before walking around the tower of books that was between them.

When he entered the tiny nook he looked around at her set up—stacks of many books and ledgers piled high upon the floor, a thick blanket dangling off the armchair, and a hot cup of tea upon one of the shelves.

“I almost forgot about this space. It’s quite cozy with the fire, is it not?” He said.

Legolas made his was towards her and gently held out his hand. Nodding at the leather-bound sketchbook, he spoke, “May I?”

She couldn’t exactly refuse the Prince, now could she?

Wordlessly she passed it to him.

Ever so carefully he began to flip through the pages—birds, horses, forestry, flowers, creeks, pillars, stones, and, of course, people. There were a handful of sketches of elves that he recognized as maids and servants—likely her friends, he guessed. Additionally, there was a fair amount of pictures of the guards and even one of his father. The coroner of his lip pulled upwards again when he found one of himself, and another, and another. His expression then changed to surprised amusement at what looked to be a demon. Strange. He shot her a playful look and by her reaction he was sure she knew which sketch he was looking at. Legolas continued studying the charcoal art pieces until he turned to last marked page—to the one she had just completed: him.

“These are quite good, (Y/N). Have you ever considered abandoning the library for art?”

“Well, no. It is just a hobby of mine, I suppose.”

He nodded and handed the sketchbook back to her, “And the demon?”

“Ahh yes....um, well....”

She glanced down at the floor as she stuttered. Anxiety flashed across her eyes at the sight of the corner of the green volume peaking out. She kicked it under the chair quickly.

However, her action did not escape the observation of the Prince. Yet again, he raised a brow.

Legolas knelt down and tugged the book out. He read the title aloud, “First Age Index, Volume IV. Morgoth’s Experimentation.” A deep chuckle escaped Legolas’s chest, which of course was not the reaction (Y/N) had been expecting. The Prince spoke again, clearly entertained by the situation. “Let me guess—from the restricted section.”

“Of course not!”

Legolas stifled a laugh. “(Y/N)?”

“Hmm?” She responded while avoiding his gaze.

“You are a terrible liar.”

The young woman looked up at him, “I—I am not!”

Legolas rolled his eyes. However, the playful expression faltered and his face instantly melted into what looked to be a sudden realization.

He swiftly stood up and tapped his palm against the cover of the book. “Does the restricted section have lore on earth sickness and forest disease from the first and second age?”

“I—erm...I haven’t been in the restricted section, My Lord,” she stammered.

He shook his head, “Again, (Y/N). You are a terrible liar.”

She sighed in defeat before speaking reluctantly, “It does.”

“Take me to it.”

The Archivist led him towards the gated shadow-ridden corridor and stood still.

Legolas offered her a sideways glance.

She sighed; now her days of browsing the forbidden knowledge were over.

(Y/N) pressed her finger against the lock and slammed a closed fist on the latch. It instantly creaked open.

The Prince’s eyes shown with amusement but she just shrugged and stepped through the gate.

He was enjoying this way too much.

They walked into the circular room; light poured in from a high window, showing the dust dancing through the stale air. (Y/N) led him straight to the section he had requested. She then began to pull out books, ledgers, and scrolls; placing them in Legolas’s arms until they were piled high to his chin.

The two then exited the restricted section and (Y/N) locked up the gate once more.

Legolas then followed the young elven woman towards the table he had previous occupied. The Prince carefully set the overflowing stack of knowledge down. He opened one of the books and skimmed the beginning index before speaking.

“Ada (father) did not believe me when I said something has been stirring in our forest. My senses pick up a darkness nearing for the trees have gone silent and the animals run west. Yet, the insects increase—specifically the spiders.”

She frowned.

Interesting. Interesting indeed.

The archivist rocked on her heals for a moment, contemplating asking the question that persisted in her mind. “So, does this mean I am not in trouble for reading the restricted section?”

Legolas shrugged, “What Ada (father) doesn’t know, can’t make him angry. Besides, this is too important.”

(Y/N) hopped up onto the table and sat with her legs dangling over the edge. She grabbed a book from the pile and began reading.

What was making their forest sick?

.....

Legolas and many members of the guard had just arrived back in Greenwood after patrolling the east end of the forest. The Prince sat in the armory ridding himself of the countless weapons that clung to his body. He let his thoughts wander as he did so.

Two months had past since he had come across (Y/N) sketching in the library; and ever since, the two elves had met every night—well every night that Legolas was not on patrol. They had moved from researching at the table to scrutinizing in the comfort of (Y/N)’s favorite crevice of the library. The archivist sat in her leather armchair while the prince rested on the floor, leaning against a bookcase. The space was quite cramped, but he didn’t mind. Besides, it allowed him to study (Y/N) as she sketched and read. He would be lying if he said his heart did not yearn for her.

Additionally, the formality of titles between them was left behind as the two had become quite close. Legolas appreciated this; often many treated him differently because of his royalty, but not (Y/N). Furthermore, no longer was she concerned about the repercussions of reading material from the restricted section. Besides, if Thranduil somehow found out and was to punish her for it, he would have to punish his son.

“Prince Legolas!”

He looked up as his name was called. Legolas offered a warm smile to the guard who spoke. “Meludir, I trust patrol went well for you?”

The dark hair ellon nodded in response. “Are you going to the library after this?”

Legolas shrugged, “Perhaps.”

A light laugh fell from Meludir’s lips, “To see (Y/N)?”

The Prince’s brows furrowed. “Well, she is helping me with some research.”

Meludir smirked, “Research hmm? You are aware there has been some whispers flying around?”

Legolas tilted his head in confusion.

“Well, you spend much time with her. Enough to end up in her sketchbook—on multiple pages.”

The blonde elf bit back a smile. Of course Legolas was aware that during their research (Y/N) would put down the scrolls and ledgers and pick up charcoal and paper; and, quite frankly, he did not mind. But he was unaware of how Meludir knew if this so he opted to ask. “How do you know of her sketches?”

Meludir grinned, “I may have stumbled across it in the library very late one night.” He paused, “You can imagine my surprise when I went to find light reading material but came across the Prince and the Archivist throwing books at each other’s heads.”

Legolas looked down at his dirt ridden boots to hide the smiled that surfaced from that memory.

This of course did not escape Meludir’s gaze. The young ellon chuckled at his superior’s behavior and clapped him on the shoulder. “Best you head over there then.”

.....

The sun had set and the moon had taken its place. Legolas strutted into the library after he had washed up and changed into fresh clothes. He quickly made his way to the little nook filled with all their research.

“(Y/N)?” He questioned when he came to an empty space.

“Over here!”

He whipped his head around to see the young archivist thirty feet up a ladder; she was reaching for a book that rested near the rafters.

She called out to him again, “Come catch this!”

He walked towards her until he stood at the foot of the ladder. (Y/N) then let the heavy book fall through the still air; it landed perfectly in the prince’s waiting hands.

The archivist grasped onto two more books before gracefully climbing down. “Come on then, we must get reading. The sun won’t stop rising for us.”

She plopped down in her armchair and Legolas sat in his usual spot across from her. After a couple hours of endless reading and research, (Y/N) gasped.

“Legolas! I have found it!”

His head shot up, “What?”

“The—the sickness...the darkness. What you have described to me is exactly what a scribe wrote in an old Quenya dialect: Telerin. I’ve been translating it.” She stated as she moved the position of one of the three books in her lap. “It says it right here. Before the rise of Sauron.....animals fleeing, insect population stirring, trees going silent—“ (Y/N) stood up in excitement. “I found it, Legolas! I found it!”

The Prince leapt to his feet. Full of emotion, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her form up. He spun around quickly as little laughs left the woman’s lips.

Legolas set her down, but did not remove his arms from around her waist. “After all this time of researching....you—you did it!” He paused, “You are very brilliant, you know that (Y/N)?”

She shrugged, “Well, I don’t—“

He interrupted her, “You are, (Y/N). You are. You know this library as I know the woods. You were able to make connections between books and scrolls that I never would have seen. You were able to analyze data and translate languages with no trouble. You are incredibly intelligent....and I admire that.”

The young woman’s eyes drew to the floor and her cheeks heated.

“(Y/N)...” Legolas whispered while cupping her chin.

He lifted her face and the air seemed to still between them as their eyes locked.

“Legolas, I—“ She whispered.

He did not let her finish. He gently pressed his pink lips against hers and (Y/N) instantly responded. The earthy smell of dirt and trees filled the archivist’s nostrils as paper and fire filled the prince’s. It was almost hypnotic. As the two let their mouths dance against each other slowly, reality melted away. Legolas pulled her form closer and she obliged. (Y/N) snaked her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his loose blonde locks. The Prince let his hands wander down her back and across her hips, feeling every curve. The young woman could not help but feel a wave of warmth wash over her for she had craved this. The kiss was calm, gentle, and full of innocent love.

When the two reluctantly pulled away for air, (Y/N) rested her head in the crook of his neck.

“Do you know what this means, Legolas?” She whispered.

“You heart craves mine as much as mine craves yours?” He responded quietly.

“Well yes, but no....I meant about the forest. The sickness—it’s darkness. Sauron’s darkness. He is returning.”

.......

Everything Tag: @sokkasdarling @scxundress @quilledinkpen @hufflepuffinblr @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary

Legolas Tag: @dark-angel-is-back

If you wanna be in the tag list lmk

[saphirered]

Hi! I love your pieces for Caleb. They’re all so sweet and heartwarming. Would you be interested in writing about the M9 individually in a relationship with a Druid reader? If that’s too much at once, just Caleb please? Thanks and I hope you’re having a good day :)

I hope you enjoy this one and thanks for the request ☺️!

Caleb Widogast

Your natural magic caught his eye from the very first time you used it. Caleb’s intrigued by what he may not 100% understand and he may have used his own desire to pursuit knowledge to mask his interests in you because to get a better understanding of your abilities requires getting to know you. Countless questions, conversations into the early morning hours to the point where you agreed to show him whenever you had the free time and could afford to use your spells and abilities without repercussion in a possible enemy encounter.

Every time you find yourself in your preferred environment he can’t keep his eyes off you. The peace and calmness radiating from you made even Caleb feel at ease, almost forgetting about the possible dangers lurking in the shadows. He sticks close to your side bathing in the comfort you bring him. He may not be as comfortable with pda but he can’t help holding your hand when he’s sure no one’s looking. 

When you’re alone he’s much more comfortable spending time in your arms (or take you in his) to the point where you wake up together with loud knocking at your door signing you may have slept in a little bit too long for some of the Nein’s comfort. 

It takes Caleb some getting used but a couple months into your relationship he’ll initiate holding your hand, wrapping an arm around you or even kiss you in public much to the surprise of the rest of the Nein. They wonder what you’d done to their wizard to get him to do such a 180 but you only gave him time and space to find what he’s comfortable with and what he isn’t or isn’t yet in some cases. Like the seasons things can change and once spring comes again the flowers bloom once more. Sometimes it just takes a little longer for winter to fade.

Beauregard Lionett

Beau wasn’t much into your ‘treehugger shit’ (her words) at first and may have had some strong opinions about some of your customs but she’s also a quick study and you’re hot so what was she gonna do? Not ogle you while you work your magic literally and figuratively showing off that muscle build from the harsh life in the wilds you’d lived for so long? You knew she was staring every time but any time you acknowledged it she would deny it or pretend to have a coughing fit. 

Beau’s behaviour quickly changed once she had a real talk with you finding out you were anything but a ‘treehugger’. You’re accustomed to the brutality of the wilds and the two of you can definitely relate when it comes to learning things the hard way. Up front nature may seem honest but it is very much deceiving. Your way of reading nature taught you how to read people and you got the pleasure of being so smug about teaching Beau about your ways after she finally settled down. The two of you learned to like each other and the attraction between the two of you became more than just physical. 

Despite pretending not to care or be open about her feelings Beau is anything but. Having someone to confide in without judgement or the risk of it being used against her has been a blessing. Whenever you get the chance and find a peaceful spot she always joins you for some meditation. 

She’s not afraid taking the lead in your relationship but definitely isn’t opposed to you engaging either. The two of you have a functional dynamic and while you may have your arguments you always work it out in the end because you’re stronger together than you are apart. Besides, she can’t complain when you come in after a fight to heal some of her bruises be they to her body or her ego. Neither of you have any expectations and just take it day by day but you’re together nonetheless and honestly, you could both see this carry on in the future. 

Fjord

You’re as comfortable on the ocean as you are on land. This was something very important to Fjord when the two of you became more than just travel companions and friends. While he himself may at this point not necessarily want to return to the oceans soon out of fear of his former patron he would love to return to the port sights and trade routes and he’d love nothing more than bringing you along if you’d let him. 

Learning you had quite the arsenal of water based spells was a surprise and may have left him a tiny bit salty at what he had to go through to the point he is now for a fraction of that but he quickly got over it after you eased his mind. For how confident and charismatic he may be he can be quite awkward and shy when it comes to anything to do with romantic affections, especially engaging in them but luckily you aren’t and you are more than happy to push him into the deep with his consent of course. 

While he prefers to stay somewhat by your side and may jokingly say so he can protect you like the valiant paladin he is but in all honesty you both know he really just feels safer with you close by and you’ve saved his ass on more than one occasion, a fact you won’t let him forget and if he’s deemed you’ve had your fill he’ll just trow you over his shoulder and walk away with you. You may pretend to be grumpy or upset but your facade drops quickly and doesn’t fool him but a quick kiss ‘remedies’ your ‘mood’ quickly. 

At this point he’s grown so accustomed to you being somewhere near he sleeps much easier when you’re there. He may at one semi-drunken night have told you he’s sure you keep the nightmares at bay. Fjord would do almost anything for you even if that means a dreaded shopping trip. As long as he’s with you he actually enjoys it because it means he gets to spend more time with you. Though if he had to pick a favourite it would be any time the two of you had a moment to yourself on the ship just watching the waves and the clouds, his arms wrapped around you and head leaning on your shoulder. 

Veth 

Ever the kleptomaniac she’d stolen many personal possessions of you over time but only to admire them. Veth always returned them to you in the end but she simply couldn’t help but feel the itch to have a small collection of your things to herself. Though from the moment she had you she no longer really needed the material anymore because you are more than enough; you are her treasure. Though that doesn’t prevent her from stealing from others. 

You’re her partner in crime and she loves that about you. You have her back at all times and she has yours. Besides, what’s better than summoning literal lightning to make your grand escape from the chasing guards or a carefully created slab of ice in the middle of a street. 

When she came clean about her story you reassured her many times you wouldn’t feel any different because at heart she’s still the same and you love her for who she is. 

You love helping her with her ‘little side projects’ and while you may not be an expert tinkerer or alchemist you’re pretty nifty when it comes to the natural base elements and are happy to provide a flame to heat things up, ice to cool things down or a gust of wind or two to get rid of the nasty chemical smells and dusts. You’re the perfect team and she loves calling you her ‘lovely assistant’ whenever you’re working on something together. 

Jester Lavorre

Jester fell in love with you the moment you used your druidcraft to grow some vines and trip up some grumpy man who was rather rude to her. You have a knack for mischief yourself and the two of you make quite the team. While you may not be completely onboard when it comes to her deity the two of you had a mutual understanding; Jester’s best interest and you’d work together to make the world just a little more mischievous playing non-harmful pranks to lighten spirits. 

You’ve been a rock in the tiefling’s chaotic life and keep her grounded when she needs it. You listen to her worries and she to yours and the two of you have a mutual understanding and trust. Sure Jester may have proven in the past she’s not the best at keeping certain secrets, yours she’ll take to her grave. 

Jester loves braiding your hair, simply combing through it whenever she can or twisting a strand around her finger whenever you’re even remotely within close range of her. You listen to her and engage in conversation whenever she’s read a new novel and even let her read them to you. She’s very much a hopeless romantic but it’s cute. Your visage takes up many pages of her sketchbook and no one is allowed to mess with those pages. Not even the Traveler. 

When you were introduced to Jester’s mom you were nervous knowing the woman’s reputation and all that Jester had told you about her. You couldn’t help feel nervous and wonder if you were up to standards but Marion welcomed you with open arms only after making you vow to protect her little sapphire with your life. You proved that was exactly your intend but Jester did scold her mom for that saying it’s only fair she does the same for you as you love each other. 

Caduceus Clay

To say your relationship (more like lack thereof) is ‘unconventional’ is an understatement by most standards. You’re not lovers as neither of you are interested in the romantic nor physical aspects of a relation. Though you both do love watching from the sidelines as the relations of others evolve. You’d say the two of you have more of a partnership, like the best of friends and never would it become anything beyond that and you’re both happy with that out come.

You had always been connected to nature and Caduceus couldn’t help but see aspects of the Wildmother in you. He finds comfort in your presence and familiarity whenever you’re around. Especially in more rural areas, it’s like you’re the living breathing personification of nature. You give him a sense of home and you can say that feeling is mutual. 

The two of you are often found preparing food or tea sharing an affinity and love for the subject. Though you’re a much more versatile when it comes to your actual knowledge on the subject of nature and its diversity opposed to him having been confided to one environment for most of his life. 

From the moment you were introduced to his family they had already absorbed you up into their family. You may not be a Clay by blood but you certainly are one in spirit. His parents refer to you as their child and his siblings have taken to calling you their sibling. You’ve been their long lost Clay and with the blessing of the Wildmother you truly were accepted as one. 

Yasha Nydoorin

You bonded over your mutual love for flowers. Yasha had a past she’d rather not talk about and you weren’t one to pry. Every time you notice she’s feeling down and conflicted you’re never afraid to conjure up a little bouquet of flowers to gift her, the gesture always putting a smile on her face. 

At first Yasha may seem very distant and maybe even cold but she’s very much the opposite once you get to know her. She has a hard time trusting people but over time she opens up to you and you couldn’t be more grateful and honoured she did. 

It’s always been undeniable there’s a chemistry between the two of you but neither of you felt it the right time to admit to your feelings until you were quite literally locked in a room together. You had some good talks and came to the conclusion it could be a now or never and both of you would much rather take every second you could get than regret having missed even a single one. You’re very comfortable expressing your feelings as you’re both very in touch with them but only recently have the terms of endearment and physical affection become a public display. 

You’re there for each other no matter what and issues or arguments are quickly resolved if you have any as you both know where you stand and in the end your love for each other is much stronger than some petty disagreement. 

Mollymauk Tealeaf

Molly’s always been a mystery for many and a mystery he may remain but somehow you saw right through his act and that definitely earned his attention. He’s a very physical person and wears his heart on his sleeve. You were never opposed to him wrapping an arm around you or kissing your temple whenever you did something nice for him. That’s always just been Molly but it’s the little things you notice that gave away there may just be more than friendly feelings. 

Something that both excites and frustrates him before and in your relationship is your ability to get him all flustered. Sure he can do the same to you and he enjoys it every time he does but when you use it against him he’s not opposed to pulling out the big guns. Innuendos, sappy pda and terms of endearment often lead to full on make out sessions to the point where you’re told to get a room which you happily do. 

You’ve messed with plenty of people but your favourite has to be where he pretended to be a priest of the Raven Queen and you used your druidcraft to decay blooming flowers and bring them back to life and used a little gust cantrip to blow his hair and cloak dramatically in the wind. Sure once the facade was revealed you had to leave town quickly but you giggled for weeks and even now the mere thought sends you into laughing fits. 

Traveling the world is one thing. Molly doesn’t know about his past and you’ve left yours far behind. Your home is with each other and you’ll follow each other until the very end. 

[ritz-hell-hotel]

Retail Therapy - Luke Patterson

Julie and the Phantoms

Request?: Nope.

Word Count: 4.8K+

Summary: Alive!Luke x Alive!Reader/ Alive!JATP x Reader. After a fight with your parents, you go out for a little retail therapy and meet a certain Rockstar. I think I will prolly do a part 2 or more let me know if you want one, btw this is not proofread or edited. Luke sings to you in this chapter and he sings ‘Can’t take my eyes off you’ by Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons, so you can listen to that if you want.

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any.

-

“Julie please, my parents and I just got into another huge fight about my art and I need moral support.”

“But my dad wants me to watch Carlos and I can’t bail again.”

“Please just get here! I need you, Jules,” Y/N radiated distress and it was clear to all the people in the Claire’s she was currently in.

“Fine, I can call my tía. I’ll be there in an hour, but you owe me an ice cream cone!” Julie said laughing, Julie had been Y/N’s best friend since they met in the seventh grade when they both accidentally wore the same shirt three days in a row and became friends, they often would laugh about it. Y/N told her where to meet and thanked her friend quickly hanging up the phone. She heaved all her shopping bags up and looked around.

“Why am I even in this store?!” She hmphed loudly drawing the attention of the other shoppers once again. She marched out of the store towards the food court where she was meeting Julie. A new store caught her eye and she stopped for a minute debating if she had enough room for more bags. She quickly made her mind up deciding that she could make room, after all, she had her dad’s Platinum Amex and she was not going to waste this opportunity. Y/N walked quickly to the entrance of the quaint book store. She turned into the book store slamming into something, it was just her luck to run into a wall today and I mean why not seeing as the rest of her life was falling to pieces around her. She fell onto her back looking at the ceiling her bags scattered around her. 

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” A boy came into her sight. He had shaggy brown hair and was wearing a light yellow apron with a name tag. Guess she didn’t run into a wall after all, but again that was just her luck. Her eyes began to water as all the emotion crashed upon her like a tsunami. She gritted her teeth pulling herself together.

“I’m fine,” Y/N looked at his name tag. “Luke.”

“Woah how’d you know my name?” Luke stepped back and Y/N let out a breath of laughter.

“Nametag,” She said as the tears began to pool in her eyes.

“What? Oh my god, why are you crying?” Luke looked at her panicked, he didn’t do the best around crying girls. She held up a thumbs up. 

“I said I’m- I’m,” She coughed lightly trying her best to get out the words. 

“Here let me help you up,” Luke stuck out his hand to her nervously. She grabbed it and using her other hand tried to wipe the onslaught of tears off her face. Luke kept a hold of her hand pulling her to the back section of the store. 

“Um you can stay back here as long as you’d like,” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and accidentally running into the desk behind him knocking a book off the desk he looked at it quickly.

“Here you can read this maybe it’ll make you feel better,” he picked the book up shoving the book into her arms. He ran out of the room quickly.

“Oh? I- Thank you!” Y/N called out into the store. Luke ran back into the room his arms heaving all the girl’s bags.

“How were you carrying this much?” He wheezed dropping the bags by her. She laughed wiping more tears away and smearing her mascara. Luke backed up again.

“I have to get back to work but just leave when you want and if you need anything I’ll be up at the front counter,” he nodded at the girl giving her a thumbs up, and walked out again. She sat at the back of the store composing herself. She picked up the book looking at the title. It was ‘The Outsiders’ and a pretty beaten up copy at that the book was filled up with loose pages, she flipped through it and set it down on the table next to her. She turned to grab her bags. She didn’t notice but the book slipped off the table into one of her bags. She also didn’t notice her journal/ sketchbook drop from her purse as she grabbed everything trying to flee as quickly as she could. She collected the rest going out into the main store and heading to the counter.

“Thanks again for the help,” She leaned on the counter gazing at the boy in front of her.

“No problem, um you can come back anytime, that is if you want to of course no pressure,” Luke stumbled over his words.

“Of course, yeah,” She nodded, but she was not going to come back, not after that humiliating experience. He smiled dopily at her.

“Can’t wait,” he leaned on the counter as well.

“Um yeah,” she felt a twinge of guilt at the totally sweet look he was giving her. Her phone chimed loudly and she pulled it out.

“That would be my cue to leave,” She turned quickly dashing out of the store making her great escape.

“Bye then,” he waved confused. Y/N pulled out her phone checking the text.

‘Where are you? I got here 10 minutes ago.’ - From Julie. Y/N sighed speeding up her strides to get to the food court quicker. She spied Julie sitting at a table in the middle of the court. She made her way through the throng of people and sat down at the table setting her bags down under it. 

“What happened?” Julie asked eyeing the girl.

“I had a bit of a break down in a store, but a nice employee helped me out so I’m good,” Y/N laughed quickly.

“Are you okay, your eyes are really puffy. Do you need eye drops?” Julie stuck her hand in her purse and Y/N stopped her laughing again.

“I don’t need anything I’m good I promise, I just want to spend time with my best friend,” Y/N laid her hands down on the table in front of her. Julie rested her hands on top of the girls.

“If it’s any consolation I am supportive of your art,” Julie smiled sweetly. Y/N’s heart melted at the girl’s words, it did mean a lot to her.

“Thanks, Julie, now if you could convince my parents to do the same then that would be a dream come true,” a weak smile crept its way onto Y/N’s face. Julie squeezed her hand.

“How about we go get that ice cream and we can talk a bit and walk around, I think we both need it,” Julie stood up interlocking her hand with Y/N’s and pulling her towards the creamy treat.

-

It’d been a few weeks since the mall incident and things were not getting any easier for Y/N. Fights seemed to be on the daily now and the yelling was beginning to drive the girl insane. So she spent as little time as possible at her house only going over to sleep and do school work, other than that she was at the park painting or reading through the book that had slipped into her bag. She had planned on returning it to the booking clerk after she had read it, but now it had been three weeks and she had yet to. She would have hung out with Julie, but she was busy with her new band and nonstop rehearsals, they were set to debut at a spirit rally at school next week and they needed to be perfect. She still hadn’t met the band, but she had permission from Julie to crash anytime she wanted and she was planning on taking full advantage of this pass soon.

Her favorite pass time though was reading the book though so she had kept it, she loved to just read and look at the little notes and doodles in the margins, it really gave her a view of what was going on in Luke’s head. Although sometimes it was hard to decipher the hieroglyphics that was Luke’s handwriting.

She had discovered that the writings of S.E. Hinton were not the only thing hidden away in the eggshell-colored pages, there were journal entries and songs. She didn’t feel comfortable reading through the entries but she sure did love reading the works of musical genius, Luke’s, songs. They were so well written and heartfelt it helped her understand this boy that she barely knew, this boy so full of passion, feeling, emotions, and kindness.

And that’s where she was now reading a song of loss and regret under the cloudy sky. One that she related to personally, it reminded her of her parents and that even if she was having a hard time with them she would always love them even if they weren’t in the picture.

“If you could only know I never let you go,” she hummed along to the words, and sure she didn’t know the tune the words were initially meant for but she could sure try and make her own melody. But her phone interrupted her startling her out of her own little world within the words. She hurriedly wiped at her tear-stained cheeks and took the device out. It was 4:30, Julie and the Phantoms were at rehearsals right now and this was the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the jam session, so Y/N hopped on her bike and sped towards the Molina residence.

-

Y/N stopped on the cobblestone path leading to the studio loft and set her bike against the stone wall. She could already hear the music drifting from the open window of the studio. She crept to the porcelain white door and stood on her tiptoes looking through the long windows. Y/N could see Julie on the piano and three boys surrounding her. There was a tall lanky one wearing a pink shirt and had a fanny pack slung across his chest, he had blond hair and was on the drum, there was a raven-haired one clad in flannel and leather he was on bass guitar and another one that wasn’t facing Y/N, from what she could see he was a brunet and was wearing jeans and a blue sleeveless hoodie, and he was on a guitar she thought. Julie looked up and jumped a little but she just laughed it off stopping the music and gesturing for Y/N to come inside. Just as Y/N was about to move away from the door the brunet turned around her her heart stopped she could hear all the blood rushing and it was deafening.

It was Luke from the bookstore. Y/N felt herself pale and she quickly hid from view she slid down to sit against the door and the pavement, her eyes darted around looking for a place to hide, any place at all. But before she could move the door gave way and she fell onto her back. Julie had opened the door at the whole band formed a circle around the starfishes girl. Luke broke out into a fit of giggles.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he managed to get out through the laughter. Y/N deadpanned and scoffed.

“Tell me about it,” she sighed. Luke came to a stop and offered her a hand. She did not grab the hand though instead opting to roll onto her stomach and push herself up. Luke lowered his hand awkwardly and Alex snickered.

“You two know each other?” Julie asked looking between the pair.

“Kind of,” Y/N shrugged looking at the dopey grinned boy. “We met at the mall a few weeks ago, you remember Julie we had an ice cream cone that day.

Julie nodded and looked at Luke.

“Oh, so this is the guy you stole a book from!” Julie laughed at the panicked face you made. Luke sent Y/N a confused look.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry I’ve been meaning to return it,” Y/N dug through her backpack and pulled out the book victorious. She handed the book to Luke quickly and added a quick explanation and a sorry.

“Hey it’s okay, you kind of left something too, I had been wondering where it had disappeared to though,” he laughed and snatched Y/N’s journal from his bag handing it to her. Throughout their exchange Julie, Alex, and Reggie just stood awkwardly shuffling their feet.

“Oh! I thought my dad took this... Oh My god wait please tell me you didn’t look,” Y/N paled again. Luke and Y/N stared at each other for a minute silently.

“Um only a little,” Luke looked down to the ground guiltily. Julie coughed and clasped her hands together.

“Why don’t we play something for Y/N while she’s here!” She said sitting down at the piano. The rest of the boys picked up their instruments, Alex sitting at the drums, Reggie standing with his bass next to Alex and the door, and Luke standing next to the piano and the couch. Y/N took a seat on the couch farthest away from Luke, she was feeling a bit awkward.

“So this is Bright,” Julie said to Y/N as well as making the boys aware of what they’d be playing for her. Julie played the first notes on the piano taking a breath and smiling, she was really in her element right now and it showed.

“Sometimes I think I’m falling down. I wanna cry, I’m calling out,” Julie sang out hitting each note with perfection. Y/N got goosebumps on her arms while listening to Julie’s voice, it was really breathtaking.

“For one more try, to feel alive.” The boys still hadn’t played their instruments and Y/N looked at each of them confused. Luke sent her a wink and threw his guitar over his shoulder with finesse. Y/N smiled brightly and gave him thumbs up. She reached into her bag pulling out a paper and a pen. She wrote a 9.5 

“What?! I deserve a 10,” Luke frowned strumming a note as Julie sang, “Life is a risk but I will take it, close my eyes, and jump.”

“It’s because you’re a show-off,” Y/N held out the f sound. Luke laughed and threw his head back.

“I’ll you show you what showing off really looks like,” he grinned at her. Just ask he said that Julie sang, “Come on let’s run!”

And that's when the boys hopped into action the music hitting Y/N like a wave. Luke played the guitar his hands moving effortlessly on the frets, he had so much passion in his eyes and Y/N couldn’t tear hers away. Luke looked at her holding her gaze intently.

“Life is a risk but we will take it, close my eyes and jump,” Luke’s voice came out gravely and husky, giving Y/N goosebumps once again. Reggie sang along with him dancing around the middle of the loft. Y/N felt like the breath was knocked out of her, the band was, to put it simply, dazzling. She had so many thoughts for them but she knew she it’d be impossible to tell them how amazing they were in words. Luke walked closer to Y/N kneeling in front of her while still playing his instrument. 

“Come on let’s run!” Luke sang to her, the rest of the band along with him. He hit the high note with ease and Y/N breathed in deeply. Luke continued to sing, but he pulled her up quickly and they danced together, it was a mess of rocking together and lots of spinning on Y/N’s part while Luke jumped up and down still having to play. Reggie came in and joined them, and he and Alex shared a look. They all jumped around in a circle and Y/N jumped onto the couch singing along with the chorus.

“Shine together bright forever!” Y/N picked up her water bottle using it as a mic. Luke couldn’t keep his eyes off her, she was electric. 

“In times that I doubted myself, I feel like I needed some help,” Luke sang and the only instrument playing was coming from the piano. Luke walked up to the couch below Y/N and they stared at each other.

“Stuck in my head, with nothing left,” Luke sang to her. Julie shot Y/N a look telling her to sing with him.

“And when I feel lost and alone, I know that I can make it home,” Y/N sang nervously fearing she’d mess up the words, but Luke just smiled at her and Y/N instantly felt at ease. Y/N looked away from Luke for a minute nodding at Julie and they sang together.

“Fight through the dark, and find the spark!!” Julie raising her voice and held out the note. Luke still couldn’t pull his gaze away and he lifted Y/N off the couch spinning her and making her squeal, she was set on the ground and she started dancing again. 

“We will fight to shine together! Bright forever!” They all sang out and the song ended. Y/N laughed with glee and jumped up and down.

“You guys are amazing!” She smiled at Alex and hit Reggie’s shoulder, feeling at home with the guys already, even if they only met a few minutes ago. 

“I’m gonna run inside the house and grab some snacks and we can hang out!” Luke ran to the door and exited. Y/N laughed, he didn’t even ask if she was free, she was but still. She enveloped Julie in a hug and they laughed together. Y/N’s phone rang in her pocket and she pulled it out and looked at the screen, her mom was calling. A deep frown set into her face and she clutched the phone.

“I’m gonna take this,” She said and made her way out sitting against the stone wall and taking a deep breath trying to prepare herself. She hit the answer button and held the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” She whispered.

“Y/N Y/L/N, you need to get home right now, you have been gone long enough. Get over yourself, you will not become an artist and you will do what we say we are your parents,” Y/N’s mom and dad said, not even letting Y/N get a word in. She breathed in deeply and shut her eyes tight willing herself not to cry.

“Mom, Dad, I’m not coming home,” Y/N got out her voice faltering. Her dad scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous you will come home immediately,” Her mom sighed. Y/N shook her head even though her parents couldn’t see.

“I’m not coming home not again and not ever, not until you support me,” she almost lost herself there but she shut her eyes again keeping the tears at bay, she wouldn’t cry for something she needed to do.

“I’m gonna be staying somewhere else from now on, I’ve already got all the stuff that I need and you won’t see me again until I prove you wrong.”

“People will like my art and even if they don’t I like my art and it’s what I’m passionate about and I won’t stop, I won’t give up, I can’t,” Y/N hung up the phone not even giving them a chance to respond, she clicked into her settings turning off her location and stuck her phone next to her. She brought her knees to her chest and she breathed deeply, she heard someone taking a seat next to her, she didn’t look assuming it was Julie.

“I know what it’s like,” Luke laid his head against the wall and put his hands at his sides. Y/N’s head shoots towards Luke.

“It’s you! I thought you were Julie,” Y/N said. Luke started to get up.

“I’m so sorry I’ll go,” he stood up all the way. Y/N grabbed his hand and pull him back down they were now sitting shoulder to shoulder and looking at each other. Y/N breathed in deeply again the tears finally going away.

“Stay.”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop drop, by the way,” Luke laid his hand on top of her hesitantly. She laughed shaking her head.

“It’s okay, can you tell me about it?” She asked him referring to what he said earlier. He nodded slowly trying to articulate what he was thinking.

“Okay, but bear with me I’m gonna start at the beginning,” he stated and Y/N intertwined their finger hoping to make him more comfortable.

“My mom and dad bought me my first guitar when I was about 8,” he started squeezing her hand.

“When you said beginning I didn’t think it’d be beginning, beginning,” she laughed. He sent her an annoyed look and she giggled laying her head on his shoulder.

“They didn’t get me into lessons but my neighbor ended up teaching me, I knew immediately that music was what I wanted to do and my parents didn’t quite feel the same but they let me continue playing regardless, but then I started a band called Sunset Curve when I was fifteen, that’s when they tried to take my guitar away,” he deflated slightly and Y/N nestled into him a bit more.

“Of course I hid it where we were practicing and didn’t tell them where, but the fights got so bad that I ran away, on Christmas Eve.”

“Now I’m staying here, but I get how it feels to not be supported by the ones who matter most, so if you need someone who knows what you’re going through you can come to me if you want,” he said facing her as she took her head off his shoulder. They were centimeters apart at this point, they were practically breathing in each other’s air.

“You’re staying at Julie’s?” She asked their noses almost touching.

“Yeah in the loft with Alex, he’s not living at home either, his parents weren’t cool after he came out to them,” he said sadly his eyes fluttering shut. She studied his face, he had freckles that you could only see close up, and there was a small scar just on the bridge of his nose.

“It’s cool that you guys have each other,” Y/N interlocked both their hands.

“You could have us too,” he whispered. “If you want us.”

“I’d really like that I think,” she moved in closer, her lips ghosting over his as he whispered, “I’m glad you want me, us.” They knew each other better than anyone, sure they hadn’t been together long but they’d seen into each other's world through music and writing and art, they saw the most intimate parts of each other. A crash from the garage and Alex fell through the crack in the door and he shot up looking like a deer in headlights. Luke and Y/N jumped away from each other and Y/N hit her bike knocking it over and the contents of her other bag on it spilled out, a mess of clothes and tampons came out and Luke looked horrified. His eyes fell upon a single bra and he stumbled back covering his eyes. Alex ran back into the studio slamming the door behind him. Y/N quickly scooped up her stuff putting it back into her bag making sure to zip it up this time. Luke still was on the ground covering his eyes.

“You can look now,” Y/N let out an airy laugh. Luke shook his head.

“I’m too embarrassed,” he sat up still covering his eyes. Y/N scooted over to him so that she was sitting in front of him on her knees, she brought her hands up to his slowly moving them away. She and Luke looking into one another’s eyes for the millionth time that night. She slowly tore her gaze away and stood up.

“I should probably go find a hotel to stay at,” she whispered picking up her bike. Luke jumped up grabbing her wrist.

“You can stay here! I mean if it’s okay with Julie, we’ll have to ask,” he said holding onto her hands and grinning at her.

“It’s okay with me!” They heard Julie’s voice from inside the studio. Y/N laughed pulling Luke into a tender hug, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her hips. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and whispered, “Thank you for everything Luke.”

“You’re welcome,” he kissed the top of her head lightly pulling her in tighter. Drops of rain began to dribble into them until it was a downpour. Luke tried to pull her inside but Y/N pulled him back and they spun together in the rain. Y/N let out a joyful and bubbly laugh that had Luke laughing along with her.

“Sing to me music man,” Y/N spun Luke around and dipped him. He grinned at her and began to sing.

“You’re just too good to be true,” they spun together again.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you, you’d be like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much,” Luke spun Y/N in and they rocked together. Y/N slid her arms up around Luke’s shoulders and they smiled at each other.

“At long last has arrived and I thank God I’m alive,” he smiled to himself at the line. Y/N spun away and jumped in the rain and a puddle of water exploded under her baby blue converse.

“You’re just too good to be true, Can’t take my eyes off of you,” and the lyrics were true for Luke he could pull his gaze from the magnetic girl in front of him. She held out her hand and Luke grasped it as she spun in her back hitting Luke’s chest. Luke sang more to her and he was almost to the chorus now.

“There are no words left to speak. But if you feel what I feel, please let me know that it’s real.”

“You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you,” Luke hummed and Y/N got ready to sing the chorus with him.

“I love you, baby!” They both sang out at the top of their lungs.

“And if it’s quite alright, I need you baby! To warm a lonely night!” Y/N sang out Luke practically had heart eyes. This wasn’t like before in the studio during Bright, Y/N wasn’t hesitant at all she had the aura of a thousand burning stars and the confidence to show it.

“I love you, baby! Trust in me when I sayyy!” Y/N sang again and Luke continued this time.

“Oh, pretty baby! Don’t bring me down I pray,” Luke spun down onto his knees and held his hands out to Y/N.

“Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay! And let me love you, baby!” Luke sang pulling Y/N in they were once again close, chest to chest the rain streaming down their faces and their foreheads pressed together.

“Let me love you,” Luke sang in a whisper. Y/N hooked her arms around his neck and their lips were close, but not close enough to connect.

“You’re just too good to be true...” He closed in, their lips connecting for half a second but once again they were interrupted by a car beeping from in front of the house. Y/N pulled away quickly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“That’s probably Julie’s dad with the pizza,” Luke said sadly knocking on the white door for the rest of the teens to come out.

“That was quite the show you two put on,” Reggie said as they came out. Y/N blushed which is something she didn’t normally didn't do so you knew she was very embarrassed.

“Shut up, dude,” Luke punched Reggie’s shoulder. They all began walking to the house, the rest of the teens holding umbrellas but Luke and Y/N were still exposed to the weather. They lagged behind a bit and Y/N took Luke’s hand into hers. They got to the door and they were the only ones out there. The rain pitter-pattered against the covering of the porch. Y/N and Luke faced each other and Y/N smiled at him.

“Thanks again for everything, Luke.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Luke stepped up to her.

“How did you know that was my favorite song?” She grinned at him.

“I have my ways, star,” he cooed and Y/N smiled at the nickname. She stood on her toes and pecked him on the cheek and she dashed inside. Luke stood there alone and touched his cheek softly and grinned, she’d be the death of him, but he was ready to do anything for her. He was falling, and falling hard for that matter.

-

Thank you for reading and let me know if you want a part two, and feel free to enter my taglist link in bio!

[sunflowersseemhappy]

Hey there! Could you do Arcana main 6 finding and reacting to MC's sketchbook full of cute little drawings of them? only if you feel like it !

This feels a bit messy but as I’ve been moving I’m probably just too tired to notice! Now I want to draw these sketches tho...

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED, but in the meantime here is my Masterlist

Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy!

Asra

A leather-bound book falls to Asra’s feet from the stack he’s putting away onto the shelves.

He hadn’t really noticed it until now, among all the knickknacks of the shop it seems like any ordinary notebook but he’s struck by familiarity. 

It’s like the book and its contents are calling to him, like a long-forgotten memory.

Kneeling, Asra hesitantly turns the open book over and there is… a drawing of him. Sitting slouched against a table as his hand hovers over an image of Faust looking for his affection. 

He remembers now, you drew like this before the plague but he had searched for that sketchbook and never found it after you were gone. He knew you had taken it with you to the Lazaret and it had burned with you.

This is a different book, in a different life almost but your careful sketch is just the same.

Asra is almost in disbelief as he flicks through the book, there are sketches of Faust snuggled up to the crook of his neck, Selasi the baker and Asra with armfuls of Pumpkin bread, Asra walking the streets of Vesuvia, there are more sketches of him than he can count.

He can’t believe he never noticed you drawing, but truth be told he never expected to see your drawings again. He thought your abilities with a pencil and paper were forgotten with your memories.

He should have known better…

As Asra reaches the last page he shakes his head in disbelief at the soft sketch of his sleeping form, perfectly drawn by your hand. Just as he remembers the pages in your old book looked like.

That in itself gives him hope that maybe your memories aren’t as lost as he thought.

 Nadia

Nadia has noticed that you’ve been very engrossed in that little notebook of late, spending the late nights and early mornings scribbling on the pages.

Although Nadia doesn’t make a habit of prying into other people’s (even yours) business, she is starting to wonder what’s so important about that book.

And why you keep glancing at her as you write in it.

Oh, how she tries to resist but its just sitting on the bed and she plucks it up and flicks to the latest page.

Her gaze stares back at her, why it’s a drawing of her!

Nadia is intrigued, she recognises this particular moment from earlier in the day when the council meeting had run late.

In this book Nadia has the same aspirated expression as she stares at her tea rather than drawing her attention to the talks.

She flicks backward through the book and there they are, more sketches of her face, serene and placid.

She’s impressed, dare she say it they are better than many of her portraits. Nothing is left to the imagination, they’re just her as you see her.

Scratching Chandra feathers with a soft smile on her face, tools in her hands and oil and grease on her fingers as she makes a little invention, hair drawn back and laughing as she gallops on her horse.

Clear cut and real, smoothing her fingers against the page Nadia mulls over an image of her with wet hair with just her robe on.

How you manage to catch these moments and put them down on paper like this she’s always wonder but she’ll let you know how flattered she is that you enjoy drawing her so.

 Julian

Another late night at the desk it seems, Julian’s had a few of late but even he is starting to feel the hours catch up to him.

Retiring to bed where you are already softly snoring, Julian takes immediate notice to your little book you’re always carrying around lying in his space.

Usually he would just move it and go to bed, but as he draws close, he notices a face drawn on the page.

Scooping it up Julian almost thinks his eye is deceiving him in the darkness and sleepless haze, is that a drawing of him?

Slipping into bed with the book in hand Julian takes of his eye-patch to get a better look, it is him! Leaning over his desk with a concentrated gaze over the papers in his hands.

He can’t help but give a sly smile to your sleeping form, so this was what you got up to when he wasn’t looking.

He thought he was an alright artist, but you? Wow, he’s speechless over how much care has been taken to get the curve of his nose and the curl of his hair just right.

So as not to wake you Julian takes quiet care as he leaf’s through the pages, most of them have drawings of him and he marvels over them all.

There’s a drawing of Malak preening Julian’s hair (his comical wince obvious), hugging his little sister as if his life depended on it, holding up a pint of salty bitters with that roguishly silly smirk he does.

If he didn’t know any better than he’d think you like him!

Next time he’ll definitely make sure to pose!

But for now, he’ll settle on returning the secret favour by getting his own book and drawing you whenever he can.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to give him some pointers.

Muriel

It’s a lazy morning for Muriel, a rare treat? He’s still getting used to sharing the chores and not having to do as much as he used to.

You’ve gone to work the shop leaving him and Inanna alone for the day, but before he can even begin to guess what to do Inanna plops a familiar looking book next to him.

Your notebook, he’s seen you writing in it all the time and you never go anywhere with out it, he wouldn’t admit it but right now it’s the only excuse he has to go see you.

Picking it up and calling for Inanna to follow the two make their way to Vesuvia, book in hand.

Whatever is in it seems important…

Muriel can’t ever remember looking inside it though, he’s not usually that curious but before he’s even thinking about it, he opens it as he’s walking and halts in his tracks.

There’s a carefully crafted drawing of him, sitting by the fire as Inanna lays at his side whilst he whittles away at a little figurine.

He snaps the book shut a red blush racing against his cheeks, whatever he’s feeling it’s new and he doesn’t know if he’s embarrassed or happy that you’ve drawn him.

Now curiosity has completely taken over and he hesitantly flicks to the first page, that one is Asra but as he progresses, he sees Inanna, the hut, your favourite tree, and that doe with her fawn.

His cheeks get redder every time he crosses a drawing of himself, most have tense gazes but between them he sees in each face his soft smiles and almost unnatural gentleness in his eyes.

Is that how you see him? Soft? Gentle? He’s never seen himself that way before, but the drawings don’t feel fake, they’re almost too real.

He sees his hand buried in Inanna’s fur as he cradles an ill chicken, weaving his braids in the morning, standing bare chested in the evening as he cooks dinner. Scars mirrored in the pencil work.

He takes your sketch book to you with a knowing smile.

 Portia

One of the few day’s she gets off from working the palace and she can’t spend it with you.

Apparently the shop has been so busy you’ve had a que going out the door. Portia is disappointed but in times like this it can’t be helped so she decides to indulge in some light reading.

Browsing her small shelves Portia almost doesn’t notice the small book with bits of paper sticking out of it.

But she notices it there, it reminds her of the journal’s Julian kept on medical procedures and stuff, maybe he accidentally left it here or she picked it up from his?

But there on the spine are your initials, plucking it from the shelf Portia turns to a random page and…

There she is on the paper, a drawing! She’s sitting with a blanket on her lap and a needle and thread in her hand as she works at the patchwork quilt she’s been making.

Ooh, she’s never seen such a pretty drawing of her and its not long before she’s jumped on her bed and is flicking through the book.

She’s awing over the drawings and they’re almost too amazing for her to believe. 

There are so many; sitting on the beach, dancing with Pepi in her arms, munching on that delicious cupcake from last week! Oh, she misses that cupcake.

She’s squealing in excitement over the drawings, she has such a talented and cute partner. 

Lucio

Lucio’s been without you for all but an hour and he’s already bored, how did he ever entertain himself without you?

He’s never been a willing reader but soon enough he finds himself browsing the shelves out of pure boredom.

Then he spots it, small leather-bound book with one of Camio’s gorgeous feathers peeking out from the top. How did that get there when Camio has the same aversion to books Lucio does?

Disinterested Lucio plucks it from the shelf and turns to the page where Camio’s feather sits and wow…

There’s a wonderful drawing of Camio sitting proudly on the back of a chair as Lucio pets the bird. Sure, it’s only pencil but its better than the painting he had done of the bird.

And there’s more, as he flicks the page, he finds himself. Standing bare-chested with the dogs and giving them a fuss, he remembers that. Last week if he’s right.

As he flicks through the rest of the carefully crafted sketch book Lucio can only guess this is your work, how busy you’ve been drawing him...

He is absolutely flattered; you draw him much better than the portrait artists (maybe because it actually looks like him).

There he is applying his makeup, chasing the dogs after they stole his prosthetic, Camio sitting on his head with proudly puffed up feathers.

He’s enthralled that you draw him so well, maybe he’ll commission you to do some portraits but for now he’ll enjoy the ones in the book.

Maybe he’ll do a cheeky pose for you when you’re back!

[cassiabaggins]

Wedding

A/N: Part/day six! Thank you all so much for your support! Please leave a comment/reblog if you enjoy this!

Wordcount: 2k

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Tags: @anjhope1 @deathlikessodaandpizza @guardianofrivendell @myrin1234 @wettomatodude @lothloriien @annkdarar @artsywaterlily @hmmm-what-am-i-doing @drowingintheempty @estethell @claraofthepen @kilielweek

Warnings: mention of miscarriage

Summary: Kili and Tauriel are finally wed

Kili has been quiet all day. That's unusual. Tauriel carefully combs her fingers through his hair and rests her chin on his shoulder. He's staring into the fire. 

"You seem distressed," she says gently.

He grunts wordlessly, so she gives him a kiss on the cheek and strokes his hair. "Kili. Talk to me. What ails you?"

Kili is quiet for a little bit longer, putting his hand over hers, before letting out a long sigh. “They want me to get married,” He says.

“Who is ‘they’?” She asks gently. 

“The Council.”

“All of them?"

“No, not all of them, but those that do are quite loud.” He draws his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them. “They want me to produce an heir.”

“What about your brother? He’s already married!”

“They think his child won’t be ‘pure’ enough.” He puts quotations with his fingers around the word ‘pure’. “First they tried to get him to annul his marriage, then they tried to get him to take a mistress, but he’d rather die than disrespect his wife like that, so they gave up and focused on me.” He clenches his fist. “It makes me so angry! Arranged marriages go against everything I’ve ever been taught about how dwarrow love. All of this does! It goes against our nature!”

Tauriel moves so she’s no longer sitting behind him, but beside him, taking his hand. 

“What do you mean by that, meleth nin?”

“I mean dwarrow don’t arrange marriages! We only love once, and only one person. Mahal, most of us don’t even experience sexual desires until we meet our One!”

“What if you don’t find the One? Or what if they don’t feel the same?”

“Then we don’t marry. We dedicate our lives to our crafts!”

“Is that what you would have done if I hadn’t come back?”

“Yes. Of course I would have.” He notices the sadness on her face and squeezes her hand. “Don’t look like that, amrâlimê, it’s not so bad. You don’t need love to be happy.”

She leans forward and kisses him. “There’s something awful romantic about that, loving only one person your entire life.”

“Aye, it is.” Kili frowns. “But now they want me to go against that and marry some lass from Rhun. She’s nice enough, I suppose, her name is Mhaite, but—”

“But you don’t love her.”

“But she’s not you.”

Tauriel smiles gently at him. 

“I don’t want to marry anyone but you,” Kili says, flopping down into her lap. She strokes her hand through his hair. 

“And I don’t want you to marry anybody but me.”

He sighs melancholically, taking her hand and kissing her wrist. She continues stroking his hair with her free hand when suddenly she is struck by an idea. 

“What if we eloped?”

Kili sits right up and stares at her. “What?”

“What if,” she repeats, “we eloped. If we got married, they couldn’t make you marry her, right?”

“They could try to get me to divorce you.”

“But you can refuse them, correct?”

“Well, yes. They cannot force an annulment if both parties refuse. Especially if Fili doesn’t approve, since only a king or queen can annul marriages.”

"So your brother is behind us, who else?"

"I'm sure I could get Dwalin to represent you," Kili says, excitement leaking into his voice and gestures, "he likes you, though he won't admit it. Ori can draft up marriage documents, Dori can make us wedding clothes, and Bombur and Cassia can cook and—"

She stops him with a finger over his lips, laughing softly. "This is becoming less of a secret elopement and more of a wedding the longer you talk," she teases. 

Kili shrugs and kisses her fingers. "I can't help that I want to get my friends involved."

"Too many people and the secret will leak," she cautions. "The Council will put a stop to it before it can even begin."

He sighs. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

.

In the end, they limit it to just Kili's family, Balin, and Dwalin. The sons of Fundin agree to represent Tauriel's family surprisingly easily, and Kili's mother and younger sister will represent him. Fili will officiate and his wife will be a witness. The wedding will take place in the council chamber of Erebor in two months time, long enough that the wedding beads can be made, but soon enough that the council members who are against the union do not have the time to put a stop to it. 

.

King Fili is looking over a trade agreement in King Bard’s office, the end of his quill in his mouth and his face all scrunched up with concentration in a way that makes him look unnervingly like his younger brother. Tauriel sidles up to him and taps him on the shoulder. She really shouldn't be distracting him, but she needs his advice. Fili scratches out some letters and looks up at her, dipping his quill back in ink. "Hullo, Tauriel," he says with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"I need help," she declares and the smile vanishes for a worried frown. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"Not in the way you think," she says. Fili gives her a baffled look and Tauriel twiddles her thumbs awkwardly. "Dwalin mentioned I was meant to make beads for when I marry Kili," she explains, "only… I've not the slightest idea how!"

"Is that all?" Fili asks with relief.

"...Yes."

The king slides the paper he's been looking at out of his way. "Well, you came to the right dwarf. Do you have a material you're planning on using?" 

She shakes her head.

"Do you have a design?"

Another shake of the head. Fili sighs. "Oh dear."

"I don't even know where to begin! I've no idea how to craft jewelry!"

"Well, don't panic, there's no rule saying you have to make them. You just have to design them. It's common enough for a dwarf to commission a close friend to help create their wedding beads." 

Tauriel lets out a relieved sigh. "Oh, good." Then she frowns. “Kili will be making mine, though, won’t he?”

“Aye, most likely. His craft is jeweling after all.”

“Then I want to make his,” She declares.

“It won’t be easy,” Fili cautions.

“I don’t care. I want to try.”

"If you do, then far be it from me to try and stop you. Now, let's talk about materials. The most common are stone or metal, but wood or some sort of gemstone isn't unheard of. Any of those catch your attention?" 

Tauriel shakes her head. "I feel as if I need to hold the materials to see what I think."

Fili nods. "Next time I visit Dale, I'll bring you some examples."

She grins. "Oh, good! Oh, thank you!"

"Think nothing of it."

.

The next day, Fili arrives at her home as promised with the materials. He's brought some silver and gold and jewels, but what really catches Taurile’s eye is a beautiful piece of wood. She picks it up and turns it over in her hands. Fili sees her interest.

“That’s walnut wood,” he says. 

“It’s lovely.”

“Is that what you want to use?”

Tauriel turns the wood over in her hands. “Yes.”

“Good choice.”

“Only…” she frowns. “I can see why a material like metal or stone would be used, that can last for centuries, but wood? How do you keep the beads from wearing out?”

“We have charms for that,” Fili says, “to make them last. Don’t worry about that.”

“Oh, good.”

He begins to tie his hair back, pulling out tools from his bag, along with a sketchbook. “All right, let’s get to work.” He flips through his sketchbook to a fresh page and picks up a charcoal stick to draw with. “Any design ideas?”

Tauriel frowns, tapping thoughtfully on the wood. “Well… no.”

“Well, what makes you think about him? When I was designing beads for my wife, I thought of all the things that made me think of her and used those for my design. So, what makes you think of Kili?”

Tauriel thinks. “Uh, stars, and the moon, and mountains, mostly.”

“That’s a good start!” Fili says, passing the sketchbook and drawing stick to Tauriel. “Just… start drawing.”

She frowns and takes them gingerly. “I’m not much of an artist.”

“We can clean up the sketch later, just put down some ideas,” he says reassuringly.

.

In the end, she decides on an image of the Mountain with the moon rising behind it and a star above the moon. It’s simple and pretty, and Fili gives his stamp of approval. Then, the carving lessons begin. Woodworking is not something Tauriel has ever done and it’s not Fili’s craft, but he's a patient teacher and she’s a quick learner. She doesn’t expect to become such close friends with her future brother in law, but she and Fili end up having much more in common than they initially think, including but not limited to their affections for knives and Kili.

It takes time, and lots of practice, but by the day of the wedding, the final beads are done. They’re wide and flat beads with the pattern she came up with carved on one side and their names on the other. 

“Just promise me something?” Fili asks as he looks over the beads one final time. 

“What is it?” She queries. He looks up at her. 

“Please don’t leave him again. I don’t think he could bear it.”

Tauriel wants to tell him she hasn’t the slightest intention of doing that, that she came back for Kili and only for Kili, that not even wild horses could keep her away from him… but she doesn’t. “I won’t. I promise.”

.

There’s no fancy decorations or clothes for the wedding, no festive lights or stars or firemoons, just the dim torches illuminating the council chamber, and Kili’s smile illuminating her heart as they walk to stand together before Fili to be wed.

Tauriel takes Kili’s hand and he smiles up at her. “You look like a dream, amrâlimê,” he murmurs. 

“A good dream?”

“Yes. A fantastic dream.” He turns her hand over and kisses the inside of her wrist. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Together, they turn towards Fili and the wedding begins.

Their vows are in Khuzdul, the traditional words, so no dwarf can say the wedding is invalid. The words are foreign on her tongue, but she knows them and their meaning even in her sleep. 

Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, we are two bodies but one soul and my heart is tied to yours. I vow to walk with you and treasure you like the finest of jewels, through this life and the next. 

With those words, they weave the braids and beads into each other’s hair, Tauriel bites her lip as she does so, worried her wooden beads look shabby and silly next to the fine diamond-flecked beads he’s made her. But then, he smiles up at her, and looks at the beads like they’re pure mithril, and she knows he thinks they’re beyond precious. Fili says a few more words in Khuzdul, declaring the marriage complete and valid and handing them each a quill to sign the marriage document. As soon as that is over, Kili swings Tauriel into his arms and kisses her like she's water in the desert and she kisses back just as passionately. She can hear the family, no, her family now, laughing around them. She cups his face in her hands and nuzzles her nose to his. “I love you,” she whispers. 

“I love you, too,” he responds, wrapping his arms around her waist. “My wife.”

“My hus—"

Before she can fully respond, the door to the council chamber slams open. Lord Khar is standing in the doorway. "What is the meaning of this?!" He shouts, "why is that elf in the mountain?!"

"This," Fili says, picking up his quill and signing the marriage document, sealing the wedding as complete, "is a wedding."

"A wedding?! What?! Between who?!"

"Between my brother, Prince Kili, and Captain Tauriel of Dale, formerly of Mirkwood."

"No! Never! I will not accept it!"

"You don't have to accept it, you simply have to be quiet," Fili says. "I wear the crown, not you. And I have signed this document and officiated this marriage. It is done."

Khar looks positively apoplectic, his face turning an impressive shade of red. Kili squeezes Tauriel's hand reassuringly and looks up at her. She knows he won't let anything tear them apart, and she feels the same, responding to his look with a soft smile. 

Lord Khar lets out a wordless, angry noise at the sight of their joined hands and storms toward them, arms outstretched as if he will try to force them apart with pure physical strength alone. Tauriel acts on instinct, swinging Kili behind her (as if a warrior prince of the Line of Durin would need protection) and halting Khar with a harsh blow to the shoulder. "Do not lay your hands on us," she spits. 

The dwarf lord goes purple, holding his shoulder. "You cannot—"

"I suggest you listen to her, Khar," Kili says smugly, "my wife is rather deadly when she is angry." He says the words ‘my wife’ with utter relish, rubbing it in the older dwarf’s face, who snarls angrily and steps away from the two of them. "My Lord King," he turns to Fili, attempting a different tactic, "surely you cannot condone this! This elf has bewitched you, can you not see it?"

"I have bewitched no one!" Tauriel cries indignantly. "I'm no wizard, I wouldn't even know where to begin!"

Cassia, peeking around Fili, lets out a little titter of laughter. Kili laughs as well, but the dwarf is well warned away from him. He turns his blazing eyes on the Hobbit Queen. "Don't think you are any better, halfling! You who would put weak, sickly halfbreeds on the Throne of Erebor, if you could only manage to carry one long enough for it to live."

The uproar is instantaneous. Cassia makes a soft, pained little whimper, placing her hand over her abdomen, Dwalin reaches for a weapon, Balin exclaims condemningly, Dis and the princess cry out in indignation, Kili and Tauriel both step forward, either to protect their friend or hurt the dwarf lord, they don't know. They don't make it far enough to find out. 

Fili punches Khar in the nose, knocking him to the ground. Khar howls with pain, holding his face.

"You've said enough," Fili spits, his eyes blazing with something feral and unhinged. It's an expression Tauriel has never seen on any face, especially not kind, gentle Fili. "Shut your mouth before I shut it permanently."

Cassia gently takes his arm and he takes a deep, steadying breath. “Khar, son of Zodar, as King of Erebor, I am relieving you of your position on the council of Erebor!"

"On what grounds?!"

"Disrespect of your queen, constant undermining of your king, and," Fili crouches down and reaches into the dwarf's pocket, pulling out a golden seal, "unlawful possession and use of the council seal." 

“You cannot just---!”

“I can, actually.” Fili turns to Kili, "I believe you two have a wedding night to get to. I can handle this here."

“Are you sure?” Kili asks. His brother nods. “All right.” He takes Tauriel’s hand and draws her toward the door. “Yasith, let’s go.”

She looks down at him. “Will they be---”

“Fili can handle it.”

They leave the mountain together, returning to Dale, to Tauriel’s home on the outskirts of the city. No one stops them in Erebor at Kili’s command, and no one stops them in Dale at hers. “I have something to show you,” she says, shutting the door behind them. Kili takes her waist and draws her near him. 

“Is it you?” he asks cheekily, standing up on his toes to kiss her. She kisses back, laughing a little. 

“No,” she says, and then hums, “well, yes, but not yet, just… come with me.” She gives him one last kiss and draws away, taking his hand. He weaves his fingers through hers and lets her lead him through the house to the very top floor, and from there, up another flight of stairs and through a door into the open air. 

“You lead me around all secretly to show me the roof?” Kili asks, “Amrâlimê, I’ve been here before.”

She laughs and pulls him forward. Set up in the center of the open space is a mattress and a huge pile of pillows and blankets, surrounded by many candles and lanterns (as yet unlit), a basket of food, and several bottles of wine. “It’s tradition for the marriage to be consummated under the stars,” she says softly, looking down at him. “We don’t have to, but---”

Kili swings her into his arms for a kiss. “This wedding has been all about my traditions,” he murmurs when they come up for air, “I would be honored to partake in some of yours.” And, hand in hand, he leads her toward the bed.

.

The next morning as Tauriel awakens to birdsong, wrapped in Kili’s arms beneath the open sky, she knows this is where she is supposed to be, and she will fight for it with everything she has.

[tuttifuckinfruttifriday]

The Voorhees' vacation to Texas, pt 2

-Putting Holes In Happiness

“Put holes in happiness

We'll paint the future black if it needs a color”

*

Intro

Warnings: some small fluff as always, tiny angst, probably ooc Leatherface/Nubbins and Drayton

Don’t hesitate to tell me if I did any mistakes, it would be greatly appreciated as always!

-

As they left, the dark haired man looked down, a serious frown on his face as he curiously walked to where the van was parked, bending down and taking a small cardboard book. Nubbins tilted his head before he opened it to the first page, his eyes widening a bit when he saw the graphite drawing in the book. There was a name at the top, but it was kinda small so he didn’t want to strain his eyes. The only thing he could see was the initials “M.J.”, so he guessed it might be the people’s book, maybe the woman’s since he thought he heard someone call her like that through their opened window. “What you’ve got here?…” He looked up at Drayton as he walked his way, a head tilt of his own. The brothers stared at each other for a tiny while before the taller one shook his head with a childish grin and put the book in his bag. Fortunately, Drayton only rolled his eyes with a sigh and a small glare before he muttered something about closing soon and went back inside the gas station. With that, the male went back to the road, impatient to show what he found to his little brother.

—

It only took a small time for them to see the old house. As soon as Jason saw it, he turned there and sighed silently when he felt the car slowing down. He had just finished parking and stopped the car when he turned around and saw his wife looking into the bags with a frown. ''Jay?... '' She called out and turned her head towards him for a second before continuing her search. What is she looking looking for, Jason asked himself as he got up and over the seat, pulling himself at the back as he went through the sleeping Malon and Eric. Because of his larger figure, he moved the two seats as he went between the two, waking up his daughter and Eric, the latter letting out a girlish squeal as he almost had Jason's butt in his face. The undead man knocked his head on the top of the van's ceiling when he heard him, a silent whine escaping him. MJ and Malon stared wide eyed at the dark haired man as he looked at Jason's retreating back with an embarrassed expression on his face, a thin blush covering his bearded cheeks. Eric mumbled a small 'sorry' before he looked down. It took some time for everybody to get over it, but once they did, MJ let out a forced, but sad, chuckle, bringing her husband's attention back to her. ''I had my sketchbook on my seat before I got out of the van at the gas station, but I can't seem to find it in the bags....'' The woman rubbed the back of her neck before looking at Jason as he gave her a head tilt.

He hugged her with a kiss to the forehead and a small shake of his head, releasing her after a while. Knowing he can't help nor answer if he didn't see it, she sighed and tried not to cry, oblivious to Eric trying to get past Jason's massive figure and get in the back. When he succeeded, he hugged her softly, putting briefly his chin on her shoulder. The small sniffles made the men and Malon, who was playing with a stuffed animal, frown and look at her with sad eyes, knowing that they can't do much. Feeling the attention on her, MJ's cheeks reddened a bit before she mumbled a small 'never mind', rubbing her face a bit. It was silent for a while before her friend broke the silence. ''Tell you what, since it's starting to get dark, we'll search for it tomorrow morning, and then look for gas.. Okay? '' His gentle voice made her look towards him, the tears still in her eyes, and smile with a tiny nod. The side of his eyes creased from his gentle smile. ''We'll even go back at the gas station and ask the guy there if he saw your book. '' She gave a nod again, a chuckle escaping her as Malon came in the back with all of them and hugged her side. As the sky was totally dark, the group made themselves comfortable, Eric and Jason trying to make a bed from the two seats in the back. Even though Eric complained that he didn't sleep much, Jason 'told' him that he still needed to sleep and would force him to try. He might look like a meanie, but he's a total softy with the people he likes or love! Eric's well being came before his whines.

--

Earlier at the Sawyer's, Nubbins had entered the house with a childish smile, immediatly going to sit on the stairs(the nearest place he could sit on), the book in hand. He would take a quick look before showing it to his brother/s, wanting to see if there was anything that spiked his curiosity, except the book in itself. Dark eyes traveled over the tiny engravings from the ages, his fingers brushing over the texture as he stared at it wide eyed. As he turned the pages, his amazement and curiosity growing with each drawing, he heard the metal door behind open, and the unmistakable footsteps of his little brother. ''Her, Bub'! Come look at this! '' The male said without looking at him, still turning the pages until he fell on an unfinished piece. The other man gave a small confused babble as he walked towards him, looking over his shoulder with a head tilt.

'Bub'' was wearing a strange leather mask, some dark curly hair going a bit over it. He's chubbier than his brothers and is wearing an apron, which is a lot more different than them and makes him stand out.

There was a childish curiosity in his eyes as he took the book from his brother, his large fingers gently caressing the cover.

[yeojaa]

( SWEET MAGNOLIAS. )

He was your unlikely muse;  you were the weird girl in the park.  Could you make it any more obvious?

pairing.  myg x named f!reader.  s2l.

genre + rating.   college!au.  fluff, angst, smut.  explicit. 

tags / warnings.  light cussing, yoongi being rightfully weirded out, a whole lotta softness, sadness if you squint at the right times, body painting, and then, of course, the most tender, dumbest lovemaking (unprotected but don’t be silly like them!).  there’s also a really bad callback to the titanic.  i’m not sorry.  lol.

wc.  8.2k

You try not to stare for too long, sweeping your gaze in wide circles so as to be as inconspicuous as possible.  You try not to let your eyes linger, follow the contours of his cheeks - soft, pronounced when he smiles - or the shape of his mouth - delicate, petal pink.  You try not to make it weird - but it’s decidedly, very weird.

You just can’t help yourself.

He’s always here around this time, laid out on a worn red blanket.  Sometimes, he reads.  Books like The Alchemist and the Stranger and once, Dante’s Inferno.  Other times, he pops a pair of headphones on - oversized, intimidatingly large over his ears - and closes his eyes.  Most rare of all, is when he’s not alone, joined at the hip by at least one other boy and on occasion, an entire group of six.  

They’re all interesting in their own ways.  

There’s one with shoulders the size of boulders, a mountain range situated beneath his shirts.  He has a weird laugh that sounds like windshield wipers and your mother’s spring cleaning routine.  He yells a lot and even across the lawn, you can sometimes make out his voice.

There’s the tallest one, with kind eyes and dimples so deep you question if there’s treasure buried in them.  He reads a lot, too.  You’ve seen him in the library more times than you can count, always dutifully tucked away in a back corner surrounded by scattered looseleaf.  Despite the course load he seems to have taken on, you’ve never seen him lose his cool.  You have seen him lose his phone, though, and pencils and textbooks and AirPods. 

There’s Hoseok, whose name you only know because he held your hair once at a fall sorority party.  You hadn’t been drinking but somehow, somehow, your roommate had convinced you to apple bob with her.  He’d been gracious enough to help you out, fisting your hair in a gentle grip.  It’s what spurred you to now always have an elastic on your wrist.

There’s the dancer.  He’s slight and even in stillness, far more graceful than you’ll ever be.  He’s got pillowy lips and hair that gleams like silk.  You’ve sketched him too, once or twice, but never more.  It just didn’t feel right - as if you’d never be able to translate that sort of beauty onto paper.  

There’s the one from your Art 340 Drawing II class.  You’ve wondered, on more than one occasion, how come he isn’t the model.  He’s got perfect proportions - defined jaw, strong nose, cheekbones carved from marble.  It’s almost off-putting seeing him in person;  it feels far more fitting for him to be displayed in a museum, with a plaque that reads Perfection, Mixed Media.

There’s the youngest one, Jungkook.  They call him maknae despite the fact that he dwarfs nearly all of them.  Maybe it’s just the clothes he wears:  boots that look like they’d break your neck and everything in slightly darker shades of black.  You run into him at least four times a week - trading greetings at the campus coffee shop and at the library.  You’re practically best pals by college standards. 

And then, of course, there’s him.  Your muse.  The one you can’t help but stare at - even when you’re trying your hardest not to.  The one who wears glasses though you’re almost certain he doesn’t need them.  The one whose smile is more gums than teeth, who looks unassuming and yet often breaks out into the strangest, most inspired dance moves you’ve ever seen.  The one who plays recreational basketball on Tuesday nights and who drinks more coffee than you think should be humanly possible. 

Min Yoongi.  

You sketch him like you’ll never see him again, dragging charcoal strokes across paper until your hand is muddied and the curve of his ear is looking worse for wear.  You repeat lines over and over, turning the mop of his hair into ringlets and waves, weaving dimension through the india ink that spills over his eyes.  You sometimes add his glasses;  you’re quite fond of the look on him.

You paint him sometimes, too, imagining how he’d look with periwinkle blue hair, or maybe dressed in shades of maroon.  You swath him in textured fabrics and lovely watercolours, turning him into a fantasy that’ll never see the light of day.  Pretty little daydreams with him fixed at the centre.

You fill your pages with his figure, the way he smiles when Hoseok does something silly or how he joins in when Jungkook laughs.  You study every bit and piece, learning him in every admiring way you can - despite the fact that you don’t really know him at all. 

It’s a staggering lesson in futility but one you take almost daily, armed with pencil and paper and not a single ounce of common sense. 

That is, until you’ve done the stupidest thing imaginable.  

No, not getting caught.  Not in the traditional sense, at least.  He hasn’t realised you sit on your bench - yes, your bench, with the sticky metal arm rest and illegible initials scratched into the back - and watch him almost every day.  You thank your lucky stars for that.

What you’ve done is much worse - punishable by death by embarrassment. 

You have no fucking clue where your sketchbook is. 

You could’ve sworn you had it in your bag when you’d returned to your room last night.  You can’t imagine you would’ve left it anywhere in the open, orphaning it on a campus full of idiots.  You were always so careful.  You don’t just lose things.

“I think it’s gone, girl.”  You’ve never wanted to yell at your roommate more - not even when you’d caught her and her boyfriend banging in your bed after you’d come home early on the long weekend or when she’d eaten all of your Cherry Garcia ice cream.  The desire bubbles about in your chest, fizzing angrily like an agitated soda bottle.  

“It’s here somewhere.”  The words grit between your teeth, insistent as can be.

“You’ve been looking for like, twenty minutes.”  

“It’s here.”

“I really don’t think it is…”  Jisoo doesn’t quite deserve how you explode, rounding on her with hands flying and eyes wild.  “You’re also going to be late for your class.”

Your words falter with the verbalisation of hers. 

Lucky for her;  unlucky for you. 

The hands of the clock above your desk wave at you mockingly.  You are, indeed, going to be late for your class.

“Shit!  Shit!”  Everything you’d torn out gets shoved back into your tote bag.  Band-Aids, mints, too many wayward pencils and pens.  You almost forget your phone, attention only drawn to it when Jisoo catches the strap of your backpack and yanks you back.  

“Don’t forget,”  she hums, far more kindly than your harebrained self deserves.

You forget all the reasons you’re upset with her.  “Thanks, Ji.”  You force a kiss on her cheek before you’re darting out of your room and sprinting across campus to Art 340.

“Nice of you to join us, Miru.”  It’s your professor greeting you as you run in fifteen minutes late, weaving through other students to find your seat near the far wall.  Laughter follows you, coiling around your ankles and over your shoulders as you settle into your seat, fully hidden behind the oversized easel.  

You can’t help the scarlet that paints your cheeks, creeping high across your temples.  You know no one cares - that Professor Kinsella is probably the most laidback professor you’ve had in your four semesters - but it can’t be stopped.  You’re already flustered from temporarily misplacing your sketchbook that everything else just feels like shit icing on your garbage cake.

“Sorry!”  It squeaks out - a mouse, eaten up wholly by cat-ate-the-canary laughter that sounds over your shoulder and not very quietly.

“Having a bad day?”

You’ve heard the voice a handful of times so it shouldn’t shock you the way it does, nearly knocking the graphite from your hand.  

“What?”

Kim Taehyung’s on the edge of his chair, one long leg stretched toward you, the other balanced across his knee.  You’re not sure how that’s meant to be comfortable but he makes it look effortless.  Then again, looking like him, living probably was effortlessly.  You can’t deny you’re a little envious. 

“Your face is all red.  You’re out of breath.  Feels like a bad day to me.”

You try not to dwell on the fact that, apparently, you look like an absolute mess.  “No, I’m good.”  It sounds fake even to your ears, tinny and wrought with anxiety.  

“You sure?”  He’s not really paying attention to you as he speaks, tracing the contours of the model across his canvas.  He begins where you’d never think to, framing the main masses with a languid twist of his wrist.  Unlike you, he doesn’t get caught up in the detail;  he sees the bigger picture for all it is, building from the outside in.   

You’re watching him for longer than you realise, whipping back around once it dawns on you.  “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“Who knows.”  There’s a playfulness in his tone that sets you on edge.  You’ve never heard it before, all rounded vowels and molasses laughter.  You mean to work as you listen, waiting for some indication of whatever lies just beneath the surface.

It’s a mistake.  Your stick of charcoal snaps in half when he continues, low and slow as if he’s dragging it out.

“—maybe you lost a sketchbook?” 

“Did you say…”  You can’t finish the sentence.  You feel like you’re about to be sick.  

The amount of mischief in his expression should be illegal.  It’s dancing in his eyes, curling wide and unabashed over his lips.  It’s practically radiating off of him.

“So, bad day?”  

He waits for you to pack up, hands tucked into the endless pockets of his black slacks.  At any other time, in any other universe, you’d be giddy.  Girls on campus would kill for even a second of Taehyung’s attention.  

(It’s true - you’d heard a group of them talking about it one time.)  

Here and now, you want to sink six feet under.

“They’re really good, you know.”  As if the compliment will dull the mortification that threatens to cleave you in half.  “You’re really good at capturing his boredom.  That’s not easy.”

“Thanks.”  You should make conversation;  it’s the polite thing to do.  

After all, he was kind enough to find and return your sketchbook.  Better him than someone else, right?  Better him than Yoongi himself?  That’s what you tell yourself, at least.  

Yoongi doesn’t know and therefore, it’s okay.  Semi okay.  Distantly related to the idea of okay.

As if he can read your mind, Taehyung speaks gently, with a hand that burns through the linen of your blouse.  You know he means well but it sears white hot, eviscerating your nerve endings.  “You have nothing to worry about.  I didn’t tell him.”

You don’t answer him.  There’s nothing to say - not really.  You’re far too lost in your own thoughts to acknowledge the effort he’s making.  Maybe this was life’s way of telling you to back off - to find another person to paint.  

Or maybe it’s brought you two together, says the silly, naive angel on your shoulder.

You’re ready to flick her off - launch her like some kind of poor Tinkerbell - when your name catches your attention.  It’s announced so dramatically that you double take, making sure you haven’t completely run through a picnic or accidentally slammed into someone. 

“This is Miru.” 

Cognisance comes slow and unhurried, even as your stare swivels wildly in search of context clues. 

Laid out before you, right under that familiar magnolia tree, is one blanket, three bodies, and enough takeout to last you an entire week.  

“Ohf, phey!”  With cheeks stuffed full, it’s hard to make out the two syllables.  They crowd against each other, offered in a garbled mess that has you regarding Jungkook with a mixture of concern and confusion.  He’s swallowing thickly before he rises far too quickly;  you watch a forgotten piece of kimbap go flying, lost to the dirt and bugs.  “Sorry.  Hi.”  

“Do you want to join us?”  It’s the angelic one, fitted with cherubic cheeks and a rounded Cupid’s bow.  “I’m Jimin, by the way.”  He pats the empty space beside him, eyes waning into crescents with the force of his friendliness.

Taehyung had asked if you wanted to grab dinner but you’d never imagined he meant this. 

You’ve never been subtle but you try your damnedest to peek at him from your periphery.  Unfortunately for you, he’s already sat down, fully made himself comfortable beside the last member of the group.

The one who, for all intents and purposes, appears as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.  If looks could kill, you think.  

“Don’t worry about him,”  Jimin says, so sweetly, with a small bento lid held towards you.  It’s already stacked with goodies - a selection of banchan and homemade-looking meatballs sitting alongside a poorly-shaped mound of rice.  “Sometimes, he gets like this.”  

You want to believe it.  Really, you do, but by the way Yoongi’s mouth curls in distaste, all signs point to it being a matter of you rather than a mood.

“Maybe if she respected peoples’ privacy, I wouldn’t have an issue.”

It’s a single sentence quietly spoken and yet it feels like an open-palm slap to the face.  Heat radiates over every visible inch, starkly coloured in contrast to the white of your top.  It burns as it licks over your cheeks and past your temples, tipping your ears. 

“I’m so sorry.”  It isn’t clear who you’re apologizing to, the words tumbling wet off your tongue like a waterfall.  

You’re gone before anyone can ask.

“That was a dick move.”  Jungkook is the first to break the silence, levelling his friend with a disapproving stare.  He’s not used to this side of him - the one that can tear a person apart with just a few words.  It’s not the Yoongi he knows.  It’s not really Yoongi at all.

“Yeah, hyung.”  It’s thinner, but just as reproachful.  “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Yoongi’s laugh is dismissive but he won’t meet anyone’s stare - a tell-tale sign that he’s just a little affected by their words - choosing instead to shovel bites of soondae into his mouth.  “Mean what?  Invading my privacy?”

“She’s an artist.”  Taehyung doesn’t mean it as an excuse but by how Yoongi bristles, he’s certain the senior takes it as such.  Before the argument can begin, he continues, all while wrapping a piece of samgyupsal in lettuce.  “I doubt she meant any harm, so just cut her some slack.”  Fringe is flicked away from his eyes, something sparkling in the pretty brown of his irises.  “I’d actually be flattered, if I were you.”

“Then you be her model.”

You haven’t drawn in four days.  Well, not really.  

You’ve completed what you need for classes, filling your books with mandatory figures and notes on colour theory.  You’ve diligently mapped out proportions and brought to life sunsets and sceneries.  You’ve done everything you should be doing but nothing that you want to be.

It just doesn’t feel right.  Not anymore.

“I hear he’s a really nice guy.”  You can’t count how many times Jisoo has tried to cheer you up.  From picking up your favourite ice cream (the one she tends to devour anyway) to ordering in fried chicken, she’s been the picture perfect roommate.  It only makes you feel that much worse.

You were moping over something that was your fault.  And she had to pick up the pieces!  It seemed wildly unfair but when you’d told her to stop - insisted upon it with a wail into your pillow - she’d simply shook her head and wrapped you in her arms.  

For all of your stupid, silly little rows, Kang Jisoo was the best roommate you’d had in your entire university career.

“Just go outside.”  She’s perched on the edge of her bed, painting her toes a brilliant shade of neon green.  She’d offered to do yours too, but you’ve more or less refused to leave the comfort of your burrito blanket for anything beyond classes or food.  “You can’t avoid him forever.”  

“I can try,”  you mumble, words lost to the cotton of your sheets.  

Try - and fail, it seemed.  You’d already run into him twice.  Twice!  Even after you’d started taking absurdly long roundabout routes to your classes, the universe had conspired against you.  

The first time he’d been walking out of the gym, shoulder to shoulder with another upperclassmen you didn’t recognize.  You’d seen him coming from a mile away thanks to his obnoxiously bright Lakers jersey and you’d booked it back the way you’d come, nearly mowing down a couple making kissy faces at each other in front of the lecture hall.  

The second time was yesterday afternoon.  You’d thought he’d be in his usual spot - so close to your usual spot - that you’d gone to the coffee shop for a midday pick-me-up.  Even embarrassed, you weren’t about to suffer a caffeine deficiency.  You’d rounded the corner in the same instance he had and you’d sworn he’d seen you, recognition flickering across his face.  Fortunately, there’d been a door directly to your right and you’d all but thrown yourself inside.

It was the first and hopefully last time you’d be in a men’s washroom.

“I thought you were tougher than this,”  Jisoo hums, equal parts disapproval and kindness.  She levels you with a stare - you can feel it burning into your fortress of blankets - and sighs.  It’s a bit dramatic, you think.  

“Tell me you wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing!”

Then again, she’d probably never be stupid enough to lose something so important nor would she fixate so heavily on one person.  Your point still stands.

“Seriously, girl.”  

Her nail polish bottle bounces off your bed, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump.  You look up in time to see her staring at you imploringly, so wide-eyed and innocent you can’t help but be a little suspicious.  “What?”

“I wanted to have Andy over.” 

It all falls into place then.  Her boyfriend’s in a frat and your (poor) dorm room is the only place they have any sort of privacy.  It makes you want to gag but you can’t blame her.  You’ve always had an unspoken agreement;  you’d just tossed it out the window the past few days. 

Guilt prompts you to extract yourself from your duvet, though you don’t stop the chorus of gross, gross, gross! as you begin gathering your things.  You almost leave your sketchbook, only opting to tuck it under your arm at the last minute.  

“Please, please, don’t use my bed this time.”

“We love you!”  She sing-songs as you tug your sneakers on and slip into the hallway.

You’re at a different bench across campus when you hear the voice.  It comes from behind you and to your left, accusatory and sharp.  You nearly jump out of your own skin, toppling over your water bottle and plastic paint palette. Orange watercolour soaks into the material on your thigh.  Dammit. 

“Are you following me?”

Min Yoongi stands not three feet from you, arms folded over his chest.  

Your heart stutters at the sight of him.  It’s hard to speak when it feels like it’s leapt into your throat.  

“What?”  You hate how you sound - a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.  You have nothing to be ashamed of.  At least, not right now.  You’d come all the way here, as far from the magnolia tree and red blanket as you could.  

“I said—”  His words are glacial and biting.  It’s suddenly winter, far chillier than spring should be.  You wish you’d brought a sweater or maybe, that the ground would open up and swallow you whole.  You can’t be cold when you’re dead.  “—are you following me?”

“Of course not!”  

There’s nothing but disbelief in his expression.  It paints itself in broad strokes, prominent in the shadows beneath his eyes and the curl of his mouth.  He says nothing.  

“Really.  I’m not.”  You’re insistent, apologetic.  Every nerve ending is shot, going haywire beneath your skin and lighting you up in shades of red.  The tips of your fingers are tingling.  “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”  You wonder if he’s baiting you now.  

“For…”   Words are cherry-picked and perfect, chosen with a shaking head and the utmost care.  “I shouldn’t have drawn you without asking.”

“No shit,”  he returns, completely deadpan.  He’s really not making this any easier.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,”  you continue, a little hopeful and a lot bashful.  “I just— I don’t get inspiration like this that often.  So I couldn’t let it go.”  You don’t need to add what you do, but you do so anyway, because you’ve never been great at making good choices.  “Your face is really unique and when you’re happy, it’s just so expressive and your smile is—”

There’s a siren blaring in your ears.  A red alert going off so loudly you almost miss the way he laughs.

It’s not the same one he offers to his best friends - far more reserved, exceedingly softer - but it’s there and it’s real and you don’t think you’ll ever forget this moment. 

“You’re laughing.”

He stops immediately.  Fair.

“I’m sorry.”  Again.  More.  Draped in apology and optimism that peeks out between your teeth and shines in the dark of your stare.  “Even though I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I did, and for that I’m sorry.  Really, really sorry.  Please don’t hate me.”

It’s hard to read him, even after you’ve spent hours studying his face.  There’s a distinct difference between seeing someone and knowing them, you realize.  You might be able to map out every wrinkle of his eyes - replicate every dot and freckle - but you have no idea what it all means or how it comes together to create something more. 

Silence fits between the two of you for what feels like a long time.  It’s not uncomfortable, though, so you allow it to settle.  You figure it’s better than his anger, in any case.  

“You could’ve just asked me.”

You can’t wipe the disbelief from your face.  “Would you have said yes?”

Yoongi shrugs, a small roll of his shoulders beneath the oversized sweater that dwarfs his frame.  “Don’t know, but I would’ve appreciated it.”  

Because that’s really what it came down to - the thought, not the action.  He’s not entirely sure you understand that yet but he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.  Blame his softening on the steady repetitions Taehyung and Jungkook have made the past few days.  You were lucky to have them in your corner - even if that meant they’d been a thorn in his side.   

“Then… can I sketch you?”  You’re probably (read: definitely) pushing it.  You can’t help it. 

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scoff at your audacity.  He decides on the former, with a shake of his head that swings his bangs across his forehead and a small, private smile.  “Maybe next time.” 

“Next time?”  You imagine he can’t hear you as he’s backing away and disappearing the way he came.

“See you tomorrow.”

True to his word, Yoongi lets you draw him the next time you see him (and the next time and the time after that). 

It’s different - working off someone who knows they’re being studied.  He holds himself a little more stiffly, a little more carefully.  His laughter isn’t quite as loud, his smiles more forced.  He apologises, even though he doesn’t need to.  

Even his untrained eye can see how you struggle to bring life to a robot. 

Over time, though, it comes - comfort. 

Like the quietly burning coals that melt him down from the inside out, he begins to warm up to you.  It comes slowly but it comes nonetheless, as steady as the sun.  You appreciate his effort - his patience - more than you can ever say.  

You know he gets it, though.  He always does.  It’s a Yoongi thing. 

“You can relax.” 

It’s just the two of you, swathed in sweat and waning light that casts shadows across his cheeks.  The days are longer than they’ve ever been and the both of you tend to lose track of time, spending hours under that magnolia tree. 

“I am relaxed,”  he returns, sinking further onto his back, elbows hardly acting to prop him up.  He’d been engrossed in a novel for the first half of the afternoon.  Another book you’d never bothered to read outside of high school English class.  You never really understood it - you much preferred to watch than read - but you loved when he’d recite the words to you, clear and bright and better than any melody.

“You’re trying to stay awake.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No.  You’re just as good of a model when you’re sleeping.” 

The smile is lazy, hazy like Sunday morning.  It reveals his gums and ticks higher on the left side.  It makes your heart skip a beat.  

“Go ahead then,”  he continues.  The entirety of his body sags, drops onto the bag he likes to use as a makeshift pillow.  You don’t imagine it’s all that comfortable but he never complains.

“If you’re tired, we can just head in, you know.”  

You always offer.  He never says yes. 

A part of you thinks he likes the attention.  It’s different from what he receives from anyone else - thoughtful and careful.  You think he might like the quiet, too.  The benefit of quality time without any of the effort.  

So you push on, charcoal edge meeting paper once more.   “Just another twenty minutes.”

“Why me?”  

The enquiry comes one day, completely out of the blue.  It skips your heart and breaks the pastel in your fingers, dust chalking them a lovely shade of lilac.  

“What?”  You’re not ready for how close Yoongi is - much closer than he ever is - and you shift back, away from the face you’ve spent months filling your sketchbooks with.  “Why you what?”

He’s completely nonchalant as he moves even closer.  

You can smell his cologne - a distinctly masculine fragrance that’s musk and cedar - and the coffee he’s been nursing for the last hour.  It fills your senses, recentring all of your focus so intensely that you don’t immediately recognise he’s continued speaking.

“Why’d you choose to draw me?  Why not someone else?”  He seems genuinely curious, even though it feels dangerous - a dangling string that’s meant to unravel you.

The answer doesn’t come easily, despite the fact it’s something you’ve asked yourself.

Why him?  Why Min Yoongi?

“I don’t know,”  you answer, perhaps too honestly.  “I saw you and it sort of… just clicked.”  How it sounds doesn’t escape you - like something plucked out of a bad romance novel.  “I didn’t expect it to be you.  I thought I’d draw you once - okay, twice - and then I’d move onto another subject.  But I just… couldn’t?”  

“So, what you’re telling me is it was love at first sight?”  It’s glaringly obvious he’s teasing you.  He’s got that grin of his, sly and feline as it creeps across his mouth.  

You don’t bristle, instead painted bright red like the sunset that streaks across the sky.

“I— I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, you didn’t say otherwise.”

It’s an uncomfortable line of questioning.  You’re not used to it and certainly not from him.  You hesitate to speak, turning words over and over on your tongue in an effort to make yourself clear.  

You’re not weird.  You don’t want this to be weird.  But you can’t deny - it’s, decidedly, still very weird.

He tries again - a different tactic this time.  One that surprises you, despite the unique friendship you’ve forged over the past few months.  “What if I told you I was glad?” 

“Glad?”  It feels like an echo chamber.  Repetition.  As if you’re going in circles, chasing a tail that remains just out of reach.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What if I told you I’m happy we met?”  

Your blink is owlish, fully caught off-guard.  “I’d say the same thing.  I’m happy we’re friends.”

Amusement rolls off him in waves, evidenced by the laugh that curls into the afternoon.  He shimmies closer and closer until there’s barely three inches between you.  His knee knocks against yours, bony and denim-clad.  You try to ignore the way it burns through your own jeans, sparking heat all the way up to the tips of your ears and down into the soles of your feet.

“What if I told you I don’t want to be just friends anymore?”  

It’s not a surprise, really.  It’s something that’s been on your mind the past few weeks, sown by offhand comments and little gestures you haven’t been able to ignore.  Jungkook had even practically shouted it at you just the other night.

“I’d say…”  You trail off, lost somewhere among the constellations in his eyes.

“You’d say?”  The words are parroted back at you, threaded together by gossamer thin hope. 

“I’d say you’re welcome.  For choosing you.”  The confidence isn’t your own.  It comes from him, crafted by the support he offers easily, hands out like keys.  Keys to his heart, you realise belatedly, with a sudden bashfulness.  Of course.

He can’t wipe the smile from his face.  It eats up every inch, dominating even the playfulness that shines through, turning it the prettiest shade.  It stands bright against his cheeks, staining the pale apples red.  “That’s it?”  

“What do you want me to say?”

You’re suddenly very determined - because you want to give this to him.  Just as he’s given you everything you wanted, you want to do the same.  In this little cut-out piece of paradise, there’s nothing quite as important. 

The one word isn’t much but it feels like a turning point.  “Yes.”

“You want me to say ‘yes’?”

He nods, just once.  There’s so much certainty you can’t doubt him.

“Then yes—”  

It doesn’t matter what you’ve just said yes to.  It doesn’t even matter that it could be something awful or really, anything under the sun.  All that matters is the feeling of his lips, soft and warm and dry on yours.  It’s better than any painting you’ve ever seen, any song you’ve ever heard.  It fills you wholly, stuttering your heart and bubbling giddiness in the pit of your stomach.

You probably sound a little silly, surprisingly breathless from such a little thing.  “Wow.”

“Good things happen when you ask,”  he states, solemnly.  You’d take him more seriously if he weren’t so dopey, grinning at you like he never has before.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope.”

Luckily, you don’t mind.  Not if it gets you another kiss.  

You tell him as much and he happily obliges, stealing your breath and replacing it with sugar-coated stardust.  You ponder whether you might be able to create with those same particles, turning them into colourful streaks to paint his cheeks.  You’d like to find out.  

You want a lot of things with Min Yoongi, you decide. 

You don’t know how you ended up here.  

Actually, that’s a lie.  You do.  All because of a dumb joke, uttered in passing by Taehyung and now ingrained so deeply in your psyche that you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about it.

“Get out of there,”  he whispers right against your temple, lips following to soothe whatever’s got you preoccupied.  

“Where?”

“Right there, idiot.”  Fingers tap twice, a quick one-two against the side of your head.  

You can’t help but grimace, a wrinkling of your nose that your boyfriend chuckles at, pressing kisses across the bridge and over your cheeks.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry - just come back to me.”  To this moment, he means.

This strange little scene, with his fingers dressed in non-toxic paint and you stripped down to nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and thong.  

Have him paint you like one of his French girls, Taehyung had said.  It’ll be fun, he’d said.

You think it might be - if you weren’t bouncing with nerves, all five feet three inches of you fizzling with anticipation.  Yoongi was only painting you.  This was a bonding exercise.  Something to bring you closer, to breach the gap between lovestruck artist and inspired musician.  Nothing more.

“You’re beautiful, you know.”  It’s not meant to be a reassurance but simply a passing comment, like looking at the sky or seeing it snow.  So straightforward it makes you laugh, the sound bubbling about in your throat. 

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“No, seriously.”  He levels you with a look.  You know the one - a touch stern but ultimately playful.  “I wanted to make something beautiful but…”  Digits wiggle, Atlantic blue sweeping over the tips and up his knuckles like the sea.  “I can’t really improve on something that’s already perfect.”

Your cheeks light on fire, as brilliantly coloured as the red in his - your - palette.  

He thinks it looks pretty against his hands.  The same ones that cradle your cheek, so precisely you want to remind him you’re a canvas and not clay.  

“You’re silly.”  

“ You’re silly,”  he returns, as if that’ll somehow win him this battle of wits.

 The roll of your eyes is undeniable.  “Good one.”

“You know, I’ve got a ton of paint, right?  Not your best choice, making fun of me.”  He punctuates each word with passes of his fingers.  Colour appears wherever he travels, dragged over your skin with dreamy twists of his wrist.  A line here, a circle there.  Goosebumps follow in their wake despite the fact that his touch is like candle wax - soothing and deliberate.

You wonder, idly, whether he can feel you burning up beneath him.

“So beautiful,”  he murmurs again, almost to himself as he dips his fingers into another dot of paint.  Pink this time - in the same shade as the magnolias outside.  He spreads the colour over your chest, right where your heart beats an erratic rhythm.  

He takes his time in admiring his handiwork, swirling the two shades together until it’s the most flattering shade of purple.

You try - and fail - to ignore the way it stirs something behind your ribs.  A need that flickers to life without any sort of warning and has you pressing your thighs together.  

“Can I take this off?”  It comes abruptly, with eyes that snap up to yours.  There’s already a hand tucked beneath the small of your back, right under your shoulders.  He already knows your answer - can see it in the blown out pupils that reflect his entire world back at him.  He still wants to hear it.

You’re unable to find your voice.  It’s gone, stolen by the way he ghosts his fingers up and down the sensitive notches of your spine.  You could get lost in this feeling, if he let you.  You almost do, only nodding when he moves no further, flat of his palm a solid weight right against the clasp of your bra.

You don’t mind that the band is coloured pink and blue when he tosses it aside.  You don’t have it in you to focus on anything but how he studies you now.  Openly admires you, like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“What?”  Mellifluous and adoring.  Music to his ears.

“I think I’m getting distracted.”

“I think so, too.”

“Is that okay?”  He speaks more to your boobs than you, single stained hand coming to rest across your ribs.  The pad of his thumb swipes over a single bud, perked and already far too sensitive.  He’d put his mouth on it, if not for the fact it’s now covered in paint.  

Fortunately, there’s still so much of you - places he hasn’t explored but suddenly, desperately needs to.  

From the column of your throat and all the way down to the valley of your breasts, he offers sweet kisses.  Open-mouthed adoration that leaves you needy and breathless and writing.  He catches your untouched nipple between his teeth, gently working it into the same state as its tinted twin. 

You shift beneath him, unable to stop the bolt of electricity that rips through you like a thousand volts.  It cracks your composure like lightning and sends your pulse racing like thunder.  “Of course.”

He hums, content, and nearly falls, dropping his cheek fully against your chest.  You’re so soft beneath him, velvet and pliant under his tongue.  

“I think I love you.”  It’s his voice but your words, spoken so faintly you almost miss it against the roaring in your ears.  

“I think I love you, too.” 

Yoongi stares up at you then, so full of wonder that you can’t help but look away.  It’s an incredibly intimate moment - so much emotion carried in one simple look that you’re not quite sure how to process it.  He’d been your inspiration and now you were his.  The realisation is almost too much, filling you until you feel like you might float away.

His hands act as an anchor, keeping you here with him.  

“You don’t have to say it back.”  It’s careful, loaded with his heart and every key to open it.  

“I know - I want to.”

He grins so breathlessly handsome that you can’t help but return it, rubied cheeks crystallised with delight.  Those same paint-stained hands of his find their newly discovered favourite home of your chest and he sounds like sin when he speaks.  “I want you.”

“You can have me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s ducking down and smothering every uncovered inch of you in sweetness.  His mouth burns hot but he’s unbearably gentle, searing the shape of his mouth over your breasts and across your collarbone.  He licks and sucks as he goes, soothing any ache left behind by the edge of his teeth.

You’re not quite sure where the bites end and the paint begins.  It’s all so pretty you don’t mind either way.  

But it’s not enough.  It’ll never be enough, you think, even as you whine airily, words stuttering out in a half-formed breath.  “Please touch me.”

“Where?”  He’s hardly given you room to answer, crowded so closely against you that you can feel his heartbeat all the way through to your own.  He’s so warm - so solid - upon you that you almost want to tell him that here, just as he is, is perfect. 

A momentary lapse in lust before rational judgment is clouded yet again. 

Instead - and with more demand than you mean - you grind purposefully against him.  A benefit to having him sitting how he is, knees hooked on either side of your hips.  He can’t pretend like he doesn’t feel it, cock twitching beneath the constraints of his boxer-briefs. 

Your eyes meet and he chuckles, nuzzling his head back into that spot between your neck and shoulder that has you whimpering.  The sound alone drives him crazy.

“You’ll be the death of me.”  Yoongi knows this like he knows the sky is blue or your smile is his favourite sight.

You’re teasing him when you catch his face, palms cradling the shape of his jaw.  “Then it’ll be a good death.” 

He doesn’t disagree - especially when he slips his clean hand along the length of your body.  He tweaks your nipple on its descent, tickles the underside of your ribs, and then finds the band of your underwear, all in one fell swoop.  A digit dips below the elastic, neatly clipped nail grazing the jut of your hip before shifting and dropping further.  

You keen when the pad of his finger grazes your clit. 

“Do that again.”  He doesn’t need to tell you twice.  When he repeats the motion, the sound spills off your tongue without restraint.  

He slips further down, pressing his hand to gently part your folds.  Digits glide easily, coated in slick that drips between your legs and sorely tests his patience.  Yoongi’s not sure what he’d expected but this is so much better it’s making his head spin - and he hasn’t even felt you yet.

“You’re so wet, love.”  Shame would swallow you whole if not for the way he speaks with reverence.  “How badly do you want this?”

“Don’t tease,”  you huff, rutting uselessly against the fingers that tease your centre, barely slipping in before resuming a lazy, leisurely path back up to the bundle of nerves that throbs at the contact.  He’s hardly touched you and you’re already at a six, entire body alight with need that thrums heavy in your veins. 

“Just tell me.”

“I want this.  I need this.”  You hope he believes you.  You’re not sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t.  “I need to feel you - please.”

His entire world is spinning, kicked on its axis by the way your tone pitches, demands and begs in the same lilting voice he so adores but has never quite heard like this.  He loves it.  “I need to stretch you out.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

You whine so prettily he almost cracks.  It’s enough to have him choking on his own words, not that he’s saying anything.  He’s too focused on how he sinks into you - a single digit but so tightly it feels like there’s no way he’ll survive his cock buried inside.  

You’re a dream come true.  He never wants to wake up.

“More.  Please.”  You’re so polite, he almost laughs.  You’d really taken his words to heart - always asking for what you wanted now.  He can’t deny how proud he is.  It blossoms in his chest, juxtaposed greatly against the salaciousness that drives him to do exactly as you ask.

His index finger slips in alongside the other.  You make that noise he loves, grinding your core against the flat of his palm as he curls his knuckles and seeks out that spot.  He knows he’s struck gold when he taps it experimentally, pressure turning light but unrelenting when a choked cry ricochets off your tongue and onto his sweat-slicked shoulder.

“Right there?”  

Your nod is enough of an answer. 

He redoubles his efforts, fucking you with measured glides of his fingers and precise presses against your g-spot.  In no time at all, you’re barely coherent, mumbling his name in a slew of breaths that has him grinning.  You’re a sight to behold, moaning so obscenely you’d be ashamed you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that every part of you feels as if it’s about to splinter.

“Miru— Princess—”  Your clit aches and you nearly shriek when he applies pressure against it with the pad of his thumb, swiping your cum over it in slow circles.  He wants you so badly - just as bad as you want him- but he’s torn halfway between watching you unravel by his hand and wanting that same euphoria when he’s buried home in your dripping pussy. 

“Please, please, please.”  There are tears in your eyes.  You’re so close you can practically taste it, entire body shaking with the effort of keeping the coil from snapping.  “Yoongi, please.”

He’s a fucking goner then, filling you with a third finger and grinding his palm against your clit as you come apart beneath him.  

It starts in your toes, stealing feeling all the way up your calves and over your thighs.  You’re only aware you’re trembling because it vibrates through Yoongi’s body, looped back to yours when he mouths across your shoulders, sucking memories into your heated, sweat-sweet skin.  The stimulation is what keeps you from floating off on a cloud of bliss, the warmth in the pit of your stomach liquifying your bones. 

“Are you tired?”  Because you certainly look tired - too fucked out to properly meet his stare as he looms over you, both hands adjusted to rest comfortably over your hips. 

You are, but it doesn't matter.  You haven’t gotten what you wanted - not really - and you aren’t about to let it go without asking.

He’d taught you that.

You smile up at him, doe-eyed and alluring.  A hand reaches for his, curls around the fingers still glossy with your slick, and squeezes.  “I still need you.”

They’re words he’ll never tire of - also words that have him kicking out of his briefs and rolling your thong down your legs, all too eager.  He’s painfully hard, leaking pre-cum and purple at the tip, but he fists himself in slow, measured pumps regardless.  It’s a show for you, more than anything.

“ Please.”  So pretty, so ready.  He can’t resist.  

Yoongi sinks against you, the head of his cock brushing through your folds as he slots himself into place with his paint-free hand.  The other, still coloured garishly bright, brushes the curve of your lip, the delicate skin beneath your eye.  It’s so tender you can’t help but blink, caught off-guard.  

“I love you,”  you say, though you’re sure he’s meant to, too.  You can read it in his eyes - brilliant and bright like a beacon in the night.

He speaks with a roguish grin and a fluid press of his hips.  “I know.”  

You fit like two puzzle pieces, the stretch perfect as he sinks deeper, a low groan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest.  You’re so tight around him but he glides in easily, coaxed to fill you by your wetness and the soft, whiny noises you make.  

“Holy shit,”  he manages once he’s buried as deep as he can go, head spinning with the way you clench around him, nearly stealing the words off his tongue.  “Am I dreaming?”

Laughter is a salve - a catch-all remedy for anything that ails him.  It pulls him to the here and now, drawing his attention from the overwhelming bliss that creeps up his spine and recentring it on you, beautiful and bashful beneath him.

“No, you’re not.”  It’s a caricature of your voice but he doesn’t mind.  He loves that he can bring you to this.

“Thank God.”

Except it’s not God you’re thanking when Yoongi begins to move against you, dragging his cock through your walls with such slow, measured strokes you think you might combust.  It’s his name when he pulls almost fully out of you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock, before snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt.  It’s his name that rolls off your tongue like a mantra, hoping and praying and begging for more as he consumes you wholly, in no half measures.  

It’s him - Min Yoongi, your muse, your love - that has you crying out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he adjusts and fills you at a completely new angle, brushing against your g-spot with every thrust of his hips.  

“Yoongi - please.”  You’re chanting the two words again, turning them into a song he’ll never get out of his head, when you spasm around him.  His eyes nearly roll back into his head, the sensation turning his rhythm sloppy as he chases the same high.  The hand that had previously been propping him up falls, thumb seeking out your clit as he charges toward the precipice. 

“One more, love.  Once more for me, okay?  I want you to come with me.”

He asks so nicely you can’t deny him - even as the overstimulation takes over.  You’re shaking so badly you’re not sure how he keeps you in place;  it’s a tremor that won’t stop, traipsing over every limb until you’re sobbing.  

“I love you,”  he chokes out as he tumbles over the edge, falling headlong into climax with you in tow.  It’s so strong it feels like it blinds you, spotting your vision with white as he fills you with his cum and continues to fuck you through it, milking every last moment just like you were his slowly softening cock.

You don’t have it in you to answer, far too exhausted by the last orgasm that has your limbs turned to jelly.  Yoongi doesn’t mind though;  he likes the just-fucked afterglow and how you sink into his arms when he slips out of you and onto his side.  

He eyes the cum that spills onto your thighs, pearlescent and going to waste.  He has half a mind to push it back where it belongs.

He only doesn’t because of the words you speak next, hardly above a whisper but loud enough that he groans, burying his face into your hair.  “So, thanks, Taehyung?”  

“Can you not?”  It’s a playful response, with teeth bared against the sweat-slicked nape of your neck.  

“Sorry.”  A beat.  He wonders if you’ve fallen asleep suddenly.  “I meant thanks, Titanic.”

author note.  this was a drabble prompt i got from the lovely @hecticwonderer​ and i kind of just...  ran with it.  oops.