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renhaswritersblock · 3 years

Text

Kinktober Day 1: Facesitting||Anonymous Sex - Johnson

Word Count: 2174

Warnings: Oral, overstimulation, faded sex, slight angst

A/N: Hello! So, I kinda got a bit carried away with this one *looks at the word count* hehe. But I hope you enjoy reading this fic. Was a bit hesitant at first while writing this smut, but with a few readings from a couple of friends, I continued writing! It's sort of unfinished, a work in progress. The rest of the kinktober day's will probably be short, not sure yet. I have a few exams this week and work is being a cunt, so the writing will be delayed for a short while, sorry. Also, I refer to Johnson in this fic as "The Man" cause of the anonymous sex part. Anyways, again, hope you enjoy reading! Let me know what you think. I do accept feedback/criticism, just don't abuse that power. And I hope ya'll are having a wonderful day. -Ren

~~~

“So, do you mind telling me where the hell we’re going, Frankie?” the strawberry-blonde glanced over at her friend sitting beside her, gripping anxiously at the steering wheel.

Frankie had her head leaned halfway against the open window of the moving car. Feeling the cool summer-night breeze hit her face while her hand traces circles on her wooden thigh. A small yet noticeable grin leisurely forms on the brunette’s face, thinking about tonight’s plans. She had been looking forward to this night for some time, finally be able to get away from the Bang-a-Rang - a place she once called home but is now a prison - and go wherever the river takes her.

“Hello? Earth to Frankie.” Frankie opened her eyes, turning her head swiftly towards the calling of her name. “Are you going to answer my question? Or do I have to turn the damn car around and drive back?”

Frankie pressed her lips together, letting out an exasperate sigh. “You worry too much, V,” she finally replied in a soft, choleric voice.

“No shit,” V retorted, “I rather not have Aunt Rosemary or Dennis be on my fucking ass if you’re doing something that could get us in trouble. Or worse, killed.” She glanced once more at Frankie with a furrowed brow. The brunette rolled her eyes with a snarl, glaring back out the window, head resting in hand. The pale broad’s narrowed eyes dropped into a pitiful look, sighing as she turned her attention back on the road. “Look, hon. I’m trying to be there for you more and back you up, but you can’t just leave me in the dark. You know what happened last time, fuck, it scared the living shit out of me.” Frankie’s eyes darted down at her wrist, seeing the visible dark-faded bruises wrapped around her like a cuff. Her face scrunched mournfully at the memory, remembering how painfully tight those bastards tied the chains. “I don’t want you to die, Frankie,” V finished, becoming teary-eyed.

The strawberry-blonde jumped at the gentle touch of something weighing on her shoulder. Looking over, she saw the olive-skin hand belonging to Frankie, giving a light squeeze for reassurance. “Didn’t know you cared this much about me, V. Thanks,” Frankie gave a half sympathetic smile, V returning a similar smile. “But you should save that melancholic shit-talking for your butch when it gets close to war,” She quipped, making V scowl and slap Frankie’s hand off her shoulder.

“Fuck you, bitch.” Frankie couldn’t help but tilt her head back and release a cackle as V continued staring angrily at the road.

“I’m just fucking with you, puta. You know I love you.” The brunette adjusted herself in her seat, now sitting up straight. “Anyways, a little birdie sent me a note to meet them at this motel in town,” Frankie pulled out a wrinkled note from the pocket of her shorts, handing it to V, “Mira. Thought I could -you know- check it out.” V quickly snatched the piece of paper, silently reading it while keeping an eye on the road.

In town only for tonight. Meet me at the Woodland Motel at 8 pm sharp, don’t be late. See you there.

Ps. bring the thing XO

“The thing?” V quirked up a brow, turning to Frankie with a puzzled expression. All the brunette could do was shrug at her response, fixing her spaghetti strap. V scoffed as she shook her head in disbelief, “Do you even know who you’re meeting? It could be some crazy lunatic who’ll bash your brains out or make you end up in a tub full of ice with a missing organ!” Frankie reached to grab the note out of her friend’s hand as she was waving it around in the air. “Honestly, Frankie. Do you not see the red flags here?”

“Nope.” The brunette answered with a popping sound on the p, “Plus, I know him. Known him for a pretty long time. And besides-” she bends down, tracing her fingers on the smooth wood of her prosthesis. Finding the split crack, she gently pulled at it to reveal a hollowed compartment and a revolver nestled inside. “-if I ever am in danger. I always have this.” She took the gun out of its chamber, swaying it in the air.

---

Lighting another cigarette, the man watched from his car as the brunette struts out of the front office towards the parked convertible, bending down to lean against the car’s open window of the driver’s side.

The last time he saw her, her shaggy hair was long and vibrant, reaching down to her backside, her bangs acting as curtains to shield away her flaws, as she called it. Now her hair was short - below the ears and sleek, it reminded him of Betty Boop.

It was unclear what she was saying to her friend, but not even a minute passed when the convertible came to life and started to drive off, leaving the girl wiggly waving goodbye. Once the car was out of sight, she twirled in the direction of her room.

He couldn’t help but stare longingly at her ass. How her shorts hugged tightly around the brunette, revealing more of her curves and backside. Even her tight-fitted tank top that displayed her womanly busty’s made the man’s cock twitch as they bounced merrily.

When she entered the motel room, the man waited a couple more minutes, taking one good draw of his cigarette puffing out a cloud of smoke before exiting the vehicle. Throwing the cig on the ground, he swaggers across the street, taking out a spare room key from the pocket of his blazer, and approached quietly to the door to room 6.

---

Frankie let out a faint moan, feeling a wave of pleasure overtake her as she played frantically with her clit. Her face growing red hot, firmly cupping one of her breasts, whimpering lowly when she twisted the nipple to feel the burning friction and pressed down on a particular spot of her clit that made her see stars.

After she stepped inside the room, the brunette did not waste time quickly disposing of all her clothes and hopped daintily on top of the bed, not even bothering to turn on the light. She wanted to start slowly, gradually roaming her hands around her body and steadily rubbing her slit on the outer layer of her boxers, but the brunette was impatient. Hungry for the pleasure that would push her over the edge. Intimacy she hadn’t felt for a long time.

Now, sprawled out on the bed, Frankie writhed in frustration, her free hand clenching the pillow below her head as she concentrated on the small squelching sounds of her pussy from teasing her bud. Eyes shut tight, biting back her cries of bliss. She could feel it rising, the knot in her stomach tightening, aching to be released. Yet Frankie refused to, not wanting to climax so soon. Not without him.

She wondered where he was. Wishing -fuck- begging for him to show up and claim her, ruin her, make her a mess. Turning her head toward the nightstand, she saw the red numbers illuminate from the digital clock reading 8:22 pm. Maybe he was running late. The river always kept him busy and distracted, slowly drifting him away from her, leaving her to sink further into the watery depths of the current to drown. Maybe she was set up, that this was another one of the pin-up’s sick jokes to get back at her. Frankie’s chest ached tightly at the many dejecting thoughts consuming her, stopping and removing her hand out of her boxers. He’s not showing up, Frankie thought, tears beginning to cloud her vision.

Suddenly, a pair of hands swiftly grabbed her by the leg and thigh, pulling the brunette down at the edge of the bed. Frankie released a startled squeal, opening her eyes widely to see the dark outline of a man hovering above, two dimly lit orbs longingly staring at her. She gazed back up at the man with a slack-jaw, blushing. Wondering how long had he been here, watching her touch herself soundlessly. Her breath hitched, jolting when she felt the cold but comforting touch of the man, delicately tracing her slender frame. Sending her body trembling every time the tip of his fingers draw near a sensitive bit. He moves down to her breasts, burying his face between them, giving small pecks and soft bites of reassurance that left the brunette flush, turning her head to the side biting her fist to hold back the moans. Noticing this, the man then latched his mouth onto one of her nipples. Frankie hissed and jerked at the pleasurable shock as he sank his teeth into her, granting a loud moan to escape from her lips. She could sense the man looking up, smirking smugly. He repeated his action one more time, greedily wanting to hear her whines and soundless beggings.

Hooking a finger on the waistband of her boyshorts, he steadily tugged the fabric down, opening her legs to fully exposing her wetness. The brunette’s breathed heavily as the man left a trail of tender kisses, going down between her legs. Before he could press his lips against her heat, his hand brushed her thigh accidentally, making the girl flinch and back away out of instinct. He looked up at her with a furrowed brow, questioning what he did to make her panic and flee so slightly. Then it hit him. His eyes darted back at her leg and at the wooden prosthesis still strapped onto her mid-thigh, realizing the mistake he made. He looked back up to her, kissing her other leg apologetically, signaling that he wasn’t going to do anything she was thinking of again. Frankie mumbled an ok before moving hesitantly closer, carefully leaning back and opening her legs once more.

Immediately, he sinks his face into her cunt, dragging his tongue up and down her slit to savor her juice. Frankie whined and stirred, arching her back at the feeling of him vigorously eating her out. As his mouth focused on engorging her clit, he worked two fingers into her hole, perfectly sliding inside her.

The brunette choked out a moan at the intrusion, grabbing ahold of the bedsheets as he slowly dragged his fingers out and quickly shoved them back in, setting a rough pace that hit her g-spot with every thrust. Her hips began to move to meet his fingers and tongue as he proceeded to fuck her, picking up his pace and going knuckles deep. She felt pressure build in the pit of her stomach, increasing by the second. With a brisk roll of his tongue over her clit, Frankie arched her back and spasmed into a powerful orgasm.

“Oh, f-fuck!” Frankie’s eyes rolled back as her body shook violently, huffing out of breath at the sensation.

When the brunette came down from her high, she thought that was the end of it. Only for the man to grab both her hips and pulled Frankie closer to his face, continuing to burrow his tongue into her, repeatedly hitting her sweet spot. Frankie tensed up at the feeling of being stimulated again, bracing for another climax that was closing in. She reached down to try and pull his head away from her. To no avail, the man moving it away by extending his hand out to hers, fingers intertwined. No matter how many times she squirmed away from the man’s face, he would always go forward and proceed to work on her cunt, digging his nails into her skin. Then the brunette made an attempt to roll over to detach his lips from her folds, but it only flipped him over to his back, pulling her to sit on his face.

“S-stop. I-It’s too -fuck- It’s too much,” The brunette arose, gripping at the man’s hands as support, as well as to pry them open, “Fu-Fuck, I’m gonna- AH!” She cried out, snapping her head back as another orgasm came crashing shockwaves of ecstasy into her. The man emitted a mm, parting his lips away from her snatch to breathe. Frankie took it as an opportunity to free herself from him, wearily getting off and slumping next to the man on her back, also catching her breath.

Not even a minute had passed when she heard the metal clang of a belt and looked down to see the silhouette of the man seated upwards. He began to remove his pants, tugging them down to his knees, and turned to face the brunette.

“Just give me a minute.” She responded with a raspy voice, lifting herself gradually. Frankie perched at the side of the bed, unclasping the leather strap of her prosthesis. Removing her leg, she leaned it against the wall and crawled back to the middle, spreading out to present herself to the man. With a slight close-lipped smile, she purred, “Ready when you are, cariño.”

#tppkinktober2021 #johnson reprisal #reprisal johnson #kinktober #david dastmalchian

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sunsetcurvecuddles · 3 years

Note

Hello you told me not to hold back so I’m gonna be ANNOYING feel free to ignore indefinitely until you’re feeling it but I’m gonna send you like a bunch of prompts cause I can’t sleep and am stalling finishing my own fic.

First one: Bobby (obviously), Reggie or Luke or friends I don’t even care, tea and blankets

lol hi have a rebuke cuddle-puddle disaster, also available on ao3 here. warning for swearing and very vague allusions to physical child abuse.

i guess we belong to each other | reggielukebobby | 1.8k words

Luke has his guitar in his lap and his writing notebook by his side even though it's late at night. He's playing his acoustic, so that he has no chance of stirring Bobby's parents from where he's sat in their studio, and though he'd never admit it to anyone, it's cold enough that he's found one of Alex's hoodies in the back of the studio, a black one Alex never wears any more, and he's bundled up in it to try to fight off the chills. He regrets storming out earlier this evening — not because his parents might be worried, he's still too mad at them for that, but because he misses his own warm bed in a house with central heating.

But it's late, and he doesn't want to bother Bobby, who's already been generous enough as it is (and is exceptionally grumpy when he's woken in the middle of the night). So Alex's old hoodie, smelling vaguely of the dusty studio and distantly of Alex, will have to do.

A noise distracts Luke from his writing. Something outside the studio, maybe an animal, but it sounded like footsteps. Cautiously, he draws his guitar closer, running through what he could say if it's Bobby's parents, his heart suddenly rabbit-fast in his chest.

A head pokes through the door.

Luke's shoulders drop with relief.

It's Reggie.

He looks a little scruffy, not like himself, because usually Reggie pays such close attention to his appearance, fusses over his hair and colour-codes his outfits and shaves with the precision of a professional painter. But he kinda looks messy, which makes Luke's stomach feel even colder than the air around him.

“Oh! Hey, man,” Reggie laughs, putting on a big smile, and it'd fool anyone else — Reggie's too experienced at this for his own good. “I didn't know you'd be here!”

“Hi, Reg,” says Luke, sounding a little distracted even to his own ears as he carefully looks Reggie over. He's not walking like he's been hurt, and there are no visible injuries. So that's something. Jesus, Luke wouldn't know what to do if Reggie turned up here with a fresh version of the bruises Luke sometimes catches him trying to hide. “You, uh — you good?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Reggie agrees easily, saunters into the studio and slumps down on the couch next to Luke. The relaxed way he moves soothes Luke's worry somewhat. “The house was just — ugh. You know how they can be.” Looking over at Luke, Reggie adds, “Hey, isn't that Alex's hoodie? I was wondering what had happened to that.”

“Hey!” Luke sputters, a little defensive. “He didn't, like, loan it to me or anything, it was just here! I found it.”

“It is cold,” Reggie concedes, pulling his flannel a little tighter around him. “Wish I'd brought my jacket, but it was in the kitchen and I didn't wanna. I dunno. Didn't wanna get in the way.”

Luke nods, puts his guitar to the side so he can press up against Reggie's side. Hip to hip, his cheek on Reggie's shoulder, links their ankles together and puts an arm over Reggie's stomach. Almost automatically, Reggie links his arms around Luke in turn.

Honestly, Luke was intending to steal some of Reggie's body heat, but after Reggie's walk outside and in such a thin layer, he thinks Reggie's probably leeching his own. Luke lets him go ahead; Reggie seems to need it more than he does.

They sit for a moment, both unusually quiet, huddling and not talking. Not so much for a lack of things to talk about, but more because any topic that comes to Luke's mind feels insurmountably complex and emotional. There’s so much stuff he can't tell Reggie — so much stuff Reggie isn't telling him. So they sit together and try to create some warmth without the need for disclosure.

Until there's another set of scuffled footsteps outside.

“Not Alex too,” Reggie sighs, at a whispered volume so that the newcomer can't hear him, “he squirms so much in his sleep, man, I can't share this pull-out with him again.”

Luke muffles a laugh with the back of his hand, but he can't help worry it's Alex, too. Things have been... okay, he thinks, with Alex's folks since he came out, but he also knows Alex hoped for better. Suspects there are things Alex isn't telling them (so they all have that in common).

But it's not Alex. Preceded by an armful of blankets that he's almost tripping on, Bobby staggers in, still in his pajamas and with his eyes almost all the way closed. “Luke? It's fucking freezing, I thought I'd—” He stops when he gets far enough in to see Reggie on the couch too. “Oh, shit.”

“Hey, Bobby,” says Reggie, voice a little nervous. “I hope it's okay that I—”

“Shut up,” Bobby grumbles, and dumps the whole pile of blankets on top of Reggie. “You guys are stupid. You're both out here, in the freezing cold, and neither of you come wake me up?”

“We didn't want—” Luke starts, at the same time as Reggie insists, “You were sleeping—!”

“Idiots,” Bobby growls, rubbing his eye with his sweater paw and yawning. He looks stupidly cute, like a little kid. “You're idiots, and I hate dealing with you. I'll be back.” Turning to leave the studio again, he turns back and adds, “Hurry up and burrito yourselves in those blankets, I swear to god. And Luke, isn’t that Alex’s hoodie?”

“He left it—!” Luke starts, but Bobby’s already gone, leaving Luke with Reggie, cackling at him.

—

By the time Bobby returns, Luke and Reggie have folded the couch out into its bed form, and are snuggling under the several blankets, giggling together as they talk about how grumpy Bobby had been.

“We should have woken him up,” Reggie snorts, “I think then he would have been less pissed.”

“I would have,” Bobby agrees, sounding somewhere between menacing and amused, as he reappears over them. His hair is all shaggy in his face. He's carrying a teapot. And cups. “Sit up.”

Luke does right away, Reggie pulling himself up a little slower. Bobby sits cross-legged at the foot of the couch-bed, tucking his socked toes under his own legs to keep warm, and pours them each a mug of what smells like peppermint tea. Suddenly, Luke can't imagine anything better in the world. When Bobby offers him a cup, he takes it eagerly, wrapping his cold hands around it and enjoying the steam wafting up to his face.

“Wow,” says Reggie softly, eyes wide, “thanks, Bobby.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luke echoes, letting out a sigh as he takes his first sip.

“Forget it,” Bobby says, a little bitey. Luke knows it's because Bobby hates being seen as nice, so he doesn't take it personally, and he knows Reggie won't either. He has his own cup, which he drinks as though it's done something to offend him, scowling off into the corner of the studio. Reggie nudges Bobby with his foot from under the layers of blankets, and a tiny smile tugs at Bobby's mouth as he nudges Reggie back with his elbow.

After the cup of tea, Luke feels better. He feels warmer on the inside, now, and sleepy too. Reggie is starting to get that dopey, slow blink that shows he's on the verge of sleep as well. Bobby clears his throat and holds out a hand, beckoning for their empty cups. Luke and Reggie hand them over.

“Okay,” says Bobby, after a pause. “G'night, guys.” He goes to stand, but Reggie leans forward and catches Bobby's sleeve.

“Would you stay?” he asks, as if he can't help himself, as if on sheer impulse, but he doesn’t look embarrassed afterwards.

“Reg!” Luke says, a little startled. “It's cold out here, he won't want—”

But he sees Bobby's face, and he stops himself. Because he can see it in Bobby's eyes. That he does want. He’s Bobby, so he won't say it, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his gaze fixed on some point behind Luke and Reggie's heads, but Luke has known Bobby for too long to miss something this obvious, no matter what else Bobby can hide from him.

“That being said,” Luke backtracks hurriedly, “it would be warmer with you here, Wilson. I'm happy to be a leech.”

“That's all I'm good for, huh?” Bobby snorts, but he's already setting the mugs down on the floor near the side of the bed, already shuffling the teapot down there too. He hops up for a moment, and Luke wonders where he’s going, before he realises Bobby is just switching off the light. When Bobby comes back, he pauses, like he's not sure where he fits, and Luke and Reggie make eye contact for only a second before they move apart, leaving a space in the middle.

Bobby looks even less sure of himself, eyebrows knitted, jaw tight. His hands flex and one of them twists in the hem of his sweater. Luke gets it. It looks too much like it's on Bobby's behalf, like they’re doing it to make space for Bobby. Bobby’s always had trouble accepting anything that seems like it’s for his own benefit.

“I already sucked all Reggie's warmth up,” Luke explains.

“Yeah,” Reggie agrees immediately, and Luke loves him, “and you're warmer than Luke anyway, man. I wanna huddle with you. As a penguin, you would be my first-choice huddle-buddy.”

Bobby barks a laugh. “The fuck? What does that even mean?” Finally, he wriggles his way under the blankets in between them, and rolls his eyes when they both throw limbs over him right away, twining legs and arms together and resting cheeks on his chest.

“Like, if we were penguins. You know? In the winter?” Reggie says, like this is totally obvious and self-explanatory. “If I was a penguin, I'd be looking for the Bobby-penguin in the winter huddle to stick close to.”

“Aaand I'm at my capacity for dumb shit,” Bobby says, closing his eyes pointedly, but it's a scam, because his hands come to run through Luke and Reggie's hair. “Goodnight, morons.”

“Goodnight, Bobby,” they chorus. This close, Luke could almost brush noses with Reggie, has to try to focus his eyes to keep Reggie from getting blurry. Reggie sticks his tongue out at Luke just a little, and Luke grins back, links his fingers with Reggie’s over Bobby’s stomach, rubbing over Reggie’s knuckles until Reggie’s fingers don’t feel so much like icicles. When Luke uses his free hand to tug the neckline of Alex’s hoodie up over his nose, the familiar smell of the third piece of his heart soothes him right down.

The feel of Bobby’s fingernails on his scalp makes Luke’s eyelids flutter, and before he knows it he’s dopey, the world feeling blurrier and safer and cozier. Honestly, more like home than his own house would have. He no longer daydreams of returning to his own warm bed. Instead, he feels the way Bobby’s chest rises and falls with his breaths, pushing his and Reggie’s joined hands up and down. If he listens closely, Luke can hear Bobby’s heartbeat, familiar and steady.

Maybe the cold isn't all bad.

other prompt fills here :)

jatp taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @queenmolina @nickalicious @bi-reginald @malecacidd @burntchromas @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @cinnamonstickrayofsunlight @chickwiththepurpleguitar @fairylightsandrainydays @joyandthephantoms @fighttoshine @michelangelinda @queenofthequillandink

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #reggie peters #bobby wilson #luke patterson #lukebobby #boggie brain rot #rebuke #idk how else to tag this LOL #my fic #chickwiththepurpleguitar #peterpatter

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hiraethhh-h · 2 years

Note

i’ve never sent in for a matchup or anything similar so let’s give this a shot (babe i’m low-key terrified, i’m not sure why - hence the anonymous)

i wouldn’t say i’m shy, but still more of an introvert as i much prefer more time with myself - kind of a wallflower by nature, but if i can be quite with outgoing people i click with.

i think most people would describe me as creative, caring ,and quite soft by nature, although i’ve had a couple people say that i’m intimidating to to due to my appearance, although i’m not too sure what they mean by that.

i am. also affectionate with friends, many hugs, hold my hand or i’ll grab theirs when i see something interesting, i’ll split my food if i can make them smile- and babe, big secret- i’ve never been in a relationship so i have never held a romantic interests hand which, honestly? just mean. i’ve spoken to a few people, and i. just cannot string sentences together and get dummy flustered

appearance wise? i have stretched ears (6mm), wear big ass, chunky heels a lot. i really do not know how to describe my style, a lot of midi dresses, cardigans, floral net-y tights- quite 80s inspired if i’m honest, also meaning baggy jumpers and band tees. a lot of dark colours in my wardrobe, but not entirely! neutrals and greens are also a big thing in that department!

i’m roughly 5’2 (the HEELS, man i feel so tiny without them- normally they add around 4-5 inches). also. i feel naked without my red nail which is ridiculous ik

i’m quite pale, dark blue eyes, and darkish brown hair with shaggy layers-kinda wolf cutty, around collarbone length. people semi-regularly tell me i’m pretty, but we don’t believe them because i use to get bullied for my looks and being the weird quite kid, so that’s ace.

i grew up listening to my parents music and damn me if i don’t still- so a damn lot of pink floyd, portishead, nine inch nails, - the pixies and satans rats being my favourites at the moment!

hobby wise, okay.

practically everything artsy, currently studying graphic design and the arts - so it takes up a lot of my time and i love it! the art i do produce is weird, creeps some people out- not gory per say but it does border the line of disturbing to some!

i’d a massive literature nerd, i spend a lot of my time reading - mainly fantasy fiction, a lot of classics- i grew up on shakespeare and tom hardy, a lot of the stuff you read in school and hate? i love. more modern stuff tend to be thriller/murder mystery/obscure- if we were villains being my all time favourite for the past four years

a pretty evident one would probably be music, i love vinyls, something i got from my dad as well as his taste - he’s a massive metallica fan so i have every one of their albums up to 88, but honestly i don’t really listen to their stuff often enough to call myself a fan

eek okay, i’m so sorry that was really long, i’m not too great at putting myself in words so i tried my best :,)

a scenario/head canons would be great, but don’t worry if you’re too busy! i do have a preference for men, but honestly just have fun and do whoever you’d rather write for!

—ps, you’re writing is beautiful i’ve been following for quite a while and man. heart flutters ilyily, keep doing what you’re doing because you’re doing it RIGHT

i know some people sign off with an emoji so i think i’ll do that if it could make anything easier :)

- 🍂

god. i was. going to mention that slashers. man your write them really well and were part of the starting issue for my crush on them so damn you and i love you keep it up babe! -🍂

i match you with...

chrissy cunningham!

AHHHESLJKDF- thank you much autumn anon ilyt (/p) <333 i literally started kicking my feet and squealing because i'm glad to hear you enjoy my work! and i'm glad i could spread my love of slashers onto you hehe >:3

also, chrissy lives in this bc she deserves better and i love her <333

cw for mentions of familial abuse.

after her near-death encounter with eddie, she realizes that his ‘forced conformity’ spiel in the cafeteria was true.

she realizes that there’s so much more to life than parties, gossip, and jocks.

you and chrissy are complete opposites. that’s what drew her to you.

she’s chrissy cunningham, head cheerleader, and ‘the queen of hawkins high.’

you? you’re… just you. you have the freedom to be yourself

that’s something chrissy craves.

chrissy doesn’t want to be ‘the queen of hawkins high,’ she’s tired of her mom forcing all these things on her, she doesn’t want to always worry about who she hangs out with because she could ruin her reputation.

chrissy’s just tired of upholding the mantle of overwhelming expectations.

if there’s one thing chrissy’s learned about being popular, it’s to keep your eyes and ears open at all times.

whenever she passes you in the halls, she often sees you walking with your friends and chatting away with them.

chrissy doesn’t miss how the two of you are holding hands, absentmindedly swinging them in tandem while walking

during lunch, she notices how you usually share your food with your friends, even if they don’t ask

chrissy is afraid to approach you at first because she’s not sure how you’d handle someone like her walking up to you and talking to you out of the blue, but she bites the bullet anyways

she finds that she can let loose with you and be herself, she doesn’t have to uphold any expectations around you because you don’t expect anything from her

chrissy loves your style because it’s so… different in a good way

she herself is a neutral-color clothing person because she doesn’t think dark colors look good on her

but she sometimes does steal try on your band shirts for fun

surprise surprise! chrissy’s found a new style :)

chrissy does ask questions about your ear gauges because she’s genuinely curious

she proposes the idea about getting matching ear cuffs because she has considered getting more piercings other than her belly button

she’s around the same height as you (5’3), so when you wear your heels, chrissy sometimes jokes about you ‘cheating’ to get taller

chrissy loves painting your nails and she’ll happily do them if you ask

sometimes she’ll ask you to do her nails after she does yours

i imagine chrissy mostly listens to mainstream music, but that doesn’t mean she’s opposed to hearing your type of music

chrissy is quite literally entranced by your artistic skills.

she doesn’t care if it’s morbid, creepy, or gory, she finds your art alluring.

more often times than not, chrissy will continuously glance at you as your work

she does her best not to stare, as she knows some people get uncomfortable when people stare while they’re working

you're a literature nerd! her too! she's just pushed that part of her to the back of her mind because it wouldn't be very 'queen of hawkins high' of her if she was into books

if you offer to read any shakespeare/tom hardy books to her, chrissy will drop everything she's doing just to listen to you

sometimes when she's in the mood, chrissy'll recite some of her favorite lines

i like to hc that if she wasn't a cheerleader, chrissy would def be into theater :)

“okay, now just close your eyes…”

“okay…” you murmur, doing as told. things were quiet around you, save for the idle sounds of the forest and chrissy rummaging through her bag. there were a few sounds of zippers opening before they completely stopped. “hold out your hands.” you did just that, a brow raised in silent question.

something smooth and cool slid into your hands, causing you to curl your fingers around the item. “now you can open your eyes.” chrissy stepped back with a smile, looking down at you. you cracked your eyes open, gasping upon seeing the familiar white line leading to the triangle that spit out a rainbow in the back. “chrissy! thank you, thank you!” you squealed with a growing grin, briefly hugging the vinyl close to your chest before turning to safely tuck it away in your bag.

“i’ll just say now that what i got you isn’t much,” you began, moving to hide the small box and paper behind your back. “so… sorry if it’s not what you expected.” chrissy shook her head, “that’s fine. a grad gift doesn’t have to be something big.” she reassured you. you gave a soft hum, flashing her a quick smile. “now it’s your time to close your eyes, i’ll let you know when you can open ‘em.”

chrissy nodded, doing as you instructed. “er… do i have permission to touch you?” the blonde stiffened at your words, her cheeks flushing before she softly cleared her throat. “yeah, go for it.” she confirmed. you stood from your spot on the bench after removing the cover from the box, placing the items on the tabletop and grabbing the gold necklace from inside. you turned to chrissy’s back, leaning down to get better access. gently brushing her hair from her neck, you got a good whiff of her sweet strawberry shampoo, causing the back of your neck to burn.

you gently unhooked the chain of her other necklace, setting it in the discarded box. you crossed your other hand in front of her face, bringing it to the back of her neck to properly hook the necklace together. chrissy’s hand drifted to the sun charm that rested on her chest, a faint smile on her lips. “okay, now you can open your eyes.” you told her, moving to grab the drawing you made. she did just that, looking down at the sun charm between her fingers. “um… i got you one that matches my moon necklace,” you began, “the charms, they… they fit inside each other.”

chrissy chuckled, “it’s beautiful. thank you.” she smiled, lifting her head to look at the drawing you held out to her. she gently took it from your hands, bringing the paper close to her face. “this is amazing too.” chrissy breathed out, her eyes scanning over the contents of your artwork. “thanks. i’m… really glad you like it.” you rubbed the back of your neck, slowly seating yourself next to her.

chrissy now turned to face you, the cheerleader lowering the drawing into her lap. “i… actually have one more thing for you.” chrissy said now, causing you to raise a brow. “what’s that-” the feeling of her lips against your cheeks practically made your eyes bulge out of your skull, your cheeks lighting ablaze at the feeling. chrissy slowly pulled away, her head ducked and obscuring your vision of her face.

“thanks chrissy,” you murmured after recomposing yourself, “i really loved that…” she lifted her head, her lips upturned in a smile.

“really?”

“really.”

#bee's matchups #chrissy cunningham #chrissy cunningham x reader #stranger things season 4 #stranger things season four #stranger things four #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #🍂 anon

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actualsunflower · 3 years

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ur art is rlly inspiring for me... I struggle a lot with line art, would u be ok giving advice? I rlly love ur art

I'm really sorry I left this in my inbox for long, I've just been trying to figure out how to answer fjdfskf but first that makes me very happy that you find my art so inspiring 🥺 really, I've worked so hard on my art for so long, and I struggle so bad to see it as good and worthy of even sharing. Looking back at old art I can see the progress, but it's still hard to look at it and call it good myself. I have a bad habit of comparing myself to other artists out there and I never compare in my eyes :/ it's really hard unlearning that but I've been making a lot of progress, and actually spending almost a year not sharing any of my art really helped with that. (I'm not saying do the same thing it's just my experience!!) Now it doesn't bother me quite as much.

See I left this ask in my drafts for so long. I was going to make a little tutorial on how I do things, see if that helped but I just kinda... Never did it, executive dysfunction and work and all. So I'll just give some tips instead

1- My first advice is to give up the tiny lines, the one teeny line at a time thing, and go for full lines. It doesn't have to be like the entire face shape at once, but do bigger chunks because the more lines the more shaggy and jagged it looks. You won't get a smooth cohesive line like that if you're going for a clean and smooth look. It's hard to get over habits like that but once you do your art And your wrists/arms/shoulders will thank you. (This only applies if you want a clean look, if that's your thing and what you're going for disregard that. But this is about my art specifically.)

2- always stretch your wrists, it really does help. Give your hand a good pull back (not to where it hurts) and make a fist and roll your wrist, it helps A LOT and feels good lol stretching your whole body is good as well, if you've got bad posture like me you'll start hurting halfway through. A lot of times though you won't even notice you're in pain until you try to sit up.... Ouch

3- USE REFERENCES!!!! It is not cheating, it's not cutting corners it is essential to learning!!! And not just learning but it's essential for just enjoying art, it takes away so much frustration of "why doesn't this look right?!" And something else nice, is if you're really struggling with something, just take a picture of yourself and trace it. I do it all the time and it has saved me many a frustrating breakdown. Just make sure you own or have permission to use the photos you're tracing over. Just don't use it as a crutch, as in for every single thing because it can at some point hinder growth. My advice is just sketch over the general shape, and then do the rest yourself. Just having that shape/position will help way more than you know. And don't be afraid to just cobble together references, paste and reshape and move whatever you want or need.

4- Play with and make brushes. I have a special brush that is used Only for Jay's vitiligo and it saves me a lot of time, pain, and just looks really cool and helps me keep it consistent. And you'll be surprised at how you feel by just changing the brush you do line art with. Softer/harder brushes can change everything

5- literally who cares about shading. If it looks cool, put it in. If you don't think it looks cool, erase it. You are the god of lighting and shading in your own art, it doesn't matter where the light is coming from. Just say there's multiple light sources even, it really don't matter

6- learn to use multiply and add layers, they are super helpful and fun. Multiply layers are great for shading AND blush, I use one clipped over Jay's face for blush, just clip, watercolor over cheeks/nose/ear tips, slight transparency and bam perfect blush (for color, I pick base skin tone, slide bar to red, deepen a bit, perfect) (I use the color box/w the side bar) add layers are great for glowing things and bright lighting. (A tip for glowing things, use the desired color, blur a bit, then use a dot of white in the middle, blur that. Extra glow!)

7- warming up is a great idea. I just scribble a bunch, do little doodles of my pets, go from faintest to hardest in pressure and back again in on line, then I usually do something a bit more substantial, which is typically drawing Jay or Nick lol that's why I always have so many Jay and Nick drawings. It helps though

8- this one I feel is very important. Don't ever feel like you're copying someone else. People add and remove things from their style subconsciously, I have seen more than once where I post in my style and later see someone else who did something that incorporated that specific thing I did. It just happens. You do it without thinking, and you can do it while thinking it too. Don't trace people's art, but if you love the way someone draws eyes, just draw them like that too. Nobody owns an art style, no one can stop you and you will not get in trouble from doing that. Eventually anyway it will evolve into your own unique way, and people will do the same when they see your art. It's and endless cycle in the art community and it is one of the treasures of sharing our art. Whether we think it or not we are all influencing each other and it's a beautiful thing.

That's all I can think of rn so, I hope this is helpful and I apologize for taking forever lol

#sorry it's kinda long #hope it helps though #sunflower asks #art advice #if you find typos no you dont 💖

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 77: Like a Good Old-Fashioned Barn Raising

Chapters: 77/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time

Summary: Buridag begins!

Loki was awake long before you were, getting preparations ready, loose ends tied up, last minute orders sent out. He allowed you to sleep until you woke on your own, having removed his little illusory alarms from you some time ago.

Sometimes flower petals still rained upon you, and perfume rose from your footsteps, but no more snakes in the bath.

So you rose slowly, stretching and yawning the grogginess away at your own pace. Time was very hard to tell by looking out windows at this time of year, but when Loki entered the room carrying an egg sandwich, a little pile of fresh potato chips, and a glass of coffee, you placed yourself firmly within brunch territory.

Loki flicked on your sunlamp, gestured at the chair, and handed you your brunch once you'd taken your seat.

You munched your food and absorbed your light while Loki laid out the day's plans. You'd get dressed in a ceremonial outfit that included your armor and helmet, and join the parade that was gathering even now.

They were initially going to put you on Sleipnir. You had asked them not to. Sleipnir was magnificent, but you had no connection to him, nor to Leynarodd, who was the second choice. Your sweet, stout, shaggy little Acorn was who you preferred, a horse that belonged to no one initially, but who had formed a trusting bond with you.

Your clothing was, predictably, green, the underdress and apron a dark mossy color, hemmed on all edges with fine gold braid, embroidered with stripes of delicate knotwork, and your mark, also in gold. Over the top of this went your quilted tunic, in it's shimmering jade, and then your armor; the breastplate, the tassets, the bracers, pauldrons, greaves, and poleyns, though the last two were not visible. They went on over the leather trousers you'd been given to wear under your dress. They were sleek things, made of tough black leather, pleated in diagonal patterns, just like something Loki would wear. You thought the pleats had the advantage of putting more leather between you and any danger, and were flexible as well.

There were actually places where your familiar oval brooches could be fastened, your strings of shining beads strung between, your chatelaine dangled. Your belt was tooled leather and brass findings, hung with a leather purse, your Yggdrasil phone case, a small drinking horn carved with your mark, and of course, your knife. A little burst of deep pink against all the gold, green, and black.

You wore a minty-green velvet cape, a gift from Andsvarr, and your beautiful helmet to top it all off. You truly looked like something out of a fantasy novel, someone who looked like they should be standing next to the legendary figure that Loki currently cut.

He looked enormous, with his many asymmetrical layers, and molded shoulder guards, his billowing cape and hair spilling from beneath his magnificent curling horns. He shone with nornbein, and his cloak, shot with silk, shimmered subtly.

“You're so beautiful.” you mumbled. Loki smiled, and leaned down to adjust your cape, cheeks dusted with pink.

“Thank you.” he said, “I make every attempt. Though I think I will fade into the background under the power of your radiance.”

Warmth rushed to your face.

“Um, I know we've got to hurry and get Acorn, but I want to ask you a favor, Loki.”

“Anything. Tell me what it is and I'll make it so.”

You took a deep breath.

“I need you to stop trying to impress my father.”

The pink on his cheeks transformed into bright red.

“Ah. Yes, I rather hashed that, didn't I? I apologize. I thought that was still standard procedure, but your father, uh, explained otherwise.”

“Mhm, I'll bet he did. Look, I know you wanted to surprise us, but when it comes to things like that, you really oughta run it by me first. I could have told you that wouldn't work out the way you thought it would. You know, saved you from being chewed out like that. You can let me save you sometimes too.”

“ Like with the Huldra.”

“Kinda. Dad's not as bloodthirsty as she was, but he's a lot more stubborn.”

“Like father, like daughter, hm?” he teased.

“You have not seen me be stubborn yet.” you warned, and he gave you a quick smooch.

“A blessing, I'm sure. Very well, I agree. Surprises get run by you. Anything to save me from another tongue lashing. That man truly does not hold back.”

“I mean it though.” you persisted. “I'm not saying that you can't have any surprises at all, but talk to me about big stuff like that. If it's something that Asgardian law or custom would demand, but would be insulting to a human, we can maybe hash out an alternative that would satisfy both. That's the point, isn't it? Please, I really don't want to deal with anymore trouble between you two. Don't get hung up on impressing him, he has every reason to reject it, and he will. No more gifts, no toasts, no calling attention to him in public, nothing. He hates being the center of attention. Just let him be a guest, and see, without interference, that his little girl is doing fine on her own.”

“I really didn't mean to make him so angry.” Loki said, a little crestfallen. “And the more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. I just wanted him to know how much I value you. I wanted you to know too.”

“Material culture is different where I'm from. There are places in the world where that would have been understood and appreciated, but we've stopped doing it. In the same vein, fathers don't make all the decisions for their daughters anymore, so you don't actually need his approval. But...I need you to understand, it's not just that you took away his child, though that's bad enough. It's that I'm the only family he has left. My grandma only had one kid, and that was my dad. And she's dead, and so's my granddad, before I was even born. And then my mom died, and Beth too, and so I'm all that's left for him. And I have this giant Sword of Damocles hanging over my head all the time, and he's had to worry about that for my whole life. Most of the women on my mom's side all died from this, but occasionally, rarely, there's one that doesn't. I'm starting to hope that might be me. Maybe the magic is protecting me. But he's not going to be able to accept that so easily. I'm all he had left, and you took me away. That's all that's going to be important to him. You didn't even have to do the things you did in New York, this is the worst possible crime you could commit, in his eyes.”

Loki heaved a sigh of remorse. “And I cannot even return you to him. It seems there is one more thing I cannot set right.”

“The best you can do is make sure I'm okay. And don't bother him anymore. And maybe let him come visit more often. The more he sees me living my life and being fine, the more confidence he will have that I'm actually safe here.”

“I shall endeavor to help you thrive.” Loki promised.

“All right, so if that's settled, we should go get our horses.”

******

Acorn was, like you, a bit overdressed in your opinion. Long tabbards and blankets covered her from nose to rump, green and gold, embroidered with oak leaves. They were so long, they almost brushed the ground. Ribbons were braided into her wild mane and tail, and bells jingled with every movement. Like you, she could barely be seen under her splendor. But she was probably warm, and happily accepted a carrot from your hand. Placid as always, she let you up on her back, and fell into step behind Leynarodd, who likewise, followed up behind Sleipnir, whose hooves still rang like bells even over the thin layer of packed snow that covered the recently cleared streets.

There was a whole procession of people-this was a parade after all, and Thor, on Sleipnir, was preceded by the twin Valkyries, carrying Asgardian banners, as well as several musicians, and Beli, who chanted an ancient epic on the exploits of Buri.

Saga had translated the chant for you a while ago, and it sounded something like the sensationalized, self-aggrandizing boasts of pharaohs, or Mesopotamian kings-the kind that claimed to be rulers of the world, or rulers of the heavens themselves, to have battled armies of demons, killed giant lions with only a stick-that sort of thing. But when Beli called out those verses in such an ancient dialect of Asgardian, the words themselves felt powerful.

Thor followed slowly, Sliepnir plodding along, both of them absolutely huge. Loki and Leynarodd came right behind, only slightly smaller. And then you and Acorn, almost comical in your stature, diminutive by comparison. You were keenly aware of it, but either all of Asgard was too polite to say anything about it, or they simply didn't care.

The human guests, corralled in roped off areas, whooped and cheered when when you passed. Behind you, more musicians played, and a circle of Seidkonas walked in silent dignity. Then came more banners, the rest of the Valkyries, representatives of each noble house and guild, and the rest of the Aesir in Asgard, provided they didn't already have another position in the parade.

After them, the gathered Asgardians began following, lengthening out the procession, bright balls of magical light bobbing overhead. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and would be slinking away in a mere three or so hours, so the mage lights sparkled everywhere. Helpful Einherjar herded the humans to the next specially roped off area, so they could follow the parade as well; you caught a few amused faces at the playful rowdiness displayed by celebrating humans.

That was just how humans were when they were excited about something. Humans loved to holler, to jump, and dance, and clap. Some of them were even trying to keep time with the music.

You weren't actually able to pick out your father or Tara in the crowd, nor anyone else you knew, so you just kept your head forward and your back straight, trying to look as dignified as you could.

You'd only ever seen a few of what you considered 'proper' parades: in a small town a parade mostly consisted of people waving from the backs of neighborhood pickup trucks and tractors, maybe decorated with balloons or paper chains, blasting music from dusty old speakers. In the autumn, there might be pumpkins and corn stalks, and usually hayrides. But never anything like this spectacle.

As you got closer to the construction site, the apprentice mages responsible for all the floating lights started throwing sparks from their hands, like colorful sparklers. The gathered Asgardians began lining up in their designated areas, ready to play their part. The foundations had already been dug, and everything that needed to go into them was already there. All that remained was the pouring.

Thor, Loki, and yourself dismounted as close to in unison as you could manage, the horses carefully lead away to a temporary enclosure. You headed to the stack of decorative bricks, and took your place among the Asgardians there, while Thor gave the order for the cement to pour.

While this went on, Beli gathered his students and skalds in front of the Huldrastone to recite a modern epic. Within the first few verses you realized that it was about the Huldra's attack, and your confrontation with her.

Of course, the poem was much cleaner and more elegant than the actual events had been, but certain things had still been included. Your ears burned beneath your helmet when Beli reached the part where you had 'bestowed upon the fallen prince, a gentle sacrificial kiss, knowing that to trade life for life would grant him breath once more.'

You had finally spotted your father and Tara in the crowd; he crossed his arms and glared upon hearing the verse, while Tara gave you a cheezy grin and thumbs up.

As the poem reached its conclusion, the cement finished pouring, and a new recitation began. As Thor and Loki knelt and began scratching ritual runes into the wet cement, Beli's current group of student came forward and began telling the story of Beli, while apprentice mages illustrated the words with colorful, stylized illusions.

There were harrowing battles against huge stone people, the construction of the original Bifrost, which at that time connected a fleet of alien ships to one another. The illusions showed the gathering of construction materials, the building of a platform in space, and the grand revelation of the crystalline platform upon which Asgard slowly grew. Mountain and plain, river and ocean, building after magnificent building rose into the sky. Their ships captured and carved an asteroid, then set it in orbit as a bright new moon. All this was accomplished by the use of a glowing, icy blue cube that was difficult to look directly at. It was compelling though; it caught and held your attention with its beautiful, sparkling light.

You knew what that device was: you had learned about it in your lessons with Saga. It was the object known as the Tesseract, a four dimensional creation meant to house the incredible energy of an Infinity Stone. Perhaps that was why it was simultaneously fascinating, yet hard to perceive. Your curious human brain was drawn to its uniqueness, yet equally unable to fully fathom it.

That device was the key to Asgard's existence and eventual success. It was unthinkable to you that Odin had just lost it on Earth, as Sagas histories had proclaimed. It must have been a terrible loss.

Thor and Loki completed their carving, and began the process of imbuing the foundations with divine power. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and there was a pricking in your sinuses, like you were about to sneeze. There was almost a flavor to it.

The actual blessing didn't take nearly as long as the rune carving ritual, and soon, the two brothers stepped back, to allow others to begin their work. More mages worked a spell together that lifted the water out of the cement, drying it within moments. People came forward with wires and pipes, floor and wall supports, insulation, hammers, plaster, bricks, and mortar. In rotating lines people laid flooring and installed fixtures, scraped grout and assembled frames. Every now and then youths moved through, sweeping up dust, always away from you.

It suddenly became clear that that was why you were so far back in line, why you'd been assigned a decorative brick, something that would be placed near the very end of the construction. There would be no dust then. Gratitude swelled in your chest, but you said nothing. There was singing now, simple, repetitive melodies that sounded like work songs.

Every hour, volunteers carted huge, heated cauldrons around the lines and groups of human spectators, dipping out hot drinks like witch's potions, and it was possible that there was a simple sort of magic in things like hot chocolate, strong coffee, and buttered rum on a cold day.

The building went up faster than you thought possible, the widows, doors, and lights being set into place as auroras began ribboning across the sky.

Finally, there was one brick left. You lifted it up, as the singing seemed to intensify, scooped some mortar from the pail, and fitted it all into the only remaining slot. Giving the brick a light pat to make sure it was secure, you turned back to the assembled crowd.

“We did it.” You said, and the cheering began.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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doing-an-okay-job-miranda · 4 years

Text

The Night Fellow

AO3 / Masterlist

Warnings: Body Horror, Monster Virgil(he’s a creepy friend right there), mentions of violence and shooting, descriptions of teeth, please let me know if i should tag anything else

Summary:

The Night Fellow is a creature made of both flesh and metal that lives in the long-abandoned mansion on top of the hill outside of town. At night, the Fellow creeps out of their home to roam through the trees and walk along the overgrown path between the mansion and the town.

Logan has a fascination with this (somewhat) passive creature and decides to go find it.

Or, Logan hunts down the town's local cryptid and shoves his hands in their mouth and the thing kinda decides they like him.

-----

Upon first glance on a dark trail, one might think the Fellow is a normal person, a tall stranger out for an evening walk. There aren't have managed to get close to the creature as the moment they sense someone nearby, they drop to all fours and disappears into the trees. The few that have snuck up on the fellow describe black eyes with glowing white dots for pupils, shaggy dark hair, their fingers end at their knuckles, and are replaced by long thin mechanical claws. They say the Fellow's teeth are like knives and they can open their jaw wide enough to fit someone's head inside their mouth.

Logan kinda doubts that last bit.

The night fellow is not inherently violent despite his frightening appearance, they flee at the first sight of people and the only record the town has of an actual attack beyond a few shallow scratches is from a man hunting out in the woods who shot at them, said man had been found with terrifying claw wounds and bite marks after being dumped on the edge of town by the creature.

Logan always finds that part interesting. The town as a whole made it a silent rule that as long as you leave the Night Fellow alone, they'll happily leave you alone as well but the creature could have very much left the man they injured to bleed out in the woods but instead, carried the hunter back to town and left him where he could get help.

Logan knew of the teens that were dared to go up the hill and try to enter the mansion, would overhear a group of friends talking about their adventure during the classes he taught. One had told him that the Fellow had crawled along the walls and ceiling like a spider, another said they barely made it a foot in the door before the Fellow charged at them on all fours and slammed the door as the stumbled back outside. One young girl who had been to the mansion multiple times told Logan that the Fellow is much less likely to chase you out if you knock before you enter and stay in the main foyer, she told the teacher about her friend who tried going through the halls only to have the Fellow follow directly behind them until they left.

The more Logan heard about the Night Fellow, the more curious he became. It could be dangerous, from what Logan understands, the Fellow can get a lot more aggressive towards adults who invade their home then the kids the Fellow simply scares off or let's wonder until either bored or unnerved by their presence but that just makes it all the more interesting.

Logan finds himself trudging up the hill at dusk on a weekend. The creature is aware enough to recognize age differences, the Fellow can tell when someone is a threat and is content to either scare them off or flee from them with only one case of actual harm being argued as more self-defense then anything malicious, especially since the fellow recognized that their attacker would die if left intended and took the effort to get him to safety.

So, Logan stands in front of a mansion that's standing in fairly good shape for a building that's been left to the ages for longer then he's been alive through the gate has been long since destroyed. The teacher knocks on the large door and gives it a few moments before carefully pushing the only slightly rotted wood open and steps inside to the foyer, guiding the door to only be open slightly before he turns around to face the room.

After clicking on his flashlight, he looks around the place. The room looks like it hasn't been touched in ages. Dust and grime coat every surface along with layers of cobwebs that cover everything, accented with the smell of mildew in the air. Logan makes a note that he shouldn't stay inside too long, he hadn't thought about what sort of mold may be growing in this old place and thus didn't bring any sort of filter to breathe through. He'll have to remember that for next time but for now, short term exposure wouldn't do any lasting harm and he came all the way out here for a reason and he'll be damned if he doesn't catch at least a glance of the Night Fellow.

The sun outside is quickly setting, the dirty windows barely probably would barely let light in if it was full daylight so Logan's only left with his flashlight as his only light source in the dark. He only makes it a little bit in, standing in the center of the foyer when he hears the soft ticking of a clock.

It's strange, looking around the room Logan can find an old clock on the floor but it's long broken. The teacher doesn't have to wait long to figure it out as he hears the quiet creak of metal and a ruffle of fabric directly above him.

Logan barely manages to stumble backward in time, shining his flashlight up in time to see a black blur drop from the ceiling and land on the floor where he was standing with a heavy thud. The teacher has no time to think as the creature immediately scrambles onto all fours and charges at him, he backs away quickly dropping his flashlight in panic as the thing comes right at him-

No! Logan locks in his legs in place and holds his breath, his heart pounds as he fights every instinct in his body telling him to flee. He shuts his eyes tightly, arms defensive raising to cover his head but beyond that, he forces himself to stay still and breathe through his nose.

The Night Fellow won't hurt him as long as he doesn't give them a reason to.

Sure enough, the sound of scrambling limbs stop and Logan doesn't feel any sort of pain from an attack. The ticking noise is much closer, directly in front of him but it gets drowned out by an animalistic growl so deep that Logan can feel the vibrations in his ribcage.

"I'm not here to hurt you." The teacher tries to keep his voice even but he's shaking to the core. "I'm not going to cause you any trouble." He doesn't even know if they understand him but he slowly lowers his arms and forces his eyes to open.

The Night Fellow is low to the ground, head bent back at an awkward angle to stare up at him little glowing white dots in their eyes. They're breathing too hard, chest rising and falling rapidly like they're panting but Logan can't hear them breathing. His flashlight is knocked to the side but it provides enough light for the teacher to get a good look at the Fellow.

He has to commit everything to memory, choppy hair, wide sunken eyes, their mouth slightly open, and filled with far too many teeth. It looks like they're wearing some patched up robe with loose sleeves that bunch on the floor, very poorly hiding the beings metal claws. The ticking noise is coming from the Fellow, Logan can tell that much but he's not entirely sure where or why there's ticking.

"Do you speak English?" Logan asks them to receive nothing but their unblinkingly stare. "Can you understand me?" Once again getting no reply which is disappointing as he hoped he would be able to ask the Fellow questions but they seem content just staring at him, he can't be sure if they don't understand or just don't care to answer.

Logan takes a deep breath to calm his nerves before crouching down slowly to be eye level with the Fellow, they back up a step as he moves and the teacher suppresses a shudder at the unnatural angle their legs move in. He meets the being's eyes and feels a chill down his spine but most of his fear takes second place to his fascination.

"You're an incredible being." He mutters mostly to himself but for once his talking to himself is helpful as the Fellow seems to respond. Their pupils shrink into slits as they rear back, their gaze flickering around the room like suddenly he was the scary thing. "It's okay." He tries to soothe as he reaches forward. "I mean you no harm."

The Night Fellow opens their mouth, letting out a low growl as his hand gets too close but the sound cuts off as Logan grips their jaw without thinking, completely forgetting his self-preservation in favor of getting a better look at their teeth.

"Fascinating." Logan breathes, keeping a grip on their chin with one hand while the other pushes on their cheek to tilt their head back. "I was lead to believe that your teeth are made of metal but these are all bone." The teacher strokes his thumb over one of the being's large canines but quickly retracts it as the Fellow tenses their jaw and sharp metal teeth snap down to cover the bone. "Oh, amazing! Retractable teeth, they almost resemble the teeth on a bear trap."

The light from Logan's fallen flashlight did a well enough job at lighting up the room but without it in hand, it's a bit harder to see clearly the details inside the Night Fellow's maw. There's a whirling noise in the back of their throat as Logan let's go of their jaw to reach into their mouth, feeling around the gums to make out the sheath that contained the metal teeth when retracted. The Fellow's bone teeth still stood out behind the metal and Logan carefully maneuvers his fingers past the sharpened metal to rub the duller, more human teeth at the back.

(He makes a note that the Fellow's jaw is stretched unnaturally wide and seems like it could go wider.)

"Is that a..." He mumbles to himself, squinting inside the being's mouth in hopes of making something out in the darkness. "It looks like you have a cavity filling." Logan really can't tell for sure without proper lighting but it does seem like it. Are there dental records of this creature? As far as Logan knew the first confirmed sighting of the Night Fellow was about sixty years ago and they've always been very avoidant of people, only recently getting bolder in scaring away those that wander too close.

Logan pulls back enough to insect the being in front of him. They're wide eyes watching him intensely, at some point while Logan was inspecting their teeth they shifted to rest on their knees and their hands hover near Logan with claws facing towards him like they're ready to strike but hesitating.

It's this moment that Logan remembers that he's in front of a very dangerous creature, figuratively putting his head in the lion's mouth. Sure, the Night Fellow seldom injures anyone but most people don't actively interact with them.

"Ah, I apologize." Logan carefully removes his fingers from the Fellow's mouth and winces as the being's mouth snaps shut near immediately, the metal clinking gives a harsh reminder that the thing could have very well of bitten his fingers off. "Thank you for your patience with me, I got a bit too excited there but I should have asked permission before touching you."

The Fellow's hands lower from their tense position, lowering down to rest on the ground and Logan can make out some of the intricate details of the joints where those thin metal blades connect to their middle knuckle. He nervously wipes his hands on his shirt to rid them of the being's saliva, it's a shame as the teacher would love to collect a sample of it but he hadn't expected to actually get this close to the Night Fellow and thus didn't think to bring a kit.

The Fellow doesn't seem agitated, thankfully. Their head tilted slightly in curiosity as they seem to inspect the human in front of them. Logan's still not entirely sure if they understood anything he said, let alone his apology but they don't seem to hold any ill will towards him which helps Logan not worry too much when they shift closer to him.

He manages not to flinch when the being reaches forward and wraps their "fingers" around his wrist, he doesn't even try to resist as they pull his hand closer as gently as possible. The teacher is rather amazed to find that the finger-like blades aren't actually sharp, their edges dulled down. Logan's sure that they're still dangerous if the Night Fellow put intent behind those claws but at the moment their touch is gentle as they have his hand resting palm up, it certainly helps Logan feel less nervous as they raise their other clawed hand and traces the blade of their pointer finger from the veins on his wrist to the tip of his fingers.

Logan does his best to keep his hand still for them while trying to figure out what they're doing, the glide of the pointed metal across his palm tickles slightly from how gentle the being is and each time his fingers so much as twitch, the fellow lets out a soft warbled noise and stills their motion until Logan holds his hand still long enough.

Logan doesn't realize how much time has past, the teachers legs ache from being in the same position for so long but he doesn't dare move as the Night Fellow traces the wrinkles in his hand. He commits each detail to memory, the being so focused on whatever it's doing gives Logan the perfect chance to observe it's appearance for any missed details. He wishes he could grab his sketchbook from his side bag but that would require moving and also reclaiming his dominant hand from the creature in front of him so instead he just memories to recreate later.

They are both startled when a loud trilling noise rings out from the room, the Fellow drops Logan's wrist as he jerks back in surprise and claw at their chest until the noise stops. They jerk their head up suddenly, looking up past Logan where he's now sitting and upon following their gaze Logan sees one of the dirty windows.

Any trace of light from the setting sun is long gone, the only light source is Logan's flashlight and the Beady little dots that are the Night Fellow's pupils. The teacher scrambles for his phone from his coat pocket, it lighting up and revealing multiple missed calls from his friend but Logan ignores them more the moment.

12:01 AM

Logan must have been here hours without realizing it.

The Night Fellow seems to realize the passage of time skipped over them too as they flickered their gaze between the teacher and the dark window. They almost reach towards him again but draw their hand back, seeming to debate with themself before letting out a huff of air in probably the most human gesture Logan's seen from them tonight. Their claws scrape the floor slightly as they push themself up and onto their feet, standing tall and towering over the teacher.

Logan is not a short man by any means but he certainly feels small as the Fellow steps around him to get to the front door, the being standing taller than the frame. Yes, Logan had known that the Night Fellow is a tall imposing figure when standing but he wasn't expecting the being to be a good bit over seven feet tall.

The Night Fellow looks back at him for a moment after they pull the door open but doesn't wait for Logan to scramble to his feet before they duck out the door and begin their night walk, leaving the mansion's door open. The teacher rushes for his flashlight and follows after them to find them already at the edge of the property and walking past the decrepit gate.

Logan had to run to catch up to them, finally getting close just a little ways past the tree line when the Night Fellow suddenly freezes and jerks their head to look at him. The sudden movement startling Logan enough that he stops himself several feet away from them.

Logan mostly expects the Fellow to drop on all fours once more and flee into the forest but instead the being just stands there and watches him. The teacher takes a breath, figuratively throwing caution to the wing for the hundredth time this night.

"May I walk with you?" The teacher makes a small gesture towards the path in front of them. "I have to return to town and it seems like you're heading that direction."

The Fellow doesn't respond to him but doesn't run from him either, they simply turn their head back forward and continue their walk, though Logan notes that they move slower than before which allows the teacher to catch up and walk beside them.

"So, you can understand me?" He asks only to be met with a side glance from the being. "Have you always lived in that mansion?"

The Fellow immediately looks tense and walks faster, the muffled sound of metal scraping together comes from them as Logan has to jog to catch up to them.

"Wait, I'm sorry!" Logan tries to amend. "I won't ask any questions, we can walk quietly."

The Night Fellow shoots him a look and narrows their eyes at him, which is the first time Logan's seen that their eyes haven't been completely wide open. He wants to ask if they need to blink, if their eyes are mechanical or flesh, how well can they see-

But he keeps his mouth shut and the Fellow slows their pace again for him which at least confirms that they do seem to understand him to some level.

Logan has so many questions ringing in his head as he watches them from the corner of his eye.

What are they? Did their mechanical parts need upkeep? What was the quiet ticking that followed them around? How much of them are flesh and how much are metal? What do they eat? Do they even need to eat? Why do they choose to live in that mansion? Why did they always go for these night walks? Is it easier for them to crawl rather than run?

Logan keeps these thoughts to himself. He instead listens to the sounds of the forest around them, animals tend to fall silent around supernatural creatures and this is no less true for the Fellow. All Logan can hear is the rubble shifting with each of their steps, the occasional strange mechanical noises that come from the being's movements, and the ticking noise that Logan theorizes much be some sort of clock they have under their robe.

The Night Fellow stays with him longer than Logan expects them too, he figured once he hit the main road that they would take off but they stay by his side(though seemingly following him more now that their off their normal path) until the first lights of town come into sight at which they stop.

Logan pauses when they do, turning to face them for a moment. "Thank you for walking with me." He offers a smile to which the Night Fellow nods, the first absolute sign that they understood him.

The teacher watches as they take a few steps away from him before dropping into a crouch, giving him one last look before they disappear past the trees and into the darkness.

There's no way Logan is letting this be his last encounter.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #body horror tw #violence mention #The Night Fellow #gun mention #monster virgil #I'm also open to ideas if peeps want to see more of this

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omgkalyppso · 3 years

Note

I can't just pick one because I'm indecisive af, so how about three for the WIP ask thing: "fairy," "wedding interrupted," and "the wind was bitter cold"? Or you can pick just one of these to elaborate on if that's too much lol

This is going to be a long ass post. Here we go!

fairy

Okay so I have an AU that I’ve promised myself not to start in earnest until either or both my soulmate au or mermaid au’s are finished. I’m calling it a fantasy au, but the doc is titled fairy because it primarily features Claude’s introduction and the make up of fantasy races for the fantasy au are as follows:

Fae - Vampire

Claude - Fairy

Hilda - Werewolf

Lorenz - Hedge Mage

Marianne - Werewolf

Ferdinand - The human child (now a man) exchanged for a fairy / changeling child

Edelgard - Human Hunter

Hubert - Human Hunter

Caspar - Human Hunter

Linhardt - Vampire

Seteth - Vampire

Rhea - Ancient Dragon

Sylvain - Human Hunter

Felix - Human Hunter

Ingrid or Mercedes - Human Hunter

Maya - Werewolf

Raphael - Werewolf

Ignatz - Werewolf

The hunters will be working in groups of three, and I can’t decide whether Sylvain + Felix + Ingrid as three of the Faerghus four is more interesting than Sylvain + Felix + Mercedes in the role of a cleric for the sake of monster hunting. I’m also undecided about whether and how to incorporate Dimitri as some wild thing that-maybe-killed-Glenn, but I feel more strongly about not including him to focus on the core plot in my outline.

Have an excerpt of blocked dialogue. Marianne is running from hunters and to keep her from being tracked, Hilda and Lorenz are destroying her shoes.

Lorenz: We do have a cobbler in town but whether they'll have something for your feet, I just don't - no!

Hilda: (coming back in the house, letting in each a white and black cat) What?

Lorenz: Hilda! Only the black cat is mine. Maggie.

Hilda: What's the big deal? (the white cat walks behind a couch or chair or something and comes out the other side as a white dove) Oh.

Lorenz: Yes. Oh. (white dove turns into a large moth, turns into tiny little fairy fey!Claude)

Claude: Wow, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get in here. (Lorenz tries to catch him) Hey! Careful.

Lorenz: Sorry?

Claude: It's fine. (Hilda does grab him) Oh. You're fast. (but he just poofs from her hand) Not that it matters.

Hilda: I'm so sorry Lorenz.

Claude: Lorenz! I almost didn't recognize you without the sun on your skin. Why's it so dark in here? (a knock at the door)

Lorenz: (to Claude) Hide. (who does)

Hilda: Seteth, hi.

Seteth: Whatever it is you're doing in here, you're not half as subtle as you think you are. There are hunters going door to door, and if that shock of blue hair is unusual to me, it will surely stand out to them. Hide your friend more securely. They will be here within the hour. I'm off to warn Linhardt.

wedding interrupted

The final chapter of my fic Lorenz and Hilda’s Paired Ending might end up stretched out to three chapters because as it stands I’m bullying them. I intend to interrupt their wedding night three times. The first two times with accidents / incidents relating to Sylvain.

the first time lorenz and hilda are interrupted his shirts are hanging open, hilda's fully dressed, they've basically been making out. cue knock at the door hilda: (distressed) Are you going to answer that? lorenz: I told them not to disturb me except for fire, kidnapping, or a declaration of war. (buttoning up, haphazardly before answering) Yes? chief of staff: There's been a small fire in the stables. lorenz: What? chief of staff: All steeds are fine, and are being round up by [servant] on his wyvern. We're going to move them to the barns on the eastern farmstead. lorenz: Was it arson? chief of staff: It appears to be ... incompetence. lorenz: Was anyone hurt? chief of staff: Not seriously. lorenz: (holding his forehead) Who was hurt, and in what way was it not serious? chief of staff: Margrave Gautier, your grace. Although he was uninjured by the fire, he took a rather nasty tumble from the roof of the tack house. lorenz: That's two stories up. chief of staff: It is. He landed in a rather soft pile of snow however, and is being treated in his rooms. lorenz: (exasperated) What was he doing up there? Was anyone else involved? chief of staff: His ... Beg pardon. Duke Fraldarius was ... present. One can only speculate what led them there, and what stole the Margrave's pants. lorenz: Ah. Well handled. (a pause) He's fine? chief of staff: He's fine. lorenz: Then I will deal with this on the morrow. Thank you for telling me. chief of staff: (as like a goodbye) Your Grace.

A break for you.

another knock at the door, lorenz is undressed, hilda is still fully dressed. things were Busy hilda: Don't answer that! lorenz: (desperate, plaintive) Your family is under my roof, I need to appear responsible. hilda: Bring up my family again and see how far that gets you. lorenz puts on a housecoat, goes to speak with his staff. i didn't bother blocking out this dialogue though it would likely be included lorenz: Hilda, I'm headed off for a few minutes. (starts pulling on pants at the least - not his dress pants) hilda: What? Why? lorenz: Your brother might be holding Sylvain hostage. hilda: What? Goddess, let me- lorenz: Please don't. hilda: But I could easily be fully dressed much faster. lorenz: Exactly. I'm obligated to go, and if people see me in a housecoat and you fully dressed, then they will know far more about our bedroom than I could ever stomach. (calling to her from the door) Don't undress. hilda: (calling back, while lorenz has the door open) I'm letting my hair down! (i ... can't not deal with lorenz who's been obsessed with marriage for at least eight years not wanting hilda to fuck him in her wedding dress) felix: I'm so sorry, your grace. lorenz: It isn't your fault, as far as I know, and, outside of public forums, you may call me Lorenz - we have enough years together. servant: He's still in there, my lord. chief of staff: (correcting) Your grace. lorenz: It's fine. Holst? Are you in there? holst: Lorenz? They fetched you over this? lorenz: Sylvain... Are you alright? Holst, they're calling this a kidnapping. holst: What? sylvain: I'm okay. lorenz: Can someone please open the door? holst: Ah! Right! felix: (relieved, going to sylvain's bedside) Sylvain ... lorenz: (slamming the door, keeping his staff on the opposite side) Are you all out of your minds? You can't even behave for four hours? sylvain: (apologetic, pleading) Lorenz. lorenz: (angry)I swear Sylvain, you have tested my patience three times tonight. (more annoyed and kinda sad than angry) And two of these moments have pulled me from my marital bed. sylvain: Shit. (gets elbowed in the head by felix) Fuck. lorenz: (about to lose his shit) Stop this, nonsense! sylvain: I'm sorry. holst: You have my apologies as well. lorenz: (rolling his eyes) I'll offer my forgiveness in the morning, assuming you refrain from any further tomfoolery. holst: Of course. sylvain: I won't be moving. lorenz: Alright. (a sigh) I am curious to know what happened here, but I fear Hilda will bar the door if I take much longer. felix: Thank you. lorenz: You are welcome. Your grace. felix: Felix. lorenz: Felix.

Another break

((much?) later) lorenz: Now where were we? hilda: Lorenz if someone knocks on this door while you're inside me you better not fucking answer it. lorenz: I ... hilda: If you answer it, you can sleep in the hallway. lorenz: I won't answer it Hilda. I'm all yours. (they fuck, and like, catch their breath and whatever) hilda: Mmmm, well now I'm undressing. lorenz: Good. Because I need to feel your body now. Let me help you. when they're both actually naked. we'll get the third knock on the door hilda: Lorenz, I swear to Seiros. lorenz: I ... I'm not inside you. (goes to get his housecoat) hilda: You cursed us! lorenz: I know, my dear. (opening the door) Please don't tell me someone's declared war. chief of staff: (amused, kind of mocking) No, your grace. lorenz: Then what (internally: the fuck) is so important that it couldn't wait?

The wind was bitter cold

This is a skyrim-adjacent fic featuring my oc Oretia and esaari’s Philip. It’s meant to be a werewolf fight and confession. The title of the wip is just the first line in the document because I was lazy and knew I’d remember what it was:

The wind was bitter cold. Layers in Winterhold were key to survival, and when someone of irregular size, taller, fatter, continuously growing children, were in need of a new one, Oretia found herself as busy as if she’d been hunting to feed the masses. This was to say nothing of the leather straps and parcels that found use in fishing and construction. She found it difficult to believe that the city had been so small and conservative before her arrival so as to ration away the whole winter.

Oretia wondered what resources the Jarl had at their fingertips, if the people did complain beyond her business of an inability to weather the cold and their hardships. For the moment, at least, she found purpose in being out in the woods, despite Philip’s warnings of full moons and things in the forest.

She’d had to hold back her laughter and embarrassment, and had resolved to tell her sister to be more subtle in the southern mountains, as stories like werewolves were infecting the city below.

The moon was full, and high already, though the sun had yet to set — brightening the fallen snow to a rich golden color, as well as the shaggy coat of an unexpected guest.

Oretia stared at the injured beast with reverence and surprise, and she had to wonder if it were they that had unnerved the local populace. A great elk, albino, but for the splash of blood staining its side, trailing down a shattered leg, hobbled north towards the cliffs and the sea. The creature was magnificent, beautiful and strange to look upon, covered in the fog of its own heavy breaths, and whether it had seen her, seemed resolute in its undoubtedly final act.

This was not how Oretia had intended to spend her evening. No matter what other ‘things’ there were in the forest, wolves and mountain lions and all manner of predators would pose a very real danger if they should find her. Yet as the elk lay down by the cliffside, it felt too much like a gift, from which deity or daedra she couldn’t be sure, but there was no walking away from such a calling.

The elk’s massive chest heaved with each pained cry, its haunting song echoing off the cliffside in a melodic death rattle. As Oretia approached, she could hear horkers bay on the shore below, terrified by the commotion, scattering into the sea. A predator may have heard the call already, but she was too close now, caught in the sad gaze of a large doomed eye, and it became a matter of pride and honor. Oretia readied her blade.

#my writing #idk what else i want to tag this #long post

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quickspinner · 5 years

Text

Someone Like You

I recommend a bathroom break and a beverage (maybe peppermint tea) before you sit down to this one folks, it's kinda long. I keep trying to read this through 'one more time' to make sure I've done a clean edit and every time I end up adding a couple hundred words so I'm declaring it DONE and if there typos we'll all just live with it. I never catch them all anyway.

Marinette was a people watcher. She always had been; it was kind of a professional requirement, in her own mind. There were fashion designers who didn’t notice people much, and in Marinette’s opinion, it always showed in their clothing. Marinette didn’t want to be that kind of designer, the kind that started hyperventilating if their models deviated from the standard look in the slightest, so she paid attention to the people around her—to their shapes, to their colors, to their styles. She’d seen so many interesting people since moving into her high rise apartment, and since she saw most of them at least a few times a week, she’d been able to learn more about them than the people she saw on the street.

There was the plump lady with the big smile who lived a few doors from her whose hair was spiky purple but whose clothes were earth-toned and flowy. Marinette nicknamed her Allium in her mind after the flower. There was Cat Lady Carrie on the fourth floor, who always entered the elevator covered in multicolored cat fur as if she wore it with pride over her mostly black, but otherwise extremely practical, wardrobe. There was Workout Maniac Kim from the seventh floor, who had a peppy greeting for everyone and was always wearing gym shorts except on the very coldest days, when he condescended to wear sweatpants. Marinette hadn’t been sure why he rode the elevator at all until a chance comment during one of their short conversations revealed that he had an old knee injury that made stairs difficult for him.

Today when the elevator stopped on its journey to the ground, the doors opened on The Boy From The Sixth Floor, which was kind of a stupid name, but even after a couple of months of running into him, she hadn’t come up with anything better, because she had trouble picking one thing that defined him. He was tall, with pierced ears and shaggy black hair dyed blue at the tips. He usually kept his gaze on the floor, but he always made eye contact briefly as he greeted her or when he uttered his polite, “Have a good day,” on his way out of the elevator, so she knew his eyes were blue. His wardrobe varied a lot; he clearly wasn’t someone who adhered to any particular capital-S style, and he just wore what he liked, but almost always in layers, dominated by shades of blue and black and white, and almost always with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He had a narrow build and slightly slumped shoulders, but she could see strength in his bare forearms, accented by the thick bracelets he wore on one wrist.

Marinette was curious about him but he seemed—not shy exactly, but hesitant, reserved, like he enjoyed quiet, and it made her less willing to strike up a conversation with him than others. People like him probably thought people like her were boring, anyway, so aside from polite eye contact when one of them was entering or exiting, Marinette tried to keep her eyes forward and not bother him with her presence. It did mean she never got a good look at the tattoos extending from beneath his sleeves down to the backs of his hands, which was a shame. Marinette didn’t have any tattoos herself but they fascinated her as an art form. She was herself in the business of decorating the human body, after all, just...less permanently. She had toyed briefly with the idea of a clothing line that featured openings in the most common tattoo locations, but it would be a hard sell to the higher ups, so she had shelved the idea. Probably no one would be interested in such a thing anyway, right?

“Evening,” he said quietly, as he stepped onto the elevator, his blue eyes flicking to hers and then away quickly. He always spoke softly, and his voice was smooth and pleasant. She smiled politely and nodded in response to his greeting as he moved to the other corner and leaned one shoulder against the wall. He had an instrument case slung over his shoulder, but Marinette didn’t get a good look at it. That explained the slight slouch, she observed, if he was used to carrying something like that around. She remembered he frequently had earbuds around his neck when he came in. Not a big deal, many people did, but if he was a musician that would make sense. His t-shirts had a lot of band logos on them, too, now that she came to think of it. Interesting.

Marinette was so lost in thought that she was caught completely off guard when the elevator suddenly jerked, moved and then jerked again, She tried to take a step to steady herself but the pencil skirt she was wearing didn’t allow her legs to go as wide as she tried to plant them, and she tipped over with a yelp.

Her companion moved to catch her, and she fell into his chest as he got one arm under her and grabbed the railing with his other hand to steady them both. He was strong, Marinette thought thankfully, half bent over the arm around her waist that was the only thing keeping her from falling. She grabbed onto him automatically as the elevator shuddered again.

The jolting only lasted a moment before they ground to a halt, but they both stood braced for another several seconds, waiting for...something. Marinette had time to notice there was a protectiveness in the way he held her. It would have been nice, if she wasn’t scared out of her mind.

Both of them relaxed at the same time, apparently convinced that...whatever had happened, was over.

“You okay?” he asked in his soft voice, putting his hands on her upper arms and gently pushing her upright.

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, looking at the ceiling of the elevator as if it had answers. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered, looking around as well. “But it sounds like we’re not moving anymore.”

Marinette made a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. She didn’t even realize her fingers were still clutching the fabric of his jacket until he took her hands in his and gently unhooked them.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, snatching her hands back quickly and moving back to her side of the elevator. “Um, thanks for catching me.” God, how embarrassing.

“No worries.” He crossed to the control panel and pressed the alarm button. The response they got from maintenance wasn’t encouraging. They weren’t sure what had happened but they were sending a technician to check the pulley system.

“At least it’s not a power outage,” he said, sounding like he was speaking more to himself than Marinette, “So we still have climate control and ventilation.” They both stood there stupidly for a moment before he made a slight oh well gesture with his arms, and then sat down and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

“I guess we might as well get comfortable,” he sighed, taking off his jacket and the hoodie he wore underneath it, leaving him in a ripped white t-shirt. “My name’s Luka,” he said, drawing his knees up and setting his elbows across them. “Do you feel comfortable telling me yours?”

“Oh,” Marinette said, a little surprised by his phrasing. “It’s um, Marinette.” Reluctantly, she slipped off her heels and leaned back against the elevator wall with a sigh, gripping the rail a little too tightly.

“Marinette,” Luka smiled, taking his phone out of his pocket and beginning to type, presumably to text whoever he was supposed to be meeting. “That’s pretty.” He glanced up at her. “You look nervous. Are you scared of closed spaces or is it me?”

“What?” Marinette’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, it’s not you at all! Or, well, not anything about you specifically. I’d be just as nervous with anyone else. It’s not even really the space, I’m just...kind of a nervous person in general. Always lots of energy, and not too many outlets for it. I’m sorry if I made you think that.” She released her death grip on the rail and dug in her bag for her own phone, figuring she’d better let Alya know about her situation.

Luka smiled. “You just seemed uncomfortable, and sometimes people like you are a little freaked out by people like me.” He made a gesture that indicated his dyed hair and piercings.

“Oh, no, no, you look good,” Marinette said quickly, and then backpedaled, horrified at herself. “I mean, I like your look, it suits you! That’s what fashion should be about, expressing yourself.” She smoothed down her skirt absently. “Just because I’m me and you’re you doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

Luka’s smile spread slowly across his face. “I’m glad you think so. Are you sure you don’t want to sit down? I can move a little if you need more space.”

Marinette flushed. “I’m fine. Really.”

Luka raised his eyebrows. He looked her over for a moment and then nodded as though he understood something. “I can look the other way while you get situated if you want.”

Marinette’s face burned and she covered her red cheeks with her hands. “Would you mind?”

“Of course not.” Luka faced the wall, which thankfully wasn’t mirrored, and Marinette got down on her knees on the floor and tried to find a position that wouldn’t have her skirt riding up her thighs every time she moved. She let out a frustrated huff.

“Of course I decided to wear a skirt today,” she muttered. “Of course.” She took off her cropped jacket and spread it across her knees, but it was too small to really help much. Still, it was the best she could do.

“Okay, you can look now,” she sighed.

Luka turned around. Seeing her situation, he picked up his hoodie and offered it to her.

“Thank you,” Marinette said gratefully, accepting it. It was large enough to almost totally cover her legs no matter how she sat. “That’s much better.”

He smiled. “The situation sucks as it is. I don’t want either of us to be any more uncomfortable than necessary.”

Marinette smiled back, the first genuine smile she had managed since the elevator ground to a halt. “You’re very thoughtful, Luka.”

All he said was a soft, “thank you,” but Marinette thought he was blushing just a little. It was...sweet.

It gave her the courage to say, after a few minutes of silence, “Were you heading anywhere important?”

“Band practice,” Luka said, nodding at the instrument case beside him.

“Oh, what do you play?” Marinette asked, craning her neck to see the case.

“Electric guitar,” Luka said, shifting a little so she could see it better.

“That’s so cool,” Marinette said brightly. “I played the flute when I was a kid but I never really had a passion for it. What kind of music? How long have you been playing?”

“Practically my whole life,” Luka smiled.

Marinette gasped. “Sorry! Am I talking too much? I told you, too much energy and not enough outlet for it, and pretty soon it all goes to running my mouth, but we can be quiet if you’d rather—“

She stopped as Luka began to laugh quietly, one hand covering his mouth. His fingernails were painted a shiny black, she noticed.

“You’re funny, Marinette,” Luka grinned. “You were fine, I don’t mind talking. But tell me about you, if that’s okay.”

“Me?” Marinette blinked. “Oh, I’m...well I’m not that interesting, really.” Not like he was,

Luka hmmed. “Tell me anyway. You know my passion’s music, what’s yours?”

Something about the intent way he was looking at her made her face feel warm. “Um, fashion design,” she said shyly, sure it would sound shallow to someone like Luka.

“Really,” he said, eyebrows raising slightly. “My sister models part time.”

“I—oh, really?” Marinette managed not to gape at him but it was a near thing.

“Yeah, she’s been doing it for a few years now.” Luka pulled out his phone again and fiddled with it for a moment, and then offered it to Marinette. She took it and looked curiously at the photo. Luka was standing with a girl with striking amber brown eyes and long black hair. She was clearly made up and styled for a runway show. Luka had his arm around her shoulders and though his posture was relaxed as always, he had an adorably over-enthusiastic wide smile and his eyes were lit up with pride. His sister had an indulgent smile on her face that clearly said my brother is a dork and I adore him.

“Oh!” Marinette gasped. “I’ve seen her with you before, I thought she was your—” she stopped, and blushed.

“Girlfriend?” Luka smiled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, we’ve gotten that before because we’re so close in age and we don’t look much alike. Juleka looks more like our mom and I, unfortunately, got Dad’s genes.”

“It’s not unfortunate, you’re really cute!” Marinette scolded, speaking thoughtlessly in her anger at him putting himself down. She couldn’t stand to hear people talk badly about themselves. Luka looked down at the floor between his knees, presumably to hide the smirk she could still see the corner of.

“Well,” he said, not looking at her. “Thanks, but...still no girlfriend, just an awesome kid sister.”

“You’re so cute together,” Marinette continued in a rush, hoping to brush past the awkwardness. “I mean, now that I understand the relationship I can totally see how much you care about each other!” Marinette looked at the picture again and giggled. “You’re really proud of her aren’t you? It looks like you guys are close.”

“We are,” Luka said simply, taking his phone back when she handed it to him and swiping through a few more pictures. “And I am proud of her. She had some major hurdles but she kept chasing her dreams.” He turned the phone back to her, showing her another picture of his sister, this time clearly a professional shot.

“Her eyes are amazing,” Marinette observed.

“So are yours,” Luka commented, and then they both looked up, perhaps equally startled at his statement. She could see him swallow as his cheeks tinted pink.

“Thank you,” Marinette said with a smile, deciding to save him from the clear indecision he was suffering between trying to say something else, perhaps to play it off, and keeping his mouth shut lest he make it worse. It was a worry she was very familiar with, after all. “So she’s been modeling a while? I don’t remember her but you see so many models, you know, and I’m always looking at the clothes. With eyes like that, she should really try cosmetic ads, she’d be killer.”

Luka smiled, an affectionate look on his face. “Her agent’s looking into that, actually.”

“Awesome!” Marinette clapped her hands. “Oh, she’ll be amazing! You’ll have to let me know which ad campaigns she works with so I can check them out!” Luka’s smile broadened into a grin, and for once his gaze remained steady on her.

Suddenly self-conscious, Marinette reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and smooth the rest back. She’d lost a few strands out of her bun during the elevator-quake, it seemed, and they were tickling her neck. Luka looked away quickly and cleared his throat, but he asked, “So do you design professionally, or just for fun?”

“Both,” Marinette answered, still a little fluttered. “I mean, I work at a design firm but I’m just starting out, so I don’t do as much actual design as I hope to in the future. Right now it’s a lot of sewing and altering and trying to find tactful ways to suggest that maybe my boss has lost her mind every once in a while.”

Luka covered his chuckle with his hand. “That’s an important job.”

“I also run a boutique business online for custom commissions,” Marinette continued, smiling a little herself. “It means I’m working a lot, but it keeps the creativity alive even when my job makes me feel like a soulless drone.”

Luka laughed—not loud, but a full laugh and not just a quiet chuckle. Marinette found herself smiling, pleased with her accomplishment.

“You’re funny, Marinette,” Luka said again, his smile warm, not at all like the cool politeness she was used to from him.

He...really was cute when he smiled like that. And his eyes were nice—softer than she’d realized before.

A silence descended that wasn’t quite awkward but wasn’t quite comfortable, either, like neither of them wanted the conversation to stop, but neither knew exactly where to take it from here, either.

Marinette took a breath, bit her lip, and then plunged onward. “Do you, um...do you want to see some of my work? Since we don’t have anything else to do...”

Luka brightened. “Yeah, I’d love to!”

Marinette, still smiling, tucked that loose strand of hair back again and reached for her bag. She pulled out her sketchbook and set it aside, and then pulled out the portfolio that had been underneath it and shyly offered it to Luka. He took it and then hesitated a moment before gesturing to the space next to her. “May I?”

“Mmhmm!” Marinette made a token shift to the side as Luka got on his knees and shuffled over to the space beside her. He settled next to her, his arm brushing hers slightly but only because the elevator just wasn’t all that wide. He smelled nice, she thought absently as he opened her portfolio across his lap. It occurred to her to be glad she was stuck in the elevator with someone clean. She leaned closer for a second to reposition her legs; one was starting to fall asleep tucked under her as it was. With Luka’s hoodie to keep her covered she could sit more comfortably.

“I like your perfume,” Luka commented. “Subtle. It’s nice.” Then he glanced up with a slightly startled look on his face, like his mouth had gotten ahead of him—a feeling she was very familiar with. “Sorry, was that weird?” he asked with a slight hunch of his shoulders and a lopsided grin. “It’s just—there’s a girl on my floor that wears way too much and I was just thinking I’m glad I’m not here with her.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “The one with the yellow designer jacket and super expensive sunglasses?”

Luka grinned. “I’ve never noticed the sunglasses but yeah, the jacket’s um...hard to miss.”

Marinette smiled. “It would be awful to be stuck in here with her. Sometimes I can barely stand it until we get to the lobby. And honestly, I was just thinking I’m glad I’m here with someone like you and not, like, Kim fresh from a workout. I mean, he’s a nice guy, but…” She shrugged, wrinkling her nose.

Luka chuckled, then cleared his throat and looked back to her portfolio. He didn’t say anything as he went through it, but he studied each sketch and its paired photographs with great care. Marinette fell to examining the tattoos on the arm nearest her, finally able to indulge her interest, especially since the t-shirt covered considerably less than his outer layers and bared parts of the tattoo she hadn’t even glimpsed before. The design flowed along the lines of his arm nicely, each individual element clearly considered in light of the entire piece. The music themes didn’t surprise her but the nautical ones did. There was a compass rose in particular that she found very interesting, with symbols at each cardinal point that surely meant something to him.

“These are amazing, Marinette.” She was so lost in her thoughts that his gentle voice made her jump. Luka turned back several pages from the end. “I really like this one.”

“Really?” Marinette asked, surprised.

“Well, it’s not my personal style,” Luka smiled without looking up from the page. “But I can see the art in it. It’s very evocative. When I look at it, I feel like I know something about the person you made it for. And that’s what you were saying, right? Fashion should be about expressing yourself. I feel like this one is really true to that intention. It might not express me as a person, but it does express someone and I love that about it.”

Marinette stared at him in surprise for so long that Luka looked up to meet her eyes. She’d been leaning in to look at the book in his lap and when he raised his head his face was suddenly closer to her than she expected.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, and she jerked back slightly.

“No, no, not at all. I’m—that’s great, what you said, that makes me really happy. I guess I didn’t expect you to be so thoughtful about it.”

Luka tilted his head slightly, a bit of amusement flickering across his expression. “Just because my art isn’t your art doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it, once you show me how. I mean, I’ll admit,” he looked back down at the portfolio, “There’s a lot here I don’t understand, and even though I feel like I could describe this person, I’m not sure I’d be able to articulate why I felt that way. But, you know, that’s how we learn about each other, right?” He smiled that warm smile at her again and Marinette felt her pulse speeding up as her face heated.

“Sorry, am I too much?” he asked, leaning back a little. “Juleka says I’m too intense sometimes.”

“I don’t mind it,” Marinette said, smiling shyly. “I like it.”

There was no doubt that color washed his cheeks this time, and for a moment his expression clearly showed how pleased he was before he looked down and closed the portfolio, smoothing the pages carefully so nothing wrinkled. “You can tell me if I’m overstepping, but...is that new stuff you’ve been working on?” Luka indicated her sketchbook.

“Oh! Yes, it is,” Marinette said, picking it up and holding it to her.

“Would you be willing to share it with me?” Luka asked. “I’m really curious. Only if you’d be comfortable though, no pressure.”

“You really want to see?” Marinette asked, and she pursed her lips for a moment when he nodded. “I don’t mind,” she said slowly. “But...I need you to put your phone where I can see it. I have some client work in here that I can’t allow to get out, and I can’t tell you who it’s for. One set of eyes is no big deal, but I can’t have pictures going out or they’d never work with me again.”

Luka blinked at her for a moment, and then pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” Marinette smiled, taking it. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I can’t risk my client’s privacy based on my intuition.”

“I understand,” Luka said with a slightly lopsided smile, “And we did just meet, after all. It would be completely reasonable for you not to trust me.”

Marinette just smiled and set his phone carefully on the floor where he could reach it, but not without her seeing. Then she offered her sketchbook to him. Luka took it with one hand, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“You sure? I don’t have to look at the whole thing, you can just pick what you want to show me.”

Marinette shrugged. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. Like I said, one set of eyes won’t matter, and I don’t think you’re going to sit here and memorize anything just to steal my designs,” she teased, leaning over to bump her shoulder against his.

“Hardly,” Luka chuckled, running his fingers lightly over the cover of the book before opening it.

Luka went over the pages of the sketchbook with the same attention he’d given her portfolio. A couple of times he smiled, and Marinette peeked around him to see what he was looking at. One was a page where the design had just been a total failure and she had written some unkind things about the inventor of that particular fabric in the margin. One was a cutesy, flirty outfit she’d designed for herself. Luka darted a glance at her, murmured, “I like the ruffles,” and turned the page, that hint of pink back on his cheeks.

He paused a long time on the commission she had been trying to safeguard, but that didn’t surprise her, as it probably had the most in common with his own aesthetic. She was, however, completely surprised by what came out of his mouth as he poured over the design.

“Jagged Stone,” Luka said absently, eyes still glued to the page.

“W-what?” Marinette stammered.

“This stuff, it makes me think of Jagged St—” He looked up, catching Marinette’s expression. She wasn’t sure what kind of face she was making. Certainly on the inside she was too mixed up to settle on one. Horror, fear, delight, admiration, hilarity—she couldn’t seem to decide how to react. “Holy shit,” Luka said, his eyes traveling over her face. “Your mystery client is Jagged fucking Stone?”

“Um…” Marinette said slowly, “I...can’t confirm that.”

“You don’t have to,” Luka said, still staring at her. “There’s no one else alive with Jagged’s style, and this—” He held up the sketchbook, turning it toward her. “It can’t be anyone else, Marinette. I’ve been following Jagged Stone’s career since I was old enough to pronounce his name.”

Marinette bit her lip, and sighed. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she nearly begged. “If it is Jagged, and I’m not saying it is, I can’t let this get out, I’d have to scrap everything and start over, if he’d even still want to have me—”

“Of course, of course,” Luka said, putting the sketchbook down quickly and taking her hand between both of his. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Of course I’d never say anything, not that anyone would likely believe me if I did. And Jagged would be crazy to fire you. Uh, if it actually was Jagged you worked for,” he added hurriedly. “But I mean, Marinette, look at this.” He let go of her hand and picked up the sketchbook again. “You get him. This is so original, it’s not like anything he’s ever worn before, and yet it’s so Jagged at the same time, I’m just—I’m blown away, really.”

“You...really think so?” Marinette asked hesitantly. “You like it? You think Jagged will like it?”

“He’s eccentric, not stupid, so yeah, I know he will.” Luka sighed, looking back down at the book. “Man, I wish we could get a designer for our band with even half your talent. Is this one for an album cover? No, never mind, you probably can’t tell me that.”

“Tell me about your band,” Marinette said, drawing up her knees under his hoodie and wrapping her arms around her legs. “Have you been playing with them long?”

“Individually I have,” he said, still looking through her sketchbook. “But we just decided to group up a couple months ago. I’ve played with a few other bands and they were all cool people but I never quite clicked with them the way I have with Kitty Section.” He chuckled. “Helps that Juleka’s our bassist, and her girlfriend does our vocals, and then Rose has been friends with our drummer since they were kids. I think maybe that’s why we vibe together so well.”

“That’s your band name, Kitty Section?”

“Yes. It’s pretty much all we’ve got right now, plus a few songs I’ve written. We haven’t been together long enough to put a look and a brand together. Not like these,” he sighed, shaking his head as he turned a page. He hadn’t lifted his eyes once the whole time he’d spoken. “You are really good at what you do, Marinette.”

Marinette blushed hotly. When she showed her designs to laypeople, she was used to being told she was “talented” like she hadn’t worked hard and studied to get her skills where they were, or that she was “creative” like it was something she did without thought or purpose. She liked Luka’s compliment better.

“Wait, did you say you wrote the songs?” she asked, eyes widening slightly.

“Well, I write the melodies,” Luka replied, resting his chin on his hand as he turned the page. “Rose mostly does the lyrics. I work a lot easier with music than words. I have a feeling or a thought that I want to express, I work it out in the music, and then Rose takes the demo I give her and puts words to it. Usually she’s pretty spot on in a kinda metaphorical way.” He made a so-so gesture with his hand. “If I don’t love it, we go back and forth until we get something we’re happy with.”

“Do you, um...do you have any of your music with you?” Marinette asked.

Luka looked up, startled. “Uh, yeah, I’ve got some on my phone. Just some tracks we recorded ourselves, though, nothing like, professional.”

“Can I listen?”

Luka looked like she’d just handed him a million bucks and Jagged’s autograph. “Really? I mean, sure, let me—” He started to reach for his phone, and then closed the sketchbook and handed it back to her. Marinette took it gratefully, and Luka picked up his phone and queued up the music. “It’d sound better if I had better speakers,” he muttered almost to himself as he set the phone back in the place Marinette had put it before.

Marinette gave the sketchbook back to him, leaned back and closed her eyes, listening to the music. It was...eclectic. She almost would have said that the band was still finding its sound, but it didn’t feel like that. It just felt like they embraced a wide reading of their genre. There was a really fun song about unicorns and cats and…

Marinette’s eyes flew open and she dug in her bag for her pencil case. Then she plucked her sketchbook out of Luka’s hands and turned to a blank page.

“Marinette?” Luka asked, sounding slightly bewildered though she didn’t look up at him to see.

“Can you play that last one again?” Marinette asked distractedly, setting her pencil moving across the page.

“Yeah, sure,” Luka said, still sounding puzzled as he reached for the phone.

“Put it on repeat one please.”

“Okay...”

Marinette began writing. First the name of the band, then phrases that jumped out at her from the songs, then words the music called to mind, then words that described Luka himself. Shapes and colors swirled around in her mind as she wrote, and then she began to sketch. She heard Luka’s intake of breath beside her but forgot it before she could even glance up.

She paused here and there, swapping out colored pencils and bobbing her head to the rhythm while she thought, but she kept a nice, smooth creative flow. It was easy, designing free form like this, not having to worry about making it look like her design house’s style, or even Jagged’s, just...creating something wholly new. It was nice. It was fun.

When she sat back with a sigh, stretching her cramping fingers, she realized Luka had moved back across from her and his guitar was in his lap.

“You’ve been playing?” Marinette asked, blinking. How had she not noticed that?

Luka smiled, and swept his pick down the strings, sending a muted series of notes into the small space. “Just playing along with the song. It doesn’t sound that great without an amp but at least this way I get a little practice. You were clearly in the zone and I didn’t want to be in the way. And...to be honest I had to do something or I’d have burned a hole through you with my eyes. Are you finished? Can I see?”

“I—oh.” Marinette looked down at her work and blushed. “Yeah, I...you know it’s probably stupid, we didn’t even talk about what you were looking for, but you know, I heard the song and I had the idea and—well it made sense at the time. It’s probably all wrong, though,” she sighed, holding the sketchbook to her chest. “I mean, without a proper consultation…I haven’t even met your other band members, just you, and…”

“May I see?” Luka asked, reaching toward the sketchbook but not touching either it, or her. “I mean, I tried not to watch, I didn’t know if you’d want me to, but what I did see—please?” He gave her the most irresistible puppy eyes she’d ever seen on a grown man.

She giggled and looked down. Marinette took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She always had this moment, after an initial sketch was finished, this sudden conviction that everything she’d just done was awful, but she’d learned to ignore it, to just suck it up and hand over the design and let the client decide. She offered the sketchbook to Luka with a nervous smile.

He took it, his eyes lingering on her as he turned it to face him, and then he looked down at the sketch and sucked in his breath.

Marinette bit her lip hard in an attempt not to babble all the disclaimers, pushing that stupid piece of hair back again, and waited, tense.

When he finally spoke, it was so softly she barely heard him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, laying his long fingers on the page next to her sketch. “You got all of this just—just from the music?” He looked up at her and she swore for an instant there were stars in his eyes. “You’re amazing, Marinette. I don’t think...I don’t think anybody’s ever gotten my music like this except Juleka.”

“Not just from the music,” she said, her own voice hushed to match his, unable to tear her eyes away when he looked at her like that. “From you, too. I mean we only talked today, but I’ve seen you around lots, so I took your style and...amplified it. Played it up.” She shrugged, cutting herself out before she could start babbling.

“You noticed me?” Luka blinked, and Marinette burst out laughing.

“Of course I did, you’re hard to miss.”

“Right,” Luka looked embarrassed and turned his face away. “I—”

He was interrupted by a buzz and a voice from the emergency panel. “Okay, hang on folks, we think we fixed the problem. We’re bringing you to the ground floor now. It’ll be a bit slower than usual, but I assure you that’s entirely normal and you’re in no danger.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” Luka snorted softly. They shared a grin, and began gathering up their things. Luka stood up and offered her a hand. She accepted, letting him pull her to her feet. He politely looked away as she tugged down her skirt and settled it back into place. She gave him back his hoodie and slipped her little cropped jacket back on, stepping carefully back into her pumps.

“It might not have been the greatest outfit for sitting on the floor,” Luka observed, darting her a shy smile as he put his coat back on and ducked under the strap of his guitar case. “But you look really cute in it.”

Marinette giggled, blushing, and Luka chuckled through his nose, grinning at the floor. The elevator started moving with a gentle bump and slowly began to descend. Marinette grabbed Luka’s sleeve reflexively, and turned apologetic but pleading eyes up at him. He chuckled and removed her hand only to wrap his own around it and squeeze tightly. They stood there, each with their free hand gripping the rail as they held onto the elevator and each other for dear life. Neither of them let go until the elevator doors began to slide open.

When they finally stepped off the elevator, Marinette hugged the maintenance tech waiting there impulsively. “Oh, thank you!”

“Er,” the elderly man said, patting her back awkwardly. “Happy to help, ma’am. You um...you’re okay?” Marinette straightened to see the man was looking over her shoulder at Luka suspiciously.

“Oh, yes, Luka’s a perfect gentleman,” Marinette said, beaming back at her new friend. He blushed. She looked back at the maintenance tech and giggled. “Maybe a little shy, though.”

The tech chuckled, relaxing, and shook Luka’s hand amiably when Luka stepped forward to thank him for getting them out.

Luka and Marinette drifted towards the lobby doors slowly, both clearly trying to think of something to say.

“You know, I can still make it to practice before it ends,” Luka said, checking the time. “I was heading out early to work on some stuff, so the others will just be warming up now. Would you—I mean,” he shuffled his feet a little, “I’d love it if you could come with me. You could meet the rest of the band and show them your ideas. I’m still not sure we could afford you, but maybe we could work something out. I can’t imagine Ivan’s terribly attached to his kidney.”

Marinette giggled. “Well,” she sighed, checking the time herself. “My girls’ dinner is definitely cancelled, and I honestly have zero desire to get back in that elevator right now—or climb up eight floors in these,” she added, lifting one small foot and putting it back down with a click. “So...sure, why not?”

“We can grab something to eat after,” Luka suggested. “Or on the way,” he amended with a grin when Marinette’s stomach growled. Marinette moaned and put her hand over her face, but then she peeked at him between her fingers and giggled. Honestly, it was kind of hard to be embarrassed in front of him after they’d been camped out on an elevator floor for two hours. He’d tried so hard to make sure she was comfortable, he’d been interested in her work, he had thoughtful and insightful things to say, and his music was amazing…and there was still so much she didn’t know about him, like the nautical tattoos or what his plans were for his music...

Her breath caught when she saw he was giving her that look again, like...like he really thought she was the greatest thing to ever walk the earth.

It was...really nice to be looked at like that, she was finding. She could get used to it.

“Dinner sounds good,” she said, probably a little later and definitely a little squeakier than she should have, and his smile made her knees weak.

They ended up grabbing crepes from a street vender just to take the edge off, because neither of them wanted Luka to be any later to practice than necessary. Eating quickly on the way to the metro, Marinette promptly tripped over an uneven place in the sidewalk, pitching forward with a gasp. Luka caught her arm and steadied her, and then offered his. Marinette slipped her hand through his elbow and they shared a smile.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Marinette, she told herself, trying to calm the flutters in her stomach with a deep breath. It didn’t matter; another soft look from him as they got on the train was enough to undo all her efforts.

His practice space was only a short ride away, in a club that was only open on weekends. Luka explained that Rose knew the owner and he let them rent the space for weekday practices as long as they cleaned up after themselves.

She hesitated at the door and Luka looked at her. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she tried to say brightly. “I’m fine, it’ll be fine.”

Luka turned away from the door to face her. “Why are you nervous?”

“It’s nothing,” Marinette said, embarrassed. “It’s just, I’m…” she gestured vaguely at herself. Luks just raised his eyebrows. “Boring,” she finished, shuffling awkwardly. “Compared to a metal band, I—I’m just not—“

She frowned when Luka turned away from her and covered his mouth, and Marinette blinked for a moment before she realized he was laughing at her. He cleared his throat and turned back to the door, pulling it open for her and gesturing her through. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he said, not quite able to keep a straight face as he said it.

Marinette pursed her lips and went inside, trying not to pout.

“Hey guys,” Luka said, in answer to the chorus greeting him from the stage. He set his guitar case on a table and opened it. “Sorry I got held up. This is Marinette.” He offered his hand to Marinette and led her forward into the light from the stage. “Marinette, this is Rose—“

“Hi Marinette! Nice to meet you!”

“Ivan—“

“Hey.”

“And my sister, Juleka.”

Juleka smiled and gave a little wave.

“Just have a seat anywhere you’re comfortable,” Luka smiled at her. “We’ll try to keep you entertained.” He gave her a wink and a grin and then headed for the stage.

Juleka punched him lightly in the arm as he passed her, and he looked at her, and they seemed to have some kind of conversation without words. Luka snorted softly and shook his head, the lights on the stage clearly illuminating his blush, and Juleka smirked.

Luka got into place and got his guitar settled and plugged in. It was hard to describe the way he changed as he mounted the stage. Even with the guitar strap over his shoulder, the slouch was gone, as was the perpetually sleepy look in his eyes. Then he looked up at her and gave her a grin that made her insides feel like jelly, made only worse when his quiet but strong voice said, “Let’s do this.”

They were so much fun to watch, Marinette thought. They all had such distinct personalities, and they clearly loved what they were playing. Juleka moved with a fluid elegance that was entrancing to watch, while Rose was bursting with energy. Ivan looked big and slow but his drumsticks kept perfect time, and Marinette adjusted her mental image to a charging bull rather than a plodding steer.

And Luka was—well she couldn’t look too long at Luka. His stage smirk, as she began to think of it, scattered her thoughts completely every time their eyes met. He was contained, poised like his sister, but all the little tricks she now realized he used to tone down his natural intensity were gone. His presence on stage was powerful and she found it...extremely appealing. To put it mildly.

Sexy, Alya’s voice giggled in her mental ear, but Marinette crossed her legs primly and got out her sketchbook. She began making adjustments and additions to her designs, focusing on the other band members since she didn’t know them. She pondered each one of them thoughtfully, and by the time they came down off stage, she had several more pages filled with ideas.

Luka gathered the band around the table and asked Marinette to show them what she’d been working on. It wasn’t exactly the sort of pre-planned client presentation she was used to, but she did her best. Her nervousness quickly faded in the face of their enthusiasm. Her eyes flickered to Luka, who just smiled, not quite looking at her. “Told you,” he murmured. Marinette kind of wanted to pinch him.

“Don’t worry about it for now,” Marinette waved dismissively when the subject of payment came up. “As long as we can cover materials up front, I can cut you a deal on the commission price. We can work out a payment schedule or whatever. I have to be able to take a passion project now and then or I’ll go crazy.” Her eyes might have flickered shyly towards Luka when she said it. He hadn’t said much, but Marinette was aware the entire time of Luka’s eyes on her. Juleka was clearly aware of it too, and looked highly amused by the situation. Marinette blushed and Luka sighed whenever one or the other caught Juleka smirking at them.

“Might want to turn down the smoulder, bro,” Juleka leaned in and murmured to him at one point, just barely audible to Marinette. “You’re looking at her like she’s a new guitar you can’t wait to play.”

“Jules, I love you, but I swear on Mom’s guitar I will murder you right here if you don’t shut the hell up,” he muttered back.

Rose leaned in and loudly asked a long-winded question, kindly giving Marinette a chance to recover from her unintentional eavesdropping.

“We’re heading out,” Luka announced finally, standing up and offering Marinette his hand. “We haven’t eaten and I think I owe Marinette dinner at the least for all of this.”

“Sure,” Juleka murmured, her voice even softer than her brother’s and laced with amusement. “That’s totally the reason.”

“Well,” Luka said, looking down into Marinette’s face, “Maybe not the only reason.” Marinette blushed as Ivan oohed and Rose put two fingers in her mouth and whistled at them. Luka chuckled. “Bye guys.”

“Don’t screw it up,” Juleka said as he bent and kissed the top of her head. “I can’t take you moping for weeks.”

“You two have a good tiiiiime,” Rose sing-songed as she waved goodbye. “Don’t stay out too late!” She whisper shouted, “Text us and let us know if you kiss!” She squealed and grabbed Juleka’s arm. “He likes her so much, it’s so cute!”

Ivan gave them two thumbs up. “Good luck, dude!”

Luka waved them off with a good-natured “Whatever,” and put his hand against Marinette’s lower back, guiding her to the door.

“Sorry about them,” he said, with a one-shouldered shrug that said, what can you do?

Marinette giggled. “They like giving you a hard time, don’t they?”

“Well,” he sighed as he opened the door. “I can’t be too mad about it. It’s not like they’re wrong.” He grinned as he motioned for her to go ahead of him.

Marinette did, her head held high, though she was biting her lip to contain her smile. Despite her embarrassment, she was enjoying the attention he paid her.

They found a restaurant and grabbed a table near the back. She finally asked about his tattoos as they ate and Luka moved to the chair next to her, slipping off his hoodie and coat and even lifting the sleeve of his t-shirt so she could see better as he talked about them. He told her about growing up on a houseboat with his mother and the trips they would take together while she not-so-subtly admired the arm he was not-so-subtly flexing. She told him about her family and what it was like growing up with her parents trying to run the business.

“You were amazing on stage,” Marinette said eventually, and Luka, who had finished eating and was leaning on the table, darted that stage smirk at her. “Yes,” she exclaimed, pointing in his face and circling her finger to include all of it. “That. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Maybe,” Luka chuckled, with a wink that was far more devastating than it had been a few hours ago. “Every performer has to know how to work a crowd.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose at him teasingly. “Well there’s no crowd here, so turn it off, it’s distracting.”

“The size of the audience doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, absolutely not turning it off. “Just getting the effect that you want. Am I affecting you, Marinette?”

She hadn’t expected such a bold flirt, and it showed in her suddenly red face. Luka chuckled. “That looks a bit like a yes, Marinette.” Then he added, getting a bit pink himself, “You definitely affect me.”

“Who are you?” Marinette asked, narrowing her eyed at him, half playful and half serious. “The sexy rocker or the sweet boy who loaned me his hoodie on the elevator?”

Luka looked away for a moment, laughing through his nose, and then looked back at her. “Who are you?” he challenged. “The cute stammering girl wearing shoes she can’t walk in—“ He grinned as Marinette gasped in outrage, “Or the classy business lady selling a new client on her ideas like she’s been doing it since the day she was born?”

Marinette giggled, covering her face. “Okay, fair.”

They both needed a moment to breathe after that. Marinette busied herself with her food and Luka ordered a cup of peppermint tea.

“You know,” Marinette said, blushing as she picked at her fries. “This is starting to feel an awful lot like a date.”

Luka chuckled. “I don’t know about you but this is the best blind date I’ve ever been on, even taking into account the two hours stuck in the elevator.” He smiled at her. “But sometimes good things happen even when we’re not expecting them, and sometimes things that shouldn’t make sense just do. I’ve never met anyone like you, Marinette. And I’d be happy to consider this our first date if it means I can take you out on another one.”

Marinette froze for an instant, staring at him with her drink in one hand and the straw pinched between two fingers of the other. Was this really the guy who never spoke and stared at the floor every time they rode the elevator?

He wasn’t staring at the floor now. He was staring right at her, and Juleka was right, he was intense. But...Marinette hadn’t been lying before. She liked it. She liked it a lot, actually. No one had ever looked at her like that before, like in that moment nobody else existed but her.

Smiling, she said, “I think we can work something out,” and watched him watch her slide the straw between her lips.

They lingered a little longer than necessary over the meal, with Luka sipping his tea while Marinette ordered a hot chocolate piled with whipped cream. Luka laughed at her when she got some on her nose and her eyes crossed trying to look at it. Marinette gave him the cold shoulder for five whole minutes, until he actually began to look worried that he’d really offended her. Then she winked at him over the rim of the cup with its much diminished pile of whipped cream, and the soft look came back.

It was getting late, though, so they gathered their things and headed to the metro. They didn’t bother to sit, as they were only going a few stops, and stood together holding onto one of the poles and talking quietly. Eventually Marinette noticed some passengers looking in their direction, and she tugged on Luka’s sleeve. He bent down slightly.

“Do I look okay?” Marinette whispered to him. “I feel like people are staring. Did I spill something on myself?”

“You’re fine,” Luka chuckled. “I think it’s because they’re not used to seeing a sweet lady like you with a punk rock guy like me. Probably thinking you belong with someone like him.” He straightened and nodded at an advertisement on the subway wall, where a very familiar blonde man dressed in a business suit was looking over his shoulder at the camera.

Marinette began to laugh, and Luka raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to explain. “I actually know him and he’s engaged,” Marinette giggled. “He’s marrying a friend of mine. I’m supposed to be a bridesmaid in their wedding next year. And believe me, people who don’t know better would say they don’t match at all either.” Marinette sighed as the laughter faded, though her smile remained. “Well,” she said, sliding her hand down his arm to slot her fingers between his and leaning into his side as she turned her nose up at the gapers, “The other girls like me don’t know what they’re missing.”

Luka gave her the soft look, and maybe it wasn’t as sexy as the stage smirk but it was awfully cute and a lot less intimidating. His fingers closed tightly around hers and he leaned into her too. “All the guys like me wish they could be so lucky.”

They held hands all the way back to the apartment building.

“Well,” Luka said with some amusement as they approached the elevator doors. “Here we are. Do we take the chance or use the stairs?”

Marinette sighed, shifting on her already tired feet. “I suppose...it didn’t end too badly last time, right?” She smiled up at him. “I can think of worse things than being stuck in an elevator with you.”

“So can I,” Luka chuckled. “And several of them involve plunging to the bottom of the elevator shaft instead of just jolting to a halt and having to catch a pretty girl.”

“So...you’d rather take the stairs?” Marinette asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Luka sighed heavily, and then his gaze flickered to her shoes and he squeezed her hand. “No. We’re just going to have to have faith that the universe didn’t set us up on the most bizarre blind date ever just to let us die at the end of it.” He grinned, and Marinette giggled.

The elevator doors opened (not to the same elevator, and Marinette wasn’t sure whether an elevator that presumably hadn’t been stuck today was better or worse than the one that had been stuck but that they knew for a fact maintenance had recently serviced). She and Luka shared a look, and then stepped onto the elevator together, hands still clasped tightly.

“Is it okay if I walk you to your floor?” Luka asked, his hand hovering over the panel.

Marinette nodded. “I’m on eight.”

Luka pushed the button, and they both let out a breath as the elevator began to move. Marinette was more anxious than she had expected, and found herself pressing against Luka’s side. Luka let go of her hand and put his arm around her waist, squeezing lightly. His other hand gripped the elevator rail tightly.

Despite their nervousness, the elevator ascended smoothly to the eighth floor. They both breathed a sigh of relief and laughed at themselves as they got off the elevator.

“Whew,” Luka said, taking her hand again and pulling her off to the side. “We made it.” He ducked out of the strap of his guitar case and set it against the wall.

“We did,” Marinette giggled, as he caught her other hand, so that both of hers now rested in his.

“Well, it wasn’t the most conventional first date,” Luka admitted, tugging lightly to bring her close. “But...I’m really glad I met you, Marinette. And I’d really like to take you on a second date sometime soon. Maybe one involving less time spent in elevators and more comfortable shoes.”

“Hey!” Marinette pouted as he laughed, tightening his grip when she pretended to pull away, drawing her even nearer.

“I know technically we just met,” Luka said, smiling down at her, “And I’m not trying to pressure you, but...I’ve been dying to kiss you for hours now. Can I?”

Marinette only hesitated a moment before nodding, because the truth was she’d been wanting him to kiss her since he’d stepped on the stage.

Luka held her eyes as he leaned in until they got close, only closing them a breath before he pressed his mouth to hers, slow and soft and so warm. He let go of her hands and brought his own to cup her face, and then slid them back into her hair to tilt her back as the kiss deepened. He tasted like peppermint tea and some giddy part of her brain wondered if he’d drunk it on purpose because he’d already been planning to kiss the hell out of her. She slid her hands up over his shoulders to wind her arms around his neck and pressed into him, and he moaned softly into the kiss.

She had an epiphany right about then, but it wasn’t about the mint tea or how he was a great kisser. It was a bunch of little things that came together for her in a sudden flash of intuition, confirmed and affirmed in the way he kissed her like he needed her more than air, the way his eyes stayed closed for a moment when they parted, the stars in those eyes when he opened them and looked at her, his thumbs brushing along her jaw as he leaned back in for just one more, light and soft and reverent, before dropping his hands to her waist and resting his forehead against hers. He was soft and sentimental, an artist and a believer in the romance of taking chances when they come along. He was gentle and kind and considerate, he saw people, he felt deeply and passionately and he believed that love didn’t always have to make sense.

He was someone like her.

She was sure there were stars in her own eyes as she looked back at him.

Someone behind her cleared her throat and Marinette jumped, turning quickly. “Mrs. Allium!” she gasped at the sight of the purple-haired lady currently waiting for the elevator. “I mean—”

“Good evening, Mrs. Allen,” Luka cut in smoothly from behind her. “Is your grandson feeling better?”

Mrs. Allen beamed at him. “He is, thank you for asking, my dear. How is your mother?”

“She’s well,” Luka smiled. “I saw her a couple of days ago and she’s doing great. Planning another trip in the spring.”

“That’s good. And it’s good to see you finally made your move, my boy,” Mrs. Allen winked and nodded significantly at Marinette, who was looking back and forth between them with her mouth half-open. “I told you a girl like that wouldn’t stay single forever.”

Luka blushed—not the faint tint of color she had seen on him up until now, but a true, deep blush. “Yes, ma’am. Well, it was sort of—ah...” He shuffled his feet and his shoulders hunched slightly, and Mrs. Allen laughed.

“Mm-hmm, I saw what it was,” she said loftily, winking at Marinette, whose face rapidly darkened to match Luka’s. “No need to be embarrassed with me, but if I were you I’d take it behind closed doors before that nosy biddy in 804B pokes her beak out of the door, or it’ll be all over the building by morning. Good night, dears!”

“Good night, ma’am,” Luka said, and Marinette managed an inarticulate noise and a wave. When Mrs. Allen was gone, she looked up at Luka questioningly.

“What?” he shrugged. “You’re not the only one I run into in the elevator.” He reached for her hand, hesitantly this time. “You’re just the only one I never got the courage to talk to. I mean, a girl like you...with that smile and those eyes…” Luka hooked one finger under her chin to tilt her face up. “I didn’t have a chance. I just couldn’t look at you and put more than three words together at a time. Which Mrs. Allen noticed immediately, by the way, the one time all three of us were in the elevator together.” He moved his hand to slide that stubborn lock of hair behind her ear one more time. “I got quite an earful on it the next time I rode with just her.”

Marinette giggled. “And what did you say?”

“I said, a girl like that wouldn’t want to be seen with a guy like me,” Luka replied, and then grinned. “And then she whacked me in the gut with her purse and told me I was being an idiot.” He chuckled. “I guess she was right.”

Marinette just shook her head and slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him down so that she could kiss him full on the mouth. He melted into her with a noise she fully intended to tease him about later as his arms wrapped around her automatically. “I think,” Marinette murmured against his lips, “If we’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that we’re not as different as we thought.” Instead of answering, he kissed her again.

They heard a gasp and the slam of a nearby door, and Luka chuckled. “There goes the gossip chain,” he smiled ruefully. “What did Mrs. Allen say? All over the building by morning?”

“Good,” Marinette sniffed, and kissed him again.

#quickspins #i'll never not know you #10115 words #for the record #hope it lives up to expectations #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fics #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #meet-cute

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