#quick morning sketch before i have to work

[flowerchild28]

6th Member part 2

Louis Tomlinson imagine

Warnings: fluff, crush

0.8k

part 1

We arrive at the venue early in the morning, and the contrast between us is almost comical. Zayn is grumpy, clearly not a morning person, while Harry practically bounces with energy, grinning from ear to ear. I, on the other hand, am still half-asleep after dozing off on Niall’s shoulder during the ride over.

Interviews have always been a whirlwind, but something about watching Louis in them always makes me smile. He’s effortlessly charming, tossing jokes left and right, sometimes veering into absolute nonsense just to get a reaction out of the studioer. And, of course, it works every time.

We’re seated in a line, the six of us, ready for another promotional interview. The fans are always excited for these moments, but they have no idea that we actually enjoy them just as much.

The interviewer starts with Niall. “What’s one of your favorite memories from the tour so far?”

“Oh, definitely the time we tried to teach Y/N how to skateboard and she nearly took Liam out,” Niall says, grinning. “I swear, I thought we were gonna have to cancel a show.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “Okay, first of all, that skateboard was possessed. Second, I almost took myself out, too.”

The room laughs, and the interviewer moves on. “Liam, if you could switch talents with any of your bandmates for a day, who would it be?”

Liam thinks for a moment. “Probably Zayn’s drawing skills. I’ve seen his sketches, and they’re unreal.”

“Zayn, what about you?”

“Definitely Y/N’s ability to write lyrics so fast,” Zayn says with a small smirk. “She can come up with a melody in, like, five minutes. It’s a little annoying, actually.”

I grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The interviewer turns to Louis. “Alright, Louis, you always have the best banter. But what’s something people might not realize about you?”

He leans back in his seat, pretending to think deeply. “Well, obviously, I’m the most responsible member of the band.”

That earns a collective groan from all of us.

“Louis, mate, you literally left your passport in a hotel room last week,” Harry points out.

“Details, details,” Louis says with a wave of his hand, his signature mischievous grin appearing.

I laugh at his antics, watching how effortlessly he controls the mood of the room. His quick wit, his energy—it’s magnetic. There’s something about the way he can make everyone feel at ease that makes me admire him more than I probably should.

The drive to the studio had been nothing short of chaotic. As soon as we stepped outside, Liam had challenged me to a race to the car, and, of course, he won, claiming the passenger seat with a victorious grin. That left Harry, Niall, and Zayn squeezed into the middle row, while Louis lounged comfortably in the back.

Since I lost, I had to squeeze into the backseat next to Louis, which was way too small for the two of us. Our legs kept bumping together, and I was too tired to even complain, eventually resting my head on Niall’s shoulder and dozing off while the boys chatted. Louis had been uncharacteristically quiet during the ride, though I could feel his occasional glances in my direction.

The interviewer finishes up, and soon enough, we’re back in the studio for a quick recording session. Today, we’re working on “Little Black Dress” for the Midnight Memories album.

I slip on my headphones and lean back against the couch, watching as Louis steps up to the mic first. His voice is raspy, effortlessly smooth as he sings the opening lines.

Little black dress just walked into the room…

I tilt my head, listening closely. There’s something about the way he sings it that makes me curious.

Once he’s done, he steps out of the booth, and I give him a knowing look. “Alright, spill. Who’s the song about?”

Louis smirks, grabbing a water bottle before flopping down next to me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I narrow my eyes. “Yes, actually.”

He just shrugs, looking annoyingly smug. “It’s a mystery.”

“Oh, come on, Tommo. You don’t just write about a girl in a little black dress for no reason.”

His blue eyes flicker to mine, and for a second, I swear there’s something in his expression—something teasing but also a little nervous. “Maybe it’s just about a feeling,” he finally says, his voice quieter. “About a moment that sticks with you.”

I study him, trying to figure out if he’s being genuine or just messing with me. But before I can say anything else, Harry jumps in. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s actually get some recording done, yeah?”

I roll my eyes, but my heart is still racing a little.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just Louis being Louis.

Or maybe, just maybe, there’s something more to it.

[kentuckyfriedmegumi]

itafushi cuddles pt. 2

[xxplastic-cubexx]

If you were to like redesign Magneto's classic outfit in a way that both suits the character and your own tastes, how would you redesign it?

uhhhh errrmmmmm i dont know i really couldnt improve upon perfection but i have still tried for you my friend !!!

[woso-dreamzzz]

New Girlfriend III

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Teen!Reader

Summary: You make a game

When Lucy cracks open your door, you're as you always are.

You're hunched over your computer, clicking around some game level aimlessly with your tongue sticking out in concentration.

Your mice, like they always are when you're in the room, are running riot in their pen.

Outside of their cage and on the floor, you've set up a little pen for them to roam around and play in.

Lara and Zelda are wrestling like always as Clementine tries to work through the enrichment puzzle full of food. Ezio is asleep, flopped over on your shoulder as you study whatever new game you've found.

"You ready for dinner?"

Now that it's gotten colder, you've managed to get even moodier than before and even more of a shut in.

"One sec," You say. You click around the game level a bit more before pulling up a separate tab to type a long string of something Lucy can't even hope to understand. "Alright, I'm done. What's up?"

Lucy rolls her eyes fondly. "Dinner. Now. Ona cooked."

You push your chair out from your desk and stretch, your back cracking from the long hours you've spent hunched over.

You put the mice back into the cage, each of them getting a quick snuggle and kiss before you bolt it shut.

"Is it good food?" You ask as you go down the stairs.

"It's better than your mum makes!" Ona calls out and you grin.

"Yeah, but anything's better than Mum's cooking!"

Lucy grumbles, shaking her head. "One nice meal is all I ask. One meal where I don't get horrifically bullied!"

"We don't bully you," You say," It's character building!"

You and Ona laugh and Lucy just rolls her eyes. Sometimes, you think she would prefer if it went back to what it was like when you were first adapting to Ona.

"Oh," She says," I sent you those audio files you wanted."

"Thanks."

Lucy frowns. "She's been making you do those too?"

"Yeah, it's for a school project, right?"

You nod. "Uh-huh. It's for programming."

"I know I shouldn't have let you sign up for that," She says," It's all you ever do. I think you're losing sleep over it."

"You'll like it," You declare," What I'm working on. I promise."

"I'm sure that I will but it doesn't mean I think you're sleeping well. Put it down for once, that's all I'm saying."

You roll your eyes.

Lucy's always like that about your programming. Sometimes she lays asleep at gone three in the morning and can still hear you typing away on your computer for hours on end.

You return to your room after dinner ends and briefly come out to show Ona what you're working on while also denying Lucy the same opportunity.

"You've love it," Ona assures her at training the next day.

"Love what?" Keira asks," Oh, y/n's game? Yeah, you'll love it, Luce."

"Am I the only one that hasn't seen it?!" She demands, glancing around the room at people who are trying to not make eye contact with her. "Seriously? Raise your hand if you've seen it?"

Slowly, everyone raises their hand.

"This is so unfair!"

When you first got given the project, Lucy had been the first person to be clued into your plans. You showed her all your design sketches and all your ideas as you jumped between them.

At one point, one of your bedroom walls had been covered in concept designs and you would stand in front of it and point out certain aspects you liked and things you didn't think were quite perfect yet.

Lucu had been integral to your thought process and then all of a sudden she was shut out. You'd ask her to record voice lines or demonstrate doing something but you'd never explain why or what it was for.

You all but unplugged your computer when she came in unexpectedly and tried to get a sneak peak.

"Alright," Lucy says when she gets home to see you and Ona giggling on the sofa together," I've had enough. Show me your project."

You sit upright immediately, eyes wide.

"No-"

"I'm not taking no for an answer. I've had enough of the secrets."

She's serious. You can tell by the clench in her jaw and the way her arms are crossed over her chest.

Lucy's stubborn but you inherited from her so you're stubborn too.

Your cross your arms in the same way as you stand. "No! It's not finished! You can see it when you're finished!"

"Hey," Ona intervenes before the argument can truly get heated. Her hand rests on your shoulder. "It's okay. Just show her."

"I can't! It's not ready!"

"Come on," Ona says," Show her."

You glance at your Mum, who is staring at you with that same stern look and crossed arms as the one that she came in with.

"Fine. Give me a sec."

Lucy sits on the sofa as Ona hooks up a laptop to the tv.

You come back in with a disc and nervously put it into the dvd slot.

Lucy doesn't know what to say when the opening credits appear.

'Lucy Bronze: The Game' with a little pixel version of her holding the Champion's League trophy up on her head.

"We were meant to make a game about a hero," You say," And you're my hero."

[theelvishfiddler]

AN ARTIST'S GUIDE TO HANDS

No, sorry it's actually not an artist's guide to drawing hands. Those are just warmup studies (which I'll talk about in this post.)

This is a guide to Your Hands and how to take care of them when making art.

No one ever sits down and teaches artists how to take care of their hands. They didn’t even teach me this while I was in art college. This is just what I've learned myself through years of pain and scouring the internet for advice.

This is going to be a long one and geared towards illustrative traditional/digital/pen/pencil artists specifically, but artists of other mediums and crafts should take care of their hands too! Well, we all should take care of our bodies in general, but this is about hands.

(advice is below the read more)

First off I'm not a professional or anyone with actual medical advice. I'm just some guy with chronic hand pain who makes art. This advice is free for you to use or discard.

WARMUPS!

Ever sit down in the morning to draw and wonder why your art is so stiff and looks so much worse than what you were drawing last night? It's because you didn't warm up!

You know how for physical sports they all warmup and do stretches before getting into the actual sport. To prevent injuries and all that? Yeah, it's good to do that for art too.

One way to warmup is to just draw lines. Try to keep them as straight as you can. Going up and down and diagonal. Draw squares. Big squares. Small squares. Circles! You are warming up, keep it loose and relaxed! Basically just scribble away.

(examples. I usually keep going until there is no paper white left. This can double as practice for drawing straight lines without a ruler, which is a great skill to have when freehand city drawing.)

Before hopping right into drawing people you can try doing some quick gesture drawings. Line of Action has timed sessions with a large variety of clothed or nude models. I usually do the 30 min class as it has a nice balance of short and long timed poses. The point isn't to draw nice art, but to warm up. Try to get the basic form down, not the details. I find that doing a full class session can really help my drawings feel more loose and grounded in reality for the rest of the day.

Some examples I found in my folders. I suggest looking into what a line of action (not the site) is and giving it a try with some of the studies!

COOLDOWNS!

For sports it's to return your body back to your everyday baseline after a workout.

Example; you are working on a big project! A masterpiece! It's detailed and cool! You have been focusing on this for hours and drawing so intensely. But you need to stop working for the day.

A cooldown is for winding down out of the go go go mindset. Put away the big project and do a couple small doodles and sketches. You are relaxing your hand and letting it stretch out. Keep the sketches loose. Let the art happen slowly. Don't polish anything, that can happen another day. Just ease yourself out of drawing.

...

Cool! Now we get into the meat of this thing.

HAND PAIN

How to avoid it and how to manage it if you already have it.

I love you artists and creatives, I am begging you to please take care of your most important creative tools. I really don't want this to sound like scare tactics like "oooh you better do this or blah blah!" Nope. I just had to learn all this the hard way and I'm extremely passionate about it.

Take this advice or don’t ╮(ﾟ～ﾟ;)╭ I can't tell you what to do, I'm not your dad

Adjustments and Small Solutions

If you are feeling physical discomfort while drawing there are many different solutions to try! Here are some suggestions that may or may not work for you.

Hold your pencil more loosely. Stop gripping that thang so tightly!!! Relax that hand! They make these… squishy pen grip things... I think they are called Adaptive Pencil Grips or Adaptive Writing/Drawing Aids? They stop your hand from being all cramped up by making your drawing tool wider. It's going to take a bit of time to adjust to drawing with it, but it's worth it for those who hold pencils too tightly.

Don't press as heavily. For traditional art, if you find yourself pressing really hard to get darker lines try moving to a softer pencil. Most standard pencils are HB, the B pencils have softer graphite. Experiment until you find the right one for you. For Digital, adjust your pressure settings so you don't have to press as hard to get thicker lines. You should not be pressing so hard all the time, it wears out both your hand and your tablet! It takes a bit of time to adapt to pencil or pressure changes. Try doing some unimportant sketches, they don't have to be good. You are just training your hand and mind to adjust using less pressure.

Draw with your arm and not your wrist! It's small repetitive motions that cause the most strain. You probably hear this one a lot, what does it even mean? It means moving your arm with the motions of your line, and trying not to make too many tiny movements with your just your fingers or wrist. This one is hard! It takes time and conscious thought to change the habit. Tips? Work bigger. Zoom in more. Use bigger sheets of paper.

(Motions exaggerated for a clearer example)

Change the angle of your drawing surface. They make angled tablet holders, angled desks, angled desktop raisers. Experiment, find and angle that is comfortable and the one that causes the least pain. (It's also good to make sure you don't have to hold your head at an uncomfortable angle when drawing. Staring straight down or hunching over a paper flat on the table can cause pain!)

Compression Glove? Wrist brace/tensioners? Some folks use them and I've been thinking of getting one for years now. I can't give advice on this one, because I don't have experience with it. Look into it if you want!

Managing Pain

First things first.

IF YOUR HANDS START TO HURT WHILE YOU ARE DRAWING. STOP! Put the pencil/pen/paintbrush/whatever down. The art will still be there for you to continue tomorrow.

I know from experience that it's extremely hard to pull away when you are hyper focused on an art piece. It's hard to remember all sorts of basic needs like food or bathroom when hyper focused. But you Need to stop when you feel that pain. (Preferably even before the pain…)

Take Breaks! Let your hands rest when you can. Just like a machine, if you don't schedule maintenance, the machine will schedule maintenance for you. Often that means having to wait a few days for it to return to functional. Best to take a day off from heavy usage or take an occasional 30 min break throughout the day to let your hands rest.

Stretching is important! Full body stretches are good; your arms, shoulders, neck, and spine are all connected, but I'm specifically talking about HAND and wrist stretching. There are a lot of stretches and massages for carpal tunnel and arthritis out there. I find they work for hand pain in general. Move into and out of each stretch slowly. Do not push a stretch if it hurts!! Be gentle!!

I am not a qualified professional and I will not be giving out specific stretches (that is beyond my personal comfort level). There are other artists out there who have made helpful stretching info-graphics which are cool, but I will not be because i don't want to be responsible for someone accidentally hurting themself. Ask your doctor for stretches & advice or look some up on your own.

Don't feel bad about forgetting to stretch frequently! Of course it is good to do it regularly and frequently, but I would be a hypocrite if I said that I remember to stretch daily. Setting timers for stop and stretch sessions can work for some people, but also doing stretches whenever you remember is fine! If you are sitting on the toilet you can idly do some hand stretches. On the bus? Laying in bed? At the beach? Do a couple stretches! Even just once a week is better than… nonce a week.

Using Cold or Heat to treat pain. If you really overdid it, put your hands in some cold water or wrap a cloth around an ice pack and apply it to your hand. Cold works best for me, but warmth works for others. This is just pain reduction and reducing inflammation from overuse! This is not a permanent solution.

If your hand hurts a lot! Frequently! Talk to your doctor? Idk mine has never given real advice. Just gently poked my hand and told me there isn't much to be done about it :/ but there are really good doctors out there who will care and give helpful advice!

Again. IF IT HURTS TO CONTINUE DRAWING. STOP DRAWING! This is not a "no pain no gain" type situation. Drawing so much that you hurt yourself isn't noble, it's just… limiting yourself. You only get one set of hands. These things are very handy to have.

Other Advice

Things I couldn't figure out how to fit into the earlier sections.

Your other hand can't handle the strain! Lets say you hurt your drawing hand... the other hand is right there free to use for art. Right? Wrong. Your other hand can't keep up with the demand, it hasn't been trained to the same extent as your dominant hand, it does not have the built up muscle. If you want to use that hand for drawing you are going to have to use it s l o w l y and train it bit by bit over a long period of time. When I tore a tendon in my right hand I decided to just keep drawing with my left and I got Really Good at it. It only took like two months before my left hand hurt too much to move. Then I had 0 functioning hands to pull up my pants. Not fun!!

People who draw on phones. That is extremely impressive! I'm amazed by the things people can create on such a small space. But phone artists are the ones I see most frequently mentioning hand pain. please please please make sure you are taking breaks. Would a stylus work instead of using a finger?

Outside of Drawing. Sometimes it's things outside of drawing that are causing the pain. For me there are multiple sources, but I also have tiny baby hands. Holding a phone too long causes pain. The handheld mode for my Switch causes A Lot of pain. The way my hand rests while typing on my laptop hurts! Playing tense videogames for too long hurts! Find the source of your pain and make some changes. The same things will apply to most; take regular breaks, do some stretches, and find soft things to prop up or rest your arms on.

Change your Artstyle. This one is more of a last resort. You might have to change your art style if you are getting sharp pains every time you draw. I loved drawing tight clean lines and many small fancy details, but drawing like that left me in so much pain at the end of the day. In 2023 I had to take the better part of year off from illustrations just to learn how to sketch and draw more loosely. I had to learn how to be gentle. To stop gripping my pencil so tightly. Learn! Adapt! You might discover a new style that you love even more!

A lot of this stuff gets more complicated in a work setting where you have to draw fast and long in order to get paid. Things like reducing your workload can help, but that can be... financially rough. But outside of that, it’s ok to be a slow artist. Going full steam and hurting yourself is not worth it.

Aaaaaanyway, thats all folks. Today's rant brought to you by me! The guy with chronic hand pain who always forgets to stretch! The guy who got frustrated with a sketch yesterday and decided to push to keep drawing for just one more hour! The guy who woke up this morning and had to spend 2 hours massaging and stretching their hands. The guy who probably shouldn't have typed all of this out because ooww ow ouch

If your hands do hurt, it's going to be ok! You don't need to be a speed demon who draws all the time. It's ok to take your time and take frequent breaks. You are going to do great things! Just be gentle with yourself...

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌

nonnie asked: lately i noticed many writers writing about reader kissing character's face while wearing lipstick and therefore covering them in it and i found it so cute and then started to imagine your om!ocs and the modern au guys (…) being covered in lipstick kisses too […]

pairings: my genshin modern au guys (xiao :: scara :: aether :: kazuha :: heizou :: venti :: childe :: diluc :: kaeya), my obey me ocs (dantalion :: valefar :: stolas), my twst oc (cheron) x gn! reader

warnings: these lipsticks are not smudge-proof

a/n: as said i might write a full thing for one character when i have the chance but considering i have 13 characters here and i can only think of so many scenarios, i’m writing a few paragraphs each for now ^^;

original ask

modern au || dantalion || valefar || stolas || cheron

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐀𝐔

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

It had been a busy week in which you hadn’t seen much of each other, so when you finally made it to Friday evening, you were overjoyed to see your boyfriend again. Needless to say, when the door swung shut, the first thing you did was flutter some well-earned kisses across his face, not even bothering to take your make-up off.  So when Xiao spotted his reflection in the mirror, the flush on his cheeks wasn’t the only rose colour decorating his beautiful complexion. While you watched his blush darken, he couldn’t meet your eyes in the mirror and you giggled to yourself as you watched them snap to you when you pulled the neckline of his shirt out of the way and planted a final kiss on the base of his neck.

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

It was your day off, so for once you weren’t out of the house before Scara, instead getting ready at the same time as him. You made him his usual morning coffee to go after he slept over, since he straight up refused to drink anyone else’s, and kissed him goodbye. Not long after he arrived at the piercing studio, notifications started blowing up your phone and you skimmed the furious string of texts, laughing to yourself. Apparently, Xiao hadn’t said anything about the smudge on the corner of his lips, leaving Heizou and Venti to have a field day when they came in, teasing him relentlessly even after he wiped it off.  As for the accusation that you did it on purpose, who was to say…

𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

“Do you still need the make up remover?” Aether asked from outside your bathroom door. You’d both just gotten back from an outing with the others from the piercing shop, staying longer than you initially intended. But that was what always happened. Venti could be very convincing and the group was too much fun to leave early. “I’m done, but I didn’t notice you wearing any makeup earlier,” you admitted, opening the door to let your boyfriend in.  “Well I wasn’t,” Aether sheepishly laughed, rubbing the base of his neck. And then you saw it. Faint traces of colour decorating his temple, cheek, the corner of his mouth and even the parts of his neck and chest not covered by his shirt. A shade that very closely resembled the lipstick you applied before going out. “You might be a bit of an affectionate drunk.” “Oh my— I’m so sorry, Aether,” you apologised, quickly searching around for some cotton pads and wiping the lipstick off his chest, trying not to linger on the thought too much. “Don’t worry, I thought it was cute,” he assured you, his warm smile seemingly lighting up the room. As you leaned in to clean his face, he took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss from you as well. “You should wear it more often, it looked very pretty on you.”

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

Kazuha had come over for lunch, as he often did, taking a break from his coworkers between the plants, sketching if the time allowed for it. When you both had to return to work, you pressed a sweet kiss against his cheek and then rushed to help a customer. And while neither one of you noticed the colour dusting his cheek, the others sure did and wasted no time pointing it out, though all their teasing comments seemed to bounce right off of him.  He wiped the stain away before any customers came in, laughing off how he hadn’t noticed at all. “Of course you wouldn’t notice,” Heizou agreed, a knowing air about him. “After all, you’re way too busy making heart eyes at your florist to even think about looking anywhere else for a second.”

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

“Hey honey, could you help me with something real quick?” You called your boyfriend over as you finished applying a new shade of lipstick you bought. As Heizou strolled up to where you were standing, you turned towards him with a smile. “What do you think? Do you like it?” “The colour looks beautiful on you,” he easily replied, sending you a flirtatious wink. “Though I’m not sure if it’s really the colour or just you being gorgeous that’s causing it. Now what did you need help with?” Wrapping one arm around his neck, you pulled him in for a kiss, making sure to firmly plant your lips against his. If your boyfriend was surprised at all, he masked it well, easily melting into the kiss. As you pulled away a little breathlessly, you grinned. “Just wanted to see if it’s really smudge-proof, though I guess it failed in that regard.” You traced a finger around the faint trace of colour on his lips as Heizou took the tube from you and applied the lipstick with pinpoint precision. Turning to you, his olive eyes were gleaming with mischief as he chuckled. “I think we should run a few more tests, just to be sure.”

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

“This one’s for the song you wrote for me and this one’s for bringing me my favourite coffee without me asking,” you mused, studying your boyfriend’s face covered in pink-hued gloss marks. Somehow a kiss to the temple had ended with you caging Venti against the couch, fluttering a dozen kisses all over the skin you could reach. “Ehe, what can I say, I’m just the best boyfriend ever,” he giggled, tracing his fingers down the contours of your face in return. Then, something in his expression changed and you prepared yourself to shut down whatever idea he was about to propose next. “Maybe I should think about getting one of them tattooed? On my shoulder or so?” “Don’t you dare.”

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 Idol

Ever since you had caught a lot of heat from Childe’s manager for accidentally letting your boyfriend leave with a mark decorating his collarbones, you were very cautious of leaving any visible stains on him, even if it was just makeup.  Still, you found ways to work around this little inconvenience. There was one time you signed off a little post-it note you left on the fridge for him, wishing him good luck for a performance, with a lipstick stain. After seeing his reaction of childish glee, it became a staple in your relationship. Then again, whenever Childe came home from work with his makeup still on, he never failed to press a big, fat, lip gloss stained kiss on your cheek, chuckling like the menace he is when you make a show of wiping it off.

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂 Club Owner/ Bartender

Diluc had seen his fair share of shameless make outs during his time at the Angel’s Share and normally he just turned his head the other way, not sure why people would enjoy slobbering all over each other. Well, that was until he met you anyway.  Though he’d like to think he was more composed than the intoxicated people at his club, whenever you pressed your lips against his, he thought he might get drunk off of you. He swallowed hard when you pulled away, mind still trying to process what was happening as his eyes tracked the movement of your own kiss-swollen lips, not hasty to wipe away the traces of you against his skin.

𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀 Model

Kaeya actually revelled in it whenever you leave any type of mark on him, as long as it didn’t lead to a scolding from his manager. Whether it was something more durable like a hickey or something easily wiped off like a lipstick stain, Kaeya always looked very smug about it afterwards. After all, the marks were a testimony to the events that transpired previously, and what could he say, Kaeya enjoyed those very much. Even more so considering he knew his way around a makeup bag, confidently picking out shades that looked gorgeous on you and even more gorgeous when they were smudged around the corner of your lips and over his skin. In his opinion, every photo of the aftermath was more stunning than any of his cover shoots.

𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐲 𝐌𝐞! 𝐎𝐂𝐬

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 Majolish Owner/ Devil Style Chief Editor

You walked in on Dantalion getting ready, his attention that was previously on his reflection in the vanity mirror flickering to you when you entered. His plush lips, curled into a loving smile, are painted in a flattering shade of red and your gaze was trained on them as you came to stand in front of him. “Are you trying a new shade? It suits you well.” “I am. I’m glad you like it,” he hummed, tilting his head in contemplation. “I wonder…” Cupping your cheek in his palm, the demon leaned towards you and you instinctively closed your eyes as his soft lips pressed against yours with purpose. As always his kisses made a part of your brain short circuit and you blinked at him dazedly for a moment after you parted. There was a satisfied gleam in his bright eyes as he wiped at your bottom lip with his thumb, studying the red stain he left. “As expected, it’s an even lovelier colour on you, my flower.”

𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐑 Casino Owner

“Little lamb, come here for a second.” Valefar was no stranger to finding your lipstick smudges at the rim of his drinks or wiping smudges of colour and gloss from his cheek before leaving for the casino after you gave him a kiss goodbye. He didn’t mind, found it cute even, but as he regarded the pink stain on the collar of his white dress shirt in the lounge’s mirror, he knew it won’t come off with a quick swipe of his thumb. It wasn’t a big deal, he kept spare shirts in his office, but Val wouldn’t pass on the opportunity to fluster you. “Care to explain yourself?” You were halfway through stuttering out a sheepish apology when Valefar backed you against his desk, keeping you pinned to him with a hand on your back. Intense amber eyes keep contact with yours as he leaned down to suck a noticeable hickey on the same spot his collar would be, knowing your clothes barely wouldn’t be able to hide it. “Debts should be repaid, wouldn’t you agree?”

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐒 Popular Streamer

It was a pleasant day in the Devildom, as pleasant as it could be in a realm without the sun anyway, pulling the two of you out into town. While strolling from apparel stores to gaming shops, you passed a café you frequented and decided to stop by for some refreshments. As you pointed around various shop displays, you had the sinking feeling that your drink emptied faster than usual. And when you spotted the colourful stain that had transferred from your straw to your boyfriend’s lips, you caught the culprit red- handed (or rather red-lipped). When confronted he merely chuckled playfully before swooping in to steal a kiss on top of your drink, staining them with more of your lipstick and thereby destroying the evidence. (His straw also became more colourful as he offered you his drink as compensation.)

𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐂

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 Prince of Hell

When Vil gifted you a set of lipsticks and glosses from a campaign he was part of and had no need for, you accepted them gratefully. You just finished sorting through all the shades and trying out a pretty shade of red, when there was a knock on your door and Cheron sauntered into your room.  “There you are,” he grinned, charming without even having to try, before pulling you close and stealing the air from your lungs with a kiss. For someone who claimed to not be interested in ferrying more souls to hell, he sure seemed intent on trying to kill you. “What’s this you got there? Vil’s new collab?” “Right you are,” you paused, peering around him to the lipstick tube in your hand and chuckling as you read the shade name. Pressing another kiss right onto the middle of his cheek as payback for his usual schemes, you took in the red matching the colour on the corner of his lips. “Don’t you think it’s a beautiful colour, Cherry? It does match your hair and eyes. Maybe I should start calling you that.” There was a dangerous glint in his crimson eyes, clearly aware of the red staining his face, as he swiped his thumb under your bottom lip where the lipstick left a smudge as well.  “You have a lot of nerve marking the Prince of Hell.” His grin showed off the points of his fangs more clearly now, clearly amused at your little stunt, taking a step forward and walking you backwards towards the edge of your bed. “That’s fine. If you can handle the consequences, that is.”

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[thefandomsfervent]

Personal Pigments Viktor x Reader (Part 1) - Cadmium Yellow Deep Hue

Heimerdinger forgets to warn the science bros that an artist is coming in to visualize them and Hextech, a collaborative program between a Piltover art school and the academy for some new hall meant to be unveiled at an upcoming progress day. Large paintings can take years to do, with Hextech’s promising growth they are to be started in a preemptive manner. Reader is from Zaun, not sure what I’m going to do with this yet. Takes place in the coming months after they first get council approval, hexgates aren't complete. Wrote an imagine (here) and now I’m needing to see it through, would y’all want more?

╔═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╗

Viktor should be focusing. He is, but not on the right thing. His hands still fiddle with cogs as he looks to you for the umpteenth time this hour. Your brows were furrowed together as you compared pastels and pencils together.  Your lips pursed to the side as if you were biting your cheek in concentration. He would have been worried about being caught starting but your focus was elsewhere.

You had papers clipped to a drawing board in front of you.  The stool you usually sat on abandoned by the small table next to you.  He watched as your hands turned colored sticks over, looking for something. He didn't know what, but he appreciated the view regardless. 

In this summer heat the lab was humid, Jayce had gone out for water and Viktor himself had forgone his vest. You were starting to sketch something in wide yellow strokes, the smooth scrape of pressed pigment to paper filling the heavy air. You hummed a sound of affirmation, as if finally approving your choice before grabbing another stick in blue. As you continued your efforts, he took in all of you. A loose button up over a tank top, well fitting trousers, simple boots. The same attire you'd worn for weeks, but today something was different. The tank-top was a lower,  looser cut. Likely chosen for the heat plaguing Piltover this summer. Your warming up sketches facing a daylit window. 

“Composition, speed, and colour work.” The words you had said months ago lingering in the back of his mind. “You can never practice too much.”

He sees you from the side, the strap had been half way off your shoulder all morning. Innocent enough. Not truly your fault in any way.  

The white over shirt unbuttoned. Also loosely caught by your elbows, draping over your work surface. Picking up colors and dust. He follows the sleeves up to your hands, to your arms. He should be working. Reading a section in another overdue library book. Not watching you. Not following the gentle way you pick up and set down your pastels, certainly not the way today’s heat has exposed your neck, your shoulders, your collarbones and how they lead to the hollow of your neck. He looks away for a moment. Steeling himself. 

Surely he is not ogling you. That would be inappropriate. Yes, it has been a long time since he has been able to indulge in thoughts of that manner. But he shouldn't start down that kind of path here.

A clattering sound pulls his gaze back to you, a soft curse leaving your lips as you have to bend down to grab a pencil that rolled off your desk. His breath catches in his throat, your tanktop drooping lower when you lean down. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your bra revealing itself in a sinful second. The moment was very quick, and to his luck you didn't notice. The lab door opens as Jayce walks in. Ice cold water in a pitcher, three glasses on a tray. 

He sets one down on your desk looking over your shoulder. "The window today?"

"Just something quick, the sun is hitting the glass just right." You punctuate your sentence with the wave of a pencil towards the shaft of light illuminating a stack of books.

"I see," he says as he walks over to one of the many messy tables near you to set down the tray. He brings another glass to viktor. If he notices the red flushing his partner's face he doesn't say.  Maybe he assumed it was this wretched heat. In a way, it was the fault of the weather. 

"Thank you," Viktor says, just before he downs the whole glass. 

He gets an acknowledging pat on his shoulder before Jayce settles in his own station.  Each of you returning to your own work. The silent hum of drawing and tinkering becomes a soothing balm on the room, and on the tension in his shoulders. He fiddles with his engraver, marking runes onto various metal bits. He wonders to himself how he even got into this position. How he finds his thoughts, and apparently his eyes, wandering to you. 

He remembers that first day, how many months has it been since you’ve come here? 

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

-------------------.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ Part 2.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .---------------------

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[jnnul]

if i say...i love you!

a/n: i saw the if i say i love you trailer and i am a CHANGED WOMAN. was going to make this for taesan but there aren't enough loser leehan fics out there. cranked this out in one day so if there any grammatical errors, pls let me know <3 quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

word count: 7.4k

tags: high school au!, losers in love, leehan is referred to donghyun, dongmin is a character accurate loser + menace, jihyo han/jihan best girl!, the bnd boys are chaotic and stupid, leehan is in LOVE, warnings: none!

THERE'S A FAT CHANCE THAT YOU'RE GOING TO ACCEPT KIM DONGHYUN'S CONFESSION.

at least, this is what han dongmin says when donghyun lays out his plan in front of his best friend.

"why?" donghyun whines, looking down at his hasty scribbles on his blueprint. "what's wrong with the plan?"

dongmin rolls his eyes, not even looking down at the blueprint (which donghyun had literally drawn out his plan on blue paper to make the entire situation more official - but dongmin just thinks its childish, if not a little adorable) as he pads into the kitchen to grab a snack.

"well for starters, i'm fairly sure that y/n can't read what you've written," dongmin says, two packets of goldfish richer when he returns.

donghyun frowns as he looks down at the paper before groaning, realizing that the hieroglyphics he'd written in place of legible letters were definitely far from interpretation.

"what do i do?" donghyun bemoans, dragging out each syllable. "by the time i work up the courage to confess to her again, we'll all be senior citizens instead seniors in high school!"

dongmin snorts before finally giving the 'blueprint' a solid look to decipher exactly what donghyun's plan was.

"your plan is to get down on your knees before first period and ask her out in front of the entire class with - are those chocolates or suspiciously small grenades? - chocolates and flowers? and you think that she's going to be first of all, comfortable with this and second of all, willing to say yes?" dongmin shakes his head, shoving a handful of goldfish into his mouth. "even if she does have feelings for you, she'll probably say no just because of this plan."

donghyun lets out another groan as he lays on the floor, cursing his luck. when he'd run the plan by jaehyun, the older had said that it was the perfect plan. although, if myung jaehyun thought that this was a good way to ask someone out, that really should've been donghyun's first sign of danger.

"also did you even need an entire sketch for this? i mean, it seems pretty straightforward," dongmin says, barely dodging assault by very well aimed marker.

"well, if you're done snarking on my plan, can't you help me figure out how to ask her out?" donghyun says, flipping over to serve dongmin his killer move - puppy eyes. the motion is clearly lost on dongmin when he just shovels more goldfish into his mouth but after a painfully long moment of chewing dongmin moves from the couch to the floor.

"alright, alright, fine...here's what you're gonna do..."

TRIAL ONE: DONGMIN'S PLAN

"hey jihyo," donghyun says casually, nodding to you as he spoke with your best friend, han jihyo. it was 7:30 in the morning and while donghyun usually couldn't be bothered to woken up before 7:45 in the morning (when he would eventually be yelled at by his mother and then scramble to get to school), he felt surprisingly excited to get up early in the morning to get to the school.

jihyo looks at donghyun confusedly as she takes her seat right next to you, where you had your textbooks open in front of you, just like he knew you would. "hey donghyun. what's up?"

donghyun shrugs, trying his best not to look at you scribbling away as he converses with jihyo. "nothing much. i was just wondering if you were busy later today? dongmin got us tickets to watch a movie but our friends dropped out."

"which movie?" jihyo asks, eyes sparking up at the mention of donghyun's best friend.

"uh..." donghyun wracks his brain, trying to come up with a movie name on the spot. dongmin hadn't prepared him enough! "interstellar?"

"are you asking me or telling me?" jihyo says, just barely suppressing her laugh. next to her, you look like you're in a similar situation, eyes bright and sparkly with the efforts to not completely laugh in his face.

while donghyun would usually take this in a win in itself, he decided to push his luck just a bit further. "i'm telling you; it's dongmin's favorite movie."

he pretends to ignore the subtle elbow jab that you offer to jihyo, fighting down the corners of his lips that keep creeping upwards. perhaps this plan could help donghyun and dongmin - two birds one stone. even if in this situation, dongmin was completely oblivious to jihyo's affections...

"yeah, i'm free later on," jihyo says before turning to you, her hair covering her face so donghyun can't see her facial expression as she's speaking with you. "you're free too, right y/n? you're coming with us?"

"i mean, i am free but i don't want to intrude. we don't even know if dongmin has enough tickets," you point out, a little shy as you look anywhere but donghyun and jihyo - which is a little hard considering that jihyo is practically in your face and donghyun is a good two meters tall (or at least, that's what it feels like).

"i have tickets," dongmin says, announcing his presence with an arm slung around donghyun's shoulder.

"perfect! so then we'll meet you guys in the courtyard at the end of school," jihyo says, fluttering her eyelashes not so subtly at the sight of the large man currently dangling off of donghyun.

he flashes an 'ok' sign as the two boys make their way to the back of the classroom, dongmin snickering at donghyun's dazed expression.

neither of them realize that you've turned around in your seat, a soft look in your eyes as you steal glances at donghyun.

+++

"i hate you," donghyun mutters under his breath. dongmin slaps his forehead with the heel of his palm, staring at the tickets in his other hand.

"you didn't exactly give me enough time to secure four tickets to interstellar of all movies," dongmin hisses, turning to flash a sweet smile to jihyo and you, waiting in the line patiently for some popcorn as the boys stood outside the theatre.

"well you didn't prepare me with a movie name! i did the best i could," donghyun whispers back, pulling dongmin to the side when an older couple tries to enter the theatre behind them.

"yes, and now look. we've got four tickets scattered across the hall," dongmin says, waving the tickets in donghyun's face.

donghyun sighs, running a hand through his hair as he tries to figure out a solution to the situation.

"what if we just bounce and do something else? there's no point in watching the movie if we're all gonna be on opposite sides of the theatre," donghyun says and dongmin frowns, looking down at the tickets once more.

"wait wait...there's two seats that are next to each other. it's just the other two that are on the opposite sides of the theatre," dongmin says, pointing out the seat numbers on the tickets.

"so y/n and i will sit in those seats, and then you and jihyo will sit on opposite sides of the theatre?" donghyun asks, reaching out to grab the tickets when dongmin draws his hand back quickly, holding them out of reach.

"what happened?" you ask, voice soft and gentle as you and jihyo walk up to the boys with arms filled with popcorn and soft drinks.

donghyun and dongmin exchange a look before handing over the tickets sheepishly. jihyo takes the tickets with furrowed brows after handing over (dumping) the soft drinks in dongmin's arms.

"hm. okay, give me one sec, i'll text you guys," she says somewhat mysteriously before disappearing into the theatre where trailers were playing.

"uh...i feel like one of us should go with her," donghyun says before pushing dongmin through the door behind her. the bewildered look on his face is quickly covered by the doors that cover him in darkness.

the giggle that leaves your mouth might as well been a choir of angels by the way that donghyun feels weak in the knees, unable to tear his away from your frame.

"here, let me hold that," donghyun says, gently taking the larger than life tub of popcorn from your arms. you thank him shyly, tugging your jacket over your shoulders.

"do you remember the last time we watched a movie together?" you ask, a faint warmth in your cheeks. donghyun nods, tossing a kernel of popcorn into his mouth.

"i've learned that you should be kept far far away from horror movies," donghyun says cheekily. you pout, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"no one warned me that there would be that many jump scares," you complain, chewing on a piece of popcorn.

"i remember how you were shaking while the murderer was searching the house," donghyun laughs, dodging when you reach out to slap his arm. "you wouldn't let go of my arm until the murderer was put in a jail cell."

you clear your throat, trying to will away the heat that was building on your nape and cheeks. "interstellar doesn't have any jump scares does it?"

you look up to meet donghyun's eyes, only to realize that they're already looking into yours. big, bright, sparkly and looking at you as if he's trying to commit every detail about you to memory.

"no, no jump scares," he says softly, and suddenly you get the feeling that you're stumbling into a territory you've never explored before as he draws closer to you.

"um, that's good," you whisper, the moment suddenly too intimate to speak. donghyun looks at you for just a second too long before stepping back when there's a buzz in your pocket.

"dongmin and jihyo?" he asks, shoveling more popcorn into his mouth before you walked in, knowing that dongmin was prone to eating everything in sight when watching movies.

you nod, reading the text message out loud. "jihyo somehow convinced two people to switch seats so we've got seats all next to each other."

"cool. let's head inside then," donghyun says, the warmth of his body leaving yours. he pauses just before he enters the dark theatre, looking at you with a soft smile.

"and y/n? even if there aren't any jump scares, feel free to hold onto my arm."

+++

"what happened afterwards?" kim woonhak asks, sprawled out on park sungho's bed. sungho reaches over to smack him on the arm when woonhak opens up a bag of cheetos, only to spill them all over his bed.

"nothing, obviously. the fool started getting so into the movie that that's all he would talk about for a good hour before y/n said she had to go home and study," dongmin says, slapping donghyun upside the head when donghyun starts to contest his recollection of the situation.

"you're really stupid," lee sanghyeok says, accepting the packet of haribo gummy bears that jaehyun throws in his general direction.

"sure. but this is all because i listened to dongmin's idea. i was supposed to ask her out at the end of the movie in some weird, complicated speech that dongmin came up with," donghyun protests.

"see, that's your issue," sanghyeok says, wincing when woonhak rips the head off of a gummy bear as he eats it. "i don't know why you'd listen to the least romantic person in this room about how to ask a girl out."

"then what do you think i should do?" donghyun asks.

"well, as the only person out all of you fools with a girlfriend, here's what i think you should do," sanghyeok starts, holding up an ipad with a drawing on it.

"when the two of you are cleaning the classroom after classes..."

TRIAL TWO: SANGHYEOK'S PLAN

"uh, what do you mean that y/n's sick?" donghyun says dumbfoundedly. jihyo gives him a weird look as she continues to take down two copies of notes, confirming that y/n is most definitely not at school.

"i mean that she's sick. she caught something from her brother. she's not coming to school today," jihyo repeats, staring at her notes for a moment before continuing to write again.

"oh," donghyun says defeatedly, thanking jihyo before heading to the back of the classroom. dongmin appears in the doorway of the classroom not even two minutes later, lollipop in his mouth as he drops one on jihyo's desk before heading to the back of the classroom to sit down next to donghyun.

jihyo twists in her seat. "this is y/n's favorite flavor. i'll give it to her later when i drop off some soup my dad's making her."

"you're going to y/n's house?" donghyun asks, leaning forward on his elbows, looking like he was pretty close to toppling over the desk and onto the student in front of him.

"uh, yeah." donghyun scrambles out of his seat to head over to the front of the classroom where jihyo was sitting.

"can i come with you?" donghyun asks. jihyo looks at him strangely for a moment before craning her neck to dongmin behind him. it seems whatever she sees is enough to convince her because she nods after a beat of silence.

"sure. you can come too. i'm heading over after we clean the classroom," jihyo says, nodding over to where dongmin was sitting and thumbing through his phone with earbuds in. "bring dongmin too."

"why?" donghyun questions with an innocent expression, backing off when jihyo fixes him with an unimpressed look.

"consider it a favor exchange. my friend for yours."

+++

"you know what, i thought sanghyeok's idea was stupid anyway," sungho says over the phone. donghyun can vaguely hear the sound of weights being lifted and dropped and he figures that his college going friend was likely at the gym when donghyun had emergency called him with a need for a new plan.

"so what do you think i should do? i mean, i only have a couple minutes until jihyo comes out of her house after picking up the soup. how do i come up with a plan in the next three minutes?" donghyun asks worriedly, shoving dongmin away when he sees that dongmin's dangerously close to his phone, trying to figure exactly what sungho was saying on the other end.

"well, clearly food is out of the picture, since you don't have time and because you're a walking hazard when it comes to anything related to a stove," sungho says, more to himself than to donghyun.

"if you could come up with a way to help without snarking on my cooking skills, that would be highly appreciated," donghyun says drily, winding up to kick dongmin when he starts snickering from where he's leaned up against the wall.

"alright, alright. here's what you do, alright? first, when you get to her house..."

TRIAL THREE: SUNGHO'S PLAN

"you've seriously never been to tokyo?" dongmin asks incredulously, his hands shoved in his pockets. jihyo shakes her head, setting down the soup from where she'd just reheated it on your stove.

your parents were out of town on a business trip and according to what she knew about your brother, jihyo figured that park sunghoon was out frolicking around in the snowy streets with his own friends.

"i've never been on a plane before," jihyo explains, satisfied with the heat of the soup finally. dongmin just shrugs, looking around your house with a renewed interest when donghyun pads out of your room to where the other two were standing in the kitchen.

"is she still sleeping?" jihyo asks, trying the soup herself. donghyun nods, rubbing his hands to create some friction and warm them up.

"yeah. she seems to be waking up but i think that she's still pretty out of it right now," donghyun explains before picking up the container of soup. "do you think that you can bring the paracetamol? it looks like y/n has a pretty bad headache."

"how can you tell she has a headache?" dongmin asks, his question turning to a whisper when jihyo looks at him with a withering glare.

"it's called having empathy, han dongmin," jihyo calls out, looking for the paracetamol in one of the medicine cabinets.

"empathy? i have plenty of empathy," dongmin says under his breath sullenly as he follows jihyo into your bedroom.

you're laying in bed, curled up in carefully laid covers, clearly donghyun's work by the way he's examining the bedspread with rather severe scrutiny, as if he's willing the hearts on your bedspread would turn into mini heaters to provide warmth to your sick and tired body. your eyebrows are furrowed, even in your sleep, as though you were fighting away the illness with a physical weapon with effort.

"y/n? you gotta wake up soon. sunghoon said you've been sleeping for hours and that you haven't eaten anything yet," jihyo says, setting the paracetamol down on your nightstand.

"yeah, where is sunghoon anyway?" dongmin asks, watching as donghyun wakes you gently, offering you a smile so sweet, even dongmin feels himself swooning.

"gallivanting on the streets. he's still sick himself but there's no containing the man," you explain, sitting up in your bed. you somehow don't seem all that alarmed that there are so many foreign people in your room, looking worse for the wear.

"here's soup. don't worry, i didn't make it - jihyo's dad did," donghyun says softly, handing the bowl of soup over with so much care, it seemed as though he were handling a live grenade.

you let out a mellow laugh, coughing at the effort as you accept the bowl of soup, letting out a blissful sigh after sipping a spoonful. "tell your dad i said thank you, ji."

jihyo just waves you off, unzipping her backpack to search for her other copy of notes. "here are the notes from today. the biology lecture really gave me a headache so i wouldn't even try to decipher that until you feel better unless you want to feel like a tightrope walker with an anvil on your head."

"that's...really descriptive," dongmin says, laughing when jihyo shoves him.

"i can help you," donghyun says, watching you carefully as you take another sip of soup, thankful for the liquid warming you up from the inside.

"you're willing to sit with me to study biology? are you sure that you don't think it'll be a bother?" you ask, looking up at donghyun through your lashes. donghyun's breath catches in his throat when you do. somehow, even with a runny nose, mussed hair, and granny pajamas, donghyun thinks you look like the vision of beauty.

"it's not a bother to me. spending time with you could never be a bother," donghyun says offhandedly, looking at the label on the paracetamol. it's only when the entire room goes silent does he realize that he'd spoken out loud.

he looks around nervously for a moment before his eyes land on you, staring at him, bright-eyed and every inch the reason why donghyun has trouble sleeping at night these days.

"i mean, you're my friend, right? why would it be a bother to spend time with your friend?" donghyun backtracks and he hears jihyo and dongmin let out a breath behind him. you still look somewhat confused before you nod slowly, finishing your soup.

"friend, right."

+++

"you were at her house and you still fucked it up," woonhak laments, wincing when jaehyun chucks a pillow at him.

"language," the older boy says before flopping on sungho's bed next to woonhak.

"why do you delinquents always have to come to my room? can't we ever hang out in sanghyeok or jaehyun's room? or better yet, why can't we ever hang out at your guys' houses?" sungho complains, but he still sits down next to jaehyun, shoving the two boys a little bit over to make space for himself.

"because your room is the cleanest," sanghyeok points out, never looking up from the homework he was working on at sungho's desk.

"yeah, unfortunately sanghyeok's room is currently serving another purpose," jaehyun snorts.

"what, as a pigsty?" dongmin quips, a smirk drawn out on his lips when sanghyeok fixes him with a thoroughly unimpressed look.

"all of you are useless," donghyun wails, swatting sungho's hands away from his hair. "i've been trying to confess to her for a good week and a half now and all i've managed to do is make a fool out of myself three separate times."

"you didn't make a fool out of yourself, donghyun," woonhak comforts before jaehyun sits up from where he was scrolling on his phone, shaking his head.

"nope, he definitely did. the first time, when dongmin booked four separate tickets and jihyo had to save your ass so you could attempt to confess after the movie, just to ramble about physics and black holes for hours. and then when y/n never showed up to school so you couldn't confess to her while you were cleaning the classroom like sanghyeok suggested. and then when he couldn't even take care of her properly like sungho suggested while she was sick because he can't cook if his life depended on it." woonhak nods when jaehyun finishes his spiel, much to the horror of donghyun, who was now starfish on the floor, looking ready to throw a tantrum.

"yeah, i can see why she would think he's weird," woonhak says with an air of seriousness.

"you guys think she thinks i'm weird?" donghyun cries out dramatically.

"no, otherwise you wouldn't be going to the library together on sunday to go over biology," sanghyeok points out logically, flipping through the pages of his textbook with a crease in his forehead from focusing.

"see, the issue is that all three of those fools are way too subtle with their confessions. sungho's ideas especially was stupid," jaehyun says. "i mean seriously, telling her that you're half in love with her while she's gotta killer migraine must've been the stupidest idea i've ever heard."

"you thought that asking her out in front of the entire class was a good idea," dongmin reminds jaehyun, who just rolls his eyes.

"you guys have no sense of romance."

"i have a girlfriend."

"shut up, sanghyeok."

"damn, alright. i didn't realize all of you were that salty that you're single losers."

"SHUT UP SANGHYEOK!"

after sanghyeok has been served with enough slander for being an insufferable boy in love, woonhak and jaehyun turn to donghyun with twin expressions of evil on their faces.

"you need to man up, donghyun! here's how you tell her that you like her..."

TRIAL FOUR: JAEHYUN AND WOONHAK'S PLAN

"so the reason why this question is phrased this way is because you're supposed to focus on the oxygen affinity for fetuses versus adults based on this curve," donghyun explains patiently, pointing at various points on the diagram in front of him as he speaks.

you nod hesitantly as you follow his hand around the paper before ultimately shaking your head, slumping down on the table.

"i'm sorry donghyun, this entire thing might just end up being a waste of your time. i have no clue what any of this means," you mutter disheartenedly looking at donghyun.

donghyun just shakes his head, smiling as he closes the textbook and stretching. at the table over from the two of you, dongmin and jihyo are bickering about the best my chemical romance instead of studying for english like they'd promised when your teacher announced the upcoming exam on friday.

in the ideal world, dongmin and jihyo would be off being a cute couple (whether they realized it or not) somewhere where donghyun couldn't see them and be jealous but the effervescent feeling he gets from spending time with you is more than enough to douse that jealousy.

"you're shoving a lot of information into your brain. it's hard to get on the fiftieth try, much less the first," donghyun says gently, and you peek up at him, only to cast your gaze elsewhere when you realize just how overwhelming it is to look at him.

it's a warm feeling that spreads through your body as you realize that donghyun looks at you as though you may as well have put the stars in the sky personally for him.

funny. did he ever realize that you looked at him the same way?

but you're left to leave your thoughts with the disarray of papers when donghyun stands up, shrugging his jacket and scarf on.

"come on, let's go get you some coffee," he says, lifting up your jacket to hand it to you. you offer him a small smile as you put your jacket on, following him out of the library once he's stopped and dongmin and jihyo's table to ask them to watch your stuff.

"bring me back a latte!" you faintly hear jihyo whisper-shout, to which donghyun turns around to flash her a thumbs up before leading you out of the library.

the weather outside is surprisingly clear and warm for how much it's snowed over the past few days.

"you didn't put a scarf on?" donghyun chastises, unwrapping his own scarf and draping it around your neck. you try to protest, giving donghyun back his scarf but he just ignores you, expertly ducking and weaving as you try to drape the scarf back on him.

"you're going to get cold!" you exclaim, but you don't fight him when he wraps the scarf around your neck properly.

"you know, i wanted to be your friend since the day i saw you, back in middle school," donghyun says, his breath leaving his lips in clouds as the two of you walked the three blocks between the café and the library.

you wrack your brain, trying to recall the first time that you'd met donghyun. "i thought we met in high school, though? at jihyo's birthday party?"

donghyun just smiles, looking up at the clear skies. "that's when you first saw me. i saw you back in middle school."

"really?" you ask quietly, shocked by the knowledge that donghyun had been thinking about you in whichever capacity for so long.

"yeah. i remember you had braces back then but you still were the prettiest girl in class. you always used to be so quiet and kept to yourself but you were so sweet to everyone around you. i remember when jihyo found out that she was nearsighted, you used to write her notes for her every period until she got glasses. and then again, when she had lasik surgery," donghyun says casually, opening the café door as the two of you enter.

"you - you weren't even in our class," you say, shivering even in the warmth of the café. donghyun seems to notice, by the way that he draws closer to you - so close that you can see the faint freckle by his eye.

"no," he agrees simply. "but i knew anyway."

"you paid that much attention to me?" you ask incredulously. donghyun shrugs, nudging you forward when the person in front of you orders.

"i've always paid that much attention to you, y/n. i just don't think you ever paid that attention to me," donghyun says faintly. you feel weak in the knees at the insinuation, moving forward somewhat dazedly.

"a caramel macchiato, vanilla latte, an americano, and a hot ginger tea please," donghyun says, completely ignoring you when you offer your card to the cashier, swiping his quickly.

"you didn't have to buy coffee for me," you say, tucking your hair behind your ear. donghyun tilts his head, eyes forming little crescents at your gesture.

"hmm." the two of you find a table to sit at while you wait for your orders to come out before you turn to donghyun, curiosity blatant on your face.

"how did you know my coffee order?"

"like i said, y/n. i've noticed you for a while before you ever noticed me."

+++

"you had everything in place! why didn't you tell her about your feelings?" jihyo cries out from where she's sitting in donghyun's beanbag chair, dongmin sitting right next to her, squishing the poor beanbag to near smithereens.

"i agree with her! why didn't you tell her about your feelings?" dongmin exclaims. donghyun rolls his eyes, throwing the tennis ball in his hands at the ceiling before catching it and throwing it back up.

"why is she invited to this anyway?" woonhak asks, even as he offers jihyo a chocopie from the stash of snacks that sungho and jaehyun had gathered after raiding donghyun's pantry.

"because she's the object of this guy's affections for the past four years," sanghyeok says, pointing at jihyo and then donghyun. "it's good to get all of the firepower you can get, with how much a dunce this kid is."

"first of all, i'm not a dunce. and second of all, i haven't asked her out because i don't want to ask her out using one of you idiots' plan," donghyun explains. "i wanna ask her out the way i wanna ask her out."

dongmin sighs, shaking his head. "how is it that you're so mature and suave when you're speaking with y/n and you're such a child when you're with us."

"i think woonhak has cooties and donghyun somehow imbibes them whenever he's in a forty kilometer radius of him," jaehyun offers as explanation.

"shut up. you and i had the same idea for how donghyun should ask y/n out," woonhak reminds jaehyun to which jaehyun has no choice but to just nod along, munching on a chocopie.

"anyway. can we talk about dongmin and jihyo for a second. how the hell is it that y/n and i went to the café while you two were fighting like cats and dogs about the best mcr song and we come back to you to basically making out in the library," donghyun says, turning in his swivel chair to smile smugly at the conjoined twins on his beanbag chair.

"shut up!" jihyo yells, throwing a chocopie wrapper, only to incite more laughter from the boys when it falls to the floor pathetically.

"hey, to be fair, it only took us about two years of knowing each other to start dating," dongmin specifies. "it's just that the past month of trying to push you and y/n together pushed us together enough for us to realize that maybe dating wouldn't be such a bad idea."

jihyo and donghyun exchange a look (a threatening glare from jihyo and very thinly surpressed smirk from donghyun) - something, which unfortunately, does not go unnoticed by the rest of the boys. especially dongmin, who twists to look at his girlfriend with an unbelieving look.

"no way. don't tell me you also have some pining love story like donghyun," dongmin incredulously. at jihyo's silence, the entire group erupts into chaos, with sungho and donghyun (after feeling guilty) trying to silence them in vain.

"oh my god, just when i thought they couldn't get any more insufferably cute!"

"god, i hate both of them."

"why is everyone so bad at confessing their feelings."

"i'm gonna tell my girlfriend about this; she's gonna find this hilarious."

"i REALLY need to stop being single."

dongmin just ignores all of them, pressing a chaste kiss to jihyo's cheek when he realizes that she's gone bright red from the attention to her feelings.

donghyun mimes throwing up when he does so but can't help the smile on his face when he turns to his phone.

"anyway, anyway. back to the donghyun and y/n intervention," jihyo says, clearing her throat. she still earns a couple cheeky grins but manages to turn the gazes of the group to the individual sitting at his desk, frozen in his spot.

"what's wrong?" woonhak asks concernedly. donghyun just lifts up his phone to show the others in the room.

y/n (<3): hey, can we talk?

TRIAL FIVE: DONGHYUN'S PLAN

"y/n? is everything alright?" donghyun says, his footsteps masked by the snow that didn't melt from when it snowed again a few days ago.

you look up at him with a nervous smile. "yeah, everything's fine. um...do you wanna sit down?"

you scoot over to make space for donghyun on the bench you were sitting on. the bench faced the pond, somewhat concealed from the busy streets of seoul by the various coniferous trees that lined the public park.

"sure. yeah." donghyun takes a seat next to you, knee bouncing nearly as soon as he sits down.

"you look nervous," you say gingerly.

"you look nervous," donghyun echoes.

"touché." you fiddle with your hands, the evening suddenly feeling a lot colder than you thought it would be. donghyun notices, just as he notices everything, and for some reason, he shifts so that he's sitting on his hands. almost as he was physically stopping himself from doing something.

"so...what did you want to talk about?" donghyun asks, watching as a young child tries to escape his father's grip to run straight down the little slope that fed into the pond.

"nothing," you squeak out before shutting your eyes tight when you feel donghyun turn to look at you instead of the pond.

"oh. did - did you just want company as you sat outside for a bit?" donghyun stutters, not sure of what to do with himself.

"no," you start, before shaking your head at your own words. "i mean, i do have something to say. i'm just trying to find the words to say it."

"you know, i've been meaning to tell you something to you too," donghyun says tenderly and you immediately nudge him, encouraging him to go ahead and say his piece first.

"no way, you have to tell me first," donghyun defends, turning his nose up away from you when you try to catch his eye, trying to grasp his jacket to turn him towards you.

"i'm nervous, donghyun. can't you do me a favor and go ahead first?" you plead and donghyun melts, unable to hear any sort of sorrow in your voice - for whatever reason.

"alright, how about we say it at the same time?" he proposes and you concede as you nod, retracting your hand, not noticing the way that donghyun's gaze follows your movement.

he lifts three fingers, then folds one, until there's only one left. you shut your eyes, unable to see the expression on his face.

"i like you!"

"i love you."

you immediately open your eyes, jaw hanging as you stare at donghyun, who looks equally flummoxed by your words.

"you like me?" he asks, pointing a finger at you. you turn the finger back at him incriminatingly.

"you love me?" you gasp and donghyun's gaze grows tender, taking his other hand to trap your hand between his two large ones.

"for a while," he admits sheepishly, a shyness so uncharacteristic to the gentlemanly and smooth donghyun you were used to. "i've been trying to confess to you for the past month now. you just...never noticed."

you laugh besides yourself, immediately willing all laughter away when donghyun looks at you with a hurt expression.

"you've been trying to confess to me? donghyun, i've been trying to confess to you for the past month!"

"what?" he stammers. "you've been what for the past month?"

"yes, you fool. i've been trying to confess to you for months. i've liked you for months! and then when you asked jihyo and i to the movie, i figured that it was dongmin's scheme to ask jihyo out so i decided to use the chance to ask you out. and then the whole tickets fiasco happened," you explain, inching closer to him. donghyun uses the opportunity to thread his hand with your own, tugging you close to him so that his body warmth could envelope your shivering frame.

"and then you spent the next hour talking about the movie and you just seemed so excited that i didn't want to distract you. and you know, you're cute, when you're excited," you continue, grinning stupidly when donghyun turns away his head to hide his shy expression.

"so this whole month, you've been trying to confess to me too?"

"donghyun, you say i haven't paid attention but i swear to god, you are so dense sometimes."

TRIAL SIX: Y/N'S PLAN

"look, look," jihyo whispers under her breath as donghyun enters the classroom. you don't look up, not wanting to feed into jihyo's taunts, knowing that it would only serve as fodder for her teasing later on. you wait for donghyun to pass by your desk to the back of the classroom, where he sat everyday, staring out of the window rather than paying attention to any of the classes. any of the classes other than biology, that was.

but to your surprise, donghyun stops at your desks, talking to jihyo about some movie or another. a pang of jealousy that you try to swat away strikes in your chest before you hear dongmin's name and hear donghyun's attempts to keep from snickering in jihyo's face

ah. so he was just the messenger for dongmin.

you continue to write, not sure of what exactly you were writing anymore as you were trying not to make it overt that you were listening to jihyo and donghyun's conversation.

"i know you have tutoring today, but push it back until seven in the evening," jihyo whispers hotly once donghyun has disappeared from earshot.

"you have a movie date."

+++

"are you going to finally use this chance to ask him out?" jihyo asks when she catches you staring at the tall boy conversing with his friend outside the theatre hall as the two of you stood in line for refreshments.

"that's the goal," you respond with a sigh. "i don't know if he feels the same but i don't want to regret never telling him about my feelings."

jihyo nudges you softly. "hey, don't have such a negative outlook. you don't know how he feels, right? don't knock it before it happens."

you don't respond, watching donghyun chasing his friend around with a blithe smile, waving the tickets in the air.

+++

"i personally thought that the best part of the movie was when the dad ended up inside..." donghyun rambles excitedly, holding scoops of popcorn in his hands as he explains his theories to dongmin. you can't help the smile on your face as you watch him act so carefree and enthusiastic. dongmin nods along, explaining his own theory every so often.

jihyo's eyes dart between donghyun and dongmin before she slumps down, taking a long sip of her fanta. "somehow, i don't think that any level of confession is going to happen today."

you just laugh, content to listen to your friends discuss their favorite scenes from the movie before clicking your phone open, only to curse when you realized you only had a few minutes before tutoring.

"i'm so sorry - i have to get going!" you say hurriedly, gathering your things as quick as you can before you rush out of the theatre, wincing when you realize the amount of courage you'd have to work up once again to confess to him.

but donghyun just watches your uncomfortable expression as you rush away, unsure of it was his fault.

+++

you sit up in your bed, accepting the bowl of soup that donghyun hands you, trying your best to ignore the tingle of electricity that runs down your spine when your fingers brush against his.

your focus fades in and out of the comfortable rhythm of the conversation as you sip on the soup when jihyo drops the daunting copy of notes she'd written for you on your desk.

"i can help you," donghyun says, anchoring back to the conversation. you try not to show the fact that your heartbeat is now around the same decibel as a plane taking off, instead trying to deny his offer for fear that spending too much time together might cause to spit out the words you've been chewing on day and night for the past few days.

but something about the way that he says he's more than happy to help you and that you're not being a bother by asking for help makes you stutter for just a moment and in a second of weakness, you accept his help.

"friend." the word feels surprisingly bitter on your tongue when you echo the way donghyun says it, like its been dripped in lead in the way that it sits so heavy.

not when you wanted so much more

+++

"you know what, this will be the perfect timing for you and i to ask them both out," jihyo says, opening the door to the library as the two of you head inside.

"i still cannot believe you and him have been fighting like cats and dogs and you think that it's peak romance," you laugh as jihyo shoves you playfully.

"whatever," she says before turning to you, surprisingly serious. "alright, promise me that you'll ask him out. whenever i'm alone with dongmin, i'll confess my feelings for him so you have to promise that you'll confess your feelings to donghyun."

you interlock your pinky with her, only to drop your hands when you stumble across donghyun and dongmin, who are sitting with their heads together, looking not too unlike head-butting bulls.

"oh. have we interrupted something?" you ask through a stifled giggle, causing donghyun and dongmin to spring apart. you swear that dongmin quite literally is suspended in air for a good two seconds before landing once more in his chair.

"no, no, not at all. come y/n. you and i can sit here," donghyun says, pulling out a chair for you to sit in.

you try your best to ignore jihyo's gaze as you pull out your textbooks, ready to learn as much biology as you possibly could. and maybe put off any sense of confession for as long as possible.

+++

"weren't you the one who said that you didn't want to regret not confessing your feelings to him?" jihyo points out, stirring a mug of hot chocolate. you nod, slumping in your chair.

"i know..." you scramble to straighten your posture as you lean over the table to look at jihyo. "how did you ask out dongmin?"

she shrugs, uncharacteristically shy as she takes a sip of hot chocolate. "i didn't. dongmin asked me out."

you groan, sliding down your chair once more. "why can't donghyun ask me out? what if i just never work up the courage to ask him out?"

jihyo just laughs at your torment when her phone buzzes. she pulls her phone out of her pocket before reading the text message.

dongminnie mouse: donghyun's house in twenty. you're officially on the donghyun and y/n intervention squad >:)

she pockets her phone once more before sliding her hot chocolate over to you before gathering her belongings.

"where you going?" you call out, passing off the hot chocolate to your brother padding down the stairs. jihyo slips her shoes on before turning around with a shit-eating grin.

"to go and fix your issue for you!"

TRIAL SEVEN: FATE'S PLAN

"that's one killer best friend," donghyun huffs as he pieces together the entire situation together. "if only dongmin was as competent; we'd have had this conversation months ago."

you rest your head against donghyun's shoulder, watching as the sun slowly begins to start its descent into the horizon.

"i don't know. i'm kinda glad that things worked out the way that they did. what if i didn't feel as strongly as i do now? maybe this was all meant to be," you say softly. donghyun smiles, turning to look you in the eyes.

just as sparkly, bright and so full of affection as you knew his eyes would be.

he leans in close, just a breath away from you as his eyes never leave yours.

"really? and if i say i love you right now?" he asks, and you forget why you'd ever been scared to confess to this boy, so full of love just for you.

you lean in even closer, pressing your lips against in a sweet, tender kiss, smiling when his lips seem follow yours even with his eyes closed.

"does that answer your question?"

"more than enough."

[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Previous part | Part 4 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 10k

Synopsis: Quiet but meaningful interactions between Giselle and Y/N bring subtle shifts in their relationship. Y/N’s vibrant energy and creativity soften Giselle’s guarded demeanor, while Giselle’s small gestures of care hint at cracks in her icy exterior.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The morning sunlight poured through the penthouse’s windows, painting the pristine surfaces of the living room in golden hues. The soft warmth of the light contrasted with the penthouse’s otherwise cold, modern elegance, casting fleeting moments of life into the stillness.

Y/N sat cross legged on the plush rug, a makeshift workspace sprawling around her. Papers, sketches, and a notebook were scattered in a carefully organized chaos, each item forming part of her preparation. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she scribbled a note, her head tilting slightly as if the motion could help her thoughts flow more easily.

The room was silent except for the faint scratching of her pencil against paper and the occasional rustle as she shuffled through her notes. Her hair, tied up in a loose bun, was beginning to unravel, with stray locks falling across her face.

She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice the quiet, deliberate sound of Giselle’s steps approaching until a shadow fell across her workspace.

“Taking over the living room?”

The voice, cool and familiar, broke through Y/N’s concentration. She startled slightly, her gaze snapping upward to meet Giselle’s.

Giselle stood a few feet away, dressed in a black pantsuit that seemed to sharpen her already commanding presence. Her arms were crossed loosely, and one perfectly arched brow lifted in mild amusement.

Y/N blinked, her cheeks warming as she registered how her impromptu setup must look, a sea of paper invading the otherwise immaculate space. Quickly, she reached for her phone, typing a response with practiced speed.

“It’s the best light in the house. I’ll clean up before I’m done.”

She held up the screen, her sheepish smile softening the apology.

Giselle’s sharp eyes flicked to the message, then to the array of papers scattered on the floor. She studied the scene for a moment longer than necessary, noting the precision in the chaos. Every sketch, every note seemed to have a purpose, arranged with care despite their haphazard appearance.

For all its messiness, the setup felt... alive.

Giselle’s gaze lingered on Y/N’s face. The younger woman’s expression was open, unguarded, so starkly different from the polished walls Giselle had spent years building around herself.

“Don’t let it become a habit,” Giselle said finally, her tone cool but lacking its usual edge.

Y/N nodded, flashing a quick thumbs up before returning to her work. Her fingers danced over the papers with a confidence that caught Giselle’s attention. She had a way of immersing herself fully, of bringing an unspoken energy to everything she touched.

As Giselle turned to leave, she caught herself glancing back. Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles before she disappeared down the hallway.

Over the next hour, Y/N remained entirely focused on her work, oblivious to the way the light shifted around her as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Her phone buzzed occasionally with reminders and updates from Giselle’s assistant, but she barely acknowledged them, too engrossed in perfecting the details of her notes.

At one point, Y/N leaned back, stretching her arms above her head as she let out a silent yawn. The movement caused several papers to slide off her lap and scatter onto the floor. With a small huff, she began gathering them, only for the pencil tucked behind her ear to tumble free and roll across the rug.

She scrambled to grab it, her movements uncoordinated but determined. It was mid-retrieval when a familiar voice startled her again.

“Do you always work like this?”

Y/N turned sharply, finding Giselle standing in the doorway with a mug in hand. The CEO’s expression was a mixture of amusement and disbelief as her eyes swept over the scene.

Y/N grinned, shrugging as she picked up the last of the fallen papers. She reached for her phone and typed quickly.

“Organized chaos. It works for me.”

Giselle’s lips twitched as she set the mug down on the counter. “If you say so,” she replied, her tone dry.

For a moment, Giselle lingered, her gaze wandering to the sketches and notes scattered across the rug. One page caught her attention, a rough design.

Curiosity piqued, she stepped closer, her feet sinking slightly into the soft rug. She reached down and picked up the sketch, holding it delicately between her fingers.

“This is yours?” she asked, glancing at Y/N.

Y/N nodded, her expression suddenly shy.

Giselle studied the drawing, her brow furrowing slightly. “It’s good,” she said, almost reluctantly. “You have an eye for detail.”

The unexpected compliment made Y/N’s cheeks flush. She typed quickly.

“Thank you. I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I notice everything,” Giselle replied simply, setting the sketch back down.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the comment, though she kept her gaze fixed on her notes.

As the day stretched on, Y/N’s workspace remained untouched. Giselle, true to her word, didn’t interfere, though she passed by several times. Each time, her gaze lingered a little longer, her curiosity growing despite herself.

By late afternoon, Y/N had completed most of her work. She leaned back, stretching her arms again, and let out a long exhale. Her stomach growled softly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

She stood, brushing the wrinkles from her jeans before gathering her papers into a neat stack. Just as she was about to carry them to her room, Giselle appeared again, this time with a plate in hand.

“Eat,” Giselle said simply, setting the plate on the coffee table.

Y/N stared at it, startled. The plate held a neatly arranged sandwich and a small side of fruit, as perfectly presented as everything else in the penthouse. She glanced at Giselle, who was already turning away.

Y/N quickly typed a message.

“Did you make this?”

Y/N tapped Giselle's arm making her pause. After a moment, she looked over her shoulder and after glancing at the screen, she said, “No. But I told the housekeeper to.”

Y/N’s lips twitched into a smile as she typed another message.

“Still thoughtful. Thank you.”

Giselle didn’t respond, but her stride seemed a little slower as she walked away.

As the night approached, Y/N found herself reflecting on the day’s small but significant interactions. Giselle’s presence had felt... different. The usual distance between them seemed to have softened, replaced by fleeting moments of connection that Y/N couldn’t quite name.

She thought about the way Giselle had lingered over her sketch, the subtle hint of approval in her voice. And the sandwich, while small, the gesture had carried a care that Giselle rarely showed.

Y/N didn’t know what to make of it. Giselle was still as guarded as ever, but something was changing.

The penthouse was silent, the kind of stillness that only came in the dead of night. The city beyond the windows glittered like a thousand tiny stars, but inside, the space felt heavy, as though the weight of the day had seeped into its very walls.

It was well past midnight when Giselle finally emerged from her office. The door opened with a soft click, and she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, her usually impeccable appearance showing rare signs of wear.

Her blazer was unbuttoned, and a few strands of hair had escaped the tight ponytail. There was a faint smudge of mascara beneath one eye, a subtle testament to the hours she’d spent staring at screens and pouring over documents.

Her steps were soft but deliberate as she walked into the living room, the sound of her bare feet barely audible against the smooth hardwood floor.

Y/N was curled up on the oversized couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she balanced a well-worn book on her knees. The soft glow of a lamp bathed her in a golden light, casting long shadows across the room’s sleek, minimalist decor. In contrast to the penthouse’s cold, sharp lines, Y/N’s presence brought a quiet warmth, her relaxed posture and the slow rhythm of her turning pages filling the space with a sense of calm.

Her fingers lightly traced the edges of the book’s pages, pausing occasionally as she absorbed the words in front of her. The faint rustle of paper was the only sound in the room, blending seamlessly with the distant hum of the city outside.

The soft padding of footsteps drew her attention. Y/N’s head lifted instinctively, her eyes finding Giselle as she stepped into the room.

The sight made Y/N’s brows knit together in concern. Giselle, who always seemed so meticulously put together, looked... different. Her usual confident posture was off, her shoulders slumped ever so slightly under the weight of an invisible burden.

But it wasn’t just her appearance. There was a heaviness in Giselle’s expression, a kind of weariness that Y/N hadn’t seen before. The tired lines etched into her features betrayed hours, maybe even days, of stress.

Y/N closed her book without a second thought, setting it carefully on the cushion beside her. Her feet uncurling from beneath her, she sat up straighter, her focus entirely on Giselle.

Tilting her head slightly, Y/N studied her for a moment, her lips pressing together as she tried to interpret the tension in Giselle’s demeanor. Finally, she gestured toward the kitchen with a small, questioning movement of her hand.

The gesture was simple, but it carried more weight than words ever could. Do you need anything?

Giselle stopped in her tracks, her bare feet resting soundlessly against the polished hardwood floor. Her almond eyes met Y/N’s, and for a fleeting moment, something unspoken passed between them.

Y/N’s expression was open, her concern written plainly across her features. There was no pity in her gaze, only quiet understanding, a calm, steady presence that felt both comforting and disarming.

Giselle hesitated.

She wasn’t used to this, to someone noticing when she was worn thin, to someone asking if she needed anything without expecting something in return. Vulnerability wasn’t a part of her carefully curated life, and letting someone see beyond the surface felt dangerous, like exposing a chink in her armor.

Her instinct was to brush off the gesture, to mutter a clipped “I’m fine” and retreat to the safety of her room. But something about Y/N’s quiet sincerity made her pause.

The tension in her posture softened, if only slightly, as she gave a small nod.

Y/N’s lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile. She stood and moved toward the kitchen, her steps light and deliberate. She didn’t ask any questions or offer unsolicited advice, instead, she let her actions speak for her.

She reached for the cupboard, pulling out a mug with practiced ease. The quiet sounds of her movements, water filling the kettle, the soft clink of ceramic, filled the space, breaking the silence without shattering it.

As the water began to boil, Y/N selected a sachet of chamomile tea, her hands working with steady precision. She added just a touch of honey, stirring it gently until the steam curled in soft spirals from the cup.

The scent of chamomile filled the air as she carried the mug to the kitchen island, setting it down carefully in front of Giselle.

Her eyes met Giselle’s briefly, and she gestured toward the tea with a small nod, as if to say, This is for you.

For a moment, Giselle didn’t move. Her gaze flicked from the mug to Y/N, lingering on the younger woman’s quiet determination. There was no pressure in her actions, no expectation for Giselle to respond or reciprocate. It was simply... care.

Slowly, Giselle stepped forward, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. The heat seeped into her palms, grounding her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

Y/N offered another small smile before retreating to the couch, giving Giselle the space she needed.

“Do you ever feel like no matter how much you do, it’s never enough?”

Giselle’s voice broke the silence, the low, hesitant tone jarring against the usually confident cadence that defined her. Her gaze remained fixed on the tea in her hands, the swirling liquid giving her something to focus on, anything other than the weight of the words she had just spoken.

Her fingers tightened around the mug as she continued, her tone edged with exhaustion.

“Like everyone’s watching, waiting for you to make a mistake?”

Each word carried the weight of years of unrelenting pressure, the invisible but crushing burden of always being the best, of always being in control. Giselle’s usual armor, the polished, impenetrable mask she wore so well, felt cracked, the vulnerability seeping through despite her best efforts to keep it contained.

For a moment, she was simply human. Not the CEO of Uchinaga Couture, not the untouchable tycoon. Just a woman who was tired, who had carried far too much for far too long.

Y/N’s chest tightened at the rawness in Giselle’s voice. She had seen glimpses of the weight Giselle carried, the long hours, the unyielding standards she held herself to, but hearing it spoken aloud was something else entirely.

The room seemed to shift, the air growing heavier with the unspoken truths Giselle had finally allowed to surface.

Slowly, Y/N stepped closer, her bare feet making no sound against the cool hardwood floor. She didn’t reach for her phone to type a response. Words, she knew, weren’t what Giselle needed right now.

Instead, she placed a hand over her heart, holding it there for a moment before extending it toward Giselle in a simple but powerful gesture.

I understand.

Giselle’s lips parted slightly, her sharp features softening as her eyes lifted to meet Y/N’s. There was surprise in her gaze, as though she hadn’t expected such a quiet but profound expression of empathy.

For someone like Giselle, who had spent so many years locked behind walls of her own making, the gesture was disarming. It wasn’t a pity, and it wasn’t a solution, it was understanding, offered without conditions or expectations.

The tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction, the invisible weight she carried feeling momentarily lighter.

“You make it seem... easier,” Giselle murmured, almost to herself. Her voice lacked its usual sharpness, carrying a quiet honesty that made the words feel heavier.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching Giselle’s face. She didn’t type anything in response, instead, she offered a gentle smile, one that spoke of understanding and acceptance.

The warmth of Y/N’s expression was steady and unwavering, a quiet reminder that even in moments of vulnerability, Giselle wasn’t as alone as she thought.

Giselle’s gaze drifted back to the mug in her hands, her throat tightening as she took a small sip of the tea. The chamomile was soothing, the honey lending it just enough sweetness to take the edge off its earthiness. The warmth spread through her, a balm to the tension that had knotted itself into her chest.

It wasn’t often that she allowed herself to be seen like this, not without the armor of confidence and control she wore so well. But in this moment, under Y/N’s compassionate gaze, she felt... safe.

The silence between them shifted, softening into something warmer. The usual distance that defined their interactions seemed to fade, replaced by a quiet connection that neither of them could fully explain.

Giselle set the mug down on the counter with deliberate care, her fingers lingering on the ceramic as though reluctant to let go. “I’m not good at this,” she said finally, her voice low.

Y/N raised her brows slightly, tilting her head in a silent question.

“This,” Giselle gestured vaguely, her hands almost hesitant. “Letting people see... too much.”

Y/N offered another gentle smile, her hands moving fluidly to sign a response. You’re doing fine.

It was easy enough for Giselle to understand, her lips twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile crossing her face. “Fine, huh?” she murmured, shaking her head lightly. “High praise coming from you.”

The soft humor in her voice was unexpected, but Y/N’s smile grew at the sound of it.

Giselle straightened after a few moments, her shoulders lifting as she pulled herself back into the carefully curated persona she wore like armor. The vulnerability that had seeped through moments ago was quickly tucked away, hidden beneath the layers of poise and control she had spent years perfecting.

She set the mug down on the counter with deliberate precision, her fingers brushing against the ceramic one last time before letting it go. The tea had helped, its warmth soothing her frayed nerves, but it wasn’t the drink itself that lingered in her mind.

“Thank you,” Giselle said quietly, the words leaving her lips slower than she intended. They felt strange, foreign, as though she hadn’t spoken them in far too long.

Y/N nodded in response, her soft smile never faltering. She lifted a hand in a small, encouraging gesture toward the mug, silently urging Giselle to finish it. There was no pressure in the motion, just a quiet reminder that the care extended to her was genuine, without expectation.

Giselle lingered for a moment longer, her gaze flicking briefly to Y/N before she turned and began walking toward her room. Her steps were slower than usual, the quiet of the penthouse amplifying each movement.

When she reached her door, she pushed it open and stepped inside, the familiar minimalism of her bedroom greeting her. She closed the door behind her with a soft click, then paused, leaning her back against it.

The tension she had been carrying all day seemed to press harder against her in the solitude of the room. Her fingers brushed against her forehead, her hand lingering there as though she could physically will away the weight that settled over her.

But it wasn’t the day’s work or the pressures of running a company that filled her mind at that moment. It was Y/N.

The memory of Y/N’s silent gesture stayed with her, the simplicity of it more powerful than anything she could have anticipated. Giselle wasn’t used to being understood, not like that, not without words. It had been... unsettling. Comforting, but unsettling.

With a quiet sigh, she pushed off the door and crossed the room. She stood at the window for a long time, staring out at the city lights below. The view, usually so grounding, felt distant tonight.

For the first time in a long while, Giselle allowed herself to admit that perhaps she didn’t have to carry everything alone.

In the living room, Y/N remained on the couch, her book resting on her lap. She picked it up but didn’t reopen it, her eyes instead drifting toward the kitchen.

The faint steam from the tea still rose in lazy spirals, curling upward into the soft glow of the overhead lights. It was a small reminder of the brief but meaningful exchange she had shared with Giselle, a moment that felt both fragile and monumental.

Y/N’s thoughts lingered on Giselle’s words, the quiet vulnerability in her tone as she had admitted to the relentless pressure she faced. The woman who seemed so untouchable, so perfectly composed, had revealed a sliver of the weight she carried. It had been fleeting, but it was enough to stir something in Y/N’s chest, an ache of understanding and quiet admiration.

She leaned back against the cushions, her fingers brushing absently over the book’s cover. She couldn’t help but feel honored that Giselle had let her see that side of her, even if only for a moment. It wasn’t something she imagined Giselle offered to many people.

Her eyes drifted to the kitchen again, where the mug sat on the counter, the faintest trace of tea still visible at its rim. The sight was simple but grounding, a small reminder of the care she had been able to offer.

Perhaps, Y/N thought, the ice around Giselle’s heart wasn’t as impenetrable as it seemed.

The thought brought a small smile to her lips. It wasn’t a certainty, but it was enough to spark hope.

Y/N tilted her head back, her gaze drifting to the ceiling as she let the silence of the penthouse envelop her. The city’s faint hum echoed in the distance, blending with the warmth of the moment.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. And for now, that was enough.

A few days had passed since the quiet exchange in the kitchen, where Y/N’s silent gesture of understanding had lingered in Giselle’s mind longer than she cared to admit. The days that followed were routine but subtly different.

Giselle’s usual briskness softened around the edges, her tone less clipped, her gaze lingering just a fraction longer when Y/N was near. She still carried herself with her signature precision, her presence commanding in every room, but there was a quiet undercurrent of something warmer in her interactions with Y/N.

Y/N noticed the shift but chose not to comment. Instead, she filled the penthouse with her quiet touches, a neatly folded blanket here, the soft hum of music as she worked there. She found comfort in the small routine they’d carved out, even as the outside world continued its relentless demands.

It was during one of these tranquil mornings that the world outside crept back in.

Y/N had been sketching at the dining table, her pencil moving lightly over the paper, when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the name. Mom.

The call was unexpected. Y/N stared at the screen for a moment, debating whether to answer. The weight of their strained relationship hung over her, a reminder of all the conversations she’d avoided.

Finally, with a steadying breath, she swiped to answer.

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?” her mother’s voice came through the speaker, tight and edged with both hurt and surprise.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her phone, her chest constricting. She didn’t need to ask what her mother meant, the answer was already clear.

“I had to find out from the news that you’re engaged? To someone so... high-profile?”

The words were a sharp rebuke, but beneath them was a thread of genuine confusion and pain.

Y/N closed her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose. Her thumb hovered over her phone’s screen before she opened her messages app, her fingers moving quickly as she typed.

“It’s complicated, Mom. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

As fast as the text was delivered, her mother’s sigh on the other end of the line was heavy, carrying the weight of everything left unsaid.

“You’ve been distant ever since...” Her mother trailed off, the silence that followed thick with emotion. Y/N knew what she meant. She didn’t have to say it, their family’s downfall, her father’s death, the years of struggle that had followed. They were scars neither of them had truly healed from.

“But you’re still my daughter,” her mother continued, her voice softer now. “I want to meet this person who makes you so happy.”

Y/N’s chest tightened further. The guilt she’d been pushing down rose to the surface, threatening to spill over. She opened the app again, her fingers hesitating before typing a response.

“I’ll arrange something. Soon.”

The evening sunlight poured into the penthouse, painting the polished floors in a warm, golden hue. Giselle sat in the living room, a half-full glass of wine resting on the sleek side table beside her. Her blazer had been discarded, draped neatly over the back of the chair, and the top button of her blouse was undone, a rare concession to the day’s exhaustion.

Despite her more relaxed appearance, her focus was sharp as ever, her fingers gliding over the screen of her tablet. The faint glow illuminated her face, and Y/N could see the tension lingering in the subtle tightness of her jaw and the faint crease between her brows.

Y/N lingered at the edge of the room, clutching her phone tightly as she watched Giselle work. She shifted her weight nervously, debating whether to bring up the subject now or wait for another time. But she knew Giselle’s schedule was relentless, and opportunities for personal discussions were few and far between.

Taking a steadying breath, Y/N stepped forward, her footsteps light but enough to draw Giselle’s attention.

“What is it?” Giselle asked without looking up, her voice calm but edged with fatigue.

Y/N hesitated, then began typing quickly on her phone. She took a few extra moments to choose her words carefully before holding the screen out for Giselle to read.

“My mother wants to meet you. She found out about the engagement.”

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the phone, her brow arching slightly. Setting the tablet down, she reached for her wine glass, taking a measured sip before responding.

“I suppose that was inevitable,” she said evenly, though there was a flicker of something in her tone, annoyance, perhaps, or resignation.

Y/N nodded, her fingers already moving over the screen again. “She wants to have dinner with us. I didn’t know how to say no.”

Giselle leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes studying Y/N for a moment. “Dinner,” she repeated, as though weighing the practicality of it.

“Can we keep it casual?” Y/N typed quickly, her expression earnest as she held up the phone again. “I don’t want them to feel overwhelmed.”

Giselle’s lips twitched slightly, not quite a smirk but something close to amusement. “Casual,” she echoed, the word sounding foreign on her tongue. She set the glass down, exhaling quietly as she rested her hand against her temple.

“Fine,” she said after a moment, her tone resigned but not unkind. “I’ll arrange something... appropriate.”

The tension in Y/N’s shoulders eased, and a flicker of gratitude lit her expression. She typed one last message, holding it up with a small smile “Thank you.”

Giselle gave a slight nod, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a beat longer than necessary before she returned to her tablet. But even as she resumed her work, she couldn’t quite shake the thought of the upcoming dinner and the unexpected turn her carefully curated life had taken.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, though the weight of the impending meeting lingered in the background. By the next days, the usual rhythm of their interactions had resumed, but there was an air of quiet anticipation that neither of them addressed directly.

When the evening of the dinner finally arrived, Giselle emerged from her room impeccably dressed, her tailored outfit exuding understated elegance. Y/N, already waiting by the door, glanced at her and typed on her phone “Thank you for keeping it casual.”

Giselle arched a brow, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Casual is a relative term,” she said smoothly, reaching for her coat.

The car ride to the restaurant was quiet but not uncomfortable. Y/N stared out the window as the city blurred past, her fingers resting lightly on her lap. Giselle sat beside her, her posture relaxed but composed. Though she’d opted for a less formal look tonight, it didn’t diminish the aura of authority she carried everywhere.

When the car pulled up to the restaurant, Y/N exhaled softly. The building was unassuming but charming, its glowing sign casting a warm light over the cobblestone street. Inside, the cozy atmosphere was immediately welcoming. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted herbs, and soft chatter filled the space.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room as they entered, spotting her family near the back. Her mother was seated at a wooden table, her back straight and her hands folded neatly in front of her. Beside her, two small figures fidgeted in their seats, their wide eyes darting around the room with excitement.

Y/N’s heart twisted at the sight. It had been too long since she’d seen them.

Her mother spotted her first, her expression shifting from surprise to something softer, warmer. She rose from her seat as Y/N approached, her arms opening.

“Y/N,” her mother said, her voice trembling just slightly.

Y/N stepped into her embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around her mother. She couldn’t say anything, but the hug spoke for her. It was an unspoken apology for the distance she’d put between them, for the silence that had grown too loud.

When they pulled back, her mother smiled at her, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You look wonderful.”

Y/N nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile as she stepped back to greet her siblings.

The twins, bright-eyed and curious, grinned up at her. They were identical, with round faces and matching mischievous expressions. “Y/N!” they chorused, their excitement contagious.

One of them tugged at her hand, their voice filled with curiosity. “Did you bring your fiancée?”

Before Y/N could answer, the restaurant door opened, and the atmosphere seemed to shift. Giselle entered, her presence commanding without being overbearing. Heads turned briefly before returning to their conversations, the quiet hum of the room undisturbed.

Y/N’s siblings stared in wide-eyed awe as Giselle approached, their chatter momentarily silenced.

“Mrs. L/N,” Giselle said smoothly, extending a hand toward Y/N’s mother. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Y/N’s mother hesitated for only a moment before accepting the handshake, her expression polite but guarded. “And you must be Giselle. Thank you for joining us tonight.”

“Of course,” Giselle replied, her tone even but with a hint of warmth. Her gaze flicked to the twins, who were still staring up at her in awe. She crouched slightly, her posture unusually relaxed. “And who might these two be?”

“I’m Hyunwoo,” one of them piped up immediately, puffing out their chest.

The other nudged them playfully. “And I’m Hyewon.”

Giselle’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Y/N’s siblings grinned, their initial shyness melting away as they peppered her with questions. “Do you really own a fashion company? Is it true you met Y/N at a ball? Are you a princess?”

Y/N’s mother stepped in with a gentle laugh, her hand resting lightly on Anna’s shoulder. “All right, give her some space. We’ll have plenty of time to talk over dinner.”

The group moved to their table, the soft clinking of silverware and low hum of conversation around them creating a cozy backdrop. The restaurant’s warm lighting cast a gentle glow over the polished wood table, and the faint scent of rosemary and garlic lingered in the air.

As they approached their seats, Giselle moved ahead of Y/N, pulling out her chair with a natural grace that seemed effortless. Y/N’s mother raised a brow, her lips twitching into a curious smile as she observed the gesture.

“Thank you,” Y/N typed on her phone, holding it up briefly for Giselle before taking her seat.

Giselle nodded in acknowledgment, sliding into the chair beside her. As the server approached with menus, Giselle handed one to Y/N’s mother first before taking one herself, a subtle but deliberate show of courtesy that didn’t escape notice.

The tension Y/N had been carrying all day began to ease as the group settled into the rhythm of conversation. Her mother commented on the rustic charm of the restaurant, her tone light and conversational. Hyunwoo and Hyewon, meanwhile, were already fidgeting with the silverware, their energy bubbling under the surface despite their mother’s quiet attempts to keep them still.

“Do you come to places like this often?” Y/N’s mother asked Giselle, her voice polite but tinged with curiosity.

“Not as often as I’d like,” Giselle admitted, her tone measured but surprisingly sincere. “Work keeps me busy, but tonight felt worth making time for.”

Her words, though simple, seemed to disarm Y/N’s mother slightly. She smiled, nodding in approval as the conversation shifted to lighter topics.

It wasn’t long before Hyunwoo and Hyewon zeroed in on Giselle, their curiosity about her impossible to contain.

“Do you really run a whole company?” Hyunwoo asked, his voice filled with wonder.

“Do you have a lot of dresses?” Hyewon chimed in, her hands propping up her chin as she leaned forward eagerly.

Y/N’s cheeks warmed as she glanced at Giselle, worried the twins’ questions might be too forward. But to her surprise, Giselle answered them with patience, her sharp demeanor softening.

“I do run a company,” Giselle replied with a small smile. “And yes, there are quite a few dresses involved.”

Hyunwoo’s eyes widened. “Like a whole closet full?”

“More like several closets,” Giselle said lightly, taking a sip of water.

The twins exchanged looks of wide-eyed amazement before Hyunwoo straightened in his chair, mimicking Giselle’s posture. He clasped his hands in front of him, tilting his chin slightly upward in a clear attempt to mimic her composed authority.

“I’m Giselle,” he declared in an exaggeratedly formal tone, causing Hyewon to dissolve into giggles.

Giselle arched a brow, her lips twitching as though suppressing a laugh. “Is that so?” she asked, leaning back slightly as if appraising him.

“You have to call me ‘Ms. Giselle,’” Hyunwoo corrected, holding up a finger as if giving instructions.

That was enough to send Hyewon into another fit of laughter, and even Y/N couldn’t suppress the silent shake of her shoulders as she covered her mouth.

For a moment, Giselle looked genuinely amused. A quiet chuckle escaped her, soft and brief but unmistakably genuine. It was a sound Y/N wasn’t sure she’d ever heard before, and it made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t fully understand.

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed more easily. Y/N’s mother shared lighthearted stories from the twins’ antics at school, and even Giselle offered a few dry comments that earned quiet laughs around the table.

Halfway through the meal, as laughter filled the table and Y/N’s siblings, Hyunwoo and Hyewon, attempted to outdo each other with exaggerated impressions of Giselle’s composed demeanor, the sound of a familiar voice cut through the warm chatter.

“Y/N?”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her breath catching as her eyes locked onto a figure standing a few feet away.

The woman was striking, her sharp features softened by a warm smile. Her dark hair was swept into a sleek ponytail, and her dress, understated yet elegant, spoke of the effortless sophistication Y/N remembered so well.

“Irene?” Y/N’s hands moved instinctively, signing the name as her mind raced to process the unexpected sight.

The woman’s smile widened. “It’s been too long,” she said aloud, though her hands lifted to respond in slow, deliberate sign language.

Y/N rose from her seat, her excitement palpable as she signed rapidly, her gestures filled with energy. “What are you doing here? I thought you were abroad!”

Irene laughed softly, shaking her head. Her hands moved again, the signs a little rusty but still recognizable. “Back for business. I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

The rest of the table looked on in surprise. Y/N’s mother’s eyes lit up with recognition, and her lips curved into a warm smile. “Irene! It’s been ages. Join us, please.”

Irene hesitated briefly but relented with a gracious nod, pulling up a chair beside Y/N. Hyunwoo and Hyewon watched the exchange with wide-eyed curiosity, their gazes darting between the newcomer and their sister.

Giselle, seated on the other side of Y/N, raised a single brow as she observed the interaction. Her expression remained neutral, but her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass as Irene settled into the seat beside Y/N.

The moment Irene sat down, she and Y/N fell into an easy rhythm, their hands moving in synchronized conversation. Irene’s signs were slower, her movements less fluid than Y/N’s, but there was no mistaking the warmth in their exchange.

“How long has it been?” Y/N signed, her lips curving into an unguarded smile.

“Too long,” Irene replied aloud, her tone teasing. “You’ve grown up.”

Y/N’s silent laugh was bright, her shoulders shaking as she gestured back. “I could say the same about you. You’re still elegant as ever.”

Hyewon leaned closer to her mother, whispering loudly enough for the table to hear, “Is she like Y/N? With her hands?”

Y/N’s mother patted Hyewon’s shoulder, her expression affectionate. “Irene started learning sign language with your sister years ago. They’ve known each other since Y/N was little.”

Hyunwoo tilted his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “Did she always look like she came out of a magazine?”

Irene laughed at that, glancing at Hyunwoo with a warm smile. “Only when your sister dragged me to those galas. She used to steal all the attention.”

Y/N shook her head vehemently, signing quickly, “Not true! You were the one everyone admired. I was just a kid.”

Giselle’s gaze remained fixed on the pair, her sharp eyes catching the unspoken connection between them. Y/N’s face lit up in a way Giselle hadn’t seen before, her usual soft demeanor transformed into something vibrant, almost radiant.

The conversation flowed easily, the rest of the table watching with interest as Irene and Y/N caught up. Irene shared snippets about her business ventures and her travels abroad, her tone warm and engaging. Y/N signed back eagerly, her hands moving with a fluency and energy that made her expressions even more animated.

Partway through their conversation, Irene’s gaze flicked toward Giselle, curiosity evident in her eyes. “And who’s this?” she asked, her tone light but intrigued.

Y/N’s movements slowed for a moment before she turned toward Giselle. She hesitated briefly, then raised her hands to sign before remembering. Picking up her phone instead, she typed quickly and showed it to Irene “This is Giselle. My fiancée.”

The word hung in the air as Irene’s brows lifted in pleasant surprise. “Fiancée? That’s unexpected… but congratulations,” she said with genuine warmth, extending a hand toward Giselle.

Giselle accepted the handshake, her grip firm but polite. “Irene, I presume?” she said, her tone perfectly composed.

“That’s right,” Irene replied with a smile, though her sharp eyes lingered on Giselle for a beat, as though assessing her. “It’s nice to meet you. Y/N and I go way back.”

“So I’ve gathered,” Giselle replied smoothly, her voice even but carrying a subtle edge that only Y/N seemed to notice.

The exchange passed quickly, but as Irene turned her attention back to Y/N, Giselle found herself retreating into silence.

Irene’s voice softened as she leaned in slightly, her body language open and familiar. She recounted a humorous story from one of their shared childhood galas, her hands occasionally moving in slow, deliberate signs to ensure Y/N caught every word.

Giselle sipped her wine, her posture as poised as ever, but her thoughts were far from calm. The way Irene leaned closer to Y/N, her gaze focused and attentive, the soft curve of her lips as she smiled, it all stirred something sharp and unwelcome in Giselle’s chest.

Y/N’s laughter, though silent, was bright and infectious, her shoulders shaking as she signed something back to Irene. Giselle’s grip on her glass tightened slightly as she watched Irene reach out to touch Y/N’s hand, a small, familiar gesture that spoke of years of friendship.

The touch was brief, fleeting, but it set off a flicker of irritation in Giselle’s mind. She told herself it was nothing. Irene was just an old friend, after all.

But the feeling that prickled at the edges of her thoughts felt uncomfortably close to jealousy.

As the dinner wound down, Irene turned to Y/N with a gentle smile. “We can’t lose touch again. Give me your number so we can catch up properly.”

Y/N nodded eagerly, pulling out her phone and handing it out to Irene. Irene’s phone buzzed a moment later, and she smiled down at the screen.

“I’ll message you soon,” she promised, standing as the group began to rise from their seats.

Hyunwoo and Hyewon waved enthusiastically as Irene left, their voices chiming in unison. “Bye, Irene!”

Giselle offered a polite nod as Irene said her goodbyes, her expression unreadable. But as the group made their way toward the exit, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the slight stiffness in Giselle’s posture, the way her gaze seemed to linger on the door long after Irene had gone.

The drive back to the penthouse was quieter than usual. Giselle’s driver had taken Y/N’s family home, leaving the two women to share a comfortable silence as the city lights blurred past the tinted windows.

Y/N stared out of the window, her thoughts still lingering on the evening, the warmth of her mother’s embrace, the lively chatter of Hyunwoo and Hyewon, and the unexpected reunion with Irene. She glanced briefly at Giselle, who sat beside her with her usual demeanor. Despite the calm exterior, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that the evening had affected her more than she let on.

When they arrived back at the penthouse, the faint hum of the city outside provided a soothing backdrop as they stepped into the warm glow of the living space. Giselle removed her jacket, draping it over the back of a chair before heading to the kitchen.

“Wine?” she asked over her shoulder, her tone casual but offering a rare gesture of inclusion.

Y/N nodded with a small smile, her shoulders relaxing as she set her bag down and joined Giselle in the kitchen.

They shared the quiet task of pouring the wine, the clink of glasses against the counter filling the silence. When Giselle handed Y/N her glass, their fingers brushed briefly, a fleeting touch that neither acknowledged aloud.

The penthouse was bathed in the soft, golden glow of its recessed lighting. Outside, the city pulsed with distant energy, the faint hum of traffic and the occasional gust of wind brushing against the towering glass windows.

Y/N sat on the couch, a notebook resting on her lap. Her pen moved in quick, deliberate strokes, her focus unwavering. Every so often, she paused, her brow furrowing in thought as the tip of her pen tapped lightly against the paper.

Across the room, Giselle sat in one of the sleek armchairs, a glass of wine balanced gracefully in her hand. It was a rare moment when she wasn’t working, her tablet and phone conspicuously absent. Instead, her gaze was drawn to Y/N, who seemed blissfully unaware of the attention.

Giselle studied her more closely than she intended, her sharp eyes tracing the gentle movements of Y/N’s hand as it glided across the page. There was something captivating about her focus, the way her fingers danced over the paper, the faint curve of her lips when she seemed pleased with her work, the way her hair fell slightly out of place, catching the light as she shifted.

Y/N had an effortless charm about her, a natural warmth that seemed to fill the space without trying.

Giselle tilted her head slightly, her wine swirling in the glass as she took a slow sip. It wasn’t like her to indulge in moments like this, to let her thoughts wander, to notice the way the golden light illuminated the strands of Y/N’s hair or the way her calm determination seemed to radiate outward.

“Grounding,” she thought. That was the word for it.

Giselle couldn’t recall the last time she had felt this... steady. It wasn’t something she was used to, this quiet presence that didn’t demand or expect anything from her. Y/N simply was, and in her unassuming way, she had begun to make the penthouse feel a little less cold.

Y/N shifted slightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she turned the page in her notebook. The motion was small, almost absentminded, but Giselle found her eyes lingering on the curve of Y/N’s hand, the delicate precision of her fingers as they moved.

Giselle leaned back in her chair, the glass of wine resting lightly between her fingers. She exhaled softly, the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding in her shoulders easing.

For the first time in a long while, Giselle allowed herself to simply be.

The soft hum of the city outside the windows blended with the faint clink of Giselle’s glass as she set it down momentarily, her fingers absently tracing its rim.

Giselle’s gaze remained on Y/N, though her expression had shifted into something softer, something contemplative. She leaned back in her chair, her posture unusually relaxed, as though the weight she carried so often had momentarily eased.

“Why don’t you call me Aeri?”

Her voice broke the stillness, quieter than usual, almost tentative.

Y/N’s pen froze mid-stroke, the sound of its tip scratching against the page coming to an abrupt halt. Her head snapped up, her wide eyes locking onto Giselle in surprise.

The question felt almost unreal coming from her, Giselle, the icy CEO, who rarely invited anything personal into their interactions. Y/N blinked, her lips parting slightly in silent surprise.

The warmth of Giselle’s gaze was disarming, and though her sharp edges were still present, there was something unmistakably sincere in the way she looked at Y/N, waiting for a response.

Y/N quickly reached for her phone, her fingers moving hesitantly over the screen as she typed.

“You’ve never asked me to.”

She held up the phone, her expression cautious, as though testing the waters.

Giselle’s lips curved into a faint smirk, her eyes flicking briefly to the screen before returning to Y/N. She picked up her glass, taking a small sip of wine before setting it down again, this time on the side table beside her chair.

“I’m asking now,” she said, her tone carrying a rare softness that dulled the sharp precision usually present in her words.

Y/N hesitated, her phone resting lightly in her hands as her thoughts swirled. She knew Giselle wasn’t someone who let others in easily. Every interaction they’d shared, every carefully measured word Giselle had spoken, had reinforced the walls she kept firmly in place.

But this? This felt... significant.

Her fingers hovered over the screen as she considered the weight of the request. The name felt almost sacred, a glimpse into the woman behind the cold, polished exterior.

Finally, she typed carefully, the words forming slowly as though she were afraid of breaking the fragile moment.

“Are you sure? It feels... personal.”

“That’s the point,” Giselle replied, her voice steady but carrying an unmistakable sincerity. “I think we’ve earned that much.”

The simple statement sent a ripple of warmth through Y/N’s chest. She nodded slowly, her lips curving into a small, hesitant smile as she typed a single word.

“Okay, Aeri.”

She held up the phone, her heart fluttering slightly as she watched Giselle’s reaction.

The name felt strange on the screen, as though it didn’t belong there, but there was a warmth to it that made her pulse quicken. It wasn’t just a name, it was an invitation, a signal that the carefully defined boundaries between them were beginning to blur.

Giselle’s smirk softened into something closer to a smile, though it didn’t fully reach her lips. Still, her gaze lingered on Y/N, her sharp eyes betraying a flicker of something deeper, something unspoken but unmistakable.

“Good,” Giselle said simply, reaching for her glass again. The moment was brief, but it felt monumental.

As Y/N lowered her phone, her fingers brushed absently against its edges. Her thoughts raced, replaying the sound of Giselle’s—Aeri’s voice, the weight of her words, the way the name felt simultaneously foreign and familiar.

The simplicity of the exchange belied its significance. It wasn’t just a shift in how she addressed Giselle, it was a shift in their dynamic.

Y/N felt her chest tighten slightly, warmth spreading through her like the glow of the city lights outside. It was a small step, but it felt like the beginning of something larger, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to name but couldn’t help wanting to explore.

Giselle took another sip of her wine, the rich, dry flavor grounding her as she leaned back in her chair. It had been years since anyone outside of her family had used that name, and even longer since she’d wanted to hear it. But somehow, hearing it from Y/N didn’t feel like a breach of the carefully constructed walls she had built around herself. It felt... right.

She glanced at Y/N again, watching the way the younger woman’s fingers traced idle patterns on her notebook, her expression thoughtful but soft.

The tension in the room began to dissolve like morning fog under the warmth of the sun as the conversation drifted into lighter topics. Giselle, who rarely indulged in casual banter, found herself speaking more freely, her sharp edges softened by the unexpected calm of the evening.

They exchanged light conversation, Y/N typing on her phone to share details about an upcoming event and even summarizing a story she had read earlier that day. Giselle leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes flicking between Y/N’s phone screen and her expressions. Her responses were dry but laced with a quiet amusement that felt almost intimate, her usual reserve softened in the warmth of the moment.

At one point, Y/N typed something on her phone and held it up.

“How do you keep a straight face when investors say the most absurd things?”

Giselle smirked, setting her wine glass down. “Years of practice,” she said, her tone light but her eyes betraying a flicker of humor. “You’d be surprised how often ‘serious’ people suggest ideas that belong in cartoons.”

Y/N grinned, her laughter silent but bright as her shoulders shook. She raised her hands to sign a response, her movements fluid and instinctive as she explained something.

Giselle tilted her head slightly, her gaze narrowing as she watched Y/N’s hands move. Her fingers created shapes with such grace and ease, each motion purposeful yet effortless. There was something mesmerizing about the way Y/N communicated, her entire body subtly involved in the language, her expressions, the tilt of her head, the softness of her movements.

“Teach me,” Giselle said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Y/N froze mid-gesture, her hands hovering in the air as she turned to look at Giselle, her brows lifting in surprise.

She hesitated for a second before gesturing with her hands to ask, What?

“Sign language,” Giselle clarified, her tone firm but curious. Her sharp almond eyes softened just enough to reveal a flicker of sincerity beneath her composed exterior. “If we’re going to keep doing this, I should at least understand you better.”

Y/N stared at her, the request catching her completely off guard. Giselle, the guarded, composed CEO who rarely invited vulnerability, wanted to learn her language?

For a moment, Giselle’s own thoughts betrayed her. She remembered how effortlessly Irene had understood Y/N at dinner, the way their hands moved in seamless conversation. It had stirred something, an irritation she didn’t want to name, and a quiet determination she now couldn’t ignore. “To understand you like Irene does,” she thought, her chest tightening with something unfamiliar.

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. The request felt significant, a quiet acknowledgment of the growing connection between them. Slowly, the surprise melted from her expression, replaced by a bright, genuine smile.

She nodded enthusiastically, her movements filled with excitement as she reached for her notebook, flipping to a blank page and sliding it across the table toward Giselle, her intent clear: Write down the phrases you want to learn.

Giselle hesitated for a moment, then picked up the pen resting nearby. She tapped it against the edge of the notebook, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “You’re really putting me to work,” she said dryly, though her tone carried a rare note of warmth.

Y/N’s energy was infectious, her eyes lighting up as she leaned forward, eager to begin. The light in her expression seemed to brighten the entire room as she raised her hands, ready to teach.

“Hello. My name is Aeri,” she signed, her motions deliberate and graceful.

Giselle’s lips twitched upward, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through her usual stoicism. “Show me again,” she said, leaning forward slightly in her chair.

Y/N obliged, repeating the phrase more slowly this time. Her hands moved with precise, exaggerated care, making it easy for Giselle to follow. Giselle watched intently, her sharp gaze fixated on Y/N’s fingers as she mimicked the motions.

Her movements were stiff and awkward at first, her fingers struggling to find the fluidity that Y/N made look effortless.

“You’re overthinking it,” Y/N signed playfully, her hands moving in a teasing rhythm. Her expression was warm, her smile laced with quiet humor.

Giselle rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small laugh that escaped her. “I don’t overthink,” she muttered, though the amusement in her tone betrayed her.

Y/N’s laughter was silent but contagious, her shoulders shaking as she gestured again. This time, she showed Giselle how to sign a simple “thank you.”

Giselle hesitated, her brow furrowing in concentration as she tried to replicate the movement. Her fingers fumbled slightly, the gesture coming out awkward and disjointed.

“Like this,” Y/N signed again, exaggerating the motion for emphasis.

With a quiet sigh, Giselle tried once more, her hands stiff but determined. This time, the gesture was smoother, her fingers finding their rhythm.

Y/N clapped, her grin wide and bright as she gave Giselle an approving nod.

“Good student,” Y/N signed, her hands moving quickly as she teased Giselle.

Giselle arched a brow, her smirk returning. “Don’t push it,” she replied, shaking her head lightly.

For the first time in weeks, the penthouse felt alive with laughter. It was soft and unguarded, carrying with it the promise of something new.

As the evening continued, Y/N taught Giselle a few more basic phrases. They started with simple words, hello, thank you, please, before moving on to short sentences. The phrases themselves were unremarkable, but the act of teaching and learning together carried a quiet intimacy that neither of them openly acknowledged.

For Y/N, it was surreal to see Giselle sitting across from her, hands fumbling as she tried to replicate each motion. Her sharp, confident demeanor had softened, replaced by something more hesitant and human.

“Slower,” Giselle muttered after stumbling over a particularly fluid gesture, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Y/N grinned, her fingers moving deliberately as she repeated the phrase. Her hands spoke with grace and precision, each motion clear and intentional.

Giselle followed, her movements stiff but determined. She glanced up at Y/N after completing the sign, her sharp eyes searching for approval.

Y/N clapped silently, her smile wide and encouraging. Y/N reached for her phone.

“You’re getting it.”

Giselle’s lips twitched upward into a faint smirk. “Not fast enough,” she muttered, shaking her head lightly. But there was no frustration in her tone, only a quiet determination that had become oddly endearing.

The minutes stretched into an hour, and neither of them seemed eager to stop.

By the time they finished, the atmosphere in the room had shifted. The usual tension that lingered between them, the unspoken distance born of their differences had melted away, replaced by a quiet warmth.

Giselle leaned back in her chair, her hands resting loosely in her lap. Her fingers felt clumsy, awkward even, but for the first time in years, she didn’t care about being perfect. There was something deeply grounding about sitting across from Y/N, watching her movements, feeling the unspoken connection that seemed to grow with each gesture.

Y/N gathered her notebook, her hands lingering over the cover as she prepared to leave. She paused, glancing up at Giselle with a thoughtful expression before raising her hands to sign one last phrase for the night.

“Good night, Aeri.”

The name felt natural now, as though it had always been hers to use. Y/N’s movements were slow and deliberate, her expression soft as she signed the words.

Giselle’s lips curved into a faint smile. She straightened slightly, mimicking the motion with a level of care that felt almost out of character. Her hands moved hesitantly but earnestly as she repeated the phrase.

“Good night,” she echoed aloud, her voice quieter than usual.

For a moment, she watched Y/N, unsure of what to say next. The younger woman’s presence had always been calming, but tonight, it felt like more than that. There was something about the way Y/N had patiently guided her, encouraging her without judgment, that made Giselle feel... seen.

And that was rare.

For years, Giselle had locked herself away, relying on her ambition and cold precision to navigate the world. Vulnerability had been a weakness she couldn’t afford. But tonight, as Y/N smiled at her, bright and genuine, she felt the faintest crack in the walls she had built so carefully.

The realization unsettled her, but it also stirred something else. A quiet hope she hadn’t felt in a long time.

As Y/N made her way toward her room, her heart felt light, almost buoyant. She had grown so accustomed to navigating the world in silence, to being overlooked or misunderstood, that Giselle’s effort tonight felt monumental.

She glanced back as she walked away, her steps slow and deliberate. Giselle was still seated, her gaze distant as though lost in thought.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile to herself. For all of Giselle’s sharpness, there was a softness beneath the surface, a humanity she rarely let anyone see. Tonight, Y/N had glimpsed it, and it felt like the start of something important.

For Giselle, who had spent years locked in her own solitude, the gesture of learning Y/N’s language felt like the first step in opening a door she hadn’t realized she had closed.

And for Y/N, who had long since learned to accept the quiet isolation of her world, the effort Giselle had shown felt like more than just kindness. It was a bridge, a glimpse of something real, something meaningful.

Neither of them spoke the words aloud, but the moment hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

As Y/N slipped into her room, and Giselle remained seated at the table, both women felt the same quiet thought echoing in their minds.

What is this feeling?

[gogobootz1]

An American in London

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: One of Benedict's old schoolmates enlists his help with wooing his American penpal, but when Benedict (literally) runs into her travel companion, things take a turn

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: blood (nosebleed)

"Why, exactly, have you dragged me here?" Benedict bemoaned, looking around the nearly empty hotel bar. There were plenty of better places to drink in the city.

"Because tomorrow morning we are meeting my hopefully lovely pen pal here," came the arrogant voice of one of Benedict's old school friends. Charles had made no effort to continue their friendship into adulthood until earlier that day.

"We?" Benedict asked, skeptically as they sat.

"Yes, we," Charles nodded, motioning for drinks to be brought over. "You are to help me impress the girl and play chaperone."

Benedict squinted at him, "Why would I do that?"

"Do you have anything better to do?" Charles shrugged. Benedict blinked at him for a minute. The truth was, after dropping out of the academy, he did not. He had actually been rather bored as of late.

"Fine," he swallowed bitterly.

"Excellent!" Charles sprang up from his seat, "I'll be by Bridgerton house at ten tomorrow to pick you up."

"Where are you going?" Benedict asked as the man began walking off.

"I have an appointment," Charles called back, and Benedict rolled his eyes. He polished off his drink before putting some money on the table. Of course, Charles had left that to him. He made quickly for the side exit and frustratedly shoved the door open.

A pained cry drew his attention as he stepped out, and he found a young woman with her hand clapped over her nose. All previous annoyance seeped from him instantly. Guilt and shame flooded into its place as he rushed to check on you.

“Are you quite alright miss?”

“Not quite,” the muffled American accent caught him off guard.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he rushed out, eyes full of earnest regret. He grabbed the handkerchief from the pocket over his chest and reached toward your face with it. You reared back, hand still firmly covering your nose, though he swore he could see deep crimson starting to leak out.

“Will you let me have a look?”

“Oh, no,” you firmly shook her head, laughing without any humor, “I have had enough embarrassment for one night. I will not end my evening by bleeding on some random English gentleman.”

You began walking in the opposite direction, but he was quick to follow.

“Please, allow me to make amends, I feel at fault for-“

“You are at fault!” You stopped in your tracks to fix him with a glare.

He blinked back at you, “Well, yes, but I-“

“Unless you’d like to ram a door into your own nose, I’ve seen more than enough of you tonight, thank you,” you snapped, turning to leave. Before you could, you felt a drip of blood fall from your hand onto your dress. You let out a frustrated groan and turned back toward the stranger, snatching his still-outstretched handkerchief. 

Working fast, you wiped your bloody palm, then your face. All the while, the concerned gentleman looked on in worry. Once you’d wiped the excess, you held the cloth up to your nose to catch any more.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself,” He nervously straightened his jacket.

“Perhaps not,” you shook your head, “if you introduce yourself we might just meet again, and you should pray for that not to happen.”

You might’ve laughed at his expression if your nose didn’t ache like hell. “Goodnight!” You said with faux cheer, as you left him standing in confusion.

“Goodnight?” You hardly registered his weak reply.

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

Benedict woke up on the floor after being violently tugged off the small sofa in his room. He'd been so absorbed with his sketch he hadn't even made it to bed last night.

"Come on then, Bridgerton," Charles' voice taunted from above him, "up and at 'em."

Benedict rolled his eyes as he pushed himself off of the floor, catching sight of the prior night's labors as he stood. A pair of intense eyes stared back at him, and since you'd kept the rest of your face closely covered, a swath of ruby replaced everything below the bridge of your nose. He tried to casually cover the piece before Charles could butt in and ask about it.

"I thought we agreed upon ten," Benedict told the man, stifling a yawn.

"It is ten," Charles snapped, and Benedict winced.

"A moment, then," he requested.

Charles rolled his eyes, "Make it fast, Bridgerton." Benedict rushed to dress in fresh clothing and fix his hair as quickly as possible. Being late would be an early point against him in making both England and Charles seem appealing. Not that those were easy tasks to begin with.

Luckily, he managed a quick turnaround, and a carriage waited outside for them. The grey sky, however, promised rain, yet another factor working against him.

Thanks to a hefty tip to the driver, the men were no more than five minutes late.

"Remind me of her name again," Benedict asked as the two exited the carriage.

Charles glared at him, "I swear to God if you-"

"Just tell me her name," they breezed through the door to the cafe within the hotel.

"Sarah," Charles said, scanning the room, "Sarah!"

A young woman had raced over, and likely would have embraced Charles had she not been held back by the elbow. The woman who prevented the social faux pas was instantly familiar to Benedict when he met the same pair of fierce eyes he'd stayed up too late sketching. Then took the time to examine the rest of your pretty face, though it was marred by a bruised nose. He had to hold back a wince at his own accidental handiwork.

When Charles elbowed him in the ribs, he tuned back into the conversation. Charles not-so-subtly nodded towards Sarah.

"Very fine to meet you, Sarah," he said, hoping he'd assessed the situation correctly. Pleased laughter from the lady told him he had.

"And you," she nodded, "I'd like you both to meet my dearest friend." Sarah introduced you, nudging you forward a bit.

You smiled reluctantly, "Nice to meet you, gentlemen." When you locked eyes again, your smile grew wider yet more mocking. Charles dipped his hat, but Benedict bowed to kiss your hand. Doing everything possible to enter your good graces couldn't hurt.

"Might I ask how you injured your nose?" Charles ventured. Benedict tensed and he saw your jaw clench.

Sarah, however, laughed good-naturedly, "Oh, you'll laugh at this Charles," she turned to you, "go on."

"Silly me, I walked right into a door," you said, tone bordering on teasing. To anyone else, it might’ve come off as humorously self-deprecating. Anyone else might’ve thought you clumsy or perhaps a little ditsy, but Benedict knew better. Benedict could see the threat behind your eyes.

"Well, that's not funny," Charles admonished Sarah, "I'm sorry you're hurt." Sarah seemed surprised but mildly impressed. You, too, seemed content with his answer. One point for Charles.

"Are you in much pain?" Benedict asked, hoping the answer would be no.

You blinked at him, mischief sparkling in your eyes. "Only when I breath," you nodded, deadly serious, but he saw the way your mouth fought a grin.

"That's awful," Charles said, sympathetically. "You couldn't find some medicine or some powder to cover the bruise?" He asked that to Sarah, and Benedict saw your expression shift. One point against Charles.

"I wear my wounds with pride," you challenged. Benedict was once again reminded that your wound was his fault while Charles seemed to struggle for a reply.

"Shall we sit?" Your well-mannered question seemed to Benedict to be the first victory of inevitably multiple challenges to Charles. He wondered if that was your purpose in accompanying Sarah from the States- to determine if Charles was up to snuff.

The four of you were nearly finished enjoying tea and scones when you pulled out the handkerchief you'd taken last night. It was pink, presumably from you trying to wash out the blood. Benedict choked on his sip of tea as you wiped the crumbs from your lips with it.

"When did you buy that?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, I'm only borrowing it until I get the favor I'm owed," Benedict gulped at that. You weren't kidding last night when you said he should hope to never run into you again. Though he did have trouble agreeing at the moment, and somehow, even still.

Sarah easily dismissed your comment and reengaged Charles in conversation. Benedict's attention remained on you, however, and you cheekily tilted your head at him.

Your eyes remained locked with his before you started speaking, "Perhaps you two would like to take a stroll of the hotel gardens before we leave for whatever plans you've made for the day."

Charles nodded at this, "An excellent idea." He walked around the table to offer Sarah a hand. When the two were out of hearing range, Benedict turned back to you.

"Will this favor earn me your forgiveness?" He asked, "Because I really do feel terribly about-"

"Stop," you said, "It's fine. Sarah had no problem believing I still have sea legs and tripped into a door."

Benedict's shoulders drooped as he breathed in relief. "But are you in pain? I couldn't tell if you were serious earlier."

Your expression became softer, "Only a little." He was relieved by that answer. "But I wasn't kidding about the favor," you reminded, sternly.

He froze, "And what favor do you require?"

"I'd like a full report of Charles' background, personality, what he does in his free time," you listed off, "anything of the like."

The questioning glance he gave you encouraged you to elaborate.

"Look," you said with a huff. "Sarah's mom is over the moon about this. Marrying her daughter off to an English lord will boost her social status by leaps and bounds. Her father, however, is not so convinced. Mr. Du Pont has always been kind to me, so when he asked me to assess this potential marriage, I gave him my word."

Benedict nodded, "And you'd like me to inform you on Charles, so you can inform Mr. Du Pont on Charles."

"Exactly," you said simply.

"That's rather funny, you know, Charles asked me to help woo Sarah and convince her he's worth a permanent trip across the Atlantic," he said, and you raised a brow.

"Are you trying to repent for hitting Charles in the face with a door?"

Benedict blinked, "What would you do if I said yes?"

"Help me," you snarled.

He raised his hands defensively, "All right! How am I meant to do that?"

"Have pertinent information sent to my hotel suite," you shrugged.

"Fine," Benedict assented after a minute.

"What's fine?" Sarah asked, having just returned with Charles. Her tinkling voice took him by surprise, and he laughed nervously.

"These biscuits," he said, standing, "they're very fine, I may even take some to go." Benedict stuffed two of the shortbread biscuits into his pocket and regretted it soon after. He regretted it even more after catching Charles' nasty glare at him.

Taking a sharp breath, he turned to offer you his arm, "Shall we?"

You politely took his arm, repressing your laughter. As Sarah and Charles walked on ahead, you leaned in, "Save one for me." Benedict lightly snorted before catching himself, but you seemed pleased at his laughter.

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

As weeks began to pass, notes from Benedict began to pile up. They were originally only about Charles, but as you started sending replies, the notes grew more conversational.

Sarah certainly only grew more besotted with time, and you were beginning to worry she'd rubbed off on you. The more time you spent with Benedict by way of monitoring Sarah and Charles, the more you found him positively charming.

His good looks were apparent from the beginning and made the door incident all the worse for you, but you'd recently grown fond of his personality.

Last week's art gallery found you admiring him while he spoke passionately of the use of light in one of the paintings you'd come across. You'd only snapped out of it was he asked your thoughts on the piece. The most you could muster up was that you absolutely agreed.

As the two of you chaperoned countless walks and lunches, you conversed about any and everything. Benedict told you of his artwork and promised to eventually show you some of it after you asked a few times. You told him of your own passions, and how they were often trampled by society's expectations. He confessed that since both his older and one of his younger brothers had been recently married, his mother had been nagging him about finding someone.

"I think it's important to be comfortable alone," you'd told him on one particularly breezy walk. "You shouldn't make do with someone else's life when you can't be content with your own."

"Come again?"

"I only mean it's unfair to put certain expectations on a spouse," you shrugged, "No one is who anyone else wants them to be, and trying to force people to be what they are not leads to unhappy marriages."

"In that case, I'm glad no one expects a thing from me," Benedict said.

You laughed a little, "I don't think people expect much of me either. At least we won't let anyone down."

"Setting the bar low," he nodded, smiling, "I like it." Your laughter drew a smile to his face.

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

A few months had gone by, and Benedict was overjoyed when Charles proposed to Sarah. He was happy for the two of them, sure, but mostly, he was glad your stay had been extended. You'd become such a fixture in his life that he struggled to imagine a time after your visit.

Your return tickets were canceled. Instead, Sarah's parents had booked their spots on a ship sailing over to England. They wanted to plan their daughter's wedding and see her well-adjusted in her new homeland.

"What will your first report to Mr. Du Pont entail, then?" Benedict asked you. The two of you had been tasked with greeting Sarah's parents upon their arrival, and you sat opposite each other in a carriage.

"What makes you think this will be my first report?" You raised a brow at him.

"You've been exchanging letters across the Atlantic about Charles? He's nowhere near interesting enough for that," Benedict told you, inspiring a grin.

"They're mostly about mine and Sarah's time here. She's not great at staying in touch- yet another reason they sent me along," you said. "But you're right, I have yet to form a full opinion on Charles. I go back and forth, but I trust your judgment."

Benedict's eyes widened at the admission as you pulled up to your destination. He exited the carriage first to helpfully offer you his hand. To his displeasure, you pulled away all too soon when you saw the Du Ponts.

Mrs. Du Pont cheerfully called your name as you rushed excitedly towards them. Benedict smiled as he watched you greet the older couple. They were clearly quite fond of you.

It took a minute before they registered his presence.

"Where is Sarah? And who is this gentleman?" Mrs. Du Pont asked you, trying to lower her voice for the latter question.

You perked up, "This is Mr. Benedict Bridgerton." You grabbed his forearm and pulled him closer to the conversation. "He's a friend of Charles. They've both been showing us the best of England!"

"So this is Benedict!" Mr. Du Pont said happily, "I've read a lot about you."

Benedict shot you a questioning look as he shook the older man's hand, "You have?"

"Oh yes," the man nodded despite you shaking your head at him. When Benedict turned to you again, you stopped and let an angelic smile grace your face. His smirk told you you'd been caught. Oh well, if he asked, you'd simply tell the truth. He was by far the most interesting part of Great Britain.

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

Wedding preparations had been running smoothly, and soon enough Benedict was out with a group of high society men to celebrate the impending nuptials.

The men were a few drinks deep when Charles made a toast, "Soon, lads, I will no longer be a free man, so you best believe I will enjoy it while it lasts."

Benedict was not sure he appreciated that sentiment, but let it pass as his other companions gave cries of, "Here, here!"

Drinking eventually turned to debauchery, and Benedict soon felt crowded at the table slowly attracting more women of the night. He excused himself to find another drink. Upon his return, however, he found Charles happily skipping off with one of them.

"Charles?!"

The man's attention turned to him, "Don't wait up, Bridgerton!" Charles laughed, and Benedict felt his face drop.

"Don't tell me..."

"Oh lighten up mate," Charles shrugged, "it's not like it counts."

Benedict blinked as his old school friend sauntered off with the woman. Every time he drank with men of the ton, it became more apparent that Violet Bridgerton's parenting methods were not widespread.

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

When he woke up in the hotel suite the next morning, Benedict spent a few blissful moments without the memory of the prior night. When he did remember, he tried to brush it off as a drunken illusion. Only, logic won out in the end. He hadn't drunk that much, and he had very clearly seen the scene with his own eyes.

Why did Charles have to go and make a mess of things? Everything had been going swimmingly. Now, just because the man couldn't keep it in his pants, countless hours of wedding planning would go down the drain. Sarah would be inconsolable, her parents would be furious, and they'd all be going back home. You'd be going back home. Shit.

He agonized over the situation, pacing the floor for an hour before Charles waltzed in.

"Are you only now getting back?" Benedict asked him, taking in the disheveled clothing Charles had been wearing the night prior.

"What can I say? I certainly enjoyed myself," Charles said smugly. He walked off, presumably to freshen up, but Benedict called after him.

"Charles?" The man turned, "You wouldn't... engage in that sort of behavior as a married man?"

Charles chuckled a bit, "Bridgerton, prostitutes don't count," that was concerning, "That sort of revelry was a one-time thing." That was... a bit better? Benedict let out a miserable groan.

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

Your bright eyes at the wedding rehearsal made him briefly forget his troubles. Once you were both in the proper position, Benedict didn't bother to pay attention. In fact, he pretty much just stared at you from across the altar. You looked good up there. He liked seeing you at the altar. He liked being across from you at the altar.

He was in trouble.

You whispered to him as he escorted you back down the aisle when the faux-service was over. Being best-man did afford him some benefits. "Guess what?"

"What?" He smiled down at you.

"The Du Ponts are thinking of staying indefinitely," you said, secretively, "they bought a house here. They've invited me to stay with them."

"Oh," he said, sense suddenly knocked back into him.

"It's looking like I might be in your hair a while longer."

Benedict quite nearly told you to stay in his hair as long as you cared to but felt it might be too forward. He also felt you'd make a lice joke at his expense. Your sharp sense of humor was one of the many things he found charming about you and one of the many reasons he did not want to let you go.

But if Charles and Sarah were getting married, you were staying. The Du Ponts were staying.

Just how bad was some debauchery at a stag party, really? In the grand scheme of things?

"Oh, how was the gentlemen's party?" You asked, excitedly, "I hope none of you behaved too poorly."

A nervous laugh bubbled from his mouth, "No. No, just the usual level of poor behavior." Fuck.

"Glad to hear it," you nodded. "Was Charles drunk out of his mind?" You laughed a bit.

"Quite possibly," Benedict said, smiling uncomfortably. The man was definitely out of his mind. Whether it could be attributed to the drink Benedict wasn't sure.

"Well, thanks for keeping an eye on him," you said, giving his arm a squeeze.

He was in big trouble.

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

On the morning of the wedding, Benedict was jittery. In a hallway of the church, he kept nervously adjusting his collar. A steady pair of hands pulled his away, and he looked up to find you fixing his collar.

"Stop touching it," you told him as you worked, "it looks good."

"Right," he breathed stiffly.

"And try not to look like you're attending a funeral," you reminded him, smirking. "Oh! I have something for you," you pulled the handkerchief he'd given you when you first met out of a small bag. Pressing it into his hand, you smiled up at him, "favor complete. Consider us even."

He could only nod at you as you began to retreat.

"I'm off to help Sarah. See you soon!"

Benedict gazed after you, guilt creeping in.

"I'm relieved she's kept such a close eye on Sarah," Mr. Du Pont suddenly appeared beside him, "but I should've expected it. The two have been like sisters ever since..."

"Since?' Benedict asked him curiously while straightening his bow tie.

"Well, we took her in some years back when her family passed," the older man explained.

As much as Benedict thought he'd gotten to know you, it seemed you'd yet to feel comfortable enough to tell him that, "I hadn't known."

"No," Du Pont shook his head, "she doesn't like to talk about it. Hates having to bear people's pity."

That, Benedict could understand. He had found that to be one of the worst parts of the aftermath of his father's death.

"But it's been a pleasure to have her in our family. I'm only happy it's expanding! Hopefully, she'll have nieces and nephews soon," Sarah's father looked around before leaning in a bit, "I'm hoping for lots of grandchildren. I'll be perfectly happy when both my girls have good, loyal husbands at their side. It seems we're almost there!" With a pat on Benedict's shoulder, Mr. Du Pont walked off, "I'll see you in there."

Benedict nodded absently. Oh. He had mucked things up. He had really, really mucked things up.

Benedict paled a little. In his bid to keep you by his side as long as possible he'd neglected all other considerations. Including the life and happiness of your sister in all but blood. This wedding was very real and very imminent. And despite the time he dreamt it was the two of you getting married, his feelings were not nearly the most important of those involved.

Sarah was about to marry a man who had cheated on her only two nights prior.

But Charles had said it was a one-time thing. A last hooray before settling down. He'd said that prostitutes do not count anyway and- oh.

Benedict sharply inhaled when he realized his own foolishness. How had he not seen this? The bars they'd visited in the past months were all down the street from the one they'd entered two nights ago- the one next to the brothel. Each time he would excuse himself to retire to his home, Charles had stayed.

A fool, indeed. He'd been so enamored and distracted with you that his spy work on your behalf was entirely lackluster. Worse yet, when he did find pertinent information out, he had lied.

He had to make it right.

Benedict raised his fist to knock on the door of the room Sarah had taken over. Before he could, it swung open. You smiled at him, a little confused.

"You know you're only supposed to escort me down the aisle," you joked, "You don't have to start this far back."

He shook his head grimly, and your face fell. "I need to talk to you," he looked up to find Sarah behind you, "both of you."

You stepped aside and let Benedict in, nervous at his shift in attitude.

"You cannot marry him," Benedict had summoned all of his nerve to say the words and looked Sarah square in the eye when he did so. She deserved that much. She deserved the truth.

"What?" Sarah asked skeptically. She was already in her wedding gown. She had no idea what was happening.

"Benedict, what are you talking about?" Your question was quieter, but you were deadly serious. As soon as he said it you knew something was wrong, and he was right in bringing it to Sarah.

He swallowed when he looked into your eyes, "I lied to you." You felt like he'd just slammed a door in your face again. "Charles did behave poorly the other night. In fact, I think he's been behaving poorly for months and I've been too blind to see it."

"What? He was drinking?" Sarah asked, "I knew that would happen."

"No," Benedict shook his head, "He was with- with other women."

And with that, Sarah was out the door. You, however, could not bring yourself to follow. You were frozen to the floor, looking at the man you'd trusted with glassy eyes.

"You lied to me," you whispered.

"I'm sorry."

You shook your head, laughing a little. The sound was sad, "I guess I broke my own rule." His eyes pleaded with you, but it was far from enough, "I expected too much from you. You couldn't help but let me down." His heart sank.

Finally, you turned to race after Sarah. Benedict was hot on your trail, "Please-"

"Oh, this is not over," you called over your shoulder, "but we have more pressing matters to deal with."

You stopped dead in your tracks after rounding a corner. It was so abrupt that Benedict could not slow his own pace enough not to bump into you. You both stumbled a bit but recovered in time to see Sarah slap Charles in the face. She then marched out of the church with her head held high.

Mrs. Du Pont followed her straight away. And Charles rushed after them both. Mr. Du Pont stopped only to briefly speak to you, "Would you both be so kind as to handle-"

"Consider it done," Benedict said. You sent him a sidelong glance before begrudgingly nodding at the man who had taken you in. Mr. Du Pont left to chase after his wife and daughter, leaving you and Benedict to dismiss guests and try to cancel vendors.

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

A long and tiresome day of working to undo weeks of wedding planning and avoiding the sad blue eyes that followed your every move ended in your hotel's garden. More specifically, eating the wedding cake that could not be returned in the hotel garden. You had very generously given most of it to the hotel staff. But you saved the top tier for yourself.

Draped across a bench, you stabbed into it with a fork. As you did, the charming figurine of Sarah and Charles fell from its place. You did not hesitate to grab the miniature and toss it into some shrubs.

"Rather harsh, don't you think?" A familiar voice drew your attention. You huffed when you saw who it was.

Benedict Bridgerton slowly made his way over to your bench. He gestured towards your legs, silently asking you to make room for him on the bench. When you didn't move, he simply sat himself parallel to you on the gravel floor.

"I am sorry," he said after some silence, looking straight ahead.

"I know," you nodded, not yet looking at him, "I suppose I am too."

"Whatever for?" Benedict's surprise broke the quietness of the moment, and he gazed at you questioningly.

You shrugged, still not looking at him, "I should have known better than to think you'd prioritize me over him. Charles is your friend."

"Maybe," he spat defensively, "but you're-" He cut himself off.

"What am I? To you?" You asked, now looking intently into his eyes, trying to discern his thoughts.

Benedict inhaled a large breath before telling you the God's honest truth, "When I realized what Charles was doing, I also realized that you would leave England with Sarah almost as soon as you found out. And I wanted you to stay." He paused, " I want you to stay."

Your lips parted as if to say something in return, but he barreled on, "I behaved selfishly, and I am a beast for it, but you were always my priority. Do not dream of thinking otherwise."

You swung your legs off of the bench and leaned forward towards him. Stabbing a bite of cake with your fork, you stuck it out to him in a gesture of peace. He cautiously ate the cake from your fork, waiting for you to say something. You took another bite before you did.

"A ship sets sail tomorrow," you said lightly, "back across the Atlantic." And with it, his hopes would sink. "I secured three tickets on it this morning."

Benedict blinked. That didn't add up right. "Is Mr. Du Pont stay-"

You quickly shook your head, and things started to click in place for him.

"Mrs. Du Pont?"

Your smirk started to grow.

"Sarah?"

"Now you're being deliberately obtuse," you mocked.

He grinned up at you, "Then...?"

"The Du Ponts need someone to mind their new manor in the English countryside. Who better than their favorite non-daughter?" You shrugged happily.

"Will you not get lonely in such a large estate out in the country?" Benedict asked teasingly.

You smiled playfully at him, "Then I should hope someone will be kind enough to call on me." Benedict looked rather self-satisfied at that. "I should only hope they clean up before they do."

His confusion was answered when you took a handful of cake and smeared it down the left side of his face. He stuck his tongue in his cheek to try not to laugh. It was well-played and deserved.

"Now we're even," you whispered close to his face before standing and walking away.

"Jokes on you," he shouted after you, "it tastes better like this!" Your laughter filled the night air, and he was happy to have made such sweet amends.

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

I love Benedict sooo much!!! I wrote this super quick after watching the new season, so sorry if anything didn't make sense

Thanks for reading <3

(also sorry for any historical inaccuracies or whatever but this is Bridgerton we're talking about )

[springtyme]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ♡

Derek Morgan x reader || Main Masterlist || Spotify

summary: It was not your plan to dump into a tall, handsome FBI agent, but sometimes you get lucky.

word count: 666

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟔) 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐮𝐭𝐞

It is a typical Tuesday morning at your favorite coffee shop, a cozy little place where the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans mingles with the sound of clinking mugs and soft chatter. The morning crowd buzzes, and you are nestled in your favorite corner, sketchbook open, pencil flying across the pages as you capture the vibrant energy around you.

You are so engrossed in your work that you don’t notice when the line for coffee snakes its way closer to your table. Your concentration breaks when the barista calls out a name, you stand up, but you didn’t really hear what was called and you are unsure whether it was yours or someone else’s. You look up, slightly confused, just in time to see a tall man brushing past you, his shoulder barely grazing yours.

“Sorry about that,” he says, his voice deep and warm. 

You glance up to look him in the eyes and your pencil pauses mid-air, he is muscular with a charming smile and warm brown eyes. He wears a leather jacket that hugs his athletic frame, and you can tell he is someone who knows how to take charge of any situation.

“No problem at all,” you manage to say, trying to keep your composure. “I get lost in my own world too.”

The man chuckles as he leans over your sketches, an appreciative glint in his eye. “Wow, you’re really talented. Is this coffee shop your studio?”

“Something like that,” you reply, your cheeks warming at the compliment. “It’s a great place to people-watch,” you say, gesturing to the rest of the coffee shop.

He glances around the bustling coffee shop, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he returns his gaze to you, smirking, a spark of interest flickering in his eyes. “People-watching is an underrated art form.”

“Sure is, I like capturing the small moments… It’s nice.”

He glances around, then back at you with a smirk. “You might be capturing my moment, then. I was just getting coffee to gear up for what could be a long day at the office.”

“Office?” you ask, intrigued.

“Yeah, FBI,” he says casually, as if it is just another job.

Your eyes widen in surprise, thoughts racing. “Like, really? You must have some incredible stories to tell then.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I can’t share those. Privacy and all that, you know?” He winks, making your heart skip a beat.

Before you can respond, the barista calls out his name: ‘Derek’. It suits him, you think. He sighs dramatically, turning to grab his coffee. “Guess I’ll have to keep some of my secrets, but I think I’m able to tell a few… Perhaps you can exchange  stories with me sometime?”

His boldness catches you off-guard. “Sure, if you promise to tell me one of yours, I’m telling one of mine.”

As you exchange smiles, something shifts in the air between you. You jot down your number on a napkin, along with your name, handing it to him as he reaches for his drink.

With the warmth of your touch lingering on the napkin, Derek looks at you, a confident grin plastered on his face. “I’ll take that as a challenge. Coffee soon? Or maybe a drink?”

“I’d love a drink,” you reply, heart racing in anticipation, feeling a secret thrill at how easily the conversation flows between you.

Derek jots down a quick line on his own napkin before handing it back to you. “Text me when you want to meet up.”

With that, he turns to leave, but not before glancing back over his shoulder, that captivating smile promising an adventure that lies ahead.

As the door chimes behind him, you can’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, fate has decided to add a dash of excitement to your routine. You smile to yourself as the barista calls out your name and you turn to get your coffee.

[goth-vampires-blog]

Meeting each other again

Just a little one-short with Kitsune reader and Melon, when they meet each other again, that is related to this story of mine (it's just an alternative universe)

In this one-short, melon can taste blood because yn is not technically an animal. None is she human.

Fandom: Beastars.

Character pairing with: Melon

Warning: kidnapped, biting, knife using, kissing, it Melon.

3RD POV:

Finally, out of the academy (first name) was now in a university with her friend haru, sitting a bit far away from her dear rabbit friend, doing a little sketch of a butterfly. 'It's seems like haru is getting along well...' Thought (First Name) as she glanced out the window.

Until a familiar sent appeared outside the classroom, something that the Kitsune didn't smell in a long time.

"Good morning, class. I am Melon, your professional of today study." The gazelle introduced himself as he walked in, closing the door behind him.

His eyes screened the students before locking them with (your eyes colour) that hide a glimpse of happiness.

The kitsune watch as someone she thought would not appear again, but for some reason, she has a feeling about him. "Miss (last name) please pay attention to the lesson." Melon said, snapping the kitsune out of her daydream.

With a short "Yes Sensei" (First Name), pay attention to the lesson, but her mind was slowly drifting off.

----

At the end of the lesson, students started to pack away their works in their bags, leaving the class as fast as they can.

Going to a party or to study on the lesson, haru walked to the nine tails girl who was just blankly staring off in a daze. "(Nick name) time to get out of your daydream, class just finished." Haru state tapping onto her friend shoulder that snapped out of it staring at haru with an embarrassed look.

Haru laughed it off as she stated that it was okay to be embarrassed for staring out of space. The two friends walked out of the class together, the kitsune being slightly bigger than the dwarf rabbit walking in front of haru holding onto her hand, making sure no one bumped into them.

But not all animals have great senses (first name) who were busy talking to the dwarf rabbit, didn't realise the figure that standing in front of them.

"Oh, and haru, did you hear -"

"(First Name) watch out for Sensei!"

The kitsune collided into the gazelle, making (first name) hit her head against their teacher chest letting out a quick yap.

"Ah, you better watch where you going miss (last name), or you're going to get hurt." Melon said with a childish, as he watched haru putting her hand onto the kneeling hybrid shoulder rubbing it. "Yea, Sensei... Ah shit am bleeding." (First Name) said out of pity as she watched blood drip from her nose and onto her t-shirt before holding onto it with a peace of tissues that was handed to her by haru.

Melon watched as the kitsune wiped the blood of her nose before disposing it in a lit up flame that appeared on her hand. 'Just as I imagine, kitsune really are interesting species I can't wait until I get a taste out of her.. hmm,' Melon thought as he watched the pair walk away, not until apologising to him.

----

"Are you sure? (First Name) You were bleeding, really bad. What if something happened to you?" Haru asked as she watched her friend next to the door. The kitsune was about to leave while it was late at night. "But haru! I want to eat blueberries and we don't have them here!" (first name) answer truly, the kitsune somehow got addiction to the berries since when they were at the academy and now she wouldn't stop eating them.

Haru, who couldn't really do anything because her dear friend, well, tried and succeeded in escaping the university without her know.

Finally giving up, haru agreed to let (first name) go (first name) that was clearly happy because the way her nine tails wag.

"Thanks, haru! I will be sure to bring something for you while I am out." The kitsune stated, swinging the door open before slaming it shut.

----

With Melon

Melon watched as the kitsune ran out of the building with a hoodie that was hiding her face, making her way to the car park aera.

He started to walk to the kitsune that had no clue someone was walking behind her, finally making it to the car that was a red sedan. Now, the kitsune frozen when they saw their gazelle professor behind them in the window.

Swinging an arm out trying to hit the gazelle, who caught it, making the kitsune eyes widen out of fear when her arm was put in an armlock. "Now now... is that really how you great an old friend? Oh, how you sadden me blueberry." Melon said as he leaned in a lot closer to scared fox.

"It's really makes me sad when you left me behind like that... but now it got me thinking, what if I kidnapped you making it look like you were taken by force and keep you locked away, hmm?" Melon said, pushing (first name) into the driver side door more digging his claws into the fox arm, drawing blood out.

Melon then took something out of his pocket that made (first name) thrush against the gazelle hybrid hold, feeling something sharp jab into her neck. 'What the fuck, did this crazy bastard put in that needle and why does it make me feel sleeply...' (First name) thought was soon cut off, as she slum against the car door completely out.

The gazelle hybrid watches as the fox falls asleep after giving her anaesthetic, she was out like a light. He then grabbed the key that was inside her bag, opening the car backsit, pushing the kitsune in that it seemed to be in a peaceful sleep.

Before walking to the driver door and sitting in and driving out of the parking lock.

'Those stupid lions better got her room ready.'

----

At the black market.

"Do we have every think that the crazy- I mean boss need?" A lion named Mīgeru asked, putting the final thing that their boss told them, the eleven lions all flinch once a car that sounds it pulling in.

Making them all look outside the window to see a red sedan parked at the entrance, seeing the driver side door opening their face now pale.

As they race down the hallway, then to the stairs case before making it to the first floor, all line up on each side. Facing one another.

The door opened as the crazy gazelle hybrid walked in, making them all flinch, but what's makes them more scared was the kitsune that's was being carried completely out of it.

"Greetings, boys! Is the room ready?" Melon asked, walking past each one of them, waiting for an answer. "Ah! Yes, boss, the room is ready for Miss (last name)." Answered Dolph, watching as Melon walks past them before heading off to the room.

"Wait (First Name)? Isn't that a friend of Louis?"

"Yea.. how the hell does she know our boss."

----

(Your eyes colour) snapped open (first name), looking around the strange dark room that had the smell of lions and melon...

Hearing the door opening before being slammed shut, making the kitsune jump. trying to move out of bed only to realise the chain that was wrapped about her right foot. "Oh?... already trying to leave? But you just got here blueberry."

"Mel... you crazy bastard! What the hell do you think you're doing!" Growed out (first name) as she eyed the gazelle hybrid that continued walking to her while smiling, only now she realised the knife in his hand. "(First Name)... (First Name) The only reason I kidnapped you was for you and I to become friends again or even more."

The kitsune watched as the gazelle got a lot closer to her and leaned only an inch away from her neck, taking his time to smell her sweet scent.

Before (first name) new it, she felt a sharp pain in her neck, making her let out a painful scream. 'This asshole! Get your God damn teeth out of my neck!?' Thought (First Name) as she put all her strength into pulling Melon off her, only for him to tighten his grip on her as he pushed her into the bed more.

Melon let go of (first name) neck, licking the blood off his mouth before grinning ear to ear. "Just as I thought, your blood can be taste... I don't think you will be going anytime soon, dear." Melon spoke, his claws still digging into (first name) arms.

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you blueberry... you're not a nine tails anymore, haha. Whoops." Melon said, making the kitsune glance down in confusion only to see her tails, but three was missing. "What have you done?...." (First Name) whispered her ears, dropping down more as tears creep up into her eyes.

Melon only grinned like a mad man before saying "Your a rare case. Anyone would be wanting a kitsune tails, dear" before kissing her on the cheek and leaving the room to do other business.

Not long a Congo lion named Agata appeared approaching the now terrified fox who bear her teeth at him, making Agata step back a little before saying that Melon asked or like command him to go and treat her bite mark.

"Um.. can I ask how you know our boss?"

"That bastard was a friend when I was young."

----

Melon, that crazy bastard took three of her tails -

Tags

@lunaryasha @kodzukenwhore

[mondaymelon]

— 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀. ♥

:feat~ albedo, kaeya, zhongli, childe, ayato, thoma, alhaitham, kaveh x gn!reader:

⤷ sometimes, warm moments like these is what truly makes their love apparent.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @solxima, @poweredbyghostadventures, @haliyamori

"May I... sketch you?"

ALBEDO's request is quiet - well-mannered as he's caught gazing at you with those deep turquoise eyes of his, holding a pencil aloft in one gloved hand.

"Go ahead." You let a smile cross your expression briefly, glancing up at him and letting your eyes meet. His stare is warm, contrasting to his usual blank expression that he wears so frequently. Your cheeks warm as his lips curve upwards into a gentle smile, and the quietest laugh escapes from his lips.

"Hm, if you keep looking at me with those eyes, I'm not sure if I'll be able to focus at all." His voice is playful, almost, before he flips to a new page in his sketchbook, which is set against his usual easel, and begins to draw.

And although only silence surrounds the two of you, occasionally accompanied by the gentle scratching of Albedo's sketching pencil moving across the paper, everything feels perfectly familiar.

Sunlight filters through the large windows, bathing the entire room in a cordial glow. From where you silently sit, you can feel your heart quicken at the sight of Albedo quietly standing, occasionally glancing at you with a diligent gaze.

It's clear that no words need to be shared between the two of you. The soft smile set on the male's face unmistakably says enough.

It's an expression that reads, "I love you." ♥

"Here, shall I order you another drink?"

KAEYA's voice seems to waltz in the thick air. Amongst the mixed chatter and low tones of the bar, his smooth one is something that stands out. His eye twinkles as he glances at you, slowly swirling the contents of his own glass with a distant amusement. "The night's just begun, after all."

"Ah, no thanks... I have work tomorrow." You sheepishly decline his offer, not wanting to wake up to a vicious hangover the next morning... which had happened the last time the two of you went out for drinks. It seemed that that was Kaeya's idea of "entertainment".

"Mm, very well. It's a pity, but I suppose I can't ignore your reasoning." With a short sigh and a loose shrug of his shoulders, he lets out a small laugh. "Ah, but since you won't be drinking any more, perhaps I'll make up for it?"

You don't understand his words... not until he takes the wine bottle off the table and downs it all with startling quickness.

"Kaeya!?"

"Ahaha... oh, maybe that wasn't such a great idea..." His body tips, his head lolling onto your shoulder with a drunken stupor. Kaeya holds his drink well, so it's certainly not everyday where you'll see the cavalry captain in such an intoxicated state. You can sense that something has changed in his gaze, from the way his interested gaze flicks up to your face from where he leans against your shoulder.

"Hm..." He mumbles it to himself, mostly, and it's something you're sure you weren't meant to hear, but you do.

"Haha... How could I be so lucky as to have you as my lover...?" ♥

"Love, are you tired? Come here."

ZHONGLI's expression is gentle, amber eyes warm as he lightly gestures to the space beside him. The evening air is cool, so his touch is inviting more than anything.

His gaze seems to melt as you sit beside him, body leaning against his. He's quick to move his arms, wrapping one around you, pulling you into the frame while the other stays by his side.

If you had glanced up at him then, you would've seen the gentle smile that spread across his features. Yet you didn't, and instead leaned into his warmth with a smile of your own.

Perhaps you're imagining it, but in the quiet of the night, you can almost hear Zhongli's heart beating alongside yours. Steadfast, strong. An unbreakable will.

And while you held such admiration for the male, he, in return, held such affection for you. You, the beacon of his attention and you, who had captured his heart obliviously.

Every second he spends with you is bliss - moments he will never take for granted.

Above you, Zhongli lets out a satisfied breath, running his fingers through your hair with an unimaginable delicateness. He stays there for a moment, musing to himself with twinkling golden eyes as he plays with your locks absentmindedly... although anyone who knows Zhongli is well aware that he is not one to be absent minded in any matter.

Ah, is he saying something? His words are quiet, so much so you can't hear them, but his lips move accordingly with every word.

"The day will come where we are not together, but until then, please, let me hold you for as long as it may last." ♥

"You can open your eyes now!"

CHILDE's game had been rather suspicious from the start - yet, the first thing you notice when you open your eyes is the glimmering excitement that seems to dance across his features. And while his amusement always had been somewhat plastic, some part of you knew that this enthusiasm was genuine. He takes your hands, his touch warm, and spins you around in a half-hug that seems to make you fly.

"Hey, do you like it?" His voice is higher-pitched - airy and hopeful.

Huh? Oh... he means-

You had meant to look at his surprise, but found yourself gazing distractedly at him instead. In his arms, he holds a bouquet of your favorite flowers, each and every bud fully in bloom, every petal pristine. How he got them to be so perfect, you might never know, but you can already feel a smile forming on your face.

A laugh escapes your lips as you throw your arms around the male, pulling yourself into his embrace. There's a moment of shock before he returns it, and you can see the way his own lips curve upwards.

His eyes are the same deep azure, void of light... and it'd likely be too much to hope that any sort of brightness would return to such, yet sometimes, in the late hours where you would be cuddled up beside him, there was no mistaking how his expression seemed to lighten at the sight of you.

"I love it." The words come out almost like a whisper, but the male hears it.

"And I love you." ♥

"Oh, were you waiting for me?"

AYATO's violet eyes seem to sparkle as he rounds the corner and spots you leaning against the wall, heedlessly standing there with a tentative air. "If you wanted to see me, you could've told one of my retainers... or, perhaps the thought hadn't crossed your mind in such haste?" There's a smirk on his face as he chuckles lightly.

"I just thought waiting for you would be faster." You pout, cheeks slightly flushed at his jesting.

Ah, there it was. The expression that had made him fall for you. The male can only laugh further. "Very well, then I suppose I'll have to indulge you then, correct?" He begins to walk down the hallway and gestures for you to follow suit. At the end of the corridor stands two armored guards, attentively glancing across the courtyard with weapon in hand. As the two of you cross them, they respectfully bow their heads.

"Commissioner Kamisato and esteemed guest, we greet you."

"Thank you." Ayato smiles, but it's one without warmth. "You are dismissed."

"...Pardon?" The first one seems dumbfounded, but the second seems to get the hint and tugs on the other's shoulder, leading them out of the area.

"Hm... now there are no prying eyes, let's talk, shall we?" He sits and you mimic his actions, watching with a flitting gaze as the Ayato himself stares at you, seemingly transfixed. "How have you been, love?" There's already two cups of hot tea set at the table, but somehow, he pulls a cup of boba from his sleeve instead.

And while you're telling him all about the day's occurrences, waving your hands about as you elaborate, you pause as you hear a quiet laugh emit from the male.

"Oh sorry, go on."

"You just look so beautiful right now... that I couldn't help but laugh at my good fortune." ♥

"Here, I made you this!"

THOMA beams warmly as he sets something on your head, a something that smells rather fragrant, like fresh vanilla. The blonde's smile is contagious, lethally so... from the way his spring eyes are glimmering excitedly, to the manner on how his expression brightened as soon as he had spotted you - everything about it, about him seemed to make your heart feel warm.

You glance up. Wind... Windwheel Asters? Weren't those the flowers from Mondstadt? Low and behold, there they were, stems intricately intertwined together, occasional leaves flourishing outwards as the heads delicately spin in the gentle breeze.

"A... A merchant came by and was selling some flowers from my hometown, so I thought..." Thoma's voice trails off as his face slowly grows redder. In a way, he's slightly ashamed. Perhaps he shouldn't have indulged in such a childish hobby, gifting you a flower crown? With the way your eyes have widened... do you dislike it-?

All those thoughts cease instantaneously as he feels something warm - your lips, pressed against his cheek as you give him a quick kiss. When you pull away, your happy expression is something that makes his eyes widen in surprise as he feels his heart soar.

"Ah, but now I feel bad..." You put a finger to your chin, pondering a thought. "You've given me such a priceless gift, yet I don't have a thing in return..." Instantly, Thoma is all over your slumped figure.

"Nono, please don't say that! You being here is the best gift I could wish for." ♥

"Are you done with this page yet?"

ALHAITHAM glances down at you. Your back is pressed against his chest, sitting in between his splayed legs comfortably as the male holds out his book for the both of you to read. As he breathes steadily, his chest rises and falls in a constant rhythm.

When you nod your head in approval, he flips the page, revealing the next. He's a fast reader, that much is apparent. You can't keep up with him, but he waits for you at the end of each and every one... and if he gets bored, he'll rest his chin on your head - or maybe even play with your hair, the slightest bit.

Sometimes, a distant part of you thought he reminded you of a cat.

But that was besides the point. The book isn't anything special - just more ancient Sumeru history, but the way Al Haitham is staring at every page so diligently would make one think that he's reading something incredibly riveting. You've seen that look before, now that you think about it. It's the certain type of gaze that you've caught Al Haitham using out of the corner of your eye. The type of stare that just spells out his infatuation.

You haven't even noticed that your eyelids have begun to flutter shut until the male's deep voice emits once more: "Are you tired?"

There's a faint smile on his face, an expression that one could easily miss. In your drowsiness, however, you still manage to catch it. "Mhm."

Silently he sets down his book, before placing a hand behind your head and pushing you closer. He closes his eyes, his breathing composed.

"If you're drowsy, get some rest... But stay here, would you?" ♥

"Darling, what... what are you doing here?"

KAVEH stands in the doorway, ruby eyes wide. His stance is stiff as he somewhat comes to his senses, whipping his head about in an almost comical manner. "Why are you here? Is he home??"

He sounds so anxious it's hard not to laugh. "I just wanted to see you, so..." Your words come out as more sheepish as intended, and you can see his harried expression lighten.

"You didn't talk to Al Haitham, did you?" There's a new edge in his voice, although his jitteriness has significantly eased since the start of the conversation. "And he didn't say anything weird to you, did he??"

Oh. The realization finally hits you. He's jealous, isn't he?

"No, not at all. I haven't even seen him, actually." A giggle manages to escape your lips, and Kaveh visibly brightens at your mood.

"Good. Then, should we get out of here before he decides to show up?" Kaveh opts to place his work things aside, leaving Murak on the table to fend for himself as he quickly piles his blueprints onto the coffee table, emptying the bundles in his arms. He takes your hand as soon as possible, his grip tight but comfortable.

As he tugs you along and out the door into the warm evening air, glancing back at you, his crimson eyes seem to shimmer.

"You're mine, and I won't ever let you forget that." ♥

(a/n) oops this took me much longer than it shouldve

[thatlittlered]

daffodil | celebrimbor

warning(s): gn!reader in this one, but afab!reader in previous parts

GIF by @quietparanoiac

author's note: if you look hard enough at this gif, you will see me under his apron

all parts of "the craft" can be read here

-.-.-

He seeks you out in the deep of the night, when most others should be abed. Lord Annatar himself seems to possess no such earthly need, but the smiths’ minds and bodies desperately do and he, in turn, needs their hands. He has little choice but to withdraw. Celebrimbor is happy to forego rest, if it will grant him time with you.

 ‘Come with me,’ is all he says. To the ends of the Earth, gladly. He offers his arm to guide you but does not rush or drag you; simply leads the way. It is a path you have walked many times over.

 While in the hours of the morn, Celebrimbor always seems anxious, eager and youthful in his inability to do without your presence, the night has cast a veil of calm over him. A comforting realization that you do not disappear as if a dream when his eye is not on you, and he might be with you whenever he wishes. Wherever he wishes.

 The forge seems larger, somehow, in the shadows. Colder, too, until he notices your discomfort and pulls you further to his side. No elf is known for the warmth of their body, and yet, when he holds you against the rich velvet of his robes, you’d think he was the Sun himself.

 ‘Bear with me,’ he whispers in your hair, ‘it will be more comfortable once I light the fire.’

 You sigh when he leaves your side, even if it is only for a moment. He smiles from where he stands, across from you. The fire casts a warm glow and illuminates his figure as he stands before it. He looks beautiful.

 ‘What are we doing here, my love?’

 You watch him move to light as many candles as can be found around the room. It must necessary, to make up for all the lost daylight. The stars are bright, but not bright enough.

 ‘You asked me to show you the ways of my craft. I would never deny you.’

 You laugh and he approaches you again, cradling your face in his palms.

 ‘At the hour of the wolf?’

 He frowns, ‘Are you tired?’

 Your head turns to kiss the inside of his palm, ‘No, it is you I do not wish to tire. I was simply posing a suggestion, for when the opportunity and time arose.’

 ‘It has arisen. No one shall disturb us now.’

 ‘And what of your rest?’

 ‘I have had many years to rest. Centuries even. My days might be consumed with plenty, but my nights are to be reserved only for you.’

 You cannot help but smile.

 ‘What are we to make then?’

 ‘Whatever you wish. You are the craftsman, and I, your assistant. Have you poured any thought into it?’

 His tender hand moves a rogue strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. Believe what he may about the sharp skill of your tongue, it is incredibly difficult to think when he touches you like this. You, too, have been mercilessly affected by the long-standing illness of love.

 ‘I have, but I am not sure it is achievable.’

 ‘I shall make it so, whatever it is.’

 You smile bashfully, ‘I thought I might make you a daffodil.’

 ‘A daffodil?’

 ‘Yes,’ your fingers dance with his own, interlocking, ‘it was my favourite flower in the meadow I called home so long ago.’

 He smiles so sweetly. ‘And you wish to make it for me?’

 ‘As you have given me the leaf of holly to wear for your lovely city. Daffodils are some of the few flowers that happily grow under such a shrub. I thought it might be fitting, seeing as my heart, too, has grown so much upon my coming here.’

 His eyes shine with unshed tears, overwhelmed with joy.

 ‘We will make it happen then.’

 A chair is pulled for you by his side as he begins to work on the sketch. You peek, just over his shoulder. It is a quick, sloppy drawing by his standards, but you cannot help but marvel at how skilled he is, even at that.

 ‘That is perfect.’

 You see his frown, ‘Are you certain?’

 ‘Absolutely. It is perfect just like this.’

 Your hand comes to rest beside his in a caress, until the piece of charcoal falls from his hold.

 ‘What now?’

 ‘A smith would carve their mould next.’

 ‘Ah,’ you whisper, ‘and what would one who is neither a smith, nor a talented carver do?’ The gentle rest of your head against his shoulder is enough to make his head run empty of thoughts. ‘Would they, perhaps, seek assistance from their beloved?’

 ‘If they possessed your charm, anything they sought from their beloved, they would have.’

 You watch in silence as he works. Skilled fingers carve out the shape of a daffodil, just as his mind had put to paper. It is impossible to look anywhere but at his hands. Hands moving with the precision that only years of love and commitment to his craft may bring. How can one look at the work of the thin blade when the candlelight illuminates the back of them, filled as they are, with prominent veins?

 You wish to touch him but dare not disturb. To what end would a single touch serve any way? You must study him under proper sunlight, in a land forgotten by time, where only he and you might wander, or simply lie naked on fresh grass. A proper, thorough exploration. Every line, every mark and every scar for you to find and admire. To kiss, eternally.

 Celebrimbor, bless his dear heart, seems oblivious to your distraction. Always the worshipper and never the worshipped, no more. You will make certain of it, just as he is making certain now, that the daffodil your heart desires will surpass the beauty of even those born of Ilúvatar’s thoughts. You see it in the gleam inside his eye, in the devoted concentration on his face.

 His smile lights up the world when it is finished. It is hard to discern if his enthusiasm comes from a place of love for you, or for his craft. It might be both, it does not matter. You would not have him choose.

 The mould is perfect when he shows you.

 ‘What now?’

 The Elven-smith is overjoyed to be asked. Overjoyed to share this part of him with you.

 ‘This technique is the most trusted. It is older than you, or I, perhaps even combined.’ His gentle hold on your hand brings you closer to him, his breath warm in your ear as he places an apron on you, ‘Let us find you some gloves, I would not have you injured.’

 Being Celebrimbor’s student is proving to be a much greater challenge than it initially appeared. Not for lack of skill, or guidance, but for the effect his confidence has on you. There is something in the manner he moves and speaks, something about the mess he has made of his hair by running those lovely hands through it. He must have sensed your distraction, but he makes no mention of it and his hands anchor themselves on your own, leading you toward the large canister.

‘Wax melts easily when heated, but the clay I poured around it, is resilient to fire. Once we place it in the furnace, it will melt away and leave behind an empty space in the shape we desire. Afterward, we will pour our metal in this small opening.’

 ‘It is a fascinating process,’ you hum, once the door of the furnace is closed.

 ‘Not as fascinating as watching you do it.’

 You laugh, ‘I am merely following your excellent direction.’

 ‘Is it, excellent?’

 ‘Beyond excellent, I would say, but keep in mind, I might not be the most objective critic.’

 ‘And yet, yours is the only opinion that matters,’ he whispers close to your ear, his hands drifting lower down your arms, where your sleeves end, and skin is peeking out. The touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. ‘You are an excellent student.’

 ‘Truly?’

 He hums positively, ‘A kiss is well-deserved, I think.’

 ‘I hope not for all your trainees.’

 His laugh is lovesick.

 ‘Only for you, my love.’

 He holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, letting you happily lean in. You have earned this, after all. His body always slackens when you kiss, as if falling into bed after a tiresome day. You feel it in the way he surrenders control, your soft mouth moving languidly upon his. Your tongue caresses his for a mere moment, and in that second, he lives an entire life. It is only natural he protests when you part from him.

 ‘Should we not keep an eye on the furnace?’

 It is the intensity of his gaze that despite the lack of words assures you that, even if the entire room -the entire world- caught on fire right now, he would look nowhere else but right at you. He would simply stay here, within arm’s reach, for you to do with as you please.

 ‘The forge is mine to burn,’ he almost answers, yet with a playful kiss, he relents.

 When the wax seems to have melted, he, alone, pulls the canister from the fire, unwilling to risk having you hurt. You watch, patiently waiting, while he removes any debris; another unbefitting job for the one he worships. Finally, it is handed to you for a more suitable task.

 ‘Now we must pack the clay in hot sand. Could you see to that while I alloy the metal?’ He asks it so gently, so lovingly, you almost feel bad for teasing him so.

 ‘I will certainly see to the task, Master Smith.’

 A sound of annoyance escapes his lips before he kisses your cheek, ‘Do not call me that. Every apprentice does.’

‘Forgive me, Malthenhir,’ you turn your head, returning the kiss. His eyes soften.

 The chuckle he lets out is almost a whisper.

 ‘I would forgive any crime if that was how you asked.’

 ‘I vow to never take advantage then.’

 The pouring of the metal is a mesmerizing sight. Your ears catch Celebrimbor speaking, but your mind does not register the words. The elven ear is keen, but the heart is prone to distractions, especially those involving gazing at the one you love.

 ‘Now, the back pressure will fill out the details of the mould, and as it cools, it will draw from the gates and sprue.’

 He notices, at last.

 ‘I thought you insisted that distraction does not a good smith make, my love.’ His expression is soft, eyes gleaming with amusement to have caught you. You, however, think he should know exactly what the subject of your fascination was.

 ‘I cannot help but be fixed on your hands.’

  His gaze falls on the back of his palm. ‘What about them?’

  You step toward him, taking hold of it within your own as your eyes meet and stay locked. You touch his fingers to your mouth, an unconventional kiss, but an expression of reverence, nonetheless. He watches as if witnessing a holy revelation.

 ‘They are precious hands,’ you kiss again, ‘skilled in every thing.’

 The flush of his cheeks deepens, but his daring thumb remains on the cusp of your bottom lip, tracing its shape.

 ‘Might I kiss you again?’

 ‘And our work?’

 His arm wraps around you, almost lifting you off your feet. His voice comes out a throaty whisper.

 ‘I believe our work is done for the day.’

 Your forehead finds its place, pressed against his own.

 ‘We must retire quickly then, before dawn breaks and we’re disturbed again.’

 He all but carries you to your chambers; the first night you sleep in the same bed. Celebrimbor glows under your touch, sated with kisses and whispers of love. In complete darkness, as the touch of your hand is lulling him to sleep, he murmurs that he cannot possibly wait a proper year to marry you.

 Come morning, he has daffodils planted under every holly tree in the palace gardens. Evergreen holly for eternal life. Golden-yellow daffodils for hope, and new beginnings.

-.-.-

Malthenhir = (poetically translated) master of golden hands

[creamapi]

𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖆𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖗

Parings: Mizu x Reader,

fingering, college au, reader is a reluctant lesbian, ooc Mizu?, quick smut

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You are straight. When you first met Mizu, your new roommate, you barely paid attention to the way she carried herself with that effortless, laid-back confidence. You barely noticed how her hoodie sleeves were always rolled up just enough to show off toned forearms dusted with paint stains. You barely noticed how she smelled like a mix of fresh linen and turpentine, an oddly intoxicating combination.

You are straight. That’s why, when Mizu tied her long, dark blue hair into a perfectly messy bun before sitting down to sketch, you weren’t staring. You were just… observing. Artistically, of course. Studying the way her jaw clenched in focus, the way her thumb smudged charcoal along the edge of the paper.

You are straight. That’s why, when she walked out of the bathroom one evening, skin damp from a shower, hair curling slightly at the ends, wrapped in nothing but a fluffy white towel that dipped just a little too low on her collarbone, your brain short-circuited for a second. Your gaze just happened to land on the droplets trailing down her neck. It wasn’t your fault. And that stupid, knowing smirk she shot you? Completely unwarranted.

You are straight. That’s why your face heats up when Mizu leans in close to fix your eyeliner with her steady hands, her breath fanning over your cheek. That’s why you freeze when she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, murmuring something about how soft it is. That’s why your heart does that weird, traitorous thing when she calls you “cute” in that low, teasing voice.

You are straight. Mizu just likes teasing you. That’s why she stretches her arms behind her head, just to show off her toned stomach peeking from under her hoodie. That’s why she casually drapes herself across your lap while scrolling on her phone, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. That’s why she traps you against the fridge one morning, reaching over you to grab the coffee beans, her lips quirking up when she catches you staring at her collarbones.

You are straight. When Mizu playfully calls you princess in that low, teasing voice, it's just because she enjoys messing with you. Your heart only skips a beat because it’s unexpected. That’s all.

You are straight. When she leans in over your shoulder while you’re studying, her breath warm against your ear as she murmurs, “Whatcha working on?”, your body tensing isn’t because you like it. It’s just because she has no concept of personal space.

You are straight. When she stretches in the morning, lifting her arms above her head and revealing just a sliver of toned stomach, you look away immediately. Not because you’re flustered—no, of course not—but because it would be rude to stare.

You are straight. When Mizu walks around the dorm in an oversized hoodie and boxers, casually flopping onto your bed instead of hers, your stomach twisting is just from surprise. It has nothing to do with how unfairly attractive she looks when she’s comfortable.

You are straight. When she brushes a stray eyelash from your cheek, her fingers lingering for just a second too long, and says, Make a wish, you definitely don’t wish for her to do it again.

You are straight. When she jokingly leans in close and says, “If I didn't know better, I'd think you had a crush on me,” your breath hitching is just because of how bold she is. Not because she might be right.

You are straight. It’s not your fault she smells so good. It’s not your fault she’s stupidly pretty. It’s not your fault her laugh makes your stomach do flips. It’s not your fault that when she murmurs, “You sure you’re straight?” one night, her voice rich with amusement, you don’t have an answer.

That's why it's not your fault why you're currently underneath her, wearing nothing hut your pink panties, gasping and pathetically moaning as you feel her teasing touches.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

“I barely touched you yet.” She teases, making you whine. As she trailed her hands around again, sucking the skin on your neck.

Mizu smirked as she watched you squirm underneath her touch, your skin flushing a pretty pink that she couldn't help but find adorable. She knew she was teasing you relentlessly, pushing your boundaries in a way that made you question your own identity. But she couldn't resist the urge to keep going, to see how far she could take this little game of hers.

She leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around you both as she hovered over your face. Her eyes were dark, almost black in the dim light of the dorm room, and they glinted with mischief and something else, something more intense that you were too scared to name.

“Tell me to stop,” she murmured, her voice low and rough with a desire she couldn't quite hide. Her fingers traced patterns on your stomach, dipping teasingly close to the waistband of your underwear but never quite touching.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. You knew you should tell her to stop, to put an end to this before it went too far. But the words wouldn't come out, stuck somewhere in your throat as your heart raced and your skin burned under her touch.

Mizu's eyes darkened as she watched your breath hitch and your skin flush under her teasing touches. She could see the way your body reacted to her, the way your nipples hardened and your hips lifted slightly off the bed as if seeking more contact. It was intoxicating, knowing that she had this effect on you.

She leaned down further, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “You're not going to tell me to stop, are you princess?” Her voice was a low rumble, sending vibrations through your body and making your toes curl.

One hand continued its lazy exploration of your curves while the other slid up to cup your breast, squeezing gently. Fondling. Her thumb and forefinger pinched and rolled your nipple between them, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

Mizu's mouth curved into a wicked grin against your neck. She loved these little sounds you made, the way you couldn't help but respond to her touch. It was like music to her ears, a symphony of your growing arousal.

She nipped at your earlobe before trailing her lips down to your jaw. She wanted to mark you, to leave her claim on your skin for all to see.

“D-don't.” You shakily murmured, making her pause. “Don't stop.”

Mizu's eyes flashed with triumphant satisfaction as your breathless plea reached her ears. She hadn't expected you to beg her to continue, but now that you had, she was determined to take full advantage of the permission you'd inadvertently granted her.

“Good girl,” she purred, her voice a low, approving rumble. Her hand slid from your breast down to your stomach, fingers dipping teasingly beneath the waistband of your underwear. She could feel the heat emanating from your core, could sense how ready and eager you were for her touch.

Slowly, torturously slowly, she peeled your underwear down your legs, her fingertips grazing your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. She tossed them carelessly to the side, leaving you bare and exposed to her hungry gaze.

Mizu settled herself between your thighs, her shoulders pushing them further apart as she made room for herself. She could see your arousal glistening on your folds, and the sight made her mouth water with anticipation.

She leaned in, her breath hot against your sensitive flesh as she murmured, “I'm going to make you feel so good, princess. Better than you've ever felt before.”

“Please stop teasing me already.” You begged her, almost whining. Mizu's eyes widened in surprise at your desperate plea, a thrill running through her at the raw need in your voice. She hadn't expected you to be so direct, so wanton in your desire. But she certainly wasn't going to complain.

“Since you asked so nicely,” she smirked, her voice dripping with wicked amusement. Without further teasing, she slid one long finger between your slick folds, feeling your wet heat enveloping him instantly.

You let out a choked moan as Mizu's finger pushed deep inside you, your walls clenching greedily around the welcome intrusion. She began to pump her finger in and out of your dripping cunt, setting a steady rhythm that had your hips rocking to meet her hand.

“So tight and wet,” Mizu groaned, her eyes dark with lust as she watched her finger disappear inside you again and again. “You feel incredible, princess.”

She added a second finger, stretching you further, filling you more completely. Her thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles around the sensitive nub as she fingered you hard and deep.

Mizu leaned in, blowing cool air over your heated flesh before sealing her lips around your clit and sucking hard. Her fingers never stopped their relentless assault on you.

Mizu could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering wildly around her plunging fingers as your climax approached. She could tell you were close, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. She flicked her finger upward as she sucked harder on your clit. Determined to push you over the edge, she doubled her efforts, fingers pumping harder and faster.

At the same time, she sealed her lips around your clit once more and sucked hard, flicking her tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud. The dual stimulation of her fingers pounding into your cunt and her mouth devouring your clit was almost too much to bear.

Mizu could feel your thighs trembling, your belly quivering, your entire body coiled tight like a bowstring about to snap. She could sense your impending release, could taste your arousal flooding her mouth as your juices flowed freely.

She looked up at you, her blue eyes dark and intense, holding your gaze captive as she plunged her fingers as deep as they could go and sucked your clit hard.

With a sharp cry, your body convulsed, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your cunt clenched vice-tight around Mizu’s fingers.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

You are straight, that's why, that's why. You know what stop fooling yourself, you definitely aren't after your virgin ass cummed with just a few minutes of Mizu’s fingering.

[thwd4510]

rafayel x gn!reader who’s also an artist.

꧂꧂꧂

(not proof read, so i hope it’s sufficient. sorry~!)

summary: you come to rafayel's studio to borrow some of his art supplies. you end up getting a new and very willing muse...

It’s rather late into the morning when you find yourself heading to Rafayel’s studio, bringing along a sketchbook. In a spur-of-the-moment burst of creativity, you jumped at the chance to make some art. You’ve been having art block for a few weeks now, so of course you’re delighted to have ideas to put on that forlorn looking sketchbook page. It was almost looking back at you, waiting to be used.

Mid sketch, you realized you didn’t have the materials you needed. What should you do? This creativity juice can only last so long–you gotta make the most of it!

When your phone lights up with a random social media notification, your eyes linger on your lockscreen for a moment. It’s a picture of you and Rafayel, where he’s kissing your cheek. You smile, giggling to yourself, even.

He’s so cute… I miss him.

Looking back onto your half-finished sketch, it finally clicks in your head. You can just go to your ARTIST boyfriend’s studio for some supplies. Genius.

Now, here you are at his door, opening it. You shake your head at how he never locks it. Sure, it’s nice that it’s always open to you, but that means it’s always open to other things as well. That’s a different topic for later…

“Raf?” You call out gently. “Rafayel? You home?”

Upon not receiving a response, you wander into his room only to find him asleep. He had spent long hours, not eating or sleeping, finishing a painting or two. Shaking your head, you place a hand over his forehead, simply checking for any signs of sickness. Thankfully, his skin is as cool as ever and you pull his blanket up to fully cover his shoulders.

Leaving him to rest, you take it upon yourself to rummage through his art supplies yourself. You put your sketchbook down on his bedside table, getting up to check his closet filled to the brim with materials and miscellaneous things. Pausing for a moment, you inhale deeply, preparing to carefully open the doors.

“Please don’t come crashing down like last time…” You whisper to yourself, brows furrowed while you cautiously lay a gentle hand on the handle.

The last time you opened this storage closet, everything came toppling over, making an incoherent mess of pencils, pastels, sketchbooks, paintbrushes, etc. Of course, you took the time to organize everything and cleaned out the things that were no longer needed. Rafayel did his best to help as well – it was his mess, after all. Then again, that was months ago. He could’ve very well made another mess again since then.

To your surprise (and body braced for impact), the closet was just as organized as before. He kept it clean, mostly for you and the next time you opened it. With a smile, you walk inside, carefully skimming through the supplies to find what you need.

Minutes later, you find yourself sitting comfortably in bed beside Rafayel while he sleeps. Your previous sketch was long forgotten, left unfinished, as you began drawing out your peacefully resting boyfriend.

The tip of your pencil etched into the paper with quick, calculated strokes of your hand. Periodically looking up at him for reference, you pause after a few more looks. The purple and pink hues of his irises met your gaze, startling you for a second.

“What the hell… You scared me, Raf,” you gasped, barely above a whisper. Your voice was a little hoarse from not speaking for a while, lips pursed while you concentrated on drawing.

Rafayel smiles mischievously, sleep still somewhat evident on his features when he takes your sketchbook in his hand, snatching it away from your hold.

“Whatcha making, cutie? Let me see.” You fumble a little, taken aback by how quickly he took it from you.

“Uh- well, good morning to you, too..!”

He looks at the page intently, eyes focused on your work-in-progress. The way he studies it so intensely causes your face to blow up into a tomato, feeling the (non-existent) scrutiny in his gaze. Rafayel smiles fondly at your little doodles of him on other pages as well, admiring how good-looking you made him seem. He wasn’t accustomed to being a muse as he was usually the artist here. He could get used to this.

Your face grew impossibly hotter, embarrassment creeping up throughout your body while he continued to soak in your drawings. Try as you might, you couldn’t swipe your sketchbook away from his grasp. He caught your wrists, holding them firmly in his hand as he finally tears his eyes away from the page to meet your eyes.

“Is this how you see me?” He almost swooned, eyes twinkling with the light of a thousand stars reflected on the sea’s surface. “I’m flattered.”

You huff in exasperation, tired from trying to pry the sketchbook away from him. Rafayel pulls your hands closer to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on them.

“These are some talented hands you have here,” he kisses them again, lips brushing against your knuckles. “Would be a shame to let them go to waste. Keep drawing, yeah?”

You scoffed lightly at him, your lungs practically being robbed of air to inflate his ego. He gives you your sketchbook back and gets into a relaxed pose, eyes never straying from your own. He hoists his head on his hand, elbow nestled into his pillow as he lays sideways.

Sighing, you shake your head and get to sketching once more. The blush never leaves your cheeks each time your eyes come back up to glance at your Lemurian boyfriend.

He is really handsome, after all.

You wonder if he has ever been anyone’s muse before you, knowing that he’s quite the beautiful man. Your thoughts and sketching comes to a pause when interrupted by Rafayel’s words.

“Draw me like one of your French gir- err, boys,” he says, boasting with pride at how you look at him. “Except I’m the only boy.”

“Ugh.”

However, you wish never to get caught drawing his likeness again. You love him so, but he becomes too insufferable.

…

Bonus-

“Oh, Raf?” You gently patted his back. You two are now cuddled together in bed.

“Hm?” He hummed, voice muffled because his face is nuzzled in the crook of your neck.

“You kept the storage closet tidy. Thank you, my love.”

Rafayel simply huffed a small chuckle, lips stretching into a smile at your praise. The peaceful silence is broken by the abrupt sound of his phone ringing. Thomas’ name flashes on the screen as it rings. Rafayel makes no move to pick it up and you feel his lips curl into an irritated frown.

You sigh, deciding to take pity on poor Thomas and pick up.

“Hello?” You began, voice low, before being cut off by a frantic voice on the other side of the line.

“Rafayel, how many times have I reminded you that you have a meeting with the gallery’s owner today?! Are your pieces ready to go yet?!” Thomas drones on and on, a tinge of tiredness in his voice.

“If not, get to painting! And if you don’t have any inspiration, just- just call (Y/N) for gods’ sake..!”

Rafayel groans, hastily taking and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Thomas, tell them I’m busy being drawn by my talented bodyguard! Let me be a muse for once!”

Poor, poor Thomas lets out a string of confused noises, but before he can protest, Rafayel hangs up. He immediately buries his nose back into the crook of your neck, basking in the comfortable warmth. His (very expensive) phone is tossed somewhere across the room, causing you to wince and shake your head upon hearing it hit the floor.

“I deserve a few more drawings after this, cutie. I like them a lot…”

You only hum in response, fingers carding through his hair with one hand while the other gently caresses his back. You look down, placing a soft kiss at the crown on his head, earning a satisfied hum from him, a smile forming on his lips again. Rafayel peppers your neck with open-mouthed kisses, his heart bubbling with love and contentment that you share the same interest as him. Maybe he’ll surprise you by building you your own studio right next to his, he thought.

hope i satisfied the artsy rafayel girlies w this one ( ͡ ͜ʖ ͡ )