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rubyredridinghood · 9 months ago

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JJK Characters and Their Piercings/Tattoos

SFW✅ CONTENT!! 18+ blogs please dni ^^ TW: Mentions of needles, some spoilers, not proofread lol

SATORU GOJO

•Standard ear piercing but usually nothing extravagant

•Unironically has the cross dangly because he thought it would be funny but never wears it

•Mostly diamond studs or silver

•100% GOT A NOSE STUD IN HIGH SCHOOL

•He thought it would attract more attention from the ladies (as if he needed anymore) and of course it worked

•Also has his belly button pierced and I stand firm on that belief

•Likes to flaunt it on the beach and often keeps his shirts unbuttoned in unprofessional gatherings

•Often matches the nose stud and belly button ring and has drawers full of them

• Has a tattoo on his hip of a black beta fish (yeah🥲)

•Speaking of which, he has a small one on the back of his neck of a crescent moon

•He got matching ones with Geto right before *the incident* in high school to celebrate Suguru’s 18th, Geto has the sun

•Covers it with foundation all the time when he’s in public

•Has a tattoo on his upper arm of a doodle Megumi drew when he was little

•It was the first thing Megumi ever drew and showed him (It was literally just him and Tsumiki as stick figures) and he cried

•Has a pretty high pain tolerance so he mostly did well with the process, but the hip tattoo hurt like hell for him and they basically had to pin him to the table to keep him still

•Made Shoko come to his appointments for moral support

CHOSO

•Standard ear piercings

•Usually just sticks to silver or black studs because he’s afraid of being judged :< •With a little push he might wear small hoops occasionally

• Vertical labret piercing (middle of lip) only wears hoops

•Does not do well with needles (shockingly), so he cried the first time he got body mods done

•Got his ears pierced at Claire’s and held the teddy bear

•Has only one tattoo along his left forearm with the names of his brothers written out in kanji (including Yuji)

•Also cried during the tattooing process

•He’s just a pretty princess he can’t help it😞

•Has a rotation of like 5 different pairs of earrings and lip rings because he likes to keep things simple

•Really wants to get an eyebrow piercing but chickens out every time

SUGURU GETO

•Gauges (duh)

•Started stretching his ears in early high school after he got tired of normal earrings

•Used to sit in agony in class whenever it was time to move up the taper size

•Got his septum pierced but decided he didn’t like it a few months later

•After high school (betraying everyone lol), he started by getting industrials

•Tongue piercing came next, has all kinds of fun tongue rings for funsies

•Tongue was super puffy after getting it done, Mimiko and Nanako had to speak for him for a couple weeks while he expressed his throughs through grunts of frustration

•Has the universally headcannoned back tattoo of a dragon

•Has the sun tattoo on his nape to match Gojo’s moon

•Covers it with his hair obvi but sometimes looks at it in the mirror when he’s feeling lonely

•Left arm is a complete sleeve filled with various details such as red spider lilies, various geometric patterns, and names of his loved ones hidden throughout

•Simplistic patterns running up his fingers on both hands

•Did not budge during any of the procedures, however the intensity of many of his healing processes usually rendered him unable to do certain things, so he often required assistance afterwards, even while swearing up and down he didn’t (he almost fell down the stairs)

TOJI FUSHIGURO

•Definitely has the standard earlobe

•Used to have a nose stud but stopped wearing it

•Again nothing flashy but his wife and Tsumiki bought him hello kitty earrings and he will wear them proudly

•Has a simple tattoo down his neck of his wedding date in Roman numerals to Megumi’s momma (or you😘)

•Got it there because he tends to rub his neck when he’s stressed, so running his hands over the ink reminds him of his life’s blessings

•Also has Megumi’s and Tsumiki’s names behind both of his ears (screw canon can’t change my mind fr)

•Has one (1) on the knuckle of his wedding ring finger of a heart his wife drew

•Hides it under the ring because it embarrasses him to show other people but loves to look at it when he’s alone

•Pretends to be completely fine during his procedures but is gripping his wife’s hand for dear life and biting his lip until it bleeds

•She def laughs at him for it

•Hates needles with a passion and always dreads getting new ink done but it’s always worth it in the end

RYOMEN SUKUNA

•Canon tattoos lol

•Also canon that he has his ears pieced, but he definitely got everything possible done on both ears

•Has a ton of different earrings and chains that make his appearance more regal and scary

•Has his tongue split 100% •Had a super puffy face after that procedure, and Uraume had to had to hold back laughter while assisting him through his normal daily affairs

•Nobody could take him seriously for weeks

•But when it healed he was scary as all hell

•Bridge piercing 1000%

•Didn’t really react to his procedures, however if you look closely you might see him barely squint his eyes when the needle goes through

•Got permanent bracelets because he thought they looked cool

•Small gauges

•Doesn’t let anyone touch his tattoos or piercings unless he’s being bathed or with someone he loves (you pookie🥰)

•Partly because it’s lowk sensitive for him and he doesn’t like the feeling

•Forgets to take out his earrings when he sleeps and wakes up with weird marks all over the sides of his head

•Constantly losing earring backs

•Also drops earrings all the time because his hands are huge and steps on them with the needle side up

•Poor Sukuna

My first time posting detailed hcs! Hope you like it ^^

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #geto suguru #jjk geto #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #choso #jjk choso #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #gojo headcanons #geto headcanons #choso headcanons #sukuna headcanons #:3

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welcome-to-maniac · 7 months ago

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MANIAC – Fools

Something feels different when Jisung wakes up that morning; everything’s bigger, he feels smaller, and his heartbeat is going a mile a minute. Well, in a more literal sense this time. But he’s got things to do today, so pondering on whatever’s going on with him can come later. He yawns, scampering around the new expanse of his bed and that’s when he sees it in the mirror for the first time. There’s a squirrel in his bed.

A squirrel. He tilts his head, the shock rendering him silently confused, and the squirrel’s head moves as well.

That’s… him. He is the squirrel.

Stuck between screaming in shock and wanting to know how the hell this happened, Jisung wrings his hands— paws together, anxiety seeping into his veins by the second. How is he supposed to get back to normal? He has work later, he promised to help Hyunjin buy more things for Doodle – the newest furry addition to their duplex apartment – and he can’t do any of that when he lacks apposable thumbs and a human body.

Hyunjin should still be home though, right? Right.

Making the perilous journey of jumping down his bed – god, was it always this high up? – Jisung scampers through the gap in his bedroom door and tries his best to navigate the now imposing walls of his home. Conveniently enough, his new squirrel body comes with a stronger sense of smell, and the smell of paint attacks his senses the moment he walks past the right door. But trying to push the door open is achieving nothing, and Jisung isn’t exactly eager to hear his flatmate gripe on about any damage he could do with his teeth.

The door does open a moment later though, Doodle scurrying past him and Jisung looks up to meet Hyunjin’s eyes.

Except Hyunjin has ears. Ears just like Doodle’s.

What the hell is going on…?

“Jisung? Is, is that you?” And for a moment Hyunjin thinks he feels something of a connection. A mental link, where he hears Jisung’s relieved sigh and confirmation that yes, the squirrel at his feet is the pickpocket he lives with.

‘Do you smell fox? Because I smell fox, and I don’t think a squirrel and a fox are exactly supposed to be in the same environment…’ Jisung asks, Hyunjin relenting and picking the Squirrel up and onto his shoulder, the fur of the younger man’s- hybrid’s? – tail ticking the expanse of his neck. And it makes sense, when the bartender thinks about it, but the idea of some random fox existing in his house is concerning enough as is. But if he’s been turned into some ferret-hybrid thing, and Jisung’s a squirrel-hybrid (hypothetically), a fox in his apartment can really only mean one thing.

If his perception is correct, that is.

Taking tentative steps towards the door of their resident youngest, Hyunjin knocks on the door. Once. Twice. The door opens, and a satisfied smile finds its way onto his face when he’s greeted with Jeongin, stroking a familiar – yet not that familiar – tail and sporting two large beige fox ears. Before the squirrel on his shoulder can run off, Hyunjin pulls Jisung off of him, letting the somewhat younger man tentatively make his way over.

“Hyung, is that you?”

‘Yes, yes it’s me! Please tell me you know what the hell is going on— and where is Chan hyung?’ Jisung replies, taking advantage of his new proportions to explore the younger man’s room while the other two talk amongst themselves and Jeongin lets his new tail be preened by their resident ferret hybrid. ‘Did he say he was going anywhere?’

“Think he’s with the other hyungs, he had a VIP night with Seungmin hyung… hopefully they’re faring better than us.”

And that could not be any further from the truth.

Being able to somewhat understand Minho’s cats is a strange experience, Felix realises, as his mind fine-tunes to Sooni in his lap calming him down from the panic coursing through his system from earlier that morning. He has fur on his head. White fur, cat ears, and a tail. Worst is, it doesn’t even feel unnatural, as though he’s always had cat features, seemingly gaslighting himself because there is no way in hell that having a tail that’s been curling and un-curling in tune with his mental state is something he’s ever been used to—

Oh. Right. Last October, where he turned into a god forsaken Naga.

“This has to be a fucking joke…”

Only it’s definitely not a joke, because seconds later, a golden retriever pushes its way inside, only for Seungmin to unceremoniously face plant on to the Australian’s bed. Seungmin, of course, sporting the same set of ears and tail as the golden retriever. It makes Felix laugh, the amusement of the visual overweighing the sheer scale of the situation. He still needs to understand how on earth all of this has happened.

Letting Sooni go once he’s feeling reasonably better, Felix reaches over to Seungmin in his curiosity and pets the other man’s ears. The effect is immediate, the retriever hybrid sinking further into the plush duvet in relaxation, tail gently wagging in response to Felix’s ministrations. It’s fascinating and Felix doesn’t let up, hauling the brunet up onto his bed properly so he can card his fingers through the fur of Seungmin’s tail.

Until he realises what the hell he’s doing and freezes.

“…why’d you stop?” Seungmin mumbles, lifting his head and meeting his flatmate’s eyes. “That was nice…”

“Mate, you were a golden retriever like, five minutes ago— that’s not concerning? At all?” And Seungmin just shrugs, too tired to give the gravity of the situation the attention it likely deserves. He had a long night, becoming part-dog or whatever isn’t his highest priority when all he really wants to do, is sleep for the next twelve hours.

But Felix is insistent on solving this mystery, and the server groans as he’s dragged by hand out of Felix’s bedroom and into the living room, a wolf, bunny and…large cat all sleeping in a pile together. Okay, maybe now he’s going to take this seriously, because what? His ears drop – drop? – and Seungmin taps the cat, less than eager to interact with the grey wolf in his home.

‘…fuck you want— Seungmin? Good morning…’

And he can hear the cat, no, Minho’s voice in his head. He turns to Felix, and the look on the cat-hybrid’s face means that he’s not the only one hearing this. God, what did he drink last night? Someone’s phone buzzes, and Seungmin goes over to take a look. Oh goody, it’s from his employer in the bar’s group chat, an annoyingly ominous text on the lockscreen.

Happy April Fool’s day, everyone.

“This is going to be a long, fucking day…”

#🥂hyunjin.txt #🥃 minho.txt #🍹 jeongin.txt #🍷 felix.txt #🍾 jisung.txt #🍸 seungmin.txt #🍻 changbin.txt #🍺 chan.txt #📖 story.txt

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luveline · 3 years ago

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you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina, to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

#listened to boyfriend by big time rush while writing hahaha #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley #fred #fred weasly x reader #sad reader #reader insert #artist reader #fred weasley fluff #sorry for the big blocks of text tumblr has a 250 paragraph limit #why woukd they do that

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svnriseblvdd · 3 years ago

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Art | Remus Lupin

Author: @svnriseblvdd

Word count: 2005

Warnings: like one swear word I think?

Summary: In which Remus Lupin becomes close with the artsy girl after saving her from an embarrassing moment in History of Magic

Remus Lupin had never spoken one single word to Y/N Y/L/N. Not one. And yet, he was utterly infatuated with her. He thought she was beautiful, and kind, and intelligent.

There she sat, several seats away, doodling in a leather-bound notebook. Her hair had been tucked behind her ear, no longer shielding her face, and her brows were furrowed in concentration. The other Marauders shared knowing looks, as Sirius leaned over to him. "Moony, you might want to focus on taking notes, otherwise we all fail too."

Remus' attention was drawn away from her, and he looked back at Sirius. "Since when do you care about failing or not?"

"Since never. But you care. So, y'know, get on with it, and stop staring at the pretty girl."

It just so happened that two minutes later, as she continued to draw in her notebook, that Professor Binns asked her a question. "Miss Y/L/N?"

Her head turned up, raising an eyebrow. "Uh... what?"

"How many known times did Wendelin the Weird use the flame-freezing charm to render fire harmless when being burned at the stake?"

She fought to find the answer, unable to find it in her head. "Um..."

"No less than forty-seven," Remus answered for her.

"Thank you, Miss Y/L/N," Professor Binns replied, putting emphasis on the name.

"Anytime."

She turned her head, meeting his eyes, mouthing, "Thank you." Remus smiled, and she returned that smile, turning back to her notebook, sparing him another glance before she returned to her drawing.

After the class, Remus headed to lunch with his friends, and he heard the quick footsteps of someone jogging behind him. He turned around, finding Y/N approaching him. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to day thank you for that. That was really embarrassing."

James tapped him on the shoulder. "We'll be in the Great Hall." And then they walked away leaving Remus and Y/N to talk.

"It's no problem. I couldn't let you sit there on the spot. I'm happy to help."

"I'm Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N," she told him.

"Remus Lupin."

"Well, Remus... Thank you very much for your help. I appreciate it."

"No problem. What were you drawing anyway?" He asked.

Her eyebrows raised slightly, and she cleared her throat. "Oh, um... Just stuff. I like drawing whatever comes to me really. I saw the lake on the way to the class, and I felt like drawing the Giant Squid."

"Oh, cool. Could I see?"

"Oh, uh... Well..."

"Come on. How do I know it was worth saving you if you don't show me?"

She smiled, shaking her head a little. "Fine." She reached into her bag, her arm reaching further and further in, and Remus' brows furrowed. "Undetectable extension charm. There's a lot in here, I needed more space." Her arm stopped moving as she found it, pulling it up. "Aha. There you are. Thought you got away from me, didn't you?" She opened the book, flicking through the pages. Some pages, Remus managed to steal glances, and the work he saw, though it was gone in a second, looked good. She finally found the page, turning the book to him.

It was beautiful. The lines curved and twisted in beautiful patterns, the shaping was gorgeous, and the attention to detail was impeccable. "This is amazing."

"You really think so? I mean, the shading's all off and the line on the seventh tentacle isn't the right shape, it's really not my best."

"No, this is great. It's really - it's beautiful."

"Thank you." She rubbed at the back of her neck. "Uh, do you want to look at the others? I don't mind."

Remus looked through the drawings, admiring them with a smile on his face. "These are incredible."

"Thanks."

"My friend Sirius would probably pay you to do a portrait, by the way," he said.

"Oh, I don't do people. Not really."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I draw things I find beautiful. Things that I'm inspired by. I haven't had much practice with drawing people. I'm not sure I'd even know where to begin," she responded.

He offered her a smile. "Well, I think that someday you'll be amazing at drawing people."

~~~

Come Christmas, Remus had spoken more and more to Y/N, and eventually, she'd begun to sit with him and his friends at mealtimes. He'd seen even more drawings, and he'd somehow fallen even harder for her. "Why do they call you Moony?" She'd asked as they made their way down to dinner one evening, just a week before Christmas.

"I'm sort of a night owl," Remus lied, hands in his pockets. "Plus, you know, my name."

"Okay, so Sirius is Padfoot, like a dog, because Sirius is the dog star? And then James... James is Prongs because... Forks?"

Remus laughed. "No, no. We'll get there, don't worry."

"Will you be staying behind for Christmas?" She inquired.

"No, we're all going over to James'. Are you?"

"My parents are away, so unfortunately, yes. I was hoping that at least somebody was going to be staying so that I wasn't totally alone."

"Hey, if you wanted to, you could come along with us to James'," Remus offered. "I'm sure Mrs Potter wouldn't mind. I can owl her after dinner to check."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose."

He shook his head. "No, no. It would be fine, I'm sure of it. Besides, how else would I give you your present?"

She grinned. "You got me a present?" He nodded. "Oh, good. I got you something too, I hoped it wouldn't be an awkward situation where I turned up with a gift and you didn't have anything to give me in return."

~~~

And that's how Y/N ended up at the Potters' for Christmas. It was beautifully decorated, absolutely riddled with Christmas spirit. It was wonderful. There was a divine roast dinner, cooked to perfection, the tree was huge, decorated in traditional Christmas colours, and it was magical.

And then, the gift exchange came. Everyone was pleasantly surprised with their gifts, and finally, there came the moment where Y/N could open the gift from Remus. She tore the paper, revealing a large pack of coloured pencils. They were beautiful, a range of colours, and excellent quality.

"Thank you," she breathed out. "Thank you so much."

"This way your drawings can be in colour. And you can get used to using colour for them too. I look forward to seeing the result."

Her smile wasn't wiped off the rest of the evening, she couldn't stop it. She kept meeting Remus' eyes, grinning so widely that her cheeks hurt.

~~~

One night, when Gryffindor tower was still and quiet, Remus sat in the common room on the sofa, staring into the fire. "Remus?" He heard his name called in a whisper. "You down here?"

"Y/N?" He called back quietly. "Yeah, I'm down here."

Y/N stepped into the firelight, skin glowing softly under the light of the orange flame. "What're you doing up?"

"I told you, I'm a night owl," Remus said with a shrug. "What're you doing down here?"

"I couldn't sleep. It's freezing up in the dorm for some reason. It's hard to sleep when you've spent an hour shivering violently." She sat beside him, staring into the dancing flames. "I drew a fire the other day." Her words were somewhat quiet and distracted.

"That's... nice."

"Not really. I drew a house on fire. As it turns out, my imagination can be bad. I have started trying to draw people, though. I think I'm getting better."

"That's great. Maybe you can draw me."

"Maybe. I don't think I'm quite that good."

"I'm sure you're a lot better than you think."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he could have sworn time stopped as his heart hammered against his ribcage. He smiled, leaning his head on hers, and enjoying the moment as she cuddled into him. "You're warm."

"I want to say thank you."

"Good. It was a compliment."

"Okay, good. Just wanted to clarify that."

She yawned a little, nuzzling into his neck, and hummed. "I might just fall asleep here."

"Go ahead."

"'Night, Remus." There was a soft snoring sound, and Remus smiled.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

~~~

A week or two later, on a rainy afternoon, Remus sat with the other Marauders in the common room. They were laughing loudly, obnoxiously, and he noticed that you were sat in the corner. You looked up for a second, meeting his eyes and giving him a small smile. He returned it, his attention dragged back to his friends as Sirius tugged harshly on his jumper.

"Moony, just tell her."

"I can't, Pads, it's not that easy."

"What's she drawing?" James asked.

"I don't know. She likes to draw whatever's on her mind," Remus said with a shrug.

"So why don't you go look?" Peter suggested.

Sirius nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. Use that as a conversation starter. Or a pickup line."

"A pickup line? Really?" Remus questioned. "How would you even -"

"Are you art? Because I'd like to sign my name on you. Or, better yet: You must be a piece of art, because I'd like to nail you against a wall."

Remus rolled his eyes, standing up and walking away. "Hey," he began, reaching the table she'd been sat at.

She jumped a little, tugging her sketchbook towards her, holding it against her chest. "R-Remus, hi."

"What's gotten you so jumpy?" He asked amusedly.

"I'm not," Y/N excused, her arms tightening around the sketchbook.

"Were you drawing naughty things?" He teased.

"N-no. No, of course not. I was just..." She cleared her throat. "So, yeah."

Remus chuckled. "Let me see, then."

"No."

"Oh, come on, let me see." He made a grab for the book, and she drew back, pushing her chair back in the process. "Y/N?"

She pushed out of the chair, taking off across the common room. It wasn't so busy that there was no room. In fact, it was surprisingly empty. Only the two of them, the other Marauders, and a few others occupied the room. As she ran, everyone's attention turned to the two of them, watching the exchange as Remus chased her.

"Come on, Y/N! Let me see it, please!"

"No. Not, I won't let you."

"I asked nicely."

"And I sincerely say fuck off."

She ran into someone, stopping in her tracks, the book grabbed from her arms. She looked up, finding James stood there, holding the book above his head. She jumped up, trying to grab the book. James threw it over her head, and it landed in Peter's arms, and she moved to grab it from him. In his terror, Peter threw it, Sirius catching it and passing it to Remus, and moving so that Y/N couldn't grab it.

Remus looked down at the page, finding his own portrait so skilfully drawn down. He'd never liked his scars, but she made them beautiful somehow. Every line, every stroke of the pencil. "This... This is me."

He turned to look at Y/N in shock. She stared at the floor, her cheeks glowing red. "Yeah."

"This is beautiful. Why didn't you want me to see it?"

Her eyes didn't leave the ground as she spoke. "I thought you'd find out."

"Find out what?" He inquired, stepping closer to her.

"That she has a crush on you, duh!" Sirius exclaimed.

Y/N nodded her head ever so slightly, her cheeks going even redder. Remus stepped even closer to her, not that she noticed. His fingers found her chin, and he tilted her head upwards, his lips meeting hers. There was a sharp gasp heard, and he smiled, one hand resting on the back of her neck and the other cupping her cheek.

As they pulled away from one another, Remus placed a short kiss to her nose. A smile filled her face, and she met his eyes. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Hey," Sirius said with a grin, everyone turning to him with a similar face. "Sorry. Do continue."

#remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #marauders era #young remus lupin #marauders imagines #remus lupin x reader #marauders fluff #sweetness

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sugar-petals · 3 years ago

Note

can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house.

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like.

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine.

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship.

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like.

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that.

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same.

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket.

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching.

#yoongi #yoongi hc #yoongi x reader #bts #bts x reader #bts hc #yoongi scenario

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goroaix · 2 years ago

Text

〘 Nothing good ever came out of having his head in the clouds... 〙

Xiaojun x gn reader. No warnings

Dejun knew this was a silly habit to have, especially at his age, but he couldn't help his subconscious actions - not when they were so simple and felt so natural.

His pen tapped against his cheek, his sigh light as he looked ahead at the professor that was speaking. However, not a word they said was being absorbed, their lips moving but the sound becoming garbled as it reached his ears. Dejun knew it was fruitless to try and force himself to understand, not when his attention was so clearly divided.

Teeth catching on the lid of his ballpoint, he chewed on the top without a second thought, not caring that it was unhygienic or unsightly; no one was looking at him.

The slide changed and he jotted down the title and whatever was written down without thinking twice about it. One might have wondered what could possibly have his attention when he was paying to attend these classes (and a hefty amount at that) and Dejun would have hurriedly replied with nothing. He was looking at exactly nothing.

Except he was an extremely bad liar and his eyes always told the truth. And, right now, his eyes were giving him away. Dark brown irises focused not on the educator, but on another student that was sat diagonally to him.

Their head was resting on their palm, cheek pressed against the flat plane. Dejun chewed a little harder, pausing only to gulp and forcefully tear his gaze away from them. Why was he staring at someone else when he was aiming to be university educated?

The answer was because they were cute, astoundingly so.

Without meaning to, he was staring again. Their lashes fluttered against their cheek as they closed their eyes, a soft sigh leaving their lips as they seemed to also drown out the words being spoken. It was comforting knowing he wasn't the only one distracted.

He moved the pen from his lips to his post-it notes, the black ink running over the lilac paper. While he continued his observations, his hand moved of its own accord and he was only vaguely aware of how his wrist flicked and jotted down different characters.

They shifted in their seat and Dejun caught sight of their full visage, his breath leaving him as he was caught off guard by just how beautiful they were. It felt as though he discovered this fact every single time he was in this lecture hall but it amazed him every time.

Even if he had been here for six months now, he had found himself gravitating towards this one person. Even so, he was too shy to say anything and was doomed to a life of silent admiration.

Mirroring their actions, he let out a soft sigh and looked down at what he had been doodling, only for his head to feel like it was overheating and for his ears to flush a dark pink.

He ripped the note off of the pad and stuck it to the inside of his workbook, closing it before anyone sat beside him could see and judge him for his child-like behaviour. Sitting up straight, he forced himself to concentrate on what was being told to him.

Unfortunately for him, the bell went off to signal the end and he was left sitting as people rushed out of the room, desperate to get home and forget whatever they had learnt the past hour; Dejun was one of these people.

Packing away his things, he slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way out of the room with the cute classmate on his mind. In his haste, he failed to notice that the lilac note had not been stuck in properly and had subsequently fallen through the gap in the pages, drifting to the floor when and unsuspecting someone had picked it up.

"Hey, excuse me-" Their attempts at getting Dejun's attention were rendered null and they sighed, instead turning it around to see what was written. Maybe if it was some good notes they could copy them down and return it next time.

Then they turned it around and it... definitely was not revision notes.

Instead, it was their name and Dejun's written within a sloppy heart.

#xiaojun x reader #wayv x reader #xiaojun fluff #xiaojun imagines #wayv imagines #xiaojun x you #wayv fanfic #xiaojun fanfic #wayv fluff #wayv x you

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hiscyarika · 4 years ago

Note

“Remove” for the word drabble with Din :D

Word Count: 1.0k

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Prompt: “Remove”

Warning(s): None

A/N: Was an unhelmeting scene too obvious for this word prompt? Maybe. But I did it anyway 😂 Thank you for sending this in and I hope you enjoy! 💙

Masterlist

Tag Lists

---

He’s always feared the day that someone strips away his armor: the day that someone learns that it’s all a façade, that underneath the beskar is only a frightened, doubtful man.

His heart pounds as he stands there with you in the complete darkness of the hull. He’s not used to having you this close, despite how much he craves it. You bring a hand up to his right pauldron, your nimble fingers working to remove the piece of armor from his shoulder. As soon as he realizes what you’re trying to do, he catches your wrist in his hand, stopping your movements. It’s instinctual, a protective reflex.

Though he can’t see you, he feels your gaze burning into the visor of his helmet. “We don’t have to do this, Din,” you murmur, and he feels a pang in his chest at the gentle, reassuring tone of your voice. He’ll never know what makes you so understanding of his hesitation. He’s certain that no one else would have stayed so long for someone who refused to show any sort of physical vulnerability.

He shifts, instead lacing his gloved fingers with yours. “No, I… This is what I want. I just...I need a minute,” he explains.

You lift your other hand, slipping your fingers beneath the cowl around his neck. Gently, you pull him closer until the helmet rests against your forehead. “We can take as long as you need,” you whisper, running your thumb along the edge of his jaw.

Din takes a moment to breathe, his free hand falling to rest on your hip. He gives a gentle squeeze, bringing you that much closer. He doesn’t know how long the two of you spend standing like that, but eventually he lifts his head, releasing your hand.

“Okay,” he breathes.

You bring your hand back up to his pauldron, pulling it gently from his shoulder just a moment later. You set it aside on the crate that sits not far from where you stand. Both of his hands rest on your hips now, and he doesn’t move them as you unfasten the second pauldron. You take a moment to rest your hands on his shoulders, gently kneading his sore, aching muscles with the pads of your fingers.

He knows this is reckless. He’s never let anyone come this close to him, never let anyone render him defenseless this way. But as your gentle hands move along, slowly removing each piece of cold steel from his body, he finds that what he feels is not fear, but relief. With you, he welcomes the loss of his armor, letting you take the weight from him and leave the warmth of your touch in its place. Because Din realizes that this is different. You’re different. You’re the safety and the solace that he’s searched for his whole life, the very thing that he feared he would never truly find.

Once you’ve removed his backplate, you take just a half step back from him. The only thing left now is the helmet. You pause, letting a few moments pass in silence. There’s a decision to be made, one that neither of you take lightly. But Din doesn’t move, doesn’t speak.

Your hands fall to either side of the helmet, and again you pause. You wait. You want him to be the one that makes this choice, not you.

Din can’t help the way his body shakes with the breath that leaves him. But he bears no hesitation for what you’re about to do. No, he’s already surrendered himself fully. He raises his arms, placing his hands on top of yours. Together, the two of you lift the helmet from his head. It hisses and clicks as he’s released, the only sounds that break the delicate silence.

And then the final piece of the armor is gone, gently set aside just like the rest. There’s nothing left to hide him from you.

Your hands tremble as they find his cheeks. He’s frozen in place, blood pounding in his ears as you map his face in the dark. Your fingers trace his cheekbones, his nose, his temples. They slip into his hair and gently untangle the unruly curls. His eyes slip closed. Your touch is almost intoxicating, leaving him without a coherent thought and feeling weak, like his legs might give out from under him if he tried to move.

Din drops his head so that his forehead presses gently against yours, and his eyes burn as he takes in the feeling of having you this close to him, of being able to feel your skin against his. He takes in a deep breath, breathing in your comforting scent now that he’s no longer hindered by the helmet. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever put it back on.

Your hands move again, and he feels the pads of your fingers press flat against his lips. He purses them, leaving the ghost of a kiss against your soft skin. You linger there for a moment, but then your hands fall to his chest. There’s a second of hesitation, and desire hangs heavy in the air, almost tangible. Din shifts, his hands running down your sides until they once again rest on your hips.

And then he pulls you close, eliminating any distance left between the two of you. His lips meet yours in a kiss so cautious it’s like the two of you are made of glass. One false move and you’ll shatter in each other’s arms. Din savors the way your lips fit so perfectly with his, only pulling away from you when his lungs burn for air. He looks down at you, only able to make out your silhouette in the dark, wondering why it took him so long to let this happen.

Because even in this moment of vulnerability, even as he stands bared completely to you, he’s never felt more secure.

---

Permanent Tags: @bestintheparsec @hail-doodles @aerynwrites @murdermewithbooks @themandjalorian @longitud-de-onda @readsalot73 @lovingtheway @talesfromtheguild @mystical-934 @tiffdawg @lokiaddicted @adikaofmandalore @blue-space-porgs @forever-rogue @hansoulo @fleurdemiel145 @cable-kenobi @opheliaelysia @pedropascalito @creamysacrilege @bandofmarvels @paryl @phoenixhalliwell @agentmoonshine1 @randomness501 @starlight-starwrites @keeper0fthestars @stilllivindue2spite @hdlynn @theocatkov @coonflix @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @wickedfrsgrl @frietiemeloen @liadamerondjarin @pancakefancake @someplace-darker @dontjudgemedude @mistermiraclee @shortof-amarble @kaetastic @chrisbostonevans @mrpascals @f0rever15elf @themandadlorian @din-damn-djarin @knittingqueen13 @oloreaa @hayley-the-comet @seasonschange-butpeopledont

The Mandalorian Tags: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @adlerorzel-blog @mrsparknuts @deputytrash @lola-wolf @sunkissed-winter

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars

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serosgirl · 4 years ago

Text

@iiminibattlehero asked: “Could I request some fluff of goin on a date with Kuroo and Mattsun? (Separate✨)”

✧˖*°࿐ die for you ❛ i’m finding ways to articulate the feelings i’m going through ❜

don’t kill me, but i only wrote for kuroo... i make it up to you, though! by incredulously sweetening this drabble as if a romance film of soulmates. if you really want mattsun and a date drabble, request again! i’ll definitely get to it. also, you can specify what your ideal date would be!

dorky kuroo + she/her pronouns

etches of sloppy lines coded an astray notepad, the pencil-sketched sticks signifying loss induced by the impressiveness of player two, the doodled paper illustrating [yn] had only lost but two rounds while kuroo encountered defeat for what had been, now, his eleventh attempt at success.

focus was much too hard to obtain. heavy pheromone pooled amongst the expanse, flooding the bedroom with a candied perfume that drugged kuroo’s conscience by drowning his sense with a sweet nectar that nearly tipped him towards an intoxicated state as if he were a drunkard. tetsuro ventured towards an unexplored deep, mindlessly traveling wherever the figurative waves of rolling euphoria destined his arrival.

he involuntarily fumed each time their knees bumped. face flared scarlet and encased with a ring of heat, kuroo’s flustered disposition was hard to pass. his heart pattered at an unbelievable rate, and he was sure he had been painted crimson from the tips of his olive toes to the curvature of his round ears.

kuroo gulped away his nervousness, optics dancing around the room to locate a suitable distraction. he guaranteed he would lose composure in a matter of dwindling seconds. occurrence of his first date spawned such anxieties; kuroo began to regret his choice of location.

his bedroom had been arranged into a comfortable pillow palace. blankets swamped the carpeted flooring, and colorful sheets were cutely strung by pins to the ceiling. kuroo crafted a private world of their own. snacks and unwatched movies littered the cluttered floor. his effort placed into making the scene enjoyable had been clearly appreciated hence empty wrappers and soda cans that lie upturned.

silence was hardly present. vigorous clicks to the trigger and bumper of their remotes resounded, and whatever game the two indulged within vibrantly flickered and erupted with rambunctious sound effects.

hours had barely began to pass, but kuroo felt as if his state of perplexity had lasted him a lifetime. too many confessions were left unsaid. words of admiration sat impatiently on his tongue, but he kept the syllables suppressed with a heavy sigh breathed through his nose. kuroo was certain he would spew each and every of his harbored professions if he were to open his sealed lips, so he pressed his mouth closed and utilized a death-grip onto the blameless controller in his hands.

his wrists shook in resistance, and he began to fear his resolve would expel and render him subject to his strength of adulation. with one ogle, an intent peer, towards her visage, kuroo had been weak in the knees; swooned until brought over the moon and returned to earth.

a trip he hoped to never detrain. if he consistently were to be reduced to putty in her hands, an object to be used for her disposal, he would allow such. to remain within contact for a second more, he’d do whatever it took. desire which set his heart aflame affirmed his certainty when deciding his aim for the future. he would remain by the side of his current company, sure to treasure everlasting memories crafted within her presence.

definitively disembarking his lucid daydream with the cry of an abrupt cheer, he flinches and fumbles the controller that previously rested in his hands. yet again, [yn] dominated contemporary reign of victory whilst kuroo vanished within a dazed haven. much too attentive to the weight that eagerly pulled at his arm, kuroo’s heart battered against his ribcage as she habitually tugged him near, boasting and mocking the boy for depicting little effort.

her voice tickled his ears like the blown tune of wind chimes. she teased him for losing at such an easy game, cooing his name in a childish taunt and settling once more when he met her eyes with a smile.

[yn] scooted towards him, occupying the free space between his opened legs. her head dropped to his hands, her own pointing at manual controls of the device he held. she explained to him how to play, but kuroo retained little to no information.

he was aware of how the game worked. he has owned the disc for years, of course he knows what he’s doing, but he can’t help but play dumb whenever [yn] balances her weight with a hand on his thigh and an index pointed towards the sleek dualshock. her mouth had been moving, but no sound encountered kuroo’s auditory sense.

the brush of her fingertips along his skin erected goosebumps in their wake, casting shivers that ran along his arms. the unintentional contact propelled his heart to spike and caused an overdrive of adrenaline to warm his skin as if he had baked for some hours beneath the crippling sun. the proximity of which his girlfriend sat was a source of his flustered complexion. antsy and ridged with caution, he froze at the sensation of her palms which settled upon his shoulders.

he jittered anxiously, bounding his knee from his wide-legged seat. he peered at the kneeled girl, eyes slightly unfocused and heart pounding no slower than it previously had been. [yn] hooked a finger towards herself, a coy smirk smugly pinned onto her crinkled cheeks. she swore she’d win again. she promised him another victory in her name before adjusting where she were, spine pressed to his chest and head snuggly lulled beneath his shoulder.

kuroo could not deny another loss would await in his future, but success possessed scant significance to the enamored boy. he since convinced himself that he has already won. content with the belief he had already acquired millions with the girl who lovably curled into his middle. [yn] merrily began another round before directing her hard stare upon the boy who merely gazed down upon the woman with a soft expression, his lids framing pools of fondness garnered by himself. defeat unquestionably withheld hardly any importance. kuroo had achieved the trophy at the end of his own race; [yn] amounted to no earthly claim.

#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo x reader #kuroo testuro #tetsuro x reader #tetsurō x reader #tetsurō kuroo x reader #tetsurou kuroo x reader #tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsurō x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader

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lilflowerpot · 4 years ago

Note

Soulmate AU where the marks on one person's skin show up on the other, but obviously they can't understand each other's writing, so Keith mostly just tries to express himself through art instead. So naturally, when he starts investigating the Blue Lion he starts drawing THAT too. Which is why, when Voltron shows up, Lotor is Dead Certain that the blue paladin is his soulmate, and he desperately tries to force himself to fall in love with Lance even while he's like "... Really? THIS guy?"

Lotor’s soulmate is not illiterate, but they may as well be. He’s compared their careless scrawl against every language in the Imperial data banks - thrice! - and it’s simply... not there.

“They’re a primitive,” Ezor nods sagely from where she’s half draped over his shoulder, eyeing the illegible lettering on his wrist with an entertained curl to her lips, “must be. Guess the universe wanted to counterbalance all your insufferable braininess.”

When Lotor shrugs her off with a snarl, she has the audacity to laugh.

Acxa’s kinder, or she tries to be, comforting him with the notion that if his soulmate is a primitive, they’re at the very least an educated one, or better yet of a more evolved society wherein knowledge of scripture is commonplace, so... they’re not feral.

Zethrid seems to half wish that they were, if only for the thrill of it.

“And the sex,” Ezor tacks on with an evil little grin, “the sex would have been fantastic.”

Her soulmate’s raucous glee drowns out any further discussion of the topic.

So they can’t communicate, not with words, but if Lotor’s soulmate is anything it’s tenacious (and the Prince can’t help but admire that). They come to the conclusion that pictures are the way to go, painting Lotor’s forearms with a veritable rainbow of quadrilaterals, each containing varying stripes and symbols, and then a series of dotted squiggles that Lotor is beginning to recognise as their approximation of a question.

The problem being he doesn’t actually know what it is that they’re asking.

There’s one rectangle - the majority of which is striped red and white, with a one contrasting quarter of stars in a blue sky - that his soulmate keeps coming back to, and Lotor realises it must be a clan symbol of a sort, indicative of their own people and culture, but... once again scouring Imperial logs turns up nothing of import. Frustrated, Lotor practically carves the hateful Imperial emblem into his palm with jagged lines of ink - Vrepit Sa - and turns in for the night.

In the morning, his arms are wiped clean.

They stay that way for a quintent.

Two.

On the third, he hears back, and it rocks his entire world view.

Kraliept Sa.

The lines are careful, deliberate, as if someone unfamiliar with the old scripture had taken great pains to transcribe that singular character, and Lotor quite simply can’t believe his eyes, because that would mean... that would mean that the only two things he knows of his soulmate are in direct contrast with one another: the first being that they are completely isolated from the Empire, and the second more impossible yet, that they have ties to the Blade of Marmora.

They continue this way for almost a decaphoeb, and it’s not perfect, but it’s something.

Lotor sends renderings of the stars, his ship, Kova, and in return his soulmate replies with sketches of the animals and sunsets and vast expanses of desert on an alien world.

One evening, they blur blues and greens into a perfect little marble on the inside of Lotor’s knee, an arrow pointing to one of the green patches labeled with a sequence of characters that the galra Prince is beginning to recognise as his soulmate’s name - though he can’t so much as begin to guess at how they might be pronounced - and so on the opposite knee Lotor paints Daibazaal, and then, because that feels inadequate, smears his thumb through the centre of the planet he no longer calls home, doodling a battalion of ships leaving the wreckage in a mass exodus, the children of an orphaned world.

And once more, his soulmate falls quiet.

It’s almost a full phoeb until they reach out again, and when they do Lotor finds them franctic, frightened, their little blue-green marble only the beginning; an entire solar system follows, complete with details such as what Lotor assumes must be an accurate number of moons on each planet for how deliberately they’re marked out, and then-

A ship.

It’s small and unassuming and positively archaic in design, but it’s a ship nonetheless, and as Lotor watches, his soulmate draws and erases and re-draws that same design until it’s traveled the length of his leg - thigh to ankle - and ‘lands’ on an unassuming moon of the most distant planet. They circle it with agitation, jabbing whatever implement they’re using to mark their own skin so violently that Lotor’s quite sure they must bleed under the force of it, but he doesn’t know what to say, let alone know how to say it if he did.

The next morning, his soulmate’s mural has gone.

The phantom ache of it remains.

They call him Champion.

Lotor only takes interest because of the timing, because of the circumstance, because it’s Sendak’s fleet that located these new lifeforms on a desolate moon in some distant corner of the universe, and of all Zarkon’s commanders he most of all has something of a reputation for toeing the line between cruelty and outright sadism.

The odds are one in a million, but that’s not a risk Lotor is willing to take.

He paints an obnoxious criss-cross of colour onto his own face that will be impossible to hide or mistake for anything other than what it is, and sends his generals to ascertain whether the Champion or either of the two lifeforms that accompanied him - soon to be subject to the work camps - share the mark.

They don’t, not one of them, and so Lotor chalks it up to coincidence and moves on.

Finding what could almost be mistaken for the legendary Blue Lion on the back of his hand only for Voltron proper to re-emerge into the universe after thousands of decaphoebs with the Champion himself allegedly at the helm, is not so easily written off.

And this time, when his soulmate abandons him to cold silence, it feels final.

Thayserix was very much a spur of the moment decision, but Lotor has never been so glad of such impulsivity as he is now, with the blue Lion of Voltron having been stolen from the thick mists and safely in his grasp.

Though, it’s not the lion that interests him.

Yes she’s a beautiful beast of considerable power, but in this case it is quite literally what’s on the inside that counts, that being of course Lotor’s soulmate... or so he’d thought.

Princess Allura of Altea cannot be them.

At least he certainly hopes not.

She’s lovely, in theory, but they’ve been in a stalemate for the past varga with her sullenly refusing to so much as consider entertaining Lotor’s attempts at hospitality, let alone conversation, and instead quite stubbornly standing with both her guard and weapon raised.

“I really would simply like to speak with-”

“Release me.”

Her end of things has consisted solely of those two words, and the monotony of it all really is growing rather tiresome.

Narti saves him from another repetitive bout, slinking into his mind and whispering that the rest of Voltron have located them far more quickly than Lotor would have thought possible.

The worst part is he’s almost grateful.

“Very well,” he growls, temper wearing thin, “your friends are here to collect you Princess, perhaps they will be more amenable to a little tête-à-tête, hm?”

They are not.

“Release Allura,” is the first thing to pass the dark-haired Paladin’s lips, teeth bared and tongue sharp, and it takes everything Lotor is not to simply concede on the spot.

“Frankly, I would love to,” he spits, gratified by how completely this blindsides the lot of them, every face on the holoscreen struck blank by his immediate compliance. “I do not believe she is the individual I am looking for, nor does she seem inclined to assist me in locating whosoever is. Answer my questions, and you are welcome to her and the blue Lion both.”

“We... We are?” It’s an older gentleman who speaks up, the only other altean among them.

“Absolutely,” Lotor hisses, and then graciously concedes: “the mistake was mine. I simply wished to open a dialogue with who I had assumed to be the blue Paladin, but as she is of a background that would doubtless have allowed us to communicate in galra script, that no longer seems the case.”

Their group look like they’re going to ask him to further explain what must sound to the lot of them nonsense... all except the black Paladin whose eyes have gone wide on some personal revelation, whispering “you,” as if he can’t believe his ears, only to spit out an obscenity before repeating himself with all the fury of an imploding star. “You!”

There are several exclamations of “Keith-!” as those violet eyes narrow to slits, the man smacking his hand down and cutting their com-line dead.

Ezor, helpful as ever, mumbles: “Well that went well,” quiet enough that it’s almost as if she doesn’t mean for everyone in the otherwise silent cockpit to hear her.

For the first time in ten thousand decaphoebs, the black Lion is - technically - in Imperial hands.

Lotor couldn’t care less.

The man who strides out of her is a veritable firestorm, all dark brows and snarling lips, and in a heartbeat Lotor knows, he just knows, who he is.

What he is.

Galra, for one, almost certainly a hybrid like Lotor - it’s the eyes that betray him, half luminescent with rage - and there’s a gorgeous poeticism to that.

Reckless for another, and behind him from where she’s been brought to stand witness, Princess Allura is clearly horrified to see her companion step from Voltron’s keystone and leave it completely unprotected, but the Paladin doesn’t seem to care, and neither does Lotor.

“Release Allura,” he growls again, voice like thunder and just as electrifying as he storms across the landing bay without hesitation, not even stopping to glance in his fellow Paladin’s direction and affirm that Zethrid has, in fact, released her as instructed.

No, Lotor’s soulmate simply fists pale fingers into paler hair and hisses, “fuck you,” into his mouth before kissing the Prince senseless.

Later - much, much later - Lotor is pleased to report back to Ezor that the sex is, in fact, fantastic.

#sorry/not sorry I wrote an entire ficlet thing but this was just TOO GOOD #this is totally self-indulgent but like.. if that's not the point of fanfiction then idk what is #one day I will actually write out a keitor soulmates au in full but today is not that day #so for the time being you will have to content yourselves with this #sa screams back #keitor #other aus #ficlet #prince lotor #keith kogane

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livesincerely · 4 years ago

Text

you render me in a thousand details

Also on Ao3

00000

“Hey, Davey, can you grab me another can of paint outta the closet?”

Davey looks up at the sound of Jack’s voice. The man in question is perched precariously on top of a ladder, the latest backdrop for Ms. Medda’s new show set up in front of him

He places the book he’d been reading while Jack worked to the side. “What is it I’m looking for?” Davey asks, clambering to his feet.

Jack’s head turns in his direction but he doesn’t take his eyes off his painting, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully adds a series of fluffy white clouds to a cheerful skyline. “The extras should be just inside the closet on the right⁠—I need the dented can with the red stripe on the lid.”

Davey makes his way over to the tiny supply cupboard that Jack has claimed as his art closet. It’s a floor-to-ceiling collection of paint cans, canvases, brushes, and other supplies, and it never fails to amuse Davey how Jack can take one look at the mess and immediately unearth whatever item he needs for a particular project. Most of it belongs to the theater⁠—requested by Jack but paid for by Ms. Medda⁠—but Davey knows that Jack sometimes stores his personal pieces and supplies in there as well, if only to keep them safe from the daily mayhem of the Lodging House.

He reaches for the pull chain and a lone light bulb flickers to life. Davey takes a couple of tentative steps, squinting his eyes against the dust in the air as he scans the shelves for the can Jack had asked for, then lets out a squawk as he immediately trips over an unopened box of paint thinner.

His elbow knocks against something as he fumbles for balance and there’s a loud thunk and the flutter of paper as he sends a sketchbook full of drawings careening to the floor. Davey lets out a quiet curse, crouching down to pick up the scattered pages and tuck them back into place.

His movements slow as he suddenly understands what he’s looking at⁠—what he’s discovered. Because this is one of Jack’s sketchbooks, but it’s not one that Davey’s ever seen before. And the drawings inside...

Dazed, Davey wanders back into the larger room.

Jack glances back at him, one eyebrow raised. “What, did ya get lost in there? What took so long?”

Davey swallows. When he finds his voice, it comes out tremulous. “Jack, what is this?”

“What is what?” Jack wipes his hands on a spare rag, then comes over for a closer look. He gets within a couple feet of Davey, then staggers to a stop, his face going alarmingly pale. “Where did you get that?”

“I, uh, I knocked it off the shelf by accident,” Davey says. “Why do you have⁠⁠— What is this?”

Jack lurches forward as if to snatch the sketchbook away from him, but stops himself mid reach—like he can’t bring himself to actually tear the pages out of Davey’s hands. He paces in place for a moment, then takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What, that?” Jack says, and it’d be a passable attempt at nonchalance if not for the nervous waiver in his voice. “That’s nothing, really. Just practice sketches, and, uh, doodles and stuff.”

Davey looks at him. Then he carefully opens the sketchbook to the first page. There’s an inhaled breath, the tiniest twitch of the hand, but Jack makes no move to stop him and Davey takes that as permission.

He’s quiet as he flips through the assortment of pages. Or maybe it’s that he’s stunned into silence.

There are all types of drawings. Some are only outlines, vague sketches with just enough detail to be identifiable. Others are fully-worked—entire pages of careful shading and texture and blending. He’d caught a few glimpses in the dim light of the closet, and this closer look only confirms his suspicion: these are all drawings of Davey.

There’s one of him from the other day, where he’d gotten caught in a storm and came back to the Lodging House sopping wet, his clothes dripping and his hair curling up at the ends from the rain. There’s another of him on his building’s fire escape, hands curled around the railing and head tilted towards the stars. There’s a series of drawings that are just of his eyes, all done in various shades of blue and in a couple of different mediums, which are the only bursts of color in any of the drawings so far. Davey asleep at the table in the mess hall with his head pillowed in his arms, a pencil starting to slip from his fingers. Davey sitting on the corner of Jack’s desk at Pulitzer’s, studying his latest political cartoon. Davey with the other Newsies, their bodies drawn in hazy silhouette, Davey standing at various street corners, hawking newspapers to faceless passersby.

A few of the scenes depicted are things Davey recognizes, distinct instances that he can place in his memory. Others are more nebulous, ordinary moments in an ordinary life. He turns to a new page, this time finding a sketch of him reading an unlabeled novel, curled up in the corner of one of the dorm beds. Davey frowns, a little perplexed. Although it’s beautiful, as all of Jack’s artwork is, he can’t begin to imagine what inspired Jack to draw this particular scene. He’s not even really doing anything in it⁠—it’s just Davey being Davey.

He turns to another page and his breath catches in his throat.

It’s a drawing of him⁠ caught mid-laugh with his head thrown back⁠, the morning sun shining brightly behind him and a slew of crisscrossing lines in the background⁠. Davey recognizes it as a moment from a couple weeks ago, when he and Jack had made the trek across the Brooklyn Bridge for a meeting with Spot.

Davey traces a finger gently along the broad strokes of charcoal. Jack had remembered this moment, had kept the image in his mind until he’d had a chance to commit it to paper, then rendered it in astounding detail. And Davey’s no artist, but even he can tell that this drawing must have taken Jack hours. Days even.

“This is what you think of me?” The question falls out of his mouth, so unexpected that not even Davey had realized he was about to ask it. “This is how you see me?”

“Whaddya mean?” Jack responds, shifting uneasily, his voice a little gruff in his discomfort. “‘S how you look.”

“Jack…” Davey trails off helplessly, unable to elaborate, unable to explain the fragile hope that’s blooming in his chest. He starts flipping through the pages again.

It’s a wash of ink and charcoal and lead, the occasional flash of blue, but all of him. Davey pauses on one particular page, which features a drawing of him from the shoulders up with his eyes rendered in vivid color.

Colored pencils are expensive. Paint even more so. Davey imagines Jack in an art shop, imagines him hunting through the rows of supplies for just the right shade of blue with the same determination that made him start up a strike, deciding that this color is worth handing over some precious amount of his hard-earned paycheck… Davey’s heart starts beating frantically in his ears.

“These are beautiful,” Davey whispers hoarsely. “The way you’ve drawn me… you’ve made me look beautiful.”

Jack’s eyes dart here and there. Davey gets the sense that he’s looking for the ‘right’ way to respond to this statement.

“...I don’t hafta make you look beautiful, Davey,” Jack eventually says, scrubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “You already are⁠—I just draw what I see.”

Davey calmly sets the sketchbook down on the nearest bit of clean, flat surface. Then he steps forward, grabs Jack by the straps of his paint smock, and kisses him.

There’s a split-second where Jack freezes, startled. Then he groans somewhere deep in his chest, wrapping his arms around Davey’s waist to draw him even closer, and the press of his lips against Davey’s is deep and soft and wonderful.

It’s Jack who pulls away first, moving back all of a hair’s breadth, his eyes flitting across Davey’s face like he’s savoring every detail of his expression⁠⁠—like he’s perfectly content to just look at him.

It’s only now that Davey realizes the significance of that gaze: Jack looks at him like he can’t believe his eyes, like he’s something out of his wildest dreams, and he cups Davey’s face between his hands with aching tenderness, like he’s something to be cherished. Davey can only press up into that embrace, can only hold Jack close and hope that he understands, that Jack sees the emotion in his eyes the way he sees so much of Davey’s everything.

But there’s one question he needs answered. “Why?”

Jack leans in and presses a kiss to Davey’s temple. “It’s just… you have so much to you, Davey. No drawin’ could ever be all of you. But that didn’t stop me from tryin’.”

A kiss on the high point of his cheek. “And once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I would see you sittin’ somewhere, anywhere, laughing or sleeping or shouting and⁠— and you just buzz behind my eyes and I can’t get it to stop unless I grab a pen and some paper and sketch out whatever picture of you I got in my head.”

A kiss right at the corner of Davey’s mouth. “And I couldn’t never show ‘em to nobody, couldn’t risk anyone seeing ‘cause there’s too much of my heart in ‘em and I couldn’t⁠—”

Davey lifts up and kisses him again: slowly, reverently. He whispers into the seam of Jack’s lips, “I love you too.”

#newsies #javid #Jack Kelly #davey jacobs #*the writing desk #*editor's note #*final cut #this is so soft y’all #self-indulgent fluff for the win #(and now back to the smut...)#;)

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hermionemonica · 4 years ago

Text

Hiding it from her: Chapter 3

AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Despite going to bed way late in the night, Kagami woke up on her usual time. She was tempted to skip the gym for the day, but she knew the physical exercise would help her clear her mind before the evening. And she needed to go to the fencing academy as well, she had not shown up the previous day without any notice.

The evening arrived faster than she would have liked it to. As the hour neared with every passing second, her anxiety reached greater heights. Even now she could not help but question herself if she was ready to face the man who she had loved with all her life, who had lied to her with a smile on his face, who had betrayed her very trust. Was she prepared to hear the answers from him?

Since last night she had been preparing in her head what to say. How to start the conversation so that there was no way to wriggle out of it. She needed to put an end to this, to settle this once and for all. If for nothing else, at least for her own mind's peace.

Kagami reached Adrien's apartment at 6:50 pm. As soon as she rang the bell, the door swung open and Adrien greeted her with a smile. Kagami hesitated before entering. She could not help but remember the last time she had come to this place. She breathed some determination into herself. There was a task at hand.

“Come in here,” Adrien pulled her into a room that appeared to be Marinette's working space.

“Are you sure I should be here?”

“I would not have called you in otherwise!”

Kagami looked around herself. The room was an organised mess. Absolutely Marinette. She walked over to the board set up on the wall, on which were pinned several unfinished sketches, quite possibly the ones she was working on currently. She noticed the little doodles and random words etched on the margins of the papers. Kagami smiled to herself, thinking of the eccentricities of the girl. But the smile disappeared in a moment, when she remembered what she had done to her. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest.

“Here you go.” Adrien’s voice brought Kagami down to her immediate surroundings.

She turned around to see him holding a dress in his arms. One of the most magnificent dresses she had ever set her eyes on.

It was a mid-thigh length dress with a maroon satin base. The dress flared out at the waist, and a black mesh fell over the entire bottom part. Details were embroidered in gold over the mesh. The same gold circled the waist like an ornate belt. It had a halter neckline, and the collar was accentuated with a golden border.

“Wow,” she breathed, “this is beautiful.”

“I know, right?” Adrien exclaimed with glee. “Now put it on, I'm gonna go outside.”

“Me?” Kagami was surprised.

“Duh, yeah! This was made for you!” Adrien rolled his eyes, shoving the dress into her hands. “Be quick now, we have other work to do as well.” Saying so, he ran out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him.

How hard would it be for Adrien to be a little less vague? He was making it really difficult for her to feel sorry for him.

This was made for you, he had said. Did he mean that literally or figuratively? Recent events must have addled her brain, she was looking too much into everything.

Kagami turned the dress around in her arms. It was a breath-taking piece of work. She admiringly ran her hand over the embroidery, feeling every stitch underneath her fingers.

It was then that she saw it.

Just under the belt, on the back of the dress was a very familiar pattern sewn in with the same gold. She had seen it enough times to recognise it instantly.

Marinette's signature.

That only added to her confusion. Marinette had made a dress for her, without her knowledge? And that was the one she was going to wear today, of all days?

She nervously moved near the door. Leaning against it, she called out “Adrien?”

On receiving no reply, she opened the door. Adrien was sitting in the drawing-room, and while she had a clear view of him, he could not see her because his back was turned to her. It appeared that he was talking to someone on the phone.

“Umm... Adrien?” She said a bit louder to get his attention. It worked.

Adrien turned around in his seat. His face immediately fell. “Yeah, I will talk to you later,” he spoke into the phone before ending the call.

“Is there a problem?” he spoke in a concerned voice, walking towards her. “Does it not fit you?”

“No, that's not it,” Kagami hesitated. “Adrien, are you sure I should wear this?”

A confused look came on his face, and then he burst out laughing. “Kagami,” he said, “will you stop worrying now? Just do as I say, okay? Trust me.”

Kagami was getting concerned, but about something else. Adrien still had the nerve to laugh? Was he losing his mind?

Adrien pushed her back into the room. “Now please hurry up, alright? And um, maybe do something with your hair to go with the dress, okay?”

It was all very strange but Kagami was left with no choice but to concede. Maybe this was Adrien's attempt at making her feel better about herself, of boosting her self-confidence. She stripped off the jeans and t-shirt and put on the dress. Standing in front of the mirror, she could not help but marvel at how good the dress looked on her. There was no doubt it was made for her; it was fitted to her measurements, complimenting her shape, skin tone and her eyes. Even though she and Marinette may not be on the best of terms right now, she had to praise her work.

There were some hairbands and bobby pins and other accessories on the table, but Kagami was really not in a mood. So, she put her hair in a short braid that hung over her left shoulder.

Kagami opened the door very silently. But she could not see Adrien anywhere. Panic began to bubble in the pit of her stomach, and she called out for him, “Adrien!”

“Just a minute!” his voice came from the room to her left. Kagami breathed a sigh of relief. She took a seat on the couch as she waited for her friend.

After a few moments, her ears caught the sound of a door opening behind her. She turned around just as Adrien was emerging from his room.

Kagami saw that he was dressed up as well. He was wearing a light green formal shirt and tailored black trousers that made his legs look even longer than they originally were. He was also wearing a salmon pink tie. His hair was brushed back, and it made his cheekbones look very chiselled.

“Oh my God, Kagami, you look... phenomenal.” Adrien's eyes were widened and his mouth was open.

“Thank you,” she acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod. “You look good too.”

“Thanks,” Adrien flashed her a grin. “Let's go then?”

Kagami nodded.

Adrien produced a pair of sandals for her that perfectly went with her dress. At this point, there were so many questions in her mind that she had lost the ability to even think for herself. So she just did whatever Adrien asked her to. It didn't look like she had a choice anyway.

When she sat in the car, she finally relaxed. She knew what was going to happen now. No more surprises, right?

Or so she thought.

Adrien pulled up at the side of the Liberty. “Here?” Kagami asked, because she was expecting to go to Luka's apartment. Liberty had been empty since Anarka went on tour with Jagged more than three months ago.

“Yeah,” Adrien said, typing away on his phone. “Do me a favour Gami, just go on. I'll catch up with you in a bit.”

“I could wait for you?” Kagami suggested.

“Uh, I think not,” came Adrien's response, which sounded a little weird. “Seriously Kagami, you know your way around. Go on now.”

Unsure, Kagami got out of the car. Adrien was right, she did know her way around this place pretty well, having spent a lot of her late teenage years there. Luka used to help her sneak out behind her mother’s back, and most of the time they would just chill on the houseboat. Luka would play his songs on his guitar for her. She had had her first kiss with-

No. Snap out of it, Kagami. This was not the time to think about all that stuff.

Kagami stepped up on the deck. Strangely, most of the lights were out. She began to doubt if Adrien had brought them to the right place after all.

Unconsciously, her steps had brought her to Luka's old room. Well, technically Luka and Juleka's old room. The room was dark, and presuming it to be empty, Kagami began to retrace her steps out of the room.

Just then she stopped. Someone began to play a guitar inside the room. A nostalgic, romantic tune. She spun around on her heels just in time to see the room be lit up in fairy lights.

And sitting on the bed, with a guitar slung over his shoulder, was Luka Couffaine.

Kagami was stunned into silence. What exactly it was that rendered her speechless was uncertain. It could be seeing Luka appear out of the darkness, or the pretty way the lights lit up the deck, or how ethereally handsome Luka was looking in that purple shirt (and that maroon tie that was exactly the same shade as the dress she was wearing). But at that moment, she lost all ability to think, speak, or move by herself. So she stood there, staring at the man in front of her, forgetting what she had even come here for in the first place.

“Hey,” Luka said nervously. Receiving no reply, he went on. “I am so sorry, my melody, for keeping you out of everything. I am really bad at hiding things, as you know. And since this isn't something I could have told you, I had to hide it from you. But turns out, I messed up big time, huh?” He let out a little laugh. Kagami was still frozen with the same expression on her face, so Luka decided to take the risk of walking a few steps towards her. “I really did not mean to make you feel left out of it. It's just, you know, I couldn't tell you. I know I did a bad job at it and you have every right to be pissed at me, but please talk to me, babe.”

“Wha- what's going on?” she finally managed.

Luka smiled, in that handsomely Luka way of his that made her melt into a puddle every time. It was only with a lot of conscious effort that she managed to hold her composure, although her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Thank goodness for the dim lights.

“Kagami, I love you,” as he spoke he kept walking towards her, “I love you so much. My life has been infinitely better since you became a part of it. There is nothing I feel luckier about than you loving me. You make me feel whole. The last twenty-four hours have been such a torture for me. And I never ever want to spend another moment separated from you, as long as I live.”

Saying so, he took a box out of his pocket and got down on one knee in front of her. He opened the box and held it up in front of her. It was a ring. “Kagami Tsurugi, my Dragon Queen, will you marry me?”

Kagami's eyes widened. “Wait,” she said, “what is happening?”

“I-uh, I am proposing to you?”

“And can you please smile a bit Kagami? You're ruining the shot.”

Kagami's head turned to the side to see who spoke.

“Marinette?”

“Yes, that's me. Now don't bother us,” she said as Adrien appeared behind her, “keep going.”

Kagami looked back and forth between them. “This is so not what I was expecting.” She clapped her hand to her forehead.

Luka stood up, concerned. “My melody, are you okay?”

“This is what was going on these last few days?” Kagami whispered, almost on the verge of tears.

“I guess I'm allowed to tell you now,” Luka rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, this is what I had been planning behind your back.”

“And you,” she turned to look at Adrien and Marinette in the doorway, “You two were a part of this?”

“Well yeah,” Adrien sounded just as nervous.

“Please don’t murder us Kagami,” Marinette said.

Kagami turned to look at Luka. “I am so sorry,” she muttered, before embracing him with all her strength. “I am so sorry for ever doubting you.”

“My love,” Luka wrapped his free arm around her.

After a while, she let go of him. “And I owe you an apology too, Marinette,” she turned to her, “Please forgive me.”

“I have no idea what is happening, but I forgive you. Although I have no idea what I'm forgiving you for. Please don't tell me later that you made me forgive you for eating my chocolate croissants, because you know I would never forgive you if you did that,” she ended with a fake glare, making everyone burst into laughter.

“By the way,” Luka said, with a smirk, “I didn't quite catch your reply back then?”

It took Kagami a while before she got what he was talking about. And then her face broke into a radiant smile. She grabbed Luka's face and pulled him down to her level to rest her forehead against his. “Yes!” her voice was both emotional and excited, “Yes, yeah yes! Of course I will marry you, my snake prince!”

“And now I got a perfect photo!” Marinette cheered on.

Luka put the ring onto Kagami's finger. It was a gold ring; the top of the ring was in the shape of a dragon's head with a ruby set in the place of its eye. Kagami gasped, making Luka smile. He then lifted her chin slightly to kiss her. Kagami wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled against his lips.

They broke off after a minute. “By the way, Marinette,” Kagami turned around in Luka's arms with a stern look on her face, “I am going to have a word with your boyfriend for confusing my brain all evening.”

Adrien laughed nervously, but Marinette blushed red. “Actually,” she spoke in a little voice, “My fiance."

“What!” Luka and Kagami exclaimed at the same time.

Marinette held up her hand to show them the sapphire ring that sat on her finger.

“When did this happen?” It was Luka who asked.

“This morning,” Marinette replied, “Right after I woke up.”

“Way to go, Adrien!”

“What?” Adrien raised an eyebrow, “You guys really thought I was going to let Luka beat me at this?”

Marinette playfully smacked him in his chest.

Kagami noticed that the shade of Adrien’s tie matched the colour of the dress Marinette was wearing, just like her and Luka. Oh. So this was the entire fuss about the dress.

“Let's take a group selfie?” she suggested.

“Hell yeah!”

#miraculous ladybug #my fic #hiding it from her #lukagami #luka couffaine X kagami tsurugi

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fanfic-scribbles · 5 years ago

Text

Lunch Buddy: Chapter Seven

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 7: Bi Association

Chapter Summary: An accidental assumption leads to an emotional conversation. Being disasters is both a good and terrible thing to have in common.

Chapter Warnings: Talk of coming out, mentions of homophobia, mentions of past Steve/Bucky and past Steve/Peggy

Chapter Word Count: 3669

A/N: So at the beginning of the story I warned Reader/OFC is very definitely bisexual and that really comes into play here. I think this chapter was one of the ones that pushed me to keep OFC as an option for this story because coming out (or not) is a really personal thing. ‘Not all bi folk’ and whatnot. Otherwise, please enjoy these two doofs being terrible with real actual Emotions.

Job hunting was annoying, but surprisingly fruitful.

“Are you sure everything’s all right?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. Why?” I asked and looked at him.

“Your playlists are a little…” He gave the next word a lot of thought. “…Heavy. Lately.”

Poor sweet summer child, I thought. Apparently Lamb of God had taught him nothing. “You said you like Rise Against.”

“I do.”

“So we’re branching out,” I said and went back to my doodling. “Slowly but surely, we’ll get you to branch out even more.”

“I guess– wait. ‘Slowly?’”

“How about you?” I asked, focused on my crummy little tree. “You’ve been a little out of it this week.”

I thought he’d brush me off. Instead I got silence. I lifted my head again and did a double-take at the way he stared at…well, nothing that I could see. After a few seconds he shook it off– literally. “It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t you have to go soon?”

I frowned at him. “If you don’t want to talk about it it’s okay; you don’t have to–” I caught sight of my phone and the clock numbers thereon. I jumped up. “Fuck!”

“I’m just trying to help,” he said calmly, and he held onto the rickety table while I threw my shit together. “It seems like you’re more reluctant to go back to work these days.”

Of course he noticed. But then, it was hard to be subtle when I dreaded ever seeing my boss in fear of him asking about how ‘It’ was going. I sighed, slung my bag on my shoulder, and faced Steve. “Work is…work. It gets like this sometimes.” I shrugged like it was nothing. “So if you’re ever looking for someone willing to be chucked at an evil alien or something…”

“I have your number,” he said, smiling at me, and I saluted and ran out.

There wasn’t much smiling over the next few days. For either of us. On at least two of those days I was setting up follow-ups and moping about being rejected from the perfect job. And on a day after that I went through most of my lunch break before I noticed that I had hardly spoken to Steve at all.

I then noticed that he was abnormally silent. He sat with his back even closer to the wall and had his sketchbook tilted up so that he was ensconced in his own little world. I watched him for a while. He ignored me and showed an unnerving lack of emotion. No concentrated frown or unhappy scowl, just…nothing.

“Hey,” I said gently. His hand slowed to a stop and after a deep breath he looked at me. Under such a dead stare I almost floundered– was it really my business?– but I managed to spit out, “Are you…okay?”

I should have asked him how he was but that was a mistake I realized too late. “Yes. I’m fine,” he said and went back to his dead-faced drawing.

I didn’t know how to follow up and it was very blatant that he didn’t want me to, so I went to put my second earbud in.

“But…thanks for asking.”

I hesitated but Steve showed no physical sign of having said anything. But just the words, even flat as they were, made me breathe a sigh of relief as I put my headphones in. Something was better than nothing.

We went through the same routine for the next several days. The next time I came in after that, though, he was sitting with a book, his sketchpad shut and sitting next to him, and at least an inch between his back and the wall.

Still, I was wary. “Hey,” I said as I sat down.

“Hi.”

He sounded…not normal, but not bad. Not exactly. Distant, sort of, in a way that I didn’t know if talking to him would be bothering him. But then his eyes flicked up and I tried to think of something to say. An apology for staring would have been nice, but a coherent string of non-creepy words didn’t make it from my brain to my mouth.

“I, um…” I held back a sigh and tried to think, damn it. It took me a bit but Steve waited patiently for me to spit it out. “I know I keep asking how you’re doing, and I-I don’t want to be annoying, so I’m– I’m fine to keep asking, if that’s okay with you, but…but it’s okay if you don’t want me to keep asking. I won’t be offended.”

He gave that some thought. “Is it selfish that I like being asked even though I don’t really want to answer?” he said at last.

“Personally I don’t think so,” I said. “But I also don’t think it’s bad to be a little selfish sometimes.” If he did, I didn’t know why in the world he ever associated with me.

His smile was small and sad. “I’m more selfish than most people want to believe.”

“Everyone is,” I said. “I know it might not be comforting, but…at least you're not alone?”

“In some ways,” he said, staring at his sketchbook. He rested his hand on it, slightly curved and gentle fingertips moving over it with short, light, absent strokes.

I was curious but I didn’t want to ask. Well, not directly. “Are you working on a project?”

He glanced at me and then looked back down at it. And kept looking.

“If you want to tell me to butt out–”

“I don’t.”

I shut up. Steve looked around the shop like he was checking for lurkers and eavesdroppers, but there was no one even close that I could see. He beckoned me to come closer so I hopped over to the chair next to him and scooted in.

He opened up his book to a portrait that was downright breathtaking. A man’s face was lovingly rendered in a mix of pencil and ink, and while the style was similar to Steve’s other drawings, it was so incredibly different just in the obvious amount of time and care spent on it.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve murmured, moving his hand to rest right next to the sly smile and fondly shining eyes. “Bucky. He was…my best friend; he was…”

The thing was– I was not completely ignorant of Steve’s past. He had been a very important figure in history: medical miracle, war hero, and walking tragedy. He had never caught my attention because the textbooks always made him sound so noble and red-blooded American male and boring. But I’d had a classmate-kind-of-friend who had been obsessed with him for a period of time and so I knew some things just by osmosis.

I had thought that, at least, but I really should have considered the source that information had come from. Anything school had fed me had gone in one ear and out the other but my sorta-friend had, at one point, gotten my attention with an aside about Steve likely being involved with his ‘best friend’ Bucky. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time beyond ‘good for him’ but years of being (lurking) in certain communities on the internet had really made it seem like a true-but-generally-unspoken thing. That, and the fact that he had said nothing because he was too busy stroking the drawing, made it pretty damn clear to me.

So I thought nothing of it when I tried to fill in the blank with, “Your boyfriend?”

It was…the absolute wrong thing to say.

Steve’s head snapped up and his face changed through expressions almost too fast to name– shock was one, anger was another, then–

“What did you say?”

His voice was not stern, or scolding, or panicked. It was…chilling. I didn’t know what the hell to make of it, but it scared me. I couldn’t even swallow, my mouth was so dry. “I–I’m sorry; I didn’t–”

He leaned in close. I leaned back, but I could only go so far. “Where did you hear that?” he said low and glanced around the room.

I became vaguely aware of the world around us and, thankfully, we were completely unnoticed. I breathed a sigh of relief but I still felt shaky. The guy could give a death stare like no one’s business. “It’s okay, no one heard–”

“Where?!”

I didn’t know how to answer that, though I scrambled to try, only to be cut off by the buzzing alarm on my phone. I cringed and tried to shut it up. I’d rather be late for my crappy job than leave things like this. “I– S-so I–”

“Go.”

Steve’s voice was dispassionate and calm and he sat back in his seat. He kept his eyes on the table and his hand lay flat on the sketchbook’s cover. I was frozen, stunned by his coldness, but he ignored me. I packed up, feeling sick and miserable, but before I left I stopped and tried to apologize. He glared at me with eyes that looked full of hurt, so I tucked my tail between my legs and ran.

It was evening and I was just settling in to be sad and pathetic and rue the day I ever spoke to anyone ever when my phone alerted me to a message. Only one person texted me without calling first, and after going through my work day in a state of constant near-tears while I replayed that moment over and over in my head, I was too fucking tired to deal with him just yet.

My phone buzzed again though. And again. On the way off-chance that it was my boss with a work emergency, I reached out from the Blanket Pit of Misery to grab my phone from the coffee table. I almost wished it was my boss when I saw Steve’s name.

However.

Steve: This is going to sound forward Steve: But can I come over? Steve: Or can you come to my place

I raised both eyebrows. Thankfully, the next parts came quick.

Steve: I’m sorry for today Steve: And this conversation shouldn’t happen in text Steve: Or public

I sat up and stared at the screen. On one hand: ‘I’m sorry’. On the other hand: an in-person conversation. Ugh.

Me: I don’t want to fight

His response was immediate and came in a flood.

Steve: We won’t Steve: I promise Steve: I didn’t mean it; I panicked Steve: And I’m sure you already figured out why Steve: But I need to explain it Steve: Please

I was really tired. But I knew that panic.

Me: How the hell do you text so fast

I sent him my address and spent his travel time trying not to freak out. When he knocked, I started to freak out about the mess. I shoved the blankets to the corner of the couch and grabbed empty cups to dump in the kitchen sink on my way to the door. I then stood there for a second to give myself a once-over– lounging clothes, but clean, and I was mostly decent, so I opened the door before I could chicken out. Steve’s eyes were cast down and he was hunched over into his usual brown leather jacket. He lifted his head in my general direction but didn’t really look at me but for occasional glances. He looked about how I felt.

“I guess misery doesn’t love company,” he said lightly.

I rolled my eyes and stepped back so he could step in. “You're not nearly sadistic enough to know,” I said and shut the door behind him. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No thanks. I think I’m going to throw up.”

I had been going to the fridge but at that I stopped and turned to face him. Steve was still hunched and seemed to be shrinking more with every second. I took a step forward and stopped when he flinched. “Hey,” I said gently. “It’s not the 40’s anymore; I’m not going to turn you in.”

“Don’t joke about that,” he muttered.

“I’m not!”

I hadn’t meant to be so loud– even Steve looked surprised enough to have a spark of life again. But he was standing up and I had his attention, so I ran with it. “I wasn’t making a joke of it before and I’m not making a joke of it now,” I said, because I had to make him understand. Somehow.

“I know you weren't joking before.” He fell back onto the couch, which creaked. “It made it…worse.”

I opened my mouth but he held up his hand. I waited, but when he took longer to compose himself I slowly walked over and perched on the edge of the other end of the couch. I felt so stiff I probably would have been more comfortable if I had remained standing, but the silence was so absolute that getting up would be too disruptive.

“Some people knew,” he said, so softly that I leaned in closer on instinct. He raised his voice a little. “Nobody talked about it. Ever. We were…as careful as you possibly could be when you love someone that much.”

He didn’t look at me. I didn’t move. I wanted to…reach out, put an arm around him, do something, but I didn’t know if we were quite there yet. Or if he was okay with being touched at all.

“Peggy definitely knew,” Steve said, staring at the floor but obviously not staring at the floor. “And after Bucky…fell…she–”

Steve turned his face away and wiped it. I scooted closer and put my hand on his arm. He didn’t pull away, so I stayed, but I was stock-still, afraid that if I moved an inch in either direction he’d push or pull or run.

He faced forward again with a dry face and his throat pulsed with his swallow. “I loved her too,” Steve said. “I could have– if I had made it out, we could have been happy, you know?” His smile was sad and wistful and his eyes shone just a little too bright. “I like to think so, anyway. Peggy was never disturbed by it. Sometimes even made some comments that, I think, if we had all made it out…”

He shook his head and got to his feet. “Bisexual,” he blurted out. He kept his back to me and barely glanced back. “I like that; it– it suits me. I think.” He turned to face me. “But I’m not…out. Obviously.”

I nodded. My heart was racing and the more he stared at me the harder it hit my chest, the harder it was to say something. But he took a slow step back, said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have–” and then he stared to leave and I couldn’t, I couldn’t leave that there. No matter what it meant for me.

“I’m not out either!”

He stopped right at the door. I was almost not breathing when he looked at me sharply, but apparently having very obvious heart failure attested to my earnestness, because his eyes widened and his hand slipped from the knob. I swallowed and sympathized with how he’d had such a hard time with it. I felt like I was swallowing an egg-sized rock. But then he was utterly silent, so I asked, “Well? Does misery love company now?”

He flinched. “That’s not something to be miserable about.”

I shrugged, because that was easy to say, wasn’t it? He shifted from one foot to the other and looked extremely uncomfortable. It took me a moment to realize why that might be. “Yes,” I said and he nearly jumped. “We can be closeted bi besties.”

“I didn’t…mean to make you come out. I just–” He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess right now.”

“Just right now?” I asked. He actually made a sound that was kind of like a laugh. I sighed. I felt almost completely drained, but at least the hard part was done and over. “Take off your jacket and sit down,” I said and went to the fridge. “I don’t want you to break down in a cab or something.”

“I drove.” But Steve shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the coffee table as he sat back on the couch. “Motorcycle.”

“Even worse.” I brought back two water bottles and set one in front of him before I dropped onto the cushion right next to him. “I’m not gonna be the last person to see you before you wrap yourself around a pole.”

“I’d survive it.”

That was way too flippant and I couldn’t be trusted to touch it without also getting darker than I felt comfortable with. “Well, I’m sure you have a nice bike that doesn’t deserve that.”

We both sat in awkward silence. He picked at the paper wrapping and I chewed on the bottle rim, occasionally consuming some water by accident just because the damn thing was so full. “I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly. “That could have gone better.”

I put the bottle down. “Coming out is always awkward.”

“Even for you?” he asked and lowered his voice for, “Even now?”

“There’s always going to be someone, always,” I said. “And some that do it because, uh…they care, and they think it’s safer if you just… But– the times I’ve come out, I don’t regret it. Even when it blew up in my face. I never– I just don’t trust people, and sometimes I’m scared of what that makes me, of how detached I get, in the interest of keeping myself safe. I’m glad that, sometimes, even I can still trust people. Even if it’s just a little bit.”

I didn’t really expect anything, but of everything, I really didn’t expect Steve to turn his body and hug me so suddenly I went “oof!” He didn’t hold tight though, so I crossed my arm over to my shoulder to pat his hands awkwardly. And then, because he was hugging from my side and I couldn’t really return the gesture, I slipped my other arm around his back.

“Me too,” he said and let me go. “I’m…glad you can trust me with that.”

“Same,” I said. “Even if it was unintentional. I’m sorry; even if I was right I shouldn’t have said it like that. I know how that heart attack feels, so– I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” he said. He still sounded utterly miserable though.

I nudged him. “I promise I won’t say anything. It’s no one’s fucking business, right?”

He breathed. “In theory,” he said. He lifted his head and stared at nothing. “I’m going to have to make it be, though.”

Considering the guy couldn’t come out to defenseless old ‘tries not to talk to anyone else ever’ me without freaking the fuck out, coming out to the world seemed like a leap. “Why?”

He didn’t answer at first; he just sat there clenching his jaw so hard I was afraid he’d break his teeth. Then he stood up and paced, but from the marching motions it didn’t look like it helped much. Granted, my apartment was only so big and he couldn’t get a good stomp going, but still.

“I wasn’t going to,” he said and stopped. “I thought I could get around it, brush off interview questions and just act stupid. But then…” The muscles in his neck rippled with his swallow. “I was talking to this kid one week. They were so sweet, and they had a– a rainbow flag pin on their bag. I wanted to compliment it, but they saw me looking and covered it up. Then they made some excuse and left.”

He just stood there, but when I tugged at his shirt he plopped right down next to me. “They didn’t want to know,” I said softly, because as much as it sucked for him, I could really sympathize with that kid.

“And I hate it,” Steve spat like he was full of bile. “I hate trying to skirt those questions, I hate that the people who would have beaten me to death before the war look at me like they think I’m on their side; I hate that anybody like me is afraid to ask anything other than ‘are you okay that I exist.’” He sighed. “Most of all, I hate that I’m such a fucking coward I haven’t just said it yet. I need to, for my own sanity, but it’s…terrifying.”

I wished there was something I could say, something smart, or comforting, or even just kind. However I had a big load of nothing, so I just kept my arm around him and hoped it was enough that I was there. I hoped that he knew I understood.

He sat there, silent, but he didn’t leave, and eventually I got an idea. “Hey,” I said and got up. “Since you’re here, come on; I’m gonna show you how to play a video game.”

He didn’t protest, and even let me tug and shove him around until he was sitting on the edge of my bed and holding the controller in his ridiculous bear paws. “Fuck, your hands are big,” I said and eyed them. Maybe this was a bad idea. “You’ve got a gentle touch, right?”

He looked at me and made his lips a flat line. “You’ve seen me use tablets and phones.”

“Okay, point,” I said and settled in as the system loaded.

“I mean, I broke a half dozen of each before I got the hang of it, but I’m sure it won’t take me that many this time.”

I glared at him and he smirked, the little shit. As the starting screen came up I sat back. “Well,” I said. “At least if you break my controller you won’t have to worry about that pesky ‘coming out’ bullshit.”

He laughed.

It was probably good that he thought I was joking.

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers & reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #reader insert #lunch buddy

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years ago

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WTF is Cats About?

ralbert and cats the musical :)

warnings: none, cept cats the musical (if ur a cats stan, i swear im not making fun of it,,,,just,,,,,cats)

ship: ralbert

word count: 1577

editing: no lmao...CATS

Albert likes to think he’s gotten used to all of Race’s funny quirks and little habits. He’d long since given up on getting him to stop biting his nails and the whole twirling his hair while he relaxes thing is pretty endearing. But there are some things that still surprise him.

Like his utterly amazing habit of withholding big life changes until they’re glaringly important and then announcing them as if he’s commenting on the weather.

Which is why Albert basically spits his tea all over his laptop one morning when Race announces he’s been cast in the fucking Broadway revival of Cats.

Fucking Cats.

Albert doesn’t even know what Cats is about. Not that he’s ever really had the desire to know. The whole show is a little too...furry for him.

It had been a mild Sunday morning up until then. The sky was clear and blue and the sun rays hit just right on their bed, waking them up, but not disturbing them. They’d lounged around for a few hours, switching between lazy morning cuddles and tiredly making out. Life since moving to the City together had been exhilarating. The freedom they’d once yearned for so heavily was finally at their fingertips, lending them the time to focus on their dreams and basking in the post college glow of their early adulthood.

Race worked at the local pizza joint when he wasn’t auditioning for whatever he could find casting calls for (which apparently included fucking Cats the fucking musical). It was a good gig for him; it kept him busy and entertained. Something Albert struggled to do single-handedly.

Albert on the other hand worked at a dingy mechanics shop a few blocks away, fixing up old cars on the side while working his way through the prestigious culinary grad program he’d somehow managed to get into. All in all, they were doing well for themselves as 24 year olds living alone in New York City.

Somehow, they’d managed to drag themselves out of bed and into the kitchen, where Albert fixed them a modest breakfast of omelettes before docking at the counter to sort through some emails.

Race was sitting next to him, absentmindedly petting Chips, their orange tabby, when he states, “I got cast in the Broadway revival of Cats.”

Albert pauses mid-type, glancing up at his boyfriend, who’s still intently looking at Chips, running his hand down the length of his back, “You what!?”

Race takes a deep breath, then repeats, “I got cast in the Broadway revival of Cats.”

Albert’s been rendered speechless by Race plenty of times in his 6+ years of knowing him. But he’s never felt quite as...dumbfounded before.

“You got cast...in Cats?” He asks slowly, before shaking his head and backing up, “Wait, no, hang on, hang on...you auditioned for fucking Cats?”

Race ducks his head, a blush forming under his collar and around his ears, “Uh, yeah, I meant to mention it...but it never came up?”

Albert blinks again, “Who- what- what even is Cats?”

Race goes to answer, then closes his mouth hastily, “I don’t...actually really know…”

“How don’t you know? You’re in the damn show!”

“I was only just cast! I don’t know it that well yet!”

Albert makes a choked noise, “Okay, but you should at least know what the fuck the show is about if you went through a damn audition process- wait, when was this even happening? What- I’m so confused right now...my fucking boyfriend got cast in a Broadway musical- FUCKING CATS- and I didn’t even know he was auditioning.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you!” Race says, looking alarmed at Albert’s impending Cats- induced mental breakdown. Chips gives an annoyed meow at the lack of attention being bestowed onto her and leaps off the counter, trotting away to find Queso, their golden doodle.

“I mean, you’re not entitled to tell me everything about your life, just...wow, I mean, this is big,” Albert scrubs a hand down his face, “I didn’t do anything to make you feel like you couldn’t share this with me, did I?”

Race’s face softens, “No, of course not, Albie,” he sighs, reaching across the table and linking their hands together, “I just got caught up in everything...sometimes things just feel so busy and overwhelming and I like to process it alone before letting other people in on it.”

Albert squeezes his hand, “That’s understandable,” he smiles, bending down to kiss his knuckles, “And congrats! I’m so proud of you! I mean, fucking Broadway...my boyfriend’s gonna be on Broadway.”

Race beams, “Thanks.”

“We have to celebrate,” Albert concludes, “I’m calling Spot and the others. You better not have work tonight, ‘cause we’re going out for drinks.”

Race shakes his head, bemused, as Albert pulls out his phone to text their group chat.

“Fucking Cats…” Albert murmurs as he sends the text, “Fuckin’....Cats.”

XXX

“Can you say that your bite is worse than your bark? Are you cock of the walk when you’re walking alone? Because jellicles are and jellicles do, jellicles do and jellicles would, jellicles would and…”

Albert freezes in the doorway to their apartment, slowly closing the door behind him as he strains his ears. He follows the sound of the weirdly tempoed music to the kitchen, where Race is bopping around by the microwave, reheating last night’s dinner of chicken curry.

“Hey,” Albert calls, setting the groceries on the counter.

Race glances over, flashing Albert a smile and turning down the music a few notches.

“Hey, yourself,” he says, pulling his bowl out of the microwave and stirring it a bit with a fork to cool it down.

Albert crosses to him, pecking him on the lips quickly and grabbing a glass for water.

“Jellicles can and jellicles do, jellicles can and jellicles do…”

Albert wrinkles his nose, “the fuck even is a jellicle?”

Race shrugs, shoveling a forkful of curry into his mouth, “Dunno, some type of cat? Google it.”

Albert hums, “So this is Cats then? Interesting music.”

“I know, it’s kinda weird,” Race says, perching at the counter, “But it grows on you. Rehearsal started today, so…”

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” Albert places his glass in the sink and leans against the counter, “How’d it go?”

“Pretty well, I made a few friends,” Race says, “Jojo’s in it.”

Albert smiles, “No kidding! That’s crazy.”

“Right? I didn’t even know he was auditioning!”

“Seems to be the trend with this show.”

“I get it, I get it,” Race rolls his eyes, looking a little guilty.

“Jellicle songs for jellicle cats, jellicle songs for jellicle cats, jellicle songs for jellicle…”

“If they say ‘jellicle’ one more time I’m going to shoot myself,” Albert growls.

Race whips his head up, eyes slightly wide, “Oh, honey, you are not going to make it through this one…”

“Fantastic.”

XXX

“Hey, Race, have you seen my- WHAT THE FUCK!”

Race turns away from the bathroom mirror, fixing Albert with an innocent look.

“Have I seen your what?” He asks.

“No,” Albert says, pointing a finger, “First answer what the FUCK happened to your face.”

Race turns back to the mirror, dabbing some more orange cream foundation around his eyes. Disturbingly, Albert notes that his makeup design looks very similar to Chips.

“Gotta do our own makeup for the show,” Race answers, padding a generous amount of setting powder around his face, “I’m practising.”

“Right…” Albert rakes his eyes over Race’s features. So far, the makeup only spans on his face and down his neck a little, “What else does your costume entail exactly?”

Race grins wickedly and Albert swallows.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

XXX

“Do you like my tail?”

Albert slowly closes his book, praying for strength as he looks up. Race is standing by the doorway, rehearsal bag dropped at his feet. His face is smudged- like he tried and failed to clean off all the layers of his meticulous cat makeup. He’s dressed normally in adidas workout pants and a random t-shirt from a color run they did years back. Protruding (Albert doesn’t wanna know how, but alas) from his backside is an orange tabby cat tail.

“Did you choose to be the same kind of cat as Chips? Or was it some sort of creepy coincidence,” Albert deadpans, refusing to look at the tail longer than he has to and keeping his eyes fixed on Race’s face.

Race’s smile drops a fraction of an inch, “Wait, it’s weird that I chose to be her breed?”

Albert groans and picks back up his book.

XXX

“Congratulations!”

Albert is met with a faceful of Race’s blond curls as the cast comes swarming out of the stagedoor. He smells like makeup remover and sweat, but Albert doesn’t care as he kisses him, pride swelling in his chest.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the exhilarating feeling of seeing Race shine onstage.

“Thanks!” Race looks high on adrenaline and Albert never wants that light to leave his eyes, “What did you think?”

“You were so good! Everyone was! And the music was all better than I first thought it would be,” Albert said, playfully swaying them back and forth where they stood, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around Race, “Just one question.”

Race cocks his head, “what’s up?”

“What the fuck is Cats about?”

Race tips his head back and laughs, “I still have no fucking clue.”

the word ‘cats’ doesn’t even sound real anymore and i think that’s fitting

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @getchapapes @we-dont-sell-papes @suddenly-im-respecsable

@aw-jus-let-em-try @well-the-kids-do-too @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert @technically-whizzy

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#newsies #newsies fic #albert dasilva #racetrack higgins #ralbert #Cats on Broadway #FUCKIn #cats #...#sdkjalfkjs #OK #yell at me

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loca-over-luca · 5 years ago

Text

quiet, please.

prompt: the library's pretty empty save for you and me and OH! that couple making out loudly in the shelves somewhere

Lucas ran his fingers through his hair as he tried for the nth time that day to understand the material in front of him. Finals were looming, and by looming he meant in a couple of days, and he really needed to concentrate.

If only the couple making out in the shelves near him can take a fucking breather and maybe try harder to muffle their moans so they can stop distracting him.

He took a deep breath and tried to read the same paragraph he’d been trying to understand for half an hour already.

“Oh baby…”

‘Fuck this,’ he thought exasperatedly, shutting his book closed with a firm snap. He stood up, hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and looked around the library to find a spot where he can move to without moans and wet kisses as his background noise. Thank God the library was empty, save for Lucas, the couple getting it on in the stacks and simultaneously getting on his nerves and one other guy on the other side of the room, near the windows. He looked familiar but Lucas couldn’t be bothered to try and figure out who it was.

He walked over to his chosen spot and dropped his things unceremoniously on the desk. He winced slightly as the noise of his book’s spine hitting the wooden table echoed through the library. Lucas furtively looked at the other guy, ready to apologize but found him still hunched over, lost in his own little world. 'Good for him,' he thought with a little bit of bitterness.

He shrugged and proceeded to open his Biology book, ready to continue where he left off. After a few minutes, Lucas was finally engrossed on what he's reading and thank fuck, he's finally starting to understand what Imane was trying to explain to him earlier during class, when he heard it again.

“I've missed you so much, baby.”

“Are you kidding me,” Lucas muttered under his breath. “Get a room, for crying out loud. Really? In the library? Of all places? While I’m trying to study? I could be out with Yann and the boys, partying, but noooo, the one time I actually chose to be responsible, the universe just. Wouldn’t. Let. Me. Why universe, whyyyy?” Lucas continued his rant, each word punctuatedd by a thump of his head against the desk.

“Hey, are you okay?”

'No, I am not. I am stressed as fuck but nobody cares, certainly not the two lovebirds who clearly missed each other a little too much and couldn’t be bothered to get a fucking room. So, no, I am not okay –' Lucas continued his internal monologue when he made the mistake of looking up and saw who was talking to him, which caused him to inadvertently repeat what he uttered out earlier, “Are you kidding me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. No. Yeah. I’m fine,” Lucas said, once he finally got his bearings. He coughed slightly, to cover up his embarrassment of being caught talking to himself. Yup. That’s why his ears are turning bright pink. Certainly not because Eliott fucking Demaury was talking to him. Nope.

‘Stay cool, Lucas. Stay cool,’ he coached himself as he struggled to remain composed under his crush’s curious scrutiny.

“So, you come here often?” He internally cringed the moment the words were out of his mouth. “I meant, what are you doing here?” Lucas cleared his throat, trying his very best to regain some semblance of control over his brain and his mouth.

“Same as you,” Eliott answered, tilting his head towards Lucas’ stack of text books on the desk. “Cramming for finals.”

“I am not cramming,” Lucas replied defensively. “There’s just a lot of material that I need to review by Friday so I am studying with determination, not cramming, thank you very much.”

“That is the definition of cramming, Lucas,” Eliott said, his eyes dancing in amusement as he smiled at the other boy. Whatever information Lucas had absorbed earlier flew right out the window at the sight of Eliott’s smile and the sound of his name on Eliott’s lips.

“Uhm,” Lucas responded helpfully. His brain still hadn’t computed how he got into this situation. One minute he was ranting at the universe and the next minute, said universe threw him a curveball in the form of the boy he’s been crushing on since orientation day of his freshman year. They've met at numerous parties before and Lucas would like to think they're acquaintances but it would be too presumptuous of him to say they're actually friends. He wished they were, actually being more than friends would be ideal in Lucas' opinion, but not once did he gather up the courage to actually ask Eliott out.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I was just about to leave but then I saw you… doing whatever it was you were doing.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Like I said, I was studying or at least, trying to but I keep getting distracted by-”

A loud groan echoed through the library followed by the sound of two people kissing. Enthusiastically.

Eliott's eyes widened in surprise, his eyebrows rose a notch as he heard the unmistakable sounds that scream 'hot and heavy make out session' coming from behind the shelves.

"-that," Lucas finished, hanging his head in defeat. Under other circumstances, he would’ve laughed out loud at Eliott’s scandalized expression but he was so done. At this rate, he'd just have to make do and study at the flat even though he knew Mika would be there right now. His roommate specifically told him that he was going to take off work that day to watch Eurovision, and Lucas knew he'd never get a moment's peace even if he kept himself in his room. Maybe he can lock himself inside the bathroom for a few hours since it's the farthest from the living room. 'Yeah, that would have to do,' he sighed, accepting his fate.

Lucas stood up and started to gather his belongings, avoiding Eliott's eyes. He felt his cheeks grow hot as the older boy continued to look at him while he put his books back to his backpack but he refused to look up.

"Wanna come over and study with me at my apartment?"

Lucas hands froze at Eliott's invitation and his head whipped up so fast he felt a little dizzy for a moment. It’s definitely not because of what Eliott just said. Nope. He found the older boy grinning at him with his eyes crinkling adorably in the corners as he waited patiently for Lucas to respond.

'Okay, universe, what the fuck is going on right now. Not that I'm complaining,' Lucas thought as he stared at Eliott, completely dumbstruck that the older boy invited him over, just like that.

A few more awkward seconds passed by and while Lucas still could not get his brain to function, Eliott started to look a little nervous as he fidgeted with his backpack strap.

"It's fine if you don't want to. I just thought it would be quiet there since my roommates already left to go to a party. That's why I was heading home already," Eliott backtracked, his bright smile dimming a little as Lucas continued to look at him like he just announced that he killed his mother.

"Uhm, Eliott. I'm really grateful and let me just tell you, you are a godsend for offering, but uh.. are you sure? You barely know me. I could be a serial killer, you know. Do you just invite random people over? What if this is just a ploy to gain your sympathy so that you'll invite me over and I'll steal whatever valuable stuff you have in your apartment," Lucas rambled, all the while mentally cursing himself. 'STOP TALKING, LUCAS. Comparing yourself to a criminal. Bravo. What a way to make an impression.'

Eliott threw his head back, his delighted laugh distracting Lucas from having an internal meltdown. Again, the younger boy was rendered speechless by the way Eliott's throat moved as he laughed and the way his face lit up at Lucas' words.

"Lucas," Eliott said softly, once his laughter faded. Lucas bit his lip, in an effort to stop himself from asking Eliott to say his name again in that tone of voice. Eliott darted his eyes down to Lucas' mouth, his gaze darkening a little at the sight in front of him but when he looked up again, his eyes are as bright as before, which made Lucas think he must have imagined it in the first place.

"I thought we we were friends. Are you saying we're not?" the older boy teased, feigning hurt, clutching his heart jokingly.

"We haven't really talked or hung out before," Lucas explained, fighting off the smile that threatened to slip out at Eliott's antics.

"Well, we're talking right now, right? And I invited you over to my apartment. To study, yes, but also to hang out. If that's what you want." Eliott unexpectedly brought his hand up and fussed a bit with Lucas' hair, making the younger boy's heart momentarily stop one second and then beat in an uneasy rhythm the next.

"I do want to know you better."

Lucas stared at Eliott, completely floored. He could not believe that Eliott, the guy he'd been daydreaming about for a year, the guy who has the power to make him weak in the knees by just nodding at him when they pass by each other in the hallway, the guy whose name he embarrassingly doodled on his notebook time and time again until Yann caught him, actually said that he'd like to get to know him. There was no mistaking now, the way Eliott looked at him, the way the older boy's eyes flitted immediately to his lips when he nervously licked them, the way he met Lucas' stare with a challenge in his eyes, as if saying 'try me, know me, be with me'.

Lucas shook himself out of his trance and thought to himself, 'Why not?' Hey if this is the universe's peace offering to him, who was he to refuse it?

"Okay. That would actually be perfect. My roommate's home and he can get a bit too emotionally invested in Eurovision so I definitely would not have peace and quiet at mine. I was just planning on being cooped up in the bathroom for a few hours, actually," he admitted. He mentally pat himself in the back for sounding calm and composed despite the panicked fluttering of butterflies in his stomach.

Eliott's smile was back in full force and Lucas can feel himself melt a little bit at the utter adorableness being directed at him at that moment. He forced himself to look away, lest he blurt out something ridiculous like how Eliott's eyes just twinkle when he smiles like that or like how he can be compared to a literal ray of fucking sunshine and Lucas is a sunflower, desperate to be showered by his light. Lucas shook his head slightly to clear his mind. 'That's pretty fucking cheesy, Lallemant. Pull yourself together.'

Lucas finished tidying up and just when he was about to ask Eliott if he even lived on campus, they heard a clattering of books behind them followed by muffled giggling.

"They're still going at it, huh," Eliott observed dryly. He glanced at Lucas, deep in thought for a few seconds. He looked at the younger boy and waggled his eyebrows, mischievousness evident in his eyes. "What do you say to giving them some competition, Lucas?"

It really is amazing how many times Lucas' brain can short-circuit in such a short amount of time. Maybe it's the reason why he responded with a half-dazed "Sure" at Eliott's ridiculous suggestion because, really, there's no way he really said what Lucas thought he said. Right?

But then he found himself being dragged along the stacks, past the psychology books, past the encyclopedias 'really, who the hell still reads encyclopedias when we have the internet?' into one of the darker corners of the library.

Lucas let his eyes adjust to the lower lighting in his new surroundings and looked at Eliott, a little out of breath, silently asking 'What now?'

Eliott glanced down at the smaller boy and slowly lifted his hands to cup Lucas' cheeks. "Tell me if this isn't okay," he whispered.

Lucas met his gaze and found the same warmth he saw earlier mixed in with laughter and a flicker of something else. Fondness? Affection? Desire? He can't figure it out at the moment, especially when Eliott started rubbing his thumbs on his cheeks, making his eyes flutter shut at the softness of Eliott's touch. Lucas could hear his heart pounding inside his chest and he briefly wondered if the other boy can hear it too.

"It's okay."

The crash of Eliott's lips against his, the sheer force of it, stunned Lucas. He let out a loud moan, one that could rival what their companions let out earlier, and Lucas was not ashamed to admit that he didn't give one single fuck. He felt Eliott's hands tremble slightly against his cheeks, making him feel a bit relieved that no, he's not the only one affected by this.

Lucas felt Eliott's tongue slide gently across his lower lip, seeking entrance and he gladly opened his mouth to let him in. His knees buckled at the first contact and all he could think about was,'This is actually happening. This is right. This is how it's supposed to be.'

Eliott let his hand travel downward and Lucas couldn't help the shiver that went through his spine as Eliott gripped his waist tightly.

“Why don't we give them something to really talk about huh?” Eliott smirked, before kissing him again. This time there was no hint of nervousness in Eliott's movements.

Lucas brought his arms up to wrap around Eliott's shoulders, holding on to him tightly as if his life depended on it.

Eliott's hands slipped inside his shirt, caressing the soft skin there, causing Lucas to make an almost inhuman noise.

“Your hands are too cold!”

“Warm me up, then.”

Lucas groaned at this and it was his turn to crash his lips against Eliott's. He could taste the mint that Eliott had earlier along with a hint of smoke and Lucas just can't get enough. He trailed kisses from Eliott's mouth, to his cheek down to his neck and sucked lightly causing the older boy to fucking keen.

They continued making out, for who knows how long. All sense of time disappeared the moment Lucas whimpered and Eliott did everything in his power to hear it again and again.

After a while, only their heavy breathing could be heard. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“I guess we won,” Eliott declared.

“We sure showed them, huh,” Lucas replied. He was smiling so hard his cheeks were starting to hurt. He just couldn't help it.

Eliott nodded absentmindedly as he continued to stare at Lucas with something akin to wonder and Lucas can just bet his ass that he had a similar look on his face.

“Shall we?”

Lucas looked down at Eliott's proffered hand, smiled as he took it in his own and gave a little squeeze. More for his own benefit as he still can't quite believe that this is not just a dream on his part.

“Let's go.”

They walked out of the library hand in hand, giggling like school girls as they passed by the disgruntled, and slightly disheveled, librarian who was finally back at her desk.

Lucas wouldn't have imagined that what he thought would be a boring night of studying at the library, would turn out to be one of the most exciting nights of college life so far. He came in, stressed as can be and berating himself for not choosing to go with his friends to a party. Little did he know that he would end the night holding hands with his longtime crush, on their way to said crush's apartment.

To study, of course. But Lucas knew himself. There's definitely no way he's going to be able to study now. Whatever. He can always study tomorrow.

for @itubainaretro ilu mec <3

ao3 link

#skam france #elu #lucas x eliott #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #i haven't written a kissing scene in years and it shows #ja;slkdfja;slkd #oh look #i wrote something #lots of internal monologues from our dear lulu #and lots of cursing #as well as smiling #the thesaurus and i are not friends at the moment

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