#I’ve been coloring in my sketchbook pages again :) it’s slow going but it feels nice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

browniefox · 3 years

Text

The One with the Motorcycle

@wrightfamilyweek day 4 - Free day! Which I took to mean 'shove my headcanon here'. At first I wanted to do something with Ryuunosuke, but I still haven't finished tgaa so uhhhh sorry my boy. Also, you can find this on AO3 here.

In which Trucy and Phoenix decide they need to find a more reliable method of getting around. Luckily, Phoenix already has a vehicle registered under his name.

oOo

“Does this mean that when I turn sixteen, I’ll get a motorcycle license?”

Trucy skips alongside her Daddy as they walk through the aisles of the storage facility. They pass locked garage after garage. Trucy has always known that her Daddy had somewhere he stores a bunch of stuff that doesn’t fit in the office, the stuff he used to keep in his apartment back when he had one, but this is her first time coming along with him.

There’s been a lot leading up to this. Now that Trucy’s getting a little older, there’s more things she wants to do, or go to, and Daddy seems to be getting a little busier too. He’s started going down to the library more often, and having some kind of meetings for lunch, and getting calls by people Trucy doesn’t know. They’re both getting busy, and buses and taxis only get them so far. Daddy had declared, in an almost resigned-sounding voice after they missed a bus and had to wait underneath the bus stop in the pouring rain for another thirty minutes, that perhaps it was time to find a more reliable method to get around.

“Dessie says she’s running a little late, but she’ll be here soon.” Trucy is in charge of the phone while Daddy frets over the pieces of paper in his hands, crinkling the edges up in his nervous hands.

Daddy doesn’t reply to this either, just keeps walking forward. Trucy frowns to herself. Daddy’s been kind of weird about this whole thing. From getting the Learner’s Permit, to the practice drives and lessons with Desiree, to his final test, but now if anything he seems at his most awkward and strange as they approach the storage unit.

They final come to a stop, and Daddy pulls up the metal door.

If old case files in the office were little glimpses into who Daddy was before Trucy knew him, this place was an in-color photograph.

There’s cardboard boxes with ‘sketchbooks’ scrawled on the front. There’s a dead plant in the corner. There’s a stack of picture frames, an old couch shoved into a corner, and a small wood table with rings from the ghosts of old drinks, a few splashes of paint marring the surface. There’s some art supplies shoved off in a corner that Trucy immediately goes over to, and piles of books Trucy hasn’t read before, and Trucy wants nothing more than to stay here all day and look through everything and anything in sight.

In the middle of the storage unit, however, is what they’ve come here for.

It’s a lilac-colored motorcycle. There’s an unhealthy-layer of dust on it - there’s a layer of dust on everything in the room - and Daddy brushes his hand over the seat and handles, sending a plume of the dust into the air. He starts sneezing and coughing over it and Trucy laughs a little at that. She stops in a moment, though, because of the almost-grim look on Daddy’s face as he stares at the bike.

They’ve been building up to this for months, in reality. Trucy realizes this now, that everything up to this point has been to get this motorcycle out of the garage and back onto the streets, because it was a vehicle Daddy already owns, and he wouldn’t have to go through the hassle nor money involved in getting a new one. But it’s also all conflicted with Daddy’s attempts to distance himself from the past.

Daddy wants to move forward in life, she gets that, but it makes Trucy sad anyway to see how nervous and resigned he’d looked about so much as calling the Delites for help. Like doing that much is losing something.

“So this is Aunt Mia’s bike?” Trucy asks, going over to it as well. She doesn’t know anything about things like this, but it looks like it’s in okay condition. It’s certainly not as shiny as Desiree’s, but it’s not bad.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. Sorry I haven’t by.” He says, and she can tell he’s not talking to her. His eyes are fixed on the bike like sometimes he’ll stare at Charley for what seems like hours on end; it’s never for that long, but it feels like it might be at times. He tilts her head to Trucy and explains, “I used to come by and try to keep it clean and stuff, but things have gotten… complicated. I’m sure Mia’s upset I haven’t done more to maintain this since she’s been gone.”

Ah, it’s one of the days where he’s talking about Aunt Mia in the present tense. It’s hard to tell if that’s ever a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it’s just A Thing he does sometimes. Even after four years, there’s still so much Trucy hasn’t figured out about her daddy. Sometimes, he talks about Aunt Mia as the dead person she is, gone and out of this world, a deceased but loved person, just like Trucy’s mommy was talked about. Other days, though, it’s like he expects Aunt Mia to walk through the door any minute.

“Alright, well, let’s see what we can do before Desiree gets here.”

Daddy’s temporary license, the edges of which are almost torn up by his worrying hands, is set aside on top of the sketchbook box and he grabs a towel from one of the other boxes, setting to work on a more thorough dusting. Trucy searches through Daddy’s phone for the list of what to check for that Desiree had texted him and passes it over to Daddy.

Trucy picks a stool out from the mess of things and rifles through the sketchbook box, finding one and flipping through it. There’s mostly little doodles and the like on the pages, or realistic portraits of faces Trucy doesn’t recognize. She wonders if, were Daddy not so determined to distance himself from the past, she’d know any of them. There is a picture of Miles, and she knows him, so she smiles at that picture and lightly brushes her hand over the pencil markings. Miles looks really angry in the picture, and scribbled right next to him is ‘I’ll save you’.

And Daddy did.

“Alright, let’s see what we have to work with today!”

Desiree announces herself, carrying her own box of tools

“Thought you might not show up for a moment.” Daddy jokes, but it’s one of his hollow-sounding jokes. Desiree laughs anyway.

“Oh please, I’ve been waiting to get a look at this beast for myself ever since you told me about it!” Desiree says and starts going over the bike. She talks about oil and gas and spark plugs and batteries, looking over everything and digging through her stuff and checking things. She says they’re going to need a new battery, and definitely replace just about all of the fluids. Luckily, Desiree is well-capable of doing all of that, she assures them, and they’d be able to get it up and moving enough to get it to her shop where she could do some of the rougher things to do.

“How much do I owe you?” Daddy asks, and Desiree waves her hand.

“We can discuss that later, let’s focus on getting this beauty out of this dusty-old place and back here she belongs, huh?”

Desiree has said that every time, so far, that Daddy asks about price. Trucy can see that it means Desiree doesn’t really want to make Daddy pay for any of it, but it seems to put Daddy more and more on edge every time Desiree says it. He’s waiting for something bad to happen, and his tension over it bleeds into Trucy, even though she’s not worried. Desiree is a nice lady who likes to chat to Trucy and can talk a mile a minute about motorcycles. When she’s not talking about them, she’s talking about her husband, Ron

They walk the bike out of the storage facility, Desiree filling the space with chatter about what the make and model of Aunt Mia’s motorcycle is, and the pluses and minuses of it, and how it’s lucky that it already has a backseat for Trucy. Daddy says that he used to ride with Aunt Mia sometimes, eyes trained on the bike still, as if he expected it to fall apart at a moment’s notice.

Desiree’s red-hot bike is parked out front and she tells them to meet her at her shop. She’ll be able to finish up there, where the rest of her supplies is.

“Don’t worry, she should be able to get you there just fine. And anyway, you can tell me if anything starts sounding worrying!” Desiree says as she climbs onto her bike. It’s been what Daddy has been practicing on, what Daddy even passed his driving test on just yesterday, and the rumble of it had just started to become familiar. Trucy feels like she’s going to miss it, but she’s excited to see how Aunt Mia’s bike works out.

Desiree peels out and leaves Daddy and Trucy standing on the side of the road, Daddy regarding Aunt Mia’s bike like it’s a python that’s going to bite them.

“... maybe this was a bad idea.” Daddy says five months too late.

“You worry too much! C’mon, Dessie’s waiting for us!” Trucy hops next to him, excited to get on the bike. Daddy sighs, turning his helmet over and over in his hands. Trucy has her own, bought a couple months ago, but she hasn’t been allowed on a bike yet. ‘Not until I get my official license’, Daddy had insisted. Now is the time, though.

“But what if something happens? What if I crash, and you get hurt?” He says. Trucy feels a ripple of shock run through her and she looks at Daddy’s face. His expression is grim and an open wound of his emotion. Of worry and fear, “What if I crash and I ruin her bike? What if-”

“Daddy, you’re being dumb” Trucy informs him. Daddy looks at her, and she can already see him starting to close off again, but she steals the last few moments of honesty she can, desperately, “Daddy you can do this, okay? We’re going to be okay. Even if we have to go five miles an hour to get there.”

“I think I’m actually worse at driving slow.” Daddy grumbles. Trucy grabs his hands.

“Then we’ll go really fast. We aren’t giving up on this just because you’re scared.”

Daddy sighs and then ruffles her hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It’d be stupid to give up right now. It doesn’t matter how long it’s going to take.”

They put their helmets on and climb onto the bike. They both hold their breaths when the engine first starts, and then it roars to life. It’s different than Desiree’s although exactly how, Trucy isn’t sure. She wraps her arms around her daddy’s stomach as they get going, keeping her eyes open. She isn’t scared, she can’t be. She needs to seem sure and trusting over this, for his sake, for their sake, so that they can make it through here together.

Things don’t change a lot with Daddy. They’ve lived in the same place for all this time, and Daddy’s worked at the same bar, and Trucy’s worked at the same bar, and they have the same routines day to week to month to year. This is new, this is change, but it’s a good thing.

They roar down the streets for the first time, Daddy is shaking, Trucy can feel it with how tightly she’s holding onto him. The air roars past them, chillingly-cold.

He did this for me, Trucy thinks, and then, no, he did this for us. For family, so that we can keep moving forwards .

If they had stood still, they would’ve been alright with buses and taxis and rides from friends. But they are moving forward in life, they need the ability to do more, be more independent, further their own things.

And help, here they had help, from Desiree, and from the thoughtfulness of Aunt Mia to leave Phoenix to her bike, and Ron had told Trucy before that Phoenix had helped them (Trucy had already known this, she’s read that case and every other case what feels like a thousand times over, her illicit self-read bedtime stories) and that they’d been wanting to do something for the man ever since they heard about The Disbarment.

It’s sort of funny, how independence and getting help seemed to go hand-in-hand.

Trucy and her Daddy roar down the streets, and her grip loosens as she gets more comfortable, and Daddy stops shaking so badly as he gets into his groove, because he’s done this before and has been training and practicing, and he knows how to ride a bike now, and Desiree has taught him how to maintain it, and now, now they are going towards a new normal, a new schedule, a second half of the darkest time of their lives (of course, Trucy doesn’t know this, and neither does her daddy, and now it seems like the shadows is simply where they will always be living) and they prepare to meet it together.

#wrightweek21 #ace attorney #trucy wright #phoenix wright #fanfiction #fanfic #browniefox writes

23 notes · View notes

cadence-talle · 4 years

Text

Ink Blossoming Across Your Skin

Pairing: Keefe Sencen/Fitz Vacker

Wordcount: 2,295

Summary: “Have we even met the owner? How do we know they don’t, like, beat people up?”

“I think you’re reaching,” Biana says. “Besides, I’ve seen the owners.”

Fitz blinks, reaching up to move one of the soil bags over on the shelf. “You have? When?”

“They’re right behind you.”

Other notes: Based on the amazing au created by @queersofthelostcities and @enbies-and-felonies! It’s not completely like the prompt, but I hope it lives up to your original vision.

Fitz first notices the shop on a Monday morning, bright colors of the We Are Now OPEN! sign in the window catching his eye as he crosses the street. He frowns, unlocking the door of his flower shop and setting his bag down.

“Do you know what that is?” He asks Biana, who’s come in a few minutes after him. She shrugs, leaning out the doorway to glance at the store.

“Looks like a tattoo parlour,” she says. Fitz wrinkles his nose.

“Ugh. That’ll drive away business.”

Biana hums noncommittally and moves into the back to grab ice cubes for the orchids as their first customer of the day comes in. Fitz forces himself to focus and not think about the tattoo shop.

It doesn’t work very well.

“Look, I’m just saying, a lot of our customers are old ladies or moms with kids. Having a tattoo shop next door, with an entirely different vibe and clientele, is going to mess with us.” Fitz angrily stabs the salad he brought for lunch.

His sister raises an eyebrow, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Are you really talking about the ‘vibe’ of our flower shop?”

“Ugh. I just- who wants to get a tattoo anyway?”

Biana looks pointedly at him and then to her arm, which is covered in twisting vines and flowers. Fitz sighs.

“Point taken.”

He leans back against the front desk a few hours later, mentally counting the bags of soil they have stacked on the shelves behind the counter.

“Have we even met the owner? How do we know they don’t, like, beat people up?”

“I think you’re reaching,” Biana says. “Besides, I’ve seen the owners.”

Fitz blinks, reaching up to move one of the soil bags over on the shelf. “You have? When?”

“They’re right behind you.”

Fitz spins around, almost falling over, just in time to see two people enter the shop. One, a short, smiling woman with silver-tipped hair, immediately moves into the shelves of potted plants. Biana taps Fitz on the shoulder.

“I’m gonna go, uh, see if she needs anything.”

Fitz snorts but nods, and Biana disappears. The other owner, a man only a few inches taller than Fitz, leans against the countertop. Fitz gives him a once-over. Blond hair, blue eyes, smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth- he’s hot.

Only if you pay attention to that sort of thing, of course, and Fitz most certainly does not. There is a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he currently can’t talk that has nothing to do with the man in front of him.

“I’m Keefe,” he says. “You own this store, right?”

Fitz nods hurriedly. “Uh. Yeah. It was my mom’s- that’s where the name came from, her name’s Della- but now she’s retired, so now it’s mine and my sister’s, and- I’m rambling. Sorry.”

Keefe laughs. “It’s fine. I think it’s sweet.”

Face burning, Fitz glances down at the register. “So, what are you here to buy?”

“Nothing,” Keefe shrugs one shoulder. “Linh wanted to see if you guys had lilies, so we closed the shop and came over here.”

“You-” Fitz blinks at him- “You just… closed your store? Randomly?”

“I mean, what’s the point of owning a store if you can’t just close it at any moment?”

“I…”

The shorter woman- Linh, Fitz remembers- appears behind Keefe with a pot of Canada lilies. She sets them on the counter and smiles at Biana.

“Thanks for helping me find these,” she says. Biana flushes slightly.

“No problem. Have a good day.”

“You too!” Linh picks up her flowers and turns toward the door. Keefe shoots Fitz a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he calls. “See you around.”

Fitz nods slightly before they’re gone. As soon as the door closes, tiny bell at the front chiming merrily, he lets out a long breath. Biana’s still staring at the doorway.

“Uh.” She says.

“Yeah,” Fitz agrees. “Yeah.”

-/-

To be quite honest, Fitz isn’t expecting to see Keefe (or Linh) the next day. He’s not sure he wants to. A nervous, bubbly feeling rises in his gut each time he thinks about it, and he needs to work. He should just focus on the flowers and not think about anything else.

Unfortunately, flowers are incredibly boring. Fitz loves them, but they’re not exactly the best distraction material; he waters the peonies, rearranges the daisies, and moves one vase of tulips over to the counter for better visibility. And then he has nothing to do.

Not to mention that it’s Wednesday, which is always one of the lowest-traffic days in a week. Fitz has seen maybe three different customers by the time lunch rolls around, and he doesn’t even feel like moving into the back to eat. Might as well stay out here and watch people walk past the front window.

His head snaps up as someone opens the door.

“Keefe!”

“Hey,” Keefe says, flopping down onto the stool in front of the counter. “Business slow over here too?”

“Yeah. What’d you need?”

“Well-” Keefe waves a sketchbook in the air- “I have to practice art, for stencils and all that, and I figured, flowers are fun to draw. It’ll be a change of pace, at least.” He grins at Fitz. “So, can I lurk in the corner of your shop and sketch?”

“Uh, sure?” Fitz blinks. “Just don’t interrupt customers.”

Keefe pumps his fist and moves his stool against the wall, leaning his sketchbook on his lap. Fitz does his best to ignore him and moves back up to the register to help the tiny blond woman who’s purchased a huge bouquet of marigolds.

“Thank you,” she says as Fitz hands her back her credit card. “My girlfriend is going to love these.”

“No problem,” Fitz responds, smiling. “Have a nice day.”

He turns to look at Keefe after the woman’s gone, bent over his notebook furiously scribbling. Five minutes later, he slams the page down on the counter.

“Eh?”

Fitz picks it up, marvelling at the accuracy; it’s the marigold buyer, the teasing light in her eyes somehow captured even in a black-and-white sketch.

“Wow,” he says, handing the page back to Keefe. “This is amazing.”

“Psh.” Keefe waves a hand in the air. “It’s not that good.” Still, his cheeks have a definite tint to them as he snaps his sketchpad closed. “I should be getting back to the shop. My lunch break is definitely over.”

“All right,” Fitz says. He’s not sure why he feels so sad. “See you tomorrow?”

Keefe gives him a thumbs-up and ducks out of the store.

-/-

It’s a week after the first time Keefe comes into the shop on his lunch break that Fitz finally says something about it.

“Doesn’t Linh need you?”

Keefe looks up from his latest drawing- this one an inked recreation of the vase sitting in the front window. He’s been running his hand through his hair as he works, so it’s sticking up all over the place. Fitz chooses to ignore the warm feeling in his gut.

“Huh?”

“At the shop,” Fitz elaborates. “Don’t you two need to be doing, like tattoo stuff?”

“Nah. She’s on break right now too. Honestly, it’s just nice to get out of the store and away from her terrible attempts at flirting with Biana.”

“Wait, Biana’s over there?” Fitz blinks. “She usually goes to Starbucks for lunch. If she goes out at all.”

Keefe shrugs. “I don’t know. She’s been coming in to eat lunch with Linh for the past couple days now.” He cocks his head at Fitz. “Why? Are you trying to get rid of me or something?”

The question is teasing, but the underlying edge shows how much Keefe cares about the answer. Fitz hurries to backtrack.

“No! I was just- wondering.”

Shrugging again in a way that says it’s fine and also can we end this conversation, Keefe glances towards the door. “Today’s pretty low-traffic, huh?”

“Yeah,” Fitz says. “Wednesdays usually are.”

“Huh.” Keefe drums his fingers on the table, seemingly bored of sketching, before his eyes light up. “Do you know how to play Spit?”

“Do I know how to play what?”

“Spit! It’s a card game.” Out of nowhere, Keefe produces a deck of cards. Fitz looks around the empty shop and sighs.

“Sure, why not. Let’s play.”

Fifteen minutes later, Fitz slaps his hand down onto the smaller pile of cards, yelling triumphantly as he picks it up. Keefe groans.

“I win,” Fitz grins at him. This is the first game he’s won since they started playing, and he is probably far too excited. He slips off their stool, heading over to one of the tulip displays and picking out a wilting flower that had been bothering him. Behind him, he can hear Keefe get to his feet.

“I should probably be getting back,” he says. Fitz nods and turns around to face him, hand holding the tulip coming out almost automatically. Keefe looks at it quizzically. “Are you… giving me a flower?”

“Uh.” Fitz says, shrugging as nonchalantly as he can. “Yes? I mean, if you don’t want it, that’s okay, I wouldn’t be offended or anything- not that there’s anything to be offended by, it’s just a flower-”

Keefe plucks the tulip out of his hand, staring at it for a minute. “It’s pretty,” he says. “Thanks.”

Then he turns and leaves the shop.

-/-

Fitz is a little worried that the impromptu flower-giving is going to make things awkward, but when Keefe comes back the next day, there’s no sign that anything has changed. He still sets up in the corner, still jokes with Fitz between customers. They’ve settled into a peaceful rhythm; it’s simple, easy in a way things haven’t been in a long time.

And when, a few days later, Fitz hands Keefe another tulip on his way out, the smile he gets is genuine.

They start to hang out outside of work, just little trips; heading up to the Bronx Zoo to see the elephants (Keefe claims he’s not invested in them, but the way he gasps as soon as he sees one says otherwise), walking along the boardwalk at Coney Island with Biana and Linh. Fitz smiles and takes photos and tries to ignore the looks Biana sends his way- they’re friends, this is what friends do. It doesn’t mean anything.

It means so little that, when Keefe suggests they get matching ‘bros’ tattoos, Fitz agrees.

He’s pretty sure he’s drunk. No, scratch that; he’s definitely sure he’s drunk. It’s been a long week, and he’s drunk, and this is not a good idea.

But Keefe- drunker than him, that’s for sure- is holding tight to his hand, pulling him along the street. He turns back, grinning brightly under the soft light of a streetlamp, and Fitz feels warm all over.

So. They get the tattoos, and now Fitz has proof of his totally-platonic feelings inked along his collarbone.

This is fine.

-/-

“What do you think, lilies or asters?” Biana slides the tattoo book over to him, and Fitz examines the carefully-drawn designs.

“Asters,” he answers, thumbing through the pages. “Assuming you’re getting them in color. Purple looks nice on you.”

Biana nods, tracing patterns on her as-of-yet uninked arms. Fitz frowns. “You sure you want to get flowers on your other arm too?”

“Yes,” his sister says confidently. “I didn’t go for both arms the first time because I wasn’t sure how good they’d turn out, but Linh’s doing these, so I know they’ll be beautiful.”

Fitz raises an eyebrow. “Linh’s doing these, huh? So you two will be alone in a room together for hours?”

Biana glares at him and Fitz offers her an innocent smile. “Look, you should just get together already. Ask her out or something.”

Offering him her most you’re being an idiot look, Biana snorts. “Like you’re one to talk. How many not-dates have you been on with Keefe?”

“That-” Fitz sputters. “That’s completely different!”

“Is it? How?” Biana picks her bag up off the counter- it’s almost closing time. Fitz scowls, clenching his hands into fists.

“Because you have a chance!”

The store is silent for a moment before Biana sighs softly, giving him a quick hug. “Oh, hon.” She looks him straight in the eye, smiling a little. “You’ll figure it out.”

Then she shoulders her bag- “Gotta run!”- and leaves Fitz standing in the middle of the shop, completely and utterly confused.

-/-

He’s still confused the next day, trying to focus on customers and work. He completes his to-do list for the next week just in one morning, and is getting a head start on designing flower arrangements for a wedding- a wedding six months away- when Keefe walks in.

“Hey, dude,” he says mildly, dropping down beside Fitz. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Fitz responds, harsher than he means to. Keefe blinks.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Fitz says, and then, “No.” To hell with it, he thinks, turning to face Keefe head-on. “I’m annoyed at myself because I can’t control my feelings.”

Keefe tilts his head, a glimmer of something that might be hope in his eyes. “Control what feelings?”

“All of them,” Fitz laughs hollowly, “but especially the ones for you.”

He looks down at his lap, afraid to look at the other man. “We keep doing all this ‘friend stuff’ that feels like it should be a date, but it’s not, and I’m just- I just. I’m sorry, I’m rambling again-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Fitz chances a glance upward to see Keefe grinning at him. “I think it’s sweet.”

-/-

They can’t, unfortunately, remove the misbegotten ‘bros’ tattoos. Instead, Linh carefully inks two images next to each one; a heart, and a flower.

#lynn rambles #keefitz #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #linh song #biana vacker #my writing #kotlc

44 notes · View notes

quickspinner · 4 years

Text

My Heart Like a Firework Part 2

@livrever said: What about Luka drives through a puddle splashing/soaking Marinette and he stops to apologize/takes her home to change

@justknitstuff said: Luka works in a music store and Marinette ducks into his shop to escape a downpour of rain, they start talking and while he’s showing her around to pass the time she starts getting hit with inspiration for guitar string jewelry

Here’s part 2! Part 1 is here. Also, can I just say, mwah, I love you all. I packed as much fluff as I could in here.

Marinette was picking her sketchbook back up when there was a sudden twang and Luka yelped. She jumped, dropping her book, and turned wide eyes on him and he grinned back, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry. Popped a string,” he said. “Surprised me.”

Marinette giggled. “I didn’t know that could happen.”

“It can happen if your strings are worn out. Or if there’s something sharp on the guitar where the string’s rubbing, but mine are just old.” Luka shrugged. “I’m a bit later than usual replacing mine because I’ve been busy, so it’s not really a surprise.” He carried the guitar over to the counter, and then went to one of the displays. Thumbing through the packets hanging there, he selected one. “I guess I might as well heed the warning and replace all of them.”

Marinette slid down from her perch to come over and lean on the counter near him, watching with interest as Luka took the old strings off. He moved with confidence and efficiency, and she found herself watching his hands. He laid the old strings aside on the counter as they came free. “May I?” she asked, touching one of the old strings.

“Be my guest.” Luka smiled absently as he began putting the new strings on. Marinette watched him for a moment, feeling more able to look at him now that his rather intense gaze was focused elsewhere. The shaggy blue-tipped hairstyle suited him, kept him from being too sharp with his strong nose and cheekbones and pointed chin. The wide bracelets he wore accentuated the muscles of his forearms. She glanced at his shoulders for only a second before looking away with a blush. She’d gotten more than an eyeful of his bare back earlier, after all. His build might tend towards long and lean rather than broad and bulky but he was plenty athletic.

Luka didn’t look up from what he was doing, but Marinette caught the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and was suddenly mortifyingly certain he knew she was checking him out. Blushing, she turned her attention to the discarded guitar strings. Well, she reflected with a little smile of her own, after the way he’d looked at her when she’d finished changing, maybe she didn’t have to be too embarrassed.

Marinette picked up the strings, examining the different thicknesses. An idea began to brew in the back of her mind as she twisted a couple of the strings together thoughtfully. Marinette grabbed her sketchbook and opened it, laying the strings across it as she began to sketch different woven patterns, using different colored pencils to represent the different strands.

“Could you do an infinity knot?”

Marinette gasped and jumped so high that she nearly lost her balance. Luka reached across the counter and grabbed her upper arms to steady her.

“Woah! Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were quite that in the zone.”

“Oh,” Marinette sighed, putting a hand over her fluttering heart. “I’m sorry, I was—”

“Obviously,” Luka chuckled. “And I’m the one who’s sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted you. I just saw what you were doing and I got really interested, and—well, my mom’s Scottish, and what you were doing makes me think of some of the Celtic jewelry she wears.”

“Of course,” Marinette said, tapping her pencil thoughtfully. She turned the page and picked up her phone. “Let me find some references.”

Luka pulled out his own phone and found some pictures of his mother.

“She looks like a fun lady,” Marinette giggled as he zoomed in on one of her bracelets.

“She’s a character,” Luka grinned. “I think you’d like her. She’d definitely like you,” he added absently, laying the phone on the counter and turning it so Marinette could see.

Unexpectedly flustered by that comment, Marinette put her own phone next to his with the examples of knotwork she’d found. For a moment they were silent as Marinette sketched. She glanced up at Luka once, and he immediately straightened. “Sorry, am I bothering you? I can find something else to do if you’d rather I didn’t watch.”

“It’s fine,” Marinette said, smiling at his thoughtfulness, “But you’re blocking the light.”

“Oh, sorry,” Luka hopped over the counter and leaned beside her instead. “Is this okay?”

Marinette made an affirmative noise, already deep in thought about the length of the strings and how to use the varying thicknesses and materials. Eventually, she sat back.

“Wow, that looks great,” Luka said, lightly touching one of the sketches. “My sister would love this one, with the kind of lacey look.”

“It’s just a sketch, though,” Marinette said, blushing. “I don’t know if it would actually work. If they aren’t stiff enough it might all just collapse on itself.”

“Let’s try it,” Luka said encouragingly, straightening up. “You probably need what, pliers and wire cutters?”

“Um,” Marinette blinked. “Yeah.”

“No problem, I’ll be right back.” Luka knocked on the counter twice and went into the back room.

Marinette took a moment to breathe and smooth her hands over her hair. It was almost dry, but when she looked toward the door she could see that the rain was still falling steadily. Still, it wasn’t so bad. She’d have preferred to be stuck somewhere with coffee and cozy chairs, but this wasn’t so bad, and Luka was...really nice.

Really nice. And really nice looking. He had the softest eyes when he looked at her, a clear cerulean rather than the baby blue of her own, and there was something in his slow smiles and easy grins that made her stomach flutter.

And he’d been so kind. Being both clumsy and frequently distracted, Marinette had a lot of experience with being run into, splashed, or knocked over. Usually the most she got was a hurried apology and a hand up, but Luka had done so much more. He hadn’t yelled or blamed her, just taken quiet control of the situation and done his best to make her comfortable. Even though she’d been stuck in here with him, he hadn’t made her uncomfortable at all. Any time she got the least bit fidgety with his presence, he backed off.

Marinette put her head down on the counter and covered her head with her arms with a quiet groan. She barely knew him, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to do this crush thing again so soon. Just because he’d been kind and sweet and fun and seemed like he kinda liked her…

No, nope, not going there. She turned her head to check on the storm. The windows rattled as a sudden gust drove the rain against them. Marinette groaned again, pouting. She could just go home, she supposed, just suck it up and make a run for it even if it meant she would get soaked. But...

She shot upright as Luka came back, with the tools and a chair, and tried to look composed. “Here, come on back, you might as well sit down while you work,” he said, setting the chair down. He opened the wooden counter for her and, though she felt a little self-conscious, Marinette slipped through. “Here, there’s a spot over here we use for repairs, it’s all yours.”

“You really don’t have to do all this,” Marinette felt compelled to say as she sat down.

“Are you kidding?” Luka grinned. “I think this is amazing. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

“It might not even work,” Marinette protested weakly.

“Hmm, we’ll see,” Luka replied in a tolerably non-committal tone, but Marinette could see from the look on his face as he turned away that he had complete faith in her. “I’ll try not to hover,” he added, when he noticed her looking at him. “Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“O-okay,” she said, smoothing her hair again self-consciously. He was really cute when he smiled like that, and the way he looked at her gave her butterflies. Marinette turned quickly to the table, telling herself to stop imagining things.

She picked up the tools and the strings, and soon she forgot about Luka altogether, snipping and twisting and problem-solving. She needed some jewelry fixtures though, she thought absently. She’d need clasps to make bracelets and necklaces, and she could make some nice earrings if she had the findings here, but for now...

“Luka,” she called absently, “Do you have any soldering equipment?”

He didn’t answer right away. Marinette looked up and to her surprise, he was looking right at her. He was on the other side of the counter, leaning with his chin on his hand, watching her with a soft, dreamy expression that made her face heat. “Luka?” she prompted.

“Hmm?” he blinked. “Oh, sorry, I was—you were just really into what you were doing and it was...uh, cute.” He gave her one of those warm smiles that made her stomach flutter. “You’re really cute. Sorry, what were you saying? Did you need something?”.

Marinette tried to contain her own smile. “Do you have a soldering iron or something like that?” she asked shyly.

“Sure, I’ll go get,” he said, sliding off the counter and heading for the door to the back room.

Marinette giggled softly to herself, both flattered and embarrassed by his apparent admiration. If only he wasn’t so cute himself she might be able to keep her cool, but he was simultaneously hot and adorable and she was maybe screaming a little bit on the inside, catching him giving her such a mushy look. She bit her lip and tried to focus on the two strings she was twisting together, one of the heavy gauge and one of the finer ones.

She darted a quick smile up at Luka as he brought her what she needed, but looked back to her work quickly. The safety glasses were a bit big, but she managed to get them balanced on her nose, ignoring Luka’s quiet chuckle from behind her.

Marinette paused, and bit her lip, wavering in indecision for a moment. Then she glanced up at Luka. “Can I, um, borrow your hand?” she asked, feeling her face warm at her own daring.

Luka grinned and leaned up against her workspace, holding his hand out. “As long as you need.”

Marinette took his hand and turned it over, wrapping the string around his finger to get an idea of the length she needed. “How’s that?” she asked, frowning. “Comfortable? Or too tight?”

“A little tight,” he said, and Marinette adjusted. “Better,” he agreed.

“Got it.” Marinette said, struggling to hold the strings while reaching for the sharpie in her art kit. With Luka’s help she managed to get the length marked. She smiled at him. “You can have your hand back now.”

“If you’re sure,” Luka said with a grin, and nope, she was not thinking about how warm and smooth his voice was or how he was very definitely flirting with her. He was a musician, after all, of course he had a nice voice. And just because she’d been feeling down on herself lately was no reason to go all gooey inside over the first boy who was nice to her. She definitely did not let her fingers trail over his palm as he pulled away, and she definitely did not see him swallow.

It took a little more trial and error, but finally, she had a successful finished product.

“There,” Marinette said, setting down the tools. She picked the ring up in the pliers and turned it, examining it critically. “I think that should work.” She grinned up at Luka, dropping the ring on her palm and holding it out to him. “Want to try it?”

Luka smiled at her, and he took the ring from her palm without moving his eyes from hers. He slid it on his finger and wiggled his fingers experimentally.

“Nice,” he grinned.

“Is it comfortable?” Marinette asked, leaning over and taking his hand in both of hers to look. “I might need to polish where I did the soldering so it’s not rough, but…”

“Yeah, but otherwise it feels good. A little different from the one I usually wear, but not bad.” He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“What?” Marinette asked, tilting her head as she looked up at him.

“It might sound stupid,” he said slowly, meeting her eyes. “But I played a lot of songs on these strings, you know? So I feel kind of...attached in a way I didn’t expect. Does that make sense or am I just crazy?”

Marinette hmmed thoughtfully. “No, I can see that. That makes sense.”

“I was thinking that if this worked out and you wanted to make more, we could sell them here in the store,” Luka mused. “But now I’m thinking people might be willing to buy something like this on commission as well. Bring in their old strings, ones they used for a special moment or whatever, and make them a special piece of jewelry from them. That’d be awesome.”

“You really think people would want that?” Marinette suddenly realized she was still holding onto his hand and let go quickly. Luka smiled, and his blue eyes flicked to hers in a way that said he wouldn’t have minded if she had held on a little longer.

“Hell, I’d commission a couple of pieces from you right now,” Luka said, leaning on the wall to look over her workspace. “I could swap Mom’s strings out for her and she’d think I was just doing her a favor until I brought her jewelry made out of her old strings. She’ll flip and my sister will be soooooo pissed that I found the perfect gift—and then she’d demand a set for herself.” He chuckled. “How’d it go with the knot ideas?”

“Oh,” Marinette turned back to the bench, motioning him closer, though she shivered a little when he leaned over her and his breath ghosted across her neck. “I think I made it work,” she said, pointing at several strings she had laid out and woven into designs similar to the ones she’d drawn. “I need some other pieces, though, like a crimp to put here and here to hold it together—I can solder the prototype but it won’t look as clean as it would with a proper jewelry crimp—and then it would need a clasp of some sort. And I thought these would make cute earrings—” she pointed to some strings she’d laid out in a shorter, rounder knot layout. “But again, I’d need crimps and findings to make it stay.”

“That’s fantastic,” Luka said admiringly. “You’re amazing, Marinette.”

Marinette giggled. “Oh, I’m—well. Thanks.”

“I know this wasn’t how you planned to spend your day,” Luka said, smiling down at her. “But...I’m glad we met, although I’m still sorry for drenching you.” They both laughed, and both turned in surprise as the bell on the shop door rang for the first time that day.

“Hi, welcome,” Luka said, straightening up. “How’s it doing out there?”

“Wet,” the man grunted, “But not as gnarly as it was. I’m here to pick up an order.”

“Sure, let me grab that for you and—”

Marinette tuned them out, picking up the soldering gun again. She carefully finished the connection points on the bracelet and earrings, doing as clean a job as she could manage. Then she stood up and stretched.

“Oh, hey, you got a new girl working?”

Marinette started, and turned wide eyes toward the counter where Luka was standing with the customer, who was eyeing her appreciatively. Luka glanced back at her and moved between her and the customer smoothly with a smile. “Not exactly. Marinette’s been working on some new merchandise for us.” He turned toward Marinette, gesturing to the bracelet. “May I?”

“Oh, yes, it should be okay now,” Marinette said quickly.

“Your skirt’s riding up,” Luka murmured as he leaned over to pick up the bracelet. Marinette gasped and tried to tug the hem of her improvised t-shirt dress down as discreetly as she could. Of course she would forget how short it was just as someone came in. Luka took his time leaning over in front of her to pick up the bracelet, blocking her from view for a long moment so she could get adjusted.

“Marinette’s working on a line of guitar-string jewelry for us,” Luka explained, laying the bracelet across his hands as he turned back to the customer. “Might be a cool gift for your wife, huh?” Luka said, still smiling but with a slight edge to his voice. “It’s almost your anniversary, right?”

“Oh, uh, right,” the big man said, shaking his head slightly and focusing on the bracelet in Luka’s hands. “Oh, hey, that’s pretty cool, actually.”

“We were just discussing the idea of offering them as custom pieces,” Luka continued. “You bring in your old strings, maybe ones you’ve used for some special moment? And Marinette turns them into something special for your loved one.”

“That’s probably the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard,” the customer chuckled. “My wife would love it. How much?”

“We’re still working out the details,” Luka smiled coolly. “It’s kind of experimental right now, but if you’d like I can give you a call when we’ve finalized things?”

“Sure, that’d be great. You guys have my number. Thanks.” The man grinned and gave a half-wave to Marinette. “Have a good day, Miss.”

Marinette managed a smile while Luka escorted the customer out. As soon as the door was closed, Luka turned back. “You okay?” he asked seriously.

“Yeah. A little embarrassed,” she tugged at the hem of her shirt again, “But I’ll live. Of course I forget right when there’s actually someone here to see.”

Luka put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable. Or if I did,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, you were trying to help,” Marinette smiled. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he smiled back, and handed her back the bracelet. “So, what do you think? I have to talk to my mom, of course, but if she wanted to offer something like this, how would you feel about it?”

“Hmm,” Marinette frowned thoughtfully, checking the time. “They didn’t take that long to make. I don’t think I could make too many at once. If we limit the custom orders and set clear expectations for turnaround, it should be doable. For the other pieces, we could possibly agree on a minimum weekly delivery, and then—what?” Marinette narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she realized Luka was giving her That Smile again.

“Nothing, sorry. You’re just...very professional.”

Marinette glared at him. “I am a professional. And If you tell me it’s cute I will hit you.”

“I would never patronize you that way,” Luka promised, one hand over his heart. “And you are absolutely cute no matter what you’re doing.”

Marinette flushed, and smacked his arm. “Don’t you know better than to flirt while you’re trying to do business?”

“I do, I do,” Luka chuckled, raising his hands defensively. “I’m sorry. I promise, no more flirting on business time. So do you have a business card I can give my mom? In the meantime, maybe you could put us together an estimate for pricing and a proposal for that minimum number you were talking about?”

“Certainly, I can do that,” Marinette said briskly, and gave Luka a dark look when his mouth twitched. She stepped over to her bag and dug out the small monogrammed sleeve that held her business cards. “How would you feel about me contracting out some of the actual assembly to local young people in need of employment?”

Luka coughed, and Marinette was sure he was trying not to laugh as he took the pink business card . “As long as quality still meets an acceptable minimum standard, I think we could live with that. What sort of quality control would you put in place if you went that route?”

“I’d inspect each piece prior to delivery,” Marinette replied, “If I determine any pieces to be substandard, I’ll replace them, and deduct the cost of the wasted materials from my next invoice. If you find any upon inspection that you feel aren’t up to standard, I’ll inspect it at the time of my next delivery and replace it if necessary.”

“What about the custom orders?” Luka asked. “We can’t replace the materials in that case.”

“I’ll do all of the custom orders myself, unless one of my apprentices reliably demonstrates consistent aptitude. If I think one of them is up to it, though, I’ll discuss it with you first and their first few attempts would be heavily supervised.”

Luka smiled. “Well, again, our owner Madame Couffaine will have to approve these terms, but that sounds reasonable to me. Please include it in the terms of your proposal. When should I tell her to expect it?”

“By the end of the week. If possible, I’d like Madame Couffaine to review it and set up a meeting by the end of the following week.”

“I think we can make that work.”

“Excellent. Happy to do business with you, Mr. Couffaine,” Marinette said, offering her hand.

“Likewise, Miss—” He checked her business card quickly. “Dupain-Cheng.”

They stood there for a moment, increasingly dopy smiles on their faces, and then Marinette looked out the window. “It looks like it’s let up, so...I should go.”

“Would it ruin everything if I kissed you right now?” Luka asked.

Marinette smiled slowly, trying not to show the way her heart was pounding. So much for all her resolutions. “It might. If you do it badly.”

Luka chuckled through his nose, shifting subtly closer. “So if I promise to do it well, can I kiss you?”

“Are we done talking business?” Marinette asked, tilting her head as she looked up at him, eyes twinkling with more bravado than she felt.

“I’m definitely done with business,” Luka told her seriously.

“Then you may,” she said, equally seriously, and the next thing she knew, she was pressed back against the counter and Luka was kissing her hungrily, one hand planted on the counter next to them and the other tangled in her hair. She slipped her arms up around his neck, closed her eyes, and kissed him back for all she was worth, and it definitely wasn’t bad.

Someone cleared their throat. Loudly. Luka bolted upright, staring into the smirking face of his sister.

“Juleka,” he said—nearly whined. “What the hell are you even doing here?”

“You haven’t answered your phone for the past two hours, dumbass,” Juleka told him dryly. “Mom sent me to check on you.” And of course she’d come through the back. Though he might not even have registered the bell if someone had come in through the front, honestly, so maybe it was just as well. “Who’s your friend?” Juleka asked pointedly.

“Um…” Luka glanced at Marinette, who glanced at him, and then suddenly she burst into slightly hysterical giggles, and he couldn’t help joining in. “That’s kind of a long story,” he managed, and they both giggled uncontrollably as Juleka raised her eyebrows. “Just—Just give me a minute, Jules, she was getting ready to leave anyway.”

“Hell of a goodbye kiss,” Juleka observed in her flat way, and then turned to go into the back.

“Hell yeah, it was,” Luka muttered, grinning at the floor, before turning to look at Marinette. “Sorry for my crappy timing. Maybe we could revisit this sometime when I’m not supposed to working? Maybe have dinner together first?”

“Maybe,” Marinette smiled, packing her things back in her bag. “We’ll see.”

Luka leaned on the counter and grinned. “It wasn’t bad, right?”

Marinette giggled, without looking at him. “Not bad at all. May I have my shoes and my clothes please?”

Luka went to get them, grinning like a fool. Marinette held onto his arm to steady herself as she put on her shoes, and then she took her bag and the bag containing her wet clothes.

“I really enjoyed spending time with you today,” Luka grinned. “If that wasn’t obvious.” He slipped a card out of his pocket and handed it to her, turning it so she could see the handwritten number on the back. “Here’s my number.”

Marinette paused and programmed it into her phone right then, sending him a message. “And now you have mine.” Luka bit back a shit-eating grin, staring at the floor as he opened the door for her to keep from giving himself away. As she passed, Marinette popped up on her toes to kiss him lightly, and gave him a sassy grin as she slipped out of the door.

He shut the door and turned his back to it, letting his stupid grin take over his face. Juleka must have heard the bell because she came out of the back.

“So,” Luka said conversationally, heading back to the long-abandoned pile of boxes he’d been shelving. “What’s it going to cost me for you to maybe not mention this to Mom?”

“How do you know I didn’t already tell her I found you about to ravish a girl on the store counter.”

Luka flushed. “One, I was not. Two, you’re my sister and I know you, and you know me, so you knew I was going to ask that question, so I know you haven’t told Mom before finding what you could get out of me. So. What’ll it take?”

“What are you offering?” Juleka folded her arms.

Luka grinned. “How about some new jewelry?”

#quickspins #promptfic #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #meet-cute #ml fics #miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug #my heart like a firework #i'll never not know you

111 notes · View notes

dracoqueen22 · 4 years

Text

[CR] Sharing Space

Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two, And Other Virtues series Characters: Caduceus/Fjord, The Mighty Nein Rated: K+ Description: Of all the weird shit the Mighty Nein has encountered, Caduceus and Fjord accidentally swapping bodies has got to take the cake. For FjorClay Week, Day Four, Class Swap "It wasn't my fault this time," Fjord says. "Are you sure?" Beau asks, squinting up at Caduceus' body, only it has Fjord's familiar vocal patterns and not the steady drawl of Caduceus’. It's fucking weird, is what it is, Beau thinks. Caduceus has this nice, slow drawl, and to hear Fjord's cultured tones in Caduceus' voice is just weird. Plus, he stands all wrong. A bit hunched, awkward, like the armor doesn't fit right, but of course it does, because it's Caduceus' armor on Caduceus' body. It's the person inside the armor who doesn't fit right.

"It was my fault," Caduceus says, and that's less weird, his vocal pattern coming out of Fjord's mouth, because Fjord changes accents like some people change their underwear, so it's less disconcerting. He stands weird though. Cranes his neck like he's trying to see over their heads, not that Fjord is short, but well, when you're used to seeing the world from a certain height, Beau supposes that it would be weird to be a foot shorter. "Wow," Jester says, her hands on her cheeks, her eyes darting between them. "Couples really do start to act alike, don't they? Caduceus, you should know better than to touch weird buttons." "To be fair, it’s not technically a button," Caduceus says, and he tugs on the bottom of Fjord's chestplate, making a face Beau has never seen Fjord make. It's fucking weird. Fjord's staring at his hands, wriggling his fingers, as if fascinated by them. Which he shouldn't be. It's not like he's never seen Caduceus' hands before. They've probably been all over his body and-- Nope. Beau's just gonna stop that line of thought right there. "How do we fix it?" Veth asks as she circles Fjord-inside-Caduceus and looks way, way up at him. "This isn't the way to get stronger, Fjord." "Shut up," Fjord-inside-Caduceus says, and his ears flick up and down in a way that’s a lot more animated than when Caduceus does it. "What did you touch?" Caleb walks a slow circle around both of them, fingers tracing symbols through the air before pulling out his spell book and flipping through it. "Nevermind. Be quiet and let me have a look." And by be quiet, he means keep on chattering while Caleb himself focuses and does his wizard thing. "It's Fjord. The real question is what he didn't touch," says Jester. "Hey!" Fjord-inside-Caduceus rears back, indignant, and his ears rear with him. "I already said this time I didn't do it, and even Deuces said he did. Stop blaming me." "It was probably that thing." Caduceus-inside-Fjord points to an object lying on the ground between them. Beau bends down to look at it, but Jester grabs her shoulder and yanks her back. "Don't touch it!" she says, sounding panicked. "What if you get body swapped, too, and then all three of you are mixed up! That would make kissing even more awkward for them." "That's fair," Beau says, and the object suddenly levitates itself into the air, except not on it's own because Veth stands nearby, concentrating. "Mage hand!" she sings, and as the object lifts, Beau realizes it's a coin, but it's not made of a metal she recognizes. Veth turns it slowly over and over, so they can see it from all sides. There are two faces -- one is a human and the other is some kind of monstrous thing with too many eyes and too much teeth. There's writing on it, too, but Beau can't read the language. She's guessing it's some kind of magic language. Probably a form of Draconic then. "Hey, Caleb, come look at this," Beau says. "Where did you get it, Caduceus?" Yasha asks, sounding the calmest of all of them. She tends to take this stuff in stride. The coin wobbles midair and then falls back to the ground. "Oops. Mage Hand only lasts for a minute," Veth says. "Maybe leave it there for now?" "Everybody back off." Caleb plops down in front of the coin, book in his lap. "I need ten minutes of quiet." He starts to trace his little circle around the coin, and well, that's that. Beau gestures everyone to give Caleb his space, and they kind of form a circle around him, too, so no random person interrupts Caleb's concentration. They’re standing in the middle of the street as it is, and people are flowing around them. If they don’t hurry, they’ll attract the attention of the Zhelezo. Caduceus-inside-Fjord scratches at his jaw, then winces when he realizes he cut himself on a talon. "Ow. You should trim these, Fjord." "I've been meaning to," Fjord-inside-Caduceus says. "Especially because... um. Never mind." Jester giggles. "Because it's safer for you if he does," she says. "You didn't answer Yasha's question," Beau points out as she starts to pace. She wants to do something and sometimes, it's torture waiting for Caleb to finish his ritual. "Where'd you get it?" "Oh!" Caduceus-inside-Fjord blinks and grins, and wow, that's a little creepy right there. "I found it at the Sea Floor's Bounty. She gave me a great price for it." Veth narrows her eyes. "How much?" "Does it matter?" Jester asks. "No offense, but Mr. Clay's concept of how much things cost is a little skewed. She probably ripped him off," Veth points out. "That's fair," says Caduceus-inside-Fjord. Caduceus and Fjord, standing next to each other in their swapped bodies, are giving Beau the willies. Because they aren't standing right, and they don't look right, but they're still doing that thing where they lean into each other, and exchange heated glances, and make it pretty damn obvious all they want to do is kiss. It's pretty gross. Not because, you know, of what they are. Just... Beau doesn't like being around all that lovey-dovey crap, and it's weird to see Fjord being so lovey-dovey, and they're kind of like her family, not that Beau has really seen her parents be lovey-dovey. Gah. Bad thoughts all around. "It's fine. Caleb can fix it," Veth says with a sense of certainty. "Or we could ask Essek, I suppose," says Yasha. "He could help." "Destroying things seems to work. We could try that," suggests Jester. "That might not be a good idea," says Caduceus-inside-Fjord, and well, that's at least not weird. Fjord is sometimes the voice of caution. "What if destroying it makes us stuck like this?" Fjord-inside-Caduceus makes an alarmed face, which goes back to weird because it's very rare for Caduceus to look alarmed unless they're in the middle of a battle that isn't going so well. "No destroying it! I don't want to be stuck like this. I mean, no offense, Deuces--" "None taken, Fjord. I like your body just fine, but I like it from the outside, not from the inside. I want to be me, not you," Caduceus says, and then they're looking at each other in that soppy way, and Beau fights the urge to gag. "But think of how kinky it could be," Jester says, and she's got her sketchbook out now, frantically scribbling down her thoughts in one of the pages. "I bet it'd be super weird to kiss like this. Why don't you try it?" "No," they say in impressive unison. Veth giggles. "You're right," Yasha says. "Couples do act alike." There's a snap as Caleb closes his book and sighs with an air of grievance. "Scheisse, it's amazing I can concentrate at all with the six of you chattering above me." "Were you able to complete your spell, Caleb?" Jester asks. Caleb tucks his book away and says, "I did," before he bends down and picks up the coin, slipping it into his pocket without a single hesitation. Nothing happens. "Good news is that we can pick it up right now with no ill effects," Caleb says, and that's definitely a smug smirk. He’s such a little shit sometimes. "And the same person can hold it without activating the magical properties." "All right. What about us?" Fjord-inside-Caduceus asks. "Yeah," Beau says. "What about them?" Caleb gives them all a look that faintly feels as if he's chastising them before he says, "The better news is that the effect only lasts for an hour. Unfortunately, it can't be ended prematurely." "Can we use it again though?" Jester asks, leaning in toward Caleb, and Beau can already see the ideas brimming inside that beautiful head of hers. Jester's no doubt imagining all the chaos she can wield with that coin. Caleb's smart enough to recognize that, too. "The magic has been expended today, but yes, it could be used again tomorrow." He pats the pocket where he'd tucked the coin, and leaves his hand over it. "I think I'll keep it. For further study." "Aw. But I want to look at it," Jester says. "I don't think that's a good idea," both Fjord and Caduceus say in an eerie unison which makes shivers crawl up Beau's spine. "Gross," she says. "Now it’s just getting creepy," Veth says, speaking for all of them. "Stop doing that." Fjord-inside-Caduceus harrumphs and folds his arms, which is such a non-Caduceus thing to do, it once again hits the realm of uncanny valley. "It's not like we did it on purpose." "It's an unexpected bonus," Caduceus-inside-Fjord says, and then his forehead crinkles, and he looks like he's thinking very hard. "Can you hear my thoughts? Does it work like that?" "No, it doesn't allow you to read thoughts," Caleb says with a sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "There's nothing to be done but wait it out, which we can do elsewhere." Beau looks around. They are kind of blocking traffic and attracting stares. Then again, they'd do that anyway, given their colorful bunch. Still, Caleb has a point. "We could go to the beach," Jester says, and her eyes light up with excitement. "Let's do that!" "Water? No, thank you." Veth spins on a heel and starts off in the opposite direction. "I'm going to go back to Yeza and Luc instead. You guys have fun." She waves over her shoulder. "But we haven't even settled on the beach yet," Yasha says to Veth's departing back. Yeah, but Jester said it, and everyone knows if Jester wants to do it, everyone else will eventually agree as well. It's impossible to say no to her. Beau, in fact, had not even considered it. "I think we'll head back to the chateau, too," says Fjord-inside-Caduceus, sharing another glance with Caduceus-inside-Fjord. They haven't been together that long, but they've already got that secret glance thing down pat. "Wait this out." "Sure," Beau drawls, folding her arms. "A completely innocent wait in the privacy of your room. I'm sure that's all that's going to happen." Jester giggles. Caduceus-inside-Fjord looks confused. "What else would--" "Come on," Fjord-inside-Caduceus says, laying a hand on his own shoulder and spinning him in the direction Veth had gone. "If you get her started, the others will join in, and then I'll want to tear my ears off." "I feel like I'm missing something." "I'll explain later." Off they go, Caduceus-inside-Fjord with this weird, loping gait like he's trying to compensate for a height he no longer has, and Fjord-inside-Caduceus taking wobbly steps like the length of his legs makes it harder to gauge how to move. "What do you think they're really going to do?" Jester asks. "I haven't any interest in speculating," Caleb says, and turns to go the other direction, briefly looking up at the sun to orient himself. "Let's go to the beach, ja? That is what you wanted." "I'm fine with the beach," Yasha says. "Sure, why not." Beau shrugs. Jester cheers and off they go. At least, Beau hopes, the day can't get any weirder. ****

a/n: Feedback is absolutely welcome and appreciated! I’d love to hear from you!

#fjorclayweek2020 #fjorclay #critical role fanfiction #teahaw #caduceus clay/fjord #and other virtues series #draco writes critical role

12 notes · View notes

lumosinlove · 5 years

Text

Solntse

part xi

Remus lets out a breath and pushes the hair off his forehead as he stares at the zipped suitcase in front of him.

“You brought way too many clothes.”

Sirius looks up from where he’s arranging their passports and wrapping his phone and computer chargers neatly around each other. He smiles, dimple appearing in his cheek, “Only because we not wear any.”

Remus’ laugh is punched out of him as he lugs Sirius’ suitcase off the bed, then lifts his own decently heavier one. “Okay, then you bought me too many clothes.”

“Remus, Remus.” Sirius’ hands are warm when they push under Remus’ shirt to pull him in by his hips. For once, and only because Sirius is sitting on the bed and Remus is standing, Remus is the one to have to lean down for a kiss, “You agree for lifetime of presents when you say you love me, you know this.”

“I agreed to a lifetime of you.” Remus corrects, before taking Sirius’ face between his palms and kissing him hard, “You know this.” He smiles at Sirius’ struck and pleased expression, “You just insist on the present part.”

A slow smile crosses Sirius’ face, and he ducks to kiss Remus back, “Love you.”

Remus ducks a little more, chasing Sirius’ mouth, “Yeah?”

His hand creeps down Remus’ back, curving over his butt and pulling Remus against him, “I’m show you how much when we home.” He pushes his nose against Remus’ neck, “When we home.”

Remus sighs, closing his eyes, “I can’t wait.” He’s almost tempted to just leave his apartment as is, call to terminate the lease and never look back. But…no matter how horrible it was, his old life deserves more of a goodbye than that. James deserves more than that, and Lily. Remus gathers Sirius closer to him, “New York’s going to be pretty cold compared to what we’ve been getting used to.”

Sirius makes an exaggerated noise of interest, “I’m take you coat shopping?”

Remus groans.

“Can be early Christmas present.” Sirius sing-songs, and Remus—blinks.

“Oh my god.” He pulls back, hands on Sirius’ shoulder, “I—you’re right, it is almost Christmas.”

Sirius presses a kiss to the center of Remus’ chest over his t-shirt and gets up to go to the phone, intent on calling down to the front desk to take their bags. He holds the receiver between his shoulder and ear and scrunches his nose as it rings, “New Year better.”

Remus tilts his head, “You don’t get gifts on New Year’s.”

“In Russia, do—“ He catches the phone from where it almost slipped, “Yes, hello, room 178, need bags to lobby, please.”

“New Year’s is different in Russia?”

Sirius slings his workbag over his shoulder and then comes to sit next to Remus on the bed again, pulling Remus’ legs across his lap and rubbing gently at his ankle. “Later, yes. December. Thirty First. Different way to…celebrate?”

“Celebrate.” Remus confirms.

“Celebrate.” Then Sirius grins, tongue poking out a little, “Better food, too.”

Remus leans back against the pillows, thinking. “Oh. Well. We’ll be all moved in by then, right?”

This. This was what Remus could do for Sirius.

Sirius nods, thumb digging delicately into the arch of Remus’ foot, the other sneaking beneath the hem of Remus’ shorts to rub along his thigh. “Yes, all together. But first we get your things.”

Remus sighs just as the door buzzes, signaling that the bellboy is here for their bags. “I think you’re overestimating how many things I have. By a lot.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow and presses a quick kiss to Remus’ temple before he rises to get the door. “You want just fly to New York? Think we should say bye to London. Not just whisk you away, Remus.”

Remus sighs. He’d be pretty okay with that. Shoving his feet into his shoes, he shakes his head. “No…No, I do want you to meet James. And Lily.”

Sirius beams at him, but then the bellboy is loading their suitcases and there’s the rush of getting to the airport and through security and customs. The plane, though. The plane is just as nice as Remus remembers. Offers of fresh fruit, and all.

And he gets to snuggle up to Sirius in the window seat this time, watching some dumb action movie. Because he loves him. They love each other.

“I’m think he die in end.” Sirius whispers. His hair is ruffled from the his headphones, one pushed away from his ear so they can talk and hear the movie at the same time, “Yes?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen a movie in forever. Well, James dragged me to see something. It had wizards in it, I don’t really remember.”

Sirius shrugs, “Movies hard to follow sometimes. Talk fast. Like this, don’t need to understand, just see what blow up.” He sends Remus a sort of sheepish look, “Know should have English better by now, but…”

Remus shakes his head hurriedly, “I love the way you speak.”

Sirius wrinkles his nose, closing one eye in embarrassment, “Worst at meetings, sometimes. People try hide smile with hand or—or cough, but I see, you know? I’m—I’m most smart in room! Just can’t always say.”

Remus smiles at that. He has to kiss him. “I know you are. And everyone can tell once they see your designs.” Remus bites his lip, “I…I would want to see some. Sometime. If you want.”

Sirius straightens up so fast the blanket they’ve been sharing falls off of his chest, “Yes? You want, really?” And before Remus can answer he’s throwing his headphones off and scrambling for his bag. Remus has caught glimpses of his black sketchbook a few times, but never when he wasn’t half asleep on the beach.

Sirius sits with his body facing Remus, one knee propped a little awkwardly against the wide seat back. Remus laughs a little at how eager he looks and pulls his own headphones off, pausing the movie and pushing the screen back.

“Here,” he says, and turns Sirius until he can stretch his legs out again and presses right along his side, head on his shoulder, “Okay, go.”

Sirius strokes his hand over the hardcover, “Okay, Remus. Not laugh?”

“Of course I’m not going to laugh, love, oh my god.” Remus places his hand over Sirius’ and squeezes, “Show me.”

Sirius settles back into his seat a little more and lets out a breath before he flips the cover open. And if Remus was expecting anything—blue penciled perfectly neat drawings, mostly—it wasn’t this.

The first page is dotted with countless studies of what look like various types of shells and leaves. Some of them have cute cartoonish creatures peaking out of them, some have inky notes jotted with arrows pointing to various parts. Remus loves Sirius’ handwriting instantly. It’s slanted and messy, and Remus can’t read anything but the cyrillic letters are gorgeous.

He’s reaching out to trace his finger over the colored pencil and pen before he really realizes it. “Sirius.”

“Is nice, yes? Do while in Jamaica. Work on house for writer there. See,” Sirius flips the page, and suddenly everything is beautiful green trees and close up studies of pine needles and burs. “Sketches very important. Want to know nature because—well, pretty.” Sirius turns and strokes the same thumb that had been brushing over one of the pine needles over Remus’ lip and smiles, “Pretty.” Remus rolls his eyes and Sirius turns back to his sketchbook with a laugh, “But also can see things that make building better for earth and atmosphere. Like here, nature have entire cooling system that use no energy! Is perfect for us, why we not use? No one need freezing air conditioning. So, I think, how we use? And…”

Sirius flips the page again. The building is beautiful. Remus hasn’t ever even spent that much time noticing buildings and he knows its beautiful. Sirius’ drawing is neat and the cyrillic lettering, light so as not to draw attention away from the work, scrawls along all of the margins. Remus can see hints of the pines in the broad roofing and ledges and it’s—a little stunning.

“Sirius.” He says again. “It’s gorgeous.” He takes the book from Sirius’ hands so he can flip the pages for himself, lingering and going back when he wants, “They’re all gorgeous—“ He stops.

“Oh.” Sirius sounds a little flustered, and Remus doesn’t have to look at him to know the high of his cheeks are pink, “Forget that…there. Maybe skip some pages—“

“No, no.” Remus strokes his fingers over the drawing. And the next one. And the next one. Of him. Sleeping, and smiling and a sort of self portrait of Sirius, but with Remus’ lips pressed to his cheek. His profile and studies of his eyes and mouth cover the next, maybe ten pages of the book. And they’re dated. Remus flips all the way back to the first one. It’s done in blue pencil. He’s looking down, his mouth is turned down. It’s from the first night they met. And they continue chronologically until they get to one of Remus in their bed back at the beach resort, eyes crinkled up in a laugh and gazing past the viewer of the portrait, as if Sirius was there holding a camera. But he’s not, it’s a drawing and it’s incredible.

“I’m wearing your necklace here.”

Remus can see Sirius nod silently from the corner of his vision.

Remus looks up at him, feeling a little breathless, “I’ve never worn your necklace.”

“Maybe…” The corner of Sirius’ mouth lifts up, “Maybe little wish for me.”

Remus stares at him, smile slow to grow over his face, before he reaches forward and tugs the chain out from beneath Sirius’ shirt. “Yeah?”

Sirius closes his hand over Remus’, the ring warm between them and his eyes trying very hard and failing to look scolding. “Can’t here, Remus. Not good for nice lady to come back with food and I’m on knees, yes?”

Remus groans, “Why do you just say things like that every time we’re on a plane?”

Sirius leans in, pressing his nose beneath Remus’ jaw, “Because it get you.”

Remus laughs, leaning into the touch. He isn’t wrong.

They spend most of the plane ride looking through Sirius’ sketchbook then finish the movie. Well, Remus finishes the movie while Sirius falls asleep on his shoulder, nose pressed to his skin. Remus is only half paying attention to whatever revelation the tight suited hero was having on screen. He looks out the window at the slowly darkening sky, fingers rubbing gently at Sirius’ neck, and finally makes himself think about what’s about to happen.

He’s going to leave London. He’s going to live in New York. With Sirius. He’s going to go to university. He’ll get a job, of course. Try to do something for Sirius, no matter how many times Sirius insists that it isn’t like that, it isn’t an exchange. Remus knows that. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to give Sirius the world. It’s around then that he remembers the plane has wifi.

After checking that Sirius is still sleeping and making sure to keep the light from his phone out of his eyes, Remus quietly types Russian New Year’s into Google.

London smells rainy and cool when they get out of the cab on Remus’ street. Sirius leans down to tell the cabbie to stay put for a moment while they get whatever Remus needs, and Remus takes the few moments to ready himself. His building looks even more shabby than he remembers it, but maybe that’s just the effect of staying where they were staying. Of being anywhere with Sirius, really.

“Ready, Remushya?”

Remus nods. “Are we taking everything back to the hotel?”

Sirius nods, “Hotel. Until ready to go.” He wraps a warm palm around Remus’ and squeezes, “Stay as long as need to.”

Remus nods. He’ll call James from the room. He’ll arrange something, he’ll—

“Hey.”

Remus bites his lip into a smile. Sirius’ voice is so familiar now, he can’t believe he lived so long not knowing it, not knowing he needed to know it.

Sirius leans down and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, “Is me. Is us, okay?”

Remus lets out a long breath and nods, “Okay.”

Remus opens the door and keeps his head down as they walk up the stairwell. Sirius’ hand is still warm in his own when they get to his flat door, still tight and reassuring as he puts the key in the lock. It goes a little lax when Remus pushes the door open and steps them inside.

Remus thinks he should probably be saying something. He’s sure Sirius is expecting him to say something. His mind draws a complete blank though, and instead he releases Sirius’ hand and marches further into the room. He picks up his messenger bag from where he’d left it on the bed.

“There’s really nothing I need. I really brought most of my clothes. I’ll get my jacket, that’s good—“

“Remus.”

Remus almost winces at the soft tone of Sirius’ voice, and looks up to find Sirius standing by the window. His hands are raised, tracing idly over what’s left of the tarp and duck tape. It’s only then that Remus notices the dark patches on the wood floor—where snow and water must have seeped in. Sirius trails to the kitchen with the dribbling sink. The bathroom and the yellowed shower. He opens the bare cupboards and the empty dresser drawers. Remus feels small.

“It—yeah, it look worse than it was. Really, I—”

“Remus.”

Remus raises his eyes back to Sirius’. They’re wide and gray, heavy-lidded beneath his concerned brow. He stoops a little to touch Remus’ bed and the thin sheets. And, maybe it’s seeing Sirius here. Maybe its the contrast of seeing Sirius, amazing, generous, gorgeous Sirius, next to all of this. But Remus can’t find it in himself to lie anymore.

“I—“ He swallows, his voice cracks, “I hate it here.” Sirius’ eyes fly back to his and Remus can’t find anything else to do other than shake his head, “I hate it. I hate it.”

“We leave.” Sirius says, walking around the bed to take the bag Remus’ is holding, “Tell me what you need, and we leave.”

Remus laughs a little, shaking his head, “I need you.” He motions around the room, “Look at this place, it’s…” There’s no sign a human being even lives here, currently, except maybe the shampoo in the shower and the kettle on the stove. “It’s nothing.”

Sirius’ eyes go big and sad. “Remushya. Come, come here.” And then he’s wrapped in Sirius’ arms.

“I’m fine.”

“Remus.” Sirius’ voice is harder this time, but he holds him tighter, too. His lips are pressed right to Remus’ ear. “Be truth. Is me, is okay. Is not fine, but is okay. Not your fault.”

Remus blinks hard, pressing his nose into the cotton of Sirius’ sweatshirt, “I know.” He lets out a long sigh and pushes up onto his toes so he can loop his arms around Sirius’ neck. “I know.”

“Thank you for—you know, for show me. Trust.”

Remus breathes Sirius in. “Thank you for giving me a home.”

Sirius hums a melancholy note and holds Remus tighter. “You give me home, Remus. You know—what people say here? Or, well, I’m hear in America but, maybe same.”

“Hm?”

“Home is where the heart is.”

And Remus has to laugh a little because Sirius says it exactly like some cheesy movie would. He laughs, but he has to kiss Sirius for it, too, because he’s right.

Sirius laughs with him, smiling against his lips, “Is true. I’m not do anything but love, give kisses. Is easy.”

Remus bites his lip into his grin, cupping his palm around the back of of Sirius’ neck to pull him down until they can press their foreheads together, “Ridiculous.”

“Never going to say that word.” Sirius pouts. Then he’s turning his head to the side a little, his phone lighting up their faces in the dim, rainy space, “I’m find in Russian.”

Remus snorts, but keeps himself busy kissing the warm length of Sirius’ neck while he searches, occasionally helping with English spelling.

“смешной!” Sirius yells—a little loudly—triumphantly. “I’m understand, oh my god.” Then he’s pulling Remus closer, fingers digging into Remus’ ribs until a loud laugh is surprised out of him. “Mean, Remus.”

“It’s not mean—stop—“ But there’s no way his words hold any weight whatsoever, he’s laughing too hard. Finally, he’s somehow able to wrestle Sirius back on the bed and they both groan a little at how hard it is. Remus scrunches his nose in apology, “Sorry.”

Sirius laughs, “We go home now. You need leave key with someone?”

Remus puts his weight on one elbow so he can dig the key out of his pocket. He throws it blindly over his shoulder and it lands—somewhere in the room. “We go home now.”

If, that is, home is the hotel room. For now. And it feels just a little bit like home. At least, it’s familiar. And the bed is practically heaven.

Sirius flops down on his back, tired from all the travel, while Remus hovers over their bags, staring at nothing in particular. He feels…a little weightless. And like everything is too good to be true. He just gave up his apartment, and his brain is telling him he’s homeless and should start looking for a back up plan…but there’s Sirius, right there on the bed, smiling at him sleepily.

“Hate planes most. We nap now?”

Remus lets out a long breath and then pulls his shirt over his head, “We nap now.”

Sirius throws his hand out, “Wait, I’m do, I’m do.”

Remus laughs and walks to the edge of the bed. Sirius pushes himself up on his elbows until he can sit up, feet dangling off the bed while Remus stands between his knees. He looks up at him, eyes dark and smiling as he undoes Remus’ belt while Remus combs his fingers through his hair.

“Where’d that snapback go?” Remus says.

Sirius laughs, “You like.” His fingers are on the button of Remus’ pants and he pushes them down until Remus can step out of them. “Come on.” He wraps his arms around Remus’ hips, tilting them backwards onto the bed, “Come here.”

“Hey, hold on.” Remus balances himself on Sirius’ hips and pushes his shirt up his torso, making him lift his shoulders to get it over his head. “I can’t be the only one in my boxers.”

“You want me naked, no problem.”

Remus shakes his head, grinning and pressing his palms to either side of Sirius’ face, thumbs stroking over his dimples, “How do you smile like that?”

“What? I’m just smile.” Sirius feigns innocence, but his eyes say he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re like—“ Remus leans down to kiss him while he pops the button on Sirius’ jeans, pressing his hand inside to cup Sirius through his underwear. Remus feels a little smug when Sirius’ breath hitches. “You know exactly what you’re like.” Remus shoves Sirius’ jeans down around his thighs until their low enough that he can press their slowly hardening cocks together without the scratch of denim. Sirius’ eyes slip closed and Remus leans in close, mouthing at Sirius’ jaw and dropping his voice low. “You’re so good.”

Sirius lets out a shaky breath and runs his hands up Remus’ sides. He cranes his head up to brush their noses together, their lips, before he opens his eyes. They’re dark. “Maybe not nap.”

Remus gives him half a smile, the majority of his brain more focused on on the way Sirius is pushing his huge palms against his arse, “Maybe not.”

After that its a brief scuffle of who can kick what remains of their clothing off first. There’s some rolling but eventually Sirius wins out, pinning Remus to the bed.

“Russia best.”

Remus presses his heels to the back of Sirius’ thighs, “Kiss me, then.”

Sirius does. It had been days since their confessions, but when Sirius mumbles a soft ‘I love you’ against Remus’ lips—every time he said it at all—Remus feels the overwhelming shocked waves of joy all over again.

“Sirius…” Remus tucks his hands around his shoulders, holding him closer.

“Я знаю.” Sirius says against his skin, “Я тоже не могу поверить, ��то ты моя.”

Remus closes his eyes and smiles, letting his head fall back onto the pillows as Sirius kisses his neck, as his fingers find the dips along his ribs and he pushes their hips together in slow grinds.

“счастливый.” Sirius tilts Remus’ mouth back to his with a hand at the back of his head, “твоя улыбка намного лучше моей.”

“What?” Remus breathes.

Sirius nips at his bottom lip, “Learn Russian, find out.” He darts away for the condom and lube on the bedside table before Remus can really roll his eyes. But looking at Sirius click open the lube and place the condom next to him reminds Remus of how much he wants to not need that condom.

“Um. Do you have a doctor in New York?”

Sirius freezes, “What? You okay? Remus, we not have—“

“No, no.” Remus laughs a little, pushes himself up on his elbows so Sirius will lean down and give him a kiss, “No, I was just thinking about…” He glances at the condom, then back at Sirius in time to watch his eyes widen.

“Yes. Yes, have doctor.” Then Sirius gives an excited little, well, what can only be described as a wiggle between Remus’ thighs at the thought, “We go each o—together?”

Remus lets out a breath and nods, “Yeah, I don’t want to go alone.”

Sirius’ eyes are bright and happy, which is why Remus gasps in surprise when he wraps a firm hand around Remus’ dick and says, “Let you feel all of me. Be close.”

“Fuck.” Is all Remus can manage, because the image alone has his chest burning with want.

Sirius’ hand disappears for a moment, but when its back its slick but still warm—which means Sirius took the time to make it that way, which, for some reason, Remus’ brain thinks is cute. It has to be how turned on he is.

“Want that, карамель? Want me fuck you—голый? Not know.”

“Yes.” Remus doesn’t need him to say it, “Yes…”

Sirius leans over him again, and his fingers trail down over Remus’ entrance, “Say for me?”

Remus wrinkles his nose, “In Russian?”

Sirius laughs, “You think you can?”

“Absolutely not.” Remus slides a little down the pillows so he’s flatter on his back. He plats his feet on the bed and pushes against Sirius’ fingers, trying to coax him along.

Sirius pulls his bottom lip into his mouth at the feeling of Remus trying to push him inside, “We try something simple. Something you know now. Something…it means same thing for us. Fuck is same as…Я люблю тебя.”

Remus stares up at him, chest feeling all too full in the best way.

Sirius smiles down at him softly, strong body bracketing Remus in. He leans down to brush a barely there kiss over Remus’ lips, “You know it.”

And Remus does. Of course he does. I love you. He reaches up, trails his knuckles down Sirius’ cheek. I love you, I love you.

Sirius leans in, “You say,” his fingers circle slowly at Remus’ entrance, tantalizingly, a barely there pressure, “and I’m give you.”

“Ya…” Remus winces and Sirius snickers. “Ya ly—Fuck, I can’t. I don’t even know how your mouth does that.” It’s so hot, he doesn’t add. “I—fuck.”

Sirius pushed one finger in while Remus was talking, thick and long to the knuckle, and immediately crooked it up. Remus’ body jolts.

“Sirius.” Remus doesn’t care that it comes out almost a whine.

“Я люблю тебя.” Sirius says again, finger stilling, “Say for me, baby.”

“I love you.” Remus says, “I love you, I love—mfg—please.” Sirius’ middle finger is pressing in with his pointer.

“Я люблю тебя, Remushya.” He leans back, just for a second, to add lube to his relentless hand, “Say now, or have to say while I’m fuck. Is harder then.”

“Ya lyubl—“ Remus cuts himself off with a gasp as Sirius adds a third finger, “That’s not fair.”

Sirius kisses him hard, but Remus can still feel the grin within it, “Go. Say. Here,” He pulls back just enough so they can look eye to eye. He’s still smiling, eyes flicking back and forth between Remus’, “I’m watch. I’m not do anything.”

Remus huffs out a laugh because he can still feel Sirius’ fingers slowly moving, prepping him. But it isn’t as overwhelming, it just feels good. Remus is sure that’s going to change the second he gets the words out.

He tangles his fingers in Sirius’ hair, just for something to hold on to, “Sirushya.” Sirius fingers still for a fraction of a second, his eyes flickering down to Remus’ lips, then back to his eyes, like he can’t decide where to look. Remus licks his lips and watches Sirius’ eyes draw to them. He curls his palm around the back of his neck, and they’re back on his own. “Ya lyublyu tebya.”

Sirius’ eyes darken, Remus can fucking see his pupils expand and it’s incredible. He feels goosebumps all along his neck and his mouth falls open when Sirius gives his fingers a sudden, perfect twist.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.” Remus gasps again and watches the way Sirius’ eyes close, the way his brow knits and his lips part. Remus has to lean up and lick into it, kissing and maybe biting a little because Sirius wants this. They both want this. “Say it back, say it back to me.”

“Я люблю тебя.” Sirius says, and Remus feels his stomach tighten at how scratchy his voice sounds. Then Sirius makes a low sound in his throat and is letting himself fall forward more. Remus isn’t sure what he’s doing, he’s worried for a second that he’s going to stop, when Sirius leans to the side, supporting himself with one arm so he can grab for the condom with the other, tearing into it with his teeth.

“Um. Fuck.” Remus blinks. That—yeah. That’s good.

Sirius raises an eyebrow at him and Remus just shakes his head, silently concentrating on keeping control of his dick where it’s wedged up against Sirius’ stomach. Sirius looks down to roll the condom on, giving Remus a lovely view of his thick, dark eyelashes. Remus can’t help it. He reaches out and ever so softly runs his the pad of his thumb along them.

Sirius flinches a little in surprise but smiles, “What? My eye, Remus. Can’t pet eye.”

Remus laughs, smiling even as he moans when the hot, blunt head of Sirius’ cock nudges against his hole. “I—I know. You’re just—I like them. Your eyelashes. Now, c’mon, you promised me something.”

Sirius cocks his head, “What? Oh, this?”

And he promptly slides home in one go.

And it’s brilliant. Remus feels his back arch into it of its own accord and his nails dig into Sirius’ shoulders, “Oh god.”

“I’m tell you—“ Sirius’ voice sounds strained but happy, “I’m give you everything.”

But he isn’t moving. Not like usual, at least. Instead, he just nestles his head against Remus neck, and pushes against him in these small, slow circles that are practically ripping Remus apart at the seams.

“Sirius…” Remus can feel Sirius’ panting breath and the bruising kisses he’s pressing against his neck. He can feel his eyelashes against his skin and Remus has a sudden thought. “Sirius.”

“Mm. Feel good, baby.”

“Do you know what a butterfly kiss is?”

Sirius pulls his head back up, brow furrowed. His hips still while he thinks and—Remus can’t decide how he feels about that. He sort of likes just the…weight. The connection. He settles further into the mattress and decides to enjoy it.

“I’m know yoga pose.” Sirius blinks a few more times and then his eyes widen and he looks at Remus, “You…You want kiss…” His eyes flick downward, “Down there?”

It’s Remus’ turn to look confused. He tries to picture the butterfly pose. He knows its one where you spread your legs and—oh. “No. Well. I mean—not—not now. If you—never mind. A butterfly kiss is just…”

He cups his hand against Sirius’ jaw, keeping him still, and surveys his cheek. He decides to go for the soft high of it, steering clear of stubble. He leans forward, tilts his head and…

Sirius lets out a little breath, along with a soft whisper of, “Butterfly kiss.”

Butterfly sounds beautiful in his mouth.

“Like…” Remus waits for Sirius to find the word, “like крыло.” He runs a hand over Remus’ wing-bone on his back, fingers warm.

“Wing. Yeah, like that.”

Sirius smiles at him, blinding and huge, “I’m—love.” Remus smiles and goes to kiss him when, “Hey, no, I’m do you now.”

Remus does his best to bite back how big he wants to smile and tilts his face up while at the same time using his heels to press Sirius into him. They both groan and Sirius’ butterfly kiss quickly turns into a hickey against his collarbone.

“I’m do later.” Sirius mumbles, licking over the soft intend of teeth he just made on the column of Remus’ neck, “Is for baby I love you. This big I love you, it come first.”

“Fuck, I—“ Remus is fairly sure his chest is going to explode this time, “Fuck, come here. Kiss me, come here.”

Sirius drapes himself over Remus, keeping their chests close as he pushes closer. His thumb strokes just below Remus’ ear from where he’s holding Remus’ neck to kiss him soundly. Remus doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way Sirius kisses. There’s probably too much tongue and it’s a little sloppy, but he does it in a way that lets Remus know there’s nothing else he’s thinking about, and nothing else he’d rather be doing.

“I’m think about…” Sirius’ presses another long kiss to Remus’ mouth, “how it feel when we don’t—need anymore.” He pulls out, hot and slow, only to grind it in and—yeah, Remus can picture it too. Sirius’ breath punches out of his lungs, like the thought is too much, “I’m die to be most close, Remus. Killing me, is so much. You don’t know.”

And Remus is pretty sure he does, but hearing how much it would effect Sirius is pretty great, too. Remus curves his hips up to meet Sirius’ thrusts, “You’re imagining it? When it’ll be just us.”

Sirius’ eyes squeeze shut and he drops to his forearms. His knees slip against the sheets a little and he groans lowly, one hand reaching out to grasp the headboard, “Remus, fuck.” Sirius leans down and kisses him hard. Remus melts into it.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.” Remus says, “Fuck, Sirius—“

Sirius is hot above him and inside him, his entire body pressed along Remus’. He whispers his own ‘I love you’ back, and then it’s all Russian until he stills. Remus can feel the muscles in his back shaking. Maybe it’s that, maybe it’s a little combination of everything that sends Remus over the edge right after him.

Sirius lets his weight fall down on top of Remus with a long sigh. And Remus loves that, loves how Sirius never rolls away from him after sex. Not even in the very beginning, when Sirius was just a client and Remus had expected him to scoot to the other side of the bed, like most men did. He hadn’t expected a heavy weight against his side and his head being guided onto a shoulder. He certainly hadn’t expected to like it.

“Thirsty.” Sirius says, voice right in his ear from where he’s resting on Remus’ chest. “So good.”

Remus snorts. This is probably what he loves most about their sex. It’s…comfortable. Not in any bland way, it’s hot and it can be slow, or fast, and Sirius drives him insane with everything he does. But an underlying current of sweetness never falls away. They can laugh while they kiss, and that means more to Remus than almost anything.

“Here,” He taps Sirius’ hip, then his butt, “I’ll get us some water.”

Sirius obligingly rolls to the side, pressing a sloppy kiss to Remus’ cheek, “Best.”

Remus runs a quick hand through Sirius’ hair before getting up. He finds what he thinks are his boxers on the floor—and then realizes that they are most certainly not given the slight looseness around the thighs—and pads into the living room where the bar and mini fridge are. He grabs two bottles of water and, after glancing at the M&Ms for a moment, takes those, too.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says as he walks back into the bedroom, “I took the M&M’s—“

The bed is empty, but the sink is running in the bathroom and, through the partially closed door, Remus can just see one of Sirius’ calves and ankle. Remus shrugs, and is about to flop down on the bed when he notices something placed right in the center among the messy sheets. It’s—well, it looks like it’s a dark sock—one of Sirius’ socks—with a messily wrapped piece of string around it. Not string, the elastic from the flight tags stretched in a criss-cross way that only just looks like a regular present wrapping.

“Not have nice box.” Remus looks back at Sirius over his shoulder when he wraps his arms around Remus’ waist from behind, “But…want you to have.”

Remus looks back at the little bundle, “And here I thought you were letting me do something for you, when really you were getting me out of the room to do something for me.”

Sirius smiles, “Go, open.”

Remus pushes the water bottles into his hands and goes to kneel on the bed. They sit, feet touching, while Remus holds the gift. “Is this your sock?” He has to hear Sirius’ say it.

“Not have box! I already say.” He starts laughing as he says the words when Remus does, and leans forward to kiss him, “Open.”

Remus shakes his head, still smiling, as he pulls away the airport elastic and unrolls the sock. He can feel something heavy at the toe of it and shakes it down the length of the fabric until—

A key falls into his hand.

He feels the bed shift as Sirius fidgets a little, and Remus looks up at him. “Is this what I think it is?”

Sirius smiles softly, nodding, and cups the back of Remus’ hand holding the key with his palm, his thumb rubbing along the inside of Remus’ wrist. “Is like…I want to give now because—you know, all the other nights we here, in hotel, you have to leave. And I’m have to give you money, and then you go.” He curls Remus’ fingers around the key, then his own hands around Remus’, eyes sure and sweet, “Not have to go anymore, Remus.”

When Remus hugs him, practically throwing himself into Sirius’ lap, Sirius kisses his neck and whispers, “Oh, one more present.”

Remus’ smiles as Sirius’ eyelashes brush against his skin.

(A/N: Finally! Woo! Hope you guys like :) Also, obviously, this is not the last chapter.)

436 notes · View notes

grandtheftstarship · 5 years

Text

Painted Roses (Barista!Jim Kirk x Artist!Fem!Reader) [Request!]

“So, Jim is a barista in a coffe shop /he could be the owner too, but it's not that important / and the reader always goes there but she never drinks coffee just hot chocolate or sometimes tea. She's an artist and she always goes there and sits there for hours just drawing people in her sketchbook. Sometimes she's all covered in paint. /continuing/... And she somehow caught Jims attention and one time she forgets about time and sits there all day, Jim brings her refills time to time maybe some desserts to eat because she kinda forgots... Until Jim tells them that it's closing time, but they start a conversation an they sit there for a litte while longer... ||Sorry for the long ask, if you don't want to do it, it's fine, still love ya! 💕 Have a nice day ❤️” - @rh-girlonfire

I love this request SOOOOOOOOOO much!!! Mainly because I like to think of myself of an artist :) I can never get enough of coffee shop AUs! Please enjoy :) Love you too ❤︎

Also THANK YOU ALL FOR FOLLOWING ME!!! I just reached 100 and even though it’s a small milestone it still means a lot to me :) Thank you all for supporting me and what I love to do! Love you all ❤︎

P.S- I just wanted to let you all know that I see it when you guys comment and reblog! I just can’t respond because this is a secondary blog, so it won’t come up as me :( Just know that I see you, and I appreciate you!!! Every time someone comments or reblogs it makes me so happy :) Did I mention that I love y’all?

Word Count: 2157 Warnings: mega fluff, I’m pretty sure this is my favorite thing I’ve ever written ever, swearing, keep a lookout for the Office reference ;)

Take a shot every time I use the word sometimes lol

You didn’t know when you first started coming to the quaint little coffee shop on the corner of your block, and you didn’t know when you started making a habit out of it. Once or twice a month turned into several times a week, and then suddenly you were there for several hours a day to work on your projects. You found the atmosphere warm and inviting, as opposed to your cramped apartment down the street that you could barely afford.

Yes, you were a starving artist. But that didn’t make your art any less meaningful. Ever since the first day you had been coming, you had your table. It was the smaller booth in the corner by one of the large windows overlooking the park and the busy street. It was also dotted with paint marks, but the owner didn’t seem to mind.

It was the barista, though, that caught your eye. Every single day, he was there ready with one of your usuals. You never drank coffee, it was usually tea or hot chocolate. He usually chose for you, but you didn’t mind. Whatever he made tasted delicious. You always ordered ‘for here’, enjoying the cute, white mugs with the pretty art he made with the cream in your hot chocolate or with the honey in your tea. It was different every day, sometimes a flower, or a cute face, and one time he made an elaborate heart with swirls and sprinkles which made you blush as you thanked him.

On days you were really working hard, you were there from opening to closing now and again, he would bring you refills and sometimes small deserts. You would pull your headphones back and thank him, smiling as he would rub the back of his neck, bashful. You thought it was cute.

In fact, you thought he was cute all the time. On days you weren’t really working on big pieces you would just pull out your sketchbook and draw the people around you, but mainly it was him, dressed in his black apron and a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You would draw him from various angles; walking with the serving platters filling both his hands, smiling at a customer, washing things in the sink: rough sketches of him filled many pages in your book.

Other days, you would decide to paint outside in the park in the morning to get practice with realistic nature, get covered in paint, and then head over to the coffee shop for your afternoon drink. It was on these days that you felt the most insecure since you were in your painting overalls and your old vintage Queen T-shirt underneath and you were covered in various colors and stages of dried paint. There was even paint in your hair or on your face sometimes, and the barista (who, after you finally took notice of his nametag, was named Jim) would kindly point it out to you. You would get red in the face and frantically try to wipe it off, getting more paint on your already paint-splattered hands; it was all just a mess.

Today was not one of those days, though; today you were working in your sketchbook, doodling and working on drawing people. You came in early, some twenty minutes after they had opened. Jim was there as you walked in, beaming as you walked up to the counter.

“Hey,” he greeted, pushing a mug full of steaming cocoa up to you.

You peeled your headphones back to rest on your neck as you pulled out some wrinkled dollar bills. You frowned. You didn’t realize how low you had been getting on money and you knew exactly where it had all been going. Nevertheless, you put a smile on your face and slid the money across the counter to him.

“Hey,” you returned the hello, lifting the mug from the counter. “What’s my drink of the day today?”

“Well, we just got some new teas in so I thought I fix one up for you,” he replied. “This one is Chamomile Citrus, with three swirls of honey just how you like it.”

You smiled, pink dusting your cheeks. “Thanks, Jim.”

Your blush deepened as his face reddened up at the sound of his name coming from your lips. It was the first time you had ever called him by name, and you felt like he liked it. He did.

You moved away before he could say anything else, heading over to your table and settling in. You pulled your headphones on and unpacked your backpack, flipping your sketchbook open to the next blank page and getting started.

_______________

Jim didn’t know when he first started noticing her. Maybe it was when she first started coming in with paint splattered all over her overalls, maybe it was when he first saw her set out her paints. He didn’t really care, all that mattered was that he noticed her now.

He had never been so captivated by someone like he was by her, his typical pulled-together demeanor was thrown out the window when she entered the shop and when she smiled all of his insides turned to mush. He didn’t even know her name.

So, in order to capture her attention, he started writing down her orders for future reference, such as how much whipped cream she liked on her hot cocoa, or how much honey she preferred in her tea. There was one thing he knew for sure; no coffee.

He figured out that she was pretty lenient when it came to her orders, so he started making them ahead of time. He knew that she would be in almost every day, so he made them when he had a free minute. He even started practicing latte art on other customers’ orders to try and impress her. He felt like she enjoyed it. She did.

He would never forget the time the flower he meant to do on her hot chocolate one time morphed into a heart that actually looked pretty good so he decided to just go for it. Her face was exactly what he wanted, her cute cheeks turning a soft pink and her thank you coming out a bit quieter.

He couldn’t deny the fact that he was attracted to her. He had been with plenty of girls, but it was different this time. His palms would get sweaty when he saw her come in and butterflies would spring up in his stomach when she thanked him for whatever thing he had brought her.

He caught himself staring at her sometimes when hours were slow, noting how her bottom lip got caught in her teeth as she concentrated, and how that one strand of [h/c] hair fell into her eyes every so often and how she would blow it out of her face and keep working. He was mesmerized by it all. The only problem was that he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with those feelings.

There wasn’t exactly an outlet for him to let them out through and he didn’t want to sleep with other girls, so he kept them in a little jar in the back of his mind. When he lied alone at night in the small apartment above the shop (that the owner, Leonard, had graciously let him stay in), he would let them out and let himself feel in full throttle. Sometimes it was a lot to handle.

He didn’t realize how much he felt for her until she came in only a few minutes after he opened with a large canvas. She didn’t go to the counter right away since her hands were full, so Jim came to her. He set her iced tea on the table out of the way, humming as she thanked him.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his apron as he walked away, only then understanding what he had gotten himself into.

_______________

You had never been there this long. You barely noticed the time passing as you painted, concentrating hard on the details. You hadn’t even realized that you had started painting the cafe storefront until you started mixing the paint. You decided to just go with it.

Jim brought you little pastries and refills from time to time, making sure you wouldn’t be disturbed. Even he didn’t disturb you, letting you enjoy your time listening to [your favorite band] and just paint to your little heart’s content.

That was, until closing time rolled around.

You didn’t know that you had been there for that long until Jim tapped your shoulder and you jumped, like, three feet in the air.

You yanked back your headphones and smacked him in the arm.

“You scared me!” you gasped. He chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you, but...” He waved his arm at the empty floor.

“Oh...” you sighed in disappointment. You had really wanted to finish your project before the day was over.

“I mean... if you want to stay I could close up shop and we can talk or something while you finish...?” he asked it like a question and a smile spread across your face at his flustered expression.

“Sure,” You replied. “You got an aux cord?”

He nodded, leading you behind the counter and letting you plug your phone in and shuffle your playlist.

“Wanna help me?” he asked, beckoning you over to the counter.

“With what?” you wondered, walking over.

“With the drinks,” he picked up the box of your favorite tea. “Tea sound good?”

You nodded, grinning. He showed you how to mix the two teas together and how he made honey flowers to float on top of the steaming mug before they dissolved into the hot drink. He fixed himself one before shutting off all the lights besides the one above your table and sat in the booth across from you that had gone unused for so long.

Your music played softly in the background as you resumed painting, Jim watching your brush intently.

You looked up sharply, catching him off guard. “Wanna play A Question Game?”

“A question game?” Jim repeated, bemused.

“Yeah, like where we ask each other random questions to get to know each other better.”

“Is this what you do on all of your first dates?” he smirked.

“What’s a first date without the basics?” you mirrored his expression. “You go first.”

“What’s your name?” he questioned.

“[y/n],” you replied, not looking up. “[y/n] [l/n].”

He let your name roll around his mind, liking the feel of it. “Your turn.”

“What’s your last name?” you glanced at him, a smile playing on your lips.

“Kirk,” he responded. “James T. Kirk.”

You looked up quickly. “Your real name is James?”

“What did you think it was?” he chuckled. “Jimothy?”

You laughed, enjoying the reference. Jim’s eyes bore into yours.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before,” he said, a little quieter. “You should do it more often.”

You sent him a knowing smile. “Next question, Kirk.”

The game went on like that for at least another hour or so, basic questions like favorite colors, birthdays, favorite shows, hometowns, etcetera etcetera. You learned that Jim’s favorite color was purple, his birthday was on March 22, and he was from Rivertown Iowa.

“I think I’m finished,” you said suddenly, wiping your paintbrush off on a paper towel and putting it in the water.

“Oh yeah?” Jim stood. “Let’s see it.”

You propped it up and turned to look at it, pride flooding your senses.

“Wow,” he breathed. “This is amazing.”

“Thank you,” you said shyly, cleaning up your things and putting them back into your backpack. “Well, I really should be going.”

You started to open your wallet to pay for the food, but Jim stopped you by putting his hand over yours. Heat blew up in your cheeks, as you met his gaze.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, eyes flicking down to the painting. “If you want, you can pay by letting me hang that on the wall.”

You eyes blew open wide. “Seriously? You want my art on your wall?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I really do.”

You stared back into his blue eyes and let him close the distance between you, liking the feeling of his smooth lips against yours. He pulled away first, stomach flipping at the sight of your eyes still closed. They opened slowly and you smiled up at him.

“Second date?” he asked, leaning his forehead against yours.

You giggled, raising your hand up to boop his nose.

“Mhm,” you hummed, pecking his lips before pulling out of his embrace. You picked up your backpack and slung it over your shoulder, holding your headphones. “See you tomorrow?”

“Same time same place,” he grinned as you smiled and waved as you left, pulling your headphones over your ears and putting your hands in your pockets as you started walking down the street to your apartment.

Both of you thinking about what a wonderful day you had.

#star trek #jim kirk #james t kirk #star trek fanfiction #star trek fanfic #star trek imagines #star trek x reader #star trek reader inserts #jim kirk x reader #jim kirk imagines #jim kirk reader inserts #james t kirk x reader #james t kirk reader inserts #james t kirk fanfic

71 notes · View notes

rheyninwrites · 5 years

Text

The Photographer’s Assistant Part 3

The trees rustled above you, occasionally dropping a leaf to skitter across the page you were sketching on. Albert stood nearby, talking to himself and fiddling with his camera. You looked at him from time to time, chuckling to yourself. You’d already drawn at least three times the number of sketches of the horses to the photos he’d taken, but neither of you were in a hurry. At least the horses were unlikely to try to eat you.

You closed your sketchbook and put it to the side, leaning back against the tree and pulling your feet beneath you. It was a perfect day. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot, especially beneath the green canopy of the trees, and Emerald Ranch was a beautiful area, despite the slight oddness of most of the locals. The only thing that could possibly have made the day even more perfect was seeing Arthur.

When you’d last parted, you told him where you and Albert were heading next, hoping he’d show up, and he’d made a cheeky comment that had made you feel all but certain he’d come. It had been three days already, and you still hadn’t seen him, but you were trying to be patient, despite how badly you wanted him near you again. Something about him made you feel warm inside in a way no one else ever had. He was such a bundle of contradictions, looking like a hulking mountain of a man, but with a shy tenderness about him that made you want to melt.

You were so lost in your daydreams that you almost didn’t notice that the man himself had ridden up and was now in conversation with Albert not far from you. A wide grin broke out on your face as you watched Albert motion in your general direction, then saw Arthur nod and turn, walking toward you. When he saw you watching him, he smiled and gave you a slight wave before settling on the ground beside you.

“So I see your cousin has finally learned to photograph animals that are a bit less likely to want him for lunch.”

You laughed, “This time, Mr Morgan.”

“I done told you, call me Arthur,” he said, grinning at you.

“Sorry. But I honestly don’t expect this concern for our personal safety to last for long. In fact, I think it was more motivated by love of the horses than safety concerns. Not that I’m complaining.”

“Nor am I.” Arthur shifted a bit, then noticed your sketchbook on the ground beside you. “What’s that?”

You pushed the sketchbook under your leg, trying to hide it from him. For some reason the thought of him seeing what you’d drawn made you feel very self conscious. “It’s just some drawings I was working on. I’ve been trying to document some of the wildlife and plants near where Albert’s photographing. He thought it might make nice supplemental material for his project.”

“So, are you an artist?”

You chuckled to yourself. “Something like that. At least I try. I’ve been drawing in one way or another since I was young, but I’ve never really had any formal training or anything.”

“Hmm. You know, I do a bit of drawing myself. Never trained either.” He rubbed his index finger against his chin. “ You mind if I take a look?”

You looked down, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “It’s not anything special. It’s just some plants and animals, a little scenery.”

“It’s okay. That’s about all I draw too.”

You handed the book over, watching nervously as he flipped through the pages. Occasionally, he’d linger on one, tracing his finger around the image, but not saying a word. When he finally reached the last page you’d drawn on, he closed it, handing it back to you while looking into your eyes.

“That’s real fine.”

Your fingers brushed against his as you took it back, and he let his hand linger beneath yours for a moment with a soft smile, which you returned. After you’d put it away again, you leaned your back against the tree beside him, and he shuffled over slightly, pressing his shoulder against yours. Your hand lay loosely on top of your thigh, while he ran his fingers nervously over the seam of his pants beside you. For a while, neither of you spoke.

At last, you broke the silence. “You know, Arthur, since I showed you my drawings, I think it’s only fair if I see yours.”

This time it was his turn to blush. “They ain’t much.”

“Neither were mine.” You lean your face towards him, stroking your hand over his where it rests beside you. “Please?”

He cuts his eyes at you sideways, trying to play coy. “Maybe I don’t want you to see what I draw. Maybe it’s private.”

“Private? You said it was only plants, animals, & scenery.” This time you slip your hand inside his, twining his fingers in yours and looking into his eyes, making yours as large and pleading as possible. “Please, Arthur? I’d really like to see.”

Oh, the feel of your velvet palm against his with those doe eyes did him in. Reluctantly , he reached into his satchel and pulled out a leather bound journal, much nicer than yours. He handed it over, but before he let it go, he cautioned you.

“Remember, I said it ain’t much.”

How on earth he could think that was beyond you. The sketches were rough, loose, sure, but there was a lifelike nature to them, as though, rather than capturing the literal vision, he captured the true spirit of what he was drawing. Some of them were merely technical tidbits, reminders of this animal or that plant. Occasionally the face of a person he’d met filled the page, with a story that you tried to avoid reading so you didn’t invade his privacy too much. But it was the two page spreads you liked best, images of flowered fields, waterfalls, or sunsets that made you wish you’d been there beside him to see it.

“Arthur,” you breathed, genuinely impressed, “They’re beautiful.”

He took the book back from you, unable to hide how proud he was that you’d liked them. Before he returned it to his satchel, he paused for a minute, then began thumbing through blank pages towards the back of the book.

“I got one more I want you to see, but you gotta promise you ain’t gone laugh, okay?”

You nodded, and your breath caught in your throat when he held the picture out to you. He’d drawn you, just as you must have looked to him when you were dressing the wolf bites, your face turned down slightly in concentration. He’d paid special attention to the way your lip curved in as you bit it, and the way your eyelashes shadowed against the rim of your cheek. He’d made you look far more attractive than you thought you did in real life. Tears pricked at your eyes.

You twined your arm through his, pressing your face into his shoulder. You couldn’t believe he’d thought you were something worth taking the time to draw, and that he’d managed to make you look like such a treasure, and you told him as much. He raised his free hand, stroking his fingers along the side of your face before tracing them along the line of your jaw. Then he placed a finger under your chin, lifting it up to make you look him in the eye.

“I just drew what I saw. Honestly, I don’t even think I did you justice, not by half.”

“Arthur, I-“

You were cut off by his lips against yours, his teeth pressing softly into your lower lip. The surprise of it caused your lips to part, his tongue slipping in to gently brush against yours as his hand cupped the back of your neck. A hushed moan escaped from you as you pressed your fingertips into the hard muscles of his thigh. To you, he tasted like salt, earth, smoke. To him, you tasted like sunshine, cool water. He would drink you if he could, or drown in the essence of you. He’d want your taste forever, crave it the way a drowning man craves air.

After you parted, he pressed his forehead to yours, both of you left shaken by the simple intensity of the kiss. His hand stayed against the back of your neck, just as you left your hand on his thigh. Soon, you shift, nuzzling your face into the tenderness of his neck while he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. A deep peace washes over you both, and you know that if you could make any moment last forever, it would be this one.

Unfortunately, it can’t last forever. The sun is already beginning it’s slow descent beneath the horizon, and Albert has begun packing his gear away, ready to try again tomorrow. He still hasn’t managed to get a decent photo, a fact you feel unbelievably grateful for when Arthur tells you that he’s going to have to stick around a few days, in case Albert does need his help, after all. He tells you he’s going to camp nearby, not far from the barn down the road, as he pulls you into a swift embrace beside his horse. He’s entirely too aware of Albert’s eyes on him from nearby, afraid of taking too many liberties. You, on the other hand, have no such qualms, pulling him down into a hard, open mouthed kiss that takes his breath away before you walk away, glancing back over your shoulder to wave him goodbye.

As you approach your cousin, you can see the slightly shocked look on his face, the one he has the decency to shake away before speaking to you, a tinge of humor in his voice.

“I take it you rather like Mr Morgan?”

“Indeed I do, Albert,” you say, a low chuckle coloring your response. “Very much so.”

Albert looks at you for a moment, then pretends to be deep in thought for several seconds before speaking again. “You know, cousin, I think that it may be very difficult to properly capture the beauty of these wild horses.”

You look at him, eyebrow raised.

“Well, they’re so very temperamental, and I’m afraid I am such a buffoon. Yes! Such a terribly talentless buffoon. It may be weeks before I can get a proper shot.”

You turn to him, smiling, before pulling him into a hug and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He’s always been your favorite cousin

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr x reader #rdr #red dead redemption #reddeadredemption #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfic #arthurmorgan #rdr arthur #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 #arthur morgan fic

28 notes · View notes

griffinxwoods · 5 years

Photo

stuck

clarke and lexa are snowed in at raven and anya’s holiday/housewarming party

i wanted to finish this for clexa week but, life happens, and i wasn’t able to so here’s a snippet, the beginning really, and if you guys like it, i’ll wrap it up soon and post it to ao3. but i figured something is better than nothing, even if i think it’s pretty rough so, here you go. also, a rough attempt at a moodboard. nevertheless, enjoy!

_____________________________________________________________________

It’s almost over. Technically she’s halfway to the finish line. But it’s almost over.

Finals week is upon them.

Clarke has a few sketches to finish for her portfolio, her finals project only has a few tweaks to be done, and then she can finally relax for winter break. She can worry about her last official university semester once the new year rolls around.

Tonight, though, Raven wanted to have a group study session at Clarke and Lexa’s apartment. it’s a nice change from the stuffy Arkadia library, at least Clarke can sketch on her couch instead of those hard, wooden chairs, oddly always warm.

The crew’s scattered around her apartment, Octavia and Lincoln are sitting at the kitchen island, going through flashcards for Lincoln’s psych exam. Bellamy has taken to the recliner, flipping through the pages of his latest history read. He graduated years ago yet, he still hangs around. Nerd. Jasper and Maya are sat at one end of the dining table, there’s less studying and more of Jasper goofing around, but poor Maya has a highlighter in her mouth and about 3 other different colored highlighters in each hand, going through her bio notes. Pre-med is rough and Clarke feels for her. Monty is next to them, fiddling with a broken car radio he’s trying to fix for Miller. Raven and Anya are at the opposite end, Raven seemed to have wrapped up her studies early and somehow dug out Clarke’s old toaster and opened it up, rewiring it. Anya’s just eating some nuggets.

Clarke’s stomach grumbles. Hmm, not a bad idea. She moves to get up from the coach when Lexa appears, plate of nuggets in hand.

Clarke beams up at her, “how’d you know?”

Lexa shrugs, “You’ve been sketching for a while, figured you’d want some fuel.” She flops down next to Clarke and pulls up the Twitter app on her phone.

Clarke pulls her in for a kiss, slow and tender. She caresses Lexa’s face and Lexa pulls back, rubs her nose against Clarke’s, moving her head to the other side. It’s sweet and slow, perfect.

Clarke leans back and looks at Lexa through her eyelashes, “Thanks, baby.”

Lexa’s lips curl up a bit on one side, that sweet smile reserved only for Clarke. She reaches for Clarke’s hand and rubs her thumb over Clarke’s.

BANG.

“Attention, everyone!” Raven yells. “Hear ye, hear ye, I have an announcement before we wrap up this lovely hellish study session.”

Everyone jumped in their places at the crash, but they gather closer nonetheless. Raven smashed Clarke’s old toaster on the ground. Sigh, typical. Dramatic, as usual.

“Anya and I are throwing a housewarming party,” Raven beams.

“Does that mean we have to buy you gifts for being an adult,” Lexa scrunches her face, she grabs a nugget and pops it into her mouth.

Raven tilts her head to the side and feigns a smile, “Yes. Why ever the fuck else would I be hosting a party when you and Clarke have a perfectly furnished apartment.” she waves her hand in the general direction of everything they have, then points at the kitchen, “a fucking Nespresso machine, Clarke. You guys are boujee and I want in on it.”

“Raven,” Clarke sighs.

“Help me, I’m poor,” Raven pouts and bats her eyelashes.

Lexa stifles a laugh, “Might as well make a, like, baby registry for your apartment, ya know”. She pauses and looks at Clarke, “Is that a thing? Did we do that?”

She pats Lexa’s arm and sighs, “Yeah babe, it’s a thing. Technically.”

“Lexa, you beautiful dumbass, te quiero tanto” she practically launches herself across the table to grab Lexa’s face and plant a quick rough kiss on her lips. “I’m gonna sign up for that and send you all the link. I want a blender. And a microwave. And those smart light bulbs. God, they’re so fucking expensive, I don’t understand why. Gonna need Ms. Amazon Alexa too so I can connect that. I wanna speak to her. Our own smart house, how zesty of us. Oh! A fridge, need that too but the one you tweet on! That’s so boujee, I love it- ”

Lexa’s stunned, really didn’t expect that one. Clarke plopped back against her seat and lets out an exhausted breath. She’s used to Raven’s antics, of course, but tonight she just wants to finish her sketch and cuddle with Lexa. They’ve been here for hours, she’s tired and she has an early class in the morning. She picks up a pencil and continues to work, letting the conversation idle into background noise.

Her peace only lasts a few seconds.

Jasper mischievously snatches a sheet of paper and crumples it up, throws the ball at Lexa, and laughs, “She won’t shut up and it’s your fault, Woods.”

Lexa snatches a fat eraser out of Clarke’s hand and launches it at Jasper’s face, pure reflex.

Clarke gives up, her efforts futile, she snaps her sketchbook closed and groans.

“Fuck! Ow, what the fuck, Lex?”

“If you so much as look at me wrong, I will Spartan kick you off my balcony, you failed abortion. Capice?”

Clarke snaps her head towards Lexa, trying and failing to controller her laughter, and smacks Lexa lightly on the arm, “Lexa, no.”

“What? He’s annoying.”

“He’s our friend, remember. Be nice.”

“I’ve never claimed him. He’s your friend.”

“Everything that’s mine is yours, sweetheart,” Clarke singsongs and boops her on the nose.

Lexa tries to bite Clarke’s finger and falls short, her eyes narrow on her girlfriend, “Pick your battles, Griffin”

“HELLOOOO!” Raven bangs on the table abruptly. Everyone stops. “We were talking about me.”

Anya’s exasperated at this point. She only decided to come over for the free food and now she has to deal with this? She checks her watch, wondering when would be a good time to drag Raven out of her before she rips someone’s head off for suggesting teal accents when her apartment theme is planned to be black and gold. Seems trivial to Anya but, she knows Raven well enough by now.

Lexa blinks, “Oh? I-”

“Can you not? Thanks. Anyway, back to me now.”

Lexa throws her hands up, defeated, “Why am I in trouble when that sorry excuse for a man physically attacked me. In my own home! I’m a victim.” Lexa narrows at him, “the white man wins again.”

“Hey!” Jasper protests.”I was just-”

Raven lowers her voice and glares at Jasper, he gulps. “I will tie you to a chair and set your three mustache hairs on fire one by one. I know how long you’ve tried to grow that out, you’ve gotten attached to them, little man. Do not test me.”

Octavia grins, “This is getting good. Shall I make popcorn?”

Jasper slouches back into himself. Maya gives him a soft kiss on his cheek and a soft smile, and Monty puts him in a headlock and tousles his hair playfully, “You’ll be fine, buddy.”

Anya pinches the bridge of her nose, her eyes closed. She checks her watch again, looks around the room. Good enough. She raises herself out of her seat and steps towards Raven, an arm snaking around Raven’s neck.

“Alright Reyes, that’s enough. We get it, we’re poor, we need house stuff, and you’re becoming a dictator.”

“The Castros are shaking right now,” Lexa smirks.

Raven snorts, “Ha, noice.” They high five and Clarke and Anya share a look, both rolling their eyes.

“Okaaaay” Anya drawls, she detaches from Raven and grabs her hand as they make their way to the door, “So we’re gonna go. This was nice until crackhead Martha Stewart here took over.”

Raven pauses, a little insulted but nonetheless, she continues, “I want the fridge that can tweet, Anya.”

“I know baby,” Anya sighs, dragging Raven along.

“It’s essential. It’s the future. Technology, it revolves around us, you know.”

“I really don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.”

Lexa waves from her seat, grinning, and turns to Clarke, “We’re not getting the fridge.”

Clarke hums absentmindedly, “Absolutely not.” She really doesn’t care anymore, though. She just wants to go to bed with Lexa. She rubs her hands down her face, crosses her arms and yawns.

Lexa watches her, noticing the drooping eyelids, sketchbook closed in front of her. She stands and clasps her hands together.

“Okay putas, time to go. Pick up your shit and get outta here, it’s beddy-bye. Clarke looks like she’s going to knock out on this couch and I’d rather not carry her to bed so, let’s move on out.” She ushers everyone up and out, herds them towards the door like a shepherd gathering stray sheep into a barn. Or out, rather.

They all protest on their way out, but appreciate the eviction considering how late it’s gotten and no one noticed.

“Thanks for the food, Lex. I’ll see you on the field tomorrow, right?” Lincoln hugs her and gives her a sharp look. She’s on her vacation and he knows how quickly she can fall into a lazy spiral if she lets herself.

Lexa grunts, “But it’s supposed to snow.”

Lincoln gives her a sharp look and she concedes, nodding in agreement.

They all file out, waving goodbye, and piling into their cars. Lexa closes the door, locks it and leans against it, letting out a sigh of relief.

“It’s quiet,” Lexa breathes.

“Lex. Bed,” Clarke whispers. She’s waiting in the bedroom doorway, hand reaching out towards Lexa. She strides over and slips her hand into Clarke’s, placing a tender kiss to her lips. Clarke hums and her lips curl into a smile on one side, similar to one of Lexa’s.

They fall into bed, a tangle of limbs, soft kisses on smooth skin, breaths evening out.

Clarke curls deeper into Lexa’s warmth and not a minute later, drifts off.

#clexaweek2019 #day 7 #free day #clexa #clexa fic #clarke x lexa #clexa au #clexa drabble #i guess?#my writing #ayyy that tags back #anyway i made this oneshot too long and i got busy with work and family so i truly couldn't finish in time #and then i got an idea for another oneshot so sdkjnfs #i made a rough moodboard or whatever to compensate a bit :)#hope its decent folks #i miss these nerds #thanks for reading i appreciate it anyways

145 notes · View notes

unbanned-rescue-cat · 6 years

Photo

“Hmmmmm… Hmmmmmm…. HMMMMM….”

Ruru watched Emiru walked ahead of her, who was deep in thought. Ruru smiled to herself, enjoying Emiru’s pensive look on her face. The brunette was so lost in her thoughts, she was making her lips pursed out like a duck.

“Noooo… maybe not this place… do you mind if we walked further up?” Emiru asked, turning towards the taller girl. Ruru shook her head, hefting the Bag of Emergency over her shoulder.

“I don’t mind.”

Emiru’s homework was to draw a scenery during the weekend. Naturally, the beach came to mind. As usual, Emiru went overboard and brought with her an easel, 3 dozens of pastel crayons, rations, a dolphin floatie and other random things in her Bag of Emergency. If Ruru hadn’t run into her, and offered to carry the cursed Bag, who knows when Emiru would get her homework done, let alone getting to the beach.

Speaking of which, it was a nice day out. It was a sunny, clear skies, with the crisp wind biting gently on Ruru’s skin. The gentle sound of the waves lapping to the shore made the scene even peaceful and serene.

Ruru also had Emiru to herself.

“Fu, fu, fu…” Ruru laughed to herself as Emiru ran back to her.

“I think we can set up here!” Emiru said, smiling to herself. She framed the sea before her with her fingers before nodding. “Yup! Definitely here!”

“Roger.” Ruru agreed before placing Emiru’s Bag of Emergencies on the sand. Emiru was intently looking at the sea, deep in thought. Ruru, meanwhile, efficiently set up the easel, making sure the legs dug deep into the stand for stabilization. As she was putting up the pastel crayons in a color spectrum order, Ruru noticed the sketchbook in the bag. Maybe ‘book’ was a loose term, as the actual size of it was A2. A sketchbook far too big for any sane child to carry.

“You need to learn to do things in moderation.” Ruru stated, flipping open the sketchbook.

“NO! DON’T LOOK!” Emiru’s loud shout surprised Ruru. Emiru grabbed the sketchbook from Ruru’s hands and turned away. She hugged the sketchbook and knelt down, her eyes shut and face flushed. Ruru walked around and knelt down in front of Emiru.

“I’m sorry. Is it something private?” Ruru asked. The brunette nodded, averting her gaze from Ruru. “Okay. I won’t intrude any further then.” Ruru said, straightening up. While she was there, Emiru would certainly would be distracted.

“I will take my leave.”

“What? Why?!” Emiru demanded. “Y-you don’t have to go anywhere! Just stay!”

“You wouldn’t be able to draw if I’m here.” Ruru explained. Emiru stood up and ran up to Ruru. “I’m a distraction-”

“Ruru isn’t a distraction!” Emiru cut Ruru off, shouting as she let a hand go free to grab Ruru’s sleeve. “Just stay, I said!”

There was a large gust of wind, and Emiru and Ruru had to shield their eyes. Emiru gave a shocked wail as she dropped her sketchbook, revealing the pages.

The drawings were all of Ruru. Several showed her smiling, while the others looking off to the distance. Importantly, there were sketches of Ruru and Emiru kissing. Emiru gave an embarrassed wail before jumping on her sketchpad to prevent more pages being seen. But she did land on her chest, and so the tiny girl groaned.

Ruru knelt down again before Emiru, smiling coyly. “I was right. I AM a distraction.”

“Nuh uh! You’re my inspiration!” Emiru quipped, getting back on her feet with a groan. Still blushing, she placed her sketchbook on the easel on a blank page. “Drawing you… you know… puts me at ease.” Emiru continued bashfully, avoiding eye contact. She was hastily drawing on her sketchbook with the pastels Ruru prepared earlier. Ruru walked behind Emiru and watched quietly.

Emiru was good for her age. Her dainty hands could almost do anything. Play the violin, the piano, the guitar and now Ruru learned that Emiru could draw. Emiru was outlining the sea before her in such a quick manner.

But it seemed that Emiru was unsatisfied. She flipped the page to a new one and started drawing the ocean once more. After a few moments, Emiru flipped the page again, shaking her head. Ruru was confused. The images were good. She did, however, noticed that Emiru was making space in the middle of the drawings.

Ruru draped her arms around the surprised Emiru. “What are you doing-” Emiru began but was cut short.

“I could pose for you.” Ruru whispered into Emiru’s ear. Ruru could feel the smaller girl’s breathe quicken.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

That was the stimuli Emiru needed. The brunette trembled joyously. Emiru continued to draw. The new drawing was far more impressive than the previous ones. Ruru found it interesting something so simple would cause such an improvement in ability. “You’re doing a lot better. At this rate, you’ll finish.”

“No, it’s far from done.” Emiru said, blushing as she glanced at Ruru. “I’m purposefully leaving space over here for you.” Emiru tapped the page.

Ruru was right. Suddenly, she felt a bit self-conscious. The plan was to tease Emiru and fluster her, as usual. But the idea of posing for Emiru was making Ruru flustered instead.

“Oh. You might want to take off your shoes and leggings.” Emiru continued, putting down the pastels and admiring her work. “You don’t want them getting wet.”

Ruru was trapped. But that doesnt mean she wasn’t allowed to turn the tables. She started walking towards the spot Emiru wanted her to stand and stopped. She turned to face Emiru, kicking off her shoes. Emiru, noticing that Ruru was keeping eye contact with her, watched as Ruru slowly took off her left leggings. By the time Ruru revealed her knee was the time Emiru realised what the taller girl was doing. Emiru blushes crimson as Ruru kicked off her left legging and started working on her right one.

Emiru covered her face and shook her head. “Don’t do that!”

“Do… what?” Ruru asked coyly, finally taking off her legging and waving it around gently at Emiru. Emiru remained quiet. Ruru walked towards the water, tossing her legging over her shoulder. “So, what pose do you want?” Ruru queried, doing hand stretches until Emiru answered.

The answer never came. Emiru was already drawing once more behind the easel. This side of her intrigued Ruru. Since there was no recommended pose, Ruru decided to just stand there in the water, hands on her waist. She watched Emiru draw. The intensity and seriousness in Emiru’s eyes was beautiful in it’s own way. Ruru didn’t even notice the cold of the water, nor the waves lapping on her bare legs.

“Maybe I should pose for you more-” Ruru said casually. Lifting her leg out of the sand and water. She’s been standing in place for so long, her ankles were covered in sand. Ruru started soaking and shaking her feet in the water, she never noticed a small tide rose behind her. It crashed into Ruru while she had her leg up. Taken by surprise and off balanced, Ruru found herself falling backwards, arms flailing in the air.

“Ruru!” The taller girl heard Emiru shout out as she splashed into the water. Ruru raised her head out of the water, gasping for air. Fortunately, she was standing in the shallow end.

“Ruru, are you ok- whoa!”

Ruru looked up towards Emiru’s direction. The smaller girl had been running towards her, kicking off her own shoes. But by doing so, Emiru ended up tripping by her own feet. She landed practically on top of Ruru, whose head once more submerged into the water. Ruru raised her head again from the water, gasping. She found herself staring into Emiru’s worried face.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Are you hurt? Did you hit your head? We should get out of the water, we could catch a cold! Hello? Ruru, speak to me!”

Ruru sighed. She gave a small smile at Emiru. “I’m fine-” Ruru said, trying to push herself up. Except she couldn’t. Emiru was sitting on her stomach, the smaller girl’s knees pinning Ruru in place. Dainty waif hands brushed sand off Ruru’s cheeks as Emiru reached out to her face.

“Uh…” Ruru stammered. Emiru’s cheeks were flushed red. Both of them were drenched, their clothes sticking to their bodies. Emiru’s hands caressed Ruru’s face lovingly. Ruru relaxed, letting the smaller girl take control.

“I’ve… been dreaming I could hold you like this.” Emiru said softly, leaning ever so closer to Ruru. Despite the cold sea water, their bodies were warm and hot. Ruru found her legs writhing together as she closed her eyes. Emiru took her chin and kissed her tenderly, with slow small pecks all over her lips. Ruru gave a soft moan as Emiru’s kisses glided to her ear gently.

“Dooooooon’t…” Ruru protested, her hands finding Emiru’s waist. She tried to push the smaller girl off, to try regain dominance. Emiru continued to nibble on her earlobe, resulting with Ruru letting out a loud gasp.

“Ruru’s sensitive spot!” Emiru giggled, snuggling to Ruru’s neck and leaving smaller kisses. The taller girl was at her mercy, and Emiru was loving it. “This is for the other day in the park,” Emiru whispered softly to Ruru’s neck, which sensually tickled the other girl, before planting a kiss. “This one is for that say you teased me,” another moan escaped Ruru. “Oh, and then letting my classmates fawn all over you. That made me really upset.”

Ruru was kicking weakly beneath Emiru, splashing water, but uselessly. “Not… my… fault- aah!” Ruru gasped out. Now, Emiru’s warm kisses reached Ruru’s bare shoulders. Ruru tossed her head back, mouth agape as she let Emiru taste her. The feeling of being helpless to her lover was too much, Ruru’s head was spinning.“Emiru… so cruel…” Ruru gasped out, her eyes fluttering from Emiru’s dominance.

Suddenly, Emiru pressed her forehead against Ruru, and the trapped girl stared eye to eye to her captor.

“It’s fun being the one teasing you for a change.” Emiru smiled and giggled, rubbing her nose against Ruru. Ruru only continued to gasp for air, her lips trembling. Ruru’s hands were gently pulling on Emiru’s waist, wanting her to be closer. Emiru, enjoying her new found power, gently slapped Ruru’s hands. “Nope! I still need to do my homework!”

“Aaaah!” Ruru gave a cry, like a woman who hasn’t seen her lover for so long. “Emiru…!” She softly whimpered, twitching in place.

“Nooooope! I had a good idea for a pose now!”

Emiru stood up, releasing Ruru from her bliss. Emiru helped Ruru sit up on the sand. Ruru stared, betrayed and forlorn at Emiru, like a puppy denied of her treat. The younger girl paid no mind, humming to herself as she went back to her easel to draw.

“Why?!?!?” Ruru asked, with so much ache in her voice. Emiru doesn’t seem to realize what she denied Ruru, as she continued to draw.

“YES! THIS IS MY MONA LISA!” Emiru yelled happily. She took sketchbook and rushed back to Ruru. What the deprieved girl saw was herself in the water. Ruru had a look of longing on her face, almost to the point of crying. “You’re such a lovely model, Ruru! I’m so lucky I caught you today!” Emiru hugged Ruru happily. Ruru was unresponsive.

“I thought you were supposed to draw a scenery.” Ruru stated in a monotone voice. Emiru’s smile froze.

“Ah. Aaaaahhhhh.”

You could hear a seagull cry overhead. Then both Emiru and Ruru sneezed loudly.

The following day, both Emiru and Ruru had to call in sick for catching a cold.

#hugtto precure #emiru aisaki #ruru amour #fan art #fan fiction

10 notes · View notes

promptbomb · 7 years

Text

Ink and Paint

Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader Chapters: 1/? Word Count: 1,751 Prompt: You came to Los Santos to pursue a dream of becoming a tattoo artist. Things haven't quite worked out as you planned and now you find yourself working a graveyard shift at Pandemonium Ink. Things are typically quiet, that is until one of the cities most infamous criminals come through the door.

It was the silence that really bugged you about working the graveyard shift.

When you had apprenticed under your uncle back home at his parlor there was rarely a dull moment to be had. Old timers coming in for touch ups usually had great stories to tell, occasionally you’d see a couple get into a heated argument over matching designs, there were even times when business was slow so your uncle would pull out his guitar and have a small jam session. It was the life flowing through his parlor that inspired you to take your art seriously and become a tattooist.

So when you came to Los Santos, fresh off the bus with bright eyes and portfolio in hand, you were somewhat discouraged when you found few openings and fewer owners wanting to take a chance on a no-name artist from the sticks. The money your uncle had loaned you dried up quickly and you found yourself forced into a parade of entry level jobs that kept you afloat as you continued to comb through every dark alley with a neon sign that flickered Tattoo. That’s when you found Pandemonium, the darkest of dives located between a disco tech warehouse club and a late night dry cleaner that, you were almost positive, was the front for some money laundering scheme.

Phil, the guy who ran the place, was hesitant on hiring you. You were sure that when he offered you the graveyard shift that he meant it more as a throw away offer. You’d be working alone and if anything went wrong it would take the cops about thirty minutes to get there. You didn’t care about the danger, not if it got you a chair. So with the promise that, if you did well they might be able to find a place for you in the day, you began your tenure as a pseudo night guard for Pandemonium Ink.

For the most part, it was pretty...unfulfilling. During the week the streets were like a ghost town and you found yourself marathoning cooking shows in some attempt to offset your hunger for a real meal. One could only live on take-out and ramen noodles for so long. The weekends didn’t offer much more in the way of clientele. Sure, you’d get the occasional roaming flock of beach bros stumbling down from the disco tech, bursting into the door so one of their friends could get a fifty dollar flash tattoo. You should be grateful but by the end of it, between having to almost lay on top of them to get them to sit still and their friends howling in the background, you’d wish for the silence that usually drove you crazy.

Most nights you’d think about giving up. You knew if you went home you could work for you uncle no problem. There was no shame in failing and maybe, after a few years and a nice cushion of money and a hefty portfolio, you could try again. But your pride kept you there, sitting behind the counter, flipping through a magazine and dreaming of the day you’d see your own art there on the pages.

As fate may have it you were having one of these internal conversations on a night that you first met the infamous Vagabond.

The door opening made its usually broken down and thirsty for oil sound, a trainwreck of a noise that you had become accustomed to by this point. You didn’t even look up from your magazine as you heard the slow shuffle of footsteps making their way in.

“Hey.” Your greeting was...less than enthusiastic. Already you caught the light scent of liquor; perfect, nothing you liked better than inking a drunk. Even as you half-assed pointed to the wall, where several flash tattoos were hanging, you were already thinking up some excuse to get out of dealing with it tonight. “Everything on the wall is fifty. Words are five a letter. Anything else you’ll have to-” As you looked up your words came to a pause, catching sight of the man that had walked in. He looked like hell; long hair falling out of a loose and drooping pony-tail, clothing dirty and torn up as if he had just walked away from some vicious street fight. You thought for a moment that he may have been bleeding but on closer inspection, and noticing a smudge on the sleeve of his jacket, it appeared that his face had been painted.

Your lips thin, what was up with this guy? Sometimes you had to deal with addicts that stumbled in blitz out of their mind, it was one of the reasons you kept a baseball bat under the counter, just in case things turned violent. Aside from smelling like a brewery he didn’t seem the sorts to fly off the handle suddenly, he even moved as if he was completely sober. “Hey man.” you call again, trying to get his attention, “You ok? You need to use the phone or something?”

He glanced at you, blue eyes bloodshot but focused. The look on his face made it appear that he hadn’t slept in days. “I want a tattoo.”

“Welp, you’re in luck.” You reply while standing, clapping your hands across your thighs as if you were dusting them clean. “We do, indeed, do tattoos here.” No response. Given his appearance it was probably a bad idea to try and make things humorous, so you opted to move the conversation along, “What are you thinking?”

"Roses."

Before you can stop yourself, you snort. It wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t what you were expecting. His eyes narrowed, though, clearly annoyed. “Sorry.” You cough and shove your hands deep into your pockets, “Just not...something I imagined you would- right. Roses.” You can feel the heat in your face as you continue to make a fool of yourself. So again you motion to the flash art, at least to divert his hard stare away, “There are several different options, layouts. We can do whatever color you want-”

"Is that all you can do, just copy and paste?" You probably deserved that. Still, it didn’t stop you from shooting daggers at his back as he inspected the wall. "I was thinking something more personal."

“I can do original pieces!” He lifts a brow as your eager reply send you shifting quickly through the stacks of portfolios on the table until you find yours, thrusting it into his hands. You can’t even remember that last time someone looked at your original works. “I mean, there's usually a consultation. We sit down, I get an idea what you're wanting-” He sits and you find yourself holding your breath as he begins to flip through your folder. His listless expression is torturous and you begin to talk again if just to end the awkward build up of silence. “So, why roses if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I had a friend.” There is a slight crack to his voice, a tightening of his jaw that you do not miss. “They were sort of his things. I just thought I’d get something to remember him by.” He comes to the end of your portfolio and gives it a quick flip through once more. “You drew everything in here?”

You nod to which he puckers his lips in some sort of sign of approval. “So, this is sort of like what, a memorial thing?”

“You could say that, yeah.” He replies as he tosses your portfolio back onto the stack. “I’ve never had a tattoo before but this just...it’s something I want to do.”

Virgin skin. Looking him over you doubt the pain would be a problem, though you’ve seen grown ass men cry like babies when getting inked before. But he seemed to be a sort of guy who could take it. Still, something doesn’t sit right with you, something you can’t quite put your finger on. “Can I offer you some advice?” No reply, yet the look he sends your way signals for you to continue. “Hold off on getting it.”

The look he gave you could have turned your blood to ice. His brows furrowed, “What?”

You try to convey sympathy; you sit near him to which he immediately puts distance between the two of you as if you had the plague. “Look, it’s just a bad idea to get something like this done when you’re not thinking clearly.”

“And how do you know that I’m not thinking clearly?” You can see him seething, his hands fist against the bend of his knees.

You continue, though, “What I mean to say is that, whatever is fueling this need, it deserves to be looked at with a clear head. Don’t take this the wrong way but I could smell the liquor on you when you walked in.” His eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Doing something like this is...it's special. It should mean something to you, yeah? So maybe don't make a decision on it when you're not thinking clearly. You owe it to your friend that much."

"Seems like bad business, refusing a customer."

He was probably right. If Phil was here right now you’d likely be following whoever you refused out the door. “Look nothing and no one is stopping you from getting up and going someplace else.” You stand and take on the short distance to reach behind the counter, grabbing your sketchbook and a pencil. “But if I didn’t care I wouldn’t ask you to wait. Just enough to sober up, yeah?”

He stands as you approach him again, hesitant as you hand him a piece of paper where you had jotted down your name and number. “What’s this?”

“In case you take my advice.”

He doesn’t take it. In fact, he doesn’t say anything else to you. You crumpled the paper up as he brushes past you, your shoulders making light contact before he set off through the door. You heave a short but heavy sigh. Oh well, you tried. Maybe you should have just given in and done whatever it was he wanted.

You shoot the ball of paper into the bin and return to your magazine, though you find you can’t concentrate on it clearly. The entire exchange stayed with you and you wondered if you could have said or done something different. Too late now, at least you wouldn’t have to see him again.

Or so you thought.

#ryan haywood x reader #fake ah crew #achievement hunter ff

54 notes · View notes