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thestoryofusstan · 3 months

Text

Uptown Girl

pairing: fashion designer!harry x younger!fashion designer!reader

summary: you’re working in a designer boutique, and just so happen to have a late entrance when world-renowned designer harry styles visits for a collaboration. he seems to take a liking to you, and you aren’t sure if that makes you relieved or more anxious

warnings: some cursing, not edited as usual

harry styles was a well-known name. ceo and founder of pleasing, a nail polish and perfume company. he also owned many other companies, but really, there were too many to keep track of. he was also, most importantly, one of the biggest fashion icons.

you were very familiar with him— had saved up every penny when you were younger to buy a pleasing perfume and now owned a very small collection of their nail polishes.

so, of course, you lost your shit when you found out he’d be coming into your job.

you were a fashion design major at nyu, and had gotten a job at a very esteemed designer (not one of the name brands, but still). although you did expect the job to have more opportunities to.. actually design fashion, you were still grateful nonetheless.

it was just your luck that the day that harry styles was coming in, you were late. it wasn’t your fault! really, it wasn’t! you were always on time because you got anxious at the mere thought of being late.

by the time you parked, you practically ran to the store, silently praying you wouldn’t break a leg as you were running in heels.

“i’m not late am i?” you ask breathlessly as you finally enter the store, fixing your hair and outfit.

you had curled your hair the night before, so they were still pretty much intact. your outfit consisted of black heels, brown dress pants, and a black, tight-fitting turtleneck.

“yes, y/n. you are late,” your boss gave you a look, and you knew you’d be in trouble. “mr. styles, i am so sorry. our employs are.. usually punctual.”

your head snaps over to look in the direction she was talking, and your heart drops when you make eye contact with harry styles.

great.

“mr. styles, i am so sorry,” you apologize.

“it’s perfectly alright,” he gives a kind smile.

that makes you feel a bit better.

“y/n, a word in my office please.”

you deflate as you look back to your boss and follow her to her office

the second the door is closed, she’s chewing you out.

“how unprofessional can you be? i know you are in college, but jesus christ!”

“i’m sorry! there was so much traffic, and my car is so old it stops working if i go faster than 50, and—“

“i don’t need excuses,” she cuts you off. “i need you to be more professional.”

you inhale, “i am sorry, but it was not my fault. i have never once been late before, and you know that. it was a one-time mistake.”

“it better be.”

she walks out and slams the door to the office, leaving you alone in there.

you look up to the ceiling as you bite your lip and try not to cry.

after taking a few minutes to collect yourself, you walk back out into the otherwise empty store and slap a smile on your face.

you do your usual tasks of tidying the store and fixing the mannequins.

mr. styles, his team, and your boss (her name was diane but she was more like satan) were all working on sketching designs and throwing some fabrics onto the mannequins to get a rough idea of what they wanted.

“i don’t know if i like it,” mr. styles murmurs, staring at the mannequin. you glace over at it and have to force yourself to not make a face.

no shit, he didn’t like it. it was bad.

the sketch was good, but the color combination was all wrong and the whole thing was too.. chunky. in the way that everything was flowy and baggy, so it had no shape.

“well, what do you not like about it?” diane asks.

“i’m not sure. it doesn’t look quite right.”

“you have to fix the shape,” you say to yourself as you fix the files of custom orders to be done.

“what was that?”

your head snaps up, and you realize he heard you.

“oh. uh.. i was just—“

“talking to herself,” diane interrupts, glaring at you. “she’s an intern. don’t mind her.”

“no, i’d like to hear what she has to say. might have the answer to our issue. let’s hear it— what was your name again?”

“y/n l/n,” you squeak out.

“well, y/n, what do you think is wrong?”

you hesitantly walk over, “well.. i can see the idea. but it’s just not.. executed well. the whole thing is too flowy.”

“isn’t the point for it to flow?” he asks, raising a brow.”

“it is,” you answer quickly, “but.. there has to be something that isn’t as.. baggy, i suppose. something has to be tight-fitting. it doesn’t have any shape. it just kinda.. looks like a box.”

he stares at you for a moment, and diane clears her throat.

“y/n, this is time for the professionals. get back to—“

“no, diane. she is.. she’s right. it does need shape.”

at his words, the people around him begin to pin it differently.

“and the colors,” you rush out. “the colors don’t.. it’s supposed to be a statement piece, right?”

“that’s the goal,” he nods.

“well.. the colors are too.. light. they’re more pastel, which is fine, but for it to really be a statement, it’s better to use brighter ones. or at least make one of them brighter. i would.. i think make the base the brighter one.”

diane looks ready to kill you.

mr. styles laughs, “well, don’t you know a lot? diane, where did you find her? wish my interns knew half as much as her.”

your face grows hot.

“she’s a student,” diane sighs.

“a student?” he asks.

“i… uh.. i study fashion at nyu. fashion design— i’m in my last year.”

he seems to sense that you're damn near about to shit your pants, because he grins at you (slightly patronizing, but also kind), before turning back to diane.

"i'd like her to be with me for the rest of the project. y/n, darling, how much are y'makin' here?"

your stutter, "uh--... $15 an hour."

he tuts his tongue like that's horrible, "i'll pay.. ten times that while y'workin' with me."

your eyes widen, "wh-- that's not-- you don't have to--"

"nonsense. it's what most people i work with start with. i'll up it if needed, of course. and you obviously don't have to, but i'd love your insight."

"i-- no, i-- i'd love to, i.."

"great," he grins, and you're extremely dizzy. what the hell was going on?

"uh.. mr. styles, if i may give my opinion," diane pipes up.

"you may," he eyes her skeptically.

"y/n is a student. she's still learning, and she's never worked on anything here. it's very risky to--"

he cuts her off by asking you a question, "have you designed things? sketched 'em out and all that?"

you nod.

"i'd hope you've also done the whole... actually sewing things together and really making them?"

you nod again.

he turns back to diane, "seems like she's got experience," he looks back to you, "do y'have photos of any of those?"

"yeah-- they're.. i think i left them in my car. i have photos on my phone."

"we'll meet later to look at all that, then. i'll give you my number later. for now.. i'd like your input on our other ideas."

for the rest of the day, you follow harry around, and you sort of feel like a lost puppy just following him around and answering when he asks something of you.

after a while, you got more comfortable giving your input without being prompted, but you always tiptoed around what you were really trying to get at in fear that you'd anger him.

at the end of day, he put your number in his phone with the promise that he'd text you later about more details.

the text came three days later.

From: (Maybe): Harry

Hello, Y/N. This is Harry. Would you be free to meet tomorrow at noon to discuss the details of the project? Please bring your sketches and any photos of designs you've done, and anything else you feel necessary.

To: Harry Styles

Hi! I should be free tomorrow, yeah. Where do you want to go?

From: Harry Styles

I'll let you decide.

To: Harry Styles

There is this one coffee shop named Maman?

Sent Location: 239 Centre St, New York, NY

From: Harry Styles

Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Have a nice rest of your day.

To: Harry Styles

You too!

you spend the rest of your night fretting about what to wear. you were stuck in between classy but not too fancy, but also not too casual. comfy, but not so comfy that you looked like you didn't give a shit. but also not so uncomfortable that you were, well, uncomfortable, and looked like you were trying too hard.

you'd eventually settled for something simple. long, light-wash denim skirt, a plain black top, and some mary janes. you tied some of your hair back with a white ribbon, did some natural makeup, and called it a day.

you got to the coffee shop at 11:45 and ordered your drink, as well as a chocolate croissant.

harry walked in at exactly 12:00, and grinned when he saw you sitting at a table, scrolling on your phone with a manilla folder and sketchbook beside you.

really, you can't blame him! you were pretty, he'd have to be blind to not know that. and really, you weren't that much younger than him.

he's 29, and you're 23. he's not a stalker, he just did a background check like any good business person would do.

so what he finds you cute? the relationship would be strictly professional. besides, you deserved a break from your horrible boss. contrary to what diane thought, the walls were not soundproof, and he could hear her chewing you out.

sure, he'd done that to one of his employees once or twice, but it was always deserved, and never on the first time of being late. that was ridiculous.

"good morning, y/n," he greets. your head snaps up to make eye contact and he has to force himself to not laugh. he wasn't laughing at you, per se. it was more so the fact that he found it amusing how jumpy you seemed around him.

"good morning. did you order?"

"not yet. never been here, so i've got no clue what's good."

you open your mouth to respond, but the barista calls out, "large iced honey lavender latte with a pain au chocolat for y/n!"

you give a sheepish smile and run up to retrieve your food and drink. when you come back, you take a sip of your drink and set what looks to be a chocolate croissant down on the table.

"well, i'm more of an iced coffee girl. and i also don't really like the taste of coffee, so i've got a bunch of sugar in mine. what do you usually drink?"

"'m more of a black coffee, to be honest. iced is fine, but hot's better."

you wrinkle your nose, "i don't know how you stand the taste of coffee. it's so bitter."

"better than what you've got!" he laughs, "might as well just down a sugar packet."

you giggle at his teasing, "only psychos drink plain black coffee. this," you hold up your drink, "is so much better."

"oh, is it now?"

"yes, it is," you cross your arms proudly.

"lemme have a taste."

you hand over the drink, and he takes a small sip before coughing, "christ, y/n! that cannot be good for your health!"

"hey, i'm still alive, aren't i?" you shrug.

“that you are.”

“well… just ask for an americano, i guess. the rest of their drinks are kinda sugary and fun.”

he got his drink, and once the both of you were sat down, he got to business.

“so, how long have you been designing?”

“i’ve been doing it since middle school. i.. uh.. i saw that one american girl doll movie. where she was a designer. and i just got obsessed. obviously they weren’t good, but…”

“so you’ve got a lot of experience then?”

you nod. he grins.

“may i see the sketches?”

you grab the folder off the top of the sketchbook and pass it over to him.

he flips through it in silence for a few minutes, and you anxiously nibble at the skin around your fingernails.

“..so?” you ask.

“they’re great. really, you’ve got talent. i can’t draw for shit, so you’ve got me beat,” he laughs.

you laugh with him, “most of those are just ideas, i’ve never made them. but i have photos of the ones i have made. i printed them so it’s easier.”

you pass over the manilla folder, and he opens it to look at all the photos you’d printed out. there was around fifty— those were just the ones you actually liked and were confident showing.

he holds one up, and your cheeks flush. “why’s this the only one where you’re the model?” he asks.

“that was.. uh.. that’s my senior prom dress.”

his eyes widen, giving you an impressed look, “you made your own prom dress?”

you nod, “i just wanted something very specific, so.. i figured i’d just make it myself.”

“y’look great— the dress looks great,” he coughs. “you’re very talented.”

“thank you,” you blush.

“so tell me why someone as talented as you is working in diane’s shop not designing a single thing?”

“i didn’t realize that was the job. i just got excited when my professor told me they were interested in my work, so i took the job. i thought i’d at least do a little designing, but.. it pays.. decent, though.”

he scoffs, “darling, 15 bucks an hour is not decent pay. that’s what you make being a hostess. you’re an artist. someone would pay thousands of dollars for just your sketches.”

“i don’t think i’m that good—“

“you are,” he’s firm. resolute. there is no room for argument with him. “i think you’ll be a great asset to the project. i could use your… talent. i’ll send you an email with the nitty gritty details. i’ll see you soon, y/n.”

and with that, he stands and leaves, leaving you to sit there, dumbfounded, confused, and grinning.

a/n: guys i have too many series going on 😭😭

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry #harry fic #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #designer!harry styles #designer!harry styles x reader #harry styles x designer!reader #harry styles x fem!reader

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madxyy · 1 month

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Selfish

| pairing : peter x reader

| summary: your boyfriend comes home injured--as usual--late at night and you can't help but want him safe from his life as spider-man

| warnings: fluff, touching wrists (sigh, again), y/n used once, baby used, peter being cute and angsty as usual, reader also being cute, light angst

author's note: i am trying to write angst so bare with me lol

2 am.

It’s always when you hear that faint knock on your window that makes all your worries wash away in a split second. But not today, no, today was different. You were waiting all night to hear that thud on the firescape or the cries of the window seal being opened. All night you were absorbed in your own anxieties and worries. Your hopes were dreading as time went by. You were getting scared for the local crime fighting hero and you did everything in your power to take your mind off it.

You really did.

Drawing, watching tv, listening to music, cleaning the room—which was a bad idea as it just bought you a reminder of the boy who has your heart. You would stumble upon Peter's belongings that were scattered around your shared apartment like confetti: his engineering notes, his sweaters, his latest sketch of a brilliant idea he had to improve his spider-man suit. It only made your heart ache even more, longing for his presence and increasing your worries for your vigilante boyfriend. So you would take another route and try binge-watching a new season of a recent tv show you are watching, which would likely just be collecting dust in the column of ‘continue watching.’

Your mind keeps on going back to him. ‘He’s okay. He’s okay.’ You thought to yourself. ‘He’s coming back to me. He’ll be alright. He’s probably on his way right now. It’s just going to be a scratch, hopefully. He's going to be okay, right? Oh god. Oh god.’

As much as you love and adore that your boyfriend is helping the city and its people by saving anyone from another lab experiment gone wrong or from a dangling car that’s about to fall off a bridge, you can't help but wonder if he would ever take care of himself. It’s hard seeing him everytime he comes through your window with a new bruise on his keen jawline, a wound on his ribs, a scar on his hip. You couldn’t deal with it anymore. You wish he stopped just for his own safety. You know it’s selfish but is it so wrong to want him safe? Just the thought of turning on the news and seeing J. Jameson reporting: “Breaking News: Our local friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man reported dead by …”

You want him back with you already, his arms wrapped around you, drowning you into his warm embrace, so distinctly Peter, while he whispers soft and reassuring words that always mend your heart. You long to hear his random facts about science, see his lopsided smile that always welcomes you back into reality whenever you wake up next to him each morning. You yearn for his contagious laugh that makes your heart throb in delight over the euphonious sound. You want to smile at the tics he does when he gets nervous or the way he avoids eye contact and scratches the back of his neck when he is stuck in an awkward situation. You want him to be back so you can smooch the newly embedded scars that are planted all over his body which you love kissing away everyday when he wakes up. You want to see his dimples that adorn his face when he smiles wide enough because he finally got his web shooters to work, followed by a triumph fist bump to the air. You want to see his eyes, oh his eyes: brown, soft, autumnal, brimming with love and warmth, despite the grief and cruelty he has been absorbed in. His scent, a mix of cedarwood and asphalt (due to his high-flying urban adventures). You want to see the way his hair sticks up in the morning whilst the sun gives it a mixture of honey and bronze aura, running your hands through the mused up tufts of hair, which always leads to the corners of his eyes crinkling up as a sleepy, boyish smile tugs up on his rosy lips.

Selfish. You can’t help it.

You waited as long as you could; staring at your window for who knows how long. Your eyes were trained on the window for a good while, but you couldn't help it, all this anxiety finally got to you and you were feeling drained and your posture slumps with exhaustion. Your eyes burn from keeping them open, and soon those same eyes start to slowly droop. Blinking back sleepiness proved futile; your head eventually settled onto the cool silk of your pillow. The material greets your cheek, making it easier for you to be welcomed into slumber.

It was 4 am, yet your worries haven’t gone down at all. Your eyelids started to grow heavier, and darkness gradually enveloped your senses, until you heard a faint knock on your window, piercing the silence.

Your heart leapt, and you twisted towards the sound. In an instant, sleep was gone.

Not even a second later you heard your window opening—mm the sound of the cries. Your tired, red eyes snapped open. You were met with a disheveled and drained Peter Parker. His hair sticking to the nape of his neck and forehead, sweat giving him a post-shower appearance. A large laceration marred his chest. Oh. Your stomach dropped, eyes widened with horror at the sight of the injury. It looked like he was scratched -- no, clawed by someone or something. With quick motion, you quickly peel away the sheets, disentangling yourself from its soft embrace, and quickly hurrying to his side.

“Peter” you gasped softly. A hand settles onto his latex-clad one, the other arm wrapping around his waist to support him as you guide both him towards your bed, placing him where you had lain just seconds before. “It’s not that bad, don’t worry about it, seriously, I mean you should see the o-” Peter quickly swallows his words upon seeing your stern glare. He slumps his head downwards as he sighs in defeat.

You sigh, telling him quietly that you'll be back soon. You left him for a few moments before coming back with a wet rag. Gently, you tug at the suit, trying to cautiously take it off him without aggravating his wounds. Soon, you were met with his bare torso, which is marked with a huge claw mark. You mentally steel yourself before starting to lightly clean around the injury, dabbing the wet rag gently onto his toned chest as you avoid his eyes. It’s not like you were trying to make him feel bad, but you were also trying to cope with the situation. You don’t know if you were mad, relieved, sad, maybe all of the above? Uncertain emotions swirl within you, but one fact anchors your turbulent thoughts: he is here, safe, and alive. That's what truly matters.

Peter seems to catch your avoided gaze, he studies you for a few minutes. Biting the inside of his cheek as he purses his lips to the side, trying to figure out how to approach this situation. He takes in your furrowed eyebrows, the way you’re also biting the inside of your cheek as you put all your strength into avoiding his worried amber eyes. He knew the consequences of inviting someone into his dangerous life, it wasn’t exactly a warm and inviting embrace, nor was it appealing, but what he didn’t fully grasp is how it truly hurts you, in more ways than one. “Y/N…” he whispered, rough hands that have been through so much and experienced so much, reaching for the comfort of your skin but you gently dodge his touch, leading to a sudden twinge of anguish in his heart. You give him a slight smile to distinguish any suspicion – I mean, you weren’t doing a good job at it – before you continued cleaning the dirt away from his injury. Peter’s eyebrows furrow while his lips start to droop downwards, a frown laid upon his lips at the rejection.

Biting the inside of your cheek harder to stop the tears from flowing down the curve of your cheekbones. You keep on wiping his cuts clean, overs and overs again, getting flashbacks of his visits from the last time you had to patch him up. Blurred vision starts taking over your eyesight and all you can think about is his pain, what he goes through, his blood, the thought of losing him, life without him, the many ‘what ifs.’ The many times he almost visited death's door. You couldn’t keep it in anymore, it was like a burning sensation bubbling in the back of your throat, the sadness was too hard to keep buried down now. You started shaking and before you knew it your sobs filled the walls and all your fears were coming out of you in the form of a liquid pea that contained so much. As soon as the warm liquid left a path down the curve of your cheeks, peter panicked and rose to action just like the hero he is—your hero.

Quickly sitting up and fixing his posture, which made him wince slightly from the injuries but he pushed through, his mind set on you and only you. He wipes the tear away with the pad of his thumb and takes the wet rag away from your slightly shaky grip; gently putting it on your nightstand before he lightly reaches both of his hands out and holds onto your wrists.

“I can't” You choke out a sob.

“Hey shh it’s okay baby, what’s wrong? You can’t, what? Tell me,” He coos.

He hunches down, trying to find those eyes of yours that he swears are otherworldly, but you just can’t. You can’t see him like this. Hurt. In pain. Suffering. It pains you that he is in this much pain -- you can’t. “Peter I just… ” he gently takes your face in his hand, caressing your cheekbones with his thumbs that are growing wet from your moist cheeks. His heart hurts from the sight of you crying, it conjures a deep-seated throb of pain in his eyes. “Look at me,” he whispers softly, gently nudging your head up with his right hand that is slowly descending down to grasp your chin as if you were a treasure, in a way you are, to peter you are his treasure, the main reason he even gets up or even tries, you are his rock, the only thing that makes sense in his life, and god does he love you, he loves you so much that his heart hurts. A quiet sigh escapes you, it sounds defeated. “Please,” He pleaded oh-so-gently, his gaze unwavering but patient. You sniffle before swallowing down a ball of saliva forming in your throat. As soon as you look up you are met with a pair of almond-shaped umber eyes that are filled with the utmost care, worry, and a hint of guilt.

“Talk to me..” he whispers desperately, his heart crushing at the pain you are experiencing, he just wants to take it all away with his soft whispers but he knows they will be in vain. Shakingly exhaling “I can’t,” you frantically shake your head. “Please baby…” A few silent beats pass before you finally look back up to find those amber eyes looking back at you with nothing but worry and sincerity.

You take a deep breath before swallowing deeply ”Peter...I just…” another beat passes. You take a sharp deep breath. “I just really wish you would take more care of yourself, I...I know you love saving people and fighting crime and trust me I love you deeply for that but you come home everyday with a new wound that’s even deadlier than the last one,” You pause, licking your salty lips. “aren’t you worried that maybe those people that you save won’t have anyone to save them if they’re local neighborhood spider-man won’t be there to save them anymore..?” You ask him, almost in a plea. Peter bites the inside of his cheek, thinking over your words with a solemn expression forming on his face that are littered in small cuts from his last escapades. He diverts his gaze to the floor and the room is quickly overcome with silence as he takes in your words, letting the heaviness of your words sink in.

The silence fills the room, it lets you both engulf into your own thoughts. Peter knew what it meant when he finally told you he was the unmasked superhero. He remembers spilling his deadly secret on a rooftop late at night, where you both were admiring the stars, laying on a blanket and talking about anything and everything. He remembers looking over at you and admiring the way the moon was cascading down on you, making you look even more angelic and completely ethereal.

Peter looks at you hurt and guilty and god do you hate that. Both of you guys shared a gaze that held so much that it made the room feel denser as the distant sounds of ambulances filtered through the slightly open window. A breeze wafts in, brushes against you both, causing small goosebumps to prick up on your skin. Peter grew to learn from his past relationships and the impact it had on his partner knowing he was Spider-Man, which is why it hurts him to know he is the one making you feel like this. A calloused hand slowly creeps up, gently grasping your cheek with the utmost care, as if you were made of glass and he was scared of causing further harm. “I know, I know,” He murmurs, his voice breaking while his toughened fingers absentmindedly traces the curve of your cheek. “It’s just so hard to stop when I know I can make a difference.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as his words sink in. Your heart breaks knowing how much his words are true and the scary reality that he won’t stop until crime is put to bed and everyone can roam around the streets freely. You shook your head, one hand gently grasping his wrist. “But at what price, Pete?” you ask ever-so-softly like the question itself was forbidden territory. Those eyes that he loves so deeply, look up into his eyes and it causes a gnawing feeling in his chest, almost making him wince from how hurt you look, how scared you look. Peter bites the inside of his cheek a bit harder while furrowing his brows, trying to think of what to tell you because he himself doesn’t know.

He takes a shaky breath, adjusting the grip on your face and slowly pulling your head a bit closer until both of your foreheads are resting against one another, a silent plea for understanding in his eyes. The brush of skin itself was tender-filled, telling a millions of words with just one movement. “I am just sick of all the crimes happening here and the cops not even doing anything about it.” Peter whispered, his voice a low blend of anger and helplessness. You could feel the raggedness of his breath, each exhale a testament to the battles he fought alone in the shadows of the city. The close proximity allowed you to see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes shuttered as if bracing against a storm of inner conflict. “Peter, I know you care – it’s one of the things I love about you,” you respond gently, reaching up to smooth a stray lock of hair from his clammy forehead. “But you can’t carry this burden alone. It’s too much for one person, even for Spider-Man.” Your voice was a soothing whisper, trying to pierce the armor of duty he wore so steadfastly.

Peter simply nodded, the weight of the world momentarily lightened by your understanding. You saw the fortress around his heart crumbling, if only just a bit. His eyes, usually so vibrant and full of life, now shimmered with unshed tears, reflecting the constant battle between his duty and his love for you.

“I’m sorry…” Peter’s voice broke through the silence, each word heavy with remorse. He leans forwards, delicately kissing your forehead which grounds you and makes you close your eyes momentarily as you cherish the soft kiss that eases your heart just a bit. “I am sorry for not fully understanding what you are going through. I am so, so sorry,” He whispers into the dark night, the words flowing into the air as gently as ever. A few beats of silence pass while you take in his words. It gave your weary heart time to mend. Peter leaned back slightly so he could get a better look at you, his gaze locked with yours, conveying a depth of sincerity and vulnerability. “I’m truly, deeply, sorry” He whispers once more before he starts to softly press kisses underneath where your ear and jaw meet, your cheeks, forehead, nose, the wrinkles in the middle of your eyebrows, smoothing them out with the pad of his thumb, and finally kissing your lips, so delicately, it makes you want to cry even more.

The kiss was so deliberate, it was a bundle of promises that his lips sealed to keep, an abundance of love, tenderness, deep affection and care that runs so deeply into his veins that it affects his touches and kisses, he can’t help but pour it all into the kiss, he just wanted you to know how sorry he is. He wanted you to know that he never meant to hurt you, whether it was indirect or direct. It makes your heart flutter and reassures your timid heart. Slowly one hand moves to cup the left side of your face as his other hand descends down towards the side of your neck as peter tastes the saline on your moist-tear lips, but even that doesn’t stop him from pressing gentle kisses against your lips, it only fuels his love, turning the kisses even more tender. Each kiss conveys a message of “I’m sorry, I love you, please know I love you.” You can taste the metallic on his lips as your lips were caressing his back as equally gently and lovingly, your kisses filled with a message of “It’s okay, I love you.”

Peter slowly pulls back from the kiss, his mouth hovers over yours, his breath fanning over your lips, noses rubbing against each other in the tenderest manner ever. Both of your eyes were still closed, taking in everything, cherishing one another. His right hand moving back up to cradle your face, both hands cradling your cheeks and caressing them with the pad of his thumbs in a feather-like caress. You nuzzle your cheek against his right hand, feeling the rough and calloused palm that you grew to admire and adore. It always provided you with such care and comfort, always caressing or reaching out to gently touch you. Both of your hands now encircled around his wrist, caressing the inside of it so softly that it makes Peter almost melt.

Slowly, Peter opens his eyes. His amber gaze held nothing but love and the utmost care. Shortly after he opened his eyes, your eyes opened as well. Both of you search each other’s eyes as a white noise of admiration passes you both. After a moment of silent communion, the air between you both thickens with unspoken words and shared feelings, Peter finally speaks, his voice a soft murmur against the quiet room. “I can’t promise there won’t be more nights like this,” he says, his honesty laying bare the truth of both of your lives entwined with danger and uncertainty. “But I promise you, no matter how many crazy guys in suits I have to fight, I’ll always do my best to come back… to this, to us.”

This promise, simple yet profound, strikes a chord within you. It’s not a heroic declaration from Spider-Man, but a heartfelt vow from Peter Parker, the boy behind the mask, the one you fell in love with. His words acknowledge the reality of his life—danger is part of the package, yet he’s equally committed to your shared life, to you, and he isn’t going anywhere.

You feel a surge of mixed emotions: fear for the dangers he faces, gratitude for his honesty, and love for the person he is. “And I’ll be here,” you say, matching his tone with a blend of seriousness and affection, “not just to patch you up and be your personal nurse, but to love you.” The corners of his lips quirk up, his eyes twinkling with love as he takes in your words. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, a silent vow of his commitment. “Thank you,” he whispers, gratitude resonating in his voice, “for everything.”

“Of course,” You whispered.

The two of you stay like that, embraced in the warmth of your love for one another, finding comfort in the silence that now speaks volumes. The world outside, with its chaos and challenges, seems momentarily distant as you both cherish this safe haven of understanding and love you’ve created together.

#andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman #tasm andrew garfield #light angst #fluff #peter parker fluff #tasm fluff

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twstowo · 4 months

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I noticed that you opened the ask box, so I came to ask for Floyd x Yuu with the scene from "The Little Mermaid", in which Ariel saves Eric from shipwreck, like it was an au where they met like that

I hope i'm not being too picky with my order ♡

♡OMG, I literally thought about this but with Azul, but then I was like, "Would Azul be able to save you?" because I have this mental image of him not being able to swim very well/being really slow. Lmao

♡Warning: Drowning

You'd always been a wanderer at heart, eager to explore the world, discover new places, and connect with people. Your adventure began when some sailor buddies welcomed you aboard their ship. Days at sea were filled with chants, parties, drinks, talks, and lending a hand to everyone. Once on land, you made the most of each day, wandering through cities and villages, documenting your experiences, and sketching landscapes. Your circle of friends in these new lands expanded so much that monthly, you'd receive a flood of cards and gifts, making it a challenge to find a spot for them all. Life was easy-going, a privilege granted by your birth into a well-off family, affording you the means to sustain yourself in these faraway places.

As you wrote letters to your distant friends, the sea's scent became a comforting constant, making you feel more at home on the waves than on solid ground. With night approaching, you finished the last letter and stepped out for a walk before dinner. It was then that one of your sailor friends, looking pale and alarmed, rushed towards you. "A storm's heading our way!" The wind had already picked up, and though storms at sea were nothing new, the urgency in your friend's voice unsettled you. "This one looks really bad, we might need your help," he said, and you nodded, following him.

With the wind intensifying, tasks on the ship became more challenging. The wind seemed determined to push everyone off the deck, and as you struggled to secure the unruly sails, your hands felt the sting of the rope. Panic spread across the crew, and for the first time, you feared this might be your last adventure. Looking at the encroaching storm, escape seemed impossible.

"Look out for that barrel!" you screamed as you watched the object land on someone's head, sending them tumbling down the ship. You ran towards them, grabbing their hand and holding it with all your strength to prevent the man from falling into the wild sea. The boat waddled with the strength of the waves, and you started to fear it would turn around at any moment.

"Don't let go!" you told him as you tried to pull him back up. You watched the fear in his face fade as he placed all his hope in your confident words. However, uncertainty crept in as the strength drained from your arms. The biggest wave you had ever seen approached the boat. You feared you'd never see your friends and family again as you said your last words before the wave hit all of you. "Fuck!-"

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

You felt so cold, your body shivering as you slowly opened your eyes. It was mainly dark, but you could see some strange light from above reaching towards you. Nothing made sense as your brain tried to process everything around you. Strange wood started sinking around you, and the bodies of the crew members slowly sank by your side in a slow rhythm. You tried taking a deep breath, but your brain didn't allow it as you realized that you were underwater, having fallen off the boat after that huge wave hit it.

You finally grasped the situation as you started flapping your arms and legs around, trying to reach the surface. Wood pieces hit you along the way, sending you tumbling repeatedly. You feared the oxygen would not be enough for you to save yourself. Your throat burned as you tried holding your breath, unable to swim back to the surface. Everything started to become dark as you dared to breathe in the water. Then, you felt a strange touch on your shoulder. The lack of oxygen was surely playing tricks on you as you watched a strange creature look at you with a curious glance. You closed your eyes, awaiting death to take you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Floyd observed your sleeping form on the sand. He had brought you to the nearest land he could find, ensuring that your chest's gentle rise and fall indicated life. It was the first time he had come in contact with a living human, finding you strangely intriguing. Although he had seen some humans at rock bottom underwater, encountering a living one was a different experience.

Attempting to wake you, Floyd shook you gently, his fin hands reaching for your shoulders. However, your eyes gave no signal of opening. Annoyed, he sighed and lay back on the sand, half of his long tail submerged in the water.

Minutes passed as he lay there, gazing up at the sky. Strangely, after saving you, he felt in a remarkably good mood. He wanted to talk to you, for you needed to thank him, and he had questions about the inland people. Your head leaned against his shoulder, your cheek touching him, catching him off guard. He grinned as he gently arranged your hair.

When your eyes started to open, Floyd watched as you struggled to comprehend the situation. Weak and almost unable to move, you stared at his face, just a finger's distance away. You had never seen someone like him—strange ears, unnatural skin colour, and vibrant yellow/brown eyes. "Wh-Who are y-you?" you weakly whispered, and he quickly glanced behind, sitting down on the sand with his arms, reaching for the water.

“Oh My! Y/N is that you!” a voice shouted, and you tried to sit down, looking in the direction of the man who had vanished. You swore you had seen a tail—had you been saved by some sea creature? "We need to take you to a doctor!" a friend's hands reached for your arm, trying to help you stand as you continued gazing toward the ocean.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

“A human? I wasn’t expecting you to take such a strange liking to one of them,” Jade mocked his brother with a grin.

Floyd wasn’t enjoying Jade's tone as he swam away. He had been interrupted by another landwalker just when he had the chance to talk with you, not even learning your name. Though he'd never admit it to Jade or Azul, Floyd occasionally returned to that beach, hoping to meet you again. Perhaps one day, the two of you would get to talk properly, and Floyd could finally learn your name.

#twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst reader #twst x reader #x reader #disney twisted wonderland #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #twst floyd #floyd x reader #twst jade #jade leech

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arisewanekosuki · 9 months

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Traveler's little helper: Mondstadt

Albedo, Bennett, Diluc, Kaeya, Mika, Razor, Venti x Fem! Reader Teyvat , Liyue , Inazuma, Sumeru, Fontaine --------------------

Albedo at first seemed to be interested in only Aether. He did some tests with Traveler, but then when he heard that you’re not from this world too and you share some special ‘connection’ with Aether, you piqued his interest as well. One time he took you somewhere in the forest and was waiting if Aether will be able to immediately find you. The result: Aether can't find you but you know where Aether is. He wanted to do many experiments but when you said that you’re tired he stopped with them… for some time at least. Albedo thinks that relationships are quite troublesome but he never felt that way with you and Aether. Even if you haven't seen each other in a while, you always greet him and talk to him as if you saw him yesterday and for that Albedo is grateful. He started to like when you ask him what he is doing and being genuinely interested, even if sometimes he sees that you don't understand him but that’s not a problem, he doesn't mind to explain in a way that you can understand what he��s doing. He doesn't know when he started to enjoy holding your hands while guiding them, when you decided to help him with experiments or when he started to sketch you more and more when you two were at the same place. He felt very happy when you invited him to Serenitea Pot and even prepared room where he can continue his experiments. He is wondering why he feels like that around you, from what he knew, that meant that he fancy you but why is that? What did you do to make him interested in you that way? So he started do some tests to understand better his feelings towards you. The only shame is that there are more and more people who practically fight for your time and attention but as long as Klee is on his side, there are many opportunities to spend more time with you. After all, Klee adores you too and he knows that you can't say ‘no’ to his little sister puppy eyes. One time Klee wanted to do some roleplaying, she was a Mage, you were a Knight, and Albedo was a Prince. Your and Klee's mission was to save the Prince from scary Dragon. It was fun, Albedo didn't mind to play along with his sister but what he didn't expect was when Klee said that the dragon cursed him and only the kiss of true love can save him. He will never forget how flustered you were after hearing this and how your lips felt on his cheek (even if it was a quick, little peck).

Bennett is grateful that Aether, you and Paimon didn’t get scared of his bad luck. Even if you tell him that’s not his fault when something bad happens, he still feels bad. But the most things that makes him happy is how often you invite him for some adventures! At first he wanted to decline (even if deep inside he really wanted to go) because he was worried that his bad luck will ruin everything but you just smiled and took his hand, making him feel so warm inside. You told him that this adventure won’t be fun without him. He remembers how he almost cried after hearing this. Bennett likes when in team there are people he knows from his homeland, but sometimes there is him and people from other nations, your other friends, sometimes he feels intimidated by them. The worst day was when his bad luck activated and he tripped, falling at you, you were reassuring him that nothing happened and to not worry about it but he could feel at least one person glaring into back of his head. If a look could kill he would surely been dead after you hugged him to reassuring him again that everything is okay. Bennett will never forgive himself if something serious will happen to you because of him. You said that you can get hurt here but nothing more serious can’t happen to you. As long as nothing happen to Aether, the powers of ‘connection’ you have with Aether will always protect you from the worst case scenarios. Paimon and Aether heard when you told Bennett about that, and Paimon couldn't help but ask you if that’s really true. You wanted to jump from the cliff to prove it but both boys stopped you before you could do that (with Bennett almost slipping himself from cliff, but gladly you and Aether caught him before disaster happened). Of course Paimon got so scared for you wellbeing and said to never try to prove something like that ever again. There are some times when he’s pretty lucky, sometimes he wonder if this is because of you…. and maybe Aether. The thing Bennett like to do sometimes is talking how wonderful person you are to Razor. Razor likes you too so the two boys will chat sometimes away about you and how they want to spend day with you, not realizing that the admiration may start to blossom into something more.

When you all tried to save Dvalin, Diluc wondered why Aether is taking you with them, you can’t fight, Paimon can’t fight either but at least she can fly and hide in her dimension but you? It was too dangerous for you. Diluc paid more attention to you just to be sure you won’t get hurt, but you are aware of dangers, when there was a fight, you stood somewhere save. You may not fight but you can heal their wounds and it felt like Aether is getting stronger when you are by his side. He acknowledge that you are very courageous and he like how much you wanted to help Mondstadt and save Dvalin. After everything was done and Mondstadt was save, you told him, that whenever he wishes he can always join to your little team. He declined at first, but after that day, when you helped him to keep a secret of his Darknight Hero side, he decided to give it try and go with you and Aether. He remembers the first time you bring mora, Agnidus Agate Fragments, Small Lamp Glasses, Everflame Seed and… Fatui’s Recruit's Insignias? He asked why you need those things for but you just smiled and told him that those things are needed to make him stronger. All those things vanished and your hands started to glow, you took his hands in yours and hold for a moment. You asked with a smile if he feel stronger and he did. He never seen or heard about such magic or alchemy. You can always count on Diluc, whenever in fight or when weather gets bad. It starts to rain? Don't worry, suddenly there is umbrella covering your head. Are you cold? Diluc puts his coat on your shoulders. You didn’t see that but Aether did, how Diluc's ears become slightly red, in moments like this. You would always be welcome in his manor, sometimes you watch how he and Aether play against each other in chess, sometimes you play with him. There are times when you help him collect grapes, other times he finds you running around the Dawn Winery trying to catch Crystalflies. He can’t help but always smile at moments like this. He wants to protect your well being, your smile. He trust Aether but sometimes he wonders why Aether takes you to such dangerous places, but you want to go, you always follow Traveler. If only he could always follow you too and make sure that you'll always be safe. Before he realized, you became someone important to him.

Your reactions, faces you make when Kaeya flirts or he compliments you, amuses him. You’re so adorable. But you’re not only one who brings him entertainment. Aether makes interesting faces too, when he sees you getting all shy just because Kaeya complimented you. But he must watch out to not cross the line, after all he wouldn’t want to be hated by Honorary Knight and not being able to see you again. He can’t help but notice how many guys started to like you, and how much Aether hates it. One time he said ‘You’re very popular aren’t you?’ and you, with confusion, just looked at him, titling your head, replying ‘Isn’t Aether the popular one? After all he is the one helping others!’. Kaeya only smiled and petted your head, it seems you are not aware of how many guys become interested in you in that way. At first you were just a friend, he would flirt with you just to see yours and other guys reactions, for fun (mostly Diluc and Aether, sometimes even Albedo) but even he started to like you more and more. They way you smile towards him, make him stronger, always saying how you trust him. You meet so many wonderful people and yet you always remember about him, inviting him to go with you and Aether for small adventure or just spending time with him. He couldn't help but be happy when he was one of the firsts to get invitation to your Tea Pot, whenever he feels lonely he can go to Traveler's 'house' where there are many people and mostly you. Even if you now visiting other nation, he can still see you. When he is free he loves sit in your room (alone or sometimes with some other people) and listen what you and Aether were up to. You’re supposed to be just friend, but even he can’t help but wish for something more with you. The competition is big and it’s still getting bigger, not only that but he knows that his brother feels something more towards you. Why would you choose him anyway? But even so, he still wants to be helpful to you. He hopes you'll forgive him his selfishness when he comes to your room at night, wanting to just talk with you, to not sit alone in his room when he feels a bit lonely. Even if you’re sleepy, you still try to stay awake just to talk to him, in this moments he can’t help but feel that maybe he is important to you the same you are to him.

Mika feels embarrassment when he remembers the first day you two meet. He is shy person and he got overwhelmed when the famous Hero of Mondstadt approached him, you were trying to talk with him but he couldn’t help but to excuse himself and run away. And Mika is grateful how understanding and patient you are with him and thanks to that he quickly got comfortable with you. You invited him to travel with you and Aether when he have time, of course, when he had some time for himself, he decided to join to you both. He was excited to where you are going to take him! Most of the time Mika doesn't mind which of your friends will join but he can’t help but feel intimidated by some of them. Especially it’s hard for him to get along with the ones who always charge at enemies without any plan. At moments like this you always smile and tell him to not worry, as long as he is here, everything will be alright. Mika was happy when he got invited into Teapot, when he would stays the night, in the morning you can expect to see breakfast made by him. Even if you told him that he doesn't have to make breakfast for you, he will always insist that’s not the problem. Sometimes you find him cooking along with Thoma, both of them getting along pretty well. There was one time when he wanted to camp in Realm Within, you thought it will be fun so you joined him. You both had fun with preparing the tent and other necessities, cooking together. You told him about your and Aether adventures before you two met. Mika adores listening to you, just hearing your voice makes him happy. When you're sad because you can’t fight alongside Aether and others, Mika will always say that you're important in team too! "You always make sure that nothing bad happens and even when someone gets hurt you immediately take care of their wounds! You make me and others stronger, you’re always supportive and you always know how to raise team morale!! You’re amazing (Y/n)!! I can’t even imagine to not travel with you anymore!” said Mika, you were surprised but then you smiled and thanked him. His cheeks got red after he realized what he said and his heart started beating faster. He only wish to be still helpful to you…. And Aether of course.

For Razor you and Aether are his Lupical. That’s simple and yet Razor is wondering why he prefers when you are the one to help him brush his hair than his Teacher. Why he feels more protective over you. He tried to think that’s maybe it’s because you can’t fight, but then Aether is there to protect you too and he trust Aether and yet he can’t help it to always stay in front you when enemy is nearby. Razor always tries his best when it comes to fight. He enjoys when you praise him or when your warm hand pet his head or when you hug him. You always make him feel so 'warm and fluffy' inside. Razor world is simple and yet sometimes it feels… complicated, especially now. He doesn’t like when there are people in group that he doesn’t know. He knows he has trouble with speaking and because of that he often don’t know how to express himself. Sometimes he feels worse because of those other guys who are much stronger and better than him. And yet you always appreciate his help or still wants to spend time with him. You don’t mind his short sentences, you can be the one who talks or you two just sit in comfortable silence. Razor couldn’t help but notice how you like to look (and try to touch) fluffy ears and tails of those two guys from other nations, he wonders if he had wolf ears would you like to pet them too? But for now he will enjoy whenever you help him wash and brush his hair. Lisa of course noticed how Razor behave around you and how protective he is, she find it cute. So she decided to help him, telling him how he should compliment you or get you some nice flowers. It was fun for her to see you being flustered with sudden compliments that you didn’t expect from Razor. Of course when you learned it’s Lisa who told him to say those things, you scolded her, you said she shouldn’t make Razor do things he doesn’t want to do. She only sighed, she now understand what Kaeya meant that you’re dense when it comes to noticing other people feelings towards you. Razor likes how you smell, it always brings him comfort, he feels that everything will be alright as long as he is by your side. So for you, he will become stronger to make sure nothing ever bad happens to you. After all, it’s because you’re his Lupical, right?

The Anemo Archon, Barbatos or mostly know to everyone as Venti didn’t expect that one day he will find someone who he will fancy. It wasn’t love at first sight, no, it just came like a wind from nowhere, when you were just spending time together more and more with each other. The thing that made him see you in different way happened the day when you scolded him for drinking too much. The two of you were sitting in front Angel Share alone, Aether went with Paimon to get some supplies. You held onto his hand and with serious face you said that he shouldn’t drink his worries away, that you’re here to listen to him, if he wish he can even cry, you won’t judge him nor laugh at him. That was a moment Venti started to think if he really should tell you some of his worries, of his sorrows from the past. Before he could even say anything you got up from the chair and approached him. You held him in your arms, his head on your chest, letting him hear your heartbeat. “Archon, Wind wisp, Dragon, Human, no matter what you are or who you are… if I consider you my friend I only wish for happiness for you, so please remember, I’m here for you too when you feel sad or lonely.” Before you noticed, Venti vanished from your arms, you got worried if you crossed the line and upset him. But the truth was he didn’t wanted you nor Aether ,who was coming back, to see him crying. After some days, he came back like nothing happened that day. Venti was so happy that you offered one of the rooms for him in Tea Pot, where the two of you can spend time together and sing. Venti loves when you sing, whenever you are good or not, he doesn’t care. He would teach you some songs from Teyvat so the two of you can sing together. This is the best way for him to relax with you. One time Venti got in the mood to try make you his disciple, he said that he need one small offering from you, his face getting dangerously close to you. But before anything could happened Aether came from nowhere and hide you behind him from the Anemo Archon. Venti was laughing and Aether just glared at him. Venti doesn’t mind other competition… but for some reason the only one he can’t stand at all is Geo Archon. So whenever you spend some time with Zhongli you can be sure that Venti is going to join you both. After all he doesn’t want his 'Windblume' to be alone with ‘old block-head’. ------- Thank you for reading till the end! (^ v ^)/)

#Genshin Impact x Reader #Albedo x Reader #Bennett x Reader #Diluc x Reader #Kaeya x Reader #Mika x Reader #Razor x Reader #Venti x Reader #Genshin x Reader #Genshin Impact x You #Traveler's little helper #My stuff

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 10 months

Text

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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qiupachups · 7 months

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miles.g / wiles

.｡.+*☆ headcannons 👾💭

contents: general hcs, mention of his father’s death, i call 42-miles ‘wiles’, me sorta bullying him

a/n: after a lot of procrastination and harassment gentle encouragement from @vhstown i’m finally posting my hcs. :3c (they’ve been sitting here since july)

Despite his tough guy exterior and criminal career, he's actually a massive nerd geek. Like: gundham, comics, posters all over his room.

Until you bring up those interests, he won't mention them. But once you start a conversation about them, he can tell you all the lore front to back or tell you where and when each collectible is from. Just listening to Wiles and nodding along will make his day.

Accepting help from others is not an option. Ever. He's an overly D.I.Y guy since his father's death and it's staying that way.

... unless you're very close to him. Wiles will begrudgingly accept your help and then be adamant on repaying you. No matter how trivial it was, he'll show his gratitude through service.

Wiles has great memory and knows all the lyrics to his favourite songs. Go through his playlist and pick something at random- he'll recite them flawlessly!

A good memory also helps with remembering those flashes of songs playing on your lock screen. Just a split second glance? He's adding it to his playlist, maybe listening to it as he works on his latest gear.

Would be a straight A student if he were there half the time. The only thing keeping his total grades down is attendance, where he’s often absent.

However, if he’s in a group project with you, Wiles will put more effort into it. Getting a ‘C’ or GPA point lower is fine if it means keeping Brooklyn safer. What’s not fine is him being the reason for your lower marks.

Unlike his counterpart from 1610, Wiles’ art is more realistic. He tries to capture the subjects’ essence quickly and minimally, so colours are an afterthought.

Accuracy was his pride in art until it came to you. He’d be so nervous in getting your smile right, scribbling failed attempts over and over again. Wiles even resorted to a pencil sketch.

Following the passing of Jefferson, Wiles has gotten much closer to Rio. That’s a no brainer; he was fourteen— a kid. And Jefferson never got to see his son in that overpriced Visions uniform.

Wiles makes an effort to speak more Spanish. He lets his mamí braid his hair even if it hurts like hell. Those stupid telenovelas aren’t that bad on the second watch.

Once upon a time, Wiles used to be a choir boy (keyword: used). He’d love singing hymns and doing nativities before he could read; all for his mamí and dad to see.

However, the christmas after Jefferson’s passing felt… empty. Wiles quickly lost his passion for choir and now just attends mass with Rio at most.

After years of experience being a choir boy, Wiles has the voice of an angel. Not that you’d know, of course— he intends to take that to the grave. But there’s also a deeper, darker secret… he can’t rap to save his life.

An extremely personal and harrowing Musically comment told him so. Following that attack, twelve year old Wiles abandoned his account with only a black profile picture left behind.

Like any other middle schooler, Wiles had a hype beast phase (he denies it). When Aaron got a Hype shirt for Wiles’ 12th birthday, words couldn’t describe how he almost knocked Aaron down with a hug.

The shirt’s first stain had Wiles distraught and furiously searching ‘remove paint on shirt hacks’ on Youtube. His heart would probably stop if he misplaced a gift from you.

Wiles isn’t the best cook, but he can definitely make himself a good meal. With Rio working night shifts and Uncle Aaron doing… jobs, he has to be self-sufficient.

A secret lil’ side project: he’s trying and failing to replicate Jefferson’s mac ‘n cheese. It wasn’t the best, but it was his. Something’s always off when Wiles makes it and he’s not quite sure what.

Sure, cooking isn’t that hard, but baking is like wizardry to Wiles. AP Chemistry and it’s endless calculations felt way easier than making pan de agua with his mamí.

But, mamí didn’t raise no quitter! On a particularly busy birthday, Wiles pulled together a modest little cake for Rio. She burst into tears seeing the shaky ‘!Feliz Cumple!’ written in too-sweet icing.

Calling Earth-42 a wreck is a massive understatement. Shit’s like Gotham, only very real and very deadly. Just breathing in that damn city air makes Wiles’ skin crawl.

Luckily, he’s got an outlet: boxing. A fun hobby he picked up from Uncle Aaron became his release. Wiles might never be in the ring, but Brooklyn’s more than enough.

a/n #2: what the fuck. this was supposed to be short and silly and fun. exsqueeze me how did this… erm. disjointed mess.

#miles g morales x reader #miles g x reader #prowler miles x reader #42!miles x reader #42!miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x you #miles g morales #miles gonzalo morales #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles headcanons #atsv x reader #atsv headcanons #atsv miles #atsv x you #atsv fanfiction #chewy writes ♪

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xylomane · 11 months

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𝙎𝙤... 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚...

Ft. Diluc Ragnvindr Context: You're bored after he left for work and he called you somewhere at night to ask if you want anything from the malls since he just so happened to stop by one. Teasingly and craving for naught, you ask him to buy you a lingerie. You wonder just what kind he'll pick. Does he even know those...?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Ｄｉｌｕｃ

"Huh? what's wrong? It's just a lingerie, you're the one with a problem not me." You say nonchalantly through the phone. "B-but listen, okay? I'm not good at this and even if I am-" You dropped the call, not even motivated to listen to anymore of his stammers. He's cute but still. It's been fifteen minutes since you requested him for a lingerie and he's still not convinced to agree? How will you know his favorites now?You can't wait another day. You needed to know his preferences.

Diluc knew to himself that he really didn't mean to disappoint. He just... never saw himself suitable for these kinds of things. He is a gentleman of course, with a name and a status to protect. He can't just show up in a lingerie store and attract some attention, his sex life would be questioned if somebody were to recognize him. (Diluc is famously known as the son of the founder of the most successful wine company in the entire world)

Diluc, knowing himself as a pleaser, didn't want to disappoint you any further so he sends you a text to assure you that he'll make it happen: "I'm sorry darling, I promise I'll get you one. I hope it is to your liking." The moment he hits the 'send' button, he rubs his face and sighs.

Diluc goes straight back inside his black car to drive to one of his most trusted tailors. He has given them many commisions regarding clothing before, and they always come out stunning. He let himself relax over the cushioned seat of his car, picturing whatever kind of reaction you'll have on your face until he arrived at the pavement before the tailor's building.

Diluc tried. He really did. He declined the offer for a designer because he wanted the lingerie designed only by him. If he were to still get a designer for it, it might take a day or two before it gets finished. Plus... it's a little... embarrassing. Diluc gets uneasy just by thinking about it.

Diluc needed it done by midnight and it's currently 10:00pm. He knew he needed to hurry but now that he himself, being known to always have a phrase ready on any occasion, had been explaining for about half an hour to a tailor that felt like he was suddenly speaking gibberish, there's no doubt that the chances of making the lingerie might be delayed.

Finally, the tailor sighed at him, exasperated with all the mind work to understand his stammers. She simply told him, "Paper and pencil. Show me when ready." And she hands him two objects that made Diluc's confidence stutter.

Diluc stares at the paper and he feels his cheeks burn with shame. It felt like his confidence just depleted. He knows full well she's just as stressed as he is because, hearing himself, the conversation did not make any sense. But was it really that bad...? Where the tailor even needed visual aid FROM HIM because he sucked at explaining what he wanted? Diluc isn't one to drown himself in shame anymore, so to save face for himself, he actually got to work.

The tailor had been observing the young man behind the rims of her eyeglasses and goodness- she can tell this man is holding back. At some point, as she stuck different pins on a gown of her own design, she contemplated whether she'd rather ask him what he would like to see on a woman in bed or why he wants to see that on a woman in bed. In the end, she waves the thoughts way. None of her business.

Diluc started drawing, straps and laces here and there... rose patterns? Not bad. Is the crotch area too thin? He asks himself then resorts to erasing the entire sketch of the bottom garment away. Is the fabric transparent? Diluc's eyebrows point down. But... that's a little too... he felt his hands reach to cuddle his length, goodness how is he supposed to-

Diluc really wanted something, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable so he kept holding himself back and doubting each design. Even when Diluc's head spiraled with ideas, he didn't know which one of these ideas intrigue you the most.

At this point, Diluc doesn't really know where to begin with anymore, his tried everything and it's almost been an hour. He didn't want to delay the lingerie any longer so he just followed his heart in the process. Ok... ribbons. Ribbons? Is that too weird on a lingerie? Surely not. Red lace ribbons? There? Yes, his mind liked those. Attached on what color though? Maybe something baby pink or peach. He needed them in two pieces of course.

Finally, he folded the paper unequally to four, stuffed it in his pocket, and then reached for the tailor to whom he finally said the design to. He didn't hold himself back this time and openly told her of how he wanted the lingerie to look. He wasn't planning to show it, but ended up showing it anyway.

"Good thing you got it done..." The tailor told him, letting out a sigh of relief as she placed measurements on a mannequin. "You sure have grown Master Diluc."

Diluc froze at that phrase. She's not lying nor is she wrong. All Diluc really wanted to feel was the lust in the look of you... breedable and inexperienced before him but of course he can't say that so he realized that after all these thoughts, he cannot talk back. He can't. Like, really. It made him feel so awkward that he had to think of an excuse to get out of the establishment. "I'll wait by the car." He excuses, "Just call me when it's ready. Make sure it's done before midnight." And they assure him that it is to be done quickly for the fabrics have already been chosen for the lingerie.

The tailor throws him one last curious stare behind her eyeglasses and then brings her hand to sew and get back to work while musing the unexpected request. (Last Christmas, Diluc asked the tailor to make a dress for you so she already knows your size)

When Diluc got into his car, he brought both his gloved hands to his face. What. A. Night. He didn't know it was THAT hard to think of a lingerie for you. All those thinking of how you would look on those or how it might terrify you really took a toll on him. He can't disappoint you. He mustn't.

Five minutes of breathing exercises and he would soon realize how less embarassing it actually is. Now that he thinks about it, you probably asked him to buy you a lingerie to see what he wants... if that's the case... then he didn't regret his final design. So long as the lingerie compliments your body and keeps you confident in bed he can just-

Diluc felt himself slightly aroused on his seat. He needed to get home. He opened his phone screen and it greets him with the current time: 11:17pm. Suddenly, there was a knock on his car window. Fortunately, it was the tailor's assistant, telling him to go see the finished product inside. He follows the man towards the establishment and when he does see it, he calmly accepts it.

Diluc got home at around 11:40pm and you were already laying asleep on the bed. Laughingly though, your fingers are way too close to your undergarments and Diluc can't help but muster a chuckle upon seeing you so innocently sleeping after maybe, pleasuring yourself. When he wakes you up, you realize you had accidentally fallen asleep after-

You tried to explain to him, throwing lies upon another lie, until Diluc shows you the custom-made lingerie he prepared for you. Your face burned red as he threw them on your hands. "Wear it." He tells you, "See for yourself." His voice is slightly gruff and yet it is calm and soft. You put it on inside the bathroom and... it had you speechless. The theme is cute but so... revealing. Is Diluc really... into this? The good boy, easily flustered, reserved Diluc you know? Shyly and awkwardly, you walk out of the bathroom.

"Everything is see through..." You mumble and Diluc trails his lips just on your neck to whisper, "You asked for my preferences, didn't you?" His voice was rough with warm heavy breaths tickling your skin. His hands reach to touch the back of your waist and pull you closer.

That night, Diluc was rough but aftercare was still done on both of you. (am legit blushing like a slut here lmfaooo)

Kazuha ver. here

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc imagines #genshin impact diluc #diluc x fem!reader #diluc headcanons #diluc au #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc x y/n

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tarotwithavi · 1 year

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How do your classmates and teachers view you?

A general depiction of how your classmates and teachers see you and think of you.

Choose the picture that attracts you and you can choose two piles. Leave a note to support. And have a nice day!

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Take deep breaths and fix your posture.

Pile 1

Hello pile 1 ! You're classmates see you as someone who's competitive and likes winning. You give off the vibe of higher achiever. You might also see that your classmates also see you as a competition and might compare their grades with you. For some of you I'm getting that you might be very popular in school because of your intelligence and knowledge and this might attract some jealousy. Your classmates see you as someone who is always in their own world and does their own thing and very passionate about their studies. Someone who takes their academic life seriously. You're okay with enjoying with your friends and skipping classes but when it's time to study or when you feel like you should study, you became very serious and forget your surroundings.

On the other hand your teachers see you as someone who balances their studies with their hobbies and is a mixture of topper and disguised troublemaker. Your teachers see you as someone who is going to succeed in life. You know the type of student who the teachers believe is going to be great person or is going to get a lot of fame. Someone who doesn't compromise their education for a short time fun. Your teachers see that you can become a perfect judge because of your unbiased opinions and advices. Your teachers see you as a hardworker too. They also see you as someone who makes stupid compromises? Oh I get it they see you as someone who doesn't realize their worth and how capable you are. You tend to underestimate yourself.

Pile 2

Alright pile 2 ! Your classmates see you as the forever helpful and nice classmates. The one who is always ready to help and explain the topics again if someone asks them to. Probably the second teacher of the class Or the head of the class. I'm also getting that your classmates see you as their friend and the coolest classmate. I'm also getting that your classmates recognize you for your art or creativeness. Maybe you sketch, paint, draw or sing? They see you as the down to earth person. The one who is nice to everyone and has good relations with everyone. They also see you as the mother of the friend group or the person who can vibe with anyone ( are you guys for real? How do you do that? What's your secret? ) Anyways , I'm also getting that your classmates like you a lot. And some might be crushing on you.

Okay so for your teachers I'm getting that they see you as "My buddy" Or "save this student at all cost " Or something like that. Now take that how it resonates but I'm also getting that they might think that you lack confidence? They see you as someone who is good with everyone but likes to do their work alone. They type to do the group assignment all by themselves even though they got paired with their friends. Your teachers see you as the student who's ready nice but won't tolerate bullshit and hates to be told what to do and how to do certain things. Your teachers might think that you won't ask for help and is a little hesitant to talk to people sometimes. They see you as Someone assertive. And needs to gain confidence.

Pile 3

Welcome pile3! I'm getting that your classmates see you as the person who's working very hard and trying their best. The type of student who always has their nose buried in books and always talk about the next test and the subjects they are bad at. For some of you I'm getting that your classmates think that you're hiding something. I'm also getting that they see you as someone who has a whole different personality at school and changes into their different self the second they feet leave school. You give off the vibe of Peter Parker. For example how he is a super hero but no one knows that. Even at school people see him as the average student . You might skip school a lot too. I just heard " There's a lot about me that people don't know. And I would like to keep it that way" . They also see you as someone who tries very hard to be like everyone else.

Your teachers really be hyping you up. They want to see you succeed and see all your wishes come true. There's a male teachers who really has high hopes for you and wishes the best for you. For some of you I'm getting that there's a female teachers who's very strict and might be called rude, who Sees the potential in you. You might be being burdened by work from this teacher but in her mind she's doing the best for you. Your teachers see that you're tired and stuck. They think that you're going through something that you don't want to share. And they wish that you would be a little good to yourself. I heard " You're doing great sweetie" . Your teachers see you as someone who has had enough and just wants to rest. They see you as someone who needs to rest and recover and remain positive.

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harmonysanreads · 1 year

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No but, Vampire!Alhaitham and his Darling who tends to keep a journal. Darling doodles in the journal sometimes, but also brings up their insecurities and stuff in it. And then one day, they accidentally fall asleep on the journal, with it wide open, while they were trying to finish writing in it.

I see your vision, Anon.

Let your journal(s) be sacred texts — because, they are to Alhaitham.

He's read the words and traced over the scribbles of coloured pens as many times as necessary for them to become inscribed in his subconscious. You're oblivious to this (technically) breach of privacy, as you are to many other things but how else can the vampire know of your innermost thoughts? You hiss if he even glances at that journal. Well, there's no need for force when he can just gaze over it peacefully at times like this.

What a shame it'd be as well, your little doodles and without context commentaries by the edges of the pages are far too amusing for him to miss out. If he hadn't sneaked glances at this precious item, he would've never known the reason why you scrutinize him intently at times was for trying to sketch his eyes. The only disappointing thing is that he's never had the honour of having any word written for him there, yet.

You've fallen asleep without much care to your surroundings again ; his brows furrow in worry, what would you do without him? He lifts your form gently from the couch, you've always looked so... innocent in your slumber, so vulnerable. He unconsciously cradles you tighter, about to proceed to your shared quarters when he notices the familiar journal laying wide open in the couch. With a detour and lean down, he's managed to pick it up, holding your weight on the other arm with ease.

The sight of pressed flowers and occasional pastel pigments greet his eyes, there's a paragraph of words written rather rushed than usual and he notes the gist for the moment at the back of his mind, promising to look over the matter later. The next page is uncharacteristically blank, almost. Save for the small doodles of leaves and one single sentence. He cannot believe what he's read the first time, going over it again and again and again til his head is echoing with it : the vampire isn't so bad.

At the same time, he feels you stirring in his arms but before he could be alarmed you merely lean closer to him and resume your dreams. He's quiet, unmoving, not breathing, processing it all for an uncertain amount of time. At last, he closes the journal and strides to his bedroom ; a smile tugging along his lips.

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pjowrites · 2 months

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she’s gone

Luke x reader, Percy x sister reader Warning: dead reader, sad, child of Poseidon, and bad grammar

reblogs and constructive criticism in comments are appreciated

Luke loved you, well he did, and he would continue to if you were here. The problem was you weren’t. You had died a couple years ago. You and Luke were outside of camp, on a quest. Zeus was always out to get you due to anger at his brother for breaking the oath. That’s not the point of the story though. Percy had just been claimed and was moving into his empty cabin, but when he walked in the door with Luke, who had offered to go with him, he saw one of the beds had a stuffed dolphin. The wall next to it was covered in polaroids, sketches of sea creatures, and magazine cutouts of popular tourist attractions. Percy set his stuff on one of the other beds before walking over to look at the pictures. Luke followed him, “that’s y/n.” “Where is she? I haven't seen her.” “She’s gone.” Luke looked at the floor, “she’s been gone for a while.” “Oh… what happened?” “Zeus sent monsters after her, I couldn’t save her, so she didn’t make it. She would have liked you.” Percy looked away from the picture at Luke’s last sentence. “She would have liked me?” Luke smiled just a little, “yeah, she always wanted a sibling, but…” percy knew that as a kid of the big three life was dangerous. He knew that it could get you and others killed. “Well let’s get you settled in.” Luke helped Percy settle in befor going back to his cabin. He pulled a couple of polaroids out they were all you or you and him when the two of you first got to camp, on field trips (where you always snuck away to some good fast food place for a minute), at the lake, and anywhere else that you could get one. As he looked through the poloroids he found one of you in one of his hoodies doing some silly pose and surrounded by orange, red, and yellow leaves. You looked so happy. He could almost hear your voice. (Flashback) “Come on Luke this would be a great way to remember our quest. Plus it would make a great addition to our polaroid collection.” You dragged Luke by the arm through whatever park you were walking through. Luke smiled at how happy you were, “ok give me the camera.” (End of flashback) Luke continued to look through the photos he found one she took of you at the lake. (Flashback) “come on Luke! The water’s nice” Luke looked up from the bag of clothes to you. “Only because you make it behave.” “Fine your loss!” Click! “What are you doing Luke?” “Taking a picture of my girlfriend.” You walked over. “Nice picture.” “Only because you're in it.” (End of flashback) Luke longed to see you again more than words could express, but you were gone. Luke could only hope that you had been given fair judgment because you were the best person he could ever have met.

#brother!percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x sister!reader #pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #demigod content #fanfic #sad stories

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junorsky · 11 days

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You use procreate right? I'm a beginner in coloring. And your lighting and color is always so good. If you had like steps/tutorial/tips on coloring/lighting in procreate. I would pay for it even. It's hard to find a good tutorial on YouTube for procreate users, and the style that you do which is similar to the coloring style I've been trying to self teach myself for a while and failing. Anyways sorry if this is a weird ask, but I would honestly really appreciate it

One speedpaint coming right up!

Nothing weird about this question. Honestly, I struggle a lot as well, but my problem is the shape, not the colors. I suppose I can "feel" colors, that's why impressionists are my favourite (classics always help!)

I don't know if I can help with using procreate, because I'm not really savvy with it, I always use photoshop for more complex work as it is perfect for twicking lighting, changing tint etc. I prefer to sketch in procreate, because, a) it has many great default brushes, b) my back hurts from sitting on my pc, c) I can go anywhere, draw and immediately post it.

I’ll try to summarise what I figured out with procreate, and maybe give a few tips. But I don’t know if that’s the best way to use this tool. I’m just… winging it, haha

First, if you struggle with colors, look up the color circle

It shows exactly which color goes best with which. For example, if you use Orange for your lighting, and Blue for your shadows, it’ll look nice. Perfect, even. I love that one. Avoid using pure black for shadows, otherwise you risk to make it too… burned? Like, dirty. Be careful with Black magic.

I’ll use Zevlor here to show how it works.

In addition, you can use the opposite color to make the character stand out. It’s really important. What’s more noticeable, red on brown or blue on brown?

Also, learn to use masks. Really, they may be scary, but it saves SO MUCH time. Specifically with procreate, I always use them now for everything because I haven’t found the better way to avoid fixing the stray lines. With that solution, you'll need to correct only one layer at the start, the main one. Clipping masks are great to help with that, but procreate is a little uncomfortable in that regard. I’ll show what I do, perhaps it’ll make things clearer

Those are the most useful things to know, I think. Masks can be used in photoshop in the same way, I have a bad habit of creating too many of them so it's crouded. And they rarely have a name. I'm too lazy to name them all

Anyway, I hope I managed to answer at least one of your questions... or not X) I tried. Good luck with exploring Procreate!

#asks #procreate #art wip #speedpaint #tips #??? i think

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xcaptain-winterx · 1 year

Note

i have no idea if you are accepting request but could you write where reader is in labor and her husband, steve rogers is out in a mission and kind of missed the birth of his new born daughter

I love this idea💙

26:44:49

summary: above

warnings: child birth, blood, fluff, angst, sad Steve, happy Steve, guest appearances

a/n: English is not my first language, meaning you will probably find a lot of misspelling etc.

Main Masterlist Steve Rogers Masterlist

Being married to an Avenger sounds like a dream and it indeed is one. There are a lot of good sides to it, like literally never having to worry about being robbed, while you’re on a walk with them. Sadly there are some things though, that are not that nice, like missions. Of course you like hearing on the news that your husband saved people or when he tells you that they took down another bad facility, but you don’t like that he has to leave. What if he gets hurt or doesn’t make it back. Your husband, the famous Captain America, isn’t really on hydras friend list.

Steve’s also scared when he’s not with you. What if something happens to you? The list of enemies is long and knowing that he’s not always there to protect you scares him.

Everything changed when you got pregnant. The day you found out was probably one of the best moments in your life, and seeing Steve's face light up when you told him made it even better. Steve knew from the moment you told him that he was going to be the best dad ever for your little bean. He almost passed out when you both found out that you were having a girl. A Girl. A little baby girl.

He would stay up at night, talking to your belly about how excited he is to meet her and tell her about everything that is going on.

“Yesterday we painted your nursery, bean. I drew some sketches that are now hanging there. I Hope you are going to like them.”

“Uncle Bucky came today and helped me build the crib, while your mom was with her friends shopping. Don’t tell her, but we were both completely lost on what we should do.”

“I think we need to talk about the food you want. I may be old enough to be your grandfather or even great grandfather, but I don’t think that pickles and peanut butter are a good combination.”

“I’m so excited to meet you, everyone is, especially your mom.”

“Can you promise me to make it easy for your mom when you arrive? She’s been carrying you for eight months now and even if she doesn’t want to admit it, I know she’s tired.”

Everything was going amazing, three more weeks and your baby girl was going to arrive, but sadly Nick Fury decided it was ok to send your husband on a mission. Steve was furious when Fury told him. He tried to explain that he can’t, that his wife is going to give birth soon, but Fury didn’t give in. It was a mission that involved saving people from an underground facility.

You overheard them talking on the phone and how Steve is needed for it. Obviously you hate the thought of Steve going on a mission, but you hate the thought of innocent people being held captive in a dark room even more. You also saw that Steve didn’t like the thought either.

After the call you told Steve that it’s ok if he goes. He told you that he’s not going on that mission and that you can’t convince him.

And he was right.

For thirteen hours.

Apparently being highly emotional during pregnancy can help in convincing your husband to join a mission.

The day he left for the mission was not easy for both of you. He tried to not wake you up but failed.

“You shouldn’t be up. Go back to bed, sweetheart”

“I wanted to be awake when you go”

A slight smile appears on Steve's face “I love you, you know” he says, pulling you closer to him, while making sure to not put too much pressure on the belly.

“I hope so or I’m going to give you the ring back” you say with a smirk, trying not to show how sad you are “I love you, too.”

He smirks at you “Hold up. First” he softly slaps your ass, making you gasp and him laugh.“Now” Steve goes, trying to stay serious “You know I love you more than anything else-“

“What about Bucky? What about him, Steve? He’s better up there too”

“Ok, ok, ok” he laughs “I love you, Bucky and our soon coming little baby girl more than anything else.” A smile crosses your face.

Steve gets on one knee, now directly at eye level with your belly. He places a hand on it “Make sure to watch Mommy, while I’m away. Ok, Bean?” You laugh when you feel the baby kick against the spot where Steve placed his hand, “I think we have a deal.”

“Don’t worry, we are going to be fine.”

He gives your belly a kiss before standing back up and giving you a long and passionate kiss “Yeah. I will finish the mission as soon as possible and then I will come back.”

Your husband gives you another kiss before walking out the door.

The sun just started to set, while you were getting another bowl of cookie dough ice cream. Humming some random song as you grab some raisins from the cupboard to put in the bowl. Just when you wanted to walk back into the living room something wet started to run down your thighs.

Looking down you see a puddle at your feet, and that’s when you realize.

“Please, no.” Just as the words come out of your mouth a contraction hits you. The bowl drops to the floor and shatters into a hundred little pieces “Ahhhh”. This can't be happening, it's too soon. Of course you were told that babies could arrive sooner, but the doctors assured you that it wouldn’t happen because the baby most likely has Steve's super soldier serum.

Another contraction hits, this time stronger than the last one. Steve’s not here, you can't have her yet. You know you should go to the hospital cause the contractions are already coming every seven minutes.

You waddle over to the counter to grab your keys. Is it safe to drive right now, probably not. Steve and you didn’t pack a back for the birth yet and there’s no way that you could pack one now. Stepping inside the car you think about calling Steve, you know though, that he wouldn’t pick up. You take a deep breath before finally starting the car.

The way to the hospital thankfully wasn’t that long and painful, you're happy that you both live that close to the hospital and that you inherited your dad's ability to handle a lot of pain. The nurses there immediately took you in and gave you a private room. Again, thank god for being married to an Avenger. They checked you to see how many centimeters you are dilated. Fucking six.

“Mrs. Rogers, should we call someone for you? Giving birth can be painful and we would advise you to have someone with you when it happens.” The nurse says, smiling at you.

No shit, giving birth could be painful. That’s completely new to you.

Your husband is on a mission, Bucky is with him, Nat is with him, Sam is with him. Clint is not in Brooklyn and neither is Sarah. Wanda is currently on her honeymoon with Vision, and Tony and Pepper are probably having an argument right now. There’s one person that you know of who’s currently in New York, but you never really talked that much.

You think for a few seconds before finally deciding that it's better to have at least someone with you right now. “Yes, please call someone.”

Fifteen minutes later you here someone come down the hallway, screaming at some nurse about how Mrs. Rogers requested her to be there when she gives birth to a fucking watermelon.

The door opens and they walk in, “You’re huge.”

You give a painful laugh, “Thanks, Yelena”. She looks at you before slowly stepping closer. She’s a black widow who fought against black widows and dozens of bad guys, but she has never been in such a situation.

The contractions are getting worse every second and the pain medication doesn't seem to work. Fuck Steve and his super soldier sperms.“Ok, I’m here, everything is ok” Yelena says, standing next to you grabbing your hand, “Just take a deep breath.” Squeezing your hand, you slowly calm down. Yelena tries not to show how much her hand hurts because of your squeezing, and how relieved she is that you let go. Trying to distract herself from the pain she asks “Why did you call for me? We’re not that close.”

You look at her and smile, “You’re Nat's sister, which means you’re part of the big family. We may haven’t seen each other that often but I still trust you”. You say, grabbing her hand softly. Yelena looks at you, not believing that you count her as a family member. Nat told her once that the Avengers are like a second family, but she always thought that she was lying. Maybe she was always thinking like that because she knew that the avengers wouldn’t accept her.

Yelena looks at you with tears in her eyes. “Really?” She doesn’t even try to hide her shaking voice.

“Of course, otherwise I wouldn’t have called you.” Yelena quickly wipes a tear away and gives you a big smile

The nurse walks in. “Let’s check how many centimeters you are,” she looks and smiles at you. “Your ten centimeters! I’m going to inform the other nurse and then you can start pushing.”

Oh no, no, no, no, no

Yelena sees the worry in your eyes and quickly grabs your hand. “Hey, I’m here. Everything is going to be ok. I will call them immediately when the mission is over,” she squeezes your hand “now let’s focus on that Watermelon”. You give her a nod before the nurse tells you to start pushing.

It was a hard mission and Steve is happy that he’s finally back, he can't wait to come to you and the little bean. All he wants now is to cuddle you and touch your stomach, while watching one of your favorite comedy shows that you already watched hundreds of times. He definitely has to take a shower first, though, when he gets home because he smells like sweat and dirt. He walks out the jet with Bucky by his side who’s smirking at him. “What’s so funny now, jerk?” he asks, hiding a smile.

“Well, punk, I think it's funny how I can immediately tell what you're thinking about. So, did you already call Mrs. or are you surprising her with coming home early?”, Bucky says, patting his back.

Steve chuckles, walking with him over to his car, “She doesn’t know, I’m going to surprise her”. Bucky can't help but smile at that, he’s happy that his best friend found the ‘one’ after all those years, a true angel. And now that angel is pregnant with his niece, to be honest Steve didn’t tell him that he’s going to be uncle, but that doesn’t matter because the little girl is going to be his niece no matter what. Bucky knows when the due date is and already made sure to be ready when he gets the call from Steve, that his niece is coming. Bucky snaps out of his thoughts when Natasha walks over to them.

Steve slams the trunk close when he sees her, “if Fury wants me for another mission tell hi-“

“Steve”, she cuts him off. “It's about y/n, she gave birth”, a sad expression forms on her face “Yelena just informed me, she stayed with her meanwhile.”

Steve's whole face falls and he lets out shaky breaths, without saying anything he opens the car door and speeds off. Leaving an utterly shocked Bucky and a confused Sam, who apparently just walked out off the jet. Steve's mom always told him to be careful and he always listened to that, but right now he’s driving like a mad man to the hospital.

Not five minutes later he’s there and running to the reception, “I’m here for Y/n Rogers!” The nurse looks at him and lets out a gasp when she realizes who he is.

“S-Sure, right away, Mr. Rogers." She leads him to the door and gives him a reassuring smile before walking away. He takes a deep breath, and another, and another, and another before finally walking in. You look up when the door opens and smile when you see the now dad Steve walking in. Steve's eyes move from you to the small bundle in the crib. This is all it takes for him to start crying and you follow.

You reach your hand out to him and he immediately walks over to you, sits down on the bed, kisses your hands and pulls you closer. “I’m so sorry I’m late”, he says, looking at you. “How late?”

You softly touch his cheek “It’s ok. Our bean just decided to come early, we can't blame her, she’s just a baby” Steve laughs. He turns to the crib and slowly rises from the bed and walks over to the crib. A tear runs down his cheek when he sees her little face, a cute small nose, chubby cheeks and a full head of blonde hair. Steve carefully picks her up and holds her in his arms, swaying back and forth, you smile at the sight of them together.

“Hey, bean, daddy’s finally here. Sorry, that I took that long, daddy was saving the world.” He looks at the information paper on the side of the crib before turning to you, “I’m 26:44:49 hours too late.” He sits back down next to you, one arm around you, the other around his daughter.

“I swear if you are going to blame yourself again I will hit you,” you say with a stern expression.

Finally Steve laughs, “Sweetheart, I’m holding our daughter”. At that exact moment the sleeping girl opens her eyes and looks at her dad with big y/e/c eyes. He looks down at her “Hey, princess. Do you know who I am?”. What if she doesn’t know him, he wasn’t there during her birth. What if she never heard him when he was talking to her late at night. She wiggles around in his arms. Steve holds his breath, is she going to cry?

She doesn’t cry though, she looks at her dad and gives him a smile, well, as far as a newborn can smile.

You kiss his shoulder, “I think she knows who you are.”

Steve kisses her forehead and after that yours, “I love you, you know.”

“Likewise. We still need a name,” you say.

Steve gives you a grin. “Yeah, we should decide that before the rest of her family comes”

Yelena walks in with a bunch of snacks, “hey отец, finally there. Next time you hold her hand” she says, showing her hand in a cast, “I also brought a few guests.”

Nat, Sam and Bucky walk in with a few gifts. Bucky immediately leaves the gifts on a table and rushes towards the baby. “Hey doll, it’s me, your uncle Bucky.” Steve hands her to Bucky and he holds her close to his chest, “Is your dad already annoying you? He has been annoying me for about 105 years now,” Steve lets out a small hey, but Bucky doesn’t care. He looks at you for a second, “You did a great job mama.”

“Thanks Buck, but I couldn’t have done it without Yelena,” Natasha nudges her sister, smiling at her, she knew Yelena would get warm with at least someone else.

The baby gets passed around and in the end gets passed to Bucky again because he wouldn’t stop whining. “Now, what’s her name? Let me guess, Samantha,” Sam asks, smirking.

You both look at each other before looking back at them. “Welcome, Sarah Brook Yelena Rogers, named after her grandmother, Steve's home and the person who stayed by me during her birth.” Yelena looks at you both with tears in her eyes, giving you a big smile, now being ok with you breaking her hand. Bucky walks over to you and gives Sarah back to you, whispering before that how she’s going to be his new favorite.

He looks at them “I'm the uncle, right? Don’t leave me hanging, Steven.”

“Yes, you are.”

“HA, SEE SAM, I'M THE UNCLE!”

#chris evans #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steven grant rogers #chris evans character x reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #steve rogers x pregnant reader #captain america x you #captain america x y/n #captain america x reader

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ryuichirou · 2 months

Note

can you pretty pretty please with extra sprinkles on top drop the speedpaint for your most recent rookvil art? i wanna see how you did vils pretty dress and everything else cause its all so beautiful

I am so happy you like how it looks!! I would love to make a speedpaint, but unfortunately, I didn’t record it + the base for the drawing was actually done traditionally with a pencil. A lot of my drawings are done this way, actually…

Even though I can’t drop the speedpaint, I’ll do the next best thing and explain my process for this specific drawing step-by-step. It’s actually not that complicated!

Here is how the sketch looked initially. As you can see, I shaded the dress very crudely; in fact I was kind of upset with how the dress looked at this stage. Ironically, I ended up not doing much to the pencil shading, and it still turned out okay somehow?? Anyways, the first thing I did was to prep the sketch for the colouring stage: I adjusted the contrast, fixed Vil’s face, and erased some dirt and imperfections.

Then I create a new layer, set it to Multiply (this way I can colour the sketch without disturbing it, as if I was just colouring a digitally done lineart) and do a base colour layer. There is a gradient in Vil’s hair and Rook’s belt buckle, but other than that, all the colours are flat at this stage.

Before doing all the shading needed for this sketch, I add details such as makeup and tights. If you want to know how I did these, let me know, but I basically looked at a tutorial once and then simplified it lol

Now, the dress.

To be completely honest, there isn’t any proper technique to what I did, everything is always just trial and error and an hour of me going “does that look good? NO IT DOESN’T >:(“ until both Katsu and I are satisfied. This time I was lucky, because it didn’t take very long, and the “solution” was pretty simple.

Starting with the base colour. I turned off the sketch layer to show that it is indeed completely purple. And it looks kind of bright at this point, almost too bright even, especially considering that the dress is supposed to be mostly black, or at least dark purple. But bear with me.

Next I added some highlights (new layer, set on Overlay or Screen, depending on what looks best). Usually I would add the shades first, but I wanted to make the fabric look more “shiny”, you know, the type of fabric that would reflect the floor and make this highlight under the boob lol.

And after that I just went ahead and added black gradient (on a new Layer) from the bottom of the dress to make it look darker, silkier and a little bit more interesting for the eye. I erased some parts of the gradients as you can see, because it looked too dark on the highlighted parts… could’ve just placed the black gradient layer under the highlights layer and saved myself a headache, but hey, where is the adventure in that.

Finally, it turned out looking like this. It looks better than it used to look like initially, but there is one more thing to do. We don’t get to do this one too often, so it always excited both Katsu and me: THE SPARKLES!! Somehow, making the dress sparkly makes everything much better.

How do I do the sparkles: I use the star brush… or was it a snow brush? I use this brush when I draw both of these things lol + when I draw anything sparkly. I would’ve given you this specific one, but I don’t really remember where I got it from, and I honestly think that any starry or snowy brush would work wonderfully as long as the specs are small enough.

After that is done, I just shade the rest of the drawing. Nnew layer set on Multiply, the shading is done with darker purple/red + darker blue, whatever looks better on any particular material: the skin really likes warmer colours, but Rook’s suit looked bad with red shades, so I adjusted it to blue.

And here is the post where I talk about how I colour hair! Good thing I already wrote that one, this post is getting long lol

And the last step is to add details. The original sketch was done in a rather small (smaller than A6) sketchbook, so I couldn’t draw all the details like Vil’s earrings and stuff properly. Basically I just paint on a separate layer on top of everything.

And there you have it! I hope it makes sense, please let me know if you have questions.

#replies #ryuichirouart #about drawing

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legendofmorons · 6 months

Text

Smudged pages (Wild)

This is the 1st place prize from my 300 follower event. @daeyumi requested this one, and it took longer than I'd like, but I'm pleased with how it's turned out.

Pairing: Wild x reader

Rating: G

Summary: Wild loves when you draw- so he decides to leave you a little gift in your sketch book.

Warnings: None

Other: Wild is so sappy, y'all- if I missed anything, please let me know

-------

You are an artist - you carry a sketchbook around everywhere. It may be in your bag sometimes, but still.

You find it helps to be able to create art while struggling to stay above the water that is this hylia damned quest.

Between creating art and the lover you've found- you're handling things better than you thought you would be.

Wild has seen you draw before - you like to draw by the fire at night. You've even shown him things on occasion. The odd bird sketch or colored plant life. Or even just half finished lines that didn't quite work out.

He likes to sit beside you while you create - it always calms him a little.

The way your hands are often covered in smudged art supplies is more than endearing. He likes that there's proof of a hobby you enjoy so much. Wild likes to take your hands and trace them while he counts the smudges of charcoal or pencil or paint or whatever you've used this time.

If he has a few pictures of you with art supplies smudged on your forehead - well, that's really not really anyone's buissness. (He will, of course, delete them and stop taking pictures if you ask, he dosen’t want to make you uncomfortable.)

He definitely smiles when he sees that sight, though. Wild has always loved when you allow yourself to just exist.

He's continually amazed by your skill. He looks forward to when you share your art with him. It always takes his breath away.

(You take his breath away.)

So far, his favorite piece you've done was of Epona, with flowers in her mane and a water colore-esque background. It's beautiful, and when you'd shown it to him and Twilight, they had both loved it.

Wild has a picture of that one on his slate, saved to a special folder for your creations.

Other works of yours he has saved in that folder include a sketch of him cooking with fireflies around him, a river landscape, and a sketch of all of the boys and you. There are more, of course, but those are the ones he treasures the most.

Tonight finding you is pretty easy. You're all staying at an inn.

The others split into groups. Though they are all settled across the backyard of said inn, chatting happily amongst themselves.

He spots you talking to Time and Legend by the stairs.

Before he can walk over, he hears his name and stops.

"Hey, Wild?" Twilight asks as he walks over.

"Yes?"

"Do you have any more mushroom skewers? A kid was asking about them."

Wild snorts, resigning himself to helping Twilight entertain the kids.

He'll catch up with you later. You have all night.

This gives him more time to figure out what he can give you as a gift. He doesn't have a particular reason, but he wants to anyway.

He can always ask Sky and Time for advice - as long as he doesn't ask Wind.

The sailor is smart and kind - but the last time Wind gave relationship advice, it was clear that he was still a little young. (It wasn't bad advice perse but none of the others thought that 'shmoopie' was what they wanted to call a partner.)

Wild sets himself to the task of finding the mushroom skewers within his slate, careful to pick the ones that won't give a side effect if eaten.

-------

It's not until after the inn has provided dinner that Wild realizes he hasn't seen you in a while.

In fact, Wild hasn't seen you since you arrived at the inn, and neither have Hyrule or Sky when he asks them.

It's not exactly worrying, but he does find himself a little anxious. He knows this isn't your hyrule, and he's always worried you'll get left behind - which he knows is silly.

And he definitely trusts you- but anxiety has never cared about logic.

He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that not only are you more than capable of taking care of yourself - this seems to be a fairly peaceful time.

He relaxes a little, the reminder doing him a little good.

After looking around a little more, Wild finds you sitting on your own with your sketch pad.

You look fairly at peace, sitting on a large rock by the inn. The lowering sun shines across you in a flattering way.

Wild smiles softly when he sees you. He's very happy to see that you look so content. He has to resist the urge to snap a picture. (A habit he's picked up after losing his memories. He wants to have pictures of everything he cares about, so if he forgets, he dosen’t lose it all.)

Wild walks over to you and sits down beside you. He's just glad to be around his beloved partner.

"Hey Wild." You greet, looking up from your work with a smile.

"Hey, (Y/n)."

"It's a nice evening. It makes me jealous of your all's times." You say with a wry laugh.

"It's still odd to think you can't see the stars back home."

"Mh- I guess. It's always been that way, though." The shrug you give is nonchalant.

Wild gives you a surprised look, brows raising as he tries to imagine such a thing.

He can't. Your world sounds foreign and impossible to him. And yet- you exist as the pinnacle of your home.

He supposes he's glad that ypur home existed - as odd as ot seems to him because you would've exist without it.

Wild looks back to the sky - back to the stars.

"That sounds absurd." He says with a snort.

"It feels like that these days."

"Huh."

You look back to whatever you were working on and put a few more artistic strokes down.

"Do you think I'll ever learn all the strange constellations you have?"

Wild looks to you after you ask that, something warm swelling in his chest. "I can teach you."

"I'd like that."

The delighted look that crosses his face is definitely something to remember. It's amazing how easily he goes all smitten and fond around you.

-------

It's not until later that evening that Wild sees your unattended sketch book. And he has - an idea. One that he hopes will make you smile.

What if he puts something in your sketch book for you?

A doodle?

A note?

A portrait of how he sees you?

All three?

Maybe just the portrait and the note. Maybe if you see yourself through his eyes, you'll see why he's so fond of you.

Wild knows that you get self-conscious sometimes. He'd like to help.

His decision is made.

He thinks this is exactly the kind of give to leave you. Non pressuring and personal.

Wild picks up your art book and begins his work.

He takes a moment to try to picture what he wants to draw.

What angles? Should he include a background? Should it be flat or shoukd he add depths and shadows?

Once he knows what he wants to draw, he sets to work.

First, he starts with a light pencil sketch of you. First your head, then your neck and shoulders, then your features. He pays special attention to the skine in your eyes.

It takes him a while, but eventually, he finishes his work, erasing the guidelines and putting in shadows and highlights.

He writes his note, and then he closes the sketchbook.

He will wait until you find it.

He silently hopes he can see your face when you do, though. He also hopes that it makes you smile. He does love your smile.

-------

You are taking a break by a creek, a little ways from the others when you find the two pages Wild left something for you.

The first is a picture of you - all done in pencil, and yet there's no lack of detail.

You can tell that every line, smudge, and stray erased part is full of love and until fondness.

You are posed in a three-quarters view, laughing as your eyes look straight to the viewer of the art.

The background is filled with your favorite flowers, all carefully done.

It's like looking at yourself through a softened lense. Your eyes seem brighter, and your laugh is more genuine.

It's unbearably soft.

The shadows are carefully done, and

You know, without asking or even looking at the note that this is Wild's work.

You wish you weren't so touched by how he's chosen to portray you. Not because it dosen’t matter but so you could better find words to express the feeling.

Then you look to the note.

'(Y/n),

I don't think I've told you how much I love your art. Not enough, at least.

I'm not sure that I can ever tell you how much both you and your art mean to me. I don't know how you feel about it, but I've always seen your art as an extension of you.

You made it after all.

Your art is so amazing. I'm always excited when you let me see what you've made.

I hope you can see yourself through my eyes now. And I hope this isn't rude to do- but I wanted to do this.

I wanted you to know how much you matter to me. I'm so thankful to have you in my life.

I wish we could have met a more natural way- but I'd fight the shadow the rest of my life if it meant I get to have you in said life.

I will treasure every single picture of you I have. You're so stunning - it takes my breath away every time I see you smile.

I appreciate that you go out of your way to make things easier for all of us.

I appreciate it when you stay up on watch with me even though you don't have to.

I hope you know how much it means to me that you treat me like a person outside of being a hero. Thank you.

I am going to keep trying every day to make sure you know how wonderful you are.

And I hope you know that I love you for you, not for what you do.

I love your sense of humor, your smile, and the way you interact with others.

You're my safe place - if that makes sense? I hope it does.

Anyway, I know this is probably silly, but I thought it might make you smile.

Love, Wild.'

Oh- that's really sweet! You need to find him and thank him and maybe kiss him just a little. (Maybe more.)

You can't ignore the way your chest warms, and your adoration flutters like a butterfly.

This is truly lovely - you've never had someone do this for you before. But it's super sweet, and you are head over heels all over again.

(Maybe ass over tea kettle is a better descriptor if we're going to be honest. But that's just between you and Hylia.)

You close the sketchbook carefully before moving to find Wild.

Finding the man is easy enough - he's cooking lunch.

You walk over to Wild, and the sketchbook is still in hand.

"Hey, firefly." Wild smiles at you, stirring the stew before him. He seems to be at ease for the most part.

"I saw the note and picture you left me."

You watch his reaction - his ears flush a little, and he looks a little like a deer in headlights.

But he relaxes enough to say, "Oh! I hope you liked it! I hope it wasn't too weird..."

"I loved it - it's one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me!"

You pull him into a hug, beaming at him.

You can't find the words you want, but you really hope Wild can tell just how much you love his little gift.

You'll hold onto it forever - you should get it framed when this is all over. That's a good idea.

"I'm glad you liked it. I'm not that great at art -"

"You're amazing at art. What are you talking about?"

"Purah and Zelda are better than me. I'm not the best. But I get by. I don't think I'm awful." Wild explains with a shrug.

"You're amazing at it."

Wild laughs, shaking his head a little. But he dosen’t defelct, instead he just says, "Thank you, (Y/n). I appreciate that."

"I mean it."

"I know."

Wild, let's the spoot rest on the pot, turning to fully face you. He's so thankful you're in his life. And he's so glad you liked his surprise.

"After dinner, we can work on those constellations." You say as you smile at him.

"That sounds nice." He smiles.

"So... could I ask you to draw me again later? I ... have never seen myself the way you made me look."

Wild softens more, which seems impossible until it happens.

And everything is - well maybe it isn't perfect but it's very nice.

#lu #linkeduniverse #misty writes #linked universe x reader #lu wild #lu wild x reader

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