#I have a lot of sketches of her in my sketchbook BUT!! they’re so messy I don’t think anyone could tell what I’m drawing

[skidcd-megamix]

I think you should draw more ABA, I don’t feel like ABA gets enough representation in your art

Chat, do they know??

[tryingmybestpls]

As The World Caves In

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark!Fem!Reader

Summary: Steve deals with the loss of his wife after the Snap.

Rating: R?

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Grief, depression, feelings of loneliness, death, graphic depiction of a death

A/N: hi yes I wanted to get this out before TFATWS got out. I have never liked the ending Steve got in Endgame, so I wanted to write a new one for him!

Steve would like to say that he lost his wife like everyone else did that day.

He would love to say that she turned into ash like the rest of his teammates. He would love to say that they had some tear-filled goodbye before she turned into nothing. He would love to have that hope that might be able to come back.

But he can't.

Because she actually died that day in Wakanda. Right before his eyes.

It had happened after Thanos had tossed Steve aside. Y/N had charged at the Titan, angry at the purple being for hurting her husband. He caught her in mid-air, his golden gauntlet shimmering in the sunlight as it wrapped tightly around her throat. Steve had scrambled to stand up, his eyes on her.

Y/N coughed and sputtered, her face turning colors as she kicked, her fingers trying to pry the large gold covered fingers off of her throat. And while it felt like hours for Steve, it had only been seconds. Seconds. Seconds he had held her in their air, seconds she had suffered as the Titan cut off her oxygen. Thanos had smirked before tightening his grip, a sickening crack filling the air. Steve couldn't breathe as her body was tossed towards him. It seemed to move in slow motion, bouncing when it hit the ground.

When her body finally came to a stop in front of him, her head lolling to the side as the cloud of dust settled. Steve still had hope somehow. He prayed to the Lord above as he looked at her, hoping that she was somehow still alive. Blood vessels had burst in her eyes and blood trickled out of her mouth. There was a darkening bruise on her throat, her neck was bent at an unnatural angle. Steve had been unable to move, unable to breathe. Within an instant, she was gone. His wife, the love of his life, ripped away from him in mere seconds.

And then his friends and teammates turned into ash all around him.

The worst moment of his life was when he watched his wife die right in front of him. The second worst is having to tell her brother that she was dead.

After Tony had come down the ramp of the ship, Steve had ran over to help him down that last view steps and over to Pepper. Stark told Steve that Peter was gone and in that moment of silence that followed, Tony's eyes scanned the small group of survivors for his adopted sister. Tears sprung up in the man's eyes as he looked back at Steve. The Captain's throat constricts with emotion, tears brimming in his eyes as he just nods, unable to get the words out. Pepper ran up in that moment, wrapping her arms around Tony just as tears rolled down his face.

Y/N is the only one they actually bury. Her funeral is a quiet affair, with only the remaining members of their team and Pepper in attendance. The couple had never talked about what might happen or what they would want if either of them died. Tony tells him that she would want to be buried next to their parents, so she is. He makes sure his baby sister has the best coffin money can buy, the best headstone-everything. Her funeral is the last time Steve and Tony talk to each other.

Steve gets an apartment she would have loved. It's right around the corner from the restaurant where they had their first date and a few streets away from the cemetery. There was those big windows that Y/N had always expressed fondness over. The apartment also had built in shelves that lined one wall of the living room area, which had been another selling point for him. One day Steve hoped that he would be able to fill them with her many books and tchotchkes, but now they stood empty, the shelves gathering dust. Her collection of novelty mugs weren't in the cabinets, no they were still wrapped up in newspapers within one of the many boxes. He had planned on unpacking all of the things that had once filled their shared room at the compound, but the boxes stay in the second bedroom, all piled up in the middle of the room. He couldn't find it in himself to go through all of her old things, didn't want to be bombarded with emotions and memories.

That first year is the hardest. Learning to live without her tears him to shreds. Steve hardly sleeps, hardly eats. He spends a lot of his time alone, dwelling over what he could've done differently. Natasha tries to reach out to him, but Steve distances himself. He tells himself that he needs to do this alone, needs to try to get through it by himself. Y/N always feels like she's just out of his grasp and he prays and begs to have her back with him. His prayers go unanswered.

Natasha appears outside his door on the one year anniversary of Thanos's snap and Y/N's death, holding a bottle of vodka in one hand and Asgardian mead in the other. They sit together in the kitchen and drink as vigils and memorials take place around the world. For the first time, Steve talks about how much he misses his wife. The two heroes talk all night about each person they missed, both of them wondering aloud how were they supposed to live without them.

By the end of the second year, Steve is getting used to living without her. He hates it. He hates how much that ache in his chest has lessened. He hates that he can see a picture of her without a lump forming in his throat. Steve is able to talk about her more and starts a grief support group. Sure he sometimes wakes up and hopes she's there, but that's getting less and less frequent. Steve's afraid that his memories of her are going to slip away from him, terrified of forgetting her.

So he starts to draw her. He's desperate to hold onto every memory of her, so he fills up page after page, sketchbook after sketchbook of nothing but Y/N. The drawings aren't perfect, but he is able to cement those memories in his mind. Steve wants to make sure that he can remember her face without having to study a picture. So when he remembers something about her, he puts it onto a piece of paper. Y/N on their wedding day. Y/N when they were on the run and she fell asleep in the Quinn Jet. Y/N brushing her teeth early in the morning, her silhouette lit up by the almost golden bathroom light. Y/N the first day they met.

Natasha sees them once when she stops by to see him. One of the sketchbooks is left open on the table and she sneaks a peek when Steve goes to the other room to get a sweater. There on the page in incredible detail is a sketch of her best friend with tears in her eyes, her mouth open in shock. She doesn't know that this is the face she made when she learned that Bucky had killed her parents and Steve knew. Natasha looks away, her cheeks burning. She feels like she saw something too personal, too raw, and she shuts the journal before Steve returns.

When the third, fourth, and then fifth year rolls around- well Y/N has been gone longer than they were together as a couple. Steve has gotten used to her being gone. He's able to walk past the room holding all of the boxes without stalling. It gets easier to talk about her, easier to share stories about her to his group. He still misses her, it's just easier for him to live now. His wedding band never leaves his ring finger, needing to have a part of her with him always. Steve still loves her and he doesn't think he can ever love someone as much as he loves his wife.

And then Scott Lang reappears.

Steve wants to reverse what Thanos did, wants to bring back his friends even if that means he cannot bring back his wife. That ache in is chest returns as they put together their heist plan. Steve feels like there's a ghost following him around while he's back at the compound. His shoulders feel heavy again and he tries to put on a brave face as the people around him get hopeful. He tries to be happy, knowing that he will be getting his friends back and fixing what had happened, but he can't help but be upset.

-

Steve gets to see her when they go back.

It's after he knocks out the younger version of himself. Steve is standing over himself, breathing hard, and holding Loki's scepter tightly in his hands.

"That is America's Ass." He comments, looking behind him before back down to the unconscious man. He needs to meet back up with the others so that they can-

"It definitely is." A familiar voice calls out from in front of him. Steve stills, his breath catching in his throat before he slowly lifts his head. There she is, standing before him with a smirk on her face. Y/N is dressed in her navy blue suit, her hair messy from the battle she just went through. Her face is dirty, her lip split and there is a long cut across her cheekbone. His mouth goes dry and he's suddenly tongue tied, like he was when they first met.

Steve remembers how nervous and awkward he was when they were first introduced to each other. Y/N gave him a million dollar smile and just like that, he knew he was a goner. Steve had stumbled over saying his name, which had then made her laugh-God, that laugh. That laugh had made him warm all over, made butterflies swarm around in his stomach. And in the past five years, those butterflies had been dormant and now, now they're wide awake.

"You're not my Steve." Y/N announces as she walks towards him, studying him. Steve's heart is beating fast and he wants to reach out and hold her close, wanting to tell her how much he loves her. My Steve. God, he misses her. He misses everything about her.

"How can you tell?" He asks, a tiny smile appearing on his face. Y/N chuckles, taking seeing two Steve's surprisingly well. But then again, she had just got done fighting aliens and a literal god so he supposes that things have been weirder.

"My Steve won't even look me in the eye. He blushes when I look at him. When I look at you...you just look so sad. That's how I know you're not Loki." She answers, stopping in front of him. Steve studies her face, taking in every little detail because he knows that this is the last time he'll see her.

"I-I'm that easy to read, huh?" Steve retorts and she laughs again, nodding. God, he misses that sound. He misses her so fucking much that it makes his chest ache. Y/N's smile falters as she looks at him, watching as his smile drops.

"I'm not going to pretend what is exactly going on here, okay? Obviously you are going through something and it's pretty clear you are on a some type of mission." She tells him, motioning to the scepter in his hands. Steve looks down to his hand before looking at her. He knows that she should be calling for back up because by the way people keep speaking through her comm Y/N must know that things are going south.

"I'll bring it back, I promise." Steve replies and the smile returns to her face. Y/N glances down to the unconscious man on the floor before looking at him.

"I know you will. I never saw you, new Steve. And don't worry, I'll make sure you don't choke on your tongue." She teases, gesturing to the passed out version of himself. Steve's smile returns to his face as she continues, "But I do expect some sort of explanation when you come back."

"Of course. I'll be back before you even know I was gone." Steve says, wanting to say so many other things that he knows that he just can't tell her. He opens his mouth again when her comm once again crackles to life. Y/N's eyes widen and she gestures for him to leave. Steve's mouth snaps shut and he nods, quickly walking away.

Tony would later tell Steve when they're in 1970 that he started crying when he saw his little sister.

-

When his teammates return on the battlefield, she isn't among them. He knows she won't be coming through a portal, but some part of him still holds out hope for some reason. Yet, there is no sadness inside of him on that battlefield. No, rage has pushed all of that sadness aside, filling him up completely.

When he fought against Thanos and his army, he did so with every ounce of strength in his body. Steve wanted to avenge the death of Y/N, wanted to kill Thanos for what he did to her. Steve has never felt so angry in his entire life. He wanted to be the one who ended the Titan's life. He ignored the large gash in his arm and tore through aliens.

And in the end, it's Tony who takes out Thanos. He is the one who avenges his baby sister's death, but the price he pays his high. And Steve has to watch another Stark die.

He feels so guilty that he is alive and both of the Stark siblings are gone, both of them buried side by side, right next to their parents.

There is just so much death in his life, so much damn loss. And he's tired. Steve is exhausted. He hoped that bringing back his friends and the half of the universe that had disappeared because of the Snap would make him feel better, but it hadn't. No, instead that hurt has returned with full force. His chest feels like its about to cave in on itself, like his ribs piercing his lungs and heart-God, everything seems unbearable. All he wants is for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

And then, he is reminded that he has to return the stones.

And while every single part of the journey is noteworthy, he saves returning the scepter for last.

Y/N is sitting beside the unconscious version of himself when he returns. She turns his head to look at him, a smile on her face. For a moment, he considers staying here with her, reliving every single moment of their life and their relationship as it happens.

But he knows that he can't.

It wouldn't be right for him to stay here with her, knowing everything that he knows. Steve has had his time with her, time that he will treasure for the rest of is life. He knows that if he returns back to his timeline, there will be a lot of hurting that he will have to go through. Steve knows that it would be so much easier to stay here with Y/N, but he won't let himself do it.

So Steve explains to Y/N why he needed the scepter, leaving out her death and the death of her brother. After he finishes, she stays quiet for a moment, processing all of this new information. He just waits and sits there.

"Don't tell me what happens, please. I want the cards to fall where they may. I-I want to be surprised." Y/N tells him suddenly, glancing at the unconscious man before looking at Steve. The Captain understands exactly what she means. She must know somehow that she ends up with him, something on his face his showing his hand. Y/N had always told him that he had a shitty poker face. A smile stretches across his face, nodding. His wedding ring-hidden under his gloves-feels so much heavier, like its weighing his arm down.

A pit of dread opens up in Steve's stomach as his time draws to an end. He thanks and apologizes to Y/N as he hands over the scepter. She just smiles, telling him not to worry about it as she puts it back into its case. He must look as upset as he feels because before he leaves, Y/N wraps her arms around him. It surprises Steve, but he quickly wraps his arms back around her. Steve holds her tightly, letting his eyes shut. He knows that this will be the last time he'll ever hold her and he just savors it, wishing that it could last forever. Wishing that he could stay here forever.

But everything has to come to an end.

When he says goodbye, he knows that Y/N doesn't understand that this is him saying goodbye to her for the last time. Steve finally gets to tell her goodbye and even though he isn't able to tell Y/N how much he loves her, it's okay. It's okay because he will be able to tell her how much he loves her one day, even if that day isn't today. They'll be reunited again. He just needs to wait.

She tells him goodbye and he takes one final look at her before he returns back to his timeline, back into a world where she's gone.

That night, he returns to his empty apartment, the silence almost deafening. That hole in his chest has reopened and he is in so much pain that everything just feels numb.

He goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, washing the day's events off of him hoping that this would also wash away the numbness, trying to pretend like nothing of importance had happened hours earlier. When he crawls into the same bed he has been sleeping in for the past five years-a bed she has never touched-he realizes how empty it is without her. He can't feel her here like he can at the Compund-No, here she doesn't follow behind him. No, this is a place she has never been so she can't be here. The apartment is suddenly too big for him-everything is too big for him. It's too big and too empty and too fucking quiet-

It's like the string that was holding him together the past five years has finally snapped and he just starts crying. The Captain's body shakes with sobs as he lays in that empty room. Steve had thought he had processed her death and grieved already, but he hadn't. Until this very moment, it had never fully set in that Y/N was dead. It was never fully real that she was gone. He knew that she was, but some part of him was still holding out hope that somehow she was going to come back. If Bucky could come back, surely she could have as well. But Y/N isn't Bucky and so she never came back.

It took until today for him to fully realize that she was gone. Y/N was gone and there was nothing he can do about it. There was no stones to gather, no traveling through dimensions for him to do. Steve had to live the rest of his life without the love of his life, in a time where he'll never belong in. That small flicker of hope that had been silently living inside of him had been snuffed out, leaving an empty dark space inside of him, leaving him cold and empty.

The only hope that remained is that they would be reunited one day in death, but until then Steve would be forced to carry around his pain where ever he went.

[kaaytea]

heyhey !! can i request some hcs of jun, tetsuya, n chris having a very soft but artistic s/o who draws them a lot? and maybe one day they find her sketchbook open n it’s just sketches of them? no pressure if you’re not inspired by this or anything tho n ty !! <33

Sketchy Secrets

⤷Includes: Chris, Jun, Tetsuya

A/n: I'd be more than happy to write this! The 3rd years make me unfathomably soft so I'm going to have a bunch of fun with this! Thank you for requesting and I hope you like it ♥️

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

Chris

Chris wouldn't consider himself a very nosy person

He's always respectful of your space and never pries when he can tell you want to keep something private

But nothing has ever tempted him to break that boundary more than the worn notebook you keep on you

It's in your hands constantly and you're so secretive about the item your behavior was bound to garner some curiosity on his end eventually

Nevertheless, Chris fought his inquiring mind out of respect for you and let the contents of the notebook remain a mystery

Chris could definitely appreciate art but he wasn't much of an artist himself, so it was quite the surprise when he opened the notebook he used the keep baseball notes in and be met with a bunch of sketches

Immediately he understood that this must be the oh-so mysterious notebook you've had on you for months. By some miraculous force the two of you seemed to have accidentally swapped notebooks

The damage was done and he already knew what resided in the book so how much worse could it be to give into the hungry curiosity he's been harboring the past few months?

Chris handled the pages with care as he flipped through the book. Most of the pages were filled with what he assumed to be anatomy studies and the occasional silly doodle here and there

When Chris reached the middle of the notebook he noticed a trend in your art begin: All of your sketches were of him

His cheeks were most definitely tinted a soft pink the further he flipped. He was dumbfounded that you found him to be a source of inspiration, he wasn't always a ball of sunshine and rainbows as you've seen him on his worst days

But he found it interesting to look at the conjured up version of how you saw him. It was like he was looking at himself through your eyes

It was then that you barged open his dorm door, hair messy from running and his baseball notebook clung to your chest. He saw the fear flare in your eyes when you spotted the open book in front of him

"D-did you..."

"I looked through it. I'm sorry, you wanted to keep this private and I spoiled that for you."

"So did you see the...uh sketches?"

"I did and I think they're remarkably beautiful, I had no idea you were so talented, love"

A wave of relief crashed into you at his words. You honestly thought he'd think it was creepy you had pages and pages filled with sketches of him

Chris chuckled at your reaction before he stood up and pulled you into a warm embrace where he placed a kiss to the top of your head

Jun

Jun is...a very brash person

He's loud and rambunctious by nature but the man instantly developes a softer side when around you

Seeing the normally boisterous outfielder morph into a far gentler version of himself was quite the sight, and the occurrence had definitely become a topic his friends would make jabs at

Jun never let their teasing remarks bother him much, he enjoyed spending quiet time with you and was more than happy to sit through his friends bad jokes if it meant he could continue hanging around you

Recently though Jun had noticed an odd habit of yours

You stare at him alot. Not in a 'checking your boyfriend out' kind of way but as in blatant staring even if you knew he caught you looking

It was a bit odd in his opinion seeing as you never addressed or hinted at why you actually do stare at him so much

Jun didn't question it, maybe he was just catching while you were spacing out and didn't realize what you were doing

What he didn't know was that he would unintentional find out what was driving this habit of yours only a few weeks after becoming aware of it

He spotted you alone at a table in the schools library one afternoon while searching for some research material he needed for a project

You were sitting with your back to him, leaning heavily on on of your arms. From where he was standing it looked like you had either fell asleep or were zoning out like you often did around him

Jun decided to go "wake" you up, as leaving you there in that state would be defeating your purpose of coming to the library in the first place

Before he could tap your shoulder after approaching your table, his eyes flicked to the book sitting wide open infront of you

More specifically he was watching your hand roughly sketching the outline of a person's hair style

The longer he looked the more he realized that the entirety of the two pages in front of you were drawings of him

Anything from small, quick doodles of him catching a ball or swinging a bat to more detailed sketches of him laughing or reading a book

You must have finally sensed someone looking over your shoulder as you jumped slightly in your seat and quickly turned to find Jun (whose face was beyond flushed might I add)

"This is why you stare at me all the time?!"

"Ah...maybe?"

Despite how embarrassed you both were he still pulled a seat up next to you, gruffly mumbling out how you shouldn't let his presence keep you from your art

He then quietly complimented your artistic skills, sealed with a soft kiss to the back or your hand

Tetsuya

If there is one thing that Yuki Tetsuya loves about your relationship it's the fact that you always pack little bentos for the two of you to share after games

Obviously he loves YOU for many other reasons! But if he were asked what quirk or abnormality he loves the most in your relationship it'd be the bentos

Which he was currently rummaging through your bag for

You usually have a specific spot in your bag for the small containers, a place that would keep the food cool so it wouldn't get spoiled in the Tokyo heat, but Tetsu couldn't seem to find them

Eventually he spotted the familiar teal and green box after shuffling the contents of your bag around a bit

With an accomplished glimmer in his eyes he pulled the bento out from your bag

As he was retrieving the container, said bento caught the corner of a small notebook causing it to tumble out and flop open on the concrete

Tetsuya quickly scooped the book up from the ground fearing that he had gotten it scuffed or dirty, but those worries left as his attention was captured to the contents of the notebook

At first he thought the image was a digital picture you had printed out but the longer he looked the more he picked up on the smudgy finger prints littering the page

And then it clicked for him: You drew this!

Right next to the portrait of him was a smaller doodle of a scene he recognized as your phones lockscreen (a second year version of the two of you happily smiling at eachother, his arm wrapped respectfully around your waist as you struggled to look up at him due to the brim of his Seidou hat blocking your view)

The sketched version looked exactly the same as the real photo! It was beautiful and somehow you had managed to enhance the tender emotions portrayed in the picture

"Tetsuya, did you find the ben- oh.."

"Do you think you could draw a larger version of this? I want to put it on my desk."

You just laughed at his bluntness before giving him a nod in response

A small smile graced his features as he looked from you back to your messy sketch. It wasn't a look you saw very often from him, but that smile made your knees weak as you fell in love with him all over again

[we-are-inevitable]

DUDE YOUR KATH/JACK/DAVEY STUFF IS THE BEST AND LEMME JUST SAY AS A POLY PERSON IT MAKES ME SO SO HAPPY!!! <3

Pls if you do not mind: picnic date hcs for the throuple? They’re just like my favourite things ever

((You are seriously so cool I wish every minor convenience on you I hope all the lights are green when you drive and the internet to be fast wherever you go))

1) THANK YOU SO MUCH !!! as a poly person it makes ME so so happy too !!! i seriously don't write them enough

2) this is a god tier ask and i am excited so !! let's get into it

i adore the idea of this being just,, a spur of the moment kind of idea.

it's a lazy day and they're all relaxing and ignoring responsibilities taking a day off just to recharge. maybe all three of them are curled up on the couch, quiet and sleepy on their third movie of the day, and when that one ends, kath just kind of sits up and says, "let's go on a picnic."

they don't have anything remotely "picnic"-y, like a basket for food or a checkered blanket like you see in all of the movies, but they DO have a few tote bags and some extra king size sheets, so they all head down to the nearest bodega for some food. they get exclusively junk food and candy (bc they're responsible adults, god damn it) and make their way to central park.

i feel the need to say that this is a VERY casual event. like. sweatpants and hoodies, kath with a messy bun and a sports bra under one of davey's thrifted flannels, jack already having taken out his contacts so he's wearing those glasses that make him look like a dweeb, davey's hair being really messy bc it's a lazy day and he hasn't given it any thought ,,

they're all just in a good mood!! happy happy happy

they find a little secluded area in the park and spend hours just eating shitty food and staring at the clouds. jack, being the extra bitch he is, brought a sketchbook and some graphite pencils, so he sketches davey and kath while they talk.

also i feel like davey would be one of those guys to bring a guitar to the park, so him and kath sing together for a little bit; they're not professional, obviously, and they're being pretty quiet, but jack thinks they're the most beautiful people in the world.

the boys take turns letting kath mess with their hair. jack's is long enough to kind of braid it, so she fusses with it for a while until davey lays his head in her lap and she just. fluffs his hair up

it's just such a soft n domestic little date !! lots of cuddles and kisses. they stay out until the sun goes down and, even thought they're all dressed like they just rolled out of bed, they take tons of pictures during golden hour and take some nice leisurely strolls down the streets of new york.

also bc i believe it's important: jack's candy of choice is Reese's Cups or . katherine's candy of choice is sour patch kids but specifically the watermelon ones, OR the strawberry nut m&ms they had out for a while (even tho they're hard as shit to find). davey is a Sour Guy and his candy of choice is definitely the mini chewy sweetarts or sour skittles.

also bc it's important: kath would kill a man for some lemonade, jack definitely drinks dr. pepper, and davey spends an absurd amount of money on those bottled frappes from starbucks (and otherwise just gets water)

thank u so much for this !!! i miss doing these little headcanon posts AHA thank you !! (also if you're reading this: my asks are always open for headcanon prompts like these!!)

[fangirlovestuff]

Butterfly Effect - Steve Rogers x reader

a/n - Hey lovely people! this is for @holylulusworld​​‘s 10,000 followers celebration, congrats!! (even though you have a lot more now lol). the divider is by the amazing @firefly-graphics​. italics are for thoughts / flashbacks, and the first parts are all in chronological order. Enjoy!<3

Summary: The words on Steve’s arm point to the circumstances in which he will meet his soulmate, and they’re very specific, or so he thinks.

Prompt: 11 - soulmate AU

Word Count: ~2,070

Warnings: reader gets a tatoo but basically this is just a huge fluff fest:)

"That's a cute owl you're drawing there."  

These are the words that were imprinted on Steve's arm since the moment he was born. When Steve could finally read, he asked his mother why are the words there.

"These words are very important," Sarah explained. "They are the first words your soulmate will ever say to you."

"What's a soulmate?" asked a confused Steve.

"A soulmate," his mother answered, "is someone you're gonna love very much. They're the person you'd probably choose to spend the rest of your life with. Their soul is connected to yours in inexplicable ways, almost as if they were one and the same. This," she pointed at the words, "is the sign for you to realize when you'll meet them. Somewhere out there, there's someone with the first words you're gonna say to them."

"So I'll be drawing an owl when I meet my soulfriend?" Steve asked.

"It's soulmate, dear. And I guess you probably will."

"And this… soulmate, will they buy me ice cream?" Steve asked hopefully, not quite getting the point.

Sarah giggled at her son. "Yes, I think they will if you'd want that. But also, they would love you so much, and you'll have the most fun in the world with them."

"Was da your soulmate?" Steve asked.

"He is," his mother answered, the smile on her face tinged with a little sadness that Steve hadn't picked up on.

Okay, so two round eyes, and then the body, and I should add some feathers and –

"Mr. Rogers!" the math teacher said sternly. "I haven’t assigned any equations yet, so I would appreciate it if you'd keep your attention on me instead of your notebook, for now."

"Yes, Ms. Williams," Steve replied sheepishly.

"You know you've already met everyone in this class right? No one here is your soulmate," Bucky whispered once their teacher turned back to the board.

"But I still want to get better at it," Steve shrugged defensively. "She's gonna say it's cute, Buck. For that to happen it needs to actually be cute."

"I don't get your whole fuss around soulmates Steve, but whatever. Suit yourself," Bucky rolled his eyes.

"You don't believe in soulmates?" Steve asked.

"Well, I wouldn't strictly say that, it's just… my words are 'watch it, weirdo.' Call me crazy, but I'm not that stoked to find that person," Bucky chuckled.

"Mr. Barnes! Something to share with the rest of us?" Ms. Williams said.

"No Ms. Williams, I'm sorry," Bucky said timidly and Steve snickered.

Steve could draw owls in his sleep if he needed to. Right now, his pencil was sketching over the page, lightly shading the wings of the owl and the –

"Rogers! You're on in five!" the stage manager called out to him.

Steve sighed and snapped his sketchbook shut. He kept hoping that maybe it was one of the girls on tour with him, but so far it wasn't going so well. The government-mandated entertainment had quite enough free time so Steve could draw as many owls as he wanted to in between shows.

He put the notebook aside and slipped on the cowl they had him wear. The Captain was needed on stage.

"So people take art classes… for fun?" Steve asked, puzzled.

"Yeah," Natasha answered. "Lately you're always drawing away in your little notebook, so if you want to, I could help you sign up for a class. Maybe they can teach an old dog some new tricks," she smirked.

"Ha ha," Steve answered dryly. Yet he couldn't help considering the idea.

The thing was, Steve wasn't sure if his soulmate was still out there to be found. You'd think he would feel a difference, some indication if his soulmate was dead, but when he went out of the ice, Steve felt nothing different. There was still a part of him that was hoping that maybe, just maybe, fate planned this. That his soulmate was still out there.

"That's a great color scheme, Steve," the instructor said, and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Thanks," he smiled, albeit a tad shakily.

This was the fifth class Steve took this month, and yet, no luck. He wasn't even drawing an owl, and yet the start of that sentence made him jump as if he didn't have super… well, everything.

But that doesn't mean he was giving up. His tattoo was still in place, even after all of these years, it hadn't faded. So he had to believe he could still find his soulmate.

These times were a lot more different than his. People here weren't always inclined to live by that philosophy of "soulmates". Some people chose to simply disregard that and find someone they loved regardless. Steve admired that, but he couldn't say he understood. If you're offered your perfect partner, why walk out of that?

"It's called instant gratification," Nat chuckled when he raised that question to her. "People like to have what they want as soon as possible. Besides, some people don't believe it's real, or don't believe it'll work for them. So, they take matters into their own hands."

Steve was more patient than the average person. He waited decades in ice, what's a few more years to find his soulmate?

Bucky had found his soulmate. Steve couldn't believe it.

Sure, he was happy for Bucky. When he came back today from the store with nothing but a small slip of paper, Steve had half a mind to smack him upright the head for not getting anything. Probably forgot his wallet.

But when Bucky showed him the paper he read the words scribbled onto it – "call me, weirdo, xx" and a phone number, Steve pulled Bucky into a tight hug, patting him on the back.

"Congrats, pal," he smiled.

Bucky beamed. Yes, Bucky Barnes, the terrifying Winter Soldier was beaming and his eyes were shining like a high-schooler in love. And Steve wished that could've been him.

He really was happy for Bucky. That's the thing – this was a good thing. Besides from his best friend finding the love of his life, it also meant that Steve's soulmate is almost definitely out there. But he couldn't help feeling a spark of resentment deep inside of him. It made him feel guilty, but he couldn't help the bitter thought that Bucky was never too keen on finding his soulmate while Steve did everything in his power to find them. And yet, Bucky found his while Steve's still in the dark.

So, to get out of his own head a little, Steve decided to go paint in the park.

To be honest, it was a wonder that Steve hadn't gotten awfully tired of drawing by now. But he still loved it, loved the quiet it cultivated in his mind.

Steve set up a canvas and looked around. People weren't noticing him, busy in their own endeavors. He almost started drawing an owl out of instinct, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Steve wanted to forget about the whole soulmate business for a while and just draw.

He saw a butterfly fly over and land on a nearby bush. Steve focused on the butterfly, trying to remember as much as he can. The rest he can improvise. The butterfly fluttered its wings for a few seconds before flying away.

Steve started drawing the butterfly. Once he had the pencil sketch, he started filling it in with the paints he had brought. He started with the little circles on its wings, filling them in so the shade will be just right, and he was about to move on to the rest on the wings when –

"That's a cute owl you're drawing there."

"It's a butterfly," Steve turned around, puzzled, before realizing what you had just said to him.

Your mouth opened in a gentle gasp. Your hair and clothes were a little messy from your long day at work. And at that moment, when you were caught completely off guard, Steve first met you. You were the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on, and he was an artist. He stared at you in utter shock while you returned him a similar look.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" your friend asked, sitting next to you with a worried look.

"I'm tired of looking for my soulmate. Do you know how hard it is to make conversation about butterflies?" you looked back at her. "I want to do this," you told her.

The tattoo artist came closer. "Okay ma'am, you wanted a simple butterfly, right?"

"Yes," you answered decisively. "On my left wrist." Your right hand had your words on it. "It's a butterfly." Maybe if you had a tattoo your soulmate would see it, would find you.

You closed your eyes and braced for what came next.

You weren't sure about this blind date thing, but why not. You trusted your friend that she set you up with a nice guy, at least.

You set up to meet in a park, and from there walk to a nearby restaurant. Right when the guy showed up, there was a butterfly next to you.

"What’s that?" you asked quickly, pointing towards it.

Your date turned his head to look, but by the time he did the butterfly was already flying away. "I don't know, it was probably a bug or something."

You stifled your groan of disappointment. At least you'd get a dinner out of this.

You and Steve were staring at each other in amazement. Finally, you were the one to speak up. "You're Steve Rogers," you said, frowning in disbelief.

"And you're my… soulmate," he returned the same disbelieving look.

You introduced yourself quickly, smiling at him timidly when you finished.

"So, you wanna get ice cream or something?" Steve asked, unsure of what exactly to do. But apparently he said exactly the right thing, because your face lit up.

"Right now though? You're in the middle of your painting and I wouldn't wanna –"

"It doesn't matter," Steve said quickly and stashed the canvas and paints underneath a bench nearby. "No one passes here anyways," he shrugged. "Until today," he smiled and you giggled.

You made your way to an ice cream shop across the street from the park, walking side by side.

"So, what is the great Captain America doing drawing owl-looking butterflies in a local park?" you asked, smiling.

"I was just looking to clear my head a little," Steve said dismissively. "To be honest, the fact that you didn't find me drawing an actual owl is very ironic, looking back," Steve chuckled. "I spent pretty much my entire life drawing owls, attending painting classes, anything I could to find you," his gaze met yours and he smiled softly. "And I find you in a random park while drawing a butterfly."

"Don't underestimate nature's camouflage," you chuckled. "And hey, you think that's ironic? Butterflies are so scarce I got this," you rolled up your left sleeve a little, revealing your butterfly tattoo.

Steve's eyes widened. "It's beautiful," he automatically reached out to trace the lines on your arm, then withdraws his arm when he understands what he's doing. "It's not as beautiful as you," he says with a smile on his face.

You avert your eyes to the ground in front of you. "Thank you," you bashfully say.

You and Steve got your ice cream, and you exchanged plenty of stories of your adventures in search of each other, most of which were devastating when they happened but when you look back at them now, they were actually pretty funny.

"I hope I can see you again," Steve said when it was getting a little late.

He looked so hopeful, but the question in itself made you want to laugh at the obviousness of the answer. Instead, you rose onto your tiptoes, and planted your lips on his soft ones in a sweet kiss.

Once you parted you took a napkin and wrote down your number. "I sure hope to see you soon," you smiled.

"I'll call you, butterfly," Steve grinned and you beamed at the nickname.

And that night you both went home with huge smiles smeared across your faces. Finally, your quest to find your soulmate was at an end, and you could start a new journey, together.

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[tobesobri]

Bust | Part One: Chisel (7.8k)

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

In which Y/N is an annoyance in Harry’s sculpting class.

story masterlist | my masterlist

It’s not her forte. Her hands don’t know how to hold onto things. They tremble under pressure. They mess things up no matter how hard she tries.

Not that she had really tried very hard to begin with.

Sculpting was just not something she saw herself doing. Ever. Not with her lack of agility and poor attention to detail. But to appease her whining best friend… she’d do just about anything.

The class was held in a little art studio with large windows for ventilation and tall ceilings to display the mass amounts of student artwork on butcher block shelves. She never thought she’d be back in a classroom type setting after graduating college, but here she was.

Learning, what she proclaimed as, a useless skill.

The studio was smack dab in the middle of an inclined street. Little quaint buildings that sat on an angle because why not pour foundations on a hill and make her weekly walks to the studio a little sweatier than she would have preferred. Even if it was winter in their little beach village town. Sweat still happened. It just happened underneath a scarf and a hand-knitted beanie from the sewing shop next door.

She could not deny, however, that the late afternoon classes every Wednesday and Saturday brought her way more joy than she’d anticipated. She looked forward to meeting up with Rose at the bottom-of-the-hill cafe, sharing the daily special with her before making their way up to the studio. It was calm in the middle and end of her hectic weeks that she most definitely needed.

What she didn’t need, however, what she most certainly did not look forward to, what she could have done without, what took her joy and smashed it against a wall was him.

The instructor.

Harry ‘I have nice hands and a misleading smile’ Styles.

It had only been two weeks into their classes and he had already told her one of her bowls was garbage. That the way she sculpted a face was terrifying. That she couldn’t draw for shit and that made her attempts at sculpting even worse.

So by Saturday of their second week, she didn't care anymore. He was a jerk and she would be the best pain in his ass she knew how to be.

While everyone called him Harry, like he’d asked them to the very first day, she called him Mr. Styles. Just to see the way his eyes rolled back into his head and his nostrils flared. While everyone asked him insightful questions, like what glaze was best to use or what tool sculpted eyes most efficiently, she asked him if she could use the bathroom.

She got a fucking kick out of irritating him. Knowing he went home after their classes just as irritated as she’d been. With clenched fists and a pounding headache.

It helped that he was insanely too attractive to be teaching a bunch of millennials about sculpting in his free time.

“You should really leave him alone, he might kick us out, you know,” Rose said on their first third week walk up Justice Hill. There was no justice in walking uphill, and most fucking certainly not in the humidity-ridden beachside town. She found the street name personally offensive.

“Oh fuck him. If he kicks us out, he’ll have to refund us.” Y/N did not, even for a second, bother to lower her voice as they neared the studio, knowing any one of the other students could hear her if they were to walk by.

“Refund us what? We got the class for free, remember?”

Y/N racked her brain like she’d completely forgotten that little detail before shrugging it off. “Whatever. He won’t kick us out.”

“How do you know for sure?”

Before she could make some stupid remark about how Harry secretly liked her pestering him or about how much he seemed much too impressed by Rose’s progress to ever get rid of them, the devil himself turned the corner in front of them.

He came out from an alleyway that connected the street to a tiny parking lot. And while they were going uphill, he was coming down. He was hard to miss and so were they, but still he attempted to not see them.

“What a prick,” Y/N mumbled under her breath as they got closer to each other. And almost as if he could read her lips, he rolled his eyes so fucking hard she thought maybe they’d finally pop right out of his head this time.

“Shush,” Rose warned as the three of them finally met in the middle, at the door to the studio that was decorated with a bright yellow ‘Open’ sign, children’s drawings, hand-painted hours of operation, and one too many polaroids of past students and their sculpting creations.

They all stood and stared at each other for a moment before he opened the door first, holding it as, to Y/N’s surprise, he let them go in first. And while she was still in shock at the gesture, his body language said it all. Like he was forcing himself to be nice to the dynamic duo, to the bane of his existence. While she was too distracted by Harry and his clay-stained trousers and cable-knit sweater with a cartoon deer embroidered on it, Rose walked into the studio first. Giving Harry a polite smile that he returned almost… genuinely.

And right when Y/N made a move to follow, Harry stepped in front of her. She jolted back as he just about let the door slam her in the face.

Today was going to be fantastic.

*                                              *                                 *

“Right, so,” Harry began, clapping his dry hands together as he took a seat behind his messy table at the front of the studio. “I know some of you haven’t finished your heads yet, but our focus today will still be on the bodies. We’ll have a catch up on Saturday to make up for it.”

Y/N sought out her head on the wall where she’d placed it last week beside Rose’s, realizing for the first time just how ugly it really was. And to think she’d been trying to sculpt Harry’s annoying face. Even more annoying that no matter what she did, he was always a lot more handsome than her hunk of polymer clay.

“... because, like I mentioned, we have special guests today who will be modeling for you.” Harry stood again while two very thin and very conventionally perfect people came out in white robes. Y/N couldn’t help but gag.

“This is Hope and Jordan.” Harry motioned as he introduced them, not getting any further in his instructions before Y/N raised her hand in the back of the class.

Rose attempted to get her to put it down, too, because Harry was clearly in the middle of something, but it didn’t really work out so well. Y/N was a stubborn son of a bitch.

“Yeah?” He pointed at her, sighing while planting his hands on his hips. He knew nothing she had to ask was going to be at all beneficial to the group.

She cleared her throat and just from the smirk on her face, he braced for impact. “Are they going to be modeling nude?”

She made just about everyone blush, except for Harry. He hated how she never took anything seriously. That the art he’d spent years perfecting enough to teach meant nothing to her. It was all just a primary school joke in her eyes.

“Yes, actually,” he answered bluntly and then returned to what he was going to say before Y/N’s interruption. “So I want everyone to get a piece of paper and while they’re modeling, do a rough sketch of what you might want the body of your sculpture to look like. The importance is to get the proportions down so that when you use the clay, you’ll know how much you’ll need for each part. Just like we did for the heads.”

Harry walked around the class once the models were stripped and the sketching began. Rose started immediately, concentration on her face as she flipped between the female model and her piece of sketchbook paper.

All Y/N had was a scratch piece of grey-toned mixed media paper she’d found laying on their table. And absolutely no clue where to even begin.

She stared at Harry instead of the naked models, watching as he helped others around the room, pointing at their sketches and where they could improve. His other hand behind his back that gave her perfect access to stare at his rings. Remembering how he’d taken them off guide their first few sculpting lessons. Remembering how his hands had so gently but so fucking firmly caressed the mound of clay into the exact shapes he wanted like he knew exactly what to do with those things.

“See it’s going just as I expected back here.” When his voice was at her ear, she jumped out of her skin and out of her daydreams. Twisting her head around to him as he stood behind her, she found him staring over her shoulder at her blank piece of paper.

She narrowed her eyes at him once she’d fully processed what he said. “Sorry I’m trying to figure out the best way to scale up that dude’s micro-cock, proportionally, if you don’t mind.”

He just about choked on his own spit, and rightfully so. But when he glanced to her eyes instead of her disappointing blank canvas, with his eyebrows furrowed and his cute little nostrils flared just the way she liked them, it was clear his reaction wasn’t for the reasons she’d intended.

He was quiet. Lips pursed, mind completely empty apart from hearing her say cock over and over again. Echoing against his skull. Making a home for itself in his hippocampus for later purposes. When he was not in a class full of students with their eyes on him, watching him get hard at the fucking way she said cock.

“Leave you to it then,” he cleared his throat and continued on.

“He may not kick us out, but killing you is still an option,” Rose whispered once Harry was a safe distance away from them.

Y/N leaned back in her seat to watch him walk down the rest of their row. His hands behind his back again, eyes wandering over shoulders.

As long as he had those rings on while he choked her out, she was okay with that.

*                                              *                                 *

Everyone had moved on to their bodies. Gathering the clay they needed from the front and using their sketches as guidelines to build around the pre-made wire and aluminum foil armature. Most everyone had some sort of a form being attached to the heads of their sculptures by the time Y/N even got started.

Because she decided on using Harry as reference after all and he would just not stand still.

With the models gone, they were on their own, with help from Harry of course. He played several videos and gave various demonstrations to aide them. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect, but after she gave it her all for about ten minutes, she was ready to give up. Her body looked like a very lumpy, very deformed version of Shrek.

She took a break again, watching Rose sculpt for a while instead. She watched Harry sometimes too as he walked around the class again in gloves this time. Smoothing out features and picking up tools to aid in the process of forming collarbones and wrinkles.

The studio was in its typical state of disarray. Random cups of milky water on every table, pieces of clay smushed into the tile floor, tools and used gloves strewn about with no rhyme or reason. Harry thrived in that kind of environment while Y/N well… she hated it.

She wanted organization and cleanliness. Her nine-to-five called for that kind of thing. But she was slowly getting used to it. To letting go and embracing the mess while she was here. She wasn’t the one that had to clean it all up anyways.

The only time she wasn’t daydreaming was when Harry started up their aisle again, walking in front of their table this time however. He helped a couple others at the end of their row, watched some of them work before eventually landing right in front of Rose’s station.

He cocked his head to the side while he watched her struggle to form an even pair of breasts on her headless lady. And even though Y/N was trying her best to look busy, she just couldn’t help it.

Rose handed her work in progress over to him with a frustrated huff after he offered his assistance. And like… no way was Y/N missing out on Mr. Harry fucking Styles fingering some clay into the perfect set of boobs. No way.

Especially fucking not when he removed his gloves and used those fingers in their bare glory the way she wished he’d use them someplace else. She watched while he slapped some more clay on Rose’s poor flat-chested model and proceeded to smooth it out with his expert fingertips. She watched the clay melt under his touch, watching him dip into their shared cup of water to aid the process. She looked away long enough to admire the concentration on his face, the way he bit down on his lip and furrowed his brows the way she was used to. She watched again while he fixed all of Rose’s mistakes just by gliding his thumbs over the two perfect little lumps on her sculpture that sure as hell hadn’t started out so perfectly.

She had no idea why Harry sculpting a tiny set of breasts on what would eventually become a mermaid got her so hot and bothered but… it did. It did so fucking much, she was almost salivating like a dog by the end of it, thinking about what his hands could do with the real deal. But then he handed it back to Rose with a content smile on his face and burst Y/N’s little bubble.

“Might be better,” he said softly and Rose nodded in agreement. She hadn't noticed before, but when he stood to his full height it was clear he’d been leaning over on their table. Closer to the both of them than he’d ever really been before. And she knew he was tall, taller than Rose, who was five foot seven inches herself. And not just that but his shoulders were broad and his arms were a humble amount of muscular. Almost like he was a sculptor that kneaded clay a hundred hours a week. Maybe that was why she was a soaking wet mess.

He stretched his gloves back onto his hands and glanced Y/N’s direction. Eyes going straight from her disaster of an art piece to her flushed face and back.

“Don’t even know where to start to fix yours up,” he commented while moving slightly to his right until he stood directly in front of Y/N this time.

She looked at her abomination, wondering if it would be her worst idea to push more of his buttons or not. But, she went for it anyways. Her lack of impulse control would definitely come back to bite her in the ass one day.

“It’s the penis. Still haven’t gotten that down yet.”

He nodded, amused rather than his previous reaction to her antics. “Can see that, yeah. He’s got a bit of a crooked willy there.” Harry poked at it with his index finger and she became hyper aware of his closeness this time while he leaned over her tabletop again. Because his hands were right there, almost touching her own. And they were big, bigger than she realized. She could see him perfectly through the transparent gloves, his long fingers with clipped nails at the end that were well taken care of, considering.

She would need to soak herself in holy water for a while after this.

“Oh, is that not what the male anatomy looks like?” She teased, not fully realizing they were getting along for the first time and it was because of dicks. Because she’d put an oddly shaped protrusion on her figure before she’d even done much else with the blob of clay stuck to her form.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head at her and standing up straight again. “Maybe if you paid attention when the models were out here, you’d know that.”

“Maybe if you hired someone who’s cock I could actually see from all the way back here without a fucking magnifying glass.” She was only slightly aware of how fully immersed she was in the debate over this penis.

But all he heard was cock again. She really needed to stop saying that. Because this time his mind was a little more imaginative while he stared at her lips and thought about the way she might say that on her knees in front of him.

He shook his head clear. She was an insufferable nuisance that he just barely tolerated on a good day. He didn't need her clogging up his brain with her cock talk too.

“Just fix it.” He mumbled.

She huffed when he left her to her own devices, not even bothering to offer his help, but she really shouldn’t expect any less. If he helped her, he would be doing it all for her. And that was hardly the point of taking a class to learn how to sculpt if the hot instructor was just going to do everything for you.

“Is there a reason why you’re arguing with him about penises?” Rose asked, hushing her voice around the apparently taboo word.

“It’s fun. And if I’m going to sit here in this stupid class with you I’m going to have some fun.” Y/N, on the other hand, was not hushed or subtle at all, as she ripped off the phallic piece of clay from her sculpture.

Rose cringed when she glanced past Y/N to find Harry looking right at her. He had been helping someone a few seats down and clearly not far enough away to have missed what Y/N said. All of his features drooped and he looked genuinely upset. Rose wished she could put a filter over Y/N’s mouth to save everyone from her insensitive outbursts. Especially Harry. He always tried so hard and for Y/N to brush everything off and boil it all down to a ‘stupid class’ even broke Rose’s heart a little. So she could only imagine how Harry felt.

After their typical hour and a half was up, once everyone at least had some semblance of a body minus the legs and arms, Harry called the class back to order.

“Alright, that’s time. You can put your armatures back on the shelves, carefully. As always, I’ll be around for a little while after. Have a great rest of your night, I’ll see you all on Saturday.” He finished his spiel, turning away to help clean up before a lightbulb went off in his head and his voice rang through the studio again, “Oh, and make sure you bring your sketches back with you!”

Everyone worked on cleaning up, including Harry. And while Y/N took both her and Rose’s sculptures over to their respective spots on the shelves, Rose walked up to the front of the class without any warning whatsoever.

She tapped Harry’s shoulder and watched while his smile faded just the tiniest bit after he turned to find her. That Rose’s poor face had to be associated with the thunderstorm that was Y/N.

“I just wanted to say sorry… about Y/N.” Both Rose and Harry glanced at the girl in question near the back of the studio, playing with their two sculpted bodies like they were barbie dolls. “I forced her to do this with me so she hasn’t really taken it seriously. But I’m really enjoying the class, you’re a fantastic instructor.”

His smile returned again and if he was being honest with himself, it really did make him feel better to hear her say that. He had some sort of a reasoning for Y/N’s horrible attitude and while he wished it was her apologizing and not Rose, he figured it was good enough.

“Thank you. You’re doing really well so far. I’ll see you on Saturday, yeah?”

She nodded, giving him one last polite smile before trotting back to Y/N and helping her clean up the last bits around their workstation.

“Please do not tell me you were flirting with him.” Y/N gagged, using a ball of clay to gather the little pieces spread across their table like a magnet.

“No, actually, I was apologizing to him for your behavior.”

Y/N snapped her head up, first at Rose and then Harry all the way across the room from them. “You what?”

“He’s just trying to teach and you’ve been a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N gasped in fake offense, which was actually slightly real offense. “Excuse me, he made fun of my bowl the first day, you seem to have forgotten about that.”

“A toddler could have made a better bowl than that, Y/N, and you know it.”

She frowned, grumpily averting her eyes to the table with her arms crossed over her chest like she really was a toddler.

“I’m just saying,” Rose started, a bit calmer this time, “stop pestering him.”

*                                              *                                 *

Y/N thought about everything Rose had said. About how much she wished she could take things seriously and not constantly get on people’s nerves all the time, but she simply did not know how to. Taking the piss out of things and making jokes was how she got through her days.

But she did agree. Harry didn’t deserve her behavior. Maybe he was a bit of a jerk to her to begin with, but insulting his class might’ve been crossing a line.

Because she didn’t actually think it was stupid. She quite enjoyed listening to him. She liked learning something new and following his instructions as he walked them through some of his techniques. She liked being connected to all the people in the little studio, even if only briefly. Complete strangers all shared that one little thing in common and it made her all fuzzy and warm inside each time she met up with Rose at the end of every Wednesday and Saturday.

Hiding behind a bit of humor, however, was a lot more comfortable than admitting she found pleasure in anything as corny as sculpting classes.

On Friday night, boredom got the best of her and she took a chance upon searching Harry’s name on Instagram while she took her weekly bath. It had been Rose’s idea, the bath, not stalking her attractive sculpting instructor online. That decision was completely her own. But the baths at the end of stressful weeks had a little influence from her best friend, as did most aspects of her life. Baths were a waste of time, in her opinion, and she preferred the efficiency of showering. But Rose had given her nice smelling soaps and weird fizzy things for bath time and well… she couldn’t let them go to waste.

So, amid her regularly scheduled, once-a-week bath, she scrolled shamelessly through Harry’s feed. Because he did, in fact, have an instagram. And she only knew it was him because every fourth post was a video and in said videos were his hands. And, fuck, they were just as nice on film as they were in person.

He didn’t post much of his face, which she thought was an actual crime, but there was a lot about him and his sculpting. She found out it had been his sister’s birthday recently, who, when she smiled, looked just like him. He’d also just finished a piece he seemed really proud of, a clay head and bust of a pit bull, to which he linked in the caption about a local shelter who rescued the breed specifically and needed donations. Her heart nearly fucking melted.

Harry wasn’t much of an open book, though, unless he let his art do most of the talking. He seemed to enjoy sculpting women the most, which is probably why he’d been so good at de-lumping the breasts on Rose’s mermaid. But all the female sculptures he made weren’t sexual at all. They had meaning behind them. Like every single clay face she clicked on throughout his photos had a story. Like he was uplifting rather than fetishizing.

And not every single one of them was skinny and had perfect features. She was shocked to see at least half of the creations she’d skimmed through were of larger women with imperfect breasts at times and asymmetrical faces. Not sticking to typical European beauty standards as she may have originally assumed he might.

It made glancing down at her very much imperfect body feel a little less like an attack. Because Harry spent his time putting all his love into his little sculptures with diverse body types that she almost felt ashamed for ever hating hers.

Once she was done clicking on just about every single post he’d ever made, she finally found a selfie. Well… not really a selfie. Someone else had clearly taken it of him candidly while he had been working. But there was an awfully cute smile on his face and very familiar dimples poking into his cheeks that make her heart warm up again.

He wasn’t a damn thing like she’d assumed he was from the beginning. She thought his art centered around the ideal, and that maybe he was a little condescending because of it. But his Instagram told a different story about his art. And she wanted to know so much more about him.

She was completely lost in her dreams about him that just the smidge of distraction led to accidentally liking a photo of his from two years prior.

She’d have to move countries. Change her name. Delete everything. Never look back. Y/N? A distant memory.

Before dropping her phone in the tub and really making a complete ass out of herself, she threw it, instead, onto her furry rug in the middle of the bathroom and sunk herself down into the water. Wondering if it would really be so bad if she just drowned a little bit.

Because she desperately wanted to. There was nothing she could do. Not even unliking the picture would help. He’d still see the notification. Still click onto her page and realize who in the fuck had just liked a two-year-old post of his that he, himself, had probably even forgotten about.

She wanted nothing more than to sink her head under the pink-tinted water and never come back up. Her mind would not stop with the visualizations of what his reaction might be. Things he might be thinking. Like is this that fucking bitch from my sculpting class? Or whether or not she might find herself blocked by morning.

God, just make it stop.

But suddenly her phone buzzed and her heart just about stopped beating. It had to be the notification that Harry blocked her. Was that even a thing? Did Instagram notify you if someone blocked you? And why was her phone on silent? Because her Instagram notifications and her text messages made very different sounds. If it was just a text, she’d consider ignoring it. She’d continue marinating in all her shame a little while longer. But it ate her alive not knowing what the buzzing was from.

So, carefully, she pulled herself upright and reached across the floor until she had her phone in her hand. Before she clicked the screen on, though, she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

But when she opened her eyes and found out why her phone had buzzed, she let that breath out and settled her ass down again. It was Rose.

Hey, I can’t make it tomorrow for class. Felt like absolute shit at work today and had to go home because as it turns out I have the flu.

“Fuck,” Y/N mumbled to herself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go alone because facing Harry after she just did what she did was one thing, but doing it all by herself was another. But a part of her did still want to go tomorrow. The part before her horrific accident when she was full on getting a love boner over Harry. She’d wanted to see him again so fucking bad.

Okay. I probably won’t go too then

Y/N physically frowned at the idea of waiting another five days to see Harry again. Her brain really needed to make its fucking mind up about him. Did she want to see him or not?

No! You have to go and tell me what I missed!

Y/N rolled her eyes, but felt relieved. Even after her embarrassing slip up, her desire to see Harry again still prevailed. And she hated it. How was she even supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, both of them knowing damn well she’d been stalking his Instagram back to two fucking years ago?

*                                              *                                 *

It was beyond weird sitting in their usual cafe on Justice Hill alone, even without the whole Instagram fiasco of the previous night she was trying everything in her power to forget about.

However all the desperate attempts to bury that awful experience were fruitless when she glanced across the room over her latte and found a very familiar set of grumpy-looking eyes already staring at her. But once she did notice him, he immediately looked away, stepping up to the counter to order his own cup of coffee.

She nearly choked on her drink, having to set it down and wipe what had spilled onto her chin off with a napkin she’d already used to sop up another one of her messes.

Of the three weeks now they’d been going to classes and frequenting the cafe just before, she’d never seen Harry. It was like he didn’t have a life outside being an instructor. He just popped up in the studio and she always left before him so she had no idea what he did after class either.

But seeing him here was like seeing a fucking unicorn in real life.

She couldn’t help watching him either, even if she knew she shouldn't. But, in her defense, he was wearing beautiful wine-colored corduroy pants with a tight white t-shirt tucked into them and a beige coat thrown over his arm to match. And for shoes he had on his usual white vans that had gained a few more scuff marks since the last time she’d seen him. His fashion would look terrible on anyone besides him.

He glanced her way again, briefly, when he left the counter with his cup, fighting his legs from walking in her direction but not exactly winning that battle.

And to her surprise, he stood right in front of her, behind the chair where Rose usually sat.

And when she looked up at him, he completely forgot why he had come over. He had no fucking clue what he was doing there. But it was too late now for him to back away and pretend like it never happened.

“Your friend's not coming?” His voice shook, but she didn’t notice with the way he finally took his fucking eyes off of her and gave her a chance to breathe again. He glanced at his watch just to confirm that it was, in fact, only five minutes until class started and it seemed reasonable to assume Rose wasn’t meeting her before then.

She pulled herself together and pretended like his close presence wasn’t intimidating her in the slightest.

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

He left her so fucking speechless, that after he started backing away from her table, reminding her to not be late, she still ended up being late. Because she sat in her chair for what felt like a century repeating his two words over and over again in her head.

Lucky me.

She knew he was only teasing but the way he’d just gone along with her original joke and how his voice sounded when he said it, she could not believe it. She could also not believe how Harry had some kind of massive hold on her that she sat staring at a wall for ten minutes trying to figure out how to operate properly again just to get up out of her chair.

Lucky fucking me.

She could scream.

If she wasn’t in public.

There was an extra pep in her step as she took Justice Hill alone this time, partially because of how giddy Harry had made her and partially because she was late… right after he told her not to be. But how was she supposed to be on time after what he’d just done to her emotions. And to the throbbing mess between her legs, but that's another story entirely.

Everyone was all over the place when she’d finally arrived, though, so it made slipping in the back that much easier. Not that she got past Harry’s watchful eyes, though, but at least she wasn’t interrupting anything while the class readied their workstations for another full night of going ham on their sculptures.

Harry kept his eyes on her mostly the entire time she did the same at her empty little area, watching as she tucked her purse under the desk for safekeeping and threw a couple tools he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her use onto the table. When she wandered off to the wall of shelves to retrieve her absolutely horrifying work of art, he finally gave her some privacy again. But he couldn’t help the fact that he’d been worried sick when she didn’t show up on time after he’d just seen her at the cafe, thinking something horrible could have happened to her between there and here.

So making sure she was unscathed before he, too, got his area organized was essential.

She sat in her chair and stared at what she had made the past three weeks. They’d started with something simple on the first day, taking a pre-cut slice of clay and free-handing a bowl with a few tips from Harry thrown in here and there. Then they jumped straight in after he showed them a few clips of sculptors working, pausing to explain specific things about creating a head and face. They were given everything they needed to make sculpting a complete figurine of a human body as easy as possible.

And still, she managed to create a combination of Shrek and the abominable snowman.

She huffed, wondering if she asked nicely enough Harry would let her just start all over. But before she could even think to do so, he clapped his hands together and got everyone’s attention for today’s mini-tutorial.

He explained smoothing to them and how there were many different ways of doing it so that your end results weren't littered in fingerprints. He reminded them to use water to smooth out the initial shapes of the clay they wanted and if they were having a really hard time with too much warmth from their fingers to use the gloves.

He ventured a little into detail work of the bust, showing a short clip of another artist forming collar bones with just two tools and her fingers. He explained what tools those were and why they were the most efficient for details and went on some more about other detail tools that were good for different things.

And the entire time she was far too lost in his voice and how his eyes lit up passionately when he rambled to even think about the fact that she wasn’t taking a single note for Rose’s sake.

They’d done a few lessons on details for the face, but they had yet to really get that far, only having put on tentative eyelids, lips and a nose for their heads before he really dove deep into details in what she assumed would be a full class later on.

And when he finally took a break to ask for any questions, she was, of course, the first to raise her hand. He thought about ignoring it, knowing all too well that anytime Y/N raised her hand in the back of his classroom, she was up to no good. But he was too nice to do that to anyone, even her.

So he called on her by nodding his head and she cleared her throat while he grimaced, expecting the worst.

“So, um, for example if we were going to do bigger details like abs on a male figure, what would be the best tool for that?”

He could have sworn he was having a heart attack. He had to blink a few times just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. She was actually asking him a legitimate question, and a good one at that. He had to repeat what she said in his head first, just to make sure it was real, before he answered, completely unprepared.

“Um… well after you lay out the clay where you want on the body, you can use one of the knives to blend the edges,” he held up an example of one for her, “and then a large ball or oval tool like this,” he held up another, “to smooth everything out. You’d probably want a more blunt pointed end to shape them, though, after you blend the clay in.”

She nodded like she’d been fully absorbing every single word coming out of his mouth and then he watched as she dug around quietly in the tool kit on her desk, in search of the types of tools he’d mentioned.

He could not fucking believe it though. She finally showed a stitch of interest in learning about sculpting. And he had no idea why she decided to right now. Maybe it was because she was without her partner in crime, but either way he was stunned. Absolutely fucking marveled.

After a few more questions and some demonstrations, he let everyone go and continue working on their projects while he circled the room as he normally did. And he found himself glancing at her from time to time, all by herself in the back with a genuine look of concentration on her face as she attempted making her creature a little less loch ness monster and a little more human.

Eventually, after he figured she was giving it enough effort for him to step in and help if she needed, he headed her way. And just as she sensed him walking down her aisle, while she was busy shaving off clay, a piece of it went flying into the air, completely out of control.

He stopped in his tracks after almost being smacked in the face with a chunk of clay and bent over to pick it up before someone squished it into the bottom of their shoes. He leaned over the edge of the table in front of her again, setting the piece of clay down next to her gently while she bit her lips between her teeth and tried to hide her embarrassed red cheeks behind her hands.

“Sorry!” She squealed at him, further digging herself into a hole.

He shook his head, “S’alright. Not the first time that’s happened.”

She laughed at the thought of him actually getting hit in the money maker with a hunk of clay and it eased her worries a little.

“So how are those abs going then?” He asked.

She stared at her sculpture for a moment before she sighed and turned it around to face him. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but it was still pretty rough.

“Mind if I…?” He held his hands out and she, without a single hesitation, handed it over to him.

He immediately grabbed the shaving tool she’d been using, and since it still sat next to her where she’d put it down moments ago, his fingers brushed against her hand when he picked it up. Sending every one of her nerves in the general area on a field day to mess with her nether regions again. It’s just… his fucking hands were an art form in and of themselves. His knuckles prominent, stretching soft skin around the bone. His veins protruding every time he made a more delicate move that required precision. Even the ones on his arms underneath the ink when he was a bit more rough with her sculpture sent her over the moon, while he shaved off bits and pieces with firm pressure to define the shape of the body and somehow create a human-like figure from her mess.

Then he started smoothing down the surface with a little water on his fingers and she went batshit. His hands while dry were one thing, but sparkling, wet, slippery fingertips? Lord have mercy.

She watched him spread a chunk of extra clay onto what would be the figure’s chest to build it up a little more with the knowledge of their previous conversations about dicks and abs making it clear she was attempting to make a male figure. She couldn’t help but watch his muscles flex underneath his tight white t-shirt. From far away across the cafe it had caught her attention. And now right here, she was definitely not letting it go unnoticed. It wasn’t too tight that he looked ridiculous, but just the right amount to show off every curve of his biceps and triceps and whatever other -ceps he had hiding underneath the shirt. He was normally in oversized tops so she was taking full advantage while she still had the chance to.

When he handed it back to her, it was like he’d done some kind of magic spell to get it to look so good after what she’d given him to work with. He leaned forward a little more and pointed at the figure’s chest and she was only halfway paying attention to him when he spoke, mostly focusing on how close he was and every single time he accidentally brushed his skin against hers.

“So if you want to make the abs,” he paused to glance over and dig through her pile of tools until he found the one he was looking for. “Use this to kind of sketch out the shape like we did with the faces,” he took the ball tool and rolled it down the middle of the chest, making a short indent to separate where the pectorals might be, “then you can add on the dimension like I was saying earlier.”

She took over the tool when he flipped it around and gave it to her so she could try for herself. And he watched for a short while as she did what he said to do, sketching out tentative abs, but not really knowing exactly what they looked like to come to any sort of realistic end. Her figure started to look like a shirtless Johnny Bravo.

He just giggled and pointed his stupid finger back into her personal space, smoothing down her mistakes until they disappeared, “Have you never seen a six-pack that wasn’t on a cartoon character?”

She racked her brain, trying to say something funny, but once she looked into his eyes, nothing came to mind. “Of course I have. I just don’t know how to make them look realistic.” She couldn’t exactly remember the last time she’d been faced with a naked man’s chest, but she had seen them before.

“Well…” Harry sighed, resting his head on his hand and staring at her sculpture sideways, “he doesn’t have to have abs.”

And then she said it. Something worse than her earlier set of words back at the cafe. She had no clue what was going on with her tonight, but she needed an ass-kicking for it.

“Do you have abs?”

“Me?” His eyes flickered up to hers in shock and it was far too late for her to backtrack, she was here and she had to face what she’d done. Even while he looked at her like she was fucking insane.

“Uh, well. I mean…” She had no fucking clue what she meant. And even if she did, she sure as shit wasn’t telling him.

Then it clicked in his brain. “You’re not using me as reference, are you?”

After a solid three seconds of just staring at him, she laughed. “No, of course not.”

“Hope so after you gave him that wonky penis.”

She sighed once they were through it. Once he’d proved, yet again, that he didn’t make her embarrassing statements feel as bad as they really were. He kind of just... went along with it.

But then she made it even worse.

“So yours isn’t wonky and crooked, then?”

Jesus, fuck Y/N just shut up.

His smile never faded, however, and instead, he leaned close again and whispered, “Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to find out.”

[ariesnicolo]

teacher au preview!! @of-scythia

for context: nicky is coming to the school a few days early to set everything up in his classroom and get his orientation/paper work done, and joe stops by his room to say hello and then ends up walking him to the admin offices but they make a stop at joe’s art classroom first. not exactly fluffy pining like i said before but i wanted to show what kind of teacher joe is. pls enjoy <3 (also Alessa is the name of nicky’s younger sister)

As the two of them walk down the hallway together, Nicky remembers that they’re in the hallway for art classes. Nicky never found out which room was Joe’s during his tour with Copley, and he admits that he’s very curious to find out which room is his and what it looks like. “Which room is yours?”

“Oh, this one is mine.” Joe points to a slightly open door on the left side of the hallway, stops so he can open the door more and show Nicky inside. Nicky’s first impression of the room is that it’s a disaster. Joe’s classroom was the one Nicky saw earlier with the sketchbooks and pencils scattered around, but now that Nicky can actually take in the room, he realizes it’s much more than that.

Joe’s classroom is a lot bigger than Nicky’s, which Nicky quickly comes to understand is a necessity. Where Nicky’s classroom has about thirty individual desks, Joe’s room has six big, wooden tables scattered around the room surrounded by stools. Under all the sketch books, the tables are covered in a mess of color that Nicky can only assume is from paint and colored pencils. The walls are completely plastered in the student’s work, and Nicky spots paintings, detailed sketches, photos, and a few tasteful collages. Joe’s back counters are covered in complicated art supplies that Nicky can’t even begin to understand, and the windows in his room are covered in very thin, colorful paper, designed to look like stained-glass windows.

Nicky wants to ask if it’s actually Joe who needs help setting up his room, but he keeps that question to himself.

“It isn’t normally this messy.” Joe says, a little wince accompanying his words. “I’m just organizing the sketch books to return them to any students who aren’t taking any classes with me again.”

Nicky nods, figuring that every other part of Joe’s classroom is just as chaotic during the school year. The lack of organization for the rest of Joe’s stuff would bother Nicky, but it doesn’t seem to bother Joe, who is probably used to his room looking messy at the end of the day. Nicky can’t even imagine the horror scene an elementary school art room would be at the end of the day. “Were these all done by your students?” Nicky asks, looking around and pointing to the art on the walls.

“Yeah.” Joe sighs, and Nicky looks over at Joe to see a proud shine in his eyes. “If they’re comfortable with it, I keep all their work on the walls during the school year. I hate taking it all down at the start of the new school year, but I would never have space for anything new if I didn’t return them to the students.”

“They’re all really good. You have very talented students, Joe.” Nicky says, looking at a beautifully detailed picture of a field of wildflowers at sunset. Nicky’s eyes then catch a colored drawing of a man wearing a short, white wig and black frame glasses. Nicky does a double take on the painting, looking at it again just to be sure. “Is that… is that Danny DeVito?”

Joe laughs loudly at the surprise in Nicky’s voice, but quickly confirms that it is Danny DeVito. “I assign a portrait piece in three different mediums for all my juniors to help with their portfolios, and it can be a portrait of anybody, so Marissa- that was her name, she chose to do Danny DeVito.”  

“That’s not his real hair, is it?” Nicky had only seen one movie with him in it at Alessa’s insistence, something about a little girl with special powers, and even though Alessa made him watch the movie repeatedly when they were little, Nicky doesn’t know much about him. “It looks very realistic in the drawing.”

“No, he’s practically bald. I think.” Joe says, furrowing his eyebrows as if he has to think about it to be sure. “This was just from a show he was in that she liked.” Joe smiles, but it’s small and private, like he’s thinking of the student who did this portrait. “She graduated last year and now she’s at RISD.” Nicky doesn’t know if that’s good or bad for Marissa, and it must show on his face. “Oh, uh, it’s a college in Rhode Island that’s one of the best for fine arts.”

“That’s nice. You must have been really proud.” Nicky says, because it doesn’t take a genius to see that Joe carries his pride for his students and their work in his heart. From the way he talks about his students to how he treats their art with such respect, Nicky has no doubt that Joe is a wonderful teacher and loved by every student he comes across.

“Yeah, I am.” Joe says, but the way he says it and how he looks around at all his previous student’s art, Nicky feels like he’s intruding on something personal. Nicky lets Joe have his moment to think and reminisce and looks at more of the art on the walls. All of the pieces are exceptional and detailed and well thought out, but it’s the variety in the art that gets Nicky.

It’s clear that Joe assigns themes for each project, like portraits or nature or still life, but Nicky gets the impression that each student is allowed to take that theme and do what they want with it. Nicky spots a beautiful painting from an outsider point of view of a group of people looking up at a cloud with the outline of another person in it, like Mufasa in The Lion King. Nicky also sees an equally skilled painting of The Scream, but instead of having a person’s face, it has the face of a mouse and the background looks like it’s been placed in a cage. Nicky gets the sense that Joe loves, and even encourages, all his student’s weird artistic choices.  

Joe claps his hands together, breaking Nicky’s train of thought and directing his attention to Joe’s hands. Nicky’s brain short circuits when he sees that Joe is wearing thick, silver rings that are engraved with something Nicky can’t make out. Nicky thinks it’s really unfair that Joe is clearly a kind, thoughtful person and has an obvious love for all his students, but he also has shoulders that drive Nicky wild and he wears rings that Nicky is endlessly curious about.

[soulwillower]

sketches • bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x reader)

requested: Hello! Can I request just some teen!Bill x reader fluff? Maybe where the reader finds sketches of her from Bill’s sketchbook/pad and then she falls in love with Bill, then Richie accidentally said something about Bill having a crush on her cause the trashmouth thought she already knew then after the reader found out, they talk and the reader confesses as well and it’s all fluffy and cute? I don’t know! I hope you get the idea though (ᵔᴥᵔ)

warning: swearing, fluff, unedited :)

[losers + reader are 16+ in this.]

1.7k words

♡

"can we shut some windows? it's getting cold." you ask your friends, rubbing your arms as goosebumps appear. mumbles of protest echo through the room and you scowl as their eyes all stay glued to the tv where eddie and ben battle out on smash bros. 

"fine. can i borrow a sweater then, bill?" you ask, standing up. bill nods, his eyes flickering to you to smile briefly.

 you smile back at him before getting up, making your way towards bill's room.

once you're inside, you flip on his lamp and snort. his room has always made you laugh - it's slightly messy, in a way that he's not ashamed of, and there's posters, pictures and a baseball bat in the corner. 

his sheets are strewn about, half of it on his bed and half covering an upturned skateboard on the ground. you roll your eyes, chuckling. bill's a fucking mess. 

your eyes land on an open sketchbook on his desk, pencils, pens, and paintbrushes covering it.

curiously, you walk over to look at it. you smile gently at the sketch of georgie holding up a dandelion, and you start to skim the pages. there's bev and mike on one page, richie and you on the next - that one makes you blush. the next page has eddie and richie smiling at each other. it makes you happy. 

then your heart stops as you look at the page next to it. you stare at yourself, drawn and shaded with layers of charcoal. it looks exactly like you. 

your heart does somersaults as your eyes trace the page and you flip the next few pages gently. bill drew you... so many times. they were meticulous, careful, and beautiful, like he'd spent hours pouring in as much dedication as he could.

your own eyes stare back at you from the pages and for the first time in a really long time you felt seen in a way you never knew you needed. realization hits you hard and your heart thumps, a smile growing on your face.

you love bill.

you love him - the boy with the auburn hair, the green eyes, the boyish grin, the bubbling laughter, the beat up vans, the flannels and crewneck sweaters. the boy who spends hours making sure you and your friends were okay, who stutters through every joke and also every inspirational speech, the boy who failed geometry because he kept ditching to go bird watch with stan or help mike with his chores on the farm. the boy who makes everybody he meets feel loved, feel important and feel needed. the boy who draws all of his friends with so much skill and passion. you can't help but bite your lip happily as you think about him.

of course you all held bill on a glimmering pedestal -  it was completely dignified. because bill is so incredible, so perfectly flawed and so real that it was almost impossible not to fall in love with him. 

everybody falls in love with bill denbrough.

"-that doesn't look like a sweatshirt." a voice comes from the doorway and you turn to look at richie, giving him a sheepish grin. your heart is still racing as you realize that you're in love with bill ... and that you have been for so long.

does he know?

"um, have you- er, have you ever seen this? he draws us." you say, gesturing to his notebook. richie nods his head, walking closer to the notebook casually. his eyes land on the open sketchbook and he smiles gently as he skims over the pages. there's eddie and richie on the left, laughing. it makes your heart swell. and on the right is the sketch of you, much more in detail.

"of course i have, y/n/n. he's been doing this for years, you know." he states simply, walking to the closet and pulling off a sweater, tossing it to you with a pointed look. 

you're still pretty dumbfounded as your eyes flit to the sketchbook. you smile, shaking your head as butterflies burst. "oh, well he never showed me. he's... he's done a lot of them." you say, flipping through the pages.

"um, yeah, duh. he has the hots for you, of course he draws you all the time." richie says casually, fingers skimming the light drawing of eddie's smiling face.

 your eyebrows furrow and you look up at him. some sort of heat pools in your stomach at his words, and you blink owlishly. you clear your throat and follow richie out of the room, face bright red as you walk down the stairs together.

"what took you two so long?" stan asks as you walk back in. you smile to your shoes as you pull on the sweater. richie flops onto the couch and mutters, "little miss snoop found big billy's sketchbook."

"y-you did?" bill asks, looking into your eyes. you can't help the blush that creeps onto your face as his eyes catch yours. he doesn't look phased that you saw his work except that his cheeks are dusted pink. 

"they're beautiful, bill." you say shyly. he shrugs. "it's e-easy when you have b-beautiful subjects." he mutters. 

it's so casual, the way he says it, and yet your whole body melts. you're so in love. everyone shares a look and you feel butterflies in the pit of your stomach. 

richie grins, "very smooth denbrough. we get it, you're in love." he says. at those words, it goes silent and everyone turns to stare at richie. 

your eyes widen and everyone else stares at him, mouths agape. 

he blinks, "oh, did- c'mon, don't act like we don't all know. right, guys?" he says in defense, gesturing to eddie and ben for help. they don't say anything, and bill chuckles awkwardly at the silence. 

it's quiet as bill mutters, "b-beep beep, trashmouth." he's shooting daggers at the boy. despite the tense situation, you smile to the ground - did bill really like you? him?

"lay off him, richie. i saw the way you were looking at that drawing of eddie." you say, lifting a brow. richie scowls, face turning red. eddie's face does the same, and bill shoots you a thankful glance. you smile back, heart beating quickly. you turn, muttering about going to get a drink.

you walk into the kitchen and you're not surprised when you hear that someone followed you. there's only one person who you really hope to talk to right now - and you're relieved as you turn around to find him watching you. 

you smile gently at him as he rubs his neck sheepishly, walking closer to you. "i h-hope the drawings didn't f-freak you out." he says with a small grin. you smile, shaking your head as you lean on the counter and look up at him.

"bill, c'mon. you're so talented. those were incredible...i'm flattered." you say, cheeks heating up. he smiles bashfully and shrugs.

"s-sorry about r-richie." he says after a moment. you laugh lightly, trying to calm your own heart from bursting from your chest. "he doesn't know what he's saying." you mutter shyly, shrugging. bill laughs lightly though, making you look at him curiously. 

he’s shaking his head, "no, h-he's p-pretty accurate." he says, a smile on his face. you watch him closely, "i... i'm in l-love with you." bill ads.

you gape at him, heart swelling but unable to move. he watches you, green eyes flickering between yours, trying desperately to read you. he's patient, though, and doesn't try to take it back. because it's bill. 

no matter what, he's said what he means and he wont take it back, even if you don't feel the same way. because he just wants you to know you're loved.

 holy shit, you're so in love with him.

"wh- are you really?" you ask dumbly. you can't feel your fingers or toes. he nods, a soft smile on his face as he chuckles, "y-yeah. really."

you nod, a smile of your own eclipsing your face. you feel like it might split your face in half. 

he shrugs at you with a smile. "i-i mean, i n-never came out and s-said it, so i guess that's m-my fault." he grins, "b-but its not l-like i had to. it's v-very obvious that i l-love you, y/n. you're j-just blind." he teases. you scrunch your nose at him although his words give you butterflies.

"oh shut up, bill." you say with a laugh, punching his shoulder. he laughs at your reaction, steadying himself by grabbing your waist lightly. he smiles down at you lovingly, sighing.

"bill..." you say softly, grinning at him. his cheeks are pink as he waits for you to say those words. 

you laugh a little, smiling so widely. "i love you too." you say.

"i kn-know. you're pretty o-obvious too, y/n." bill says with a smirk. you roll your eyes as you place a hand on his shoulder, the two of you leaning on the counter. you pinch him, "then why didn't you say anything!?" you hiss, heart swelling.

"i j-just didn't know h-how!" he defends. you shake your head, scoffing. "whatever, denbrough. i can't believe you." you mutter. his fingers gently reach to clutch your chin, tilting it up to him.

he looks into your eyes and your heart melts, eyes flickering to his pink ones. he's smirking gently. "in m-my defense, you didn't say a-anything, either."

he leans closer and your breath hitches while you wait for him to move. 

and then, you smile impatiently as you close the gap. his lips press against yours and your heart feels full as his body forms against you. he's soft, gentle, and passionate as he pulls you closer, tongue lightly grazing your bottom lip. it's quiet as the two of you kiss, the only sounds being your soft breathing and the sound of your lips moving together.

you pull away though as you realize... it's too quiet. 

he looks at you in question and you peek over his shoulder, groaning lightly as you meet six pairs of eyes in the doorway. "guys!" you hiss in embarrassment. bill turns to look at the others, a confident grin on his face. they all start squealing and yelling in excitement. 

"sh-she's in love with me, g-guys!" bill calls, pointing to you in his arms. you shove him with a laugh as the others cheer. he laughs and shrugs at you.

"you're unbelievable, you know." you mumble, nudging his arm. he chuckles lightly, wrapping his arms around you and placing his chin on the crown of your head. you sigh as you inhale his scent, smiling into the fabric of his sweatshirt.

[monomonomagines]

Could I have a thing with the v1 girls and their s/o who is very talented at art. The girls find a sketchbook with countless pages of sketches of them and their s/o tells them they are practicing for when they do a more finshed piece because they hate they did not perfect drawing their gorgeous ass

Hello, Anon! I know I took a while getting to requests (as I’m sure you saw), so I’m very sorry if I seem rusty at all. However, I do hope that you’ll still enjoy this and that it is well worth the wait! I really appreciate your patience and support more than anything so thank you in advance. I again, hope that this is to your liking!

Sayaka

Sayaka was used to her more artistic fans giving her drawings and other sorts of gifts but she wasn't normally surprised by that. 

She was an idol after all so things like that were expected. However, even with how flattering it was, she didn't care half as much about all the fan mail and gifts she received if she were to compare it to anything you got her. 

You got to know the real her unlike most other people, you got to see every side of her even the ones she didn't like and you made her feel beautiful. 

However, even if you made her feel that way she didn't realize that you'd want to capture her image. 

She happened to chance upon a book without a title laying on a nearby table when she went to see you after a hard day of practicing for an upcoming concert. 

She wanted to ask you about but since you had been in the kitchen to grab the two of you drinks, she couldn't help but let her curiosity take over as she grabbed the book and opened it up, displaying a ton of images of her. 

Were these really all her? She had gotten so absorbed in flipping page after page that she couldn't help but jump when you exclaimed that none of those were finished. 

She couldn't believe it though, you were so talented and here you were telling her that none of these were good enough but how weren't they. 

She loved each one, even the scribbly messy ones that littered some odd pages. She loved them and even more, she loved that you wanted to perfect drawing her. 

Overcome by her emotions, she lost her normal composure, pulling you into a hug as she softly tells you, "I love them. I can't wait to see the final piece. Thank you, S/o!"

Celeste

Celeste, unlike Sayaka, would probably be aware of your artistic talent from the start of your relationship.

She'd always request pieces from you, sometimes even in ridiculously exorbitant amounts despite you being just one person. 

She never meant anything by it though, she loved your art and wanted to be the subject of it more than anything. 

That's why she didn't think anything of finding another one of your sketchbooks.

If anything, she was planning on just moving it to a better place when it slid out of her grasp and fell to the floor displaying a multitude of drawings of her. 

She would've been annoyed at that accursed book for falling out of her hands but at that, even her minor annoyance was washed away by a wave of joy. 

As she picked the book up and began to skim through it you had happened to walk in to bring her some tea, just the way she liked it when she made eye contact with you. 

"Thank you for the tea darling, were you planning on keeping these all from me?" 

She had a pleasant smile on her face but as you quickly explained that none of these were done she appeared to be in deep thought. 

"Ah, so you want to perfect drawing me? Well then, by all means, continue practicing. You can start now by drawing me as I enjoy my tea."

She'll sound as though she doesn't care much but a small smile will be on her lips the entire time you begin to draw. 

Sakura

Sakura normally helps you to tidy up your place for spring cleaning as moving certain pieces of furniture to clean around them was difficult for you to do alone.

It wouldn't be until you were taking a bathroom break though, that she'd notice a book of yours on a table you still had to wipe off. 

She'd only think about helping you out when she'd go to pick it up and accidentally swipe it off the table instead, causing the poor book to splay itself open only to display a ton of drawings of her. 

What was this? Before she could get a word out her hands had already shot out to pick up the sketchbook as she began to finally process that these all were indeed her. 

However, before she could close the book you had already made your way back to the same room and caught her peeking at your messy drawings. 

All you could do was explain that none of them were done and you wanted to perfect drawing her when you noticed a smile on her face. 

"I didn't mean to look but I'm glad still that you'd want to draw me. I love your drawings, S/o/" She'd assure in that gruff voice of hers as you go to hug her promising to show her the final piece. 

Aoi

Aoi has always been a bit hyper and even rough at times. It wasn't like she meant to but she could be a lot like a child at times with these traits. 

That's why unlike the others she couldn't just happen to chance upon a book of yours. 

Instead, she had happened to slap it right off your desk as she was telling you a story, using her hands for dramatic effect causing the poor thing to fly across the room, spilling itself open for both of you to see. 

Aoi was about to apologize, shocked out of her mind by her own mistake as she ran to pick it up only to see that those beautiful girls you drew were her. 

"S/o? A-are these really me!?" She calls out, red tinting her cheeks as a dopey smile creeps across her face. "You should've shown me these are great!"

Aoi, wouldn't want to listen even as you explained that none of these are done, insisting that they're perfect. She loved all your drawings of her even the scribbly messes. 

"S/o, you're the best! I love all of them!" She says pulling you into a big hug as she continues to disregard your comments on how they're "not that good". You can't convince this girl of that even if you had Sakura to help you.

Toko

Even though Toko had been dating you for a while and knew of your artistic talents, she didn't think much of them. 

You'd never draw someone ugly like her she'd always think to try to kill off her own hopes of you thinking she's anything more. She didn't mean to always fall into those kinds of thoughts but by now it was a habit for her. 

She always thought you'd eventually leave her for someone far prettier or nicer or something so she didn't bother to look much at your sketches. 

Rather, she was just planning on shelving a book when she noticed one that was placed haphazardly on top of the whole bookcase. 

Mild annoyance bubbled under her skin as she went to pick it up, knocking it off the shelf instead and causing it to fall open. 

Of course, she thought bitterly as she grabbed the poor book. They were probably drawings of some girl you liked more than her and wait....were these her!? 

She was so overcome by the shock of it all that she'd immediately shut the book only to soon begin giggling madly. 

You liked her, you really liked her. She was so happy that she needed to ask you about it. 

She'd pick the book back up, nervously walking to where you were currently sketching in another book asking you as she holds it up, "S-S/o are t-these really m-me!?" 

You couldn't believe her eyes as you realized she saw all of those and you couldn't help but to come clean, telling her how you wanted to perfect drawing her only causing her to erupt in more giggles. 

"So you r-really like me, huh? I guess I might b-be glad to know you do though." 

Mukuro

Mukuro loved you dearly for always being there for her. She would never dream of invading your privacy but she happened to feel like you were hiding something from her. 

You'd normally, proudly present your drawings for her to see and praise but lately, when she'd ask about them you'd just make some excuse that none of them are done.

It wasn't like you and she couldn't feel as though maybe you had just grown tired of her. She knew she wasn't as pretty as her sister and that she wasn't as great at expressing herself as other girls but did you really dislike her now? Was she not enough?

Despite these thoughts, she waited until you fell asleep on the couch at your place to take a peek in your latest sketchbook. 

She expected to probably see someone else or maybe even just things she couldn't give you but she didn't expect to see her. 

It shocked her and yet she couldn't stop herself from flipping page after page to see more. You hadn't gotten tired of her and she was so overjoyed that she couldn't stop herself from bombarding you with questions when you woke up. 

At your insistence that none of them are done and that you haven't perfected drawing her, she's barely listening though as she pulls you into a hug. 

"I love you. I'm so glad that you can love someone like me."

Junko

Junko was used to all sorts of things made her image thanks to her looks. She knew she was beautiful and she was honestly surprised that you hadn't already drawn her.

Contrasting Mukuro, Junko wouldn't be above snooping through your stuff as you went out to pick up some food for you two. 

She wanted to know what you drew and why you barely showed her anything. She had a pretty good guess of course, but seeing is believing or so they say. 

She was quickly able to find the latest sketchbook on our bedside table as she opened it and to her delight was greeted by countless sketches of her. 

She'd take her sweet time admiring each one, only setting down the book once you caught her as you came back home and began to explain that those were all works in progress. 

If these were all only practice then she was just excited to even more. However, she definitely would want to tease you about them just to cause your face to contort more. 

"Awww, S/o you should've told me you loved drawing me! I would've modeled for you anytime!"

Kyoko

Kyoko would notice you acting suspiciously immediately. 

She had a pretty good idea that it had to with your latest sketchbook as you didn't seem as talkative about your latest drawings.

She didn't want to pry but she was worried about you and decided to use her skills to quickly locate the object in question on your desk when you were making the two of you a snack.

She was planning on quickly making sure nothing was any cause of concern and slipping back into the living room without confronting you about it when she noticed that every drawing was of her. 

She was at a loss for words, embarrassed that she thought there was any cause for concern about these doodles of all things. 

She still wanted to confront you about and would probably ask you as soon as you come back to the living room with snacks. 

She'd calmly listen to you go on about how none of them are done and how you want to perfect drawing her and wouldn't be able to help a small smile makes it's way across her normally cold features.

"I think they're all perfect but I'll look forward to the final piece. Thank you, S/o."

[meganshinsou-tm]

Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter ten: forgive me

❧ genre:  tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: snakes

❧ chapter song: Forgive Me by Evanescence

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles | artist credit

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

Kirishima groaned as he threw a hardened punch, the sharp edges of his fist cutting through his victims flesh like butter. A few teeth flew out, along with a gush of dark red blood.

“I know I fucked up, you can get off my back about it!” He snarled.

Bakugou chuckled and wiped blood from his cheek before gearing up to land his own solid punch. Sheer brute strength was all he needed for his knuckles to break skin as they landed on a strong jaw, causing an agonized groan in return.

“Tch, acceptance is the first step. Now you just need to grow some balls and tell her!”

The two panted, red eyes staring back at each other, both covered in blood.

“Please, stop no more -” a voice choked out, causing both men to look at the battered and beaten victim they were using as a punching bag, a literal punching bag.

He was hanging upside down in an abandoned warehouse, swinging back and forth every time Kirishima and Bakugou laid into him. The man was what they deemed ‘the usual’, serial rapist and woman beater. 

He had evaded law enforcement and heroes for quite a while, leaving them no other choice than to call in reinforcements, i.e. the The Shop. 

After finally tracking down the man that not even the pros could catch, Bakugou and Kiri decided to give him a dose of his own medicine and let off a little steam of their own. As much as the blonde wanted to pulverize his numskull friend he decided to give him one last shot to fuck up before it came to that. And it goes without saying that Kirishima needed some kind of outlet to rage about what he had done.

“Bakugou, I can’t, look at us!”

Kirishima shouted, holding up his hands, showcasing the blood and bile dripping from them that wasn’t his own, but that of someone he was paid to kill, paid to be their executioner. 

He was a monster, a chaotic good monster but nonetheless - a monster. 

He could only imagine what you would think if only you knew what he was doing right now, no matter how disgusting and undeserving of life this criminal was. When Kirishima’s hands weren’t covered in black latex and ink, they were drenched in his own type of ink which was the blood of his targets.

“She doesn’t need this in her life, she doesn’t need all this violence and filth. That fucking -” he paused and sighed defeatedly, a hand combing through his hair, the blood on it slicking his already red hair to the side, “… that goddamn fucking smile of hers is the only clean and pristine thing any of us have anymore, it’s not right for us - for me to dirty it.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t you think she should be deciding what she does and doesn’t need,” he replied before sending the body between them straight into Kirishima with a swift and hard kick, the sound of ribs cracking and agonized screams filling the ambiance.

“Look, that nightmare, those scars, those fucking burns, they’re all there for a reason and from the looks of it, a real shitty reason. You think you’re protecting her by doing the childish bullshit you’re doing but in reality you’re not. If anything she needs someone like you idiot, needs to know that you will protect her. I’m not stupid and I know you aren’t … to an extent. Her ex did that and she isn’t telling any of us a damn thing about it which puts up a lot of fucking red flags, if I had to bet, I’d bet she ran away from him and she’s hiding out meaning he’s looking for her.”

Bakugou paused for a moment, the sounds of screaming and incredulous pleading giving him a migraine. 

With a growl he took the man’s head between his hands, “See you again in hell fucker,” he spout out before explosions erupted from his palms, obliterating the skull that was once there to messy pieces. 

With a relieved sigh Bakugou stood straight and shucked the blood and brain matter from his hands and off his shirt as he walked to face Kirishima, fire-red eyes burning into him.

“What are you gonna do when he finds her huh - and takes her back, away from us, away from you.”

A car horn blaring as it passed by the shop caused Kirishima to jump. 

His heart beating rapidly from the small scare. He groaned and let his head fall into his hands, foot tapping impatiently on the floor while he waited before the counter. He had been there for half an hour already, way earlier than he usually is, but he had to get there first, had to be the first one to see you.

Two full, excruciatingly long days had passed since he last saw or spoke to you. The image of your dull (e/c) eyes and face devoid of a smile burned into his brain, an image he never wanted to see again. Kirishima wanted to see you walking through the door, bright as ever, eyes sparkling and you overall radiating. 

He missed you, god did he miss you. 

Just walking into the shop that morning he could faintly smell your chocolaty scent, a scent he had grown so used to and even developed an addiction to. While Kirishima waited, his read eyes skimmed over your sketchpad that still remained on the counter by the shop computer.

Since joining them you took up an interest in learning how to draw and from the looks of it, you had promising skill. The book was filled with mostly just doodles and rough sketches of your favorite anime characters. There were random eyes and hands, flowers and animals here and there. A twinge of a smile crossed Kirishima’s face and he thought back to the multiple times he’d watch you sitting in the same spot he was, doodling away. (H/c) strands of hair falling into your face and your hand brushing and holding them out of the way, tongue in cheek, eyes focused. Sometimes you’d growl in aggravation from messing up and others you’d snicker to yourself at something off the wall you’re mind came up with. It was creepy to say but Kirishima really did enjoy just watching and admiring you from afar, lost in your own little world making these cute faces and sounds. 

He chuckled and closed the sketchbook - fuck he missed you.

After his ‘heart to heart’ with Bakugou, Kirishima was more than ready to return to the shop. He was hellbent on apologizing from the moment you stepped foot through that front door.

The bell to that exact door rang suddenly, making his red eyes look up and dilate.

“Hey Red.”

A smile grew on Kirishima’s face, one razor sharp fang peeking out as he looked upon you. You wore black skinny jeans and a black hoodie, a long grey coat layered it. The hood was on your head and you removed the sunglasses, revealing those sparkling pools of (e/c). Your eyes squinted at him and a smile of your own grew, it couldn’t be helped and it made the red-head a puddle.

“Hey there little one.”

A gust of wind blew through the still open door and you shuddered, quickly closing it and getting covered in even more snow flakes. Kirishima couldn’t help but inhale that sweet scent he loved so much when it carried along with the wind and came his way. Not being able to take it anymore he had to ask.

“What is that?”

You looked up at him, dusting snow from your clothes and quirked a brow, “What is what?”

“That smell, whatever you wear almost every single day. It smells like chocolate.”

Giggling you pulled the hood from the hoodie down and shook like a dog.

“Sympathy for the Skin - it’s this lotion I use religiously and it’s pretty much engraved in my skin now. There’s all kinds of stuff in it, cocoa butter, almond oil, bananas and vanilla.”

Kirishima hummed and burned the name of the lotion into his memory.

“Well it smells really good - you smell really good.”

You smirked and leaned on the counter, arms crossed and tilting your head at him. “Are you trying to butter me up Kiri?”

The tattooed male chuckled and gently plucked a snowflake from your eyelash. “Maybe … is it working?”

Playfully, you rolled your eyes and tilted your head, gently motioning his hand away from your face before standing straight and going to walk into the kitchen.

“You’re something else Kirishima,” you mumbled.

Suddenly there was a hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“(Y/N) … please, hear me out.”

The touch felt like fire, causing you to be back in that truck, wrists pinned to the ceiling by the same hand. At that point in time the fire was welcoming but right now, you weren’t quite sure what it was but deep down you longed for it to feel as good as it did before. There was a desperation in Kirishima’s voice as he pleaded, when your head turned around just the tiniest bit to get a peek, you could also see the desperation in his eyes. Those enraging beautiful red eyes.

“Goddammit,” you spoke under your breath before your hand turned, palm open to him, “Fine, but I need some tea.”

Kirishima was somewhat taken back by your action. Nonetheless though he wasted no time in taking hold of your hand, letting you lead him into the kitchen before letting go and going to dig through the cabinets for your favorite tea. The male took it upon himself to take the kettle and fill it with water as you gathered two mugs. He placed the kettle on a hot plate that sat next to the sink then watched you prep the mugs with the tea bags before going to sit at the small table.

He turned to face you, leaning against the counter and rubbing the side of his neck. You sat in the chair, leg crossed over one knee and arms crossed. There was a look on your face, one that told him he should get to talking and fast. For once he was intimidated - by little old you.

“I’m sorry,” he started off.

You shrugged your shoulders and tilted your head, “I know you’re sorry, now apologize.”

“What?”

“Feeling sorry isn’t an apology, they’re two different things. One is an emotion, a feeling of regret, while the other is an action, it’s you expressing that regret.”

Kirishima’s red eyes widened, he was speechless. He knew you’d probably be reluctant when it came to forgiving him but he didn’t expect for you to be well …like this.

“Okay. I’ll start with saying I fucked up, I know I did. You asked me not to poke anymore for information and I did, I tried pushing you to do something you weren’t comfortable with and that was wrong of me. I apologize for also just kissing you like that, even if I did intend to just shut you up at first, it wasn’t the best thing to do and only made things worse.”

You listened, not once taking those (e/c) eyes off of him, it made him feel so exposed for some reason.

“Most of all though, I apologize for what I said to you. I tend to want to get the last word when I’m heated like that, I end up saying things I don’t mean, really shitty things. I hope you know by now that obviously what I said was a lie. Truly, I wish I could go back in time and just take it back.”

“Well you can’t,” you quickly replied making Kirishima wince at your sharp words, “ … but I can tell you’re sincere and that you really are sorry so - that’s a start.”

Suddenly your frame was picked up from its seat, feet hanging in the air when strong thick tattooed arms caged you in a massive bear hug. Your face was squished against a hard and heavenly smelling chest, arms dangling at your sides and eyes wide with shock. Kirishima was spewing ‘thank you’s’ as he rocked back and forth, holding and squeezing you like a child with their most precious stuffed animal. You couldn’t exactly breathe but you also couldn’t help but giggle.

“Kiri, I’m uh, I’m losing air.”

The red-head gasped and quickly released his iron hold causing your body to slip from his arms with a yelp and almost fall over when your feet hit the ground. Thankfully he thought fast and grabbed you by the elbow, helping to steady you again.

“Uh - I’m sorry, I don’t really register how small you are compared to me and forget my own strength sometimes.”

Nodding, another giggle escaped your lips, “It’s fine, just took me off guard, that’s all. I wasn’t really expecting such a thing from you, it’s like you’re a massive overly excited puppy.”

“I’m just relieved,” he breathed out while straightening your clothes and hair back to normal.

“Well, I accept your apology but you’re not off the hook just yet!”

The tea kettle went off, causing you to both jump at the noise and chuckle.

“That’s fair,” Kirishima replied as he turned to turn off the hot plate and remove the kettle. “Is there something you need me to do, punch myself, walk around with the word ‘asshole’ drawn on my forehead all day?”

You quirked a brow, shocked at Kirishima’s desperation. From the sound of it, he was willing to do almost anything for your forgiveness. He seemed to be at your mercy and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t entertaining. There were so many things you could probably get him to do, public humiliation, self-mutilation, maybe make him shave off all his hair? 

Nah, you liked his hair, that needed to be left alone. You needed to think of something that would really show he didn’t mean those crummy words. A representation of the real Eijirou Kirishima.

Soon a mug was placed in front of you, before you could ask for honey Kirishima was already pouring some for you, he even knew exactly how much to pour which made you smile. After being handed a spoon, Kiri took a seat and took a sip of his own tea then looked at you, awaiting his sentence.

“I got it! Everyone in this shop has gone with me on shop runs - everyone except you,” you leaned over and poked Kiri’s chest making him chuckle, “That’s your first trial, chauffeuring me around from place to place for supplies and just spending the day with me. I want to see how we truly get along without any bets in place, you’re not required to act nice if that’s truly someone you’re not, I don’t want the fake Eijirou, I want the real one.”

“I can do that no problem. What else?”

You snapped your fingers and smiled, “You also owe me lunch, a really good lunch too!”

“Is that all?”

To be honest Kirishima was shocked at the mercy you were having on him. Spending the day with you and having lunch together didn’t sound bad to him at all, in fact he was more than excited to spend this time with you, one on one. He was ready to start fresh and redeem himself.

“No that’s not all, I just can’t think of anything else right now but I will. I’m only being so merciful because I’m pretty much over this now and it’s not something I want to dwell on. I really do want to be friends Kiri and to hold a grudge and be bitter about things doesn’t help. So now, where we go from here is all up to you.”

And there it was finally, the pressure. The pressure to not fuck this up royally, again!

Kiri let out a breath before nodding with a determined look on his face. “Alright little one, what do say we get these trails started?”

You moaned and groaned after plopping into the passenger seat of Kirishima’s truck, hands gripping at your stomach as you felt it eating away at your spine and body slumping over onto the middle console. Kiri settled in his seat by now and looked down at you.

“Eijirou, I’m dying here.”

“(Y/N), throughout the whole store you got every single free-sample there was, plus a massive slurpee and a cookie!”

Whining even more your buried your face into his arm, “Those were just teasers! Now feed me real food before I start to shut down!”

“Yes your majesty,” he chuckled and started the truck before taking off.

For the next ten minutes you went from groaning to being completely silent and almost lifeless. At one point Kirishima really thought you were dead before a sneeze left you. 

So far the day was going well and you were getting along as if nothing happened. The first stop was to get tattoo supplies and you left Kiri to get everything like you would with the others since they knew exactly what to look for. After that it was off to get bulk supplies like paper towels, gloves, drinks for the kitchen, cleaning materials, etc. 

Quickly Kiri learned why all the guys hated going to that one place with you, not only did you specifically seek out free food but you had this bad habit of just dipping off out of nowhere, silent as a ninja. Each time Kirishima wouldn’t notice until he was talking to himself and turned around to find you nowhere in sight. His heart would drop every time and he’d frantically search for you. Eventually he made it a rule that you walked in front of him at all times. It was like shopping with a child basically but still you were so cute to him.

It was nearing Thanksgiving and the stores were displaying all their Christmas items - tree, lights, figures, ornaments. Anytime something bright and shiny caught your eye, Kiri found himself being jerked by the hand and dragged to the point of interest. Each time he could’ve easily stopped you but he didn’t want to. Not once has he ever witnessed this much of you, normally he’d shack up in his studio and avoid being around you or leave if he was around you too much. 

He wasn’t used to all the touchiness, you absentmindedly clinging to his arm if someone gave you an eerie feeling, tugging at his clothes or shaking him when another free-sample stand popped up, and the hand-holding, so much of it. He wasn’t blind or new to any of the stores you stopped by that day, he knew where to find certain items, but still when it came time to look for the next item on the list you’d grab his massive hand in your small one and lead the way as he’d pull the buggy.

Kirishima knew you were a touchy person, hell he’d even seen you dragging Shouto, the most reserved of them all around the shop by the hand to show him something so he shouldn’t feel that special about it but he did. Yet at the same time it didn’t feel off, it felt right. 

Just like it did that night at Sero’s, holding and keeping you close to him like it was the most normal thing ever. It could become normal too, if he really tried, he could have you like this every day. Still though, Kirishima was unsure about whether he should truly retire his whole ploy to keep you at a safe distance. 

Did he want you? Of course he did. Most of all though, he wanted to keep you safe he just couldn’t decide though whether being with him really was safe or not for you.

“Are we there yet?”

Kirishima looked down from the road briefly to see you still laying over on the console, chin resting on your forearm as your finger traced the squares of the flannel fabric dressing his arm.

“Almost little one. You okay? You’re really quiet.”

With a small smile you nodded, “I’m just hungry Red.”

Kiri chuckled and licked his bottom lip, “Well where we’re going, you can eat to your pretty little heart’s content.”

“Oh Kiri don’t tell me that, I’ll make you regret it!”

Soon the truck came to a stop and Kirishima unbuckled his belt. He leaned over you, looking at each other eye to eye. 

“Try me.”

“Thems fighting words Red, are you challenging me!”

A razor sharp smile was now on the red-heads face, making you smile just as wide, you knew what was coming and you were already agreeing.

“It’s not so much a challenge when I know I’ll come out on top little one. You see I have a pretty insatiable appetite myself and I’m sure it’s much bigger than yours.”

Your lips pouted, a prideful gleam sparkled in your eyes, “Tsk, tsk! You may be twice my size but I’m positive I can eat just as much food as you, if not more!”

A sharp tooth bit down on Kiri’s bottom lip at the sound of a challenge. 

Last time the two of you made a bet it didn’t end well but this one was harmless. Something inside of the red-head liked to challenge you, and he could tell you liked it as well. You were such a little spitfire and he loved it. 

He hummed in amusement and let his hand fall next to your head, his thumb brushed over your parted bottom lip mindlessly but neither of you minded.

“How about you put your money where that pretty little mouth is then?”

“You’re on, first one to tap out has to pay for the meal,” you spoke before nipping at the thumb still on your lip and making Kiri snatch it away with a smile.

You sat up to unbuckle the seat belt and waited while Kiri got out and came around to open your door. He helped you hop out of the tall vehicle, neither of your hands letting go of the other even after your feet were on the ground. He closed the door and walked you across the street, when you looked and realized where he had brought you, a massive shit eating grin spread across your face. 

It was one of the conveyor belt sushi places, where you could get a lot of food for your dollar and the perfect place for a food eating contest.

“You done messed up A-Aron!”

Shaking his head, Kirishima let go of your hand and slung an arm around your shoulders before leading you into the restaurant and to begin your little game.

After sitting down you both agreed that whoever had the most plates by the time you were ready to leave would be the winner, giving you time to actually enjoy yourself and not throw up in the process. As time passed you’d talk, you told Kirishima about the tattoo Sero gave you and about Hitoshi who was probably still passed out in your bed. You both ate plate after plate of sushi in between chatting and had two stacks piling up rather quickly. The employees had to be used to shenanigans like this everyday so neither of you felt particularly bad about the massive amount of food being devoured.

“So, you still haven’t come up with my last trial,” Kiri asked as he stacked another plate and leaned back in his seat.

Your head shook in response and you chewed on a piece of sushi that was a little too large for your mouth. The man chuckled at how fat your cheeks looked and leaned over to wipe a small amount of soy sauce from the corner of your mouth before licking his thumb clean.

“Indirect kiss,” you muffled.

“Whatever, finish your food before you choke,” he replied and took a sip of his tea.

You quirked a brow and finished chewing then proceeded to swallow your food with a loud gulp, “Oh I never choke, Eijirou.”

Kirishima quickly covered his mouth and choked down his drink, you started to cackle at him then groaned and grabbed at your stomach when it hurt to laugh from being so full. Your face landed on the table, lulling side to side in misery.

“That’s what you get,” Kiri snickered at your pain, “are you done?”

“Never,” you groaned out pathetically.

Smirking the red-head crossed his arms and leaned onto the table, one of his hands reached out and gathered your hair from the surface before it could land in the dirty plates and tucked it to one side. 

“Well I’m done, you win.”

You quickly shot up and glared at the man, “Lies, you’re letting me win!”

“It doesn’t matter I was going to pay for the meal anyway. Plus, you proved me wrong, you really can put away just as much food as I can, maybe you ate a plate or two more, so you really did win.”

You turned from looking at him and to the plates, he could tell you were counting them. After a few moments you turned to the electronic screen, browsing through the menu with a determined look on your face. Kirishima couldn’t help but chuckle at your resilience, even if it was just a silly contest he liked how headstrong and iron-willed you were.

“I do have one more plate than you but I still have room for dessert.”

“Of course you do!”

After selecting a parfait you sat back in the seat with a disgruntled huff and hands rubbing your bloated stomach. 

“So, anywhere else we need to go before we head back to the shop?”

“Actually yeah, I need to stop by the pet store and get some dog food.”

Your eyes widened and twitched, “Dog food? You have a dog?”

“No little one, I like to have a nice bowl of it before bed every night.”

Right as the words left his mouth a chopstick was flying straight for Kirishima’s face. He quickly deflected it and laughed. You rolled your eyes and picked your parfait up off the belt and started to eat it.

“What kind of dog?”

“She’s a pit bull, I rescued her from the shelter last year,” he replied and took his phone out, scrolling through his pictures and then showing one to you.

“Aww, Ei! She’s precious! Look at the sweet pupper, oof look at her snoot,” you cooed.

Kiri continued to show you more pictures of the grey and white dog. There were pictures of them together on the couch, at the park, even some of her and the guys. The tattooed man told you stories of her, that she was pretty goofy and playful but also a big snuggle bug. The dog was like a child to him and it was adorable to see him gleaming over the animal. 

Seeing this side of Kiri was exactly what you wanted. When he wasn’t thinking too much about it, he seemed to really open up to you, almost like breathing. He really was trying hard to fulfill his quest and you appreciated him sharing this part of his life with you.

“What’s her name?”

“It’s Duchess. She’s a little spoiled,” he smiled and finally put the phone away.

“I can’t believe I’m just now finding out about this, it’s like you were trying to hide your child from me. I want to meet her one day!”

Kirishima smiled while pulling out his wallet and started to pay for the food with the machine at the table. 

“Next time I’m out at the park with her, I’ll let you know. Or -” he put his wallet away and smirked as he leaned back in his seat so casually, “You could always come over, you know to meet my dog.”

“Well I mean, if that would please your dog then maybe.”

With a smile Kirishima stood from his seat and walked to yours, holding out his hand to help you up out of your own, “I think it would please her very much.”

After leaving the restaurant, you made a stop by the pet store. Overjoyed you quickly ran inside and for once left Kirishima in the dust. He chuckled and jogged in after you, yelling to wait up. 

With big bright eyes and a massive smile, you awed over all the animals, needing to pet every single one of them. A bunny here, a ferret there, a couple of kittens. Next you made it over to the birds, pressing your hands to the glass and marveling over their bright colors, baby talking to them though the barrier. 

Not once did Kirishima interrupt, he was too caught up in how happy you were to interact with all the animals. He had a feeling that the moment you met his dog, he’d become like chopped liver. 

After having your fill, you turned and looked at the red-head then behind him at the aisle markers. Taking his hand you went to walk towards the dog food aisle but Kirishima didn’t budge, causing you to grunt as you pulled.

“Kiri, dog food is this way.”

The man nodded and rubbed the side of his neck with his free hand, “I know but let’s go down this aisle and around.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, you turned to look in the right direction, not seeing anything strange or out of place.

“Why,” you chuckled and tugged, “Let’s just go this way, plus I want to see the reptiles and they’re right there,” you pouted with the biggest most pathetic puppy dog eyes and pointed.

Kiri’s hand squeezed yours and he looked conflicted, finally though he gave in and let you drag him towards the right aisle. 

“Those stupid pretty eyes,” he thought with a smirk. 

You came to a stop before the reptiles, bending at the knees slightly to get a better look at the ones on the lower level. Kiri left you to look at them as he went and got dog food, after locating the right brand he got the biggest bag and turned to make his way back to you.

“Okay, little one let’s get - ah,” the massive man yelled when he turned the corner to you holding a snake in his face.

Quickly Kiri turned away, his fingers gripping the dog food.

“Isn’t it cute? They let me hold it,” you chimed and brought the snake back to your chest as it sat like a rock in your hand.

“Cool, now put it back and lets go.”

Your brows furrowed yet again, a quizzical look on your face. 

“Kiri what’s wrong? It’s just a little sn - ake,” you spoke slowly after finally realizing what must of been the issue this whole time.

First Kirishima didn’t want to walk down the way you came and now he wasn’t even facing you and looking tense as hell. You asked him to turn and look, but he shook his head and mentioned how heavy the dog food was and that he was ready to leave.

“Bullshit Kiri, I weigh more than that dog food, now look at me - please.”

The red-head bared his sharp teeth at the sound of your pleading, so soft and wanting, and totally fucking up his life. Only after a few hours together, you now had this hold on him, like some leash around his heart that tugged in every direction you went, dragging him along like a puppy, only wanting to please you as long as it kept that dumb smile on your face. 

Finally, Kirishima sheathed his teeth back behind his lips, taking a deep breath before he turned around to face you, his red eyes not once leaving your own (e/c) ones.

“Yes your highness,” he questioned, trying to hide his nervousness.

You gave him a soft and calming smile, “Ei, are you scared of snakes?”

“I’m not scared of them, I just don’t like them.”

Your teeth were now chewing on your bottom lip, eyes looking down to the cold-blooded creature in your hands before flashing back up to him. He felt a shudder run up his spine at the scheming yet alluring look you held, almost like a siren. Kirishima knew that whatever you were thinking wasn’t good for him but he couldn’t help but be lured in, frozen in place.

“Eijirou,” you softly spoke and took a step towards him.

He wanted to take a step back but he didn’t, the way his name always fell from your lips was a terrible weakness of his and you were starting to realize it. He could only swallow harshly, jaw clenching and clutching the dog food tighter.

“(Y/N), don’t.”

“I know what your final trial is.”

Kirishima sighed and let his head fall back, an aggravated ‘fuck’ escaping from between his triangular teeth.

“Hold this noodle for ten seconds and you’re completely forgiven, clean slate.”

The tattooed man looked down and cringed at the sight of the reptile. It was balled up in your palms, it’s beady head resting on its body. Bright yellow and pretty fat looking. Up close it didn’t look slimy or really that intimidating, if anything it looked fake. 

Kiri looked back to you, his brows rising and eyes softening with one last plea but you chuckled and shook your head. Groaning, he sat the dog food on the floor and scratched his head. His blood was pumping, growing more nervous as he brought his palms up. Once you started to move the snake towards Kirishima he looked away, taking more deep breaths. Soon he felt a light weight in the middle of his hand and cold scaly skin - and then it moved.

Kiri stiffened and shook his head, trying not to freak and make the animal move any more but it continued to slowly slither.

“I can’t do this (Y/N), take it pl-”

You cut his words off by cupping his cheek with one hand, turning his face to look at yours and placing your other hand on the underside of his.

“Eijirou, you can do this. It’s already been almost five seconds. You’re halfway there. Don’t focus on the snake, look at me. I know how much you like to do that.”

An almost strained chuckle came from Kirishima’s throat but he listened to you and focused on the one thing he’s been focused so much on for the past month.

His red eyes zeroing in on your pink lips, watching as they moved while you counted for five more seconds. Gradually his heart-rate was decreasing and his nerves were settling. Before he knew it the snake was being removed him his hand and replaced with sanitizer, making him blink rapidly and look down. The tension literally melted from Kiri’s body and he huffed while rubbing his hands together and smearing the disinfect. You were doing the same with a pleased expression and Kirishima felt embarrassed. When you looked up to him though there wasn’t any humor or cockiness in your face.

“I’m not going to ask why you don’t like snakes Eijirou. I understand everyone has their own fears and you don’t owe me an explanation about them. I am proud of you though, I’m sure that was difficult for you but facing your fear just for me, it means a lot.”

Kirishima smiled and tousled his spiky hair, “So - am I forgiven now?”

You smiled and rose up on the tips of your toes, hands coming to rest on Kiri’s chest for balance as you placed a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

“You’ve been forgiven since buying me food Red.”

Crimson eyes narrowed at you and you snickered, quickly walking towards the cashier. Kirishima growled and he picked up the dog food before running after you.

“I really hate you sometimes little one.”

You squealed once he caught up and wrapped his free arm around the front of your waist, easily picking you up and squeezing as he gnawed on your shoulder. You giggled and tried to push him away. 

“I hate you too Ei.”

[astxlphe-fics]

Snapshot.

Atsushi likes to draw in the park. He doesn’t realize how many times he’s drawn the handsome photographer until the man comes talking to him. 

Kuniatsu / Artist Atsushi, Photographer Kunikida (also ft. bug lover kuni)

Word count : ~3K

Atsushi settles down on the grass, back against the tree, and crosses his legs. He sets his cardboard folder against his knees and opens his sketchbook.

It’s new, and empty, a gift from Kyouka for his birthday, along with the set of pencils he’s brought with him. He puts the metal box on the ground next to him, picks on and looks around.

It’s a sunny day, in April, so the weather is still somewhat cool and the park isn’t as packed as in the summer months. Atsushi takes in the tree line, in the high building behind it, the people walking, the guy sitting on a bench playing a video game, the blond man lying on his stomach, a camera in hand.

He starts to draw.  

Broad strokes shape the trees, from gross shapes first until he moves on to smaller details, leaves and patches of grass and the shape of a man with a camera.

It takes over an hour for Atsushi to get to the point of drawing him, deciding last minute to add him to the scenery, and when he looks up to check if he has moved, he finds the man in the exact same position.

Utterly still, and a look of complete concentration on his face.

Atsushi draws him, smiling to himself, taking great care in the placement of his finger on the camera button, in the way his messy ponytail falls on his back, in the angle the sunlight makes his glasses glint.

About another hour later, about ten minutes after he changes page and takes on drawing a spider that crawled up his leg, the photographer sits and stretches, setting his camera around his neck. Then he walks to the man on the bench, who puts his video games in his trench coat.

They exchange a few words, and leave.

Atsushi tries to imagine what this man could possibly have photographed.

+

Bugs.

What Kunikida absolutely wants to photograph is close-ups of bugs.

It takes longer than he expects, but waiting is something he can do. His roommate is Dazai Osamu, so his patience is forged in fire, iron and exasperation.

The last bug close-up he takes is a caterpillar crawling its way to the nearest leaf, set right in front of his camera, and he has a pretty good shot of it eating.

When he is done, he sits back and stands, joining Dazai, who puts away his video game.

“Are you finished?” he asks, and Kunikida nods.

“I’m done.”

“Show me!” Dazai leans over to see the screen of his camera, almost knocking Kunikida off balance.

“Oi, be careful!” He huffs and turns the camera back on and opens the gallery, flipping through the different pictures he took during the last few hours.

There is, besides the caterpillar, a group of ants carrying bread crumb from where a family had picnicked for lunch. He shows him the ladybug as well, particularly proud of this one, as it's a picture of it as it takes off.

Several grasshoppers, a yellow butterfly and a bee.

Dazai looks over the pictures, and his nose wrinkles as he makes a face. “That’s gross, Kunikida, you could at least try to take pictures of more glamorous subjects.” He grins. “Like me.”

“Bugs are certainly glamorous,” Kunikida shoots back. “Unlike you, they’re an essential part of the ecosystem and are underappreciated. They need to be more recognized for the role they have in preserving our environment!”

Dazai sighs over-dramatically, draping himself on his shoulder. “Am I not an essential part of your ecosystem? Kunikida, you black-hearted man.” When Kunikida rolls his eyes, Dazai pulls himself straight again. “I’m only trying to help you. If the cute boy over there knew you took pictures of bugs—”

“The what now.”

“Don’t turn around,” Dazai orders, and Kunikida almost does as a reflex. Instead, he glances back to where Dazai is looking, to a (admittedly cute) white-haired young man sitting under the tree. “He’s been staring at you for an hour.”

“He’s drawing,” Kunikida hisses, starting to walk away. “This activity usually requires a lot of staring. He just happened to look in my general direction.”

Dazai doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says. “But you’re wrong. He was looking at your butt.”

“Dazai.”

+

The park is a good source of inspiration, Atsushi decides on the third day of drawing there. He changes his spot every time, looking for new sceneries and people to draw. There are a lot of critters he ends up doodling, from birds to bugs and a few squirrels.

He brings a hot drink with him today. The temperature has dropped during the night, and it’s pretty much cold, so there is no one in the park besides Atsushi himself — and the photographer.

Today he has a tripod and facing away from him, and it’s an angle Atsushi rarely draws anyone in, so he takes the opportunity to put it down on paper.

His friend is with him today too, and Atsushi plans to draw him as well, but he quickly forgets about him. He puts special attention in the angle of the photographer’s shoulders, well defined by the blue coat he’s wearing. It stops under his knees, mid-calf, and then Atsushi makes sure to draw the folds of the pants just right.

Once, the photographer makes a movement to turn away, seemingly in Atsushi’s direction. Atsushi ducks his head, pretending not to be watching.

Then he tries something new. He looks up, trying to guess what the man is seeing, what he is taking a picture of, and sketches it as well as he can. It’s not perfect, but it’s a fun game that he finds out he likes to play, for now.

Once he is done, he catches sight of a cat playing in the grass and changes his subject.

Maybe, he thinks, he should bring Byakko to the park with him, next time?  

+

Kunikida comes back to the park often.

It’s not necessarily to take pictures of bugs, though he likes it, but he needs practice in taking pictures of larger sceneries and finding a focal point in it.

A subject, noticeable enough to draw the eye, placed in a way that makes it looks part of the larger picture rather that the focus of it.

He turns on his heels, and catches sight of the young man he has seen two days before — the one who, Dazai insisted, was looking at his butt. He’s sitting just on the line between shadows and sunlight, bent down, focused on his drawing, hair overshadowing his face.

His pen scratches at the paper, and he periodically looks up to the calico cat playing a few meters away.  

When he does, the light hits his face just right.

Kunikida twists the head of his tripod and turns the camera in his direction, making sure to include the cat. The white-haired artist isn’t paying attention to him at all so, the next time he looks up at the animal, Kunikida snaps a quick picture.

He opens the picture folder and stares at it.

It’s perfect.

+

It’s not the only picture Kunikida takes of him.

“You’re turning into a stalker~" Dazai teases, poking his side, and Kunikida flushes.

“I’m not a stalker!”

“S—ure. It’s not your fault he is so photogenic, right?”

On the latest one, he is lying on the ground, legs swinging slowly as he draws a different cat. This one is black and white, and Kunikida saw it arrive with him. It’s probably his cat.

Over the next few days, it seems like every time Kunikida tries to take a good picture, this young artist is just there, in a corner, looking a natural part of the place. He zooms in on one of them as much as he possibly can before it turns blurry.

He is smiling here, wide enough to show some of his teeth, to make his eyes crinkle and shine.

Kunikida spends several second looking at it, at every details of his face he can make out, committing them to memory. Then, he duplicates the pictures and crops it.

That’s a smile he wouldn’t mind seeing up close.

God, he’s starting to sound like Dazai.

Next to him, Dazai’s obnoxious laughter only gets louder, and Kunikida would strangle him with his bare hands if not for the attention it would draw.

“I should apologize to him,” he decides suddenly. Because taking secret pictures of a stranger isn’t simply weird, it can come off as downright creepy, and Kunikida is not a creep. Because he’s started to look for this young artist on shots he’s definitely not on, and to zoom in on his face, and this is getting out of hands.

“You can’t!” Dazai can barely contain his glee. “He’s napping!”

Indeed he is, and Kunikida gives up. He huffs and settles on the ground to take more pictures of bugs, stopping all movement to wait for one to approach him.

A few minutes later, he finds himself nose to nose with the young man’s cat, who bops its face on the camera lens.

Resigned, Kunikida adjusts the settings and presses the button. The cat’s nose looks enormous on the resulting picture, it’s curious eyes wide, its face magnified. One it's taken he sits up and shows it too the cat.

“There,” he says. "Are you happy?”

It stares at the picture of itself, rubs its head on Kunikida’s hand until he gives it a good scratch, and leaves.

+

The cold has passed now, as the end of April nears, and more and more people come to enjoy the sunshine and warmer weather. Atsushi sees families and several dog walkers.

He sets Byakko upon the grass. “Don’t go too far,” he tells the cat, who flicks her black-tipped tail at him before ignoring him.

The photographer is almost facing Atsushi today, so he has to be more discreet while drawing.

He focuses on his face, this time. On the line of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the shape of his eyes, and the way he frowns where he’s focused. He adds in as many details as he finds, and the more he draws the more his eyes are drawn to him.

By the time he is done Atsushi feels like he knows this face by heart.

The photographer’s expression changes as he takes different pictures of crowds while Atsushi records them in his sketchbook as fast as he possibly can, stomach fluttering as he discovers the range of emotions this man expresses.  

It’s wonderful practice, especially when his tall friend annoys him until he turns to him.

“Stop it, Dazai,” Atsushi hears him snap when the friend in question purposely waves in front of the camera to wave at him. He supposes the picture is ruined, because the photographer emits a loud noise of frustration. “Dammit, it’s all blurry now! Stop that, you useless waste of bandages!”

The sound attracts Byakko’s attention, and she wanders away from Atsushi. She curiously paws towards the pair until Dazai notices her and bends down to pet her.

She rubs her head against the man’s hand, before messing around, coming close to knock the tripod over. The sight it almost as Atsushi on his feet, but before he can Dazai looks up. His eyes catch Atsushi and he smiles, wide, like a Cheshire cat.

Atsushi’s face burns. He has been caught staring. To make it worse, Dazai tugs on the photographer’s arm and points to the cat, then to Atsushi. The man picks up Byakko and walks over to Atsushi with decisive steps.

He's mad at him, he thinks as he tries to read his face. He’s going to yell at him for staring or for letting his cat mess around his equipment.

The photographer stops right in front of him, and Atsushi realizes his work is in plain sight. He slams his sketchbook close, hoping he hasn’t noticed it — and the handful of drawings of his face all over the page.

“Is this your cat?”  

“I’m sorry,” Atsushi says, standing up to take her. “I’ll be more careful with her —”

“Please do,” the man answers, handing her to him. “What is she called?”

“Byakko.” He scratches at her ears and sighs. “I’m really sorry, I figured the park would be safer for her than letting her out in the streets.”

“No harm was done.” His face smooths over as he notices Atsushi’s distress, as if trying to reassure him. “She came over to me yesterday as well, and got her picture taken for her troubles.”

“Really? Thank you for not—you know—” He shrugs. “Uh, I’ve seen you around? Several times. I’m Atsushi.”

“Kunikida, it’s a pleasure.” His eyes fall on the discarded sketchbook. “I’ve seen you here as well, you seem to be a prolific artist.”

“I try!” He sends him a weak smile. “That’s how you progress, right?”

“Of course. Practice makes perfect— you must be skilled.”

“I can show you?” Atsushi offers, cheeks fading to a light pink. “If you want?”

Kunikida nods. “I can show you some of my work as well, if you’d like.” He gestures back at where his camera is still set. “I’m a photographer.”

Atsushi picks his sketchbook up again and flips it to the previous pages, trying to find one he likes enough to show off. He’s never liked showing his drawings to anyone, but Kunikida doesn’t seem the kind of man who would laugh at him, and something like excitation bubbles in Atsushi.

Until he realizes just how many times he has drawn Kunikida in the past few weeks.

“Uh—” The sketchbook snaps shut again, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Would you look at the time! I should really head home!”  

“What—”

It’s obvious, from Kunikida’s face, that he’s seen them. He glances from the sketchbook to Atsushi, who is currently stuffing his things in his bag as fast as he can.

“I can hear my mom calling me!”

+

It’s only after he offers to show Atsushi his work that Kunikida remembers just how many pictures of him are on his camera roll.

He is almost relieved when Atsushi runs away, because it would have been a lot to explain. He would probably think Kunikida is a creep.

“Or maybe not,” Dazai tells him, thoughtful. “You say you saw that he’s been drawing you? So, I was right, he was looking at your butt.”

“Dazai, I’m sure he didn’t draw my butt.” He sets up his camera and looks around.

“Shame, it's very nice.”

After three days of going back to the usual park, Kunikida finally resigns to the fact that Atsushi isn’t showing up anymore. Since then, all his pictures have been bland — incomplete — so Dazai suggested moving location.

This new park is larger than the previous one and different enough to give him new material. The trees are denser and clear-cut paths run through it. A fountain stands in the center, the water flowing with a soothing noise.

Next to him, Dazai flops down on the grass, staring up at the sky and pulls out his earphones. Kunikida takes a picture, mentally labelling it as “Dazai being a lazy ass, as usual”.

It's only half-hearted, because Dazai doesn’t have to come with him on his photographing endeavors, and some days Kunikida wonders why he comes at all. Besides, saying he doesn’t enjoy Dazai’s company would be a blatant lie, they both know it.  

Suddenly, Dazai rolls on his side and takes one of his earbuds out. “Your favourite subject is here,” he points out. “Looks like someone had the same idea!”

Following his fingers, Kunikida finds Atsushi sitting near the fountain, scribbling in his sketchbook. He almost has his back to him, so he can’t see his face.

“You should—”

Kunikida doesn’t hear the end of Dazai’s sentence. He grabs his camera and walks towards him until Byakko, sitting by him, raises her head in his direction.

She stands and meows, attracting Atsushi’s attention, and he turns around. His eyes go wide as he sees Kunikida, and he stammers out something that sounds like “hello”.

“I would like to take a picture of you, please,” Kunikida declares, and Atsushi’s face turns into a deep, concerning red.

“Uh?”

He raises his camera. “You also don’t have to be embarrassed about drawing me. People watching — and drawing — is a strong hobby that can only lead to great progress in your art.” He pauses. “There are also several pictures of you I took without your knowledge and consent, I’m sorry. In my defence, you are often the only person who doesn’t move around.”

Atsushi looks a lot less panicked now that he knows Kunikida doesn’t hold anything against him, and laughs. “I hope you know how weird this sounds.”

“I’m aware.” His strict composure softens, and he pushes his glasses back up his nose. “So, can I take a picture?”

“Sure.” He sets his sketchbook down. “How would you like it to be?”

“Just a portrait.” He crouches to be on the same level as Atsushi, who is still sitting, and smiles as the camera is pointed to him.  

It’s the first picture he takes where Atsushi is looking right at the camera, smiling at him, and Kunikida’s heart jumps in his chest. He sits on the bench, right next to Atsushi, to show him.  

The young man leans over until their shoulders touch and stares at his own face, not unlike his cat did just a few days ago.

His cheeks are still pink when he pulls on of his uneven strand of hair behind his ear. “Could I see the other ones?” He gulps, and seems to gather the courage to add something else, twisting his hands: “I mean, I could show you mine—” his graphite stained fingers tap his sketchbook as he speaks “—and you can show me yours. Over coffee? Maybe?”

Kunikida blinks in surprise, taken off guard, but he smiles. “I would like that.”

[staystrange]

i’m gonna make this place your home

Schitt’s Creek • Patrick Brewer/David Rose Rating: T • ~2.5k words • ao3

Who knew that when his dad had bought David this town as a joke, he’d actually bought him the life he’d always dreamed of but never thought he could possibly have?

-or-

David and Patrick visit the house, tour the house, and move into the house.

Title: "Home" by Phillip Phillips. Yes, I know, this is the cheesiest and most obvious choice, but Patrick kinda did make "this place" (Schitt's Creek) David's home, so I stand by it.

“I just don’t think I’m finished with this place.”

If you had told David when he first moved to Schitt’s Creek that he’d face his parents and his sister in the motel room they grew to call home and say those nine words out loud and mean every single one of them, he’d have told you that you were absolutely incorrect. It did feel a little scary to say them out loud so definitively, even though he knew it was the right — heck, the only — decision; his stomach was tight with anxiety the entire day, only loosening its hold when he saw the joy on Patrick’s face as David stood with Patrick in front of the house and told him he’d put an offer in for it. Or at least, he’d tried to put an offer in; his heart was in the right place, but he had no idea what he was doing.

It had been a combination of his conversation with Patrick and his heart to heart with Stevie that had opened his eyes to the fact that everything he had always wanted that he thought he would find in New York was actually right there in Schitt’s Creek, in the last place he’d ever thought he’d find it. Who knew that when his dad had bought David this town as a joke, he’d actually bought him the life he’d always dreamed of but never thought he could possibly have? People always said that money can’t buy happiness, but David honestly thought he had a uniquely strong example to prove those people wrong. It was a little bit too much to wrap his head around, and the thought of it brought tears to his eyes, something he’d realized had been happening a lot more since Patrick wandered into his life.

Patrick, who stands next to him as they face the house they will soon be calling their home, the two of them alternating between staring at the house and staring at each other. They probably stand in front of the house for longer than is considered socially acceptable for two almost-married people who had just bought their first house together (especially because they have no idea if anyone is even home, and if they are, whether they saw any of the makeout session they’d just had on the front lawn), but they are too happy to care. They are going to get married, they are going be husbands, and this house is going to be theirs.

“At this point, who even needs a wedding, am I right?” Patrick asks David.

“Oh, I do, I need a wedding, big time,” David replies, and Patrick just smiles.

———

Even in the midst of all of the last minute wedding planning (“Oh my God, Patrick, I forgot to pick up the flowers for my bouquet and your boutonniere from the florist!” “It’s okay, David, I’ll pick them up tomorrow.”) David makes sure that he and Patrick find time to actually see the inside of the house; he thinks it would be a good idea to actually make a plan with the current owners instead of just driving by the house and staring at it like he’d done every day, sometimes multiple times a day, since they’d put the offer in.

They close the store early that afternoon and drive over to the house, David’s hand holding Patrick’s tightly between them as Patrick drives. Patrick pulls up smoothly to the curb, putting the car in park before opening the driver’s side door and quickly walking around to the passenger side to open the door for David, who can’t help but smile at his husband’s unnecessary chivalry. Patrick holds his hand out to David, who takes it, standing and using the momentum to pull his almost-husband into a gentle kiss. They walk hand and hand up the path to the front porch, Patrick ringing the bell before smiling at David.

A woman opens the door after a few moments, her eyes crinkling in the corners as her smile spreads across her face. “Well hello again, Patrick,” she begins, recognizing him from their previous meeting, “and you must be David! It’s so great to finally meet you in person — I’ve heard so much about you from your fiancé.”

David blushes a little, though he makes a futile attempt to hide it since he’s in the presence of a complete stranger who is selling them her family’s house; he’s trying to make at least a decent impression so they’ll know their house is in good hands. “It’s lovely you to meet you as well…” he trails off, realizing he doesn’t actually know her name.

“Penny,” she replies, holding out her hand.

“Penny,” David repeats, shaking her hand. Penny looks out behind him and Patrick down the path that lead back to the street, confusion shaping her features. “Is something wrong?” David asks, sudden concern bleeding into his voice.

“Oh, I just figured Ray would be here to facilitate this tour since he’s the realtor.”

Patrick can’t help but let a burst of laughter escape his lungs, prompting David to direct a horrified look at his fiancé. “I used to live with Ray when I first moved here,” Patrick explains to Penny. “I think David and I have spent enough time with him to last a lifetime.”

“Say no more, I totally understand. Why don’t you two come in?” Penny replies, opening the door wide.

“Thank you so much,” David says, he and Patrick following her inside.

David fiddles with the lower of the two rings on his left ring finger as Penny closes and latches the door behind them. As she does, another woman walks into the room, her hair tied up in a messy bun on top of her head. There are paint splotches all over her light wash jeans and grey shirt and a paintbrush is tucked behind her ear. “Hi David and Patrick, I’m so sorry I look like this; inspiration struck this morning and I just had to get started on this painting before the idea slipped out of my head.” David smiles in understanding, as does Patrick.

“This is my wife Noelle,” Penny says to David.

“Nice to meet you, Noelle,” David says. “I’d shake your hand, but…” He trails off, nodding at the paint splotches on Noelle’s hands.

“No worries, I wouldn’t shake my hands in this state either,” Noelle replies. David immediately likes her.

“Shall we begin the grand tour, then?” Penny asks.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Patrick answers politely.

“I’m going to head back to the garage and work on this painting — I mean, pack up all of the stuff that’s left in there,” Noelle finishes hastily off a stern look from Penny, but David can tell there’s no real force behind it. She waves as she heads back to the garage, and Penny smiles quietly to herself with a look on her face not unlike the one David often sees on Patrick’s face when David gets overexcited like that.

“So as I told Patrick when I called him about the house, our daughters Alexis and Daisy are off to college this fall, so we’re moving down to Florida to be near them. Not too near them though, we want to give them their space and their freedom, but we’d at least like to be in the same country.” Penny laughs. “And we know them well enough that they’ll want us to be close by for when something inevitably goes wrong in their apartment.”

“Your daughter’s name is Alexis?” David asks Penny as she leads him and Patrick into the kitchen. “That’s my younger sister’s name, too.”

“Oh, really? What a lovely coincidence.” David smiles softly. “Does she live here in Schitt’s Creek?”

“She does, but she’s moving to New York City to pursue a career in PR after our wedding.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Penny leans her back against the kitchen counter. “And speaking of, congratulations!” She gestures to David’s rings. “When’s the wedding?”

“September 3rd,” Patrick replies, a huge grin on his face.

“Oh, wow, that’s coming up! I can’t believe you two managed to find time to visit the house with all of that going on; we certainly wouldn’t have had time for anything like this that close to our wedding. And speaking of, let me actually give you the tour instead of talking your ears off.”

Penny shows them around the whole house, ideas for furnishings and color schemes popping into David’s head so fast he can barely type them down into the notes app on his phone. He shares some of them out loud with Patrick as well, and based on the grin on his face that has somehow gotten bigger as the day goes on, he loves them all. By the time they’re about to leave, David has a clear picture of exactly what he wants their home to look like, and he’s itching to grab a pencil and sketch it all out to show Patrick.

“Thank you so much for showing us around,” Patrick says when they’re back at the front door again. “And thank you so much for taking me seriously and actually calling me when you decided to sell. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t just think I was crazy or something.

Penny looks surprised for a moment. “No, of course we didn’t think you were crazy! We thought it was very sweet actually, and I’m glad we could make this happen for you.”

“Us too,” Patrick responds, glancing at David to confirm, which he does with a smile and a nod.

Later that night, David’s at Patrick’s (he basically lives there at this point, if he’s being quite honest) and he’s sitting on the couch with his back against the arm, his sock-covered feet on the cushions and his sketchbook in his lap. Patrick is draped over his shoulders, his arms crossed over David’s chest, pressing kisses to David’s neck as David draws out some of his ideas for their house from earlier that day. He’s sketching out their bedroom, humming to himself as the pencil moves on the page. After a few minutes, he turns around toward Patrick and sets the sketchbook on the arm of the couch so that he can see the page right side up.

“So this is what I’m thinking for our room. We could put the bed against the wall and paint the walls that dark blue that you like and we could get bedding to match and —” David looks up at Patrick and stops, realizing that Patrick has been staring at him the whole time he’s been talking instead of at the drawing of what David’s describing. “Honey, you’re not even looking at it.”

“Hmm, you’re very distracting when you’re excited,” Patrick responds.

“Okay, Patrick, but I need you to look at what I’m describing because I want to make sure you like it so we can order this stuff and get this all ready to go because I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be worrying about all of this while we’re on our honeymoon. I just want to focus on being with you.”

David didn’t expect to get this sappy; it must have been seeing the house with Patrick that turned him all soft. Actually, maybe it was just Patrick.

“Fine,” Patrick whines over-dramatically, kissing David’s cheek before picking the sketchbook up and leaning his elbows onto the arm of the couch. He takes his time, running his fingers over the page, careful not to smudge the pencil lines. “I love it. I love you.”

Patrick hands the sketchbook back to David, who takes it with a smile. “Thank you, I love you too. Now let me sketch out the rest of the rooms because I have so many ideas to run by you.” David turns to a blank page in the sketchbook, tapping his pencil against the page as he decides which room he wants to visualize next.

He’s just decided on the dining room when Patrick takes the pencil out of his hand. David whips his head around, incredulous. “And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Making sure that my fiancé takes a break from the constant planning and actually gets some rest since our wedding is only a few days away and I know he certainly doesn’t want the exhaustion to show on his face in our wedding photos,” Patrick replies, holding the pencil above his head where David can’t reach it from his seat on the couch. “You know I’m right.”

“Fine,” David says, closing the sketchbook and resigning himself to his fate. “But you have to come to bed too; I don’t want you to have exhaustion showing on your beautiful face either. And that goes for always, not just at our wedding. You spend way too much time working on spreadsheets and not enough time sleeping.”

Patrick laughs. “Whatever you say, David.”

———

The wedding is beautiful. Even though the rain throws a bit of a wrench into things, everyone in David’s life in Schitt’s Creek rallies together to make the day as perfect as it could possibly be. David has never felt more loved in his entire life.

None of it feels real until the day David and Patrick actually move into their house. He hadn’t realized how much stuff he’d managed to accumulate since moving to Schitt’s Creek until he had to pack all of it up and load it into the moving van. He’d helped Patrick too, especially because so many of his things had ended up at Patrick’s apartment anyway.

They stand in front of the house again, just like they had the day David told Patrick he wanted to stay in Schitt’s Creek, but this time with the moving van in the driveway and the empty house in front of them waiting to be filled with them and their lives and their love. They hold each other close, excited to begin their lives together but not really looking forward to the actual manual labor involved in unpacking everything they own. So instead they procrastinate in each other’s arms, in each other’s faces, in each other’s kisses.

When they’re finally finished unpacking, or at least as finished as they’re going to get on the first day in their new home, David sits down on their bed, pulling Patrick down beside him. “Hi,” he says simply.

“Hi,” Patrick replies. “Welcome home.”

It’s in that moment that everything hits David, even as he’s extremely distracted by Patrick’s mouth on his. He feels a sudden warmth in his chest, and he knows that Stevie was right that day they visited the house — he’d won. He’d really won.

David and Patrick wear identical ear-to-ear grins when they break apart. “I guess it’s time to start thinking about another housewarming party,” Patrick says.

“Sure, but make no mistake, I will be doing the planning this time,” David replies.

[floutua]

all my life

this was requested by an anon who wanted Five to be dating a painter but I’ve taken the liberty to add a few other things in there. Also, they’re older in this imagine just because. Hope you enjoy! thank you for sending in the request.

Five has this nasty habit of just blinking in to your room whenever he wanted, especially when he is bored and does not want to be around the rest of the family. You also never seemed to mind the fact that Five just blinks in to your room, even if he catches you by surprise more often than you can count. Five would always snicker as he flops on your bed, staring at you with amusement and adoration. You roll your eyes at him in return.

However, Five realizes that he has never really been in your room without your presence before. He always seems to blink in whenever you are present – so, this absence makes him feel a little bit out of place. Which in hindsight is very silly because he spends more time in his girlfriend’s room than he does in his actual room – sometimes, the two of you talk about conspiracy theories, sometimes the two of you are quiet, just basking in each other’s presence.

Five moves over to your table and picks up the bright yellow sticky note, looking at your messy handwriting. Sometimes, he wonders how your handwriting can be so messy when you obviously know how to draw absolutely well. “BRB; Nana needs cat food. Will be back soon, love Y/N.” Five murmurs, a smile appearing on his face. He loves your relationship with your grandmother – Five never had one and the closest person he can probably think of as grandparent figure would be Pogo – and he has met your Nana a couple of times before too. Five pockets the note you wrote and stuffs it in his pocket – you don’t know this but every single note you have given him, Five has kept them in a special box, hidden where no one could find it. Actually, no one in his family knows about it either because Five knows for sure they will not stop teasing him about how sappy he is and a ‘hopeless romantic’ at heart.

So, he decides to look around your room. The smile on his face growing bigger when he sees the number of photos you have of him, his siblings and the two of you together all over the wall. “I don’t have this one.” Five lifts up the framed photo: you have the biggest smile on your face and Five is in the midst of rolling his eyes, holding on to his cup (of coffee) and he spies the small smile present on his face. Five wonders briefly who took that photo of the two of you and where can he get them. He places the frame back to where he had picked it up from and is about to move away from your table when his sleeve accidentally catches your sketchbook and it falls to the ground, flipping open at a random page. “Shit.”

Five immediately bends down to pick it up and pauses when he finally realizes the drawing he sees is of him sleeping. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he picks up your sketchbook and stand up, moving over to sit on your bed. He continues to study the sketch you drew of him; it was only half-coloured, but it already looks amazing. “Y/N…” He whispers your name as he begins going through your sketchbook. Some of the sketches you made consisted mostly of him but there were sketches that you made of his siblings, landscapes, your Nana and her cat and he hums appreciatively under his breath. He has always known you had a talent for drawing and painting – in fact, that was how the two of you had first met.

Reginald Hargreeves had hired you – a child with impeccable drawing and painting talents – to draw the Hargreeves’ family portraits and occasionally, Pogo would ask you for a commission or two for Grace who loved landscape paintings. Honestly, Five could go on and on about how amazing your artwork is: the academy is literally filled with a lot of your pieces and he never gets bored of looking at them. But that was then and this is now.

Five immediately snaps your sketch book shut when the door opens and you catch him red-handed, holding on to your sketch book. You chuckle as you walk over to him, dropping your purse on the bed. “Snooping around?” You tease him and Five rolls his eyes as he clicks his tongue at your words. “You know I would have just shown them to you if you asked, Five.” You pull your sketchbook away from his hands and flop yourself on his lap, causing Five to quickly hold on to your waist lest you fall off of his lap and hurt yourself.

“I was not snooping around – for the record, your sketchbook decided to commit suicide by getting caught on my sleeve and falling off of the table.” Five tells you pointedly as he adjusts you so that you are sitting comfortably on his lap. You giggle at his answer, pressing a soft kiss on his lips, one that Five deepens before you pull away. “So, will you show it to me then? I didn’t get to finish going through all of them.”

You nod your head and open your sketchbook, turning it to a random page at the back. There was a paper sticking out and you pick it up, handing it over to Five who uses his free hand to look at the drawing and Five furrows his eyebrows before he widens his eyes when he realizes what you had drawn. “This was the first time I saw you – in Griddy’s doughnuts; it was probably one of those times when you snuck out with everyone.” You explain, recalling that memory. “I thought to myself; wow, this family is amazing, and I drew it right there and then. Little did I know I would be meeting everyone officially a few days after.”

Five stares at the drawing a little longer; back then things were a lot simpler than it had been today and judging from the genuine happiness you have managed to capture on all of their faces, it was no wonder you were inspired to draw them. Five tightens his hold on you and kisses your temple. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

You shake your head, wounding an arm around his neck. “It’s my pleasure; you can keep it if you want, Five. Oh! I have the perfect frame for it – if you want it framed, that is.” You look up at your boyfriend and Five chuckles under his breath, nodding his head. You jump off of his lap and immediately head to your art boxes, rummaging through them. “Also, since you are here, would you mind helping me and becoming my muse?”

Five kneels beside you, taking the stuff you had been holding and placing it on the bed so that you had easy access. “Aren’t I always your muse?” He motions at some of your intricate paintings; you loved drawing half of his face – never completely – and painting flowers over it and Five really likes it whenever you paint arts like those.

You give him a pointed look and Five smirks, running his fingers through his hair. “I mean, I am a work of art, no?” You laugh at his words and shoved him playfully, causing Five to chuckle at your actions.

“Yeah, you are.” You tell him after your laughter died down. “I think for my final project, I want to paint you how I see you and let everyone know just why you are my muse, Five.” You explain earnestly and Five stares at you for a few seconds before he slowly nods his head. The smile on your face grows bigger.

“The things I do for you, Y/N.”

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader -”On Cloud Nine”

The Clown Prince of Crime died protecting his girlfriend and now The Afterlife Assessment Bureau doesn’t know what to do with him: although J’s actions didn’t change the outcome, it scored major points in his chart and they have to recalculate the final score. Until that happens, The Joker was allowed to wait on the Lower Clouds right below The Higher Clouds where the woman he tried to save is spending eternity.

“Hey lady!” you hear as you watch the beautiful blue skies from your fluffy cloud. ”Hey!”

Y/N looks towards the source of the noise only to notice this strange man with green locks waving at her from the cloud below.

“Yes?”

“Where are we?” the guy asks, having a hard time processing what’s happening to him.

The two don’t recognize each other: once you’re dead, you’ll have no memory of your past; they definitely don’t recall being together while they were alive.

“Not sure, but it’s beautiful,” you sigh and he huffs, annoyed.

“Ugh, it’s boring. Nothing to do besides sitting down and analyze… whatever the hell this is!” J flares his arms around as a voice coming from everywhere echoes in the stillness:

“Please mind your language, sir!”

“Who said that?!” The Joker tries to find the person that just admonished him and there’s no other soul besides the woman he’s having a conversation with.

“I don’t know,” you lift your shoulder up, intrigued. “Kind of weird,” you dangle your feet above the abyss, totally unconcerned about the invisible presence. “What is that?” you point at the sketchbook he’s holding.

“My drawings,” The King of Gotham sulks, restarting to doodle on the almost blank page.

“Can I see?” you curiously inquire.

J bites the pencil and frees his hands, then shows you his current masterpiece.

“Could you hold it higher?” you squint your eyes. “Higher!!”

The expression on your face demonstrates you can’t perceive too much.

“Why don’t you come over?” the man proposes and your stalling makes him snicker: “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”

“Hmmm…” you debate on the offer not because you’re afraid of a little jump but because you’re uncertain it’s worth the trouble.

“C’mon!” The Joker wants to get up and help yet Y/N is already hopping down on his cloud: she’s always been independent, one of the qualities he secretly liked about her before they both unexpectedly kicked the bucket. “Nice landing!” J chuckles as you take a sit by him, the artist reprising his work. “What do you think?” he proudly boasts.

You glimpse at the clumsy lines depicting an apparent landscape filled with pumpkins and can’t hold in a smile.

“I think there’s a lot of potential hidden behind the primitive naivety of this little gem,” you give him your honest judgement and J scoffs, intrigued.

“Primitive?!”

“I like your style,” you sweetly reply since you realize you shouldn’t have blurred out the comment; he might be offended by your genuine critique. “The pumpkins are super cute,” you add in order to divert his attention.

“I like pumpkins,” The Joker growls. 

“Me too,” you continue. “That would be an adorable nickname for someone, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” he shakes his head and mentions: “Why are you staring at me? Do I have something in my teeth?”

“They’re silver,” you bring your face closer to his, puzzled to discern the detail.

“Are they?!” The King touches his mouth, appalled.

“Yes, but it suits you,” the sincere tone calms down his frantic movement.

“Am I ugly?!” his ego emerges even beyond the grave and Y/N has the perfect answer:

“No, you’re handsome in a sort of eerie way.”

J frowns, suspicious.

“So I look creepy?!”

“You don’t look creepy to me,” you candidly emphasize. “In my humble opinion, you’re attractive.”

He straightens his back, pleased at the statement and your rosy cheeks give him a boost of confidence.

“Are you going to ...e-hem…” you cough, flustered at the stupid confession, “…draw another pumpkin over here?” your finger taps on the corner of the paper.

“Might as well,” J agrees and you have no clue that what he’s doing is basically thanks to you.

God knows how much you encouraged his practically nonexistent skills just to keep him away from problems he created for himself and others! You were actually his number one fan and to be honest his only fan: as long as The Clown Prince of Crime was immersed in his unique hobby, it meant Gotham and its citizens were safe.

The Penthouse was filled with The Joker’s phenomenal paintings and sketches, extravagantly framed by yours truly to overcompensate the lack of substantial talent.

“Ma’am, please return to your cloud!” the voice you heard earlier resonates all around once more.

“Why?” you glare left and right, annoyed you can’t see anybody.

“You belong on The Higher Clouds,” the elusive response doesn’t enlighten the mystery. “Hold on, we’re sending our representative over!”

After a few seconds Y/N and the former King distinguish an individual dressed in a black suit carefully jumping from cloud to cloud, steadily approaching his objective.

“Apologies for the delay,” he addresses the stunned couple once in The Joker’s space. “Sir, we had to compile a lot of paperwork for you,” the guy flips pages of a thick file, annoyed. “After adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing your points, turned out your final score is still a negative number.”

“Huh?!” J puckers his lips, confused.

“It seems you were a very bad person, sir; did a lot of despicable things and dying while protecting the girl you loved doesn’t mean diddly squat in the end!”

“Awww,” you gush at the revelation. “That’s so romantic,” you whisper and the man bends over, completely overwhelmed:

“Ma’am, allow me the honor of shaking your hand,” the agent grabs your fingers, softly squeezing them. “You are a true legend and we are forever indebted to your greatness: you put up with him and saved numerous lives also,” he gestures towards The Joker and you gasp, finally understanding the bigger picture.

“He died…for me?!”

“I died for her?!” the awkward pair asks in the same time.

“Yeah, no big deal. You were killed anyway and I’m so, so sorry for that,” the emissary extends his regrets to the woman he admires, entirely disregarding The Joker’s sacrifice.

“No big deal??!!” the latest shouts. “Dying for someone is no big deal?! How the fuck am I still in the negative?!!”

“Language!!!!!!” the omnipresent voice surfaces again.

“WHO.IS.THAT?!” Y/N gets vexed at the multiple invisible interruptions.

“Steve Rogers,” the representative notifies. “He’s in charge of The Profanity Control Department.”

“Who?!” J crinkles his nose, fed up with the messy situation.

“It’s not important,” the agent cuts him off. “What’s important sir is that you can’t be here; we have to move you.”

“Move me?! Where?”

“Yes, where are you taking him?” you quiz the black suited guardian.

“Far away, unless…”

“Unless what?” J crabbily interrogates.  

“Unless someone is willing to transfer their points to you, sir. It hasn’t been done in centuries though; lots of bureaucracy involved and frankly, if I may: why would anybody donate their hard earned credits to you??!!”

The Clown is scandalized at the brutal affirmation while Y/N has a magnificent idea:

“How many points do I have?”

“Mmmmm…,” the man flips more pages and finds the information: “Ten gazillions.”

“How many does he need?”

“Three gazillions.”

“Oh,” you cheerfully clap your hands. “I have plenty so I’ll donate my credits to him.”

“Nah, you don’t want to do that,” the man shrieks, already unhappy with the perspective of putting in overtime for this project. “We’re out of clouds; we’ll have to make more and that takes forever.”

“There are plenty of empty clouds around!” The Joker barks.

“Not empty. They are inhabited by others but you can’t see them: you can only see the people you are connected with, true love type of deal,” the emissary indifferently blurs out.

“So…that’s why I can only see him and he can only see me?!” Y/N’s burning, red face matches J’s stellar entitled smirk after the astonishing revelation.

“Precisely,” the flat tone prompts The King’s logical question:

“Then why can’t I stay on this cloud?”  

“The Lower Clouds are similar to a waiting room; we can’t have them occupied for long periods of time.”

“I’ll share my cloud with him!” you firmly suggest as the emissary is panicking:

“That means more paperwork!! We usually don’t have two residents spending eternity on the same cloud.”

“Make it happen!” J commands. “The lady wants to give me her points and share her cloud. You can’t say no, you said it yourself: she’s a legend!” he preys on the guy’s hesitation.

“I would really appreciate your help,” your disarming smile gives the guardian a nudge in the proper direction.

“Of…of course ma’am,” he stutters because how can one say no to a legend?!

And you surely count on it.

“I have to stipulate a reason for all this, what should I write on the formulary? In a simple sentence, it needs to be specific and concise: why are you gifting him credits and share your personal area?”

Your brain slots are hollow yet there’s one motive:

“I like his drawings.”

The impeccable suit ogles J’s silly scribbling, muttering under his breath:

“Another Picasso…” then louder:

“I’ll do the paperwork; for now, please vacate the premises and go on the Upper Cloud; we have new arrivals that require the Lower Clouds,” he exhales and starts leaping away, leaving you and The Joker behind.

Your cloud descends so you both can step on it and then floats higher in the air again.

Y/N gazes at the stranger in silence, until he breaks the shell:

“Thank you for your generosity, Miss…” J sniffles, realizing an important detail is absent from the whole dialogue. “What’s your name?”

“…I don’t know…” you regretfully answer. “I can’t remember…”

The Joker scratches his chin with a brilliant solution on the horizon:

“You said Pumpkin would be an adorable moniker for someone. Do you mind if I call you Pumpkin?”

“No, not at all,” you gladly accept his proposition. “And you’re welcome, I had so many credits, might as well use them. I have to thank you too for dying for me, Mister… What’s your name?”

“Bits me; I can’t recollect.”

Y/N pouts, upset she doesn’t have a name when a genius recommendation escapes her lips:

“You know… you have this small “J” letter tattoo under your left eye…” you gently poke it and he feels a sudden warmth taking over his body. “Is it ok if I call you J?”

“U-hum,” the hypnotized King gazes at the woman in front of him. “So I have tattoos on my face?”

“Yes, a few: a tiny star and a big one on your forehead that spells ‘Damaged’. And playing cards on your neck…” you describe his ink, mesmerized.

“Do they make me look horrible?”

“You don’t look horrible to me,” you praise and J inflates his chest at the declaration; oh boy, you definitely have a way with words.

“Thank you Pumpkin,” the flirtatious Clown winks and you play with the hem of your shirt, about to burst out with delight. 

“You’re welcome… J.”

“Oh my God!” The Joker snaps out of it since the artist in him is begging for attention:  “The sunset’s gorgeous! I have to sketch this!”

He sits down on the cloud and you scoot over until your thighs touch, interested in his new project.

“Your cloud is a better quality than the one I was on,” he bounces on the white, velvety texture. “It will certainly improve my technique!”

“Absolutely!” you enthusiastically exclaim, determined to assist no matter what.

Heaven knows your new friend J evidently requires steady guidance regarding his hobby: he’s no Picasso yet, but with a legend’s help he might eventually get there.  

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[immortal-imagines]

Muse

Summary: (Y/N) loved to draw Klaus because he was such an interesting muse. His appearance changed so frequently that she always had something fresh to look at. However, she never let Klaus see the drawings. Desperate to see them, he recruits the help of his siblings to find her sketchbook.

(Klaus Hargreeves x Reader)

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst, mixed in with lots of fluff and some implied smut.

Word Count: 2,444

A/N: I’m far too in love with Klaus for my own good.

Klaus and (Y/N) sat at opposite ends of the sofa. She had her legs across his lap and her sketchbook held tightly in her hands. Her pencil moved rapidly over the page. Occasionally, she’d glance up to her model to update herself, then look back down and begin drawing again.

Klaus loved to watch (Y/N) draw. She looked so concentrated, with her glasses perched on the end of her nose, squinting at the page in front of her, and her hair tied up in a messy bun. There was something equally adorable and sexy about it. (Y/N) would frown a little at him, if she looked up and he’d moved too much, so he would have to readjust. He didn’t mind, but if he hadn’t smoked anything for quite some time, it started to itch.

It was getting to that time now. He stretched his legs and arms out in front of him, yawning as he did so. (Y/N) looked up, biting the end of her pencil. “I’ll be done in just a minute,” she promised, seeing the look in her boyfriend’s eyes that only happened when he needed something extra. (Y/N) wasn’t completely sold on the whole drugs and alcohol thing and tried to help Klaus stay away as best she could. He was getting better, but she understood that seeing dead people wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to deal with and he needed something to take the edge off. Equally, Klaus didn’t like getting too high or too drunk in front of (Y/N). Although he knew she would always look after him, he never wanted her too see him in such a state that he was out of control. It embarrassed him, to allow the woman he loved to witness when he wasn’t in a state where he could love or protect her fully. Of course, there had been many times when she had seen him like this, but those were so few and far between now that they both celebrated the little victories when he could go a day or even just a few hours without smoking.

(Y/N) finished the last section of shading and snapped the book shut. “All done,” she said, with a smile. She started to move her legs so Klaus could get up, but he grabbed them before she could stand. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. As he did so, his fingers slid over the sketchbook. (Y/N) figured out exactly what he was doing and snatched it away, holding it behind her out of his reach.

Klaus pouted, “Why can’t I see it? It’s a drawing of me. Clearly it’s amazing because you did it.” He pecked the end of her nose and she blushed.

“They’re private, Klaus. Maybe one day, but not right now,” she replied, running her free hand through his messy curls.

Today, he had opted for the ‘just-got-out-of-bed-but-still-looking-hot’ style and (Y/N) loved it. He had his signature dark eyeliner smudged around his eyes. His outfit consisted of black jogging bottoms, with rips all up the legs, and a black tank top, with the bottom messily cut off so that it had become cropped. It was relatively tame for Klaus. He never wore the exact same outfit twice. It was always a combination of garments. (Y/N) loved how creative he was with his clothes. It was good to see him focus his energy on something else. She’d even bought him his own design sketchbook, so he could start doodling clothing himself. She’d caught him on multiple occasions curled up in a corner of the Academy with the book open and one of her pencils behind his ear. His designs were really amazing, but she was the only one he would ever show them to. He used this against her, whenever she refused to show him her drawings.

“Fine,” Klaus said, moving back on the sofa and folding his arms, like a toddler having a tantrum. “I’m going to have a bath.” He stood and looked down at (Y/N), raising an eyebrow. He held out a hand, “Care to join?”

(Y/N) took it, careful not to take her other hand off of her sketchbook. She smirked, “Love to.”

The Hargreeves siblings were used to (Y/N) always being around. Now that they were all moved back in and trying to figure out Five’s apocalypse situation, it was helpful to have another head. They had also become accustom to finding the pair in compromising positions around the house. Neither of them was particularly fond of wearing too many clothes, so could be found walking around in just their underwear or a dressing gown. Luther wasn’t particularly fond of this and always blushed furiously when he spotted (Y/N) in nothing but a t-shirt and pants, or even less. He scolded Klaus for letting her do that, especially when Grace or Pogo could walk in at any moment.

Now, Klaus and (Y/N) sat opposite each other in the bath, full to the brim with bubbles. Klaus blew some at her, which she swatted away, laughing. He picked up his freshly rolled joint from the floor and lit it. (Y/N) grabbed her sketchbook, careful not to get it wet, and began drawing him. He looked so content, dancing his hands in the air along to the music that played from the old radio. The joint balanced between his lips, smoke curling gently from the end. (Y/N) was careful to capture this. She wanted to record every moment of bliss, so when he was going through a rough patch, he would be able to look back on these sketches and remember what made him happy. Then, he could do those things again and regain composure. That was her goal, anyway. This is why she wouldn’t show him yet. She wanted to wait for the right time. It was becoming almost like a photo album. Sometimes, when they had dinner with his siblings, she’d sketch them too. When the couple led in bed together, she would look in the mirror opposite his bed and draw their reflection. Her whimsical nature and carefree ways matched his personality perfectly. Regardless of the embarrassment his siblings felt upon finding them intimately together, they knew (Y/N) was good for their brother. She made him happy and that was all they wanted.

“Can I see it now?” Klaus whined, the joint almost falling from his mouth as he did so. (Y/N) shook her head, “Not yet, love.”

“How about now?”

(Y/N) looked up from the book and raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “You won’t give in, will you?”

“Never,” he replied, poking her leg with his foot.

When all the bubbles had almost completely disappeared and (Y/N) felt her fingers wrinkling, she put down her book and stepped out of the bath. Klaus watched, another joint sitting comfortably between his fingers. He kept his eyes on her, as she bent down to pick up a towel and wrapped it around herself. (Y/N) looked over he shoulder. Catching him staring, she winked. “I’ll see you in the bedroom,” she said, before walking out the bathroom.

Klaus sighed, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. He took a long pull on the joint and blew circles of smoke into the air. He leant down to the ashtray on the floor to dab it out. As he did so, he caught sight of the small, black, leather-bound sketchbook that was usually glued to (Y/N)’s hand. She must have forgotten it, he thought. He stared at it for a moment, wondering whether he dared to pick it up and have a look. Just as he was about to reach over, (Y/N) appeared in the doorway, sporting a black lace thong and bralette. She saw the book on the floor and breathed a sigh of relief. “There it is,” she said, picking it up and wiping away a few suds that had escaped the tub.

Klaus wolf-whistled, wiggling his eyebrows. “I like it,” he said, gesturing to her ensemble.

“Thank you,” she curtsied, “Now, you better get out too or else you’ll shrivel up like a prune.” She made sure to sway her hips slightly as she left this time. It was a hobby of hers, to tease Klaus like this. It clearly worked, as she heard him grown behind her.

~

“I’m going to pop to the shop, do you need anything?” (Y/N) said, poking her head round the door to Klaus’ bedroom. He was led on his stomach on the bed completely naked, chin propped up by one hand and a pencil in the other. His design book was in front of him and he was furiously squinting at what he’d just drawn.

“Pringles,” he said, absentmindedly, “Lots of them.” His eyes didn’t leave the book.

“Any particular flavour?” (Y/N) asked. When she didn’t get a reply, she sighed and smiled. He was so absorbed in his work that he barely noticed when she walked over and kissed the top of his head. “I’ll be back soon,” she said, softly.

It took Klaus a full ten minutes to acknowledge the fact that (Y/N) had gone out. Not only had she gone out, but there was a high chance that she’d left her sketchbook behind. Her bag was still on the floor in the corner of the room, so she’d probably just taken a purse and her phone.

Klaus tapped the pencil against his nose, as he mulled over the idea of searching for it. The nearest supermarket was at least a twenty-minute walk from the Academy, then there was the time it would take (Y/N) to decide what she wanted, which he knew would take a while, then of course the walk back. As he was processing all this, Klaus heard movement down the hall. Allison was there, and so was Luther and Five. Who knows where Diego was? Ben could appear if Klaus needed him. He wondered how many of his siblings he could rope into helping his hunt for (Y/N)’s sketch book.

Klaus stood, picking up his kimono from the floor and wrapping it around himself. As an afterthought, he grabbed a pair of underwear and put them on too.

“My dearest siblings,” he addressed Allison and Luther as they were leaving her room, his arms stretched out.

Allison rolled her eyes, “You either want something, or you’re on something. Which is it?”

Klaus held a hand to his heart, faking disgust. When neither sibling reacted, he held up his hands in surrender, “Okay, you got me. I need your help. I need to find (Y/N)’s sketchbook. She never shows it to me and I want to see what she’s been drawing.”

“Isn’t that a bit invasive?” Luther asked.

“Look who your talking to,” Allison gestured to the half-dressed Klaus.

“I need to make sure she’s capturing my assets,” Klaus said flexing his muscles and wiggling his eyebrows.

Allison folded her arms, “If it will get you to shut up, then we’ll help you.”

They searched for half an hour with no luck. Allison was losing interest and Ben, who had appeared to find out what was going on, had disappeared again when he got bored. Luther had taken a seat in Klaus’ room in what seemed like the least likely spot that Klaus and (Y/N) would have had sex in. Although, places like that were becoming harder to find, now that the pair had adventured out of the bedroom.

Klaus had somehow stayed focused. He was determined to find the book, however long it took.

(Y/N) cleared her throat, standing with her arms folded in the bedroom door. A satchel hung from her shoulder, with various treats spilling out. “What on earth are you guys doing?”

Klaus looked up in shock at her sudden arrival and Luther looked a little embarrassed. Allison took his hand and helped him up. “We should be going,” she said, leading Luther from the room. As she did, she shot Klaus a look that said ‘Good luck’.

(Y/N) entered, noticing the drawers had been taken out and clothes were strewn across the floor. “Did the apocalypse happen already?” she chuckled, placing the bag down on the bed, one of the Pringles cans rolling out. Klaus looked sheepish. The pieces had begun to fit together in his mind. Clearly, she’d taken a different bag than the one she usually used. The book must be in there.

“What exactly were you guys doing?”

“Don’t be mad,” Klaus said, “We were looking for your sketchbook.”

(Y/N) sighed, “I’m not mad.”

“It’s just, you’re always drawing and I wanted to see what it was that made you look so happy, so peaceful. I wanted to know,” Klaus said, taking her hand in his and rubbing small circles over it with his thumb.

(Y/N) reached into the satchel and pulled out the book. “Do you want to know the real reason why I won’t show you yet?” she asked. Klaus nodded. “The reason I won’t show you yet is because I’m waiting for the right moment. This book is for when you have one of your falls, when you give in to temptation too much. I want to show you these drawings when you have one of those days, to prove to you that life isn’t always like that.”

Tears had formed in Klaus’ eyes. He rubbed them quickly, not wanting (Y/N) to see. She noticed them glaze over and took his cheek in her hand. She leant forward and planted a gentle kiss on his lips.

She pulled away and thought for a moment, before saying, “I shouldn’t do this, seeing as you tried to pry, but I’ll show you one drawing.”

Klaus grinned. (Y/N) opened the book and carefully flicked through until she found the page she was looking for. She handed it to Klaus and his eyes grew wide, taking in the sketch in front of him. It was the one she’d done in the bath. It was so perfectly drawn, with the shadows under Klaus’ eyes bringing his features to life and the curve of smoke from the joint balanced with careful precision in the air.

Klaus smiled, softly, and looked up at (Y/N). “Thank you,” he said, “For showing me this and for the book in general.” He put the book to one side and pulled her into a hug. He nuzzled into her neck, revelling in the scent of her hair. “I love you,” he murmured.

(Y/N)’s heart skipped when he said it. Klaus found it hard to express true emotions, so this was a moment to be treasured. “I love you too,” she replied.

[sunshinexlollipops]

ooh do you have time to share some headcanons for an acw modern au where arthur is an art professor and wolf is a new professor and they catch each other’s eye ...

Uh, YES I DO ANON.

OKay so I did start typing this earlier and my phone geeked and crashed tumblr so LETS TRY AND DO THIS AGAIN SHALL WE?

Arthur, as mentioned in the ask, is a popular art professor. Not only is he good at his job, he is known as the heartthrob of the school.

Most online reviews of his course not only compliment his class, but also his ass. And everything else ofc.

One review used the golden ratio about the proportions of his shoulders and hips and since then the staff jokingly calls Arthur “Ponyboy.”

One day, during a staff meeting, Dutch, the dean of the school, informs Arthur and his coworkers that they are getting a new Animal Sciences teacher.

Apart from needing space, the best open location for this new teacher is in the building beside Arthur.

It’s spacious, and Arthur asks why this new professor needs so much space (as he takes up a lot with kilns and other things like drying racks or weaving stations.)

Turns out this new professor has some animals that she is bringing, and so she needs the space for the pets she is bringing into her classroom. Which— oh. Okay.

Arthur doesn’t think anything more of it until the day the animal sciences teacher arrives.

He’s outside, having his class throw paint at canvases to create abstract outlines by using stencils to cover up areas. It’s messy.

Arthur is covered in paint, his denim jeans and shirt splattered all over, and because of the heat, he has some of his shirt’s top buttons undone on his chest, as well as his sleeves rolled up.

(One girl almost faints. Arthur fears heatstroke but in reality it’s Arthur who is too hot.)

Still, he’s in the process of throwing a balloon for a student with an arm cast when Wolf arrives.

Students notice her and they immediately go: wtf are all of our professors gonna be fucking hot or????

He doesn’t see her at first, but he notices that a woman dressed in blouse and fancy dress pants is looking at him.

She’s beautiful. So much so that Arthur drops a balloon without throwing it and gets even more paint all over himself.

The woman chuckles at him and says, “So is this the art course I keep hearing so much about?”

And Arthur be like:

Wolf goes to shake his hand, uncaring for the paint on his palm as she touches him, introducing herself.

She then points to her building and says, “I’m the new Animal Science teacher, the one taking over the neighboring building?”

And Arthur is just like oh yes right right, Dutch mentioned this.

He’s very awkward, flushed and stuttering and rubbing at his neck. But Wolf doesn’t react or judge his nerves.

She smiles at him and tells him “well, I’m getting a look at the place, and I’m moving most of the stuff in tomorrow...” and she pauses, looking Arthur over, “And you know, I think you’d be perfect for helping me, if you could.”

And Arthur’s thirst now be like:

Ofc he agrees to assist Wolf with her move, and she bids him goodbye.

While some are jealous, the students notice Arthur’s reaction and they are IMMEDIATELY invested.

Arthur tries to ignore them, but he can’t get helping Wolf out of his head.

The following day Arthur doesn’t exactly have classes. In fact, it’s supposed to be his day off, but your word is your word and it really isn’t a bad incentive to have someone like Wolf being the one you owe it to.

Still, when he shows up in a worn Johnny Cash shirt and jeans, Wolf is happy to see him.

She’s dressed in sweats and a v-neck and OOF she looks like art in anything.

“Oh thank god you’re here,” she says, “I have a ton of tanks to set up and I need the extra arms.”

“Tanks?” Arthur questions.

“Yes. I have a few animals that I brought here for my class. I have u-haul behind the building— I would be grateful if you helped me unload!”

Arthur, internally: there is another load I could give you but alas I am gentleman first and awkward man second.

Nevertheless, Arthur helps Wolf get her items. He see some vivariums and other enclosures, and he scowls at her supplies, not recognizing any of it for what it is.

“Uh, what’s all this stuff for?” he slides one tank that’s taller than it is wide onto a counter, and he looks inside, taking in the sight of the bromeliads and moss, “You grow plants?”

“That’s my crested gecko’s enclosure!” Wolf chirps, and to Arthur’s surprise, he finds Wolf coming close to him, their shoulders brushing as she unlocked her phone, showing the art professor her lock screen of some lizard, “This is her! This is D’or!”

“D-D’or?” Arthur fucking BUTCHERS the name and almost slaps himself in the face.

Wolf chuckles, “It’s French for golden. She was my first reptile, and she’s the reason I went into animal science as a profession.”

Arthur blinks, “... first reptile?”

“I own others. Another crestie, a leopard gecko, a beardie, a ball python—“

“A python???”

Wolf laughs, “scared of snakes?”

“N-No, just... ain’t big, is it?”

“No. It’s a boy, so he’s smaller. Just a regular too, nothing fancy. Didn’t want to risk getting a morph and end up with something akin to the spider wobble.”

Blinking, Arthur hums, “I’m gonna pretend I just understood what you said...”

“You’re cute,” Wolf tells him, and Arthur??

He be like:

“Come on, there’s a few more things to grab,” Wolf ushers them to the door, and Arthur just follows after her.

While offloading a few more tanks, Wolf makes small talk. She asks about Arthur and his course, and she seems interested.

“I took IB art in high school,” she mentions casually, “Just didn’t pursue anything with it.”

“Really?” Arthur asks, shocked.

“Yeah, animals are more of my thing... but you seem to really love it.”

“Yeah,” he hums, “I do...”

Arthur gets to tell Wolf about what his kids are currently studying— from watercolor techniques to pottery glazes and masking making in Africa.

Wolf seems genuinely interested as they finish emptying her u-haul, and as she closed the tailgate, she smiles at him.

“You know, I need to check your building out. See what you have going on over there. Sounds so cool!”

Arthur blushes, “Y-Yeah... I need to learn more about what you do. Not just for the sake of offerin’ up better conversation, just that... seems cool too.”

Wolf beams at him, “Well, you’re welcome any time... But, I couldn’t have gotten my room set up today without you. You’re a life saver!”

Arthur smirks, ducking his head, “I dunno ‘bout that...”

“Well, I owe you,” Wolf tilts her head at him, smiling ruefully, “What do you say about having dinner together?”

Arthur blinks. Dinner?

We hydratin’ now bitches—

“Oh... I’d... I’d love that.”

“Me too,” Wolf hums, “Do you have any classes later today?”

Shaking his head, Arthur replies, “No. it’s my off day.”

Lightly striking his bicep, Wolf gapes, “Arthur Morgan! Don’t tell me you came on your off day to help me out!”

“Well, when a pretty woman asks you for your help, you don’t say no.”

Wolf smiles with some heat his way, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Well, guess I owe you something more than just a dinner.”

Feeling brave, Arthur comes a step closer, “And what would that be, miss? Got another idea of a meal for me?”

“You ass!” Wolf playfully hits his bicep again, but they both laugh.

However... she doesn’t deny it.

“Well, since you’ve been so kind to me today, where would you like to go?”

Smiling, Arthur replies: “With you on my arm, sweetheart? Really don’t matter to me.”

They have dinner and maybe SOME OTHER THINGS and it quickly becomes known that the art and animal science professor have a thing.

Wolf heard about the Ponyboy nickname but Arthur cannot fess up to why it’s a thing. Karen, the business professor, tells her and Wolf can’t stop laughing.

At one point, Arthur uses D’or for a live reference in an art project.

Wolf also catches a wild corn snake that was enjoying the warmth of his kiln in his art room and helped to properly relocate it. (Arthur did not scream, he yelled, okay?)

Arthur may or may not have sketched Wolf a couple of times. (He has. They’re in his sketchbook at home.)

Wolf may or may not have gotten him the new set of paintbrushes he uses during lessons. (She totally did. He didn’t want to spend any of the class’ budget on himself.)

Either way, they’re a package deal, and everyone ships that shit like UPS baby. ;)