#apologies that i make my sketch page colours so random

[choking-on-ice]

Vampy Silco x Viktor WIP!

with every person who sees my favorite gay disabled men in a dramatic homoerotic situation my power grows

[nxrthmizu]

kill em’ with kindness

fandom | miraculous ladybug 

genre | lila salt, so much salt 

summary | marinette takes the high road to a better life. 

w.c | 8.1k 

author’s note | had this idea for a few days after i wrote victory tastes bitter, which really blew up on ao3 (thanks for all the support <3). always wondered what it would be like if marinette just. played nice. so here she is, being an absolute badass. 

author’s note.2 | okay so since i did not write this in one sitting, i get that the story probably doesn’t flow as properly as it should. will edit if i ever find the will to do it. 

Marinette was done. They wanted her to be a model student? Fine. They wanted her to stop being mean? Fine. They wanted her to be friends with Lila? Fine.

Luckily for Hawkmoth, no akuma plagued the sky of the previous night, or she would rain hell on him. There was no more tolerance left inside her to spare, and she certainly wouldn’t go out of her way to make some for the manipulative pest problem Paris has had for way too long.

She looked up into the mirror, having exchanged her pigtails for a low ponytail, strands curled to frame her face. Bluebell eyes glistened with a fire that burned brighter than hope— Hope that her ‘friends’ would see sense. Hope that Adrien would be there for her. Hope that the good guy would always get the happy ending. No more being patient, no more being passive, no more putting up with things she didn’t have to.

If Lila Rossi wanted a battle, then fine, a battle she would get. Marinette was lowering her white flag, replacing it with a battle emblem that scorched red, redder than blood and redder than the anger her friends would feel when she was finished. No more peace negotiations. Rossi wanted a fight, Rossi wanted a challenge. Who was Marinette to deny her from what she wanted?

They didn’t know what was coming for them.

The power of makeup was truly one that reigned apex among the world. A few touches of her makeup brush was all it took to erase her dark eyes from existence, give her skin a more radiant glow (She promised that she’d take time to give it a natural glow after she was done being nice), and ease a cherry-pink blush onto her cheeks, making her freckles stand out more in contrast. Marinette Dupain-Cheng meant business, and when she meant business—

“Good morning, Marinette! You look great today!” The head of the student council, a sensible, down-to-Earth blonde by the name of Noelle smiled, speeding up slightly to catch the bluenette on the steps of Francois Dupont. “Love the new look.”

Ah yes. The new look— A royal blue blazer, detailed with golden embroidery of cherry blossoms bursting at the sleeves and the collar, accompanied by a classy-looking silk blouse tapered with a soft, black felt. The pleated black skirt (Made from heavy cloth so that it wouldn’t flap about in the wind) was lined with a beautiful scarlet at all the edges to complete the look. Knee-high black socks trailed all the way into the slight heels that Marinette had added flower adornments on, just so she could tap a little of her own touch on it.

“Thank you,” Responded the bluenette with a smile.

“Woah! Someone looks like they got a good night of rest.” Madeline, the president of the Art Club teased, flocking to the other side of the girl. “That mascara looks sharp enough to kill, girl!”

Sharp enough to kill?

Oh, that wouldn’t be necessary, Marinette mused to herself, sending out thanks to those who had complimented her on her way to class. Nothing sharp was going to be required for the liar’s downfall— No, no. That would just be too messy, and she wouldn’t even think of staining her new outfit. Of course, the ensemble was crafted from her own hands, as stated by the classic MDC that graced the inside of her blazer, the collar of her blouse, and one of the pleats of her skirt. Besides… Lila wasn’t worth getting her hands dirty.

She was going to do things the right way.

The kind way.

“Good morning, everyone.” She greeted, walking into the classroom, garnering their attention with her punctuality. Every set of eyes in the room were attracted to her, like iron fillings to magnets. Some of the gazes were malicious, hateful; Some were doubtful, wary; One was pleading, as if spelling out ‘Please keep taking the high road!’— And then there was Chloe, who was entirely uninterested.

Good, Lila was already present.

“I’d just like to take a minute of your time. Won’t be too long, I promise.” She took a deep breath, ignoring the imploring gaze that dug at her side, courtesy of a blonde that sat in the front row (And no, it wasn’t Chloe she was referring to). “I’d just like to say…”

The class watched with bated breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Alya blinked. So did everyone else in the room. Stunned faces greeted Marinette’s apologetic one, including Lila’s— She didn’t even have to fake her reaction. What on Earth was Marinette trying to pull off? What kind of stunt was this?

“I realise that I’ve not really been the best version of me lately,” She admitted sorrowfully. I haven’t been the best version of me because I was being boycotted and isolated, “It wasn’t fair to put you all through this,” It wasn’t fair that you idiots had to lose all your reputations because of the words of one liar, “And people got hurt as a consequence,” Me. I was the one who got hurt. “I realise that things haven’t been all smooth-sailing in our class lately, so I’d like to apologise to everyone.” I’d like to apologise for not being able to save you from a liar who only sees her own personal gain.

A practiced breath escaped Marinette’s throat as she waited for her cue— The school bell— And set her bag on the teacher’s desk. Good, everything was unfolding right on time. Not quite far away, there was a distinct clack-clack-clack of someone’s heels— An auburn teacher, perhaps? Marinette reached into her backpack and drew out a package she had meticulously wrapped in brown paper and tied in golden ribbon. Sitting passively on top of the package was a small note, decorated in hand-drawn flowers and a hummingbird in the corner.

“Here,” Marinette strode up the steps of the class, stopping right in front of her former seat— Now Lila’s— Internally taking pleasure in the first time she’d seen the Italian’s true expression. “For you, as a token of my apology. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me,” Marinette swallowed painfully, biting her lip, as if she was trying not to cry, “But I just want to make things right.”

Lila blinked.

What the hell was happening?

The silence was broken by a quiet sob, one that did not originate from Marinette. Instead, Mlle. Caline Bustier stood in the doorway of the class, clutching her books and notes for the day’s lesson, wiping away a tear that dropped from her eye. “Oh, Marinette,” The teacher sobbed, “I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Marinette.” Rose sniffed, wiping away a few tears of her own that had started dripping during the bluenette’s speech. Juleka patted her girlfriend’s back, trying to calm the emotional blonde before she cried out a tsunami on top of her textbooks, giving Marinette a thumbs up to show her approval.

Alya beamed, seemingly proud of her former best friend, who had (In her opinion) finally started to see sense. “I’m so proud of you, girl!”

(Adrien was too shocked to form any words.)

“Could you… Open it?” Marinette asked hopefully, ignoring the teacher for the favour of the liar who ruined her life. “I… Just want to know if you like it.”

The Italian could do nothing more than grit her teeth when Alya urged her to open it. What kind of trick was Mari-Brat up to? Never mind— She’d just spin it into something stupid and the class would take to it like starved animals. With no other choice, she tore apart the brown paper, discarding the golden ribbon on her desk. The class gasped, oohs and aahs echoing all around as the package unfolded to reveal a pretty, beige-coloured cardigan, hand-stitched with murals of foxes, jumping livelily among berry bushes.

Stitched into the inside of the cardigan in pastel blue were the words ‘Lila Rossi’, done in an exquisite cursive that could no doubt only come from Marinette’s hand.

“I made it for you myself,” Marinette sniffed humbly. “I know you’re a really great model and you’ve probably seen clothes that are much better than this one, but I poured all my feelings into it. I spent every night of last week working on it, and—” She hiccuped rather loudly, instantly covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “I just hope you like it.”

“I…” Lila was at a loss for words. She had an itinerary full of the lies and stories she would spin that day (“Marinette texted me mean things last night,” she would weep tearfully to Alya, sniffing and wiping away tears on Alya’s shirt sleeve, “I just want to be friends but she just keeps… Attacking me!”) but no matter. A smirk danced along the Italian’s lips. “Did you design this yourself?” 

Judging by the smirk that Marinette could practically hear in the other girl’s tone, the liar already had a trick up her sleeve. If Marinette had to guess... 

Something along the lines of she stole this design from [random designer], who just coincidentally had the time to be Lila’s friend. Or maybe the friend of Lila’s grandmother. Whichever didn’t matter much, because Marinette was prepared. 

Marinette crossed the room in mere seconds, returning back to Lila’s seat with a sketchbook that she’d pulled from her bag. “Here!” She chirped, flipping open the page with an exercised movement, not even having to shuffle through the pages to find the correct sketch. “I brought the original sketch, just in case you wanted to see it so you could get a professional to redo it for you.” 

Lila opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish out of water. Beside her, Alya’s eyes sparkled, envy still glowing in her eyes at the sight of the intricate foxes, coloured in hazel, gold, and orange threads. 

“Thank you, Marinette.” Lila gritted through her teeth, basically seething at the thought of having to thank the girl in front of her, who was smiling like an innocent sunshine child. 

The bluenette then turned her attention to her homeroom teacher. “Sorry for interrupting and taking up class time, Mlle. Bustier.” 

“It’s not a problem, Marinette,” Mlle. Bustier wiped at her eyes, slightly embarrassed now that the whole class was watching her cry at the sight of her ‘model student’ correcting her wrongs. “E— Excuse me.” She mumbled, clearing her throat. “Let’s pick off from where we stopped yesterday. Open your textbooks to page 63, please.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The rest of the day went along smoothly. Marinette sat at the back of class, as usual, sighing in boredom as class was derailed off course, whisked off by another one of Lila’s tall tales. Honestly, they were already weeks off schedule— How the hell were they expected to sit for the final exam, at this rate? 

She huffed quietly to herself, watching Bustier trying (and failing) to act like she wasn’t interested in Lila’s story. The woman— An actual adult— Fell for Lila’s usual tricks like a fool, taking in every single word in drunken thirst. Did Mlle. Bustier really have nothing better to do than get absorbed in a teenage girl’s wild fantasies (in a way it was like that). At that thought, Marinette sat up straighter in her chair, an idea going off like a lightbulb above her brain. 

Was it...? 

After further thought, Marinette settled back into her chair, humming thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers against her table quietly. Yes... Yes, perhaps. 

Perhaps it was possible. 

The rest of the lesson passed in wasted time as the class took a major detour to go on a warped journey through Lila’s lies, and before Bustier knew it, the lunch bell had rung. Students chattered animatedly as everyone got up, Mlle. Bustier’s announcement of ‘please go home and study this chapter by yourselves, everyone’ was pathetically drowned out by the rest of the noise. 

Marinette collected her things quickly, needing her exit from the classroom to go off without a hitch, exactly the way she planned it. “I’ve got to go back to my parents’ bakery for lunch,” She said shyly, shrinking into herself as her classmates turned to look at her. “I... Was thinking of bringing some macarons back later. Before I go, though... Lila, is there anything you’re allergic to?” 

“What?” The girl being asked snapped back as a reply, the words leaving her mouth too fast for her to register. Before she knew it, the whole class was staring at her, mouths agape. “I... I mean.” Clearing her throat, the liar plastered on a sweet smile. “What was it, Marinette?” 

“I wanted to bring some macarons back for everyone.” Shyly, the bluenette repeated her plans. “And... Since I’ve been in class with everyone else here for a while, I know their allergies, but not yours. Is there anything you’re allergic to that could be in baked goods?” 

The Italian cursed under her breath— Mari-Brat really wasn’t letting up. The bluenette had made sure to cover any ground that the Italian could use and turn back against her. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not allergic to anything.” 

Brightening visibly, Marinette nodded, shooting the Italian a smile. “I know things between us aren’t going to get better immediately, but I promise to do my best in fixing things! See you guys after lunch.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila was getting really, really fed up. For the whole morning, she wasn’t able to come up with any reason to blame Marinette. If things kept going at the rate that they were, the class would be fully convinced that the bluenette was a changed woman, and that couldn’t happen. There was, in the end, a downside to having such a gullible bunch of classmates— Sure, they swayed easily to her side, but that meant that they swayed back to Marinette’s just as easily. 

Hissing under her breath, Lila looked up to catch Alya and Nino’s concerned looks. 

No. 

She was Lila Rossi. She was resourceful. She had Gabriel Agreste behind her back. She was powerful. She was not going to let Mari-Brat halt her plans in their tracks ever again. 

“I’m going to go use the bathroom real quick,” She said, excusing herself from the lunch table. Perfect! Now all she had to do was come back in tears, saying that Marinette confronted and mocked her in the bathroom, and the class would be all hers, once again. 

Little did she know that Dupain-Cheng was one teensy step ahead. 

As soon as Lila rounded the corner of the cafeteria, Marinette appeared, having just had a lovely chat with Rose (And Juleka, although it was Rose who did most of the talking). The two were at the front steps of Francois Dupont, having a lovely couple moment that Marinette hated to interrupt— But she needed to have at least a word with them. 

“Rose, Juleka!” Marinette greeted, box of macarons held carefully in her arms, as if it were a box of important jewelry instead of just a box of pastries. “Oh— Rose, is that a new watch? I’ve never seen you wear it before!” 

“Yep, it is!” Rose beamed, delighted that someone (Besides Juleka) had finally noticed it. “Isn’t it pretty?” Indeed it was. The watch in question was a pretty, intricate-looking thing done in rose-gold metal, with a pastel pink leather strap holding it down. The background of the watch face was a white background with a thin film of rose-gold metal, cut to resemble a wall of precious rose vines. 

“It is!” Agreeing wholeheartedly, Marinette offered her classmate a smile. “Oh by the way, what time is it?” 

Rose peered at the watchface, returning the answer with an equally-bright smile. “11.47.” 

“Thank you.” Marinette thanked, continuing her way through the school until she reached the cafeteria. Just before she fell into line of sight, though, she hid behind a wall, peering over the corner until she spotted the table she was looking for. 

Perfect— Lila just walked away. Marinette thanked the gods for all the luck that she was having— Okay, maybe she thanked one god in particular more than the others. Gently, she patted the secret pocket that was sewn into the lining of her blazer— Tikki, who had magic powers, managed to create a miniature ‘room’ inside the secret pocket, with the pocket itself acting as a portal of sorts to the room. After a few seconds, she felt the pocket tap back, managing a small smile of gratitude for her kwami’s constant love and support. 

“Hey, Alya, Nino.” Marinette greeted shyly, box of macarons propped up against her hip. “Where’s... Lila?” She hesitated slightly with her question, acting as if it was a little out-of-place to ask about the Italian girl. 

“She went to the bathroom.” Nino provided, mouth still full of unchewed food. This gifted him with a smack from his girlfriend (“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” she scolded,). 

“Oh, I see.” I definitely see. I know what she’s going to try and pull later— I have to time this properly. Timing is everything. 

Marinette continued to make small talk with the two, whom she had not talked to for a very long time. Much to her surprise, they were very warm and accepting, quite unlike the people who slung slurs and accused her baselessly a few days ago. One morning made all the difference to people who believed anything, she supposed. 

All of a sudden, something in her chest buzzed, as if it were a fire alarm, vibrating in warning— She had to go. “It was nice talking to you guys again.” She admitted, having briefly dipped into a pool of what their friendship used to be like. “But I have to go. I promised Kagami I’d meet her for a few minutes before lunch ended.”

Alya’s eyebrows jumped up comically in surprise. “I didn’t know you still talked to her. I thought you two were… Love rivals.”

“So what if we were love rivals?” Marinette shrugged with a simple smile. “Adrien is… As much as it’s odd to admit, he’s just a boy. Neither of us let him get in between us. He’s just a boy, and it’d be stupid for us to not get along just because we like the same boy. It doesn’t bother Kagami that we used to like the same boy, so why should I let it bother me? Besides,” Marinette tilted her head slightly. “It’d be stupid to give up a great friendship just because of a boy.”

With her last words still hanging in the air, Marinette turned tail and left, walking faster than usual. She had little time left— As she neared the wall that would shield her from the view of the cafeteria, she sped up her footsteps, practically half-sprinting just so she could get out of sight before Lila Rossi returned, looking like someone just killed a puppy in front of her very eyes.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Alya jumped to her feet instantly, reaching out to comfort her best friend, who was moments away from having tears stream down her cheeks.

“I… I thought she’d changed.” Lila sniffled, biting her lip to appear as if she was desperately trying not to cry.

Alya frowned. “Who?”

“Marinette.” Lila stated as if it were obvious, faltering for a moment— Why had Alya bothered to ask? Shouldn’t it come pretty obvious? The liar dismissed the thoughts and continued in her performance. “She threatened me in the bathroom. She… She confronted me and mocked me, saying… Saying that all of you… All of you are idiots for believing that she’s changed. She… She said everything was an act to turn you all against me.”

Nino’s jaw dropped so far that it touched the floor. “Uh… Dudette, are you sure it was Marinette?”

“Yes!” Lila spun to look at him so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t break her neck. “Are… Are you doubting me? Oh my god, it’s working. She’s turning you guys against me. I just want to have friends, I don’t get why she hates me so—”

“You’re… Absolutely sure it was Marinette? You saw her face?” Alya repeated her boyfriend’s words, emphasising each and everyone of them as she looked Lila in the eyes.

“Alya, not you too.” Lila sniffled, tears basically dropping out of her eyes like big, fat droplets of salt water. “It was her— I saw her blazer, it had MDC stitched onto it.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in between the girl and her boyfriend, neither quite knowing what to say. “Oh. I… I see.” Alya said at last, turning back to her food. “Well… Lunch is almost over. Let’s… Let’s get back to class.”

“Marinette just threatened me in the bathroom!” Lila puffed up, clearly upset now. “She mocked me! She called you guys stupid for believing her act!”

“Dudette.” Nino shattered the ice-cold silence at their lunch table, swallowing heavily. “Marinette was with us the whole time you were in the bathroom.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The tension inside the room was so thick that Adrien could cut it with his bare hands. God, what had happened? The day had started off so well�� Marinette agreed to be friends with Lila, god bless the girl— But as it turned out, one hurdle folded over only to be towered over by a taller one. 

“Alya—” Lila began tearfully, her pitiful look attracting the sympathy of those who still didn’t know what was going on. 

“You claimed that Marinette threatened you in the bathroom.” Alya interrupted. “While she was with us the whole time in the cafeteria.” 

Faltering, the Italian struggled to find a way to squeeze herself out of the tight spot. “M— Maybe it was someone else.” Reluctantly, she backed out one trap into another one. 

“You said that you were sure! You said that she was wearing a blazer with MDC stitched on it. Marinette was wearing that blazer during lunch!” The reporter shot back, Nino at her side, trying to extinguish the conflicted fire blazing inside Alya’s heart. 

The seeds of doubt had been sewn, and Lila was going to have a tough time weeding them out. “I... I’m sorry!” She burst out into tears, sobbing pitifully in front of the class, most of which were already in attendance. “My lying disease is acting up again. I... I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!” 

“Uh... Is this a bad time to ask if anyone wants macarons?” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, standing at the front of the room. Her royal blue blazer had been shed, and it now hung over her arm, properly folded into half. Earlier, she had asked Rose for the time to make sure that she had a witness in case Lila tried to pull another act— But as it seemed, the Italian was determined to dig her own grave and all the work had been done. 

The students of Mlle. Bustier’s class shared looks. 

“I’ll... I’ll have one.” Mylene cleared her throat, hoping that it would diffuse the situation. 

“Me too.” Kim followed, not missing the way Marinette flinched slightly at his words. Most of the words he had said to her of late had not been nice at all— But he justified that with the fact that she was being a bully to Lila, like Chloe had been to Marinette herself. 

“Great!” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, slapping on a strained smile. She passed the box to the front row, where Sabrina and Chloe were, gesturing for them to pass the box along until everyone got their fill. 

Internally, Lila seethed, anger burning like a wildfire that tore down every lush sign of life in her path. The girl had never felt that livid in her entire life— Who did Dupain-Cheng think she was, having a change of heart out of nowhere, pretending to play along with those oh-so-innocent eyes of hers? 

“I... I think I know why my disease acted up again,” Lila sniffled, loud enough to gather attention again. Unsure glances passed around like an object that no one wanted, carried from hand to hand forcefully as no one wanted to hold onto it for too long. “It... It must’ve been because of... Of the cardigan that Marinette made me! You must’ve known that...” The Italian squinted at the cardigan on her desk, “... Cotton triggers my lying disease!” 

The bluenette, still passing around macarons, stopped in her tracks. Inside her mind, Marinette was shaking her head, an amused smile on her cheeks. She had to give Lila credit for that one— She would’ve never anticipated that lie from her nemesis. “That’s terrible!” She sucked in a breath, putting on a dismayed look. “I’m really sorry, Lila! I know it seems like I did this on purpose, but I promise I didn’t! To make it up to you, I’ll make you another one.” 

Is she serious right now? Lila scoffed mentally. How long does she plan to keep this going? No matter— She’ll eventually drain herself out and I won’t even have to meddle in this matter. 

Marinette sniffled, collecting the cardigan pitifully from Lila’s desk. “But to prevent future incidents, Lila, I just want you to know that this isn’t made of cotton... It’s made from the highest-quality of star silk, which is incredibly difficult to produce and is rather expensive. It’s such a pity... I thought that only the best of materials would be deserving to be used to make an apology present... I guess you can’t wear it. I’ll just make another copy of the cardigan with some normal-range silk.” Sighing, the bluenette pretended to mull in sadness for a few seconds before an idea struck her. “Alya! You aren’t allergic to star silk, right?” 

The flow of conversation redirected suddenly, with the reporter snapping to attention and nodding eagerly as she realised what was about to happen. 

“Then... Since I’ve spent so long on this, I don’t want it to go to waste... Why don’t you have it, instead?” Offered Marinette with a sweet, shy smile on her face. 

Lila, still caught up in shock by the reveal of the material— Was then slammed with a wall of flaming anger as Alya squealed, coddling the soft, fluffy material that made the cardigan the exquisite product it was. 

“Marinette’s right,” Adrien chipped in with his own two cents, “Father can rarely get his hands on that material— It costs a fortune, and if hand-made... It takes forever.” 

“Oh, I wove the silk by myself,” Marinette added shyly after Adrien’s contribution, “So I apologise if it’s not up to the quality of industry-level star silk.” 

The reporter gushed, still cooing and running her hands over the gorgeous threads of fabric that made up the cloud-like base of the cardigan, eyes sparkling and the details of the embroidery. 

Marinette smiled, returning to her seat without a fuss. The rest of the class continued to pass the pastries around, the perfect description of ‘ignorance is bliss’ as they pretended as if they couldn’t see the way Lila was shaking in anger. Alya, on the other hand, could see nothing but the garment in her hands, her ‘best friend’ having become invisible for the time being. 

Just as well that it turned out this way, Marinette hummed, twirling her pen in hand, Let that be my departing gift to Rena Rouge. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Tomorrow arrived like clockwork, never late and always on time. The crowd of students clamouring by the front of Francois Dupont hushed to silence as they parted for two dark-haired women, both of which were giving off waves of confidence. Simple conversation flowed between the two, who were perfect examples of elegance and grace, their traditional-inspired attire complementing the royal-like aura they had. 

“This dress is really lovely, Marinette,” Kagami smiled gently, admiring the way the fabric flowed around her. The designer had gifted her friend with a maroon-coloured hanfu-inspired dress, complete with hand-sewn embroidery of a golden dragon curled around Kagami’s waist and neck. The dress was completed with a pleated skirt that went all the way to the heels. At first, the fencer was reluctant about the skirt due to the limited maneuverability, but then Marinette revealed that the skirt was very simple to take off as it was just tied around the waist. 

“You look gorgeous in it. It suits you.” Marinette replied, dressed in a similar looking dress. Her hanfu-inspired dress was light pink in colour, with silver threads depicting cranes flying about freely. The pleated skirt was grey in colour, lined with a soft circle of white. 

Kagami blushed slightly. “Thank you.” Briefly, the Japanese girl wondered why on Earth Marinette would go and embroider a dragon onto her dress— Was it purely a coincidence, or...? 

“I’m really glad you decided to transfer here,” Marinette smiled softly, her dark blue bangs framing her face as the rest of it was gathered into a braid that Kagami had helped weave. “It’s going to be nice! I’ll get to see you a lot more often.” 

“We’re in different classes, though.” Frowning, Kagami wondered if she should request a change of homeroom. 

“For now.” The designer winked playfully. “Oh, I have to get to class. See you during lunch?” 

Without waiting for a reply, the blue-eyed girl moved away gracefully, leaving Kagami in confusion. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Good morning,” Marinette greeted gracefully, sweeping into the classroom with her bag over her shoulder and a package in her hands. This package was clearly not as exquisitely-wrapped as the one from the day before, as it was just brown paper and some rough string. 

Alya brightened at the sight of her friend, shrinking away slightly whenever Lila tried to say anything. Sure, the reporter did shake off the initial reaction and respond to whatever her ‘best friend’ said, but the damage had been done. 

“Here’s your new cardigan. It’s made from the same material as your shirt,” Marinette smiled warmly, placing the package on Lila’s table. “It’s a little different from the one I brought yesterday, but I still poured in all my emotions when I made it, so I hope you’ll accept it.” 

Through a gritted smile, the Italian thanked the designer, clenching her fists under the table. That was the second time in two days she had to thank Mari-brat! She swore that if she had to do it again a third time, she was going to slap someone. 

“Oh, Marinette!” Alya called out excitedly, wearing the cardigan that was originally supposed to be Lila’s. “This cardigan is so soft! It’s really amazing to wear! As expected of you, girl!” 

The bluenette stared back at the reporter, wavering for a bit. She had a feeling that Alya wanted something from her... 

“So... I was wondering...” The reporter’s expression turned sheepish, with Marinette’s internal thought-train going ah, there it comes— “Could you remove this and put my name instead?” Alya picked up the corner of the cardigan, pointing to the inside of the garment, where ‘Lila Rossi’ was embroidered on. 

“Ah...” Marinette didn’t even have to fake her nervousness. We already agreed on this, She told herself, No more doing free stuff for people. No more. “Sorry, Alya. My parents need a lot of help in the bakery recently,.. You know how it is! Family always comes first. I’ve already taken out a lot of time to make the cardigan for Lila... And I promised Kagami I’d go out with her this weekend. I’m afraid I don’t have time...” 

There was no missing the way Alya’s face fell instantly. “Couldn’t you put off Kagami for me? Aren’t we best friends?” 

“I thought Lila was your best friend,” Feigning an expression of innocence, Marinette tilted her head slightly. “You shouldn’t go around saying things like that, Alya. You might hurt Lila’s feelings. Besides, a promise is a promise. I wouldn’t want to hurt Kagami’s feelings either. Not to mention— I gave you that cardigan for free. That was two weeks’ worth of hard work. I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to take time out to alter it for free either. If you really want to get it done, you could ask an external tailor to do it for you. I know a few who can do really good embroidery.” 

Alya faltered. “But... We used to be best friends...” 

Snorting mentally, Marinette continued to hold her calm composure. “Like I said, you really shouldn’t say that, Alya. Lila might get upset and we don’t want to hurt her feelings— Right, Adrien?” 

The blonde jumped when the conversation turned to him out of nowhere. All of a sudden, every eye in the classroom was fixed on him. “R— Right, of course.” He said, forcing out each word. 

Satisfied, Marinette nodded, still wearing her ever-so-kind smile. “Exactly.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Hey, why don’t we all go out and have a picnic outside during lunch?��� Alya suggested loudly, jumping up as soon as the lunch bell rang. “Marinette, you can come along too!” Something inside the reporter’s chest was stirring, and with the events of the past few days, Alya felt like she just had to quench that unsettling feeling— And the first step to that was to mend things with Marinette, even though it was the bluenette’s fault for always having been biased to Lila. Alya smiled, proud of herself. She would be the bigger person, she would forgive Marinette, she would integrate the designer back into the class again. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marinette replied just as quickly, “We don’t know what Lila might be allergic to— She could easily trigger a reaction if we go out, especially since it’s spring.” 

A collective choir of groans rounded the class. 

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hotel to have a first-class meal,” Chloe turned her nose up at her classmates. “... Dupain-Cheng, would you like to come?” 

Shock painted the faces of the whole classroom. Did Chloe just... Ask Marinette something... Politely? 

“I’d love to take that offer, Chloe.” Responded the bluenette, graceful and flawless as ever. “Perhaps tomorrow?” 

“Suit yourself. They’re serving lobster today.” Chloe huffed. “If you’re really that busy, then fine. We can discuss...” The Mayor’s daughter trailed off as she blushed. 

The bluenette giggled knowingly. “You’d like to commission a dress from me, right?” 

“... No.” 

“...” 

“... Maybe.” 

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Then maybe it’ll be more convenient if I head over to the hotel after school. I’ll need to take your measurements and we can discuss the prices after.” 

“Whatever.” Chloe waved her away haughtily, a poor effort to cover up her embarrassment. “Sabrina. Let’s go.” 

“Chloe?” Alya guffawed. “Why are you commissioning something from Marinette?” 

Rolling her eyes as if Alya had just asked the stupidest question ever, Chloe answered plainly. “Because she’s one of the up-and-rising designers in the industry? Have you seen what Dupain-Cheng is wearing today? Celebrities are already fighting for spots in her commission list. Even my mother and Gabriel Agreste acknowledge her talent. I’m not dumb, Cesaire. I can recognise a future fashion queen when I see one.” 

Wow, Marinette breathed, looking at the stunned faces around the room, Chloe sure knows how to create an impression. 

“W— Well.” Stuttered the reporter after Chloe made her big exit. “Then... What about going to the bakery for lunch?” 

“Didn’t Lila say she saw a rat in the bakery the last time she visited it?” Marinette pointed out. “The health officer checked the surveillance and the claim was dismissed, of course, because my parents make sure the bakery is as hygienic as possible— But I’m sure Lila is traumatised from that incident. I wouldn’t want to force her to come along to the bakery— And we wouldn’t want to leave her out either, right?” 

This elicited another round of groans. 

Oh, I am enjoying myself way too much, Marinette chuckled mentally. 

“Then— Then...” Alya struggled visibly before she was put out of her misery. 

“It’s fine, Alya.” The designer reassured her. “I wouldn’t want to bother Lila. I’m sure she’s still upset at me. You guys go ahead. I have to go back to the bakery to help my parents out. See you guys after!” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Slam! 

Lila fumed, hand still pressed on her locker door. What. The. Hell. Was Mari-brat trying to do? She didn’t miss the way some of her classmates sent her unsatisfactory looks after that pre-lunch stunt that Marinette had pulled. 

And what was the thing about high-and-mighty Chloe commissioning from Marinette? 

Sure, Lila would admit that the cardigan that the designer made was indeed gorgeous, and the fabric was smooth and velvety, a quality unlike any of the clothing that Lila had ever had the privilege to touch— But surely a lowly brat like Dupain-Cheng couldn’t be that popular... Right? 

Dammit, hissed the Italian girl, Maybe I should’ve tried being friends with Mari-brat instead of Cesaire. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Is that... Marinette and Kagami?” Nino gaped, prompting Alya to turn around. It was true— Walking up the steps of Francois Dupont together were the two blue-haired girls, a gentle smile dancing on Kagami’s lips as Marinette talked animatedly, her hands waving around quickly to further elaborate her point. 

Students lounging around the entrance for lunch couldn’t tear their eyes off the two and their matching dresses. Sure, the two girls had walked into school the same way that morning— But now that the afternoon sun was high up in the sky, the golden and silver embroidery was glinting luminously, revealing the true caliber of Marinette’s craft. 

“But... They’re rivals.” Stuttered Alya. She just couldn’t understand... Weren’t they supposed to hate each other? 

“They both like Adrien but they can still get along,” Nino remarked thoughtfully, taking a bite from his sandwich. “So Marinette wasn’t lying about going to meet Kagami yesterday.” 

Alya was silent. 

“Alya? What’s wrong?” Worried, Nino put a hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder, care and concern shining through his honest eyes. 

“If... If Marinette doesn’t get jealous or biased over someone who also likes Adrien...” Alya started quietly, eyes still fixed on the two girls, “Then why was she so against Lila?” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Mlle. Bustier?” The teacher looked up at the voice of her favourite student. Fondly, she smiled. Marinette had finally seen the light and changed her ways, becoming the helpful, generous, kind Marinette that served as a great example for her peers. “May I make an announcement before class ends?” 

“Of course, dear.” Mlle. Bustier gave permission instantly— Marinette was taking up the reins of leadership again! The teacher couldn’t help but do a happy dance internally. 

“I have an announcement to make, so if everyone could listen, I’d be really thankful.” Marinette started, her clear blue eyes meeting those of her classmates. 

She took a deep breath. This is it. I’ve done what I needed to do, now it’s time to finish the job. 

“These past two days... Have been great,” Marinette started wistfully. “I really missed hanging around everyone, just like we did before,” Before you all turned your backs on me and stabbed me when I wasn’t looking, “But I can’t deny— And neither can you— That the things that have happened... They had a really deep impact. And I’ve realised that I can’t just ignore that damage that has been done.” The damage that has been done to me. “So, for the better of everyone— I’ve decided that I... Will transfer classes.” 

It was as if an explosion had gone off in Mlle. Bustier’s classroom. 

“Girl! You can’t do that!” Alya exclaimed in dismay, “We can fix things! Everything has been going well these few days, haven’t they?” 

“Dudette! Honestly, we forgive you.” Nino sighed, “Things just aren’t the same if you’re not here anymore.” 

Adrien didn’t say a word, but the imploring gaze he wore said enough. Please don’t leave me here alone. We promised we’d fight together, right? As long as both of us know... 

Marinette held her hand up to silence them, and the classroom, just as swiftly, became the deadly silence that followed post-disaster. “I understand. But once again, this is for the better,” — Of my mental health, “I’ve talked to Mlle. Mendeliev, and she’s agreed to take me in. I believe that once the changes have taken place, we can all grow more freely without restrictions.” 

In the corner, Mlle. Bustier was tearing up and dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. 

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette turned to her teacher, no malice in her eyes. “I’ll be under Mlle. Mendeliev’s care now.” 

“Marinette...” The teacher sobbed quietly, with Chloe shooting her a look of disgust from the front row. 

“It’s not going to be easy for any of us,” Marinette turned back to the class, “But with time, I’m sure we will all prosper. Especially since you will now be under the care of our one and only Lila Rossi.” 

Adrien looked like someone had just killed a puppy in front of him. 

“Since I am the current class president, I thought I’d pass on the duties onto the most capable person in our class.” Marinette explained warmly, never moving her gaze away from the bewildered Lila. “Lila has the most connections in our class out of all of us, and she’s met so many CEOs and entrepreneurs that she must know a lot about organising and planning. I’m sure you can do it, Lila, but...” She paused. “You can handle it, right?” 

“Y— Yeah. Of course.” Lila stuttered. 

“You promised the class that you’d get BTS to perform for the year-end fundraiser since you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage with their youngest member, Jungkook.” Marinette continued, God I am enjoying myself too much honestly, but I ain’t going to stop now, “And you said you could convince your godfather, Bruce Wayne, to allow the class to go to Wayne Enterprises for this year’s class trip.” 

“She said she could convince Tony Hawk to give me an internship, too!” Alix chipped in. 

“And that she’d bring me along the next time Prince Ali asks for her help for a charity cause!” Rose smiled. 

“She said she’d introduce me to the CEO of Graham Films!” Nino’s eyes shone at the idea. 

The class continued to talk all over one another until Marinette silenced them once more. “Now, now. Let’s not overwhelm Lila. We wouldn’t want her to be overworked or to feel like the expectations are set too high, right?” 

The class agreed, nodding along. 

Marinette made eye contact with Lila, offering her a sweet smile as she did so. Lila, on the other hand, had no taste for such politeness. Instead, she straight-out glared at the former class president. 

This is your problem now. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette! I was hoping to catch you before you went home,” Alya panted, having been able to find the bluenette in the locker room before the designer slipped out of her reach. “You... You’re really serious about leaving?” 

“Yeah.” Smiled Marinette, organising her textbooks into her bag, dusting down her skirt. Noticing Alya’s crestfallen expression, she took the initiative to continue the conversation. “Is there anything else, Alya?” 

“Did you... Did you really hate Lila because she liked Adrien, too?” The reporter asked somewhat timidly. 

Marinette giggled. Normally, when the girl giggled, you could hear a gentle tinkling of wind chimes— But at that moment, Alya heard the freezing winds on Mount Everest instead. “Don’t be silly, Alya. All this over a boy? Besides, I’m over him.” 

“Then...” Alya swallowed difficulty. “Lila... Really was lying this whole time?” 

The gaze that swept across the reporter was stone cold, and it made Alya feel as if she was dangling over a valley of jagged rocks. “What do you think, Alya?” Even so, the bluenette maintained a sweet smile. 

“She was. She was lying the whole time.” Alya suddenly felt as if she had a shortness of air. “This whole time—” 

“Oh, good for you. You finally learned how to see further than one feet in front of you.” Marinette hummed. “I’m proud of you, really. But I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to listen to you slowly come to conclusions after I’ve tried making you see sense for the past half a year. I tried to stop you from ruining your futures, but I guess determination was always one of your good traits.” 

Alya slipped to the floor, having lost the feeling in her legs. She placed one hand against the lockers for support as she shook, weakly looking up at the girl who she was once so proud to call her ‘best friend’. 

“Marinette?” Kagami’s voice rang through the room, indicating that the girl was waiting at the doorway. “You said you were heading to Bourgeois’s hotel after school— Would you like a ride?” 

“That’d be nice, Kagami. A moment.” The designer looked down at her friend and smiled, albeit a little sadly this time— And then she lowered her voice. 

“Determination was always one of your good traits.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette,” Adrien perked up at the sight of the bluenette leaving the school doors— Side by side with Kagami, who looked ready to draw a sword and start a duel then and there. 

“This’ll just take a minute, ‘Gami.” Marinette reassured, gently patting her friend’s arm. “Why don’t you get in the car first? It looks like it’s going to rain.” 

Reluctantly, Kagami nodded. “Alright.” Warily, the fencer stepped down the stairs and into the car— But even as she sat in the vehicle, she watched over her fellow bluenette like a hawk, ready to jump out and challenge the blonde if the situation called for it. 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Luckily for him, the designer decided to start the conversation. 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Marinette smiled softly. A few months ago, when she looked at Adrien, she would see the kind, generous, pure-hearted boy with the finest golden hair and the brightest green eyes. Now? All she saw was a spineless, sheltered, passive child that was afraid of confrontations. 

“For what?” Adrien looked at Marinette, and no longer did he see the cute, pigtail-adorning girl that would blush fiercely everytime he tried to talk to her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, young woman, a rock that had pulled through all the odds to become a vibrant, iridescent diamond. 

Marinette was glowing with confidence, her presence diffusing into the air around her and triggering eyes to look up every time she walked by. There was something about the way she held herself that just made the woman demand awe and respect from those that crossed her path. The old ‘Clumsinette’ had been shed like an old snake skin to reveal a treasure, a better version of the bluenette that had always been waiting for her time to come. 

Bluebell eyes met green ones just as rain began to patter down onto the streets of Paris. Marinette glanced up slightly, not at all bothered as she smoothly retrieved an umbrella from her bag, holding it out for the blonde to take. A flush of deja vu burst through Adrien’s veins and through his skin as he took it with a mumbled thanks, eyes blown wide as Marinette let loose her hair from her ponytail, pulling her blazer over her head to avoid getting her head wet. 

Adrien could only gape as Marinette uttered familiar words back to him, a knowing smile dancing across her lips as she ran off into the rain as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The bluenette looked lighter, brighter, ready to take flight and soar towards the success that her crops of hard work had finally started to bear. Before the blonde model knew it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had slipped out of his grip, already spreading her multi-coloured wings to land among the stars. 

“Thank you for telling me to take the high road.”  

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

this was both satisfying and tiring to write... 

[legends-live-in-memories]

Picture Perfect

AYO! its me back with more content for the second time this week while i ignore my other wips again. this is a lil gift for @queen-o-leen who i promised wholesome content for! I hope you like it!

Timinette/Timari Oneshot 1.9K words (not related to my other timari oneshots)

Summary:

“Tim spends a nice day in a park in Paris and takes a picture of a pretty girl.

He somehow gets an almost date out of it.”

no warnings this time. completely family-friendly. I know i surprise myself with this one too.

without further ado

He would be the last to admit that Jason was right and that time away was what he needed at this point in life but it can’t be ignored that, for the first time in possibly three years, Tim was having a wonderful day. He was having a wonderful week actually. After one too many unsuccessful cold cases and the simmering anxiety of off-world missions, his family, primarily Jason, for some reason, demanded that he take some time off and away from his unusual brand of normal. How that meant being sent across the Atlantic Ocean to Paris of all places, he wasn’t entirely sure. Alfred probably had a hand in that decision given that, as part of his forced vacation, Tim was not allowed to actually plan any of it. Him. Timothy Jackson Drake. The guy who stalked and manoeuvred his way into Batman’s house and team. The guy who tracked and found said man when the universe thought he was dead but was actually drifting through time. Yeah, Tim was not pleased about being led blind on his vacation. 

At least Paris was a nice city. And he brought his camera. He figured he could use this time to get back into old hobbies and what better hobby to start up again in the city of love than photography? He’s taken pictures of every tourist attraction worth visiting by his second day and began to take candid shots of people and animals. Would Damian like the animal pictures? Maybe, if they came from someone who wasn’t Tim. Is he going to try and give them to him anyways? Absolutely not. He liked his liver where it is, thank you very much. They would serve as great bribing material however. But that’s a thought for another day. 

Right now he was working on capturing what could possibly be described as the stereotypical outing with friends. He’s sitting along some bushes near the entrance of a park and staring at a group of teens his own age hanging around. He spots a brunette with thick curls of hair animatedly speaking with a guy in a vibrant cap. She’s waving a camera herself, and he appreciates her taste in equipment. Her eyes spark with fox-like mischief while the cap guy has a peaceful aura about him; like an old turtle. Next he sees a blonde, her hair is in a ridiculously high ponytail and she’s in a deep conversation with a red head off to the side of the whole group; her words are rushing out of her and she’s a buzzing bee with excitement. Another blond is in the area, but he sits in a broad patch of sun possibly napping with an open book on his chest. Very cat-like Tim supposes. He barely pays them more than a second of thought however. No. 

His focus is on the quaint beauty directly in his line of sight. She’s poised up against the giant tree trunk with a sketchbook in her lap and pencils surrounding her. Her hair hangs by her shoulders in twintails and it’s a colour so dark it seems to absorb the shade of the tree. She’s scribbling furiously on the page before her and her tongue is slightly peaking out to the side. Her forehead is creased with stress lines and her shoulders hunch slightly over her frame. She’s the vision of deep concentration and dedication and Tim would be a fool not to capture her. He’s gotten wide shots of her companions but now he wants to focus on her. 

Looking through the lens of his camera he zooms in on her profile. When his camera focuses, he spots a constellation of freckles across her cheeks, barely there, almost blending in with her complexion but Tim is nothing if not hypervigilant. He goes to take another photo when a bug flies into view. It’s a ladybug. It lands precariously on the tip of her nose and it’s just the thing that breaks her out of her work-induced trance. Tim is watching her now, long forgetting to click the shutter. Her eyes cross as she stares intently at the black-spotted creature and its presence seems to amuse her. She’s giggling to herself, as if sharing an inside joke with the bug and reaches a slim finger to swipe the insect gently from her nose. She inspects it and smiles a smile so soft that not even a feather could compare. He feels like an intruder. More so than one who takes pictures of cute strangers in public. 

Coming back to his senses, he takes another picture, the final picture, and lowers the camera from his face. He looks back at his temporary muse and finds that she is already looking at him. Her head tilts in confusion. Apprehension. Possibly a bit of fear. Which is valid given that Tim was pointing a camera at her from across the public park. What should he do though to quell her fears? 

He felt his face lift into a grin; he didn’t need to look at himself to know it was awkward and forced. A shrug of his shoulders and a flimsy wave of the camera in his hand was the only thing he did. Before he could begin to stumble over himself in apology, however, she surprised him. With a cautious hunch, her shoulders brought up to her ears, and an embarrassed smile to match his own, she slowly flips her sketchbook around and he comes face to face with, well, his face. It was a portrait of him. She had drawn a portrait of him. And she was showing him. Feeling embolden, he flips his camera to show her the screen but she’s too far away. He gets up on unsteady legs, cramped from his uncomfortable position, and begins a slow stride towards her. She meets him in the middle.

“Hi.” He barely speaks those words. They’re more like an exhale or a sigh of relief that he hadn’t scared her off. 

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind the drawing.” Her voice is high and light. Like a spring breeze. She’s daintily waving at him and he sees that her fingers are rough, and calloused. Unexpected but he finds it rather charming. Before he could get another word in, she’s off like an engine. “I just saw you there, and you had your camera so I figured you were taking pictures of us and thought that if you were then you wouldn’t mind me sketching you in kind but I should have asked and I’m sorry for breaching your privacy—” 

“Wait, slow down.” He fears that if he hadn’t interrupted her when he did she would run out of oxygen. Did she even breathe during her spiel? A voice in his head, that sounds like Cass, utters a soft ‘pot, kettle’ and okay, he sees a lot of himself in her mile-a-minute style of speaking. 

“No need to apologize. I’m flattered, truly. You were right, I was taking pictures of you. And your friends!” he hastily adds that last part. He turns his camera so the display screen faces her and he feels himself hold his breath in anticipation. 

A blush rises to her cheeks, red like the ladybug that interrupted her. He quite likes that colour on her. His eyes drift to the sketch and he’s further impressed by her skill. She has an eye for detail. He notices a bird in the background. It’s a robin. That piques his interest and lights a flicker of fear within him. 

“May I ask,” he begins slowly, unsure of what that little addition could mean. Did she know? How could she? Was his identity compromised?

“Why did you draw a robin in the background? It’s lovely but I’m curious,” he finishes. He’s going to play dumb until he has more information. She seems taken off guard by the question and raises her shoulders to her ears again in an embarrassed hunch.

“Well,” she starts, but she seems unsure and the words die on her tongue. She tries again.

“I just saw it fly by and then it landed behind you. So I thought ‘why not?’ and drew it. It seemed fitting.” She wasn’t looking him in the eye and now he felt kind of felt like a jerk for baselessly accusing some random girl. Of course it was just a coincidence. This bat-paranoia was going to be the end of him one day. It’s by sheer miracles and luck why it hasn’t already. 

“Oh, no worries. It just surprised me because it’s my favourite bird.” Right. Lie to the pretty French girl. But what else could he do? Tell her the truth?

“Then it’s a cool coincidence, huh?” She seems encouraged by that tidbit of information.

“Yeah, pure luck on your part.”

“What?” She seems more startled at that than Tim thinks she should be but before he can think deeper into it she speaks again and he would be a fool to not give her his undivided attention.

“Why did you take a picture of me with the ladybug? If you don’t mind me asking.” That stumps him because, to be honest, he does not know why himself. It just felt right. So he tells her as such.

“Well that would be another coincidence because ladybugs are my favourite insects.” She gives him a full smile alongside that statement and the brilliance of it almost blinds him. He wants to capture that smile for eternity. 

The thought strikes him. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He knows by the Friday of next week he’ll be flying back to Gotham where it’s business as usual and Red Robin won’t have time for commitments and puppy love. But right now? Right now Tim Drake is on vacation with a week and half left and all the time in the world to entertain the idea of a spring romance. Making the decision, he goes for it and takes the chance.

“I was getting a bit hungry. Do you know anywhere that’s good to eat at?” It’s an offer, open to interpretation. If she just lists some place, he knows where her interests lay. If she offers to escort him somewhere, then she’s taken the bait for exactly what it is, an invitation for more; whatever more is. He hopes she takes the bait. 

“Yes I do actually! My parents own a bakery just outside the park.” Her enthusiasm is uplifting and the offer of a place so personal is a good sign in Tim’s book. “Let me show the way, and I could join you if you would like.”

“Perfect. That’s wonderful. It will be my treat since you’re going out of your way on my account.”

“Nonsense. Like I said, it’s my parents’ bakery. They’ll be more than happy to give some complimentary snacks.” She loops her arm around his and begins to drag him to the park gate. She’s strong and her grip is firm and Tim feels lightheaded at the ease with which she pulls him. He can’t help but be swept up in the tides that is this girl. 

“I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Drake.” He offers his name, something he should have done at the beginning.

She looks back at him over her shoulder and he’s caught up in the oceans of her eyes. They’re alight with joy. 

“Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Nice to meet you too.”

They’re almost by the bakery now, he can smell the fresh baked goods from here, and he can’t wait to sit down and get to know this girl better. Maybe get her number by the end of their lunch.

Yeah. Tim was having a wonderful day.

[angeli-marco-writes]

Dean & Seamus - At Last

A/N - 1.8k word blurb I completely forgot I wrote. Bringing this out of the archives, enjoy.

Warnings - slight cursing and angst, fluff, mutual pining.

Summary - Years of tiptoeing around one another and hidden feelings come to a head when Seamus finds a stack of art beneath Dean's bed. At last, something might happen.

“Hey Dean?” Seamus calls, breaking the silence of the half empty common room.

The two of them sitting together on opposite ends of a very comfortable and very small sofa with feet entangled in a contorted knot is not a rare occurrence, and everyone knows that the two like to be as close as possible. Dean has a notepad on the arm of the sofa, artistic pencils on the coffee table as he sketches away to his heart's content, while Seamus has a pack of muggle cards, teaching himself card tricks.

“What is it?” Dean replies, glancing up from his notepad to meet Seamus’ sympathetic gaze.

“Do you still have that muggle magic book? This isn’t going great.”

Dean chuckles, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm, deep brown eyes twinkling under the dim light from the candles. The way he watches Seamus when he isn’t looking is with nothing but pure adoration, not necessarily the way that friends should look at one another.

“Dean?” Seamus calls, suddenly much closer than before, kneeling in front of Dean’s legs now curled beneath him without his knowledge of putting them there.

“Uhm, the book? Yeah, it's under my bed. Careful you don’t find a banshee under there.” Dean says jokingly, curving his arm around Seamus’ torso to bring him closer, discarding his art for a moment, savouring the sound of Seamus’ laugh like music to his ears.

He stops thinking, and just exists for a second, only able to do that when Seamus is so close to him, chests pressed together, hearts beating as one, breath mingling and all inhibitions lowered. If he had a little more belief that Seamus shared his crush then he’d go the final step, bringing their lips together for more than a fleeting moment. If only he knew that Seamus in fact felt the same, equally as strong, equally as lovesick and just as scared of rejection. So for the meantime, they stuck to their own personal affections.

“I’ll be back in a minute, and I’ll call you if there’s a banshee.”

With a fleeting kiss that Dean pressed to Seamus’ cheek, the latter had disappeared up the stone stairs to the dorms.

On his way up, Seamus finds himself thinking non stop of the way Dean’s soft lips felt pressed against his cheek. Not like they haven’t kissed before, but every time it excites him, still bringing butterflies to his stomach after four years.

Their first kiss was in a game of juvenile truth or dare in second year, where Seamus revealed he’d never been kissed, and Dean was then dared to kiss him. That was the moment, for Seamus at least, that he’d realised he was gay - or at the very least, not straight.

It was half way through third year that the two had grown accustomed to holding hands and sharing clothes, stealing cheek kisses and cuddling on the odd night. None of this changed, even now they’ve become sixth years.

Seamus throws the door open to the dorm and leaps across to Dean’s bed, forever more comfortable than his own. He lies over it, inhaling Dean’s scent that he’s so used to wrapping him up whenever he sleeps. Oak and paint. The strangest perfection. After a moment of thought, he pulls up the west ham blanket, the oversized knitted quilt that the two made one Christmas night when they got far too cold, and finally the red sheets so that he gets a better look beneath the bed, which just so happens to be crammed full of random shit.

“Bloody hell Dean,” he sighs with a gentle smile, lighting his wand and sliding off the bed onto the wooden floor, preparing himself for a search.

Seamus sits and sifts through piles of books covered in dust, albeit in neat piles and just about alphabetised (all much more organised than his own), and a couple of boxes before he finds their old magic book.

Just as he moves to put everything back in its place, he comes across a locked trunk of chestnut wood and gold edges. It’s triple locked by the looks of padlocks atop the built in securities. But Seamus can’t help thinking, what does Dean have to hide from him? He’s always said “what’s mine is yours”, and that they know everything about one another. What could Dean possibly be so ashamed of that he didn’t even want Seamus to see? Chuckling at the first immediate thought, he pulls the box out and peers through a crack. It looks like… old notebooks?

“Cistem Aperio.” he utters the words used to unlock the trunk, only to find out that the padlock is a fake one and that the box itself only had one lock. Maybe the faux measures were to stop the other boys finding it, and not Seamus, but once opened, he’s astounded.

Piles of notepads and sketch pads fill the border of the box, but what’s in the centre is the most disconcerting. It’s Seamus, on canvas, ten times over. All from different angles, painted with watercolour or acrylics, all at different stages of completion because on some, the pencil lines are still apparent. Sure, Seamus knows that Dean is a bloody good artist, and Dean’s asked him to be a model once or twice, but this is another level. And even though he probably should, he can’t find it creepy.

He turns over a couple of the older canvases dating back to the bottom one, a mix of acrylic paint and heavy pencil shading. ‘Seamus, 7th April 1994; I wonder if you think of me half as often as I think of you.’

His heart stops just for a moment. Does dean… no chance. No way, there’s no way that Dean fancies him too. He could have anyone in the school, why would he fancy his dorky Irish friend?

He takes out a couple of the pads, opening to reveal pages of sketches of Seamus. The two together, Seamus at the lunch table, by the lake, with other people or asleep in Dean’s bed. Just the sight of Dean’s talent makes his belly flip. The curved pencil lines, the soft brushes of his coloured pencils, the perfect shading wherever it needs to be in the different photos. Each one has Dean’s signature, a date and a title in the bottom right hand corner., but some are a little more smudged with, tears?

He grabs the most recent sketchpad and tucks it beneath his arm, going to open a note pad filled with dozens of poems and quotes, but the most common one hits him hard.

‘You have to let it all go. The way he kissed you, the way he smelled, the way he touched your waist and pulled you in. You have to let it go and you have to let him go. Because he’ll never love you that way, he’ll always be your friend, and he’ll never be yours.’

That’s essentially all the confirmation that Seamus needs to realise that Dean’s liked him all this time. How could they have been so stupid, avoiding each other and never confessing?

He rips the page out of the notebook and runs out the door, the leather bound sketch pad bouncing in his clutch. He bounds down the stairs as ungracefully as possible, taking them two by two, his shoes resounding on the stone and hereby making a racket that the whole common room can here.

Seamus appears at the bottom, breathless and flushed as opposed to covered in soot, but his eyes are filled with a new flame.

“Dean,” he pants, eyes darting over to where he's curled up in the same spot as before, knees tucked under his chin with an art pad on the arm of the sofa, tucking his extortionately expensive pencil behind his ear when he sees Seamus all hot and bothered.

He stands, towering over everyone as he takes quick strides across the room, his breath hitching when he sees the sketchpad tucked haphazardly beneath Seamus’ small arm.

“Sea, please,” he begs, eyes brimming with tears to match Seamus’.

They stand an awkward distance from each other for a minute before Seamus takes the final step and closes the gap, gripping Dean’s tie and pulling him a little closer to his own height.

“Did you draw these of me?” Seamus asks with a raspy, trembling voice, filled with anguish and longing.

“Yes.” Dean murmurs softly.

“Did you write these poems about me?” he waves the tear stained page of perfect ink in front of Dean, making the taller boy swallow thickly.

“Yes.”

“Were you ever going to tell or show me?”

“Maybe one day.” Dean says guiltily, averting his eyes to the floor for only a second before meeting Seamus’ intense gaze once more, the flames behind the freckles on his cheeks a little intimidating.

“Do you, do you love me?” Seamus asks finally, taking a leap of faith, one that is finally reciprocated.

“Yes. Yes, so much.”

That’s all the ammunition that Seamus needs to tug Dean’s lips to his own, crushing them together and engaging in a fiery kiss of nothing but long awaited passion and love. Their tears dissipate as Seamus weaves his arms around Dean’s neck, and his curl around Seamus’ waist, lifting him up like he weighs nothing. Seamus deepens the kiss, licking along Dean's bottom lip to request an entrance which is more than eagerly granted, allowing them to explore each other's mouths finally. Dean lets out a muffled moan when Seamus bites down on his lower lip, the most heavenly sound Seamus has ever heard. Dean squeezes the ass that rests on his hips just for a moment before sliding his hands beneath his jumper, his dark palms running over Seamus’ milky skin, the perfect contradiction.

They become so enveloped in their bubble of passion, tongues dancing tantalisingly together, that they forget they’re in the common room, awkwardly withdrawing when the need for oxygen becomes too dire.

However, instead of the angry shouts and disgruntled faces they expect, it’s actually faces of sheer relief and lazy smiles all around.

“About bloody time!” Ron shouts.

Dean chuckles softly, lowering Seamus to the ground. The pair scrabble for their stuff, grasping it in uncoordinated handfuls, stuttering apologies before darting upstairs. Once at their dorm, they slam the door shut and throw their belongings elsewhere without a care, fighting over who gets to pin the other against the door.

“Have we really been dancing around our feelings since we were twelve?” Dean asks, trying to keep his focus on the time being while Seamus works tirelessly at the bottoms of his shirt, leaving kisses everywhere in his wake.

“Yes we have. And that means we have five years to make up for now.” Seamus quips, bringing Dean’s lips to his own once more, moving to enjoy their time together, at last.

[ayakashiramblings]

If you came out - Dawn Faction

In celebration of Pride month (that is about to end and I lost track of everything because of work, ughh...), this is dedicated to everyone who wants to love! 

Disclaimer though: I am a straight, cis girl so while I can write this based on my friend’s opinions, I won’t be able to fully capture the whole scope of being in the LGBTQ+ community. I am also a bad writer by nature, LOL. That said, if I have written anything harmful, please let me know so that I can correct it. 

Also, this is technically in the Taisho era so like... I don’t know the history of Japan well enough. Plus, I can’t cover the whole spectrum here, I was hoping to do more with the other groups after gauging the reception here, LMAO.

Finally, Yura sucks for being too perfect.

Koga Kitamikado 

His sweetheart is bisexual. And by the way? Very scared of telling him.

She has been dumped faster than burning coal all because it seems like MC would cheat with not just one but two other parties.

AND has also been hurled with accusations of not making up her mind and stringing people along so easily without a hint of remorse.

But he’s the second-most supportive man here. (We’ll get to the first later)

You, ever-the-intellectual knowing that, hit it for Russia when you thought you saw your ex-girlfriend and Koga turned his back on you for 10 seconds to tend to Masanobu’s new watch chain. 

Fear does crazy things.

He and Kuya found you in 27 minutes, sobbing into an empty tub of ice-cream you stole from the tengu as your only food supply and frankly, the only item you brought along.

Even Kuya found it pathetic enough to leave you and Koga alone at the random bar.

Everything was pounding. Your head, people taking shots, and leaving with the resounding slam of the doors. 

Again, and again, and again.

Yet, Koga was still there, letting you nurse your head against his burly shoulders and stroking your hair away from your face to look you in your bloodshot eyes.

His steady gaze returned some semblance of composure to your drunken mind.

"It's always been hard to look away from you... especially if I think you are troubled by something or someone."

Yup, that’s right. He has had his suspicions.

“Are youz gonna break up witz me...?”

“HELL NO!”

Ok so his calm mien was finally broken by that whispered question and his Japanese bellow had certainly garnered attention until he glared at the other patrons.

His control only returned when he said this.

“If they didn’t love you being bisexual, they didn’t love you. Period.”

... This is the first time you have ever heard of the term. Heck, you had always been too shy to ask Ginnojo for books on the topic but WOW KOGA KNEW? HOW?

You didn’t even know if that was the right term, how the heck did he even find it in the Taisho era of all eras?!

Boy was fully prepared to smother you with all his affections with just the hint that you haven’t been properly cared for.

“Lady Luck was on your side so many times. But here’s the thing; I knew you could love and have loved people. Not sides.”

“I would like to be on your side and your loved one now, in the next 1000 years and beyond.”

That night, you had celebrated coming out and being strong with the strongest man, vodka and of course, hangover in your life.

Kuya

Trans male who actually sees Kuya making an effort beyond wraith-fighting.

You lucky boy! He is a bit confused at first but not dismissive. Anything involving you and your happiness is serious business to him. 

Takes some time getting used to the shift in pronouns, but the one in 2892019280923092 chances that he messes up, he will always apologize with ordering whatever you want from the Milk Hall.

Now you wished he would mess up more. 

When he is too lazy to buy paper, he just writes on whatever scars you have from your gender reassignment (if you go for it... wait, did they have it back then?) or the marks left from your binder that would have made you self-conscious once upon a time.

And he keeps doing it on each new mark as you slowly transition.

One day, you decided to buy the most classy paper a writer could ever hope for. One that would ensure no bleeding, feathering, and basically ‘The Dream Paper’.

All he did was give a smile and thank you before dipping a feather... and writing on the 273rd scar.

“But why?”

“I need to write the 273rd page of my boyfriend’s strength.”

Yura

You are a trans female, that has been practising her coming-out-speech on forest animals...

... that you knew would know Yura.

You were so scared about seemingly leading others on and deceiving others. Every time some discovered any secret part of yours that you had hidden, suddenly EVERYTHING was exposed.

“Oh, my lady...”

“I am ever so delighted! You came out to me first AGAIN!”

... So it turns out, your past self was also trans. And Yura had been the proudest friend you had confided in first.

His part is so short because guess what? He is a perfect man. I seriously don’t think you would need to worry about him.

We just need him to be our boyfriend soon!!!

Ginnojo

Asexual acing everything but sitting down with the bae and talking about it. 

Not that you have to, only if you are comfortable. 

And you were super comfortable honestly. Maybe the whole quiet patrol at the park had lured you into a false sense of security.

... Into giggling at poor Ginnojo blushing at some shameless couples. 

Seems like the birds, the bees and make-out sessions were in season. 

“Can we agree to never do that?”

“Of course.”

“Like, ever? Like forever never?”

“Er, yes?”

“Like really no smashing of bodies also?”

“.... No? Wait, why are you asking? Come, let’s sit over there.”

This is probably the most Ginnojo has ever talked but you are so ecstatic that he can take it all in and without you feeling flustered over the occasional ramblings mixed in with serious explanations. 

Checks the boundaries established like the following;

If you don’t mind him occasionally finding you sexually attractive, especially considering you are one of the few women he interacts.

Promises on telling when to stop.

Getting sexual relief from outsiders (No surprise that he shoots the whole premise down. Ginnojo without you, it wouldn’t be him to the ayakashi)

Kisses and the art of cuddling.

Ultimately though, he just needs 2 things and that would be enough. 

“I want to love you like a book. Let me hold the pages and move with you when your story tells me to until the end.”

“And in return, I’ll share my cover with you to spread around any corner of the world you want.”

Aoi

Lesbian that chose to come out to the right ayakashi... but at the worst place possible.

To be fair, you had tried your best in luring him to sketch at a discrete, isolated place.

You had even pictured the scenario, which later turned to be a screenplay of all the disasters and worst reactions that could arise from the even the simplest, vaguest confessions.

Had Aoi known of this whole script, he would have probably said it was the writing Kuya could only dream about having.

It’s just that the Golden Week makes the Milk Hall super packed for once.

So there you were, with the milkshake that should have brought an annoyed satori seer over and scolding you for remaining with the probably-spoiled drink.

And everything snaps. His pen snaps, your straw snaps, you snap.

“What, I’m a spoilt milk bottle because I’m swinging the cap the other way? HUH?!”

By some miracle, Oji was too busy flirting with the onslaught of female customers and the aforementioned group was too preoccupied with giggling at that dork.

Aoi had heard everything though. You knew he had heard everything... so why wasn’t he responding?

Then you heard it, the girliest of giggles.

And the sweetest grin you have seen in the world.

Again, you couldn't blame Koga for mistaking him for a cute girl cus dayum...

Loving a man or woman, his tsundere mind and mouth finally cooperate to say the exact same thing.

That you are a lovable dork who had been the very muse for the painting he has been slogging over.

A whole triptych.

The first one was of you at the river, grabbing the rock to seemingly skip across the water. It was undeniably warm and set at dusk. So the transition to the next frame was jarring but somehow familiar.

The second depicted you walking away with the random stone, and being largely ignored by others and nearly engulfed in the darkness between you and the rest of the crowd.

And finally the last was someone's hand sharing the stone with yours. Curiously, it was only inked and without any palette.

“The only thing they all need is your colours, whatever you have chosen and wanted. I want to see them when you want to show me her.”

And you did, spending his 1-hour break just using all the paint supplies that you could find together.

[lucifer-lacroix]

Strawberry Chapter 5

Red Dead Redemption Fan Fic see here for more

Romance/Western 

Arthur Morgan X Original Character 

Summary: It's 1898 and Arthur decides to leave the gang for a bit to go on a hunting trip. He stops by the village of Strawberry and meets a caravan of wealthy ladies. The famed Rosalyn Bush is in town, and he starts planning a heist on his own but discovers Isabella Morningstar. His former girlfriend and famed bounty hunter "The Devil in Red." is protecting them.

It didn't feel like morning, with the wind howling outside as rain pounded against the glass. There was little light in the room as the fire has gone out and the lamp by the beside had run out of oil. Arthur Morgan found himself face down in a mass of soft pillows and sheet which tangled his body up. The pound of a headache forced him awake, and he groaned lost for a moment in pain. Arthur spotted a glass of water by the bedside table and reached for it having to slide himself across the bed to get close enough. Once firm in his fingers he chugged it down and belched, how much did he drink last night? His mouth was an ashtray, and the water did little to wash away the dryness in his throat.  As he sat up while replaying the previous night in his mind needing a moment to remember how he ended up in this room. No one was inside the room but him, the bed was empty, and his clothes were gone. He looked for where they had been left and was sure he dropped his pants at the foot of the bed, but they were nowhere in sight. His gun was on the stool where he left it, but his shirt, pants, vest and undergarments were gone. 

"Izzy." 

He said with a snarl as he put his boots on and grabbed his gun belt. He looked around the room and spotted a black silk housecoat with purple trim. It didn't look like any regular house coat since it had orange stitched dragon embroidered in it and long cuffed sleeves. It must have been some Asian garb, but it was the only thing in the room that would fit his shoulders.  With a long heavy sigh, he put it on and covered up before leaving the room. Storming down the hallway in search of the devil who stole his clothes. As he crossed the long hallway to the stairs he passed so many people, the storm had locked everyone in, and now he had to walk across the hotel dressed as a woman with an audience. Gasps followed their snickers and giggles as not everyone found his display amusing but rather audacious. Holding the opening of the housecoat closed he kept his gun belt on with a hand resting on the hilt as he headed to the yellow lounge. Once he passed through the curtains, he noticed the tables filled with the same gaggle of ladies had company this morning. They all stopped and stared at him, some in snickers some full belly laughing, but he sure did make an impression on the lot of them. "Izzy," Arthur called to the room, everyone's eyes quickly darting to the back of the place where Isabella sat to breakfast with Rosalyn who had her back turned. Isabella had a big old smirk on her face and sat next to her on the table was a well-folded stack of clothes wrapped with one of the blankets from the room. She stared at Arthur with a victorious grin on her face as Rosalyn turned to see. The blonde immediately spitting out her coffee and gasping for breath once she looked at him. 'Why are you wearing my Kimono Mr Callaghan?" Rosalyn asked shocked and one of the only people not amused by the situation. "Izzy... my things." Arthur cleared his throat and spoke darkly not amused in the slightest. "I don't know what you're talking about I've been on guard all right. I did find this outside are they yours?" Isabella said and opened the blanket revealing his clothes correctly folded and neat for him. Arthur's eyes narrowed as Rosalyn got up and walked over to him grabbing the stack of clothes and shoving them into Arthur's hands. "Do you know how expensive that is, take it off immediately." She said bitterly to Arthur in a hushed tone to not embarrass him further. She took giving Izzy an icy glare.   "You happy now?" Arthur asked. "Delighted... you know you have something in your hair right?" Izzy said pointing to a glob of Strawberry jam caked on the side of his head. "Oh, you tried my jams? Which one was your favourite?" Rosalyn asked as her tone flipped and Arthur just marched away with no response. He stormed back to his room where he fished the key out of his pants, crossing the same crowds of people who wanted to comment but he responded this time. "Take a damn picture it will last longer. Now get outta my way!" He spoke loud and bitterly, and the crowds stepped out of his way still instilling fear with his march despite his outrageous attire. Once he slammed the door behind him to his room, he wanted to rip the Kimono off but spotted himself in the full-length Mirror seeing his reflection back at him. He looked himself up and down and just started laughing. He looked ridiculous but not wrong, his muscular frame filled out the Kimono rather nicely and to be honest it felt amazing on his skin. He could now tell how expensive it was and for a moment wanted to keep it. Where ever it was from it was very well made with small beads sewn into the dragons shaping its scales. He delicately took it off since Rosalyn was the only one who sympathised with him and folded it up to bring it back to her. He got dressed and scrubbed the jam from his hair and packed his things to leave. He was gazing out the window watching the waterfall of rain which covered the window. "I'm outta here." He said and searched through his satchel noticing something else was missing as he feverishly searched the bag unable to find it.  

Since Arthur had left to change Rosalyn returned to the table where Isabella sat rather proud with herself. Rosalyn was glaring down at her with arms crossed. "What?" She asked. "What are you doing to that man? First, you sleep with him then embarrass him in front of the whole town making it look like he slept with me?" Rosalyn asked. "Hey, that's not what I was." Izzy started, but Rosalyn put her finger up to silence her, and she did. "That's what you did. Your intentions don't matter it's your actions that speak. You think poking bears in fun?" Rosalyn in front of everyone started to scold her. "Rosie come on." "Don't Rosie me! I'm not going to sit here and let you act like a careless bitter loser who resorts to childish antics instead of acting like an adult. Do you want to come with me to the frontier? Then you will apologise to Mr Callaghan and return everything you took from him. " "Apologize! To him! He should apologise to me! Also, I gave back everything I took." Izzy stood up and threw her chair back "Oh really? Where is his room key?" She asked "In the left pocket where I found them." "So you went looking for them?" "N-No." "What did you do with his keys?" She asked. "Uh..." Izzy went quiet knowing if she kept talking Rosalyn would catch her in a lie. "Give it to me," Rosalyn ordered holding out her hand. When Isabella didn't move, she stomped her foot and shouted. "Now!" "Okay fine!" Izzy said and took out a leatherback journal from her bag and handed it to her. "Now go find your dog and hunt something for dinner." "It's pouring rain out!" "Take a poncho then," Rosalyn ordered and walked off with the journal headed towards Arthur's room.

Rosalyn got a few steps out of the room and slowed down a bit, tapping the binding of the journal in hand. Looking around she whistled innocently to herself and checked to see who was around while stepping into a little corner and quickly opened the book to a random page. Glancing she saw a drawing of a racoon sitting on a stump roughly sketched like it was in the middle of grooming. Another sketch was on the page as well of a small songbird and a deer lying in the grass. She scanned each drawing and flipped the page. This page had a sketch of a giant bison in the snowy hills that took up two pages in the book. "Whoa." She whispered turning the book to get a better view of the well-drawn picture. "Lady Rosalyn?" A voice called to her, and she folded up the journal and tucked it under her arm and turned to see Arthur of all people headed her way. Fully dressed this time in his dark coloured shirt and white leather jacket. "Mr Callaghan!" She said caught red-handed. "Have you seen Izzy? I believe she stole something from my room." He said slightly panicked as he handed back the folded Kimono to her. "Oh? What on earth did she take." Rosalyn asked clutching the journal behind her back. "Something I can't leave here without, can you point me in her direction please?" Arthur asked skipping details. Rosalyn finding herself in a precarious position. She hesitated, knowing that if she gave it back, he would surely brave the storm and leave after everything that happened last night. "I told her to go hunting," Rosalyn said briefly. "Shit, I better get to her before she leaves," Arthur said and took off towards the stable. "Arthur wait!" Rosalyn called after him and ran after him, but he was already out the door. "Oh no! oh no no no!" Rosalyn started to panic, she ran after Arthur but stopped on the patio watching him take off in the rain headed for the stable in a full sprint. She looked to the kimono in her hands and backed up to him and knew when Arthur found Izzy and she didn't have his journal, they might shoot each other. "Oh, what have I done!" Rosalyn ran upstairs and into her room and quickly she had to drop off the Kimono and grab everything she needed to go for a ride. Haphazardly packing a bag with the Journal as well as picking up her rifle. She noticed on the table the stable chip for Princess and took it too. Rosalyn emerged from the room wearing dark riding pants, a dark blue blouse and Chocolate brown leather jacket. Her riding gloves in hand and rifle strung over her shoulder, and as she launched down the stairs, she ran into the hotel owner. "Ms Bush! Where are you going? It's going to thunder again you should stay inside." "Oh, I know! I need to go pick up from berries for my pies. I'll be back in an hour or two. Honey will take care of things while I am gone and I'll be back so we can get a cooking promise, my dear." She said in one breath and pinched his cheek and took off out the door before he could stop her.  Running down the muddy road towards the stable as she saw Arthur riding away on Duke. "Fuck!" She screamed and ran into the stable. "Give me the horse!" She yelled and shoved the chip onto the stableman's hands "Ms Bush! I'm sorry Isabella already came and took Aristotle out hunting." "Not the Mustang the Arabian!" "Oh! The white one! I dunno miss she's been rather panicked this morning, the storm is scaring her something fierce I would wait till she comes back with Aristotle." "I can't wait! I need to go now! Just saddle her up I can handle her!" Rosalyn said exasperatedly. "As you say, miss." The stableman took her chip and went off to prepare Princess for her, and she stood there wide-eyed. Her thoughts were spinning revolving around the fantasy that once Arthur and Izzy found each other in the forest, they would shoot it out. "Whoa! Hey, calm down. It's just a journal." She sad and took it out. "Just a leather sketchbook. See." She started flipping through it. "Just a bunch of pictures and." As she was flipping through the pages, she stopped at a ledger marked with a string. She turned it open to the page and glanced it over. There was a list of numerical entries of the various dollar amount in a column, next to it a sketch of a city layout and a dot circled by an x. It looked like a treasure map next to a ledger recording all the savings held in Blackwater. "Uh oh." She closed it again as the colour from her face disappeared leaving her white as a ghost. "Miss. The horse is ready for you now." The stableman called out to her as she waved to him nervously as he leads the horse to her. Princess who was dragging her hooves in the dirt complained loudly as the two strangers handled her. Rosalyn made a squeak like sound while staring at the horse who seemed a lot bigger than the last time she rode her.  Rosalyn shoved the journal into her bag took a deep breath and took the reigns he handed to her. "Alright girl calm down!" Rosalyn said holding onto her dominant voice from when she spoke with Izzy, picturing the red-heads face in the eyes of the horse. "You are going to listen to me okay! We gotta get out there fast and come back in once piece okay!" Attempting to bargain with the horse who looked her over and calmed a little bit. "Hey, it worked." She said when Princess shoved her back with her nose and tried to bite the lead and rip it out of her grip. "No!!" Rosalyn shouted holding the reigns tightly and tangled it around her wrist so the horse couldn't pull it from her grip. "Okay! No more Ms nice lady." Rosalyn huffed and yanked the reign down making princess's head bow down. Rosalyn then grabbed the horn of the saddle and climbed up onto Princess despite her jaunting as the stableman assisted in keeping her still. "Okay. Off we go." Rosalyn tapped Princess's sides with her heels and clicked her tongue. Princess was going into a fast trot instead of a walk and took off down the road going the wrong way. "Princess!! Slow down!" Rosalyn panicked and focused on staying on the horses back as it stomped through the puddles and she held onto the reigns and tried to turn her around. Letting the horse lead a bit Rosalyn waited for her to calm down as people watched, hoping to see her thrown.  Once Princess got her burst of energy out Rosalyn turned her around and led the horse down the road after Arthur.

Up ahead Arthur and the Duke were trotting at a quick pace while he followed a trail on the road. The rain had cleared the path, and a single set of hoof prints lead him deeper into the forest. "Well Duke, if she went hunting this would be a good spot to go. " Arthur said out loud stopping the mule as the tracks left the road and into the trees. "You think she took it on purpose to lead me out here Duke?" He asked the creature who was eating a common bulrush plant on the roadside. "Yeah sounds rather stupid, why would she embarrass me like that if she just wanted to shoot me? Does she want to steal her money back from us you think?" He asked Duke out loud who kept munching nonchalantly.   "Yeah, she should have just taken the map, not the whole journal." He dismounted the mule and checked out the tracks in the dirt and noticed a set of paw prints next to the hoof prints. "This must be her... big dog," he said and put his hand next to the paw print which was filling up with water and the size of his palm. He stood back up and grabbed the lead of his mule and walked into the trees to follow the path slowly keeping quiet as they travelled into the forest.

Deep within the trees, the rain was light since the leaves above sheltered the forest floor. On such a stormy day many creatures stayed within their shelters but not everyone. A wild boar was honking and roaming about looking for truffles, his loud snorts pinpointing his location. The beast had stumbled upon a groove of mushrooms and was feasting on his own until a loud crack of a rifle echoed in the trees. The birds flew away, and a deer went scampering off, but the wild boar fell dead on the ground with a mouthful of half-eaten fungi. Izzy who was laid out under a shelter of leaves and brush cocked and reloaded her rifle which smoked from the last shot she fired. A perfect bullseye on the hog's skull and she could call it a day since the pig was pretty big. As Izzy finished reloading a fresh round, she noticed in the distance a Mule break through the brush on its own. He was saddled and headed straight for the groove of mushrooms where she had just shot the boar. The creature was happily eating on the patch of half-eaten mushrooms the boar had found, and Izzy looked around to see where the owner had gone. Hesitant she stayed in place watching the Mule through her scope. If someone went after her kill, she would be sure to give them the scare of their life. Fifteen minutes went by, and the Mule just ate and grazed calmly before sniffing over the boar and started to kick it. "Oh shit!" Izzy said and jumped out of her hiding spot and headed down to scare the Mule away before it ruined her kill. "Hey shoo!" She yelled and ran up to the beast before she heard a gun cock to her left. She stopped and cursed under her breath and turned to see Arthur Morgan of all people standing on a fallen tree he had ducked behind with a Carbine Repeater pointed at her. "I thought you had a sense of humour Arthur." She shouted and raised her hands her rifle in one of them. "Hilarious as that morning prank was, taking my things is not. I guess that's on me for trusting you." He said and started to approach her. "Haha yeah, that's why I gave em back. I'm not interested in robbing you. That's your thing." Izzy said and lowered her arms put kept her rifle pointed away from Arthur as she turned to him, but did point it at the Mule. She whistled and readied her gun at the Duke. "Hm, you think I wouldn't have noticed you pinch my journal." He asked quickly glancing around him wondering where the dog since it was not with her. "Yeah I thought you would, so I gave it to Rosalyn to give back to you," Izzy said also looking around for her dog hoping she was close but raised her gun to the Mule to atop Arthur from approaching her further. "Don't shoot my Mule, and don't lie. Give it back, and we can go our separate ways" Arthur said with narrow eyes. "Excuse me? I think I deserve the right to take away one of your beloved pets. Besides I'm not lying, go talk to Rosalyn she has your Journal." Izzy said before whistling again a little more desperately, this time hearing a twig snap in the distance making her heart lift with hope. "I did, she told me you were out here," Arthur said and fired a warning shot at her which hit the rocks at her feet and made Duke sprint off. Izzy was going to shoot when Arthur cracked a second shot closer to her feet making her jump. "Hand it over!" He ordered when a dog barked to his right. Before he could change targets, a colossal dog leapt out of the bushes and tackled him. Knocking the Repeater from his hands and tackling him to the ground. He was expecting to get mauled, but instead, the giant dog started licking him. She has a squished face with floppy ears and a brown and black coat of fur. The dog was massive and weighed at least 200 lbs centred on his chest. Arthur had drawn his pistol from his belt and was ready to shoot the dog, but since it wasn't biting him yet lovingly licking him, he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger as she slobbered all over his face. "Bijou, Bijou get off I got it," Izzy said now her rifle pointed at Arthur on the ground.   Arthur grabbed the dog's neck and pointed his pistol at her head. "Fuck off Arthur! Don't you fucking dare!" She said with bitter rage. "Give me back my journal!" Arthur yelled as the dog fought against his grip. "I don't have it!" Izzy screamed back as in the distance, and ear piercing scream broke through the trees. They both stopped recognising the tone of the voice as a female.   "Rosalyn told you she didn't have it?" Izzy asked her gun still training on him. "She said you went hunting. I... stormed out after that." Arthur said as a second scream was heard this time an English accented voice calling for help. "She didn't come with you did she?"Izzy asked with wide eyes. They both stared at each other for a second. "Shit." They said and unison. Izzy whistled again, and Bijou got off Arthur and ran up to her side not giving a shit about anything as her tail just wagged as she panted heavily. "How the hell did she get out this far? I have the only riding horse." "I think she took Princess," Arthur said as he got up and whistled for the Duke. "You mean my Arabian?" Izzy said and ran up the hill to a black Clydesdale horse hitched out of sight from the groove.  The male beast saddled with a gator skinned set up lined with fangs and was probably the best horse in these parts. "I thought you didn't want him," Arthur said saddled up on his Mule waiting for her. "Who would, she's a skittish coward. I went to take her out this morning, and she wouldn't come near me. How would Rosalyn get on her? She's afraid of horses." Izzy climbed up on Aristotle and turned him around towards where they heard her shouting. "She didn't mention that yesterday, the road is back that way I'll head up the road cutting through the trees to see if I can get in front of them before they get lost," Arthur said and scanned the trees. "You know, I wish I never met you," Izzy said sourly. "I thought we were getting along just fine last night, what the fuck happened?" He asked. "Now? You want to talk about it now?" Izzy asked and took off to head back for the road. "Yes actually! What the hell? I thought we had sorted things out?" Arthur asked abandoning his plan and following Izzy and Aristotle. The Duke was having a hard time keeping up with the stallion forcing Arthur to shout. "Becuase we slept together while you were drunk!? HA! Nothing has changed Arthur. You're still an outlaw, a degenerate and a thief!" Izzy shouted back as they dodged around the trees, Aristotle having to go around the obstacles the Duke could squeeze through. "Then why go along? Why lead me on like that? For revenge? To give me a taste of my own medicine?" Arthur demanded, catching up to her. Izzy went quiet as they broke out of the trees and onto the main road. She scanned the ground and noticed a sporadic set of prints charged through her not long ago. "Well!?" Arthur finally caught up as the Duke let out a wail having been pushed so hard to follow. "I'm thinking hold on!" Izzy yelled and checked which way the prints headed. Another scream was echoing ahead close by. "This way!" She called and took off. "Izzy!" Arthur yelled after her and looked to the Duke. "I'm sorry boy. Yaw!" He gave him a hard kick, and the Mule jolted off behind the Clydesdale. Unable to keep up with Izzy who had launched her stallion into a full gallop after Rosalyn and the Runaway Arabian.

[kafeuka]

[1/1] of random doodles, sweet treats and bubble gum hair

▬ title: of random doodles, sweet treats and bubble gum hair ▬ wordcount: 5585w ▬ pairing: jeon jungkook/park jimin ▬ summary: Jimin works at a cafe as a barista and Jungkook's the son of Jimin's boss. Together, they're just two boys in love.

☆ note: this was requested by yunieusagi and it is A SHITLOAD different than the real request, i have to apologize for that. i know it's a lot different than what you had it mind, but i just can't seem to write it??? idk what the fuck's wrong with me and i am really really really sorry for that. i can't believe this took me a lot of time and the end product is... quite... unsatisfactory... but however, enjoy! thank you for requesting and once again, i am so sorry for how it turned out. (๑>ɷ<๑) read on AO3 here. request here.

▬▬▬▬▬▬

Jungkook had a strong urge to yell at his father to piss off and stop intruding with his life (just like any other kid on their rebellious phase) but he really did not want to irritate the man who provide him with food and daily pocket money. Especially not when Jungkook was dying to get himself the latest video game so he could lock himself in his room and boast to his friends how he managed to finish the entire game in one seating.  

He entered the café through the backdoor, greeting Somin who was on a break and nodded his head to Yien.

The smell of coffee wafted in the air, making him scrunched his nose delightfully as he took the nearest seat at the counter. While initially he hated the idea of him staying until closing time, he figured he might as well do something productive while he was at it.

In Jungkook’s dictionary, however, productive meant filling his sketchbooks (and textbooks) with doodles and sketches of random things and people.

His father was away for a business meeting and he was given the job to lock the café. He could have lied and given the keys to one of the workers but his dearest father had specifically assigned him to the task. Mingyu once suggested that his father was probably having high hopes that Jungkook would have taken the family business and Jungkook thought it was a crazy idea, but it seemed to make more sense now although Jungkook made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with the café.

Breathing in the scent of coffee, he flipped open his sketchbook and took out a mechanical pencil from the pocket of his hoodie. His mind was as blank as the page of his book, and when the lead touched the paper, he began scrawling and doodling whatever he could. Sometimes he would draw people, at times he would draw animals. Half of his sketchbook was filled with drawings of people; they did not serve him as an inspiration, but rather something for him to work on.

He was not searching for perfection, but just a proof that he could bring an image of them to life.

Jungkook was drawing Minghao from memory – which he totally sucked at (and now Minghao looked like he got ran over by a lorry) – when he felt a presence in front of him. He looked up to find Jimin was smiling at him, small hands gently pushing the ceramic cup towards Jungkook.

Jimin was one of the new workers his father hired recently, the only one in the café he was unfamiliar with and he absolutely had no intention to, as Jimin had bright pink hair that grab everyone’s attention. He swore even trees would turn to look at him if he passed by one.

“Hey. Jungkook, right?” he asked, beaming as if he ate light bulbs for breakfast.

Too bright for Jungkook’s liking.

“Yeah,” he answered, drawing lines on Minghao’s hair.

“Somin told me to make this for you. She said it’s your favourite.”

Jungkook casted a glance at the ceramic cup which was filled with whipped cream drizzled with melted Nutella and topped with tiny marshmallows along with chocolate pocky sticks. Hot chocolate, just for Jungkook, just the way Jeon Jungkook likes it.

“You made it…?” he questioned, sounding sceptical.

The regular hot chocolates were different than Jeon Jungkook’s Hot Chocolate. Unlike the Regular Hot Chocolates for Basic People, Jungkook’s had extra whip cream, extra melted Nutella, extra tiny marshmallows and extra chocolate pocky sticks because he was that extra.

(And also because he was the boss’ son, and he liked all the workers who tried to kiss his ass and pamper him around.)

The bubble gum-haired man nodded, smiling once again.

“Don’t worry, it’s as good as Somin’s. She’s the one who taught me after all.”

“Okay…”

“Alright then, I’ll leave you to your work. You’re taking the university entrance exam this year, yeah? Good luck!” Jimin grinned once again, this time pumping his fist in the air before ruffling Jungkook’s hair and proceeded to work.

Jungkook muttered in annoyance under his breath, fixing his tousled hair.

Jimin was lying when he said it was as good as Somin’s because somehow, it tasted better. Not as sweet as Somin made and Somin’s always extra sweet when she made things.

It only dawned to him that the café was closing down when he heard Yien shouting a ‘bye!’ from the kitchen, exiting through the backdoor. Jungkook groaned, sitting up straight to crack the kink on his neck. He was slouching the whole time he was sketching and he was not proud of the final product. Not at all.

“I’m going home, Kook. Jimin’s still here so don’t lock him in, okay?” Somin sing-songed, patting Jungkook’s shoulder as she passed by. “Bye!” she chirped, waving a hand while the other pushed open the glass door.

“Bye.”

Just as he was about to pack his stuff, he turned to find Jimin was working on something behind the counter by the blender. He let out a sigh, wishing for the young barista to hurry up. From how concentrated Jimin was, Jungkook figured it would take him some time before he could close up the café.

The café was empty except for the two of them. All the tables were cleaned and chairs slotted perfectly on top of them. He was suddenly itching to sketch the empty place. The lights outside were still on, and the book shop across of them still had a few customers inside as they closed an hour later than them.

Jungkook sighed as he scratched his head, not knowing the right words to say to Jimin. He racked his brains to find polite version of ‘hurry the fuck up’ but instead, the only thing he could say was “Uhh…” making him sound like an idiot.

Finally, after struggling internally, he murmured, “Excuse me… but we’re closed now, just so you know.”

“Sorry,” Jimin giggled. He had his back turned to Jungkook, making it difficult for the boss’ son to see what he was up to. “I’m trying this new recipe and thought it’ll be great.”

‘What does that have to do with me?’

“And since Mr. Jeon isn’t here, I think you should try it.”

“Maybe some other—”

“And it’s done!”

Jimin turned to him with a huge grin, wiggling his eyebrows as he presented Jungkook a pink cupcake on a plate, frosted with swirly cream cheese and topped with rainbow sprinkles. Jungkook did not have the heart to tell Jimin that he did not trust any food that had the colour pink in it, specifically because it looked as if it was puked by unicorns and it was just plain weird.

“What do you think? Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Uh…”

“Cmon, give it a bite! You’ll like it.”

By then, Jimin had taken a seat in front of him, hands on his chin. Jungkook’s plan was to get the hell away from there as fast as his legs could. However, Jimin’s sparkling eyes caged him to stay seated and reluctantly, he reached out for the plate. Jimin batted his eyelashes excitedly, his big smile stretching to his pierced ears.

Jungkook gave him a fake smile, silently praying that he would still live after taking a bite. The cupcake looked wonderful, too wonderful to be true and sometimes, certain things that looked wonderful tend to have bad effects. Like that one game he downloaded last week for example. The previews looked neat, but turned out it was a ripped off of Candy Crush.

After a few moments of hesitating and cursing his father inside his head, he took a small bite and —

“How was it?”

— he took another bite again and again and again.

“Holy shit.” His eyes were wide open, gawking at the half-eaten cupcake.

“What what what?” Jimin bugged, eyes as wide as Jungkook’s as his feet tapped repeatedly on the floor. “Is it bad? Oh god, I knew I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no. This…” Jungkook swallowed. Oh god. “This is good. Jimin, this is the best thing I’ve had today. No, all week!”

A faint pinkness dusted his cheeks, tips of his ears burning red as he grinned again. “You’re flattering me.”

One bite later, Jungkook was only left with the paper cup and pink crumbs. He let out a sigh of content. “That was good.”

“You have something…” Jimin murmured, reaching forward to grab hold of his chin.

Startled, Jungkook stayed frozen in his seat, unable to move with Jimin’s eyes staring intensely at him. Jimin wiped the corner of his lip gently before backing away to his seat and licked the cheese cream clean from his finger.

Jungkook tried to suffocate a flush that was trying to creep on his cheekbones and snorted. “Could’ve just told me, could you.”

Jimin smiled again, this time it reached his eyes, making them curve like half-moons. “Wouldn’t wanna waste it.”

“Freak,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, looking away and pretended to be busy packing his stuff. “I gotta close down the café. Hurry up, will you? I have school tomorrow.”

  ♡

  “Are you saying that, that guy over there,” Khunpimook said, jerking his head towards Jimin’s direction, “Super cute uni guy, flirts with you?”

“Shh, not so loud!” Jungkook gritted his teeth, hitting Khunpimook on his arm.

Khunpimook winced in pain, rubbing on the sore spot whereas Mingyu only let out a chuckle at his friends’ antics. Seokmin came to their table after getting his orders and sighed dreamily, “Jimin is so cute.”

“What,” Jungkook deadpanned.

Mingyu snorted.

Khunpimook sardonically grinned. “Oi, bros don’t steal bros’ hoes.”

“He’s not my hoe. He’s not a hoe!”

“Nobody said anything about him being your hoe, you hoe,” Khunpimook shot back.

“Ooooh,” Seokmin wiggled his eyebrows, giving Jungkook the creepiest smile he had ever witnessed in his eighteen years of living. “Somebody has a crush~”

“That all make sense now! No wonder you’re eager to come here today!” Mingyu clapped his hands together. The others on the table gasped dramatically before smiling creepily at Jungkook.

A humiliated blush climbed up his neck and face, and as he opened his mouth to defend himself, Jimin came towards their table to serve Seokmin his latte.

“Latte for Handsome Guy?”

“That’s me,” Seokmin beamed proudly. “Thanks, Jimin.”

“More like handsome horse,” Mingyu snickered, earning a high five from Khunpimook.

Jungkook gagged internally at how cheesy Seokmin was being. And he gagged even more when Jimin smiled at him, as if he was enjoying all the attention Seokmin was giving him. Mingyu nudged on Jungkook lightly, just as he usually did whenever Jungkook had a crush on someone but it was unnecessary this time because Jungkook totally did not have a crush on Jimin.

No way.

He did not realise he was staring at Jimin until Jimin looked up to him and smiled. The same smile he had given to Seokmin. “Hi, Kookie.”

Khunpimook whipped his head to Jungkook in a speed of lighting, nose flaring and mouth wide open at the nickname Jimin was calling him. Jungkook had to pretend he did not see the ridiculous face Khunpimook was making, afraid that his dumb reaction would have implanted funny ideas inside Jimin’s head. Mingyu, on the other hand, snorted while Seokmin took a sip from his straw as he wiggled his eyebrows.

Jungkook faked a cough to hide his momentary loss of rationality, not looking at Jimin when he replied, “Hey.”

Jimin smiled again before walking back to the counter and as soon as he went away, the boys started to nudge Jungkook and teased him for his red face like the great friends they were.

“Somebody’s in love!” Khunpimook whispered, although Jungkook was certain the elephants in India could have heard him because Khunpimook was not given the ability to lower the volume of his annoying voice.

“Sorry, bro. I will give him up for you,” Seokmin said earnestly with a hand on his chest.

Mingyu chuckled rather loudly. In fact, it was so loud that the couple two seats away from them turned with concerned expressions on their faces.

“Give— give up? What are you talking about?” Jungkook exclaimed, flustered.

“Shut up, Kookie,” Mingyu interjected, imitating Jimin horribly by raising his voice an octave higher and prod his arm with his finger. “We all know what Seokmin’s talking about.”

“Yeah, now I just have to inform the others in the group…” Khunpimook muttered, fingers vigorously typing on the keypad of his phone.

“Oi, OI! DON’T YOU DARE—”

  ♡

  “You seem to be enjoying drawing a lot.”

“Hm?” Jungkook flushed, instantly covering the book with his arms. It was completely useless though, as Jimin had seen his horrid drawings of muscle bunny.

He was sitting in front of Jungkook with his chin resting on one hand, head tilted slightly as he smiled. “Are you applying for art when you’re entering Uni? You’re good at it. Although… I couldn’t really tell what sort of creature that was.”

“It’s Cooky,” he muttered, face scarlet with embarrassment.

The only people who had seen his drawings were his circle of friends and like the jerks they were, they made fun of it. Not that Jungkook really minded, it was not as if he was doing it seriously.

“Cooky…?”

He caught onto his confusion quickly and added, “He has a face of a rabbit and human body.”

Jungkook begged his mouth to stop betraying him. If his friends would not understand what Cooky was, how would Jimin? It was only the third time they ever talked, and they were not on that level of friendship yet (honestly, Jungkook did not want to be friends with Jimin) ((He wanted to be more, but Jungkook did not know that yet)), so why did he felt a little bit excited to talk about his child to Jimin?

Jungkook looked down on his art before closing the book.

A hint of smile glinted at Jimin’s lips, almost as if he found Jungkook to be endearing.

“And no, I’m not going to take art. Father would want me to take business. He knew I hated science.”

“Hm.” Jimin exhaled loudly through his nose, changing his other hand for him to rest his chin on. “Why would you want to take business? No offence to Mr. Jeon, but he’s not the one who’s going to study at the university, isn’t he?”

Jungkook twisted his lips to the sides a bit and slouched. “Father was right… art’s not going to bring me anywhere. Not here, anyway.”

Jimin smiled fondly and Jungkook hated the way he wore the smile on his face. It made his insides turn and his heart beat accelerating painfully as if he was running a marathon. He did not like how hard his heart pounded, how his mind blanked out when Jimin did that.

“You’re wrong. Your father’s wrong too.”

Jungkook was taken aback by his blunt statement, but made nothing to interrupt him.

“You love drawing and I can see that you’re good at it. If you really enjoy it, I think you should go for it. Perhaps you could take it as your minor subject,” Jimin suggested. “Besides, you can earn money by drawing too, you know. My friend’s a webcomic artist, I could ask her for help if you’d like.”

“Really?” He could not contain the excitement in his voice, only for the small light of hope he was holding to disappear completely in the darkness when it dawned to him that he had no time to be horsing around. “That’s nice of you, but I have exams to think about.”

“Yeah, and yet here you are, drawing half-man half-bunny and me.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise as he took a sharp intake of breath. After screaming internally, he asked with a shock, “W-what? L-look, no, it’s not—”

Jungkook’s face was as red as the apron he was wearing, trying his hardest to explain but he could only sputter indignantly which gave Jimin a spark of satisfaction as he smirked.

Seeing Jimin sardonically grin made him took a deep breath and berated himself to stop vomiting whatever words he could find inside his brain. Two deep breaths later, he managed to calm himself though his cheeks were still tainted red.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, okay. I drew everyone,” Jungkook explained, ears burned hot. His eyes skipped around the room; everywhere but not Jimin’s eyes. “I tend to draw anyone on my line of sight when I’m bored.”

“Does that mean I should get out of your line of sight then?”

Jungkook sighed exasperatedly, his cheeks turned a darker shade of red.

“I’m just kidding, Kookie. You’re so easily flustered,” Jimin giggled, getting up from his chair. “I was flattered for nothing then…” his voice drowned into a whisper, but Jungkook managed to hear it loud and clear.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he chirped. “Let’s go then. It’s almost eleven.”

  ♡

  The one-week Jungkook’s father had been gone, Jungkook learnt a lot of things.

Things like the courses Jimin took in Uni. (He was a math major while his minor was chemistry. Screams hell to Jungkook, to be honest.)

Things like how Jimin preferred strawberry over chocolate. (Jungkook found himself craving for the strawberry cupcake one night he was sketching comic panels about Cooky and Jimin happened to be making a batch on the next day.)

Things like how Jimin’s eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled. (It was the most beautiful thing Jungkook had ever seen.)

He did not mind closing up late if it meant he could spend a little bit more time with Jimin. Being five minutes alone with Jimin would already sufficed. His sketchbooks were filled with pink colours, all which belonged to Jimin’s hair. He was extra careful when drawing Jimin now, often turning onto the next page to pretend he was sketching Cooky whenever Jimin was nearby. Jimin always gave him The Smile as if he knew what Jungkook was hiding.

A part of him hated how easily Jimin made him open himself up. Jungkook was shy to begin with, although he appeared to be stoic during first meetings, but he found himself telling his ideas to Jimin and Jimin was always supporting and assuring Jungkook his ideas mattered. His heart always felt full when Jimin praised him.

Instead of laughing to his face about how ridiculous his ideas of Cooky was, Jimin only smiled endearingly and asked if he could see more sketches of Cooky.

And when Jungkook lied on his bed in the middle of the night, eyes wide awake as he stared at the ceiling and head filled with images of Jimin smiling like the pink-haired angel he was, this was the exact moment when Jungkook realised.

‘Shit, I’m in love.’

  ♡

   “You’re in WHAT?”

“Quiet!” Jungkook hissed, slapping the back of Yugyeom’s neck.

“Son of a bitch, it hurts!” Yugyeom whined, rubbing the wounded area before punching Jungkook on his arm.

“That’s what you get for being loud!”

Yugyeom rolled his eyes in annoyance and winced. “Motherfucker,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced at Jungkook before grinning and nudging his best friend playfully. “So, it was true, huh? What Khunpimook said in the group?”

“That was not true. Jimin was certainly not my—”

“You and Seokmin should fight to the death for Jimin’s honour.”

“Kim Yugyeom,” Jungkook sighed, stopping to place a hand on Yugyeom’s shoulder dramatically. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Yugyeom shrugged his hand off his shoulder. “What do you plan to do then? Just watch him creepily from afar like the King of Creep Land you are?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook whispered in defeat. “What do people do with their feelings? Puke their feelings out and flush them down the toilets?”

“If it was that easy, Mingyu would have been over Jeonghan now,” Yugyeom murmured.

“Unhelpful, Kim Yugyeom.”

“As if you have better ideas.”

“I think… I think I actually do.”

   Jungkook had never spent so much time and effort doing something before in his whole life. The pocket money he received from his father was spent on high quality pens now rather than the video game he was dreading to play.

Each stroke was perfectly thought of, and he was careful when choosing the colours.

It might seem stupid but he thought it will be worth it.

It had to be.

   ♡

  Jimin’s shift started a little later after six as his class ended around five. He greeted their regulars with the same smile and enthusiasm, and occasionally he glanced to the seat near to the counter to find it was empty. It had been days since Mr. Jeon arrived from his trip which meant it was unnecessary for Jungkook to be there as he was not in charge with closing down the café anymore.

Still, Jimin hoped Jungkook would stop by to say hi. Sometimes he would come by during lunch with his funny group of friends, but Jimin would be in Uni then. He gathered this information from Somin, who was more than glad to share anything Jungkook related to Jimin. He could not stand the teasing, but Somin might be right on this: he did like Jungkook.

(“He’s a kid, Somin,” Jimin protested with a pout.

“He’s eighteen, Jimin,” Somin countered back with an eyeroll. “Besides, he’ll be your junior in Uni next year.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yeah? Then give my boy some love. I think he likes you too.”

“Somin!”)

Jimin turned red at the memory of Somin insisting that Jungkook liked him too. At the start, Jimin just wanted to be on the boss’ son good side but their little talks got a little bit more interesting as time passed by and Jungkook always made him smile more than he was supposed to. He loved Jungkook’s creativity, how he wanted to make another world of half-men and half-bunnies and he absolutely, terribly, deeply in love with how concentrated and serious Jungkook was when it comes to drawing.

Jimin was brought back to reality when he heard a familiar yet small “hi”. He turned to find Jungkook was in front of him, hands fiddling with what seemed like a new sketchbook. He would be lying if he said his world did not brighten up even the slightest.

(Because it did. Jungkook always made his day better.)

“Hey,” he said, a little too excited. He cleared his throat in an attempt to tone down his excitement and repeated, lowering his voice down a little, “Hey.”

“Uh, well, I-I’ll have the usual,” he stammered.

“Alright,” Jimin chirped. “Long time no see, Kookie.”

“I know, haha, I’ve been so busy.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Can’t drop by to say hi?”

For some unexplainable reason, Jungkook choked on air and struggled to let the words out of his mouth. Jimin chuckled, shaking his head at how flustered Jungkook became. “You know I was joking, right. You’re busy, I get it. I’ll get you your drink in a sec.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook murmured.

Just as he grabbed the ceramic cup, Somin came to poke Jimin on his side and squealed. “So, what did he say? Did he say he love your eyes or your beautiful smile? I always knew Jungkook was a romantic! That boy may look like a stone, but he’s cheesier than cheese. If that makes any sense.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, huffing. “No. He just came by to draw again, I think.”

“Draw you, you meant?”

“It was only one time, Somin. He only drew me once, I’m pretty sure he draws you too.”

“He does, actually. He draws everyone. I think that’s just creepy,” Somin shrugged.

“Nah, it’s cute.”

“Love makes us blind,” Somin sighed dramatically.

“I’m not—”

Somin cut his sentence of with feign enthusiastic “Talk to you later!” as she skipped to the register to take a customer’s order.

When Jimin brought Jungkook’s hot chocolate to him, the boy appeared restless. His foot was tapping vehemently while he was staring intensely on the cover of the notebook. He almost jumped in surprise when Jimin placed his drink on his table, making Jimin almost felt sorry for startling him like that.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks, uh, Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

Jungkook glanced at the wall clock and murmured, “I… I wanna talk to you.”

Jimin was bewildered at Jungkook’s sudden change of behaviour. It was always Jimin who approached Jungkook first, who struggled to make a conversation because Jungkook always replied with a word or two. He was elated that it was Jungkook who wanted to interact this time.

“Sure,” Jimin conceded, glimpsing on his wrist watch. Ten minutes until closing time. “Ten minutes, alright? I gotta work.”

“Okay.”

    It was the longest ten minutes of Park Jimin’s life.

He was excited and scared at the same time of what to come. From his observation (aka stealing glimpses of Jungkook through the break room’s window), Jungkook was only drinking his hot chocolate rather than drawing. He seemed to be staring at the clock a lot too.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jimin muttered to himself, excitement surging through his veins when it was only one more minute until ten.

What was Jungkook going to say? He could not come up with a reason to assure himself that it was nothing serious but from Jungkook’s nervous expression, Jimin’s head can only conjure the worst-case scenarios possible.

What if Jungkook chose to drop out of college because of Jimin’s talk? He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. Now, he was going to get fired for causing the drop out of Mr. Jeon’s son and he would have to find another part time job.

Or what if it was even more serious than dropping out? Maybe Jungkook wanted to run away to become a cartoonist and wanted Jimin’s help to find somewhere to live.

Or what if Jungkook had a terminal illness —

His freaking out session was interrupted when his watch gave a little noise, signalling it was already ten. He glimpsed through the window to see Jungkook was still there.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself. “I’m going to ruin his and my life.”

“What the fuck are you muttering to yourself about?” Chanyeol interjected.

“Nothing,” Jimin answered, a little too quick that it raised suspicion and Chanyeol’s eyebrow. Chanyeol focused his gaze to where Jimin was staring and his lips quirked into a smile.

“Ooh, I see now. Go get it, lover boy.”

“Shut the fuck up, no one’s getting anything tonight.”

“Well, I do. I’m gonna get fucking la—”

“I don’t wanna know.”

   Anxious? Totally.

Scared? To the very.

While Jimin preferred for them to be talking alone, he felt relief that there were still customers around.

With shaky fingers, he pulled the chair and sat in front of Jungkook. “Hey.”

“H-hey.”

Jimin cleared his throat, shifting in his chair and hoped his nervousness was not evident when he said, “So… what do you wanna talk about?”

Jungkook sniffed, staring at his fingernails when he spoke.

“As you know, I’m terribly bad at expressing myself with words.”

Oh my god.

“So, I hope this would be enough,” Jungkook murmured, sliding the sketchbook to Jimin.

Jimin scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, slowly looking up to Jungkook only for to Jungkook look away when their eyes met. The cover of the sketchbook was dark blue, different from the usual black one Jungkook brought.

He was hesitant at first and when he turned to the first page, the worries dissipated into thin air.

Jimin’s eyes grew bigger, fingertips grazing lightly against the paper. On top of the page was written ‘First Night’ with a date written in smaller size underneath it. Jimin did not know what it was at first until his eyes travelled south to see four comic panels drawn by Jungkook.

The first panel was a drawing of the first hot chocolate Jimin made him. The text box next to it read:

Jimin snickered, not daring to look up to Jungkook. The next panel was a drawing of the strawberry cupcake Jimin made for him with a lot of tiny little red hearts surrounding it. Jimin could not help but cracked a smile at the adorable drawing.

He moved to the next panel which had a drawing of both of them sitting on the table. Jimin took his time admiring it, he knew Jungkook spent a lot of time trying to perfect it. He captured the colour of Jimin’s hair perfectly, although he exaggerated a little by drawing sparkles and flowers next to Jimin’s face.

Jimin could feel his cheeks heating up when he read it. He was not sure how he could look up to Jungkook now. In his defence, Jimin did not flirt, never did anyways, not to Jungkook. “That incident” Jungkook was referring to had to be that time Jimin wiped the frosting off Jungkook’s lip – he swore it was accidental, that it was just his reflex. He had no idea it had such an effect on Jungkook.

The last panel had a sketch of Jimin smiling. It made Jimin’s heart all warm and as Taylor Swift said it, all he felt “in his stomach was butterflies”.

His finger lingered on the drawing of him longer than it should and just as he was about to look up to Jungkook to say a few words, Jungkook panicked. “That’s not the end! Turn! Turn to the next page… please…” his voice drowned into a whisper and he coughed to mask his embarrassment.

Jimin could feel his heart on his throat and jaw dropped in amazement when he revealed the next page. The top panel was a drawing of Jungkook being flustered with two think bubbles drawn on top of his head. The first think bubble had a doodle of small building labelled ‘uni’ while the next think bubble had a doodle of pencil.

Jimin was smiling so much that it began to hurt but he did not care.

The bottom panel was much bigger than any of the panels Jungkook created. It was a drawing of Jimin’s backside view. This had to be Jimin’s favourite because of the radiant colours and little glitters Jungkook added to the pages; it was different than the others as this one had longer texts on the text box situated on the left corner of the panel.

“Wow… Kookie… I…” Jimin murmured, reading the words over and over again. He gulped and blinked to clear the mistiness from his eyes. To say he was touched would be understatement because the drawings were beautiful, the drawings of Jimin were wonderful and it dawned to him that this was how Jungkook saw him.

The next page had a doodle of Jungkook making a heart shape using his hands and the text below said:

“Holy shit,” Jimin muttered, bewilderment was evident on his face. He looked at Jungkook, whose face was scarlet in embarrassment.

Jungkook had to force himself to look at Jimin straight into his eyes, determined to make Jimin know how sincere he was. Clearing his throat, he spoke. “I like you, Jimin.”

“J-Jungkook—”

“It’s okay if you can’t return my feelings. Just as a reminder, I am Mr. Jeon’s son, which meant I can come here whenever I please until you like me back—”

Jimin erupted into fits of giggles, his crescent eyes appearing as his body vibrated.

“— I’m serious,” Jungkook exclaimed with a pout, face turning even redder than before.

At this, his giggles turned into laughter. Jungkook pouted, crossing his arms together.

“Are you done?” Jungkook asked scathingly as he watched Jimin wiping a tear away from his eye.

“You don’t- you don’t have to make me like you just because you like me.”

Jungkook frowned.

“The feeling’s mutual, dummy.”

Jungkook’s mouth dropped to the floor. His brain chose to repeat Jimin’s sentence over and over again and when he finally registered it, he clamped his huge mouth shut. “Oh.”

“Mmhm.”

“Oh. Uh. Really?”

“Really.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“I like like you. Are you sure you like like me too?” Jungkook asked slowly, emphasizing the like.

Jimin let out an exasperated sigh. “I do.”

“So…” Jungkook murmured, daring to look abashed as he scratched his nape. “Are we boyfriends now or…?”

Jimin giggled. “Sure, if that’s what you wanna call me.”

“You do know that means you’re mine right? Like, really mine. You can’t smile to Seokmin anymore, he always has the hots for you. No smiling at the customers either, that one regular was always eying you whenever she’s here. She’s so creepy, ugh—”

“As if you’re not staring at me either.”

“Oi.”

“I’m joking, chill!”

“What have I gotten myself into…” he sighed, staring helplessly at Jimin. Jimin only gave him a smile.

“Somin was right.”

“About what?”

“You’re cheesier than cheese.”

“What the fuck does that even mean…”

  ♡

  “Damn it, I really wanna see what’s inside that book!” Somin grumbled, tiptoeing to peek at Jungkook and Jimin through the glass on the break room.

“You’re such a weirdo, Somin. I should’ve called the police,” Chanyeol muttered.

“Is it okay for us to stare at them like this?” Yoonji fretted.

“Shut u— LOOK AWAY LOOK AWAY THEY CAUGHT US STARING.”