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hyunnie04 · 6 months

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muse

hwang hyunjin x reader, fluff | m.list

wc: 2.1k

synopsis: you can't decide what to give hyunjin for his birthday. a/n: very self indulgent theme/fic!! i like to draw myself so i thought i'd write about it for his birthday :> i apologize for being a bit late, irl obligations have been kicking my ass lately i'm sorry my hyune but i hope you guys like it! T-T

march was a month full of new beginnings. the year was only starting, january and february flying by like a breeze. remnants of winter still clung in the air and on the branches of the trees, pillowing them with the softness of white snow. it was also getting warmer, the chill no longer having its harsh bite and welcoming the inevitable pinks and greens of spring to come. and for you, new beginnings also meant taking on projects that you never thought you would be able to do.

hyunjin's birthday was only a few days away, just a little less than a week from now.

you've spent the entire afternoon in a panic after the realization, racking your brain for any ideas, thinking what you could possibly do for his present only to come up empty handed. buying a gift for him is certainly the easier option and there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, seeing as hyunjin was the type of person to appreciate whatever you give him, be it big or small, expensive or not. it was just the matter of wanting to surprise him with a gift that he most likely doesn’t already have.

you sigh and rest your head on the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling in thought. your eyes silently wander towards the painting that hung on the wall of your tiny apartment.

it was painted by hyunjin himself, a bouquet of your favorite flowers that he had given you for your own birthday. you always loved staring at it, earning a place in your favorite corner of the room.

you often stare at it, delving into the intricacies of each brush stroke, how the colors come together in harmony, the symbolism and sentimentality behind it all, and just how much love was poured into making it. hyunjin truly had a talent in capturing the likeness and essence of his subjects, even the simplest ones.

it was almost tradition, how he makes his closest family and friends paintings when it was their birthday or when there was a special occasion. he used his oil paints that you've become familiar with, the dozens of tubes and pots of color messily strewn all across his little studio back at his dorm.

it was a such thoughtful gesture, painting that was. taking his time out of his day to make something out of nothing, showing that he truly cared about the person. whenever you would visit him on his days off, he was always immersed in his craft. adept fingers swiping over charcoal, hands dipping into paint, a sight you always love seeing. you still remember the photo you took secretly of him in his studio, blissfully painting the night away.

you drum your hands on the arm rest, returning to brainstorm for ideas, still in deep thought. and then it all suddenly clicked.

you have always admired hyunjin and his work, so why not make him one in return?

he was always giving others gorgeous pieces of art, he certainly deserved to have his own. you were no picasso and certainly no hyunjin, but the act of gift giving has always been your favorite way of showing your love.

you had a basic grasp of how the medium was used, having watched hyunjin more than enough times. the techniques he had taught you during one of your art sessions together might come in handy as well. the one and only problem was that it left you with such little time to finish it. oh well, it was better to start late than never.

the next day, you picked up and gathered the necessary materials from the art supply shop you knew hyunjin frequented, recognizing the different kinds of paints, sizes and types of canvases, and brushes that he likes to use. you laid them out on your living room floor upon arriving home, finally starting on your little project.

the remainder of the days leading up to his birthday were spent awake during ungodly hours into the night, full of endless trials and errors, scrapped ideas and tons of caffeine. your living room became your makeshift studio, a tarp laid down the center to catch the unavoidable mess you surely would be making. learning a completely different and unfamiliar medium from what you were used to was difficult, but you were determined and your mind was set.

hyunjin was getting worried. it had been a few days since he last saw you, nonetheless heard anything. he understood that the two of you were quite busy people, not always finding the time to talk. but after five missed calls and maybe a dozen texts over the span of two days and no reply? he was ill at ease.

maybe he was overreacting, but he knew that you would've at least sent something to acknowledge his texts. he decided to ask his friends about your whereabouts, asking if anyone had contact with you, only earning head shakes in return.

"have you tried going to their place?" chan asks the ravenette, leaning his back on the dance practice room’s mirrored walls. hyunjin huffs, mouth forming into a slight pout, shaking his head no. practice was getting more challenging as the comeback and schedules started to pile up, his attendance becoming crucial.

"you can go later, we don't have anything scheduled for tomorrow." his hyung removes his cap, fluffing his curls underneath. hyunjin breathes out a sigh of relief, sending him a quick thank you.

the older of the two nods in understanding, reaching a hand out to hyunjin upon standing on his feet. back to practice they went.

it was the night before his birthday. getting stubborn paint off your brushes was the worst, is what you've learned these past several days of non-stop painting. even with the appropriate solvent, the paint can and is still clinging stubbornly onto its fibers; leaving you in the bathroom sink to scrub them tediously under soap and some warm water.

your hands start to ache with all the scrubbing, perhaps growing tired as well from the painting, but you'd like to think that the momentary pain was worth it. the composition of it was finally starting to come together. the work flow became easier once you figured out a concept and a theme you were happy with, inspiration and motivation coming in effortlessly now. it only needed some last few touches, you could only hope he would like it as much as you ended up liking it too.

after the brushes were cleaned to the best of your abilities, you pat them dry, leaving them on the counter for the time being.

"y/n? are you home?" your hands still at the sound of the front door opening. it was undeniably hyunjin's voice.

you and hyunjin lived apart despite dating for quite a long while. it was a mutual agreement that it would be more convenient for the two of you to live separately, his job requiring him to live closer to his place of work. you gave him a spare key so he could come by whenever he liked, but you didn’t expect him at all to drop by today.

you originally thought nothing of it for a moment, even brushing it off. but then the panic started to set in. he would see it right away, the canvas sitting right in front of the living room with no cloth to cover it. if you go out now, you might have a chance of covering it up before he finds out.

rushing out of the bathroom after wiping your hands dry, you've quickly noticed how it had suddenly gone quiet. you peak around the corner, seeing him standing idly in the middle of your living room, still unaware of your presence.

it was too late. you see the familiar ebony locks greet you upon arriving. his mouth practically hanging open as he stares at the easel facing him, winter coat slung heavily on his left arm.

"surprise?" you flush upon seeing his head whip towards your figure, leaned against the arch of the doorway. it was also a little embarrassing, not having the time to clean up.

"is...that me?" he says in quiet disbelief. you can’t quite decipher if his reaction was good or bad but you nod, coming up to stand beside him. he stares at the canvas once more, no doubt taking in the details of it. you start to feel a little anxious under his gaze, silently wondering if he likes it.

"it's not done yet, that's why it looks a little rough." you pause, hesitation lacing your voice. he would eventually find out, having already seen it. “it was supposed to be your surprise birthday present.” is what you ended up saying, speech meek and low, barely audible.

his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he turns his eyes back to you. a noticeable redness staining his cheeks.

“wow,” he breathes out, tilting his head closer to gaze on the finer details. hyunjin pauses for a moment before replying. “this is beautiful.” his voice light, feathery. his fingertips, slender and lithe, hovering above as if to trace it. relief washed over you hearing him say it, your nerves easing and cheeks warming in return.

“you think so?” you purse your lips before smiling gratefully at him, noting the masking tape still plastered on its borders and small parts of it still unblended but thank him earnestly nonetheless.

“i figured since you always make people art on their birthday," you took to move to the couch, the ache in your body starting to take its toll. "i thought i'd give back and make you one too."

hyunjin was, in short- moved. the portrait was of him sitting in his art studio, the sun falling and spilling on his form peaking through the windows. although his elegantly curved back was turned and it was impossible to see his face, it was unmistakable that it was him.

he was truly not expecting anything, he was just happy with the prospect of just being with you on his special day. the thoughtfulness, sentimentality, and affection that came with making gifts with him in mind, he didn’t think it was possible to love you more than he already did. his eyes are lost in yours, the contours of his handsome face highlighted by the dim lights of your living room.

“i know it's bad but-”

hyunjin doesn’t let you continue, pulling you into a sudden kiss, throwing his coat on the couch haphazardly. your immediate response was to wrap your hands around his neck, hands wandering up and towards his hair. you could feel his smile on his mouth as he kisses you, grabbing the nape of your neck to steady your form. the kiss is intoxicating, feeling the love upon his soft movements, his warmth contrasting the chill from outside.

when he parts from you, he’s giddy, and jumping around like the happiest ferret you’ve ever seen. the wisps of hair fall to his temple, framing his beautiful face. “thank you, darling.”

“even if it’s not done yet- i love it,” he presses another kiss to the side of your mouth. “so much.” you could only laugh in response, completely flustered and enamored by his reaction.

hyunjin pulls you towards his chest, both arms locking around your shoulders. you could smell the perfume he always likes to wear. “is this why you weren’t picking up your phone?”

“my phone?” you pat your pockets in search, only to find it missing. your mind must’ve slid away, not knowing at all where it was but you could search for it later. “oh, yeah. m’ sorry.” the apology is muffled by the fabric of his shirt. he hums, his worries fading. you thought he was going to let you go, but he retaliates by resuming to press more kisses into you.

“okay, okay! thank you. i’m glad you like it.” you untangle his long arms from your body in order to stand up while hyunjin watches you do so, curiosity in his eyes. you already miss the warmth he radiated.

“but, technically-” you start by grabbing the easel and placing it near the wall and out of his view, grabbing the stray tubes of paint off the floor and putting them away in their basket. “it’s still not your birthday.”

his plump lips form into a pout as he continues to watch you clean up. “and i’m not quite done with it yet so you have to wait.” placing a quick ‘boop’ to his nose, you head to the bathroom to freshen up for bed.

hyunjin checks his wrist watch as he follows you suit, his white teeth poking out. his arms catch you once again, wrapping you from behind. "it's 12."

amused by his antics, you let out another laugh before turning around in his hold to face him again, pressing a kiss on his soft lips.”in that case, i’ill finish it as soon as possible and-”

"happy birthday, my dearest."

please reblog or leave a comment if you like my work! it motivates me to keep writing ♡ all works are written by hyunnie04, please do not repost on other sites.

#hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids fluff

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redriotinggg · 4 months

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east blue polycule hitchhiking au that i’ll never write

luffy n zoro meet at a convenience store/gas station. and find out they’re both pretty much stranded with no destination in mind. they team up and use the last of their money to buy snacks and bottom-shelf booze.

enter nami, who steals their wallets while they’re making out by the slushie machine and is pissed to find out they’re broke as hell.

zolu catch her but are ultimately intrigued by the angry red-headed bandit. she ends up coming along with them because they can be her protection if needed and she knows she can outwit them if she needs to get away.

the trio finesse their way onto a bus, where luffy tells nami that her freckles look like stars, and zoro says he knows she’s strong/tough even though she may not look like it. (“don’t let her puny fingers fool you, this woman’s strong”). her heart skips a beat and she wonders when her standards got so low, but she’s happy, so she lets it slide.

the bus takes them to the beach, where they encounter usopp, who’s sitting alone, painting the scenery.

luffy sees him painting and runs over to ask about it, doing so and unabashedly stealing the food from his picnic basket. nami and zoro also come to steal. usopp’s pissed bc wtf??? that’s his food???? but then they compliment his painting and he’s like, “Well it’s bc I’m a descendent of Picasso-” and the trio turns into a quartet.

turns out usopp has a vehicle! (“why do you have a wholeass mini-van at 19 lmao” “shut up it was a hand-me down! and it’s convenient to carry my artwork around”) and has been using it to drive around and think. his one-man roadtrip turns into a three-man-one-woman roadtrip. he feels he should he mad and is a little mad but mostly he’s happy to have new friends. he just hopes they don’t kill him. (“btw guys if you try to murder me, my friend modified me into a killer cyborg so i wouldn’t do that if i were you”)

they come across some guys trying to rob a woman, so luffy n zoro beat em up and nami steals their wallets. they use that money to pay for their dinner at—you guessed it—the baratie.

just like in canon, zolusona terrorize sanji, who’s working tables after being punished by zeff. he’s pissed enough to be impulsive, so he lets the quartet steal him away from the restaurant and back into the van.

they head back to the beach with food and booze stolen from the restaurant, eating, drinking, and having more fun than any of them can remember. shared gazes, amused smiles, whispered secrets. they were all meant to meet. they can feel it.

luffy runs off to skinny dip in the ocean and zoro strips down nude to join him. the other three blush but strip down to the their undies, holding hands as they race to the water. they all laugh and swim and play. it’s fun and intimate, and none of them can ignore the connection they’ve made. can’t ignore the pull they feel for each other, as individuals and as a collective.

exhausted, they lay usopp’s multitude of blankets onto the sand and collapse on top of it, falling asleep curled around each other, only to be rudely awoken by the beach’s lifeguards, who give them the chance to pack up and leave before they call the cops.

“what now?” usopp asks when they pile back into his van. along with the others, his breath catches at the sight of luffy’s wide, dazzling grin. “off to the next adventure, of course!” and so they go. <3

#east blue polycule #east blue crew #merryshipping #zolu #zoluna #sanuso #i’m not tagging all the ships no no no. just rb this for me thanks #luffy #zoro #nami #sanji #usopp #one piece #op fic #red’s writing #red’s fic

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mariclerc · 6 months

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Dad and daughter moment | pg10

Summary: You decide to leave your boyfriend at home with your little girl and they had a little adventure.

Warning: none. Dedicated to @martaaairwin1994-blog

a/n: this is like a part 2 of "family cuddles" I hope u like it <3

It was a sunny afternoon and you decide to go buy some things for the house and some things that both you and little Lucille need.

“I can go with you bebé?” Pierre asks behind you.

You deny. “Obviously not, silly... Also, who is going to stay with Lulu?”

When you go out alone to shop or do anything you always take Lucille with you, the times you leave her with Pierre have not been so... encouraging, let's put it that way.

One time they almost burned down the kitchen making cookies, or one time he fell asleep and left Lulu on her own. In the same way, you had to give even a vote of confidence to your boyfriend, maybe he is a little bit clueless, but that doesn't mean he does it on purpose.

“It's okay honey, I'll take care of her, I promise!” He says and you give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Good boy!” you giggle and you head out of the room.

“Mama!” Lucille says hugging you.

“My little flower! You're going to stay with papa today, is that right?” you said while giving her a little kiss on her cheek. “He's going to take good care of you today!”

She nods happily and smiled. “Okay mama!”

***

“Well little princess, what do you want to do today with papa?” Pierre asks Lulu. “We can do what you like.”

“Paints papa!” She says between giggles.

“Oh, so you want to paint with papa? Let's get to it then!” He says as he carries her in his arms and goes to look for the materials for their colorful adventure in one of the closets.

After a while they had paints, brushes and canvases for their painting.

“Bright! Bright!” says Lucille jumping while pointing at the bright pink color.

Pierre chuckles. “Do you like bright pink? What do you plan to paint today mon petit artiste?” He says while smiling. (my little artist.)

She starts making strokes on the canvas. “Draw!” smiled.

After a while, what started with simple strokes on the canvas continued with clothes and hands stained with paint. But they didn't care because they were both laughing out loud and having lots of fun, it was a nice moment between father and daughter that they will both always remember.

They are not aware of your arrival at the house, you enter the hallway, laden with shopping bags. You kick the door shut with your foot and head towards the living room, a wry smile on your face.

In the living room, chaos reigns... Paint splatters adorn the coffee table, the floor, and most alarmingly, the pristine white wall, in the center of it all, sits Pierre his face a canvas of vibrant colors, a look of pure joy on it. Lucille sits next to him, similarly decorated and equally delighted.

You take a moment to take in the scene, a rollercoaster of emotions flitting across your face - exasperation, amusement, and a touch of awe.

Feigning exasperation. “Oh my god Pierre, what have you done?”

Pierre looks up, a sheepish grin spreading across his paint-streaked face. Lucille lets out a gleeful squeal.

“Surprise amour! We were... expressing ourselves artistically.” He says with his voice thick with paint.

You walk towards them, placing the bags down. “Looks more like a warzone to me.”

Lucille reaches out for you, her tiny hand covered in a rainbow of colors.

“Papa! Paint!” Lucille giggles.

“Woah there, little Picasso. Let's get you cleaned up before mommy has a meltdown, alright?” you scoop her up.

Pierre chuckles, wiping a hand (mostly clean) across his forehead.

“Meltdown? That's a bit dramatic, don't you think love?”

”But look around you, Mr. artsy pants. This is gonna take some scrubbing!” You say raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, it was her idea! I was just, uh, facilitating her artistic vision, you know, that helps with kids creativity.” He stands up.

“Ah yes, the renowned Gasly School of Modern Toddler Art. I should've known.” You say sarcastically.

Despite your teasing words, there's a warmth in your voice. You glance at Lucille, who's now giggling uncontrollably.

“Alright, alright. I admit, it does look like you two had a lot of fun.” You say with a soft voice.

“We always do when you're not around to boss us around.” He says as he puts his arm around you.

“Hey! I'm not a boss, I just keep things from descending into complete chaos you know?” you playfully swat his arm.

“Seems like you failed today, love.” he smiles.

“Oh, shut up you colourful boy.” you laugh a little.

You lean in and kiss Pierre, a hint of paint transferring to your lips. He pulls away, grinning.

“So, how about we clean up this little art project and order some takeout? Celebrate our success in the realm of abstract expressionism?” He says in a soft voice.

”Sounds like a plan. Just promise me finger paints are off-limits next time, alright?” You smile at his proposal.

“No promises, but I'll try my best chérie.” He hold his hands up in mock surrender.

Lucille lets out another gurgle, her eyes sparkling with mischief. You can't help but laugh, knowing that with these two around, a little chaos is always guaranteed in your life.

#formula one x reader #f1 x you #pierre gasly #pierre gasly fluff #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #dad!pierregasly #pierre x reader

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celestialprincesse · 5 months

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Hi Angie!

I was wondering - if you have the time and will - would you write some more poly stuff?

Could be whatever you want.

Thank you!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

One Xtra large helping of poly fluff coming right up 🤭🎀

Weekends are your favourite. When all the boys are home and you've got the time to just be. It's the little things, like how you go padding downstairs barefoot long after the sun has risen, stomach rumbling impatiently at the smell of freshly fried bacon and hot coffee, the kind from the expensive machine Kyle had bought you this Christmas just gone.

You can't help but grin when you feel Johnny's hands looping loosely around your waist, your head rolling back onto his shoulder with a contented sigh as he noses your jawline affectionately, murmuring about how lovely you look in the morning, how pleased he is to have a weekend with no plans. You, however? Oh, you've got plans. Having your four, massive military boyfriends home can only mean one thing.

Furniture shopping.

More specifically? Antique furniture shopping. Trawling the local thrift stores for anything that piques your interest, and might find its perfect place in your home. Seeing as the boys are back with the truck, and the the weather is just on the cooler side of summer, today is the perfect opportunity. Simon, John, Kyle and Johnny are also perfectly happy to indulge you in all of your roosting ways, just as house proud as the day they'd all met you.

Fortunately, it takes all of fifteen minutes to find the boys and be on your way, the perks of military men, you suppose. Punctuality is engrained into their very person. It's unnerving sometimes.

They're happy if you're happy, even if Kyle does have to hold in his sneezes until Johnny can subtly slip him an antihistamine, all whilst you're fawning over old paintings with an unenthused Simon (he's trying) and a pensive John, who thinks he's getting old and needs to learn how to enjoy a melange of meaningless paint splotches on a canvas. You just like the colours.

Admittedly, you've also been watching all sorts of antiques programmes on the TV during their last deployment, hyper fixating on the promise of buying some cool, vintage piece for the house only to find out that it just so happens to be a lost furniture piece from Versailles, or maybe a Picasso drawing gone missing from a collection. The dopamine is also nice. Almost as nice as spending time bobbing around with the boys, laughing at the way John reaches for his wallet the moment you so much as look at something for too ling, or how Kyle keeps staring at your ass, getting distracted and almost knocking stuff over.

It's not so much the shopping, you realise, upon going home empty handed, it's the getting out with your favourite people, and getting to spend the with not a worry in the world (except for Kyle's obvious dust allergy)

Short! But! I'm back on my grind! Now that visitors are gone (hallelujah)

I've been literally scrolling endlessly through Josh & Matt's tiktok as some weird form of self soothing and it's made me miss thrifting so pls enjoy this until I can get my little secondhand purchase fix 🎀

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icycoldninja · 6 months

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hello! may i request for a reaction/interaction for the sparda boys about having an s/o who is an artist? (for drawing reasearch and ideas teehee)

Ohoho coming right up!

Sparda boys x Artist!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-The day he discovered you were an artist was the day you gained a permanent, constantly willing model.

-Always wants you to draw him, no matter what time of day it is. He'll wake you up at 3:00 A.M. because he just put together the most badass outfit he's ever seen and wants you to sketch him in it. (Except it's the same outfit he always wears)

-The drawings you make of him hold more worth than museum art pieces in his eyes.

-Buys you sketchbooks, art supplies and whatever you need whenever he can afford them.

-To him, you are more talented than da Vinci. Not that he knows who da Vinci is, because according to him, you're the best artist in the world.

-Follows you on all your social medias and likes your every post.

■ Vergil ■

-Hangs your art up everywhere like a proud dad; the fridge can now barely be opened because there are so many drawings attached to it.

-He will (with your help) download any digital drawings and use them for a variety of purposes, such as his home screen on his phone, lock screen, etc.

-If you just gift him drawings of himself he will tear up with sentimantality and hastily excuse himself so he can go cry in private.

-Also buys you art supplies, paints, and whatnot whenever you need them.

-If he wasn't such a boomer, he'd follow your social medias too but unfortunately, he is tech-inept, so he can't.

-Loves watching you draw just as much as he enjoys looking at your drawings.

□ Nero □

-Normally, Nero isn't all that into art and really doesn’t care for it, but when you came along, all that changed.

-Now he's suddenly super interested in it and wants to watch you draw or have you teach him to draw whenever he's free.

-He's no Picasso, but he can at least manage a couple of funny looking stick men.

-Really into painting now, mostly because he can use the various attachments on his arm to make different patters on the paper. Yes, this is a complicated way to say he finger paints with his prosthetic arm.

-Any sketches you do of him, any at all, will go into his wallet unless you want to keep them for yourself.

-His wallet is now packed to the brim with folded up pictures of him that you drew, so whenever he's away on a long mission, he can stare at them and remember his badass S/O drew that for him.

● V ●

-You're an artist? V's perfect for you--he's a writer.

-He will write poems about whatever you draw; they're usually short limericks describing the image, praising your talent, or both.

-Looking at your latest masterpieces is the highlight of his day because they inspire him to write more poems.

-Calls you his "Magnificent artist".

-Shows your art to his familiars, who all agree (except Griffon, of course, he always has something to yap about) that it's quite nice.

-Is pleasantly surprised whenever he finds sketches/paintings/drawings of himself and is honored to be your muse.

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f4iry-bell · 1 month

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BABYGIRLING GRAYSON

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

type: blurb, fluff.

summary: well the title says it all!

tagging: @unnoodles @nqds @alwaysthefangirl @clarissaweasley-10 @benny1989fredd @imaseabear @never-enough-novels @elysianwayy77 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou

warning: cliff side, lowercase, not edited :(

a/n: im gonna bark.

masterlist

grayson always takes you to fancy dates and spend a lot of money on you. today you felt like taking him on a picnic date. you also told him to shut the hell up and do nothing, he insisted on buying food but you managed to keep him away from this. you bought some craft materials for the two of you and some food, packed a pretty basket and drove him to a nice cliffside. you spread your pink floral picnic blanket and started arranging the craft materials neatly and well organised.

“okay, so we'll be doing something. we can draw, paint, colour. i even have air dry clay!! choose your pick.” you told him as you sat down on one corner.

“i think im going to draw.” he said and looked took a pouch that had the necessary materials.

“im going to colour.”

“lazy.”

“NO!!! it has been months since i coloured. after coloring.” you defended yourself and took out three print outs.

grayson looked at one and frowned. “is...that me?”

“yes, but as a sanrio character.” you told him with a smile. “your fans are really talented! i requested this one myself anonymously!!”

after an hour you both were done, though you finsihed yours faster. grayson drew a potrait of you colouring, he captured everything.

“woah there picasso.”

“do you like it?”

“LOVE IT!!” you added. “now see mine.”

“im wearing a bow in it, the printout didn't have a bow before.” he pointed.

“i know, i drew it, silly.”

“i look ridiculous.”

“you look babygirl.” you took out a roll of pink satin ribbon.

“um, why are you taking that out?” he asked.

“art sometimes needs to come real!” you said and literally jumped on him, he didn't fight as he let you try and tie the satin ribbon on his hair which you failed.

“im sad.” you pouted.

“my hair isnt that long to make it stay, princess.” he chuckled as he cupped your face.

“i have an idea, a better one.” you said and stood up going away from the blanket.

“oh, no. come back! what are you doing?” he asked. “be careful around the edge.”

“you stay right there!” you yelled as you picked up some flowers that grew around there.

you brought a lot of flowers and placed them on his hair.

“YOU LOOK SO BABYGIRL” you wanted to scream.

“when i asked you to be my girlfriend, i did not sign up for this.”

“you love me, and your blush only makes it more babygirl.”

“stop calling me that, im a grown man in a suit with ridiculous flowers.”

“and that's what makes you babygirl.” you grinned and placed a kiss on his cheeks.

#the inheritance games #grayson hawthorne #grayson x reader #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne x you #bookish #the brothers hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #the hawthorne brothers #xander hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #avery grambs #nash hawthorne #the grandest game

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bebe-writes-stuff · 8 months

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Omgg hii i love love love ur page and ive been following for a while now yea😻 and i wanted to request a fic about Ran Haitani’s gf cooking something for him and he is NOT leaving her aline and it kind of a turns into a chaotic yet sweet moment🤭🤭 Its absolutely okay if u dont want to and u can just ignore this its okay i just wanted to ask anyways!!

Of course babes, I love you guys sm

Ran x reader, Chaotic but sweet love

It was always,

Hey, I got this for you.

I Thought you'd look cute in this so I got it.

Those reminded me of you so I ordered them.

It was his love language, you found yourself surrounded with gifts from Ran. He didn't think twice before buying you something that made you smile. It was always worth it, the way you smiled and your eyes lit up at the sight. The way you would giggle before saying,

"Gosh, Ran, where am I gonna put all of this? I barely have space in my room. You're so adorable baby, thank you."

The way he would melt like an ice cream on a summer day, at your words. After that he'd buy you more gifts just so you can baby him and cuddle him. It was his favorite thing in the world. He loved sleeping but you know what's even better. Sleeping beside you and holding you. But, you needed to surprise him with something also. It couldn't be just him giving and never receiving any special event in return, right?

So, your first idea is to make him breakfast in bed! After sneaking out of bed, making sure to be extra quiet so as not to wake him up. You quietly sprinted to the kitchen to start on your surprise which unfortunately, didn't last long. Womp Womp

You were in the kitchen for quite some time, before Ran started to notice his empty bed and lost warmth. He moves his hand around searching for you, he huffs and puffs when he realizes he woke up in a bed without you. Throwing the covers to the side and setting up, he stretched and then it hit him, he smelled something...was something burning?

OHMYGOSH, WHAT HAPPEN I ONLY LEFT TO USE THE BATHROOM!!

Before you could do something, anything, you heard fast footsteps coming near you. You feel disappointed and downhearted when you realize what had started out as a cute surprise to repay your awesome boyfriend turned into an almost death by fire case on the news this morning.

"Y/n, what the hell is going on?" He sighed, still drowsy, as he put the fire out. He looked groggy and tired. You didn't mean to wake him up in such a bad way,

Despite your attempt to seem fine, the subtle quiver, an involuntary tremor that betrayed your underlying emotions. "Ran, I'm sorry. I just can't do anything right, can I."

That seemed to snap him out of it. With a compassionate gaze, he approached you, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, protective embrace. The world faded away as the strength of the hug conveyed both solace and understanding. In that simple gesture, words became unnecessary, and the shared warmth offered a comforting haven.

"I just wanted to make you breakfast in bed, I didn't mean to wake up in such a horrible way, I'm really sorry." You muttered as you managed to say between short breaths and sniffles.

"You're so sweet." He leaned in, your lips meeting for a swift dance, It was a quick, stolen moment filled with the electricity of shared desire.

"Do you want me to help you? Can we make it together?" He suggested, cupping your face gently and squishing your cheeks.

You nodded, rubbing your eyes and sniffling one last time.

Some time later, you've come to regret ✨cooking with ran ✨ because what you didn't realize was Ran couldn't take anything seriously.

"Y/n, catch!" Ran who was Grinning mischievously, and his eyes sparkled with cheekiness as he threw you the eggs.

'Wait, NO!" You couldn't catch them in time earning a beautiful Picasso painting on your wall made of...eggs. your eye twitches involuntarily, a tiny but visible sign of growing irritation.

"Ran, get the fuck out." your brows furrowed, and a subtle scowl etched across your face as irritation took hold and you grabbed a wooden spoon.

"I'll give you until the count of three." You threatened,

He leaned against the fridge, a playful smirk on his face,

"No ♡"

You chucked the wooden spoon, earning a laughter from ran, that echoed, injecting a playful vibe into the atmosphere, turning even the mundane into a delightful game. Your awful aim didn't grant you any luck either, as the wooden spoon hit the milk carton causing it to splatter all over the floor.

"Fucking hell, that was too good, you should've seen your face...also you're totally gonna clean this up." He deadpanned when his laughter died out.

"Kiss my ass." You instantly replied.

"Heh, sure thing baby. You do have a nice backside." He winked, receiving your raised hand with a swift and deliberate motion, of flicking him off.

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mrmousetolliver · 2 months

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Constant Lambert (1927) painted by Christopher Wood. Christopher "Kit" Wood was born in 1901 in Liverpool, England. At the age of 19, he was invited by the prestigious French art collector Alphonse Kann to move to Paris and study painting at the Academie Julian. With Kanns introductions, Wood met Chilean diplomat Antonio de Gandarillas. Although Gandarillas was married and fourteen years Woods senior, they soon became a couple and began living together. As well as providing financial support, Gandarillas introduced Wood to Picasso, Georges Auric and Jean Cocteau, and to the use of opium. His relationship with Gandarillas lasted through out his life in spite of the fact that Wood had several romantic relations with both men and woman, and at one point was engaged to heiress Meraud Guinness.

Woods artistic style was post-impressionism and primitivism. He created several set designs for the Ballet Russes, although they weren't used. Throughout the 1920's he split his time between France and England. and had several successful shows. In April 1929, Wood held a solo exhibition at Tooth's Gallery in Bond Street, London where he met Lucy Wertheim, a British gallery owner, at a private view. She purchased a picture and soon became one of his biggest supporters, buying up his work. In May 1930, Wood held an unsuccessful showing and started showing signs of mental illness, including threatening his own life. On August 21, 1930 Wood in preparation for a new show at Wertheims Gallery, traveled to Salisbury to have lunch with his mother and sister and to show them his new paintings. After the meeting, Christopher Wood threw himself under a train and died. While there is no specific reason why he killed himself at that time, speculation is that his opium addiction was causing paranoid delusions and he suspected he was being followed. In deference to his mothers wishes, his death was reported as an accident.

#classic #style #gay #art #gay artist #gay art #gay history #lgbt art #lgbt history #lgbt artist #christopher wood

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theoceansluvr · 3 months

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Dick Grayson x Artist! Reader

warnings; none !

author's notes; first post ever i fear😞 inspired by my one and only pookie <9 pure yap but im proud of it nonetheless ! lowercase is intentional !

since he used to be an acrobat he's crazy flexible so he's your PRIME candidate for when you need references !

he will sit still for hours just so you can paint/sketch

he refers to himself as your muse

and ONLY your muse

like completely forgets his whole Nightwing thing and only calls himself that

"Oh their new painting ? Yeah I was the muse for that.. Not to brag or anything !"

(he's bragging)

he actually brags about you all the time to the point it might annoy everybody around you (aka Tim and Dami, Bruce could really care less.)

if you're up late and working on something either so college, commission, or just for fun he likes to sit and watch you

the sound of the pencil on the paper and the way you look under the warm lamp light never fails to charm him

LET'S YOU PAINT/DRAW ON HIM !!!

if he's stressed and can't think about anything but a failed patrol, he hands you a sharpie and let's you go to town

usually falls asleep and wakes up to (what he thinks) is a Picasso level drawing on his bicep

you know those painting dates people do and one of the partners isn't the best artist and the other is phenomenal ?

that's you two !

he took you to the park one day to do that trend because he thought it would be cute

(plus he wanted to try and prove he could paint better than you.. for whatever reason-)

only for him to be outshined by you

he laughs it off and kisses you before admiring the artwork

everything you make is hung up on the walls, the fridge, and even the Batcave much to Bruce's dismay

he says it's because "good work deserves to be shown" even if it's just the two of you(and his father)

if you have galleries you best believe he's going to every. single. one.

and he's talking people into buying your pieces as if he doesn't know you

"You know, this is truly a remarkable piece.. I'm sure it'd luck lovely in your house."

whole time he's talking about a painting that was, unsurprisingly, inspired by him.

literally NEVER stops talking about you proud of you he is, it's incredible

art slump ? he's making you tea and your favorite snack

losing sleep over commissions ? dragging you to bed with the ploy of "not being able to sleep without you"

all in all my favorite lil 5'10 guy and i'd give up everything for him💙

#richard grayson x reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dc #dick grayson #poems from the sea

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coneyislandbabey · 1 year

Text

she's a rainbow. -> w.rojas

WARNINGS: profanities, pining lol

SYNOPSIS: Warren's got it bad for Camila's childhood best friend. word count: 2,008

NOTES: Written for this request!

You dragged your paintbrush across the canvas, a trail of plum purple in its wake. You were sitting on your deck, the sky a cloudless blue, the morning filled with birdsong and a soft breeze only making itself known through the occasional soft rustle of your hair and clothes. June was a ripe peach in your hands, pink, perfect, fleeting.

“What are you painting today, Picasso?” Warren’s clear voice rang out through the morning air. He was standing on the deck of his own house next door, forearms resting lazily on the railing as he gazed over at you. You glanced up from your work to send a smile his way.

“Shocked to see you up this early,” you called by way of greeting. “If you wanna see what I’m painting, come over and look.”

At your words, he disappeared back into the house, and you knew that in a minute he would be opening the sliding door and stepping out onto your own deck. You did this almost every day, ever since you followed your childhood best friend Camila across the country, moving into the house next to hers and her boyfriend’s band in Laurel Canyon.

In the months since you arrived, you’ve gotten incredibly close with all of Camila’s housemates. Whenever you weren’t doing a shift for your part-time job at a coffee shop or at your own place working on your art, you were at their house. You and Camila spent a lot of time one-on-one, getting together for wine or lunch or anything else while the band was working, but the band loved you so much that you found yourself hanging out with them almost even more than with her, especially since Warren started inviting you to their recording sessions down at the studio.

You had become so absorbed in your painting that you didn’t realize Warren had arrived on your deck until his hands were on the back of your chair and he was leaning over your shoulder to get a good look at the canvas.

“Oh, it’s our street at night,” he observed, taking in the deep purples and night blues that the familiar street was rendered in. “It’s beautiful. Looks like a place I’d wanna be.”

You rolled your eyes. “It already is a place you wanna be, Warren. You live there.”

Though you couldn’t see it, Warren grinned, swooping down to press a kiss to your cheek. “I only wanna be here so much ‘cause it’s where you are, mama.”

You scoffed, sending a rueful smile his way as he sat in the chair next to yours. He pulled a joint out of his pocket, lit it, and offered it. You took it between your lips and inhaled before sending it back his way. For a while, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, Warren merely observing you as you painted. He had told you once, the two of you high as kites while hanging out late one night, that he loved to watch you paint. He said watching you paint was as intricate a thing as watching a musician play their instrument, that it was captivating. You had hung onto his words even through the drug-induced haze, had thought about them for weeks on end.

“You’ll come over for dinner tonight, right?” he asked after a while. “Camila saw me leaving to come over here and made me promise to get you to come.”

“Man, I don’t even buy groceries over here anymore ‘cause I’m always just eating at yours,” you laughed. “Course I’ll come. Can’t beat the company.”

“Good,” he said, standing. “I gotta get back to the house; shockingly, I actually have responsibilities to see to today.”

“Oh, well color me impressed,” you responded, happily accepting his parting kiss on the cheek.

Eddie watched, amused, as Warren got up for the dozenth time in the last half hour, drifting back over to the windows and peering outside, toward your house. Dinner was set for twenty minutes from now, and you were expected to come. Though some, clearly, were expecting you more than others.

“Man, can you chill the fuck out? You’re making me antsy,” he said, after watching Warren pace the room for a few minutes while still pretending to look casual.

“I am chill! I’m totally chill!” Warren said, having the gall to look incensed at his best friend’s words.

Eddie leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Do you think you’ll finally just tell her how you feel so you can stop being such a fuckin’ freak every time she comes over?”

Warren sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. “Don’t you think if she was into me she would’ve said something by now? I’m not going to embarrass myself or ruin our friendship. I know when I’m gonna strike out.”

“Clearly you don’t, idiot,” Eddie retorted. “First of all, she could say the same about you because you haven’t made any moves either, man. All of what you just said means nothing.”

“She’s definitely into you, anyway,” Graham said, joining the conversation as he walked into the room.

“What makes you think that?” Warren asked, ignoring Eddie’s comments, which were clearly too logical for him.

“Why else do you think she hangs around here so often? I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re all friends, but everyone knows it's different with you two. Most of the time she’s here for you,” Graham explained.

“Yeah, and don’t forget that she comes to our recording sessions because you asked her to,” Eddie chimed in, a smirk growing on his face as Warren’s cheeks grew redder. He didn’t have the chance to answer before someone knocked on the door.

“You wanna go get that?” Eddie asked, raising a teasing eyebrow.

Warren made his way to the door, shaking his head as if to physically rid himself of the conversation that had just happened. He had never felt the way he did about you before, not about any woman he had ever met. When you first met, things had been flirty between you, at least more flirty than you were with any of the other guys, and he almost plucked up the courage to ask you out in the first week of knowing you. But then the two of you got high together one night, and you got him talking about his hopes for the band, and you told him about all of your ambitions when it comes to your art, and he could feel himself falling in love a little. He had real, undeniable feelings for you, and that made it all too scary. So, he’d convinced himself that there was no way you could have feelings for him too, because thinking he had no chance with you was easier, more comfortable, than pining after you.

He put a valiant effort into feigning nonchalance when he opened the door, all of these thoughts still a monsoon in his mind. You stood on the other side of the threshold, a bottle of wine in one hand and a covered plate of chocolate chip cookies in the other.

“I baked ‘em!” you said proudly, holding up the plate and smiling widely at him. For a minute, his mind blanked, and all he could think about was the way your eyes sparkled in the porchlight, the way your dress fell perfectly on your figure. You knocked him dead every time he set eyes on you. Snapping out of it, he unburdened you of the bottle of wine and the cookies, widening his arms so he could take you in a hug.

“Are they cookies? Or are they cookies,” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and smacking him playfully on the shoulder. “They’re just cookies, Rojas. This is a family dinner, not a late night recording session.”

“Family dinner?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged as you walked through the door. “This is a family, isn’t it?”

“Guess it is,” he responded, because you were right and because he would agree with any statement you made ever for the rest of your lives.

“Honey, you made it!” Camila shouted, coming over to hug you as you walked in. You greeted her warmly, and then did the same for everyone else standing around the kitchen helping to make dinner (or, really, getting in the way of Camila and Graham, who were the only ones actually cooking).

Dinner was, as usual, the highlight of Warren’s day. After listening to Billy get grouchy and boss everyone around in the studio all day, getting to come home and actually unwind was a godsend. Plus, he got to see you, warm and pliant with wine and good food and good company. You were so effortlessly funny and charismatic, easily commanding the attention of the room with your stories and jokes without ever trying to. He could listen to you talk for the rest of his life. He could stand to do a lot of things with you for the rest of his life.

After dinner, the group of you took the cookies you made and moved to the living room, settling in to watch a movie. You snuggled with Warren under a blanket on the loveseat, Eddie, Karen, Graham, and Camila squished into the old couch. Billy had retired to his room prior to the movie, citing that he needed to get some writing done. Graham had already fallen asleep, and Karen and Eddie were providing a running commentary of how bad the movie was.

Warren nudged your side, and when you turned to look at him, he took a joint out of his pocket and tilted his head toward the door to the deck, a silent question. You nodded and he stood, you following close behind after wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. You didn’t see the exaggerated wink Eddie shot Warren’s way as you left the room, or the way Warren mimed slitting his throat in response, sending Eddie into a fit of laughter that he desperately tried to stifle.

Outside, you settled into your usual chair, Warren pulling one up close to you before sitting down. You turned your body towards him, leaning your head on the back of the chair and gazing at him affectionately as he lit up the joint, and, as usual, offered it to you before himself. You took a hit before handing it back to him, settling back into your position of observing him as the joint went to his own mouth.

“What are you lookin’ at, mama?” he asked, a mixture of curiosity and amusement gracing his face.

You hummed, shrugging your shoulders noncommittally. “You should let me paint you sometime.”

“Paint me? Why?” he asked, brows raising.

“Because you’re pretty,” you said bluntly, Warren’s heart stumbled over itself. “You’d make a good muse.”

Warren laughed, trying to steady himself. “You think I’m pretty?”

You leaned toward him a bit more, a small, private smile on your face. “Of course I do, Warren. I’m sure dozens of other people have told you as much.”

“Not like this, no,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “And it wouldn’t mean anything coming from any but you, anyway.” Your brows raised, mouth dropping into a small, understanding ‘o’. Then you were smiling at him again, the corners of your eyes crinkling in a way that made his heart overflow.

“Are you finally going to kiss me now?” you asked, and Warren choked, smoke emitting from his nose and mouth.

“I- uh, yeah. Yeah, I am,” he stammered, shaking his head as vigorously as he could in his buzzed state.

“Good,” you said, leaning over the arm of your chair. Warren crossed the rest of the distance himself, connecting his lips to yours. You led the kiss, firm and gentle, your thumb stroking reassuringly against his cheek.

“So, about me painting you,” you said breathlessly once you pulled away.

“Anything for you.I’d be honored to be your muse,” he grinned.

tag list: @xleiaorgana @neptunes-curse

#daisy jones and the six #djat #warren rojas #warren rojas x reader #warren rhodes #warren rhodes x reader #eddie roundtree #eddie loving #graham dunne #camila dunne #julia dunne #karen sirko #karen karen #billy dunne

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ophelian-darling · 1 year

Note

Prompta 94 + 38 with noriyaki kakyoin. He's ready captured you and confessed his love to you and you're still trying to get used to your new home.

"I'm the only one who can understand you"

"You're adorable when you're asleep"

TW: Isolation, Obsession, Implied Stalking and kidnapping, delusional thoughts.

Word Count : 1.3k words.

enjoy ♡

"Smile for me!"

It's been weeks- at least in your perception. There are certain thoughts of obscurity that gnaw your brain, the effect of Noriaki present even in the scatters of your mind's rambles: Time has no existence except that of the imagination, the more our thinking daubs with life colors, the more we get old. The clouds behind the window marched in a Foggy lane; so dreadful with a beauty of its own.

"Everything is beautiful! our eyes just can't see the bewitching charm of it. it's the human eye that is ugly"

Noriaki would chatter for hours about everything and nothing. Clutching a brush and standing in front of a canvas, aimlessly coloring a homely sketch in a passion of a Picasso yet in the skill of the Austrian painter, an opinion that God forbid if you shared to him no matter how he insisted you to. Better leave him to swim in a warm sea of his own illusions if it meant that you're out of any disturbing antics he would present.

A first look at him would tell no secret about the madness veining through him; it's just an introverted classmate with an amateur hobby of painting, someone who isn't recognizable in any way or form. Anyone who sees him scribbling on a paper would think that he's just recording notes for a class, while he is lining a crimson billet-doux. They would think he was fulfilling his class cleaning duty in the evening, while he was wiping the violent evidence of his crimes. They thought he was a sweet boyfriend to walk his lover home, while he was-

"What are you thinking of, Dollface?"

"Uh-" Instinctively changing your position as you uttered a faux-casual 'nothing', you realized that you were staring through a skylight window for too long, perhaps forgetting (or ignoring?) him as he ordered you to smile. quickly, you put your lips curves to a height that felt awkward, a smile of a rushed family photo. He hummed in response, seemingly buying it so as to complete his 'Masterpiece' (using his words).

"I'm almost done, I can't wait for you to see it"

"I'm so excited to see it!" you lied, the family photo smile still plastered on your face.

"This is the best thing I've ever drawn so far" He smiled, cheerfully eyeing your resting figure on the chair "I wanted to paint you in full coloring for so long, and now I'm glad I got the chance to finally do it"

Just at your left, a wall stood still, dozens of haste sketches hanging on, some semi-completed, others either barely spilled any effort or neglected at their prime, jittery lineaments in dark pencil. You could tell that Noriaki was frustrated with them: they never matched the tableau vivant he carved in his mind's eye; yet they somehow ended up being useful enough to have the honor to be remembered and kept.

Leisurely, the corners of the house engraved themselves in your memory corridors, so was the daily script of life here: days mimed each other, Noriaki's smiles split into thousands of colors, yet his eyes were ever the same as fake greens; none of them held any normalcy or spontaneity, just faux calmness. In the morning, you both wake up- He's the first to rise from bed, rattling you awake before having breakfast together. His tongue flows when the sun shines, he talks and speaks and laughs and chatters nineteen to the dozen, his voice very clear in your anamnesis yet his words hazy. as your teacup hangs between your thumb and index finger, you focus on the movement of his lips and nod at whatever letter he throws. As the ether discolor into cinnabar, his room is solely altered to be a temple honoring you: poems, paintings and pictures wallpapered the small room in a morbid show of attachment. When the moon is crowned in the sky with stars, The jar of cogitation breaks, and Noriaki would animate his dreams of a family and a blithe life, framing you and him in one iridescent cadre, until the heavy curtain of dreamless slumber falls on your eyes.

"I'm done!" He announced happily "Come take a look"

You stood up, blood circulating again through the muscles of your backside and thighs. Of course, sitting for two hours in a stiff position to please the Mr.Artist was nowhere of an exertion near his. You just have to sit and look pretty, he would argue.

"It's the best ever! I'm really proud of this one. I've been thinking about making it real for so long, and it's as perfect as I imagined!" The palette in his left hand moved with each word, intonating his speech. He surely was excited- you never got a reaction so enthusiastic from him.

You kept your smile, looking at the product of two hours in front of you.

A dark line rimmed a color that seemed like your skin tone, vigor lines on what you assumed to be the head pastiched your hair, proving even more how much of blind digits he had. The eyes of your own face were closed, an expression you never felt or recognized on your features layered your replica on the canvas. it was what a crow would caw compared to what a nightingale would chant.

"So?" He waited for your approval.

Life with Noriaki taught you a massively important key skill: Lying. your lips curve up, your vocal cords silken as the lie rolls down your tongue "It's really beautiful!" you reach up to his face and kiss his cheek as a 'thank you for bothering yourself to appreciate my beauty'. He basked in your validation and demanded it almost always.

"But I'm kinda curious, why did you draw my eyes closed?" you noticed his smile shift from a saccharine one to egoistic.

"You know you're already cute right? yet not genuinely" He stared at the painting, carrying on "I think that honesty suits your face best. I know that you didn't like the painting, and I know that you never liked any of my sketches or anything I ever made for you" His lips merged into a thin line, a gray flicker flashing in his irises. coolly, he continued "You have that stupid fake kindness about you, you don't want to hurt my feelings, and I hate pressing you to tell me your honest thoughts. I feel like at this point you treat me like a fucking toddler, you encourage and say sugary things to please me… you constantly lie to me to make me happy, and as much as this is caring, it bothers me"

Your lips sewed themselves.

"But I found a way. I memorize everything about you every single day, I came to know you more and more. isn't this sweet, My lovely eye candy? I get to understand you better! Now I know just too well about you! Now I'm the only one who can understand you"

Four eyes widened, two out of pure shock, others out of an unfamiliar emotion, something that sounded like a pink Mania.

"And to answer your question, I realized why I love looking at you sleeping… I couldn't put my finger on it for a year, but the more I see the more I fathom it: you're most vulnerable when you're asleep… all appealing and appetizing and too pure to commit the crime of lying so glibly and beautifully… slumber has just a nice touch on your face, You're truly adorable when you're asleep"

Thinking has no time to course within your brain. The head of his brush was smudged back in a crimson mix of colors, taking a clot of red and sullying the white canvas, just above the head of your painting.

"Let's see how honest I can make you"

All red, a human Masterpiece of his.

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starkwlkr · 1 year

Text

to maman | fabio quartararo

thank you to the anon who gave me the prompt ideas! all credit to them!!🫶🏼🤍

Mother’s Day had arrived and little Giselle Quartararo was in class making a painting for her mother. Fabio was home so he told Y/n that he would pick up their daughter since she would be working late. It was near the end of the school day and Giselle still wasn’t done with her mother’s day present.

“Giselle, why don’t you take it home and finish it there.” Her teacher said when she noticed how concentrated the little girl was.

“I can?” She asked.

“You can. I’m sure you papa can help you with the beautiful painting.”

So when Fabio arrived to Giselle’s school, she ran up to him with a paper in hand. He knew about the Mother’s Day gifts that the students were making since he had gotten an email from Giselle’s teacher. He picked up the little girl and gave her the usual after school kisses on both of her cheeks.

“You did this? It’s beautiful, amour.” Fabio said when he saw Giselle’s painting.

“It’s not finished. My teacher said I can take it home and finish it for maman. Can you help me?” Giselle asked as Fabio placed her on the ground. He held her hand on the way to his car.

“Of course I can and maman isn’t home yet so we have plenty of time to paint.” Fabio opened the car door for Giselle so she could get in.

“But I don’t have paint! And maman loves red so we need red paint!”

On the way home, Fabio and Giselle made a quick stop to a craft store to buy the necessary paints to complete the project. When they arrived home, Giselle grabbed the bag with the paints from Fabio’s hands and ran to the front door.

“Slow down, Elle, we have enough time to paint.” Fabio chuckled and walked to the front door.

When he unlocked it, Giselle ran to the dinning room and emptied out the bag. “I want to add more flowers.”

“We can add whatever you like, Elle.”

For almost an hour, Fabio and Giselle spent it dipping their fingers into red, pink, yellow and green paint. Fabio even got a separate sheet of paper to make his own painting for his wife.

“How do you write I love you?” Giselle asked.

“Well do you want to write it in French or English?”

“Can I do both?”

So Fabio grabbed a marker and gave it to Giselle. He then sounded out all the letters for Giselle to write I love you in two languages.

“Great job, bébé. Maman is going to love it.”

When Mother’s Day finally arrived, Y/n was woken up by Giselle and Fabio attacking her with hugs and kisses.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Fabio and Giselle yelled as Y/n rubbed her tired eyes. “We love you!”

“Aw, I love you both more,” Y/n sat up on the bed. She quickly noticed that Gisele had been hiding something behind her back. “What do you have to there, baby?”

Giselle giggled and showed her mother the painting she had made with Fabio. It was a finger painted garden complete with a yellow sun on the corner of the paper and ‘I love you’ written in English and French.

“You painted this? Elle, this is beautiful. I have my own little Picasso!” Y/n gasped when she saw the painting.

“I helped too so you have two Picasso’s now.” Fabio added, feeling proud of himself and Giselle.

“Papa made you another one!” Giselle said and jumped on the bed until Fabio got up to retrieve his painting for Y/n.

“It’s just a little something to start off Mother’s Day. Don’t think this is the only thing you’re getting today.” He handed her his painting.

“These are both beautiful. I’ll buy frames so I can hang them up and everyone can see how talented my husband and daughter are.”

Liked by mickschumacher, motogp and 543,378 others

fabioquartararo20 To maman by Giselle and Fabio Quartararo. Happy Mother’s Day y/n.l/n

y/n.l/n i love you both so much ❤️ my little artists

motogp Happy Mother’s Day to Mrs. Quartararo!

t0m06600 i think Giselle’s looks better

tony_arbolino ❤️❤️

#motogp imagine #motogp x reader #motogp instagram au #fabio quartararo imagine #fq20 #el diablo #fabio quartararo x reader #dad!fabio quartararo

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cowgurrrl · 8 months

Text

Lavender Girl

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: A field trip [4.7k]

Warnings: financial stress, school fight, June once again introduces an ex, having a muse is creepy and weird, flirting that’s not flirting but it’s not not flirting, June putting her art history knowledge to work

Most days, you're a good teacher. A teacher that students want to eat lunch with or inadvertently include in their silly TikToks. Most days, you're patient and kind and only have to raise your voice a handful of times, if only to be heard over the blanket volume level of teenage conversation. Today is not one of those days. "Guys!" You yell, pausing the music on your computer and turning to look at your class, obviously annoyed. "We're supposed to be talking about Picasso. I don't know why I'm hearing so much conversation about lunch." It's a lie. There was a fight between two students at lunch. It'd also been the topic of conversation in the teacher's lounge, but still.

"Miss, we already talked about Picasso!" One of your kids bemoans, and you raise your eyebrows at them.

"So, if I asked you right now, you could tell me what historical event his painting Guernica is supposed to depict?" You ask. The entire class goes silent as you wait for a response that never comes, and you sigh. "Please, do your work."

The day started with getting yet another email from another gallery, this time from down south, telling you they loved your work but not enough to showcase or buy it. Then, a text from your manager letting you know that paychecks will be late because of technical issues with the system, even though you're already beyond broke. Then, a sad text from Andie about how she's feeling homesick and misses you and wishes you could get on a plane to come see her. Then, to top it all off, an email from your ex, Henry, popped up the second you pulled into the school.

Hey, long time, no talk! I hope you're doing well. I wanted to reach out and let you know I've got an exhibition going up later next week and wanted to invite you to the opening. It's about-

You didn't read any further, anger and a wave of past emotions drowning you before you could. You and Henry were together all throughout college. You met during a freshman art class and were inseparable after that. He was tall, sensitive, and had a penchant for listening to country music when he worked, leading to many delirious nights spent crooning to Emmy-Lou Harris together. He surprised you with new paint and spontaneous trips to scenic parts of Texas to fuel your inspiration. You were happy for a long time. You even thought you'd marry him at one point. He wanted to be the next young, groundbreaking artist, making you his muse, no matter how many times you tried to assure him you were also an artist. Your work would go up in galleries and exhibitions, and everyone in your small program would gossip about the two of you. "He's so talented. It's insane," you heard one of your classmates say once. "And she's so beautiful."

The compliment dug under your skin and stayed there as your relationship failed. You didn't want to be a muse anymore. You stopped letting him paint you in various states of undress and started asking for more alone time to work on your own stuff. You went from being the perfect, polished doll he could position however he wanted and started living in your paint-stained jeans and old, ratty shirt. You started arguing more and more, first about little things like why he left his paint water cups everywhere, and then about big things like your decision to pursue teaching and the "inspiration" he found in an impressionable freshman. He suddenly moved out after graduation without a word, leaving you to nurse your wounds in a half-empty apartment for the rest of your lease, and you hadn't heard from him until this morning.

There's something more than the sting of hearing from him all these years later that bothers you. You're a high school art teacher struggling to make ends meet, and he's doing exactly what he set out to do. He's getting his work in front of his eyes and receiving praise for it. "Why do you wanna be a teacher when you can just be an artist?" He asked you one morning as you studied for your certification exams. "Or, at least, an artist's wife."

"And what if I'm not good at that?" You asked. "Then what? I'm just supposed to be your muse for the rest of my life? Have kids to fuel someone else's inspiration and have no time for my own work? Wither away while you go on to make art and give talks and become a cynic? Fuck that."

You stand by what you said, even all these years later, but there is an irony in that, even as a teacher, you don't have time to do your own work. Still, fuck that. The bell rings and signals the end of another class, and you quickly stand as students start packing up their stuff. "Okay, guys. Remember, your art history essay is due in two weeks! I'm excited to read all about everything you've learned since we started this unit. I love you, and please make good choices." You announce, hoping that at least some of them are listening to you, as they spill out of the classroom and the next students stream in. Ellie's sweet face is a welcome reprieve when she walks in.

"Hey Bellie! How's your day going, kiddo?" You ask, and she smiles. You'll swear up and down all day that you don't have favorite students, but if you did, Ellie would be one of them.

"Good. I have my signed permission slip for the art club field trip." She says. After your experience with Joel outside the bar, you couldn't sleep and knocked out all the field trip paperwork before falling asleep on your couch. But you weren't safe from his lips and broad shoulders, even in your subconscious.

"Oh, my hero! I've been meaning to remind everyone about those. Thanks for getting that in so quickly." You say as she hands the paper to you, Joel's scribbly signature at the bottom. Somehow, you're not surprised that the box indicating he wants to be a chaperone is ticked. "Perfect. Your dad knows when the field trip is?"

"Yeah. He wrote it down on his calendar and everything." She says, rolling her eyes fondly, and you laugh.

"Well, good, because I'm gonna need all the help I can get when I'm dealing with you guys."

"Hey!" She feigns offense as the bell rings, signaling the end of the passing period, and the last of your students comes running in. Ellie takes her seat near the front, and you grab your silly, colorful pointer to talk about Guernica, which is still proudly displayed on the board. After a quick art history lesson, you release them to work on the projects they've been working on for a week now. They still have a few more days before it's due, so more than half of them are slacking off quietly, which you're fine with. As long as you get a finished assignment at the end, they can do whatever they want.

You play quiet music as they work to help them focus and answer some emails. One email that catches your attention is from the parent of one of your students, Dalton, who's an amazing football player but is less than passionate about art, to say the least. You emailed his dad to let him know he was missing some assignments and could still turn them in late for only a slight penalty, but if he turns in nothing at all, you'll have no choice but to fail him. You also CC'd the football coach so he'd know the academic standing of one of his star players. Needless to say, you've been subject to a few not-so-nice emails from all parties involved.

Once you're done firing off another round of emails, you decide to step away from your computer so you don't have to see the next reply until absolutely necessary. Walking around the room to answer questions, give opinions, or just hear what's happening in students' lives always makes you feel better. In one period, you helped a handful of students put the finishing touches on their projects, heard the latest gossip, and talked one of your girls out of sending a nasty text to the boy who just broke her heart. And they say teachers aren't important.

The second you get a little bit of peace during your planning period, your phone buzzes with a notification. Given all the notifications and messages you've received today, you're hesitant to even pull it out of your pocket. But curiosity wins, and you open your phone to find a text from an unsaved number.

Is there anything I should bring to the field trip? Snacks, gum, alcohol?

You laugh to yourself and start typing a message back.

Alcohol won't be necessary, but it might be good to bring some lunch and a few snacks. I think we're gonna try to have a picnic or something at the museum.

Yes, ma'am.

You still feeling up to chaperone? Teenagers are no joke.

Do I need to remind you that I've raised two? I think I can handle a few more.

Oh, I can't wait to see this.

It can't be that hard, right?

On the day of the field trip, it turns out to be that hard. The only adults accompanying twenty teenagers to the museum are you and Joel. They're excited to be out of school and doing something new, but you can feel your migraine starting before you even get on the bus. Thankfully, the ride to the museum (and the traffic) calms them down, and they're more manageable by the time you arrive. A curator meets you outside the front doors and begins by walking your group through the outdoor sculptures, giving a little bit of history of the museum and the pieces themselves. The kids ask insightful questions and take turns snapping photos or even sketching a rough outline of the piece before moving on to the next. You stay at the front of the group while Joel manages the middle and back, silencing kids with a stern look. You fight a smile when you catch him and Ellie lingering at a sculpture, whispering to each other before he urges her forward and takes a sweet picture of her smiling in front of it.

After the initial walk of the grounds, you stop to have lunch in a sunny garden and listen to the kids gush about their favorite part so far and what paintings they're most excited to see inside.

"Miss, what's your favorite thing here?" Kayla asks.

"I like Dream Village by Chagall. If you find it before me, you'll have to let me know." You say. "Do you have a favorite?"

"Not yet. Maybe I'll find it today." Kayla says.

"I like that attitude!"

"Kissass." Jacob coughs, and you both give him a look. You can feel Joel's eyes burning a hole in the back of your head as you stare at Jacob.

"What's my policy?"

"Are you really gonna make me say it?"

"Yep." You say, and he sighs.

"You can be anything you want to be, but you're not allowed to be a dick." He mumbles.

"Exactly. So, please, be nice," you say as you fish around in your lunch box for something. "Here, have a cookie. It might help make you feel a little better." He mutters a little thanks and unwraps it, already in a better mood after one bite, and you smile.

"You just carry around cookies, waiting for a kid to be in a bad mood?" Joel asks, and you turn to look at him. He's wearing a plain blue t-shirt and jeans with sunglasses sitting atop his head, but you think it might be your favorite thing he's worn in your presence. You like it when he wears color.

"It was my cookie, but he needs it more than I do," you shrug. "Besides, things like that are a great morale booster. It's hard to be grumpy when you've got something sweet."

"I'm inclined to agree with you." He quips a little too smoothly, his eyes flicking across your face and down to your lips, and you feel your cheeks getting hot. Thankfully, all the kids have returned to their own conversations and couldn't care less about what the Adults are talking about.

"You're relentless." You whisper.

"Do you want me to stop?" He whispers back, and you sigh. If you were a stronger or better person, you might be able to think fast enough to come up with a response, but you're not. So, you just look at him and rack your brain for something to say but come up empty. "That's what I thought." He smiles and offers you his sweating Dr. Pepper can as a peace offering. You roll your eyes at his smug look but take a sip anyway.

Once everyone is done eating, you all stand and make your way into the museum lobby, the kids already chattering about what they want to see.

"Okay, you guys are free to roam but please, please, please remember that you're representing not only the school but also me. Be respectful and kind, and please don't act like you've never been in public before, okay? Go, be free." You say before the kids split off into their little groups with their obligatory activity in hand. Ellie stays near Joel, only a little shy, until Kayla turns around suddenly and waves her on.

"Ellie, c'mon!" She says. Ellie takes a few steps in her direction before turning to look back at Joel.

"Go. I'll be okay." He says.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now go. Have fun." She doesn't need any more encouragement after that and skitters off with the rest of the kids, leaving you and Joel alone in the atrium.

"She's doing really well." You tell him even though he can clearly see for himself.

"Thanks to you."

"All I did was give her a push."

"Take the credit. You deserve it." He says, his lips pulling into that award-winning smile.

You fall into silence as you walk through the different galleries, Joel never too far behind you. Sometimes, he'll start at the opposite end of the room and work his way down until you meet in the middle, making a deliberate effort to bump your shoulder or hand as he passes. Other times, he'll stay right next to you, and, for some reason, it doesn't bother you. You like being so close to him and feeling his eyes work over the piece like it's a puzzle he doesn't quite know how to work. When he can't stand the quiet anymore, he'll whisper a question to you about the artist or the history, his breathing fanning out across your neck and making the hair there stand on end.

After moving through a big part of the museum together, you and Joel end up at the same painting as the dull hum of voices fills the space between you. You smile to yourself, practically hearing him trying to find something to say as he stands there and observes how the lines of bright colors follow each other. Some are stark and almost resemble lightning in how they move around the canvas, but others are muted, blended together with careful precision and patience. It's hard to imagine what West Texas could've been like in 1953, but this makes it a little easier.

"What's this one supposed to mean?" Joel mumbles, leaning ever so conspicuously into you.

"I can't tell you." You mumble back, and he finally turns to look at you head-on. You meet his eyes with an amused smile, and he shakes his head at you.

"You're really not gonna tell me?"

"I can't tell you what art is supposed to mean to you. I can't tell anyone that."

"But, you're a teacher."

"If you're asking me for an art history lesson, I'd be happy to help, but that's about all I can do for you."

"'S cruel and unusual punishment."

"If art and culture are cruel and unusual punishment, why'd you sign up to chaperone?"

"Maybe I wanted to see my friend," he says, bumping you with his shoulder, and you laugh a little too hard. "What? We can't be friends? Is there a school policy against that, too?"

"Nope, no school policy. I just," You pause and revel in how enraptured he looks at every movement, pause, and breath you take. "I already have friends, so..."

"Oh, and you're 'fraid of bein' too popular?"

"Famously." You say, and he chuckles next to you. You go back to staring at the painting quietly with him so close you can feel his body heat. You're the one to break this time, knocking him with your shoulder to get his attention again. You didn't need to. When you glance at him, you see his focus is on you, not the painting. "It's Texas. Canyon, to be more precise. Up by Amarillo where there's nothing but cattle and desert. O'Keeffe taught out there for a few years and wanted to paint something that showed how big the West is. It's supposed to make you feel like you're two feet tall and seeing the sky for the first time. For her, it might've been the first time in a long time she'd gotten to see a sunset that big. So, she painted it so other people could enjoy sunsets like that. It's like a love letter."

"How d'you do that?" He asks once you're finished explaining, and you furrow your eyebrows.

"Do what?"

"Make little things seem so beautiful." He answers easily, like you asked him what color the sky is. You don't know what to say. What are you supposed to say to something like that?

"'S just what art does." You shrug and break away from his gaze to look at the painting, if only to not feel him staring into your soul.

"No, it's what you do to it. 'S why those kids love you so damn much. You make everythin' feel like a masterpiece, even the little things." He's not flirting. He's not trying to persuade you to do one thing over another. He's genuine and heartfelt. You swear you would start crying if you had a little less sleep. You take a deep breath and lean into him for half a second, just enough to feel his body against yours, before standing upright again.

"Thank you."

"It's what friends are for," he says, leaning into you in return. "I should make sure they haven't seized the museum or anythin'."

"Oh, I can do it. You're a guest."

"And you work too hard," he stops you. "Take a break and enjoy what you love. The world won't end if you take some time for yourself." If ever there were awards to be given out for sweet talking, you think Joel Miller would win all of them.

"Okay," you say, and he walks behind you to move on to the next section. "You really wanna be my friend?" You ask before he can fully pass behind you, looking at him over your shoulder. He smiles devastatingly, light sparkling in his eyes, and nods.

"I really wanna be your friend." He says softly, his voice low and rumbling in his chest. He lingers for a second or two before finally making his way to the group of students, leaving you to scrutinize the painting you've been staring at for God knows how long.

The day crawls to an uneventful close, with you forcing all the students to take a picture in front of the museum for the yearbook. Joel takes your phone out of your hand and all but pushes you in the photo, and your students lovingly welcome you into their little group. In exchange, you grab Joel's phone and take cute pictures of him and Ellie for their own memories. They smile almost identically, and Ellie makes a fake annoyed face when Joel kisses her temple. Your fingers brush against each other when you hand it back, and for a second, you can feel the callouses from his job. It feels like unlocking a new piece of him or a new quirk.

Too bad this isn't a date. Too bad nothing can ever come of this. Too bad you had to meet this way. Too bad. Too bad.

The ride home is quiet and full of the clinking of backpacks and new souvenirs. When you get to the school, parents are waiting in the parking lot with fast food dinners and excited ears to hear all about their days. Almost everyone immediately slinks home, tired and happy, before you can even get close to the school doors. Almost everyone. Joel and Ellie help you carry your backpack and some things you bought for teaching purposes at the museum into your classroom. The school is virtually deserted, and you return to your room to find all the lamps flipped off and mostly positive notes from the sub.

"Dad, what are we gonna do for dinner?" Ellie groans as you sit in your chair and open your email quickly before you can pack up the rest of your stuff. Their dinner debate becomes background noise as you find your inbox full of annoyed messages from Dalton's parents, coaches, and even Principal Martinez regarding his grades. Under all that vitriol sits Henry's half-read message about his gallery opening, and you feel the perfect bubble of your day burst around you. Joel and Ellie seem to realize it because they're both quiet when you tune back into their conversation, and you turn in your chair to look at them.

"Are you okay?" Ellie asks, and you snap out of it, putting on your best teacher everything-is-fine face.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just some emails. It's not important." You wave her off, but Joel isn't so easily convinced. He thinks for a second before pulling his keys out of his pocket and handing them to Ellie.

"Go get some practice driving." He says, jerking his head toward the door, and Ellie's eyes light up.

"Really?!"

"Just bring the car to the front, and don't hit anything!" He says, but she's already taken off with the keys and her stuff in an excited whirlwind. You laugh at her enthusiasm, and Joel leans against one of the desks near you, crossing his arms in front of him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Your whole face fell when you opened that computer."

"It's nothing."

"If we're gonna be friends, you're gonna have to tell me if somethin's wrong otherwise I can't help you." He says, and you fight a smile.

"I don't know how you're gonna help me with this one." You say. He bumps your foot with his and gives you a pleading look. Big brown eyes on men like him should be illegal, you think.

"Talk to me." He begs quietly, and you take a deep breath.

"When I was in college, I dated this guy. He was an artist, too, and we were like the little power couple of our program. Things ended kinda badly and abruptly, and I hadn't heard from him since graduation until last week when he invited me to his gallery opening. I really don't want to go alone because, honestly, I haven't been able to get anything showcased in years, and I'm embarrassed. Plus, he broke my heart and made me feel like shit for a few years." You can't stop the words from falling from you once the dam is broken, but Joel doesn't flinch.

"Well, you've got friends to go with, right?"

"I do," you say. "But I want to invite you."

"Oh." He says, seemingly unintentionally.

"Oh." You repeat. "You can say no. I just thought... since we're friends and all now."

"I just... I don't..." he struggles before finally giving in to what he wants to say, what you think he's wanted to say all day. "I don't think I'm smart enough to go to somethin' like that. I don't know anythin' about art. I don't even know how to dress for those kinda things."

"Nobody knows anything about art. Not really, at least. Especially not Henry."

"You do."

"Then I'll stick with you all night and feed you lines about composition or some shit," you say. "And you just wear a nice shirt and some slacks. Maybe a suit jacket if you're feeling snazzy. It's really not as big a deal as people make it seem. We'll go, drink wine, say something about the colors, play nice, and then we'll leave. I'll have you home by 9:30. Earlier if you really hate it that much." He rolls his neck like he's rattling something around in his head or thinking about your offer, and all you can do is watch him and the way his Adam's apple pressing against the delicate skin of his throat. You're convinced he's gonna say no.

"Are you asking me on a date?" He finally asks, and you laugh.

"Not a date."

"Sounds like a date. You even promised to have me home to my girl at a reasonable time."

"Fine, it's a friend date."

"A friend date?" He raises his eyebrows at you, and you nod.

"It's perfectly normal to go on friend dates, Miller. You're just behind on the times."

"Seems like I am. Maybe you can bring me up to speed during the gallery opening?" He says, and your shoulders drop in relief. "I'll pick you up if you agree to help me not look like an idiot."

"You won't look like an idiot."

"Not with you there, I won't." He says, and you want to laugh, but you also want to tear up a little at his kindness. It's been a long week.

"Thank you, Joel. Really. I owe you." You say, and he nods.

"'S my pleasure," he says. For a minute, you two just stare at each other in your empty classroom like teenagers with an obvious crush. You think that's what you feel like. You think that's all you'll ever be able to feel for him. "I should go. I've got an impatient teenager waitin' for me."

"Yeah. Go get her some dinner, and I'll text you the details." You say as you stand to walk him out. He stands to his full height, opens his arms, and approaches you. You didn't think you were hugging territory, but as his arms wrapped around you, you couldn't help but hug him back.

"Goodnight." He says into your hair, lingering for another moment before disappearing as fast as he appeared.

"Goodnight," you say. With that, he starts walking to the open door with a smile stuck to his face. "Hey, Joel," you call before he can step over the threshold, and he turns around to look at you. "Art is for everyone, and even if it wasn't, you're more than smart enough to enjoy it."

"Yes, ma'am." He says with a half-salute and a wink before stepping out of your classroom. You let yourself rest against your desk and take a deep breath. Finally, you let yourself pull out your phone and read the rest of Henry's email detailing the time and place of the gallery.

I hope you can come. It would really mean a lot to me. I miss talking to you and even though things ended the way they did, I still love you.

See you soon,

Henry Hall

"Fuck that."

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