#i never ever ever finish anything so excuse the sketch lines please :]]]

[chiyune]

uhhhh

[writing-mlm]

Hiii, can we please have more college!damian x male reader? Like a scenario where damian loves to draw reader but reader doesn't know this? Maybe friends to lovers? Idk your pick. The artist and his muse type of thing. Also, i LIVE for soft damian on this blog ong.

Forever my Muse

Summary: Damian has his finals coming up and he wants you to join-- at least that's his excuse to get you into the art venue. An artist needs their muse and for some reason, most of Damian's drawings include you in, naturally, he could fill museums with drawings of you. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.8k

Dust-covered fingers were always something you had associated with Damian. Graphite, charcoal, pastels— anything he used to draw or even paint would inevitably stain his hands. It wasn’t intentional, and neither were the fingerprints he left on your stuff, or the paint you could never remove from your favorite sweater, but that didn’t stop him from apologizing. From buying you cleaning products and a new sweater; never mind it has never been worn in the year you’ve had it, Damian felt terribly sorry whenever he felt he’d stained something of yours. 

But never sorry enough to show you his drawings. 

You’d ask, you’d beg, but he would never give in. He’d show you when he was done, sure. You’d see the finished still-life drawings of whatever object had been in the line of sight, the paintings he’d done of his pets whenever he missed them, and the random sketches he did to loosen his wrist. But, damn, sometimes you wanted to see an unfinished drawing that wasn’t a warm-up. 

Even now, as the two of you are on the campus bus heading towards the music hall, he’s drawing. Sitting across from you on the bus, Damian easily adjusts himself to the movements of the bus as it jerks to a stop. He’s nice like that, you’ve never caught him off guard, he’s never fallen or stumbled in the time you’ve known him. 

Studying him, you wonder if he’s naturally so agile. You’ve seen him in your dorm's gym, during all-nighters you can sometimes see him running around campus, and once you had caught him doing one of those athletic challenges for some guy's video. He won. Of course. 

The bus comes to a complete stop and you look away, double-checking that it wasn’t your stop. It wasn’t. You knew that. But still. The need to check was far too great and you slipped back into a conversation with Damian. Only this time, you’re looking down at your phone to double-check the event and his eyes switch from staring at his sketch to staring at you. 

His eyes flicker between you and his drawing, erasing and adding lines where needed. He catches your eyes traveling up and he looks back down, working from memory as you start up a new conversation. 

Eventually, the bus reaches your stop and he carefully closes his book; he always worries he’d smudge his art, while he follows you out of the bus. 

It’s the end of the semester, ergo, it’s finals week. And for one of your music finals, everyone was to prepare a song and perform it. Truthfully, Damian doesn’t understand why you’d picked him to accompany you. He knows he’s not the best comfort, his demeanor often being the reason people don’t stick around too long. 

But, you reassured him. Telling him that his presence was more than enough for you. Knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd calms you down more than you ever cared to admit. 

The walk to the music hall isn’t short, but you can see the large building in the distance. The size is daunting on you as you see the crowd forming at the entrance. People aren’t allowed inside yet, but performers and their guests can head inside before anyone else. 

“I’m nervous,” You admit, wiping your hands on your shirt. “What if I fail?” You mutter, your eyes desperately searching to find solace in his green eyes. 

“You’ll do as you’ve always done,” He nods, looking ahead as you approach the building. “Exceptionally.” His sketchbook bumps against your folder of sheet music and you sigh through your nose, trying to calm down. 

“I’m so gonna choke,” Seeing your reflection in the glass, you feel as if you’d forgotten everything you learned. Every lesson, every mistake you fixed and learned from, the late-night practice performances with your friends. The song you’d composed nearly slips from your mind as you see yourself, walking in that suit and tie you’d worn several years ago. All of it left your mind and you felt like a beginner again. What even was a solfège?

“I'm trained in CPR.” He opens the door for you and gently encourages you inside, his fingers grazing your back. “You weren’t nearly as nervous for your accounting finals.” He notes, falling back into step with you. 

That’s another thing. Maybe that’s why you were so stressed. Double majoring was hellish. Twice the finals, quadruple the headaches. 

“Those were tests,” You scowl, showing the security your campus ID. “I’m going to be performing a live concert in front of nearly a thousand people. I cannot fuck this up, Damian. This is going to be posted for everyone to watch, too,” You ramble on. 

“Which you’ve done before, no?” He presses the elevator button and your heart hammers. You swear you’re going to pass out. He notices, of course, he does, and digs in his bag to find the fidget cube he keeps in there. 

“I have— thank you,” Taking the cube, he nods. “It’s just… I don’t know. Tests suck.” Rolling your thumb along the metal ball on one side of the cube, you stare at the numbers as they slowly tick down to the first floor. 

“That’s true,” He steps inside the elevator and you follow suit. “But you’ve made it thus far, you can go further.” He squeezes your shoulder as the doors close. There’s a silence in the elevator as it goes up to the second floor where you see your teacher waiting at the door to the waiting room, talking to a pair of students. 

“I can,” You affirm, dipping your head down as you smile. 

“You will.” 

—

You’re fifth in line to perform, watching a singer, dancer, another other pianist, and an opera singer go on before you go on did absolutely jack shit to help you. As you’re announced, you step onto the stage and try your best not to accept that there were thousands of eyes on you. Instead, you smile and wave as you walk across that large stage. Desperately looking for Damian in the sea of people. 

He’s in the front, right in front of where you could see when you glance up from the piano, you find out as you’re standing next to the piano seat. 

Damian’s eyes don’t leave yours, making eye contact with you as you fiddle with the buttons of your coat. He motions for you to stop and then does a breathe in breathe out motion with the same hand. Nodding, you blink away from him and hold your hands behind your back. Focusing on your breathing, you listen to the teacher as you’re done being introduced. 

The applause settles as you bow in, take a seat, and flip the page where your music sheet is. Slowly, you start. As a general music major, you weren’t restricted to just playing the piano. As emphasized by the microphone taped to your cheek. 

You aren’t the strongest singer by any means, you’re good for singing in the shower or on drives but you doubt you’d actually make a career off of your voice. What you hope will carry you is the piano, as you press each key your eyes flicker to Damian. He’s attentive, a smile on his face as you perform. 

Testing the waters, you glance at the people around him and they seem… pleased. Happy. Moved, even. You grin and return to staring at the sheet music. All of the notes flood back to you as you reach the last bit of the song, your eyes closing as your voice reaches a peak, holding a note. Then it’s just the piano, your voice echoing in everyone’s mind as the notes get slower and slower until you end it. 

Applause fills the hall and you stand up, taking a bow. Standing there, even if only for a moment, you can’t imagine why you’d been so nervous.

Collecting your sheet music, you exit the stage and hand the mic to the stage tech before leaving. 

When you’re nearing the exit, you spot Damian holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“When did you have the time to get these?” You laugh as he hands them to you. His eyes merely twinkle, refusing to give up one of his many secrets. “Thank you, they’re dope.” 

“You did it,” Damian reminds you as the two of you exit the building. 

“I did! Ugh!” Grabbing his shoulder with your free hand, you give him a little shake. “Thank you so much, you’re honestly the best. Was it good?” Falling into step with him, Damian doesn’t bother to fix his shirt. It’s hardly even moved, but you know he was detail-oriented in stuff like that. Hell, he hates it when he messes with his clothes. 

“It was mesmerizing.” He promises. “I do believe the woman behind me was crying.” Grinning, you stand at the bus stop, suddenly buzzing with excitement. Wanting to do it again, you start to imagine creating your own side business. Wedding musician, you can see it now. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He avoids looking at you as he’s speaking. A rare occurrence on his part. But he does his best to look at you after building the courage. “I have an art showing next week. I understand the notice is short and you’re—“

“Send me the details.” You grin. His shoulders drop and he nods, clearly more relaxed. “I hope the attire is fancy. I got this fancy turtleneck I’ve been wanting to wear and slacks from my high school graduation just waiting to be worn!” 

—

With all of your finals out of the way, you finally had time to start removing the items from your dorm. One by one you removed posters and trinkets scattered across your end of the room. Pack your clothes into boxes, and save for enough outfits to get you through your two weeks left on campus. 

Damian was held up from finishing his art showing, unable to see you in person but he was more than happy with a Facetime call. With both your laptops placed in a space away from disturbing you, the two of you worked on your tasks. 

“I do need to be at the showing two hours early,” He tells you as you’re dragging the anti-suicide chairs to the closet, trying to see the top shelf. “But I’ll have arrangements to bring you to the venue.” 

“And my outfit is okay?” You ask, the chair wobbling as you stand on it. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But hey, you’re not the one who installed a closet tall enough that only Shaq could see the top. “Because I can always swap out the turtle neck for a green button down— the silk one that Maddison made,” Always gave a fashion designer friend. She had used you as a model for of her projects a couple of months ago and with your measurements being unique to you, let you have it after she’d gotten her grade. 

“The button-down would be better suited,” He nods, leaning close to his painting before adding a tiny stroke. “The turtleneck is a little… on the nose.” Leaning back, he checks his reference picture before frowning. It goes away quickly as he picks up a bit of white and dabs it onto a dry brush. 

“I was afraid it was,” You laugh, grabbing a first aid kit from the shelf. Listening to him lightly brush the paint over the canvas, you toss the kit onto the bed and grab what little items are scattered up there. “Holy shit! Do you remember when that frat dude lost his frat ring?” 

“Unfortunately,” Damian glances at his screen, watching as you haphazardly get down from the chair. Nearly tripping, he wonders how you've made it this far in life without breaking a bone. 

“I think I did take it! Look!” Showing the screen, Damian looks almost impressed as you hold up a fraternity ring. It’s a shiny gold, likely fake but engraved with the initials of the Frat house. The two of you remember the guy had been going around to every single campus building with a missing ring poster. 

“What a thief,” He chides, setting his brush down and taking a physical step back from the painting. Harsh glares scan over brush strokes, ripping apart his painting bit by bit before he nods to himself. His glare morphs into a soft sort of gaze and he signs the back of it. 

“Is that your final painting for the semester?” You ask, the ring forgotten about as it’s tossed in a box of trinkets and you’ve moved on to ordering food. Probably Panda Express. Or maybe Chipotle…. really it’s whatever is closer and cheaper. 

“Hopefully,” He sighs through his nose, his paint box clicking shut. “I’ve been drawing and painting these past couple of days. My canvases take up an entire section of the art studio. I’m sure my professor cannot wait for them to dry and get glossed. Which I should probably start doing.” 

“How does that taste?” Setting your phone down, Damian’s face goes sour as he looks at you. “Personally, I think the gloss would taste tarty.” You add. “Or maybe like the frosting for Toaster Strudel.” Picking your phone back up, you continue your order. 

“Neither is correct.” He blinks. “It’s a toxin and filled with chemicals, it most likely tastes as good as acetone does, Hab—“ He pauses, and you look at him wondering what the issue is. “Habits of tasting chemicals shouldn’t be one you pick up.” He finishes his sentence with a bit of force. 

“I just love chemicals. Violin resin is my favorite.” Making a chomping noise Damian huffs. As you’re finishing up your order, you look at him. He’s halfway across campus and judging by the rack of canvases he wheeled over, he won’t be back until well into the night. Eh, it doesn’t hurt to ask. “I’m ordering some food, do you want something?” 

“No, thank you, though.” He shakes his head. “I have food from the court in case I get hungry.” He quickly adds. Humming, you place the order and scan over your room. The only things that need to get packed are things you’re still using. Now it’s just a matter of organizing the boxes and bins so you can still move around your room. 

“After the glossing, what’re you doing?”

“I have to write short summaries for each painting. No less than one hundred words,” He explains as he’s putting on a pair of latex gloves. 

“So, a breeze?” He laughs and nods. 

“I’m afraid I’ll go over the word limit,” He admits, sparing you a glance as you’re lugging a box to a corner of your room. “My paintings harbor a lot of my emotions and they’re far from short.”

“Real as fuck.”

— 

On the day of his art exhibition, you spend extra time in the bathroom. Making sure your hair is neat, and presentable, fixing your outfit, making sure you don’t stink. Anything and everything you could check over, you did. 

This nervous feeling was different from your pre-show nerves. Especially since you don’t even know why you’re nervous. Probably because you’d never actually gotten to see his paintings, at least the ones he was showing. He’d been ultra allusive about those, citing the exhibition would be the best place to view them. But even he was nervous and that’s a lot considering he’s Damian fucking Wayne. 

He texted you two minutes ago saying that the car was going to arrive within the next ten minutes and you rushed out to the front of the dorms. No need to lock the door behind you, since your roommate was busy sleeping and would stay in there until you came back. Plucking at your shirt, you watch a sleek black car pull up in front of you, and Damian texts you that the car is there. 

The ride is long, far too long for your liking anyway. But considering it’s in the middle of the city, it’s not unwarranted. 

The art… museum? What should you call it? The space where the exhibition was being held was a well-known art gallery— that’s the word! The gallery was well respected, talked about within art circles, and incredibly high-brow. Thank fuck you didn’t go with that turtleneck. 

There’s a woman in front of the gallery, greeting everyone who enters. She sees you and there’s a flash of recognition across her face. 

“It’s great to finally meet Damian’s muse,” She smiles as she shakes your hand. 

“His what?” You ask but Damian pulls you inside. 

“How was the ride?” He asks, his eyes darting between his professor and you. 

“Good but what did she mean?” You ask, looking around to see the other people around. Like your performance, it was open to the public and with Bruce Wayne’s son being in attendance, many people had showed up. Including his family. “Bruce Wayne is here?” Your head whips to Damian as you spot him in the crowd. 

“He is my father…” He trails. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Fuck no!” You gasp. “The knowledge of his wealth is burying me as we speak— but this is about you,” Turning to him, you smile. “Where’s your paintings? Those don’t look like your style,” Eyes flicker across the paintings and you can’t see Damian’s strokes, his colors or his lighting in any of them. A sort of pride swells within him, knowing that you’ve looked— studied his art enough to know that the ones around you weren’t his. 

“It has its own section,” He tells you, guiding you through groups of people and halls. “It’s going to be revealed in around half an hour. My professor insisted,” He stops at a section of the gallery covered by a curtain and two security guards. You never knew it was that serious, but damn. 

“Mr Fancy. Why don’t you catch up with your family? I’ll look around?” In truth, you were going to the nearest bathroom and making sure you didn't look stupid. 

“I’m more than certain they’d be more pleased if you accompanied me.” He shakes his head as you raise your eyebrows. “If that’s something you’d be comfortable with, of course.” 

“Sure,” Once more, he guides you past people until he spots his father and brother talking in a corner. 

“Father, Richard.” He calls as the two of you approach. “This is (Y/n).” Richard’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile, the smile only furthered curbed by his brother's glare. 

“Hello,” Waving at the two men, they reach to shake your hand instead. Bruce has a firm grip, probably tighter than it really needed to be but Richard is more than welcoming. He’s more than excited to meet you, although you can’t imagine why. 

“My other siblings are still in Gotham,” Damian explains, physically taking Dick’s hand from yours with a pointed look. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t bring Cassandra, father.”

“She’s here,” He shakes his head, glancing around for the mop of black hair. “In the bathroom, probably.” 

“Is that her?” You ask, looking at the woman in the corner. She’s standing there, downing a glass of champagne before returning to a conversation with a man. She looks like how Damian had described her, although he downplayed how intimidating she seemed. 

“Oh boy,” Dick huffs. “Let me go help her,” Excusing himself, you’re left with Damian and his father. The two of them talking with their eyes. 

“So, Damian’s told me you’re a double major,” Bruce breaks the silence and their weird eye conversation. He talks about you? Glancing at Damian, he’s making a point to look anywhere but you. That’s sorta cute— totally not in a romantic way, totally. 

“I am,” You nod, wishing a man with drinks would walk past you. “Accounting and a performing arts major.” He hums and there’s another beat of awkward silence. 

“From what he tells me, you’re excelling at both. That’s incredibly hard. Do you have any job prospects lined up for when you graduate?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“Not yet,” You admit, picking at your hands. “Since I'm not sure where I’d like to settle after I graduate it’s difficult finding places.” Bruce nods, quickly making sure Dick and Cassandra are okay. 

“Well, if your grades continue to stay or improve, Wayne Enterprises is always looking for accountants, especially one so esteemed.” He smiles at you, that sort of small smile that makes you feel more relaxed in his presence. A fatherly smile. 

“Yeah, praise from Damian is a lot.” Dick grins, leaning his weight on his younger brother. Cassandra agrees, leaning against the wall Bruce was standing in front of. “And he talks about you a ton!” 

“That’s enough.” Damian huffs, pushing himself away from Dick who frowns. “Let’s look at some of the artwork,” 

“You talk to your family about me?” You grin as he’s hauling you away from his family. He looks at you, clearly licking the inside of his mouth before he blinks and gives one strong nod. 

“Of course I do, it would be a shame to hide someone so talented.” He explains and then looks forward, his eyes swimming across the faces around him. “I do believe in your talents and my father is someone who can help them flourish; it would seem awfully cruel if I didn’t at least try.” You go to speak; to thank him but his attention is pulled away by the director of the show. 

“It’s time!” She gleams, ushering the two of you after her. 

There are already people gathered in front of his top secret exhibit, cameras and people wearing PRESS lanyards like the front and sides. Much like a moth drawn to a flame, they find Damian walking and try to hound him, only to be stopped by his family. They’re far more intimidating now but Damian pulls your attention from them and towards him. 

The two of you are in front of the whole crowd, the two guards holding one piece of the curtain and waiting for a cue to open them. 

“We welcome everyone to Damian Wayne’s very first art show,” The director says, her hand ghosting over his shoulder. He takes that as a sign to step forward, barely leaving your side as he explains his art. 

“Through My Eyes is a collection of various pieces I’ve created over the course of two years,” He explains. “The music that accompanies the art are pieces composed by my muse.” His eyes find yours as the curtains are pulled aside and for the first time, you notice the way he looks at you. The way his eyes never seem to want to leave yours, how he takes you in the same way he takes in the art around him. 

Then you hear it. More specifically you hear yourself. 

You hear the piece you’d played during your final, hearing your voice fill the spaces where people aren’t talking. Each key, and each note floods your ears as you turn to see his art. 

It’s you.

All of it. Each painting, each frame has something of you in it. 

“Holy shit.” You breathe, moving to the closest one. It’s a painting of you, wearing clothes you’d only seen in shows like Merlin, holding onto a statue of an angel. It’s almost impossible to not know where the inspiration had come from. After convincing Damian to go exploring with you and some friends, you’d come across a newly abandoned church with a large angel statue. On a dare, you pretended to dance with it. 

Sure, you’d seen the picture before but it was nothing compared to the painting. It looked amazing, you had never looked better. Your features were captured in the best way possible, you’d been posed in a way that made it seem as if you were guiding the angel in a dance. 

The description catches your eye next. 

One Last Dance wasn’t the first drawing of Muse, but it was the first drawing of him that I truly loved. He’d resparked a passion for painting for me. The painting had been on my mind for two weeks before I finally started to work on it, having it become my only focus for the two days that I worked on it became the norm for the next two years of my life. 

Muse doesn’t personally care for the Renaissance era, but it seemed fitting for such a painting. The feeling of dressing Muse in modern clothes didn’t ruin the drawing but it didn’t make sense, in my head their dance is accompanied by the sounds of the wings and their feet gliding across the floor. Just outside is probably a mob, unbelievable of a true angel. Muse would probably say that he was dancing to the sounds of Sleep Token and outside was a bunch of ‘angel fuckers’, but who knows. 

D.W

The next painting was smaller than the first, but it’s a close-up of your face. Your eyes are wide and you’re desperately pulling at your eyelids as a light twinkles inside of it. 

Blinding Gaze came about when Muse had gone to the eye doctor, fearing he was going blind. Turns out he was just extremely stressed to the point of temporary blindness. When we spoke about it, he joked that he was developing powers from that time he drank a sports drink mixed with a crushed-up Tylenol and he could shoot lasers from his eyes. While Blinding Gaze doesn’t follow his original plan of lasers, I imagine developing eye lights could be frightening. 

Blinding Gaze isn’t body horror, although I had intended it to be but I couldn’t bring myself to put Muse into that position. Even if it was completely fake. I did eventually remake the painting how I truly envisioned it, but I still prefer my Muse to the remake. 

Drifting to the next painting, you see yourself, dressed in your favorite smudged hoodie, dancing amongst the crowd. The people are drowned out in the colors of the background, nearly blending in meanwhile you’re ever so present. The light shone down on you in a way that made you seem like the main character in some movie, all eyes meant to be on you. 

A Night To Remember was undoubtedly one of the best moments of college thus far. Muse had been invited to a friend's party and insisted I come instead of remaining in the art room, drowning myself in oils and pastels. Although I’ve put his words in a more friendly manner. I hadn’t wanted to go, the noises and being pressed against unfamiliar faces was hardly something I ever enjoyed. But for Muse, I’d do anything he’d asked of me. 

Glued to him for the night, I found myself unreasonably drawn to him. I do not remember the song, in truth, I don’t remember much from that night aside from him. The way he danced, how he looked at me. How he looked in the room. I resented not bringing my sketchbook, but I would’ve been more out of place than I originally had been. 

Smoothening your shirt, you take a nervous glance around you. You’re unsure about how you feel, it’s a lot. You’ve never truly thought about Damian in such a light before, at least not to your knowledge. Sure, you’ve written compositions about him and sure, if you read between the lines in some songs they’re definitely about him. You and Him. 

Perhaps, without realizing it, you had made him your muse just as he had made you his. 

“I want you to see this one,” Damian says as he walks up behind you, finally free of people asking him questions. The music loops as he does and you count that there’s five songs on the set playlist. Each and every song was one you had created. Your song from the previous week plays again as you stare at him, smiling. 

“I’m your muse?” You softly ask, unable to remove yourself from the spot until you have gotten your words out. Damian dips his head down for a moment and wipes his nose. “You’re nervous,” The small tease makes his eyes roll and he clears his throat, the red settling from his tanned ears. 

“I want you to see this one,” He repeats and grabs your hand, gently guiding you past the people surrounding the room. They look at the two of you, watching as you walk up to a large painting in the center of the room. Clearly a last-minute addition but it seemed to be the focus. 

“Woah,” Is all you can say when you see the painting of you during your final. It’s painted in the same style as your favorite art era. The romantic era where colors were soft, even if they were dark. The painting itself had you in the center, a sea of people at the bottom and there are several ghostly figures of yourself, dancing across the stage leaving streaks of yourself at the top. The floor of the stage was covered in candles. 

“How long did this take you?” You ask, eyes darting between details and finding new ones each time you look. 

“Two days,” He shrugs. Slowly, you look at him and he looks back at you, confused. “I couldn’t sleep until I finished the painting. The way you looked during your final.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “It’s truly beautiful— you’re truly beautiful,” He adds, looking at you. 

“When you paint me like that I definitely am,” You laugh, looking back at the painting. 

“I only painted you through my lens. Perhaps your eyes aren’t as good as you think they are because the paintings truly do not live up to their references. You’re captivating and the way you’ve consumed my thoughts is honestly intoxicating.” His eyes twinkle as you look at each other. You don’t know what to say, honestly. You can stroke your ego a little, you could crack a joke, or you could bear yourself completely to him. But definitely not in a room filled with people. 

“Ah,” Dick breaks the silence. “You know he used to be a junior poet?” Grumbling, Damian looks over at Richard as he’s staring at the painting, sipping sparkling champagne from a flute glass while holding a cracker with cheese and jelly. Gross. Probably, you’ve never had it before. 

“I do believe I asked for a moment alone,” Damian gives a half-snarky grin and Dick shrugs. 

“A whole lotta people here, doubt you’d be alone.” With a sweeping motion, he gestures to the crowd around you. It’s not elbow-to-elbow crowded but you can hear at least seven conversations happening around you. 

“I suppose you’re correct,” He nods, following his brother's line of thinking. “Fresh air?” He asks you and you nod. 

There’s a park in front of the exhibit and it’s mostly empty, save for two kids and their parents but they’re clearly about to leave. Damian heads towards the benches but you pull him to the swings. There are three but one of them is tossed over the bar and you don’t feel like fixing it. 

Sitting with your back to the exhibit, you look over the trees and the playground. The sandpit with someone’s lost doll sitting down, a bucket behind it. 

“What did you think?” He spoke up after a minute had passed. The entire time he watched as you gently rocked back and forth on the swings, tempting yourself to actually swing. 

“You’re amazingly talented,” You hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Although, I already knew that. You’re like Michelangelo with everything you pick up.” Glancing at him, you smile when you see his hands. “You still haven’t cleaned the charcoal from your nails.” 

“No,” He blinks, his eyes staying closed for a beat longer than a blink. “Not of my skill level, (Y/n). Of the drawings. That you’re Muse.” He looks down at his fingertips and starts to pick at the bits of charcoal. “That you’re my muse.”

Softly you sigh before looking back to the trees. 

“What is there to think about? You’re my muse, I'm yours.” 

“You’ve written songs about me?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, refusing to look at him. “Which? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“Birds of a feather, I wanna be yours, and Golden hour. There’s more but they’re too embarrassing to admit,” Hearing him take a deep breath, you pick at your fingernails and slowly stop swinging.

“What now?” You ask, finally looking at him. He shrugs and starts to slowly swing. He thinks for a moment before he checks his phone. 

“When are you free? I can make reservations to—“

“Applebees or Red Lobster,” You cut him off and he looks at you, confused. “Applebees is once every so often, birthdays or celebrations. But Red Lobster? That’s graduation or date.” 

“You could’ve gone for a five-star restaurant, you know that, right?” He laughs and you shrug. 

“I heard they’re pretty shit. And I want to fuck up a seafood boil. Oh wait,” Blinking, you try to remember the Red Lobster menu. “Never mind, I don’t think they have vegetarian options. We could do Olive Garden or whatever vegetarian places you like. I’m not picky,” 

“And I am?” He teases and you roll your eyes. “Friday, at five. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Olive Garden. And then to the movies to watch that new horror movie you’ve been wanting to watch.”

“That sounds perfect,” You nod and nudge your swing into his. 

“Can I admit something?” He slowly asks. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward but…” Watching as he licks his lip, you stop swinging. “May I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” You nod. Trying not to seem too eager, the both of you stand up and you watch as he raises his hands to cup your face. His fingers are warm, gliding across your skin as you hook one arm around his waist while the other holds his shoulder. “Do you want to lead?” You whisper as he looks at you, unmoving. His eyes dart down to your lips and he nods before closing the distance. 

His hands drag a little down your face, his pinky curving under your jaw before moving up into your hair. Slowly the kiss breaks and he dips back down for one quick kiss. 

“He’s been waiting months to do that,” Dick announces and Damian groans. You snicker and look behind Damian. Dick isn’t even looking, looking off into the distance before he’s sure that you’re done kissing before looking at the two of you. 

“Must he ruin everything?” He whispers to you before facing his brother. “I understand you have no concept of privacy, but this warrants that.” Dick frowns at the rudeness before he shrugs and points his thumb towards the venue. 

“They’re asking for you, thought I should come and get you before they spot you.” He explains through a sigh. “Would hate for our little demon’s kiss to end up on the front page. But, yeah,” He sighs and looks over at you. He stares at your face for a moment before he chuckles. 

“Take him to the bathroom, you got dust on his face.”

“It’s charcoal.”

[soap143]

hiiiiii I was wondering if you would want to write about lee! hyunjin? maybe something similar the chan story but hyunjin has to paint while tickled or there's a belt that's ticklish which he has to wear while dancing??

if you don't want to you don't have to write it :)))

thank youuuu

AAAAH I love this idea! I hope you won’t mind that I wrote this for the “Eye for an eye” series. I just think this concept really fits in here. Happy reading! (just a quick lil reminder that you should read Challenge before or after this fic)

•• ━━━━━━━ •• ❖ •• ━━━━━━━ ••

Eye for an eye

pt. 2

lee!hyunjin

ler!chan

•• ━━━━━━━ •• ❖ •• ━━━━━━━ ••

Ever since Chan had gotten revenge on the first kid, the rest had been avoiding him in fear of being mercilessly wrecked. Minho, being the amazing lee he was, ratted out the leader’s plan immediately, causing everyone to never let their guard down.

However, this evening he was completely alone with Hyunjin in the dorm. Changbin and Han convinced Chan to stay home while they finish up all the work. The oldest smirked, plotting his sweet revenge…

He thought that Hyunjin was scrolling on social media or wasting his precious free evening doing something useless, but was pleasantly surprised to see the exact opposite “Woah, you’re… painting? Should I-” the kangaroo’s sentence was cut short as Jinnie groaned, throwing his head back in annoyance “Can you please leave? I’m really focused on finishing this painting. I’ll post it on instagram later for STAY to see.”

“God forbid me from disturbing you, my prince! Don’t you remember what you and the kids did to me last week? I thought Lee Know had told you.” Chan mocked, inching closer to his future victim.

“Haha, very funny. You can’t tickle me now. The paint. It’s gonna get everywhere. You’re gonna ruin my painting. I’ll die.” Hyunjin brainstormed ramdom ideas to get his hyung away from his ticklish self.

The aussie nonchalantly grabbed an empty canvas and a chair, walking towards the ferret. He placed the chair behind the painter and the canvas in front, replacing the unfinished painting with it.

“I think STAY would love to see how to paint a simple auto portrait… While being tickled.” the shorter stated, wrapping his fingers around Jinnie’s sides, not doing anything yet.

Hyunjin gulped, dipping his dirty paintbrush into a cup, filled with water. Then, he patted it dry onto a piece of paper. Lastly, he proceeded to grab quite a generous amount of paint onto his brush.

For STAY…

He started slowly with his face. It was just a simple little sketch, nothing too important anyway, so he didn’t really care about proportions. He was about to get tickled, so it would surely get ruined anyway.

As he was finishing up his chin and starting on the jaw, he felt a quick jab on his side, causing him to jerk the opposite way “Yah! Thankfully, the brush wasn’t on the canvas… I almost ruined it because of you!” Hyunjin whined.

The person responsable for the tall boy’s screams just snickered, poking him once again.The artists tried to protect his sensitive torso with one hand and paint with the other.

As Jinnie hurriedly drew the ears, Chan properly dug into the vulnerable spot, making Hyunjin flinch harshly “CHAN! Now you’ve ruined it! Do you see this big, dark line? That’s your fault!” the ferret dramatically gasped, repeatedly pointing at the horrible mistake.

“Excuse me? Chan? It’s hyung to you!” the shorter pointed out, shoving his wiggly fingers under the younger’s arms “YAHAHAHAHA STOHOHOHOHOP! IHIHI MUHUHUHUHUHST FIHIHIHIHIHINISH THIHIHIHIHS HAHAHAHA!” the tallest member in Stray Kids yelped, twisting side to side.

To his disadvantage, the aussie wasn’t in the mood to show any mercy “Remeber how you tickled me without letting me sing those beutiful lyrics out? I was dying, yet none of you stopped for even a minute to let me push those words out. Have a taste of your own medicine, Jinnie. Eye for an eye…” Chan ranted, drilling in between the long haired boy’s ribs.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEASE, IHIHIHIHI REHEHEHEHEALY HAHAHAHAVE TOHOHOHOHO- NOHOHOHOHO!” the talented painter tried to squeak his sentence out, only to be cut off by his own crazy cackles “Get to drawing, I really wanna see that beutiful result of your talent~” the kangaroo teased, mocking the way Hyunjin and kids tormented him.

The ferret quickly grabbed the paintbrush, splashing some abstract stains of paint, trying to resemble his hair “Wow, are those your beutiful locks of hair?” the older teasingly questioned the colourful puddles.

“IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI CAHAHAHHAHAN’T- UGH! STOHOHOHOHOP, YOUHUHUH’RE ANOHOHOHOHOHYING!” the dancer tried to argue with the older, but was far too ticklish for that “Where are those beutiful eyes of yours? And your neck? I think you should draw yourself wearing a beutiful polo-shirt.” Chan suggested, squeezing his lee’s lower back.

Hyunjin went bonkers when the chosen spot was mercilessly attacked. In fact, he even got some paint on his face.

In a desperate act, he snatched his painting tool and smuthered his not-so-empty canvas in random strokes. Most of them were unsuccessful, landing nowhere near the face. He tried once more, this time making them look somewhat close to a nose, eye and a singular eyebrow.

“You’re doing great! Just finish up the other half of the face and you’ll be done!” Channie commented, grabbing the top of the dancer’s thighs and pushing his fingers rapidly in and out of the flesh. The worst part: one hand was being so painfully gentle and the other seemed to be melting into the ticklish skin with its aggressiveness.

“OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOK O-OHOHOK IHIHIHIHIHI’M DO-DOHOHOHOHONE!” the younger announced “Nu-uh. The head, it’s floating. You better add a neck before it falls to the ground!”

The painting in question was full of uneven lines, some of them not even properly connecting. Hyunjin’s supposed face was half empty. Not to mention that it was covered in zig-zaggy strokes, most of which went over the line that separated the visage from the backround. The backround in question was covered with those exact same abstract, uneven strokes, lines and stains of paint.

Both of the boys stopped to admire their work. It seemed so… Modern “Look at what we’ve created…” Chan dramatically sighed in admiration “Excuse me? Who’s we? This is all my job!” Hyunjin tried to protest, only to be lowered back down by a few pokes to the side.

“STAY is gonna love this!” the aussie exclaimed, suddenly taking out his phone and stopping the video recording “YOU FILMED THAT?!” the artist roared “You filmed me! And posted it. This is called revenge!” the leader snickered, running away to hide into the safety of his room, before the taller boy could catch up.

That very same evening, Hyunjin’s instagram account was updated with two posts. One with the original painting he was working on, and the other painting: which his oldest hyung helped him make…

•• ━━━━━━━ •• ❖ •• ━━━━━━━ ••

Hope you enjoyed! Do you guys like this series and concept? Me personally, I love these shorter fics. Can’t wait to write more. Have a good day/night!❤️🙂

[witch-hazels-musings]

Hi Hazel! Can I get a reading of The Magician, The Moon, and The Hierophant with Kazuha please? 💖

The Moon (creativity), The Magician (transformation), The Hierophant (learning), The Fool (fear of losing something) :: kazuha x artist!gn reader | neutral fate

combined requests (🎱) :: warning: sfw, slight insecurities (artwork)

The afternoon sun rained down on you, warmed you as you breathed in the salty sea air. Bits of sand picked up on the wind, landing on the parchment you’d been scribbling lines on for the past hour. You thought being in the fresh air would be inspiring but it turned out distracting. That was partially because of the man who kept pulling your attention from your work. 

Kazuha, who had happened upon you some time ago, was moving slowly, gracefully across the beach. His body moved like the wind, bending and twisting as he practiced the sword. You could watch him all day but instead you came up with the perfect excuse as you flipped to a new page and began to draw what you saw.

The flow of his robes, the sharpness of his limbs as he pulled them back, thrusted forward and danced with the glint of metal in his hands. How did someone become so elegant and why was it always Kazuha? Not only did you find his actions to be smooth and purposeful but his words were much like that too. Delicate phrases strung together to produce melodies of the spoken word. You smiled at some of your favorites as you sketched his face under the bright sun. 

Once you were finished, you went back in to polish the more timid parts of your drawing but, when you had them just right, you swore this was the best thing you’d ever made. It was only possible because of the muse who danced before you. 

When Kazuha came to a standstill and you saw him bow to his invisible partner, you began to clap at his incredible performance. “Bravo!” You shouted above the waves and beckoning birds eager to see if you had anything to share with them. He simply bowed again, a relaxed smile on his lips. 

Stretching, you worked out the tension in your body before moving to put your items away. You were nearly finished when Kazuha appeared before you, gazing at the drawing you made. “How lovely.” He hummed and you turned in an instant to cover the artwork. 

“It’s not that good ...” You were hesitant to show anyone your creations. Even if you thought they were satisfactory or were proud of them, you worried so much that someone else would destroy them. Tear them apart for not being perfect, wreck your already unsteady confidence. To have this taken from you would be too damaging but to hear those words from the man you loved; it would demolish you. 

“I have to disagree. The work is rather spectacular.” His kindness brought you some comfort but, even though you pulled your hands back slightly, you didn’t dare let him get a better look. 

“I had good inspiration.” 

He chuckled but didn’t seem all that affected by your statement. Kazuha was always respectful, always kind. It was something you appreciated but at times you’d wish he’d be more assertive with you. Were his feelings the same? You couldn’t tell and you certainly weren’t brave enough to ask. “If you’d like, I could teach you several beginner moves. They are rather easy and will take us no time at all.” 

“A-but - mmm.” You looked at the sword resting on his hip, nervous. “I’ve never held a weapon before.” 

“Do not be frightened. A weapon is merely a tool and you have shown expertise in your own, but,” He thought for a moment before disappearing behind you and reappearing with a stick. Swiftly, he removed the extra limbs from it’s base until it looked as straight as any stick could. “We can use something else for now.” He handed it to you, and though you were hesitant, you felt more confident in the shadow of Kaedehara Kazuha. 

Carefully, Kazuha positioned you in the first stance. You giggled at your forgetfulness of which hand was dominant, felt your cheeks burn at the wobbliness of your body as he set your hips just right, willed your heart to slow when he drew close to you until you could feel his breath against your skin. 

“Just there.” He whispered and you almost fainted at the words. “Now, mimic me.” Kazuha quickly put himself next to you in a similar stance. One arm extended forward and the other, the one with the weapon, angled toward the sand. “First, a slow thrust.” 

That’s so unfair.

He pushed the weapon forward with unbelievable balance while you shook at the weight of your little stick. Kazuha had you practice the motion over and over until you felt comfortable with the feel of it. Once satisfied, he moved onto a few more simple gestures: a sweep across your chest, an overhead swing, a low sweep. The actions felt so strange at first but after getting into a groove you were lost in the movements. The steady push and pull of the waves beside you, the spreading heat across your back, the wind in your hair. It was refreshing, rejuvenating, and you felt like you finally understood why he practiced like this. 

“It appears you have those down well.” He beamed and you felt accomplished at the sound of his voice. “There is one more thing you must master however.” You felt a pain in your heart but tried not to take it too personally. This was your first time but it was upsetting you weren’t perfect yet. He had done so much to help you and yet you still failed him. 

“Umm ... okay.” You tried to adapt yourself, fix your posture, your stance and started the movements again but with far more focus than before. Kazuha moved from his spot, you could hear the sound of his footsteps in the sand but you tried not to let him distract you. 

“When you drew me, what did you see?” 

“Huh?” You asked, halting your movement and twisting your head to look at him. 

“Keep going, but forget not my question.” Confused, you began again and tried to think about what you saw, what you drew, and what he could possibly be asking you. 

You drew him as he moved. Strong, steady lines, but you didn’t notice how your posture adjusted to them. Flowing movements like that of the wind, but you couldn’t see how your face relaxed and your body twisted to compensate. You noticed him and the beauty he was, but couldn’t tell your head dropped even more than before. 

“I saw you being an expert of your craft.” You eventually said, hoping it was the right answer. 

Kazuha moved toward you and you returned to your first stance, holding the stick in your hand and away from him so you wouldn’t harm him. How could you ever. When he appeared in your view, he looked you over before lifting his hand to your chin and pushing it upward. It felt strange to have your head held so high. 

“y/n, the one thing you drew and the one thing you must master, is confidence.” Your brows furrowed but he didn’t let your head drop or pull away. “It is not just the skill of the art you must wield but the confidence to know you are worthy of it.” 

“Am I -” You bit your lip, the stick in your hand threatening to fall, “Am I worthy of that?” You whispered, eyes searching his calm ones. 

He smiled, “A young sapling does not know of it’s future but roots spread deep into the ground, branches stretch to the vast sky. It may not foresee what is too come but it cannot doubt it’s ability and, within time, it becomes a sturdy tree.” His thumb passed over your cheek as he lifted your chin further into the sky. “Where will your roots take hold and arms stretch, y/n? How I long to see the day you become what you are worthy to be.” 

The emotions in your chest tightened, your cheeks felt wet, and you took several breaths to work them free while your face lifted on it’s own to the strength of the sun and you stood stronger than you ever had before, side by side, with Kazuha.  

Fate Made Event (May8-31) | Anthology

[h2bakugou]

hello! May I please have a Dabi x fem reader in the lov who likes to draw? I think she finds his scars and stuff to be a work of art in itself and is like (oh heck I gotta sketch this). He glances at what she’s drawing and she gets all flustered! Maybe he even takes his shirt off at one point which can lead to some other things~ (I like smut but if you think fluff fits the prompt better that’s alright with me!) Thank you and I love your writing!

a/n: hii! of course love! this is super sweet omg i love dabi, i feel like i dont capture his character very well but imma try like hell😩😩this is probably ooc for him but it’s sappy and i love it

summary: dabi’s hard to read, but that doesn’t stop you from sketching him. you find beauty in his flaws, entranced by his scars, so much so that dabi can’t help but be interested in you.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff, sappy romance bc i love this man, some spicy themes, one mention of a slight(possible? idrk what counts) manga spoiler (e.g. dabi’s past/history) (manga spoilers in tags!!)

wordcount: 2k

;cut due to suggestive themes;

»»————-　★　————-««

»»————-　★　————-««

It’s never been a really big secret that you liked drawing. But when it comes to working for the league, specifically, the League of Villains, your line of work doesn’t allow for very much downtime unless you’re in the midst of planning some sort of attack or rebellion.

Whether or not the league keeps hopping from rendezvous spot to rendezvous spot isn’t up to you, but you never fail to get a little used to the eerily calming silence that falls upon the league during the first twenty-four hours of the new four walls that seem to keep you safe for the time being.

With a barely sharpened pencil in your hand, a small drawing pad in the other, you’re staring at Dabi as you sketch him.

It started as a bit of a joke, maybe just teasing him since he liked to tease you about being into him since you were the only one he was really super close, if you could call being the first one he spoke to every time he saw you or the one you sought out to be paired up with during missions, ‘super close.’

But now, it was something you enjoyed.

Dabi was one among the very interesting members of the league. Something about his scars just seemed to entrance you. Pulling you in further and further down a rabbit hole of questions that you had but never let leave past your lips.

It felt wrong to ask, not that it was a bad thing to be curious, but because Dabi was just so mysterious. No one knew anything about him, or about who he was, his past, even his real name was a mystery. 

It felt wrong to disturb the unnerving peace that was Dabi. The resting expression on his features balancing on a thin cable between anger and poor personal resilience.

Dabi’s scars were the highlight of your sketches, always standing out. What the others may have thought to be ugly, or unattractive, you thought were beautiful, and emotional.

There was a story behind them, one you wanted to know, one you wanted to uncover and read, page by page, line by line, and word for word, discovering just how truly deep Dabi’s past was. But only Dabi could show you that, only Dabi could open that book for you. And you were willing to wait. You’d wait an eternity if you had too.

His rough raven hair is messy and strewn about as you scribble down his facial features, the groggy lighting making it just a tad difficult to see as you lead the pencil over the warm white paper littered with graphite covered fingerprints.

His arms are positioned on a counter, the art work resembling how he was sitting sloped against the kitchen table, elbows pressed against the dark mahogany wood, hands resting by his mouth as his cerulean eyes peer off at the cracked cement wall in front of him, occasionally glancing back at you.

The other members of the league were scattered about but it didn’t bother you. Toga asked you a couple of questions, wondering what you were doing, if you were excited about the new plans and such.

You replied quietly as to not disturb the peace.

But soon some of the members left, going off to go eat or find something to do. And soon you were among the few left behind, along with Dabi, Shigaraki and Mr. Compress.

Having almost finally finished your current sketch, you were stopped by a pair of hands picking up your drawing pad. Rough and calloused fingers drew your pad away and your attention away.

“Hey I’m not finished.” You glanced up at Dabi. Dabi just admired the talent poured into the sketch. Dabi couldn’t wrap his head around why you drew him so often, but he didn’t mind. It was kind of touching in a way.

“Is that really what I look like?” Dabi joked, handing you back your sketch pad.

“You have looked in a mirror once before, right?” You titled your head to the side, adding a bit more detail to his scars as you began to draw again. 

“A few times. But I’d rather look at you, doll.” Dabi’s hands reached down again, this time pulling at your hands. Leading you out of the room where the other two members sat, finding a way to entertain themselves, Dabi lead you up some stairs in questionable condition.

Picking a random room, he sat down on the rickety bed and waited for you to sit down.

“Why’s that?” You tease, returning to drawing, looking up at him every few seconds to reference. And to admire him.

“You’re easy on the eyes, beautiful and-”

“Are you saying you’re not beautiful, Dabi?” You stopped him, not pausing to look at him.

“I’m not beautiful, I’m gorgeous.” Dabi chuckled, shaking his head jokingly as he laid back against the bed, his head dangling off the opposite end.

“You are.” You confirm. Finally finishing up your sketch. You get up and walk over to him, handing him the finished sketch. 

“You add so much detail to my scars. They’re just scars.” The tips of Dabi’s ears flush as heat floods to his face. He’s flustered but he won’t admit it. He can’t understand why you think he’s so beautiful.

You don’t speak. For the first time, you’re speechless. You sit down beside Dabi, and now that he’s sitting up, he faces you.

You reach your hands out and gently lift one of his arms, holding one of his hands in your own. You run your fingers across the scarred flesh, gently caressing his skin. 

His hands are cold compared to your warm fingers. He’s getting chills all down his spine as you touch him. It’s not meant to be anything out of the ordinary, but he’s still shocked that he’s letting you touch him.

“Your scars are beautiful. I’m sure there’s a story, something about them that might make you hate them, but I love them, and I think they make you that much more beautiful. You are a masterpiece, every scar a carefully calculated brushstroke on a beautiful canvas.” Your words finally come out, overflowing with love. You can’t sit quietly anymore.

“Dabi you are beautiful.” Your eyes lock with his, and you can tell he’s unsure of what to do. 

Dabi no longer felt he had the ability to cry, but if he’d let himself, he would’ve done it in that moment. Being so open and vulnerable around you just happened. It came too easily, and he hated it, but he loved you.

Pulling his arm away form your warm touch, he tossed his jacket off and to the side before tearing his shirt away from his body, allowing you to see his chest, and more of his scar covered skin.

Sitting quietly with a faint blush on your cheeks, you couldn’t look away. trying to avoid staring directly at his toned chest and his nipples, you raised your hand and allowed your fingers to sink down across his sternum.

Soon your fingers were met with his abs, which the heat on your face noticed far too well. 

“Say it again.” Dabi mumbled. You lifted your head to look into his eyes again, your hand still resting against his chest.

“You are beautiful-” The moment the words left your lips, Dabi’s own lips were pressed against yours. Kissing you roughly, more than he intended too, his hands mangled into yours, pushing your arms over your head.

His heart was pounding and it felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest onto yours. Pulling away for a few seconds, Dabi’s hair covered his eyes as he looked down, finding interest in the collar of your shirt.

“I want you.” Dabi’s words were simple, but they didn’t have to be complex. You knew what he meant, and you knew what he wanted. You wanted it too. A chance to see him in a different light, with deeper meaning.

A chance to connect with him, one on one. 

“Then take me.” Your fingers intertwined with his, your arms still resting above your head. It didn’t take long for his lips to magnetize back to yours, sticking to them like glue.

When Dabi thought about sex, he didn’t come anywhere close to making love. There wasn’t that sort of option when it came to him. He didn’t think he was at all capable of love, let alone a relationship that was going to have any sort of emotional connection strong enough to make him feel stable.

But you, you were so vastly different from anyone he’d ever fucked. So different from an excuse to get his dick wet, to get his mind off of league business or heaven forbid, his past.

But you, you were what he needed, what he wanted. It was far from therapy, but it’d work. Having you around was like a drug, addicting, and he’d be going through withdrawals if he couldn’t have you.

Feeling you, touching you, fucking you, kissing you, it was fuel to his fire. He was damaged goods, broken and shattered, impossible to put together, but you were doing your best, working on the smallest parts, exercising precautions, and opening your heart to him.

Hearing his name in the form of your moans as he rutted into you, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips drove him wild, much like the way your hands tangled into his hair, forcing his head into your chest where he kissed and sucked on your skin, leaving marks.

Your moans and his own grunts of pleasure were spewing from the locked room. Dabi didn’t care if the others heard, he was enjoying the moment.

Every part of it. Every part of you, every part of your body, your words, your love. And before he knew, Dabi was at his highest, his face flush against your naked chest, breathing heavily as he inhaled your scent.

Still inside you, he didn’t move, allowing the two of you to catch your breath. It was in this moment, if Dabi allowed himself to cry, he would’ve cried a second time. He was so infatuated with you, so attached.

“I love you.” Your words scared him, causing his cerulean eyes to peak at you through locks of his noir hair.

“That’s stupid.” Dabi kissed your sternum, kissing up your chest, stopping at your neck to leave a little mark, only to meet at your lips in the end.

“How?” You ask softly, your hands massaging his scalp as his lips hover over yours.

“I can’t explain it, it just is.” Dabi frowned, trying to understand what your eyes were saying as they clouded with emotion.

“Love is complex, and I think that maybe you’ve never really had good experiences with it. If you’d let me, I could show you just how beautiful it can be.” You offer, a small smile on your lips.

“If you feel the need-”

“I do. I love you, and I want you to know love.” You kissed his forehead. Dabi eventually pulled out, not minding the mess, he’d clean up later. 

“I want you to know why I love you.” You whispered, hugging him closer to you.

“Why I love your scars, your hands, your strength, the rasp in your voice, all of it. I love.” Dabi’s arms are strung over your waist as he lays, face nuzzled in your neck. It’s a bit of a stretch for him, and he feels out of place, but it’s oddly comfortable.

The next couple of times you draw Dabi, you ask to see him shirtless again. And with every new sketch, there’s something new to be learned, for Dabi. He’s learning about love, and loving you. 

He finds that you still draw him incredibly cute, and though he won’t admit it, he loves when you draw him. He’ll pose for you if you ever ask, and you always tease him a little about how it was like he was born to be a model.

It’s a long road ahead of you, but it’s one you’re willing to take, to show Dabi just how important love is.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[cupidsintern]

the death of hyacinthus - pt. i

this is my old renaissance au with artist!billy and model!steve so enjoy lol

The light spills out onto the floor before the window, making the worn wood of the floor look bright again, like new. The light doesn't reach Steve though. Billy set up the scene like that on purpose, closer to the center of his studio. No direct light. He wants this to be lit like it's the beginning of twilight. In his head, Hyacinth dies at sunset.

The room is silent, has been for a while, other than birds outside the window, a breeze that made the window tap against itself lightly, and fabric shifting if Steve stirs from where he is at all, draped across this haphazard construction of pillows, blankets, and a bench.

That's the word Billy used; “drape”. When Steve got to the studio Billy was kicking pillows around on his little model platform, trying to get everything set up right, hardly even greeting Steve at all before launching into his explanation of how he wanted Steve to look.

“-and he’s dying, but he’s not dead yet,” Billy walked half a circle around the platform, hands out. “So Apollo would- damn-” A pillow fell over, he pushed it back up. “Would be here. So if you can just sort of drape yourself across right here-”

Steve was stripping off the last of his garments when Billy turned back around.

“Here?” Steve finished kicking his stockings off, crossed to step up onto the platform.

Billy swallowed, looking Steve in the eyes because at least it meant he wouldn't look down, slack jawed. “Yeah, that's- that’s perfect.” Steve was already settling in to sitting down, letting his head fall back against the seat of the bench, throat exposed.

The way he was sitting shifted his weight in his hips more; Billy tried to look critically. Not appreciatively. He shouldn’t be appreciating the son of the nobleman that had decided to be his patron. Not that Steve was even supposed to be modeling for him beyond the two portraits he’d already had done.

“Tip your knee down more,” Billy stepps back, takes in the composition.

Steve drops his knee.

“Turn your head towards me.”

Steve obliges. The line of his nose looks perfect at three quarters.

Billy stepps up to the platform again, pulls some of the fabric forward, lets it fall over Steve's legs more, over his groin- good. Less distracting. More poetic or something- and the line of his thighs beneath the fabric has just the heaviness Billy is looking for. He steps back again.

“What’s the myth again?” Steve’s jaw gains definition when he speaks with his head at this angle.

“The Death of Hyacinthus.”

“I know that part.” Steve rolls his hand a little. “The part before that. How does he die?”

“He- hang on.” Billy steps close again to push things around, make the lines right. “The wind- Zephyr- gets jealous of his beauty. Apollo throws a discus, and Zephyr pushes it off course, so it knocks Hyacinth in the head. Apollo holds him while he dies.” Billy says it all matter-of-factly. He's trying not to get distracted. He picks up Steve's arm to tilt back towards him a little. His skin is warm like the sunlight staining the floor.

“That's sad.” Steve says. His arm feels relaxed in Billy’s grip. “Weren't they close? Apollo and Hyacinth.”

Billy feels a familiar warmth at his neck of this topic. This thing that always comes up when he and Steve are alone. “They were lovers.”

Steve doesn't say anything back to that.

Billy gets the composition mostly how he wants it- and he’ll probably try Steve in a couple different poses, this is only for sketching. He takes ages deciding where to set up to actually draw it- Steve makes fun of him. Billy says he’s not the one naked on a pile of old curtains. That makes Steve laugh. His stomach flexes a little when he laughs.

Billy's glad Steve can be part of his process now.

He gets some general gestures down on paper. He really nails the angle of Steve’s throat- which he's proud of. He needs the arch of the thing to be perfect. And he gets the general idea of Steve's features down quick- he’s drawn Steve's face maybe a thousand times by now. The way his arm falls is tricky- he’ll come back to that in a bit.

“Billy.”

Billy looks up at Steve’s voice. He’s sat up a little, something short of coy in his eyes. “I’m cold.” “You’re cold.” Billy says back to him. Because he never does what Steve implies. Only what Steve says.

“Yeah, like you said- I’m bare ass naked on a pile of curtains.”

“Your calling.”

Steve laughs again. “Do you think we could close the door?”

“We?”

“You. Can you close the door.”

“Who’s the revered artist here?”

“Who’s the patron?”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he drops his chalk into the lip of his easel anyway, walks to pull the door to his studio shut, separating them from the rest of the house. Steve left it open in the first place.

“You’re not my patron.” Billy says when he gets back, picks up to start drawing again.

“I’m close.” Steve only sounds a little superior.

He’s right. He is close to being Billy's patron. He recommended Billy to his family, he talked up Billy’s version of the pieta, he introduced Billy to the Influentials of Florence, got him this nice new studio, set up in one of the family houses. He was only a little superior about it.

Mostly he was nice.

Nice to Billy. Excited about the things he drew, always asking him what he was working on.

Asked to sit for him once, twice, how many more times, he was part of the process now.

This might be what having a muse was, if Billy believed in things like having muses.

Steve scratches the back of his calf with a foot, then sets his legs back down.

“I’m surprised you don’t get bored doing this.” Billy cracks two of the knuckles on his drawing hand, shakes out his wrist. He’s only prying a little.

“I like watching you work,” comes Steve's easy reply.

“Still.” Billy smudges at a stray line with his thumb. “You’re always fidgety at dinners and shit. Not here.”

“Dinners are boring.” Steve sighs.

He had expressed that sentiment before. That he found Billy much more interesting than anything his family ever did. That he’d trade his infinite wealth for the virve Billy so possessed. Only he didn't say it like that. He said “I’d trade all of this shit for whatever makes your art so beautiful.”

And Billy said “You wouldn't want to. Trust me.”

Billy, having seared the image of Steve into his brain by now, was adding more definition in places, really letting his focus slide out of his head.

And it’s quiet for a bit. Billy doesn't notice when the silence breaks- the sound of shifting fabric, bare feet on wood floor-

“Shit, that’s really good.” Steve's voice startles Billy a little, but he doesn’t let it show. Just turns a little abruptly to find Steve leaning over his shoulder.

“Looks just like me.” Steve continued, hovering his fingertips over Billy's rendition of his nose.

“You don’t have to sound so impressed every time.” Billy rolled his eyes, pushing Steve’s hand away.

“Oh, excuse me for showing some enthusiasm.” Steve hummed another laugh, still looking at the paper. He traced a finger absentmindedly down his own flesh-and-blood nose, marveling at the likeness.

Billy couldn't focus enough to continue with Steve so close. Not like he’d never seen Steve in next to nothing before. But this was really and truly nothing. And even naked as the day he was born Steve exuded wealth in just the way he stood. Like clothes were nothing but decoration on something already… beautiful.

“Can you go back to your spot, please?” Billy got out, looking away like he was annoyed.

Steve just smiled at him before padding back to his platform, throwing the fabric back over his legs.

But now the composition was wrong-

“So,” Steve’s voice carried across the sun-soaked chambers. “Why Hyacinth?”

“What do you mean.” Billy was trying desperately to collect his thoughts.

“I mean, he’s dating a god, right? Why him? What's so special about him.”

“He’s beautiful.”

“And?”

“Well, I mean, he’s a Spartan prince, he’s legendary. Apollo doesn't even really pick him. Hyacinth has, like, a bunch of people to choose from. He picks Apollo.”

Billy can’t draw like this, especially since Steve fucked up the composition- probably on purpose.

Billy gets up with an unintentional little huff and gets close to Steve again, has to adjust his legs again, avoid staring at the pinks that dust Steve’s everywhere-

“You draw me a lot.” Steve interrupts Billy’s train of thought.

Billy looks up, holding Steve’s wrist like it was his own. “You sit for me a lot-”

“What's your favorite part to draw?”

Billy’s breathing feels thicker, like his throat is coated in honey, sweet but hard to breathe. “Of you?” “Yeah.”

“Your nose.” Billy says easily, because it's safe to say.

Steve smiles. “You've said that before.”

“It's true.” Billy prepares to turn away again, to tell Steve they should get more done while there's still daylight.

Steve’s fingers hook against the palm of Billy's hand. This is playing with fire.

Steve lifts Billy's hand up, touches it to the bridge of his nose.

He can feel the sharp bone under his forefinger.

“Where else?”

Billy inhales. It's a feat. “Your jaw.”

Steve pulls Billy's hand down his cheek to touch his jawline. They’ve been avoiding this forever,

“And?” Cliche game of cat and mouse. Right now, Billy’s the mouse.

“Your shoulders.” Billy watches Steve drag his hand down his perfect neck to the slope of his perfect shoulders. “Steve.”

“Billy.” Steve mocks Billy’s warning tone just a little. “Come on, what else?”

Billy swallows again. He doesn't respond he just lets his hand wander lower, lower, down his chest, to his stomach-

Billy stops his hand, pushes back against Steve’s. “I’ve never drawn you nude, if that's what you’re implying.”

“Maybe you should.” Steve’s finger’s slide up Billy's forearm to hook under the edge of his rolled up sleeve.

“I’d need a couple different references...” Billy trails off. He knows Steve is about to kiss him.

It’s still delicious when he does. No number of days, weeks, waiting for one of them to make a move, of thinking what that move would be, what it would feel like, would have prepared Billy for the spit-sweet taste of a first kiss in the late afternoon.

-

i might do a part ii or just leave it like this lol

[sankyeom]

picture perfect | k.m

pairings: kevin moon x reader genre: art student au, strangers to lovers, art!student kevin, actor!reader, another secret admirer situation (yes i know we already did that in my sangyeon fit but it’s cute so idc) summary: in which you find a sketchbook filled with drawings of you, and go on a mission to find the owner word count: 8.5k (these just get longer and longer wow) series: sankyeom’s 2k followers celebration

masterlist

Your psychology professor always spoke a mile a minute, and it made taking notes unnecessarily difficult. Usually when she lectured, your wrist cramped from writing so fast, and your classmates couldn’t wait to get out of the room. On one particular autumn afternoon, you stared into nothingness as your professor gave a lecture on Milgram’s experiments, running lines in your head instead of taking notes like you usually did.

When you were cast as one of the lead roles (who didn’t even have that many lines to begin with) in your University’s winter play of An Ideal Husband, you were ecstatic to be given a new challenge. You had never been involved in acting or theatre before University, and you always felt like you were behind your peers. Your excitement soon morphed into something less productive: fear.

You were so afraid to mess up and disappoint your peers that you frequently did poorly in rehearsals and were the source of your cast’s frustrations. Perhaps it was your lack of experience, or perhaps it was because you didn’t really have any faith in yourself. Either way, it was all you could think about.

As your classmates started packing up to leave, you realised that the lecture was over and that you had just been in your own head for over an hour without learning anything from your class. Scrambling to pack up, you put away your notebooks and pencils as your phone chimed. Checking the text, you saw a message from your friend Sunwoo asking if you wanted to get lunch with him.

Getting to your feet, you texted Sunwoo that you were down for lunch as you exited the now empty lecture hall. As you left, you felt your shoe come in contact with a solid object in the doorway; a notebook that somebody must have dropped on the way out. Knowing that you would want your notes back if someone found them – especially in this class, where your professor spoke way too fast – you opened the notebook to see who it belonged to.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t a notebook, it was a sketchbook. With a drawing of you on the first page.

At first, you scolded yourself for assuming that the person in the drawing was you. It was presumptuous of you, wasn’t it? But the texture, colour, and length of the person’s hair perfectly matched yours. The person in the picture had your eyes, skin, clothes, and smile.

Perhaps it wasn’t so arrogant of you to presume that you were being depicted in the drawing.

“That’s a lovely drawing,” Professor Shin, who was on her way out, complimented. “You’re an excellent artist.”

You glanced up from the page, feeling a little dizzy. “It’s not mine,” you admitted, head spinning at the idea of somebody drawing you. Plain, simple, me? You couldn’t believe it. “I just found it here on the floor.”

“Looks like somebody admires you,” your Professor mused, smiling before bidding you farewell, leaving you standing in an empty lecture hall, clutching the sketchbook in your hands.

You tried to find a name on the other side of the cover, but there was no number or form of identification anywhere. The only thing that alluded to an identity was the small signature at the bottom right corner of the drawing.

Moon scribbles.

The first time Kevin saw you, he was seated three rows behind you in one of his Cultural Anthropology classes last semester. You were jotting notes as quickly as possible, brows furrowed together in concentration as you gripped your pen hard enough for your knuckles to turn white.

Kevin didn’t take any notes that day.

All the could do was watch you, appreciating the way your expressions changed as you understood the content, and the hesitance on your face when you volunteered an answer during class.

He didn’t mean to start drawing you. You had simply inspired him to pick up his pencil and start sketching, the soft strokes of the lead slowly but surely forming shapes that resembled your eyes, nose, lips…  

Kevin didn’t think that you’d be all he could draw from that moment onwards. Even during his art classes; if the assignment was to study the scenery surrounding the University and draw a landscape, Kevin couldn’t get the image out of your face out of his head. Whether he used paint, charcoal, ink, or lead, it was your profile that emerged from his efforts.

Today was no different; Kevin was supposed to be studying the Psychology slides from class that day – which he hadn’t taken notes on because he was too busy sketching you – and yet he only had the urge to add the finishing touches to his drawing instead of facilitating his studying. Dragging his messenger bag over to his desk, Kevin rifled through it in search of his sketchbook. He had filled many, many pages with your face at that point, and it had become a habit for him to bring it everywhere with him in case he had the urge to draw.

Kevin furrowed his brows when he couldn’t find it. His heart pounded suddenly, the idea of him having lost his sketchbook in a place you might find it seeming terrifying and disastrous. After a final sweep of his bag – which included emptying it inside-out to make sure he didn’t miss anything – Kevin could only hope and pray that he’d find it before you did.

“You found what?” Sunwoo asked through a mouthful of noodles, his eyes comically large and rounded in surprise.

“A sketchbook full of drawings of me,” you replied in a monotone voice, knowing fully well that Sunwoo had heard and understood you the first time. This was the fourth time you had explained the situation, and it was starting to get a little old.

Eric narrowed his eyes, judging Sunwoo’s eating habits, before turning to face you. “Are the drawings cute?” he wondered.

“I wouldn’t say they’re cute,” you said absentmindedly, thinking back to the drawings you saw. After succumbing to your own curiosity, you had looked through the notebook to see what other drawings there were. You knew this was an invasion of privacy but you couldn’t help yourself. Surely enough, they were all of you.

“They were beautiful. Drawn in such detail that I couldn’t even believe it when I first saw them… And I look genuinely gorgeous in them,” you paused when Sunwoo scoffed at your words. “I’m not saying that to be vain,” you defended. “Trust me, I look much better in the sketches than in real life. Whoever drew them just… sees me differently than I see myself. I look beautiful in the pictures.”

“Your Professor’s right, it does sound like you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Eric teased you, pleased that somebody other than your close friends was starting to see how great you were. He wasn’t your best friend like Juyeon or Sunwoo, but he knew you well enough. “Did you get a name or anything?” he asked excitedly.

“Nothing,” you sulked. “I can take an educated guess that this person is probably in my Psych class since it’s the only class I have in that room, but who knows? It could be anyone that’s seen me before.”

“Maybe it’s one of your fans from the drama department,” Sunwoo poked fun at your cast members, not liking how they were treating you in rehearsals.

“Very funny,” you rolled your eyes, finally picking at your rice and starting to eat. “I just want to know who’s drawing me in such an amazing way. It’s so detailed that I assume it might be someone will a lot of skill, maybe an art major? But a lot of people draw as a hobby who aren’t art majors as well. Maybe-”

Eric interrupted you. “You’re thinking too much,” he said, trying to clam you down. “Just… slow down a little. Maybe they’ll come looking for it next time you have Psych? There’s no name or information so you can’t do anything to find them, anyways,” he rationalised, something that was usually your role in your friendships.

Your eyes lit up. “Moon scribbles,” you exclaimed.

Sunwoo gave you an unimpressed look. “Bless you.”

You ignored his cheek, taking out your phone and going onto Instagram. “The artist signed all of their drawings with a signature that says Moon scribbles,” you explained.

“You know it’s rude to go onto your phone during mealtimes,” Sunwoo replied.

You laughed. “I’ll be sure to remember that for the next time you do the same, Kim Sunwoo.”

After typing moonscribbles into the search bar, you saw an art page by the same name pop up. You couldn’t tell who it belonged to, as the bio vaguely gave information about the artist going to your University, studying art and being a pisces. Since the account was private, you decided to risk it and request to follow them, no matter how strange that might be if they weren’t the person you were looking for.

“I should have invited Juyeon out for lunch instead,” Sunwoo decided, picking at your rice dish in between bites of his noodles.

“Juyeon would rather hang out with Eric than you anyway,” you teased your friend back, knowing that Juyeon and Eric had a deeper friendship despite Sunwoo and Eric being the same age. Eric grinned, amused that the was the topic of discussion and not chiming in to deny anything. “And excuse me, I paid for lunch, you rascal! Now stop complaining, I’m done anyway.”

“Alright, fine. Did anything come up?” Sunwoo wondered, slapping your wrist when you tried to take some of his noodles. You rolled your eyes. Typical Sunwoo: always taking your food but never willing to share his with you.

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

A few days passed without any response from moonscribbles on Instagram. You checked a few times a day to see if they ever accepted your request to follow them, but nothing ever came back. They didn’t deny your request, nor did they let you follow them either. It was frustrating, but it fell to the back of your mind after a week due to your schedule.

You had started doing full rehearsals with your cast members on stage for the play. At first, you thought that the setting might help you remember your lines and act without feeling awkward, but you were wrong. Most of your cast mates thought you got one of the lead roles for an alternate reason; perhaps you were related to someone on the University’s board and the director put you in because they wanted to keep their job. None of that was true, of course, but it didn’t help you make any friends.

The only friend you made was Younghoon, who played the lead opposite you, and with whom you frequently got together to go over lines and practice. He was one of those actors who was a completely different person from his role; he could keep be totally in character while doing his lines and the second the scene was over, he was back to his smiley self.

It didn’t help your confidence that he was an absolute pro. It only made you seem less competent in comparison, and you scolded yourself for even thinking that. Of course you knew it wasn’t Younghoon’s fault that he was simply much better at acting than you, but it definitely hurt your pride even more.

After another disastrous rehearsal, your cast mates had left to go backstage so you could have a word with the director. Younghoon sent you an encouraging smile and a pat on the shoulder before he followed your cast mates backstage, going over his lines in a faint whisper.

“Y/n,” your director began gently. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but what’s up with you?” You said nothing, prompting her to keep talking. “Your audition was really great. I knew I wanted you to play a lead role the second you were done auditioning. But you’ve been doing pretty poorly in rehearsals.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Your director sighed. “Look Y/n, I still want you to play your role. I like your chemistry with Younghoon and I think you guys could be really great leads. But if things don’t improve, I’m going to have to replace you with your understudy for the sake of this production.”

Even though you knew it was the obvious thing to do, it still hurt to hear. “I understand,” you whispered, nodding as you glanced at the floor.

“I really hope you can figure this out,” your director said, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “Let me know if I can help in any way, okay?” You nodded, and your director excused herself, leaving you standing at the edge of the stage by yourself.

You groaned once you were alone, taking a seat at the edge of the stage and letting your legs dangle over the edge. Welcoming the silence in the theatre as most of the cast had left for the day, you allowed yourself to lay back and close your eyes.

Why couldn’t you get this right?

Maybe I should just quit the play, you thought to yourself. It’s probably for the best.

When you heard the gentle patter of footsteps leading onto the stage, you spoke without opening your eyes. “Let me guess, you came to tell me how terrible I am too?” you uttered, not even caring who it was anymore.

The footsteps paused. “Um, actually, I’m just here to paint the sets…” a soft male voice spoke, causing you to open your eyes and sit up.

A familiar face stood a few metres away from you, paintbrushes and paints in hand. He had black hair that slightly covered his eyes, cat-like eyes and small lips that were pursed at the awkward interaction the two of you had just had.

“Sorry,” you apologised, getting to your feet. “It’s been a rough day,” you paused. “You’re Kevin, right?”

He looked surprised that you knew who he was. “Oh. Yes, actually.”

“I’m close with Juyeon,” you explained, realising how strange it might seem that you knew his name and recognised him. “I suppose I should probably have led with that.”

Kevin smiled. “No worries. I know you as well, you’re Y/n. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” you replied, bending down to collect your script and other belongings, pushing them into your tote bag as quickly as possible. “I’ll get out of your hair, then,” you smiled at him, implying it as your farewell.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re terrible,” Kevin confessed, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and starting to mix paints. You glanced at him. “Are you in your head a little? Maybe. But you’re far from terrible,” he assured you, his brown eyes brimming with kindness.

“That’s very nice of you to say,” you replied. “Thanks. Although, you seem more like an artist than an actor,” you added, teasing him just a little. You couldn’t help yourself, he was pretty cute.

Kevin laughed. “Fair enough,” he allowed. “If you want me to brag about being the lead in Aladdin in middle school, then I will.”

You placed your tote bag on your shoulder, holding your hands up in surrender. “I take it back,” you said immediately. “You have more experience than I do on stage.” The two of you shared grins.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Kevin assured you. “If I can do it then you certainly can.”

He seemed really sincere, and you appreciated it. “Thanks, Kevin,” you said, feeling much lighter and in a far better mood than before Kevin had come on stage. “I’ll see you around,” you bid your farewells before exiting the stage.

You’d have to ask Juyeon more about his friend Kevin.

The next time you and Kevin bumped into each other was after one of your rehearsals a few weeks later.

You had improved in your rehearsal times, with a lot of help from Younghoon – who practiced with you in between classes – and Sunwoo – who you ran lines with anytime the two of you were together. When you were done rehearsing, your director had expressed how happy she was that you were starting to warm up to the stage and really get into the character the way she was hoping you would. Younghoon earned himself two week’s worth of free coffee from you, and your cast finally stopped glaring at you whenever you came to rehearsals.

“Oh, hey,” you greeted Kevin, who started coming onstage to work on the sets with other people who were involved in the production process. “Good to see you again,” you told him.

“You too,” Kevin beamed, his hair falling over his eyes just slightly. You had the urge to brush it out of the way so you could see him better, but you resisted the urge and scolded yourself for being so forward. “You guys are looking pretty good out there,” he complimented, waving at Younghoon as he left the theatre. His older friend gave him a knowing look, making big eyes at him and puckering his lips to tease Kevin about his crush on you.

“Thank you,” you smiled back at him, entirely clueless to Kevin cursing Younghoon with his eyes right in front of you. “The sets are really coming along too,” you commend him, gesturing around you. “It’s certainly adding some more colour to our rehearsals.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kevin replied. “Set painting isn’t exactly my vocation or anything, but it’s a fun way to help out with my skillset.”

“Skillset?” you echoed, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Ah,” Kevin cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, I’m a fine arts major. So set painting is a little less refined than what I usually do. Not that I’m bragging,” he added quickly.

“Not at all,” you agreed, your eyes widening in realisation. “Fine arts, that’s a really cool major. You must be pretty talented to get into fine arts here, it’s such a competitive major,” your eyes widened in sudden realisation. “I’d love to see something of yours that doesn’t involve painting sets,” you motioned to the stage around you.

Kevin almost blushed. “Really?” he asked, his heart beat hammering in his chest at the idea of you seeing his art.

“Yeah,” you nodded your head eagerly. Partly because you were really curious about his art, but mostly because Kevin was pretty damn cute. “For sure! I mean, if you come to opening night of the play, I’d love to go see your art some time.”

“How’s this Saturday?” Kevin asked, his words almost slurring together at the speed he was talking. “The art department’s putting on an exhibition and a few of my drawings are going to be in it.”

“That sounds great,” you agreed. “Do you think I could bring some friends?”

Kevin nodded, his deep brown eyes brightening at the idea. “For sure! I already invited Juyeon but you can bring Sunwoo along as well.”

“Then I’ll be there,” you promised.

“Oh my god, are you touching the art?” you heard Kevin exclaim semi-loudly. You froze from your place, pointing at the water fountain from which you were filling up a cup of water to drink.

“What?” you asked dumbly, your eyes widening as Kevin smirked, hiding his laughter.

It was the Saturday of Kevin’s exhibition and you were doing your best to blend in with all the artistically-minded people in the room; admiring the paintings, motioning at the sculptures and pondering over the meanings behind the light exhibitions.

“I thought this was just a regular water fountain,” you tried to defend yourself.

“It is, I’m just messing with you,” Kevin shrugged, causing you to exhale in relief and slap Kevin’s arm.

“That was awful of you,” you scolded, unable to hide the large grin making its way onto your face. “You suck.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kevin retorted easily. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you replied. “So, when am I going to see your pieces?” you asked, motioning around the room. It was filled to the brim and people were bustling around the room to get a good look at every piece.

“Right now if you’re up for it,” Kevin suggested, waving as Juyeon and Sunwoo made their way over to the pair of you. You had excused yourself to get some water when Kevin spotted you and came over. “Hey guys. Sunwoo, good to see you again.”

“You too,” Sunwoo replied courteously, which was unlike him. Sunwoo knew Kevin vaguely through Juyeon, who was the same age as Kevin and had a lot of classes with him, and Eric, who Kevin often hung out with because they both spoke English. “Any of these yours?”

“A few,” Kevin said modestly.

Sunwoo nodded, looking around. “Are they good or are they more… conceptual?” he asked, his own way of asking whether or not Kevin’s art was a piece of crap or not.

You rolled your eyes. “Your eloquence astounds me, Sunwoo,” you said sarcastically.

“Well I might as well get to the point,” Sunwoo chided, glancing back at Kevin. “So?”

Kevin, who was observing you and Sunwoo with the same amused smile that Juyeon was, motioned the three of you over as he led you in the direction of his drawings. “I’m not so sure if they’re good, or conceptual, but I suppose you could judge that for yourself,” he told Sunwoo, coming to a halt in front of a display of drawings.

The drawings were lively and bright; colours in the form of pastels and charcoal bringing richness and warmth to the image. Most of his drawings depicted a faceless person. There were multiple drawings where the person was being portrayed from the back, and ones that were head-on didn’t have any facial features.

“These are amazing,” you breathed out, enchanted by the creativity of the drawings, as well as the immense detail that went into them.

“I like them,” Sunwoo decided, causing Juyeon to nod in agreement.

“They’re really good,” Juyeon complimented his friend, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m really glad you decided to put something on display this year.” Juyeon knew all about the artistic slump Kevin was in last year, so he didn’t have any art on display.

Kevin thanked Juyeon quietly, still studying your expression. “Can I ask why they’re faceless?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied the drawings further.

“Ah, that,” Kevin began, an uncharacteristic shyness appearing in his tone. “Well, I’ve been inspired by somebody for a few months now,” he explained. “I suppose I made my drawings faceless because I don’t want people to know who my muse is. I’m not ready to face how I feel when I draw them yet, and I think it’s too personal to put in an exhibition.”

You nodded your head, understanding where he was coming from. “That’s really great. I hope that one day I’ll get to see their face,” you said kindly, genuinely enjoying his art. Your eyes widened as you realised something. “Hey, do you know the other students in your major well?” you asked him.

Kevin raised an eyebrow at your sudden change of topic. “Yeah, I think so. We’re a small major and I have all of my 300-level classes with all the same people. Why do you ask?”

“Would you be able to recognise one of your peer’s work?” you inquired, the sketchbook in your dorm room burning a hole in your mind. He might be able to solve my curiosity.

“Maybe,” Kevin drawled slowly. “Why?” he found your sudden change of pace surprising. “What’s up?”

“Well, I found someone’s sketchbook in one of my classes and I was wondering who it belonged to,” you began, hesitating before bringing up the sketchbook you found in your Psychology class. “But they didn’t put their name on it so I can’t return it to the owner. It was really detailed and skilled work, so I thought they might be a fine arts major.”

Kevin’s heart plummeted into his stomach.

His worst nightmare had come true: you had found his sketchbook. His sketchbook that was filled with his heart-felt drawings of you. And here you were, asking him if he knew who it belonged to. Somehow, it was equal parts thrilling and mortifying.

Sunwoo, having heard about your secret admirer decided to check out a different part of the exhibition, but Juyeon – who was hearing this for the first time – stayed out of curiosity. “You found someone’s sketchbook?” he repeated. “What was in it?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Oh. Well, here’s the thing… There’s some drawings of me in it,” you admitted, feeling shy about divulging everything about the sketchbook to Kevin. “I just… I guess I want to meet the person that made me feel so vibrant and beautiful when looking at the drawings.”

“You have an admirer,” Juyeon realised, beaming at you; eyes squinting into little crescents. “That’s adorable. Does it say anything inside?”

“Yeah it does, actually,” you told him, giving him a smile before meeting Kevin’s eyes again. “All of the drawings are signed with the handle Moon scribbles,” you recalled. “No name or phone number, though.”

Juyeon’s brows furrowed together. “Kev, isn’t Moon scribbles-“

“A really interesting name?” Kevin cut Juyeon off, sending him the clear message that he wasn’t ready to tell you about the fact that you were his muse and he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Getting the message, Juyeon eagerly agreed, thanking Kevin for finishing his train of thought. “Um, I don’t think I’ve heard of it before. But if you show me the drawings, maybe I could recognise the style?” Kevin suggested, coming up with a solution for you to find the owner of the sketchbook.

“That would be really great, actually,” you acknowledged. “I could bring it by the next time we hang out,” you suggested, excited to figure out who you should thank for their hard work.

“Next time?” Kevin echoed, excitement filling his stomach. “Are you really so eager to solve your mystery?” he teased you.

“Well, you’re not such a bad addition,” you added with a wink.

Kevin’s heart soared.

You met up with Kevin in the library a few days later to show him your sketchbook. It was good timing because you definitely needed to study for your Psychology class after zoning out in your last few lectures, so the library was the perfect setting to meet.

“Hey,” you greeted Kevin, taking the seat next to him on one of the sofas in the more secluded area of the library.

“Hi,” Kevin mumbled in return, his voice sounding quieter and more hoarse than usual. At first, you thought it might be the fact that he had to whisper that made him sound more quiet. Then, you spotted the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he was wearing glasses, which he didn’t normally do.

“You okay?” you asked him, seeing him stretch out and yawn in his seat.

“Me?” Kevin murmured, meeting your gaze with tired, glazed-over eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Not to sound like an asshole who’s telling you that you look terrible, which I’m not, but you look really tired,” you had to tell Kevin. “Are you sure you’re up for this? You look like you could use some sleep.”

“Sleep,” Kevin said the word like it’s funny. “Sleep and I… we aren’t friends.”

You smiled sympathetically at your new friend. “Up all night studying?” you wondered.

“Insomnia,” Kevin corrected you.

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding. “So sleep is… a distant acquaintance?” you played off his previous joke.

“Something like that,” he allowed, moving his glasses up onto his forehead to rub his eyes. “I’m good, though. I look like this most days, don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so,” you trail off, your concern still not being calmed by Kevin’s explanation. “We can do this anther time if it helps, though. I wouldn’t want you to be unwell because of me.”

Kevin grinned, adjusting the beanie on his head. “But I couldn’t possibly be unwell if I’m around you,” he said, pointing his finger in the air as if he had made an excellent realisation. “Now, show me the sketchbook.”

You pulled the sketchbook out of your tote bag and handed it over to him.

Seeing it right in front of him, Kevin could confirm that it was definitely his sketch book that you had found. Although the chances of another person on campus being entirely smitten by you to the point where you became their artistic muse was slim, it wasn’t zero.

“Can I,” he motioned to the sketchbook, asking for permission to open it. It was incredibly ironic, but Kevin was too embarrassed to come clean about the sketchbook being his.

“Go ahead,” you nodded, telling him to flip through the pages.

Kevin did so, pretending he was seeing all the drawings for the first time. He paused on every page, looking over the details in the sketches and the way they realistically depicted your features. Even though he was the one who drew them, Kevin could admit that the drawings were really great. They were great because he appreciated the subject and was inspired by you. That much was clear to anybody.

“Wow,” Kevin said when he was done looking at all the drawings, holding the sketchbook on his lap. “That’s… you,” he observed, as if he didn’t already know.

“So I’m not crazy?” you asked immediately, biting your lip. “That’s me?” you glanced down at the open page in front of Kevin, seeing the resemblance between you and the person in the drawing.

“Oh it’s definitely you,” Kevin confirmed. “Unless you have an identical twin somewhere out there, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s you.”

You let out a relieved sigh, leaning back onto the sofa. “Okay, good. I thought I was being really shallow and presumptuous at first but it’s good that you agree,” you told him, feeling a weight being lifted off your chest. “So, does it look familiar?”

“I’m not sure,” Kevin replied vaguely, wondering how he was going to get himself out of this one. “Do you think I could keep this? Maybe look over it a few more times when I’m not about to pass out,” he added.

“Sure,” you allowed. You trusted Kevin enough that he wouldn’t lose the sketchbook, since all of your mutual friends spoke very highly of him. Besides, you were becoming more impressed by him every time the two of you met. “I hope something comes up. I looked moonscribbles up on Instagram but their account is private and they haven’t responded to my follow request yet.”

Kevin had completely forgotten about his private art Instagram account. Before he was inspired by you to draw, he was in a serious slump and had been spiralling downwards. In this time, he made his Instagram account private in an effort to not think about it too much. Kevin scolded himself for not realising that you would look him up on social media to find him.

“That’s too bad,” he said sympathetically. “Maybe they’ll respond soon?”

“I hope so,” you mumbled, sighing. “I just… I want to meet them.”

“Just out of curiosity, why do you want to meet them so badly?” Kevin wondered. “Because they drew pretty pictures of you?”

“Kind of?” you replied unsurely. “That’s definitely part of it. I guess I wanted to meet somebody who thought I was vibrant and colourful and beautiful,” you shrugged, glancing down at your lap. “Because I don’t think that about myself at all. It’s why I suck at acting, and it’s why my cast mates hate me. I just thought that if somebody out there really thought I was special, maybe I would have a reason to believe it, too.”

Kevin felt butterflies rising in his stomach again, but not in a fluttery, nervous way. He was anxious about what was going to happen. “I’ll do my best to help out,” he said gently. “And Y/n?” you looked back up at Kevin. “I think you’re special,” he admitted. “A lot of people do. Juyeon, Sunwoo, Eric, Younghoon… You don’t need Moon scribbles to be special, you’re already special to us.”

A grateful, shy smile spread across your lips at his words. “Thanks, Kev. For your help, and for saying that. I really appreciate it,” you acknowledged afterwards, realising that Kevin was going out of his way to figure out your mystery while he was dead tired.

Noticing the shift in atmosphere, you cleared your throat and changed the subject, heart hammering. “I’m going to stay here and study for my Psychology class, so you don’t have to stay if you’d rather get some sleep.”

“Psychology?” Kevin echoed. “Are you taking it with Professor Shin?”

“Yes,” you groaned. “She talks so fast that my hand feels like it’s going to fall off after her lectures,” you complained.

Kevin laughed. “I can relate,” he commented. “I didn’t think you were in my class. I’m in section fifteen, what about you?”

“Section twenty-two,” you said, shrugging. “Although I’m glad to hear that it’s not just my class that she’s driving crazy.”

“Ditto,” Kevin agreed. “I actually have to get some studying done for that class too. You mind if I stay?”

“Not at all,” you promised. “It always helps to study with a friend,” you added, pulling out your notes and laptop from your tote bag.

After setting up all of your work, you quickly got to studying, cross-referencing terms from your notes to the textbook to make sure you didn’t write down anything wrong in your hurry. Kevin was silent and still beside you, which you took no notice of because you were so focused. In your distraction, he soon drifted off to sleep with his pencil still in hand, head lulling back to rest on the sofa as his eyes shut by their own accord.

Forty minutes later, you had finished both of the units on Social Psychology and furrowed your brows at an unfamiliar name. “Hey Kev, did you guys talk about-“ you paused after turning to face your new friend, seeing that he was peacefully sleeping, his head now leaning to the side to face you.

The sight of him sleeping peacefully warmed your heart, especially after he had talked about his insomnia earlier. Smiling, you pulled your headphones out of your tote bag so you could listen to the recorded lectures in favour of waking up Kevin to ask him for help. As carefully as you could, you slid the pencil out of his palm and placed it to the side so he could get some rest.

You spent the next half an hour studying in silence, until you noticed Eric, Sunwoo and Jacob walking up to you and Kevin. “Hey,” Sunwoo greeted you, earning a wave from you.

“Hi guys,” you whispered back. “What’s up?”

“Are you and Kevin dating?” Eric interrupted whatever Sunwoo was about to say, an excited glint in his eyes. “You guys are in the make-out section of the library!”

You made a face. “That’s why nobody’s here?” you realised, looking around and frowning. “No, Eric. We’re just studying together.”

Jacob grinned. “Looks like Kevin’s making really great progress on that front,” he teased. “I’m Jacob, by the way,” he added, since the two of you hadn’t properly been introduced yet.

“I’m Y/n,” you replied. “Nice to finally meet you! These rascals have told me all about you,” you motioned to Sunwoo and Eric, who beamed proudly.

“I’ve heard a lot about you as well,” Jacob replied. “And I’ve come to collect Kevin. If he doesn’t wake up soon, he’s going to miss his Ceramics class,” he explained.

“Aw,” you pouted, glancing over at Kevin. “He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping, though. And he said he was struggling to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Jacob agreed. “I hate waking him. Believe me, I’m his roommate so I see it all first-hand. But attendance is graded in this class, so…” he trailed off with a small shrug before leaning over and waking Kevin up.

Kevin awoke, eyes blinking drowsily as he took in the image of four people staring at him. “What did I do?” he asked, wondering what prompted all the attention.

You grinned, finding the sight rather cute. “Your wake-up service is here to tell you it’s ceramics time,” you explained.

“I fell asleep,” Kevin realised. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, feeling bad that you were studying in silence when you were supposed to be helping each other out.

“Don’t be, I’m glad you got some shut-eye,” you assured him. “Go get ready for your class.”

Kevin gathered all of his things into his bag and waved his goodbyes, trudging out of the library with Jacob. “So,” Jacob began, a wide grin gracing his features. “That’s Y/n?” he teased.

“Yes, that’s Y/n,” Kevin replied quietly.

“The famous Y/n?”

“Oh my god please tell me you didn’t say anything to Y/n.”

“What should I have said? Oh so you’re the Y/n that Kevin has been in love with all semester! The famous muse! Nice to meet you, I’m the guy that has to listen to him gush about you.”

“Don’t make me hide your guitar.”

moonscribbles accepted your follow request!

You sat up from where you were lying down on your bed, startled at the notification you had just received. Racing to open your Instagram app, you looked at moonscribbles’s account. None of the drawings on their account were of you, so you couldn’t decide if they were the right person. But they simply had to be. They went to your school, they studied art…

Braving it, you decided to send them a private message.

Hi! I think I found your sketchbook in Professor Shin’s lecture hall. How do you want me to return it to you?

You waited for a response, which came within a minute.

You can keep it.

You were pouting over your cereal in the dining hall when Juyeon joined you, his plate stacked high with all kinds of delicious breakfast foods. “Hey pouty,” he teased you, giving your shoulder a gentle nudge when he took the seat next to yours. His smile never failed to cheer you up, which is why your frown caused concern to grow in your best friend. “Why the long face?”

“I’m never going to meet moonscribbles,” you told him, your eyes uncharacteristically sad and shiny when they met Juyeon’s.

He startled at how upset you were. “What? Why would you say that?”

“They accepted my follow request on Instagram,” you explained. “And they told me I could keep the sketchbook. Then they went offline,” you recalled. “I guess I was wrong about them.”

“I’m sorry. Whoever they are, they clearly have no idea what they’re missing.” Juyeon frowned, sympathetic of your situation and confused about what Kevin thought he was doing.

“What who’s missing?” Jacob and Eric took the seats opposite you and Juyeon, their plates equally filled with breakfast foods.

“Moon scribbles,” you said vaguely, not wanting to get into it with anyone other than Juyeon and Sunwoo. While you were starting to get to know Jacob better, you didn’t feel comfortable enough around them to discuss the matter with them. And of course you loved Eric, and he knew your situation, but you hadn’t anticipated feeling so upset about Moon scribbles’s response.

“Kevin?” Jacob asked innocently, picking up his fork and elbowing Eric so he wouldn’t steal his food. “What did he do?”

Your eyes snapped over to Jacob. “What did you just say?” you asked. Juyeon’s eyes widened, mouth slightly open as Jacob revealed Kevin’s secret to you without even realising it.

“I was asking what Kevin did,” Jacob repeated. “You said Moon scribbles, didn’t you? Kevin’s artist handle?”

“That’s clever,” Eric chimed in, innocently eating his food. “Since his last name is Moon, and all.” Then his eyes widened and he realised the situation, his gaze snapping over at you to see how you were handling the reveal.

In that moment, you’d never felt like more of an idiot.

“Kevin is Moon scribbles,” you echoed, dropping your fork onto your tray.

“Oh,” Jacob paused, reading the room as he saw the way Juyeon was staring at him. “Did you… not know that?”

“No,” you told him, having lost your already minimal appetite. “He didn’t say a thing.”

“Oh boy,” Jacob said awkwardly. “I feel like I definitely just messed up.”

“No, no,” you denied, waving your hand in Jacob’s direction. “Not at all. I’m just glad that I know who it is,” you tried to convince him, as well as yourself. “Did you know?” you asked Juyeon. “That day at the exhibition… You were trying to tell me that you knew it was Kevin, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I knew,” Juyeon replied slowly, confirming your suspicions.

For a moment, a dull pain ached in your chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, hurt that your best friend had lied to you.

“Because I figured Kevin wanted to tell you in his own time,” he explained. “I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you, I just thought he’d do the right thing and explain it to you himself. It felt like it wasn’t my news to tell.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “I understand,” you got to your feet, grabbing your tray after putting your bag on your shoulder.

Juyeon stood up with you. “Are you upset with me?” he asked. “Because I understand if you are.”

You did your best to smile, not caring if it looked real or not. “I’m not upset with you,” you assured him. “I’m upset, but not at you. I have to get to the last dress rehearsal before opening night, so,” you glanced over at Jacob and Eric, who both looked mortified. “Enjoy your breakfast,” you told them before putting your tray away and walking to the theatre as quickly as you could.

“Hey!” your director greeted you when you came in, beaming. “You’re like a half hour early,” she observed.

“Oh, I’ve just come to go over lines and talk to some friends,” you lied, smiling at her before stepping backstage. The set design volunteers were adding last-minute touched to their sets, and you knew that was where you’d find Kevin.

“Hey,” he greeted you when you arrived in front of him. “What’s up?”

“Moon scribbles doesn’t want their sketchbook back,” you told him, as if you didn’t know that he was Moon scribbles. “So you don’t have to keep looking for them,” you added.

“Oh, okay,” Kevin nodded as if he didn’t already know this. “Did you want the sketchbook back?”

“You can keep it,” you declined, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s rightfully yours anyway.”

Kevin paused his painting. “It is?” he asked, voice squeaking just slightly in surprise.

“Yeah, Moon scribbles,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “Besides, it’s the only way you’ll get to see me ever again, anyway,” you added, frowning as you turned around to go. “Bye, Kevin.”

“Wait,” Kevin put his fine paintbrush down to stop you from leaving.

“What?” you asked him, facing him with a raised eyebrow. “You know what, I actually really want to hear this. What exactly is it that you’re going to say to save this situation?” you wondered.

Kevin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for it to go on this long,” he began.

“That’s a joke,” you accused. “You knew how much this meant to me! Just admit that you were never going to tell me that you’re Moon scribbles.”

“How could I tell you?” Kevin exclaimed, startling you with his sudden increase in volume. “How could I just come forward and tell you that it was me? What would you have thought of me?”

“I’d have thought more of you than I do now,” you retorted. “Look, I get it now. I read the situation all wrong. You don’t think I’m special or vibrant or any of those things. You just drew me because I was there, I suppose,” you decided, feeling your heart dropping in your chest at your own words.

“That is not true,” Kevin denied, shaking his head. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I suppose you might have though I was pretty if you drew me,” you allowed. “But clearly, I was putting too much onto this whole Moon scribbles thing, and it didn’t mean anything to you at all. Which is fine, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It just sucks that you couldn’t just tell me that to my face,” you confessed wholeheartedly. “But it’s fine. You can just go back to drawing your faceless muse now, I’m over it,” you lied.

“That’s not why I didn’t want to tell you that I’m Moon scribbles,” Kevin insisted. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to think I drew you just because you’re beautiful.”

“That worked out well,” you muttered.

Kevin sighed. “I don’t care about your looks, as ironic as that sounds. When I first saw you… You exuded an aura. I know that sounds cheesy and not everyone believes in vibes or energy, or whatever, but it’s true. You inspired me to draw and be creative,” he explained. “But I liked you when I met you. When I saw you in class and when I saw you around Sunwoo and Juyeon. You don’t get it. You are my faceless muse. You have been ever since our Cultural Anthropology class last semester.”

That stopped your train of thought. “You were in that class?” you repeated, confused.

“Yes I was. The first time I saw you… I swear, I haven’t drawn anything other than you since that day,” Kevin’s tone was uncharacteristically serious, and you felt inclined to believe him. “No matter how hard I tried. Flowers turned into your eyes, landscapes became your hair; I was a man possessed. I still am.”

“Then why not tell me all of this?” you wondered, frustrated with the situation.

“I thought that if you found out I was Moon scribbles, you’d just think I was shallow,” he paused. “Or worse.”

You rose an eyebrow. “Worse?”

Now it was Kevin’s turn to sound frustrated. “I mean, I’m not so great and special. I figured you’d be disappointed that it’s me.”

Your heart clenched for him. “How could I be disappointed that it’s you?” you asked him. “You’re great. It’s me who’s awful.”

“You aren’t awful,” he denied. “You’re so much greater than you can see. Don’t you get it? You inspired me to create after the most awful year I’ve ever had artistically. I drew you instead of studying, I drew you instead of leaving my dorm, hell, I drew you instead of sleeping. You didn’t misunderstand anything. I do think that you’re special, and vibrant.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Okay,” you spoke quietly, your mind spinning in circles. “I believe you.”

Kevin nodded. “Good.”

You nodded back at him, unsure of how to continue. “So… You have a sketchbook full of drawings of me,” you decided to tease him, just to bring some of the usual lightheartedness you felt around Kevin back.

Kevin visibly reddened at your words. “I mean… I’d be lying if I said it was just one,” he confessed.

You brightened at his words. “You have multiple sketchbooks full of drawings of me?” you exclaimed.

“I made drawings of you for the art exhibition,” he reminded you. “I haven’t been able to draw anything else for seven months. And I draw a lot, so the sketchbooks just started piling up. Plus my iPad,” catching the delighted glint in your eyes, Kevin cut himself off. “You know what, we don’t have to talk about my iPad.”

You smiled, flattered that Kevin had been so inspired by you. “Well, thank you. For filling sketchbooks and iPads and whatever other mediums with drawings of me. You made me feel seen for the first time in a really long time, and I appreciate it,” you acknowledged his efforts. “Is this why everyone acts so weird when we’re together?” you put the pieces together.

“What are you talking about?” Kevin asked, dreading your answer.

“Eric practically skips over to me whenever he sees me now, asking about you and all kinds of other things. Jacob is a lot more subtle, but he looks at me like a proud dad sometimes,” you explained.

Kevin rested his palm against his forehead. “Why are they so obvious?”

“The real question is: Why was Juyeon the least obvious,” you retorted.

“I think he just wanted us both to figure things out in our own time,” Kevin mused, earning a hum and a nod in agreement from you.

“Hey Y/n,” Younghoon poked his head around the corner. “We’re getting ready for rehearsals. Are you going to be done in time to change?” he asked, eyes flitting between you and Kevin.

“Yeah, I’m good to start getting ready. Thanks Younghoon,” you agreed, grateful that your friend wasn’t making a big deal out of what he might have overheard. Younghoon nodded, disappearing with a wink to get himself ready. “Well, that’s my cue,” you trailed off, motioning to the backstage area where you had to get changed for your last dress rehearsal.

Kevin nodded, slightly upset that your conversation didn’t come to a closure yet. “Okay,” he replied. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

You agreed with him, grabbing your bag from where you dropped it on the floor and making your way to the changing rooms. Before you opened the door, you turned back to face Kevin, who had been watching you leave. “I came to your exhibition, so you have to come to opening night,” you reminded him of the agreement the two of you made.

“I’ll be there,” Kevin assured you, taking it as a sign that the two of you could still – at the very least – be friends.

“Good,” you smiled. “And after opening night, we have a few days off so I would definitely be available, say, Wednesday?” you informed him, hoping he’d get the idea.

Kevin brightened up, his posture straightening suddenly. “Oh?” he stammered. “Would you maybe want to get dinner on Wednesday?” he offered. “Like, a date?”

You grinned, your eye dropping into a wink. “What an excellent idea,” you told him. “By the way, don’t bother asking the boys about what I like, they’re completely clueless. My favourite flowers are peonies.”

“Peonies,” Kevin repeated, accompanied by a nod. “Any preferred colour?” he asked, giddy with excitement at the outcome your confrontation had.

You shrugged. “Surprise me.”

note: okay i know you guys waited forever for this so thank you so much for your patience!! i hope you guys enjoyed it xx

[apatheticanvas91305]

Even When You Hide

Happy @starrynightdeancas​ celebration day to @firefly124​! I got really busy over the last couple of weeks, so its not as good as I wanted it to be for you, but I hope you like it anyways. (also I had to abandon my sketches and normal art style today due to technical difficulties, so the art is a bit rubbish, sorry, if i get round to finishing the other one in my normal style when i get home to my computers, I will send it your way) BUT ANYWAYS I hope you love it (the fic not the art, hides) and I think Sophie is the dopest for putting this whole thing together.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Castiel

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss

Based: Somewhere after 10.03, when Crowley give Cas grace and Dean is cured of Demon-ness, and 10.18, when Cas gets his grace back. I did not mention the Mark of Cain though. 

Song: I See You - Missio

Word count: 2.2K

I see you when you're down And depressed, just a mess I see you when you cry When you're shy When you want to die I see you when you smile It takes a while At least you're here I see you

It had been 25 minutes since Dean had sent Cas to pick out the paint for his room. He put down all the sheets and lined the sockets and skirting boards with tape and was now sitting at the foot of the bed, tapping his foot to a silent beat.

Dean hadn’t known what to get the angel from the store so there were currently 12 pots of paint, all different colours, sitting on shelves in the garage. He chewed on the inside of his cheek absentmindedly, picturing the scrunch of Cas’ eyebrows and the tilt of Cas’ head as he scowled at the cans.

‘Dean. What does it matter if the room is winter blue or baby blue?’ Dean could almost hear him ask it - the gravel of Cas’ voice rumbled in the back of his mind. Dean shook his head, smiling, and headed to see what the hold-up was.

What he found was a mess.

“Fuck. Shit!” Pots of paint were scattered across the room. Most were broken open, stripes of paint led away from a large metal cabinet that had toppled over onto the Impala and cast the tins in all directions.

“Cas!”

Dean ran forward, holding his breath. The cabinet had smashed right through Baby’s windshield, fracture lines spanned what was left leaving chunks of glass suspended in the laminated frame. The bonnet had been completely crushed, practically folded in half, and the corners had torn into the paintwork. Dean would be seething except he couldn’t breathe. He threw his weight behind his shoulder, forcing it under the shelves and straining until black dots danced in his vision.

“Cas!” Dean collapsed, his efforts futile. “Cas! Where the hell are you?!”

And then he heard it – the quick and broken, but quiet sobs of an angel. Dean whirled around o fast his neck cracked and then he crawled, actually crawled on his hands and knees, towards the sound.

Behind the impala, Cas was perched on the balls of his feet with his trench coat pooling around him. Dean had never seen him cry before, not like this. There was a streak of paint that ran from just under his left eye to the corner of his mouth. Where his tear tracks converged with it, the drops turned blue and fell to the ground like grace. Dean watched, transfixed for a moment, before scrambling closer.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice louder than he meant it, startled Cas out of his fugue state. His hands, which had been moving, stilled instantly as he looked back at Dean with wide shiny eyes.

“I don’t want to go, Dean.” The cracks in Cas’ voice tugged at Dean’s soul. He didn’t understand.

Dean shook his head. “What?”

Cas’s eyes only grew larger as the hunter reached out, “Dean, please don’t make me go.” His arm hung in the air, terrified of doing the wrong thing. He knew Cas couldn’t fly anymore but it had never stopped feeling as though their conversations were timed, except Dean couldn’t see the numbers on the clock. He was always waiting for Cas to vanish. “I want to stay.”

Bile rose in the back of Dean’s throat and his hand dropped like dead weight between them as he realised what Cas was saying, what he was thinking. He thought back to months before. ���You can’t stay.’ He’d said, the same bile rising in his throat as now. He looked at Cas in his human clothes, that goddamn hoodie., and watched as Cas’ heart broke. Watched as the hurt played openly on his features, defences down. And then, he’d looked away. Dean remembers looking anywhere but into his best friend’s eyes, knowing that if he did his resolve would surely crumble. Now, all he wanted was for Cas to look at him, but the angel had gone from a deer in the headlights to refusing to lift his head higher than his shoulders.

“I can fix it, I promise.” Cas’s hands started moving again. His fingers shook as he tried to slot several pieces of broken glass back together. Small cuts littered his palms, bleeding freely as Cas worked.

“Cas. Cas, why-” Dean swallowed around the lump of panic still tuck in his throat, “Why aren’t you healing? Is it the grace? Is it failing?” His hands had found there way between them again. They hovered uselessly over Cas’ own. Cas was shaking his head, but Dean wasn’t sure if it was in answer to his question.

“Cas?” Dean didn’t know what to do, until he did. Taking a shaky breath, he allowed his panic to consume him for one second more before he tabled it.

“Cas,” His voice was gentle but solid, “Cas, stop it. Please,” - Dean stilled Cas’ hands with his own. He turned them palm up and, careful not to catch any of the cuts, unfurled the angel’s trembling fingers with is thumb – “Just stop.”

Cas was still refusing to meet his eyes, but he’d stopped shaking his head. He stared down at the pieces of glass and Dean followed his gaze. He recognised them as the broken remains of a small glass statue of an angel. Sammy had presented the thing to a few years ago after he’d nabbed it from some rogue crossroad demon’s second-hand shop to bully Dean with. ‘A guardian angel to save me from your moping when Cas is away,’ Sam had said, and Dean had shoved it deep down inside Baby’s trunk. That was until they moved into the bunker and Dean had felt some strange compulsion to place the glass angel atop the recently toppled shelves. Cas had been there, tilting his head at him. ‘Present from Sam,’ He’d practically growled before running away.

“Hey,” One of Dean’s hands left Cas’ in favour of poking him gently in the cheek. Cas jerked backwards slightly, finally meeting Dean’s eyes. He was still crying but less so. Dean nodded, “I need you to listen to me. You. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere. Ever. Again.” He waved his free hand at the mess around him. “All this, none of it matters,” Dean moved his other thumb in circles, steeling himself. This moment is what all his years watching chick flicks in secrecy had been preparing him for. “You, Cas, are what matters. To me.”

Dean held his breath for one, two, three seconds. Cas hiccoughed, blinking one, two, three times as the last of his tears fell from his cheeks.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Dean whispered into the space between them, a little afraid of anything louder.

“I didn’t want to waste m…” Cas looked lost, “It.” Dean waited.

“When Metatron took my grace from me, he left me human. Except I’m not human. Jimmy though, Jimmy was human, fragile. Without my powers, I’m,” Cas struggled with his words, he looked away. “I’m a baby in a trench coat.” Fuck. “I am nothing. And I can’t go back to that. I can’t keep steeling my kin’s grace from them, reducing them as I have been reduced. I can’t.” He dropped his head to his chest once more. “But I also don’t want to die.

“Castiel.” Dean swerved back into Cas’ eyeline as he spoke, “You are not nothing,” Cas stared at him, not believing.

“You are not human. You’re not Jimmy. But you’re not your grace either.” Dean was going to make him understand how wrong he’d been sitting in Eve’s diner. “You’re not your vessel and you’re not your powers. When I look at you-” The hunter swallowed, “When I look at you, I just see… you. I see you, Cas.”

He looked down at their hands, feeling dizzy. He couldn’t believe how mushy he was being or how much he didn’t mind. He felt like Colin Firth. “As for the rest of it, we’ll figure it out. We always do. The grace situation… Well,” Dean smiled, small. “We’ll make it up as we go.” Dean lifted Cas’s hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into a single cut. After a moment, grace began to shine beneath the skin and the wounds pulled themselves closed.  Beaming now, he leant back and ran his thumb over the soft new skin, turning their hands so their finger interlocked.

“Dean, I-”

“I made a mistake,” Dean interrupted, “I have made so many mistakes. But, kicking you out like has to be one of the worst. No explanation, no assistance, no nothing. It’s the wrongest I’ve ever been in my life. Gadreel gave me an ultimatum but that’s not an excuse. Doesn’t even come close to justifying what I did. I should’ve told you what was going on. Maybe if I had tried, for even a second, to communicate, we could have avoided a lot of pain. I should’ve – I should’ve done a lot. But I didn’t, and that wasn’t good enough.’

“Dean, it’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not.” Dean broke eye contact then.

“Okay, well” Cas squeezed his hands, “I forgive you then. How’s that?”

Dean huffed out half a laugh. His next words caught in throat as he looked back at Cas. He was so close to him. Dean supposed he always was. Dean’s eyes caught on Cas’ mouth where he had worried at his bottom lip. It was red and sore and wasn’t healing. Before Dean knew what he was doing, he was tipping forward, eye slipping shut. When they met in the middle, he barely felt it. He touched his lips to Cas’ like he had to his hands, his heart pounding against the inside of his ribcage. Dean didn’t realise he hadn’t been breathing until Cas’s lips moved against his own and he gasped for air. He leant against Cas’s forehead breathing far too heavily for such a chaste moment. They sat there just breathing in each other’s air for one, two, three seconds. Then Dean surged forwards, pushing of his feet so he was kneeling up over Cas. He dropped the angel’s hands in favour of holding his head in his own, pressing desperate kiss after desperate kiss to Cas’s mouth. Cas leant backwards under him as they kissed, moulding to fit the curve of his body. His dropped hands had twisted their way into Dean’s flannel, pulling him closer.

As Dean’s lungs screamed for breath, he pulled slowly away. Cas’ head dropped to rest against his sternum and Dean allowed himself to bury his face in his hair. His hands had settled at the base of Cas’ neck and began tracing nonsensical patterns into the skin there.

“C’mon,” He leant back and pulled Cas with him. Leading him by hand past the impala and a few scattered paint cans. He stopped by one - one of the only ones not broken open - and leant down to pick it up. ‘Dusty Cyan’. Perfect. He tucked it under his arm, and flashed Cas a smile.

I'm alone with you You're alone with me What a mess you've made of everything

I'm alone with you You're alone with me And I'm hoping that you will see yourself Like I see you

The next day found them huddled close together leaning over Baby as Dean taught Castiel how to hammer dents out metal without causing more damage and replace a windshield.

“D’you want to know something?” Dean cracked open his beer. Cas hummed from where he was bent over working a dent out of the open bonnet. He was wearing one of Dean’s ratty old Bon Jovi shirts, damp with sweat and motor oil and chewing on his lip distractedly – and distractingly. “Sammy got me that angel to tease me about you.”

Cas looked up then, “About me?”

“Yeah.” The hunter coughed, wondering what had possessed him to open his mouth and start yet another chick flick. Maybe he should be worried about how much of a sap he was becoming. It was Cas’ fault, obviously. “Cuz I always complain when you’re gone.”

Cas turned around and leant back on Baby, his shoulder brushed Dean’s. “You may want to begin coming up with some alternate topics of conversation.”

Dean laughed, “You think so?”

“I have been reliably informed that I’m not going anywhere.” Cas looked at him. “Ever. Again.”

Dean shoved his shoulder, smiling wide when Cas shoved back pressing him back into the Impala’s frame and leaning into his space.

“It’s why I put it up there in the first place instead of shoving in the back of some cupboard.” He poked Cas in the ribs. “Because it reminded me of you.”

“Me.” Cas echoed.

“You,” Dean smirked, “Dumbass.”

Cas growled and silenced him with a kiss for the ages. Dean let himself be taken over by the angel, surrendering the kiss to him and just basking in the feeling of Cas pressed up against him. He didn’t need some glass statue, he already had his guardian angel exactly where he wanted him, and he had proved to be far from fragile.

I see you in the dark At the dawn of something new I see you

[ladyanput]

Spots Drawn in Marker Pt.1

Based on the AU by @miraculous-of-salt

(I promise this isn't full on bashing.)

Marinette sighed ever so softly as she tapped her pencil against her sketchbook. Today was not seeming to be an inspirational day and she had a portfolio to finish by the end of the month. 

"And I just couldn't believe that Jagged's concert was almost cancelled. But he called me and I filled him with such inspiration and determination that he just couldn't help but rock out." Lila spoke in an airy, wistful tone that Marinette had no doubt she practiced to get just right. "He said I could even get VIP passes to his next show, thanks to what I did, as many as I want."

Well there goes any and all hope for any inspiration this morning. Lila just leeched any creativity out of any room she's in.

"Do you think I could get one?" Alya piped up, beaming over at Lila as she recorded the entire conversation. "I mean, since we're besties, I'd love an interview with Jagged. Lately he's been very tight lipped about a lot of things."

"Of course, Alya, anything for my second best friend!" Lila hugged the girl, beaming brightly as Alya began posting the recording on her blog.

Marinette merely rolled her eyes and settled back in her seat in the back of the class, going back to sketching her ideas for the morning. A beautiful scarf, maybe a nice warm sweater… Marinette was quickly lost in a world of design, a world she could have control of. It was something she had often turned to after Lila had caused her life to go spiralling into a pit where her friends brushed off her concerns for the lies of a shiny new toy.

Marinette was so caught up in her sketching, that she didn't notice when Miss Bustier came in, guiding along a girl who shared a wink with Lila. If only she had noticed.

"Class, we have a new student joining us today. This is Rébecca, she just transferred to our school today. I hope you will all give her a warm welcome." Bustier beamed at her class as many of her students mumbled clumsy, half-hearted hellos.

 Marinette glanced up from her sketchbook and took a good, long look at the new girl. She was tall, slim, with dark bluish-black hair that reached her shoulders. Marinette could tell by looking  at them that her clothes were Gabriel brand, the skinny jeans clinging to her long, long legs like a second skin, the leopard print top accentuating any curves the girl may have had. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you all. Lila has told me so much about you all!" Rébecca beamed at everyone, and that instantly made Marinette narrow her eyes a fraction, while Rébecca strode over to where Lila and Adrien sat, sending a flirty little smile to the model. "And I heard you're quite the helpful one, of course. I'm so glad you volunteered to show me around today."

Oh, that was it. Lila brought along a croney to try and manipulate Adrien some more, maybe help granduerize her stories. Well, this was certainly becoming a fun class. Marinette pressed her lips into a thin line as Rébecca sat down next to Adrien, causing the boy to be uncomfortably sandwiched between the two girls. It made Marinette's blood boil at how the two girls kept pawing at the model, who clearly wanted to get away, while Alya and the others just cooed and urged it on.

Honestly, this entire class has gone crazy.

Marinette made a move to go down there and get them to stop, but Adrien had looked back at her and given her a look that pleaded that she didn't. That's what he wanted, for her to sit down, shut up, and not cause trouble. It took everything in Marinette not to snap her pencil as Miss Bustier began to lesson.

…

Adrien didn't quite know how to feel about this new girl hanging off of his arm, seeming overly cuddly with him, fluttering her lashes and trying to get most of his attention.

"How exactly do you two know each other?" Alya had asked when she and Nino sat down with the duo and Lila. Lila had only perked up, and got a somewhat secretive smile on her face, while Rébecca let out a soft giggle.

“All I can say is, Alya, that Rébecca is my best friend.” Lila boasted, giving Alya an overly obvious wink. Alya stared at Lila, as if slowly digesting her words before her eyes lit up and her hand shot for her phone.

“You’re serious?!” Alya began to open an app on her phone, but Rébecca reached out a hand to stop her, then gave Adrien a pleading look.

“Adrien, I’m very parched. Do you think you could grab me a soda, please? I would greatly appreciate it.” She slid a hand slowly along his arm, giving him a smile then when their eyes met. 

Adrien opened his mouth, but then nodded and made his way to the lunch line, which had grown fairly sizable as lunch was halfway over.

“You’re Ladybug?!” Alya beamed as she reached out and took Rébecca’s hand, an eager gleam in her eyes. “I knew Marinette was wrong about everything! Can I see the earrings?”

Rébecca nodded and pulled aside her hair from her ear, showing off the black spotted red earring, making Alya practically squeal with delight. 

“I just want to say that I’m so honoured that you chose me to be Rena Rouge.” Alya took Rébecca’s hand, so awestruck that she missed the surprised look Lila and Rébecca exchanged. 

“Well it was Lila that gave me the glowing recommendation.” Rébecca grinned as Alya began practically bursting with excitement as she began dumping question after question on Rébecca, who answered every one with ease, puffing out her chest with pride. Nino even seemed to get into it, thanking her profusely for allowing him to become Carapace, thankful he was able to protect the people of Paris.

    All the while Marinette was seated on the other side of the cafeteria with Rose and Ivan, trying her hardest to design something new for Kitty Section’s concert in a month, completely unaware of the imposter across the room. She was merely smiling as she discussed with Rose the possibility of adding more sparkles to the outfits, while Ivan was increasingly pleading for them not to.

 “Oh come on, they won’t be that bad.” Marinette smirked up at her distressed classmate, playfully sticking out her tongue. “Maybe I’ll even make the costumes neon orange.”

“Don’t you dare..” Ivan growled softly, but any playful banter was cut short by an explosion nearby that shook the school. Many students let out surprised screams as trees seemed to burst from the floor out of nowhere. 

“Hello Paris, I am Dryad, prepare to start tossing away those construction sites you use as excuses to cut down my precious trees!” A voice called out, echoing across the area, and it was then a panic began. Students cried out and began running in various directions, as the branches stretched from the trees and began snatching up various people. 

Adrien ducked off into an alcove, and thinking the coast was clear, transformed and took off, completely unaware of Rébecca watching from around the corner, a stunned look on her face.

…

As soon as school was over, Marinette stretched and let out a soft groan. Her body felt so stiff from that akuma battle earlier, Dryad had been an eco-activist who had been angry that her favourite park had been dozed over to make room for a spa, so she had been an easy target for Hawkmoth.

“Mari, I have to tell you something.” Alya ran up beside her and grabbed her arm, stopping her friend in her tracks. Marinette gave her a smile, though silently wished she were heading home right now for a nap. She just felt so drained after the day, and she wanted to relax with a nice cup of hot cocoa and some cookies with Tikki. 

    “Oh, did you get a new scoop?” Marinette’s smile widened when she saw the eager look in Alya’s eyes, the slight bounce in her step. She knew right away that the young reporter had quite the story if she was stopping Marinette right outside of school. 

    “I sure did, and it’s all thanks to Lila.” Alya grinned, but it quickly dimmed when the smile fell from Marinette’s face. She then huffed and crossed her arms, cocking a hip. “Marinette, this jealous streak of yours is getting annoying.”

    “I’m not jealous, Alya, I’m just tired of you believing her lies, which are so obvious.” Marinette crossed her arms, her own annoyed expression matching Alya’s. 

    “God, I don’t know why I even try with you. You’ll see soon enough what a fool you’ve been, never giving Lila a single chance. When you see my interview tomorrow, you’ll be begging Lila for forgiveness.” Alya said this in the most confident tone she could ever have spoken, making Marinette’s frown then press into firm line. 

    “Alya-” Marinette’s words died as soon as Alya held up a hand and began storming away. The young girl felt a heavy weight in her heart as she watched her best friend walk away. Why did it feel like she was about to walk away from their friendship..?

Marinette shook her head. No, she wouldn't let it come to that! Whatever stunt Lila was trying to pull, it wasn't going to work, Mari refused to back down and let her win, because if Lila won, she'd oh make things worse. She's hurt Marinette's friends, keep using them like she had. And she might even get her hands on Adri-

Adrien. Oh no, that new girl was trying to sink her claws into Adrien too, wasn't she? It just hurt to think about how those two would try and manipulate Adrien. But he wouldn't fall for it right? He knew Lila was a liar, he wouldn't fall for any tricks..

Marinette made her way home, tightly gripping the straps of her backpack, an uneasy feeling rolling in her stomach.

…

Adrien frowned as he was dragged off by Rébecca, who was clutching his arm like a vice.

"Rébecca, what's this about? I have a modeling gig in a few hours, so I can't stay very long.." He tried to point out, stumbling slightly when she abruptly stopped and turned to him, realizing the two of them were in an empty classroom. "Rébecca, is something wrong?"

".. I can't believe it. My Kitty has been before me this whole time.." Rébecca blushed as she slid her hand down his arm, gripping his hand lightly. "I've been so blind."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Adrien blinked in surprise as the girl set her other hand on his chest.

"Don't you recognize me, Chat? Don't you recognize your Ladybug?" She whispered, biting her lower lip. "I guess without the mask, I'm not so special anymore.."

Adrien felt his breath hitch at her words, his mind racing. No, she couldn't be.. Could she?

"I accidentally saw you detransform when I was trying to sneak back into school after our fight with Dryad. I'm sorry, but I thought since I knew, it was only fair to tell you.." She whispered, looking away as if in shame. Rébecca was internally thankful that Lila told her everything she needed to know about Adrien and the class, and was even more grateful she had given into Lila's silly little plan to try and trick the class more. Being Ladybug could be fun, afterall, she always wanted to be famous.

"What, no! M- my Lady, that's not true!" Adrien blurted out the words before he could stop himself, alarmed at the sight of the tears beginning to stream down her face.

"The.. the reason I've been rejecting you is because I've been in love with you, Adrien. And when I found out that you and Chat Noir were the same person, I just couldn't believe it, but it made so much sense" Rébecca leaned closer, their bodies pressing lightly together. "You're right, kitty, we are meant for each other, I was just simply blind to it.. Do you think I could get a second chance, please? I love you, Adrien."

Adrien was silent for the longest time, his mind trying to process all of this. This was Ladybug..? His heart began to pound as she poured her heart out to him, his hopes skyrocketing. She loved him, she really loved him! It felt like his dreams were coming true! Grinning, Adrien leaned close, their foreheads pressing lightly together as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, eyeing her earring before chuckling.

"I love you too, my Lady. We're soulmates, something silly as a misunderstanding could never tear us apart." He murmured, and both of them leaned closer and shared a soft kiss, Rébecca practically preening as she ensnared the gullible model.

…

Marinette huffed softly as she stared at her essay. School had to be built to torture people, there was no way these institutes built up every person of every walk of life, because these essays and term papers were a pain in the butt.

"Tikki, I think my eyes are going to explode.." She groaned as she closed her eyes and rubbed them, feeling the beginnings of a migraine beginning to form.

"It's probably because you stayed up all night." Tikki scolded her, the alarm clock next to Marinette suddenly going off, making the girl jump in her seat.

"Oh no, I'm going to be a total zombie in school today.." Marinette groaned as she put her face in her hands. She hadn't even realized she had stayed up so late, but she had really wanted to finish this dark essay before it became a bigger problem than it was worth. She should have been more mindful.

It was then that her phone beeped. When she looked at the notification, she realized Alya had published that interview she had mentioned yesterday.

"Well, since I'm up on time, I can watch it while I get ready." Marinette shrugged and tapped on the video to play it, and began getting dressed.

Alya was seated in her room, beaming proudly as she sat between Lila and Rébecca.

"Hey guys, it's Alya your lovable Ladyblogger here. I'm here to give you guys the scoop of the century! Over the past year, you've all come to know my amazing best friend, Lila, and her amazing exploits!" Alya grinned as she wrapped an arm around Lila, giving her a quick side up before sitting up again. "Well, Lila has managed to convince someone very special to give me an interview at long last, without her mask."

Marinette watched as she brushed her teeth, raising a brow as she took in Alya's words.

"Everyone, I'd love you to meet our very own Ladybug, finally showing her face, right here, on my blog!" Alya grinned like a cat who had cream.

"I have to say, it's an honour to finally reveal myself to all of you, especially on one of the most important blogs ever. Without you, Alya, I think I'd be lost. You always do the best detective work, and give everyone the greatest stories." Rébecca praised, carefully stroking Alya's ego. "Lila finally convinced me to show myself to the world. You're right, Alya, the world has the right to know.'

Marinette felt the toothbrush drop from her mouth as she stared at her phone screen, the blood beginning to pound through her veins.

"Tikki.." She croaked out after she spit her toothpaste into the sink, her body beginning to tremble. "Oh God, Tikki, she's lying.. She's- she's claiming to be me!"

"Marinette, you need to calm down!" Tikki flew in front of her Chosen's face, panic making her gasp as she saw the tears beginning to well up in Marinette's eyes.

"Why would Alya do that?! I've told her time and time again that I want to keep my identity a secret! It's important to me, it keeps everyone I love out of danger, why would she do this?! Now Rébecca's family could be in danger!" Marinette pulled at her pigtails as her mind began to race.

"Marinette, please, calm down! Maybe you can tell Alya these things at school today! I'm sure she'll listen if you calmly explain these things to you, I'm sure she'll fix it." 

".." Marinette sniffled and wiped away the tears. "You're right, Tikki. Alya has to at least think this is strange, it would be out of character for Ladybug to suddenly out herself like that.."

…

But when Marinette got to school and tried to talk to Alya, the girl merely cut her off and gave her a glare.

"I told you that you'd regret it, Marinette. I told you to try, and look at how things are now, even Ladybug herself thinks you're being unreasonable!" Alya snapped, motioning to where Rébecca sat with Lila, the class all overjoyed to have their wonderful hero Ladybug in that very room! The sight made Marinette feel ill.

"But Alya, Ladybug is always saying how she wanted to keep her identity a secret. Why would she suddenly start exposing herself, while Hawkmoth and Mayura are still at large?" Marinette held out her hands, trying to get Alya to see some kind of reason.

"You know what? I can't believe you're being this selfish right now. Honestly, this is the biggest story I've ever released and you're trying to ruin it!" Alya threw her hands up, catching the attention of a few of their classmates.

"Alya, we're best friends! Please, I just-" Marinette began,but was cut off again by Alya jabbing Marinette in the chest with a finger.

"Exactly, which is why best friends call each other out when they're being unreasonable,when they're making a complete fool of themselves! Look at you, you aren't even looking at the facts, Marinette, this jealous vendetta you have us ridiculous!" Alya snapped, then turned on her heel and stormed away. Marinette was left standing by her desk, her stomach coiling into a nervous ball.

Adrien entered the class not long after, a wide smile on his face. Before he could say anything, he caught Rébecca's eye. The girl stopped talking and abruptly got to her feet and rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as the two shared a passionate kiss.

Marinette felt her heart fall to the floor and shatter.

"Whoa, dude, didn't you two just meet yesterday?" Nino looked confused, as did the rest of the class. Inside, Lila was seething with rage, but she maintained a small smile.

"It may seem like that, but.. We've known each other for so much longer. I've been in love with Ladybug ever since I first met her. And it turns out, she felt the same way." Adrien beamed, lovingly kissing Rébecca's cheek.

Marinette began running before she realized she was doing it. She ran passed Alya, who gave her a look that screamed 'you took too long to confess, this is what you get', a confused Adrien, and a grinning Rébecca. She ignored the shouts for her to come back as she ran and ran, the tears streaming from her eyes.

She didn't have the proof, because the last time she had outed a lie as Ladybug, it had had disastrous consequences. And nobody believes her! No one saw the truth!

Marinette ran from the school and kept running, her lungs soon burning, her muscles soon aching, before she found herself into one of the small parks, which was completely deserted.

Marinette fell to her knees beside one of the fountains, burying her head in her arms as she rested against the basin, crying so hard, she soon passed out.

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You Chapter 6

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 6

Chapter Summary: More of a filler chapter, not much Henry, I’m sorry.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, pregnancy, poor self image, bad coping mechanisms, low self esteem.

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5}

"I already told you, Faye! I don't want anything to do with this!"

"So because I want to keep my babies, you're leaving me? Is that what you're trying to tell me, David?"

"Yes! Shit, I knew you were dumb, but seriously!"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you deaf too, whore? How do you even know I'm the one that knocked you up? You've slept with just about every guy in town!"

"Get the fuck out."

"Don't come crying to me later! You're nothing without me! No one is ever going to want you. Especially once you have kids. Who the hell wants used goods? Have fun living a life of regret!"

Faye jerked awake, her head spinning as she tried to catch her bearings. Did David really leave her just like that? Sure he wasn't the greatest, but he had never lashed out like that before. At least not where anyone else could witness it.

No. David's gone. He has been gone for almost four years now. New life. Starting over. It's all in the past now.

Have to get the baby up before the sitter comes. Work is coming up soon. Life goes on.

"Briar, what are you doing on the floor?" Faye chuckled, crouching down next to her daughter, curled up on her pillow by her bed.

"I'm a puppy." Briar yawned in explanation, holding her arms up to be lifted, promptly licking her mother's cheek as soon as she was up.

"Briar, we talked about licking people."

"I'm not Briar, I'm puppy."

"Ok then, puppy, no licking people. Now what do you want for breakfast?"

"Puppy food."

"Cereal it is."

Feed the toddler, quick shower, get dressed, throw her hair up away from her face, wait for the baby sitter, hugs and kisses goodbye, then off to work. The usual routine she had settled herself into.

Feed the baby, because she's hungry and she comes first.

Shower, because she probably has some sort of mystery goo on her from the toddler.

Get dressed, avoid the mirror.  No one wants to be reminded of how much they've changed. The softness she wasn't used to around her lower stomach, hips and thighs. Her breasts no longer as perky as they used to be. The stretchmarks competing with her tattoo's for attention.

Then, the hardest part of the day. "Ok, Briar, Mrs. Anderson is here. Mommy has to go to work. I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy." Briar responded, hugging her mother tight and kissing her cheek before she was sat back down.

"Have a nice day, Miss Warren."

"I hope she's not too much to handle."

"Never is."

Some days, Faye likes to pretend she's ok. Like she has a handle on things. Like she knows what she's doing and not just blindly stumbling through her life while trying to do right by her daughter.

Other days, she would absently push her sleeves up and her eye would catch on the black lines decorating her forearm, just below her elbow. Some days she's reminded that life is a bitch, and you can't always get what you want. On those days she tried to stay out of her own head, though that rarely worked.

She could slap on a smile with the best of them, but she could never force it to reach her eyes. Her face always remained an open book, free for anyone to read. The past creeps up on you. There's nothing you can do to stop it some days. On a bad day, the ghosts of the past will haunt your mind, echoing the worst days of your life into the void of your shattered heart.

"No one is ever going to want you!"

"You're nothing without me!"

"Who wants used goods?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Warren. There was nothing we could do."

Over and over on a seemingly never ending loop, reminding her of the darkest times in her life.

Why would anyone want her? She's not the same hot twenty six year old she used to be. She was soft. She was saggy. She would never be as attractive as she used to be. Anyone in their right mind would turn around and run once they realized how much she had let herself go.

Days like today were best spent keeping people at a distance. Tell them some story about being tired. Avoid anyone that is going to call her out on her obvious lie. Therein lies the problem with dying your hair obnoxious colors. Among a sea of blonde and brunette, powder blue tends to stick out and make it almost impossible to vanish.

Lie your way out of it. Survive another day. Tomorrow might not be better, but at least it won't be the same.

"Mommy, you're back!" The sweetest sound she could hear all day.

"I always come back, my little love." Faye assured, kissing her daughter's head.

Need to care for the baby. She comes first. She deserves the world. Play time. Dinner time. Bath time. Story time. Bed time. The same after work routine she had established months ago when she decided to drop everything and run.

Her daughter thought the world of her. She would do anything to see her smile. She would wear the stupid costume. She would pretend to be a horsey. She would let her daughter use her as a jungle gym. She would make the same dinner again for the third night in a row for her.  So what if she soaked the bathroom floor during bath time? She was a mermaid, and she wanted to show off her tail. Story time, always an adventure with her imaginative little girl. What world would they find themselves in today? Dinosaurs? Princesses? Mythology? A rhyming book?

Ah, yes of course. Her current favorite, the book about the dinosaur cleaning his room. She was a girl obsessed with dinosaurs at the moment.

"Mommy, where's my Papa?" Briar asked, staring intently down at the page depicting a mother and father watching the dinosaur throw away paper scraps.

"Don't worry about him, sweetheart. He wasn't a nice man." Faye explained, resting her cheek on her daughter's head.

"Can I have a new Papa?"

"Maybe someday, sweetheart."

"Can Spider-man be my new Papa?"

"Why do you want Spider-man to be your new Papa?"

"He's my boyfriend!"

"That's not how it works, silly. If he's your boyfriend, he can't also be by boyfriend! Pick another hero!"

"Batman!"

"Well, he is rich." Faye mused, Briar giggling happily. "Now it's time for bed, my love."

"Ok, Mommy. I love you!"

"I love you too, Briar." Faye whispered, kissing her forehead. The nightlight was switched on and the door was left cracked open, just in case. Now for her seldom used free time.

Should she sketch some more? Finish that painting she started forever ago? Ever since she started a "real" job, her art had fallen by the wayside. She was too drained to do much after work and caring of her daughter.

Maybe some drawing will lift her spirits and keep the nightmares at bay tonight. But what to draw? Not in the mood for still life. Brain too fried for something straight from her imagination. Her usual model was sleeping, and her last few self portraits had been a serious blow to her ego. She just drew what she saw in the mirror. Then, when she was finished, she decided she should have worn more clothing before she drew herself. What was supposed to boost her confidence and empower her as a woman instead left her wondering when exactly she developed that roll when sitting in that position.

"Fuck it. I'm drawing a moose." Faye grumbled to herself, turning the page from her self portrait to a blank sheet. Half an hour later when she was trying to remember what a moose's antlers looked like, she finally picked up her phone. Seven unread messages? That seems like a lot. When was the last time she looked at her phone? Oh yeah, when she got home, five hours ago.

All from one person. So she wasn't ignoring everyone at least. Seven messages, all from Henry. Shit. That's not good.

Are you ok?

You seemed off on set today

You didn't even talk to me

Did you at least make it home alright?

Can you send me a sign of life?

I'm sorry if I upset you or something. Can you please talk to me? I'm genuinely worried.

Please?

Well, fuck. Here she was playing unicorn apocalypse with her daughter, and this poor guy was worrying himself to death.

Sorry, I was drawing a moose

Perfect way of saying "I wasn't ignoring you" while also avoiding his persistent questions about her wellbeing. The good old 'drawing a moose' excuse. Works every time.

I think your moose aged me by ten years. Are you ok?

Just had a bad day

Anything I can do to help?

Squeeze me until I stop struggling and my spine snaps

That's called 'murder' Miss Warren

I knew there was a name for it

Is there anything I can do for you that involves less prison?

Nah, if you're not going to take me out, then I'm not interested

I'm not going to take you out by murder. I will take you out on a date.

Faye froze, staring at her phone. He was just playing around, like he always did. No way he was serious. Henry liked to flirt, and she wasn't about to throw herself at him over a joke. She had more dignity than that. So how does she respond? She can't just ignore him, and taking forever to respond is going to give the impression that she was freaking out over what he said.

She was completely freaking out over what he had said, but he didn't need to know that. Was he just looking to get laid or something? Probably. He had gotten pretty close the last time he had been over. There's a difference between dating and screwing, though. He was probably just looking for someone to fuck while waiting for a woman worth his time to come along. Faye was broken out of her thoughts by her phone going off again, alerting her to a new message. Didn't he know she was busy having an existential crisis?

If you're free on Sunday you can come over and show me that moose your working on

*you're

Smart ass

Sunday?

I'll have to see if Mrs. Anderson can watch Briar

Bring her along. She keeps asking me about Kal

Pretty on brand for her

Sunday?

Sunday.

Sunday. What to wear on Sunday? He was probably looking for a little something something for his time, so something slutty? She got rid of all her slutty clothes after she had Briar in a fit of self hatred toward her new mom bod, so that was out. Besides, he wouldn't have invited Briar over too if he was looking to get laid.

So what does one wear on a casual 'date' these days? She had until Sunday to figure that out.

Tag List:  @Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny

[btsslowburnfic]

Chthonic Love Chapter 7

Series Summary:  A Greek Mythology AU featuring Yoongi/Suga as Hades and reader as Persephone. Olympian ruler Namjoon has delivered you, Persephone, as a gift for his brother, lord of Death, Yoongi

Previous Chapter here

The hours passed quietly. You had sketched out both the garden and the shore. Occasionally you walked over to the window and looked out for reference.

You heard Yoongi scoot his chair back and you looked up. He was stretching his arms. His gravelly voice broke the silence, “You can stay here if you like. It's almost time for the next reaping.”

You found yourself yawning, “Actually, I think I'll go and find Lethe.” You said as you got up from your comfortable pile. “Thanks for the day.”

“Of course.” he said, looking down at your drawings as he walked over. “Those are really good.”

“Thanks.” you smiled, proud of your artwork. “Where should I put them?” you asked, picking the papers up.

“Here. For now...” he took the sketches from your hands and placed them in one of the chests.

“Great. Thank you.” you said. “Oh. Hold on.” You removed the cloak you were still wearing and fastened it around his neck. Yoongi momentarily forgot how to breathe. “There.” You looked up at him and smiled.

He felt a blush creep across his face. What the hell is this? he wondered while he reached to open the door for you.

You walked past him, keeping your own head down as you suddenly felt very shy. You immediately ran into Penthos. “Ahhh!” you shrieked out a bit. “Sorry, you surprised me.”

“I work here,” he said bluntly.

Behind you, you heard Yoongi clear his throat. “What was that Penthos?”

“Pardon me Lady Persephone. I was just coming to give Lord Yoongi a daily report.” You saw the barely noticeable eye twitch that occurred as he answered.

You tried your best to maintain your pleasant demeanor. Honorifics were never really your thing, but it seemed as though Penthos was usually all about them; just not with you.

“Well then, I shall leave you to it. Good evening gentleman.” you awkwardly maneuvered around Penthos and went down the stairs. Your mood was slightly soured by the interruption. You weren’t quite done saying goodnight to Yoongi. You pouted as you traveled through the great hall and kitchen looking for Lethe. You realized that you didn’t really know that much about the Obsidian Palace. You decided to ask Yoongi for a tour tomorrow. You looked in your room. No Lethe. Garden? Nope. You sigh. Was there anyone else around here?

You go back to the Great Hall and find one of the random servants dusting something. “Excuse me. Have you seen Lethe?”

The woman looked at you like you are the most terrifying thing ever. “Ok. Sorry I asked. I’ll just go.” you backed away slowly. Another servant came over, “Sorry milady, Aida is new here. She’s still adjusting to being dead.”

“Oh,” you put your hand over your mouth. “I’m so sorry I had no idea. This must be very hard for you Aida.” She nodded her head slowly and resumed her semi-dusting activity.

“Is there something I can help you with?” the other woman asked.

“Yes. I’m looking for Lethe.”

“I think she is in the laundry room. Let me fetch her for you.” she started to leave.

“Please take me with you. I would be very interested to see where the laundry room is.”

“You can’t be serious milady. It’s a laundry room.”

“Well you see I have never seen a laundry room before. Ever.”

The woman laughed, “Alright, come along then.”

You followed her through several hallways and arrived at a small door.

“Lethe?” she yelled as she opened it. “Lady Persephone is looking for you.”

“Alright I’ll be right there.” you heard Lethe shout.

You walked through the door. “No need Lethe, I came to find you.”

“Did you need something?”

You turned to the woman who had brought you here, “Thank you so much.” She curtsied and left. “No. I’m just bored.” you admitted.

She laughed. “Well I suppose compared to the mortal realm there isn’t a lot to do here.” she stirred a large cauldron full of clothing.

“May I ask you something highly inappropriate?” you said, completely catching Lethe off guard causing her to stop stirring the clothing.

“Umm...I suppose but if it’s about Lord Yoongi I feel like I shouldn’t say anything given that he’s so powerful and in charge of my contract and…”

“It’s not about Yoongi.” you quickly cut her off.

“Oh. Ok. Then what? Is it about being dead?”

“No.” you took a deep breath, “Why doesn't Penthos like me?”

Lethe resumed stirring the clothes. “Who says he doesn’t like you?”

“Goddesses can tell when people are lying.” you bluffed. “One of our lesser known abilities.”

She sighed, “Penthos is one of the few people who chooses to be here. He's not just a dead human like most of us. He’s a demi-god who cares deeply for Lord Yoongi. He’s been here for centuries.”

You cocked your head to the side, “I still don't understand. I've been nothing but kind to Yoongi. I mean, I screamed a lot at first but I feel all things considered I’ve taken this kidnapping pretty well. “

“Maybe that's part of it. In a few days or weeks or months at the most, you'll be leaving here. Lord Yoongi will still be here. Forever. He can't even leave the underworld for more than a day or so or else there would be chaos in the mortal realm.”

“Pshh even when I leave I would still come back and visit if Yoongi wanted me to.” You said as you folded some random clothing.

Lethe raised her eyebrows in surprise, “You would? Stop doing that.” She scolded you.

“I can’t just stand here and do nothing.” you responded.

“Fine. Fine. I suppose I shouldn’t argue with you.” she finished stirring the laundry and started pulling the pieces out. “I don’t suppose you have any magic for lifting things or drying laundry?” she asked.

You created a flower in your hands, “Nope, life magic only.” You smiled. “It’s been useful at times, but there are definitely more practical abilities that the Pantheon possesses. What powers does Penthos have?”

Lethe paused and thought, “I’m not entirely sure. I know he has the ability to move objects without touching them. And he can combine solid matter, like the orb you arrived in and a large portion of the Obsidian Palace was crafted by him.”

“Interesting,” you mused. Demigods were always a question mark when it came to their abilities. Some were immensely powerful and others barely registered any abilities. Regardless, it was good information to have. You picked at your flower petals. “Soooo anything else interesting? Cursed rooms? Labyrinths? Secret mistresses?”

Lethe laughed, “Nope. The catacombs are a bit treacherous but Lord Yoongi keeps those locked up. Like I said, life here is quiet but boring. It’s one of the reasons we are sent here: quiet time to reflect on our poor choices.” She sighed sadly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.” you quickly felt bad.

“Oh no, you didn’t. It’s just one of those thoughts that’s always on my mind. I can relate almost anything to it, to be honest. But let’s see. What’s something interesting…? Hmm...I mean seriously you are the first guest we’ve had in the fifty years here so there’s just not a lot to say.”

“Really? That’s sad.” You remade your flower again with a different color.

“Well, the trip is a little dangerous.” She said as she hung the clothing on a line in front of the fire.

“Not for Olympians. Please. That’s just an excuse. They travel to Olympus all the time for parties ands stupid stuff. It’s just rude.” you scoffed.

She paused thoughtfully, “Well milady, forgive me for pointing it out, but you never visited either until you were brought here.”

You mused for a minute, “I suppose that’s true. But I don’t go to Olympus either. I have a general distrust of other Gods. Clearly I was right seeing as how I was transferred like chattel. Anyways. I have visited the ocean realm because of the animals there. Are there any animals in the Underworld?”

Lethe shook her head, “Monsters. And some are nice, but most aren’t. It’s not really safe to leave the palace.”

You walked over and started hanging up clothes alongside her, “Ah that’s too bad. I was hoping there were secretly Stygian Sharks or something.”

Lethe had given up on scolding you for helping. “Can’t you create some?”

“No, I can sustain animal life and create plants. I could create an animal but it would die before it could live a real life, my powers are technically life magic, not creation magic; that’s Gaia.” you smiled, “I wish I could create some Stygian Sharks. I’d totally do it. And some Sorrow Scorpions for the desert. Moonlit foothill fainting goats.”

Lethe started to laugh, the kind of laugh that comes from the stomach and makes the sides hurt. This caused you to laugh even more, imagining your strange animal creations. It continued for a while with the two of you making up absurd animal creations. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Me either, my throat hurts a little.” you said as you hung the last sock.

“Let’s get you some tea then.”

“I won’t argue with that,” you replied as the two of you left the laundry room.

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

“Sir have you received any word from Hoseok?” Penthos asked as he followed Yoongi down the stairs.

“No. But it’s only been a day. It takes time for things to reach the mortal realm.” he responded nonchalantly. “I need to go speak with Arachne before the reaping. Is there anything else for this evening?”

Penthos was taken aback slightly, “Sir, you just saw Arachne yesterday. Is everything alright in the catacombs? I can investigate if there’s been any trouble.”

“No. No trouble. Persephone needs a warmer cloak.” Yoongi said as though it was the most obvious thing ever.

Penthos tried to hide his confusion. “Will she be staying long enough to need one?”

Yoongi involuntarily flinched and stopped walking. He looked over at Penthos, truly assessing him for the first time in years. “I don’t care if she’s staying for one night or forever. I don’t want her to be cold while she’s here.” he said tightly.

“Yes sir.”

“Another thing?” Yoongi asked.

“Yes?”

“Go check on the golems. Just make sure they’re in working order.”

“Sir?”

Yoongi looked down and walked closer to Penthos, resuming eye contact once he was within inches of his face. “I’m getting tired of your questions this evening Penthos. I have indulged several based on our years together. Check the Golems.” he put his hands in his pockets and turned back towards the catacombs.

“Yes, sir.” NEXT CHAPTER

[dinosaurtsukki]

across the sea | a bokuaka fanfic (act. III)

inspired by the movie ‘portrait of a lady on fire’ by celine sciamma which is sad and lesbian

pairing: bokuto koutarou x akaashi keiji

word count: 21.8k words

contains: historical setting (actually the setting is vague bec if i tried to describe it more it would take 5 extra pages), heavy angst, slight fluff, greek mythology references, implied smut

summary: when Bokuto accepted a portrait commission for the young, engaged Akaashi Keiji, he never expected him to be so beautiful. he knows it's a mistake to be attached, a mistake for them to fall in love in a time when they know it's impossible for them to be together.

a/n: i’m a sad gay who loves sad lesbian movies and portait of a lady on fire is peak film. a lot of the things here are based on the film so i suggest you check out this beautiful movie, but i added a few tweaks here and there to make it my own.

chapters: act. I, act. II., act. III

Bokuto only saw Akaashi two more times since he last left the Elysium Manor. The first time was three years after that unforgettable summer in a secluded house. Thanks to finishing the portrait commission that pleased Mikoto, a woman of relatively high social standing, Bokuto gained a bit more status within the artist circles. Rich nobles commissioned him for portraits, scholars and other writers and artists commissioned him to create paintings of fantastical scenes, and almost any painting that he made was guaranteed a spot in a museum. Bokuto was invited to join the upper social circles at their dinners and luncheons or visits to the opera, but he would politely decline. He couldn’t imagine himself being a part of that social circle and let them paint a picture of mystery around him.

Instead, he decided to teach. He used his money to open a studio for young artists and taught them the basics of sketching and painting with different mediums, instructing them the way his master did. Bokuto had his own studio situated on the floor above where he would teach that came with a bedroom. At night, he’d open the windows for the smell of turpentine and oil to air out, but he’d keep the windows closed, the lights off, and the backdoor open for Kuroo to come in.

He was a male model, one quite famous with fellow artists for being a good one. There were probably a number of sculptures in the nearby museum, Asphodel, based on his physique. He didn’t discriminate when it came to preferring the company of men and women and hit his preferences just as well as Bokuto did. Kuroo was a nice man, a kind one, and Bokuto knew that maybe the dark-haired model had feelings for him. And yet, he never crossed that line. Most likely, Kuroo could see that faraway look in Bokuto’s eyes when he woke up in the morning, his eyes searching for the sea and whatever was across it.

The first time he saw Akaashi was in Asphodel. Bokuto had recently finished a painting that was going to be a centerpiece in their main gallery. On that day, he wore his best shirt and tried to wet his hair and comb it down but to no avail. ‘It’s alright. You’re known for your skills. Not your looks,’ he told himself before putting on a coat and heading out to leave.

The museum was already packed when he arrived with a good number of people circled around his painting. Bokuto pushed his way through the crowd, muttering ‘Excuse me’ along the way, until he was standing near it with his back to the wall. He was aware that he was drawing attention to himself looking like a sentinel instead of the painter but he couldn’t help but wonder about the things people would say. One of the viewers, a young couple, were in conversation as they scanned the painting.

“It’s that Greek legend, isn’t it? The one with Orpheus.”

“Yes. And his wife Eurydice. He traveled to the Underworld after she died with the hope of being able to bring her to life again.”

“I remember! But then there was a condition, right? He couldn’t turn around.”

“That’s right. Although… most painters and writers depict Eurydice already just as Orpheus turned around. In this one, it’s as if he turned around just in time to see her fall.”

“Kind of like he expected it?”

“Maybe. It’s quite an interesting take, if you ask me.”

“Indeed, it is.”

Bokuto smiled to himself, satisfied at the exchange generated by his painting. It was all about the exchanges, the different conversations that his art generated. He stayed by his painting for a few more minutes, listening to conversations, before deciding to stroll through the museum and peruse the other collections. His best sources of inspiration were other artists, but during this visit, it wasn’t just inspiration he found.

It was another portrait of Akaashi Keiji.

It hung in one of the museum wings that they dedicated to portraits. Bokuto rarely needed inspiration for those but something about that day pulled him into the wing to view the collections until he caught a familiar painted face. ‘Is it really him?’ he wondered, eyes flying to the placard to the right that confirmed his suspicions: Portrait of Akaashi Keiji, oil on canvas. It was him. In the portrait, Akaashi was sitting on a chair, elbows on a desk, hands holding up a book. His posture was impeccable as always but his face was completely absorbed in what he was reading. But it was him: same high cheekbones, same curly brown hair, same delicate fingers, same emerald eyes.

Bokuto didn’t know how long he stood there just drinking in the portrait and attempted to memorize every detail when he came to the book in Akaashi’s hands. The worn spine, the burgundy leather jacket, even the size of it: it was his book on Greek Mythology. The book was angled just so, enough for the viewer to see the top corner of the righthand page. “Page 57,” Bokuto whispered, overcome with sheer sadness and joy at the encounter, “You remember.”

The second and last time Bokuto saw Akaashi happened two years later at the Museum Greek History, this time in a different city. Bokuto was there working on a commission for a noblewoman who wanted portraits of each of her children. It was a lot of work, but the money was good and he got to see much of the city. Bokuto decided to explore the museum during a day off. His favorite part was the collection of ancient texts and scrolls that were each displayed in a glass case. He couldn’t read anything that was written, but he liked knowing that they had such a collection. ‘Maybe this time they won’t keep the homosexual subtext out of translation,’ he thought with a smile. He still held out hope that maybe someday, people would accept that Achilles and Patroclus were lovers.

With that thought in mind, Bokuto decided he was done looking around for the day and get ready for the amount of work he would have to do on the way back home. He was walking down the flights of stairs, deep in thought, when a voice shook him out of his thoughts.

“Bokuto-san.”

He had to hold onto the railing to keep himself from falling. It was just like that time he saw Akaashi’s portrait two years ago. Nobody else said his name like that: all crisp syllables and with more than a little warmth in the tone. Bokuto remembered the last time he actually saw Akaashi back at Elysium Manor, and turned around.

There he was, standing at the top of the staircase. He looked as if five years had barely laid a finger on him and looked just as surprised as Bokuto did. Akaashi took a hesitant step forward and walked down two steps. Bokuto felt as if he was back in Elysium Manor as their surroundings fell away.

“It’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“H-how… how have you been?” Bokuto stammered. So many questions overwhelmed his mind and yet he could only pick out that one. An inkling of a smile appeared on Akaashi’s face as he nodded his head in understanding. ‘Even now, we still have this connection,’ Bokuto thought.

“I’m alright. Married. We live in a nice house. My wife is kind, beautiful, friendly. Sometimes we play card games at night,” he enumerated, tapping absentmindedly at the railing of the stairway. “A good life actually.” He looked back at Bokuto. ‘But you’re not in it,’ he seemed to say. “How about you?”

“I could say the same,” Bokuto managed a smile. “My paintings have been pretty famous. I get commissioned often. I teach young artists. I make enough to keep my studio and do some traveling here and there.”

“Sounds like a good life.”

“It does.” But it was just that: good. Bokuto opened his mouth to say something when a child came running down the staircase from above.

“Father!” he exclaimed, barreling into Akaashi’s side. ‘Father,’ Bokuto echoed in his mind. The little boy looked to be about five or four years old. He mostly took after his mother as he had fair hair and fair skins, but when Bokuto looked at closer, he could tell that the boy had his father’s eyes.

“Hiro. Please don’t run down the stairs, you could slip,” Akaashi gently scolded him, leaning down a bit to fix his tie. It was such a small gesture but it made Bokuto’s heart ache just to watch.

“I saw this really cool looking spear in the Weapons Wing. It looked just like the one in the book you read to me!” the young boy exclaimed excitedly.

“Is that so? I hope you remember it well then,” Akaashi fondly patted his son’s head before turning to Bokuto. “Hiro, this is one of my… good friends, Bokuto. Bokuto, this is Hiro. My son.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bokuto smiled down at him. Hiro cocked his head and waved shyly, making Bokuto chuckle. “He has your eyes, Akaashi.” During the past five years, Bokuto had held out hope that maybe he and Akaashi would cross paths again, that maybe they could run away like what Akaashi dreamed of. But now, he knew that he was too late. Ever since he left Elysium Manor, it was all too late for that.

“It was great seeing you again, Akaashi,” Bokuto cleared his throat and feigned a smile. “I… I have to take my leave now.” He didn’t want to leave. With every fiber of his being, he didn’t want to leave. He would hold this encounter in his heart for the rest of his life but nothing good would come out of him speaking his mind.

“Alright, say goodbye, Hiro,” Akaashi said, tight-lipped. ‘You know it too,’ Bokuto thought.

“Bye,” Hiro waved shyly. Just as Bokuto was about to turn and leave, Akaashi quickly ran down the rest of the steps and wrapped both of his arms around him before he could say anything. Bokuto held his arms awkwardly at his sides before wrapping them around Akaashi’s waist. He wondered how much Akaashi had tried to hold himself back from doing this.

“Koutarou,” he whispered. “Until now, do you…?”

“I do. I think of you every single day,” Bokuto whispered back. “I still love you, Keiji.”

“I’m glad,” Akaashi swallowed and pulled back, leaving the feeling of that loss of warmth that Bokuto would carry with him for the rest of his life. And with that, he nodded once, and left.

Five more years passed. Bokuto had begun to grow tired of the fame and attention and decided to move to a provincial town along the coast. He left his studio to one of his young apprentices, packed up his materials, and bought a small house with a garden that sat near a cliff, overlooking the sea. He still painted, it was something he never grew tired of, but he chose to paint nature or the people at the countryside instead of the portraits of noblemen and fantastical scenes. He liked getting to know his neighbors, going to the festivals held at the town square, and looking out of his window to see the birds that chirped on the trees or dove into the sea for food. He was sitting on his chair outside, trying to sketch the charming woodpecker he saw that morning from memory, when Kageyama came.

“If it isn’t Elysium Manor’s most loyal butler,” Bokuto grinned at him as he saw the familiar head of black hair approach his porch. He looked different from the last time Bokuto saw him. His arms were thicker and his complexion was slightly tanned. But it was still him.

“It took a while for me to find you, Bokuto,” he returned the smile.

“Find me?” Bokuto said, puzzled. “Did you suddenly become a fan of my paintings?”

“No, it’s…” Kageyama paused and exhaled, the look on his face somber. “Can we talk inside?” Bokuto felt his stomach drop. He knew he wasn’t going to like whatever it is Kageyama was going to say.

“Sure. I’ll make tea.”

Once they were sitting at the table with two mugs of tea between them, Kageyama broke the news.

“Akaashi-san passed away last winter.”

The news hit Bokuto like cold water to the face. Akaashi Keiji. The man that Bokuto had loved ten summers ago. The man he just saw five years ago. The one that haunted him at midnight, tossing and turning and longing for that touch and wondering about all the what-could-have-been’s. His Akaashi Keiji. His Akaashi Keiji whose sketch Bokuto still kept in a small pocketbook close to his heart. Who grew up a lonely, sickly boy in a house full of books. His Akaashi Keiji, who would mumble ‘Koutarou’ every time they woke up together during those numbered mornings. His Akaashi Keiji.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto. I truly am,” Kageyama sighed, reaching out to touch his fingertips.

“How—how did you know?” he stammered.

“I received a letter,” he said. “It said that he contracted tuberculosis from a trip abroad and, well you know how sickly he is. He wasn’t able to survive it.”

“God…” Bokuto rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I… I didn’t think… of all things…”

“I know,” Kageyama nodded. “The letter said that I was mentioned in Akaashi-san’s will. He entrusted two items to me to deliver to you.” With that, he pulled a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twin from his satchel and placed it on the table. Bokuto made no move to accept it. All he wanted was Akaashi back. He didn’t care if had to take ten, twenty more years for them to meet again. He just wanted to know he was alive somewhere and still thinking of him.

“I…I think I know why he had these sent to me instead of having them delivered directly to you,” Kageyama cleared his throat. “Akaashi-san cared about you, and yes, I know he cared about you in that way. I could see it in the way he looked at you. I was skeptical at first of your relationship but ten years after, the moments I witnessed of the two you stand out starkly.”

At this, Bokuto could feel himself collapse with his head on the table, the dam of tears finally breaking as he sobbed into his arms. “It’s true. We did love each other.”

“I know he thought of you in those last moments,” Kageyama consoled him. “You were too important for him to think of breaking the news to you through just a letter.”

Bokuto didn’t know how long he had cried there on the table for. He could hear Kageyama busying himself in the kitchen and the smell of dinner being cooked, as if they were both back at Elysium Manor. Finally, when his tears had all run out, he sat up to open the package that Akaashi had entrusted to Kageyama. Inside, there were two books: the Greek Mythology book that Akaashi loved so much, much worn down than the last time Bokuto had used it to sketch a portrait of himself, and a soft, leather-bound notebook.

It was late so Kageyama stayed the night and slept on a roll-out cot beside Bokuto’s bed before he left the next morning. “It’s a nice place,” he told him, as they stood at the cliffside overlooking the sea. “I could see why you chose to be here.”

The next few months after that was the longest that Bokuto spent without painting. Every time he tried to pick up a brush or a piece of drawing charcoal, his hands shook and all he could see in front of him was the half-finished portrait of Akaashi, and Akaashi himself posing in the distance. And at night, he’d find himself looking over his shoulder more than once to see that vision of his beloved, pale as a ghost.

Finally, he picked up the leather notebook that Akaashi left for him. He had expected it to be a diary but it ended up being slightly more than that. It was a story: about a lonely boy who spent his days reading books in an empty house and the beautiful painter who entered his life and made it worth living. ‘He came on a little lifeboat from across the sea,’ it began. Bokuto found himself tearing up again at the sight of Akaashi’s handwriting.

Every day, little by little, he read a bit more of the story, mostly while he was sitting on a chair near the cliffside. He relived everything: the time Akaashi drank the sea from his cupped hands, the look on his face when he saw the ruined portrait, Akaashi dancing around the maypole with his crown of chrysanthemums, the summer night kiss, the feeling of their bodies pressed together, the sound of his voice when he read out loud, Akaashi’s emerald green suit in the portrait, their last night together, the morning after and the sketches to remember each other by, Akaashi illuminated by a single shaft of light in the middle of the floor, the portrait of him hanging in the museum with the pages of his book turned to the 57th page, the last time Bokuto heard Akaashi say his name.

At the very last page of the notebook was a note, directly addressed to him: I know for a fact that there are others like us, Koutarou. Afraid of the punishment, afraid of the scorn. I don’t think I’ve ever cared about what people would think of me once I died, but if there is one thing I want people to remember about me, its that I was yours, always yours. Maybe someday there will be a place for people like us, a better place. And I want them to know that we’ve always been around. We’ve hid. We’ve suffered. We’ve lost. But we’ve also loved.

“We have loved, haven’t we Akaashi?” Bokuto whispered, closing the notebook. He knew that he was going to finally pick up his charcoals and later on, his brush. He remembered what Akaashi said about how texts were continuously misinterpreted to remove the homoerotic subtext and as much as he knew it would be difficult to do so with Akaashi’s journal, Bokuto wanted to further ensure how history would remember them. He would sketch and paint everything he could possibly remember. But for now, he wanted to finish his day staring out across the sea.

Kageyama knew why Bokuto purposely chose to make his home here. The town and house he lived in was just on the other side of the sea, across where Elysium Manor still reportedly stood. Nobody went there and it was still Akaashi’s name, but the land and the manor would eventually be donated to the nearby town. Under the condition that Akaashi Keiji’s final resting place wouldn’t be disturbed.

“That clause in his will was only allowed for me to hear,” Kageyama had said a few months ago before he left. “That small plot of land next to where Akaashi-san is buried is entrusted to me to be passed on to you. Bokuto-san, I will ensure that that will be your final resting place. And if I pass on before you, I will entrust the task to my nephew. I can promise you that.”

“You do love your Greek myths, don’t you Akaashi?” Bokuto smiled to himself. He could almost hear his laugh in the back of his mind. As he looked out to the sea, he could just barely make out what lay across it. It made Bokuto remember how Orpheus and Eurydice’s tale truly ended. After losing his wife a second time, Orpheus wandered the Earth, lost and mourning, until he was torn apart and killed by Maenads, Dionysus’ traveling followers. When Orpheus soul traveled down to the Underworld, Eurydice was there, standing on the banks of the River Styx, arms outstretched to her lover who finally came home.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

The Infamous Jethro Tull Incident

PART THIRTY-THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of anxiety/panic attacks please read with caution, plentiful pop culture references, allergies

Word Count: 6.9K

Summary: Visiting Stars Hollow once again, Ella and Jess help Luke with his custody battle and see the Spring Fling.

A/N: The descriptions of panic attacks in this chapter and in this fic are based on research and my own experiences. Everyone is different. If you need to talk, I am always here. I just felt Gilmore Girls always kind of ignored Jess’s trauma, and the after-effects it would have had on him. 

Though Chris and Matthew had invited them out, neither Jess nor Ella had any desire to eat at some fancy restaurant on a Sunday night. It was under the guise of a celebration over the monthly Zine including an interview with someone who had once interned for Dave Eggers. Not that it was a small feat, but both Ella and Jess knew it was simply just an excuse for Chris and Matthew to go on an expensive double date. Often, the two called them frugal. And they called the two of them unnecessarily hedonistic. Whatever the case, Ella was glad to have the apartment for the night. Two days into spring break, and she was still only just bouncing back from the mid-semester exhaustion.

She sat cross-legged in her pajamas on the couch, sketching, as the water on the stove began to boil. Once again, she was attempting dinner. Spaghetti, something simple, she’d told Jess earlier in the evening. She could totally manage it. She still couldn’t understand why her baking skills were never able to travel over into cooking territory. Just as she finished the lines around the eyes, the phone on the counter began ringing. Putting her sketchbook to the side, she rushed up to the counter and saw it was Jess’s cellphone alight with a number.

“Jess Mariano’s phone,” she said as she opened the phone, hoping to answer in time.

“Ella?” the voice came through the receiver.

“Luke?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

A smile came to her lips. “Hey, boss! How are you?”

Luke cleared his throat, hesitating a minute. “Oh, well I…”

“Jess is in the shower, but I can get him if you really need to talk,” she cut in, growing worried. Not only because she noticed the water on the stove was boiling over and hissing on the oven. She dashed over to the stove.

“No, that’s okay. I have no desire to speak to him while he’s any degree of naked,” Luke said gruffly.

Ella uttered a chuckle and she stirred the pot to lessen the overflow. “Well, that makes one of us.”

Only a heavy sigh came from the other side of the phone.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said. As she broke the spaghetti in half, balancing the phone between her ear and her shoulder, several noodles flew across the kitchen. A few landed on the burner and started to smoke instantly. “Fuck!”

“What?” Luke asked, suddenly alarmed.

Growling under her breath in frustration, she sweeped the noodles from the burner with a damp kitchen towel. “Nothing, sorry. The spaghetti caught on fire but it’s fine now.”

“Why are you trying to make spaghetti? You can hardly make toast,” Luke groaned knowingly.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m broadening my horizons, alright? But that doesn’t matter. What’s going on?”

“Well, uh...you know April?”

“The name rings a bell, yes.”

“Well, Anna wants to move her to New Mexico,” Luke said, voice emotionless. “And I’m trying to get joint custody. The lawyer uh...he said Jess, or you, might be a good character reference. The trial, or whatever we should call it, is on Tuesday. If you can’t get here, that’s fine. They’re speeding up the process because they’re moving away so soon. You could just put it in writing, but I don’t know if it would get here in the mail. So, if you can’t, I completely-”

“Luke,” she interjected.

“Yeah?”

“We’ll be there,” Ella said with finality. “What time is the hearing?”

“Eight,” he answered.

Nodding, she stirred the spaghetti. Furrowing her brows, she considered the time. “Could we maybe stay over tomorrow night? Then, we can all go to the courthouse.”

“Really? Is Jess okay with that?” he asked.

“Jess won’t hear of anything else, I promise. The Zine just came out. The other guys will understand. We’ll call it a family emergency. And I’m on my spring break. It’s fine, boss,” Ella reassured him, face flushed over the steaming pot.

“Are you sure? I mean, only if you’re sure-”

She sighed again, a long exhale through her nose. “Luke, I’m sure. Just hang in there. We’ll be there tomorrow. I’ll bring you some of this spaghetti, if you want.”

“I think I’ll pass,” he said flatly.

“Noted.”

There was a long pause. “Ella?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

A sad smile ghosted over her face. “Don’t mention it.”

“Hey, it’s the Spring Fling, too. In case you guys need something to do tomorrow night,” Luke added, shifting the conversation away from emotions.

A pang of nostalgia hit her, and she could smell the greasy food. “Oh, well, I was on the fence about coming up there before. But the Spring Fling? There’s the thing to seal the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke grumbled, unamused by her sarcasm.

“Alright. Well, I gotta focus on this spaghetti, for the sake of public safety. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” she said, brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah. Okay, Ella. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Luke.”

“Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Ella flipped it closed and set it back on the counter. Waiting for the spaghetti to finish boiling, she tried to hum but couldn’t bring herself to. A knot sat in her stomach. She knew how much Luke loved April; she had seen it even through the few months she’d witnessed them together. And she knew how much April loved Luke. She wondered over how the girl would feel, if she were not allowed to see Luke ever again. Not exactly like her own mother’s death, but Ella could certainly sympathize.

She was too deep in thought to hear Jess emerge from the bathroom, hair damp and still dripping slightly.

“Is something burning?” he asked, coming up next to her.

She jumped slightly and then huffed out a breath when he smirked at her surprise. “For just a second, it was. But, now, everything is under control.”

“Whatever you say, Stevens,” he teased, brown eyes twinkling.

Pursing her lips, she finally took her eyes away from the water. “We have to go to Stars Hollow tomorrow.”

“What? Why?” he asked, his brow crinkling.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Luke is trying to get joint custody of April. The hearing is on Tuesday morning and he wants us to testify as references.”

“Huh,” Jess deadpanned, nodding slightly.

“If we get there tomorrow, we can make sure he doesn’t completely melt down during the dinner shift and then ride with him to the courthouse. Is that alright with you? If you can’t come, I could just-”

“Woah, Stevens. I’ll go. Obviously, I’ll go. Not like Matthew can’t babysit Chris all on his own for a couple days. He’s been doing it pretty much his whole life,” Jess said, pressing a kiss of reassurance to her cheek.

“Good. Just...making sure.” She bit at her thumbnail for a moment, nodding. “What if...what if he loses her?”

“I don’t know,” Jess said, shaking his head. “But, at least we can try to help. Here’s hoping it’s not too A Few Good Men.”

“There’s the bright side, Mr. Sunshine,” she said, smiling weakly.

Jess smirked a tiny smirk, then grabbed the wooden spoon as the pot began boiling over, spaghetti spilling onto the glass top, once again.

.   .   .

Misty March air seeped in through the cracked Station Wagon windows, the afternoon sun warming up the early spring day. Pollen and dust were stagnant in the air, flowers beginning to bloom in the Connecticut countryside. Television, “Marquee Moon,” played on the radio, Jess’s arm draped over Ella’s headrest. Hydrangeas were blooming, blue and purple and pink, on the sides of the road as they crossed over the edge of town into Stars Hollow.

As soon as they passed over the border, Ella’s eyes began to itch, and she started sneezing into the crook of her elbow.

“Jeez, Stevens. Bless you,” Jess said, eyebrows raised. “Are you getting a cold?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, sniffling and blinking the irritated shine from her eyes. “Maybe it’ll make me more sympathetic to the judge.”

“There’s one way to win a case,” he chuckled.

“Hey, who am I to look down on a shortcut?” she said, shrugging lightly as she took the turn down Main Street.

As they reached town center, their eyes widened. Parking was one of the chief worries to pop into Ella’s mind, but not the only one. Hay was stacked up every which way, forming a maze. Stray straws littered the empty spaces, bales piled ten feet high and taking up space on every single street. Hitting the brakes, Ella came to a stop on the edge of the strip, next to the bookstore.

“What the hell is this?” Jess asked, flabbergasted.

Shaking her head, Ella was at a loss for words. Then, it dawned on her, and she groaned in frustration. “I forgot to tell you. Luke said it’s the Spring Fling this week. I guess now that means a hay bale maze?”

“Ugh,” Jess grunted, rolling his eyes. “The last time I was at this thing, Taylor almost called the cops on me because of my Jethro Tull t-shirt.”

She chuckled as she turned around, headed for the small parking lot with the dumpsters behind Luke’s. “Well, only time will tell what this year will bring.” Sneezing again, she sighed.

“Besides hay fever, that is,” Jess added, teasing, tucking a strand of hair which had fallen loose behind her ear again.

“We’re doing this for Luke, we’re doing this for Luke,” she muttered under her breath, feeling a headache already forming behind her eyes.

.   .   .

She felt transported to the past as they entered Luke’s through the back door, leading into the stock room. It still smelled of tomatoes, dirt, pine; an odd mixture but not unwelcome. The room dark and dank, Ella took Jess’s hand and led him carefully through the random crates and boxes. In his other hand, he held their old duffel, containing both of their only business-appropriate clothes. Apparently, she would be wearing the pencil skirt again much sooner than she had hoped. Jess could already hear Luke ranting before they got to the main room, flashbacks to the consequences of stealing gnomes and baseballs and dry erasers.

Lane passed by the stock room door and caught sight of them out of the corner of her eye. A panic filled her eyes and, immediately, she approached them, a dirty dish bin held in just one hand.

“He’s on the warpath, guys,” she began, retreating into the dim room and glancing over her shoulder anxiously.

“Well, hello to you too, Lane,” Ella smirked.

Lane’s face morphed into a delicate, rushed smile. “Right, sorry, sorry. How’s one of America’s most historical cities?”

Jess shrugged. “Historic.”

“Wow, your vocabulary had really grown since I last saw you,” Lane said, feigning amazement.

A crash sounded, followed by a yell, from out in the main room. The door slammed and Ella couldn’t mistake the sound of a fearful yelp from some customer.

“I think we can continue this love fest later,” Ella suggested, gesturing to the main room.

“Agreed,” Lane said, turning on her heel.

Jess and Ella followed her out of the stock room, finding the counter almost completely empty of customers. The tables were dotted with just a few customers, staring down silently at their plates, faces drawn in fear. Boots trodding heavily on the tiled floor, Luke was making his way back from the door to the kitchen. Caesar was nowhere in sight, and a thin cloud of smoke was billowing through the kitchen window. The front windows were a view of nothing but giant walls of hay. Nothing boded well. Ella glanced at Jess doubtfully, and he only gave a slight shake of his head in response.

“Can I get you guys something?” Lane asked, returning to the space behind the counter.

“No, I think I’d rather not risk it,” Jess said, taking a stool, placing the duffel on the floor next to him.

Ella hopped onto the seat next to him. “Says Mr. I-Live-On-The-Edge.”

“Even I have my limits,” he replied.

“I’m fine, too. Thanks Lane,” Ella told her friend.

A couple steaming plates appeared from the kitchen window, burgers blackened and fries soggy. Lane looked at them suspiciously, but placed them in front of Kirk, who sat on Jess’s other side. Kirk grinned and nodded emphatically.

“The gourmet experiments keep on coming,” he exclaimed, digging in with a fork and knife instead of his hands.

Ella’s brow crinkled. “Kirk, that’s-”

“Don’t,” Lane warned. “It’s...not worth it.”

Perking his head up from his food, Kirk craned his neck to see the two of them. “Oh. You’re back. I’ve missed your pies, Ella. I hope Luke has rhubarb.”

“Kirk, we’re not...moving back here. We’re only gonna be here until tomorrow,” she said, head tilted in confusion.

He narrowed his eyes, then turned to stare closely at Jess, who leaned back against Ella slightly. “You just had to take her to Philadelphia with you.”

Jess was about to respond, before Ella jumped in again, tone vehement.

“Excuse me, Kirk, but I moved to Philadelphia on my own to go to grad school. Jess just happened to be there.”

“The hand of fate, huh?” Kirk asked, unphased. “What a beautiful thing.”

Jess snickered, eyeing Ella to gauge a response. Instead of retaliating, her jaw tensed and she turned her head to the kitchen window.

“Luke, we’re here!”

Raising his eyebrows, Luke reappeared from the kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up messily, his shirt splashed with grease. He didn’t look as though he’d been careful in the kitchen. A black baseball cap sat backwards on his head, the one he’d been wearing since he and Lorelai broke off their engagement. But Ella had heard, through her weekly phone calls with Lane, Lorelai and Christopher had divorced, breaking up once again. The constant romantic whiplash was beginning to make Ella dizzy.

“Oh. Hey, guys. How was the drive?” Luke asked.

“Well, I don’t know about Eleanor, but that huge ball of twine gets more interesting every time I pass it,” Jess deadpanned, arms crossed over his t-shirt, elbows on the counter.

Ella smiled thinly. “Jess is thrilled about the Spring Fling, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Yeah, I might’ve guessed. I mean, who could forget that Jethro Tull incident?” Luke replied.

She was about to respond, but instead Ella buried her nose in her sleeve again and sneezed.

“Bless you,” Jess said.

She sneezed again.

“Bless you,” he repeated, smirking.

A moment more, and she sneezed a third time.

“And one more for good measure,” Jess continued, increasingly smug. “Bless you.”

Luke furrowed his brows at Ella. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“The hay doesn’t agree with Rudolph,” Jess chimed in, smoothing a hand over Ella’s back.

Blinking the wateriness from her eyes again, she shot Jess a look. “Bite me.”

“Just like old times,” Luke grumbled, going over to the register when two meek customers came up to pay.

Catching her breath, Ella got down from the stool again. “I’m gonna go to Doose’s. Try to get something to handle this new reindeer look I’ve got going for me.”

“You want me to go with you?” Jess asked, almost hopefully.

“As much as I would love that, cutie, I think your existence would probably be a catalyst for Taylor’s flashbacks. I’ll be back in like ten minutes. I think you’ll survive.”

“That’s debatable,” he said.

She turned away and sneezed into her elbow yet again, growling under her breath in annoyance.

“Debatable for me and you both,” he added, smirking once more.

Flipping him off, she made her way to the front door, preparing to brave the wall of hay which was about to meet her eye-to-eye.

.   .   .

“Don’t touch!” Ella exclaimed, exchanging a flathead screwdriver for a phillip’s head on the counter next to her.

“Do you see me touching anything?” Jess shot back, rounding the counter to make his way to the dish pit.

She snorted a bitter laugh. “You were getting too close. I think you just coming in this register’s dance space would be enough to break it more.”

“If you make one more Dirty Dancing reference-”

“Need I remind you of the shower head?” she continued, ignoring his complaints.

He sighed heavily.

“Oh, please, remind him of the shower head,” Luke piped up from where he was wiping off the red tables.

“In January, the shower was leaking,” Ella began, straightening up from her spot tinkering with the cash register drawer.

“C’mon, Elle,” Jess moaned from the dish pit.

“Jess, both Luke and I are privy to the swan attack. This is far less humiliating, I promise.”

“Fine,” he said, turning the boiling hot tap back on. Only a few more mugs and he would finally be finished. He was careful to avoid any stray kitchen knives.

“The shower was leaking. I had class, but I said I would fix it when I got home. Because, somehow, Chris, Matthew, and Jess are all completely devoid of home improvement skills,” Ella said. “Jess tried, which was so sweet of him. But then the entire shower head and the faucet ended up coming off the wall. It took me four hours to get them back on.”

“Hence the register dance space,” Luke replied, biting back laughter.

“Exactly.”

“Hey, I fixed that toaster out there!” Jess shouted over the sound of the water.

“And it only took you six years to admit it,” Ella said.

“Shut up,” Jess retorted.

“There’s the charm,” she mocked. She pushed the small gold button, and the register drawer popped out silently. A bright smile crossed her face. “This might be the first time this hasn’t sounded like Janet Leigh since I started working here.”

She wondered in the back of her mind why Luke hadn’t fixed the cash register sooner. It was antique; maybe he thought a screeching drawer just came with the territory. Or, maybe it was because nearly every single repair he had done in the past few years was on either the Gilmore house or the Dragonfly Inn.

“I told you guys you didn’t have to work,” Luke said, rolling his eyes guiltily. He began flipping the chairs up onto the tables, stuffing his damp rag into his apron.

“For the last time, we wanted to!” Jess called from the back, wiping his hands on a stained dish towel as he finished up with the mugs.

“Well, you’ve done enough. I can finish closing. Go see the Spring Fling.” Luke came over and took the screwdrivers from Ella’s hand, putting them back in his toolbox and shutting it with a snap! before she could protest.

“Oh, yes, it’s bound to get wild out there in the hay bale maze,” Ella quipped, going to grab her coat from the rack with Jess following behind.

“You’re tellin’ me. Just go see it. Taylor certainly spent enough on it.” Luke went back to the tables, upturning the chairs rhythmically, as he had for so many nights and so many years, wearing the same thing.

“We’ll be back before midnight,” Ella said, shrugging on her leather jacket and tugging her long hair, half-up, half-down, out from beneath the collar.

“And, now that we’re grown up, we can go get involved with as many ritual cults as we want while we’re out,” Jess added, grabbing Ella’s hand.

“Don’t mention that in the deposition tomorrow,” Luke warned.

“It’s good you said something. Otherwise, I definitely would have mentioned it,” Jess shot back smugly.

As they emerged into the evening, the stars were just beginning to appear, Luke having closed up early at around eight o’clock. Ella looked around, trying to see any other way into the maze besides the opening just in front of Luke’s. She’d thought about popping into her old house, surprising Fiona and Adam after school. But, she’d gotten busy with the dinner shift and could see no physical way to get there in the dim light of the twinkly strings somewhere beyond the maze.

“How the hell do they pay for stuff like this?” Jess asked as they began strolling through the maze.

“Beats me,” Ella replied, shaking her head. “This place makes no economic sense. I stopped guessing a long time ago, my friend.”

He hummed, eyes roaming over the seemingly endless yellow straw. “Tax fraud, you think?”

“I wouldn’t put it past Taylor,” Ella said, smirking.

“Oh, now how could you accuse a sweet old man like that of such a crime?” he asked, feigning shock.

She shrugged, grinning. “Since he conveniently ‘lost’ the money for the bridge renovations and we had to start the whole fundraiser over again.”

“Y’know I was the one who took that money, right?” Jess asked, thinking back to his first two weeks in Stars Hollow.

“No, I meant the first time. I was like eleven,” she explained, feeling a pleasant night time breeze ghost through her hair.

“What?” Jess chirped. “It happened before?”

“Yeah, and Taylor kept saying someone stole it. But I had a sneaking suspicion it was an inside job.”

Breathing deeply, she could smell nothing but the hay. It seemed odd, considering the Spring Fling usually had booths with caramel apples and popcorn and all other sorts of junk. But, she was also just glad she could breathe through her nose again with the help of the allergy medicine she’d picked up at Doose’s, though her eyes were still a bit itchy.

“How very Watergate.”

“I’m telling you,” Ella insisted, only half-joking, “Taylor could be an evil genius for all we know.”

“It would explain a lot,” Jess agreed, nodding. They’d taken many turns, and he figured they must be nearing the end. The carnival in town square was what he remembered as the main event.

“Yes, all the sweater vests would be perfect for establishing a mild-mannered cover,” she continued, speaking with her free hand.

“Well, with that logic, Chris is also an evil mastermind,” Jess pointed out.

Ella pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “I think Chris is probably more of a Jekyll and Hyde situation.”

“I just love how much faith you have in humanity,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She laughed, and was about to retort, when they turned a corner and she almost ran straight into Lorelai. Her stomach did a quick flip, and her hand tightened slightly on Jess’s. But then, her old instincts kicked in, and she plastered a small, polite smile on her lips. On Lorelai’s right side, Rory stood hand-in-hand with some blonde guy.

“Oh, hey!” Lorelai greeted them brightly, looking between them. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Only for today and tomorrow. Just taking care of some stuff, y’know?” Ella said, unsure of whether Lorelai would be aware of the custody battle. Then, she turned to Rory. “What about you guys?”

“Visiting. We just had to come down for the Spring Fling,” Rory explained. She turned to the man at her side, gesturing between him and the two of them. “This is my boyfriend, Logan.”

“Oh, hi,” Ella said, shaking Logan’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure,” he grinned slyly, one dimple on his left cheek. “Strong handshake.”

“That’s what I’m famous for,” she replied. “I’m Ella.” Tilting her head to Jess, she broke hands with Logan. “And that’s Jess.”

“Hey,” Jess said shortly, also shaking Logan’s hand.

Logan’s smile didn’t even falter in the wake of Jess’s tight demeanor. “Nice to meet you, Jess.”

“So, how about this hay bale maze? Gives you Labyrinth vibes, doesn’t it?” Lorelai asked, smiling warmly.

“Yeah. All that’s missing is Bowie,” Ella agreed, nodding.

Intertwining their fingers again, Jess leaned into Ella’s side slightly against the chilly spring breeze.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing him in that costume,” Lorelai continued.

“Agreed,” Rory chimed in.

It occurred to Ella how long it had been since they had seen each other. Rory’s hair was longer and straighter, with side bangs and a redder tone. And her clothes seemed different, as well. Kate Spade and Coach and other brands Ella couldn’t have named. As far as first impressions went, she couldn’t quite figure out Logan. His smirk seemed constant, but not genuine like Jess’s. It wasn’t endearing, as though he were about to laugh at a private joke. Instead, it was almost smarmy. She wondered in the back of her mind what he was trying to sell her. Seeing Lorelai, though, was welcome. Images of movie nights and sleepovers and quiet afternoons reading flashed across her memory. Ella could recognize Lorelai just fine in the memories; Rory was not as easy.

“Not sure it’s worth it for how long we’ve been wandering around, though,” Lorelai added. Ella could see new, blonde-ish highlights in her hair. A pang of guilt hit her; with as much Lorelai had done for her, she should’ve checked in more. Even if she and Luke were still, inexplicably, on the outs.

Jess furrowed his brows. “What? I thought we were near the end.”

“Far from it,” Rory said.

“What about the caramel apple stand and stuff?” Ella asked.

“The budget wouldn’t allow it. Not after Taylor bought all the hay in Connecticut,” Lorelai said, gesturing to the maze around them. “This is it.”

Ella scoffed, shaking her head. “I’ll say it again. Evil mastermind.”

“What?” Logan asked, laughing.

Before she could answer, Ella’s nose began to tickle and she caught another sneeze in the crook of her elbow.

“Gesundheit!” Lorelai exclaimed.

“Well,” Jess began, looking between Ella and the other three, “we should probably start making our way to the other side. Seems like sneezy’s allergy medicine is wearing off.”

“Anyone who starts naming the other six dwarves will be in grave danger,” Ella warned, sniffling and blinking harshly.

They bid each other goodbye and were about to part ways when Rory suddenly spun around and called Ella’s name.

“Yeah?” Ella asked.

“Do you wanna maybe...go to lunch at Weston’s tomorrow? If you’re still gonna be in town,” Rory offered, her voice soft and hopeful. Her blue eyes were large in the moonlight.

Ella blew out a breath, considering it for only a moment. “Sure. Meet you at noon, alright?”

Rory nodded, and was soon whisked away again by Lorelai and Logan. They turned a corner and were masked by the hay.

.   .   .

She had never been to the Hartford courthouse, and it shocked her how much the place smelled like a dentist’s office. Chilly and plasticy and devoid of all human feeling. Painted in white with mahogany accents and bright lights, the building had supposedly been standing since before the Salem witch trials. Or so the plaque on the front of the red brick structure read. The minute hand on her watch ticked on silently, as nine o’clock rolled around. Ella had tried sketching, but couldn’t keep her focus on the portrait of her grandmother surrounded by sunflowers. Jess was halfway through a worn Bukowski volume, scribbling penciled notes in the margins, despite the faded writing already there. Ella’s head rested gently on his shoulder, dozing. Neither of them had slept especially well, nervous over the deposition. And neither of them were willing to take Luke’s bed again, and had squeezed onto the old brown couch. They considered the old twin bed, but decided falling off wasn’t worth it.

Ella was nearly asleep, her sketchbook shut and stuffed into her purse next to her, when she felt Jess shifting beneath her. His form tightened, and his breathing had become labored. Immediately, Ella’s eyes shot open, as she recognized the noise. She turned to find the novel shaking in his hands, his eyes wide and watery as his breathing began to pick up.

“Whoa, Jess, hey,” she began calmly, taking the book from his hands and placing it absently on the bench behind her. She faced him fully and reached out, but then hesitated. “Can I touch you?”

He swallowed dryly, trying to fight the tears blurring his vision. One second, he had been underlining a sentence; the next, his entire being became rigid and his heart was pounding. Not long after, he felt his throat tightening. Harsh shivers rolled through his body. He simply couldn’t control his erratic breathing.

Then, his eyes flitted to her face, the crease between her brows, and he nodded slightly.

“Okay,” she replied. Grabbing his wrist with a gentle hand, she brought his palm to her chest, the fabric of her blouse soft beneath his fingers. “Just breathe with me, cutie. Everything will be fine.”

“Pretty optimistic, Stevens,” he grumbled breathlessly, raising a doubtful eyebrow.

“Desperate times, Mariano. C’mon, just breathe with me,” she said softly, breathing in a long breath through her nose, exhaling out her mouth.

Beneath his hand, he could feel the rise and fall of her chest. Though he felt a little silly, he focused on the earnestness in her face. A few pedestrians passed by them, tossing uncertain glances their way, but Ella paid them absolutely no mind. She only focused on Jess. His cheeks were flushed as he ran his free hand over his mouth, nodding at her again as he finally began to mimic her breaths. Air hitching in his throat, he had to try more than a few times to steady himself.

“Good job, James Dean,” she smiled, watching him eventually begin to relax. His cheeks were glistening in the fluorescent light, and she wiped them dry with her thumb. “You okay? I can find you some water.”

“I’m pretty sure all they have here is burnt coffee,” he said, voice still uneven. The stench of stale coffee permeating the air in the whole building only added to the dentist office vibe.

She gave a breathy chuckle. “Hey, anything’s possible. My powers of persuasion are pretty strong.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, averting his eyes from her. His cheeks burned hotly.

“Hey,” she said, tone serious once again, as she placed a hand on the back of his neck, “are you sure? If you can’t do the deposition, you can just write something down. I’m sure I could just go in.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, eyes widening emphatically. “Don’t worry, Daria.”

“Impossible,” Ella said, dropping her hand from his neck and intertwining their fingers instead.

Jess cleared his throat. She saw his eyes flicker nervously over to the door of the room Luke had disappeared into over an hour earlier. Jess almost raised a hand to run through his hair, but then stopped as he remembered they were supposed to look professional in front of the lawyers. He felt fidgety and anxious.

“You’ll do fine, cutie,” she told him.

He faced her again, trying to force a confident smirk on his face. But he couldn’t bring himself to. “I know, just...like you said. What if he loses her? Or if-”

“‘You’ll never get anywhere if you go about what-iffing like that,’” she interjected.

He stared at her curiously for a moment before he ventured a guess. “Chuck Palahniuk?”

“Roald Dahl,” she answered.

“Huh,” he chirped indifferently.

Her eyes lingered on his distracted expression, watching his gaze be drawn again to the door to the deposition. He pursed his lips, a wistful, guarded look.

“Jess,” she started warily, her voice a sigh, “did you ever think about seeing someone? I mean, is this only the second time-”

“Can we please not talk about this, Doctor Laura?” he snapped quietly. Not unkindly, simply impatient. Ella hadn’t previously realized just how nervous he was for the deposition, considering how neutrally he’d reacted when she’d first told him about it.

She sighed again through her nose, jaw tensing. But she reminded herself where they were, and who they were. She told herself not to push too hard, not to worry about him getting scared and running off again. But still, a familiar fear threatened to rise in her throat. She swallowed thickly, then gave a slow nod. She pressed a quick kiss to the back of his hand and disentangled their fingers.

“Okay, James Dean,” she said flatly, handing him back his book. “To be continued.”

“Thank you,” he replied, flashing her a weak, half-hearted smile.

She tried to quiet the uneasiness whispering in her mind.

.   .   .

Weston’s looked much the same. The outdoor tables were adorned with vases of gerber daisies, fluttering in the light breeze. Bright sunlight warmed up the afternoon. Rory came back to the table with a tall coffee in one hand and a tea in the other. A tin of pound cake sat in between them on the frilly lace tablecloth, two forks beside it. Back in her plain purple dress and leather jacket, Ella felt more comfortable. And the judge had, thankfully, ruled in favor of Luke. Ella’s heart was alight with joy at just the thought of the verdict.

But an odd sense of deja-vu filled her. After Saturdays swimming in the Stars Hollow Community Pool, she and her father would come to the bakery, sunburnt and exhausted. She would get an apple tart and he would get a slice of chocolate satin pie. Just the two of them while her mother and brothers were at home playing board games. It had been their place, a father and a daughter, before everything fell apart. Her mind wandered to Jake for only a moment, wondering where he was and what he was doing. She wondered if he ever remembered their post-pool bakery visits, sitting outside with towels wrapped around them, damp bathing suits sticking to their bodies.

But then Taylor rode by, in the front seat on a bus of tourists, blasting his words through a megaphone. She snapped out of it. Offering a grateful smile to Rory, she took a sip of her tea. “Really, Rory, you didn’t have to get my tea.”

Rory waved a dismissive hand as she sat down. “It’s fine, Ella. Consider it making up for those last few birthdays when I wasn’t there to force presents on you.”

Ella smirked through a chuckle. “Okay. Thank you.”

“So,” Rory began, leaning in, conspiratory. “Tell me everything.”

“Well,” Ella said, shrugging and glancing over to her left. She forgot that her vision of the lush green square would be obscured by the wall of dry yellow hay. Having dosed up again on allergy medicine, she was glad to soon be leaving. She snickered under her breath, then turned back to Rory. She had a small smile on her pink lips. For a moment, Ella saw her as she had when they were teenagers. Bookish and shy, similar to Jess in a lot of ways. “I’m pretty busy with grad school. My students are all so fucking smart though, so it’s honestly not all that hard getting things to stick with them.”

“Yeah, Lane told me you graduated early,” Rory nodded along, almost jealous.

“Just took a bunch of summer classes and stuff. Luke gave me so much time to study. I wouldn’t have been able to do it otherwise,” Ella shrugged, spinning the tea mug around as she spoke.

“And how’s living with Jess? Above the publishing company, right? Is it Truncheon? I can’t remember. It seems like so long since Luke told me about it,” Rory said, giggling through her words.

Ella’s smile widened. “Yeah, Truncheon. They sell books and local art. Even some of mine, actually. But we live with Chris and Matthew, Jess’s partners, above the store. They’re...interesting. Matthew can do these crazy, Good Will Hunting math problems in his head. And Chris has, like, forty Red Bulls worth of energy everyday, but he hardly ever drinks caffeine. He just has a natural, endless supply. Kinda reminds me of your mom.”

“Sounds eventful,” Rory chimed in.

“That it is. But...it’s really fun. The city...it’s so lively. Everyday I walk outside and it’s a whole new place,” Ella said, blushing slightly at the sentimental words as she spoke them. But it was true. Returning to Stars Hollow always reminded her how much she enjoyed Philly. “But, what about you? Let’s hear about this Logan character.”

“Oh,” Rory began, looking down at her drink. “He’s good. We’re good. He’s really smart and we have a lot in common. And he’s really well-traveled. We’re great. He’s great.”

Eyes widening marginally, suspiciously, Ella nodded at Rory’s babbling. “So, you’re great, I hear. Alright. He makes you happy?”

“He does,” Rory answered, taking a sip of her coffee. Then, after a moment of pause: “It’s just…”

“What’s up, Ror?” Ella asked softly, furrowing her brows. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Rory finally met her eyes again. “It’s just...I got offered this job at a newspaper in Rhode Island. And it’s solid and steady. My mom thinks I should take it.”

“That’s awesome, Rory! You’re gonna be at the Washington Post before we know it!” Ella exclaimed.

Rory offered her a weak smile. “Yeah, but, I also applied for this big scholarship. Only like five people get it every year. But it could be huge, and Logan thinks I could go for it. But, he also just lost about a million dollars and quit his job at his father’s company.”

“Hm,” Ella hummed, trying to keep her face expressionless as Rory continued. They were nowhere near close enough anymore for Ella to criticize her boyfriend.

“And then, the other day, I found this ring...”

“Oh, fuck,” Ella said, leaning back in her chair.

“Yeah,” Rory sighed. “And I have no idea what to do. I don’t know when he’s gonna ask me, if he’s gonna ask me, if he’s gonna want to follow me to Rhode Island, and...I mean, do you wanna spend the rest of your life with Jess?”

Taken aback by the question, Ella bit the inside of her cheek and paused. “Um...I...I hardly believed in love before I met Jess. Sometimes change doesn’t happen all at once. But...I mean...I would always rather be with him than not with him. If that means I want to spend the rest of my life with him…then, yeah. I do.”

Rory tucked her hair behind both her ears, shrugging. “I guess it’s not the same type of thing. I mean, you’ve been the Catherine to his Heathcliff forever.”

“Nothing’s perfect, though, Ror,” Ella said. She thought back to a few hours earlier in the courthouse, Jess’s stony expression. She could practically see the scowl he was sporting back the diner, where she’d find him after Weston’s to drive back home. “I mean, marrying someone doesn’t solve everything. Living together doesn’t solve everything. Jess and I argue. We fight.”

“Yeah, I think we all remember what it was like when you two worked at the diner together,” Rory scoffed nostalgically.

Ella snorted a laugh. “Believe me, I know. Jess and I don’t love each other because it’s easy. We don’t communicate the best sometimes. He’s not the chattiest, if you remember. And I’m not the most flexible. He turns the heat up in the apartment way too high. And, sometimes, I swear he’s got the worst taste. But we promised each other a long time ago we would always try for each other. That’s all it is. We try for each other.”

“You sound like a Nicholas Sparks novel,” Rory said, giggling once more.

“I do not!” Ella exclaimed, a blush creeping further up her skin.

“Oh, really?” Rory asked doubtfully. “Tell me what you love about him, then. Tell me the little details about the man who melted the icy Ella Stevens.”

Ella snorted again, shaking her head. “It wasn’t some sexist Taming of the Shrew situation. He’s just...he’s my best friend. That’s it.”

“Come on, you have to get back to Philly soon, don’t you? Humor me for the sake of this advice session,” Rory continued.

Rolling her eyes and groaning dramatically, Ella shifted in her seat and sighed. “Fine. For old time’s sake, Rory. He...he’s such a good writer. He writes like nothing I’ve ever read before. It’s thoughtful and deep and...I don’t know. He does that thing where he bites his lip when he’s nervous. And he’s probably the biggest romantic I’ve ever met. I used to think it was absurd, but now it’s just cute. He rubs circles on my back sometimes, for no reason. He just…always likes to be touching. And, as much as that man loves words, it’s the actions. He doesn’t need to say something for me to know...I guess. He’ll show me instead. Does that make sense?”

After a moment of gaping, Rory burst out in laughter. “I knew it was serious. I didn’t know it was a Tennyson poem.”

“Alright, alright, enough,” Ella grumbled in embarrassment. “The point is: do you want to be with Logan for the rest of your life?”

Rory’s face fell slightly, and she could only manage a non-committal shrug.

As the breeze blew past them again, and Ella watched Rory’s expression falter, she felt her stomach fill with nerves. She hadn’t realized it before, quite how committed she was. When she imagined her life, Jess was always there. It wasn’t even a question. She didn’t know exactly when she’d decided he would be a permanent fixture, if he wanted. But apparently she had. And no matter how frustrated she was with his refusal to talk about his panic attacks, or the anxiety which had been following him for, perhaps, years, it didn’t matter. It had been a tough trip for him. She just wanted to get back to him, to make sure he was alright. To see if he was feeling better.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 8 March 1834: SH:7/ML/E/16/0177

6 10

12 40

Fair and windy – rain in the night – F52° at 6 40 – out at 7 ¼ - with Pickles - his son John and a labourer to wall up gaps and make other and set posts for John Bottomley and P- himself to raise wall near new dry bridge so as to support a great height of stuff - with John Booth taken him (P-) 2 loads of stones - Charles and James H- putting up more wainscot in upper buttery -breakfast with my father at 8 ½ in about ½ hour -in my study at 9 ¾ - rain came on about 8 ½ or before   likely to continue - till 11 ½ wrote 1 page and 4 lines to Miss W- and copied what I would advise her to write in answer to Washington - then out with John moving large cherry[?] from the terrace to near new dry bridge and moving rose tree and flowers to outside upper garden door etc ready for beginning to lower the terrace on Monday - Pickels went away in the morning on account of the rain but returned at 2 ½ pm  with him raising wall near new dry bridge to hold up stuff from the new bank (just below Bottomleys the shoemaker) and backwards and forwards with Charles and James H- in the upper buttery and with Mallinson and his 1 man who got the middle cornice of the chimney this afternoon, and opened hole thro’ wall on to the terrace for barrowing out  the stuff - agreed with Pickels to wheel it out to the carts in the court yard, and thence cart it to near the old dry bridge for 8d per square yard - he asks Mr. Haigh 15d a yard (ie about 7d per 1 horse cart load) for carting stuff from the new bank (to put it here near new dry bridge) - came in at 6 ½ - settled with Pickels and Charles H- dinner at 7 and coffee and came upstairs at 7 40 - wrote 3 pages more and ½ p. envelope and finished my letter to ‘Miss Walker Heworth Grange, York’ and sent it off at 9 ½ by Thomas in a parcel with Washington’s letter and n°2 Paxton’s magazine the small parcel for Mrs. Sutherland to go by tonights’ mail - should have sent W-‘s letter etc yesterday but waited to hear from Miss W- this morning - much disappointed - strongly  urge her to determine about and give Washington orders to let Lidgate - should always determine as soon as one can, and then the sooner the determination is acted on, the better - a great comfort  and advantage to us to have things settled as soon as possible so that our intentions should be clear to all whom they concerned – our position too equivocal - then dated 2nd page this evening– saying it was well to make an excuse of Lidgate but the truth was, I could scarcely believe it  was not a week since my return and it seemed an age since Monday and not hearing from her made me dull - Did she wish me to think less of her? She might scold and I should take it patiently – then took up Miss W-‘s letter  could not be much trouble to alter the Town’s books – she could not be expected to understand land-valuing, therefore it was W-‘s place to offer her a fair rent for the Hemingway crofts (5 ½ acres exclusive of plantations and paying £2.16.0. pounds taxes per annum l say .:. taxes = from 6/ to 7/ per day work) unless he hoped to have them as the same sort of terms as the Lidgate land – but advised her to write briefly to him on the subject merely  saying she had made up her mind not to pay the taxes and, as he put it to her to value the crofts she should have them and Cordingley’s farm valued at my same time and write by post to Mr Mitchell to let he have his valuation as soon as he could and then she would settle what allowance  should be made to Cordingley and fix a rent for the crofts as W- valued for himself and his brother in law  he ought to be glad to call in an indifferent person - would she write something like the following  ‘Miss Walker will be much obliged to Mr. Mitchell to send her, as soon as he possibly can, his valuation of the yearly rent of the land or the enclosed plan, specifying the condition of each field, the tenant to pay all taxes - Mr. Mitchell is requested to direct Miss Walker Heworth Grange, York.’ She could easily sketch the plan, giving numeros and measurements as stated in W-‘s survey - Perhaps W- would be surprised - not to give her the credit she deserved but lay it all on me – she had plenty of head, only wanted promptness of decision .........  ‘Heaven prosper you in everything! Doubt anything but the real regard of yours faithfully and affectionately AL.’ Will send the dimensions of the north parlour fireplace next time -  With my aunt from 9 ½ about an hour - then wrote the whole of this page till 11 – very boisterous  windy night –

SH:7/ML/E/16/0178

11 20 before Thomas got back – could hardly get to Halifax for the wind  - was an hour in going - brought back my packet of letters to Mr. Brown, Copenhagen under cover to HD. Scott Esquire Foreign office London (vid. Sunday 16 February) - there being written on the bank ‘Refused.....’ cannot make out the name - and enclosed in the following printed letter from the dead letter Office -‘General Post office 7 March 1834 Sir the enclosed letter not having been delivered for the reason assigned there on, was opened here by the officer appointed by his majesty’s Postmaster general for that purpose, and is now returned to you, as the writer, on payment of the postage I am sir, your obedient humble servant Francis Freeling, secretary’!!!! postage 3/8  So much for Mr. Brown’s offer of my writing thro’ him saying in reply to my scruples that it was merely a perquisite of office to be allowed to oblige friends in this way -  Letter 3 pages and 2 ¼ pages crossed from Miss Walker Heworth Grange – much pleased with the bonnet - should not want another  ‘you quite astonish me with your expedition in the execution of all my wants and wishes’ - ....... ‘I am thinking about Lidgate, and will say more when I write next query will it be wise to irritate or brave public opinion further just now? For the same reason, ought or can I accept your kind position about Shibden?’ Her usual indecision  does she mean to make a fool of me after all   she would not have me paint the carriage nor do more at Shibden than necessary  gave me that is bought for six pence and put on again my ring languidly and now declines taking the straight course of shewing our union  or at least compact to the world  should I ask her to do what she could not or ought not? Public opinion has been too much or too little braved and whatever force there is against her coming here is the same against my going there  I don’t like all this I distrust her and feel as if the thing would again and this time forever  go off between us   I shall not be played with let her come here before I go there again but I am on my guard and she may find this won’t do   My letters and feelings have been more affectionate than she deserved –she concludes with you will perceive I have practised what I preached  that is not to write anything particular I will take the hint. ‘I long for the sketch of the chimney piece  but don’t pay the carriage - why did you do it of the box? I suspect the affront was Thomas’s, not yours. Affront! Does this seem as if she really thought us united in heart and purse? Delighted to hear my aunt is a little better ‘not selfishly so for my own wish is that you should never take any distant journey so long as she lives, kind as she is and considerate in desiring it – there are plenty of  places nearer home unseen and which would be disgraceful not to visit’. This would be well enough if I did not shrewdly suspect she wishes to avoid going abroad or doing anything that would too decidedly bespeak our compact. What will she think of my letter of last night So affectionate and straightforward  perhaps it is lucky it went  and it would not have gone had I received hers first I shall not write till I have heard from her again  let us see how she can shuffle off  it has often struck me she wanted to make a cat’s paw of me to get into society  no harm done yet take care of my own concerns   my aunt’s death will try the thing and perhaps after all I shall be off at tangent  I will be cautious what I do in the meantime even in venturing to the plenty of places nearer home unseen  Miss Rawson says her mind is little and much in her money shall I find her right?   ‘only think of the time when you can come again to see the onyx (the ring I gave her) and ever believe me with love to your aunt kind regards to your father and sister  yours faithfully and affectionately, AW.’   she little thinks how much she has annoyed me but no more of her just now. Rainy day from between 8 and 9 and till 1 & 2 pm afterwards fine - but very boisterous  windy night.

[bisexualsforprompto]

A Cat and Bug Game Pt. Two

Well dang! I was actually able to release a chapter today! (Fingers crossed that I can finish a Titans AU chapter). Just before rehearsal, yes! Anyway! Please enjoy part two!!!

Alfred pulled up to Wayne manor. Marinette stood in astonishment at the gigantic mansion. “This-this is your home?” She asked, “wow it’s so lovely! I’ll have to come out here soon so I can sketch! The whole exterior is so inspiring!” Her eyes lit up and Damian’s heart fluttered, of course Adrien had to butt in. “It’s ok, I guess. It’ll have to do for the time we’re here...” Dick had to hold Damian back so he didn’t attack the model, Adrien was oblivious to Damian’s obvious hatred of him so he kept nonchalantly walking towards the doors of the manor. “How much will Paris miss this kid if he happened to be in a freak ‘accident’” Jason seethed. Dick shook his head at his brother, “You know we don’t kill, Jason...” at that moment Adrien took Marinette’s arm and pulled her while talking her ear off about his house. “As much as we might want to” Dick said amending his previous statement.

Marinette slowly broke away from Adrien as they walked inside the manor. She walked back to the Wayne’s and her eyes fell on the handsome Wayne son again. “I’m so sorry, I just realized I never got your names!” She smiled apologetically. “I’m Damian!” Damian said eagerly bringing a smile to his face for the first time his brothers had seen, much to surprise of the Waynes. She smiled at him and he smiled wider, that is until Tim spoke. “Tim Drake! I’m a huge fan of your designs although it looks like demon spawn is a bigger fan of you.” Jason smirked at his brother and reminded himself to give him a high five as soon as he could. “Names Jason Todd, otherwise known as the best and most charming Wayne.” Dick rolled his eyes as Marinette laughed. “Dick Gayson sweetie, I’m so excited you’re staying with us. I’m definitely going to pick your brain about Jagged Stone.” Marinette smiled, “I’m looking forward to it!” “Marinette!” Adrien yelled. “Excuse me,” she said apologetically. Damian looked at her, “You don’t have to do everything he asks you know.” Marinette nodded, “Yes I know, but his family has done so much for me. He is normally much nicer, I’m sure he’s just stressed.” Damian didn’t buy her fake smile, but before he could protest she was gone. “The Minute that boy does anything out of line he is dead.”

Dinner was quiet aside from the boys occasionally asking Marinette questions about her life. Adrien mostly answered for her and shot them down. Damian was extremely frustrated at the model but when dinner was over he was a little sad that Marinette would be going back to her room. “I can show you to your rooms if you’d like.” He said. Adrien shook his head, “It’s no trouble, I’m sure we’ll find our room.” Damian raised an eyebrow, “Our?” “Well, this manor is so small, we wouldn’t want to inconvenience you by using up your rooms, we don’t mind staying together, right Marinette?” Adrien looked at his prey with a menacingly sweet grin. “Um actually-“ “there’s enough room for both of you to have your own room.” Bruce stepped in. “Marinette will be in the bottom floor and you, Mr. Agreste will be on the top. It’s no inconvenience I assure you.” He gave a stoic Batman stare and the boy backed down a little. “Of course Mr. Wayne.” Damian almost cheered, he saw Marinette giving his father a thankful look. “I’ll show Mister Agreste to his room, Damian would you be so kind as to show Miss Marinette to hers?” Alfred said, the all-knowing butler knew exactly what to say. Damian nodded and saw the blondie’s annoyed and very jealous expression. Walking over to Marinette he headed in the opposite direction of Alfred. He led her to a spacious room and watched as her eyes widened adorably. “Damian?” She asked. “Y-yes?” Damian stuttered, geez what is wrong with me?! “Are you sure this is my room? I don’t need anything this big.” Damian almost sighed, so sweet...He cleared his throat, “Don’t worry Miss Marinette, you’re a guest and you deserve to be treated with the upmost respect, and if you need me ever I promise I’ll be happy to help you.” Marinette felt a blush creep onto her cheeks, “Thank you Damian, oh! And my friends call me Mari.” Damian found himself turning tomato red, “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” He shut her door gently and they left each other as blushing messes. When Damian rejoined the rest of his family his dreamy expression did not go unnoticed. “Demon Spawn has a girlfriend! Mark the calendar!” Jason exclaimed. “She’s not my girlfriend Todd.” He said, his face resting back into its normal unfeeling expression. “Not yet.” Dick said wiggling his eyebrows. “Don’t you start Grayson!” Damian snapped. “Now boys stop teasing Damian about his ‘friend’” Bruce said teasingly. Damian angrily stomped to the batcave. He couldn’t believe his family! He also wanted to research the Agreste kid, if he could nail him for jay-walking it would be enough.

The other members of the family joined him, “Damian, it’s time for patrol suit up.” That he did with a grumble about how he was in the middle of something and Nightwing, Robin, Red Hood and Batman were ready to go. Red Robin stayed behind in case a hero might need to have a talk with the Agreste boy. Tim didn’t know however that it would be Marinette that he would be talking to late at night...

Marinette Dupain-Cheng felt something weird when she passed by Alfred, but good weird. When she asked Tikki what it was Tikki told her that Ladybugs could Sense past miraculous holders and that she thought Alfred was one of Duusu’s birds. She asked Tikki if she could trust him to which the little kwami said yes. Marinette wandered out of her room to the kitchen where she found Alfred. “Excuse me Alfred?” She said to the butler. “Yes, Ms. Marinette do you need something?” Marinette shook her head, “No, but I was wondering... does the name Duusu mean anything to you?” Alfred lit up, “I haven’t heard that name in years, wait how do you know Duusu?” Tikki flew out of Marinette’s purse, “Wow! It’s a pleasure to meet one of Duusu’s birds.” Alfred smiled and then realized, “Are you Ladybug Miss Marinette?!” Marinette nodded her head shyly. “Well, it seems we have much to talk about...”

It was mostly a quiet night so Tim found himself quite bored waiting in the cave and sipping his coffee, that is until a small girl in pigtails tapped him on the shoulder. “Gah!” He screamed as he found himself face to face with Marinette, “Oh it’s just you...WAIT! How did you get down here, what are you DOING here?!” “I invited her Master Drake.” Alfred said emerging from the shadows, “She sensed me from something in my past a while ago, she can be trusted, after all you’ll find Miss Marinette is a hero herself.” Tim scoffed a little, “No offense Alfred but she doesn’t really look like she could be a vigilante.” Tim took a sip of his coffee, “Did I say she was a vigilante master Tim?” Alfred nodded at Marinette and she yelled, “Tikki, spots on!” Tim spit out his coffee as he saw a transformed Marinette, she had spots and what looked like... a yo-yo? “Hello Tim! My name is Ladybug, the hero of Paris!”

~~~~

Dick, Damian, Bruce and Jason returned from a boring patrol to see a young girl in a mask and a spandex suit chatting eagerly with Alfred and Tim. Dick rubbed his eyes in shock, “What the fu-“

~~~~

Tag List (Whhhhat?!) please let me know if I missed you or if you’d like to be tagged!

@mochinek0

@violatiger8

@beaversuenightly

@zerotosiki

@captainmac6

[hatsukeii]

Hi I’d like a matchup please? I’m 5’4 and I have short brown hair and hazel eyes. I’m an ambivert, Im independent and driven but I can have a bad temper. Im really energetic and hate staying still. I can be really flirty but also oblivious to other ppl flirting. Im witty and optimistic. I adore doing anything creative, especially drawing and I also love animals and nature.I can sometimes come off as a bit too honest and mean but I’m really protective and caring on the inside and I love cuddles.

Ahh yes I have finally finished procrastinating, good to be back

Your matchup is:

🐮Ushijima “You should’ve come to Shiratorizawa you stupid bench” Wakatoshi🐮

Soft boy Ushiwaka is a whole ass RELIGION.

Honestly, you can flirt with him as much as you want, and he’ll never take a hint. Mans is so dense that when you confessed with “I like you a lot,” he had the audacity to reply “You’re my best friend too, although I do hope that you won’t unfriend me after this because I want to be more than that.” Seriously he needs help. You’ve tried hitting on him in the past. Cheesy pickup lines, occasional hugs, petting his hair, you even wrote him a note asking whether he wanted to go to a festival together, to which he responded “You can come with the volleyball team, we’re all going together.” All jokes aside though, you can’t talk because he did try hitting on you too. He tried so hard to grab your attention during practice when you walked in once. He even did that thing where he lifted his shirt to wipe his face, and you still somehow didn’t notice. The entire volleyball team was cackling at your reaction to it. “Wakatoshi, do you need a towel? I have an extra in my bag.” It wasn’t until you confessed did he finally stop being so awkwardly dense, sometimes offering to grab your hand in the hallways while being a very blushy boi.

He loves it soo much when you randomly whip out a sketchbook or your phone on outdoor dates and start drawing or taking photos for reference. He thinks it’s so cute oh dear lord- He gets you loads of art supplies whenever you run out of them, and sends you random photos he takes when he’s alone so you have more references to use for drawing. (P.S. He’s really, really good at taking sunset and nature pics.) Occasionally, he’ll ask you to teach him how to draw. (Spoiler alert: He’s not that great at it, but it doesn’t matter.) Ushijima is honestly adorable when he tries to sketch though. His nose gets all scrunched up and his eyebrows are constantly furrowed. He kind of just pinches the pen because of how big his hand is, and you can see he’s trying so hard not to mess up what you showed him. Overall: 11/10 for effort.

Okay he’s so clueless to your wittiness it’s funny. He doesn’t realise until his teammates give him a detailed explanation on what you meant. Even after that it takes him a few minutes to let all the information sink in. He’ll just randomly flinch and go “OH SO THAT’S WHAT YOU MEANT!” Whenever he understands something you might’ve said hours ago. It’s honestly hilarious to see that happen because Ushijima gets very bubbly and excited about understanding your sarcasm and way with words, and will continue to be in a good mood for the rest of the day.

This man LOVES cuddling with you. He’ll make some ridiculous excuses just to cuddle. Whether it be “I’m hungry, cuddles?” Or “We just won the match, cuddles?” It’s honestly adorable how big of a baby he is. You’d think he’s intimidating judging from his looks and his build. The definition of gentle giant. Usually wants to be the big spoon, loves to secretly smell your hair for some reason, and loves to see you giggle when his hair tickles your neck a bit. He doesn’t mind being cuddled at all though. If you play with his hair he will d i e of wholesomeness, just saying. This man is just soft, please protect him at all costs thank you.

Catchphrases:

“Why does mine look like a deformed baby, while yours looks like an actual dog?”

“AHH THAT’S SO FUNNY!” “Wakatoshi I said that hours ago what-“

“Can I cuddle?” “Huh? What happened?” “I ran out of instant noodles and Shōnen Jump magazines.”

“Sis dressed like she out to get herpes with that little clothing on her.” “Wakatoshi did you just manage to diss someone?”

Other possible matches:

Hinata “I’m never setting foot into another bathroom ever again” Shouyou

Tsukishima “Like Jurassic Park or die” Kei

Kageyama “BOKE HINATA BOKE” Tobio

Goshiki “I will be the ace someday” Tsutomu

I hope you liked your matchup<33