#it's enough for me it's enough for my sketchbook and the privacy of my own home | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luveline · 3 years ago

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you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina, to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

#listened to boyfriend by big time rush while writing hahaha #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley #fred #fred weasly x reader #sad reader #reader insert #artist reader #fred weasley fluff #sorry for the big blocks of text tumblr has a 250 paragraph limit #why woukd they do that

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imjeralee · 4 years ago

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i request that you drink plenty of water and take care of yourself !!! ·o·b after thats done, came i pretty please get headcanons with link, Kaeya and maybe Childe about an s/o who draws them one day as a confession and gives it to them? :) (maybe they already knew and saw them drawing them before ? who knows) thank you in advance!!

Thank you anon! *looks at cup of green tea beside laptop* yep I think i’m doing well in keeping myself hydrated recently hehe but thank you :3

Anyway please see below for the ask! (it’s pretty long)

Link

He was grooming one of the ponies when he saw you standing behind a tent peeking at him curiously and when he turned round properly, you quickly scampered away and he got worried so he followed you to the room you share to see you sitting on the bed with a wine red book propped up in your lap but upon his return, you immediately hid it behind your back, smiling widely at him

He wonders what it was but decides not to pry, but he later discovers it was actually a sketchbook when he’s packing up for tomorrow and you’re taking a bath and the sketchbook drops out of your pack and onto the floor, opening at a random page

He picks it up with the intention to return it to your bag but then he sees the various drawings of him in his Ancient Armour set, Hylian and Snowquill set. They’re fully coloured and it looks like you’ve spent hours on them. He didn’t know you were this artistic and wondered why you hid this from him

The date you wrote on the bottom of the page indicates that you drew all this in one day! He’s super impressed

Then he sees the note you wrote below: “To my Dearest Link, I hope you like my drawings of you. All I can think about is how lucky I am to be able to be by your side, you’ve changed my life for the better and-”

Obv half complete so now he knows why you didn’t want to show him and he respects your privacy, so he puts the sketchbook away

Outside, he sees Beedle and goes over to see what’s new for sale. Beedle has some cool art stuff (well, it’s more like stuff that can be used for dye but can also be used as paint) so he buys some for you as a present which he will give to you later.

Next day, you get chased by a group of Bokogoblins and the book and all your drawing supplies drops out from your bag.

You didn’t see it drop and returned to the stable, ransacking your bag like crazy only to find your stuff missing

When you realise everything must have dropped out when you got chased, you quickly leave the stable to go back to the area but it’s thunder and lightning so Link chases after you

“Link, what are you doing? Go back, the weather’s awful.” You tell him but he shakes his head, unable to leave you alone in the rain like this

He helps you with your search and you end up locating your book and your supplies which are lying in the mud

The book has been trampled over and some of the pages have been torn out. The remaining pages are soaked with dirt and grime. Your pencils are snapped in half and your paints have been left to bleed all over the grass. All of your drawings are ruined, too. This is your worst nightmare.

Link observes you silently as tears begins to form in your eyes and you look at him, sniffling slightly.

You’re experiencing a mixture of devastation, frustration, anger and exasperation - from your carelessness to the stupid bokogoblins - and this incident infuriates you so much you throw the book to the ground angrily

Before you can march away, Link grabs your wrist

Turning round, your gazes meet and he looks at you softly, intently.

‘What’s wrong?’ he is saying.

“I was going to use those to confess to you!” you end up roaring out by accident.

Link looks at you, a little stunned

“N-Never mind! Everything’s ruined!!!!”

You’re about to storm off again when Link suddenly pulls you into his chest and gives you a hug

“!” you’re so shocked you can’t speak

He pulls away though, and leads you to the hollow of a nearby tree trunk where he gestures for you to sit down to shelter from the rain whilst he glances around, then sprints back over to where the ruined sketchbook is

He picks it up and holds it against his chest as if it’s dear to him. That’s not all, you watch as he begins to pick up the remaining pages that were torn out and once he’s collected them all he returns to you, clutching the pages tightly

"Link...” you murmur breathlessly as he he kneels down in front of you before he fishes around in his pockets to reveal a random bunch of paint pots in his hand.

You’re a little confused, but realise he has some spares which he must have bought from a merchant

it’s not much but...

he nudges it to you for your offering

You gawp at him for a few moments before you smile and chuckle and upon seeing you back to your usual self again, Link smiles and helps you back onto your own feet to stand

You thank him as you cradle the paints to yourself. You will need to restart from scratch from somehow it feels ok and something tells you you don’t need to hide it from him anymore

And you return to the stable, sheltering from the rain by sharing a large leaf together

Kaeya

Let’s begin with the fact that alongside you, there is a maid who also likes Kaeya as much as you do and she’s a bit of a sneaky bugger and you don’t show your drawings to anyone or watermark your artwork until they’re complete. You can probably see where this is going

One day, Kaeya finds out you are drawing a picture of him when he comes to your office to inform you that there’s a group of abyss mages outside Mondstadt so you hurry off to dispatch it and leaving Kaeya in your office

He accidentally comes across your drawing when he sees his face on a piece of parchment and his interest is piqued so he heads over to check it out

It’s a really good sketch!!! the amount of detail is insane! he had no idea you possessed such skill and who knew that you could create such beautiful art like this? He also finds some rough doodles and sketches you made earlier on some scrap paper you had also written on so he knows it’s you

Anyway, he puts everything back to join you in battle, but not before passing a maid along the way who is heading to your room to clean up

She comes across your drawing and she’s always fancied Kaeya herself, so for some reason other than just thinking she might be able to get away with it if she’s sneaky enough, she takes your drawing and sets off with it

Meanwhile, you return to your room after the battle, take off your coat and sit comfortably in your chair, reaching for your quill

“Ah, time to get back to my drawing of Kaeya.” you say with a smile, looking at your desk.

Wait a minute.

Something is wrong.

Very wrong.

It’s GONE!

After checking the rest of your office (and its clearly not there), you rush outside, wondering what happened to it when you see Kaeya and a maid talking in the corridor

they didn’t see you, so you quickly hide

“Please accept this, captain Kaeya!” gushes the maid, presenting your drawing to him. “I drew this picture of you to show how much you mean to me.”

What in the Samachurl shit is this?

You’re about to storm over when Kaeya takes the drawing with a delicate brow raised, studies it intently and goes, “Oh? But I’m not so sure about that.”

“W-what do you mean, Captain Kaeya?”

“There’s no watermark on it,” he points out, “....one could’ve taken anyone’s artwork and claim that it’s theirs.”

“T-That’s - ! Ah, Captain Kaeya, h-how could you think so lowly of me?”

“I’m only just stating some simple facts, that’s all. You won’t hold that against me, will you? And I’m certainly not accusing you of anything...unless you...?”

“Oh....uh....I...I-I’m so sorry, Captain Kaeya, you’re right! I-I....please excuse me!”

The maid’s too embarrassed to proceed any further and leaves, running away.

Indeed, what in the samachurl hell had just happened?

It goes quiet and you wonder if he’s still there; you step out of your hiding place only to go nose-to-chest with Kaeya.

He greets you with a smirk. “if it isn’t the little kitten, what are you doing here?”

“Um...uh, I....that....that drawing - “

What he said is right, there’s no watermark. How can you prove it’s yours? Would he believe you if you told him?

“Hm? Ah, yes, this drawing. I was going to keep it for myself.”

“No, wait! I mean...er...it’s not finished yet-”

“So you drew this then?”

“Yes, I did. it was me.” Though you wonder if he would believe you after everything you had just heard.

“Why?”

You lamely tell him you really like him and wanted to use it to confess to him.

He watches you for a few seconds, then hands the drawing to you. “I’ll wait until you’ve finished then.”

“Huh?” You gasp. He gave it back to you so easily despite what he said to the maid! “You...you’re not-”

“I knew it was you who drew it. I recognised your style.”

“Then why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“If I said so earlier, how else would I get you to confess to me?”

“KAEYA!!!”

(from then on he’ll want you to draw him more often)

Childe

Saw you sitting on the grassy hill near Qingxu Pool drawing earlier and because he is good at sneaking up on people, you didn’t hear him as he casually leaned over to peek over your shoulder and said, “Hey girlie, what’re you up to?”

You’re like “UWAGH!” and quickly close your sketchbook before turning round to see Childe.

“N-nothing!” you exclaim, before you get up and run down the hill, leaving a very amused Childe on his own

Later, when you’ve finished your masterpiece, you nervously approach Childe and tell him, “Um....this is for you, let me know what you think.” before rushing off in a blushing mess and Childe will open the sketchbook to see that you’ve drawn a very nice portrait of him in a battle stance, wielding his bow, surrounded by his hydro blades

Childe stands, staring at the picture

Then he sees the words ‘do you like me?’ scribbled at the very bottom

Childe staring hard now

He’s used to giving people gifts but now that he’s received something so thoughtful, he’s a bit overwhelmed. he can tell you put so much effort and hardwork into this. Ah, what is this feeling?

He closes the book without further ado and scrubs a hand over his face

he actually wasn’t expecting you to do this. he knew you were drawing him but the result is really....something else

You don’t hear him from Childe in a few days and you are so nervous and worried.

Is this a rejection? Maybe he didn’t like your picture after all...

You’re walking in the streets and sigh and sit on the stone steps of Liyue, staring at the sea, upset and dejected

But then you hear a whistle from behind and throw a glance over your shoulder to see Childe standing on a higher step, a hand in his pocket

“Hey girlie, heads up,” he tosses a paper plane into the air which makes this little loop before you stand to catch it

Looking up, Childe has gone

You unfold the paper plane to its proper size to reveal that Childe’s drawn a little sketch of you in return and he has written: ‘Yes I do’.

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sankyeom · 4 years ago

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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

#the boyz #the boyz imagines #kevin #kevin imagines #kevin x reader #the boyz x reader #the boyz scenarios #the boyz drabbles #the boyz fanfic #deobiwritersnet #tbznetwork #kevin moon #2k celebration

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anya-grace · 4 years ago

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Hey, I read your Letters to Petra story last night and I couldn't stop crying. This one made me cry manly tears:

And Falco, that soft boy, he was always complaining about the orange strands of hair on my pillows. That was unfair. I needed more than just a strand of your hair. You could’ve shown yourself to me.

If you could write a mini story of Petra visiting Levi in his dreams that would be fantastic 👍

uhm,,, hello, hi 🥺 thank you for reading Letters for Petra 💖 i'm glad you cried char

knee waze, this fic might not be what you have in mind but please accept this 🥺🤲

five times petra visits levi in marley

He was at the kitchen of his tea shop as per usual, opting to supervise the tea-brewing process instead and hiding his scarred face from the prying eyes of the customers when Falco entered and handed him a lavender-scented purple envelope.

"What is this?" He asked, leaving the pool of dried tea leaves that he was currently experimenting at.

"Uh...there was a customer outside. She didn't tell her name, but she told me to hand the envelope to Captain Levi."

His eyebrows shot up. He had never heard that title ever since he moved and settled in Marley.

Curiosity filled him as he asked the blonde boy the details about the customer. "You said she's a woman? What does she look like?"

And before Falco could answer, Gabi called from the front desk, seeking help with attending the new customers of his tea shop.

Opening the envelope, Levi saw familiar handwriting that he had never seen for the last five years.

Dear L,

Add some cinnamon to your tea. It's the secret of my blend.

- P.R.

ii.

It was a rainy day in Marley, and Levi's regular sightseeing every Sunday was interrupted by the heavy downpour.

"Tch, what a bitch." He murmured to himself as he grimaced on the mud on the wheels of his wheelchair.

It was only when he heard a soft giggle that he realized that he was accompanied by a woman under the thin roof in front of the small shop.

"I don't think there's something funny," he said gruffly. He couldn't fathom the expression of the woman because of the huge purple hat covering her face.

"You are funny, sir," the woman answered with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Maybe it was the sound of the heavy rain or the fact that it was almost ten years that he had never heard that voice, but slowly, Levi recognized it to be hers, and he wanted so badly to remove her big ass hat to see her face.

The rain stopped as did his heart, and he sat in his wheelchair dumbfounded as he watched the woman walk away from him.

He stared at the spot she left and he saw a yellow hanky on the ground. When he got home, he saw the letters P.R. sewn at the edge of the cloth.

iii.

His birthday wasn't a secret, but Levi doesn't go out of his way announcing to everyone that Hey, it's Humanity's Strongest Soldier's birthday today either.

It was when he received a bouquet on a Christmas morning - which was also the morning of his birthday, that the two brats knew this piece of personal information.

"Uncle Levi, someone sent you birthday flowers!" Gabi screamed from the hallway. While it usually irritated him, his thoughts were on who the fuck sent the flowers on his birthday.

"It says P.R.." Levi snatched the card from Gabi and the girl pouted and her eyes slowly widened, shining with glee.

"Ah! That's the same initials in the letter and the hanky you have in your room, Uncle Levi! Is she your girlfriend?"

Levi shot her a deadly look, "You snooping on my things, brat?"

iv.

One thing Levi loved with Marley (aside from the wide variety of teas and caffeine) was the peaceful community parks.

Although full of people most of the time, the Marleyans kept to themselves, doing their own thing like walking their dogs, exercising, and whatever shitty business they have at the park. This gave Levi some privacy, and a little break from his busy tea shop and the constant bickering of his two adopted brats.

He was enjoying the peace when a little boy poked his side with his dirty little fingers. Levi grimaced, a string of curses at the tip of his tongue, but he was suddenly presented with a piece of paper. He hesitantly took it, and the child ran away from him in a flash.

He saw his face on the paper. It was an illustration of him sitting in his wheelchair at the community park. At the bottom part of the paper were her initials again. Levi grazed his fingertips on the letters, and sure enough, he spotted a small figure with a sketchbook on her hands walking away from the park.

Twenty years wasn't enough to forget the cruel memories of the war.

Every now and then, Levi Ackerman was visited by nightmares, the images of his fallen comrades and the faces of the civilians that he failed to save haunted him in his sleep.

It was a particularly bad night when he felt her touch. His cold body was wrapped in his thick blanket, and Levi murmured in his sleep as he tried to drive away the bad dreams.

He felt another weight dipped on his mattress, and before he could protest, he felt an arm on his shoulder, soft kisses on his forehead, and a familiar humming tone that soothes him and drove away all the madness inside his head.

The next morning, Falco complained about the strands of orange hair on Levi's pillows, and Gabi gave him a knowing look which registered in his brain as "You slept with Miss P.R. last night weren't you, Uncle Levi?"

#anya's fic #woah with the manly tears #i want to rewrite letters for petra so bad #rivetra #rivapeto #levi x petra #sorry anon if this is not what you have in mind 🤧#thank you for the prompt 🥺#thank you for reading my fic 🥺

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mythicamagic · 4 years ago

Note

wow! that's an amazing list. “i’ve been falling in love with you since the first day we met”

A continuation of other tumblr prompts I’ve made into a fic - here

Hopefully chapter four will be the end lolol this fic has been far longer than I intended it to be.

---

Kagome stared out at passing scenery beyond her window with a glazed look dulling her eyes. Heavy thoughts carried her attention far away from the mundane train ride. She hadn't visited Kyoto in years, and especially not for such a special reason before.

Shippo's voice had sounded so strange on the phone. Mature, but not overly deep, maintaining its playfulness. He'd invited her over for a visit right away.

A 'bing!' noise roused her enough to check her phone- which showed a picture of Natsuki posing with a spear and fresh kill.

Kagome snorted, resting her chin on her knuckles. There were a few things about Natsuki that she was surprised Sesshoumaru hadn't commented on.

Number one; her boyfriend was a demon.

And number two; he was, specifically, an inuyoukai. A mongrel. She imagined Sesshoumaru felt mighty smug to know she'd found a demon of the same species as him to date. Natsuki being of mixed breeding surely made the Daiyouki feel all the more superior.

But Kagome had never cared about such things. She'd loved Inuyasha once, too.

The short version of their 'getting together' just two months prior was that she'd located a demon bar a few years ago and had been dating youkai ever since, using the place as a means to meet them. The relief of finding the secret den of long-forgotten youkai had been unparalleled. Kagome now knew exactly how to locate and see through glamorous thanks to years of experience.

She'd found out through the process of elimination that humans just kind of...weren't enough for her. Kagome needed the youki, the rush- the bite of claws, talons or fangs.

Natsuki was one of many in a long line of potential 'forever' partners, but Kagome had long since stopped expecting marriage down the line. If they lasted, that was fine. If not, that was fine too.

She had resolved never to fall hard for someone again.

Natsuki left Tokyo a few days prior to go on a hunting trip with his pack in a remote location up in the mountains, a monthly tradition.

'Can you skip it this time?' Kagome had asked. 'I'd just...really like it if you could come to Kyoto with me?'

'But I don't know your fox friend.'

'Doesn't matter- he hasn't seen me in 500 years. I would feel so much better if you were there.'

Natsuki looked as though she'd spat in his breakfast. 'Ah, uh-' he ran an awkward hand through his light-brown hair. 'I guess?'

The hesitancy and look in his eyes- begging to be let off the hook- made Kagome force a smile and drop the subject.

She sighed, figuring they'd probably break up soon. There wasn't really anything wrong with their relationship, just a difference in values and priorities.

It seemed to be the norm. No huge fight. No big dramatic breakup. Usually she even stayed friends with her exes.

Sesshoumaru was the outlier in all things.

She made certain not to tell the Daiyoukai of her impending singleness. If he was irritatingly optimistic now- Kagome imagined he'd be a nightmare to shake off if she were available.

But he'd stop if I outright told him to never speak to me again.

Her lips thinned, stomach turning at the mere thought.

For the rest of the journey, she resolved not to think about him. And failed miserably.

----

Shippo had greeted her at the door with an enormous hug the second she'd arrived at his hilltop home. Brilliant red hair had grown longer, swept back into a ponytail. Since his house perched a little further out from most of the houses, he wore no glamour. The pointed ears and foxtails- five of them- Kagome counted, were on full display.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she hugged him back fiercely.

His wife was pleasant, though a little eccentric for a racoon youkai. She'd made a 'welcome' banner and everything for Kagome's arrival.

Three young kits with dark circle markings around their eyes raced around the house- which had crayon drawings sprawled all over the walls at waist-height. Shippo and his wife seemed to have given up on house maintenance, but they were a happy family.

Blue eyes softened as Kagome sat with him in the relative privacy of his art studio. She was so pleased he'd found happiness. As they talked, she bent down- reaching into her bag for her phone to show him some pictures of her workplace- only for it to tip over.

A small bottle of pills rolled out, stopping by his foot.

Kagome paled. She glanced away from his questioning look as he handed them back to her. "Reiki suppression pills?" he asked.

"How'd you know?"

"I've got friends in Tokyo. You're not the only priestess who secretly dates demons," he shrugged, pinning her with a calculating look. "But, it's kind of a shame you feel the need to take them."

Kagome forced a smile, tucking them away, "yeah well- it's because I'm so big and strong," she joked. "I haven't met a demon in Tokyo who could withstand my aura if I really let it out. Taking these is easier. Gives demons the 'flavour' of dating a miko without actually getting burned. It just thins my powers a little."

Shippo nodded in acceptance and swiftly changed topics since it made her uncomfortable. He chattered on about his life, detailing the 500 year gap between when they'd seen each other last. Apparently, after Miroku and Sango had passed, he'd taken to spending more time with Sesshoumaru. When Inuyasha had died, he'd started living with the Daiyoukai permanently.

"You...did?"

He nodded, hands wrapped around his steaming mug of tea. A handmade bracelet clasped around his wrist, and the mug was half-melted, made from clay. Clearly they'd both been crafted by three well-meaning kids. "I guess we were gonna talk about him eventually," he smirked. "I promise not to be biased, okay? Sure, he saved my ass, but you're still my favourite."

Warmth flooded her heart, and Kagome giggled a little despite herself. "You're talking like we're your divorced parents or something," she mused, sobering. Taking a long breath, she stared at her own misshapen mug. "What happened?" she asked quietly. "Why didn't he create a pure-blooded heir?"

Shippo sighed, sweeping a hand through voluminous red hair. "He chased after you pretty much a second after you left through the well. Only he couldn't get through."

Her chest tightened, body stiffening.

"He's told me before though...that regretting what happened wouldn't have been enough, and maybe it was better he didn't stop you. He still felt the same at the time, deep down; that only a pure-blooded heir should take over the Western Lands to ensure he was survived by a long-living heir. He was gonna do it," Shippo muttered. "He was prepared to lay with an inuyoukai to produce an heir, but when the time came he just...couldn't. It frustrated him for a long time."

Kagome took a sip of her lukewarm tea, lips thinning. "He could've taken a mate. It didn't have to be some random woman."

"Heh, yeah but his inuyoukai instincts had already chosen a mate," Shippo winked at her. "And no matter how much he tried to force logic onto himself, his instincts refused to budge. You weren't dead, so in his mind, he couldn't move on. He's remained your captive all this time."

Her eyes widened, swallowing. "That sounds terrible!" she burst, frowning. "What the hell...I'd resent that. Why doesn't he hate me?"

"Hard to explain but...he could have moved on, Kagome," the kit sighed. "If he really wanted to. He's the one who lacked the desire to change how he felt about you. So, despite some relationships, Sesshoumaru has pretty much maintained his bachelor lifestyle."

Kagome stood from her seat, setting down her tea and distractedly looking at Shippo's art pieces, picking up a sketchbook and flipping through it.

Sharp green eyes searched her guarded features. "You're still in love with him, right?"

"Some habits are hard to kick," she said softly, pausing on one sketch. Her vision grew blurry.

Shippo rose and swept the shuddering miko into a hug before she could drop the sketch of Sango and Miroku. He held her for a long time, and they moved on to talking about their friends. About all the things they'd done and the happiness they'd shared.

"M-maybe I...left too quickly," Kagome mumbled, wiping at her wet cheeks.

"Nah, don't get that thought stuck in your head," Shippo rested a hand on her head, gently ruffling the dark strands. "You wanted distance between you and Sesshoumaru. It's not your fault the well shut."

"Why did..." swallowing thickly, she looked up at him, oddly feeling like a child in comparison to his steady, easy-going presence. Like nothing in the world could shock or frighten the little kit anymore. "It took him 6 years to come talk to me, why is that?"

Shippo's smile turned slightly sad. "He wouldn't want me to tell you. In fact, he'd kill me for giving you this-" Shippo reached into his pocket and took out a vial.

Kagome understood what it was almost immediately, accepting the glamour with a perplexed look.

He then scribbled down the name of a random park in Tokyo she hadn't visited before, handing it over with a smirk. "Put that glamour on and visit this park on either Tuesday or Thursday, weather permitting. You'll find him near the duck pond."

She arched a brow, eyeing the vial. "He'll recognise me, even with a glamour on."

"Nah, that's my own creation- and I'm pretty darn brilliant at magic now!" he puffed out his chest, tilting his chin up in a very Sesshoumaru-like manner. Shippo then smiled warmly, taking the sketchbook and tearing out a page. "He's not being honest with you, but it's not outta nefarious purposes. You'll see," he reassured her. "He's changed. Even if he's still an asshole."

Kagome accepted the page, freezing. Her fingers stiffened, emotion clogging her throat at all the implications that came with the picture. She couldn't help but cry again in the safety of Shippo's arms- promptly bursting into tears while on the train ride home too.

Shippo's sketch remained clutched in her hands.

The weight of so much wasted time rested upon her heavily, making the woman bend low in her seat, ignoring the stares of other passengers and letting out several years of loneliness and disappointment. How her skin had ached and burned up with a fever of remembrance- straining for a demon lord to take her wrists and kiss her palms like he once had.

---

Overcast skies blocked out the sunshine that Tuesday, so she wondered if he'd show. The glamour had made her look like a 40-year old, a few grey streaks in her magically short hair. Brown eyes stared back at her instead of blue. She smelled like lavender and home cooking. Kagome sat upon a bench and pretended to read beside the duck pond. An available bench sat further away, nearer to the empty play park.

It was there that a dark-haired man eventually sat, five children having followed him. A lanky teen took a seat next to him, his hair short and grey- eyes milky white with blindness. Kagome squinted from behind her book, sensing he was a snake youkai. Two young hanyous of differing species immediately ran to the play park, squealing. One had concealed horns, the other hiding their leopard spots behind a glamour.

A human girl around the age of 11 carried a toddler to the edge of the duck pond, talking quietly with him and pointing to the ducks.

Kagome held back the hot sting of tears, forcing her gaze to the book in her hands and robotically turning a page.

"Shinto needs to get out of his room," the snake youkai was muttering sourly.

"There is little I can do. Did you wish for me to carry him kicking and screaming to the park with us?" Sesshoumaru snorted, elbows bent to rest on his knees.

Kagome glanced at him furtively from the corner of her eye.

Gone was the easy confidence he'd presented to her during their encounters- the impeccable dress-sense and untouchable air of a bachelor. He looked like a mess. Or rather, a single parent struggling to juggle too much at once. He wore a jacket that had seen better days, hair dishevelled and slight lines under his eyes.

"Maybe that would've been better," his adopted child was muttering, soon sighing and glancing to the side as Sesshoumaru toyed with his phone. "Do you even have her number?"

Sesshoumaru arched a brow, feigning ignorance. "Hm?"

"You know who I am referring to. Just ask for it from Uncle Shippo."

Dark lashes lowered, followed by a rich, silky chuckle that made Kagome's skin warm. "Such underhanded methods, Hiroji," he teased, "no wonder you're not popular with women."

Hazy eyes gazed in his general direction flatly, huffing. "Please refrain from trying to dodge the question. Have you actually asked this 'Kagome' woman out yet?"

"I invited her to coffee."

"Such a cheap date, Papa!" the human girl by the duck pond smiled, carrying her brother back to them. "Couldn't you have invited her ice-skating, or to a fancy restaurant?"

"Or to the park!" one of the Hanyous yelled from the swings.

Sesshoumaru cut his eyes to grey skies fondly, accepting the toddler from his daughter. "The location does not matter. Miss Higurashi is not easily swayed," he uttered, large hands toying with little boots. The toddler giggled, kicking his legs. "Initially, I wished to bury her with gifts, but she would merely see that as an attempt to 'buy' her. No, I sense only a display of humility and regret will soften her opinion of me, however that seems quite impossible."

"Hm? Why's that?" his daughter asked.

"Because I do not wish to use you all as an example of my having 'changed.' It would feel as though you are mere tools for my redemption," brown eyes slid away. "My mindset altered gradually over the centuries. No large thing triggered it. I know of no other way to prove myself other than introducing her to you."

Kagome could tell by the twitching of his fingers and the way he kept brushing them over his jaw absentmindedly that he was itching for a drag of his pipe. She'd wondered if he still occasionally smoked. He must've decided not to around his children.

"Sounds like heavy stuff," the girl hummed, patting his shoulder in consolation. "Can't you just say-" she cleared her throat, voice deepening into a poor imitation of Sesshoumaru's- "Miko, I've been falling in love with you since the first day we met. Fall into my arms~"

Deep brown eyes flattened, and he playfully shoved a hand into her face. "Things are not so easily fixed, Akiko."

"I see. Well, don't worry! If it doesn't work out, we can all go ice-skating instead!"

Sesshoumaru tsked, sinking back into his seat and allowing the toddler to snuggle up on his chest. "How dull. I'd much prefer to go on a date with a beautiful woman than babysit you brats."

Akiko only giggled and whined good-naturedly, calling him a 'meanie' before running off to join the Hanyous on the swings.

Left in silence, the Daiyoukai's brows knitted together, thoughts clearly far away.

Mild concern softened Hiroji's boyish features. "You should try talking to her again," he said quietly, so faintly Kagome could barely hear it.

"Hn, and why is that?"

Shifting, the snake demon glanced sightlessly in Kagome's direction- causing her blood to freeze in her veins. "I suspect she may be more receptive to speaking with you now, that is all. Call it a hunch."

Stiff shoulders slowly relaxed upon realising he wasn't going to expose her. After a few minutes, Kagome rose from her spot and slipped away from the park.

In the comfort of her own apartment, Kagome gazed at the sketch Shippo had given her; Sesshoumaru sleeping without a glamour obscuring his exotic features. Resting on mokomoko, his knees, and the crook of his arm were children, different from the ones at the park, but just as mixed in species.

It implied he'd been adopting them for centuries. What had started with Rin all those years ago- the accidental adoption of his first child, had become a long-enduring habit. And it also gave Kagome the stupid, insidious idea that maybe he wanted hanyou children now. Maybe he wanted them with her.

And that was too dangerous a thought to linger on if she was incorrect.

#Sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #Asks

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furashuban · 3 years ago

Text

As High As The Moon Above

The first work so far of a Hilda AU I’ve written centered around Kaisa and Johanna but as childhood friends (which I’ve titled the Spellbound AU)! Hope ya’ll enjoy!

Pairing: Sketchbook Ship (Kaisanna)

Words: 5.5k

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33556615/chapters/83380660

Summary: Kaisa must practice casting a new spell before her next training session with her teacher, Tildy. In response, her best friend Johanna, unbeknownst that Kaisa is training to become a witch, offers to take her along on a camping trip outside the wall of Trolberg to help her concentrate.

A cart of books strolled and squeaked through the halls of the Trolberg library. The keeper of the books went about their business reshelving heaps upon heaps of returned literature, glimpsing every aisle they passed with most having little to no visitors browsing the shelves. They eventually spot a girl in a black cardigan and purple dress, complimented by her short black hair, muttering as she struggled to return a single book into a column two spaces above her head. The librarian lets go of the cart to approach the tiptoeing visitor.

“I can help with that, Kaisa,” they offered warmly. “Please, allow me.”

“No, that’s okay.” The girl spoke in a heavy Nordic accent. “Almost got it…” She grunted again before successfully sliding her book through the shelf. “There.”

The librarian noticed a stack of other books carried around Kaisa’s arm as she walked away to the next aisle. Thinking that she would turn down her assistance if she offered again, the librarian simply grinned and nodded, returning to her cart to reshelve on their own.

Kaisa was now at the second floor with her books. One might think she was merely volunteering to aid in the librarian’s duties, but in truth, she spent half the day at the library to read as many books as she possibly could. Some were finished cover-to-cover, others she only read half way through, but promised to come back for until she was absorbed enough to borrow and reread them home; only in the library could she bring herself to finish a book in its entirety.

She made it to the end of the second floor’s hall where a bookshelf had a column within reach, as well as space between other books, which luckily for Kaisa was meant for all the books on her pile alone, and slid every book into it at once before heaving a sigh of relief.

Onto the next stack she could gather, thinking to herself. But out of nowhere, a feeling of suspicion coincided with her imagination and stood frozen before the bookshelf. Kaisa began pulling out books slightly and placing them back a second after. She hummed, now peering behind the gap between the walls and bookcase and ran her hand through the edges, all the while someone new was walking towards her direction.

“…Oh, there you are!” another person’s voice spoke jubilantly behind her. “Almost thought you left already, been looking everywhere for you.”

Kaisa turned around; the voice was all too familiar. In front of her was a girl the same age as she was, brown hair that tied into a ponytail and wearing a Sparrow Scout uniform. She smiled as she stood, bringing excitement to Kaisa’s heart.

“You’re back from your badge work!” her whole face lit up.

“Yep! Just earned my Geology Badge today, so that’s one more to my sash and for the ceremony.” The Sparrow Scout explained proudly.

“Stolt över dig, Johanna.” Kaisa applauded. “And the badge ceremony is soon, right?”

“Well, it’s only a month from now.” Johanna pointed out. “Actually, I was hoping you would be able to come and attend, if you won’t be busy, of course.”

Kaisa reached for the brunette’s hand and held it up with both her palms. “I would not miss it for anything.” She guaranteed excitedly, making her best friend blush and glance away overjoyed.

“…So, um, what have you been up to?” Johanna asked. “…apart from reading that is.”

“I was looking for secret doors in the library.” Kaisa explained, turning back to the bookshelf. “There must be whole other rooms with more books hidden in the shelves somehow.”

Johanna walked closer to the colossal shelf of literature and helped inspect with Kaisa. “Have you tried pulling every book like it was a lever?” she suggested, also wanting to be inquisitive of rooms behind the library walls.

“Almost all of them, yes.” Kaisa nodded. “Do you think this might be the wrong shelf?”

“Personally, the library is already kinda big on its own. It’ll take ages to find where the right one is.” Johanna admitted. “But hey, if we don’t find them, you can always add them when you become the future librarian.”

“You know…” Kaisa turned back to Johanna. “That’s exactly what I’ll do…!”

Johanna had known Kaisa’s dreams of being the keeper of books for as long as she could remember. She enjoyed visiting the Trolberg library just as much as anyone else, but she never met anybody who treated it like it was their own home the same way Kaisa did. One could write a fairytale of a girl who lived here, she thought at one point, and wanted to be the protagonist adventurer who would come to befriend her. That idea came back to her briefly as she faced an enthusiastic Kaisa, and for that reason, she giggled quietly; the fairytale might actually be true.

Before the two girls could continue their conversation, a figure stood over and caught their attention. They looked up on a woman suiting a long, sophisticated gray dress and a decorative hat reminiscent to what witch’s wear.

“Oh, hello Arch Sorcer…I MEAN Tildy…” Kaisa stammered. “What brings you here…?”

The woman smiled warmly at the girl to reassure her tension. “Nothing much, my dear.” She spoke in a gentle tone. “Just came looking for a book to bring home and all.”

She peeped over the closest bookshelf and quickly skimmed through it before pulling out a novel that read The Skeleton Whisperer on the cover. “Ah yes, this will do.” she said. “I suppose you’re here continuing extra work on your training.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kaisa gave a half smile. “I just finished, but I can continue if you insist that I do…”

“No need to stress.” Tildy assured. “I know you’ve worked quite hard today. Catch your breath and continue your studies tomorrow.” She turned her attention to Johanna. “You and your friend deserve the time to respite.”

The sorceress-in-secret kneeled down to Kaisa and whispered on her ear. “Also, I couldn’t help but overhear your suggestions on secret rooms,” she continued. “I think it’s a great idea. We’ll talk about it with the Committee next time we head down the tower.”

And with her borrowed book, the mysterious woman walked onwards. “Adieu, children.” She said before making her way downstairs with her borrowed book.

“See you soon madame Pilqu…Tildy, I mean.” Kaisa also bid farewell.

“I thought you were just here waiting before we could hang out.” Johanna expressed.

“I was.” retorted Kaisa. “But I tried catching up with some studies, too, for when I meet with Tildy again.”

“Who was she anyway?” asked Johanna. “She seemed very…enigmatic, sort of, but sweet.”

“She’s my teacher.” Kaisa answered. “I took up her apprenticeship long ago, but I’m not allowed to talk about it too much...”

Johanna could fathom; never once had Kaisa talked about any apprenticeship before. She now looked distressed once she saw her teacher was here, stroking down her locks to the point her bangs nearly covered her eyes. The Sparrow Scout could feel her frown forming by seeing Kaisa’s own, now wishing to know much about this part of her friend’s life she had not known previously.

“Do you not get along with her, Kaisa?” asked Johanna.

“Oh, she’s actually really nice to me, kind of like my farmor.” she replied. “It’s just that…Well, I don’t know…” she paused, squirming from hesitation. She said it herself, she was not allowed to talk about her sessions with Tildy, whether it was what she was being taught or what she was even learning to become. But she knew Johanna will be left with loads of questions if she did not reveal much about her apprenticeship starting now.

Kaisa sighed, maybe she did not have to reveal a lot of the truth to Johanna if she really wanted to explain her vexation. “So, look, there’s this sort of… “routine” we’ll call it, that Tildy is letting me practice until next week.” she continued. “As usual, I need to prepare by studying a lot first, but it’s hard to actually practice where I live. There’s not enough privacy to do the routine with my mum around, and if I don’t get it right when I meet Tildy, well, I’m afraid I’ll disappoint her…”

Almost instantly, Johanna brainstormed the perfect solution to Kaisa’s ordeal. “Wait a sec, Kaisa, I know exactly how you can practice.” she beamed. “But the catch is, I might have to accompany you the whole time.”

“What do you mean?” Kaisa asked.

“I’ll be going camping this weekend!” clarified Johanna. “My parents allowed me to go so I can prepare for my camping badge, but what they don’t know is that I plan to settle outside the walls.” she extended her hand and swung it across. “I’m going as far away from the city as I can, remote into the wilderness, and maybe just close enough to my grandad’s old house if I’m lucky. And to top it off, you can come with me!”

Kaisa’s face went white. “So you’re saying I should I join you…in going outside the walls?”

“Yep, exactly!” Johanna expressed. “Think about it, there will still be time to prepare and see your teacher after you’re done practicing in the trip, and no one else can find you practicing in the wilderness. Besides, it’ll be fun with just you and me in the outdoors!”

“Oh, I don’t know, Johanna…” Kaisa faltered. “I could…But it sounds a bit risky. And you would still be around when I start practicing, so that’s still a problem for me.”

“Well, it’s no worries then,” the brunette reassured. “It was just worth the suggestion, but I understand.”

A bit of quietness befell for the two girls. Kaisa glanced away and envisioned Johanna’s planned escapade outside the walls. Maybe letting her leave while being the only person to know about it was not such a good idea. Anything could happen in the wilderness, and Kaisa shuddered to think what harm would come to Johanna when she could have personally protected her the same way she would if they camped together.

Kaisa returned to glancing at Johanna. “Promise me you will not tell anyone about my training…?” she said.

Johanna gasped and smiled all at once. “Don’t worry, you can trust me.” she swore.

Kaisa grabbed hold of Johanna’s shoulders. “Johanna, no one can ever know about what I practice.” she continued with visible anxiety in her complexion. “I will get in trouble, and it will be worse for you, and something bad will happen to both of us somehow.” her voice became twice as strained and her grip slowly tightened. “Jag kan inte förlåta mig själv…!”

“Kaisa, listen, it’s going to be okay…” Johanna’s tone was light and calm, guiding Kaisa’s hands to let go. “Look, I may not understand everything about your apprenticeship or your routine, but your teacher said no need to stress. Well, I’m saying it too.” She elevated her posture. “I promise as your best friend to not only help you, but to also never tell a single soul of our adventure, nor what I’ll see regarding your training during it.” She finalized with a Sparrow Scout’s salute.

Kaisa grinned, feeling relief course through her mind. “Thank you.” She spoke softly. “I’ll stop worrying now.”

“Alright, let’s go then,” Johanna chuckled. “The park’s waiting for us. We’ll talk more about our trip there.”

Every day went by slowly for Kaisa, but the weekend finally came for her and Johanna to head out into the wilderness. However, even the hours of the day went by just as slowly when she waited for the Sparrow Scout to come by her house. She was in her room filling her pack with her own essential needs that were instructed for her to bring in a camping trip. The only thing not packed in her luggage was her wand with an amethyst pommel, which she kept hidden under her cardigan.

Whether it was going to be in the camping trip or when they were older, Kaisa knew that Johanna was going to discover she was a witch this whole time. The vague routine she said she hoped to practice was in fact a spell which of course involved her wand, an incantation and some magic. She trembled at the fact that there was no point of return in continuing to hide the truth from Johanna after the library visit. It was not just that there were punishments and compromises to a witch’s identity being revealed, but would her best friend still even want to be friends with someone who is capable of influencing the paranormal like her? Even if she had doubts of her own strength, would just being a witch-in-training be enough to scare her and split their friendship apart?

It made Kaisa’s head spin and groan every time. If there was one thing she hoped to do as a witch, it was the power to predict other people’s choices and wishes, that way she would never have to endure the pain of overthinking about the company in her present or future ever again.

Behind her, a knock on the window thudded twice. Kaisa quickly turned to see Johanna on the other side, no longer in her uniform but rather in a red and blue flannel above her overalls while her long, swaying hair spilled down her shoulders, waving her hand with the brightest smile on her face.

“Ready for our camping trip, Kaisa?” she asked, her voice softened from the glass pane.

Kaisa rushed to open the window. “Am I supposed to jump out through here?” she asked back, realizing Johanna did not stop by the front door.

“Mhm.” The brunette nodded. “We’ll be much faster exiting the walls with this route.”

“My mum’s not even home,” Kaisa pointed out. “It wouldn’t matter as much.”

“Does she also know you’re heading out today?” Johanna diverted.

“Yes, of course she does.” Kaisa answered.

The brunette gestured to leave. “No time to waste, then.”

Kaisa chuckled and shook her head in amusement. While hurrying to take her pack, Johanna made room for her to climb out and reclose the window, then rushing as fast as they could into the city’s portion of the forestland to avoid attention.

One of the exits out of the walls was just nearby, and the pair made it with nothing stopping their way. No traffic of vehicles driving into the city, no guards surveilling the entrance, just a mere traffic stop standing dormant on the gate to halt anyone from entering and exiting. Quickly, the two girls ran like the wind, hoping they were not spotted by Bellkeepers and citizens in general, finally ending up in the outside world to trek on their own.

“We still have a long way to go,” Johanna said. “The perfect camping ground should be yonder…”

Johanna continued walking a few paces, but Kaisa stopped to look back at the gate to Trolberg still nearby. She could feel her eyes welling up and her heart pounding out her chest as every second of her fear grew. Not often was she outside, but the wilderness was a whole new scenario that she wished she prepared more for. She did not want to leave for Johanna’s safety, but it was so easy for her to feel afraid in these surroundings. The Sparrow Scout herself looked back and noticed Kaisa frozen in uncertainty.

“Hey, we’ll to be okay,” Johanna hurried to comfort her best friend. “I promise I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything hurt us in this trip.”

Kaisa whimpered and stared back at Johanna. The anxiety etched on her face was contagious to the brunette and stung her heart, but she forced a smile and sneakily grabbed Kaisa’s hand.

“I’ll hold onto you the entire time we’re out here, that way we’ll both feel safe,” she entangled her fingers with Kaisa’s.

Something sparkled in Kaisa’s eyes when she saw her hand grasping her best friend’s. She did not say a word, but a warm smile finally carved on her face and was enough for Johanna to know that she will be okay. The two pressed on, Johanna remained ahead while Kaisa was behind her, their hands still holding and keeping them close together.

They hiked a chartless trail among the forestlands where the leaves changing color from summer to fall was ever so present, and the sunshine beamed infinite rays of its light through the trees trying to cover it. Kaisa was lost in thought, appreciating the view of the forest; she turned her head in all directions and felt a wave of reassurance with every view, made even more so with Johanna taking the lead as she hummed a tune. Seeing she was still holding Kaisa’s hand, the witch-in-secret recalled what Johanna had said earlier about protecting each other, something she could not stop thinking at all, but wanted to address as casually as she could.

“Hey, Johanna…” Kaisa called.

“Yes, Kaisa?”

“Do you ever think humans could become familiars?”

“You mean like the ones witches have?” Johanna asked back. “Well, I’m not sure… It would be pretty neat if they could, though.”

“I agree,” Kaisa said. “It wouldn’t be common, but talking with a human familiar would sure feel like less work.”

“Yep,” Johanna retorted. “Wait just a minute…” her tone grew wary.

Kaisa gulped, feeling nervous of what Johanna intended to say. “Y-Yeah…?”

“Imagine if one us became a witch’s familiar!” Johanna’s eyes lit up.

The corner of Kaisa’s mouth quirked up and giggled, mostly out of relief. “You’d actually want to become one?”

“Sure, why not?!” Johanna replied. “Think of all the cool spells you get to help a witch out on. If I was a familiar, I would never ever leave their side, constantly aiding them…kind of like I am with you!”

The girl behind her blushed. “That’s good to know…” she whispered, hoping Johanna would not turn to see the glee on her reddened complexion.

Miles and miles of trees and rivers were wandered through by the duo until they grew eventually tired. When both the sun and sky glowed a warm tinge of orange, the time came to build their camp, far away from the nearest residence of Trolberg.

“Right, this should be good, I think,” said Johanna, letting go of her pack and rummaging through the compartment holding her tent. “Can you help build the tent with me, Kaisa?”

“Can do.” Kaisa nodded.

The land which Johanna and Kaisa settled in was a flat and grassy plane surrounded by the corners of the forest in a crescent shape. Beyond the breach of the crescent was more verdant terrain which stretched onto the large gray mountains ahead. It was the perfect camping ground to pick for those beginning to camp out on their own, and both Johanna and Kaisa wasted no time hoisting their tent cloth and holding it together with ropes, stakes and rods.

Having practiced building a tent back home and during Sparrow Scout activities, along with having Kaisa’s assistance, Johanna finished constructing the tent for the two before the sun was even down.

“Don’t worry, it will be more comfortable on the inside than it looks on the outside.” Johanna spoke, wiping away a drop sweat on her head.

“I think it looks comfy already.” Kaisa said. “Well done!”

“Couldn’t have done it without your help, though.” She pulled Kaisa closer to her, making her chuckle.

Their belongings and sleeping bags were settled in their tent, and a bonfire was built by Johanna with foliage and twigs to give them warmth. It was as though her retreat needed for her camping badge had already happened if one could realize the adeptness of which she put together the camp, but her days as a Sparrow Scout had in fact prepared her for fun, spontaneous trips in the wilderness.

Until the sky totally darkened, the two kept themselves busy with conversations of the week they had after seeing each other in the library, which new books they have read, and enjoyed cups of hot cocoa from a tin canister Johanna packed along. With all the goings-on being enjoyed since they left Trolberg, Kaisa almost forgot that she intended to continue her witch training while she was camping with the brunette. The scene in the tent surrounded by the orange light of the lantern, filling the air with laughter and merriment, was all Kaisa and Johanna could ever hope to cherish together, but it was best that the witch-in-secret began her training as soon as she could.

“Okay, Johanna, I should probably start now.” Kaisa said, rising from her spot in the tent.

“Alright, good luck!” Johanna cheered. “If anything bad happens, shout as loud as you can to call me.”

Kaisa stepped out of the tent. Immediately, another wave of fear coursed through her mind and made her quiver in place by the tent’s entrance. She was overthinking once more; what if a Troll was out and near to the camp? What if there was a Barghest on the run? Every monster from every folklore that she had ever read could be out to harm her and Johanna in this hour. She withdrew her wand from her cardigan and clenched it tightly with both hands. Kaisa reminded herself that even if danger was nearby, she would be first to protect Johanna like she hoped she would, and Johanna will do the same if she herself was threatened.

She took small steps away from the tent, far enough that Johanna would not notice any magic ensuing. A full moon was rising, and Kaisa looked up. It captivated her, and her ability to use magic should be as strong as ever, she thought.

Taking a deep breath, it was time for the levitation spell.

“Bara fokusera…” she spoke to herself softly. “Gå så högt som månen ovan….”

Soon, she closed her eyes and opened her palm, holding it upwards by her chest. The tip of her wand glowed a purple spec of light and atop her palm, then twirled it in circles over and over. She whispered an incantation that Tildy taught her, being just one sentence of incomprehensible words to non-witches, and repeated it again until the whole spell was set in motion. As the wand circled more and more, sparkles exuded out from nowhere until a purple aura sheathed the outlines of her physique.

“As high as the moon above…” she whispered.

Suddenly, Johanna exited the tent to sit by the campfire. Kaisa was out of sight, but the brunette did not plan on finding her no matter how much she wanted to see this “routine” she was practicing. The concentration and privacy which her best friend said she lacked was all that mattered to Johanna. She spread her hands around the warmth of the blaze, but even before she could fully respite, she heard the leaves rustle in the forestland ahead. The brunette looked up and squinted at nothing but silhouettes and darkness.

Leaning in a bit forward, she finally realized what was apparently coming forward. It was a large, bulky figure; its eye glowing in a nearly strong luminosity of white. Johanna’s heart was racing, there was no way it could be what she thought it was. But as the figure revealed more of itself among the forestland, it was indeed the worst possible thing for the camping trip: a large Troll rummaging through the wilderness.

Johanna yelped, but quickly covered her mouth to avoid getting the Troll’s attention. She got up from her seat by the fire and hurried to find Kaisa’s training spot, panickily whispering her name. To her relief, she found her just standing still behind the tent, but immediately froze out of a whole different feeling of concern.

Kaisa’s eyes remained shut and muttered to herself while a big spark of light glimmered above her hand, holding and swirling her wand evenly. She seemed to be in her own world now, completely detached from the surroundings around her. Johanna failed to approach or even say a word to the witch as she realized how apprehensive she felt towards what was happening. When she thought she had enough to be confused about, she looked over her limbs to realize that a purple aura glowed around her body. Her feet began to rise up slightly from the ground and glanced ahead to see that Kaisa, despite maintaining the same posture, was also levitating; terror now overtook Johanna’s face.

Then, Kaisa stopped her wand from spinning, and her open hand stretched high into the sky. The two girls continued lifting up ever so slowly from the ground, their feet could reach the tip of their tent, and soon they were as high as the top of a tree. Johanna flailed her arms and legs sporadically when it seemed like they soared upward enough, still too afraid to ask Kaisa what was going on.

The witch opened one eye to see how far up she was, then the other to realize Johanna in front of her. Her pupils shrank in a state of fright and her jaw went slack. Out of all the mistakes she had expected to make, picking up Johanna with her own spell was the last yet most severe one she could ever think to fall through.

“Oh no, oh no no no no…!” Kaisa whimpered. “I…I did not mean to…!”

Johanna shushed and pointed downwards to their campsite. As Kaisa gawked down, her pulse stopped to the sight of a Troll peeking into their tent. It drew back to find out no one was inside, then turned to the fire and stared at it for a while. It finally took a seat, emitting a large thud on the ground like a single-second quake upon resting.

Kaisa looked back at her best friend in fear, letting her eyes ask what on earth they should do now. Johanna fathomed, nodding to reassure that they were probably safer up in the sky, and gestured both her hands lightly to signify holding them in place with whatever Kaisa was making them float with.

The witch fought to keep it together. Her breath was instable and the palm holding her wand began to sweat. If she could focus long enough and ward off the wish to descend back on the ground, all the while halting to recite her incantation which helped her concentrate, she could try having her and Johanna stay hovering in the air for as long as she wanted.

Kaisa’s expression hardened and pointed her wand towards Johanna. She swung her arm backwards in a single quick motion, causing Johanna to gasp as she floated over to the witch. Kaisa gave the brunette a tight embrace, one so warm and protective that it felt inescapable to be let go from.

“Please, don’t be mad.” Kaisa could only bring herself to plead. “I did not focus that well. I could have done even worse to us had I---”

The tension felt within Johanna was lost to Kaisa’s voice and embrace, and her eyes closed, hugging her best friend back. “It’s okay, Kaisa.” she interrupted. “Just that…this…is a lot to take in…” the conversations about witch familiars and training with privacy all made sense now.

“’I’m sorry…” Kaisa nestled her face onto Johanna’s shoulder. She looked back down at the campsite and saw the Troll keeping warm with their fire, motionless like the rock that it was. “We are going to be up here all night…”

Johanna let go from their embrace so she could face Kaisa, still holding onto her shoulders. “Do you think there is a way we could get the troll to move out?” she asked.

“I’m not sure if I am able to…” Kaisa admitted. “Not unless we let it know where we are.”

Johanna looked back down; the Troll did nothing, only seemingly entranced by the fire as it gazed on it. She thought about how she wanted to warm herself earlier, and her eyes dilated upon realizing what the Troll only seemed to want as well.

“If it’s not the troll we can do something about directly, we’re just going to have to take out the fire.” Johanna said.

Kaisa caught up with the plan. “I got it.” she nodded. “Leave it to me then.”

With her wand still at hand, she pointed the tip towards the campfire and concentrated on hitting anything but the Troll or their tent accidentally. The easiest thing she could bring herself to do with magic was release a streak of energy from her wand, and she hoped that blasting the campfire with her specific sort of ammunition could take out the fire and bid the Troll farewell.

Deep breath…Eyes locked…The light on the tip of Kaisa’s wand glowed purple once more until it grew as bright as a star, then it hurled down from the wand in high speed. Barely a second later, the energy from Kaisa’s magic crashed into the campfire, exploding into a gradient of purple, white and orange, and nothing but a gleaming mist blanketed a portion of the camp. The Troll got up in shock, fists tightly clenched and glaring in all directions to search for what threatened it; Johanna and Kaisa watched from above in hopes it would not look up.

When the mist quickly dispersed, the Troll looked down on the rubble of wood which used to be the campfire keeping it warm. It hummed a deep, disappointed tone, and stomped the ground so stridently that the two girls in the air could almost feel the tremor. No one appeared to be around it for miles, hence the Troll finally made its way back to the forestlands to search for another source of warmth in the wilderness.

“Yes, it worked…!” Johanna expressed.

The witch breathed a sigh of relief. “Do you think it will come back?” she asked.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t.” Johanna answered. “We’ll leave the campfire be, we still got the tent to keep us warm.”

With all the exhilaration fully coursing through Kaisa’s mind, the purple aura around her and Johanna faded away. They only had a second to see the spell had worn off before being weighed down by gravity, screaming and falling from the height of a two-story building before Kaisa raised her wand to reactivate the levitation spell. The two of them gnashed their teeth and their eyes shut tightly, just before peeking around to see they were hovering only an inch above the ground.

Kaisa allowed the spell to cast off, and the glow of her wand and from their physiques dissipated for the last time tonight. She and Johanna dipped onto the floor with their backs flatly lied down, groaning when they picked themselves back up.

Johanna felt unsure if anything she had just experienced after leaving her tent was even real. She stared at Kaisa hiding her wand away, then at all the leftover mist and sparkles on what used to be their campfire.

“Kaisa…this whole time…you were a…” Johanna’s eyes lit up.

Kaisa sighed. “Surprise.” she giggled tiredly. “I’m sorry I kept this secret from you, Johanna. I really could not say anything.”

Kaisa’s breathing was concise and hasty. All of a sudden, she collapsed on her knees and held the ground to keep her up. To Johanna’s shock, she hurried to carry her back up and wrap her hand over her shoulder. The energy used up to perform the levitation spell took a toll on the witch-in-training. It was unlike anything she had ever accomplished before.

As soon as they entered their tent, Johanna laid Kaisa down on her sleeping bag and pillow. The Sparrow Scout grabbed a canister of fresh water and filled the cap almost to the brim, bringing it over to the witch and allowed her to drink as much as she needed.

“Thank you.” Kaisa whispered, closing her eyes and lying back down.

Johanna kept staring upon Kaisa in a near unconscious state, hoping she could still listen to her before she inevitably fell asleep. “Look, Kaisa…” she spoke. “…I know your spell did not work the way you wanted when I showed up, but you did save us from the Troll in the end. I really should be thanking you…”

A corner of Kaisa’s mouth lifted. However, the soft grin on her face was short-lived, “But now I will never get the spell right on time…” she lamented, feeling the exhaustion overtaking her slowly.

Johanna had so many questions she was dying to have answered, if only she could ask them now. In any case, witch or no witch, Kaisa was still the same best friend Johanna had since forever, and while she knew she could never make her magic and identity known to others, she could not wait to be there for Kaisa the next time she trained to become a witch.

“We don’t have to leave after tomorrow,” Johanna said softly. “We can stay out here for as long as we need until you perfect your spell, and I won’t ever leave your side.”

#hilda the series #hilda netflix #sketchbook ship #fanfiction #my works #hilda librarian #johanna hilda #kaisa hilda #tildy hilda #kaisanna #spellbound au

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droogiesanddiscourse · 4 years ago

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HCs: R.P. McMurphy with an Artist S/O

Original Message: @anon “HELLO YOUR MAJESTY MAY I PLEASE REQUEST H/C’S FOR R.P MCMURPHY WITH A ARTIST S/O?❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️”

A/N: HELP!!! WE’RE WRITING FOR R.P. MCMURPHY NOW AAA!!!! I am so so so so SO excited to get into this, I love this man so much I believe in Jack Nicholson supremacy. I love u bby thanks for the request! No warnings! Have fun!

• This man is the biggest, most lovable goof out there. I don’t think he has a serious bone in his body. He’s always got new tricks up his sleeves to keep you on your toes, and you never know what to expect with your relationship with Mac.

• Of course he knew you were an artist even before you started dating. But he never really got to see much of your work, or your work process in general. And that’s okay, he respects your privacy.

• Kinda.

• Okay, not really, he wants to see what’s in that sketchbook one way or another.

• “Whatcha’ doin’ there, baby?” He’ll sneak up behind you, catching you off guard as you try to frantically hide the sketches you made of Mac. Always being too quick for you, he snatches your sketchbook up, dangling it above your head out of reach.

• “Aw my baby’s an artist!! Don’t be shy, don’t be shy! Let me see what you’re up to, okay?” He holds it above your reach again as you frantically jump up, trying to take it back. He can’t help but smile at this, you were just so cute when you get flustered.

• Much to your dismay, he opens up your sketchbook and flips through the pages, shocked when he finds multiple sketches of him. His face drops in surprise, finding page after page of just nothing but him in various poses - sitting on the couch, his face in his hands, smoking a cigarette. For the first time, Mac is actually rendered speechless. He couldn’t believe someone would actually care about him enough to actually draw him.

• “Look at that! That’s me, isn’t it?” Mac points, You nod your head, happy he likes your art and didn’t find it weird or anything. He gives you a smile back, matching your energy. “Wow, and after all this time you were hiding this from me??”

• Mac will hold the book up to his face, trying to match the pose you drew him in. He’ll point at the sketch, then back at his face, then at the sketch, then back at his face. “Ya, see that? Like lookin’ in a mirror!” This makes you both laugh.

• He’ll lowly whistle in appreciation as he thumbs through the rest of your sketchbook. “You don’t gotta hide this from me anymore, hear me? I think these are absolutely fantastic, and I mean it.” He looks up at you, “I really wanna see what you create next, okay? Keep me in the loop.”

• And with that, he gently tosses your sketchbook back down onto your desk and walks away, whistling a tune to himself like nothing just happened. He always enters any room in a whirlwind, and exits casually, leaving you a bit confused. He’s got a big personality.

• He loves holding on to the little doodles you make, but he’s kinda a whole mess and will be like “Oh this...yeah this is some of your best work! I really love this one, mind if I keep it?” and then he shoved it in his pocket like an DUMMY. But he doesn’t do this with like, any malicious intent or anything he just wants to carry them everywhere he goes but like. He crumples them haha. But that’s how he shows his extremely chaotic affection and he NEVER loses any of them. He isn’t organized in the slightest, but he has his own ways.

• He can’t draw. At all. I mean I’m not sure if this man knows how to hold a pencil properly. And that's okay! Because sometimes he’ll just like to sit with you and steal your pretty colored pencils / markers / pastels / paints and make some of his own “art.” Eventually you just buy him his own sketchbook so he can sit next to you and doodle with you.

• Sometimes you gotta remind him to not waste paint though, because this man will just put giant GLOBS of paint on the canvas you give him, and he’ll get it all over the place too. But he’ll claim it’s apart of his ~artistic process~ and you ~can’t rush perfection~

• “Hey, c’mon! It’s ART, don’t you see? Hold on, get a better look at it.” He’ll hold it up in front of your face, nothing but a chaotic mix of colors and textures. “It’s very deep, I guess you just don’t understand, everybody’s a critic...” he’ll mouth off in a sarcastically sassy manner, barely being able to contain the smirk coiling on his lips.

• PAINT NIGHTS??? Yes absolutely yes. Mac seems like the type of guy to want to watch a painting tutorial on VHS or something and have the two of you follow along, step-by-step. Bonus points if you get a little tipsy beforehand too, that just adds to the silliness and fun of it all.

• Mac is just really honored to have such a talented and amazing s/o like you :’)

#rp mcmurphy x reader #r.p. mcmurphy x reader #one flew over the cuckoo's nest x reader #one flew over the cuckoo's nest imagine #jack nicholson x reader #jack nicholson imagine #SOFT BOY ALERT #1970s imagine #1970s imagines #1970s movie imagines

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porkchop-ao3 · 4 years ago

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A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 65)

“I Miss You”

It’s been so long again, at this point I think it’s expected 😅 Anyway, I’m here and I’m bringing smut! I have my ending all planned out now so hopefully it wont be so long until the next chapter, but I’m not promising! 😬😅😘 Enjoy!

Tagging @emily-strange and @actuallyhansolo ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

Between the pages of his journal I smiled, I pouted, I frowned, I slept, I had a picture for every emotion it seemed. The drawings were sometimes accompanied by little notes about what happened that day, and gave clues about why he drew me in such a way.

We spoke about Isaac today… it seems Dutch still hasn't figured out how to knock on a door... O'Driscolls found our camp, damn near slit her throat… I hope her dreams take her away from this god awful place…

I couldn't bring myself to read much of what he wrote. Just the first few words. I felt like I was invading his privacy a little too much, even if he did write about me. But as I moved through the journal I noticed that his drawings became different. The first few were portraits, mostly, and they pertained to a story from the day, almost like illustrations in the book of his life. But as it went on, the words disappeared and I found pages of studies, drawings of hands and lips and feet, different features and body parts like diagrams in a biology encyclopedia. Sometimes the same thing would be drawn three or four times. A mouth, in varying stages of completion, as if he kept giving up halfway through and starting again until he reached the final drawing, which was more complete.

I thought nothing of it at first. Practice, I guessed. But I noticed a few things that made me realise that I was looking at my own features. I realised it when I noticed the expanse of a neck leading up to a chin, and there was the scar given to me by the O'Driscolls. I saw a pair of hands holding my own Schofield revolver. I saw a pair of crossed ankles wrapped in boots the tips of which had scuffs in exactly the same place as my own boots did. The pages and pages of what I thought was anatomy practice was all of me.

Then my cheeks burned in a streak all the way up to the tips of my ears when I turned one page and was confronted with a drawing of my own body, laying naked atop sheets I recognised from our hotel room in Saint Denis. I was not posed in an artificial manner, I was sprawled, laying on my side with one knee hitched up, my arm laying limply on my waist. I was asleep. My heart pounded because there I was, as naked as the day I was born, and I'd never seen myself like that from such a perspective.

"You didn't say you'd drawn this," I breathed dumbly, then turned the book to show him. His eyes widened a little and his face immediately began to redden.

"I'm sorry, I'll toss it on the fire if I shouldn't have–"

"No, I don't want that at all. It's a surprise, that's all," I smiled.

"That day you said you'd like to be drawn like that so I… when you was sleeping I thought you looked real beautiful, so I drew that. I had every intention of showing you when you woke up but then I–" he paused and exhaled a laugh, "in the light of day, I just felt like a pervert."

I tutted and rolled my eyes playfully, "you're not a pervert, Arthur. You're the love of my life."

Something about it seemed to startle him, he looked at me suddenly, his mouth twitched. Then he smiled.

"You really mean that?"

"Is it only just sinking in how much I love you?" I chuckled.

I put the sketchbook aside then leaned down over him, sunk my chest to his and kissed his lips, framing his head with my arms to hold me up and not put my weight on him while he was still recovering from the wound on his torso. He pulled at my arm and patted my leg, encouraging me to swing a thigh over so my legs settled either side of his hips. His arms encircled my waist as he kissed me back, humming softly against my mouth, his chest subconsciously arching up to press more firmly against mine as if he wanted to feel the way my heart would beat when we kissed. It would always race, no doubt about it.

Our lips parted enough for him to whisper; "so, what do you think of that drawing?"

"I think you made me look good, thank you," I chuckled softly.

"I didn't make you look anything, that's just how you are, princess. I don't think I even fully managed to capture how incredible you looked that night," he whispered, sending warmth to my cheeks and my ears. His hands slid over my waist, rested low on my hips and I welcomed the feeling of his hands on me and closed my eyes, pressing my lips to his again.

I was so very tempted to get carried away, absorbed in the taste of his tongue and the sound of his breaths picking up and the smell of him so close in the confined space of the tent and– I pressed our foreheads together and broke the kiss.

"You should sleep, you got a lot going on," I began and a sound came from Arthur's throat that was almost like a scolded dog.

"I got too much going on to sleep right now," he murmured, his lips brushing against mine before he bared his teeth to give my bottom lip a cheeky nip.

"It'll keep you awake?"

"Mm," he hummed a lazy affirmation, "plus there ain't a part of my body that's ready to sleep now you been sitting on top o' me like this."

"Arthur," I breathed a laugh and kissed him again. His hands came from my hips to my backside, holding me and encouraging me to put more weight on him. I was worried about hurting him but his goal was apparent when he positioned me such that he could show me a part of him that was very much awake. "Are you crazy?" I laughed.

"Most likely, at this point," he muttered, hips shifting below me, as if eager to grind.

"After all that's happened these past few days, with that hole in your side– with the tatters of the gang just outside–"

"I don't care about any of that, princess, I miss you," he cut me off with a breathy whisper, and one hand came up to cup the back of my head, and he hugged me tight to him. My face naturally nestled into the space between his shoulder and his neck and he hummed a quiet sound when my lips kissed him there on their own.

"You miss me?" I questioned, words muffled but audible.

"Being in your embrace. In every sense, not just your arms. My love–" his words came out with just a little bit more emotion than he must've intended, given the sharp cut off he gave them. My heart dripped with a bittersweet warmth that settled in my belly. It wasn't exactly arousal that I felt, it was a sudden ache, an emptiness, a need. One that ought to be filled as quick as it appeared and could only be filled in one way.

I moved without hesitation, gathering my skirts, moving the fabric out of the way, scooping it into a pile and hugging it to my hip as I sat up. Movement pulled at the wounds on my legs but it didn't hurt in the moment. Or maybe I was healing quicker than I thought. But three hands descended upon Arthur's belt, and we worked together to open it up and free the buttons of his trousers. He hadn't anything on underneath his jeans – his last good union suit ruined by the gunshot in his side – so closing my hand around his hard length was an easy task. I thumbed the head and shifted the skin back and forth, earning a hiss of pleasure and a few moments later, a flow of clear stuff that I smeared, knowing the extra lubricant would help.

Then I let him go and brought my fingers to my tongue, coating them generously in spit that I then passed between my folds. This was happening spontaneously enough that I'd appreciate the help, but my own arousal was beginning to slick me enough so that when I lowered down–

"Jesus Christ–" Arthur gasped. He held his cock for me as I took him in, inching slowly down until I was settled, my insides hugging hım entirely. Something akin to the growl of a timber wolf built in Arthur's throat as he adjusted to the heat of my body, and his hands settled on the space between my hips and my thighs with a tight grip that put indentations in my flesh.

I wasn't planning on making this a slow and lengthy affair and I was quick to start moving, rolling my hips back and forth and guiding his cock in and out. The slow pull, rub of the tip passing over the most pleasurable spot inside me took my breath away and urged my movements to become more frantic. It was happening quickly, we were moving fast, Arthur's hands pushed and pulled and helped my motion with just as much vigor as the pace I had set. The tent bounced our breathless sounds back to my ears and somewhere in my mind I hoped that they couldn't be heard on the other side of it.

I wasn't ashamed enough to stop, however, even if they could be.

I pulsed and squeezed around his cock and Arthur released shaky little grunts, strangled sounds that wanted to be louder, I could tell. But he did a good job of keeping the volume down and I was hell bent on doing the same. I bit down on my bottom lip, trapping it between my teeth almost painfully. It tingled and I thought of when Arthur had nipped me there before and a moan threatened to escape.

"Let– let me see you, please, princess," his words were clipped and breathless, coming out in short and jerky bursts as one of his hands reached for the buttons on my blouse. I sat up and shakily unbuttoned them down to the waist of my skirt, and I pulled on the drawstrings that gathered the fabric of my corset cover until it opened up to reveal my corset and chemise.

It was far too spontaneous of a situation for me to fully undress and show myself but it seemed just the sight of my underthings was enough to rile him up. A tightly tethered moan just barely left his lips and his large hand roughly skimmed up the front of my corset, over the smooth material and firm boning, until he reached the top where my breasts were lifted, giving him enough of the soft flesh to grab at. He cupped one breast and gave a gentle squeeze over my chemise and the warmth of his hand through the fabric had me arching towards him. It changed the angle of his cock inside me and I gasped, my own hand flying down between my legs to rub and chase my orgasm.

"I'm almost there," he stammered breathlessly, his head clawing back into the sheets of his bedroll, his long hair messily splaying out like a halo above his head. I slipped my free hand between the buttons of his shirt and kept my hand in the warmth. My fingers skimmed sideways and I found his nipple, rubbing over it thoughtlessly and receiving a buck of his hips and a slackening of his jaw in response. He was going to cum and unless I wanted him to do it inside me, I knew I had to do something.

I quickly lifted my hips and wrapped my hand around his cock, keeping it nestled warmly between my thighs as I jerked him quickly. He moaned once, only once but it was a loud and thoughtless one that could absolutely be heard by anyone who happened to be awake. But he clamped his own hand over his mouth as he spilled, marking my thighs and his own body, his seed flowing down until it was caught in the hair surrounding the base of his cock. My hand was slick with the stuff and the wet sounds of its motion was almost as loud as Arthur's moan but I kept going anyway, until I could wind him down and slow to a stop.

He panted with exhaustion despite having been laid back the whole time, and I smirked down at him, letting out a tiny laugh. His eyes peeled open and up to me, his long lashes catching the light of the lantern and glowing a brassy blonde.

"I finished too quick for you, didn't I, my darlin'?" He said, his tone a little playful and a little more self deprecating than I liked to hear. I rolled my eyes a little but he reached between my legs, ever so gently rubbing at my folds, coating his fingers in my wetness before finding my favourite position over my clit.

I shuddered and sagged forwards a bit, holding myself up with arms either side of his broad shoulders. His fingers rubbed me rhythmically and quick, quickening my breaths and heart rate. My orgasm had been fast approaching before we stopped and he easily brought me back to the brink, and I mewled softly under my breath, tilting my hips to lean into his hand as he whispered to me.

"That's it princess, let me see you cum," he said, "show me them pretty eyes," he added, and I lifted my gaze to him. In the low light, his eyes appeared a darker blue than they usually did, looking deeper and hungrier than I had seen in a while. So full of want and love that I wanted to kiss him, but I was close to my climax and I was soon too distracted to get my body to move.

"I'm gonna cum," I breathed, my hips fidgeting, almost rutting. Arthur made a low, vibrating hum deep in his chest that sounded deliciously indulgent and dirty. He sped up the circles he made on my clit and the pleasure built. It built and built until it peaked, and with a gasp my body shook as my orgasm exploded. He rubbed me through it, prolonging the pleasure as I breathed heavily, and try as I might to keep quiet, small mewles of pleasure escaped me as my hips rocked against his hand.

I leaned over him, my hands holding me up above his head, his eyes followed me, fingers still sliding through the wetness between my legs. He had a small smirk on his face, just a flash of his teeth exposed. I exhaled a small laugh through my nose at the expression, it was almost a proud one, pleased with himself. I leaned down and kissed him once, but his free hand pressed into my belly and pushed me slightly.

"Don't mess your shirt up," he warned in a whisper, and I was reminded of the mess we'd made. In the distance, I heard the rushing sound of a geyser erupting, and I could've laughed at the timing.

"Yeah, let's clean up," I nodded. Arthur exhaled heavily, reaching into his satchel to retrieve a handkerchief stained with gun oil, using it to mop away the mess on his belly and fingers. I took it from him and cleaned my own hands, making a plan in my head to heat up some water for us in the morning to clean up properly before Arthur left to run his errands. For now though, it would have to do, and I adjusted my clothes and rolled off of him, settling in beside him.

"Thank you, princess," he exhaled, his eyes closing as he rested a hand over the wound on his side delicately.

"Thank you?" I chuckled.

"I needed that," he added, and I watched the corner of his mouth lift.

"Yeah, I think I did too," I laughed softly, and took hold of his other hand where it lay beside me.

"What a God damn mess we're all in," he laughed as well. It was like he was too tired and too at ease in the afterglow to take any of our recent problems seriously.

"Just a few days and we'll be gone sweetheart, don't you worry about it," I told him anyway, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah. Just a few days," he repeated.

I lifted his hand to my mouth, pressing kisses over his knuckles, each finger, the side of his wrist… his breaths were steadying out and I kissed him until he fell asleep, the weight of his hand increasing as it grew limp in mine.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #atink #rdr2fanfic #arthurmorganfanfic #reader insert

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 4 years ago

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A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 11

First

Rena was running out of time.

(To make TikToks. She wasn’t dying for anything except content.)

She’d figured that she would do Q&A type things, it was close enough to the content she’d used to make but far enough away that no one would suspect anything about her identity. It was perfect!

But the other heroes were… let’s say ‘less than eager’ to divulge much information to her. Especially not when they were being filmed.

Ladybug had pulled her aside one day to explain why.

“Rena…” She reached out and gently rested a hand on her shoulder.

Rena knew what that meant, she’d gotten it enough back when she was just a civilian. For just a second, she was thrown back to the first time one of her family members had died, to the way she had promised that she wouldn’t come back until she had her sister safely in her arms...

But she knew that it couldn’t be like that. Ladybug didn’t know who she was just like Rena didn’t know her identity. It was nothing that serious.

“We can’t give much information to the public. Hawkmoth could be watching.”

A fair point. It hurt, though.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “So we don’t show him our weaknesses, it’s not that hard.”

“We have to assume any information could be used against us.”

Rena frowned. “By that logic we can’t upload any content…?”

“We can’t upload any content of substance, no. Messing around in a store is fine. Videos of animals are fine. Anything beyond that is… potentially problematic.”

The idea of style over substance was foreign to the hero. Her whole brand used to be substance over style, done with a phone camera but close enough to fights for people to actually get a glimpse of the heroes in action. What was she supposed to do?

“What’s your niche, then?” Said Rena, hoping to get an idea.

“I was going to do some videos on mental and physical wellness.”

Yeah, no. That was a very ‘Ladybug’ thing to do, Rena probably couldn’t encroach on that in any way. But… what else was there?

Ladybug opened her mouth like she was about to say something, and then she shook her head and disappeared to her room.

Rena watched her leave in silence, and then fell back on the couch. She rested her hands over her eyes, something that was very uncomfortable due to the weird fabric of the mask on her face, and tried to think.

Ladybug had been fair. They already had enough of a gap between the information Hawkmoth had versus the amount they did, they shouldn’t make that worse… but then what was the point of them doing social media accounts?

And, she mused, why hadn’t Ladybug just told Master Fu her concerns?

Something wasn’t adding up, but she didn’t exactly know what.

The reporter in her was itching to find out. She didn’t want to invade Ladybug’s privacy, especially not when the other already seemed wary enough around her, but it was hard to just let go…

So, what could she do?

She grumbled as she went to Carapace’s room, not even bothering to knock as she walked in. It wouldn’t matter if she did, her miraculous made it so that most people’s eyes and ears slid right over her unless she actively worked to get them to notice her.

He was in his hero costume, though that wasn’t surprising considering he’d gotten back from patrols only a few minutes ago.

Carapace jumped a little in surprise when she came to a stop by his desk and looked up from where he was booting up his computer.

“Salut?” He said slowly.

“Salut! I need help.”

He raised his eyebrows a little and then shrugged. With a tiny wave of his hand, a second chair made of a bunch of different plates appeared behind her.

She took a seat and crossed her legs. “Everyone talks to you, right?”

“I guess…?”

“So do you know what everyone’s doing for their TikTok accounts?”

“I’m going to get footage of us acting friendly, Chat is filming animals he sees on patrols, Ladybug is ‘promoting mental and physical wellness’, and Chloe…” He sucked in a breath. “I don’t know what Chloe’s doing, but she started laughing maniacally when I asked so I’m not eager to find out.”

Rena pouted a little bit. Great, so everyone’s taken all the good and easy ideas. What else was there?

“I don’t know what to do with my account. Ladybug says I can’t do interviews and stuff because Hawkmoth could use stuff against us.”

Carapace briefly looked confused, and then understanding crossed his face. “Well, I can tell you that no one here would disagree with that.”

“I know, I know, it makes sense,” she sulked, resting her head on her hand. “But then what do I do?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Being the ‘smart one’ is kind of your thing.”

She frowned at that, but brushed past it. “I don’t really care about my image, it’s not that important to me --.”

“It should be.”

Her gaze shot up to see his expression was uncharacteristically serious.

He seemed to realize this, too, because he cleared his throat and brought a smile to his face again.

“I know you’re new, so let me give you some advice: keep your life as a hero and a civilian as far apart as you possibly can. Since we’re everyone’s therapists and all, it’s kind of depressing when you start thinking about everything the civvies tell you when you’re off the job.”

Carapace reached out slowly, giving her time to draw back, and rested a hand on top of her head.

“So, lean into your image. Lean into it so hard you become a parody of yourself. It’s better for everyone that way. Trust me.”

She reached up and pulled his hand off, frowning deeply. “If you think that then why did you agree to live with us? Why are you taking videos of us all being friends?”

“Well, I live with everyone because it was a good solution for some concerns I had about college… not that we really had a choice. Master Fu wasn’t going to give it up.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched. “And I’m taking videos of everyone because it’ll help when we need to do our whole therapy thing. People talk more when they feel close to you.”

Rena stared at him in shock. That was… surprisingly cold and calculated for the supposed ‘nice’ hero. Then again, by his own admission, he didn’t even see himself as that nice of a person.

Were all the other heroes like that? Lying about their personalities for the sake of the public or their mental health? And, if they were, were they keeping up the act while there too or did they consider living in the house their new ‘civilian’ life?

She pushed herself to her feet abruptly, startling Carapace a second time. She crossed her arms.

“I’ve got an idea for what to do. Thanks.”

“Huh? But I didn’t --?”

She was already gone.

Despite the temptation to disobey that she was pretty sure wasn’t entirely her fault, Rena had gone to Ladybug a few days later with a proposal:

“I still want to be an informant to the people.” She saw Ladybug begin to protest, so she rushed to finish the rest of her sentence: “Obviously, I won’t be giving them anything of substance, but it could help to make them feel closer to us as heroes.”

Ladybug couldn’t turn down the reasoning. It was what Carapace had listed as his own.

And, to her delight, Ladybug seemed to agree because she clicked her tongue and nodded.

“Fine. What’re you planning to do?”

“Simple stuff. A house tour -- making sure to blur and hide anything that could give Hawkmoth our location -- and then after that keep them updated on the news.”

There was a silence as she considered this. Then her head tipped to the side. “What do you mean by ‘news’?”

“Nothing major. Have you ever seen a drama channel on YouTube? Stuff like that.”

“... fine, but you should run your videos by everyone involved before uploading.”

Rena nodded her understanding.

She started with the house tour. If she was going to do this, she needed to gain their trust. A few normal videos, and then she’d start trying to slip the public information about the heroes’ true personalities.

Rena didn’t want to expose them to Hawkmoth, and especially didn’t want to expose their families, so she really was going to try to respect most of their privacy. For this reason, she did tell them all when she was going to do the house tour so they could hide anything that could be used to figure out their identities.

She started with the shared rooms like the kitchen and living room, but she brushed past all of that quickly since she knew that wasn’t what they’d be interested in.

Her room was first. It was the same size as every other bedroom in the house, but it felt tiny and cramped. There was a dresser, a desk, a bed, three different bookshelves, an end table… well, let’s just say that she’d brought more stuff than necessary. The room wasn’t exactly neat, it seemed that it would buckle under the weight of Rena’s knickknacks if she wasn’t careful, but it wasn’t necessarily dirty either; everything had its place.

She decided to put the more boring rooms in the middle for the good old watchtime. Ladybug’s room was fine but her personality was a bit dull when it came to this kind of thing, and Carapace’s personality was fine but his room was boring, so...

She was off to Ladybug’s room. She climbed up to the attic and finally figured out exactly what Ladybug had been working on since they’d moved in. Apparently she was trying to make an indoor jungle gym using the support beams on the ceiling. It actually looked like a pretty good workout, though maybe a little unsafe. Beyond that, the room was rather full. Random pieces of furniture (mostly chairs) were strewn about, loaded with a precarious amount of fabrics.

She found Ladybug hunched over a sketchbook on her bed, swaddled in blankets despite the fact that the attic was actually pretty warm.

She looked up at her and blinked. “Oh. Now? Okay.” She escaped her blanket prison with minimal struggling and then gave a short tour of her room.

Rena pointed to a divider on the other side of the room. “What’s behind there?”

Ladybug looked over and a blush spread across her face. “I don’t have a closet, so that’s where I put the secret identity stuff for now. Don’t go back there.”

For some reason, Rena thought she was being lied to. However, she couldn’t just go back there when Ladybug had just said that it would reveal her identity, so she just nodded and said: “Gotcha. Thanks for the tour.”

She moved on to Carapace’s room next. She pushed the door to his room open and sent a smile and a wave. All his textbooks were safely stashed out of sight and he’d cleaned up the normal mess of old snacks for the video, which somehow made his room feel even emptier than usual.

“Here we have a wild Carapace in his natural habitat. Though, why this is what he chose as his natural habitat is beyond me.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “I don’t need much.”

“I can see that.”

He smiled. “Ridiculous! Utterly Ridiculous!” He said, doing his best impression of Chloe.

Rena cleared her throat, and then did a perfect impression of her voice.

Carapace’s eyes widened. “Chloe?”

She tried not to laugh, and instead nodded and continued her impression: “Yes. I’m secretly Chloe. Rena asked me to take her place for this because she was tired.”

He didn’t seem sure whether or not to take this as a joke, and she gleefully left the room.

She moved on to Chloe’s room. It was… somehow both bright and dark in there and this threw Rena off more than she’d like to admit. While most people would take Rena for the hoarder (and they’d probably be right to), Chloe also seemed to have some hoarding problems; the walls were taken up with different luxury items from jewelry to handbags; the floor was littered with different plants at seemingly random intervals.

Chloe looked up from where she was tending to some plants with the help of a few bees (wait, was there an actual BEEHIVE in there?).

“I like your… bees…?”

Chloe snickered. “Thanks. They don’t like you, though, so I’d suggest you leave.”

Rena was a little offended that the bees didn’t like her, but she didn’t need to be told twice.

She headed to Chat’s room next.

When she opened the door she had thought that he wasn’t there. The lights were off outside of a TV which, upon closer inspection, she realized someone was playing a video game. Huh. She turned on the light.

Once she was actually able to see, she was taken aback by how dirty it was. Clothes littered the ground; the bed looked like it hadn’t been made since they moved in; there was a grand piano but it was currently being used as a trash can for old snack bags.

“Did you forget that I was doing a house tour today?”

“Nope,” said Chat from somewhere in the filth.

“Oh… okay…”

The video cut.

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0

#a miraculous tiktok account #rena rouge #alya cesaire #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #carapace #nino lahiffe #queen bee #chloe bourgeois #chat noir #adrien agreste #miraculous team #miraculous fic #ml fic #chloenette #chlonette #adrino

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hyuckshaze · 4 years ago

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Drowning in the Distance | Chapter II

✩‌ haechan ‌x‌ ‌fem!reader‌ ‌|‌ terminal illness au! series ✩

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ confined to a life of detachment from the only people on earth who understand them, the patients of saint evangeline’s can only watch as those around them drown in themselves, in more ways than one, while they themselves drown, in a much more literal sense. haechan is tired, tired of moving from place to place with no real chance of getting better. y/n is tired too, tired of living solely for the purpose of staying alive. maybe, just maybe, despite the space that separates them, they can guide each other to a life worth living.

WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ongoing theme of terminal illness (cystic fibrosis); talk of christianity, the afterlife, heaven/hell, death; ongoing mention of surgeries, scars, medications, drug trials etc.

CHAPTER WORD COUNT ⇾‌ 3.57k

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

II | Donghyuck

✩‌

“All right, I’ll see you guys later.” I say, winking at Johnny and closing the door to my room to give them some privacy. I come face-to-face with the empty sockets of the skull drawing on my door, an O2 mask slung over its mouth, with the words “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here” written under it. That should be the slogan, the motto, for this hospital. Or any of the other fifty hospitals I’ve been in for the past eight months of my life. It’s been a pointless cycle of admissions and discharges, a dragged-out and painfully long few months. I squint down the hallway to see the double doors swinging shut behind the girl I saw moving into a room down the hall earlier today, her scuffed white Vans disappearing onto the other side, the mismatching colours of her clothing disappearing along with them. She’d been by herself earlier, lugging a duffel bag big enough for about three fully grown adults, a bag much bigger than her into room 302, but she actually looked kind of hot and, honestly, it’s not every day you see a remotely attractive girl hanging around a hospital, let alone a few doors down from yours. Looking down at my sketchbook, I think for a moment. God, am I actually considering this? Eight months of isolation would do that to anyone, I guess. But the more I think about her, the more worthwhile it feels. I shrug, rolling the sketchbook in my hands up and stuffing it into my back pocket before heading down the hallway after her. It’s not like I have anything better to do, and I’m certainly not trying to stay in the vicinity of room 315 for the next hour.

Pushing through the doors, I see her making her way across the grey-tiled floor, waving and chatting to just about everyone in response to their greetings as she goes, like she’s putting on her own personal Macy’s Parade. She steps into the large glass elevator that overlooks the east lobby, just past a large, decked out Christmas tree they must’ve put up early this morning, long before the Thanksgiving leftovers were eaten. I’m thankful, though. Heaven forbid they left up the horrific giant turkey display for even a minute longer. I watch as her hands reach up to fix her face mask, that had slipped down; it was probably too big for her small face. The familiar sight of prongs of a nose cannula meet my eyes for a split second as she pulls the mask back up, but the portable oxygen bag that sits over her shoulder practically screams cystic fibrosis as it is. Or maybe it only does so because that’s the most familiar to me. She leans over to press a button, the doors slowly closing. I start climbing the open stairs by the elevator, trying not to run into anyone as I watch the elevator chug steadily to the fifth floor. Of course. I run up the stairs as fast as my lungs will carry me, managing to get to the fifth floor with enough time to go into a serious coughing fit and recover from my uncontrollable hacking before she exits the elevator and disappears around a corner. I rub my chest with one hand, clearing my throat and taking a shaky breath before following her down a couple of hallways and onto the wide, glass-encased bridge leading to the next building. Even though she only got here this morning, she clearly knows where she’s going; judging from her pace and the fact she apparently knows every single person in the building, I wouldn’t be surprised if she were actually the owner of the place. I’ve been here two weeks, and it took me until a day ago to figure out how to sneak safely from my room to the cafeteria over in Building 2, and I am by no means directionally challenged. At least, I would say so, Johnny may attest to that. I’ve been in so many hospitals over the years, so figuring out how to get around them is what counts as a hobby and a pastime to me now. She stops just short of a set of double doors, the large sign overhead reading: ‘EAST ENTRANCE: NEONATAL INTENSIVE CARE UNIT’ and peeks through the glass panels in one of the doors before she pushes them open. The NICU. Huh. Having kids when you have CF falls into the super difficult category, something, alongside many other things, that most of us with CF will never get to experience. I’ve heard of girls with CF bumming hard over it, but going to look at the babies she might never have is another level. That’s just fucking depressing. There are a lot of things that piss me off about my disease, but that’s not one of them. Pretty much all guys with CF are infertile, which at least means I don’t have to worry about getting anyone pregnant and starting my own shit show of a family, something that I know many guys my age wish they had going for them right now. I’m guessing they wouldn’t want the fallout, though.

Looking to both the left and right and checking the coast is clear, I close the gap between me and the doors, peering inside the narrow window to see her standing in front of the viewing pane, her eyes focused on a tiny baby inside an incubator on the other side. Its fragile arms and legs are hooked up to machines ten times its size. Pushing open the door and sliding inside the dimly lit viewing area, a small smile pulls at the corner of my lips as I watch Vans girl for a second. I can’t help but stare at her reflection, everything beyond the glass blurring as I look at her. She’s prettier close up, with her long eyelashes and her full eyebrows. I can’t help but wonder what she looks like underneath the mask; she looks like the kinda girl to have perfect teeth. I watch as she brushes her wavy hair out of her eyes, staring at the baby through the glass with a determined focus. I clear my throat, getting her attention.

“And here I thought this was gonna be another lame hospital filled with lame sickies. But then you show up. Lucky me.” Her eyes meet mine in the reflection of the glass, surprise filling them at first, and then immediately changing to something resembling disgust. She looks away, back at the tiny baby, staying silent, her gaze tender once more as she stares towards the crib. I blink. Well, that’s always a promising sign. Nothing like actual repulsion to start off on the right foot. “I saw you moving into your room earlier. Your bag was twice the size of you. Gonna be here awhile?” She doesn’t say anything. If it wasn’t for the grimace, so obvious through her expressive eyes, I’d think she didn’t even hear me. “Oh, I get it. I’m so good looking you can’t even string a sentence together.” That irritates her enough to get a response.

“Shouldn’t you be procuring rooms for your ‘guests’?” She snaps, turning to face me as she angrily pulls her face mask off. Wow, she’s pretty. She takes me off guard for a second, and then I laugh, surprised by how up-front she is. That really pisses her off. “You rent by the hour, or what?” She asks, eyes narrowed in my direction.

“So, it was you lurking in the hall.” I speak, a smirk twisting my features as she blinks twice at me before responding.

“I don’t lurk.” She fires back. “You followed me here.” It’s a valid point. But she definitely lurked first. I pretend to be taken aback and hold up my hands in mock defeat.

“With the intent of introducing myself, but with that attitude-”

“Let me guess.” She says, cutting me off. Slightly rude, bu- “You consider yourself a rebel, a dissident. Ignoring the rules because it somehow makes you feel in control. Am I right?”

“You’re not wrong.” I shoot back before leaning against the wall casually. She’s interesting. I’d never met a girl so up-front, so headstrong from the first conversation.

“You think it’s cute?” I grin at her words.

“Do you think it’s cute?” I quip. She rolls her eyes, clearly not entertained by me. Ah, well. Her loss. Being one of the few things I fully pride myself upon, my sense of humour is great and I know it is. My never-failing ability to get people to laugh does not, however, seem to stretch to this girl.

“You letting your friends borrow your room for sex isn’t cute.” I make a noise of recognition. So she’s a goody two shoes, maybe even pious.

“Sex? Oh, heavens no. They told me they would be holding a slightly rowdy, potentially heated, book club meeting in there for the better part of an hour. We’ll see how wild the bibliomaniacs can get when the last page of all of their books is torn out.” She glares at me, definitely not amused by my sarcasm. Again, that seems like a ‘her’ problem. “Ah, so that’s what this is really about,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest as I smile knowingly at her. “You have something against sex.”

“Of course not! I’ve had sex.” She says, her eyes widening as the words tumble out of her mouth. I raise my eyebrows at her in challenge. “It’s fine-” That is the biggest lie I’ve heard all year, and I’m practically surrounded by people who sugar-coat the fact that I’m dying. I laugh, unable to hold back the guffaw at her words.

“‘Fine’ isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, you know? I’m not sold on the whole concept. I’ll stick to rowdy book club until there’s an improvement there, but I’ll take common ground where I can get it.” Her eyebrows furrow into a frown.

“We have nothing in common.” I wink at her obvious irritation, having way too much fun pissing her off. The words slip from my tongue, not even having to think about them.

“Cold. I like it. It’s cute.”

The door bangs open and Doyoung busts through, making both of us jump in surprise at the sudden noise.

“Lee Donghyuck! What are you doing up here? You know full well that you’re not supposed to leave the third floor after that stunt you pulled last week!” I look back at the girl with the scuffed white sneakers.

“There you go. A name to go with your little psych profile. And you are?” She glowers at me, quickly pulling her face mask back over her mouth before Doyoung notices.

“Ignoring you.” The goody-two-shoes has some spunk. Very interesting.

“And clearly the teacher’s pet, too.” I reply, not looking away from her as she rolls her eyes at me. As blatantly obvious as it is, she’s clearly not had somebody actually call her that before.

“At least six feet at all times! You both know the rules!” I realize I’m too close and take a step back as Doyoung reaches us, coming into the space and the tension between us. He turns to look at me, his eyes narrowing as he speaks.

“What do you think you’re doing up here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I say matter-of-factly, pointing at the viewing window. “Looking at babies?” He’s clearly not amused.

“Get back to your room. Where is your face mask?” I reach up to touch my maskless face, not having realised that I had left without one. “Y/N, thank you for keeping your mask on.”

“She didn’t five seconds ago,” I mutter. Y/N glares at me over Doyoung’s head, and I give her back a big smile. Y/N. Her name is Y/N. I can see Doyoung is about to really ream me out, so I decide to make my exit. I’ve had more than enough lecturing in the last few weeks from him to last a lifetime. “Lighten up, Y/N.” I say, sauntering to the door. “It’s just life. It’ll be over before we know it.”

The second I leave the viewing room, I cringe slightly at my own words.

“‘It’s just life. It’ll be over before we know it?’” I mutter, shaking my head as I push through the doors, moving across the bridge, and down C Wing. I’m not wrong, but did I really need to say it like that? Oh well. She clearly doesn’t like me much anyway. Instead of going back the long way, I hop on the, much shakier, metal elevator, which I discovered two days ago. It spits me out right by the nurses’ station on the third floor, where Irene is reading over some paperwork. “Hey, Irene.” I say, leaning on the counter and picking up a pencil. She glances up at me, giving me a quick look, before her eyes swing back down to the papers in her hands.

“Just what were you up to?” Her voice is calm, but a hint of suspicion sneaks into her tone. I can’t blame her, though. Every time I disappear, I’m likely doing the exact things that she suspects me of doing.

“Eh, roaming the hospital. Pissing off Doyoung,” I say, shrugging and twirling the pencil around and around in my fingertips. “He’s such a hard-ass.”

“Haechan, he’s not a hard-ass, he’s just, you know…” I nod in approval at her use of my nickname, but give her a look nonetheless.

“A hard-ass.” She leans against the nurses’ station, putting a hand on top of her super-pregnant belly as she thinks of a word to use to describe her colleague.

“Firm. The rules matter. Especially to Doyoung. He doesn’t take chances.” I glance over to see the doors at the end of the hallway swing wide open again as Doyoung and the goody-goody herself step out. The man’s eyes narrow at me and I shrug innocently, sending the pair of them a winning smile.

“What? I’m talking to Irene.” He huffs, and the two of them walk off down the hallway toward Y/N’s room. Y/N fixes her face mask, looking back at me, her eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second. I sigh, watching her go.

“They hate me.”

“Both?” Irene asks, following my gaze down the hallway. The door to Y/N’s room, room 302, closes behind the both of them, and I look back at Irene. She seems to realise the meaning behind my words, even without verbal confirmation, and gives me a look that I’ve seen about a million times since I got here. Her bright eyes fill with a mix between ‘are you crazy?’ and something very close to care. Mostly the former, though. “Don’t even think about it, Haechan.” I glance down at the file sitting in front of her, the name jumping out at me from the upper left-hand corner.

Y/N L/N.

“Okay.” I say like it’s no big deal, turning away from the nurses’ station and walking toward my own room. I call over my shoulder to her. “Night.”

I stroll back to 315, coughing when I get there, the mucus thick in my lungs and throat, my chest aching from my excursion. If I had known I was going to be running a marathon all around the hospital, chasing after some goody-two-shoes, I might’ve bothered to bring my portable oxygen. Eh, who am I kidding? No I wouldn’t have. I check my wristwatch to make sure it’s been an hour before pushing open the heavy door. I flick on the fluorescent yellow light, noticing a folded note from Wendy and Johnny on the bleach-white standard-issue hospital sheets. How romantic of them, right?

I try not to be disappointed they’re already gone. It’s not like there’s anybody else who would come to visit aside from my mother, and that’s hardy a pleasant experience. My mother pulled me out of school and switched me to home-schooling with a side of international hospital tourism when I got diagnosed with B. cepacia eight months ago. As if my life span wasn’t already going to be ridiculously short, B. cepacia will cut off another huge chunk of it by making my shitty lung function deplete even faster than it already has. And they don’t give you new lungs when you have antibiotic-resistant bacteria running rampant inside of you. But “incurable” is only a suggestion to my mother, and she’s determined to find the needle-in-a haystack treatment. Even if it means cutting me off from everyone. My old school friends stopped texting and calling, checking in every once in a while on social media but was that really friendship? I shake my head. At least this hospital is half an hour away from Wendy and Johnny, so they can come visit me on a regular basis and fill me in on everything I’m missing at school. Since I got B. cepacia, I feel like they’re the only ones in my life who don’t treat me like a lab rat. They’ve always been that way; maybe that’s why they’re so perfect for each other. I unfold the note to see a heart and, in Wendy’s neat cursive.

See you soon! Two weeks till your Big 18! Wendy and Johnny x

And that makes me smile. Big 18, huh? Two more weeks until I’m in charge. I’ll be off this latest clinical drug trial and out of this hospital and can do something with my life, instead of letting my mum waste it. No more hospitals. No more being stuck inside whitewashed buildings all over the world as doctors try drug after drug, treatment after treatment, none of them working. If I’m going to die, I’m going to actually live first.

Then, and only then, then I’ll die.

I squint at the heart, thinking about that fateful last day on earth, that last day of living. Somewhere poetic. A beach, maybe. Or a boat somewhere on the Great Atlantic. Just no walls. I could sketch the landscape, draw a final cartoon of me giving the middle finger to the universe, then bite the big one: the big sleep. With a sigh, I toss the note back onto the bed, eyeing the sheets with narrowed eyes before giving them a once-over and a distanced whiff to be safe. Starch and bleach. Just the regular hospital eau de cologne. Good. I slide into the squeaky leather hospital recliner by the window and push aside a heap of coloured pencils and sketchbooks, grabbing my laptop from under a bunch of photocopied 1940s political cartoons I was looking at earlier for reference when sketching. I often turned to my sketchbook when things seemed to be most boring. It passed the time, when I couldn’t be out exploring the winding hallways of my confinement. I open my browser and type ‘Y/N L/N’ into Google, not expecting much. She seems like the type to have only the most private of Facebook pages. Or a lame Twitter account where she retweets memes about the importance of hand washing. The first result, though, is a YouTube page called Respire & Inspire, filled with at least a hundred videos dating back six years or so. I squint, because the page name looks weirdly familiar. Then I realise that, oh my God, this is that reproachable channel my mother sent me a link to a few months ago in an attempt to rally me into taking my treatments seriously. I scroll down to the first entry, clicking on a video with a thumbnail of a young Y/N wearing a mouthful of metal and a high ponytail, a bright pink hairband holding her wavy hair back. I try not to laugh. I wonder again what her teeth look like now, considering I’ve never seen her smile. Probably pretty nice. Although I’d thought about it, I hadn’t really looked at her teeth when seeing her in the NICU. She seems like the type who would actually wear her retainer at night instead of letting it collect dust on some bathroom shelf. Honestly, I don’t think my retainers even made it home from the orthodontist. I hit the volume button and her high-pitched, pre-teen voice comes pouring out of my speakers.

“Like all CFers, I was born terminal. Our bodies make too much mucus, and that mucus likes to get into our lungs and cause infections, making our lung function de-teri-orate.” The young girl stumbles over the big word before flashing the camera a big smile. “Right now, I’m at fifty percent lung function.” There’s a crappy cut, and she turns around on a set of stairs that I recognize from the main entrance of the hospital. No wonder she knows her way around here so well, walking around the place like she owns it. She’s been coming here forever. I smile back at the little girl on the screen, even though that cut was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever seen. She sits down on the steps, taking a deep breath. “Dr. Moon says, at this rate, I’m gonna need a transplant by the time I’m in high school. A transplant’s not a cure, but it will give me more time! I’d love a few more years if I’m lucky enough to get one!”

Tell me about it, Y/N.

At least she’s got a shot.

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

Text

Two Birds with One Stone (Bit 6 and The End)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 | Bit 6

I finished it! Yay! Still @godsliltippy ‘s fault. I’m just happy to have this one off my plate because yesterday I wrote 2000 words of a new fic! I’m incurable, I have to say ::headdesk:: Like I have so many waiting to be finished ::wails::

But lookie! I finished one ::distracts all with this single finished fic waving it around with glee::

Many thank to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 and @janetm74 for all their support through this fic and of course to Tippy for sparking it in the first place with this glorious piece of art!

I can actually archive something cos it is finished! Yay!

I hope you enjoy it...cos it is finished! It’s a miracle!

-o-o-o-

“A combine harvester?!”

“Totally cool sounding, don’t you think? I’m adding it to my list.”

Virgil stared at his brother. “You have a list? Of what?”

“Dramatic stuff. Near misses. Things worth bragging about at the bar.”

Virgil blinked, fortunately with both eyes this time, since the swelling was starting to go down.

He was sitting up in bed, surrounded by flowers. Grandma had gone all out this time with two boys in the hospital. Fortunately, they wouldn’t be in much longer.

Alan had dragged in one of Virgil’s sketchbooks and to Virgil’s surprise, he had found the energy to draw for a little while, though his head wouldn’t take much.

And his head was more than one problem.

He was missing half his hair.

And he looked stupid.

Worse, there was a jagged slice in his scalp where apparently a piece of that combine harvester had made it through his helmet and nearly sliced him in half.

The thought was downright alarming and he shunted it to the back of his mind with not a little terror.

He would examine it later.

Later.

But the problem at the moment, apart from the bandages that conveniently hid the issue temporarily, he only had half a head of hair and it looked stupid.

He had to appreciate that Gordon hadn’t laughed. In fact, none of his brothers had laughed at him. He couldn’t fault them for that.

Though there was a sparkle in Gordon’s eye that foretold at least one comment in the future, even if it was fond and caring.

Besides…

He kept waking up to find Gordon sitting on the end of his bed.

It was done with nonchalance and a smile, but Virgil was beginning to suspect an underlying cause. Not that he couldn’t acknowledge that he was happy to see his little brother and sharing a room with him in hospital was actually a boon to the medical process, but honestly, Virgil was beginning to worry.

“Don’t you have a list?”

Of course, a fish without a pond tended to be a bored fish.

“No, not really.”

“You don’t count successful rescues?”

“John and Scott keep records. I don’t like to dwell.”

His little brother shrugged. “I get that.”

There was silence for a while and Virgil let himself settle back into his pillow. Dosing was a rare pleasure.

“So, you don’t take advantage of being a hero even a tiny bit?”

Virgil blinked and frowned. “What?”

Gordon rolled over holding his injured arm and settled so he could see Virgil clearly. “You know, leverage a little heroism to start a conversation? Get one up on the stiffs at parties?”

He stared at his brother. “Are you having trouble at Penny’s charity functions?”

“Nooo.”

Okay, that meant yes. “You should talk to her, Gords.” He shrugged. “Need a wingman? I could come with.” Though he had to admit, he could see where Gordon was coming from. Some of those attendees were definitely stiffs who had never lifted a finger to help anyone but themselves in their entire lives.

“I can handle it.”

Okay, Virgil was definitely filching an invite to the next one. Could even drag in Scott. Big bro would torch the social scene. He wasn’t a fan, but he could play...to every other man’s detriment.

Or Virgil could ask John. Having a genius brother in orbit who had a daughter who had been told off several times already for influencing the stock market was an advantage.

“Virgil, stop the plotting. It is fine. I’ve got this. I just flex a little muscle, mention a few scars and spin a few tales. Joe WallStreet, or whatever they call it in London, doesn’t stand a chance.”

He eyed his brother. The urge to step in was strong.

Gordon smirked. “It is fine. Besides, you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon with that hairstyle.”

It was an obvious subject change, but it still earned Gordon a blistering glare. “Shut up.”

A snort and Gordon capitulated. “Don’t worry, bro, it’s cool. Shave the other side, get yourself some tatts and no one will ever question you on a rescue ever again.” The second snort was almost a giggle.

If only he could reach Gordon, clap him up the head.

There must have been something in his expression because Gordon burst out laughing, rolling on the bed, holding his arm to his side.

“You’re an ass.”

“And you, my dear artist bro, are entertaining.”

“Shove it.”

But at least Gordon was smiling.

Virgil would take that any day.

-o-o-o-

Gordon was up and about long before Virgil and took to disappearing from time to time into the depths of the hospital, often with one brother or the other and on several occasions, with Penelope.

Virgil didn’t get out much. He still had headaches and occasional dizzy spells, a lead on from a massive concussion and was the reason why they were still in hospital. Virgil had no doubt Gordon could probably have gone home, but was hanging about just because Virgil couldn’t.

If it pinned Gordon under medical observation and not in the ocean after such a serious injury, Virgil wasn’t going to argue. But it was frustrating that he himself wasn’t very mobile and he was sick of staring at the ceiling tiles.

They always bugged him as his artistic brain always constructed designs out of them and they always lacked symmetry.

Grandma, Alan, John, Scott and even Kayo were regular visitors. The Tracy clan had parked themselves in a nearby hotel, no doubt fueling both news agencies and the local economy.

Virgil just wanted to go home.

And Scott was out of sorts.

Scott was always out of sorts when a member of the family was injured, but this was different. And it was bugging Virgil.

Between his own injuries and the inability to pin his brother down due to interruptions and the lack of alone time, whatever it was that was bugging Scott was festering.

Topeka hospital was a familiar place to all of them. It had been their local major hospital for much of their formative years and considering the tornado seasons and IR responses, a regular delivery point for rescuees. There was a rooftop garden that had been sat in on several occasions in the past and it was with some conniving that Virgil spoke to Kayo to arrange for a corner of it to be secured so Virgil could go and sit up there for a bit of fresh air and privacy with his big brother.

He had no doubt that Scott knew he was being railroaded, but the lack of protest just emphasised how troubled his big brother was.

The sounds of the city below were no longer familiar and Virgil found himself longing for the ocean and the quiet of Tracy Island. It was evening, the sun having just set and the sky was a welcome sight after being confined to ceiling tiles for a few days, but the stars were dim, hidden by light pollution and a touch of smog.

It made him even more homesick.

“You okay, Virg?”

Scott had pushed him up here in a hoverchair. Virgil still needed it due to the dizzy spells and it ticked him off to no end. “Just homesick.”

Hi brother sighed. “Won’t be long. A couple of days and I’ll take you down to the beach and you can lay on the sand and stare at the stars to your heart’s content.”

Virgil shot him a glare. “I’m not John.”

“But you miss the stars anyway.”

Virgil grumbled. “I’m just used to seeing them.” He waved at hand at the sky. “It’s not the same.”

“Uh huh.” Scott was smiling in that condescending big brother knows better way he was so good at.

“Shut up.”

Scott didn’t stop grinning, he just dragged the ‘chair backwards until it nestled beside a park bench and then sat himself down beside Virgil.

They sat in silence for a while and Virgil let the soundscape seep into him. It was quieter up here than inside the hospital. There was a breeze with the scent of farmland under that pervasive smell of the city and cooling concrete. The breeze spoke of a possible storm in the distance. Virgil hoped it wasn’t a supercell. He had had enough of tornadoes for some time.

He missed the scent of the sea.

A sigh. He was being pathetic and falling into the doldrums over nothing. He was getting better. He would be home soon.

And screw it, he would plant his butt on a beach and drag Scott with him just to piss him off.

“You okay?”

Huh? Scott was peering at him, that worry ever persistent in the darkness of his eyes.

“It is you who I’m worried about.” So, it was defensive, big deal. Needed to start the conversation somehow.

“Me? I’m not the one who took on a combine harvester and nearly lost.”

“It wasn’t exactly a choice, you know.”

“I know.” It was quiet and Virgil knew he had hit the nail on the head.

“Talk to me, Scott.”

“About what?”

Virgil flat-eyed glared at him. “About whatever has been bugging you the last few days.”

“I would have thought that was obvious with two brothers in the hospital.” Definitely defensive.

“No. This is more.”

“What? There are degrees? I don’t need analysis, Virg.”

Virgil pressed his lips together. “You’re hurting. You’re not talking. What other recourse do I have?”

“Do you need one?”

“Of course, I do! You’re you! Whatever this is, it’s weighing on you and I hate to see you in pain.”

“I’m not in pain. It’s you who was injured.”

“If you’re trying to tell me that doesn’t affect you, you’re either lying through your teeth or I should be even more worried because you’ve obviously suffered brain damage of some kind and are no longer the Scott Tracy I know. Perhaps I should check you for a holographic disguise.”

Scott let out an annoyed scoff and shot to his feet, his actions agitated. “Virg, it’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Goddamnit, Virgil-“

“Talk to me!” And yelling apparently hurt his head, because it throbbed in protest. He grit his teeth and glared up at his brother. Please, Scott, for both our sakes.

“It was close, okay? Too damned close.”

Virgil swallowed. He knew that. “Not the first time.”

“So, I should be used to it by now?” Despite the darkness, Scott was lit up with internal fire.

“No.”

But he had finally triggered the avalanche and Scott spilled it all over him.

“Do you have any idea how close this was? Millimetres and you wouldn’t be here anymore, Virg.”

“Again, not the first time.”

“But it was so senseless!” Scott’s hands shot out palm up, desperate for understanding. “You weren’t even in the middle of a rescue. The sky just opened up, stabbed down a twister and threw a chunk of farm machinery at you. It lasted mere seconds and it nearly took both of you. Why? If you had landed a few metres further away, if you had been a few seconds later in arrival, hell, the margin for error was astronomical, yet, it still happened. I nearly lost you and Gordy for no damned reason whatsoever!”

“You need a reason?”

“Goddamned, I do! If I’m going to lose a brother, at least it should be for a reason. A sacrifice made for the good of all.”

“You know it doesn’t work that way.” Virgil’s heart was thudding in his chest.

“Well, it should. We do so much, sacrifice so much already, I don’t think it is too much to ask. We’ve already lost...” Scott shoved his face into his hands and parked himself back on the park bench. “Why the hell do you ask me these things?”

Ever so quiet. “Because they need to be asked.”

“I hate it.”

“I know.”

“I nearly lost you for nothing.”

“We were there for a reason. We both went in knowing the danger, you know that.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I’d be worried if it did.” Virgil sighed. “We survived, Scott. Thanks to you. You were fast enough.”

The grunt and groan that made it out between his brother’s fingers was pain itself.

The hoverchair made it awkward, but Virgil reached out and snagged his big brother with an arm and hauled him in the best he could. Scott, of course, protested, but Virgil’s arms were not injured and he was always smug that he had at least one thing racked up on the achievement scale that beat his almighty big brother and that was strength.

So, Scott was dragged into a hug whether he wanted it or not.

“Still here.”

Scott grumbled something unintelligible.

“Gords is adding it to his story list to tell at Penny’s parties.”

“He’s what?”

Distraction achieved.

“Wanna drop by Penny’s next charity dinner and play wingman to Gords? You get to take a few stiffs down a peg or million. Apparently, a few asses need a big brother kicking. We can break out Johnny and Eos for extra fun, if you like.”

“Who’s been messing with Gordon?” There it was. Exactly the trigger point needed.

“The Joe Wallstreets seem to think they are better than a fish Tracy.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Want to help me educate them? Though admittedly Gords was doing quite well on his own, higher education is always a good thing.”

Scott was staring at him in the darkness. It was obvious his brother knew exactly what Virgil was doing.

“I’ll be there.”

“Great. It will be good PR for whatever charity Penny is supporting. With a bit of luck we can play it to her advantage as well.”

Scott was still staring at him.

“What?”

Ever so quiet. “What would I do without you?”

Virgil swallowed, desperately ignoring all the implications and the reverse of that question. “Here’s hoping we never find out.”

Scott sighed and let his head drop onto Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil just tugged him a little tighter and returned to trying to see the stars.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #thunderbirds fanart #godsliltippy

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omniswords · 4 years ago

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Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 16

oh gosh, i'm so sorry for the late update!! i promise i'm still working on this, little by little. i am on vacation next week, so maybe i'll get the chance to really put some work in.

in any case, enjoy today's update c:

okay, so who the hell was gonna tell me that CBG’s designed a whole-ass album cover for my favorite artist of all time?

scratch that. who was gonna tell me she designed my FAVORITE album cover for my FAVORITE artist of all time?

Bubbles, as it turns out, has known Marinette Dupain-Cheng since he was four years old. Went to school with her and everything. So that’s another scoop to the shit Luka’s landed himself in. He still isn’t sure what gave him greater whiplash: finding out about that connection, or finding her name in the fine print of Jagged stone’s album credits. He also isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing that Nino mentions little else, and especially dodges the question of if it’s even cool to actually admit to having a gigantic crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, or whether he’s just wasting his time.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

(Luka is most definitely not cool.)

Especially for those freeze-frames of time that he wonders, to his own horror, if Bubbles has been Adrien Agreste all this time.

It takes him the better part of an hour of pacing and fidgeting with his guitar pick to realize that no, he hasn’t been casually messaging a fashion mogul’s son who also just so happened to be Marinette’s own gigantic crush. He doesn’t seem like the type to use “dude” in everyday conversation, and for another thing, it didn't exactly like up with what Marinette had said about them knowing each other in middle school.

One day, Luka swears, he’s going to take this anxiety thing out back and have it meet its maker.

Even if, maybe, he sort of is its maker.

(Okay, maybe he's going to take his brain out back, because he's definitely not responsible for that.)

But he figures, once that initial panic and urge to scream into his pillow wear off, that it might be a cool talking point between him and Marinette. One that, for once, doesn’t have much to do with either of their jobs. Or with how tongue-tied he gets around her because she just won’t stop being so pretty. Not that that’s a problem; both his sister and his mother would have his head for ever thinking that way, and even then, Rose would tell them to get in line. Something about how they didn’t raise him this way, even if two of them didn’t even raise him at all.

Luka waits a couple of days before stopping by the bakery again; it gives them both some breathing room and the time for those postcards to be finished and printed. He thinks about it a lot. The postcards. The effort. Marinette, too, but in his quietly flustered opinion, he thinks that’s a given. He doesn’t get the chance to come until close to closing time again because of his delivery shift; he just hopes they don’t mind too much. He braces himself the whole ride over for whatever may be coming: another friendly crack about napoleons and pear tarts, the beauty of the postcards, maybe even another offer of kindness if Marinette’s pattern is anything to go by.

The one thing Luka doesn’t brace himself for—which, of course, is the one thing that ends up happening—is the door propped open, and the music drifting out through the crack. And he can’t even revel in the fact that it’s one of his favorite songs playing, because…

Because Marinette is dancing. Rag in one hand, spray bottle in the other. No, it’s not like, a flawlessly choreographed routine or anything. It’s more like a mix of what Rose does during their down time when she has too much energy and nowhere to put it, and what Juleka does when she’s trying to find the rhythm of a new song. It’s blissfully unaware, and beautiful, and it feels like home, and Luka can’t stop staring.

He doesn’t mean to. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s just… he can’t remember ever seeing a moment when she was simply “Marinette, “instead of “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Friend to Practically Everybody.” or “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Daughter of the Owners of The Best Bakery In Paris.” or even “Marinette, the Girl Behind the Counter with the Sketchbook Full of Secrets and the connections to Jagged Fucking Stone.”

Okay, maybe he’s been watching a couple too many fantasy movies lately.

And he definitely needs to look away, like, right now, because she does this thing with her hips that makes his brain forget how to function for a second, and he needs his brain to function in every sense of the phrase, and God fucking damn it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is hot and he’s not supposed to think that she’s hot—

And she’s looking at him. Frozen. right as he’s about to get off his bike and knock.

And, like the total idiot he can only manage to be at the worst possible times, he trips. Over his bike. And faceplants, right in front of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He’s somewhere between waiting for death to take him, and thanking his Ma for always getting on him about wearing a helmet, and wondering if he really was so stupid that his first instinct was to run, when the bell over the bakery door rings like mad. Someone cries out his name, and the music cuts, and there’s a skitter of footsteps on concrete. When he comes to himself and starts to sit up, he finds himself face-to-face with Marinette, who's kneeling beside him and already scanning him for any injuries.

The first thing she says, with her hand in her hair, is, “Oh, God. She’s gonna kill me.”

The first thing he says, with a wince, is, “Yikes.”

It’s then that the pain sinks in, dull and searing and throbbing all at once, as if punishing him for choosing to say that, of all things. He sits up a bit more, pain chasing up his spine and stinging his palms; his knee is badly scraped and starting to swell, he realizes once he gets a good look at the rest of him. He can’t tell yet, whether Juleka would call this karma or kismet. All he can think is that at least his jeans were already ripped.

“Can…” Marinette swallows hard, but otherwise she’s entirely unfazed. “Can you stand? Put weight on it? Oh God, oh my God, she’s actually gonna kill me.”

“I…” Cautiously, Luka tries to get to his feet, and Marinette makes space for him. All it takes is one step for a jolt of pain to shoot up his leg, and he staggers and clutches the closest streetlamp, nearly tripping over his bike again in the process. “Shit,” is all he can bite out after drawing his breath in through his teeth and holding onto it for too long. He lets it out, little by little, and his grip on the lamppost loosens. “It’s okay, I’m—I can just walk my bike to the metro station, and—”

It’s like she isn’t even listening to him; she’s looking around the bike, evidently searching for something. Finally, she finds it—his bike lock—and after it and the bakery door are secure, she coaxes his arm around her shoulder. It’s almost comical, because he’s got a good thirty centimeters on her, but it hurts too much to laugh. Or, apparently, to stammer in protest when she leads him through the side door and up the stairs to her apartment.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Seeing her in her pajamas was enough of an invasion of her privacy. But seeing the inside of her literal, actual home? Oh, no. No way.

“You’re hurt,” she says simply, as if she’s read his mind; her voice is trembling, the way voices do when they know they shouldn’t. “It’d be against like, everything I am as a person if I just let you leave.” She only lets go of him to unlock the door, and only then does it occur to him that, for a few moments that should have been blissful, they were side-by-side, and in some places skin-to-skin.

Mr. Dupain gives them a funny, almost unreadable look when Marinette opens the door. One look at Luka’s leg seems to answer any questions he might have had, and effortlessly he helps Luka to the couch while Marinette disappears into the bathroom. “You know,” he jokes under his breath, “When I imagined someone falling for my daughter, I didn’t mean literally.”

Luka’s face goes hot. “I didn’t—I’m not—”

Whatever he wants to say falls on deaf ears, and Mr. Dupain makes himself scarce as soon as Marinette emerges from the bathroom. Even as she lifts his leg onto the coffee table, Luka swears he can feel those kind, quietly insistent eyes burning holes into him all the way from the kitchen. He doesn’t get to think much more about what Mr. Dupain might have meant, or what he would have said to refute it, because Marinette is pressing an alcohol pad to the scrapes, and it stings like a motherfucker—which is probably a good thing for more reasons than one.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says weakly, because somewhere along the way, I don’t deserve it got stuck in his throat and refused to come out.

Marinette gives him a look. He can’t quite figure out what it means. “Yeah. I do.”

“Nah.” He readjusts, braces himself for the second sting of the ointment and the bandages. “I kinda deserved it. Jules would call it karma, I guess.”

There she goes again, wincing at the mere mention of Juleka. Or maybe… maybe it’s something else. Without a word, she gets up and disappears into the kitchen, and he spends her whole absence wondering what he said or did. He’s only relieved when she returns with a bag of frozen corn and a shrug as if to say, It’s all we had. She presses the bag to his knee, breathing deep in time with him, or maybe in hopes that his breathing will start to match hers. Then she speaks, and her voice wavers.

“Why would you ever think,” she murmurs, “that you deserve any pain?”

Luka opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens and shuts again. This time, at least for a while, the words don’t even make it to his throat. Eventually, all he can spit out is, “I was. Watching. You.”

“I know,” Marinette says, turning as pink as her shorts. “I saw.”

That’s the one thing he can appreciate: she doesn’t try to downplay it or say it was dumb. Even now, she’s unapologetic, and direct, and God, maybe he’s just fallen a little more. “I shouldn’t have,” he says. “I was gonna knock, I was…” He shifts again, his knee still in her gentle grasp, and flinches. “I just… wanted to see your postcards.”

I just wanted to see you.

“Marinette.” His lips tingle just from saying her name, and his stomach is churning. “Who… who’s gonna kill you?”

This time, Marinette goes scarlet; it would look about as pretty as literally every other color and pattern she wears if she didn’t seem so… mortified. “I’ll go get one of—the postcards,” she says—stammers, more like—and as she’s heading upstairs she calls out, “Papa, he can’t walk. Can we drive him home?”

From the kitchen, Mr. Dupain winks.

1 Photo Attached

RIP lol

and no, i’m not talking about my jeans. those were already like that.

but also. 😬 oh boy.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #oh my dude we are in for it now.

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