#like i looked through my sketchbook and found a page of eyes and was like…… 12 year old me would shit if they knew we could draw like that

[0uroboring]

.

[iheartmira]

Hiii!!! Can I request like

SMC with an s/o that's an artist? And they show their love by drawing him, but they're too shy to tell him so they do it secretly! So one day, he finds out, and hehehehe fluff

I love fluff

"the curtain rises" - shadow milk x artist!reader

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

you never meant for him to find out.

really, you didn’t. it wasn’t like you walked around bragging about the sketches. your room was always locked, your sketchbook tucked neatly beneath a false bottom in your drawer. no one ever went in there. not even him.

but still, a part of you had known it couldn’t stay hidden forever. not when you kept drawing him like that. not when every page of your worn-out journal slowly turned into a shrine of his image. etched in charcoal, smudged in soft ink, sometimes just outlines that you couldn't bear to complete for fear the whole world might see how your fingers trembled when drawing his smile.

not his real one. the sly, barbed grin he wore like a weapon.

no, your shadow milk cookie always had something softer about the eyes. the way you saw him when the performance dimmed. the curtain drawn. when you were sure he wasn’t acting.

but of course, with him… wasn’t it always an act?

so you kept your affection hidden in shadows and strokes. it felt safer that way. art didn’t demand truth. it let you lie in your own quiet, trembling way.

until the day he found it.

you had stepped out, just for a moment. long enough for him to materialize uninvited, as he did. the scent of ink still lingered in the air, papers scattered across your desk like fallen petals.

he stood over them now, a phantom silhouette with mismatched eyes glittering in the gloom. one eye curved in amusement. the other unreadable.

"i must say…" his voice purred, theatrically sweet, "this is quite the dedicated audience i've gathered."

your heart nearly stopped when you walked in and saw him standing there, flipping through page after page like it was a playbill at intermission. your sketchbook was open in his hands, filled with him. always him.

"i-i... that's not-" you couldn’t form a sentence. you wanted to disappear. fade into the walls like his shadows did.

he turned to face you, eyes gleaming under the soft glow of your studio lamp. "oh? is this your little secret, my dear artist?" his voice curled like smoke, teasing and lilting, but lacking its usual venom.

you didn’t respond. just stood there, frozen, cheeks burning, hands curled into trembling fists.

he took a step closer, twirling your pencil between his fingers as if it were a wand. "you've captured me so flatteringly." he winked. "you've drawn me with… tenderness."

the word struck you like a spotlight.

he knew.

your silence was all the confession he needed.

a pause stretched between you, breathless. then, gently, almost too gently for someone like him, he tilted his head, looking down at you.

"were you afraid i wouldn't understand?" his smile dimmed, just slightly. "or that i'd mock you?"

you bit your lip, nodding without meaning to.

another step closer.

then his fingers reached out, brushing against yours. cold, ghostlike. but there.

he leaned in, close enough that his voice curled around your ear like a ribbon of night.

"you are a delicious contradiction, little artist. shy, yet bold enough to sketch me when i wasn't looking."

your breath caught.

"but," he continued, lifting your hand with a strange, reverent care, "since you've so graciously offered your heart… allow me to return the favor."

he bowed, dramatic and elegant, and placed the softest kiss to your knuckles.

"i accept your silent ovation," he murmured, "and offer you a role in the next act… beside me."

your lips parted, a thousand questions blooming at once. but he was already slipping into shadow, his laughter echoing like a curtain call.

"until our next scene, darling."

and just like that, he was gone.

but the pages of your sketchbook still fluttered, stirred by his exit. and in the center, where your last drawing lay, a rare piece in full color, you saw something new.

a flourish of ink that wasn’t yours.

a heart. scrawled in blue and black. at the corner of the page, in his impossible handwriting:

'for my favorite audience.'

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[pukefactory]

☽────✧˖°˖ OPERATION PAPERCLIP ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring ENA X Reader Who Likes To Draw

★ Commissioner: @namosaga

★ Character(s): ENA (ENA: Webseries)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ At first, you only drew her when she wasn’t looking. Which, to be fair, was difficult—ENA’s neck turns with alarming flexibility, and her eyes sometimes seem to operate on independent surveillance. You’d think she didn’t notice. But one day, while she was loudly declaring war on a nearby chair (“YOU! You smug-legged traitor!”), you caught her reflection watching you from a puddle. One eye was the shape of a frown. The other blinked. “Were you… caricaturing me?”

☆ You try to get her symmetry right. Or, rather, her lack of it. She’s never the same twice: one drawing has her geometric hand cradling a melting balloon. The next, her yellow side is smiling like the sun knows a secret. When you look back at them all together, it’s like you’re watching someone glitch through emotions, pages fluttering like a flipbook of joy, sorrow, and things in between. The pages smell faintly of turrón and electricity.

☆ Moony found your sketchbook first. “OHOHO! WHAT’S THIS—PAGES OF OUR MUTUAL CHUM?! Shall I investigate further?!” You snatched it from his noodly hands before he could start narrating. Later, ENA approached you with a folded napkin and very calm rage. “Moony said you were…’creating a fanfiction but with more pictures and fewer words?’” You were not sure how to explain the difference between art and devotion in a language she could hear.

☆ You once caught ENA mid-shift—sadness spilling out like static, face half-paled and twitching. You didn’t speak, just sketched. When she saw the drawing later, her half-circle eye blinked slow. “Oh. I looked like a gargoyle having an existential breakthrough. But also like a balloon in prayer. Hmm. HmmMMM. You captured it.” She tried to pose like it again, but tripped on her own polygonal foot. You kept drawing anyway.

☆ One page is filled with nothing but her hands. That weird asymmetry—one warm and soft, like sunlight that remembers being human. One sharp, angular, like it could shatter something and apologize after. She asked why. You told her it’s the way she gestures when she speaks. “Ah. My flailing appendages of meaning. I see.” She’s started doing it more. You’ve started drawing faster.

☆ Sometimes you doodle her words next to her face, like little dialogue bubbles. But ENA doesn’t always talk in words. She talks in metaphors, fragmented syntax, Morse code sighs. One time you tried to replicate it exactly: “THE CLOUDS ARE RAVENOUS TONIGHT, DEAR HEART.” She saw it and gasped. “Did I say that?! That’s AWFULLY poetic of me! Wait—what was I talking about?” You had no idea. Neither did she. You kept the page anyway.

☆ When she first saw the sketchbook, she looked at every page without blinking. Her expressions shifted like a slideshow of theater masks—smile, frown, awe, panic, neutral, awe again. Finally, she handed it back and muttered: “…Do you draw me because I’m strange or because I’m you-shaped?” You didn’t know what to say. She blinked again. “That was very cryptic. You don’t have to answer. But if it’s both, that’s okay.”

☆ Sometimes you draw her in scenes that haven’t happened yet. ENA in a paper boat. ENA with wings made of receipts. ENA with a crown of toasters and lightbulbs. She looks at them, points, and goes, “Oh! That’s going to happen next Tuesday.” You ask her how she knows. She just shrugs. “It’s just a feeling.” You check the calendar anyway.

☆ You caught her mimicking a sketch you did of her once. Trying to stand in that exact dramatic pose—head tilted, one eye closed, one arm high above her head. She held it for about four seconds before falling over and sobbing dramatically. “I HAVE FAILED THE ARTIST!! THROW ME TO THE PARROTS!” You gave her a sticker. She stuck it to her forehead and recovered instantly.

☆ Now, whenever you pull out your sketchbook, she’ll freeze in place like a deer caught in the spotlight of creative judgment. “Are you drawing me now? Wait—do I look tragic enough? What if I shift…like this?” She twists into a shape only possible in dreams and cubism. You tell her she always looks like art. She tries to respond, but her mouth glitches between a smile and a sob. “…I think I’m flattered,” she finally decides. “But my feelings are buffering.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! :) mayhaps can i request your HC's for viktor x an artist reader. 👉👈 ur angst drabbles have been sustaining my life since season 2

There’s a saying that if an artist loves you or falls in love with you, you can never die.

A saying that Viktor didn’t give much thought until it was very clear that he was your forever muse, your reason to keeping your passion alive through experimenting art styles to maximise the effect you wanted your art to have; almost in the exact same way a scientist would conduct experiments in order to understand how something works and how to properly utilise it.

However each and every one of your art works came out looking like masterpieces that should and probably would be studied by future artists themselves one day, given how beautiful they were.

But also because they all included a man with amber eyes and soft chocolate hair hard at work with his own projects as blue sparks are captured liked shooting stars flying past his beautiful face. He truly was a once in a lifetime experience that you wanted to eternally capture within the pages of your sketchbook.

It literally didn’t matter what he did, whether it was tinkering, experimenting with the hexcore or just simply existing, you wanted to capture as much of Viktor as you possibly can whenever you can.

Viktor, in your eyes, was the kind of man people would kill to create sculptures of and artworks that would be seen in grand museums, within a beautifully intricate frame that only added emphasise to his importance to the artist in question. The artist being you of course.

So needless to say whenever you were with Viktor you made sure to have your sketchbook and pencils in hand as you knew that you’d end up wanting to sketch him for the millionth time that day.

However your favourite sketch of him came when you made him smile, genuinely smile.

The image of his bright and handsome smile was all you could see for hours on end as you found yourself absentmindedly sketching his face, his smile, the wrinkles near his eyes and his wind ruffled hair to perfection.

You then found yourself staring at it as though reliving the moment where you heard his laugh reach your ears like a harmonious melody, swept upon the wind that ruffled his hair and into your ears and your ears only.

To be loved by an artist was to be seen and you saw Viktor in a way that nobody else could, not even himself, and it showed in your work as you made him look like an angel disguised as a human given how frequently you used the colour gold whenever you drew him. From his eyes, to his clothes, everything with Viktor had hints of gold to it.

So much so that you had to get more colouring pencils of the exact same shade of gold so frequently that the manger of the art shop knew your name and the muse of your latest works at this point.

‘Drawing Viktor again I see?’ They’d teasingly ask as you’d shrug your shoulders.

‘Guilty as charged.’ You would reply before taking your things and leaving.

Viktor didn’t pry into your sketchbook, it was your belonging and he didn’t feel it was necessary for him to pry into it, but his curiosity didn’t help him one day as he found himself drawn to the sketchbook that you seemed to had left in his lab.

The first few pages were merely parts of the academy that you frequently visited, from the gardens, to the library, to even the lab he was stood in. Each one was increasingly more impressive than the last with how lifelike you made each one as though he could fall into the scene you had created; a true testament to your talent, creativity and insane attention to detail.

However the further the sketchbook went, he could easily see a decline in inspiration in your art. only for it to pick back up again when you had started drawing him doing the most mundane of things -at least in his mind he thought so- as simple sketches to portraits solely done by oil pastels or only colouring pencils. All just to emphasise his features and the concentrated furrows of his brows, a large variation of colours you’ve used so effortlessly to make up his face in a way that he could never imagine.

And yet Viktor found that there was more artworks of yours regarding him, artworks that seemingly continued endlessly and were just as hyper detailed and colourful as the more of himself that he saw, each one touching his heart in a way that made him realise that this was how you genuinely saw him; an angel in human skin as the way you depicted him was either simply human or an ethereal being coated in various shades of gold.

Through the eyes of an artist, through the eyes of you, Viktor knew that you only conveyed what you believed to be true and the fact that you saw him in such a way was enough to have him struggling to breath, but in the best way possible.

You way you saw him transcended beyond the person he saw each and every day in the mirror. You saw him as a man of infinite beauty, wisdom and strength in a multitude of ways while never shying away when it came to his leg nor disease.

If anything you made those parts of him stand out the most in a way that told him that you found these parts of him a strength and perfection in your eyes. Telling him that you didn’t wish him to be anything other then himself, for he was perfect and so much much that only your art could help describe.

Viktor; a man on borrowed time became a man immortalised within the pages of his artist lover.

He even seen the sketches of him fast asleep against his workbench you’ve done and even then you took your time making it look like he was staring into a mirror of himself.

You’d catch him flicking through your sketchbook but you couldn’t say anything against it as the way his eyes light up and soft smiles upon looking at your latest works, looks that only made you want to draw Viktor even more if it meant this sight becoming more common with the passage of time.

‘You like them?’ You’d ask from the doorway.

‘I love them my dear.’ He replies softly as he presses his forehead against your own, making you smile fondly. ‘But was the drawing of me sleeping necessary?’ He adds playfully as you chuckled.

‘Oh it was very necessary my muse.’ You replied with equal playfulness as you kissed his nose. ‘I saw an opportunity and couldn’t let it pass me by without at least drawing it first,’ Viktor scoffs but the smile upon his lips remained, ‘and besides you looked really peaceful and relaxed that I wanted it to be something I remember. Hoping I get to experience more moments like that to be my muse for my future drawings.’ You finished.

‘I’m glad the to could do that for you my dear.’ Viktor closed his eyes and rested his head further against yours, wanting nothing then to capture this moment within his mind forever, secretly hoping to continue to be the muse of your art projects as your artistic range grew.

‘You’ve always been my muse,’ you said, closing your eyes, ‘you will always will be my muse.’

[milfloveer]

Hello! Good morning, good afternoon, or good evening! I’d like to know if you accept fanfic suggestions. If so, I’d love to request a fanfic of Lilia Calderu x Female Reader, where the reader is drawing, and Lilia approaches to take a look and asks if she can see the drawing. However, while flipping through some pages, Lilia ends up finding several drawings of herself. It would be similar to that scene from Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, when Gwen picks up Miles’ sketchbook and sees several drawings of her. (I imagine Lilia’s reaction would be the cutest ever (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)).

Drawings of you

Pairing: Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

Prompt: (request)

Warnings: scars and history about them (reader has whip scars)

A/n: Hiiii!!! Thank you so much for the request!! Hope this is what you've asked for, please tell me what y'all think cause I think I've wandered a little 👉🏻👈🏻 Also I added some more plot hope it didn't ruin it tho.

As we finished the second trial, Alice's trial, and made sure Teen was alright we settled down and made a fire so we could rest for the night.

We sat by the fire and were currently sharing our battle scars, Lilia pointed out to her neck pulling her shirt aside making me shift on my seat "Check this out." we all reached a little closer to see better, my cheeks painted with a soft pink and then Jen asked what we were all thinking "What is that?" and Lilia, still showing it says "Vampire bite. Right before I knock out his other tooth." she says making all of us laugh.

Alice then turns to me "What about you, y/n? Do you have any battle scars?" she asks innocently, I couldn't hide my sudden face drop as my body tenses, my eyes fall to Rio cause she knows what my scars are about, her expression unreadable and then my eyes fall to Lilia's, her eyes curious about what I have to show and so I sigh "I do have them, yes. But they're really ugly and how I got them... Well, let's say it's not as funny as Lilia's." I say softly, preparing them to see my scars. I turn around, my back now facing them, and I lift my shirt, they gasp and an 'Oh gods' left Lilia's mouth.

When I turn around they all have a shocking and scared face, I look down at my intertwined hands as I could not bear their gazes directed at me "It all happened when I was in Salem, I was held captive by a powerful man... Not by power tho, but by money and other things, he was well known and respected by the people. So one day he found out I was a witch and how powerful I was, all because of a stupid mistake I've made." I said sighing in frustration memories of that haunting me "All those years he held me captive he made me do things for him, like cure people, read their fortune and if needed I would do some potions and cast some spells.... Curses even. If not or if I did it wrong he would whipp me over and over again until I had no skin left. It was that or burning in a stake." I tell as they all share a look "Dead almost caught me that time." I scoff taking a glance at Rio. Lilia shifts in her seat, her mouth opens to say something, but Agatha arrives and sits down next to Rio, so Lilia stays silent, but her eyes remain in my figure like she's trying to read me just like a book.

To take the tension out and to divert the attention from me I turn to Agatha "Agatha, do you have any battle scars?" I ask and she smirks pulling her sleeve up, Rio makes a snort knowing full well what she was going to show. Her scar is in the elbow "Knitting needle to the elbow." she says while showing it around as we all made a disgusted face "Ever heard of the daughters of liberty?" she asked and we all answered with 'no' while shaking our heads "Exactly." she says making all of us laugh.

And then, out of the blue, Rio says "I've got a scar." as Agatha quickly replies "No you don't." that makes me raise an eyebrow "Yes, I do." Rio reinforces taking a look at Agatha as she keeps explaining "A long time ago I loved someone. And I had to do something I did not wanna do... Even though it was my job. And it hurt them... She is my scar." she finishes and looks directly at Agatha, not even trying to hide who it was. Agatha then gets up saying she needs to stretch her legs and Rio follows her, leaving us four at the fire.

We all look at each other and shrug, I mean we all knew they had an history, it was clear as water, so we didn't bother. It's not like they're gonna tell us anyway.

I take a glance at the three witches "Y'all get some rest, I'll take the first watch." I tell them and they all nod, Jen and Alice got comfortable against the rock they were, Lilia did the same.

To pass time I conjured my sketchbook and pencil so I could draw something and by something I mean the elder wise witch sleeping a couple of feet in front of me. I couldn't take her out of my mind since the first day I saw her at Agatha's house, her curly hair, her curved nose, her soft looking lips, oh how I would love to kiss them, those dark irises I could drown in a matter of seconds, her angelic voice, the whole of her, I could not stop thinking about her and only her. And I couldn't stop drawing her since, my sketchbook was full of her images, profile, full body, different expressions, her hands, her necklace, I couldn't stop, I won't stop.

I now started to draw her sleeping figure, how her body was curled in as she lays on her side facing me, her hands next to her chest in a protective way. She was in a deep sleep as her now relaxed body only moved with her soft breathing. I lost myself in the lines drawing efficiently every detail of her, capturing her essence as she sleeps... But the pencil started to weigh too much and so did my eyelids, I didn't even realise when I fell asleep, sliding into a deep slumber myself.

The shaking of my body and a soft voice is what makes me aware of my sleeping state and so I jump awake "Whoa, calm down, darling, it's just me." Lilia whispers as the rest of the coven is still sleeping, I frown "What's wrong?" I ask confused, she smiles softly "Nothing, dear, I only wanted to put you in a more comfortable position as you were not looking rather comfortable in that one." she says chuckling lightly, she then looks next to me where my sketchbook fell and she reaches for it "Oh, No-" I say trying to stop her but she's quicker than me "I always wondered what you spend so much time drawing about." she says teasingly and opens the book "Oh-" she says as she flips through the pages.

My face turns red, red as a tomato, as a strawberry, as her lipstick "Lilia-" I breathe out, but she looks at me tenderly "These are amazing, darling. But why me?" she asks innocently and I am left with no words, mouth agape as staring embarrassed at her "Have you seen yourself?" I ask, my voice lower than a whisper. She chuckles and shakes her head "No need to be shy now, dear." and my only reaction is to hide my face behind my hands with embarrassment.

Lilia's soft hands grab mine and put them down, her face really close to mine "I really appreciate it." she says and I almost choke with the air on my throat as she leans in and gives me a tender kiss on my cheek. Well if I wasn't red before, now certainly I was, my heart was ready to jump out of my chest as my head was ready to explode "Now, try to rest, dear, I'll take the next watch." she says laughing softly as she backs up to her previous spot.

How am I gonna sleep after this?!

[florihaei]

ASKING THE DREAMIES (NCT DREAM) TO GO OUT

hyung nct dream! x fem reader!⋆୨୧˚ word count-over 2.k words ⋆୨୧˚

summary-asking nct dream if you can go out⋆୨୧˚

cw- this is part 1!, part 2 is here!, everything is lower case on purpose ⋆୨୧˚

an- hii, this is my series of nct dream scenarios!, jaemin, chenle and jisung are in my part two!, theme inspiration and prompt credits go too-@ohmygs-blog, requests for this series are always open,

MARK⋆୨୧˚

the soft hum of a melody drifted through the apartment as you approached mark. he was seated at his desk, a notebook open in front of him, pencil twirling lazily in his fingers. the guitar resting on his knee had clearly been abandoned for the moment, though the occasional strum suggested he was still thinking about his song.

you hesitated in the doorway, chewing your lip. interrupting mark when he was deep in his creative flow always made you nervous, even though he’d never once complained. as if sensing your presence, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled, his dimples making your heart melt.

“hey, baby,” he said, setting the guitar down and turning his chair to face you fully. “what’s up? you’ve got that look like you’re about to ask me for a big favor.”

you laughed nervously and stepped into the room, playing with the hem of your sweater. “it’s not a big favor. I just… wanted to ask if it’s okay if i go out tonight. the girls invited me, but i don’t have to go if you want me to stay.”

mark blinked at you, his expression softening with a mix of amusement and affection. “why do you always ask like you need my permission? of course, you can go, baby. you don’t have to check in with me.”

“i know, i know,” you replied quickly. “i just feel bad leaving you here by yourself.”

he chuckled, standing up and crossing the room to you. “you’re not leaving me stranded on a deserted island, babe. you’re going out for a few hours. besides,” he added, pulling you into his arms, “i think you deserve a night out baby. you’ve been working so hard lately.”

you melted into his embrace, the tension leaving your shoulders. “are you sure? i don’t want you to feel like i’m ditching you.”

mark leaned back slightly, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his. “i’m sure. the only thing I’ll feel bad about is if my pretty baby doesn’t send me a selfie before she leave. you always look so pretty when you dress up, and i don’t want to miss out.”

you laughed, swatting lightly at his chest. “fine, i’ll send you a picture. but don’t complain if I take too long deciding what to wear.”

“i’d never complain,” he said with a wink. “though if you want some advice, you should wear that little black dress. you know the one.”

“oh, so now you’re giving fashion advice?” you teased.

“just trying to be helpful,” he shot back with a grin. he stepped back, grabbing his guitar again but pausing before sitting. “seriously, though. go out and have fun, okay? don’t overthink it. just text me when you’re there so i know you’re safe.”

you nodded, smiling as warmth spread through your chest. “thanks, markie. you’re the best.”

“i know,” he said, plucking a playful chord on his guitar. “but I’ll be even better if you bring me back dessert.”

“noted,” you replied with a laugh, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead before heading to get ready.

RENJUN⋆୨୧˚

renjun was stretched out on the couch when you found him, a sketchbook balanced on his knees and a pencil in hand. his brows furrowed in concentration as his hand moved deftly across the page. the soft sounds of music floated from the speaker, blending perfectly with the calm atmosphere of your shared space.

you stood there for a moment, just watching him. he looked so peaceful, his focus entirely on the details of his drawing. but you had plans to go out tonight, and you didn’t want to leave without checking in with him.

clearing your throat gently, you walked over and perched on the armrest beside him. renjun glanced up at you, his sharp eyes softening the moment he saw your face.

“my pretty girl,” he smiled as he greeted you, his lips quirking into a small smile. “what’s up? you look like you’re about to ask me something.”

you bit your lip, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sweater. “i, uh… i wanted to ask if it’s okay if i go out tonight. the girls invited me, and i figured i’d go, but i don’t want you to feel like i’m leaving you here by yourself.”

renjun tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. “since when do you need my permission to go out pretty?”

you rolled your eyes, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “i don’t need permission, renjun. i just want to make sure you’re okay with it.”

he chuckled softly, setting his sketchbook and pencil aside before turning his full attention to you. “why wouldn’t i be okay with it? you should go have fun with your friends. it’s not like i’ll be sitting here waiting for you to come back,” he added, though the playful smirk on his lips betrayed him.

“uh-huh,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “i know you, renjun. you’ll act all cool and indifferent, but then you’ll text me a hundred times to make sure i’m safe.”

“first of all,” he replied, feigning offense, “i’d text maybe five times, max. and second, can you blame me for caring about my pretty girl?”

you laughed, leaning down to rest your forehead against his. “no, i can’t. and i love that about you. but seriously, are you sure you’re okay with it? i don’t have to go if you want me to stay.”

renjun sighed, his hands finding their way to yours. “you always do this. you act like i’m some overprotective boyfriend who doesn’t want you to have a life outside of me.”

“because sometimes you are,” you teased, earning a mock glare from him.

“okay, fair,” he admitted with a grin. “but this time, i mean it. go out, have fun, and don’t worry about me. i’ll be fine. besides,” he added, leaning back against the couch, “this just gives me more time to work on my art without distractions.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “distractions?”

“the cute kind,” he clarified quickly, pulling you down into his lap with a laugh. “you’re my favorite distraction, but even i need a break sometimes.”

you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “fine. I’ll go. but you better not forget to text me back when i send you updates.”

“deal,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “and don’t forget to send me a picture before you leave. i like knowing what you’re wearing so i can tell you how stunning you look.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you said, though your heart fluttered at his words.

“only for my pretty girl,” he replied, his voice warm and sincere.

with a final kiss, you slipped off his lap and headed to your room to get ready, feeling lighter and more loved than ever.

JENO⋆୨୧˚

the sound of the game controller clicking filled the room as jeno sat cross-legged on the floor, fully engrossed in the match playing out on the tv screen. his posture was relaxed, but his focus was razor sharp, his fingers moving swiftly as he worked to defeat whatever opponent was on the other side of the screen.

you stood by the doorway for a moment, debating how to bring up your plans for the night. jeno wasn’t the type to get overly possessive or upset, but you always liked to check in with him before going out. it wasn’t about asking for permission, it was about the comfort of knowing you were both on the same page.

“hey,” you called softly, stepping into the living room.

jeno paused the game immediately, turning to you with that warm, easy smile of his. “hey baby, what’s up?”

you folded your arms, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “i was just wondering… the girls invited me out tonight, and i think i’m gonna go. is that okay with you?”

his smile didn’t falter, but his head tilted slightly in curiosity. “why wouldn’t it be okay? you don’t need to ask me for stuff like that.”

“i know,” you said quickly, walking over to sit beside him on the floor. “i just, i like to check in with you. make sure you don’t feel like i’m ditching you or anything.”

jeno let out a soft laugh, reaching over to take your hand in his. “you’re so thoughtful, you know that baby? but no, babe, i don’t feel ditched. i want you to have fun.”

“are you sure?” you asked, leaning into his shoulder. “because i can stay if you want me to. we could watch a movie or something instead.”

he shook his head, his hand squeezing yours gently. “no, really, i’m good. besides,” he added, glancing toward the TV, “this is a rematch night with the guys. you know how competitive they get.”

“ah, so you’re busy, too,” you teased, poking his side.

“exactly,” he said, grinning. “so go. have fun with your friends. you deserve a night out.”

you smiled, feeling a wave of warmth spread through you at his easygoing support. “you’re the best, you know that?”

“of course i know that,” he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “but you should still remind me more often.”

laughing, you got to your feet, tugging him up with you. “well, since you’re so perfect, can i ask for one more favor?”

“anything baby,” he said, his expression immediately softening.

“help me pick out what to wear?”

jeno raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “oh, you’re really giving me that kind of power, huh?”

“i trust you,” you replied, pulling him toward your room.

he followed you willingly, sitting on the edge of the bed as you started pulling options from your closet. as you held up each outfit,

jeno gave his honest opinion, sometimes teasing, sometimes serious, but always considerate.

when you finally settled on a look, he gave an approving nod. “that one. you look amazing, but not like you’re trying too hard. just… perfect.”

you blushed under his gaze, smoothing your hands over the fabric. “thanks, jeno. i’ll send you a picture before i leave, okay?”

“you better,” he said, pulling you close for another kiss. “and don’t forget to text me when you’re there, when you leave, and when you’re on your way back.”

“anything else, dad?” you teased, though the care in his voice made your heart melt.

he laughed, tapping your nose. “just stay safe, okay baby? i’ll be here when you get back.”

as you grabbed your bag and got ready to head out, you glanced back at jeno one last time. he waved you off with a grin, already settling back into his game.

HAECHAN⋆୨୧˚

the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room as you leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping on a glass of iced tea. haechan sat at the table, lazily scrolling through his phone, occasionally humming some tune that was stuck in his head. he looked up at you with a smile when he noticed you were watching him.

“what?” he asked, his tone teasing. “you can’t take your eyes off me, huh?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “something like that,” you replied, setting your glass down.

he raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “okay, what do you want? that’s your i’m about to ask for something face.”

laughing, you shook your head. “can’t i just look at my boyfriend without an ulterior motive?”

“not when you’re making that face baby,” he quipped, tapping his fingers on the table. “alright, spill it. what’s up?”

you hesitated for a moment, suddenly unsure of how he’d react. “so… the girls are going out tonight, and they want me to come. i thought i’d check in with you first, see how you feel about it.”

haechan blinked, leaning back in his chair as a slow grin spread across his face. “you thought you’d check in with me? what, do i look like the jealous type to you?”

“no,” you said quickly. “but, you know, i just want to make sure you’re cool with it. i don’t want to make you feel like i’m ditching you or anything.”

“ditching me?” he placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “baby, if anything, you’re giving me the perfect opportunity to miss you.”

you laughed, shaking your head at his dramatic response. “so, you’re okay with it?”

“of course i’m okay with it,” he said, standing up and walking over to you. he leaned against the counter beside you, his hand brushing yours. “but there’s a condition.”

“uh-oh,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “what’s the catch?”

“you have to wear that dress,” he said, his tone playful but his eyes warm. “you know, the one i love. and before you go, you have to come show me how stunning you look.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “oh, is that all?”

“for now,” he said with a wink.

“alright, deal,” you said, crossing your arms. “but i get to make a condition, too.”

“oh, this should be good,” he said, leaning closer. “hit me with it baby.”

“you have to promise to actually eat dinner while i’m gone,” you said, poking his chest. “no skipping meals just because i’m not here to make sure you’re fed.”

haechan pretended to gasp, his hand flying to his chest again. “what do you take me for? i’m a grown man! i can feed myself.”

“uh-huh,” you said, not convinced. “i’ll believe it when i see it.”

he laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “alright, deal. i’ll send you a picture of my dinner to prove it, and you send me a picture of you looking like the queen you are before you leave. sound fair?”

“fair,” you agreed, resting your hands on his chest.

“and don’t forget to text me when you get there, okay?” he said, his tone softening. “i know i joke around a lot sunshine, but i worry about you when you’re out.”

“i will,” you promised, touched by his sincerity. “And i’ll text you when i’m heading home, too.”

“good,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “now go get ready. you’re about to be the most beautiful girl at that place, and i need to brag to myself about how lucky i am.”

shaking your head at his antics, you pulled away to get dressed. as you left the room, you heard him call out, “don’t forget the dress! it’s non-negotiable!”

you laughed to yourself, feeling a mix of excitement and comfort in knowing that haechan would always have your back, no matter what.

dreamies masterlist here⋆୨୧˚

[warlockslovetomeow]

mdni. explicit sexual content. mechanic!rafayel x apprentice!female reader

mechanic!rafayel who always works with music playing softly in the background. jazz mostly, or old french ballads. he hums sometimes without even realizing it, his voice always coming out low and haunting. the mesmerizing sound stays with you long after you’ve left the garage.

mechanic!rafayel who barely looks up when you mess up a part, just walks over slow and says, “you’re too tense. machines feel it.” then gently wraps his hands around yours and guides the motion like you’re an instrument. he's deliberate with his touch. almost sinful.

mechanic!rafayel who never lights the cigarette behind his ear. just toys with it, rolls it between his fingers when he’s thinking, taps it against his palm when you’re around and making him lose focus. one day you ask why he even has it and he meets your eyes with a tempting smile before responding with, “keeps my hands busy when they’re not on you.”

mechanic!rafayel who still remembers the first day you walked into the garage—bright-eyed, hopeful, smelling sweet enough to stir something within him. he’s never found that exact perfume again, but it doesn't stop him from searching. doesn’t stop him from finding the closest thing, drenching his fingers in it, and rubbing it into his skin while he fists his cock and imagines it’s you pressed up against him begging for more.

mechanic!rafayel who flirts like it’s a reflex. never over the top, always just enough to make your stomach twist. when he catches you staring while he paints a car, he’ll turn and murmur, “enjoying the view, my dear apprentice? lucky for you, it doesn’t mind being stared at.” he'll wink at you playfully, a fleck of paint on his cheek, and you swear you could drop to your knees for him right then and there.

mechanic!rafayel who has a beat up sketchbook he never lets anyone touch. you assumed it was full of car designs until you caught glimpses of hands, eyes, the curve of a neck that looked too familiar. one night, you realize it’s you he’s been drawing. dozens of times. the pages warped and curling from how often he’s touched them, some smeared where his slick fingers fumbled the pencil as if he was too desperate to finish the drawing when the thought of you had already wrecked him.

mechanic!rafayel who once leaned over your shoulder to correct your wiring, breath brushing your ear, voice barely a whisper, “good girl. see? she listens when you touch her right.” and it took everything in you not to whimper, not to turn your head and chase the heat of his mouth with yours, your body clenching tight with the effort to stay still.

mechanic!rafayel who’s always calm and controlled until you ask for help with something simple. the way your voice softens when you need him, the way you look up through your lashes, it hits him like a crashing wave. he feels it. the heat flooding his chest. the twitch of his cock before he can catch himself. he tries his hardest to stay composed, but it’s getting harder with each passing second.

mechanic!rafayel who finally snaps and eats you out in the garage on the hood of his most prized car. his hands are bruising your thighs and his face is buried inside you like he’s been starving for a taste. “wider,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “don’t make me ask again.” when you cry out in pleasure, he moans as if he himself just finished from the sound alone. he doesn't break eye contact, mouth relentless as you drip onto the hood of the car.

mechanic!rafayel who doesn’t give a damn if there are customers waiting out front, he’s too busy feasting on you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. he talks you through it in that velvet smooth voice, teasing even as he ruins you—“mmm… that pretty little sound again. you like when i touch you like this?” his fingers dig in harder as your thighs tremble, eyes flicking up with a lazy, adoring grin. “louder. i want them to hear you.”

a/n: divas uni is touching me all over rn but do not fret, i have not forgotten about this AU. sylus x mechanic reader is almost done teehee

[heartcereql]

heaven is a place on earth with you

art donaldson x fem!reader || soft moments in your fresh new home

cw: smoking, minor cursing, no use of y/n (1240 words) a/n: writing about my sweet baby art during finals bc why not

you swore you could have stayed like this forever. tangled in silky bedsheets, soft rays of light that tingled on your face, body pressed against art's. one of those moments you wished you could pause and settle in for an eternity.

the mattress was on the floor, and cardboard boxes were scattered all around your apartment. your apartment. it felt blissful to say it. a life awaited you there, between the beige and baby blue walls that screamed for another hand of paint. it was far from the ideal, but it was perfect because it was yours. art's and your world. didn't it sound so pretty?

you looked over at him. eyes closed, lips slightly parted, his head a blond mess of curls and his skin warm despite the moring breeze that slipped inside the room through the opened balcony. art looked otherworldly. he always did, in your eyes. and you felt like the luckiest woman on earth with him, because he looked at you, because he touched you, because he loved you. because he felt for you what you felt with him.

and you two were fucking living together. the thought was enough to bloom a grin on your lips. a pure, joyful smile that made you want to jump and dance all around. pressing a feather-like kiss to his temple, you sat up, careful to untangle yourself from his arms and slinging over one of his standford t-shirts.

you reached over to your bedside table- well, the brown leather suitcase on which you had left some stuff. a provisional nightstand, let's leave it at that. you took a cigarette out of the box, holding it between your lips as you grabbed the lighter and your sketchbook and pencil.

the cool air of the early morning greeted you as you stepped out onto the balcony, goosebumps appearing all over your skin. you lit the cigarette with the pink lighter art had gifted you on your fourth date, all that time ago, when you mentioned you kept losing all your lighters. it was safe to say you'd kept this one. it had fake rhinestones forming your initial on one side. you recalled thanking art with a very excited hug and an even more excited peck.

"you made it?" you had ask him, the glint in your big eyes almost matching the glimmer of the rhinestones under the streetlamp. when art nodded, you gushed, hugging him again. "it's beautiful, art, i love it."

"i'm so glad," he smiled. you looked ethereal, all the eagerness painted on your face, cheeks rosy from the cold, babbling about how sweet you found it.

"hey, do you have any more rhinestones left?" you asked.

"yeah, yeah, here," he handed you the stickers, watching you start putting some more on the other side of the lighter. "what are you-"

but he was shut as he guessed the shape of his own initial, a very shimmering 'A'. once finished, you showed it to him proudly.

you both broke into laughter, cheeks flushed and hurting from the smiles, but it didn't matter. not when you felt so safe around him. and certainly not when he pulled you in for a kiss.

taking another drag of the cigarette, you traced your fingertips against the initials on the lighter. call it luck or fate or whatever, but none of the rhinestones had ever unstuck from where you both had originally placed them.

you sat on the beach chair that you'd placed on the balcony last night, before getting trapped between art's arms and lips, and getting lost in him. tipping the ashes off of the end of the cigarette, you opened the sketchbook. it was actually another of art's little thoughtful gifts that he loved to give you, and you loved to receive.

on the first page of it was a sweet little dedication art had written.

'for my angel girl, so you can be an artist and carry me always with you (get it? because i'm ART and you're an ARTist? so funny, i know.) love you forever baby <3'

it always made you smile when you read it, and reach over to kiss him for no apparent reason, leaving him a curious, flushed mess.

on the page you were currently at, there were some seashell doodles from your last trip to the beach. art had picked them out for you, and peered through the whole process with his head resting on your shoulder. beneath the collection of seashells was a watercolor drawing of art's beautiful, dual colored eyes, and a little sketch of a couple of figs.

looking over, your eyes settled on the pastel colored laundry your neighbors in front had hanging and swaying lightly with the dawning breeze.

your traces were fast but precise. soon, the laundry was replicated under your pencil. shirts and pants and socks and even a bra. the cigarette dangled from your lip, forgotten amidst your concentration.

you were so absorbed in drawing little daisies on the socks you didn't hear the sheets rustling as art stirred awake, or his soft footsteps as he approached you. thus, when you heard his voice, you were startled for a second.

"hey, artist."

you turned to him, eyes big. the movement was so sudden the cigarette fell to the floor.

"hey, art," you smiled, setting down the sketchbook and pencil and standing up to greet him.

his hands were on your waist in no time, pulling you in for a kiss. you nuzzled your head onto the warmth of his chest, running your hands on his back.

"morning," you looked up to him. art smiled. god, that smile. it drove you crazy, made you weak at the knees. your soft fingertips drove up to trace his smile lines, trailing down to his jaw in no time.

he tucked some strand of hair behind your ears, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "were you drawing?" art asked, spinning you around so you both faced the view, his arms around your waist.

the sky was not fully blue yet; pink and purple hues shining over the horizon.

"mhm," you hummed. "i want to colour it later, will you help me?"

"of course, baby," he mumbled, pressing kisses to your cheek.

it was something silly you two did sometimes. after pouring you both some coffee (you made it for art the way he liked, as he prepared yours as he'd learnt from several coffee dates), you'd pull out some colour pencils or sharpies and paint the little doodles you had drawn.

"hey," art whispered. "we live together."

you smiled. "yeah, we do. it's perfect."

art huffed at that. "the walls are on the verge of falling apart. and the people from the bar downstairs were noisy as fuck. and the shower-"

"shut up," you playfully hit his arm, rolling around again to face him once more. "it's you and i. sounds perfect to me."

he gifted you another smile. "you're right. it's ours. that's more than enough."

was this your own personal heaven? you found yourself thinking that often, as you got lost in his always tender eyes, or the sound of your laughters together, or the tingles he left on your skin, or the way you loved each other. as he lifted you up and carried you inside for your first breakfast at your place, you were sure of the answer. yeah, of fucking course it was.

© heartcereql, 2024 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

[joaeriz]

BLURRING THE LINES

Paige Bueckers x Reader | High School AU | One-Shot Genre: , Flirtation, Angst, Opposites Attract Word Count: 1.5K

authors note: hi yall!! this one is for all my artistic readers, and my hopkins!paige enthusiasts (so basically me) anyways this was so cute to write, and i hope u guys enjoy reading it as much i enjoyed writing it :p

p.s: as always, thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it, please feel free to leave a like, comment, or reblog, i’d love to hear your thoughts. 💖

You weren’t supposed to fall for her. She was everything you weren’t—loud, golden, magnetic. The kind of girl people cleared hallways for. The kind of girl whose name lived on banners in the gym and the back of jerseys in the crowd.

You? You were the quiet kid with the sketchbook, earbuds always in, and a world inside your head that you didn’t often share. You didn’t stand out unless you wanted to. Most of the time, you liked it that way. You were invisible by choice.

But she noticed you anyway.

And worse? She made you notice her.

It started on a Tuesday.

You were in your usual spot in the library—headphones in, pencil moving across a half-finished drawing, the hum of rain against the windows setting the pace for your sketching. You loved this feeling, the quiet, the solitude, the sound of your pencil dragging across the page.

But then you felt it—a shift in the air. A presence, out of place.

You glanced up, and there she was: Paige Bueckers. Sitting across from you with a soft smile, eyes bright, effortlessly cool in a hoodie and jeans.

"Do you always sit here?" she asked, flipping through a notebook in front of her.

You blinked at her, confused. "Uh, yeah. It's the library."

She grinned. "Fair."

There was a beat of silence, and then, “I’ve seen you draw before.”

Your heart stuttered, but you recovered quickly. “It’s nothing special.”

“I think it’s pretty special,” she said with a playful wink. “You’ve got a lot of talent. I don’t see you around during practice though. You a secret artist or something?”

You chuckled, feeling your cheeks warm. “Something like that.”

She leaned back in her chair, studying you for a moment, her gaze lingering longer than it needed to. "What do you draw?" she asked softly, her voice unexpectedly serious.

"People," you replied, your fingers still tracing the lines of your sketch. "Places. Memories. Sometimes dreams, sometimes nightmares."

She nodded slowly, like she was absorbing your words. "That’s cool. I like people who think about stuff."

You blinked, not sure if you were supposed to respond to that. "I guess I do."

And just like that, Paige Bueckers—of all people—was sitting across from you, talking to you, as if she wasn’t the most popular girl in the school and you weren’t... well, you.

The quiet connection hung between you for the next few minutes, neither of you speaking, but both of you aware of the unspoken bond.

Friday night came quicker than you expected.

The night of the game. The one Paige had casually invited you to attend. You’d never been to one of her games before, and you had no idea what to expect. You weren’t even that into basketball. But there you were, in the back of the bleachers, a hoodie pulled over your head, trying to keep a low profile.

But she found you anyway.

When her eyes met yours from across the court, everything else disappeared. She grinned, and for a second, you thought you were imagining it—her smile, so wide and bright, like you were the only one in the stadium.

You swallowed, trying not to make a fool of yourself.

And when the game ended, she found you in the crowd. Not the way a teammate would look for their friends, but the way someone looks for you. Like you were the only one she cared about in the room.

"Hey," she said, breathless from the game, her hair damp from sweat. "Thanks for coming."

"I told you I would," you said, a little shy.

She smiled again, this time a little softer. "I really appreciate it. Want to grab something to eat?"

Before you could answer, she took a small step toward you, just enough that your breath caught in your throat. Her eyes flickered down to your lips, then back to your eyes.

And then, without any more hesitation, she leaned in.

It was a kiss. Quick. Barely a moment in time.

But it felt like a promise.

Like she was showing you a part of her no one else saw. Like this was something that meant more than just the briefness of the action.

You were breathless when she pulled back.

"Did that... mean anything?" you asked, barely above a whisper, still stunned.

Her smile widened, and she shrugged, playfully. "Maybe."

But there was something in her eyes. Something deeper. Something that made your heart race in a way you weren’t prepared for.

The next few days were a whirlwind.

Texts from Paige became a regular part of your routine. Sometimes, it was a simple “Hey, you still drawing today?” Other times, it was a late-night message that felt like it shouldn’t be shared at all.

“I’m thinking of everything, but you’re on my mind the most.”

You didn’t know what to do with that. You didn’t know what it meant.

But you knew you liked it.

You started to see her more outside of the library. She’d show up at your locker between classes, lean against the doorframe, and just... stand there, quietly. Not a word. Not a flirt. Just her, waiting for you to notice.

One day, you finally looked up, locking eyes with her. The silence stretched between you, and then, she shrugged nonchalantly, like it was nothing.

"You coming to my practice today?"

You raised an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever been to a basketball practice."

She smirked. "I’ll teach you the ropes. And maybe... we can grab lunch after?"

You weren’t sure why, but the way she said it made your stomach flutter.

"Maybe."

It felt like something between you was shifting. Like every casual moment you shared was building toward something more—something neither of you had said out loud yet.

Days bled into weeks, and the connection between you and Paige grew deeper. Your friends started noticing, teasing you about the “mystery girl” who seemed to always be around.

But with every passing day, it became harder to ignore the tension. It was subtle at first, these tiny cracks that appeared between you two—little signs that maybe things weren’t as perfect as they seemed.

A missed text here. A canceled hangout there.

And then one night, Paige texted you:

Paige: Hey, sorry. Something came up. Rain check?

You didn’t think much of it. Not at first. It was late, and you’d already planned to spend the night drawing. But you couldn’t help feeling... a little disappointed.

You: Yeah, it’s fine.

It wasn’t fine.

You found yourself staring at your phone screen longer than you meant to, wondering if this was just a phase for her. Wondering if maybe she was already starting to pull away.

The next day, you were sitting outside the auditorium, headphones in, sketchbook in your lap. The cool air was the only thing that seemed to make sense. Your thoughts were a mess—confused, frustrated, but mostly... lonely.

And then, she appeared. No warning, no prelude. Just Paige, standing in front of you like she had all the time in the world.

"I know I’ve been distant," she said, her voice softer than usual. "I don’t know how to do this... but I want to try. I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N."

You took out your earbuds, your heart pounding as you met her gaze. "Why didn’t you just tell me? I thought something was wrong."

"I got scared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve never had something like this. I’ve never felt this way before, and it’s... overwhelming. You’re not just a casual fling for me. I don’t know how to handle it."

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her words. "I get it. I’ve been scared too. But I’m still here."

She stepped closer, slowly, her hand reaching for yours. "I’m here too."

And just like that, the distance between you two melted away, piece by piece, until all that was left was the space where the two of you existed—together.

From that moment on, everything changed. Not in a dramatic, sweeping way, but in the small moments. The looks you shared in crowded hallways. The way she always made sure to check in on you. The way you started showing up to her games—not because you had to, but because you wanted to.

There was still fear. Still hesitation. But there was also a new kind of strength between you two—a bond that neither of you had fully understood until that night.

(would you guys want a part 2? 👀)

[hy6erion]

Hiii! Could you write another piece about fem!artist reader x JayVik? LOVED it! xx

Imagine this. Viktor and Jayce are searching for something and they accidentally find her secret sketchbook. They open it and find it PACKED with nude sketches on them and all. And they tease her TO DEATH about it!

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 - 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲/𝐧'𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤- 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

⇢𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐯𝐢𝐤

(𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞) 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 (╥╯^╰╥), 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

It started with something innocent.

“I swear I left it around here,” Jayce muttered, rifling through the stack of papers on the workbench with increasing frustration.

Viktor barely looked up from his own search. “Have you considered the possibility that you misplaced it?”

Jayce groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t misplace things, Viktor.”

Viktor snorted. “Ah, of course. The esteemed Councilor Talis, master of organization.”

Jayce shot him a glare before turning his attention back to the desk. “It’s gotta be here somewhere. Y/n!” he called over his shoulder. “Have you seen the—?”

Silence.

Jayce turned to find the stool empty, Y/n nowhere in sight.

“She left, remember?” Viktor reminded him. “Something about running errands.”

“Oh. Right.” Jayce frowned, then shook it off, going back to his frantic search. “It has to be here. Help me look, would you?”

Viktor sighed but complied, leaning his cane against the table before pulling open one of the lower drawers.

A few moments passed.

“Oh?”

Jayce stilled, glancing up at Viktor’s tone. It was the sort of sound he made when he found something interesting.

“What?” Jayce asked, stepping closer.

Viktor tilted his head, lips curving into something amused as he pulled an unassuming sketchbook from the drawer.

“It would seem our dear artist has been hiding things from us.”

Jayce blinked. “Wait—that’s not mine.”

“No,” Viktor agreed, flipping it open. “It is not.”

Jayce leaned over his shoulder just in time to get a full view of the first page.

And immediately choked on air.

Viktor let out a low hum, flipping to the next page, utterly unfazed. “Well.”

Jayce was still too busy dying. “Oh my god.”

The sketchbook was packed—page after page of detailed, gorgeous charcoal work, and all of it was them.

Except not the casual kind of sketches Y/n usually showed them.

No. These were—

“Is that my ass?” Jayce demanded, pointing to a particularly bold sketch.

Viktor turned the book slightly, considering. “Mm. I believe so.” He flicked to the next page. “And here we have… you, shirtless. Ah, and here is another. And another.”

Jayce clutched his chest like he’d been personally attacked. “She’s been hoarding these.”

Viktor’s lips twitched, amusement creeping into his tone. “It would seem so.”

Jayce reached out, flipping wildly through the pages. “Oh my god, Viktor, there’s a lot of you in here.”

Viktor’s smirk deepened. “Naturally.”

Jayce shot him a look before turning back to the book.

“Oh.”

Viktor quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Jayce had gone very still, staring at a page near the middle.

Viktor leaned in to see what had finally shut him up—

Ah.

A new sketch. One far more intricate, more indulgent than the others.

All three of them.

Jayce, stretched out, half-draped over Viktor, completely at ease. Viktor, relaxed against him, fingers threaded loosely through Jayce’s hair, expression softened in a way that rarely existed outside of their quietest moments. And in the middle—

Y/n.

Nestled between them, bare skin against bare skin, eyes half-lidded with something unspoken, hands lost in their warmth, their presence.

It was—

“Damn.”

Viktor chuckled. “Indeed.”

Jayce flipped to the next page. Another. And another.

The intimacy in them was undeniable. Not just physical closeness, but the unguarded moments—the quiet affection, the way Y/n had captured them at their most themselves.

Jayce whistled low. “She’s obsessed with us.”

Viktor smirked. “Can you blame her?”

“I knew she liked drawing us, but this?” Jayce shook his head, grinning like an idiot. “She’s so down bad.”

Viktor hummed in agreement, tracing a finger along the edge of one particularly indulgent sketch. “And to think, she has been hiding these from us.”

Jayce clicked his tongue, mock disappointment lacing his tone. “How scandalous.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

A beat of silence.

“We have to tease her about this.”

Viktor chuckled. “Oh, absolutely.”

The sound of the lab door creaking open made them both snap their heads up.

And there she was.

Y/n, stepping inside, completely oblivious to what awaited her.

She only had time to blink before—

“Darling.” Viktor’s voice was smooth as silk, eyes gleaming with mischief. “We made a most interesting discovery in your absence.”

Jayce held up the sketchbook, open to one particularly bold page. “Care to explain?”

Y/n froze. Her eyes flicked to the book. To the pages. To them.

Jayce had never seen someone’s face turn red so fast.

“Oh,” she croaked.

Jayce grinned. “Oh, indeed.”

“I—” She swallowed. “That’s not— I mean—”

“Mm. So you didn’t spend hours sketching us in various compromising positions?” Viktor mused, flipping a page. “Ah, what a shame. And here I was, quite flattered.”

Jayce nudged him, grinning. “I told you she was obsessed with us.”

Viktor nodded sagely. “It is truly a remarkable level of devotion.”

Y/n made a noise somewhere between a strangled scream and a groan, burying her face in her hands. “I hate you both.”

“No you don’t“ Viktor deadpanned.

Jayce leaned against the table, chin resting in his palm, positively smug. “Come on, sweetheart, we’re dying to know—what exactly inspired these?”

Y/n shot him a withering glare. “You both walk around half-naked all the time! What did you think was going to happen?”

Viktor tapped a finger to his chin. “A fair point.”

Jayce smirked. “So you admit it.”

Y/n groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “I hate you.”

Jayce grinned, leaning in. “No, you love us. Very.”

Viktor smirked. “And, clearly, artistically.”

Y/n let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “I should never have left you unsupervised.”

Jayce slung an arm around her, pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss to her temple. “Sweetheart, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”

Viktor chuckled, flipping to another page. “I do wonder… what else have you been hiding?”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “Don’t you dare—”

But it was too late.

Jayce and Viktor, now armed with knowledge and ammunition, were never letting her live this down.

[moonlight-joy]

A Writer’s Muse

MASTERLIST

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary:  At a masquerade ball, you share a kiss with a stranger. The next day, Benedict won’t stop teasing you about your secret rendezvous, unaware that it was actually him.

Pairing: Reader/Benedict Bridgerton

You had always known that Benedict Bridgerton was an artist.

You had seen him sketch at balls, in the gardens, during long afternoons in the Bridgerton drawing room. His fingers, always smudged with charcoal, moved effortlessly across the page, capturing the world with an ease that left you breathless.

But never—not once—had you realized you were his favorite subject.

And you would never have known… had you not found his sketchbook.

It had been left on a table in the Bridgerton library, tucked between the pages of an open book. You hadn’t meant to pry. Truly, you hadn’t.

But when you saw your face staring back at you from the pages, drawn with such detail, such tenderness—

Your breath caught.

There were dozens of sketches.

Some were simple—a quick charcoal outline of your profile, the curve of your lips when you smiled. Others were far more detailed—the way your hands rested in your lap, the way your eyes softened when you looked at something you loved.

And then—there were the ones that made your heart ache.

A drawing of you sitting beneath the large oak tree in the Bridgerton gardens, your dress flowing around you like water, your expression serene.

Another of you reading by candlelight, your face bathed in a soft glow, lips parted ever so slightly in thought.

One of you sleeping.

Your chest tightened.

This was not the work of a man who had simply sketched a friend.

This was the work of someone who had memorized every piece of you.

Someone who had studied the curve of your cheek, the shape of your hands, the way your mouth quirked when you were lost in thought.

Someone who—

"You weren’t supposed to see that."

You gasped, snapping the sketchbook shut as Benedict’s voice filled the room.

He stood in the doorway, his expression frozen between panic and something else—something vulnerable.

Your heart stammered in your chest.

“I—” You swallowed hard, holding up the book. “I didn’t mean to—”

Benedict strode forward, reaching for it. But you stepped back, clutching it tightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered.

His jaw clenched. “Because I knew this would happen.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Benedict exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark curls. “I knew you’d look at me differently.”

Your fingers curled around the book. “Benedict…”

“Please,” he murmured, voice raw, “just forget you saw it.”

Forget?

How could he ask that?

How could he expect you to unsee the way he had drawn you—not as just anyone, but as someone who mattered?

You lifted the book, flipping to a sketch—a particularly detailed one of you laughing, your head thrown back, joy captured perfectly in every line.

“This is not something I can forget,” you said softly.

Benedict swallowed. “Then what do you want me to say?”

You met his gaze, searching. “The truth.”

Silence.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his body taut with tension.

And then—

“The truth?” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded.

He took a slow, measured breath.

“The truth is,” he murmured, stepping closer, “I have been drawing you for years.”

Your heart pounded.

“The truth is,” he continued, his voice rough with emotion, “I never meant for you to see them because—because if you did, you’d know.”

“Know what?” you whispered.

Benedict exhaled, his gaze dark and unreadable.

“That I love you.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

Your lips parted, but no sound came.

Benedict ran a frustrated hand through his hair, laughing bitterly. “You see? This is why I never said anything. Because now, you’re looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.”

You shook your head. “No.”

His brow furrowed. “No?”

You stepped forward, closing the space between you. “I’m looking at you like—like I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

Benedict stilled.

“I’m looking at you like I can’t believe it took me this long to realize,” you whispered. “That I love you too.”

His breath caught.

Then—before you could second-guess yourself—

You kissed him.

The moment your lips met, it was as if the world had been waiting for this exact moment.

Benedict inhaled sharply, his hands finding your waist, pulling you close as he kissed you back with a desperation that stole your breath.

It wasn’t hurried.

It wasn’t frantic.

It was slow, reverent—like he was memorizing every second, every feeling.

When you finally pulled away, Benedict pressed his forehead against yours, his breath uneven.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

You smiled, brushing your fingers against his cheek.

“I love you.”

His eyes fluttered shut, his expression one of pure relief.

And then, with a soft chuckle, he murmured—

“Well, I suppose I shall have to sketch this moment next.”

You laughed, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Only if you let me keep the sketchbook.”

Benedict smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

But then, before you could reply, he took the book from your hands, flipping to an empty page.

And right there, in that very moment, he sketched something new—

Not a portrait of longing.

Not an image of unspoken love.

But the two of you together, hands intertwined, a love no longer hidden between the pages of a book.

And as he looked at you, his muse, his heart—

He knew he would never stop drawing you.

Because you were his greatest masterpiece.

Please support my work with like and comment

[danverslvrr]

Cardigan

Emily Prentiss x Reader

summary: On a quiet, rainy night, you sketch as Emily offers quiet comfort, sharing warmth and admiration through small gestures that make you both realize you’ve found home in each other.

a/n: this is my first time writing anything on here like ever so idk how well this will go

556 words | nothing but fluff

—————————————————

You sit on the couch, your legs tucked beneath you, sketchbook balanced in your lap. The soft, amber glow of the table lamp cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the focused crease in your brow as your pencil moved across the page.

Emily, wrapped in an oversized cardigan, leaned against the kitchen counter, her eyes fixed on you. There was something magnetic about you to her in these quiet moments—the way your sharp features softened in the low light, the way your eyes seemed to hold the weight of everything you saw but never said.

“You know,” Emily said, breaking the silence, “you look at everything like you’re trying to figure it out.”

You glance up, your pencil pausing mid-stroke. “Everything has a pattern,” you reply simply, voice low and even.

Emily crosses the room and settles beside you, curling up on the couch with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. She leans her head on your shoulder, her dark hair brushing against your jaw. “Even me?”

You smirk faintly, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “Especially you.”

Emily laughs softly, the sound vibrating through the quiet. “What have you figured out so far?”

You hesitate, gaze dropping to the sketchbook in your lap. You turn the page slightly, revealing a delicate drawing of a hand—a hand unmistakably Emily’s, with its long fingers and faint scars.

Emily’s breath hitches, her voice quieter now. “That’s me.”

You nod. “You fidget with your nails when you’re nervous. Your laugh is louder when you’re trying to hide something. And when you think no one’s watching, you look at the stars like they might have answers for you.”

Emily blinked, her chest tightening in a way that was both painful and sweet. “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“I notice everything about you,” you say, your voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

Emily didn’t know what to say to that, so she leaned in closer, letting the weight of your words settle between the two of you. After a moment, she pulls the cardigan from her shoulders and drapes it over you.

You frown, eyebrows knitting together. “Aren’t you cold?”

Emily shook her head, her voice light but sincere. “You need it more than I do. You always run colder than me.”

You look down at the cardigan, your fingers brushing over the worn, soft fabric. It smelled like Emily—like sandalwood and something faintly sweet—and it settles over you like a memory you hadn’t realized you’d been holding onto.

You sat like that for a long time, the rain continuing to fall outside, the music playing softly in the background. Emily’s head rested on your shoulder, and your hand coming up to trace gentle circles on Emily’s arm, your touch light but grounding.

“You know,” Emily murmured after a while, her voice thick with affection, “you make me feel like I’m home.”

You don’t reply right away, but your hand stills on Emily’s arm, your fingers curling slightly. “You are home,” she says eventually, her voice as steady and certain as the earth beneath your feet.

And in that moment, with the rain falling and the world outside forgotten, you both knew that no matter where you were or what storms might come, you’d always find your way back to each other.

[aventurineswife]

I have a hc that ratio sketches in his sketchbook of his new ideas for sculptures he'll create later on. While he does, he absentmindedly drew you.

AAKWISYDVEUWJAAYHHHHHOHMYIGGDSGSVK I NEED THIS AS A SHORT FIC SO BAD

“To know, to be known, and to understand; that is the ultimate goal”

Summary: Ratio is deep in thought as he sketches new ideas for sculptures. While absorbed in his work, he absentmindedly draws you—capturing your likeness with an unexpected softness. Surprised by this, Ratio reflects on the unintentional inspiration you've become in his creative process, leading him to contemplate incorporating you into his future artistic endeavors.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Unintentional Affection, Art, Soft Moments.

A/N: I couldn't come up with anything more so this very short...🧍‍♀️

Ratio sat at his desk in the quiet study room, his wavy hair falling loosely over his eyes as he leaned intently over his sketchbook. His hand moved fluidly, drawing lines and curves that seemed to blend into one another with an ease that only someone of his intelligence could manage. The sketches were of sculptures, intricate designs that were far beyond what any ordinary artist could conceive. He was always looking ahead, thinking of new ways to express knowledge through art.

As the hours passed, his mind remained focused on the shapes and forms forming on the pages. His hand continued to work mechanically, almost absentmindedly, until he paused. A curious expression crossed his face as he looked down at the paper. There, amid the flowing lines and geometric designs, was a figure—a likeness that, though not intentional, was undeniably you.

Your image was captured with the same precision and detail that characterized all of Ratio's work, yet something about it felt different. Perhaps it was the way his sharp strokes softened around the contours of your face, or how your posture seemed to convey a certain serenity in contrast to his usual intense energy. You had unknowingly become part of his creative process, a subject in his study without having posed or even been aware of it.

Ratio’s brow furrowed slightly, a mix of surprise and intrigue flickering in his eyes. He could be dismissive of the way the mundane often interfered with his intellectual pursuits, but this... this felt different. He set his pencil down for a moment, considering the unintended addition to his work.

“You,” he muttered to himself, “seem to have infiltrated my thoughts without my permission.” His voice was low but not unkind, as though he were speaking to himself more than to you.

He sat back, glancing at you for the first time since the drawing had started. You were in the room with him, absorbed in your own tasks, unaware of the way his focus had shifted.

Perhaps, he thought, he could create something new—something inspired by you, not as an object, but as a concept. Knowledge, after all, came in many forms. And sometimes, it was found in the most unexpected of places.

He smiled to himself, picking up his pencil again, eager to see what this new direction in his art would bring.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could I request Jason Todd with an s/o who enjoys making art of him? Sketches, paintings, etc.

Jason never saw himself as ever being a muse for someone else’s art, their reason to immeditly rush to their sketch pads or canvas and let the ideas flow out and take form however that maybe.

It was a reality he had came to accept until you came along and happily challenged this view he had on himself, and without fail you’ve proven him wrong again and again on multiple occasions.

Finally he had became a muse to somebody and he couldn’t help but be touched and feel extremely loved and appreciated whenever you shown him a simple sketch of him doing something mundane, whether that be making dinner for you both or reading a book, you just had a way of showing him how you see him through your art.

‘It’s a simple sketch I made this morning, nothing fancy.’ You’d shrug as Jason looked over your drawings of him and smiled.

‘If this is what you call a simple sketch then I’m all out of luck in ever attempting to take up drawing, this is amazing sweetheart!’ He’d say as he peppered your face with sweet, thankful kisses before moving away to look at the drawing once more, taking note on how much attention to detail there was in what you claimed was a simple sketch.

You drew him with such love for everything that made him in his entirety. You took extra care in drawing his every scar that littered his body, big and small. From the largest scar running from his collarbones and down his entire upper body, to the various scars scattered on his neck, forearms, hands and back.

You didn’t try to hide his impurities and instead actively chose to emphasise them in a way that he never thought existed. You didn’t try to make him look palatable nor tried to draw/paint him in anyway that wasn’t true to his character and he loved it. He loved the fact that you saw him for who he was and found him worth spending hours upon hours of drawing for.

‘I’m sure you’ll pick it up jay bird, besides I like drawling you.’ You admit.

‘Why?’ He asks softly.

‘What?’

‘Why do you like drawing me? What is it about me that worth immortalising on a canvas or in the pages of a sketchbook?’ Jason says as he looks at other sketches/paintings you’ve done of him in your spare time and felt his heart grow bigger with each and every one he came across.

You even sketched him in that stupid bunny onesie that Dick got him after loosing a bet, much to his dismay and the rest of his family’s amusement. Once upon a time he would’ve been ashamed at that his most embarrassing moment had been sketched out onto paper, but now he just shrugs and laughs it off, finally finding it funny as everyone else did at the time.

‘Because everything about you is worth immortalising, whether it be as a sketch or as a painting, you -Jason Todd- are worth remembering well into the future.’ You tell him as you took the sketchbook out of his grasp and settled it aside to hold his face in your hands, smiling upon seeing him melt deeper into your touch. ‘I didn’t feel like portraying you in any way that wasn’t true to who you are, at least in my eyes.’ You add.

‘And what do I look like in your eyes?’ Jason speaks barely above a whisper as he looks at you with storm grey eyes, a stark difference to the bright cobalt blue of his youth.

‘Perfectly imperfect.’ You kiss his forehead. ‘A Human with a heart of pure gold despite everything you’ve been through.’ You press another kiss to his nose. ‘A true protector of Gotham who bares the scars to prove it every night.’ You finished praising him by place a soft kiss to his plush, slightly chapped lips and pressing your forehead against his. ‘You’re Jason Todd. My muse.’

[sigilcatt]

WHAAA BLOCKTALES!!!!!! Is it ok if you could write some headcanons for Cruel King with a gender neutral significant other that's an artist? And that artist had like a (secret) but special sketchbook that has doodles and drawings of *just* him <333 and it has like silly notes on the side, js basically the s/o lovesick despite them being together for a while lol, but the catch is that the artist accidentally left the sketchbook out in the open and he found it? Hopefully this isn't too specific, but please have a good day/night!!!!!!

ᰔ・︴ gn!reader x cruel king ｡°✧

Cruel King had always loved your hobby of art.

He enjoyed watching you, whether it was painting, or just sketching right next to him.

Sometimes he’d let you take a pen/marker and doodle on his arms a bit.

He'd always admired art in general; not being able to really do it himself- He never had the time anymore, especially due to the voices, which were practically tormenting him everyday.

So when he finds out his SO has the passion for it, he's truly enamored.

gives you sweet compliments as you draw.

"It looks lovely, my dear."

"My love, could you show me your recent art? I'd love to see what you've been working on lately."

He'd choose a few of his personal favorites and have them hung up on the walls around the castle.

Now sometimes, you had a habit of losing your belongings. No big problem, though; either cruel king or his knights would retrieve whatever you'd lost.

But this time was a little different.

He'd be able to recognize what belonged to you. But a random sketchbook he'd never seen before? That left him a little confused.

You'd showed him all of your sketchbooks, and every little thing in them. He felt like he'd be aware if you had gotten yourself a new one.

He's even more surprised when he opens it up to see neatly done sketches of himself, each page inscribed with your signature at the bottom, written in sharp ink.

He gives himself some time to gently go through each page, admiring everything, from the small, affectionate messages about him, to the most detailed of illustrations.

Later, he finds you frantically searching for the journal, watching you with tender eyes.

"I believe I've found something of yours," He says softly, taking the book from behind his scarlet cloak.

Saying you weren't at least a little bit embarrassed would be a lie.

He took note of your widened eyes and couldn't let but laugh a little.

"It's alright, my dear. This means a lot to me, truly. You know how much I love you."

Overall, makes him extremely happy to know how much you love him; Not that he had any doubts beforehand.

~

happy to get this one out! sorry if it seems a little off, I wasn't entirely focused while writing. but i loved this idea so much!

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

It’s Not A Camera

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: You make Daryl regret bringing you back a gift from a run. This technically takes place in the same universe as my other fics “Your Fault” and “Meet Cute,” but it can be read as stand alone.

Tropes: Fluff, Established Relationship

Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any? Daryl being super hot, working on his motorcycle, and being in love with you? Flirting? Honestly, if I’ve missed anything please let me know. ❤️

Note: This is written in a dialect style with Daryl's accent in mind so the misspellings are intentional. There is minimal use of (y/n). If any? Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics and is in first person.

A/N: Just felt like doing a little bit of Daryl fluff on this fine Thursday morning.

Main Masterlist

Walking Dead Masterlist

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"Alright, could you give me a more engaging pose?" You ask tracing the outlining shapes of the scene in front of you in a worn sketchbook that Daryl found for you out on a run last week.

"Wha are ya doin?" Daryl turns from the motorcycle rubbing his hands against the red oil stained rag that hangs from his back pocket.

"Capturing Daryl Dixon in his natural habitat." You stand up and move to sit next to him, crossing your legs underneath you as you go. "And now I'm getting a close up."

"s'not a camera." He shakes his head at you, but you can see a smile twitch on the end of his mouth before it fades. A reminder that he might act annoyed, but deep down you know he’d be lost without you.

"You can only blame yourself- you're the one that brought this back for me." You tease.

"Because ya begged me to bring something back for ya like a damn toddler."

"No no no. I think secretly you wanted me to capture just how sexy you are for prosperity." Your pencil scratches against the paper, tracing the smooth line of Daryl's strong jaw against the page.

Daryl huffs, but continues to tinker with the motorcycle with red tipped ears.

The sun was just beginning to set in the west, barely seen through the thin slats in the large metal fences that protected Alexandria from the outside world. A cool wind blew from the east, but it wasn't enough to wick the sweat that gathered on the back of your neck and soaked into your collar.

You sit in silence for a few moments together, your shoulder leaning into his arm, while you draw a cartoonized version of him holding a wrench leaning forward to fix a motorcycle that will never be finished, but it's nothing like the real thing.

Daryl lets out a sigh every few minutes adjusting and cleaning, adjusting and cleaning, adjusting and cleaning-

But he makes it look so good.

You think to yourself with a smile.

"Daryl?"

"Mhmm?"

"I love you."

He stops working to glance at you, quirking the end of his lips. "Wha’ did you do?"

"Nothing. I just realized I didn't get to say it to you this morning when we woke up. We were both in a hurry and I wanted you to know." You reach up with the eraser end of the pencil and push some of his dark hair out of his deep blue eyes that always seem to see beyond what everyone else does.

Daryl's hand comes to gently curve round your waist and land on the small of your back, bringing you closer to him. "I love you too.”

"Well I'm glad because if we’ve been together this long and you didn't-"

His lips brush against yours stopping you mid-sentence with a soft sigh as you feel yourself melt into him.

"But at least after all this time, you know how to shut me up." You mutter against his lips.

"Had tah learn pretty quick."

“You think you’re so clever Dixon.”

“Naw.” Daryl nudges his nose against yours with the same soft smile that always makes you weak in the knees. “I’m just happy.”

“Happy that no matter how hard you work on this motorcycle it never seems to get fixed?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No.” He chuckles, raising an oil stained hand to your cheek. “Just happy.”

You lean into the gentle touch of the man you love with all your heart tracing the familiar lines of his worn face and feeling the roughness of his fingertips against the smooth skin of your cheek. The hands that had done so much, both good and bad, and yet were only gentle to you and touched you only with love and care.

“Me too.”

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Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this fic please feel free to read the other two in the same universe:

Meet Cute: How the reader and Daryl met

Your Fault: Daryl and the reader navigate a delicate situation.