#maybe acrylic paint next time

[alexandriaellisart]

Argos

[minthological]

hello, fwendy-wends!

i bring you my little painting of wiggog y'wrath because i am. not normal about him. haha

sketch + alt pics below the cut <3

the one above is before sealant, these ones are ~30 minutes after sealing! also tilted one a little so you can see the shinies better! highlights my beloved 💚

[avanii]

The Volcano Pokemon

My first full-background painting with acrylic inks, featuring two of my current favourite things! I think Typhlosion would do well in the Icelandic environment I based this painting on. Time taken: approx. 9 hours.

[deepfriedseagullfeet]

painting in my mixed media sketchbook

[imflyingfish]

I gotta finish the skin game thinggy at some point. I've tot loads of sketches lined up too for them so if it comes tk it i will just post them all at once

[tollingbells77]

So I decided to finally do something with this deer jaw I've had for years now, and overall I like it. Probably too much tree, but eh

[iriswritesforyou]

His Mona Lisa

Warning - small violence, prejudice against mutants, and maybe some other things? IDK

Word count - 1,889

Description: Reader is a human art teacher at the school. You and Logan had both been giving each other eyes for a while now but things heat up during a field trip.

Charles Xaiver had asked you, a human, to teach at his school for mutants, as an art teacher. You were reluctant at first, not because you were scared of mutants but because you felt as if you had nothing to offer them. Your only gift rested in your ability to paint and draw, to bring the images in your mind to life, and to help the youth do the same. 

It was rocky at first, the kids were hesitant to warm up to you and you were hesitant to discipline them but that all changed one day when you introduced them to what you liked to call ‘splat balloon painting’. You had set up a canvas for each kid with balloons filled with paint next to them outside, encouraging them to throw them at the canvases. The kids loved it so much and getting paint all over you was definitely worth watching them smile and laugh. The true solidarity came when one of the kids' powers acted up and you got freezing cold acrylic paint all over you. The kid expected you to be angry like most humans would but you werent, to their surprise you just laughed it off and assured the kid you were fine. 

After that day your class was one of the favorites among the students, even the kids who had hated art in previous years found themselves enjoying your class. 

And then there was Logan, the combat instructor teacher who plagued your thoughts and little did you know you plagued him as well. It all started when one of your kids came to class all battered up and looking worse for wear claiming it was from Logan’s combat class. You didn't know much about Logan and you didn't know much about his class but you did know that your students shouldnt be showing up to class looking like they just got beat up in an alleyway. 

So you marched down into the lower levels of the school determined to scold Logan like a parent would a child. 

He was quite surprised to see a young human woman dressed in paint covered overall hanging off one of her shoulders, paint brushes stuck in her hair, and mismatched jewelry stomping up to him.

He had heard about you of course, there was a stir when you joined the campus, people whispered about you with some saying you didn’t belong and others thinking your presence would be good for future relations between humans and mutants, he didn't particularly care. This was the first time he had seen you through and you certainly left your mark on him huffing and puffing about how the kids shouldnt be showing up to class battered and bruised. 

If Logan was being honest, despite what most people thought his reaction would be, he wasn't annoyed or angry, in fact he found it a little endearing how you cared for the kids, but he pushed that down and explained to you how it wasn't his intentions but the kids have to learn somehow. 

A couple months had passed since then and you and Logan were cordial to each other, you smiled at each other in passing but nothing more than that but the rest of the teachers and even students could see how both of your eyes always found each other in a room. 

Things started to heat up when you scheduled a field trip for the students to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and Logan was going with you to help you watch the kids.

Logan knew he should have been paying more attention to the kids but he couldn't help but keep his eyes on you, the way you smiled when you explained the exhibits or how you lit up when they would ask questions. And you couldn't help but notice his watchful gaze, mostly on you and it unnerved you. Why was he staring? Was there something wrong with the way you were dressed? Something on your face? 

“Alright I want everybody to find a partner and split up, the sheet of paper I handed you all lays out the entire place and all of the attractions. Please, remember to meet up back here in an hour.” You told the kids as Logan came up beside you and you smiled at him gently “And you and I will be walking around keeping an eye on them.” he didn't say anything but nodded. 

You both had wandered over to the Museum history panel and read the date 1870, was Logan born just after that? 

“Can I ask you something personal?” He didn't even have to think about it before answering “Yes.”. 

“It says this place was founded in 1870.” your voice dropped into a whisper “weren't you born around then?” He snapped his face towards you while you stayed looking away. He wondered how you knew that you and him hadn't had a conversation in months. 

“How did you know that?” You now turned to face him completely, faces close and heart racing, he could hear it. Your eyes were locked onto each other and he couldn't help but study how the light danced in them and skin became flushed under the cool lighting, he thought he was making you scared and took a step back. He wouldn't admit it but he didn't want to take a step back. He wanted to take a step closer. 

“I’ve been - asking around, about you. I'm sorry, I should have asked you but-.” Unspoken words held in the air. 

It was your guilty pleasure to find out more about Logan, the more you knew the more you had answers and you couldn't ask him, he was, well, him. 

“You could have just asked me.” He said. You thought he would be mad, furious even but instead he looked hurt. “You're right Logan, and I’m sorry. If I’m being honest you intimidate me a little.” 

He raised one of his brows at you, he knew he had that effect on people but he didn't want it on you. “Well, you don't have to be. I don't want you to be.” His gruff voice made you stay locked onto him. 

Time could have passed for a hundred years and you both could have stayed right there forever but time didn't care what you wanted as a blood curdling scream snapped you both back to reality. 

Over in the Egyptian side of the room one of your kids and a human boy were having an all out brawl with your kid winning. Logan got there faster than you and pulled him off while the human boy quickly got up and spat at the ground by your feet, “mutant.” 

That one word was all it took for your kid to start kicking in Logan's arm, trying to claw his way back over to the human boy while he just stood there glaring. You quickly walked over to the human boy and grabbed his forearm,  “where are your parents?” and it was as if they heard you. 

A lady in an expensive looking green suit and a man twice the size of you came over, the woman with tears in her eyes, hyperventilating and the man getting red in the face with anger. 

“Let go of my son!” the man huffed getting up into your face, so close you could see the pimple about to burst on his nose. Letting go of his son you took a step back and he took one again closer to you. “Mutant bitch” It was two words now that snapped Logan into action, as he had been watching the exchange with the kid still fighting in his arms. Quickly, Logan let him go, not caring if he went back over to the human boy and started another fight. No, his only concern was you. 

Stepping in between you and the man, blocking him from your sight, they stood toe to toe. Logan was clearly taller and stronger than the man but that did nothing to deter him “And you must be her mutant bastard”. You grabbed the back of Logan's clothes hoping he wouldn't start something “Logan” you gently whispered. Logan may be an angry man but it was never for himself, he wouldn't start anything. 

It wasn't until you stepped around Logan hesitantly, still keeping your grip on him and started to try and mend the situation. “Please, ma’am, sir, we are truly, very sorry. And -”, a sickening slap echoed around the now quiet room, he had hit you and Logan wasn't going to let that slide. 

In the blink of an eye Logan pulled you back and into the arms of your mutant students who had now gathered around the both of you and punched the guy right back. 

Chaos exploded, the woman shrieked as Logan had the man jacked up against the wall as he cried, half of your kids went for the human boy who had bullied your kid and the other half stuck by you as you stood there in shock. 

It took ten security members to pry off Logan and the aftermath was quite horrific. Blood was on the walls and floors, but only the man and his boy had seriously gotten injured with your mutant students only having minor bumps and bruises. 

They would have hauled Logan off to jail if it wasn't for Charles showing up and sweet talking to them, promising not just financial compensation for the museum but for them personally as well, the human family too. 

It wasn't until you got back to the school that you really felt the pain in your upper cheek bone and eye. As you were about to open your door Logan stood there with his fist raised about to knock. 

“I’m so sorry Logan.” He didn't say anything back, his eyes not wavering from a particular spot on your face. He reached towards it and gently touched it making you hiss and jerk back “I should have hit him harder.” 

You shook your head in disbelief  “No, anything more and you would have gone to jail Logan.” 

“You need to go down to the infirmary.” He took your hand in his. “That's actually where I was about to go.” but he still held your hand and led you to the infirmary. 

“I’m sorry.” The gruff man apologized this time.

“Why?” he stopped and fully turned to you, feeling ashamed for running your first field trip. 

“It was a shitty field trip, your first one.” you shrugged but still stayed looking at him “I'm more upset about not being able to tour the museum, I've always wanted to go.” 

He felt guilty now, he knew art was your passion and he didn't even think about that part of the debacle. 

“I'll make it up to you, I'll take you next time.” He couldn't even believe the words that had come out of his mouth but he wanted to take them back, not because he didn't want to but because he assumed you wouldn't want to go with him. But to his surprise a smile grew on your face “Like a date?” 

There was a beat of silence as he gazed down at your beautiful face and gave a small smile down at you “Like a date sweetheart.” 

[dearest-nell]

a real piece of art

e.m x reader, 2.8k

summary: eddie has some time to kill, and you might just be his new favourite distration. includes: art history student!reader, meet cute, eddie's an absolute dork warnings: mentions of nudity in artwork and allusions to a young eddie who is very excited by the prospect.

a/n: this came to me as i stared blankly into the void of my coffee machine this morning. i'm incapable of proofreading as per usual. i could be convinced to do a part two

Eddie had no business being here. This was an art gallery for crying out loud! He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stepped in one, save that one unfortunate field trip in middle school where he’d been caught ogling a half naked sculpture in front of half the class. Sue him, he’d never seen a naked girl before, and he really had to give credit to the artist because he couldn’t look away. He’d been called a perv for a good year after that, and he’d never thought to visit another gallery again. 

Until now, that was. He was due for a practice and soundcheck in what he thought was only an hour, but somewhere along the line Jeff had got the time wrong, leaving Eddie stuck in Chicago with nothing but his ego to keep him company. Eddie had kicked himself for the mistake – who rehearses at 10 am anyways? There was a silent agreement that Gareth would be handling the bookings next time, where Eddie might be able to actually stay in bed until a reasonable hour. 

He’d thought to burrow down in a cafe for a little while, but the snooty businessmen and shrill giggles of the barista had sent him fleeing. The environment wasn’t conducive to good thinking anyways. He figured a little solace would do him some good, maybe give him some hard earned inspiration to turn into music for the band. So with coffee in hand, he’d taken to the streets, wandering idly as the strings of bodies moved in tandem, dodging and weaving the tracks of Tuesday morning commutes. It might have been enough for him had his jacket not been too thin for the sudden drop in temperature. Worn denim with steamed patches was hardly enough to break the piercing gusts of wind, and even his sweltering coffee in hand could not keep his hands from shaking. Looking around, Eddie felt out of luck. Cafe’s seemed too busy, and he had no real desire to start wandering shops nearby, so what was there left to do? 

$14 later, Eddie puffed a relieved sigh as the warmth of the gallery enveloped him, that trembling cold slowly dissipating from his veins until his hands no longer felt like ice. He figured he’d have taken any sanctuary, though he had been hoping maybe for a Library. At least then he could have bunkered down somewhere with a book. What did you even do at a gallery anyways?  He didn’t see much point in wandering around, scanning his eyes over paintings that seemed a million years old. He didn’t get art. Music was his art, after all. Even as he started to walk, all the pieces seemed to bleed together for him. Acrylics and oils and gouache melted into the blur of faces and places and things. Sure, they looked pretty, but Eddie couldn’t see why anyone would waste their time to sit and paint something like this, let alone stare at it for hours. 

He passed through room after room like this, brows furrowed, arms crossed as he tried to puzzle out the meaning. Music and melody had meaning, lyrics filled with the words people couldn’t seem to say any other way. The sounds of instruments were sounds of heartbeats, of head rushes and blood flow and heart aches and burning desires – paintings couldn’t do that, could they? 

Wandering into a smaller room, Eddie found himself caught as his eyes fixated on perhaps the only worthwhile piece of art he had seen all morning. There you were, perched somewhat uncomfortably on the plush leather seat in the room's centre, head resting delicately into cupped palms, your elbows propping you up into a figure he was sure was only meant for statues. You looked like one of the Greek ones, he thought, all soft and graceful curves, pretty lines and prettier expressions. There was a notebook in your lap, though Eddie couldn’t begin to make out what the blurry pen strokes might have  noted at this distance. 

You seemed so lost in thought as you stared at the piece directly before you, eyebrows knitted in concentration to match the deep set focus of your eyes, and Eddie, despite himself, was lost in you. 

It was a horrifying notion to realise he was back in this same situation again, entirely different and yet all the same. Here he was, stuck motionless, staring helplessly at something beautiful, something entirely foreign to him. Naked breasts had been enough to melt a twelve year old Eddie’s mind, but this Eddie, now grown, was entirely transfixed for another reason. Never in his life had just looking at a person knocked the wind right out of him. This was beyond attraction, he thought. Beyond a pretty face and a beautiful body and all those hormones that made people spin. You were all of that, and so much more. 

How he knew that seemed entirely out of reach, but the thought settled in him all the same. 

Eddie watched the subtle angle of your head, the way you tried to see from a different perspective, before fixating your attention on your notebook once more, scribbling away furiously at stained parchment. 

All better judgement seemed to leave him as he approached, slow and long strides to avoid the echoes of boots against floorboards in such vastness. His body took residence beside the lounge, standing tall at the opposite end, arms crossing as he tried to see what it was that had you so fascinated. 

Cheese. Bread. Nuts of some kind. He tilted his head as you had, browns furrowing in confusion. Still cheese. Still bread. Still nuts of some kind. He let out a defeated huff. 

“Are you okay?” 

He hadn’t expected you to speak, let alone notice him, but when he turned his chin towards you he was met with a curious expression. You were even more captivating up close, as it turned out, so much so that he could not decide what captured his attention more. The soft bags of sleepless nights hung low under your eyes, your cheeks flushed with a dusty sort of colour that only the artifice of candies could achieve, your cheeks indented so delicately with the lines of so many smiles that had come before. 

It was embarrassing in his eyes that he was still gawking, and even more embarrassing that you had to ask your question a second time. 

“Oh– yeah. I mean… yeah. Sorry. Was I being too loud?” 

The soft shake of your head was accompanied by an even gentler smile, and Eddie felt his shoulders ease a fraction away from his ears. 

“No, not at all. Just seemed like a forlorn sigh.” You pointed out, uncrossing your legs to lower your feet to the ground. 

Eddie’s brow raised, his tone lilting with amusement. “Forlorn, huh?” 

You shrugged, though Eddie could see the slow creep of embarrassment flush your cheeks, your hand lifting to rub at it absentmindedly. “Yeah, I guess. It was just the first word that came to mind.” 

Eddie was smiling before he knew what he was doing. “I like it. Forlorn. Like it’s from a poem, or something.” 

A soft hum of contemplation fell from your lips, your pen scratching nervously in the margins of your notebook, patterns of stars falling into the sea of words below. “Could be. Poets are meant to be all crestfallen and stuff.” 

He actually laughed at that, something sounding like a punched out breath leaving him, his eyes crinkling delightfully at the corners. 

“Are you a writer or somethin’? You don’t just hear people saying words like that every day. Gotta know them by trade.” 

You shrugged again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the curve of your ear. “Student, actually. Art history, so I guess fancy words are part of the curriculum.” 

It seemed strange to be meeting you like this, like someone high above had heard his complaints only to send him an angel to set him straight. An art student; maybe you could teach him a thing or two. 

Eddie gestured to the seat beside you, flat palm dampened nervously at the prospect of speaking to someone so pretty, so much more learned than him. You nodded shyly, not bothering to adjust as he took up the empty space beside you, his elbows propping on his knees for comfort. 

“Can I ask you something, then? Since all of this is your thing.” 

You closed your notebook, folding your legs beneath you once more as you fixated your attention on him – something Eddie was sure no man could ever tire of wanting from you. “Sure”. 

“Why are you staring at this one? Out of all the pictures in this place, what makes cheese so interesting.” 

The astonished little chuckle that left you was something sacred, golden and warm and louder than he had anticipated. You could put that laugh to song. Maybe he would. 

“It’s not the cheese,’ You clarify, your smile never shifting from your lips, “though it looks great, doesn’t it? Looks real.” 

Eddie took in the piece once more, letting his eyes trace over the food to take in the finer details. It was true; it looked real. He could see the shadows, the cracks in the bread, the crumbs that had fallen onto the platter below. He realised it mustn’t have been easy to make something so real. It felt like a snapshot. 

Oh fuck, do I get art now? 

“Yeah, it looks real. Kinda crazy real, actually. How do they get it looking like that?” 

“It’s different for different people. This one’s by Peeters, and no one’s sure where she learned to paint, but she was one of the only female professionally working artists of the 17th century. She was a big deal.” 

Eddie tilted his head towards you. “Is that why you like her, then?” 

You shook your head, scrunching up your nose. “It’s very impressive, but it’s not the only reason. I was looking for her signature.” 

Eddie did not need to clarify himself, the confusion that etched across his face spoke volumes, leaving you to laugh again in amusement. 

“A lot of artists leave signatures so you know a work is theirs. Sometimes it’s their name, or an item, or a seal – sometimes it’s on the back, sometimes it’s made to look part of the picture. She writes her name down at the bottom, see?” 

You leaned in a little closer to Eddie, lining up his gaze with your own so you could point out a flourish of cursive in the corner. Drawn into you, Eddie could not help but lean into your orbit, his eyes following the line of your finger to its destination. “Oh yeah. Musician’s do that too, y’know. Chuck in a riff or a line or something to leave their mark.” 

“Seems like it’s an artist's thing. I think it’s pretty cool.” 

Eddie liked the insinuation that musicians were artists. He’d met too many people in his life who’d thought otherwise, who did not understand the value of art. He supposed he was one of them, though. He’d been ratting on the art around him only five minutes earlier. 

“You like music, then?” He asked, eagerness in his voice betraying the cool persona he was hoping to achieve. 

“I love music.” You confirmed, hands busily occupying themselves by twiddling the pen in your lap once more. “I wish they played music here. Imagine looking at all the art and listening to songs that fit. There’s these big dramatic paintings a few rooms over that are just begging for a rock instrumental to accompany it, and the cheese…” you trailed off, seemingly embarrassed to have been so caught up in the idea. “I feel like I'd be lost in it forever.” 

Eddie closed his eyes for the briefest moment, letting the vision of your little dream settle in his mind. He could get around that, art and music together – two worlds colliding. It seemed all the more enticing to think you would be there too, humming away as you watched the paintings and he watched you. 

“I think it sounds brilliant. You tell me when you’re building this fancy gallery and I’ll be the first one there.” 

He might have died at the sincerity with which you smiled. No heart was meant to withstand such adoration brimming inside of it. 

“You know, I–” you paused, garnering some courage to find the words, “the signature I was talking about before? That wasn’t the one that had me looking at this. The cheese, I mean.” You gestured vaguely towards the canvas before you, though Eddie was unwilling to peel his eyes from the work of art before him. 

“Yeah? What had you looking, then?” He couldn’t believe that for the first time in his life, Eddie actually cared about what was splayed across a canvas. Whatever it was that intrigued you so, he was aching to know. 

“She painted herself in the reflection of the lid on the jug. Up the top… see?” Adjusting the items in your lap, you slowly rose to your feet, extending a hand out to drag the boy up with you. Eddie faltered only for a second, contemplating whether this one single touch would make or break him. Would the sweat of his palms disgust you? He was so nervous to talk to you, after all, to take this chance. He swallowed, slipping calloused fingers into your own until he felt unperturbed digits grasp his own, your expression unphased as you guided him towards the wall. 

You both paused a foot short, your free hand pointing upwards to guide his flittering eyes. Lo and behold, painted so delicately into the reflection of the jug, was a face staring back at him. His hand squeezed your own with untapped excitement, and Eddie’s mouth dropped. 

“Holy shit, that’s so cool. That’s really her?” 

You nodded, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah, that’s Clara.”

It was silent for a beat, the two of you soaking in the image before you; the woman in and amongst all the pieces of a life lived so long ago. It was a moment in history, much like the one the two of you were caught in now. 

Eddie marvelled helplessly, unsure what seemed to amaze him more; all these details that he never would have noticed if it weren’t for you, or the fact that you, a complete stranger, were still holding on to his hand as if it were something normal. For the briefest moment, he wondered if this could be normal, you and him. 

“I think this is the ultimate signature in a painting, just writing yourself into the story like that. It’s such a small thing, but… it changes everything, doesn’t it?” You broke the silence, voice a little dream like as you spoke. Eddie could only nod dumbly, a contented smile spreading across his face. 

“You wouldn’t wanna show me more of these, would you?” 

Eddie couldn’t stand the idea that you might walk away after this, back to your own life that until now had been so far away from his own. He wanted to walk the whole gallery with you, your hand in his, your voice whispering sweet nothings about the history and details of the world around you. 

The sheer excitement that crossed your features was an expression unmatched, never before seen. It was like he had asked you the one question you had been waiting for your whole life. Maybe you had been. Maybe no one had ever taken interest in the thing you seemed to love so much. He knew what that was like after all, his music had not been everyone's cup of tea. 

Maybe it could be yours.

“Oh, I– really?” 

“Only if you want to. I spent my whole time here trying to work out what made this stuff so special; I think you might be the one to show me. I’ll buy you coffee as thanks, if you like. I mean… I’d like to take you out for coffee.” 

He felt like a bumbling idiot, pausing to breathe an embarrassed chuckle. “You can also tell me to get lost at any time.” 

Eddie wasn’t sure if you noticed the way your hand seemed to tighten in his own, the movement causing his heart to beat in unsteady rhythms. It was something so small that seemed to shift his entire world – your hand holding his. 

Your head tilted with a smile. “You never said your name, y’know.” 

“Eddie.” He breathed out a little too fast. He’d have to kick himself later for it, because right now, he was too fixated on the way his foolishness seemed to make you smile all the wider. 

“Eddie.” You echoed, turning your body to face his own. “I’d love a coffee.” 

It took everything in him not to fist bump in triumph, his body aching to wriggle with the excitement that was slowly taking over muscle by muscle. How the hell had his morning turned out this good? 

“Sounds like a date, then.”

(images not mine)

“Still Life with Cheeses, Almonds and Pretzels” by Clara Peeters (ca. 1615)

[a-coolrock]

“the past is a grotesque animal” 8” x 10” canvas with acrylic paint, crayon, oil pastel, posca pen, & nail polish

i started this one the same day i started the last one if it wasn’t obvious by the theme of fan being the focus and an of montreal song being the inspiration,,, i just finished this one later because it’s bigger & i WANTED to use clay on this but i don’t know where my clay is….. MAYBE I’LL FIND IT NEXT TIME!!!!!! (HOPEFULLY) ALSO i know this one’s more choppy and messy and not as clean/flat colored as the last painting but that was SORT OF the point and also I REALLY DONT LIKE PAINTING LAYERS IT TAKES TOO LONG AND I AM VERY IMPATIENT … so i use crayon instead heheh

other versions as well!!!!! this time i put the non-shiny/glittery one as a secondary variation because the quality is SO BAD AND IT SCREWED THE COLORS UP . also kind of figured out how to get the glow in the dark to show up on camera … it’s brighter in real life & i had to use SO MANY FILTERS just 4 that 2 show up…….

[vamp1reg1rrrl]

Abby Anderson w/ Alt reader

Pt 1 (??)

lmk if you guys want a pt 2.

No TWs really. Just mention of reader being afab sorta?? reader is more feminine so if that bothers you this probably isn’t for you. smoking also mentioned multiple times

- You and Abby met at a local cafe near your college. You had been a barista for about 4 months now, needing some extra money for college and what not.

- Abby asked for a black coffee, as she usually did. And you got it for her without saying much more, as you usually did.

- This time did not go how it usually did though. No, not at all. Unlike the usual order and go Abby decided to stick around for once, taking a seat at one of the small circular tables that littered the small coffee shop.

- When she sat down she got all her class work out, her computer, book, and notebook along with a pen and pencils.

- A couple hours go by and you were going on your break, untying the apron from your waist. You round to the front to go hang out in your car on your 30. Of course before that you had to have a cigarette so you sit on the curb next to your car, lighting one.

“You know those things are bad for you, right?”

You glance behind you to see oh so fine Abby Anderson. You take a puff and shoot her a grin.

“Really? I wasn’t aware.”

She laughs and takes a seat next to you on the curb, her big boots clacking on the cement.

“Can I have one?”

“You smoke?”

“Nope.”

- And that’s how it started. She’d come in, you’d go on your break, she’d smoke a cigarette with you, and you guys would sit there and talk. About nothing really, school work, your jobs, music, just little silly daily things. Nothing too serious.

- You had always been more on the alternative side but you really got into it once you turned 18. A few tattoos here and there, piercings up your ears and of course a facial one or two (more if you prefer).

- Of course it wasn’t uncommon for people to think this was weird, or unattractive, or on the far end even “demonic”. But not Abby Anderson. Oh no, as soon as she saw you she was interested. The way your eyeliner made your eyes stand out, the dark lipstick you wore, even your piercings. Every little thing had her stomach doing flips around you.

- So like any sane person does, she didn’t say a thing to you. She wasn’t awkward, not weird nor anything like that. Just shy. Not that you could tell with her more so stoic expression most the time. She’d get her coffee, black as always, and leave. Now what you didn’t know is that for 1. she did not take her coffee black. No, she simply thought it’d impress you. She was far from alternative herself so she really took the whole dark and dreary thing to heart and just assumed you’d think it was cool. (Spoiler alert: you did.)

- And 2. she had been dressing up everyday for you. Now, of course you wouldn’t know that considering you hadn’t really know her prior. Sure, maybe seen her around campus once or twice but nothing note worthy. But she had, slowly, trying to impress you in some way or another.

- At first she just changed up her clothes a bit, wearing a band tee she had cut the sleeves off of. And lord did she love the response it got.

“Nice shirt. You listen to them?”

“Oh, uh yeah, i do. Thanks.”

“Mhm. Black as usual today I assume?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

- If you hadn’t noticed she wasn’t exactly the best at flirting. It’s not that she was particularly bad at it, she just felt awkward. Especially considering she didn’t assume she was your type. Hell, she didn’t even know if you were into women.

- Eventually her effort become a bit more. Wearing a chain necklace with a cross, maybe a more grunge look with some black cargos. Hell she even painted her nails black to match with yours. The fact that you didn’t get acrylics was the one thing giving her hope on your sexuality.

- When her sitting with you on your break became a bit normal, you decided to test the waters.

“So… you got a crush on me or something?”

“What? Why would you even-”

“Pfft I’m kidding oh my god. You look like you’re about to have a heart attack” you couldn’t help the small laughs leaving your lips.

“Fuck… you’re a dick.” and then she laughed too.

“Wow big tough anderson can cuss huh?”

“Of course I can, I am an adult after all.”

“Of course, of course. So since you’re an adult, be honest with me. What’s with this? You got a crush for real? Or maybe you just wanna hook up? I don’t assume it’s just a case of a friend crush since you’ve been looking down my shirt since the first time you came in”

You were bold, and that made her nervous. But, it also made her like you more.

She laughed, clearly a bit anxious at the situation.

“Well, uh, I guess you caught me. I was hoping to maybe uh… I don’t know, take you out I guess?”

“About damn time you asked.”

- The first time you went out together she thought her eyeballs might actually pop out of her sockets. Holy. Shit. Was the only thing running through her mind. You looked good. Like really, really, fucking good. You had shown up in a pair of black panty hose that had holes in them, a black skirt, and a burgundy off the shoulder top which had some obscure band on it. And then of course your typical torn-to-shreds converse.

- But little did she know you were thinking the exact same thing. Holy. Shit. She had worn another one of her band tees with the sleeves cut off. Nirvana this time, fuck. Her biceps looked good enough to take a bite out of. And don’t even get started on those god damn black cargos. How was it possible for someone’s ass to look THAT good? And her thighs? You literally wanted her to squash your head with them. But the thing that really topped it off was these little accessories that she added. The delusional part in you hoping it was just for you. The chain she added to the cargos, of course her carabiner attached as well, her black chipped polish. And fuck, the thick silver rings on her fingers.

- Only one thing was running through your mind

‘Please fuck me with those things on oh my go-’

“Ready to go inside?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

- For your first date you had decided to go to a small punk show downtown. You went to them pretty often and when you brought one up she naturally was interested. They were never super big groups, just small locals who were trying to make it big (but more often than not didn’t).

- It was loud. Like REALLY fucking loud. Way louder than Abby was expecting. I mean she knew it wasn’t going to be quiet but fuck, how were you not deaf at this point? Thank god you had given her ear plugs when you came in.

“It’s really loud in here”

“What?”

“I said, It’s really loud in here”

You just laughed and handed her a pack of earplugs. Not that you wore any, you felt they dimmed the experience. No, you wanted to feel the music in your bones. For it to rattle your soul to the core.

- In between sets you’d go outside and smoke a cigarette or maybe even just hit your vape. You and abby would chat about whatever, mainly the music. But eventually you run out of things to say about random small punk groups.

“You look really good tonight”

“Oh, shit, thanks. So do you- I mean, you look better than good. You look amazing, you always do, but, you know..”

Fuck. You had her stomach in literal knots.

“Soooo, when do you plan to kiss me?”

“What?”

She could feel her heart in her god damn throat.

“Unless you don’t plan to? I thought maybe you’d do it once we got outside but maybe you’re more of a kiss her on her doorstep typa’ gal?”

Holy. Shit.

“Do you uh.. do you want me to kiss you?”

“Depends, do you want to kiss me?”

Yes. So fucking badly.

But she just nods silently.

“Then yeah, I want you to kiss me.”

So she did.

- The kiss was clumsy, she was clearly nervous. But that was okay, you didn’t mind. No, if anything, you found it irritatingly cute. How could such a big scary looking person be so. fucking. cute.

- Later when you got home that night, her driving you of course. She walked you to your door. You were a junior so you had your own apartment at this point, sharing with a few roommates.

“Well, I was going to kiss you but clearly that already happened..”

“Hmm, well I don’t see the harm in a second go at it. By the third time maybe we’ll have it perfected.”

You just grin at her, grabbing the collar of her bomber jacket and pulling her down to you, pressing your lips against hers.

- The kiss quickly turned to a small make out session on your front porch, your back pressed against your front door, her big, calloused hands on your waist, pressed up your shirt.

- But all good things come to an end. So eventually she pulls away, flushed, both of you slightly panting, your lipstick smeared around your lips and hers at this point.

“Fuck, I really want to take things slow but you make it so hard.”

“Pfft am I getting you worked up Abby?”

“Yes. You fucking are. And you know it.”

She huffs and rests her head against your shoulder, hands still gripping the bare skin of your waist. You smile softly and press a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Don’t worry so much, ‘kay? You’re overthinking it. It’ll happen when it happens.”

- And with that the night ended.

If you guys couldn’t guess I’m alternative with tattoos, piercings, and i smoke lol. so this may be more for me than yall💀💀

But hopefully you enjoyed anyways😛

[rrxnjun]

portrait of a blank slate. huang renjun

pairing: huang renjun x fem! reader genre: college au. fluff, smut, and the tiniest bit of angst. warnings: swearing, alcohol, angry man renjun, very bad dialogue, this is the most un-renjun fic i've ever written, dry humping, a heavy makeout session, unfinished blowjob word count: 5.8k playlist: no specific one this time but i listened to a lot of keshi while writing this, so have this playlist of mine to fit the vibes a/n: inspired by that one tweet describing how someone's art professor met his wife the same exact way, lost the screenshot and also the og post im so sorry!

turns out all it takes to save a life is a bad, bad college party, a few shots and a weird, magical coincidence back in a girl's dorm room.

It’s hard to believe that Huang Renjun is currently finishing up the art portfolio he needs for his summer internship program after procrastinating and angrily stomping at every single bad stroke of his paintbrush for the last few months.

Because he’s not.

He’s looking at the canvas with stern eyes, the smudges on the white linen so messy he could cry just by looking at them, and the more he tries to save the disgrace currently scribbled in front of him, the worse it gets and makes the levels of frustration in him turn into rage and fury, because let’s be honest– what is Renjun’s primary emotion if not anger. 

And he tries hard to fix it again, he really does– he sighs heavily while doing so as he takes a smaller brush and tries to paint on a few hairstrokes to the portrait of Frida Kahlo he wants to execute– and in honest reality, it doesn’t even look half as bad as it does in the poor boy’s eyes when he takes a step back after holding in his breath and carefully piercing together the artwork. Maybe if there was someone else in the room– everyone but his annoying roommate Donghyuck, because that fucker always manages to make things even worse– they could talk him out of it, offer some words of consolidation, even, hype him up and tell him that with outsider’s eyes, the canvas looks beautiful and very well put together. But the truth is that there’s no one present right now, not a single soul in what feels like the whole campus right now, that could ease Huang Renjun’s frustration from what seems to be art block, when he throws the paintbrush to the wall (he’ll worry about the stain of acrylic paint later, when he gains consciousness) and puts a fist through the middle of the painting.

If he was a character in a comic book, his hand would go through the canvas and create a quite satisfying hole. He’s a real person, though– a weak one as well, to be quite honest– and his fist is stopped by the stretched-out fabric, making his hand bounce back, but now stained with all shades of brown and tan, which somehow only makes him even more mad and turns him into a furious animal roaming around free and causing uttermost chaos in his all true sense.

Nothing can stop Huang Renjun when he opens the drawer he keeps all his artwork in, taking out all the graphite sketches and colored pencil drawings, and then the next one containing the watercolor paintings and various other acrylic paintings done on expensive sheets of paper, stacking all of those onto one pile in the middle of the table. Not one thing is safe– except from the digital artworks he keeps in his iPad and his big A4 sketchbook he forgot about in the heat of the moment, since he keeps it on his nightstand– when he takes the big, heavy stack of art and runs, chimes towards the entrance of his and Donghyuck’s miniature dorm room, luck only standing by his side once in this whole evening when his said roommate opens the door and clears the way for him, looking at the poor boy with mouth agape in a slight shock.

“What the fuck are you doing right n–”

Donghyuck doesn’t get an answer. When he asks stupid questions, Renjun doesn’t tend to pay him much mind, settling on not engaging with the discourse if it doesn’t make much sense, so Hyuck should be used to the ignorance– he thinks this was a very valid question to ask at this moment, though. If he was curious enough, he’d even follow his roommate down the hall and watch him in his endeavors only to find out what’s the intention behind his angry stomping and the fierce look on his face. The truth is, though, he doesn’t care all that much.

That doesn’t stop Huang Renjun, though, as he chimes down the hall of the boy’s dormitory, kicks the glass door open (thankfully not the actual glass part, because that would for sure be expensive) and practically runs the rest of the way towards the bins at the end of the street, dumping the papers into the bin (forgive him for not recycling in his current state of mind) before he angrily kicks the poor object twice for good measure and turns on his heel, slowly, but still as angrily making his way back to his dorm room by stomping all the way up until the entrance.

The dorm guard doesn’t even ask for his dorm ID like he usually does– Renjun must have been quite memorable as he ran out of the building with 5kg of artwork of various sizes in his arms– but the truth is, the man isn’t as old and he saw the boy going out just a few minutes ago, so he doesn’t think it’s necessary. Renjun would appreciate the memo, although, when he remembers that the man always asks for the dorm ID, especially on the nights out when he comes back slightly intoxicated and too disoriented to look for the little slip of paper in his pockets, and on the nights when he forgets his dorm ID as well– the man was set on letting him sleep on the front porch of the dormitory once and it took Renjun 15 calls to get ahold of a sleeping Donghyuck and another 15 of him walking down the hall in slippers and pajama bottoms with his roommate’s dorm ID in hand before he could warm his bones from the cold slowly seeping into his bones on the January night– and that whole thing makes Renjun somehow even more angry at the whole situation.

And so when he comes into his room again, Donghyuck now sitting on his bed still in his outside clothes (something Renjun hates and would murder for), and his eyes land on the damaged canvas still waiting for him in the corner of the room, he wastes no time in opening his window and throwing it down from the second floor, not really caring where it ends up or if he’s gonna get a fine for violating one of the dormitory rules– to never throw stuff out of the windows..

“Dude, what is–”

“Don’t ask.” Renjun huffs as he closes the door and peels his clothes off, taking a towel that’s still hanging from the top bunk of their bed and aims towards the bathroom door. A true tantrum can only end in a cold shower, and that’s what Renjun’s gonna do as he washes his dreams down the drain and ends up silently crying himself to sleep tonight in agony.

It’s hard to believe Huang Renjun is currently at the best college party since the days of ‘megaparties’ of Johnny Suh, the senior that’s slowly halting his party performance due to stilling in life. Renjun was dragged to Lee Jeno’s party by his roommate Donghyuck after he mourned in his bed for approximately two days before it got too much for the poor gemini, promising and honestly thinking that alcohol is truly the best solution for the poor boy’s misery. Again, it’s hard to believe Huang Renjun is currently at the best college party of the year when he listens to the loud EDM music piercing through his eardrums and he swears he catches a glimpse of a couple dry humping on the couch.

Because he’s not.

He’s at a college party, sure. He’s also getting some alcohol into his system– because why not, am I right? He’s not the one paying, and that’s always enough of a reason to drink. Is it the best college party he’s ever experienced, though? Absolutely not.

It’s quite literally the worst party he’s ever been to. The music is too loud and the whole house smells of cheap vodka, people are pushing each other around and with the amount of alcohol in his system, the whole room feels like he’s on a boat, his stomach weak and his eyes hazy. Renjun must admit Hyuck’s therapy skills are kind of paying off– because at least now he’s not thinking about the wasted opportunity of a summer scholarship and is instead looking into the eyes of his cute classmate from History class across the room– but at the same time, he’s not thinking much of anything in this moment, and the glint of your eyes is the only thing he can focus on when you get closer.

That might be a good or a bad thing– depends on how the encounter goes. There’s a fine line between the amount of alcohol that’s just perfect for Huang Renjun to get rid of his usual shyness and speak to other, much more attractive human species, and the amount of alcohol that’s just perfect for Huang Renjun to black out and puke on the floor, efficiently making it impossible for him to chat up the cute classmate he’s been eyeing the whole semester and ruining his chances of ever being seen in a good light in front of the said person ever again. He prays intensely that he hasn’t crossed the line yet when you open your mouth and speak to him in the crowded kitchen.

“Renjun!”

“Y/N!” he tries to mimic your tone, a flashy grin settling onto his face when you approach him first. You two aren’t strangers, after all– you’ve sat together in class during various exams and also accidentally bumped into each other in the cafeteria, but what were your courageous attempts in making conversation with him and efficiently trying to make him more interested in you didn’t lead to your desired goal of getting invited out by him, instead leading him to think you’re just that friendly to everyone and not just him, making the chances of him taking the next step that much slimmer. Not tonight, though– he really must have had too much to drink.

“How are you?” you ask, clearing your throat as you bump into someone and decide to shift closer to Renjun, making the boy’s breathing hitch in his throat.

“Wonderful,” he gasps, and for some reason, the response laced in irony makes an excited laugh escape your throat, and the more he listens to your bubbly giggle, the more he wishes he did music instead of fine arts, because maybe if he was competent enough, he could mimic the sound in one of his songs and replay it over and over even when you’re not around. 

“That sounds very genuine,” you note, which makes the boy laugh in return, making him wonder if maybe he could have the same effect on you– if you’re smiling wider now because of the sound of his laughter, or if you’re just amused at something completely else. 

It’s pathetic, really– the gloomy boy that was trailing to this party behind his roommate Donghyuck is nowhere to be seen now, instead replaced by the cheap imitation of a ray of sunshine that you brought out of him only with the magic of a few words and the few drops of alcohol on his tongue.

“Oh, trust me, it was genuine,” he teases, and you only nod to his attempt at masking his obviously saddened composure from before.

“Having a rough week?” you ask, and you sound truly interested– something Renjun hasn’t found in the tone of his roommate when he insisted on dragging him here– and maybe that’s the reason why he just shrugs and decides to come clean and be honest with you. You seem like that kind of person that wouldn’t make fun of his troubles, the kind of person that would genuinely want to help– although he’s not seeking counseling tonight, he figures he can talk a bit about his shitty mood if it means that it gets the conversation flowing.

“A rough life, actually,” he snickers before he sees you eye him with a concerned look, “just joking,” he adds before he retracks back and fixes his initial answer. “Some things didn’t work out the way I wanted them to, so I’m kind of moping around for a bit.”

You seem to feel empathetic towards the boy, nodding and pouting at his confession. “Well, I hope things get fixed for you, Jun,” you mumble, tone of voice encouraging– and maybe he could dwell at the caring nature of you a little longer, only if it wasn’t for your use of a nickname for him that just oh so sweetly rolls of your tongue and Renjun wishes he could legally change his name to the nickname so he could listen to the way it sounds forever– scratch that, to the way it sounds from your mouth forever, which means he won’t change it, just so it’s reserved for you and only you to say.

“What about you, though?” he finds himself asking in the midst of his inner screeching.

“Me? I’m great, totally fine, having the time of my life,” you emphasize, the over-the-top expression on your face making the boy burst into laughter as you wave your arms around as if to show him your surroundings. “I am a party person for sure, you know, so this is perfect,” you joke, and Renjun seems to get the memo. If he’s being honest, he’s not sure he’s ever seen you at a party before– not that he goes to many himself, which might honestly be the reason, actually– you could just be at different parties in different times that hadn’t overlaid, but by the way you’re currently tensely sipping at the alcohol in your hand, he figures you’re not too familiar with the scene of college partying.

“Who forced you to go? Was it your roommate?” Renjun remembers the girl from another one of his classes– you two were always walking around together and often got to class at the same time. Figuring out that you two lived together wasn’t as difficult, and she surely seems to be the more extroverted one.

“No, actually,” you say, eyes glimmering when he seems to remember the girl you share a room with, “to my surprise, honestly. It was another one of my friends– Na Jaemin, not sure if you know him– but the moment we got here, he disappeared and left me alone to deal with my thoughts,” you click your tongue and Renjun finds himself totally mesmerized with you– amazed with everything about you; the way you talk, the way you lean on the counter and watch him with stars in your eyes (which might just be the reflections of the kitchen lights, but don’t tell him that), the way you slightly lean into him when he cracks a joke and earns a laugh out of you…

“They always do that,” Renjun scowls, “they drag the introvert in and then force them to survive on their own…” he shakes his head in disappointment, clearly distraught over the situation. 

“Exactly! But if you ask them to come with you to a picnic, or to the library, they decline the offer. So much for being good friends,” you roll your eyes. Renjun finds himself smiling, and although he must admit that as every other college student, he himself would decline an invitation to a library if anyone asked, he’s like 99% certain that if it was you uttering out the question, he wouldn’t miss a heartbeat before joyfully jogging there with you. 

“Ask me next time,” he blurts out, a poor attempt at flirting, “I wouldn’t say no.”

And it seems like tonight is the night where you suddenly get the last kick of courage needed when you talk to Renjun– maybe fueled by his coy smile when he said the previous comment, maybe just acting out on pure hormones– tonight's the night where he breathlessly takes your offer, still not thinking much of it, but igniting a curious spark in his own heart nonetheless, when you scratch the back of your neck in the last residue of anxiety, scrunching your nose at him and mumbling under your nose, barely heard above the loud music resonating through the living room. “Do you wanna sneak into my dorm room, then?” 

Renjun almost chokes at your question– visitors in the dormitory are only allowed until midnight and as far as he’s aware, the clock is well after 2 AM right now, and he’s a male visitor, which is even more off the bounds in the eyes of the fierce woman guarding the entrance of the girl’s dormitory building. The more he stares at you, the more you seem to translate his silence into disagreement, which you panically try to undo with even more rambling. “I- I mean, since we both kind of hate this party and I think that if I drink more, I’m going to puke all over myself, so… My room is on the ground floor, so you can just climb in, if you wanted to. My roommate went home for the weekend, so there’s no one there, and we could– I mean, we don’t have to, honestly, but it’s kinda cold out and I thought we could both use a place more silent, ‘cause I really wanna head back now, but I don’t want to stop talking to you, y’know, and I don’t know if–”

“Okay, I’m down,” Renjun nods, efficiently shutting up your rambling, and when there’s a very apparent relief flashing over your face, he finds himself smiling in endearance at your antics, going as far as ruffling a hand through your hair in whatever kick the alcohol mixed with adrenaline gave him before you have him dragging his feet out of the house, both of your feet shuffling towards the campus.

The walk isn’t long, but he finds himself enjoying it. The condensation coming out of your mouths at the chilly weather serves more to the atmosphere when the both of you giggle out at absurd jokes and gossip, your voice breaking into soft hums when you sing a song under your breath in moments of silence that somehow feel both kind of awkward, but also kind of pleasant. He drags you by your hand to the other side of the sidewalk when a car passes by and you jump in surprise, eyes wide and glossy, mouth a little agape in an open-mouthed grin when his fingers stay intertwined with yours and you adjust your purse on your other shoulder, clearing your throat before you try to nonchalantly continue on with the conversation.

“I’ll go inside now,” you announce when you get to the girl’s dormitory building, breaking apart from the eager boy and coming closer to him when you confide the secret, “I’ll turn the light on in my room when I get there, so make sure to look out for the window. I’ll help you in, don’t worry,” you smile at him, and before he has a chance to reply, you disappear behind the glass door with a pep in your step. 

Renjun finds himself sighing– now is the moment when he should realistically get relief, the moment when he’s supposed to relax for at least a second and prepare himself for whatever might happen in your dorm room– but when he slowly walks over to the left wing of the building and squints at the dark squares of windows, he wonders how in the hell he’s gonna climb in. Escaping out will be an easy task– the windows aren’t that high up– but coming in will be the problem. He guesses it’s the same with the whole situation– he bets the easiest part of the whole evening will be jumping out and running to his own room– how to survive the night in your presence and not go completely insane, he doesn’t know and wishes he had a manual to before he agreed to do this in the first place.

When the light goes on in one of the rooms and you wave at him from the inside, he finds himself involuntarily jogging towards the window, gears in his brain turning faster than the speed of light when he reaches the wall and you grin at him, opening the window and offering him your hand. 

“If you grip the edge of the window and give me your hand, you can get in easily,” you say, watching as the boy cautiously looks around himself and scratches the back of his neck, mentally calculating his next movements.

“Have you done this before?”

“No,” you bashfully shake your head, “but my roommate did it twice, so I don’t think it’s that hard,” you note and nod at him, waiting for him to finally take action. 

Renjun finds himself doing what he’s been told– and even though he huffs and almost falls over to his back (which would kill him, he thinks, since his physique is very close to a turtle’s), victory fills his veins when one of his legs finally ends up in your window, his body stumbling forward and almost toppling you over when the warmth of your room welcomes him as he lands on top of your desk. 

“Welcome,” you laugh at him when he shakes his head in disbelief and takes off his coat, dropping it on top of the wooden table and watching you close the window behind him, so the cold doesn’t get in. 

“That’s one way of inviting guests over, I guess,” he teases you, watching as you roll your eyes at him and go over to one of the beds. Renjun notices the room is different to the one he shares with Donghyuck– you and your roommate have two beds instead of a bunk one, the table is right under the window and you get a little more space over-all. You turn on the little lamp kept on your bedside table, and the boy watches you with interest as you cautiously walk around your own room as if it’s your first time seeing it, reminding him a little of a deer in the headlights, clueless and suddenly out of ideas.

Renjun finds himself laughing at your behavior– he finds himself endeared by it, the way you play with your fingers in nerves and try to think of anything to do in the intimacy that suddenly envelopes you when you invite someone over to your dorm room in the middle of the night– and when you aimlessly end up standing in front of him, your big eyes even bigger and glossier than before, he snickers at the state of you and shakes his head.

“Okay, so I know I was the one who invited you over, but now I’m kind of helpless in what we should actually do and all…” you giggle, a little embarrassed when you bear your eyes into his, your body subconsciously slotted in between his legs, his position leaning on the edge of the table allowing you and inviting you to do so. 

“You’re cute,” he laughs at you, and before you have a chance to question him about the compliment, he has you silenced abruptly by his next actions.

“What do you–”

His hand is gripping your jaw and he leans into you, the newly found courage and affection towards you having him drunk on more than the alcohol, but also your whole presence– the way your hair smells when he’s this close to you, the way you pull the sleeves of your sweater further down when you don’t know what to do with your hands, the shyness in your gaze now that you have him in your cage– and his lips act on themselves when they press themselves against yours, soft but firm, tasting the strawberry juice mixed with vodka off your mouth, a surprised gasp against his lips more than enough to invite him even further in.

He feels your fingers tugging at his shirt and your skin growing hot under his touch, leaning back from you a little and finding you looking at him with a thousand different galaxies in your eyes, enough of a confirmation to him, but he’s a man– he still needs it vocally, when he grins lazily at you. “Was this one of the things you thought about when you invited me over?”

“Maybe…” you tug at your bottom lip with your teeth, a clearly battled grin trying to settle its way onto your lips.

“You should’ve just said so, then,” he smiles when he leans into you again, a little more confidently this time and kisses you again, again and again.

You stay under the window for a while, lips pressed hard against each other as you try to learn the curves of each other’s mouths by memory, lazy hands threaded into his hair and an arm around your waist now, steadying you in place. Foreheads pressed against each other when you break away for air, giggles resonating through the room when his lips make their way towards your neck and the softness of his hair tickles your skin, fingers threaded when you tug him towards your bed and you watch him kick his shoes off before you follow him onto the soft mattress.

His head falls into your pillow and you straddle his lap, your hair falling into your face when you look down at him from your position, the newly found dominance in your position charging you with unexplainable energy, and Renjun can’t help but smile at you sweetly when your eyes meet and you eagerly lean down towards him, fingers once again intertwined with his, hands laying next to his head. Your breath fans his swollen lips that you once again find yourself attacking, the contact overwhelming you and making it hard to breathe. Who knows how long the both of you have wanted to do this but never had the courage to– it’s a miracle that it’s even happening tonight.

And with the built-up desire, you act instinctively– hands breaking away from his when you grip his cheeks and give him one last peck, lips now traveling down his jaw and neck instead, having the boy shivering under the contact, your actions slowly but surely driving him crazy when you find his sweet spot and you get a satisfied gasp from him, a reward for your tonight’s efforts.

His hand grips your hip, and something about the burn of his fingers even through the fabric of your jeans makes you move on instinct, earning yourself a sharper hiss this time that doesn’t make you stop, however– quite the opposite, actually– as you break into a wide grin at the very evident effect you have on him, your movements slow and painful, but still having him harden under you.

Goosebumps appear all over your skin when his cold fingers capture the skin of your stomach when he aimlessly tries to find a place in your body to ground yourself, but the more he answers to your movements, the more encouraged you get. He tugs you back down so you’re facing him, which does nothing to halt your painful pace as he drags out yet another kiss from you. 

“If we don’t stop now, it’s gonna be really hard for me to do so later,” Renjun huffs into your ear, which only gets you more excited.

“Who said I want to stop?” you ask him, fingers trailing up his side over his shirt, yet still making him fire up and flush in his cheeks. “Do you want to stop?”

“Do I look like I wanna stop?” he snickers, shaking his head in utter disbelief, hand traveling dangerously close to the cup of your breast.

“Let’s continue, then,” you muse, peeling yourself off him only the slightest amount, hands dragging themselves down his body until you reach the waistband of his pants, gently dragging the fabric down until he’s left in front of you only with a tent in his underwear, big eyes curiously and breathlessly watching you in your actions. He could be a gentleman and tell you you don’t have to, tell you to stop and come back up and that he will pleasure you first, but the more he watches you as you palm him over the thin fabric of his boxer briefs with the dangerous doe eyes of yours, the less he wants to do just that. In all reality– who is he to deny a blowjob from you? Or anyone, for that matter?

His whole body shudders under your touch, actions careful, but so painfully satisfying. Renjun watches your face with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, the reality of it all sobering him up and making him aware of each shift of your body, each centimeter your fingertip travels against his skin, each motion that slowly makes a bundle of nerves appear in his stomach. It only gets too much for him when you lean on your elbows, nails gently pricking the skin of his thighs as your mouth hesitantly greets his dick, and he feels like a virgin again when his eyes peel off you just in case he finishes just by watching you blowing him off like a highschooler at his first blowjob, forcing himself to watch the ceiling instead.

Eyes traveling all over your room– the closed window opposite of him, the bed on the other side of the room, the walls above your bed– he gets lost in the galaxy drawn on a piece of paper that’s plastered right above your pillowcase, and another graphite sketch of eyes bearing right into your soul, as if they were watching him in the act, and another one, of a deer that looks through the shade of the trees, before it hits him.

“Oh my god what the fuck–” he gasps, and his tone must have sounded too different to the satisfied moans that have been spilling out of his mouth up until now, because you abruptly stop your movements and your gazes lock, your eyes completely mortified.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“Oh– Oh god no, fuck, you’re doing amazing, trust me,” apologies spill off his tongue at your distressed state, “it’s just– where… where did you get these?” he asks, pointing towards all the drawings taped all over your walls that he failed to notice in the heat of the moment before.

“Oh,” you cluelessly hum, eyebrows furrowed, “I found them spilling out of a trashcan close to the boy’s dorms when I was walking to class one morning, and they were so pretty I had to take them.”

“I– you like these?” Renjun asks, full of strange surprise and genuine curiosity. You’re now sitting back on your heels and looking at the boy with big eyes, still slightly clueless and very much in a weird state of distress– because why would a man ask you about the random artwork on your wall in the middle of a mindblowing blowjob?– before you nod with a slight pout, agreeing.

“Well, I wouldn’t have decorated my room with them if I didn’t like them, y’know… Why are you… why are you asking?”

“Oh,” Renjun repeats again, a dumbfounded look taking over his soft features before he sits up on the bed and scoots closer to you, a weird sense of euphoria spilling out every vein of his body when the held-back dopamine is released into his system. A wide grin appears on his lips before he stares into your eyes with a milky way mirroring behind his eyeballs, glittering orbs haphazardly gliding over your face before he reaches your lips again, pecking them one, two, three times before you break away and look at him with furrowed eyebrows, a slight crease right in between them.

“What are you–”

“I think I’m gonna literally cum just at hearing those words, Y/N,” he blurbs out before he kisses the tip of your nose again, completely endeared and close to a happy boy under the Christmas tree, and while you may enjoy that look on him, you’re still slightly confused. Huang Renjun sighs almost a little too dreamingly and smooths the wrinkle between your eyebrows with a careful swipe of his thumb, still not giving you any explanation.

“Renjun, I’m afraid I’m not quite following why this is so important to you right now,” you mumble, having your partner laugh airly– just as if all his worries escaped through the window and you fixed his life with a few drawings plastered on your wall.

“Those, dear Y/N,” he points towards the papers stuck to your walls, eyeing the specific one he worked for 3 hours on and kind of mourned the morning after he realized he threw it away, months of practice and art that maybe wasn’t even that bad in the first place ending up in the trash because of a fit of rage, “are all mine. Mine as in, I drew them… And then threw them out in the middle of a slight mental breakdown.”

You look at him for a few heartbeats, eye contact never breaking before you avert your gaze towards the artwork on the walls– it takes you a few seconds before it hits you– and you gasp, hurriedly looking back at the artist in front of you, stars glimmering in your eyes now as well, matching his excitement. “Oh my god, are you for real?”

“Yeah.”

“You drew all of these?”

“Yeah,” he nods again, breathless.

“This is an insane coincidence,” you snicker, and Renjun didn’t know he had it in him– maybe it’s still the effect of alcohol that slips off his tongue when he speaks– but he cages you in his arms as he kisses you again, a whole new world appearing in front of him when the cheesiness meets the comfort of your walls.

“You’d call this a coincidence?” he hums. “Maybe it was fate.”

Earning himself a sharp laugh, almost mocking him as you swat his shoulder, you fall back with him towards the mattress, and while the heated moment might be gone, you don’t mind at all. Renjun looks at you with a certain softness in his eyes, a pride swelling in his chest, and for a moment, it’s true and you truly did open up a new reality for him and changed his life forever, fixed all of his problems, if you will, because the appreciation it takes for a girl to tape up at least 20 of his messy artworks onto her wall after finding the stash in the trashcan on her way to class might just be the encouragement he needed to keep going with the craft. 

It’s hard to believe that this shitty party actually brought him somewhere– not only to your bed, but also to your life, to a beginning of something new and a restart in something he thought he’d forever be giving up on.

“So… Do you need those back? Because I kinda like them here,” you giggle, and the crinkle of his eyes is enough of an answer to you.

“You can keep them. I’ll just draw new ones you can look at,” he muses, stealing another kiss from you and squeezing your hip, having you squeal against his mouth.

“Now, to get back to what we were doing before–”

[caramelpenguin]

part 2 to the snogging boys 🍺💟

They don't talk about it the next day, slightly hungover and bleary-eyed. They don't talk about it the next week, even when the words are biting at Wille's tongue. They don't talk about it at all.

It's Simon who mentions it again, two parties later, this time at Maddison's. 

They're sitting opposite each other on the floor of the corridor, taking a swig of a soothing bottle and passing it between them. It's humid and sticky where everyone else is drinking and yelling to boisterous music, but here, tucked away in a little alcove, it’s crisp and cool, like the world has paused for them.

Their fingers brush as the bottle is passed back to Wille, the sounds of the party are muffled and he almost chokes when he registers what Simon just asked. "Wh-What?"

“Remember that summer?” Simon should be painted in acrylics. His neck is golden and smooth, lovely and stretched, tipped back against the wall as he gazes at the ceiling, looking too relaxed, too distant for what he just asked. Wille can’t count how many dreams he’s had over the years about his own lips travelling across, pressing silvery, moonlight kisses into Simon’s skin, forming constellations. He feels the question hanging between them. "Did you like me? As in, like like me? That summer?"

"I-um. Uh." His throat is suddenly dry, hands clammy. Telling the truth is unthinkable. Maybe a small playful crush would be understandable, something that they could laugh at together. The honest, raw truth of flooding, aching emotions, that are lodged deep in his chest is too much. Too big for this moment.

"It's okay, Wille. I get it."

His breath catches in his throat. "You do?"

"You told me you weren't straight the next year. You realised you like boys. So…did I play a part in that?" He asks, and it would be teasing and it would be funny, if Simon's eyes weren't boring into his, searching for something, if his smile wasn't just a bit too painful, tight. The walls are too confining.

Wille’s pulse quickens, like a warning alarm in his chest. The question lingers like a firefly, flickering in the dark. He should’ve expected this, for Simon to ask, all calm and matter-of-fact, as if they’re just talking about the weather and not their past and their friendship and when it was maybe more than a friendship and everything. His head is spinning now, buzzing with the weight of what ifs.

His laugh comes out strained, cracked at the edges. He forces a smile. "I mean, yeah, I guess you were part of my… awakening." Wille shifts on the cold tile, avoiding Simon’s eyes by looking down at the bottle in his hands, twisting it in his fingers like it's some kind of lifeline. The liquid swirls inside, a small galaxy trapped in glass. "But, like, I was sixteen. Everyone snogs their best friend at sixteen, right?"

Simon tilts his head, his lips pulling into a soft, half-hearted grin. The kind of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, the smile he normally tries to hide. "Right. An experiment. It makes sense that you were just figuring things out,” he murmurs. Wille has to avert his gaze, has to avoid the brown eyes that are prying into his soul.

Silence stretches between them, thick and uncomfortable. His mind is a mess of tangled thoughts and a spider-web of memories too delicate to touch, that he’s not ready to confront. These memories are safe in his dreams, softened by sleep. Not in real life when they’re not tipsy enough to forget. 

"Besides," Wille continues, his voice a little too loud, a little too rehearsed, "you were, like, the only person I knew back then who was even remotely... you know." He shrugs, forcing himself to sound casual. "You were kind of my only option."

Simon's laugh is soft, bitter, a song playing in the wrong key. He leans back against the wall, the coolness of the corridor pressing into him. "Your only option, huh?"

Wille winces. His chest tightens. He wants to fix it, but the words are stuck, locked in his throat.

Simon shakes his head. He’s still smiling, even if it’s sad now, even if it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Maybe you’ve had enough to drink." He grabs the bottle back from Wille, who lets it go too easily, like it’s a relief to have something taken from his hands.

Wille watches as Simon takes another swig, his gaze drawn to the smooth line of his neck again, the way the skin catches the dim light. He watches the way his throat moves as he swallows, and the familiarity of it—the way Simon's neck gleams, the way his own fingers itch to trace along the curve of it—sends a familiar pang through his chest. For a moment, he considers leaning forward, closing the space.

Wille’s never been good with words. He feels them too much before he can speak them, and now his heart’s racing faster than his brain can keep up. 

"I wasn’t just—" Wille tries again, his voice barely a whisper. His hands clench and unclench. He looks at Simon’s profile, the way the light dances across his skin, but Simon isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at the ceiling again, expression carefully neutral.

The weight of all the unsaid words is suffocating. 

Simon barely moves his lips, but his words are soft and clear. "It’s fine, Wille. I get it. Really."

NOW ON AO3

[n7lebron]

It took a while but here it is, Master Grade Gundam Barbatos! Only my second master grade and I decided to go out of my way and hand paint all of it. From the frame to the armor and weapons and even picking up the p-bandai expansion set and painting some of that too (a set I do plan to finish and post about eventually). And it was a lot! A little overwhelming at times and definitely is not something I'll do regularly at this scale but was so worth it in the end.

It has only been a couple of years since I started this hobby and being able to get this kind of finish was a bit of a dream for me then. There's still room for improvement and part of that will come with more experience, but seeing what a difference just a year of painting kits can make has me genuinely excited to keep going.

Now how about the actual kit though...

The bare frame is probably my favorite part of the kit and also is where most of the actual build is. Even unpainted it's so nice to look at and pose, it is such a treat to build up what's practically the skeleton of an action figure. Obviously though painting it takes it to a whole other level, as I did here with metallic paints from Mr. Hobby Aqueous and Tamiya. It's just a real joy seeing all the wires and pistons contrasted with the frame, especially on the backside. I was almost ready to leave it as is without the armor it's so good, but it is Gundam Barbatos and not just a Gundam frame so we continue with…

The armor! Nothing too different from the original gundam colors though. Some slightly altered base colors here, a few off-white panels there, some messy panel lines because I didn't rescribe the lines partially out of laziness, but overall I'm very happy with how it came out. Probably the most accidentally impressive thing to me was all of the white being so smooth, minus a couple of spots. Even now looking at the kit in my hand I don't entirely know how I did that with a brush. I will always recommend the Mr. Hobby Aqueous paints in general but definitely for hand painting specifically. It has the benefits of being very easy to work with like water based acrylics and being more durable than those too. But let's not forget about...

The weapons! Only a bit more interesting here, as they're mostly metallic, using all of the same colors as the frame as well as some new ones. The body of the smoothbore gun is, like the other colors, a slight deviation from the color guide. At first I wasn't sure if the copper (Tamiya's XF-28 Dark Copper) on the sword edge was going to be too much, thinking maybe I should've used a silver like the pile bunker on the mace, but I think it works well and helps the sword stand out from the rest of the loadout.

After all that the only thing missing is a top coat, which I haven't done yet because summer weather in NC can be real wet. So for now it'll have to go without one. But I'm not upset about it, other than the three primary colors being glossy it's like it doesn't even need one and looks great as is so I may skip it entirely. We'll see, next time though I'm go back to doing a few high grades starting with some more G-Witch p-bandai kits! Hope you enjoy! ✌🏼

[mochegato]

Forever Yours

It was bad. She knew it had to be bad. Why else wouldn't they have heard anything?  Why else would they keep her... them!  Keep them in the dark?  They wouldn't.  Unless there was a reason not to tell them... like something really bad had happened and they were trying to mitigate the fallout.

This was far from Adrien’s first mission for the Justice League.  They both frequently worked with various members.  It wasn’t even his first mission without Marinette.  In fact, they went on missions without one another a lot.  But there was just something about going on a two-person mission behind the Order’s worst enemy’s lines with someone neither Adrien nor Marinette knew well… or fully trusted if she was being honest, that kicked up the nerves.

It was supposed to be a quick mission.  “Two hours max”, they said.  “In and out,” they said.  “No real danger,” they lied.  But that was twelve hours and quite a few anxiety spirals ago.  The muscles in her hands were starting to cramp from her fidgeting, her fingers curling and flexing over and over like a compulsion.  She had paced around Mia’s apartment so many times, the carpet was beginning to show an indent from her perpetual path.

“It’ll be fine,” Dick assured her.  “Lack of information doesn't mean anything.  It's just standard operating procedure, really, especially for Constantine.”

Marinette shot him a flat, almost disgusted look.  “It’s standard procedure when something goes wrong,” she explained slowly, annoyance starting to seep through.  “No contact for twelve hours on a ‘two hour max’ mission, is NOT standard operating procedure.”

Dick held up his hands.  “I’m just saying I don’t think there’s a reason to panic yet.”

Zatanna sighed almost grudgingly.  She glared at Dick as she spoke up.  “I will admit, missions with Constantine often end like this.  Things get off track and I don’t think he ever communicates with anyone.  It’s kind of a blackout whenever you go out with him.”

Dick rapidly in agreement.  “Exactly!  It isn’t worth the worry.  I just think you should take a breath, let it out slowly, and relax.”  To his credit, Marinette did stop pacing, but it was to stare dumbfounded at him. 

Meanwhile, Roy let out a loud breath, almost a scoff, and dropped his head, but Mia was far more vocal.  “Did you just tell her to calm down?” she demanded.  “While she’s in the middle of an anxiety attack?”

Dick looked around, eyes wide.  “What?  No!”  He whipped around to face her.  “I would never… I just thought… It’s not productive to just pace here.  I thought maybe you might want to go home and relax.”

“Maybe you should go home,” Marinette snapped.

He looked around helplessly for anybody to back him up but nobody would meet his eyes, everyone looking determinedly away.  Finally, he nodded and took a seat meekly.  Marinette glared a few more seconds before returning to her circuit and abusing her lips and hands once again.

Roy watched her make a few more rounds before reaching his limit.  If she chewed any harder on her lip, she was going to draw blood.   Marinette was declining and he was not about to just sit back and let it continue.  Her purse had been tossed onto the coffee table in front of her so he took the opportunity to search through it until he found what he was looking for.  Like any artist, there was a sundry assemblage of drawing utensils at the bottom of her bag, always ready for when inspiration strikes and always too caught up in the euphoria of capturing their vision to put it away properly.

There were colored pencils, pens, markers, acrylic based markers, paint sticks, he even found a few crayons that he knew were likely for Alya’s infant.  He rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling out his target.  He waited until she passed by again to grab her arm and pull her onto the couch next to him.  She barely had a chance to scowl at him and snap, before he held the Sharpie from her bag out to her with one hand.  The other hand he settled across her lap, his bare, clean forearm facing up.

Marinette looked between the sharpie and his forearm, her brow furrowing further with each flick.  She finally lifted her eyes to his, the furrow deeply embedded and a light frown pulling down her lips.  “What are you doing?”

“You’re freaking out,” he said, like that was in any way an adequate or even logical answer to her question.  She blinked at him, utterly dumbfounded.  The completely nonsensical nature of his response knocked her out of her anxiety spiral, at least temporarily, allowing her to focus on his words.  But being able to focus didn’t help at all because no matter how much she focused on his words, she couldn’t make sense of it.  When she still hadn’t responded after a while, he continued, “You relax when you draw.  I don’t have paper, but you can use my skin.”

Her eyes flickered back and forth between his face and his forearm.  “What?”

He waved the sharpie again and motioned toward his forearm, flexing it as he did to accentuate it.  “Use my arm as your canvas.  Get your anxiety out with it.”

“Really?” she asked uncertainly.  “Are you sure?”

He smirked and leaned closer as he waggled his eyebrows.  “I mean, I’m willing to give you other ways to work out your anxiety…” he chuckled at the scowl she shot him, but his expression quickly softened into something more sincere.  “You can use me however you want, Fire Flower.  If what you want to use me for is as a drawing pad, I’m here for you.”

Marinette groaned and rolled her eyes but shot him a small smile as she grabbed the sharpie and repositioned herself so she faced him.  He could see it as soon as she got into position, the way her mind instantly settled, and a calm washed over her.  It was like the sharpie flipped a switch in her and gave her mind purpose.  Her entire body relaxed.  All the tension that had been building up for hours dissolved once she had a focus.

The moment the felt tip touched his skin, he could feel her exhale.  She held the sharpie in the spot for just a moment before gliding it up into a delicate but simple design.  She was drawing for a few minutes before he heard a whispered, “Thank you.”

The grateful tone in her voice, and maybe the way she was almost sitting in his lap or the way he could feel each exhale fan out over his skin, spread a warmth through his body like a wildfire.  He leaned forward to drop a lingering kiss on the crown of her head.  “Always,” he whispered into her hair.

Her hand faltered slightly at the contact, disrupting the line she had been drawing and breaking the perfect stroke, but she recovered almost flawlessly.  She almost seemed unaffected by the move otherwise, but after a few more seconds, she leaned her body against him and rested her head on his chest.  The movement almost seemed thoughtless, like a natural movement, made without taking her focus from her art.

She was too focused to notice the reaction in the room to their intimate proximity, but Roy wasn’t.  He was all too aware of the looks and knowing smiles.  It was a familiar sight.  Because this was a familiar position for them.  Not the drawing on the skin, but the familiarity and affection.  He had been harassed more than once about it.  But it hadn’t worked yet, and it wasn’t going to work that night either.  He glared at them with a one finger salute to make sure they knew it too.

><><><><><><><><>< 

It had been two weeks since Adrien had returned from his mission, a bit disheveled, a bit tired, and quite a bit traumatized.  But he had returned.  And most surprisingly, uninjured… physically anyway.  He still shuddered whenever he saw a headband and Marinette was positive she did not want to know the story behind that trauma.  Perhaps more disturbingly, since that mission she would occasionally find him staring blankly until she would shake him out of it.

So that night, there was a new mission: Cheer Adrien Up.  All of their friends in the area were invited to the party.  She’d ordered his favorite food and gotten Adrien’s favorite games and movies ready, she was even considering letting him win a few of them… maybe.

Maybe not.  Because not everybody else seemed to have that perspective.  A few… okay, maybe just one, brought their competitive spirit and once they started, she just couldn’t back down, especially when Roy started trash talking her.

That was NOT something she could let slide.  Roy didn’t need the ego boost and she refused to give up her gaming crown.

They were midway though their sixth head-to-head battle, everyone else having decided watching them play was far more fun than playing themselves, controllers held so tightly knuckles were white, both sitting on the very edge of their seats and still leaning forward to get closer, eyes for nothing but the screen and each other, and yet somehow the tension was getting even higher.

She smirked at him when a particularly creative combination caught him off guard and knocked his player down quite a few percentage points.  Unwilling to back down, he narrowed his eyes and pushed his sleeves up to remove any distractions.  However, the result was the opposite.  Marinette stared at his arm, the controller going lax in her hands.  She didn’t even notice when the game ended announcing his first win.  Roy jumped up and yelled in celebration, turning to Marinette to rub it in, but froze at the look on her face.  Her eyes snapped to his and without saying a word, she grabbed him and dragged him out of the room, still oblivious to the whispers and grins of the people around them.

She pulled him into her room, her hand a vice grip on his wrist.  As soon as the door was closed behind them, she rounded on him and shoved his sleeve up to his elbow before he could even react, exposing his newly healed, freshly inked forearm.  She stared at it for a few seconds, her eyes following the lines before lifting them up to him accusatorily.  “Is this… Did you get my drawing tattooed on your arm?”

“Yeah, a few weeks ago.”  He grinned proudly at her, not oblivious to her accusatory glare, if anything, it made his grin widen.  “Like it?”

Her face scrunched in an incredulous expression.  The action itself was baffling, but the cocky reaction was driving her from bewilderment to indignation.  “Why did you get this?”

His smile stayed firmly in place, but it eased into something softer.  “I liked it,” he shrugged like it was a no-brainer, an obvious resolution.  “I liked the way it looked on my skin, so I inked it.”

She let out a long-suffering breath, something of a cross between a sigh and a groan and pulled his arm closer to study it.  The tattoo was an almost perfect replica of her design.  The intensity of brush strokes was duplicated, heavier where she’d pushed harder with the marker, thinner where she’d almost ghosted the marker over his skin.  Her fingers traced the design with an almost reverent wonder.  She paused at an irregularity in an otherwise smooth, unbroken line.  “You even got where I messed up,” she murmured.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, extremely careful not to dislodge his arm from her grasp.  “It’s part of the memory.  It’s one of my favorite parts of the design, actually,” he added quietly.

She continued to stare at the imperfection, almost transfixed for a few moments before finally lifting her eyes to his, stealing the breath from his lungs from the awestricken look in her eyes.  He raised his other arm to wrap around her waist but dropped it when she finally spoke before he could make contact.  “What the hell were you thinking?” she demanded, her voice low and hissing.

He quirked his head to the side at the unexpected tone, taking a second to ascertain if she was serious.  “It’s beautiful and I want a piece of you on me forever…” he dropped his eyes to his tattoo, not only as a way to avoid her eyes but to seek a source of reinforcement before continuing with a bit more vulnerability than he usually showed, “and maybe I wanted you to mark me.”

It took a few seconds before he looked up to meet her eyes, hoping to see an affectionate gaze, but instead Marinette was staring daggers at him.  “That is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said!” she exclaimed, shoving his arm back at him.  She paced away and ran her hands through her hair before turning back to him, her eyes no longer blazing, now closer to pleading.  “You’re a hero!  You have incredibly dangerous enemies!  You can’t just…” she motioned helplessly toward his arm then threw her arms up in the air in frustration.  “If someone saw that, they’d know who you were.  They could trace your identity because of me!”

He stared at her dumbfounded for a few seconds before chuckling.  Cautiously, he approached her like he was afraid she might run away… or hit him.  “This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever done and you’re yelling at me?” he asked incredulously, eyes dancing with mirth.

“Dying is not romantic!” she yelled, pushing him away.  “You could get hurt because of me.  It would be my fault you were hurt!”  His chuckles died down at the tortured look in her eyes and the desperate tone to her voice.

He moved to her instantly, wrapping his arms around her before he’d even thought about it, unwilling to let her suffer at all, especially if he could comfort her.  He held her tighter when she didn’t pull away.  After a few moments he leaned back and ducked his head to catch her gaze.  “Marinette, Baby, have you seen my other tattoos?” he asked softly.  “Fire Flower, if I was going to get recognized for a tattoo, it’s probably the massive, conspicuous ones on my completely exposed biceps, not the one covered by my gloves that are part of my costume and that I never skip when I go out.”

She stared at him looking for the lie in his words.  Finding none, she shook her head and looked down gathering her thoughts, which clearly didn’t go in his favor based on her dipping out of his embrace and groaning.  “Roy, we’re not even together!”

His mouth lifted into a smile.  That response meant she had accepted that she hadn’t put him in danger.  Now, he just needed to convince her that he knew what his action implied and he meant it.  “We don’t need to be together for me to love you,” he answered simply. 

Marinette opened her mouth then closed it again with a groan and ran her hands through her hair.  “You can’t just say things like that,” she whined.

He edged towards her again as his smile morphed into something closer to a smirk.  “The truth?”

“Yes!  No!  Wait.”  She let out an exasperated huff then pouted at his widening grin.  She shoved him again, but with much less conviction this time.  “Stop smiling at me!”

He stepped closer to her, a move that forced her to crane her neck in order to continue to meet his eyes.  “No.  I like when you get flustered.”  He ghosted a finger over her cheek, keeping his touch just shy of making contact but close enough she could feel the movement in the air.  His eyes met hers in an intense gaze.  “I like everything about you.” 

The air left her lungs when he finally made fiery contact, running his knuckles along her jaw this time.  His eyes roamed over her face like he was memorizing every curve and contour, they caught on her cheeks when they flared the most delectable shade of pink, the shade quickly became his favorite color, until he met her eyes again and remembered that shade of blue was his favorite.

“Even if we never get together, I know I’ll always care about you.  You will always be important to me.  You are already carved into my soul.  The tattoo might be more visible, but that?”  He laid a hand over his heart and shook his head adoringly.  “There’s no amount of time or separation or drifting apart or conflict that will take that away.  I won’t regret this.  Not tomorrow, not next week, not next year, not next lifetime.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, his heart racing when she went to him easily.  “Do you know why that irregularity in the line is my favorite part of the design?”  It seemed like it took her a few seconds for her to snap out of her trance and register his words.  She shook her head slowly, refusing to break eye contact.  “Because it happened as a reaction to me.  I did that.  I had that effect on you.  My kiss did.  It was the moment I knew.”

“Knew what?” she asked, her voice soft, almost like she was afraid anything rougher would burst their intimate bubble.

“That I had to act,” he answered in the same tone.  “I got the tattoo because I wanted you forever on my body, like you’re forever in my heart, and what I want now is you forever in my life.  I’m tired of waiting for the exact right moment for it to happen.  I’m tired of waiting for fate or destiny or whatever is out there to provide.  I’m taking my fate.  I’m creating my own destiny and that’s you.  A lifetime of happiness and teasing and laughter and loving together.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear to give her a few moments to let his words sink in, let her internalize them, and consider them fully.  “The question is, what do you want?”

She stared at him dumbfounded.  The idea of acting was scary.  They had always danced along the edge of doing more, flirting with each other and with crossing the line.  They’d always shied away just before tipping over.  There was so much that was at risk if they did.  They were always together, either as part of their larger friend group or by themselves.  If anything happened, Marinette didn’t know how she would be able to experience each day.  But the prospect of not acting was even more terrifying.

She pushed up to brush her lips against his tentatively.  Even after his most ardent declaration, she was still apprehensive of how he would react, terrified he would suddenly realize this wasn’t what he wanted.  She wasn’t what he wanted.  But before her mind could sabotage her, he wound his hand behind her head, running his fingers into her hair and pulling her harder against him to intensify the kiss.  His lips moved greedily against hers like he was afraid he would never get the chance again, almost devouring her.  She responded instantly, pulling his body against hers by his shirt then sliding her hands up his chest in part to settle the electricity that was humming through her veins.

After a long, highly pleasurable, while he pulled away just enough to press his forehead to hers, his breathing, like hers, ragged.  “I think I want that,” she panted.  She opened her eyes to find his already staring at her.  The hope in his eyes stole her breath and steeled her resolve.  “I want that version of forever.”

His responding grin lit up the dim room.  “Let’s start tonight.  Will you go on a date with me?”

She opened her mouth to respond but instead of her voice, Adrien’s floated through the apartment.  “Dinner’s here!”  She snickered and dropped her head to his chest for a few seconds before looking back up, resigned but happy.  “I’d love to, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Roy agreed.  He pecked her lips quickly and led her out to the party, fingers intertwined and smile beaming.

@maribat-calendar-events

[fifirellart]

The Making of “The Invisible Museum (Is Open)”

Hi and welcome to my blog! ^-^

I thought it would be fun to write about the process of my previous illustration, "The Invisible Museum (Is Open)", so here is some commentary on the matter 🙆🏻‍♀️

As I mentioned in my original post, this project has an important meaning attached to it for me, so that’s why I wanted to be as meticulous as possible with its process. I decided to take the James Gurney approach and make a little scale model of my project, so I could have a clearer idea of how the lighting should look like.

I even made a little simulation of the dust’s movement, using baby powder and an empty pen tube. The simulation didn't turn out exactly as I expected, but it was a nice reference to have on hand regardless 🌫️ 

To be honest, I maybe could have figured the lighting out without doing all this preparatory exploration, but the planning process is one of the most entertaining and rewarding parts for me, so that’s why I did it this way 🌸 

This illustration was made with watercolours, Indian ink and colour pencils on paper. My regular process is the following: after outlining the base drawing, I usually start covering as much as I can with light watercolor washes, working in layers until I reach the opacity and saturation I had in mind or the one the material allows me to achieve. And later, once everything is dry, I finish the rendering with colour pencils. 

Regarding the black background, I wanted it to be solid and as black as possible, that’s why I chose to use Indian Ink to achieve this look. One thing I have noticed, though, is that even if Indian ink is quite dark, it’s also quite reflective once scanned. And to be honest, it’s quite annoying to fix this detail on Photoshop, so maybe I will venture into trying black acrylic paint next time I need to make a solid black background. 

I think the most difficult part for me was giving the dust that magical appearance. Once the background was dry, I painted this kind of clouds with very translucent washes of white gouache so they would serve as a base for the colour pencil rendering. This section wasn’t looking very promising at this point but I knew I just had to trust the process, despite it being the first time I was trying to achieve this specific texture. 

Then it was time to work with color pencil over the whole piece and I feel like this is the time when things started to look like I kind of initially planned. I have heard many times that the current quality of Prismacolor colour pencils isn’t as good as it used to be some years ago, but since I never tried them back in the day, I was honestly very amazed at how creamy and blendable they are ☁️

And well, that's it! That’s how I made my illustration. Writing about the process has been kind of a meditative experience in a way. I also feel like reflecting on how I made my piece has brought some clarity on how I could make things better for me the next time, so I will try to make these sorts of entries as often as I can. 

Thank you so much for reading! ^-^

[caxde]

roses and dandelions | steve harrington x reader

summary you're Hopper's daughter as soon as you could you moved fram from Hawkins, some years later you come back to teach at the High School, and you find Steve Harrington has become the new History teacher.

word count: 5.4k

warnings fem!reader, fluff (like a lot of it), comfort, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn bestfriends to lovers, idiots in love!!!. teacher!steve AU!!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!!

    Steve loved his job. 

And for once he was actually proud of what he was doing, and what he had become. He had managed to get into collage, and worked his way through it, managing to get the top marks in his degree, turns out that if he was actually passionate in what was thought, he had no problem in keeping attention. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge that his end goal was not where he was, but it turns out he was content with it. A quiet life, back in Hawkins, in a house of his own, teaching History to high schoolers. They weren’t the little nuggets that he had aimed for, but regardless, he enjoyed the occasional connection with an abnormally curious mind. 

He liked it. The quiet, the normalness, the stillness almost. 

It also made him giggle, being called Mr.Harrington. It seems like the walls of the Hawkins’ High School had seen the evolution, from posh-boy Stevie, King-Steve, loverboy-Steve, nice-Steve to finally years later, Mr.Harrington. He remembers writing it on his first day on the chalkboard and not being able to stop smiling to himself. He had made it, it wasn’t inherited, it wasn’t gifted, he had accomplished it himself. 

So on days like this, early January, where the coldness seemed to drain the morale, he stuck into that thought. 

He taught his classes for today, and was hanging back in his classroom for a bit, grading some work from his senior class. His radio hummed soft music as he concentrated, hand on his chin that played absentmindedly with his short 3 day beard. He was interrupted as he heard a loud thump on the other side of the wall. 

Funny enough, you were there. 

Surrounded by empty canvases, you were struggling to make the room feel better. You had worked in so many artists' workshops that you had certain habits that were hard to break. You needed a space dedicated in its entirety to paint, and you had spent the last hour organizing it. Half empty bottles were up to the front, the first three always had to be the three primary colours, yellow, blue and red. Followed by white and black. Then came the secondary ones, and the tertiary colours. The paintbrushes that could be saved and weren’t to badly beat layed bristles up in a jar. You only had acrylics and you had made a mental note to ask permission to get some oils next. However, the canvases couldn’t stop hitting the floor every time you tried to reorganize them. So you were exhausted and piled them on the ground by shape. Deciding to reorganize the high tables. You knocked one of the stools into the ground. 

A loud thump.

“You okay?” Even if his tone of voice didn’t make it obvious the fact that he had rushed over, seeing his glasses sliding down his nose did. Once you turned around and actually connected the voice to his face a little upside down smile appeared in his lips, while you nodded and looked at the ground. A faint blush appears on your cheeks. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it Harrington.” You scoffed as you bent down again to pick the fallen piece of furniture. 

“I didn’t know you were back in town…” He whispered as he came closer to you, standing in front of you, watching you closely as you relocated the stool. 

“Well, I got maybe a little too many calls from Principal Higgins, about how they had nobody to come and ‘save the arts’ and bla bla bla… So… yeah.” You tried to explain without getting into too much detail, eyeing the classroom that was in truely a deprovable state. “And I don’t know where to actually put the tables so it makes sense.” He hides a smile as he scratches the back of his neck, looking around. 

“I’ll help.” He says as he starts heading into one of the high tables. 

“You don’t have to.” You tell him as you grab a sheet of paper and start sketching a quick idea of the distribution, the pencil always rests on your right ear. 

“I know. But if you actually give me an excuse to stop grading papers, you would actually be doing me a favour.” He says in a happy tone, as he rests his forearms on top of the table where your paper rested, his eyes looking deep into yours as you concentrated. His face relaxed as he watched you, and if he was being sincere, it didn’t surprise him. 

“Okay, if I’m your excuse… Guess you can.” You answered absentmindedly, as your whole focus was on making sure that the little game of tetris made sense on the paper.

As you started moving boxes around, Steve’s head had a million questions that he couldn’t help but ask. He was shocked to see you again, and if you’re honest, you were quite embarrassed to be back here again. 

“So what about New York?” He asked cheerfully, and regretted it when he saw how your mouth slightly opened and your eyes flinched at that. 

“Well, New York will wait… I hope.” You whisper the final part, but he hears it nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-” You had to interrupt him. You could tell he was about to rumble away as he always did when he tried to fix things that remained unfixable. 

“It’s alright Harrington. It’s just, that way” You point before getting more in depth,  your voice rising above the squeals the tables make. “I’ve worked so hard, y’know? And I finally had, like my own space at a gallery and even if my work wasn't gonna be there, MoMa called back about the job interview and… I don’t know. I’ve still got the place in the gallery but now they won’t actually give me a space until late May…” You rumble away as the table is finally in its right place. “I just thought I had finally made it, I think…” 

“You have. You’ve just got to wait now.” He reassures as he starts pushing the next table, his eyes had not left your face while you rumbled away, his full attention laid on you. 

“I hate waiting.” You replay as the room finally is in shape. He pulls up the canvases and gives you a questioning look. “Between the cabinet and the wall there.” You point out, eyeing the whole room. 

“I remember. You were always so…” 

“Careful now.” You tease him as he tries to find a word to end his sentence. 

“Impulsive?” You laughed as you crossed your arms, and he gave you a soft smile. You looked at him for once. It had been about five years since you left for New York, and yet he still looked the same. His hair had grown a bit, but it remained as messy as it always did. The glasses and bear were a new addition, one that made you get lost in him for a bit longer than you did before. You smile softly as you remember how many times you told him how good he’d look with a beard and he proves you right. 

“Hey!” You scream back at him, as you both giggle and laugh. “You did overthink a lot.” That makes him chuckle as his arms crossed in front of his chest, and your eyes inevitably focus on his upper arms a bit. 

“Still do, H '' He says, using the old nickname he once gave you. “You still make people call you that?” 

“Miss.H?” You ask him, as you clean your things up, putting them neatly into your backpack so you can head back home. “Yeah, Hopper is way too close to dad.” 

“Figured.” He smiles, an upside down smile that makes something deep inside you flutter ever so slightly. “You still in the cabin?” 

“Yeah, he left for Cali with Joyce, and I just sorta bought it from him, you know… A big atelier…” He laughed softly with you, his face softening as he fixated on your movements. 

“See, you might like being back.” He teases as he fixes his eyeglasses. 

“Don’t push it Harrington.” 

“Mr.Harrington now.” He finishes, making you both laugh. 

-

January flew by. 

And with it, your new routine settled quickly. You woke up with not that much time to spare before having to get the car to get in actual time to your first class. Funny enough, teaching wasn’t as bad as you remembered. Granted, the last time you taught you had spoiled upper-east side kids that thought that making an abstract painting was simply spilling paint into a big canvas, devoid of meaning. It deeply infuriated you. 

Thankfully, this time around the kids seemed to actually be interested, and to actually want to learn what you tried to convey. 

However, on this February morning, everything was going exactly as it wasn’t supposed to. To make matters worse, your car had given up and was now refusing to turn on. Frustrated and about to give up, you decide to call for help. 

You were whispering to yourself, pickuppickuppickup, as the tones of the phone answered you.

“Good morning.” You struggled to hide a groan at his happy tone. 

“Help?” You asked as your voice croaked, it being your first word of the day, besides a series of curses dedicated to your car. 

“What do you need, H?” Steve's voice sounded worried now, and you scoffed in an attempt to make him relax. 

“My stupid car has died. Can you come pick me up? Please? I’ll buy you dinner if you wanna, as a thank you.” You explain yourself as you hit the floor with your heavy boots. He could hear  you doing so, just as you could hear him smile. 

“Are you bribing me, bub?” He asks. You can feel your face warming up as you register the stupid pet name. 

“Only if it is working.” You declare, receiving nothing but silence. “Is it working?” 

“On my way.” He says before he hangs up. 

Truth be told, you didn’t have to wait that long, but still, you managed to get lost in some sketches as you waited. So, when Steve found you, curled up on your house steps, head focused on whatever you were doodling, he could help but smile at you. Soft, kind and adoring smile. He stopped the car, and opened the door for you, a smirk on his face as you told him good morning stevie. 

“You know, you’re the only one allowed to call me that.” He teases as he starts the car back up. 

“Course I am.” You tease him back, slapping your thigh as a distraction from your yawning. 

“Did you eat?” He asks, his eyes didn’t leave the road often, but he couldn’t help himself. You were on the passenger seat, hair falling in a calculated mess, and you scratching your eye made him melt a bit on the inside. So as soon as you shake your head no, he reaches on the center console, and gives you a little mug. You chuckle at that. “It’s coffee.” He explains. “I’ve got a croissant in my bag, you can have it.” He tells you, as your cheeks warm up, a pinkish tone invading them. 

“You take your mugs into school?” You tease him as a way to say thank you. Taking it to your lips, leaning your head back as soon as you drink it. 

“Yeah, you know… trying to take the plastic use down.” He explains, as he reaches for the same mug, your hands touching for a second. An electric feeling invading your skin for a moment. You watch him closely as his lips hit the white porcelain, you feel your lips tingle a bit. He looks closely at you as he hits a red light, handing the mug back at you. “Seriously, eat the croissant.” He insists, as you can’t hide your blushing skin anymore, and this time he does notice it, a smile appearing on his face. 

“O-kay, but you’ll eat half of it, ‘kay?” You try to reason with him, as he tilts your head at you, a mocking stare. “C’mon, you know I don’t eat that much.” He nodded as his left hand changed the car gear. 

“You’ll have to feed me though” He teased as his hands were now occupied, his face concentrated once again, as he closed distance with the school. He thinks you won’t, because if he’s honest, it will make him just as nervous as it will make you, having your hand that close to his lips. Not really sure what was going on, but you were in no rush to find out, you just enjoyed it. So his eyes opened a bit as he heard the cracking of the baked pastry on your hand. His head slightly turned to you as his eyes don’t leave the road. Your heart beating a bit harder as you closed distance, his lips kissing your fingers as he bites down. 

When the car stops you share a look. An intimate moment while you too share the improvised breakfast, enjoying the stillness of this moment, the quiet and the sense of familiarity it itself held. You knew as much as he did, that you wished you could just stay there. 

-

Two weeks had passed, and it became a routine. 

He’d come and pick you up, he’ll bring two mugs of coffee, and you’d have some sort of quick breakfast for you both to eat on your way. You’d do your classes, he’d do his, and at the end of the day, he’d let you home and wish you a good night with a soft blink. 

And with it, came two things. 

Feelings that were left in the unknown, and a swarm of students that had seen you come together and started speculating about your relationship. That last part made you smile to yourself every time you overheard them speculate. 

“Bethany saw them arriving together” “Trevor said he saw miss.H give mr.Harrington a kiss on the cheek.” “They left together yesterday”.

You told Steve about it as soon as you heard, and he laughed as hard as you did. So you did some pantomimes in front of some students, like a little inside joke. But if he was to be honest with himself, he liked messing with you. He likes spending time with you, and if it served him as an excuse to touch your hand, or let his hand rest on the small of your back more often, he was more than happy to do so. And then again, the same could be said by you. You probably didn’t need to touch his upper arm as often as you did, or tease him as much as you did, but still, you did because you liked his presence.  

The last Period of the week came around, senior class. You knew you weren’t supposed to have favourites, but then again, you liked that they actually were curious about the world and asked all the right things. 

You had some objects in each table and a simple phrase written on the blackboard. choose one.

They slowly did, as they came in, the usual hello miss.h! was followed by a chorus of what is this? that made you giggle inside. In one of the tables were some postcards, the following one had a collection of letters (with the signature hidden), the other one had some pictures of landscapes, and the final one had a lot of pictures that you had taken. 

As all of your students had one in each hand, you placed yourself in the middle, all eyes on you, and a murmuring silence with unparalleled attention. 

“Hello” You chirped happily, this might be your favourite assignment to date. “So, I’ll go straight to it, that okay?” You asked as you watched for your students to nod or say something, which they did. “Alright, so. You have different objects in your hands, and I’ll give you a month where you can work in this classroom and at your houses, okay? You’ll need to come up with a painting, sculpture, drawing… I don't care as long as it is original, inspired by what you are holding. I don’t care if the only thing that you produce is as big as a pencil sharpener, or as big as you are. I want you to actually be moved by what you produced, and to register the process. In other words, don’t get too stressed by the ending product, and just enjoy the process. Okay? We’ll work here and I’ll be here for any questions or anything you need, but, if you could actually you know, work? That would be lovely.” You heard your students giggle at that, and you smiled proudly at them, clapping your hands as you finished explaining the assignment. “Okay, let’s put on some music, yeah?” They all cheered happily as they headed for the stereo. 

You truly didn’t need to stress with them. You knew what they were about to do, so you went back to the tables and gathered what they hadn’t selected, handling it all with care. And your heart stopped when you reached the letters and found the old post.it that Steve had once wrote. “I know I won’t remember in the morning, but I also know I won’t even shut up about that kiss” Embarrassed with that memory you held it in your hand as some of your students huddled to you. 

“Miss.H?” The shortest of the three asked for your attention, and your slightly blushed cheeks looked up rapidly at them. 

“Ye- Yes?” You muttered as you composed yourself. 

“Will you do the assignment with us, like last time?” She asked again, and you smiled at them, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. 

“Do you guys want me to?” You asked, honesty evident in your voice. 

“We love seeing your art, Miss.H.” The taller one now spoke. 

“Ah, flattery.” You teased, as they giggled at your answer. “That will take you anywhere with me. Sure.” 

“Great!” They cheered as they went back to their table, stopping suddenly when the door opened and Steve stood there. 

You looked at him, forgetting for a second how good he looked today. That stupid blue shirt hugged his arms a bit too well, and the maroon pants complimented his thighs in a way that made your blood rush a bit too much. He had his 3 day beard again, and he just stood there, reclining his body onto your classroom threshold, asking with his look for a quick conversation. You walked over as you heard the girls chattering amongst themselves. 

“What do you need?” You asked, a bit too casually, forgetting that you were actually the teachers and not just some friends in a bar. 

“I told you this morning that my class had a test last period.” He sounded a little pissed off. And his eyebrow furrowed, as your hand reached your forehead, an apologetic look on your eyes. 

“Shit, I forgot.” You whispered. Steve seemed to forget about it for a second, as he saw the little post-it in your hand. Grabbing your hand in a swift motion and opening it up. Your face was now as red as the new paint you bought. 

You could see him reading the note and a smile appeared as he looked you up and down. He did remember writing it, years ago, on the night you left to New York. On the night he had been brave and told you everything he meant to tell you before. He had forgotten all about the test for a second. 

“You still have this?” He asks, not really believing that you would still save such a silly bit of paper. Waving it in front of your face, his eyes seemed brighter all of a sudden

“Yeah…” You were in a loss for words, too embarrassed to actually say anything. He forgot for a moment that you were not alone, as he placed it back on the palm of your hand, and tucked a flock of hair behind your ear, his thumb slightly caressing your cheek, carefully, leaving a tray of warmth and goosebumps, in both your face and his fingers. “I’ll turn the music off.” You whisper, as your eyes get lost in his, momentarily getting lost on his pinkish lips. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah…” He whispered, lost on you. “Do you have plans tomorrow?” He had decided to be brave again. 

“No.” 

“Wanna get dinner tomorrow night?” He asks, his eyes shine at you, as you smile brighter. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Great, then it's a date…” He said as he left, his eyes had shined as he looked back at your lips, and you didn’t quite believe it. A stupid daze evident on your face. 

-

Robin had just got off the phone with Steve when you called, so her immediate reaction was to laugh when she saw your number, and you were left shocked about her laughing. 

“What are you laughing for?” You demanded, a hint of anxiety evident in your voice. 

“Loverboy just called me.” She laughed as she spoke. 

“Steve?” 

“Mmh.” She affirmed. 

“Shit.” You both laughed at that, your hand reaching your forehead. “He told you already?” She made the same sound again, and you sighed as a response. “What did he say?” 

“Oh, you know, that he had finally asked you out. And I just scolded him for not doing it sooner… I mean, I love you, but hearing you wailing about him for the last five years…” 

“I didn’t wail…” You try to no avail to convince her, but she just scoffs at you. “Maybe a little.” 

“Come on, you both have been in love with each other for so long… Just get on your nice dress, the black one, get a good coat and be ready, it’ll go fine.” She calmed you down, knowing exactly that that’s why you called, she wasted no time. 

“I love you Robs.” You told her, with a wide smile on your face.

“I know, now, go. Don’t use me as an excuse.” 

“Kay, bye.”

“Bye, lovergirl.” She giggles as she hangs up. Leaving you in the quiet of the cabin. 

You did enjoy the silence, the quiet of the woods that surrendered you, but still, you opted to put on some music, just something to ease your brain from overrunning. Once again, Bowie’s voice filled the space, making it all easier, from dressing yourself up, to doing your hair, applying some makeup, and yes, taking a shot of your fathers hidden whiskey to ease the nerves. 

He told you he’d pick you up, so the only thing left to do was wait. 

You didn’t have to wait long anyway. 

Though he wasn’t used to the feeling, he could recognise the nervousness energy that his body emanated. 

Which is why he had called Robin in the first place, he wasn’t sure if he should wear the button down, the sweater… He was in a crisis, and obviously Robin had laughed her ass off. The only thing she had told him was to not shave, and he didn’t quite believe her when she told him that you had always liked how he looked with one. 

So with five minutes to spare, he was in his backyard, well, not technically, he was invading Mss.Jackson’s so he could steal your favourite flower. Stupid as it may be, he’d known that it would make you smile, and Steve would make anything to see you smile again. 

And he knew it was cheesy and a cliché, but as soon as he laid eyes on you, his heart seemed to skip a beat. Your body looked splendid with that little black dress, your legs covered with warm tights, and a coat that kept you warm. The thing that drove him crazier, was how your lips were now blood red, curling upwards as you locked eyes with him. 

Then again, yours did the same. 

You couldn’t help but take a second, just a moment to memorize him. Standing against his car, face slightly buried inside a small bouquet of wild flowers. Roses and dandelions. As stupid as it was, it made you feel heard and seen, him remembering that this combination was your favourite, not only that but, his white knit jumper made him look softer, it seemed to be a gateway to the old Steve. The one that had been in love with you and told you so before you left, the one you kissed as a final goodbye, the same one that left the note that you still carried on your wallet. 

-

The date had passed by too fast. A conversation that didn’t ever end, not really, not even now, when the slight buzz of the wine was beginning to wear off, and you were standing up, outside your little house, smoking as you avoided saying goodbye.  

“I truely can’t believe you smoke that crap.” He teases again, smiling down at you. 

“Hey, sue me, I like them better than Newport’s.” You tease back, your eyes looking at the flowers that were still on his hand. He laughs at that, and a wisp of courage invades you for a second. “Do you want to come in? Put the flowers away?” You ask, softly, embarrassed about the fact that your skin is bright pink as you ask that, your hand scratching your upper arm. But the smile on his face relaxes you. 

“I’d love to.” He admits, as he follows you inside. He watches you closely as the familiarity invades you. As soon as you open the door, you hang your coat on the hanger on the wall. Letting your cigarette rest softly in between your darken lips, he is mesmerized by you, and the easiness that you seem to radiate as you put your hair up. He chuckles as he sees you move so gracefully. 

“What?” You ask, a soft tone accompanied by a shy smile comes out, looking up to his eyes, he seems to melt away once again. 

“Nothing.” He laughs at your raised eyebrows. “You smoke inside now?” He teases, as he finally takes a look around. 

“Steve, honey… I’m an artist and now a teacher… Yeah, I smoke inside.” You mock him a bit, and it makes the both of you try to stifle a chuckle to no success. The way your voice had said honey rings in his ears for a while.

He looks lost at the little cabin, afraid to even ask, he decides to just follow you around. You head into the little kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out a half empty bottle of white wine, a soft questioning look that is answered by a nod from him, you reach for two glasses, and you can’t help your lips from curling upwards as you see him getting a little empty glass jar and fills it up with water, letting the roses and dandelions rest there. You clink your glasses together before taking a sip, a stupid grin in both your faces. He looks around, the question evident in his expression. 

“You wanna see the um… atelier?” You asks as you take another sip. He has become lost in you, and just nods as he follows you. 

He’s mesmerized as soon as the light comes on. A neat mess in front of him, and your moving in the space with such grace he can’t tell what he likes better. You spinning around in your short dress or the colorfull paintings behind you.

He steps closer to you, your head slightly rested against your glass as you eye a canvas that hasn’t been finished yet, the one he presume you’ve been woring on before he came. He wasn’t wrong in that, just as he isn’t wrong in assuming that you’ve just had a revelation about it. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” He asks, a whisper of a voice escaping his lips as he reclains against a wooden panel that was set up by two very unstable stools. 

“S’nothing.” You mumbels as your eyebrows furrows a bit more, his silence lets you know he doesn’t believe you, though his titled head would have told you the same if you had looked at him. “Just, I thought that I was painting something else, now I see I wasn’t” You mutter, aware that it doesn’t make that much sense. 

“I’m not sure I follow you, H” He says in return, wine going down his throat. 

“Hold on.” You say, as you move closer to him. 

His hearts beats faster for a second as he sees your decision in his eyes, confusing him in thinking that you were going to make a move, surprised when he sees you catch a small brush and the straight bottle of red paint. He watches you closely, and he can’t help himself but mutter “You’ll get your dress stained.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” You smile, dropping the painton the floor, he watches closely as your hands reach over for an old overshired button up, you putt it on quickly, his mouth opens a little too much when he sees you taking the dress off, kicking it of the ground to him. “Good reflexes” You tease as he catches it on his free hand. 

He’s brain can’t quiet compute the information. You look way too good right now. The look of determination on your eyes as you stare at the canvas, your tangled or maybe intricate would be a better word for the state of your bun, with flyaways framing your hair. Your legs still in the black tights, but thanks to that little wardrove change, he can now see the very beginning of your legs, and he is mesmerized for a little too long, not being able to focus on what you were actually doing, since his whole attention is set on the way you move, your presence, you. 

Once you turn back to him, the roles diverse for a second. Maybe a bit more. He crouches forward, and you’re the one left starring. He had taken his jumper at some point, and he was now left with a tight grey shirt, his arms in full display, and with them so were his veins, that now appeared as he was holding the wine in one hand, and your dress in the other. Maybe what you liked best was the look of recognition on his eyes as he started at the canvas. 

“Is that?” 

“Yeah, you.” You finish, as he finally turns around. Even with your arms crossed against your chest, the distance between the both of you was small. If you or him made one step, not only your feet would be touching, but so will be your chest, you’d share the same air. And the electricity of the whole night seemed to be building up, your chest raising faster and faster as you looked up at him. Aware of him, close enough to see his freckles, to count them even if you fancied. 

And just like if lighting had struck, he took a step forward, as soon as his glass reached the impromptu table and his body collapsed into yours, his eyes closed, waiting for your lips to touch, wich they did. Immediately, with a necessity that seemed to come from far before. His hands dropping your dress on the floor fastly as they traveled to your cheeks, pushing in closer to you, as your fingers found the back of his neck, grabbing his hair instictibly, needing him like air, or like water. A soft moan escaping your lips as he pressed harder into you, his hands travelling to your back, he needed you just as much as you needed him. 

His belt was starting to bother him, and you were starting to feel the tingle between your legs, and you knew you had to stop, because if you didn’t, you would never want him to leave again. 

As he pulled away you knew he had thought the same. Touching his forehead with yours as your fingers found its way to one another, intertwined. 

“That was…” 

“Yeah.” You agreed with him. “Stay?”

As his lips kissed the tip of your nose, you felt safe in his arms. 

“I’m never leaving.” He reassured you.

-

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