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writing-mlm · 6 months ago

Note

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

Forever my Muse

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

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

But never sorry enough to show you his drawings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You will.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, a breeze?” He laughs and nods.

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

“Real as fuck.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you hear it. More specifically you hear yourself.

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

It’s you.

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

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

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

The description catches your eye next.

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

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

D.W

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Softly you sigh before looking back to the trees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s charcoal.”

#x male reader #x reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian al ghul x male reader #damian al ghul x reader

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moonriverrise · 2 years ago

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Steve has a secret, well “secret” may not be the correct way to describe it. He has something for himself, thats what. Ever since he stopped playing basketball and doing swim competitions once he graduated he's had way more free time, which at first he filled with shifts at Family Video, or bothering Robin.

Then, when she started school he started doing art more. Which, may come a surprise to many, as he never really talked about his interest in paintings and old art.

Greek sculptures that are able to show life in a still ethereal way, while still being able to twist it at their will. Renaissance oil paintings, capturing tragedy yet still being able to portray it as beautiful, in their own terrible twisted ways.

He likes sketching on paper, painting on canvas. His paintings aren't usually too different from the things he sees around him. Honestly thats the only things he paints, people, his friends, places he goes, things he sees that stick with him, dreams, moments that play on repeat in his head.

Around his Junior year, after the Demogorgon, Steve had turned the sad basement in his sad empty house, into his own space. A place where he can go and do his art, hang it, play music on his walkman, or using the record player he got from a pawn shop a few months prior. Somehow the basement is the only space that actually feels like his in his house, not even his bedroom.

Steve’s art was not very consistent to be honest, mostly the kids and Robin, landscapes that he liked, the Demogorgon/dogs, the Mindflayer (he needs some way of getting those out of his head, and somehow drawing them down feels freeing.) He does have a few paintings of Nancy from when they were together, she’s become less of a model for his work after everything though.

The last time he painted her in a painting alone, was one of that bathroom in a girl he barely knows’ house, a spilled drink on Nancy’s dress, and red solo cups littering the counter.

Steve’s art shifts though, after a moment that will never leave his mind. He knows who Eddie Munson is, obviously. How could he not? Honestly Steve isn't that surprised Henderson and the others befriended the guy, he does run a DnD club.

But then, Henderson needs a ride home after their club meetings because his mom is working late, and then Lucas and Mike’s parents are also asking Steve to pick them up too. Babysitting duty, as per usual.

Steve arrives a bit earlier than he planned. He didn't have any project to consume himself into, hitting an art block begrudgingly. But then, Steve sees Eddie Munson, sitting on a fake throne, watching the kids and other club members argue, he has his chin rested on his fist, and he's wearing a white tank top, showing off his shoulders, given the fact it’s still September.

The lighting of the small theater room captures Steve’s interest like a moth to the flame, and he is regretting having left his sketchbook at home, even though he never draws around the kids or anyone he knows.

Eddie Munson’s face and curly locks fill up the pages of Steve’s journal and some canvases for months after, and Steve rarely genuinely complains about coming to pick the kids up.

Afterwords, months later from that day. Chrissy Cunningham dies, and Eddie Munson almost goes with her. God, or whatever deity that was looking down upon him, was on Steve’s side in that moment, when he was able to revive Eddie and then drag him out of the Upside Down.

Steve gets closer with Eddie after that, they become actual friends. Steve was so used to witnessing his muse from afar, it was so…exciting, to see Eddie in all his glory, just a few feet away, and his smile being directed at him.

“Do you even have any hobbies, Harrington?” Steve blinks. Him, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and the party, are all hanging out by the pool. Steve is lounging on one of the chairs, sunglasses over his eyes as Eddie talks beside him.

“What?” Steve responds.

“I mean…I like barely ever see you do anything besides sort Movies at Family Video, or boss around the kids. Like, what do you do when we're not all together?” Eddie asks, moving his hand a little as he talks. Steve thinks for a moment.

“Funny,” Steve answers instead. Eddie scoffs.

“I'm being serious, man! What do you do?” Eddie laughs a little, most likely at the ridiculousness of it all. What would Steve know, Eddie is like a puzzle, and Steve has to take every minute slowly, deciphering everything he lays out for him, via tongue or action.

“I don't know, what do you do?” Steve says, almost carefully.

“Band stuff, DnD, Writing,” Eddie lists. “And I guess saving the world now, but thats a bit of a side hussle.” Steve scoffs.

“Whatever, man.” And thats that, they don't talk about it again. But it sticks with Steve, because his friends really do think he doesn't do anything with his life. It's not like he has college classes to study for, so what does he do?

Later, maybe two or three weeks after, Steve decides he wants to show Eddie his space. The two of them are alone, Robin is in Nevada, visiting her grandparents, so the trio’s usual movie night is cut down to a duo’s movie night.

Although Steve finds himself mostly focusing on Eddie and his beautiful hair sitting next to him, than watching ET. The little alien scares him a bit anyway. Eddie notices him staring though, his eyes flickering to meet Steves, then a smirk spreading across his lips.

“We are watching a movie, lover boy.” Eddie says. Steve goes red, his gaze shifting to his lap. Steve furrows his eyebrows then stands and shuts the TV off. “Woah! Hey!”

“I want to show you something.” Steve says, it's a bit quieter than he meant it to be, but his tone indicates something to Eddie, which has him staring at Steve, starstruck.

Steve walks out the room and hears Eddie follow him. He gets to the basement door and opens it, flicks on the stair light.

“Basement- woah- okay, guess I'm getting murdered. Thought I’d go out in a more metal way than this.” Eddie says as they walk down. Steve laughs a little and shakes his head.

“I just think you should see this.” Steve says. “Nothing life threatening, I promise.”

“Alright, I trust you, Stevie.”

“Good.”

Steve turns and flicks on the light as they step onto the concrete. The lights flicker on, revealing the paintings on the walls and art supplies on the tables and counters.

“Woah-” Eddie says. “Is this, all your stuff?” Steve sighs, he folds his arms and faces Eddie. He looks shellshocked.

“Yeah.” Steve says. “You said I don't have any hobbies, I do, actually.” Eddie looks around, walking slowly.

“Is that Henderson? Why is he wearing yellow gloves?” Eddie asks. Steve walks over to a painting of Dustin from Steve’s angle while they were walking on the train tracks, a bucket of raw meat is in one hand and he's wearing the headphones for his radio.

“D’Art,” Steve says. “That was when we were leading him away. I made that one after everything happened. I was trying not to think about the Demogorgon stuff and everything, so I just drew him. I have one of Max from that day I never finished painting in a stack I think too.” Eddie doesn't say anything for a minute after Steve is done explaining.

“You can paint.” Eddie says, though not like a question. “These are beautiful…” Eddie looks around and walks to another one he sees. It's one of the Byers and Hopper’s, all hugging while laughing. El looks the happiest. Steve had painted that after they had all gotten together after everything. “Why…didn't you tell anyone?”

“About what?” Steve asks, folding his arms as Eddie brings up a hand to touch the painting.

“This- Steve, you're amazing at this. These are…” Eddie trails off as something catches his eye, he slowly starts to walk towards a big painting propped up behind one of the tables laid out in the middle of the room. Steve walks to him to see which one he's looking at.

An angel, knelt over a puddle, crying as it stares at his reflection, which is blurred and dark. He stands in a forest, his wings are long and huge, sprawling out above him.

It’s one of Steve’s bigger ones, the inspiration came from a dream he had after they had read about Icarus in his english class back in Highschool.

“It’s… magnificent.” Eddie whispers. Steve smiles gently at Eddie’s reaction. Eddie backs up a bit and looks away from the painting. “Is that me?” Steve follows his eye, to the painting. Eddie walks towards it, Steve stays behind him. It’s the first one Steve ever made of Eddie, the one of him on the throne.

“Yeah, it is.” Steve says. “I made that the first night I came to pick up the kids.” He says. “The first time I met you, actually met you.” They share a look.

“You are incredible, Steve Harrington.”

#this was way longer than i meant it to be #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steddie ficlet #sock meister drabbles #hope yall liked this cuz it got kinda stuck in my head after i had a whole class on art and the renaissance so

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impishjesters · 1 year ago

Note

I have this idea floating around in my brain for a while about a reader who likes to draw and because they have a crush on Jax they draw him. Jax eventually steals their notebook and probably teases them about it lol.

Jax x Crushing!Reader

warning(s): innuendos, bullying/teasing, Jax note(s): Look it's me and Jax, there's gonna be innuendos or some spicy wording and bullying. It's like a packaged deal or something. A/N: If you see me mixing Angel Dust's speech into Jax, no you didn't. If you didn't notice, I don't know how to tease and not be an asshole, so pretty on the brand I guess.

Caine had given you a sketchbook upon request, it was a little different than an actual sketchbook but it did the job regardless. Ever since your arrival, your fingers have been itching to draw, there were so many new sights and so much new inspiration.

There were so many things, so why did it seem like the doodles of Jax ended up on almost every page?

Easy, you had a crush on the apathetic, mischievous jerk named Jax.

Why? Well, now that’s the million-dollar question. He’s not inherently awful, no, that’s a lie, he’s an asshole. You don’t really have a good read on him yet but he’s funny! That’s gotta be redeemable, right? However, his jokes are usually backhanded and often involve being mean at the expense of others.

Okay so he’s a walking red flag but there’s something about him that has you crushing on the purple bastard.

Looking down at the sketchbook on your lap shows another two pages filled with sketches of random things, though most of the page is filled with Jax. You had taken to sketching things back in the real world to remind yourself of home, but eventually, those sketches would involve Jax doing mundane things.

Thing’s like sitting at a table eating real food, though you took creative measures when drawing an open mouth on him, it still looked off but it was serene and domestic. Then there’s the little sketch at the bottom of the page of Jax leaning against a window and staring outside. You’d manage to nab the pose and angle when he was leaning against one of the many random geometrical-shaped things in the main room and later added in a window.

It was embarrassing that almost more than half of the pages in the book involved Jax to some degree. Some pages weren’t even subtle, the whole page taking up a detailed portrait version of the male. Sometimes you even got creative and put him in different clothing.

Thumbing through the pages you saw there weren’t that many empty pages left. You’d need to ask Caine for another one and figure out what to do with this one. It couldn’t be left out in the open, you knew Jax had keys to everyone’s room and wouldn’t put it past him to go snooping. He’d already questioned you about the sketchbook before.

You’d been so focused on the sketchbook that you hadn’t noticed the man of the hour walking up. Jax noticed your intense focus and peeked over to see the infamous sketchbook on your lap, and with practiced ease managed to yoink it right off your lap.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? You finally showing me what you keep your nose buried into?”

A yelp left you, stumbling to get on your feet you rushed to him and began swatting at the book and of course, he’d keep raising it just out of reach. “You took it! I didn’t say you could look at that!”

“Nah, pretty sure you said I could look at it.” He continued to lower and raise the book as you jumped to grab it. Sure he was curious before, but with a reaction like that? How could he not be even more curious? What kind of seedy shit were you drawing? Or perhaps some spicy nonfamily-friendly content?

Jax ignored your frantic words and opened the book to a random page, he was going to tease you about whatever dumb stuff you drew since you always had your nose in it but all he saw were sketches of himself.

A normal person might get embarrassed and hand the book back, but he’s not a normal person. It’s a little freaky, he won’t lie. A glance downwards shows him you’ve gone silent in front of him, simply staring down while he invades the privacy that was your sketchbook.

Your face is red and you look like you’re going to cry any second.

He’s a jerk, he was going to fuck with you, and he still is, but for the moment he’s taking in all the creative little pieces involving his face. Ya know, he never really thought much about how he’d look in other clothes. Gotta say he looks pretty snazzy in something that isn’t these shitty overalls.

“You know if I didn’t know any better,” his fingers still flip through the pages as he steps closer, circling you. “I’d say you like me.”

“I don’t.”

The reply is rushed and he rolls his eyes at the blatant lie, he’ll humor you this time. “Oh yeah? Does that mean you’ve got sketchbooks for everyone else too? Cause I’m pretty sure this is the only one I’ve seen you with.” He taps a doodle on the cover that gives away it’s the same notebook he always sees you with.

Tears trickled down your cheeks, you knew he was a jerk but this felt like too much. You just wanted your sketchbook back and to run away to your room, maybe pin something in front of the door that would render even the key useless.

His eyes roll the second he sees a tear, he’s not really seeing the problem here. You’ve got a book full of creepy—okay not completely creepy, he’s a good model so good on you for seeing that—sketches of him and he’s truthfully honored. It’s clear that you didn’t do this with everyone, so he’s honored to be your little model. Besides, it’s not like you actually have a crush on him, right?

Minutes tick by of him simply eyeing you, you’re still crying and it’s starting to get a little ugly and snotty, ugh. But you aren’t trying to further deny his little comment about you liking him. He’ll have to have a little talk about that later, what you could possibly see in him because he knows that you aren’t a sadist—oh, are you a masochist? That’d explain a lot.

Jax sighs and closes the book but doesn’t hand it over, simply putting the free hand on his hip. “You know if you wanted to see my face all you gotta do is ask. I’ll gladly show you this handsome face any day toots.”

Of all the things you thought he’d say, that wasn’t it. “H-huh..?” You embarrassingly wipe away the tears and snot before looking up at him.

“You heard me. Ya know I love this face too, very handsome. Maybe we can get Caine to put up some artwork in the tent of yours truly.” Jax wouldn’t consider himself vain, but you did have a way of making him look more, dare he say, attractive.

“I-I don’t… I don’t understand…” Was he still making fun of you?

He rolls his eyes before playfully hitting your head with the book. “Jeez, and here I thought you were smart.” Jax leaned over like he was speaking to a child and pushed the book to your chest. “I’m saying, the next time you wanna draw me I’ll give you a front-row seat. Maybe even take it to the bedroom so we won’t be disturbed.”

You push the book into his face to cover up that growing smirk and blush furiously. “Wh-what?! N-no I-I don’t…!” It’s hard to tell if he’s being serious or not in his offer to model for you, especially with the bedroom comment.

“C’mon, clearly you got taste. I mean that book is filled with sketches of me. I’ll commend you on your immaculate taste.” Jax taps the book before playfully bopping your nose. “At least let me give you the pleasure of seeing me close up. I’ve never been a model before so you might have to get a little hands-on to get me the way you want me.”

As the innuendos continue your face feels like it’s getting impossibly red and warm. Somehow this is worse than him telling you a sketchbook full of his face is creepy, in fact, you’d almost prefer it because your poor little heart can’t take anymore. You let out a yell and it stops his tangent but that stupid smirk of his never disappears.

“Offer still stands. You know where to find me.” Jax turns away but not before throwing a little wink over his shoulder. He still plans on pestering you about what you see in him, but for now, he’ll cut you some slack. You’re about as red as Ragatha’s hair and as much as he loves to see it, he didn’t plan to get this sidetracked when he saw you on your own.

He’s got a sucker to prank.

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader #jax #jax x reader #tadc jax

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palajae · 3 months ago

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episode three. | park sunghoon

PAIRING ▸ host!sunghoon x reader

GENRE ▸ ouran high school host club!au, high school! au, romance, fluff, angst, humor

WC ▸ 3.1k

SUMMARY ▸ host park sunghoon: the strong and silent type. with his cold, tsundere personality and killer good looks, it’s hard not to fall for sunghoon. his connection to sunoo is of utmost importance; however, you could be the one to change that. (but be warned, he’s a man of few words.)

AKA episode three of the kiss, kiss, fall in love! series

AN/NOTES ▸ social awkwardness, not proofread

sorry okay it’s been a fat minute since i posted but FINALLY JAE has gotten the next part out ‼️ i really channeled the engene in me for this one lmao.

EPISODE THREE. Beware the Ice Prince!

seriously, you only started attending the en-host club because your friends did and you really had nothing else to do.

you had heard several of the boys in your grade were in the infamous club, but besides that, you had no interest in “club” affairs.

natty and lily wouldn’t stop talking about how “chivalry wasn’t dead” and how “god had favorites.” you figured by going, you could kill some time and meet some new people.

mainly due to the fact that you were attached to the hip to your… well, sketchbook. what better to utilize the people around you for your passion?

and the most pretty ones were—obviously—found at the en-host club!

by going there, you could observe and hopefully see some good art.

while your friends had their favorite designated hosts and activities, your first entrance to the club involved a lot of awkward silence and muttering.

“you mean, you don’t want to hang out with any of us?” sunoo—you think—frowns.

you shake your head, stammering. “n-no! i just, prefer to be alone. i can just-like-sit in the corner or something.”

he brightens up and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“i see. you just like the company?”

you nod and the host smiles again. “that’s fine. you don’t have to be entertained by one of us. you’re welcome as much as you like! you could even sit by sunghoon!”

your eyebrows furrow as you follow sunoo’s line of sight to-

oh dear.

probably the finest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

a true work of art.

your heart pounds uncomfortably in your chest as you glance back at sunoo.

“he doesn’t like to talk much either, so i think you two will get along well!”

you look uncertainly at the controlled chaos happening all around the room, before back at sunoo.

he nods encouragingly at you. “don’t worry. even though sunghoon looks like it, he doesn’t bite. in fact, it’s probably the opposite.”

holding your breath, you clutch your sketchbook tighter in your hands before approaching the table sunghoon was quietly sitting at.

he didn’t even do anything, yet you felt so intimidated.

wow, it was really stifling to be in his presence. awkwardly, you take a seat. and although he doesn’t move, you feel his eyes land on you.

biting your lip, you hesitantly wave.

that was it. no words exchanged.

after a while, you finally began to relax. still, neither of you said anything. you even felt alright enough to open your sketchbook.

your eyes would travel across the room, although they always landed on the same person. the one sitting in front of you, silently sipping his tea.

so you sketched. and you enjoyed it. so much to the point you returned the day after, and the day after.

eventually, the hosts came to know you as a regular. they knew your exact order and your routine. the same every time you came—even without your friends.

they understood that you simply appreciated sitting and observing. with all the things going on at the club, you enjoyed staying off to the side the most.

like sunghoon.

after the first day, you couldn’t work up the courage to approach and sit next to him when he wasn’t with sunoo hosting.

that was fine. you had eyes. you could sketch him as long as you could see him. pages, filled with a variety of sketches, began to fill up your notebook.

and most of them were of sunghoon.

who were you kidding—all of them were of him. every outfit in every season, every expression of his (and he rarely showed emotion). you basically memorized sunghoon’s face.

and in your time observing at the en-host club, you realized you had only heard him speak a total of six phrases: welcome, goodbye, yes, no, and thank you.

he more than piqued your interest, but you were far too shy and unmotivated to do something about it.

checking the clock, you sigh wistfully while putting your sketchbook back into your bag. as always, this was your time to leave. occasionally, one of the hosts would notice you leaving and wave goodbye.

this time, you’re almost to the door when a tall figure suddenly appears in your line of vision.

you falter, swallowing abruptly when you realize it’s sunghoon. he looks dashing in his pink hoodie and light jeans—someone mentioned the boys had a boyfriend concept today.

you stare up at him curiously until he steps closer to you. your mouth dries up at the close proximity. you feel like you can hear your blood rushing in your ears.

sunghoon doesn’t say anything, as per usual. instead, he walks over and holds open the door for you.

for a second, you don’t move. and then it hits you.

what the what the what the, he opened the door for you!

you quickly squeak out a thank you before practically dashing out of the club room. you’re not sure if you heard or imagined the soft “get home safe,” coming from his voice.

was he watching you? is that how he knew to open the door? why did he go all the way to help you? did he know what time you usually left?

you fall onto your bed with a sigh. you were overthinking, and you were delusional. just a little bit.

perhaps, you would work up the courage to talk to him next time.

you swear you’re not that delusional. most of the time it was you who was staring at sunghoon, sneaking glances at him when he wasn’t looking. whenever he was busy hosting. honestly, your best works were of his stunning side profile.

but something feels different from that day forward.

like…like sunghoon was the one staring at you. at first, you were sure you felt eyes on you.

you would glance up from your sketchbook with a frown, glancing around the room. it was at that moment you would catch sunghoon turning away from you.

but in what world would he be looking at you?

he didn’t say a single word.

it happened so often to the point where you would actually meet his eyes before looking away. you always broke eye contact first.

this back-and-forth occurred four times before you decided to do something. yes, you counted.

you decided to remind yourself that you only live once, and you took the chance. you finally stopped being a coward and sat next to sunghoon, one lovely afternoon.

he seems almost shocked when you approach him, like your very first day at the host club.

once again, no words were spoken. you simply smiled before taking the seat. unlike the other girls who usually fawned and squealed over him, all you did was sit and enjoy his company. honestly, he was so familiar to you at this point, you actually felt comfortable.

and when you thought he wasn’t looking, you liked to sneak peeks at him as well. he was even more breathtaking up close.

that became your daily routine whenever sunghoon was free. although it was absurd, you once thought that maybe he looked forward to sitting and watching with you.

“what’s up with you and sunghoon?”

“h-huh?”

natty leans over from her desk to shoot you a look. “i mean, what are you two doing in the corner all day?”

you look down at your desk bashfully, “it’s not all day��i just enjoy his company.”

lily laughs, “sure. i bet you have a lot fun staring at him.”

you feel your face get hot as natty elbows her. “i think the two of you are cute. even if you have nothing to say to each other.”

“yeah, i don’t know how you managed to get so close to him. sunghoon is pretty detached from the other girls. he’s just there half the time with sunoo.”

your heart quickens. was that true?

lily sighs, almost face planting into the table. “what up with all the boys recently? heeseung has been so obsessed with that one student who i don’t even know the name of since they’re so busy studying all the time. and then the top two people of our class are constantly preoccupied with each other. at this rate, i’m gonna move to jake…”

you nodded in contemplation. she was right, you’ve seen heeseung following around your classmate like a baby duck following their mom. even weirder, the two smartest people in your grade started to sit together at the club.

you were there for it all.

“sim jaeyun? um, I’m not sure about him. he and riki have a lot of crazy fan girls,” natty wrinkles her nose. “hey, i did hear there was a new host! his name is jung…jung-something.”

“jungwon,” you finish for her. she nods, “i think he’s pretty handsome.”

“not as much as sunghoon though,” you unconsciously mutter.

sunghoon can easily remember the first day you walked in, eyes wide like you were a kid on their first day of school. the corners of his mouth tilt up slightly. you looked like a baby kitten.

he catches himself, focusing back on sipping tea while sunoo devoured his sweet treats.

“do you want a bite, hoon?”

he shakes his head amusedly at sunoo’s bright expression.

“you should stop eating so many sweets. you already had two slices of cake today.”

while sunoo pouts and gets up to put his plate away, sunghoon refocuses his attention on you. he didn’t mean to—his gaze was just drawn to your presence.

he watches wordlessly as sunoo approaches you. you looked so intimidated, sunghoon already felt bad and he didn’t know the reason.

he catches himself again, internally chiding his own behavior. get a grip, you’re a host.

suddenly, you’re approaching him. you look like a kitten again in front of him, just like when you first walked in. his whole body tenses.

sunghoon waits, yet you don’t say anything. only a simple wave and that’s enough to light a fire in his heart.

he’s surprised to see you sit down and pull out a sketchbook. he observes as you flip through the pages, trying to sneak a peek. but then he realizes he’s being kinda, really creepy.

so sunghoon purposely turns away to focus. look anywhere but at the person sitting across from you, he repeats to himself over and over.

after that day, he noticed you didn’t sit next to him. for quite a while.

so, he chose to watch you. he watched you walk in every afternoon with a hesitant smile. he watched as you took the same seat near the window and pulled out your scuffed up notebook to draw.

he watched how your lips pursed when you weren’t happy with a sketch, or how you would stop to think while looking around you.

sunghoon liked the way your eyes lit up when you turned to a blank, fresh page. and when you would smile and greet the other hosts, gratefully accepting a cup of tea. even the look of concern you had on your face as you watched jake and riki do something stupidly dangerous again.

the thing he liked the most, however, was when he felt your eyes on him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

sunghoon’s not sure why, but he likes it. after all, he couldn’t say anything. he did the same thing to you.

he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

that’s why, when you sit across from him one day with that stunning smile of yours, his breath hitched.

sunghoon… wanted to say something. he tried, really tried, but no words would come out. he couldn’t think of anything to say.

apparently, that was fine with you. you relaxed in the silence, so he did too.

it’s not like he meant to, but he snuck a glance. he was so curious as to what you had been working on in that sketchbook of yours. he knew it had to be your prized possession, the way you carried it around everywhere.

sunghoon certainly wasn’t expecting to see his own face, beautifully drawn. it was him from a few weeks ago, last week, and yesterday. he remembers the detective concept and outfits they adorned.

you… you sketched it all. all this time, you sketched him?

he’s truly speechless, and everyone knew it was hard to make the stoic sunghoon react.

“…are you friends with y/n?” he randomly asks one day after the club had closed for the day, completely out of the blue.

sunoo tilts his head, “we’ve talked. why?”

heeseung pops by, “did i hear hoon’s got a crush? who could have warmed the cold tsundere sunghoon’s heart?”

although he wants to roll his eyes, he simply looks away.

“y/n?” riki calls from where he’s playing catch with jake, “the one who doesn’t say anything and draws all day?”

“they could if they wanted to,” sunghoon remarks quietly. riki shrugs.

sunoo watches sunghoon with an inquisitive expression.

he’s never seen his friend act like that with the other guests before…

“it’s his birthday soon?” the words spill out of your mouth without even realizing it. you stopped, overhearing some girls sitting near you.

they eye you, and it registers in your head that they know you’re the one whom sunghoon often sits next to. you seem oh so close to him, and yet you don’t know his birthday? you feel embarrassed, making your way to your normal seat.

“hoon? yeah, his birthday is in three days,” sunoo nods. “why? are you planning something?”

you’re quick to shake your head, flustered. “nono, i was simply curious… thanks for letting me know.”

alright. you officially have three days to find sunghoon a gift.

it’s only then it hits you. you know close to nothing about sunghoon. other than the fact that he was a host, you barely knew his likes or dislikes. heck, you barely even spoke to him.

you’re doomed. all the other guests were probably going to get him extravagant gifts that were exactly to his liking.

you? you scrambled to find something that would come in three days. and you weren’t even sure if he would like it. at the least, he could regift it to someone else if he really hated it.

you clutch the small gift bag nervously behind you as you enter the host club.

usually, decorations would be set up for the members’ birthdays. however, sunghoon never wanted a big celebration so they would get him a simple birthday cake every year. at least, that’s what sunoo told you.

sunghoon wanted his birthday day to feel like any other ordinary day. you hoped you could stay true to that.

or…not.

the sight of said host rejecting someone’s gift to him is the first thing that greets you. your smile immediately falters.

he didn’t like gifts? your heart begins to race. crap, crap. what were you going to do? you couldn’t hide the gift—someone would find it. it was obviously who it was for, with the big fat words happy birthday printed all over the bag. plus your names written on it, addressed to sunghoon.

your eyes follow him to his usual seat, only for your heart to drop.

sunghoon looks around expectantly. almost like, he was… looking for someone (you). he does. almost immediately.

if you move, he’ll see the bag behind you. heart racing, you decide to charge ahead and approach him. you couldn’t face a rejection of the gift you spent hours trying to find, but you also didn’t want to leave him hanging.

you walk over nervously, doing your absolute best to hide the bag and appear unaffected. maybe he wouldn’t notice, right?

wrong. sunghoon was probably the most observant person on the earth. his eyes immediately fall to your suspicious hands.

it was over. his eyes flick back up to you with a questioning look in them.

you close your eyes briefly, internally falling to your knees. well, there was nothing else to do.

you nervously thrust out the bag towards him, hiding your face as you softly say,

“happy birthday, sunghoon.”

you hold your breath and wait embarrassingly for the painful rejection.

spoiler: it never comes.

“thank you.”

hearing his voice causes shivers to run down your spine. your eyes fly open. did he just…accept your gift? and more importantly, he spoke to you?!

he takes the bag and puts it aside on the table.

“are you not going to open it?”

he looks at your expectant expression before beginning to unwrap the gift.

“i thought maybe we could share,” you mumble.

sunghoon carefully opens the intricate wrapping to unveil the gift you ultimately decided on: a smooth, leather sketchbook with pencils.

“now we’re matching,” you whisper before pulling out your own.

“i… don’t know what to do with it.”

hearing his voice again still makes goosebumps appear on your arm. you stifle a laugh as you reach over to demonstrate.

the real sunghoon watches in awe as you begin roughly drawing something in his new sketchbook. when you retract your arm, he’s finally able to see what you did. it’s a beautiful drawing of a cake and the words, happy sunghoon day!

he glances up at you with wide eyes. you shrug and only look away. to your surprise, sunghoon determinedly picks up a pen and begins doodling as well.

soon enough, the first page is filled with random drawings, doodles, and most importantly, meaningful connections.

you both smile and silently laugh at each other’s drawings. sunghoon’s favorite is your drawing of a baby sunoo and his cake while your favorite is of sunghoon’s (rather awful, yet still recognizable) drawing of the seven hosts.

this is the first time you’ve felt like you truly communicated with sunghoon, even if it was through a paper and pen instead of words.

when the page is filled completely, you admire your collaboration work proudly.

“thank you, y/n.”

your heart warms. “o-of course,” you stammer. maybe you were slightly very internally freaking out that he addressed you by your name.

sunghoon must’ve seen your bashful expression because he reaches over to pat your head. nothing else had to be said, because in that moment, you felt all your feelings were conveyed.

park sunghoon was supposed to be the cold and tsundere type of host. yet around you, he felt vulnerable, like you brought out a different side of him.

as you sit across from him, sharing smiles, you wish this moment could last forever.

all you can think is that sunghoon’s soul is so pure and needs to be preserved, protected. you really hope you can be the one to forever do that.

previous episode. | next episode.

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#enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fanfic

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sadreligion · 2 months ago

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⠀⠀ ׅ ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂 ⠀ 𝆬 ׄ skater!matt sturniolo & artist!reader.

as the new york city sun has fallen into hibernation, the routine that you’ve become so familiar with falls into place. clocking out of work, 10:30PM sharp— relieved to be free from yet another excruciatingly slow day at the library. you’d hurry to catch the underground subway, tense muscles relaxing against those filthy seats you’ve grown to love. the transportation jerkingly pulls off, an obnoxious screech left behind as it makes way for the next stop.

you pull your black sketchbook out of your crowded tote, funky stickers and your name in bold lettering adorned on the front. every ounce of stress you had, exiting as you begin to draw, one of your overpriced lead pencils gliding against the paper. art was your safe place, loving everything about the craft since you could walk.. the way it conveyed how you felt with having to utter a syllable. perfection.

it’s only when the train makes a halt that your ripped from your bubble, a boy’s infectious laugh echoing through the almost deserted station as he daps his friends goodbye, stumbling into the ride shortly after. he was beautiful, facial structure something out of a greek god description. baggy jeans hanging low on his waist, the sleek calvin klein font of his boxers on display. his hair was kept hidden in a cheap beanie— shit… is he looking at you?

your eyes immediately dart away from the stranger, gaze falling anywhere but him. you could feel his blue orbs burning into you still, the temptation to make eye contact making you sweat. it was as if he was begging, daring you to look up. finally, you push that scared feeling down before ripping the bandaid, wide eyes flickering to his curious ones.

a soft smile grows on his face, the shitty overhead light reflecting onto his invisalign. your expression mirrors his, a sense of comfortability filling up the space. neither of you knew who the other was but god, everything felt so familiar, so warm. his eyes flicker down to the sketchbook sprawled across your lap, the neat yet expressive drawings speaking life into him.

he gets up from his seat across, plopping his body right next to yours. he sets his custom skateboard down on the floor, samba covered feet coming to rest atop, keeping it in place. a pair of hands reach out, fingers wiggling as if silently asking to see your work up close. you nod with a idiotic smile, carefully placing the gem in his palms.

“y’drew these?… this shit is… woah. got a lil’ van gogh on m’hands…” he praises, his ring-clad digits flipping through the pages as his curiosity runs wild. a soft hum leaves your throat, turning a couple pages to show him your newest work. oil pastels smudged and swiped perfectly into place, pen work underneath for guidelines, his eyes widening with amazement.

“not even close t’being like him… i jus’… draw sometimes..” you brush off his very obvious compliment, foot tapping against the train floor. he scoffs, fluffy hair moving with a shake of his head. no, he saw your potential, the possibility of you. reading people was his superpower.. apparently. “nah, there’s more to it then that… feel it in m’bones. never seen sumthin’ like this before..” you roll your eyes playfully at his words, taking the gallery back and shoving it in your bag.

after a few beats of silence, the small screen on the wall reads that your stop was up next, the conversation slowly coming to an end. the boy looks over at you, a gigantic light bulb going off in his head as he speaks. “yo… uh, y’should pull up to the skatepark.. tomorrow. the one downtown. screams you.. i can show y’the pretty art n’ all that..” he explains, a hint of nervousness laced throughout in his tone..

your eyebrows furrow at the invitation, not really sure how to respond seeing as you just met him 10 minutes ago. the train pulls into a stop, the automatic doors sliding open as you stand, gathering your things. “don’t even know y’name…” you counter, a grin peeking through that neutral expression you tired so hard to keep.

the mystery boy shrugs, a sly smile adorning his pink lips. “s’a good thing, right? now y’got a reason to lemme see y’again… tomorrow! don’t forget! ” he yells after you, his pink muscle running along his retainer as you rush to make the door, biding him farewell. oh, he was hooked. and there was no doubt in his mind that you were too.

˖ㅤㅤ ֗ ㅤㅤ ࣭ ㅤ ⋆ㅤㅤ ۪ㅤ﹢ㅤ ࣪ ㅤ NOTES! guys, it’s literally 2:24AM, im running on mochi ice cream and a water…. my apologies if this is bad :((((((( i just wanted to introduce them to u guys asap bc i luv them so much and they mean the world to me…. okay baiiiii

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elliesonlyhoe · 8 months ago

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Loser!ellie headcannons .ᐟ ⭐

A/N .ᐟ First set of hcs..😭 lmk if y'all want a pt. 2

Loser! Ellie who lowkey has a collection of plushies that all have names, ages, and probably birthdays (specifically dinosaur ones)

Loser! Ellie Who could not flirt for shit the first few months you guys were dating.. But you on the other hand? Always trying to mess with the poor girl until she's a flustered mess.

Loser! Ellie Who had been too much of a pussy to ask you out for the longest time, just for you to already know she liked you.

Loser! Ellie Who still can't look you in the eyes without getting nervous.

You were sitting in the living room beside Ellie talking to her about how one of your coworkers had pissed you off today while Ellie was looking anywhere but you. “Els? Are you listening?..” You said, tapping your preoccupied girlfriend on the shoulder in order to get her attention.

“I- I am…” Ellie mumbled, still looking away, the tips of her ears a bright shade of scarlet. You looked at Ellie noticing what was going on, you chuckled to yourself quietly “That's unfortunate.. My own girlfriend, the love of my life, doesn't even want to look at me? How upsetting..” You tease, as Ellie turns to look over at you, her cheeks a bright shade of red “I never said that!” She replies quickly before looking away once again “You're just.. so fuckin’ perfect..” Her own words cause her to be even more embarrassed prior to how much she was before. You try to hold in your giggles as you pull your girlfriend closer to you “I love you s'much, you know that?” you say in between your uncontrollable giggles “ I love you too..” she mutters back “And don't be a dick. Stop fuckin’ laughing at me” She adds before resting her head on your shoulder. You continue to giggle, which makes Ellie start giggling too.

After a few moments of you two continuously laughing your asses off, you pressed a soft kiss on Ellies forehead. “Now, Tell me about your day, love.” You smile as Ellie begins to give you a rundown about everything she had done that day.

Loser! Ellie who has a separate sketchbook to fill with small doodles of dinosaurs, planets, and occasionally drawings of you.

Loser! Ellie who never fucking sleeps, like this girl will be up til’ late at night doing lord knows what.

Loser! Ellie who hates when you beat her at any game, girl will start making up the most random excuses as to why she lost, sometimes if you tease her about losing she even goes to the extent of giving you the silent treatment

Loser! Ellie who loves spooning (defo calls big spoon before you guys are even ready to head to bed, yet still ends up being little spoon sometimes.)

Loser! Ellie who acts like it's the end of the world when she accidentally interrupts you while you're speaking. Like I'm talking non-stop apologizing and always arguing with you on whether she should continue what she was saying or if you should finish speaking (you always find a way to win the argument nonetheless)

Loser! Ellie who has the humor of a middle school boy.

Loser! Ellie who probably eats lunchables 4/7 days of the week.

“Els, there's leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry!” you callout before walking into the kitchen to see your girlfriend standing there like she got caught red handed, holding a half eaten pizza lunchable in her hand

“I'm not even surprised.” You say arms crossed, shaking your head slightly

“What?! They're good!” Your girlfriend argues back, taking another bite of her mini pizza

“Okay Els.” you chuckle, rolling your eyes playfully

“Hey! Don't roll your eyes at me..” Ellie scoffs “Don't knock it til' you try it.”

Loser! Ellie who has a backpack filled with space and dinosaur themed pins (also probably pins with corny ass memes on them.)

Loser! Ellie who either can't accept a compliment, or gets abnormally flustered by your compliments. (It all depends on the day tbh😭🙏)

Loser! Ellie who ADORES taking walks with you near lakes, creeks, and ponds.

A/N .ᐟ I love Loser!ellie so much omdysss🙏❤

#ellie x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #ellie x reader #lesbian #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #wlw #ellie headcanons #loser ellie #tlou fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

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You Make Me Wanna 5

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, best friend’s dad trope other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Three times. Walter, Mr. Marshall, Detective, whoever he is that day, has driven by your house three times. Three times that you’ve noticed.

The first time you recognised his car, you were taking out the trash. The second time, you were making sure your siblings got on the bus for school. And the third time, you’re coming out the front door, in uniform as you mentally steel yourself for another day at the grocery store.

You try not to be too obvious as you look for him. You set out on your usual route, a peek here and there over your shoulder, a strategic glance down the street as you turn to cross. Maybe he can stop you for jaywalking. A perfect excuse for him to swing around his weight.

You take out your phone as you come in sight of the plaza with the grocery store at its centre. Still not word from Faye. You really don’t expect her to be the first to reach out. You’re still sore yourself. It isn’t just that she ditched you, again, it’s that she was so quick to believe you sold her out. She knows the way her father is and yet just like him, she assumes you’re in the wrong.

As you approach the front doors of the store, you glance back at the lot. It’s sparse with vehicles, still early enough that stockers work at the shelves and the deli still fills its baskets with slices and salads. You clock in and tie on your apron, taking your vigil behind a till. Debbie leaves you as the sole cashier as she goes to do her counts.

You stare across the store, vision blurring, as the ceiling speakers drone out 80s pop. Your eyes nearly cross at the orbs of colours that form around you; the medley of produce, the smear of labels, and the looming shade of endless aisles. As you detach yourself from the monotony, you’re filled with a cloud of futile acceptance. Every day for the rest of your life.

Last year, you still had hope. You remember you told Faye you could save up and join her at college. That’s definitely not going to happen. You barely saved a nickel. Just like high school, your cheques were spent picking up after your mom’s job hopping. Your siblings can’t go without food or clothes or everything you didn’t have. Even when you get a few staples free from the clearance cart, you’re still paying far too much just to feed the lot.

Chrissie is almost fourteen now. She offered to put in an application but she’s still a few years from all that. Besides, you don’t want her to be like you. Only ever worrying about the empty fridge and your mom’s latest antics.

Zooey is only ten and blissfully unconcerned with anything but anime and drawing in her sketchbook, and your brother, Milo, seven, likes to bring home frogs and snakes. They’re both too young to sense anything is off, though at times, they ask you very pertinent questions about the other kids in their class.

You sigh. You never wanted this life. Against your will, you’ve inherited your mother’s lot. Your siblings need a parent and she’s not willing to be one. So, you’ll just have to ring through eggs and milk for the rest of your life and make sure they aren’t caught in the same bog.

“Hey,” the sharp greeting draws you back.

You blink and shake away the daze. You look over at Mr. Marshall. Not again. You do your best to smooth the worry from your forehead and reach for the sole item on the belt. An excuse, you’re sure.

You can through the breakfast tray of a hardboiled egg, pita, hummus, cheese, and grapes. The beep chirps harshly in your ears as he stares you down over the top of your till. You stifle a yawn as you hover your hand over the buttons.

“That everything?” You ask dully.

“You looked worried,” he moves to lean on the other side of debit machine, where his tray awaits him. “Like maybe you’re keeping secrets.”

You huff, “I told you I haven’t heard from Faye.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid,” you snap, “are you going to pay or do you want me to put this back, detective?”

“I’m off duty,” he tilts his head, “night shift.”

“Great, so credit or cash?”

He puffs through his nostrils and squares his jaw, “lot of kids running around your place, huh?”

“No,” you say curtly, “don’t.”

“I’m just tryna figure out where my kid is. Pretty crowded at yours so... maybe she’s somewhere else.”

“Maybe she is,” you utter in exasperation, “but I guess it doesn’t matter how many times I tell you that I don’t know where. You're still going to waste my time. And yours. So, please sir, cash or credit?”

He scoffs and looks around, the place is still desolate, “you got time.”

But you don’t have the patience. You barely keep from the retort. You turn and start tidying the till, distracting yourself as you rearrange your sanitizer and check the bin in case it was missed.

“She’s my daughter. How would you feel if one of your sisters ran off, huh?”

“You don’t get to talk about my sisters,” you turn back to him, “fine, alright, you want evidence, I’ll give you evidence, sir.” You take out your phone and flick through it in frustration, “the last message she sent me was the night we went out.” You turn the screen to him, “she hasn’t texted, she hasn’t called. Happy? Cause I don’t think she’s interested in being my friend anymore. She’s finally outgrown the poor girl.”

You can’t help but throw the phone at him as your emotion wells up, “she was only ever friends with me to piss you off. Like I said, I’m not stupid. I just--” you cut yourself off, “I got work to do.”

You turn back to the screen at your shoulder and brace the cash drawer. You take a slow breath and let it out. You’re embarrassed. He finally did it. He finally got you to crack. You refuse to look at him as he gently places your phone on the counter.

“Got it,” he says softly, “she isn’t with you.” He clears his throat and shifts, “debit.”

You grit your teeth, staring at the screen as you hit the button to activate the pin pad, “go ahead.”

You listen to the beep of each button as he puts in his pin. You wait and the till chimes as the transaction goes through. You rip of the receipt and drop it beside you on the counter without looking. You can hear everything, even the soft noise of him slipping his card back in his wallet. You keep your attention on the monitor.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” he says.

Your furrow your nose as you listen to his footsteps and only turn when you hear the automatic door whoosh. You look down at your phone beside the tray of food, the receipt laid neatly over it. You peek up at the doors and your stomach growls.

His pity is hardly preferable to his spite.

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #you make me wanna #drabble #series #au #the club #night hunter

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alltheboysandgirlsiloved · 6 months ago

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one thing I haven't touched upon yet is how well the showrunners handled the time jump between Camp Cretaceous and Chaos Theory and more specifically - how well they handled maturing the campers.

At least to me the transition is nearly smoothless. Like, a couple of years have passed for those kids and those included years when people tend to change a lot - from children they grow into young adults. And the show did a fantastic job of shaping their adult forms in terms of personality. Because all of them have the core traits that we associated them with in Camp Cretaceous but at the same time they are more mature and carry their experiences on their back - both the experiences that we know of and those that could potentially fill up the time jump space if you know what I mean.

I look at Kenji for example and I still see remains of the boy that he was - a little bit arrogant (it still shows! he is very proud just of different things!), someone who doesn't shy away from an argument; but at the same time I see a man who has spent hours teaching kids and adults how to rock-climb - he can be patient too; I see someone who had to re-evaluate a lot in his life, and I can see that it wasn't easy, that it took a toll on him.

Or for example Sammy! Someone who loves her friends and family dearly still, a girl who was willing to fight for those she loved. But at the same time I see a young woman who knows that sometimes a compromise is the best option (like that situation with her neighbor). I see someone who still learns when her love and affection need to take a backseat for others to develop. I see someone who knows that sometimes being apart, even if it hurts, may be a good thing. I see someone forgiving but persistent.

Ben too... A boy who went through severe trauma that made his personality do flip and then, once time passed, he started rebuilding what was left of his old core. Anxious he is, a little boy still, but also a fighter - because he had to be one. At the same time, I see a young man who is a little torn on where he stands, who still figures out the details of his personality but who also knows his strengths and capabilities. In the end, he is energy-unbound, and he is eager to learn about the world in so many ways.

Darius, a boy who lost so much, and a young man who lost just as much. Life hasn't been easy on him. In jwcc grief encouraged him to attend camp, fulfill his father's dream. In jwct that aspect of his personality develops even more - now grief spins him into action, he doesn't wait for things to happen, he acts. He can work with others but he can also rely on himself, he grew up; he knows that he can handle himself, he still learns that he can reach out and ask for help, but he's getting there. He really is.

Not to mention Yas who has always been a creative person. Yes, it may be surprising that I mention that first but look at her now - inventing stuff, conducting projects? Remember her sketchbook in jwcc? Yeah, look where that creativity took her, look where her compassion took her - she helps people by helping herself. It was such a problem for her in jwcc (esp at the beginning) and look at her now - she's miles ahead of her old self.

Their personalities make so much sense because they are a clear continuation of their personalities in jwcc, and that's one of the reasons why jwct is so freaking good.

#jwcc #camp cretaceous #jurassic world camp cretaceous #jurassic world chaos theory #jwct

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h5eavenly · 8 months ago

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Carousel┃H.HJ SMAU

Fifty- Flickers Of The Past II.

Warnings: heavy angst, hyunyn being stupid, sexual assault (it's not graphic or detailed but i put a little X right before it in case it triggers you and you want to skip)

wc: 9.1k

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The air smelled sweet, filled with glisters of memories and feelings you promised to bury last year. peaches, fresh and an abiding reminder of the oaths you had splintered between you and yourself. an oddity that only seems to be right in the tight space of Hyunjin’s room. Light blue colored walls equivalent to crashing waves of the ocean alongside the saltiness in the air sweeping in through his window has you slowly seeping in an almost comfortable siesta. Summer, the beach, the sweetness that had lingered on your tongue are all alluring you to the love embodied in him. You find yourself in the same mazes of vows you repeat to yourself, whispering to every passing pink colored rose that you will stop soon, you’ll just love him till next week, till next month, next six months, till the end of the year and you will stop then.

Yet his bracelet is still tight around your wrist and your heart is singing his name as if no other song can even exist at the same time as him.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin who was mere inches away from you. He is sprawled on his bed. The sound of his pencil gliding across the papers of his sketchbook in drawings you’re unaware of fills the silence in the room. Along with his rust covered fan, providing assist to the growing heat of the sun. You turn your head from where you’ve been lying on his carpeted floor, a pillow he threw at you earlier is beneath your crossed arms as you stare at him. As if mountains of worlds had nestled themselves between you, and you are nothing but a worthless rock at his doorstep, without cease for even a moment, a brush of his eyelashes over his cheeks when he blinks your way would surely be enough.

You long for him.

An invisible string ties itself around your ankle and holds you in place and swears to keep you in check. Never too far in. Never too excited, never too hopeful, and filled with infinite patience.

Hyunjin has grown a little taller with the passing days that had blended into your junior year of high school, his shoulders a little broader. Hair strands growing longer at an uncomfortable length right at the nape of his neck. You know all these silly little things, all the little details that have made their way into your memory and taken their claim there, having your eyes follow him whenever he’s near had become second nature. Spending time in his small room, listening to all the lectures his mom threw his way. Whether it be his worsening smoking habits or telling him to cut off his hair already. It’s all so unnecessary to remember but you do, you always do. The weight of them grows heavier each passing day and you wonder how your mind finds space to keep him.

And when Hyunjin finally notices your adoring eyes, never with the same adoration he looks back at you with a raised brow. A different glint in his stare that has the weight on your chest grow into an even more of a substantial threat, has your heart picking speed in yearning that’s never gonna be met.

How more foolish can your heart ever grow to be?

“Why do you keep staring at me? Are you in love with me or something angel?” The curl of his smirk brings faux annoyance to your features, wearing them proudly to hide the darkening color of your cheeks.

“You wish, asshole.” You grumble under your breath, turning your head like his walls are more worthy of remaining crumbs of your attention. Hyunjin only snorts in reply, resuming the scribbles of his pencil.

How foolish is all you can say to yourself when you move to stand up, ignoring the tugging of the string around your ankle, telling you to sit still. A warning that falls on your deafening ears.

You’re continuously losing yourself only to stumble upon yourself too far in. too excited, too hopeful, and never patient enough.

“What are you drawing?” you ask with a playful smile on your pretty face, endearing and more than anything dangerous. Hyunjin uses his body as a cover, stretching his arms to shield his sketchbook from your eyes.

“None of your business.”

“Come on. Show me” you pout, trying to peak at his hidden drawing but to no avail.

“No,” Hyunjin is stubborn, almost childishly so. It shows in the way he tries to keep sketching even with how uncomfortable his position has become.

“Hyunjin.”

“Y/N.”

“Show me.” You order for the last time, crossing your arms with squinted eyes that only makes you even look more adorable, he tries not to find you endearing as he sits up. Legs crossed on his bed and with a teasing smirk he slowly shakes his head at you.

You attack him, jumping on top of him with broken giggles and hands reaching for his sketchbook that he grabs first. An advantage in his longer arms as he pushes it under his pillow when he falls back on his sheets with the force of your body.

“You failed yet again, how sad.” He says mockingly, circling your wrists with his hands and holding you still on top of him. You fall quiet, way too aware of the position you placed yourself in, on his bed and on top of his body, in between his scent and all his belongings. The brush of his palms on the skin of your wrists, his breaths have his chest falling up and down and you feel it. You feel him under you. Your heart is constricting in your lungs with each breath of his.

“Let go of me.” You huff, wrestling against the hold he has on you.

“You jump me and now you’re telling me to let you go?” he teases, an amused look on his face as he watches you fight in hopeless attempts. He moves to hold both of your wrists in one hand while he uses the other one to sit up “Don’t tell me you’re shy now?” he muses as he brings his face closer to you and you lean back before a blush sprouts on your face. An undressing of your emotions that you run away from me.

“As if. You’re ugly and you smell bad.” You feign disgust, lips curling into a tight-lipped smile that you know annoys him.

“You’re heavy anyways.” He grumbles, rolling his eyes at you as his grip on you finally relents and you roll off him with a breath of relief that you hope he won’t notice.

“Hey, I’m on a diet.” You whisper, refusing to look at him and keeping your eyes glued to his ceiling. You try not to think about his hand brushing against yours when he lies next to you.

“Clearly it isn’t working.”

It’s a joke, one that he had thrown at you one too many times, yet it still stings. Right at the same scabbed scar your mom had been picking at ever since you could remember, it won’t close. There’s no way for it to close and his words only dig deeper at it, it falls right into it and you once again feel like nothing but a big open wound. You fall quiet, in a sadness that cannot be explained. It is between your overflowing feelings for the boy next to you and the lack of remorse you feel for your own self-hatred.

“What are you thinking about?” Hyunjin asks, propping his head on his elbow, and turning to the side to look at you. He stops the growing frown between your brows with his pointer finger. It doesn’t belong there, surely doesn’t when you look at him with those soft eyes of yours.

“School dance,” you lie.

“What? No one asked you and now you’re sad?” He raises an eyebrow at you, pushing your face away with his pointer finger when you attempt to bite him.

“Actually, I got asked three times just today.”

“Oh yeah? By whom?”

“Han from chem class, Ryujin from math and your friend Seungmin.”

“Seungmin asked you to the school dance?” he snorts, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you at his face. Your blue feelings are pushed to the side for now.

“He didn’t tell you?” You tilt your head to look at him and the simplicity of how you act is enough for him to hold his breath, makes his insides churn and he finds himself falling into the nameless lullaby his heart sings around you. Soft, tender, and confusing.

“You better have said no.” he whispers as his fingers reach for you in scarce honesty when they brush the strands of hair over your forehead. No one has ever touched you this softly before, no one has ever been this soft when they looked at you, no one has ever managed to have you before him.

No one has ever made you this clumsy, this careless with your heart. How could you let it be stolen so easily? How could you fall for someone who carries angels in his eyes and the benevolence of the sun in his fingertips? And how could you possibly still languish after him, in hopes for him to ever look at you?

“Why? Are you scared I’ll date your best friend?” the fingers that have been gently twirling your hair turn cruel, pulling at them slightly with enough vigor to sting and you wince in pain, slapping his hand away.

“What the fuck Hyunjin?”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“Okay you didn’t have to pull my hair.” You complain with a pout, stealing his breath and anger away with your mere existence.

“Sorry angel.” He sighs before gently massaging the spot where he pulled and you melt, right under his touch and on top of his sheets. Becoming one with everything that is owned by him, one of his many folded clothes in his closest and lodged between his pencils and erasers. There but not loved enough by him to pick you up.

“What about you? Did anyone ask you?” your heart is on the edge, bearing it to him and you realize it’s stupid.

“Yeah, but the boys think I should go with Lia. They’re saying we look good together or whatever.” He speaks so causally, as if your heart isn’t in the palm of his hand and he just squeezed it with so much force it started bleeding. Aching in maroon and abandoned, akin to a deflated balloon that isn’t fun to play with anymore.

“What do you think? Do you know her?” he asks, looking down at you through his lashes and you break into pieces, the fondness in his eyes is polished, sharp enough to be plunged into you.

Of course you know her, she fits right in with Hyunjin. With the ability to shine through crowds of people and grabbing the attention of every human they pass by. With glitter in their skin and golden sparkles in their hair. They’re everything you’re not. She’s everything you’re not. You who only appears to be some abomination.

“Yeah, I think you’d look good together.”

You’re not sure what kind of answer he had hoped for but you’re more giving than you’d like, your heart is your first enemy, unfair in the way it keeps calling for him even though he never answers.

“Maybe we should go together,” Hyunjin hums, rolling off his bed and stretching his arms above his head in a dramatic manner. At your eerie silence he looks back at you, a pause in his gaze before he grins.

“As friends you know? It would be fun.”

“mhm.”

The silence lingers, settles itself into your bones and around your bleeding heart, and it’s only there to remind you once again of how foolish you are to even hope for a glimmer of Hyunjin, a glance. But it’s never going to happen.

Your hope goes as fast as it comes yet your yearning stays.

Your heart has never known peace, so it seeks solace in the inadvertent scars Hyunjin marks on you, seeks solace in the way you bleed for him. Being in love is so embarrassing it has you soaking his sheets with crimson, leaving behind evidence of your affection that you had promised one day you’ll let go of.

He’ll never look at you the way you look at him.

How foolish.

Months pass by alongside the seasons, turning the weather into frigid wind and collecting clouds every now and then that pours rain over your city. Cold and grey yet summer remains in Hyunjin, in his smile and the dip in his cheeks, in the crinkling sides of his eyes when he’s happy and the scent of his bodywash. It keeps you warm even on days like today where the wind kisses your bare legs with frozen cold lips. The sight of him on the field, running in passion towards his ambitions is enough to have an affable feeling hugging your insides.

You sit by the sidewalk and watch like a little kid, on the bleachers, a home you find pride upon yourself to call. Your notebook that has filled with designs throughout the months lies in your bosom right where it always belongs, a page with an unfinished wedding dress is slowly coming to life between your dancing gaze and the flickers of your pencil. It’s a consequence of huddled thoughts that came to life on random night, turning you into a hopeless dreamer. Imagining yourself in different clothes that will fit whatever scenario your mind had conquered. Hyunjin is constant in each one of them.

This one by far had been the most absurd, you kept rolling in your bed trying to push down the thoughts that had invaded your head late at night, yet they remained. Despite the way you chastised yourself repeatedly you still rolled off the bed because the thoughts of drawing your own wedding dress hadn’t left your mind until it materialized itself on your paper. In your head you’re wearing it when you’re 26, old enough to know what you want and young enough to know you don’t need to waste any more time.

In your head Hyunjin is tucked in every little folder, pages upon page he filled out and in every little story you feed your delusions, he’s your knight in shining armor and in this particular tale he’s waiting for you down the aisle, his hair is even longer and it’s the mid of July, his mother is there and Hanuel who grew up too fast is tearing up. In your head Hyunjin loves you back just as much and when you face him his eyes sparkle with unyielding affection just for you. In your head everything falls perfectly into place.

“Hey Y/N.” your dreams are broken by your rather cold reality when Seungmin is sitting next you.

“Hi.” You clear your throat, a growing blush on your cheeks as you scramble to turn the page over. Refusing to be witnessed in your own acts of dreaming. His eyes flicker between the now empty page and you.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“Not at all.” You shake your head, pretending like you’re just about to start drawing. Your pencil leaves meaningless lines of graphite behind.

“You never gave me an answer, so I thought I’d come ask you again.”

“An answer for what?”

“The dance.”

“Oh. I thought I’d just go with Han since he asked me first.” You keep your eyes on your notebook, refusing to let a telling of your lie show. You hadn’t expected Seungmin to be sharp enough to cut through it all.

“You’re not saying no to me because of Hyunjin, are you?” your hand halts its movement, paused in their journey of discovering the existence of art without your best friend.

When you look up, gaze forward and they naturally fall on him you find yourself struggling to hold the pieces of your heart together, begging them to hold on for just a little more.

You lied they tell you, you said you’d move on you’d spare us this pain they yell, and you ache not because the sight of Hyunjin is devastatingly beautiful, not this time. You ache because Lia is there, right in his space and right where you don’t belong. You’re pushed to the side once more not by him but by your own infatuation that courses through your divine being. It’s cruel and violently honest when it whispers that this is how things were meant to be. When her hand is brushing his arm, there’s a gentle smile on his face, you fall apart, right on the bleachers you so called home.

“no. nothing is ever because of him.” If you repeat it enough maybe, then it will be true.

“It’s okay Y/N.” he says with his hand enveloping yours in comforting manner, tone soft just like his hands.

You kneel into a dream, where you’re loved by Hyunjin, and summer is always surrounding you.

Your friendship with Seungmin had bloomed in a serendipitous manner, taking your sorrowful days with a momentary bliss that you find yourself looking for when being around Hyunjin gets too overwhelming, too heavy for your shoulders to carry. You look for Seungmin when the weight of your very own sentiment overflows your sanity. The string around your ankle burns, too tight, too hot so you run. Away from Hyunjin and right into Seungmin.

Seungmin was so different than Hyunjin, he was soft where Hyunjin was rough, and dark where Hyunjin was light. It was comforting in a sense that you found hard to explain just because you related to him. A familiar murkiness that had lodged itself in your destiny for as long as you remember. So, you bare your soul to Seungmin, in all the little things you can’t show to Hyunjin, he’s there.

You hadn’t anticipated the fall of it all.

✘

It was a gloomy day, dreadful with rain drenching your clothes in misery you were not conscience enough to grasp it. So, you look for leverage in between the walls of Seungmin’s room, in the flooded clothes he had handed you, you don’t get to dwell on his kindness, on the warmth his clothes provide you because he’s in your space as soon as you’re out of the bathroom and he’s pinning you against the nearest wall, harsh and revolting he presses his frostbitten lips to yours.

Your gasp is swallowed by his monstrous desires and your hands are the weakest weapon, barely are when they push at his shoulders.

“W-what the fuck are you doing?” you shake, terror taking claim on you when you notice how wide blown his eyes are.

“Come on. It’s not like you didn’t know I wanted you.”

You fall into a tussle, right on his floor and you’re overpowered by his figure and then he’s pinning your hands to the ground with unbreakable force. An unrecognizable vile flicker in his eyes, one that you hadn’t noticed before and it has your chest tightening around your heart, struggling to breath as your eyes well up with terrifying tears.

“Seungmin please let go of me. Don’t do this.” You plea with desperation lacing your voice and it cascades down with your tears, achingly familiar with fright.

“It’s okay Y/N. You don’t have to fight me this will be quick.” He voices darkly and your panic grows, translating in the trashing of your legs, futile attempts to break free “No! I don’t want this let go.”

His grip on you grows unrelenting, harsh and it burns when they tighten around your wrists, his hips press your body into the floor, and you feel trapped between him and his dirty floor. It has nausea building in the pit of your stomach and anxiety running through your veins.

“Please Seungmin.” You break and he pauses, eyes dancing over features “Why are you crying Y/N? Did you seriously think I spent all that time with you because I cared? Do you really think someone who’s broken as you is worth anyone’s time?” his words sink themselves into your bones, needles into your flesh and you shake your head. He almost coos at you, hand cupping your cheek as they brush over your tears but they’re endless, almost as endless as your pain.

“Who are you even saving yourself for mhm? Hyunjin? You realize how ridiculous that is right? You should be thankful that I’m giving you a chance and touching you right now. No one else would.”

That night, Seungmin had managed to use every little secret you told him against you, mumbling them into your skin until they became the entirety of you. Your wounds, deep and ugly, too hideous to show are all what makes you, you. And resentment fills you at the trivial thought of your existence. A mere cobblestone that only ever holds everyone else back, has everyone stumbling on you.

You leave Seungmin’s house not even half a person anymore but simply nothing, and you find comfort in the nothingness in your mind, a comfort in the numbness that washes over you with the rain. A silly part of you prays the water washes away the feeling of his hands on you, his lips and maybe to steal your mind with it. So, when you wake up none of this would be real, it would be all just a stupid nightmare that gives you temporary panic.

It has your feet following a familiar route in search of comfort, for a rush of sun that would be lovely enough to sanitize you, yet you’re only allowed to wither away in the cold when you see Hyunjin with Lia right outside his house, he’s holding an umbrella over her head and a hue of pink, and yellow surrounded them. A barrier you’re not allowed to break with your greys, so you leave, a whirlwind of emotions carries you through the night, stormy and ghastly.

Catastrophic of the ever so-called love you held onto, it takes you right to the beach, with frigid air, you weep, wishing for yourself to liquify with the water to be taken away, you wish to dissipate, become one with the wind or maybe to deteriorate into nothing but stardust that will fly away, not big enough to be seen or bright enough for intriguing stares. But you stay, you’re there upon the sands and you’re there in cracks of your painful misery, in the heartbreak flooding you with an immense type of agony, resembles the first heartbreak you experienced while witnessing your father’s betrayal. You’re there right betwixt in the sickening layers that coat you.

You wonder how much of your mother has she left in you? The anger, sadness, and the constant waiting for a man to look back at you only to be pushed aside for someone else, someone better someone who’s not always lingering with insanity in their love. How much of your mother’s destiny are you forced to live? Was this heinous heartbreak in your blood or could it be washed away by the winter rain?

The second time you feel utter despair in your life, you die, leaving behind your body unbeknownst to your departure.

You avoid Hyunjin for three full weeks. It all happens so easily amid fake excuses you throw at him. You no longer wait for him after practice and instead you rush home with half-truths like your mom wants you to be home. You watch Hyunjin’s light grow dimmer and dimmer you each time you avoid his eyes, each time you flinch when he touches you and each time he smiles at you, you drown in your shame. In the memory of his friend’s hands on your body, you have been tainted, inside and out so you must leave. How could you stay by his side when he’s so bright it blinds you.

So, you lock yourself away in ignominy, it takes over you every time you and Seungmin are too close in the same radius and a breath of relief escapes you whenever he passes by and pretends you’re not there, he doesn’t look your way and you grow thankful, somehow indebt to him because now you can pretend none of it was real.

Your running and Hyunjin’s burning for you all accumulates to one random Monday, an aching in his heart that draws him to you, looking for you in the faces of everyone he passes by, in the voices of all the girls that talk to him all day but they’re not you. He looks for you in his sketchbook that has been filled with portraits of you he craved carefully, with heedful attention yet they don’t compare to you. Nothing ever compares to you.

His life was a chaotic mess, noisy and he strives on mayhem, has felt it bloom in the middle of his chest and into the districts of his jumbled-up brain. But you’re so different, you’re in the wind, soundless and gentle, you’re in the masses of the ocean strong and beautiful. So, he learns to love you in silence, from a distance. Hyunjin learns to love the moon just for you while you convulsion in loneliness and yearn for him. Constantly missing the sunlight.

“How was your test?” Han holds the door of the class open for you and you pass by him with a thankful smile, your scent loiters right under his nose.

“Not too bad, you?”

“I’m pretty sure I got everything right.”

“As expected of you.” You smile at him, and he immediately looks away with pinking cheeks that you don’t seem to notice, too busy checking through your answers as you navigate your way between the students to your locker.

However, Hyunjin who has been waiting for you right by at it notices, it has his fingers digging into the flesh of his arms in anger. Fresh out of a practice that wasn’t his best. Does not help him in the slightest and instead adds fuel to his already growing anger, it runs straight through his blood, tainting it green with jealously he didn’t know what felt like till he set his eyes on you. It claws at him, plasters itself right in the center of his chest and compresses it into painful tugs.

Why was it so painful to look at you sometimes?

He grits his teeth when the boy next you he doesn’t recognize wraps his arm around your shoulder in caution when you almost bump into one of the students clumsily and you smile at him, mumbling words that he cannot hear, letting another person that isn’t him touch you. It isn’t him so why are you letting it happen?

“Y/N.” He calls when you ‘re close enough and still haven’t spared him a look, too busy listening to whatever nonsense the nerd next to you is saying. Why are you letting a loser like him even be this close to you?

“Oh! Hyunjin.” Your eyes lit up when you see him and yet he fails to notice. Too blinded by his growing possessiveness.

“This is han! From chem class. Remember I told you about him?” Your tone is too cheerful for his liking, and it makes him even more confused, growing angrier at the glowing smile on your pretty face. You were supposed to preserve that for his and his eyes only. How do you dare to throw it around so casually as if it wasn’t dangerous. As if you hadn’t stolen a piece of him with that same smile.

“Hwang Hyunjin, right? I saw your game last week! Dude you’re insane.” The nerdy boy – lanky and comely – Han rambles on, extending his hand out to the taller who doesn’t move an inch. Keep his figure leaned on your locker and his stare hardens into a glare.

“Hyunjin!” you scold in a hushed whisper when Han awkwardly retracts his hand, Hyunjin doesn’t even look at you, keeps his stare glued to the boy as if he looked away something that will only anger him is gonna occur again.

“Okay well! I guess I’m gonna go.” Han’s voice cuts through the awkwardness and the building tension between the glared stares of you and Hyunjin “I’ll see you tonight?” he turns to you, and you nod enthusiastically.

“What was that?” you ask, facing Hyunjin with a raised brow.

“I should be the one asking. What the fuck was that? What does he mean see you tonight?” Hyunjin scowls, features twisting with bitterness.

“The school dance is tonight. I told you he asked me.”

“And I told you we should go together.”

“I didn’t agree to that.” You reply nonchalantly, pushing his shoulder and he moves away from your locker, for you to open it and rummage through your stuff, looking for the book of your next class.

“I don’t know why you’re so against us going together.” He almost whines, annoyed and frustrated at the walls you refuse to break down. At the fact that you have been avoiding him for a while now. He only ever craves you, yet you remain unattainable in ways that only drives him crazy, so he’ll settle for a segment of you, no matter how small or big.

“And I don’t know why you want us to go together so bad.” You shut your locker, throwing him a side look and Hyunjin bites his tongue in attempts to swallow his words down hoping you won’t notice his fidgeting.

“I don’t think Han is good for you. He looks at you weird.” You roll your eyes at his futile tries and he’s growing hopeless.

“We’re just friends, Hyunjin.”

“Friends don’t go to dances together Y/N.”

“What about us then?”

“We’re different.”

“How exactly are we different?” you raise an eyebrow promptly at his words and Hyunjin sighs, defeatedly brushing a hand over his face. He doesn’t know how to answer you, doesn’t know how to tell you that you have contrived to crave open his heart and sat yourself inside. So, he falters instead, hoping your eyes contact is somewhat fulfilling enough for you to listen for once.

“Just go with Lia. Weren’t you telling me all about how pretty she is?” Hyunjin groans louder than you anticipated, capturing the attention of the people around you and so evidently obvious with furiousness when his eyes widen, fliting across your feature “why are you bringing her up now? I don’t understand you Y/N.”

“I don’t understand you either Hyunjin!” you retaliate, your own frustration grows at this seemingly endless discussion that seems to be heading nowhere in direction. At him pretending like he won’t toss you away again when he sees her.

“Just fucking go with me Y/N. Please.” There’s desperation lacing his voice, like he could crumble and fall right at your feet and cry, but he won’t ever tell you about the truth of his feelings, a coward in the act of facing you, facing his growing emotions for you.

“Unless you give me a valid reason then no. you don’t get to order me around.” You shake your head at him, there’s splashes of hurt on your face that he misses, a deflated hope that pokes at you and a hue of grey that reminds you once again of how impolitic you are, and he misses it.

You walk away taking your shine along with you, it drags behind you and leaves the hallway growing cold, cruel, and dark and it looms right on top of his head and body. Filling his limbs with the pain of feeling for you.

Your figure grows further and further away, almost mockingly evoking the stinging reality that he won’t ever get to have you, you’re always slipping between the cracks of his fingers easily. Each time he thought he had a good grip on you, you managed to escape. Leaving him only with a figment of you.

Hyunjin is always missing you.

Later that night when your mother has helped you in a red dress that fitted right onto your body like a glove, there’s a rare almost proud smile on her face as she looks down your reflection in the mirror.

“Your body looks perfect darling.” Your smile doesn’t even look like it belongs there when you force it, your own reflection stares back at you in pity and you wither away alongside your confidence that dies slowly with the brush of her hand.

“Thank you, mommy.”

“I’m so glad you’re not going with that Hwang kid. I was scared you’re gonna end up stuck on him forever.” At the mention of his name your heart falls in your chest and breaks, then it hangs in the air, like it wraps around your throat and you’re fighting against it to breathe.

“He’s not as bad as you think.” You try to defend, tone weak and nowhere near convincing, nowhere near as he is in your heart.

“Your dad saw him smoking with the shady kids from down the street. Trust me when I say he’s not good for you.” She rambles on, disgusted and judgmental as she starts to fold the abandoned yellow dress you refused to put on despite your mom’s likeness, you couldn’t put it on without feeling like a phoney. It resembled the sun too much and you couldn’t bear to feel Hyunjin on your skin anymore. You couldn’t bear to be the only person to be standing in this love anymore.

“Crushes come and go Y/N. believe me when I tell you boys like Hyunjin are never the smart choice.”

Your mother’s words echo in your mind, bumping into the walls of your brain and begging to find meaning in them, truth in the pain that lingers in your chest because of him. Your fingers brush over your bracelet delicately as if his initial is his face and you wish for your warmth to reach him. This feeling bumping life into your heart is lonely, embarrassing and more than anything: persisting. Stubbornly so as it feeds you hope that only breaks your back in half, leaving you walking home only half a person, never full.

You keep selfishly buying specks of the unforgiving sun, collecting them one by one in your soul, keeping count of everything without much effort. It may be fleeting. A minuscule fragment of his smile, his dimple, the mole under his eye. You buy all the time you could afford and spend it watching him unravel his youth in his hobbies, soccer, drawing, dancing and just like a proud mother you cheered, a loving father you had waited and a good friend you listened.

But none of these things could ever change who you are, none of these things have made Hyunjin look at you and he never will.

you who’s still living life in darkness just needed to embrace the truth for once.

And that’s why you had promised yourself to live tonight as a normal teenager would, not a girl who’s broken down by the weight of her dad’s betrayal, not a girl who’s pitifully wilting away with great ardor for her best friend but rather a free human. Akin to a bird flying away from the shackles of the contents of your own flesh, recklessly so-called heart. So, you tilt your head with a smile when Han hands you a bouquet of red flowers that matches your dress when he picks you up, you let him guide you through the crowd with a hand on the end of your back and you let him dance with you, a beam on his face that’s almost as bright as the sun. Almost. And you tremendously cling to it. In pitiable ambition to forget about the existence of Hyunjin just for a mere a night, perhaps a mere moment that quickly turns into you pretending. Throwing yourself a silly play where you’re laughing with your whole chest and there are no residues of stubborn heartbreak that plastered itself onto you. A play where you’re the puppet and you are the puppet master, urging yourself to run away and hide from your own desires.

It's all feigned indifference when Han’s arms are around your waist and he’s pulling you closer, it’s not summer and it’s not genial. But perhaps summer was just not your season, you’re nothing close to a rose, nowhere near pretty petals and you will never be redolent. You’re something akin to stem thorns, grotesque and you’ll stab anything that touches you.

Your play ends too soon when Hyunjin is pushing through the crowds of people, fueled by rage and your confused stare when he’s standing in front of you. It all happens too quickly, your gasps mixed with everyone else around you when his fist collides with Han’s jaw. A gruesome play steals the show instead. It’s all a result of Hyunjin’s cowardness and your self-hatred. Han is only a victim that gets run over in the process.

This is it then, the point of no return.

"Y/N!" Hyunjin calls out to you, breathless and high on adrenaline when he follows you. As if he hadn’t just left a crime scene behind. As if Han wasn’t a bloody mess left behind, an aftermath of his foolish and pathetic attempt to take false claim over you. You, and that’s it. It’s all what he ever wanted.

"Leave me alone!" you shout back, walking faster and away from him. Needing to get away from him with your tears clinging to your waterline like pearls.

"Can you stop running away for once? That's all you fucking do. Face me for a change." he yells back angrily, frustration seeping into his words. And you stop abruptly in your track, turning to face him with venom filled expression and like a sick twisted bastard he’s happy you’re showing him emotions other than nonchalant.

“Maybe I’ll face you when you stop fucking acting like a child that throws a tantrum every time things don’t go his way.”

“What was I supposed to do? You iced me out, you won’t even look at me!”

“So, you go and hit my fucking date?” you yell in complete frustration, your voices echo in the empty street and you explode, overflowed with anger and longing has you marching back to him “Just who the fuck do you think you are Hyunjin? What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re what’s wrong with me Y/N! can’t you fucking see it? You’re everything that’s wrong with me.”

“Then fucking me let me be Hyunjin. If’ I’m so awful if I’m so wrong, why do you care?” your anger evaporates, blends into the waterfall spilling over your cheeks in an achingly familiar manner, burns and you’re nothing but a child pulled together with anger and resentment for the world.

“You’re my friend of course I care.”

“We can never be friends Hyunjin.” You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief as you turn to walk away but he stops you, a hand wrapped around your forearm.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” When you try to break free his hold on you tightens.

“What are you trying to say? What do you mean we can’t be friends?” He questions, voice cracking with his every word.

“I can never be your fucking friend. I can’t pretend anymore. this will never work.” The pain in your voice matches the one starting to swim in his eyes. A part of you scolds you, chastises you for being so cruel how could you inflict pain on him? You should fix it now.

Yet you stand still, remind yourself of the string that wraps around your ankle and when Hyunjin’s grip relents, growing gentle, you break free with a sniffle.

“So, this is it? You’re just gonna leave me behind?”

“You will never understand.” You bitterly chuckle.

“I will never understand what? Y/N Tell me.” He urges like your words had physically hurt him, settled in his heart, and tore it apart.

“You will never understand that I am fucking in love with you!” You feel as if the world around you stills, your own words hang over you, right under the star-speckled sky you had finally confessed to your biggest sin in a blood-soaked dress.

“I love you, okay? No matter what I do this love won’t leave me alone it consumes every fiber of my being, and I can’t do anything but stay still. I can’t be me anymore I can’t exist without you yet being next to you kills me. I don’t know how to do anything but let it take over me completely. it has spread through me like a disease I can’t get rid of it.” You breathe out with a heaving chest.

Choked by your own tears and the spikes of love that were stabbed in your throat finally dies, killed by your affirmations of affections and your salty tears. It’s bittersweet, the love on your tongue and the upcoming end. But then Hyunjin is in your range, dangerously close and he’s pulling you into him and into an unexpectedly dangerous kiss. It’s bittersweet but then it’s only sweet, in his honey dripping lips, peaches and fruity.

His kiss is dizzying, like a carousel going so round and round that you’re almost flying into the night.

“Say it again.” He whispers, the tenderness in his voice washing over you and when his thumb brushes over your cheeks, wiping away your tears it casts a flicker of hope into your fragile heart. ”Please tell me you love me again.” He speaks again and you can only cry, looking for answers in his eyes to the growing confusion in you.

“Tell me you feel the same way I do. Tell me you’ve loved me like I’ve loved you all along.” He pleads with unguarded vulnerability.

“You love me?” The words tumble from your lips in a rush, coated in disbelief and for the first time you let your hope grow, let it flop its wings in your chest and take space.

“I’ve done nothing these past two years but burn for you. I see your face in my reflection and hear your voice in my head. I find your love in the silence of my chaos. I don’t know how to be anything but in love with you Y/N.”

“But how? How is this possible?” Your tears are akin to a river, endless and forceful. When Hyunjin wipes them, they only multiply as if they’re aware of how something like this could not be your reality.

There’s a newfound emotion in Hyunjin’s eyes, in his smile when he rests his forehead against yours in earnest attempt to flower this hope alongside you “How could it not be possible when I’ve found you in every passing moment I breathed? How could it not to be possible when I know I’ll love you till the very last star in the sky burned into oblivion?”

You’ll always remember the night everything changed, the night you stopped falling in love and instead was taken away with it, the night you started walking into love with Hyunjin.

It’s all so fresh in your memory, the beginning of the end, the way it ended when it never really began. It’s all so fresh and it all felt real in your heart even when three months later Hyunjin has missed more dates than the ones you went on. When he left you alone in the hallways of your school. Leaving you once again to grow lonely in the tomb of your short love. It all falls apart before you get to blink.

The yearning for Hyunjin subsides and is replaced by the yearning for him to put you first. You could tell that despite your importance in his heart he grew accustomed to your presence way too quickly. He doesn’t get to miss you long enough because you’re always here, on the bleachers waiting for him, stood up in public waiting for him, and wide awake in your bed waiting for a text back.

You’re always in a state of waiting, like you’ve been in the cold for far too long, you wait for the warmth of the sun.

The lonesomeness melds into your being, becoming one with you and follows you like a shadow. Glued and unseparated. So, you settle, for less, for mere specks of sunlight and you close off. On all the unspoken words that dig your grave deeper and deeper, pulling you right into the darkness you believed you’d be able to run away from.

Fate has managed to prove to you how bloodthirsty it is yet again, sinking its fangs into you and sucking every bit of life that runs through your veins. It’s in the way your life starts to crumble once again.

In the middle of the week, your mother finds you in the living room. A glare plastered on her aged-up face. A cruelness dousing the edges of her scowl when she stands in front of you, hands crossed on her chest.

“Your father saw you with Hyunjin.” She declares as if you should be ashamed and you could only sigh in response, tired in the way your shoulders deflate.

“So?”

“I thought I told you to cut him off already. Your father is angry.”

“I don’t care what my father thinks.” You stand up, already checked out from this conversation and heading towards the stairs.

“You must care. We’re moving away by the end of the week.”

“What? And you’re just telling me this now?” You exclaim in frustration and your mother’s scowl only deepens, displeased with the raise in your voice.

“Just listen to your father Y/N.” she orders like you aren’t human and in that moment, you feel like you aren’t. you melt onto the ground beneath, and you leave everything behind, your skin, your bones, your very self.

Later that night you’re sitting on the edge of your empty bed, your phone tightly clutched in your hand it buzzes with an incoming call, and you wipe your tears with the back of your hand, picking it up seconds later.

“Hello?”

“Hey angel.” His voice is airy and comforting in a way that could only be glued to him. And you swallow down your sob. At your silence he sighs.

“Are you upset with me? I know I promised I’d walk you home today, but practice took longer than I expected.”

“it’s okay.” You whisper a lie, it’s never okay and you have accepted that it never will be. You did the math and now you know there’s no way for you two to last. It was a new revolution, a terrifying one knowing that love isn’t always enough.

“Look out the window baby.”

When you pull your curtains, his figure looking up at you has every negative emotion in you dissolving into nothing but a feeling of abandonment. You realize at the end of this night you’ll be the one to walk away yet you still feel like you have been betrayed. It seeps into your bones and makes them shake, spreading through your spine in painful terror when he brings a singular pink rose before him.

“You love pink roses, so I got you this. Forgive me?” He grins up at you, eyes morphing into their usual moon crescents and your chest tightens in an inhumanly possible agony.

“I’ll always forgive you Hyunjin.” You could only hope the darkness of the nights aids in hiding the tears brimming in your waterline.

An hour later and you manage to find yourself settled upon the familiar sand of the beach. A heavy feeling takes claim on your soul, taking over every cranny and nook of your being and you let it. Because what are you if not defeated, what are you if not a quitter. You grew tired of constantly fighting, resisting with your fists balled up. So, you let go, in honor of all the secrets you’ll take with you, all the white lies that will remain white. Hidden away from Hyunjin because you refuse to take away his shine, you refuse to be the reason he loses trust in the beauty of the world.

So, you’ll play the villain, you’ll welcome his resentment for you with open arms and a crying face.

Tonight, the ocean is a witness to your ending just as it was a witness to your beginning.

“I’m gonna miss you.” You whisper to Hyunjin who sits next you, unknowing of what’s about to come and he leans into your palm that had cuddled his cheek. Nuzzles into it with and places a soothing kiss right into the lines of your palm, draws a map with his lips that will always lead you back to him.

“I promise not to make you miss me anymore.”

A year

Two

And three later you know there will be moments where your hearts will reach out for each other. And so, you lean forward, taking his lips for yours in a gentle kiss, tender, delicate and you tattoo farewell onto his lips.

“You don’t have to promise me anything anymore Hyunjin.” You hadn’t realized you started crying until his eyes flitted across your features in worry and confusion.

“What’s wrong angel?” raw concern laces his tone, and you deem yourself unworthy so you stand up and he follows blindly, a choked sob wrecking its way through your body as his arms embraces you, his heart aches in attempts to hold yours, to ease it and you don’t have the courage to tell him it’s not enough.

“I’m sorry about everything I promise to make it up to you baby.” He tries and tries and tries and it’s almost too late, so you break free of his hug and you attempt to smile at him, unsettling with your tear streaked face and it has his heart dropping right between you two.

“I don’t think we have time for that anymore jinnie.”

“What does that mean?” his eyes search yours in panic, as if they’re sensing your plan.

“I love you.” You ignore his question, standing on your tiptoes to place a short chaste kiss on his lips “I’ll love you for as long as I live.” You whisper against them, a rare truth of yours that will surely linger in the silence he always runs away from. You realize it then, both of you are constantly running so how is it possible for you to ever meet?

“Why are you talking as if you’re saying goodbye Y/N?” his eyebrows furrow and he’s never looked so desperate for an answer.

“Because I am.” Your sweaty palms squeeze his and you can’t understand why you can’t stop forcing your lips into forming a smile. Part of your brain tells you, you want Hyunjin’s last memories of you to be you smiling but it’s so foolish, specially so when you can’t stop crying, when your tears are leaving a trail of hideous evidence on your cheeks.

“You’re leaving me?” The pieces of the puzzle are suddenly falling into place and the pain flashing in his eyes is a reminder of the blood on your hands. The blood on your feet when you step on his heart.

“I’m sorry Hyunjin.” Your words are nothing but a broken record that you repeat to him, to yourself, to your memories and to the beach and then you do the only thing you’re good at, you run, choking on your tears as you walk past him and Hyunjin does the only good thing he’s good at, he chases you.

“what do you mean you’re sorry Y/N? if this is about how I treated you these past months then I’m sorry I promise to try harder I promise to spend more time-“

“It doesn’t matter!” you interrupt him with a yell, a cry for help to not make this harder for you “none of this matters Hyunjin. Let’s just end this before it’s too late.” The words taste foreign on your tongue, you never imagined yourself to mutter them not when you were a carbon copy of your mother, a woman that will always put love first, because what are you if not a cracked stone desperate for love.

“Please Y/N.” and what is Hyunjin if not a mere being desperate for crumbs of you, it’s in the way his eyes shine with tears he hadn’t shed since his father died. Sparkling so beautifully it’s unfair when he’s on his knees for you.

“Please stay. Please don’t leave me. I can’t breathe when you’re not near.”

“Please just let me let you go.” Hyunjin cries at your words and you wonder when did your relationship turn into you two constantly pleading for different things the other cannot afford. Cannot fulfill.

You feel it then, more than ever, more than you were alone in love. You feel centimeters between your bodies stretch farther and farther. Building itself into mountains you cannot climb and oceans upon oceans you cannot cross. You’re suddenly paralyzed. A weak human who never learned how to swim, you never learned to love correctly and how to unlock your heart without a shadow of your lies lingering right around the corner and ready to take over.

So, you leave Hyunjin like a torn-up piece of paper behind you, a poem of broken promises and loving touches that only turn to venom and keeps him awake at night.

You realize you spent half your time wishing for him and he was yours you spent it fighting for his attention, wishing for him to put you as priority and when you lost him you kept wishing to be remembered. You were always wishing, never satisfied. So even when the sun shines the next day, you’re still aching all over.

Three days later Hyunjin strolls to your house, his sketchbook in his hands and apology on his tongue dissolves when he finds it empty. The cruelty of your actions dawns on him, and it breaks his heart into a million tiny pieces, impossible to put back together. Your face in his pages remains unseen to you and instead stays in between his belongings. His muse is gone, and you turn to be a distant a memory. He breaks over you then he hates you, and it blends into him missing you only for him to hate you again.

He realizes he never really knew you, a part of you had always managed to stay hidden. Just like the moon. There was no moment in time when he had all of you and so he resents you.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

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idleoblivion · 7 months ago

Text

"A Dangerous Muse" Jade Leech x GN Reader

Synopsis: You found him so pretty, it was hard not to get inspired. Still, it felt a little creepy to sketch him without permission. But it’s fine as long as he doesn’t find out, right?

Word Count: ~1.5k

A/N: This was supposed to be like maybe 500 words idk what happened

Warnings: Lots of teasing (I mean, it's Jade), brief Floyd cameo

Your secret wasn’t a particularly bad one, it was mostly just embarrassing. When he sat with his brother and Azul at lunch, when you could catch him during his shift at the lounge, and if you just happened to spot him at random around campus, you would take almost any chance to draw Jade in your sketchbook. They were usually just sketches of him looking poised and gentlemanly as he did whatever task he had taken up at the time. Occasionally though, you caught him being slightly more expressive, smiling in a way that showed his pointed teeth and made his eyes wrinkle. You were more than a little embarrassed of how well you had learned the details of his face, and by the dozen or more pages you’d already filled up with drawings of him. Something about him just felt naturally alluring and intriguing to you, he made the perfect muse.

Right now, you’re sitting at a table in the lounge trying to look like you're studying and not waiting for the appearance of a certain eel. You picked a seat off to the side by yourself like usual to not draw any attention. You were pretty sure you had overheard him in the halls earlier say he was working this afternoon, so it was odd to you that he hadn’t shown up yet. You pull your sketchbook out while you wait and look through some of your previous works. You sigh looking at one of them where you were especially proud of how you captured the mischievous look that he had been wearing, with a predatory glint in his mismatched eyes that-

…Was incredibly similar to the way he was looking at you right now.

You hadn’t seen him enter from the front door or kitchen, he seemingly materialized out of thin air. But he was there now, walking past the other patrons at their tables and headed towards your own. You hurriedly shut your sketchbook and try your best to act casual.

“Oya, what a surprise seeing you here, prefect. Are you here to try our new menu?” His eyes still have a dangerous look to them, and he not so subtly steals a few glances at your sketchbook.

“No actually, I just got done studying. I was getting ready to leave.” You try to grab your sketchbook and leave before he has time to question you further, but his hand reaches out and sits on top of it first.

“Oh, you’re already done? Are you sure? I could take a look at what you’ve been working on and assist you if you need.” He has a knowing smirk on his face that immediately increases your anxiety. His hand is still resting on top of the sketchbook.

“Uh, that won’t be necessary. I can’t afford to be making deals right now and-”

“Why, who said anything about a deal? Can’t I want to help you simply out of the goodness of my heart?” He feigns an innocent expression that you don’t trust in the slightest.

Before you can retort, he grabs the sketchbook off the table and moves to open it. You nearly lunge out of your seat to try and grab it from him but he seems to anticipate it and holds it behind his back, out of your reach. He smiles again at your panicky face.

“Oya, what’s this? Is there something private in this book of yours? I thought you were supposed to be just studying?”

“I-I was, I just don’t want you doing anything to my notes, I worked hard on them.” His eyes narrow but his smile widens. “Yes, I’m sure you did. I promise I won’t compromise your work, I only intend to look.”

He pulls the sketchbook in front of him again, and you have to resist the urge to attempt to snatch it immediately. He steps forward until he’s too close, in your personal space. You try to back up only to find he has you caught between him and the table. He really leans in, his face only a few inches from you and you feel your cheeks heating up at the unexpected proximity.

“You’re sure all I’m going to find in here is notes, hm?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to find another excuse to get you out of this. Him being so close to you certainly isn’t helping you get your thoughts together. He takes advantage of your shocked state and finally opens it to the page you’d been on.

“W-wait, Jade you can’t-”

“My, what’s all this~?”

He holds the book out of your reach again while he flips through the pages. You don’t even move to stop him this time, accepting your humiliating fate. You look away from him in your shame, which makes you miss the way his eyes light up as he skims over your work.

“...You’re certainly a skilled artist, I’ll give you that.” You force yourself to look back at him and gauge how upset at you he is, but his demeanor offers you no clues to what his mood really is. “I’m no critic, but I can appreciate how detailed your drawings are. You must have studied me very intently, no?”

“I…um, I guess? I just draw you whenever I see you around. I’m sorry, I know that’s-” “Why me?” You’re caught off guard by that question, and he repeats, “Why me? There are a plethora of other students you could draw, but as far as I saw, I appear to be your only subject. Why is that?”

Well, there’s no point in lying to him, and you were already so mortified, what’s a little more humiliation?

“You’re really pretty.”

For the very first time, you see Jade look almost dumbstruck. Only for a brief moment though, as his face almost immediately changes to something much more intense. You almost think he’s upset until you realize he’s looking at you with the same face he made at his terrariums, or when he cultivated a new species of mushroom. He was intrigued, you had his full attention and interest and the weight of it was becoming overwhelming the longer he stared at you.

“You…” he trails off for a second then leans in close to you again. “It’s impressive how often you manage to surprise me.”

“I’m sorry, I still should’ve asked. I can stop, really, I will. I’m so sorry.” You spoke fast and quietly, still wishing for nothing more than a way out of this situation.

“Now, there’s no need for that. Artists need to practice regularly to improve their skills, yes? I would hate to take that away from you.” “Huh? So…you want me to keep sketching you?” “Unfortunately, Azul would have a fit if he found out I was offering you a service and not charging anything.” Of course, nothing comes for free in Octavinelle.

“Well, what would you charge then? Madol? Would I have to wait tables here?” He laughs lightly under his breath.“No, nothing like that. I believe our little deal should be well thought out and discussed, not impulsively decided right here and now. Why don’t you meet me back here this weekend, and we’ll work something out? Just you and I of course, I’m sure we don’t need Azul to mediate. Maybe I could even have you sample some dishes from our new menu during our discussion. There would be no charge for that of course, since you’d be doing me a favor by agreeing.”

As you look at his face to decipher his intentions, you're left even more confused. Why is he looking at you almost…fondly? And he wants to meet with you completely alone? And he’d offer you food for free? What did he mean by you meeting with him being a favor to him? Was this…a date? What exactly was he implying? He just continued watching you, with his polite and courteous persona that you can never truly read put back on. Still a bit flustered, you try and rationalize why you should or shouldn’t go, before he interrupts your thoughts one last time.

“Oh, and you’re very pretty as well.”

Your face is burning after that. You swallow the lump in your throat before you meekly respond.

“Oh, t-thanks. Um, yeah, this weekend sounds great.” He smiles with his teeth on display again. “I look forward to it, prefect.” He grabs your hand and places a chaste kiss to the back of it before offering you your sketchbook back. You take it without a word, brain completely short circuiting.

Then just as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone. He left you by yourself with your own racing thoughts and heart and headed towards Azul’s office. You quickly gather yourself and get ready to leave. On your way out the door, you suddenly spot Floyd watching you with an amused smirk. He makes some kissy faces and noises at you teasingly and points toward the office where Jade is. Your face gets hot all over again and you rush out of the lounge, hearing Floyd cackle at you as you hurry away.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x gn reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #jade leech x reader #jade leech twst #twst fluff

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even-disco-baby · 2 years ago

Text

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hello again, gendarme.” He smiles at you— not from his usual post, but from one of the cafeteria tables. A small sketchbook is laid out in front of him, along with some odd gray sticks.

ENCYCLOPEDIA — Compressed graphite. Not quite as bold or blendable as charcoal, but certainly less messy.

EMPATHY — Garte will appreciate it.

“I’d like to talk about the case again.”

“You moved! I didn’t know you could do that.”

“What are you drawing?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “That’s the question, isn’t it?” His smile turns a little rueful. “I found one of my old sketchbooks and thought I’d like to fill the last few empty pages, but I’m finding myself a little… uninspired.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — The accursed artist’s block. Staring down an empty page only for it to stare back, mocking you.

EMPATHY — He is unsure of himself. He said this was an old sketchbook. Maybe he’s afraid of drawing something new beside his old work and seeing that nothing has changed.

“Ah, yes. Artist’s block. I know it well. In fact, I don’t know when the last time that I actually *made* any art was.”

“You could draw the cafeteria.”

“You could draw one of the other diners.”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “A life drawing exercise, huh? And who would you pick as a subject, gendarme?”

“I don’t know. You’re the artist.”

“Maybe Garte? The skua could be a fun challenge.”

“You should draw the guy with the wig and sunglasses over there. He looks pretty funny.”

“Lena! She’d probably love to model for you. It would take her mind off things.”

“Kim, how about you pose for him?”

[Suggestion - Medium 10] “Why not me?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “No.”

He has nothing more to say on the matter.

“Aw, why not? You’d make a great model!”

Let it go.

KIM KITSURAGI — “I do not get paid to model for portraits. I get paid to solve murders. Such as the one we came here to investigate. Several days ago. Which has not been solved yet, for some mysterious reason.”

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — In case you couldn’t tell, that was sarcasm.

“Come on, Kim. You’re the perfect subject! A true man of the people. And there’s this sort of radiance about you… I can see the portrait already, just looking at you. Really clearly, actually.”

Maybe don’t say that. He’s just not gonna get it.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He shrugs. “Sorry, gendarme. It’s not right to use someone’s image without permission, you know? Maybe some other time.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “No.” And then, a little awkwardly, “But thank you.”

“I don’t know. You’re the artist.”

“How about Garte? Though, you’d have to draw the skua, too…”

“You should draw the guy with the wig and sunglasses over there. He looks pretty funny.”

“Lena! She’d probably love to model for you. It would take her mind off things.”

“Kim, how about you pose for him?”

[Suggestion - Medium 10] “Why not me?”

CHECK SUCCESS

YOU — “Why not me?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He considers you with some amusement, but still, he does consider. “You’re not too busy?”

“On second thought, you’re right, I have some work to do right now. Another time, maybe?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sighs audibly.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — What did I *just* say?

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He chuckles to himself, apparently quite tickled by the little comedy act you two are making of yourselves. “Beautiful. Why not? Have a seat. I’ll try not to keep you too long.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Much appreciated,” he says drily.

YOU — [Take a seat.]

SAVOIR FAIRE — Time to strike a pose. Let’s go with something cool. Something that really captures what you’re all about.

ENDURANCE — But make sure it’s something that you’ll be able to hold comfortably.

Wink and shoot him your signature finger guns.

Look at him with big sad eyes like a shamed puppy.

Look thoughtfully into the middle distance, as if contemplating your own future masterpiece.

Stare straight at him with eyes that have seen how this world will end.

Hold your head up high. With *honor.*

Just sit and act natural. No need to put on airs.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He looks you up and down, thumbing his bottom lip. His eyes look brighter and more alert than you have ever seen them. And then, he picks up his graphite and begins to work.

His eyes dart between you and the page, his hand sweeping across the page in bold, practiced strokes. All traces of his earlier hesitation have vanished.

VOLITION — Sometimes, a little push is all we need.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — Every now and then, he pauses to look up at you, and it’s almost unnerving to be the subject of whatever calculations are going on behind his eyes. He holds out his graphite, squinting just slightly.

VISUAL CALCULUS — This is called sighting. He’s roughly measuring the relative proportions of your figure and checking them against his sketch.

KIM KITSURAGI — Even the lieutenant is watching now, interested in spite of himself.

“Are portraits your specialty?”

“Have you been drawing anything for school lately?”

Better not distract him.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hmm…” He ponders this for a moment, not looking up from his work. “Not exactly. I’m more interested in the graphic arts than this sort of thing. But it’s best to build a strong foundation before branching out, you know?”

YOU — “Graphic arts? Like what?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Printmaking.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he speaks, seemingly without him even noticing. “Monotype, especially.”

ENCYCLOPEDIA — Monotype is a printmaking technique that is singular from other techniques, in that it produces only *one* unique print, rather than an edition of multiple prints.

YOU — What, really? What’s the point of printing it, then?

ENCYCLOPEDIA — I don’t know. I didn’t invent it.

“Why monotype? Wouldn’t a different technique be more… practical?”

“I see.” [Drop the subject.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He shrugs slightly, smudging a bit of graphite with a bare finger. “Depends on how you define practical, I suppose. If I had my own studio, and I was selling my prints, then maybe. But we make do with what we have, gendarme.”

EMPATHY — And what he has is very little.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Besides, I think monotype has its charms.”

The young man does not elaborate, instead focusing on the work at hand. He picks up an eraser that has been shaved down to a point for fine detail work, and begins on what are likely the finishing touches.

EMPATHY — He has already talked at uncharacteristic length about this. It’s making him a little uncomfortable.

SAVOIR FAIRE — He doesn’t like to share too much about himself because it makes him feel *uncool.* He prefers to maintain an air of mystery.

RHETORIC — It’s safer, too, that way. He’s learned that passion exists to be exploited. False promises and admiration are the offerings of Sunday friends.

“If you say so.” [Back off.]

“What kind of charms?” [Press on.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His eyes flit back to you, sizing you up now in a different way. And then he looks back down at the page with a quiet bre ath.

“Well, it doesn’t take as much time or labor as other methods. Or expensive tools, or dangerous chemicals. Just paper, a plate, ink, and something to apply it with. And I can use the same plate over and over again, even use it to create different layers for the same print.”

RHETORIC — In other words, it’s cheap and can be done from home. An attractive option.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “And with monotype, it’s not so hard to go back and change your mind. You can start over as many times as you’d like, right up until the moment you lay the page on the plate.”

INLAND EMPIRE — That really does sound attractive. To be able to wipe the slate clean, over and over again…

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “There aren’t as many limits on what kind of textures you can create, too. Brushstrokes and fingerprints… They can really come out beautiful.”

His brow creases a little, and he picks his graphite back up to rework a particular area.

DRAMA — He’s still holding out on you, sire. Too self-conscious to admit what he really likes about the medium.

YOU — Which is what?

EMPATHY — Fragility.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — An image which is only complete after being mirrored and translated, never to be recreated except as a ghostly afterimage. An exercise in surrendering to chance. What will be, will be. And then the moment will pass, and it will be time to start the next piece.

VOLITION — This man knows disappointment intimately. It is his closest companion. He has learned to make peace with it. He passes the time with his Sunday friends, lays his paper on the plate and hopes, despite himself, for the best.

YOU — Is that… a good thing?

VOLITION — …It’s hard to say. But we make do with what we have.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “There.” The young man sits up straight, and it’s only now that you realize just how close he brought himself to his work.

DRAMA — His face may not betray him, but the body does not lie. He was having *fun,* my liege.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “All done.” He tears the page from his book and holds it out to you with a small smile.

ITEM GAINED: Portrait of a Disco Holdover

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hope I didn’t keep you too long.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Don’t worry about it,” Kim says, rather resignedly.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — If you’d declined, the lieutenant thinks, my partner would have just found some other way to get sidetracked.

KIM KITSURAGI — Still, he cannot stop himself from glancing at the portrait over your shoulder.

PORTRAIT OF A DISCO HOLDOVER — It’s you! Unfortunately. Not even the most masterful hand could make the Expression less unsettling to look at. Your posture is poor, your face is swollen and blotchy, your hair is thinning, your clothes are shabby and out of place… I could go on.

Oh god, you could?

Please don’t.

PORTRAIT OF A DISCO HOLDOVER — But, you know… it’s nice. The smoker’s technique is bold and rather lovely, broad strokes of graphite intersecting in just the right places to create surprising depths. Somehow, even though it’s you… it’s not hideous.

EMPATHY — Because you’re seeing yourself through another person’s eyes.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — There is an odd tenderness to the portrait. Something amusing in your grimace, a touch of sympathy in your hunched shoulders. With the eraser, he has lifted small spots of pigment from your face, as if it were illuminated by flecks of light from the karaoke disco ball.

There are no disco lights tonight, but still, he sees them when he looks at you. Your moment has passed, but it left quite the impression. A ghost print, superimposed over you.

“Not bad, but the bicep girth is off. Right, Kim?”

“Oh god, is that really what I look like?”

“Hmm. It’s okay, but you should consider a backup career plan.”

“Whoa, you’re amazing! Can you draw me again, but this time in the costume from the cover of Man from Hjelmdall and the Devil Woman? And like, with a really cool warhammer? And Queen Lydiaana standing in the background, all like, ‘boohoo, where will I ever find another man like Ha— I mean, the Man from Hjelmdall?’”

“Beautiful.”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His smile climbs up into the corners of his eyes, warming his entire countenance.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — If you were to capture a portrait of him in this moment, it would be beautiful, too.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #the smoker on the balcony #kim kitsuragi #this one is. so self indulgent. i like the smoker i like to think abt him #and assign him my art student interests #anyway. oh the joy of making art and showing ppl what they rlly look like in your eyes #and oh the beauty of monotypes and printmaking and hoping for the best #GODDAMMIT I FUCKED UP THE FORMATTING AGAIN AND DIDNT CATCH IT UNTIL LIKE 12 HOURS LATER.#if you saw that. no you didn’t.

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