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your-regular-toast-enjoyer · 1 year

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Hihihihihhihihi!!!

Can I request a Damian Wayne x shy reader, enemies to lovers/tsundere Dami? Like, the reader is super sweet and has a very apparent crush on Robin and Damian makes fun of her a little for it. He’s kind of a prick but only because he has the inability to recognize his crushy wushy feelings. Unbeknownst to him though, she has actual feelings for Damian and only uses her crush on Robin to hide that fact, mostly because she thinks he would never feel the same way.

Eventually, Damian perhaps finds a drawing of himself with hearts/confession (or something along those lines) in the readers sketchbook and she freaks out, ready for him to reject her feelings. He doesn’t though and they kiss 😚

Extra points if he reveals he’s Robin to her

Thank youuuuuuu

Tsundere! Damian Wayne x Reader

Damian Wayne x reader or Damian Wayne/reader

Word count: 5654 words

TW: GN reader, adult Damian Wayne (inspired and mostly based off of Damian in Batman beyond & Injustice 2: Gods among us), mentions drugs, Damian being rude & Damian borderline breaking into someone's home.

You and Damian probably went to the same university. Perhaps you were an exchange student, who came from either another country or another part of the US, whichever it is, Damian ended up being assigned as the guy to show you around campus. Maybe Damian signed up to do so for extra points, or, (much more likely), he was forced to do so by the school as a punishment for him acting out against a professor.

The two of you may or may not have studied the same thing at uni. Damian probably studied something relating to business, (so that he could better help Wayne Enterprises), despite him actually wanting to either study something relating to the arts or veterinary sciences. Alas, Damian’s feelings of obligation again weighed out his own wishes and wants. This wouldn’t hinder him in showing you around, however. He might’ve even used it as an excuse to skip some of his less informative classes without getting reprimanded by the professors.

Damian would be thorough in his duties of showing you around. There would not be a single spot on the tiny map of the school grounds, which you were given on the first day, which remained unexplored. It took… a while. Almost two weeks of the green-eyed man showing up at your dorm and dragging you off to your classes, picking you up after them and then taking you to a new spot on the map. While any other guide might’ve shown you the important spots; cafeteria, dorms, the auditoriums and the like. Damian refused to do anything half-heartedly. You ended up knowing where every brick of the buildings and every piece of gravel from the campus roads were.

If you complained about being dragged everywhere when you’d much rather stay at your dorm and relax, Damian would call you ungrateful and an idiot, before hauling you off again.

It was around this time when Damian developed the habit of grabbing your wrist and towing you around like a toddler in Disneyland as if you were at risk of getting lost and never being found again. He would actually start seeing you a bit like someone who was semi-incapable of taking care of themselves, not in a “this person is pretty much a child in an adult’s body”-type of way, but more so like “I am now responsible for protecting this person because that is my duty.” Yeah… His vigilantism would definitely make him feel like he was now responsible for your safety, like a scary guard dog. He wouldn’t tell you this, of course. That’d make him feel vulnerable. Instead, he just scolded you constantly, making you aware that he felt as if you were incapable of protecting yourself: “Ugh! Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?! You idiot! Here, have my scarf! No, I’m not gonna let you walk outside without anything other than just your indoor clothes on! It’s not summer anymore, open your eyes, do you see how there’re no more leaves on the trees, that means it’s cold! … I don’t care that your class is just on the other side of the road! Put on the damn scarf!”

Most welcome guides don’t hang around after more than the first week, but Damian did. You became part of his friend group, even though he made it look as if it was against his will and he was only doing it because clearly, you were too shy to make your own friends.

It was a relatively closed-off friend group and they all seemed so secretive, but they treated you nicely because if Damian was vouching for you, you must’ve been the closest thing the human race can come to perfection. You obviously had no idea that they were all vigilante sidekicks… Sidekicks which you knew well… really well…

Jonathan Kent was probably the nicest of them, being three years older than Damian and you, but still only a year ahead of you in university… Apparently, he had taken off multiple sabbatical years to help his father with working on their family farm, a topic which you listened to enthusiastically, no matter how often he repeated himself or how off tangent he got while explaining certain parts, like how he found the best way to pet their cows or how to tell which chickens would lay the best eggs… It almost made Damian jealous. He would never admit it, of course. No, he explained it away as just being annoyed at how his best friend kept talking off the ear of the person he introduced to the group, shutting out all the others because the glasses-wearing man finally found someone who could stand to listen to his farmer’s tales. He blamed Jon for this, not you. He almost felt pity for you, since he couldn’t fathom anyone enjoying listening to someone explaining how to best milk a cow.

Months passed, you got closer to the group and they all started to call you their “civilian friend”... Not to your face, of course. However, the one you were clearly closest to was Jon, he absolutely adored you and might’ve even gained something along the lines of a puppy-like infatuation. As a result of you and Jon’s newfound friendship, Damian called you out for having a crush on the blue-eyed farmer. You refused vehemently, but the rest of the group picked up on the teasing. Verbally ganging up on both you and Jon, calling you the lovebirds. Jon simply laughed it off, but you felt uncomfortable with all the focus suddenly landing on you. Damian, too, started to feel uncomfortable as he started to question if he was right and that you and Jon actually had a crush on each other. It made him feel weirdly empty, yet he ignored it, disliking the implications of such emotions.

Whenever one of the members of the group returned with bruises all over their legs, arms and face, (usually from a confrontation with one of their nemeses, but also sometimes simply due to their impossibly harsh training), you were the one who patched them up. You never questioned the frequency with which your friends got hurt, assuming that they didn’t want to talk about it since no one ever brought it up or seemed surprised when yet another one of them needed treatment.

Damian loathed when you assisted the others, a deep pit forming in his stomach, but also detested how his entire body would light up like a fire, whenever you’d help treat a bruise or cut on his face. He especially disliked it when you aided Jon, the two of you always giggled as the blue-eyed man would ask you to patch up one of the few cuts or blue marks that his accelerated healing hadn’t fixed yet. Damian would often wonder why Jon would even ask for your help when he knew his injuries would be gone in a few hours… ‘because he has a crush on them’, a little voice in Damian’s head would whisper and he’d feel marginally worse than he had at the start of the day.

What Damian didn’t know, was that you actually had a crush on him, rather than his best friend. When you weren’t surrounded by the rest of your friends, the two of you clicked amazingly well, despite his many cruel insults. You may or may not have shared similar interests, but you showed curiosity towards his hobbies and it made his heart melt. When you were together one-on-one, Damian would be doing most of the talking, clearly showing you his feelings of grandeur and general confidence. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it attractive in a weird way. But what really made your heart beat with the fury of an angry drummer, was when he became protective.

Perhaps you had a tendency to let people stomp all over you, preferring to remain quiet rather than speak out when you disagreed with something. Well, that simply didn’t fly with Damian around, he’d be quick to jump to your defence, standing in front of you protectively and confronting whoever did you wrong. There was only one person in this world who got to insult or otherwise bother you and that was him.

This might have been the clearest when you and your friend group decided to go to Batburgers one day for dinner. You had ordered something which Jon had recommended, but decided to leave out one of the components. Perhaps you were getting jokerised chips(fries), but you didn’t want the rainbow mystery sauce that came with it. It was an admittedly simple order, “Jokerised chips(fries), without the sauce”... Well, the workers either didn’t listen or forgot, because when your order came, guess what? Large clumps of multi-coloured sauce floated down the length of the yellow fried sticks. You immediately decided to just ignore the mistake, it wasn’t that big of a deal and you could scrape the sauce off of the less affected pieces and eat those… Yeah, no need, because Damian quickly spotted your dejected facial expression and leaned closer to you, whispering “What’s up? Got your order wrong?” You didn’t even have to say anything, the moment you gave him a shy nod, he was already standing up from his seat and ready to fight each and every one of the workers… There was thankfully no need for violence, but the way Damian practically screamed into the poor cashier’s face, “You added the damn sauce when they specifically asked for it to be removed!” … Well, he definitely challenged his inner Karen, just for you. It worked though and you were suddenly met with not only a new batch of your previous order, but Damian also decided to buy you a Bat-mite meal which was technically meant for children and not a grown person like yourself, but you appreciated the gesture, thanking him profusely, to the point where even he became bashful. “Okay, okay! Enough thanking me! It’s not that big of a deal! Now eat your food! The rest of us are almost finished! حمار/Himar!”

It might actually be at the Bat-burger trip that you let slip that you had a teeny-tiny… not at all supermassive crush on Robin. Maybe you received a little Robin figurine in your Bat-mite meal and, against your desperate attempts, began grinning like mad. “What’s up with that creepy smile”, Damian interrogated, leaning over you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder to get a better view of the toy you were staring at. “It’s nothing”, you’d chuckle to yourself, your face heating up, unaware of whether it was because of Damian’s actions or the fact that you had been caught sending heart eyes at a figurine. One of the others in the friend group leaned over as well, seeing the statuette in your hands. “Oh my, a Robin figurine, what a coincidence… Wait-”, whoever it was, they were interrupted by Damian. “You were smiling like that at figurine… what is wrong with you?! Are you planning on melting its face off or something? I knew you were a psycho when I met you, it’s always the quiet ones”. The others share in their teasing, with poor you trapped in the middle with only Jon trying to make them stop.

Well, to save your reputation, you ended up blurting out that Robin is your favourite hero, and the entire table shut up. A moment of silence. Then a chorus of disbelieving persuasion erupted, all of them trying to highlight their own hero-personas, telling of how they’re much stronger, cuter, faster and whatever other positive attributes they could come up with: “What?! Robin? Why? Wouldn’t you prefer-”, “-do you really think that caped little gremlin is the better option, why not-”, “-I think superboy is pretty cute, don’t you, Y/n? I mean, he may not be your favourite, but you at least like him, right?”

Almost out of pity, you ended up agreeing that you almost liked Superboy as much as Robin, just because Jon’s eyes lit up so much… If you were honest, you only really knew of Superboy because he had worked so closely with Robin, but you didn’t have the heart to share that information out loud. Curiously, for the rest of the night, Damian looked so oddly proud, gloating almost. He kept bringing up how Robin was your favourite, something which made poor Jon look like a kicked puppy and the others roll their eyes in pure irritation. Damian also treated you more rudely in his own teasing way throughout the evening, making little jabs about how you were probably one of those bizarre fans who would get themselves in danger, just to see Robin sweep in and save them. In a clumsy effort to play along with his joke, you admitted that you certainly wouldn’t have been opposed to Robin saving you, which you could’ve sworn elicited a slight blush across his cheeks, but you knew better, Damian didn’t blush ever, and certainly not because you sang the praises of the green-masked sidekick. However, he definitely got red in the face as you revealed that you actually had a Robin poster hung up above your bed in your childhood room. “See? What did I say? You are a creep, Y/n.”

After the Bat-Burger dinner, Damian insisted on walking you home like he always did whenever night had fallen. It was here that, after a long string of teasing on Damian’s part, you confessed that you had a celebrity crush on the human-sized traffic light. He had become eerily silent as his head was filled with a strange heat, something he had never tried before. Sure, it reminded him of the ‘crushes’ that he’d had previously on people like Rachel Roth, Kara Danvers and even briefly Stephanie Brown, but they had in no way been this intense… It scared him a little… a lot.

So, what did he do with this uncertainty of his feelings as you kept expressing how handsome, smart and strong you found the current Robin? He borderline bullied you for it. “Oh! Really? You’re into men who just follow their papas? Who just hides in others’ shadows? Pathetic. Don’t come crying back to me when you someday marry some stupid trust fund baby who treats you like hell”, you had to bite down harshly on your lips to not point out the hypocrisy in Damian’s statement, simply nodding along with the insults, a knowing smile present on you lips.

After a while of insulting the vigilante, Damian turned his harshness to you, “You really think someone like him would go out with you? I mean, he has a whole fan club, what makes you special? I mean you can barely order for yourself, let alone flirt!” You shrugged most of his critique off, you knew he didn’t really mean it… Or at least you hoped he didn’t, sometimes you did consider that he perhaps just despised the sight of you, but let you hang around out of pity. Still, his insulting of you liking someone so out of your range didn’t particularly hurt you, you already knew that it’d never happen, it did, however, make you think about whether ‘rude manboy, hiding behind his father with a cocky smile’ was simply your type, which in itself was a concerning revelation, but it also made you come to the conclusion that Damian and Robin were surprisingly similar, both personality and looks-wise.

Damian, obviously, didn’t mean a word of his rant. He almost considered whether Robin and by extension himself, could ever even be halfway good enough for someone as lovable and charming as you. For Pete’s sake! You literally listened to Jon’s farm rambles without complaint, put up with Damian’s piss-poor attitude and patched them all up when they were hurt… How much more perfect could a person get?! Well, maybe it was Damian’s absolute hatred for feeling below someone that wasn’t his parents or grandfather… for the first time in his life… that made him somewhat enjoy being so rude to you… somewhat.

Slinging out cruel remarks your way made him feel better about himself and offered him better control of his emotions. It kept you at a comfortable distance where he could more easily control his disgusting chrushy-wushy emotions. Disgusting emotions… which he so desperately wanted to release and channel into actually caring for you… But he couldn’t, he didn’t know how to break down his own walls in a way that wouldn’t give you a mental whiplash and cause you to suspect him of something sinister. Not to mention the fact that you probably secretly despised him for his harsh treatment of you.

He had half a mind to confess and then roll with whatever came after, but the other side of his brain, the logical side, the dominating side, told him to keep quiet and simply ride out whatever feelings he was experiencing… It was pathetic, really. He felt as if was going to go up in flames, cry and die all at the same time, the latter of which he had actually tried, if he didn’t confess to you. Yet, even that was better than the plain rejection he envisioned you’d give him.

Well, one day your shared dancing around your feelings came to an end when Damian got a not-so-brilliant idea. It was while he was on patrol. Damian, high from the adrenaline of a huge fight with Killer Croc and Poison Ivy (…as well as some iridescent dust that the two had thrown in his face), decided to visit your dorm.

His drugged-up condition made him neglect how creepy it might look to simply show up at your home, he had purely good intentions, but Damian had never been good at normal friendly gestures and the fluffy feeling inside of his skull surely didn’t make it any better. He knew you liked Robin, so he pondered to himself, ‘Wouldn’t they enjoy a visit from their favourite vigilante? Give them an autograph? Take a photo with them? Talk to them? Yeah! Of course, they would! I’ll just tell them that ‘Damian sent me’, they’ll be ecstatic!”

So, with that idea in mind, Damian made his way to your dorm. Climbing up to the window he knew was yours, (he had visited you a hundred times, after all), and knocked with two of his knuckles. He had forgotten that most people are not awake at 1 am, and so, he ended up banging his sore knuckles against the glass of your window for almost five minutes straight until he finally heard rustling from within. When you rose from your bed, Damian almost cooed out loud. Your hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions and your pyjamas was clearly a few sizes too big as they hung on your body in a cute yet awkward way. Opening your window with a disturbed look in your eyes, unable to see the man hanging just below your field of vision, covered by the dark of night. You almost screamed as Damian slung himself into your room, quickly covering your mouth with his gloved hand as it was clear that you were about to cry out in horror.

Yeah… So Damian clearly hadn’t thought this endeavour out particularly well, which was very unlike him, but he had come to the realisation at this point that he was not feeling quite like himself either. Still, as he held you close to him, one hand covering your mouth and the other at your waist, he couldn’t help but easily slip into the story he had prepared previously. With an apologetic smile, he quickly let go of you, backing away with his arms raised high to show you that he meant no harm.

“W-who are you? What are you d-doing in m-my room?” You stuttered out, your hands shaking like leaves in the wind. Damian huffed out in humour as he went to close your window, he didn’t want you to get cold.

“Come on, I thought I was your favourite hero. Damian told me so”, a cheeky Cheshire grin spread on his lips as he turned to you, his index finger tapping the side of his nose to indicate that he knew more than he let on.

“You’re Robin?” You questioned, unsure of your assumption. Somehow he looked different close up than far away, more human and way more similar to Damian than had ever occurred to you previously. The young man staggered closer to you, arms outstretched, as he bowed deeply before your feet, “In the flesh”. His steps seemed calculated yet something felt off and you almost wondered if he was drunk, although, if he were, he was covering it up well.

As he stood bowed like a theatre actor in front of you, he slowly raised his mask-clad face, a cocky smile clear as he smoothly bowed his left leg, letting one knee hit the floor and his arms dangle by his side. Once sitting on the floor, he gently grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his lips, stopping just before they met your skin. “May I?” He requested, mask-covered eyes glancing up at you. Your breath was caught in your throat and Damian realised how long he had yearned to do something like this. He was sure that you didn’t like his civilian persona romantically in the slightest, he was purposefully rude to you for crying out loud! But something about having the knowledge that you had a crush on Robin, and the effect of whatever it was he had gotten thrown in his face earlier, made it easier for him to act out all the things he had wanted to do with you for so long.

Looking down at him with a shy demeanour, you nodded apprehensively. If it hadn’t been for the quality of the man’s costume, you weren’t sure if you’d have believed him to be the actual Robin. As soon as he saw your accepting gesture, Damian’s lips connected with the back of your hand as he folded the other arm behind him, looking like a prince from a fairytale.

The flirtations of Robin continued throughout the entire night as he let himself go emotionally, whatever he had been given slowly wearing off, which allowed him to properly enjoy your company, unhindered by his usual need to keep up a grumpy façade. You clearly enjoyed it too, although you’d sometimes cast guilty glances at the floor when Robin leaned in too close.

Damian realised that this was probably some type of wish fulfilment for you and you might’ve felt bad for enjoying it, but really you shouldn’t, he concluded. You had nothing to feel bad about because this was wish fulfilment for Damian too.

At one point, Robin took your phone, demanding that you unlock it. Technically he could’ve done it himself, you had told Damian the password, but if he had to keep up the story of ‘Damian’ having sent him… well, he couldn’t very well show to you that he knew your phone’s code. After you followed Robin’s command without a complaint, you handed the device back to him. Damian knew that loud noises were prohibited after eight at your dorm, but he also didn’t care, if anyone complained, he’d use his role as Robin to thwart them away, claiming that it somehow held a tactical advantage for his justice fighting. They were all idiots anyways, how would they know?

Turning on an old and slow 60’s song like ‘Put your head on my shoulder’, ‘Can’t take my eyes off you’ or ‘Everybody loves somebody’, before offering you a hand, Damian felt as if he was on cloud nine. “Dance with me, beloved”. Your clear nervousness was so apparent, it almost felt like he was torturing you. Yet, you accepted the outstretched hand, getting pulled into the dark-haired man’s chest. As he slowly guided you around in a slow dance, one hand holding yours tightly, the other laying comfortably at the curve of your spine, it occurred to you how his accent was incredibly similar to Damian’s. A brief thought that the two might be the same was interrupted as the mask-clad man carefully picked up your chin, moving it towards his face, once again, stopping right before the two of you made contact. “May I, my dear?” A silent nod of your head was all Robin needed as he laid his lips heavily upon yours, moving slowly. Damian felt as if his mind was blown, he had dreamed of this moment for weeks, afraid that it might never happen or that he would be disappointed if it did, he was a Wayne after all, you certainly wouldn’t be the first person he’d kissed… but now? Now, that he finally experienced it. His mind was blown, and the tips of his long fingers trembled as they held the bottom of your face. He felt as if his body had been zapped from all the pain and suffering he had experienced throughout the years, a sense of being lighter than the wind engulfed him as he pressed you closer to him. Why had he held out so long, when he could’ve done this weeks, if not months, ago?!

When he left that night, he pressed another kiss to your lips and promised to return soon, which he did. As a matter of fact, you started to receive regular visits from the masked vigilante, an activity which almost lasted until your end-of-year break. Robin would drop by for an hour or two after patrol. With four or five knocks, he’d get you to open the window for him, before slinging himself into your room and greeting you with a kiss. You had at one point left the window agape, so that he wouldn’t have to knock, but he had scolded you for getting yourself cold, with the freezing winds finding the space of your room a cosy place to fill.

You never informed your friends of your secret visitor. You did quietly, yet clearly embarrassed, thank Damian for sending the sidekick your way, to which he simply smacked the back of your head gently, saying something along the lines of, “Well, you’re too much of a wuss to ever go up to him yourself, and I coincidentally met him at a Wayne enterprise meeting. Thought, why not? It didn’t really mean anything to me.” Despite his words, behind his act, Damian wore the smuggest of grins. You were adorable as you stood there, smiling awkwardly, clearly hiding the fact that you and ‘Robin’ had done a little more than just take photos and get an autograph.

When Robin was with you, he’d flirt and otherwise apply his charisma to get closer to you, and you’d slowly open up to him, telling him about your interests, your hobbies and your friends… Notable among your descriptions was Damian’s. Yeah, it was a little awkward for the man, sitting there, listening to you explain how ‘Damian’ was probably the coolest person in the world, how he was admittedly the rudest man you’d ever met, but that it held a certain charm to it… His blush would’ve been unmistakable had his mask not covered the top part of his face.

Still, even with the reassurance that you didn’t despise his civilian persona, he was afraid of dropping the mask. You had obviously not told his vigilante-self that you held a crush on his civilian one, which simply confirmed his fears that you definitely didn’t hold any romantic feelings towards the Damian you knew. So, for the time being, he’d keep that secret to himself. He enjoyed your company and the romance between you too much to ruin it for either of you…

Robin pretty much snogging you became a pretty regular occurrence as well, which, while you definitely enjoyed it, made you feel a weird sense of guilt build up in your stomach. You definitely had a crush on Robin, how could you not? However, your crush on Damian was a hundred times larger, and every time Robin exclaimed that you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, you’d imagine that the words were stumbling from Damian’s plump lips. It not only felt wrong for you to enjoy the attention of the vigilante due to some misplaced sense of loyalty towards Damian, but it also felt as if you were doing an injustice to Robin, who came to you almost every night, proclaiming his deep affections for you, while you were thinking of another man… It felt so cruel… Not downright evil, but certainly mean-spirited and discomforting.

One night you decided that enough was enough. You could no longer pretend that you only cherished Robin, when clearly it was Damian you yearned for, no matter how out of your league he was and even though you were definitely not going to confess to your friend. It was borderline malignant to string the traffic-light-themed hero along.

Damian had dropped in, like always, only to find your eyes focused on the ground, refusing to meet his gaze, even as he crouched down in front of you and grabbed your hands tightly in his. “What’s wrong?” He asked, confused and more than a little concerned.

“I have something to tell you”, with those words you sent the man spiralling. A thousand horrible possibilities filled his head. “Were you hurt?”, “Did you actually fall for Jon?”, “Did you do something illegal?”, “Were you-?”... No, he had been careful, that couldn’t be it… In less than a second, he had gone through a long checklist of possibilities, could it be this or that? Certain things were ruled out, others were brought in and he could feel his head start to ache.

“We can’t- I can’t… You shouldn’t come here anymore, it’s not fair to you.” With those words, Damian’s heart plummeted. What had he done wrong? Had you found out about his secret identity? Had he hurt you? Were you just no longer attracted to his vigilante persona?

“Why?” It was a quiet whisper that passed his lips, so clearly filled with heartbreak that it almost brought tears to your eyes, yet you knew you were doing the right thing… “I’m in love with someone else”. Jon’s smiling face pooped into Damian’s head. Of course… It was bound to happen, the half-alien held a golden retriever-like charm that Damian couldn’t even begin to emulate… He was so sure that it had to be his best friend who stole the love of his life, yet, even though he knew it’d hurt him, he had to be sure that it was indeed Jon… Just before he would lace the blue-eyed man’s breakfast with kryptonite… just kidding, or maybe not… I digress. As he waited for your response with bated breath, you teased the answer, “It’s someone you know, or have at least spoken to-”. Superboy, Robin nodded, so convinced that you and Jon had something, an unspeakable chemistry that he couldn’t even inspire to gain.

“-It’s Damian. Damian Wayne. The guy who sent you here in the first place, and the one I told you about. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to end like this. But, it was unfair to string you along-”, you spluttered, feeling as if your stomach was being ripped out as you saw the dejected look on Robin’s face. The dark-haired man, however, felt shocked. You wanted Damian?! You wanted him?! The real him, not just the vigilante persona he adopted around you… His shock gave way to ecstasy as he embraced you and crashed his lips into yours. You stood still, afraid of what the hero was planning on doing to you for breaking his heart, when suddenly. “ حمار/Himar”, something about that phrase seemed to make a revelation clear for you. Even if you didn’t believe your own mind at first, there was no denying reality as Damian ripped off his mask, revealing what you had suspected. “Guess you couldn’t get enough of me, huh? Crushing on both of my alter egos, if that’s not dedication, I don’t know what is”, the green-eyed man teased you with an almost mocking smirk, one which you were used to seeing on Damian’s feature, but which almost seemed misplaced on Robin… You weren’t complaining though, it looked good on him… better than it should have.

Needless to say, the two of you started dating after that, for real this time. He let you in on his vigilante life and introduced you to his brothers…. Both by their real names and their hero names. Richard greeted you with open arms, he was simply happy for his brother, adoring how cute he found the two of you together. Jason didn’t care much but found you a much better alternative to what he had feared the demon spawn would’ve brought home. Bruce and Tim were nervous though, now that you knew all of their identities, you put them in a position of danger… What if you revealed that information to the press? They’d be done for. Tim would most definitely make you sign an NDA, (Non-disclosure agreement), whereas Bruce might actually make you sign a contract stating that you will marry Damian after university… Just to keep you close to the family in the unlikely case that you’re actually working for a rogue. You will be met with a healthy amount of scepticism from both Bruce and Tim for the first many years, both would’ve preferred if Damian had gotten together with a vigilante, but as the years go by, they slowly warm up to you, Tim quicker than Bruce, especially if you share an interest like chess, video gaming or programming. So in short? Tsundere Damian is practically just normal Damian without a stop button.

A/N: Yes, you can just ignore this, it's mostly for the user who sent in the request.

Thank you for this idea! I hope you like what I did with it! I personally feel like Damian is pretty much always a tsundere, but I tried to exaggerate it here, which I hope came through, lol!

Also for everyone else who might've been wondering where I've been for the past few weeks, do not worry, I'm not stopping my writing! I simply have a bunch of essays, which I've had to write as of late... The woes of an IB high school student... I'll have my Christmas break from the 23rd of Dec. - the 2nd of Jan., so I'll probably be able to write some more during that period!

#damian wayne x you #damian wayne #batboys x reader #dc x reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x y/n #tsundere x reader #robin x reader #damian wayne robin #dc robin #damian al ghul

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risto-licious · 1 month

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on another unrelated note (ALSO HI!), I had to let go of my trusty old computer unfortunately. the newly obtained one comes with windows 11 and of course there's a funky bug where suddenly the keyboard shortkeys won't work with my drawing tablet any longer. the joys of troubleshooting are upon me, I might just get used to a different workflow. no big deal luckily, alas, annoying as heck. don't mind this mini ramble though! I WISH YOU ALL WELL, whoever reads this, please take good care of yourself, treat yourself to something nice today! I'll be heading back to working on commissions (THANK YOU) and hopefully some bits of other art, too, heeheehe hohoohoho! (I've been drawing a lot in my sketchbooks these past weeks, but.......more private things, unsuitable for eyes that aren't my own) EDIT 2 days later: computer device problemo: FIXED!!! ✌️ heck yeah!

#A RAMBLE #welcome to ri's rusty ramblings #I don't know what is rusty about this ramble but I thought it sounded nice #there's a bar that makes lovely coffee but only opens by afternoon THIS IS MADNESS #I have an afternoon intake of coffee in my body now I hope that won't mess with my current beloved sleeping schedule....#....which I fought for so eagerly #can you imagine I am awake AT DAYTIME and asleep at nighttime AND NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND for a change #amazing

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dirty-bosmer · 7 months

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WIP Wedensday

tagged by: @atypicalacademic @mareenavee @lucien-lachance @rainpebble3 @thequeenofthewinter thank you 🥰

tagging: @atypicalacademic (for the new week ❤️) @elavoria @wispstalk @skyrim-forever @gilgamish @throughtrialbyfire @justafoxhound @paraparadigm @miraakulous-cloud-district @nuwanders @kookaburra1701 @ladytanithia @sylvienerevarine @orfeoarte @snowberry-crostata @flymmcargo

Surprisingly, I had something written this time (could hardly believe it :o) From my Skyrim fic, Slither and Writhe:

Morning greeted Sylawen the same way the evening had bid it’s cruel farewell— penniless, clammy, and shivering from fever. She tested her throat with a stiff swallow. It burned. For a long while, she lay still, staring at the brown stain on the ceiling above, attempting to divine her fate in its sprawling limbs. How did I get here? Where did I go so wrong? How do I get out? Please give me a sign. Just one? A fat drop of rainwater landed in the center of her forehead, the roof now thoroughly soaked through. Peeling herself out of the sheets, she found herself still sick, still angry, still very much broke, and promptly rued the day the Nibenese settled Bravil. Breakfast did little to lift her spirits, a bowl of rice porridge that smelled of sea grass and the bay water’s brine. But food was food, and as she hadn’t the appetite for much until today, she choked down what she could. It was no pan-seared trout, but it had a nutritious taste about it. Bold. A little bitter, the pungent scent of salted fish so strong it bored through even the thick walls of her congestion. Belly full, she paced the room, and once that returned no particularly fruitful ideas, she dug through her pack for her charcoal and sketchbook, ripped out a page, and wrote to Nana. …and so, after such cruel and unusual punishment, I had no choice but to flee. I’m sure you see it as I do, with crystal clarity— if even among family my most important research is reviled, what can a scholarly woman (such as we are) do but find somewhere else to practice? Alas, I’m afraid it can’t be Bravil, indisposed and indigent as it has left me. If you would be so kind as to enclose a modest sum of say, several hundred septims, I might be able to seek refuge somewhere more conducive to my studies. Or I might even be able to travel to you? Wherever you are… Sylawen addressed it to Anvil, hoping Nana was indeed home, already knowing with a sinking certainty that she’d never return a reply, because of course Nana wasn’t in Anvil. When was she ever? Sylawen should have ran there like she had the last time. At least Anvil was dry. The rest of the day passed in a blur, much of the following day too, and by the fifth morning of her not-vacation in Bravil, there was enough grime under Sylawen’s nails, in her hair, enough mildew choking her lungs to admit she’d made a grievous mistake in fleeing here. Yet Sylawen would not regret running. To regret was to admit fault, to surrender the righteous anger flaring furnace-red in her belly, and if she had nothing else in her possession, at least she had that. Still, with no wherewithal to run elsewhere and plenty of spite to keep from writing home, she did the only thing she could think of and set out to find help. And preferably a bar of sweet-smelling soap.

#slither and writhe #skyrim fic #tes fic #tesblr #wip wednesday #sonny writes

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hyvcklvr · 10 months

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[user hyvcklvr is also terribly in love. this is based on real life experiences of mine. Except I'm not Mark and I'm a girl. Quote at the beginning is from Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman. Send in requests pls. Lmk what you think. Ty.]

[1:11 a.m.] Amor.

“There is a law somewhere that says that when one person is thoroughly smitten with the other, the other must unavoidably be smitten as well.

Amor ch'a null'amato amar perdona

Love, which exempts no one who's loved from loving.”

Mark lay in his bed, arms and legs sprawled out as he blankly stared into the ceiling. Beside him lay his copy of “Call Me By Your Name”, with one of the pages fluttering back and forth due to the wind coming from the air conditioner, as if it were trying to choose a direction to go where it could finally rest upon the page below it. Quite like Mark's heart, he thought. Fluttering and fluttering, trying to do something, make a decision, a choice, anything, but alas, he had no say in this.

For Mark's heart at the moment had already been stolen by someone else. It was the heart of a person so purely and entirely in love.

It's been a week, Mark thought. A week since he'd seen her. The one he dedicated hours of walking to school and pages of his journal to.

Mark knew that falling wouldn't be easy. It never is. Not for him. Not for anyone. But one look into her brown eyes and Mark knew, he just knew, she was worth it.

Mark thought that he had fallen in love with her the day he saw her sitting alone in the bus, with the sun setting and the light falling on her face, illuminating and painting her features with shades of orange, red and pink. Shades of the sunset. Mark was mesmerized. Everything happening around him was suddenly a blur to him, and all he could focus on was her soft smile as she waved her friend goodbye from the window.

Her smile? It was to die for. Yeah, Mark had seen pretty smiles before. He had liked girls before with pretty smiles.

But her smile wasn't just pretty. It was comforting. Somehow, seeing her heart shaped lips curl up into a smile, her usually gloomy and resting face brighten and her big, brown eyes which were quiet, but always wide open in curiosity turn into pretty crescents, felt like a hug to Mark. Watching her tilt her head back and laugh was like looking at a painting and Mark wanted to click a picture and save it forever.

Mark had not just fallen for her this time, he had literally tumbled down a hill for her. His notebook was filled with lyrics for her, his sketchbook filled with desperate attempts of capturing her face on paper.

She claimed she wasn't a quiet person. “I'm not quiet.” She told Mark one day. “It's just that the people aren't the right people.”

And oh, Mark was ready to give away everything just to be the right person. Was he? He thought to himself sometimes. He was a pretty talkative person, but for her, he'd shut up and listen to her talk all day long. He loved it when she talked to him on their way back home. She'd always be so excited, with big bright eyes itching to reveal something or the other everyday. Usually their conversations would start with her saying "You know what happened today?”

“No. No I don't. But please, tell me. I wanna know everything that has happened in your life.” Mark thought.

And she did tell him everything, the excitement in her voice getting evident as the story gets more and more interesting. Making big hand gestures and jumping about in her seat. She was an author, he thought, because she always had a story to tell. Mark? Well. He was just a fan. A fan who'd listen to every story with detail. Almost as if he were a critique, a poor one, for he had nothing to criticize in her stories. No, to him, she was perfect.

Some moments with her were simply. Simply intimate. Intimate in the most non-intimate way possible. It could be one of the riskier moves Mark had pulled, like when he slid in next to her on a seat one day, asking if she wanted to listen to music. They had the same taste in music, and then onwards, they'd sit next to each other almost everyday, his black earphones connecting them as they say there next to each other, bopping their heads to the music. So close but so far.

It could be something simple, like her resting her chin on the backrest of Mark's seat, while Mark is sitting with his arms over the sam backrest, hand so close to her soft brown hair, palm itching to just stroke it while they say there in silence. She quite enjoyed sitting in silence. He was never a fan of it, but silence wasn't as scary as it seemed when he was with her. She enjoyed his presence, he hoped, because she had told him one day, when he was whining about how none of his friends were present, “I like quiet days. Besides, it's more peaceful right now with just the two of us, don't you think?”

Yes, yes and a thousand times, yes.

And Mark lay there, on his bed, at 1 a.m., with his copy of “Call Me By Your Name” in his hands. He was hopeful. Love, which exempts no one who's loved from loving. He remembered how she had flushed tomato red when he had hugged her on his birthday. He remembered the feeling of having her in his arms, even if it was for a moment. The warmth she radiated, how she was home in itself. It made him wonder, that maybe deep inside those shy glances, that small smile, that eagerness when she talked to him, maybe, just maybe, she reciprocated his feelings?

Mark cracked a smile at that. “I'm delusional.” He thought, as he buried his face in his pillow and kicked his feet in the air as if he had come straight out of a teen girl movie.

“amor ch'a null'amato amar perdona”

Maybe, there was hope.

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kissmetwicekissmedeadly · 6 months

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Mirror | Identity | Love

—The themes from week 1 of @ikemenprompts !

I'm not happy with this!! This brown cartridge paper sketchbook hates cowards that are too afraid to put pressure and thus make their lines actually prominent, and i thought, ok, that's why im gonna use color once i sketch out this bad boy. But I won't! Because im an even bigger coward! I hope you're able to see shit!

Anyway i saw this week's (ok the week is over but we're not gonna talk about that) promtps and this visual projected itself into my mind begging me to do something with it. Could this be a fic? Hardly. Or maybe i just didn't try hard enough, either way i tried to draw for a change... No effort put into making sure the mirror is a mirror enough 👍🏻✨

I have this headcanon that at some point someone gifts Napo a hat just like the ones he loved to wear so much back in the day. And his and MC's shared space gradually becomes clustered with stuff they acquire during the journey of being together. I combined this with my love for three way mirrors which are good for. Putting stuff on and around. Not pictured: flowers vases, more books, jewellery...

Rip color palette of the week... i loved you but alas...

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp napoleon #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikemen vampire fanart #ikevamp mc

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selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 9 months

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Do That (Mikko Rantanen)

Sorry I’m late! I got in a car accident, so I had to deal with that. Anyway, this is my fic for @kurlyteuvo for @wyattjohnston ‘s summer fic exchange! I feel like I could have written another 10k words of this, but alas, I didn’t have the time. Hope you enjoy!

Rating: T

Pairing: Mikko Rantanen/fem!reader

Words: 7789

Warnings: children involved (not the reader’s)

Summary: Reader meets Mikko at the park and things go from there

It was a one-in-a-million coincidence to meet him, but you’ve never been so grateful for a chance encounter.

Here’s how it happened:

You have a tradition of spending your days off at Skyline Park, reading or knitting or just enjoying the sunshine. It was a pleasant September afternoon, the fall chill having yet to set in. The sun was bright, the breeze not too strong. You were sitting on a bench, reading a new book your friend had recommended, a few dozen pages in.

Suddenly, someone was an inch away from you, making your head fly up in surprise. The person skipped and twisted, avoiding falling into you at the last second. He paused for only a second, throwing out a quick “sorry” before he continued his jog. There was no time to respond, having barely processed what was happening before he was gone.

You’re not sure if that really counts as your first meeting, since only one word was exchanged, but it had been the first time you’d interacted at all. You’d been more vigilant that day, waiting for someone to misjudge their footing and crash into you. Nothing of the sort had happened, but in looking up at every passing runner, you’d seen him three more times as he lapped the park. Those passes gave you time to look at him more closely, and the shock had hit.

The man who had almost fallen on you was tall and muscular, with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. You’d seen his face on TV a hundred times, in replays and promos. Because the man was Mikko Rantanen.

Luckily, the awe had faded by the end of the day. There was an odd embarrassment in its place, despite having done nothing wrong. Whatever, you’d decided. It’s not like you were ever going to see him again.

Except you did.

Most times you went to the park, it was just a flow of regular people, nameless faces passing by. This time, you had been drawing. The scenery was beautiful, the architecture perfect for sketching. You were focusing on the concrete sculpture across the pathway, trying to get the lines perfect, trying to capture the look of joy on a little boy’s face as he climbed all over the boxes.

Just as you looked up from your sketchbook, he had passed by. Your eyes had met, and it sent a jolt through you that you couldn’t explain. Maybe it was simply because he was beautiful, the yellow-white sunlight making his hair glow like a wild halo. Maybe it was because he had been looking at you already, as if he recognized you despite the two weeks that had passed.

Again, you’d looked up at every passing runner that day, catching sight of him four more times. Your gazes met every time. You couldn’t explain the feeling, the way it seemed like he was looking for you, like he was searching for something in your eyes.

The third time, you were almost expecting it. Hoping for it, definitely. You had checked the Avs’s schedule that morning, seeing that they were off at home. With that knowledge, you brought along your sketchbook. You always saw him at around the same time, so you started on a new book to kill time until then.

When he makes his first pass, you switch to your sketchbook. It’s a little cloudy today, the fall having taken hold, weakening the sun and making the wind crisper. He goes by and you start sketching. It’s hard to get the features just right when you’ve only seen him in passing, so you give in and look up some references on your phone. He crosses in front of you again, and you do your best to take in the way the cloud’s shadows deepen on his face, carve out his features in stark relief.

He hadn’t looked at you on the second lap, and he doesn’t look on the third either. You’re a little put out, because this is the day that you want him to look the most. Nevertheless, you keep working on your art, filling the page with carefully shaded pencil sketches of his face at different angles. You’ve always been better at drawing nature and inanimate objects, but you think you get his likeness down pretty well. He doesn’t look on the fourth lap.

You had gotten distracted by working on the line of his jaw, tweaking it until it sloped just right, when a shadow fell over you. You looked up, thinking that the weather had turned quickly, as it’s wont to do. You didn’t want to get rained on, especially when working with paper.

Instead, it had been Mikko, standing a foot or two away. His gaze wasn’t piercing, really, but it felt like it dug into your core anyway. He stared; you stared back.

“Oh, um,” you said finally, sitting up a little straighter, “Hi.” A small smile had turned the corner of his lips at that.

“Hi,” he replied, going quiet again, as if he was waiting for something. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do in this situation, not used to interacting with strangers. Let alone very famous, very handsome strangers.

“How’s your run going?” you ask, grasping for anything to say. His smile grows with the words.

“It’s good,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lap before coming back to rest on your own, “How’s your drawing?” It’s then that you realize the sketchbook is sitting face-up on your lap, your work fully visible to him. A furious blush heats your cheeks immediately, his smile blossoming fully.

“Uh,” you say, eloquently.

“I’m sorry if that’s weird,” you apologize quickly, worried that he may think you’re some kind of stalker, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He chuckles, shaking his head a little. The corners of his eyes crinkled with happiness.

“It’s not weird,” he replied easily, motioning to the book, “They’re really good.” You swallow hard, still nervous. At least he doesn’t think you’re some kind of weirdo, probably.

“Thank you,” you say. Words evade you after that, and there’s a short pause. He extends his hand toward you, huge palm open.

“I’m Mikko,” he said, still smirking. You took his hand, letting it nearly envelop your own as you shook it.

“I’m Y/N,” you officially introduce yourself. His shiny white teeth peek out from between his lips.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said. And that’s how it started.

After that, he had taken to sitting with you for a while after his run, listening to your stories and updates and sharing his own. Your schedules didn’t always align, but you got to see him at least every few weeks. Quickly, that wasn’t enough. You were fascinated by him, by the way you felt so comfortable with him so quickly, with the way it was so easy to open up to him in a way you rarely did with others. You wanted to be around him all the time. It scared you.

You feared you were becoming infatuated with him, that your brain was latching onto a pretty stranger to distract from something. You were terrified that you would put him on a pedestal, would convince yourself you were falling for him, only to break your own heart.

Over time, it became clear that that wasn’t what was happening. Yes, you wanted to spend all your time with him. But you didn’t neglect responsibilities or other friends to do so. You stuck to your encounters in the park, not pushing for anything more. You felt safe around him, but not because you deluded yourself into it. You felt safe because you had been vulnerable with him, and he had shown over and over again that it was okay to do so. It was easy to open up with him, but you didn’t feel the need to spill your entire life and all of your secrets to him. You were a little obsessed with him, but it was a soft, happy, fond kind of obsession. It didn’t interfere with your life, only added to it.

The pattern continued for months, the two of you even meeting up in the dead of winter, clearing snow off of the bench to huddle together against the cold. The spring is welcome when it finally comes, though it brought buckets of rain along. You would take walks together, Mikko holding a big red umbrella just above your heads.

Usually, you welcome the warmth and light of early summer. When it started to arrive that year, you dreaded it. You knew Mikko would be going back to Finland for the summer, and you didn’t look forward to being alone again. He told you ahead of time when he’d be leaving, and you couldn’t help but count down the days you had left.

The last day you’d get to see him, there was a solemn air surrounding your interactions. You presented him with a going-away gift, a light grey cable-knit hat. He’d have no use for it during the summer, but it would help during the hockey season. And maybe you’d been afraid that you’d never see him again, that he would go away for months and forget all about you, and you wanted to give him a memento. And even if the memory of who gave it to him faded, you’d still be able to keep him warm in the vicious winters.

He’d thanked you profusely, hugging you tight. You tucked your face into his neck, trying to imprint the smell and feel of his skin into your brain. He pulled it on immediately, heedless of the hot sun beating down on him.

When it came time to part ways, he slipped you a neatly folded piece of paper. Please use it, he had said, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline before departing. You had watched him go, your forehead tingling from his touch. When you unfolded the paper, you were met with twelve numbers. The format isn’t familiar, but the plus sign at the beginning and the note underneath reading text me make it clear that it’s a phone number. Under the note, there’s a username as well, with Whatsapp scribbled next to it. You’d tucked the note into your sketchbook, slipping it into your backpack. Your heart had sung and beat off-rhythm the entire way home.

With a line of communication open, the floodgates opened. You were able to message any time you wanted, working around the nine hour time difference. Even when one of you was asleep, you’d leave messages for the other to read when they woke. It still wasn’t ideal, but when he sent you pictures of him and his dog, he didn’t feel so far away.

His return to Denver was highly anticipated. You’d agreed to meet at the park two days after he landed. The first thing he did when he saw you was wrap you up in a tight hug, twisting you side to side like his happiness made it impossible to stand still. You had squeezed back, as hard as you could.

A month into the season, he had invited you out with some of his teammates to celebrate a win, and that had been the beginning of the current era. It was the first time you had seen him outside of the park, the first time he’d introduced you to some of the other people in his life. It had broken the seal, and the next invitation had solidified the knowledge that he wanted you to be a part of his life, too.

Another year passed, the two of you growing almost unbearably close. He came to your apartment after tough losses, holding you close under the covers of your bed for comfort, nearing the line between platonic and something else. You never crossed it, though, even when you laid between his legs on the couch, when he FaceTimed you every night on the road, when you fell asleep with your face smushed into the crook of his neck so much that you were imprinted with his scent upon waking.

Then, your sister-in-law has a baby.

It’s her and your brother’s third child, a beautiful little girl named Rose. You go to the hospital the second they’ll allow you, begging out of work early. You congratulate your brother and sister, talking for a little while you wait for the nurses to bring Rose back from wherever they’ve taken her. If you tear up a little the first time you hold her, well, no one else needs to know.

The next day, your brother invites you over that weekend to see all of the kids, and you excitedly accept. It’s been a little while since you’ve seen the other little ones, and the promise of getting to play with them carries you through the rest of the week. Even when your boss gets on your ass to finish a report a week before it’s due, you’re soothed by the thought.

On Friday, you get a text from Mikko. Well, you get texts from him every day, but this is the important one. He only has practice on Saturday, so he asks if you want to hang out afterward. You always do, hell, you want to spend all of your time with him. Unfortunately, he wants to get a late lunch together, and that’s when you’re supposed to be at your brother’s. Something holds you back from saying no immediately, the gears in your head turning.

Half an hour and a text from your brother later, you finally respond to Mikko. The proposition is this: you can spend time together, but he has to come to your brother’s with you. It’s a long shot, since he’s only met your siblings once, but you want to have your cake and eat it too.

You’re surprised when he responds less than thirty seconds later, just the word “yes” in all caps, with three exclamation points for emphasis. Beyond the surprise, there’s something about his eager certainty that warms your heart.

The decision to invite him had been mostly impulsive, but as soon as you see his face at your apartment door, you know it was the right one. His smile is wide and bright, buried in your hair as he hugs you in greeting. You grab your bag from the hook on the inside of the door and head out. The drive isn’t exactly short, but traffic isn’t too terrible at this time of day, so it’s not as bad as it could be.

It also helps that Mikko spends the drive alternating between talking and singing, turning the music up when a song he likes comes on, then turning it back down so he can continue regaling you with stories. He’s not a great vocalist, but his enthusiasm and joy more than make up for it. You keep glancing over at him, loving the way the sun turns his hair golden, messed up into a shining halo around his head.

Derek meets you at the door when you arrive, wrapping you up in a hug. He gives Mikko a quick once-over before shaking his hand. Mikko thanks him for allowing him to tag along, always polite. Luckily, neither Derek nor Heather watch hockey, so you don’t have to worry about any fannish behavior.

He leads you around the corner into the family room, eyes softening as soon as he sees Heather on the couch with Rose in her arms. It’s sickeningly sweet. Briar and Florian run to you immediately, shouting your name and latching onto your legs.

You bend over a little to run a hand through their hair, urging them to step back so you can plant kisses on their foreheads. Their smiles are brighter than the sun, and they both start telling you about their days, talking over each other. You laugh, hauling them up, one in each arm. They keep talking as you make your way to the couch, sitting next to Heather and kissing her cheek.

After a minute of the kids’ chatter, you remember that Mikko is here, still standing awkwardly at the edge between the kitchen and family room. You beckon him over, patting the spot next to you. He sits, and Briar crawls into your lap, never having been a fan of strangers. He curls up, turned away from Mikko with his face hidden in your chest. Florian’s speech about preschool has stopped, and he’s staring at Mikko like he’s trying to figure out what to do. After a few seconds, he climbs over your lap, balancing with one knee on your leg and the other on the couch, reaching around Briar to shove a hand toward Mikko.

“Oh,” Mikko says, taking Florian’s hand and shaking it twice, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mikko.” Florian nods, brow furrowed like he’s investigating the odd man his aunt brought.

“I’m Florian,” he introduces, “That’s a weird name.” Mikko lets out a startled laugh at that, but doesn’t seem offended.

“I’m from a different country,” Mikko explains, “So we have different names.” Florian thinks for a second, then nods again, resolute.

“Are you Aunt Y/N’s boyfriend?” he asks. You say his name, ready to chastise him for asking inappropriate questions. Mikko speaks first.

“No,” he says, shrugging, “But we are really good friends.” This seems to be a sufficient answer for Florian. He crawls out of your lap and over Mikko’s, sitting cross-legged on the couch facing him.

“What’s your favorite dinosaur?” he asks, bringing a smile to both Mikko and your faces. Mikko angles himself slightly toward Florian, engaging fully with the conversation. You’re relieved that Florian seems to like Mikko, especially because that means Briar will have an easier time warming up to him. Briar trusts Florian’s intuition, so he’ll give someone a chance if Flo likes them, but will never get anywhere near someone he doesn’t approve of.

You turn back to Heather and she hands Rose over without you even having to ask, physically moving Briar into her own lap so you have space. Briar doesn’t mind, just cuddling into his mom’s arms.

As you and Heather talk, Flo dismounts the couch and Mikko stands, following him around the room as Flo tells him about all his toys. After the tour, they sit on the floor together, Flo showing Mikko how one works. For his part, Mikko does a fantastic job of seeming interested, nodding and humming and asking questions to encourage him to continue. It’s incredibly cute.

Eventually, Flo moves on to a different toy. This one is Briar’s absolute favorite, you know, but you’re still surprised when he plops down to the floor to go join the other boys. He still doesn’t say much, but he does give little comments in his quiet, lispy voice.

“He’s good with kids,” Heather says when she catches you watching them for too long, giving you a sly look. You can feel a little heat rush to your face, biting your lip.

“Yeah,” you agree, looking back down at Rose’s sleeping face, “Didn’t know that.” Heather chuckles, but returns the conversation back to its previous topic. You’re grateful, not wanting to think too much about the feelings that have started pressing at the edges of your consciousness the past few months.

After some more gabbing, Briar comes over to tug at your pant leg. You turn your gaze to him, filled with love at the sight of his chubby face. He points toward the stairs, then starts walking over to them. You pass Rose back over to Heather, your knees creaking when you stand. Briar has stopped halfway to the stairs, staring back at Mikko and Flo. After a moment of deliberation, he goes back over, face determined as he tugs on Mikko’s sleeve. Once he has his attention, Briar points to the stairs again. Mikko seems surprised but stands anyway, letting the little boy lead him upstairs.

It takes a second to shake your shock, but you follow along. There are very few people Briar feels comfortable taking up to his room, and you hadn’t expected him to decide Mikko should be added to that list. Especially so quickly.

Since you’re a few steps behind them, Briar has already climbed up onto his bed by time you get to the doorway. You watch as he grabs one of his stuffed animals and gives it to Mikko, telling him the stuffie’s name and the backstory he’s created for them. Mikko offers it back once Briar has finished speaking, and it gets exchanged for the next. Seeing Mikko kneeling next to the bed, knees surely aching, paying rapt attention to every word Briar says… something grows in your chest that’s far too soft to not be a threat to your sanity.

Briar beckons you over when he gets to the last stuffed animal, the only one you don’t recognize. You join Mikko on the floor, leaning into his side while you listen to the story Briar has come up with for the newest addition to his collection.

Once he’s finished, the three of you go back downstairs. Heather is standing now, rocking Rose back and forth in her arms. Mikko steps up to her, but keeps a respectful distance as he admires the baby, complimenting both her and Heather. Flo pulls at Mikko’s pant leg, dragging him away and through the glass door into the back yard. The rest of you follow, Derek reappearing from his office to join.

Flo and Mikko are running around in an instant, playing a two-person game of tag. It doesn’t take long for Briar to join, and Heather gives Rose to Derek so she can follow. You want to play too, but Derek sidles up to you. You don’t get much time to talk to him, so you pass up on tag to sit in the lounge chairs with him.

He’s been working on a few tough cases lately, but obviously can’t tell you much about them. Attorney-client privilege and all that. He talks vaguely about work, before switching to the family news. He mentions your little brother getting a new job, a good one, and laughs when he realizes Matt had forgotten to tell you.

“What does Mikko do?” he asks. You probably should’ve expected the question, but you didn’t.

“He, uh,” you hesitate, “He plays for the Avalanche.” Derek’s eyes widen at that, surprised and impressed.

“That’s pretty cool,” he says, looking to Mikko, “How did you two meet?” He looks back to you expectantly, and it hits you all at once that the way you’d met was kind of insane. A complete stranger came up to you, and you had not only started talking to him, but had accepted his number and used it. Stranger danger is real, and you’d overlooked the concept because… why?

“We met at the park,” you explain, not interested in going into details, “He almost ran into me when he was running, and. Well.” It’s written plain on Derek’s face that he wants to ask a thousand more questions, but he holds himself back. That’s one thing you’ve always loved about him: he knows when not to ask.

“Are you dating?” he asks, eyes focusing in so he doesn’t miss any part of your reaction.

“No, we’re just friends,” you reply, waving a hand dismissively. Derek looks skeptical, readjusting in his chair. You want to look away from his piercing gaze, but he has this magnetism that prevents it. It’s always been kind of freaky, the way he reads people.

“Do you want to be dating?” he asks. You know he sees the way your throat moves as you swallow hard, the way your eyes dart to Mikko for the barest second. You should say no, but something stops you. You’d never really thought about it, more than grateful to just be Mikko’s friend. Your friends had joked about it, of course, but there’s something different about Derek asking. The way he asks so seriously forces you to consider it, to review everything you know about Mikko, trying to find an answer you had anticipated would be obvious.

“Okay,” Derek nods, bouncing Rose the tiniest bit when she starts to babble. He changes the subject, telling you some story about your uncle that you don’t really care about. Unfortunately, your mind is stuck on it now, trying to imagine what dating Mikko would be like, trying to decide if that’s something you’d want.

Not that it would matter if you did, because Mikko will never see you that way. You know the kind of woman hockey players go for, and you’re not it. You don’t have a business or some fancy degree, you aren’t charismatic and congenial. You’re not a trophy. Maybe a fourth place ribbon, if that. Mikko is going to find some beautiful, talented, lovely woman to love, and there’s no point in musing over dating him.

Except he comes over, and Derek effortlessly hands him Rose without even having to ask, and you realize. Seeing him hold her so carefully, the look of adoration he has for a baby he has no connection to, makes something click into place. Which is probably the worst thing that could’ve happened.

As much as you try to focus and be present for the remainder of the visit, you find yourself drifting. It’s not really the baby thing. Hell, you’re not even sure if you want kids. It’s the fact that it’s your niece, your nephews, all comfortable around him, immediately welcoming him in. It’s the fact that Heather is overly protective of her little ones, and yet had no protests about Mikko holding Rose, letting him keep her as long as he wanted. It’s Briar plopping down in front of the chair Mikko sits in, leaning back against his leg in a way you’ve never seen him do.

When it comes time to go, you hug each of the boys tightly, before kissing Rose’s head. You give a matching kiss to Heather’s cheek, and Derek squeezes you tight afterward. Then you watch Flo and Briar hug Mikko of their own volition. You watch Heather lean forward to kiss his cheek as you had hers. You watch Mikko duck down to place a kiss on Rose’s forehead, so carefully, so gently. You watch him shake Derek’s hand, some type of look passing between them.

The drive home is much the same as the drive there, though you know you’re smiling and laughing less at Mikko’s stories than usual, too lost in your thoughts to be a good audience. When you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, he’s already looking back, concern turning the corners of his lips down.

The plan had been to have dinner together after the trip, but you can’t find it in yourself to be in public. Instead, you retreat to your apartment, begging out of the meal with the excuse of a headache. It’s not completely an excuse, because you do have a headache, but it’s more what’s causing the headache that’s making you want to curl up under the covers in your dark room. Luckily, Mikko doesn’t argue much, seemingly knowing something is wrong and not wanting to intrude.

You lie in bed for a while, the blankets pulled up over your head. Sometimes your brain gets stuck on something, turns it over and over in your mind, won’t let you escape the cycle. It had started with He’s great with the boys, My family loves him, Oh my god do I love him? At some point it had switched, I want him around always, He’ll never love someone like me, Oh my god I’m in love with him.

You’re in love with him.

And that’s the sticking point. That’s where all the problems begin and end. You’d taken a chance on a stranger, it had worked out, and now you’re going to ruin it all with your stupid feelings. You know what you have to do, but you’re not sure you can manage it. Obviously, you can’t tell him. It would make things weird, and you’d lose him, either slowly or all at once. So you have to pretend. You wonder if you can, and if so, how long you can keep it up. Can you pretend forever?

By the grace of whatever deity may or not be above, you don’t have work the next day. Sundays are when you have a standing date with your best friend. Despite wanting to keep hiding in bed, you get up and ready, sighing before you step out the door.

Jackie looks lovely, as always, wearing a sundress and leggings to enjoy one of the first warm days of the season. Being around her always makes you feel underdressed, but you know she’d never judge you for your jeans and button-up. You hold her for a couple extra seconds when you hug hello, breathing in the smell of her perfume to calm yourself.

You mean to bring up the Mikko situation, you really do. There’s just no appropriate time to segue into it. Instead, you talk about work and family and Jackie’s new apartment. It’s pleasant, and you don’t want to ruin that. You try to convince yourself that this is what you need, some time with someone you love, away from your thoughts. You know better.

The two of you take a walk after lunch, Jackie’s kitten heels clicking on the pavement. The trail is short, winding through the trees surrounding the restaurant. Despite your inability to find a way to bring it up, Jackie takes advantage of a lull in the conversation to ask about Mikko. She gives you a sly look when she does, and it makes your stomach turn. Of all the people who joke about you and Mikko being in love, Jackie is the most frequent offender. You’re already mentally preparing for the teasing, squaring your shoulders and biting the inside of your cheek.

“He’s good,” you reply, already queasy. It must come across in your words or body language that something is off, because Jackie stops dead in her tracks. You stop a couple steps ahead of her, turning to look at her. She examines you, her big brown eyes surely seeing right through you.

“Oh honey,” she says, eyes going soft. Her mouth pulls in a tight, pitying line, one side of her lips tipped upward just enough to show a level of affection. Her brow is furrowed, her head slightly tilted.

“You realized, didn’t you?” she asks, taking a step toward you. You feel your cheeks heat, and your eye twitches the way it always does when you want to cry. Most of what she’s said about you and Mikko has been jokes, but it would seem that she knew about your feelings before you did.

“I’m in love with him,” you whisper. Saying it out loud is simultaneously relieving and overwhelming. It’s out there in the world now. It’s real.

“Honey,” Jackie says again, taking the second step necessary to pull you close. You cling to her, willing your wet eyes not to spill. She keeps one arm around your torso, the other coming up so she can put her hand on the back of your head, encouraging the way you’re burying your face in her neck. She presses a firm kiss to your hair, making your breath hitch. You focus on breathing, four seconds in, seven seconds out. You’re okay, you tell yourself, you’re okay.

“You’re never going to tell him, are you?” she asks, the still-fresh hurt rising up to fill your chest, to crowd out your lungs. It’s not really a question, and you know she already knows the answer. You’ve been friends since your teenage years; she knows you too well. You keep breathing, ignoring the way the air stutters in and out.

“I can’t ruin it,” you reply. The cosmic stroke of luck that brought Mikko into your life is too unlikely and wonderful to give up. You can’t bear the thought of losing him, this wonderful person who makes you feel seen and heard and understood.

“Okay,” Jackie says into your hair. You loosen your hold on her and she lets you go, still looking almost as heartbroken as you feel. She’s always been too empathetic when it comes to you, feeling your emotions so strongly that they become her own. It mixes with her protective nature, wanting to find solutions for all your problems, wanting to stop any hurt the second it starts. You love that about her, but still feel guilty that you’re hurting her, even unintentionally.

“I get it, and I’m not going to pressure you,” she says, giving you a heavy look, “But I think you should tell him. You don’t have to, but I think it’ll go better than you’re expecting.” It’s not unexpected. While most people joke about you and Mikko dating because they think the way you interact is funny, Jackie does it because she really believes you should be together. It’s been a subtle encouragement, hidden with smirks and laughs. Of course she would think you should tell him.

“I’ll think about it,” you reply, though it’s mostly to appease her. You’ve already thought of telling him, anyway, and the reactions you imagine are the reason you’re not going to do it. After a pause, Jackie gently shoves your shoulder with her fingers.

“You have a crush,” she sing-songs, smiling. The childishness of the action makes you smile in return, the air around you losing some of its weight.

“Oh, so you want to talk about Cale?” you ask rhetorically, pushing her in return. She groans dramatically at the mention of her own crush. It makes you laugh, remembering the way she’d gone shy and speechless when she’d met him. The rest of the afternoon is much less serious, and for the thousandth time, you’re grateful for her.

Somehow, the conversation makes it easier to be around Mikko. At least you have someone who knows what’s going on and supports you, rather than being alone in your feelings. He’d gone on a roadie after your visit to your brother’s, so you can’t be physically close to him for another week, but your nightly video chats are less awkward than that first day. The more you talk to him, the more you’re able to return to the friendly spirit you’ve cultivated over time.

When he comes home, you spend a night cuddled up on the couch watching a new show. His touch had almost burned when he pulled you close, but it subsides and you’re able to settle into him. When it’s late enough that you’re both trading yawns, he urges you up from the couch, leaving the snack bowls to be taken care of in the morning. He ushers you into the bedroom, assuming that you’ll stay the night without having to ask.

You’ve done it a hundred times, but it’s different this time. He shucks off his shirt easy as anything, stripping down to his boxers with a complete lack of embarrassment. Logically, you know it’s probably because he gets fully naked in a room full of other people on an almost daily basis, but you’re not one of the guys, and he doesn’t seem to mind anyway. Part of you thinks it’s a display of trust and comfort. Another part of you thinks it’s a sign that he doesn’t view you as any different from his teammates, that he sees you so platonically that the implications of being nearly naked in front of you could never mean anything.

Lying in bed together isn’t too different than usual, luckily. Yeah, you’re thinking of how much you want to fall asleep with his arms around you every night, but it’s not overwhelming. The room is dark and quiet when he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, sending sparks down your spine.

“Is everything okay with Derek?” he asks, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the whir of the fan. The mention of your brother reminds you of that day and you tense, knowing he can feel it. His tone is too grave for the question to just be checking in, so he knows something is wrong.

“Yeah, of course,” you reply. The fact that he asked specifically about Derek means that he’d noticed the change in your demeanor after the conversation on the back patio. Asking about it a week later means he hasn’t stopped thinking about it. You’d hoped that he would forget, or that acting normally tonight would keep him from asking. But Mikko never seems to forget anything when it comes to you.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks after a pause. That’s the last thing you want him thinking, so you thread your fingers with his and squeeze.

“No,” you say simply, firmly. You’re not going to let your own issues make him feel guilty or insecure. There’s another short pause before Mikko speaks again.

“Are you sure?” he asks, adding, “You can tell me.” You’ve told him before when he’d messed up, so you already know you could. But that’s not what’s happened, and you’re not sure why he’s convinced it is. You release his hand, wiggling a bit as you roll over to face him. The moonlight filtering in around the edge of the curtains is just enough to make out the outline of his features, his light eyes silvery with it.

“Mikko,” you say his name for emphasis, “You haven’t done anything wrong, I promise.” He doesn’t say anything, just looking at you. It kills you that he doesn’t believe you. You curve one hand around his cheek, tilting his head down so you can kiss his forehead. You nudge his face back up to force him to look at you, repeating the sentence in Finnish. You still don’t speak much, but you at least know how to say this. Finns don’t say things they don’t mean, so you hope he takes it as the reassurance it’s meant to be.

“When did you learn Finnish?” he asks, startled off topic. You give a little laugh. Maybe this will distract him from his clearly morbid thoughts.

“I started studying when I met you,” you answer. You don’t mention that you’ve already completed all the lessons Duolingo offers, and may have spent actual money on a real lesson program.

“Oh,” he says, pauses, asks, “So nothing is wrong?” He sounds less grim than before, so you’ll count this as a success.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you confirm. The conversation ends when he replies okay, and you feel like you should turn back over, but something in his expression stops you. There’s some other question there, one he’s debating on asking. Turning away might keep him from doing so, so you stay in place. The silence hangs between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Why are you learning Finnish?” he asks. You shrug as best you can while lying down.

“So you have someone to talk to when you miss home,” you reply. Being so far away takes its toll on Mikko, and there are no other Finns on the team, so you want him to be able to have at least a little comfort sometimes. You’d intended to keep it a secret until you were conversational, but this seems like a good reason to out yourself.

Again, there’s something in his face telling you that there’s more he wants to say, something stuck right behind his front teeth begging to be let out. You wait patiently, but he just takes a deep breath and says thank you. That’s where the conversation really ends, and you fall asleep with your head tucked under his chin.

After that, it’s your turn to think something is wrong. Mikko isn’t known for being a quiet or pensive person, but this thing keeps happening with increasing frequency. The two of you will be doing something innocuous when he’ll freeze, gaze fixed on you in some inscrutable emotion, sometimes something akin to fear. The idea of him being afraid when he’s around you doesn’t sit right, and you do your best to figure out what about you is suddenly scaring him.

You try to take note of what you’re doing when it happens, thinking that maybe there will be a common thread you can pluck out. Once, it happens when he comes home from a game and you present him with his favorite dish, a recipe you’d used your limited Finnish skills to get from his mother. Another time, you’re meeting him in the hall after a game, wearing the jersey he’d given you with his name plastered across the back. Other times included looking up to him from your sketchbook when you were at the park together, him coming home from a roadie to find that you’d gotten groceries for him, even just sitting on the couch together watching a movie.

There’s no specific action tied to the reaction that you can find. It’s always preceded by the same look, though. You’ll meet his eyes, his face will go slack, the corners of his mouth turning up just the slightest bit, his eyes bright and hazy. His mouth will part slightly, and then the surprise and fear will overtake him.

For the most part, you’ve tried to ignore it, but you know you’ll end up asking him eventually if it continues. You’re pretty sure it’s going to happen again tonight, because you’re in the middle of spooning some sauce over chicken breasts for him to eat when he gets home, one of his favorite comfort shows queued up on the TV to soothe him after tonight’s loss. It happens a lot after losses, so it’s reasonable to expect at this point.

He calls your name as he comes through the front door and you announce your presence in the kitchen. He sidles up behind you as you plate the food, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the top of your head. He compliments the smell of the food and you pat his forearm twice in greeting, thanking him and finishing your task surrounded by his warmth.

You carry both plates into the living room, giggling at the way Mikko shuffles along with you, refusing to relinquish his hold. After you place your handful down on the coffee table, you gently headbutt him to tell him to let go. He doesn’t, so you wiggle a little, making him laugh. He still won’t let go, so you start prying at his fingers, but he’s too strong, and then you’re both laughing. You whine his name through it, and he finally relents. You turn around to look at him for the first time since he’d come in and the look is there: that soft, fond look you’re tempted to call besotted.

You enjoy this part while you can, the clear blue of his eyes halfway overtaken by his pupils, the gentlest of smiles on his lips, the ever-so-slight tilt of his head. You only get it for a couple of seconds before his mouth begins to part, ushering in the dreaded terror.

“Why do you do that?” you ask before you’ve consciously decided to. You’d intended to wait to ask, to see if it persisted first, but it bothers you more than you care to admit. You never want to make Mikko feel anything negative. Maybe if you know what you’re doing to trigger the reaction, you can stop it.

“Do what?” he asks in return. He looks genuinely confused, his strong brow furrowed. At least he doesn’t look afraid anymore.

“Sometimes you seem so scared when you look at me,” you explain, reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, running your thumb along his cheek, “What am I doing wrong?” It’s probably not the best time to bring it up, right after a home loss, but you’ve already started. May as well get your answer.

“Nothing,” he replies, insistent, “You’re not doing anything wrong.” He takes a half-step forward, resting one hand on your hip and the other on the side of your neck. His touch is gentle, but it helps ground you.

“Then why?” you implore, suddenly desperate to know. There has to be something you can do, something you can change to stop this.

“I just–” he begins, inhales sharply, “Don’t worry about it, darling.” Typically, you love it when he calls you pet names, but it feels compensatory here, like he’s trying to make up for not giving you an answer. But you need an answer, need to know what’s gone wrong.

“Mikko,” you say his name quietly, as softly as you can manage, “Please tell me.” He hesitates, conflict writ across his face.

“Please,” you repeat, searching his eyes for something, anything. The two contrasting expressions you’ve been agonizing over return, mixing on his face. His mouth quirked in a tiny smile, his brow furrowed, his eyes dilated, somewhere between affection and apprehension. He takes a deep breath. You wait.

“You make it so hard not to tell you that I love you,” he finally says.

Okay. That’s– okay.

That’s definitely a love confession, right? There’s no way anyone could think otherwise, but your brain is trying to find another angle. The dissonance is strong, the statement going against everything you’ve convinced yourself of for months. Guys like Mikko don’t go for girls like you, except apparently they do, because he’s saying he loves you. You can feel how stupid you look, face slack with shock as you just stare at him. Mikko loves you.

It must take you too long to respond, because he starts to step away, his hands falling from your body. Your free hand flies up to grab his shoulder, holding him in place. He could pull out of the grip easily, but he doesn’t, standing stock-still and waiting.

“You should do that,” you say. Your mind is starting to shift, to push past all the bullshit you’ve been telling yourself, to take in what he’s saying and maybe, just maybe, starting to believe.

“Do what?” he asks. Your chest is tight, a smile beginning to pull at your lips.

“Tell me that you love me,” you reply. The short, disbelieving laugh Mikko lets out is the second best thing you’ve ever heard. Because the best thing you’ve ever heard is when he takes your face in his hands, looks deep in your eyes, and says:

“I love you.”

#mikko rantanen imagine #mikko rantanen fic #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #RI #andi's coping mechanism

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sunberry-strawflower · 9 months

Text

#curtissonweek2023

Yayyy!!! Day 3 is upon us and I'm not too late!

This fic was like the last two where I completely changed where I wanted to go with it, but it wasn't a struggle to write actually! I actually felt mostly relaxed and nice writing this one :) maybe bcz of the simple premise? I'm not sure haha

Anywayz the story is about artist!Burt and Sven is just...a normal guy LMAO

This was fun to write tho! Hope you enjoy!

(Event by @blue-fanlady)

Word count: 1.5k

Curtisson Week Day 3: Drawing

Burt was walking through the city with his sketchbook in hand, desperately trying to figure out what to draw. He was in a big drawing mood, but nothing out here seemed to catch his eye. There were different buildings, all different patterns and colors, but none of them seemed appealing enough for him to even make a rough draft of. He saw people walking along the sidewalk, whether they were talking with their friends or jogging while listening to music on their phone. While it was nice to see people enjoying themselves in their own way (even if it made him feel bitter about his own dull life), it didn't give him any inspiration at all. He came to the conclusion that he was definitely going through art block.

He sighed as he looked down at the empty page. He was trying to think of something to get him inspired, maybe catch something in this busy city that's worth taking a page on his sketchbook, some kind of ounce of creativity, but alas, his mind still remained as blank as the page.

Burt decided walking around the city wasn't doing him any good, so he walked into the building closest to him. Which happened to be a library.

He was hit with the inside air and took a deep breath. He started to wander around and look at all the different books he was definitely not going to read. He thought maybe the covers of said books could give him a bit of inspiration.

Some were soft and colorful, others were more dark and misty. Some had people or characters on it, and others were simply abstract colors and backgrounds. You can tell the genre of these by their name and cover more often than not. Stories about love, betrayal, friendship, drama, fantasy, history, and mystery were present. Maybe even more. Some of them seemed to mix two or more genres which was interesting. He picked up a few paperbacks, not to read, but to analyze the covers, hoping to find something that'll potentially give him some sort of spark. He sure hoped nobody came to the library for these specific books.

He sat down at a table and put the hardcovers and his sketchbook on top of it. He slid his pencil from the spiral bound and tapped the wood on the table a few times. Most of the stories he picked out had gloomy-ish pictures. Maybe he could do something with those.

Maybe something to do with night time? He could draw the night sky…but that was too simple. At least on its own. He needed to draw something with it. Something that stood out.

While pondering on what to draw with this idea, he felt his eyes drift to another table not too far from his own. Another guy, presumably around his age, was reading a book. He had short blond hair and a small blue hat on. He changed expressions ever so slightly, probably reacting to the story. From what Burt could see from his small reactions, it was a bittersweet kind of telling.

This guy seemed to be an expressive type of person. That's very helpful, especially because Burt needs to practice drawing expressions. Not only that, but this blond seemed to be exactly what he was looking for in his drawing. He would stick out perfectly with the night time atmosphere Burt wanted to go for.

Would he get away with drawing him right now? It was worth a shot.

Before he lost the motivation, he quickly picked up his pencil and started his piece, occasionally stealing glances from his unknowing model.

He sketched the night sky, making sure not to let the black and gray entirely cover the page so he can fit the other stuff he had in mind as well. The library was quiet, aside from the sounds of his pencil scratching on the sketch paper and a page of a book flipping. Whether it was from the blond or somewhere else in the room. They weren't distracting, though. If anything, they were relaxing.

Once he finished the night sky, he stole another glance from the other, still not having noticed Burt looking at him. He seemed too into the story he was reading to pay any attention. Well, worked for Burt.

He began drawing the blond, a closeup of him sitting on a bench under the night sky, reading a book of a similar style. He didn't need to look at the other too much, as he had a decent idea of his appearance. He had a pretty good photographic memory, which saved him a lot of glimpses.

He finished up the sketch and mentally sighed to himself as he looked at it. Not his best work, but he felt he captured what he was aiming for well enough. He was considering coloring it, but he didn't want to risk possibly ruining the sketch.

That guy served as a really good model for this piece, even if he had no idea. Though Burt should probably leave before somebody caught him being a bit creepy and drawing somebody without their consent or notice.

He grabbed the books he took from the shelves and went to put them back, hoping nobody was searching for them earlier. Especially since he wasn't even reading them.

After he finished putting the books back, he went to leave the library. However, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was missing something…

Oh, right. His sketchbook. Where was it? Did he mistake it for a book and put it on a shelf? He sure hoped not. The things in there were not for the public eye.

He went back to the shelves and didn't see his sketchbook anywhere.

'Did somebody take it already?' he thought to himself, and started to panic a little. He then considered the fact that he might've left it on the table from earlier, and quickly made his way over there.

Once the table was in his sight, he stopped in his tracks. His sketchbook was there, thank God, but there was somebody else there as well. It looked to be the blond from earlier. He had the sketchbook in his hands and his face seemed to be a mixture of awe and confusion. Or maybe just one of the two. It was hard to properly see him from this distance.

Burt walked over there, worried that running would make too much noise. Once he made his way over, he tapped the other on the shoulder, which caused him to jolt and look in his direction. "Oh, hey." He greeted quietly. "Did you draw this?"

Burt shamefully nodded, gently took the sketchbook away from the other and closed it. "Sorry. For drawing you without permission, I mean. It just kind of happened." He whispered. Again, he didn't want to be too loud in the library, but that didn't stop him from mentally screaming at himself and being embarrassed out of his mind.

"Oh, that was supposed to be me?" He asked. "I thought so, but I wasn't sure. It looks really good." He smiled. Burt couldn't help but blush a little. Not many people have complimented his artwork before.

"Thank you." He said. Burt appreciated the compliment but still felt awfully embarrassed and awkward so he turned to leave without another word.

"Wait." The other called out quietly. In any other setting, his voice would go unheard, but in the silence of the library, Burt could hear him loud and clear.

Burt looked back, albeit hesitantly. "Hm?"

"What's your name?" He asked. Burt didn't understand why the other wanted the name of somebody he would probably never see again, but he guessed it only made sense to know the name of the person who drew you. Along with the person you're drawing.

"Burt." He replied.

"I'm Sven," He grinned. "Sorry for looking in your sketchbook, by the way. If it makes you feel better, I didn't look at any other pages."

That did make Burt feel a little better, but he still felt a little flustered. He shook his head. "It's fine, don't worry."

"Okay…good." Sven said. They stood there in awkward silence for a bit.

"Are you–" "I'm going–" Sven and Burt immediately stopped talking once they heard the other, which honestly made this more awkward than it already was. Sven chuckled before urging Burt to go first.

"Oh, I was just saying I'm going to go now." Burt said, and if he were a fool, he'd say Sven almost looked disappointed, but he brushed it off.

Sven was quiet for a few seconds before seeming to process what Burt had said and nodded. "Okay. Bye." He waved goodbye and Burt waved back, leaving with his sketchbook and pencil in hand.

Once he exited the library, he looked down at the sketch of the blond--well, Sven. Weirdly, he felt more proud of it now. Still wouldn't consider it his best work, but it was better than he originally perceived.

He couldn't hold back a smile as he signed Sven's name in cursive writing, next to his sitting figure. He wrote his name and the date it was drawn at the corner of the page, officially making this drawing another crucial part of his sketchbook.

_______________________________________________________

See y'all on day 4!

#I'm actually pretty proud of this one #which feels great. feeling proud of how your work came out is one of the best feelings ever I stggGGG #1.5k words is a nice sweet spot for me too #again lmk if the formatting is funky I'm still not all that used to posting fics on tumblr #thsc #the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin collection #sven svensson #burt curtis #curtisson #curtissonweek2023 #cross posted on ao3

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