#sketched this for something... heheheh

[nerujikam]

a little cozy

[temeyes]

casual simon riley (colored)

[numbbrainstrorm]

Look, it's soundblaster ( Trust me)

I'm avoiding coloring like a plague

Is Soundblaster Soundwaves and Blasters Child

Or

Very edgy soundwave

[cdrspages]

is this what you all call a “gijinka”

I guess it was only a matter of time since my bread and butter are human characters …. I felt uh, “unnerved” this whole time so I had to take matters in my own hands 🫡 iffy on her sweater color lol

[nukuome]

[sourour-rl]

Drawing something angsty y'all

[kyurochurro]

Frankie Stein!! ⚡ Part 1 of 3 for my 2023 Howl-o'ween Monster High Series!! 🎃 >:)

(Draculaura and Clawdeen are next!! Stay tuned for them, I'll link them on this post later on when they're done!)

[opyata]

Drawing my 很好朋友 after a long long art block (and a little depressed episode???). Tiny sketch.

[black-ak9]

When you have a pending comic to publish and you keep making fanart of the protagonist :>

black-ak9

[noogit9000]

Secret Santa part two!

@thedemonsurfer

[forestlovesyou]

I’m a little boomer who can’t reblog other ppl’s reblongs on phone and i’m running late in 8 minutes but

OMGOMGOMG TOHYA LIKERS REJOICE!!

he had so little actually obvious screentime but i love him so much aughhh

[iheartmira]

Hiii!!! Can I request like

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

I love fluff

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

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

you never meant for him to find out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

until the day he found it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the word struck you like a spotlight.

he knew.

your silence was all the confession he needed.

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

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

you bit your lip, nodding without meaning to.

another step closer.

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

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

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

your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

"until our next scene, darling."

and just like that, he was gone.

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

a flourish of ink that wasn’t yours.

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

'for my favorite audience.'

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

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

© 2025, iheartmira

[cosmicporos]

What Arcane characters would gift you for Christmas!

Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Viktor, Jayce

(Semi crack Drabble… sorry for going super long with Viktor’s and Jayce’s HCs. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH)

(Jayce is Hispanic in my hc :3)

ENJOY AND HAVE FUN LOVE YALL<3

Not proofread

JINX

Hear me out… the first thing she would plan to gift you are decorated safety googles.

As a matter of fact everything she gifts you is handmade!

She knows you love to spend time with her when she’s in her workshop and the extra spare of googles she had were pretty crappy…

“Ugh, these old things? Pfft, they look like they’ve been through a freakin’ explosion… oh wait, they probably have! We gotta get you a new pair soon toots!”

They’d be totally decked out! Lots of character as she calls it.

“Okay toots check it out! Maximum protection but most importantly! They got style!”

The googles themselves would be in her classic style, very colorful paint, cute little heart scribbles all around! And of course lots of glitter….

“"I mean, you've got to stay safe while causing mayhem, right? And hey, if we're blowing stuff up together, you'll definitely need these. Plus, I made them perfectly for you. No one else will have goggles like these... trust me!"

I totally see her adding little handmade jewelry from her gears and spare parts, would totally make you a belt or choker out of spare bullets.

Vi

She would totally panic on what to get you for Christmas. Like what if you suddenly hate the thing you’ve loved since the very beginning she’s known you???

Would end up both buying and making you something!

She’s make you something small but meaningful

“Okay Okay fine! You can open mine now. Just don’t laugh too hard Cupcake…”

You’d open the poorly wrapped gift to uncover a bright pink scarf she knitted you! The stitching is a mess.. there a hole’s through the project (no doubt a missed stitch) but in all honesty it so cute you feel like your heart might explode.

"Yeah, I know I'm not, uh, the best at this kind of thing," she mutters, scratching the back of her neck, "but I figured you could use something to keep warm... and, you know, 'cause it's winter. And... you're important to me."

Guys please tell her she did an amazing job PLEASE.

She would also totally buy you a pair of combat boots! Totally saved up for months in advance.

She loves the idea of being able to match and have a bit of her style on you!

Ekko

Just like Jinx (sobs) he’d also make something for you!

The first thing he’d give you would be a little sketch book full of drawings of you from random moments throughout your relationship he remembers oh so clearly.

"I've been working on it for a while... It's... it's just a bunch of drawings. I mean, not just anything. Stuff that made me think of you. Stuff we've done, or things I hope we do. I don't know, it just felt like the best way to show how I feel about... well, us."

Okay he would also totally make you matching jewelry (matching clock hand necklaces?)

You’d force him to take the hour hand since it’s shorter (heheheh little man)

Once you explain your reasoning as to why he should take the smaller one he sighs disappointedly…

"Okay, okay, I get it," he finally says, a little less playful now, his voice softening. "I guess if you want me to wear it, I can..."

Then, a grin creeps back onto his face as he adds, "But don't think I'm letting you off the hook with the minute hand. You're wearing that one for sure." He places the hour hand necklace around his neck, the smaller pendant resting there, and looks up at you with that mischievous gleam in his eye.

He pauses, holding up his necklace, "I'm still the one with the bigger job. You'll just have to keep up." A proud smug smirk now rests on his face.

Viktor

FUCK WHERE DO I BEGIN I LOVE THIS MAN

o k a y. He would just like Vi panic… not because he doesn’t know what to get you but because he totally is going Christmas shopping late… very very late.

As much as I would love to say he’d make some little invention to make your day easier and give it to you for Christmas I don’t see it happening.

Not because he wouldn’t do it but because he already does it all the time! A little example, you’re late for work often? A little robot that hits you with a plastic squishy hammer every morning at 7 am waking you up when he can’t!

He’d definitely want to make Christmas special, I see him buying you something and then doing something special for you too!

Christmas morning would be greeted with warm hugs and kisses along with an even warmer bowl of potato soup!

He wanted to make sure he perfected his mother’s Bramboračka recipe. It was a once a year meal him and his mother shared every Christmas day.

He’s not a good cook by any means… but this is the one dish he can make and oh boy can he make it.

"Don't expect perfection," he says with a small, self-conscious smile, as you catch him sneaking a taste of the soup. Viktor looks up, his gaze softening. "I hope you like it," he says, and despite his usual perfectionism, there's a quiet pride in his voice. You take a sip, and the rich flavors of mushrooms, potatoes, and herbs immediately comfort you, just like his mother's love must've comforted him all those years ago.

OKAY for the making gift he planned I see him commissioning something due to the fact a lot of his inventions lack aesthetics.

Specifically I see him commissioning a music box that functions as a a jewelry box as well! He would have loved to make it himself but he was worried he wouldn’t have gotten the look right.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his voice softer than usual, as if he's worried about the reception. "I had it made... I thought... it might remind you of us."

The detail was breathtaking-floral patterns etched into the surface, with tiny gears and delicate metalwork accenting the edges. The craftsmanship was stunning, and you couldn't help but run your fingers over the smooth finish.

you lifted the lid, and a gentle, lilting melody began to play. It was slow and sweet, a tune that felt timeless, and as you stared at the tiny figurines inside, your breath caught.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cane, his gaze flicking between you and the music box. "I commissioned it," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I had the craftsman use a sketch I made. It's how I see us... in my mind. How I feel when I hold you." He paused, his expression softening. "I thought... I thought you deserved something that would remind you of that. Of... how much you mean to me."

Jayce

Oh hon… Jayce would spoil you rotten.

I’m talking presents are overflowing underneath the tree.

You thought you lost your favorite piece of clothing? WRONG! He commissioned for more to be made in different colors and textures for you.

All the fragrances in the world he knew you would enjoy.

Cozy adorable pajamas we would give you Christmas morning so you could cuddle up drinking hot chocolate.

Spends Christmas Eve spoiling you and cuddling and being so tooth rottenly sweet.

It’s Christmas Eve, the scene was almost overwhelming. The living room looked like a perfectly curated holiday catalog-twinkling lights, a roaring fireplace, and, of course, an absurd number of gifts. Jayce sat cross-legged beside the tree, an excited grin lighting up his face as he handed you the first box. He had merely grinned, sheepish yet unrepentant. "What can I say? I got carried away?.”

"Open this one first," he urged, nearly vibrating with excitement. Inside was a bottle of an exquisite fragrance, the glass etched with delicate, swirling designs. It smelled divine-rich, warm, and entirely you.

"I figured you'd like that," he said eyes carefully watching everyone expression you make. You swear if he had a tail it would be swishing uncontrollably right now.

Christmas Day would be you spending Christmas day at his mother’s house!

(Listen I’m hc them as hispanic because for one HIS MOMS NAME HIS XIMENA… and two because why not :3 )

You have a great relationship with his Mother, she absolutely adores you and sees you as her daughter.

There’s lots of yummy food she’s prepared… perhaps too much for just 3 people?

Nonetheless, a pot of pozole, tamales de puerco and de dulce! And of course she made jayce’s favorite choco flan!

God she urges to to eat until you nearly pop! You have to undo your belt by the end of the night…

"Come, sit!" his mom insisted, pulling out a chair for you. "Jayce told me you've never had my tamales. That's a crime! Here, start with this." She placed one on your plate, her eyes twinkling.

Jayce sat beside you, his grin widening as you took your first bite. "Good, right?" he asked, nudging you playfully.

You could only nod, savoring the perfectly seasoned masa and tender filling.

Later in the evening, when everyone was too full to move, Jayce leaned over and slipped his hand into yours. His eyes were soft, his voice low as he said, "I'm glad you're here. This—" he gestured to the lively scene around you, "—feels perfect with you."

[skitskatdacat63]

Process :]

“Amore et Timore” - King Fernando I “El Animoso”

[sugarpasteltmnt]

Can I be the first one to draw shrednardo fanart? Also I’m bad at drawing stuff off of text description so I kinda used my imagination 😭 it’s just a sketch to test out a new brush

Also something abt your latest post?

WAAAAAAA

SUCH A HANDSOME LITTLE GUY!!! OH MY GOSH!!! hehehe i love love love it i love the armor and the presence and the EYELINER 💅✨ he's gorgeous THANK YOU!!!

hehehehe i have some special plans for Shrednardo's physical appearance I plan to reveal in chapter 2 (some of which have been hinted at in previous, mischievous vauge posts) but i love love love this take on him thank you so much!!!

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Notes In The Margins

Pairing: Professor!Bucky Barnes x GN!Teachers Aid Reader

Summary: In the quiet of the night , a teacher and his assistant find themselves tangled in a web of soft confessions and lingering glances, finally crossing the line they’d been dancing around for months.

Word Count: 3.4k+

Warnings: power roles dynamic , drinking , kissing when tipsy , makeout ish? , fluffy and lingering and tension and fluff!!

If i missed anything let me know

A/N: haiii omg saw these new seb pics and ran to write this so enjoyy hehehehe

read my bucky series here! MY MASTERLIST requests open!

The office was silent except for the low hum of the fans overhead and the faint delicate tapping of your fingers against the keys on your laptops keyboard. 

Outside though , it was a different world , the city was still alive and bright as the sun set low past the horizon line. 

Lights in distant windows flickering like fireflies dancing across the sleek glass and steel buildings. 

The air was warm but slowly cooling where you were currently perched inside the old college building , it filled with the faint scent of dark fresh coffee and the dusty paper smell of old worn books.

You shifted slightly in your chair , your legs falling asleep from your same position hours on end. 

Your eyes scan the messy sprawl of papers and essays in front of you. Diagrams half-sketched in the lined margins , paragraphs marked up in red and blue ink. 

You’d spent the entire afternoon and most of the evening now hunched over this desk with Professor Barnes , you were his teacher aid this last year but somehow it never felt like work when you were with him.

He was seated beside you , one elbow propped on the desk holding up his head upright , shining was his silver cartier wrist watch as it gleamed on his arm , his face close enough that you could feel the gentle rise and fall of his breath. 

His ivory shirt sleeves were rolled up  , his red suit jacket draped over the back of his chair , and the soft lamplight cast warm shadows across his forearms , the veins there standing out as they ran up to his hands.

“This part here ,” he murmured , his voice low and rumbling against your head , “It’s good , but I think you could tighten the argument a bit. It rambles off a bit , see?”

You laughed softly , shaking your head , tapping the page with your black pen. “Coming from the man who wrote an entire paragraph just now in what can only be described as chicken scratch?”

He gave you a look , amused, exasperated. “It’s an art form sweetheart ,” he said, mouth twitching at the corners. “You just don’t have the refined eye for it.”

You leaned in to his voice , your head tilted slightly , your hair brushing your cheek as you smiled up at him. “I’m pretty sure I’ve spent half my time as your TA just trying to decipher your notes. You might as well write in ancient Greek , your poor students.”

“Better than chewing the tip of your pen until it looks like a dog’s chew toy,” he shot back , flicking his gaze and a pointer finger to the pen you were twirling absently in your fingers , the end bent and marked with your teeth.

Your lips parted , heat rising to your face dusting your cheeks pink with his observation. “It helps me think,” you said defensively , though your heart was thudding a little harder at the way his eyes darkened as they lingered on your mouth.

“Hmm,” he hummed softly, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “I suppose I can forgive that. If it means you’re focused on the work and edit that page.”

You let out a shaky breath , your pulse skittering. The way he said it ,like the work was only part of it , like there was something else he was focused on. 

The space between you seemed to crackle , every small touch magnified. When you leaned forward to hand him the next stack of notes he asked for , your fingers brushed, and you felt it like a jolt—sharp and sweet, making your stomach flip.

It was always like this with you two , ever since your very first day. This dance of touches , jokes and lingering moments that made you both question what was the intent behind it , only for reality to come knocking and remind you of both your roles. Teacher and his aid.

Hours slipped by quicker than you would have liked , passing by in that golden pool of desktop lamplight. 

The clock on the wall ticked steadily , but you ignored it. Time always seemed to blur when you were with him. You hated it.

Every so often as you both did your own thing next to each other , he would lean close to check a line you’d highlighted for him , his shoulder pressing right against the back of yours. 

You could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your black blouse , every brush of his arm sending goosebumps down your skin and your heart rate rattling against your ribs..

He reached across you to grab a textbook from the nearby bookshelf. His hand grazed your cheek , and your breath caught , audible enough for him to hear.

 He paused, his eyes flicking down to you catching the movement and sound that slipped past your lips.

“Sorry,” he whispered , his voice lower now , more intimate. “Didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly , too quickly cutting him off. Your fingers tightened on your pen almost snapping it , your pulse loud in your ears. “Really , its okay.” You said again more for yourself then him.

He held your gaze for a long , silent moment sweeping over your face. In the soft light , his blue eyes looked almost glowing , like he was seeing straight through you. 

Then he nodded , sitting back down with the book , but he didn’t move away. If anything, he seemed to draw closer to your side.

“You know,” he said, his voice light and teasing but with a rough edge to it, “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who can make footnotes sound this… compelling.”

You laughed , ducking your head down to the writing you were hastily scribbling down. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Good ,” he said , his lips twitching. “Because it is.”

Your stomach fluttered. 

You’d always had an easy rapport with him , jokes and teasing as natural as breathing. 

But God , tonight , it felt different—like every laugh , every playful jab was balanced on the edge of something sharper and more deep. 

Every time your arms brushed again or your knees touched under the table , it was like a live wire crackling between you.

You were hyper-aware now of every small and big movement he made: the way his jaw tightened when he read what you wrote intently, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips when he was deep in thought, brows furrowed. And he was watching you, too with the same closeness , you could feel it in the way his gaze would linger just a fraction too long on your mouth , the way his fingers would tap restlessly on the table after like he was holding back something. 

He was. Desperately.

It was well past midnight when you finally leaned back in your chair , letting out a quiet sigh slinging your arms over your eyes. 

“I um , I should probably tell you something,” you yawned trough your sentence , voice a little unsteady.

He looked up , eyebrows raised. “And what’s that?”

You hesitated , fingers twisting together in your lap. “Next semester after summer… I won’t be your assistant anymore.”

He went still , the only sound the distant wail of a siren passing by outside. 

“Oh?” he replied softly, almost questioning.

“Yeah Mr. Wash called me before class ended tonight and he said I’m getting my own classroom next year ,  White's old room.” 

You stammered out , trying to smile. “Right down the hall. They offered me the course I proposed last spring. So… I’m not going to be your TA anymore.”

For a moment , he didn’t speak. His jaw tightened , and he nodded slowly, calculated , like he was trying to process the words and their meaning. “That’s… incredible Y/N ,” he said at last. “You deserve it.”

You swallowed, watching him carefully. “I’m excited. It’s what I’ve been working for.” You forced a smile. “But… I’m going to miss this. You.”

His eyes searched for yours , something flickering behind the careful professionalism. You didn't say you would miss working with him but just him , altogether. 

“I’ll miss it , too,” he said quietly , his voice low but rough.

The room felt smaller after the ball dropped , the air thicker and more tense. 

You could feel your pulse beating in your throat , your chest tight with everything you weren’t saying. He was so close , close enough that you could see the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes , the greys in his beard , the way his lips parted like he was about to speak up but ended up just closing.

After the clock struck 1:00am you both pried yourself from the work and bid a quick goodnight.

He had a hard time sleeping that night , you were leaving him , his days would be empty without you and your smiles , jokes help. You slowly turned into his lifeline , his comfort and it was more than a coworker or helper. 

That next morning on Saturday he texted you an invitation. 

Mr. Barnes: Dinner at my place tonight ? A small celebration for your new path. 

Nothing fancy :) hows 7pm?

You checked your phone as it buzzed ,but after reading the invite you hesitated only a moment before your feelings took control and replying 

You: I’d love that.

He smiled at your response and sent his address then asked you if what he had planned to make was okay with you. You replied with a thumbs up and smiley face and his heart raced. 

You were coming to his place , just you two. Finally.

When you arrived at his apartment that evening , your stomach was a mess of nerves and excitement. He answered the door with a smile , wearing a soft , aged button-down with the sleeves rolled up high. 

You stepped inside with a smile , the scent of something rich and savory filling the air.

He poured you a glass of red wine after asking if you would like some. You sat down ,  your handbag and sat at his bar counter looking around the nice home.

His fingers brushed yours as he handed it over by the delicate stem. “To new beginnings,” he murmured , his voice warm and a little husky.

“To new beginnings,” you echoed , smiling as you took a sip from the glass , your heart  aching at the thought of leaving him. 

Dinner was… easy. As was everything when it was just you two.

 Roaring laughter over a now empty bottle of red wine , and many teasing comments currently about your mutual caffeine codependency. 

But the undercurrent was there lingering , every time his knee bumped yours under the dinner table , every time his hand brushed your wrist as he reached for his fork , your breath caught hard in your chest.

When the plates were cleared , you ended up in the kitchen , standing close by the counter as he cleaned them with precision. You had offered to but he insisted. 

You asked where the bathroom was and he pointed to the hall. “First door on the left , and I don't mind you looking around if you want” He gave you a quick wink turning back to the sink ,  the rational part of your mind knew you had to have made the wink up in your tipsy mind. 

You shook off the new feeling bubbling in your stomach and padded to the restroom.

When walking back after taking a quick look around you saw , he had a study , a large bedroom and another guest bedroom that was bigger than yours at home.

You sauntered back into the living area and kitchen , the world outside the window bathed in blue moonlight. 

He reached for your empty glass after you took your final sip , and his hand lingered on yours both holding the glass.

Neither of you moved away. Not this time.

“I’m really going to miss working with you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper of the wine in your system having helped fuel the confession.

He swallowed hard , his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as he sat the glass down with his other , then bring it back to hold both your hands in his. 

“You know…” he began , his voice quiet , “I don’t… I don’t want to let you go just yet, maybe even ever.”

Your breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

He took a step closer , his chest brushing yours , his eyes dark and intense.

 “I mean,” he said, his voice rough, “that I’ve been trying to be professional. Trying to respect the lines. But… I can’t, not anymore. Not if you’re leaving me.”

You felt like the world had narrowed to just the little to no space between you. “You drive me crazy,” he said, his voice low, ragged. “The way you look at me. The way you smile. The way you… chew on your pen when you’re thinking.” Letting out a breathy laugh at bringing little habit up yet again.

Your lips parted slightly ,  heart way past beating fast it was thudding so hard you could barely breathe.

 “I’ve wanted you , too,” you whispered , your fingers  dropping from his hands and dragging up his chest curling into the front of his shirt. “For so long.”

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours. “God,” he murmured, “you have no idea how much I’ve….”

Then you looked up , his eyes flashed to your lips then back to your big eyes , you nodded and that was all it took , that permission he craved. 

His lips were on yours in an instant , and it was like something inside both of you snapped.

The kiss was hot and desperate , months and months of tension pouring out all at once it was almost too overwhelming. His hands cupped your face , fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your head back , deepening the kiss with more and more want. 

Your hands fisted in his shirt tighter , pulling him closer , wanting more—needing more.

He kissed you like he’d been starved for it , his lips moving over yours with a hunger that made your knees go weak and buckle. 

You gasped when he nipped at your lower lip , and he swallowed the sound happily, his hands sliding down to grip your waist , lifting you so you were perched on the edge of the counter.

“God,” he breathed against your lips , his voice rough and unsteady. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Tell me,” you said , your hands raking in his hair, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

He pressed his forehead to yours , breathing ragged. “Every time you laughed at one of my stupid jokes. Every time you looked at me like you saw me—not just the professor you were paid to work by. I tried to fight it. I tried so… hard.”

You kissed him again , soft  and sweet this time , your fingers threading through the soft brown brown hair at the nape of his neck. “I wanted you , too , want you too,” you whispered. 

“All those nights in the office… every time you touched me, I wanted more than just wishing you a goodnight James.”

He let out a low groan at the name , you finally not calling him by his last name or formality  , kissing your jaw , his hands sliding up under your shirt to touch the warm skin of your back. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured against your mouth. “You know that?” 

“Yeah,” you smile against his lips. “You do to me too, don't worry.”

Breathless , you finally pulled back from his lips , both of you flushed and panting slightly. Your hands were still tangled in his hair , his fists in the fabric of your shirt.

 The air between you was thick with heat and the weight of everything you’d been holding back and now poured all out.

“Now what?” you whispered , your voice soft and almost shy as you looked up at him. Your lips were still tingling, from his kisses.

He let out a soft laugh, as he leaned in and kissed your temple. “Now…” he said, his voice low and earnest, “now I want to take you out on a date. A real date. No more lines. No more pretending we’re just colleagues.”

You felt your heart stutter, your breath catching in your throat. “You want that?”

He cupped your face , his thumb pad brushing over your cheekbones. “I do,” he said, his voice sure. “If you do. I want you to be mine. Actually mine. Not just late-night conversations and shared coffee cups. I want to know what your mornings look like. Your afternoons.Your nights. I want it all.”

Your chest felt like it might burst. You leaned into his touch , your fingers tracing his scruffy jaw. “I want that,” you said, your voice trembling with relief 

 “I want to be yours.”

The storm outside had started as a low rumble  breaking your shared silence, but now rain was tapping insistently at the windowpanes , the wind howling softly through the gaps. He glanced toward the window, then back at you. “Looks like the weather’s not letting up anytime soon,” he said, his thumb still stroking your soft skin.

You followed his gaze, feeling the cozy hush of the storm seep into your bones. “No,” you agreed softly. “It’s not.”

He paused, his hand slipping down to rest at your waist. “You don’t have to go,” he said, his voice careful, like he didn’t want to push. “You can stay. If you want.”

You didn’t even have to think about it. “I’d like that,” you said,  nodding , your words quiet but sure.

A slow smile spread across his face, relief and joy mingling in his eyes. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Because I don’t think I’m ready to let you go just yet.”

He fetched a soft blue fleece blanket and you both settled onto the brown couch , the soft flicker of candlelight filling the room as the power flickered once or twice in the storm. 

The couch was more than big enough for the two of you to stretch out, and when he pulled you into his arms, it felt like every jagged piece of you finally fell into place.

You tucked your head under his chin, his steady heartbeat under your cheek. His hand traced lazy circles on your back, his breath soft fanning in your hair. 

Every time you shifted , you could feel the familiar comforting heat of his body, the gentle press of his lips against your forehead or the curve of your shoulder.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured into the quiet, his voice rough with honesty. “You have no idea.”

“I think I do,” you whispered back, your hand resting over his heart. “Because I’ve wanted it, too, just as much.”

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his eyes soft and warm. “Mine,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Finally.”

“Finally,” you echoed, and he kissed you again , slow and soft a promise rather than a plea.

You must have drifted off at some point before him , the warmth of his arms and the steady drum of rain lulling you right to sleep. 

When you woke , the storm had passed , leaving the world washed clean and bright. Pale yellow , morning light filtered through the curtains, turning the room soft and golden.

You shifted on the couch, the blanket still wrapped snug around you , and realized he wasn’t there. Panic flared for a brief moment , had it all been a dream? But then you saw the worn folded piece of paper propped up against the pillow beside you.

You reached for it , unfolding it.

In that endearing handwriting of his he wrote out:

“hey honey , ran out to grab us some breakfast. Couldn’t have you without something sweet to wake up to. Don’t move. I’ll be back soon—don’t want my doll waiting too long.

-Yours , jbb

Your heart stuttered as you read it, your lips curving into a sleepy, half smile. 

My Doll. 

It echoed in your head, a warm ache spreading in your chest. You traced the careful scrawl of his handwriting—so much neater here than in the margins of your lecture notes.

You sank back against the couch , pulling the blanket tighter around you , and let yourself close your eyes again. 

For the first time , you didn’t feel like you were waiting for something to happen between you two , for a line to be crossed. 

You’d crossed it last night , together.

And when he walked back through the door with coffee and pastries and that lopsided smile , you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

-end

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