#artist reader

[kenstimetoshine]

Guys don't worry I have 2 ken requests that I'm gonna make perfect for everyone 👀👀👀

[rileyyapson]

(wip)

𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵...

singer/producer reader x idol heeseung

You and Heeseung had a complicated relationship; it didn't follow the traditional rules of what a "relationship" was. You first met when you got signed to HYBE labels as a part-time producer. You shifted from group to group, and many of the known popular songs were produced by you, but one group in particular stuck out to you more: ENHYPEN, the 7-member boy group. While working with them, you met Heeseung. When you were producing songs, unlike the other members, Heeseung was very into the music; he inputted his opinions and ideas and didn't just roll with it. He wanted to be included in the process. He would stay at your studio for hours, sometimes bringing you drinks or food when you stayed for late hours without you even asking, and you grew to be close friends. You guys often flirted with each other just for the fun of it.

You were an older woman woman, a famous artist and the most known in the western community; you broke records for your albums and were noticed as an impressive producer. You often kept to yourself and didn't brag so much about your glory. You never had to work for your respect; you took it by force, making your own rules and could care less about what others thought. You could say you were a bit self-centered and laid back, but is it really your fault? Well, it was fine until it started affecting your relationships. Relationships felt like a prison to you, being cuffed to someone forever? With no freedom? That wasn't something you liked, being trapped, so you made it clear to everyone who wants to come and fuck around that you're not staying; you never do. Some accept it and stay short-term; others get heartbroken, thinking they could beat you at your own game and "change" you, but is it really your fault? You warned them.

Heeseung was a 24-year-old K-pop idol, the main vocalist and ace of Enhypen, he was the epitome of Korea's beauty standards. He never broke any of Korea's strict social norms or rules, he never went against his fans or higher authorities, and he never dared to speak his own mind. He never tried anything that even smelt faintly of danger; he had to keep his perfect crystal career, didn't he? Bullshit, you hated people who followed rules; they were such killer joys and boring in general, but although Heeseung presented himself as this "perfect" idol, he was the complete opposite with you; he flirted, he swore, and it even caught you off guard, but yet he was still soft, which you loved teasing him for.

"You look like a deer pretending to be a wolf.", you always told him. You guys ended up becoming close friends, almost best friends.

But the so-called "friendship" lost its meaning the day he asked you to teach him how to make out with a girl. It was the day you guys finished their album of the year in the studio, and you two were just sitting on the desk chairs and talking. You were drinking from your juice carton, and he was just scrolling. You two were babbling about love and relationships and what not. You couldn't quite remember because you were too busy sharpening the audio. It went silent for a good minute or two when all of a sudden he put down his phone and hesitated a bit before he asked if you'd ever made out with someone before. You almost spat out your juice at the sudden question. You looked at him surprised, but there wasn't a hint of amusement or even a sign he was joking on his face. He was dead serious and smiled shyly. You cleared your throat and answered with a yes. He fidgeted with his phone, slightly lowering his head, his eyes darting elsewhere before they went back up to you, and then he spoke.

"Can you...teach me?"

Your eyes widened. Was Heesung, the soft, sweet, obedient K-pop idol who avoided women to avoid upsetting the fans even if it meant he would be alone, asking you to give him make-out lessons, was he really willing to risk getting caught in a dating scandal and ruin his career, just to learn how to kiss a girl?

You almost choked on your own spit opening your mouth to say something as he stared at you eager to hear your answer.

"I...sure, why not?"

You said before forcing a playful grin to play it off, seeing his face light up shyly, you teased him for the rest of the day about it, nudging his arm, but deep inside you were wondering how on earth you were going to teach this innocent boy who's never felt the touch of a woman hwo to kiss let alone make out.

Your first session was in the studio, shockingly, you both sat on the couch, and you began laying out the basics: what to do with the lips, how you should hold a girl's face, and what gets them turned on and what doesn't. You gave him an example. This was fine, right? You've done this a million times before; it was light work for you. You were experienced, a bit too experienced. At first he was very timid, practically clueless on what to do under your touch and how to handle you, but slowly he started to catch on. He started to learn how to give deeper and hotter kisses and learned what to do to get a girl excited, like caressing the ear or sucking the lower lip.

You didn't notice it, but once-a-week sessions became 3, then 5, and then it was almost every day. It started off normal; you two would be on your break, and you'd coincidentally end up sitting next to each other on that couch, and then boom, make-out session, or he'd call you up and tell you that his hotel is nearby and that he'd come visit. You didn't notice it, but slowly the way he kissed you didn't feel like it was just "practice" anymore; it felt starved, like he wanted more and more, and when you pulled away there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes. But when he was away from you, god, he did do his job as an idol really well; not even for a second did he drop his mask as the perfect sweetheart idol his fans see him as.

You couldn't help but envy it; you were the emotional type. Even if you tried hard to mask your feelings, they always showed up some way or another, and people would instantly tell.

Recently you guys haven't talked in a long time; you'd been given a break from your job as a producer for HYBE so you could focus on your music, and you both stopped talking eventually due to long distance. He was out for a world tour performing with his group and going to fansigns, and you'd just finished your world tour.

It happened after your last performance at the largest stadium in New York; you pushed the door of your NYC high-rise hotel.

You were slick and sweaty, your baggy black jeans sticking to your skin, your baggy tank top slightly wet, and your short hair sticking to your forehead after the intense performance. Every pressure you put on your bones made you tremble. You took deep breaths, staggering over to the large glass door from the floor to the ceiling that opened into your balcony. You leaned your back against it, leaning your head back against the glass and shutting your eyes. It was quiet and dark; the only thing that could be heard was your heavy breathing.

Then suddenly, the phone that you tossed on your grand-sized bed flickered, glowing and buzzing. You dragged your feet to the bed, picking up your phone and checking the notification.

It was Heeseung.

You felt your heart stammer; were you seeing things? It was a message saying that he had just finished performing at the same place and wanted to see you, asking for your address. You didn't think much of it; you wouldn't mind some company right now, so you typed out your hotel number without a thought and tossed it back on the bed, collapsing on your back on the bed.

Eventually Heesung showed up, and you guys talked on your bed and caught up. Nothing much changed about him; he looked exactly how you left him. You guys talked about the loud crowd at the stadium, etc. Eventually there was nothing much more to say. Heesung was scrolling on his phone on your bed, and you were leaning against the glass door. You blinked longer, and before you processed it, Heesung had put down his phone and walked over to you. You swallowed and looked up at him as he looked down at you, placing a hand on the side of your head. He leaned closer till his nose brushed against yours. Your breath hitched. You opened your mouth to say something but were cut off by Heesung's hush. He leaned even closer, his lips brushing against yours. You were far too tired and exhausted to say anything or protest; you just stayed there frozen.

"Shh noona..let me take care of this."

He said his breath lower than a whisper his breath hot against your lips as he looked at you his eyes half lidded, you let out a shaky exhale, your browns pinched together conflicted.

[bladeoflove-garden]

Consider; Hwei and Jhin HCs (separate) with a former artist!reader who's kind of given up/fallen out of art? Been needing some comfort lately lol Love your stuff!

Thank you for the love, dear! I hope you enjoy the result. Remember that taking a break is always healthy, so please take good care of yourself! Not only your physical health, but your psychological and emotional health as well! Enjoy reading ~

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Artist!reader who given up of art (headcanons)

HWEI / JHIN

I usually use (__) to indicate the space where you can add your name — or whichever name you prefer.

》》 • Masterlist: League of Legends • 《《

》》 • All Masterlist • 《《

────≫Hwei

❈ Warnings: no one

❈ Words: ~ 640

🖌️ As soon as he finds out what happened, the next day Hwei covers your eyes with his hands while keeping you standing in front of the door to a forgotten room at the back of the studio.

When he steps away, he reveals a pile of canvases that were started and never finished, covered in dust — the part of his art he had never shown to anyone; the part of his art that fails daily; the part of his art that discourages him halfway through the process. The part of his art that Hwei hid from the world because it expressed a broken part of himself.

— I don’t think there’s such a thing as a perfect artist, (_). There are only artists who choose to try again. But that’s the point: to choose to try again.

🖌️ Hwei is somewhat hurt by it. Knowing you had given up your art felt like some shades of spring had been removed from nature’s palette. If the art of someone like you dies, the lungs of the world lose another breath of life.

He tries to mask it with a smile, but melancholy smiles along with him whenever the subject comes up between you.

— It’s sad to see something so beautiful be lost like that… It feels as though a piece of reality has been torn away, and all that remains is a black, lifeless void, (__).

🖌️ Art and life, to Hwei, are intertwined: one has no meaning without the other; one is the expression of the other. So yes, he takes very seriously the fact that you gave up. It’s more than just retiring your tools: it’s a part of your soul that stopped singing across canvases, and Hwei feels within himself an echo of what seems to have been torn from you.

🖌️He doesn’t say it out loud, but he carries a quiet fear of you losing yourself completely in that void that erased your art. It would make you hollow. It would erase you — and Hwei wouldn’t know how to cope with losing you: so many have already been brutally taken from his life… What would become of his heart if he lost an important part of you?

🖌️He tries to make you fall in love with art again.

Hwei uses magic to let you see the world as he sees it — at least the beautiful part of it, since he himself walks a path between darkness and light:

Canvases he paints that come to life before your eyes, oceans and sea creatures surrounding you and stirring emotion as though the cold of the sea truly wrapped around and called to you — even as a darkness in the distance sings echoes of sorrowful whales forgotten along the way; entire forests blooming inside the studio, petals and leaves brushing against you and whispering your name — even as distant birds seem to sing a melancholy melody of longing… Hwei will find a way to lure you back to this path, intertwining hope and sorrow, fall and restart into a single beauty irresistible to any heart sensitive enough to listen through art.

🖌️Every time he sees you try again, even in the smallest way, even without consistent results, he is all pride and praise over you. Of course, Hwei doesn’t lie about anything related to your work — he takes the depth of every piece extremely seriously — but he knows how to use words that express opinion while comforting at the same time.

🖌️You may try to argue your reasons with Hwei, and he will listen to each one without dismissing a single word. Depending on what it is, he might even agree with you. Believe him, he understands pain, emptiness, meaninglessness, the urge to give up on everything — but in response, Hwei argues that even that can be transformed into beauty.

In life.

In art.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

────≫Jhin

❈ Warnings: Unhealthy relationship ⚠️

❈ Words: ~ 620

4️⃣ — Everyone has a beginning, (__). And everyone meets the same death in the end. The difference is that some of us hasten that meeting when we stop halfway.

— Is that why you kill? To control that inevitable end somehow? To see if you can find beauty in something destructive?

Jhin’s smile is genuinely proud; that is his girl, capable of confronting him while keeping poetry in her voice.

— I kill to make that end memorable, my muse. Eternal, if you prefer. And I would hate to lose you to the forgetfulness that follows… giving up.

Jhin barely needs to look at you to know the depth of your thoughtful expression: he has hooked something inside you that your conscience will hardly allow to rest easily now.

4️⃣ It doesn’t matter if you hid this detail before you started dating; Jhin already knew your past. He knew your drama. He knew everything.

Or if you gave up after the relationship was already established, it will only mean greater insistence from Jhin for your return. Fewer indirect hints, more direct influence. And the fact that he didn’t prevent your fall doesn’t mean he will passively accept the situation.

4️⃣Either way, this man was certainly in love with your artistic gift when he fell in love with you, and you giving it all up is like tearing from Jhin a part of you that he adores — and Jhin does not like losing what he considers his. Especially when it concerns you.

4️⃣Jhin insists vehemently that you return to your art. And he will do so using enough sweetness and seduction to numb you, alternating with kisses and whispers, speaking in fragmented phrases about how much he missed seeing your soul on the canvas, your passion transformed into physical forms.

That would likely intimidate you at least in a soft, indirect way to hesitate: perhaps trying again wouldn’t be such a bad idea…

4️⃣He is willing to use whatever it takes to make art bloom through you again — and if that is made easier through seduction by kisses, caresses, lingering touches in strategic moments…? Well, Jhin would have no reason to hesitate: feeling you and fulfilling a greater purpose at the same time.

You will easily notice he is trying to manipulate you into returning — but he will do it in such a way that you will like being manipulated.

4️⃣He plays the piano while you stare at the blank canvas; even if nothing comes out, Jhin smiles discreetly watching you weave shapeless scribbles: it is like watching a child attempt their first steps; he finds it adorable to see you fall and rise, move forward stumbling, swaying in harmony with the notes he chooses to play. For Jhin, it becomes a pleasurable experience: as if you were a doll being reshaped by his hands.

4️⃣He accepts holding you against his chest while you philosophize about what made you give up art, his fingers slowly playing with strands of your hair; Jhin may appear bored from his relaxed posture and expression, but he listens to every word — and through them he subtly weaves a path leading you exactly where he wants you to go.

Insecurity? Harsh criticism? Low self-esteem?

— My sweet lily… Are you implying that I would be capable of loving someone who was not… perfect?

Loss of meaning? Lack of passion? Accumulated disillusionment?

— Come with me on my next work, (_). If what you lack is inspiration… I can share some of mine with you.

Fatigue? Overload? Burnout?

— Every artist must regain their breath, my muse. But breathing without moving becomes stagnation. Come; perhaps the air of this village is intoxicating you. I know a place far more inspiring and… memorable.

Hope you enjoyed!

Credits: divisors here

[maggottheeking]

im cookin up some stuff.....

be weary

[maggottheeking]

gotham was an empty city, not in the sense that it was open space, but it lacked color and light, and made up for it in rain and crime. it was much too cold and far too dark to ever serve as a proper muse.

instead, you created one within the walls of your room in Wayne manor. you painted the walls, hung up lights and posters and anything visually interesting. empty floor space was filled with shelves and those shelves were filled with trinkets and memorabilia.

paintings of your creation were hung proudly around your room because if no one else in your family cared to look, you made sure to honor them.

fast forwards to now, you finally have a ticket out. a full ride scholarship to the California Institute of the Arts, which you had won through a Wayne organized youth art competition.

[first person.]

standing next to all of the other teenages that happily chatted with their familys hurt. it wasnt that i had expected them to show but some part of me still yearned for the sibling and parental bonds that they shared with eachother.

a tap on the sleeve of my [dress/suit] brought me out of my thoughts. i turned and was taken aback at the sight of alfred, who smiled and pulled me into his arms.

"congratulations ____, i hope you didnt think i would miss out on such an important award ceremony." he handed me a bouquet of [favorite flowers] and gave a pat to the back of my head.

alfred had always been a constant in my life, every award i had received he was there watching, like the father never had the time to be.

"are they here?" i couldnt help but ask and alfred sighed. "yes, but not for the reasons you may have hoped."

my eyebrows furrowed and alfred decided to continue. "since this is a Wayne Foundation funded event, master bruce wanted to make an appearance, and decided to bring the others."

i felt myself deflate. "right. will you clap when they call me up?"

he smiled. "of course ____. you best hurry on, i assume theyll start to announce the winners soon."

i nodded and he pulled me into one last hug before the other participants and i were ushered away.

-----

"____ ____" my name had been called on the microphone and i had barely been able to soak in the shocked and alarmed faces from the waynes before i made my way up onto the stage.

up on a the big screen on the stage, my art work was presented in a slideshow. i was congratulated and handed a small golden trophy and a certificate with my name proudly on the front.

the applause was deafening as i turned my head to the crowd, seeing hundreds of strangers, several friends from gotham academy, and most importantly alfred. he clapped loudly for me and held a proud smile.

warmth blossomed in my chest as i continued on the stage and walked down the several of steps, going to sit in the seat my friends had saved me while.

-----

the after party had just started and i had been situated next to my painting collection, chatting with other participants and art teachers from some of the other gotham schools that participated.

one of my friends had let out a slight yelp as she was shoved away following by my body being roughly turned to face damian

damian, the "art prodigy" of the family and my half brother. his brows were furrowed and his hands tightened around my shoulders. "since when could you paint?!" he had shouted, attracting attention from around the room. "how did you even enter-"

he was cut off by duke pulling him back. duke had been about to speak before tim had butted in. "damian is right, we would have known that you entered. how the hell did you hide it for so long?" he practically growled in my face.

i took a step back and felt myself fall into the usual indifferent stance. "i didnt hide anything, if any of you bothered to talk to me at all i would have told you." i felt my eyes watering and took a quick breath. stephanie had flinched at my words and even duke frowned. i decided to continue. "countless art competitions ive been in, ive invited you all to each one and funny enough-" i paused and let out a small huff of laughter. "the only one i havent invited you to is the one you guys have shown up."

bruce walked forwards, clearly confused. "i looked over the entry list and i didnt even see your name?" he said it like a question and i had to scoff. "i used my real last name, not wayne. now if youll excuse me, i think im going to go out to dinner with my friends. a goodbye party, if you will."

with another step back, i turned to walk away but backtracked, whispering another thanks and i gave alfred another hug, then turned away again.

my friends surrounded me, forming a protective circle from the waynes as we exited the building. i took one last look at my so called family for the- hopefully- last time and felt a weight lift off of my chest.

soon enough ill be gone and on a plane to california.

[danglingraspberries]

Chapter 10: A Spark of Inspiration

My Lieutenant

—————

It was inevitable, your predicament. To be honest, it never ceased to amaze you how quickly you could lose inspiration instantly after having a sudden spark of creativity.

The canvas and paint purchased about a while ago?

Currently collecting dust in your art studio—well the paint, anyway, the canvas had been as bare as it was since being manufactured.

In the moment, outside the office building, two weeks ago, you were high on newfound confidence and self-reflection, the dull hum beneath your bones pulsing a little more that day. It was that buzz that made you want to create, to expand your capabilities and to jump back into something long abandoned.

On that day, picking colors and measuring cloth, you had actually felt…good. There was no shaken apprehension in the air, and a new understanding had been forged within you, one of yourself and what it could mean.

So, who could blame you for getting a bit ahead in the moment? For wanting to express this in the only way you knew you could without scribing or a facial expression that screamed Get me outta here!

Hopefully, no one would, and hopefully, the incessant artist block that seemed to plague you would finally leave.

Even now, two something in the morning, sketchbook in hand, you sat on your bed, staring at a blank page that seemed to taunt you for your lack of action. Beside you, your laptop dinged, a reminder to plug it in to charge, and suddenly you were considering just giving up for the night and settling for a comfort show.

That option was becoming more appealing as you twiddled your pencil absentmindedly. Nothing would come from just staring and wracking your brain, so you decided to throw in the towel.

The sketchbook and pencil were placed upon your desk, and your laptop was being plugged in, the device growing brighter in a second. Before deciding to turn in, a sweet treat was suddenly calling your name. You specifically recalled the cookies Gina had so graciously baked this morning, and suddenly you were tiptoeing out of your room and making your way to the kitchen.

The stairs were quiet against your feet, cold tile quickly meeting them as you quietly ushered to the kitchen. You swore you could see the cookies’ scent luring you closer to their resting place, expecting to find them unsuspecting to your hungry hands.

What you didn’t expect, as your eyes adjusted to the dark, was for Simon to be there, overhead oven light on as he stirred something in a mug. By the smell of it, tea—Earl Grey, maybe?

You immediately stopped in your tracks, withholding the surprised yelp that nearly escaped as you watched him quietly.

He hadn’t noticed you, or if he had, didn’t voice it. His back was to you, and as your eyes tracked his form, not a shirt was in sight. Under the warmth of the oven light you could see the scars that littered his skin, adorning the rippling muscles beneath them.

Your breath was already struggling, but when you looked up past his neck, you nearly choked aloud at the sight of his mask also being absent.

Blond hair, buzzed at the sides, curling at the top is what you were gifted with. It was slightly tousled from the mask or sleep, you couldn't tell, but you enjoyed the sight all the same.

Simon then stopped stirring and seemingly brought the spoon to his mouth, licking it clean before placing it on a nearby paper towel. From behind, you heard a low sound of enjoyment rumble from him, then he was moving the cup to his lips and turning around.

Somehow, over the excited racing of your mind and pounding of your heart, you moved to the side, veiled by the darkness of your surroundings.

Luckily, when Simon turned around, he had closed his eyes, so there was a lesser chance of him spotting you.

As he took a deep sip from his tea and an even deeper sigh, all heat seemed to leave your extremities and rush to your face. Then, he was bringing his cup down, your eyes following the movement.

A sleeve tattoo sat gracefully on his arm, his chest and abdomen—beautifully scarred and carved by muscle—were on full display. His sweats lay low on his hips, accentuating the vibrant v-cut that sat on the end of his torso.

Your mouth became terribly dry, lips clamping shut when you realized your mouth was agape. As your mouth regained moisture, you were struck with a fatal amount of shame.

Simon probably was in the same boat as you in regards to a midnight snack, and had most likely abandoned his layers thinking he’d be (1) straight back to bed, and (2) not secretly perved on from the shadows.

Despite recognizing this, you couldn't look away, and as much as you tried to pry yourself from your hiding place and scamper back upstairs, you became further entranced the second Simon raised his left hand and scrubbed down his face, the action bringing attention to just that—his face.

You were already hot and bothered from his body alone, but one thing was entirely clear: Simon is not a butterface whatsoever.

As expected, there were scars everywhere; near his eyes, on his cheeks, around his mouth, but like the others, they adorned him. They made his being appear more like a model turned soldier than a man with the memories of war. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, curling it upwards on his Cupid’s bow before it was disappearing back into his mouth.

Those lips—his lips, were terribly inviting, and as your eyes tracked higher, you were greeted with a charmingly crooked nose that was born, no doubt, from it constantly breaking.

On one cheek there was a pretty gnarly scar, a jagged thing formed from awkwardly healed skin, a piece of him that was surely textured differently from the other cheek—which had only small nicks upon its surface. The cut itself had caused a lack of hair to grow there, and though you couldn’t tell this from your position, it was one of the main things that made Simon so self-conscious.

Finally, you looked at his eyes—bigger looking without a barrier of fabric. They still had their dark, coffee-like color, alluring all the same, but the surrounding area being exposed felt almost like…context? On the respective sides of his nose there are deep lines, ones that looked oddly similar to your own. Underneath his bottom eyelids, bags sat proudly, as if boasting their presence for being on Simon’s face.

This stranger, this handsome stranger, was in your house; drinking your tea, stealing your breath, making you crave something like never before all in the span of a couple minutes.

All in the span of two weeks.

Fourteen days.

Delusion, maybe? Or perhaps desperation?

Who knows, but what you surely know—what you feel—as you slowly turn around, hunger sated, is that your artist block is completely gone. Nowhere to be found, as if it hadn’t been harassing you endlessly for nearly a week.

Returning to your room proved a tad difficult. Your legs wobbled and shook as you walked through the hallway, knees nearly giving out as you crept back upstairs, hands jittery from adrenaline and utter perversion.

Even as you closed your door, having finally reached the safety of your chambers, Simon’s face and body flashed like a teased every time you blinked.

His stature and build were nothing new, but seeing it displayed so…explicitly had desire’s fingers curled at your nape, pulsing fire down, down, down.

Suddenly you were conjuring up thoughts about how his hips would grind into yours as he brought you to your peak time after time. How those dog tags would dangle over your face as he so tenderly explored your body with his hands, his mouth, his—

You nearly screamed when a knock sounded on your door, shaking like a leaf as you tried to rid those perverted thoughts away.

When reality finally caught up, you quickly realized the only person that could’ve knocked, and simultaneously prayed to any higher being to simply smite you then and there.

Of course, he’d seen you! He’s a Special fucking Operative for Christ’s sake, he probably clocked you the minute the you stepped out. Why did you truly believe your little attempt at camouflage would actually work?

As still as possible, you simply stared at the oak door protecting you from confronting your own shame. You even debated on opening it, figuring We’re both adults here, but quickly abandoning that when you realized how much you had stared like some desperate schoolgirl.

The worst he could do is tell you to not do that again, maybe scold you about privacy while he’s at it. Maybe he’d still be shirtless and mask less while he did it; maybe you’d see the way his lips moved when he spoke, or the way his eyebrows behaved when he was being expressive.

Or maybe, a dark little voice sneered at you, maybe he didn’t mind…maybe he did that on purpose…maybe he wanted you to see him like that.

You juggled this for about a second before you’re nearly crumpling in on yourself, trying to shake the delusions out of your head. The last thing you needed was another failed attempt at romance, especially after the last one.

So, what did you do? Well, first, you bit the bullet and opened the door. You were already feeling humiliated, how much worse could it get at that point? To your surprise? Relief, more like it, Simon wasn't there, instead a small plate sat on the floor.

The cookies.

You had forgotten all about the cookies, and here was Simon—the object of your slow descent into madness—delivering them literally on a platter.

You nearly fainted.

How did he know what you’d wanted? You had no idea, but you certainly weren’t expecting this after your little voyeuristic adventure.

You picked up the plate and tucked back into your room, quietly closing the door.

Then, mind still foggy from a lack of sleep and something else, you sat down on your bed, cookies in hand as you reached for your sketchbook and pencil with the other.

Tentatively, you began nibbling on a cookie, and excitedly, you flipped to a clean page, a clear piece of art worthy of being created.

There was no denying that Simon knew you were eyeing him, but there was also no denying he had single-handedly sparked a moment of creativity in you that was gonna last until you grew tired of it.

But that was the thing: Simon as your new muse was something you couldn’t fathom being tired of. And as you happily munch and enjoy those heavenly cookies, the page was quickly filled with the utter Adonis who selfishly hides his beauty behind a shield of fabric.

——————————

Taglist: @sweet-baby-bea @mildlylethalsergeant @onlyforyuto @transpuppyboybip @xxdxlxc

[maggottheeking]

bro the writing on my neglected batfam x artist reader was so bad 😭 i just reread jt and im probably gonna rewrite it at some point