Tumgik
#book stack illustration
Text
Tumblr media
Hilda Appreciation Week Day Five: Favorite Relationship(s)
Y'all had to have know it was going to be these guys for me (what can I say, I'm always a sucker for a good king-and-lionheart relationship)
reblogs are highly appreciated, and please do not repost my art
372 notes · View notes
theartofthecover · 6 months
Photo
Tumblr media
Nextwave: Agents of H.A.T.E. #5 [textless] (2006)
Art by: Stuart Immonen
59 notes · View notes
vanillaflowerstuff · 10 months
Text
i know mermay is almost over and i kept forgetting to draw this, but! bedlamstacks mermaid au! merrick is a marine biologist instead of a botanist. no idea what the story is, other than that
Tumblr media
70 notes · View notes
themelodyofspring · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media
JOMP Book Photo Challenge
November 29, 2023 - Freebie
Each yoki-hijo trained in an ancient and powerful art. A deliberate, wondrous artistry requiring the full synergy of body and mind. Geological reorganization on the microscale, requiring acute understanding of gravitational equilibrium. In other words, they stacked rocks.
16 notes · View notes
vitagraphia · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
Via Sweet Sequels
10 notes · View notes
life-spire · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
See more like this.
66 notes · View notes
newkidonthebook · 11 months
Text
Tumblr media
I love looking at book displays 📚 Have you read any of these?
15 notes · View notes
handbreadthdesigns · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media
My sticker pre-orders are live (and these cute stickers are included for pre-ordering access! You get 10% off your order for buying early! 😊
Also, I’m quite proud of that milk bottle.
Shop Link
47 notes · View notes
solradguy · 2 years
Note
EXACTLY!! And, ok, LAST ASK about Guilty Gear rep but I also just have to say, the representation for mentally ill people is just incredible.
I’m unsure if anyone in Guilty Gear has an explicitly mentioned illness, but at the very least there are a handful of explicitly traumatized individuals, and what surprised me the most while getting into GG was how each and every one of them are treated so humanely. I have had my experience with medias adding in characters who have/show symptoms of illnesses like BPD, OLD, DID, etc who are portrayed as monsters, or at least evil. So many medias have made a character with a Cluster B Personality Disorder and shown them as selfish or narcissistic or devoid of emotion. So many medias have made a character with a Cluster A Personality Disorder and shown them as insane or cynical or out-right mad. So many medias have made characters with things like Autism or ADHD and shown them as weird or naive or stupid, or any other stereotypical trait. Guilty Gear though, it doesn’t make these kinds of characters and through these labels on them. Yes, there are characters who are implied to have a Cluster B Personality Disorder, or a Cluster A Personality Disorder, or Autism or ADHD; yet none of them are shown these flat tropes. They each have their own story and personality like everyone else, they still have their own arcs and stories and are treated just as important as anyone else, and they still are all given the same respect from the creators, all while still being representation for the disorders they have. Like Faust, for example. He is very clearly someone who struggles with PTSD, and more than likely a plethora of illnesses branching off of that. Yet there is rhyme and reason to this, he still has a story and isn’t treated as this old weirdo who’s just there to be traumatized and for us to point and laugh. He’s treated as a real character, who’s gone through things and has some problems due to them. He’s no less than what he would be without his PTSD. Zappa as well, he obviously has some trauma, but he’s still shown to be just as human as the next person. Better yet, both characters mentioned also heal. Even if a media portrays an illness correctly, it’s rare to see a character actively have an arc where they address said illness and learn to heal from it and overcome the trauma that caused it. Though both Zappa and Faust are trying to heal from the damage that caused these disorders and become better people. Guilty Gear doesn’t have traumatized characters for gags or jokes, they have them to create character. Their situations may not be realistic, but the things that come from it are, and I love that.
I don't really know a whole lot about mental illnesses or disorders so I don't want to add much to this, but I'm happy that the representation of characters with mental illnesses/disorders in GG feels genuine and well written to you ^^
Guilty Gear really does have a little of something for everyone, huh? Even though I don't know much about the topic, I do also appreciate how Faust, on the outside, is occasionally depicted as a spooky creepy mad doctor-like stereotype but he's actually just a cool guy (with a lot of character depth!!) pretty much the entire cast is friends with. They're like "Yeah, Faust has some stuff going on but he's our bff and we love him anyway." And, like you said, if he's ever shown in a silly way it's because he's actually, physically, being silly and not because his mental illnesses are part of the joke or punchline.
21 notes · View notes
therainbowfishy · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media
15 notes · View notes
magpiemalarkey · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Really felt like doing some painting so took some time to do a picture of a new oc, Archivist D'Argento. 
18 notes · View notes
balaenabooks · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
Just to give you guys an idea of how bad my Dances with Smurfs Bullshit has gotten, I now have not one, not two, but three lore books on JamCam's blue people content, the two canon ones (visual dictionary and visual exploration) and the recently de-canonized one (activist survival guide).
Tumblr media Tumblr media
From the visual exploration:
Tumblr media
From the visual dictionary:
Tumblr media
From the activist survival guide:
Tumblr media
The cherry on top was finally caving and getting a little disneyworld dragon puppet second-hand on ebay. Her name is Stormfly, because in spite of her dances with smurfs origins, she deserves to be named after a dragon that I respect.
Tumblr media
Having a little creechur that I can perch on my shoulder has fulfilled emotional and psychological needs that I didn't even know I had. My middle-school and high-school selves are very pleased.
1 note · View note
tintededges · 11 months
Text
Dinotopia: A Land Apart from Time
Illustrated fantasy book about a society with sentient dinosaurs I absolutely love graphic novels and illustrated stories, but somehow I missed this book which came out when I was a young kid. I picked up a copy from the Lifeline Bookfair quite some time ago, and everyone I have mentioned it to has been full of happy nostalgia. When I was picking out books for last year’s Short Stack Reading…
Tumblr media
View On WordPress
0 notes
nekomori-art · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media
Tea Time | Also available as a sticker sheet!
---
[ID: Illustration by Nekomori Art, showing various items related to tea-time, arranged loosely in rows. The first row shows a vintage enamel teapot decorated with red camellias, a Japanese teacup filled with warm green tea, a vintage mug decorated with strawberries and filled with steaming milk tea, and a golden teaspoon. The second row shows a shallow tray containing three rectangular biscuits, a lace doily, a vase filled with a bouquet of red flowers, a cookie tin adorned with lemons, and a small milk jug with the illustration of a branch on it. The third and last row shows a framed picture of a smiling fox character in a button-up shirt, a lighted tea candle, a stack of books, and a cupcake with a cherry on top.]
2K notes · View notes
kararisa · 1 year
Text
between you, me, and these bookshelves
synopsis: just the little things that happen in a little bookstore.
— featuring: albedo, ayato, childe, scaramouche x gn!reader (separate)
— cw: modern au, swearing, yn is an avid reader, use of childe's real name, none of the books i mention here are real lol
— author's notes: first headcanon post with multiple characters~ very self indulgent so hope you guys enjoy <3
Tumblr media
Working at a bookstore isn't the most glamorous job in the world.
The pay is good for the amount of work you need to do, and most days nothing much happens.
But sometimes, there are just some events that happen between the bookstore's mahogany shelves that make your days just a bit more colorful.
Tumblr media
Albedo
The bookstore has a chalkboard stand outside that details new releases, promotions, or events that the store has. Displayed on it are elaborate illustrations or hand-lettering, all of it done by the same person.
And he comes by every other weekend to re-do its contents.
You sometimes watch him as he draws, his nimble hands becoming dusted with colored chalk as he sketches on the blackboard, his light blond hair tied back as he furrows his brow, deep in concentration.
He’s caught you staring a handful of times, to which you turn away in hopes that he doesn’t bring it up. Thankfully he never does.
This week you watch as he colors in his artwork, a dragon and a young man with wings at the center soaring over rolling plains and sharp cliffs.
As the boy gets started with the lettering, you ask him a question.
“Do you really just come up with all this on the spot?”
The boy looks at you with curiosity in his eyes, “So you do talk. And here I was wondering if you just didn’t like talking to me.”
“Well, I don’t exactly know what we can really talk about. You’re a freelancer right?”
He smiles as he returns his attention back to his illustration, “You can say that. Well to answer your first question, I usually have a final outcome in mind before I start sketching. Your boss sends me a gist of what he wants and I draw it. Simple as that.”
You converse with him until he finishes, sprinkling in some questions about his work in between. As he packs up to leave, you ask him one last question.
“I never got your name, chalk boy.”
A silent question, but one that he still understands.
“It’s Albedo.”
The two of you end up striking up an easy conversation every time he visits, with you always watching him draw
If you express interest in his other works, he’ll let you browse his sketchbook 
One day while flipping through his drawings, you begin to see some familiar sights: a vending machine outside a nearby convenience store, a food stall, and the outside of the bookstore. Some pages have small doodles in pencil and ink, and some in color. Others have full illustrations.
The next page that you flip to, though, nearly takes your breath away. 
You find a colorful illustration of the bookstore, a blend of paint and ink. Sunlight streams through the glass walls and envelops the scene in a warm light. Boxes lay strewn on the floor, all of them brimming with books. And among the boxes stands you, a stack of books in hand as a small smile graces your face.
You look up when Albedo spots the page you’re on, “Ah, I hope you don’t mind that I sketched you a handful of times. I tend to draw what I find interesting.
“So is it alright if… I sketched you more often?”
Tumblr media
Scaramouche
Scaramouche pisses you off most days.
He distracts you while you try to do your work, he steals the pen by the cash register whenever you need to use it, and worst of all, he always makes fun of whatever book you read.
No matter what genre it is, mystery, fantasy, or heaven forbid, romance, he'll always find something to tease you about.
But it’s odd. For someone who claims to hate every novel that you've taken interest in, you find yourself discussing with him each and every book you’ve read.
“Sure, Forest of Lies had a strong opening,” he starts, leaning back on his chair, “But did the princess seriously need to go through those arbitrary trials just to prove that she was determined to save her kingdom?”
“Fine, I thought it was stupid too,” you say, “But you have to admit, the characters are actually well-written and have interesting subplots. The knight having a backstory connected to the princess’ was a good twist.”
“But does anything really come from that twist? Or was it just there for shock value? When you get to the part where–”
You let out an exaggerated gasp, “Spoilers! I just got past the twist, asshole.”
“You should read faster then!” he says, going into the storage room to fetch some supplies, “Whatever, we’ll continue this when you finish the damn book.”
You’re about to continue reading when Scaramouche pops his head out and adds, “The next two novels in the series go downhill in quality from there. Trust me.”
“But this is a trilogy??”
“That’s the point!”
You realize that he had a point when you finally got to the second book.
Around halfway through reading the book, you catch him reading over your shoulder. You turn to look at him and he simply gives you a smug smile. You simply rolled your eyes and continued reading.
A couple of days go by after you finish the second book when he approaches you.
“What’s the occasion?” you say as Scaramouche hands you a book, a pen, a highlighter, and some book tabs.
It’s a novel on your wishlist, you notice; one that you had mentioned to him in passing. Small colored tabs stick out from the side of the book. Thumbing through the first few pages, you see that he underlined some passages, his neat writing occupying the margins, the blue highlighter bringing your attention to a handful of quotes. Just from reading the first sentence as well as Scaramouche’s comments, you could tell that you were going to enjoy reading this.
But you recall a casual remark he during one of your past conversations — he doesn’t typically annotate his books. Did he do this for you?
“Nothing. Just thought you should read a good book for once,” he answers, not quite looking at you.
“Excuse you, I read good books sometimes.”
“The last book you read, you kept ranting about how the writing wouldn’t just ‘let the characters fucking talk’. Your words, not mine.”
“And the last book you read, you literally couldn’t finish because you kept getting fed up with the protagonist doing nothing.”
He groans, “Are you gonna accept my gift or not?”
You give him an unimpressed look, setting the book and stationery aside, “This novel better be as good as you say it is.”
He was right. The book was actually good. You even ended up adding your own annotations alongside his — like having your own conversation amidst the pages of the book.
His comments, whether they be snarky, insightful, or analytical, definitely enhanced the experience. And thanks to that, you end up finishing the book in just two days.
Another one of your story discussions happens and, amidst the bickering, a book he mentions piques your interest.
After making fun of the ever-growing list of books he wants to read, to which he retorts by saying you’re not better off, an idea pops into your head and you search for the novel he’s looking for.
It’s in a genre you wouldn’t typically go reaching for, but this is the least you could do for him, right?
You spend the next week reading and annotating the book, using the highlighter and tabs Scaramouche had given you to highlight passages and give your comments.
The shocked look on his face when you gave him the copy of the book was definitely worth it.
“Just thought you should read a good book for once,” you say, sliding the book toward him.
“Huh. Don’t you hate this genre?”
“Surprisingly enough I actually liked the story; you have decent recommendations when you’re not being such a dick. So, are you gonna accept my gift or not?”
He rolls his eyes, snatching the book from the table, and mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’. 
You pretend not to see the blush that reaches his ears.
Tumblr media
Ayato
It starts off as most days do, with a delivery of new books.
You open the box to find the newest releases as well as some bestsellers. One of the covers catches your eye, the title Child of the Roses emblazoned in front of an illustration of two women laying in a field of red roses — one of the books you’ve always wanted to get your hands on ever since the author announced the plot.
Sure you could purchase the book right now, but your budget for the month didn’t have a lot of wiggle room. And if you did wait until next month, you couldn’t exactly guarantee the availability of the book since it always manages to sell fast.
While you’re restocking the shelves, the door to the store opens, and in come a man and woman with pale blue hair. 
The girl starts looking around while the man walks up to you.
“Does your store happen to sell the book Traingazing?” the man asks. There’s an elegance in the way he carries himself — well-dressed, handsome, and dignified in the way he speaks, “It’s alright if you don’t.” 
You confirm its availability and lead him to the nearby shelves, “You lucked out today, sir. This is our last copy.”
He laughs. Fuck, even his laugh sounds expensive, “Lucky indeed. My sister and I have gone to five stores today just looking for it.”
The girl, his sister, you presume, comes up to you two with a small stack of books in hand, “Did you find it?”
The man holds up the book, its silver-edged pages gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the store, “Got their last copy, too.”
She sighs in relief, “Good. You can finally stop nagging me about you never being able to grab a copy before they sell out.”
“Says the one who dragged me to eight stores looking for a book you ended up hating.”
The siblings leave shortly after purchasing their books. 
The rest of the day passes by as normal. Rush hour usually comes around early afternoon to late evening, when students get out of school and people usually get off work. 
Unfortunately, your shift just about lines up with the store’s more chaotic hours.
You spot a familiar blue-haired man again later that evening while you’re in the middle of helping another customer. He’s browsing the shelves when he spots you.
“Can you help me with something? I’m looking for a gift for my sister.”
“Oh, the girl you were with this afternoon, right? What kind of books does she like?”
He describes the types of books she favors along with a handful of her favorite authors. You lead him to some nearby shelves, picking out some books and giving him a brief synopsis of each one. He listens intently to each of your suggestions, his lilac eyes focused on you.
As you’re finishing up, he spots a book behind you and grabs it from the shelf. You spot the familiar title, Child of the Roses. As usual, whenever you restock it, it’s the last one in stock. “You thinking of buying that one? It’s our last copy.”
The man reads the synopsis as you summarize the plot, “Seems like quite the interesting book if it got you so excited.”
You laugh at his remark, “Well, I’ve been wanting to read that book for a while now, but I never manage to get a copy before they sell out.”
He considers the book before saying, “Is that so?”
Your co-worker calls for you before you can respond, saying that they need help with manning the cash register.
After almost an hour of helping with scanning barcodes and packing books, the blue-haired man stands in front of the counter.
He holds up Child of the Roses, “If it’s alright, I’d like to make this a separate purchase.”
Figures he’d buy the book if the reviews and your excited ramblings are anything to go off of. While you were sad that the chance to purchase the novel had once again slipped away, at least you could be reassured that it would be in good hands.
After giving him the book and the receipt, he simply hands them both back to you, “You were quite passionate when you described the book to me. I thought I should buy it for you before someone else gets it.”
This has to be a dream, “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I mean don’t get me wrong! I’m grateful, but don’t you want to read this, too?”
A smile graces his face, “Of course. You helped me find what I was looking for this afternoon, so this is the least I can do for you.”
When you finally get home and settle down for the evening, you open the book, intending to get through just one chapter.
That’s when you find a calling card in between the pages of the index and the first chapter, the name Kamisato Ayato in immaculate handwriting on one side along with his number.
On the back was a message: I’m actually currently reading Child of the Roses, so I have no need for another copy. But if you’d like, we could go out sometime and read it together. What do you say?
Tumblr media
Childe
Most days there's not really much to do aside from the usual talking to customers, restocking the shelves, and helping close up shop. 
So sometimes you read just to pass the time. 
You’re just finishing up a chapter when the door to the store opens.
Ajax, you learn his name, is a massive flirt. Instead of talking to you like a normal person, he instantly says the cheesiest pickup line you’ve ever heard.
“I don’t need glasses,” he says, leaning on the counter, “ ‘cause I can clearly see that we were meant to be.”
It’s way too early for this shit, “... sir are you going to buy a book or not?”
He tips his head back and laughs, “C’mon! You have to admit that one was good.”
And he’s come by the store every so often ever since.
He’s quite the chatterbox too, talking about anything he can think of whenever you scan his items at the counter.
You learn he’s an older brother when he asks you for book recommendations for his younger siblings. His attentiveness to his siblings’ taste in literature never fails to put a smile on your face.
You also learn that he’s very knowledgeable in literature.
He comments on one of the books you’re reading during one of his visits, talking about his favorite scenes as well as discussing the characters with you.
A week of nearly daily visits turns into a month, with you getting used to his corny pick-up lines and little conversations.
But then it suddenly stops. A week passes without Ajax’s visits.
You don’t think too much of it until that one week turned into three. 
He was under no obligation to come back every day, of course. He was a customer, at the end of the day, and there was never any guarantee that he wouldn’t suddenly stop visiting the bookstore nearly every day.
But you couldn’t help feeling dejected at the thought of just never seeing him again.
Then, on one unassuming Monday afternoon, a familiar face returns to the store.
“Hope you didn’t miss me too much,” Ajax winks at you, “Mind if you help me look for a book?”
You smile, doing your best to hide your surprise, “Good to see you’re still doing well.”
He gives a vague description of what he’s looking for: a sci-fi series that’s appropriate for his little brother Teucer, the third book to a series his sister Tonia is currently reading, and “whatever you think is good” for him.
Walking over to the shelves, you could feel his eyes on you as you started picking out the books for his siblings. A soft smile is on his face when you turn to face him, becoming wider when your eyes meet his.
“You were gone for a while,” you say, unsure of how to continue. His life is none of your business and like hell were you going to admit that you missed him.
He sighs, “Yeah. Work has been a lot these past few weeks, but now that it’s loosened up I can finally start seeing my favorite person more often.”
“Your favorite person huh?”
“Getting the chance to talk to you is the highlight of my visits. Of course you’d be my favorite person.”
He leans in close to you, “Y’know, I just realized that I’ve lost my number. So can I have yours?”
You roll your eyes, still smiling, “You could have just asked for my number like a normal person.”
Ajax laughs, and you find yourself wishing you could listen to it every day.
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
thus-spoke-lo · 1 month
Text
All You Had to Do Was Ask // Trafalgar Law x afab!reader
Tumblr media
CW: modern AU; afab!reader [no pronouns used]; strip games; suggestive content WC: 2.7k A/N: I'm pleased to be able share the piece i created for @lovinglawzine! if you haven't had the chance to download it yet, please be sure to check out the 100% free SFW/OC/X-Reader and NSFW downloads - over 200 pages of incredible writing and gorgeous illustrations, all featuring Trafalgar Law getting the love he deserves!
Tumblr media
Law observes you from the doorway of his tiny kitchen while he listens to the last drips of coffee splash into the pot. You fidget in place, sitting cross-legged on his living room floor amongst a sea of papers and books, your massive pharmacology textbook laid open to a heavily-highlighted page, multiple neon colors taking up almost every paragraph. He suppresses a grin, feels a blush rising in his cheeks as you chew on the end of your pen and fiddle with the hem of your sweatshirt—little quirks that have captivated him after watching you in class year after year, habits he’d grown particularly fond of after spending hours with you poring over quizzes and assignments in the library and chugging the last sips of burnt chain-store coffee while you work yourself into a tizzy over a mediocre grade.
There is something irresistibly charming to him about your passion and dedication to your schoolwork and your fits of worry over what would inevitably turn out to be nothing at all—after all, you’re in the top of your classes for good reason, Law right alongside you, jockeying for the highest marks. He fills two mugs with coffee and chuckles to himself at your needless anxiety; if you worry half as much about your future patients as you do about a missing half-point of extra credit or a misinterpreted question that led to a wrong answer, then you’ll end up a fine doctor indeed.
And now here you sit in his small apartment, deep in another tumult of concern over next week’s midterm, looking as adorably anxious as ever; he never means to minimize your very real worries over your own abilities, but it’s hard for Law to deny that your nervousness is at least a little bit endearing. You’d shown up a little while ago out of the blue, standing at his door with your backpack held tightly to your chest, grimacing as you implored him to help you study.  How could he possibly say no to you? Certainly not with the way you stood in his doorway, looking disheveled and harried, gazing up at him with pleading eyes through the fall of your lashes, biting your lower lip in anticipation of his answer. Who was he to deny you his time when you vibrated with a nervous energy that he knew he could sooth with honeyed words of reassurance and a warm beverage? No, Law has never been able to say no to you, not since the first class you’d shared where you rushed to the first empty seat you spotted and quietly asked if you could sit beside him; he’d barely acknowledged you with a grunt, trying to keep his eyes straight ahead, but felt a warmth spread through him every time he’d glance at you out of the corner of his eye and catch your gaze.
Law passes your mug to you, his body stiffening as your fingers brush his, and plunks his lanky body down across from you on the floor, avoiding the carefully-placed stacks of papers that separate you. Something stirs in him as you nod sweetly in appreciation before pulling your legs up to your chest and taking a few slow, careful sips of your coffee. He wonders if you ever feel that stirring too—that tingling at the base of his spine that makes it hard not to lean in and kiss you just to sweetly cease your worried ramblings, that warmth in his core that makes him stop just short of settling his hand in your thigh in class and letting his fingers explore the expanse of bare skin that spreads out from under your skirts. You must feel it too—he’s seen the way your glances longer just a little too long when you think he isn’t looking, how you eye his copious tattoos when he leaves his shirt unbuttoned just a little lower than usual or rolls his shirtsleeves up on a hot day. You must feel it too, he reasons—why else would you smile at him in that way that feels like it’s meant only for him?
One day he’ll tell you, Law assures himself day after day—he’ll tell you just how much you mean to him, how these years in this program have been made more bearable by having you around. He’ll tell you how he wishes you’d come by for more than just study sessions and free coffee, how he knows just how good his hands would feel around your waist, his lips pressed to yours in the cold, dark quiet of his bedroom. But Law is, above all else, a methodical man, and his careful planning and good intentions were getting him nowhere with you—unending thoughts of precisely how to confess to you only work if he actually intends to act on them. All his years of painstaking preparations seem to be unraveling day by day, replaced by a restlessness in his bones, an eagerness to know you as more than just a friend—and an uncharacteristic impulsiveness that he is no longer certain he can repress.
“Thanks for this,” you finally mutter, setting your cup on the low table beside you. “Not just the coffee—for all of this, I mean. I know I sort of showed up out of nowhere, but I was in the neighborhood. I guess I could have texted first, but I just—”
“It’s okay, really. I don’t mind that you’re here.” Law reaches out and places his hand on top of yours, gently stroking the inside of your wrist with his thumb to slow your frantic chatter. His boldness startles him a little, the ease with which he touches you on a whim feeling at once unnatural and comfortable, like he’s meant to feel your softness beneath his fingertips.
Your lips part as if to speak, but instead you simply stare down at his hand for a moment, a soft squeak tumbling out of you, before retracting your arm and placing it in your lap. “I—well, that’s good, then.”
He can still feel you on him, feel the bones of your wrist and the smoothness of your skin, feel the way your pulse raced under the gentle grip of his fingers. It’s like he imagined it would be, warm and perfect, and he quickly clears his throat before he loses himself in thoughts of how the rest of you would feel under his tattooed fingers.
“You know, I really don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he says reassuringly as he starts to grab a stack of paper. “You always worry, and then you do just fine.”
“Only because you help me.” You flip through your textbook absentmindedly, seeming to be actively avoiding his stare. “You make the best study materials.”
Law feels a warmth spreading through his chest that extends out to his limbs, heat pooling in his core—the same one that always ignites when you sit just a little too close, let your hand stay just a little too long on his shoulder when you shuffle behind his seat in class to reach yours. He stills himself and inhales deeply—an idea begins to simmer in his mind, and the longer he sits, and the longer he lets uncertainty linger between you, the more and more it builds until it boils over and he finds himself blurting out a question he’s only half-prepared to know the answer to.
“Hey—what if we played a little game?”
You glance up from your textbook and raise a questioning eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Law runs through scenarios in his mind, all his careful planning suddenly useless as he quickly settles on an idea. “I was just thinking—sometimes it helps to have some distractions when you’re studying, you know? Something to take your mind off the anxiety.”
“Okay, and what exactly did you have in mind?”
“Well, I’ll quiz you from these study guides you made. And for every five questions you get right”—he pauses, touching his tongue to the corner of his mouth—“l’ll take something off.”
“Law!” Your eyes grow wide and your jaw slack, an astonished huff leaving your lungs.
“What?” A subtle smile quirks up the corners of his mouth as his eyes roam over your features; you look surprised, perhaps a little embarrassed—but not offended. “You don’t think an incentive could help?”
“And what if I get it wrong?”
“Well,” he purrs, cocking his head, riding a sudden high of confidence, “for every one you get wrong, then you take something off for me.”
He eyes you as you swallow hard and chew on your lower lip—you’re going to say no. You’re going to say no, despite how smooth he made his offer, despite how desperate you are for his help, and he won’t blame you if you do. You’ll never trust him again, he’s ruined everything, he never should have—
“Okay. Let’s do it.” You stare at him with jaw set, eyes wide, chest heaving a little under your shirt. A tight-lipped smile stretches across your lips, and your posture stiffens. “I’m game.”
Law nearly chokes on a relieved sigh, and his pulse races as he grips the study guide. He runs his thumbs over the smooth paper and wonders just how far you’ll let him go, just how far his little game will take you—and there’s only one way to find out. His eyes scan the first set of questions, and his stomach drops: there’s no way you won’t know the answers. You’re too quick to answer in class, and you’ve clearly pored over every page in your textbook with its copious color-coded highlighting. He takes a deep breath and wonders how quickly he’ll end up losing his shirt—or more.
As he had suspected, the first question is no sooner past his lips before you’re blurting out the correct answer; he nods, muttering “you got it,” and continuing. He lobs questions at you, one after another, and you answer each with ease—all correct, five in a row. Law tries to keep moving, continuing with his rapid-fire pacing, but you stop him, the beginnings of a wry smile on your lips.
“Now, now,” you tease, “aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Right.” He quickly unzips his hoodie and tosses it behind him, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt, suddenly feeling more exposed than anticipated. Law feels a heat rising in his cheeks as he catches your gaze landing on his tattooed forearms, your eyes darting over his skin.
He launches another barrage of questions at you, even more difficult than the last, but you make quick work of them—another five in a row.
Shit.
He removes his socks next, despite your insistence that this is cheating, and continues. You get another five right, and as he prepares to be stripped of his pants and possibly his dignity next, when he quickly responds, “Nope. The answer was B.”
“What? That’s bullshit!” You lean forward, brows furrowed and mouth agape, trying to snatch the paper from his hands. “I know that can’t be right, we just went over it in class last week!”
He sits back just enough so only your fingertips graze the paper, suppressing a depraved grin. “That’s what it says here. I don’t know what to tell you.”
You sit back and run your tongue along your teeth, your eyes narrowed at him, and for a moment, Law thinks that you may have seen through his ruse—or, at the very least, that you’re going to end his little game. But instead, you strip your sweatshirt over your head and toss it to the side, leaving your torso covered in a thin tank top, and Law’s pulse quickens at the sight of your bare skin.
“Alright, go ahead,” you shrug, a look somewhere between annoyance and self-assurance settling on your face, “quiz me again.”
Law lets you enjoy a few more right answers—you truly do know this subject well—before he fabricates another wrong response. This time you don’t protest, only huff a sigh through your nose and stand, shimmying out of your jeans; he catches a glimpse of your panties before you quickly sit back down and cover your lap with your sweatshirt. It feels a little wrong to be doing this to you, to take advantage of your trust and your reliance on him as your friend and study partner, but the guilt is slowly being erased by an insatiable hunger. He wants more, wants to see you bare before him, a display meant only for him. What he’ll do with you once you’re exposed, that he doesn’t know; all he knows for sure is that he close, so very, very close, to having you in front of him the way he’s dreamed of for so long.
A few more right answers pass, and he lets you reach five again—despite the fever that grips him, he knows you’re too damned smart not to get suspicious, assuming you aren’t already. And so he lets you have a win and he slowly, teasingly, takes off his shirt—letting you see a full glimpse of the tattoos that cover his torso.
“See something you like?” he grins, stretching his sinewy arms above his head to allow you an unobstructed view.
“What? No! I mean—t-they’re just cool is all,” you stammer.
Law’s cheeks burn at the feeling of being objectified by you, immersed in the sensation of being desired as much as he desires. It’s cute how you protest, how even now as he lets you see what you clearly have wanted to see, that you try to keep your eyes focused on anything but him—and fail over and over again. He finds it harder to want to keep quizzing you, wanting more than anything to toss the booklet aside and push you down against the floor, to make a mess of your books and papers and give in to the years of yearning and
Finally, he continues—he lets only one right answer pass this time before he corrects you, the need to see more of you becoming overwhelming. You slowly strip your tank top off, tossing it at his head when you’re done, giggling softly as he pulls it away from his face. Law watches as you sit back on the heels of your palms and shift so your sweatshirt falls out of your lap; he suppresses a moan as you bend your knees and let your legs loll to the side, exposing the thin strip of cotton fabric that separates his eyes from your center.
“Law, what are you doing?” you ask, head tilted to one side, a coy smile on your lips.
He manages to tear his leering gaze away from the apex of your thighs, and his pulse races at the look on your face—you look nearly as ravenous as he feels. “W-what are you talking about?”
“You know damn well I didn’t get those answers wrong.”
“Is that so?”
“What are you playing at, anyway?” You feign a pout. “Thought you wanted to help me, Law.”
“I did—and I do—I just—”
“Just what?”
You crawl across the floor to him, yanking the study guide out of his hand and tossing it to the side. Breathing feels impossible and his heart thrums away in his ribcage as you straddle his lap and press against his pelvis; a soft gasp leaves his lungs, his excitement becoming difficult to mask as he strains against the fabric of his jeans at the feeling of your heat against him. You grasp his arms and place his trembling hands on your hips, then drape your arms over his shoulders, wriggling as you settle yourself on top of him; it’s everything he wanted, everything he needed, and it’s happening so quickly that no amount of meticulousness, no amount of preparation could prepare him for the way you so nonchalantly take control. Law’s breath hitches in his throat—you’re close, so close, your lips nearly grazing his as you lean in and press your heated cheek against the side of his face. He can almost taste you, almost feel you melting into him, almost feel your heart racing against him matching the speed of his own.
“If you wanted to see me naked,” you whisper in his ear, warm breath spreading across his skin, “all you had to do was ask.”
197 notes · View notes