#these were just pencil sketches but i decided to clean them up and add some color

[ccraccz]

Hi! May i request for a heartsteel! (All of em) x artist! Reader, reader has a sketch book of them and they saw it when they were roaming around the reader's room. How would they react? Tysm!

Heartsteel x Artist!Reader

Context: You're staying/moving to their place

Aphelios

APHELIOS OML 🧚‍♀️

Anyways, you're staying at his place for a while due to an argument with your roommate.

Aphelios was laying on his bed as you shower, on his phone ordering some fast food for all three of you (alune, you and himself)

He turns around, laying on his belly when he notices that he's laying on something.

He pouts before sitting up on his knees s and taking the book that was under him in his hand.

His phone lays on his pillow as he silently, but curiously, skims through the pages

He stops at a page where he notices a familiar face.

It's him

With out a mask

He turns to the next page.

And his sister is on it, then him, then hom again, sett, ezreal, him again, yone, and more.

His eyes sparkle as his face, under the mask he wears everywhere everyday, slowly becomes pink.

All the comments beside the drawings of him, the stars and hearts around it, the small characters commenting on it.

He's so entranced that he doesn't notice that the water stopped running.

It is only when he hears you call out to him for a towel that he stops staring at the masterpieces you made.

He's so great full and happy and glad and AAAA

His brain is going overdrive with thoughts as he grabs a clean, fluffy towel and crack open the door to the bathroom.

Shoving his hand inside, he feels you grab the towel before he comically rushes to close the sketchbook and put it where he found it.

He orders the food and just smiles and kicks his legs in the air in happiness.

When you exit the bathroom, you just see him silently giggling and kicking his legs.

He's so cute hhh

Ezreal

You're moving to his place

Señor bunny teeth decides to help out with the boxes of clothes and things

He's just

So so so excited to add more personality to his place!

He's so excited to see you everyday in the morning, after work, before sleeping, seeing you naked, seeing you waking up, having sex with out interruptions.

What a dream come true!

While he's thinking of such, the last box in his hands, with a mark saying that it goes in the bedroom.

When he opens the door, after passing by you and getting a good ol kiss on the cheek, a large smile on his face, he squats down to place the box down when,

It pops open

All the books come tumbling out of the box before he can react.

Sweat dropping, he pales as he folds the box and started to freak out.

One of the books that fell opened to a page with a drawing of himself

He felt as if time stopped as he stared at the drawing

His cheeks turned pink as a cheeky smile stretched out on his face.

He grabs that sketchbook and sits down like a child playing with blocks.

He scans through the rest of the book, most of the drawings being of himself in different clothing and positions ( 😏)

He giggles and kicks his feet, tossing and turning on the floor before clipping through and teleporting towards the couch where you're laying.

He smiles, and shoves his faces into your tummy, your sketchbook in his arms as he giggles.

"I love you so muccchhh!!! Augh your art is so good!" He lifts his head off of you, chin digging into your tummy.

He continues to ramble on, saying that he'll show K'sante and Sett these for their next hit! And more

You cover your face, knowing that he will not stop talking about this.

Yone

You're staying at his place, summer vacation has arrived for you and you wanted nothing but to see the man of your dreams.

I love him sm

Yone, as the gentleman he is, accepted you with open arms and tons of kisses before accommodating to your needs.

He was really planning in sleeping on the floor, nuh uh he's not tho.

While you're sitting on the dining table for two, a pencil in hand and your trusty sketchbook in front of you

He came behind you, two plates of food that he had just finished making.

He was taken of guard before a slight smile takes over his fine face.

The drawing was of him cooking

He leans down and blows on your ear, making you jump back.

He chuckles before placing the food down near you, perfectly plated for a celebrity.

He walks back to his seat as you place your sketchbook away and wait for him to sit down before eating

He makes a mental note to ask for you to show him your sketchbook.

Sett

He's so cute!

You're staying with him for a while due to your parents kicking you out for a while.

Your boyfriend never liked your parents, they were quite mean to you.

It reminded him of his father.

He knew how to comfort you, and his mom totally loved you, probably even more than him!

So when you suddenly appear at his moms place with a grim look on your face, wet from the rainstorm.

He, of course, let you in and took your bag off of you so you could go wash up.

Sett goes to tell his mom about you being there before going to his room and placing your bag in his room and getting one of his hoodies for you to put on and a towel.

By then, you've taken off your clothes and entered the warm shower

Sett gives his hoodie and the clean towel to his mom to place in the bathroom as he starts getting his bedroom situated

He scavenges through his plush collection for your favorite plush, cleaned up the slight mess he had in the corners of his room

But when he picked up your wet bag to place it in a more convenient place did it get messy.

The bottom of your bag, such a worn out bag, broke and all the things you had in there, fell out onto his floor.

But the main thing he took notice off is a book that fell and opened.

The page had his face on it

The face he made in the MV of their song.

He froze for a second before continuing to collect the things on the floor and placing them somewhere more clean.

But he couldn't stop the soft smile that he sported on his face.

Kayn

SIR

Augh he's so hot its unbearable

He's coming over to your place.

He just can't be away from you for so long, a week, without complaining.

So when he comes back home to an empty living room, the shower not running, and he's now noticing that your car isn't in the garage?

He's sitting down on the couch and pouting like a little baby

Rhaast the decides to complain because you're not here, and that his shirt is suffocating him.

But kayn is sad, sob

He does the off his shirt though

and rummages through your fridge

And goes to your room and just takes in your smell.

The main thing about you he really loves, other than how you tolerate him and other people around you, is how you smell and dress

He jumps onto your bed and lays down before noticing a shiny little thing on your desk

Kayn, sadly, gets up from your bed and walks towards your desk, sitting down on your chair

He notices that it's unlocked, a key beside it.

He smirks, you have a diary???

He turns to a page and

It's not a "dear diary.." started but his face

It looks like a character sheet of himself.

Kayn has never looked so fine in his eyes oml

His brain basically said "AWOOGA"

He basically fell in love with you all over again no joke.

Kayn takes out his phone and starts taking pictures, he's for sure going to look at these and take every piece of detail he can.

K'sante

This goofy goober

He's so kewl

You had moved from your place to his recently

And he noticed that your side of the office has become quite messy while you were out getting some groceries.

And he decides to take initiative and organize your part of the office to a comfortable liking

Putting papers on one side, pencils where they're supposed to be, sketchbook beside the keybo-

The damn sketchbook fell and the pencil inside of it rolled away.

Great

He stares at the sketchbook in disspointment only for his expression to change as he pics up the much smaller book

It's him! Awe he looks so nice in your style!!

He skims through the rest of the sketchbook book, keeping a finger in the page that it opened on.

'You're so cute,' he thinks, placing down the sketchbook to were he was going to before it fell.

You bet he's gonna draw you and tape it on your monitor for you to see.

Alune

(There's literally no gifs of her, and that makes me sad)

ALUNE

Ms pretty lady

she found that you left your sketchbook at her place.

She, of course, found it because you left it on her bed and curiosity picked at her and wanted to know what was inside!

So she took a peek

And was very pleased at what she found.

So, unannounced, she appeared at your front door with a large smile on her face, telling you she's gonna sleep over for today while handing you your sketchbook.

You both sat around on the couch as she told you that she took a peek in it and saw your talent

And then she just rambled on and on about the future, animals, and the band!

She's so sweet and cute

---------------------------------------------------

Note!

Uhhh so, you didn't specify if you wanted female or male so I did gender neutral 🧚‍♀️ I also wanted to do alune (even though I don't know ow much about her woops) because I wanna show appreciation for her!! Other than that, I also changed the request a bit, and I wanted to keep it a bit interesting so most of them didn't look around your room woops sorry.

Either way! I hope you enjoy it! 💙💙 thank you so much for being my first request!! 💙💙💙🧚‍♀️

#heartsteel x gn!reader #heartsteel kayn #heartsteel yone #heartsteel x male reader #heartsteel x female reader #hearteel k'sante #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel aphelios #heartsteel sett #heartsteel alune #aphelios x reader #sett x reader #yone x reader #k'sante x reader #alune x reader #ezreal x reader

[swarmishstrangers]

Your blog, fics and headcanons always cheer me up! Your art is so neat too. Ive been lurking around here for a bit when I feel like I need my crops watered. Question, can I get headcannon of mallek x reader where the reader is an artist? somehow was able to accept commissions while on Alternia? I feel like the vibe of them just silently drawing and him coding in the background is super cute. What do you think?

AUGRHGAA TYYY!!!! I'm glad you like the art, writing, and headcanons! I've also definitely had the thoughts of Mallek being with an s/o who works a lot on computers for digital art stuff, mainly cause it sounds peaceful af.

Okay, so! Artist is a pretty loose term that could apply to a lot of things, but you specify them drawing here, so I'll go over Mallek x reader, both of them being either a traditional artist or a digital artist.

Traditional Artist:

🎨Starting with the traditional artist! Dunno if any of you consider yourselves to be fairly clean but either way if you were to stay over at his hive a lot and for convenience's sake, leave some of your art stuff at his place..it only adds to the chaos that his hive, "damn girl you live like this?" Idk! I just imagine all sorts of physical stuff traditional artist's use. Different types of paint and paintbrushes, charcoal, watercolors, colored pencils, paper, canvases, etc. Your art stuff adds a whole other thing to look at in his hive and honestly? He's here for it. He thinks art is cool. I mean..he can do tattoos, so of course he'd have some appreciation for a s/o who does artsy stuff. He also like those moments where he finds you just covered in your art supplies. Charcoal all over your arms and even smudged on your face for when you couldn't fight a itch and scratched at it, your hands and fingers smudged with paint or oil pastels...he just finds it incredibly charming.

🎨Oh also on the subject of paint uhh. May or may not be something you're comfortable with using considering that paint on Alternia is made from the blood of trolls. Depends whether or not you can get over that and just pretend it isn't to cope lmao. If you can just. Don't ask Amisia and Chahut about how getting the supplies for your paint went!

🎨Mallek would find it incredibly relaxing to listen to while he's fucking around with his husktops and many monitors. Normally he's one to either sit in quiet with nothing to play or maybe he'll have his playlist quietly playing whatever music or other things to listen to while he works on projects or contact people. Not to say it isn't still quiet while you both do your own things, but that's just the thing. It's quiet, not silent. Mallek finds he works the best when he knows that there's life going on around him. The sounds of his hands rapidly typing on his keyboard, the whirring of his husktop, sometimes you can hear him speak to someone that he's calling. You just further add on with your sounds of living, the sound of pencil sketching onto paper or canvas, the louder or softer sounds of you using oil pastels or charcoal, papers being moved, the adjusting of a canvas. It's all very comfortable to you both.

🎨You're each other's background sounds.

Digital Artist:

🖋️Being a digital artist is also so cool to Mallek, why wouldn't it be? It's tech shit! He can also help you try and traverse the different Alternian art programs. It's pretty new to him too since all he usually uses is the Alternian equivalent to Microsoft paint..and it's not super serious, just doodles, sketches, and shitposts stuff to destress. You got yourself a husktop, Amisia was jumping at the chance to help you look for digital art supplies (such as a tablet and stuff), and Mallek helped you get a hold of art programs for you to try out and decide what you like to use as your primary programs.

🖋️They're pretty much the same as Earth art programs in terms of it's functions. Though of course their interfaces can be different from program to program. Not everything works as it does on Earth? Certain shortcuts or tool locations are moved around or changed but it's pretty easy to figure out if you're experienced in digital art. And if you're stuck or can't figure something out your cool tech savvy matesprit can help you out. Mallek has his moments where he takes a break from what he's working on briefly to watch you draw...he always has to stifle a laugh when he sees you're absolutely struggling over there to do line art, having to undo do your stroke like 50 times before you get it. Like the previous one? He thinks it's cute and charming.

🖋️While you don't add a lot of new things to look at it in his hive, as you're working with more tech, it's still just as nice to listen to in the background he thinks. He can hear your fingers type out messages to friends or clients you're working with, the sound of your pen stroking against the tablet face, your mouse clicking here and then. There may not be as many sounds, but he finds it just as comforting, he likes to listen to the life around him after all.

Commissions:

As for the commission portion, thought it would be fun to get into this separately after talking about the respective art types! Being commissioned as an alien on the planet is certainly. Interesting. Which can be taken positively or otherwise.

Being an alien is your selling point to a lot of trolls online. It's where you got a huge chunk of your followers! Sure, they're very split on genuinely believing you are a real alien and those who think this is some kind of roleplay account or something but follow out of interest. Your commissions gather more interest from those who want a drawing from an alien! Real or not. Lots of odd are fun interactions.

For a traditional artist you could go the route of just, scanning your picture and posting it onto your socials and tag the trolls (or post it to the troll client privately). If you offer a shipement of the physical original drawing Mallek can help you out with getting a drone to drop it off for you so you don't have to go on a wild goose chase to find the troll client in this great wide troll world.

#mallek adalov #mallek adalov x reader #hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim #swarms-asks

[halfaleagueonward]

Spent today drawing some Moon Knight art! Thought it'd be fun to walk through the process!

I started with a thumbnail I did in my sketchbook a few weeks ago. I did a page of six smaller thumbnails, then a larger take of my two faves, and this is the one that stuck! I redrew it from scratch on my actual paper, then masked off the edges so I'd have a nice clean picture.

The most important step one to working with oil pastels is to lay down the base colors for any scratch board technique you're gonna wanna do at the end! You can see the faint color of the transparent pastel I layered down absolutely everywhere I thought I might want to be able see white underneath- practically the whole paper on this one, with the stars I was planning! Then I put the bright colors over top that. If you put the color directly onto the paper, that's all that will ever show through!

I like working with bright colors in all mediums, but in oil pastel I like them underneath darker colors for richness and color variety-its also cool when they show through in scratch board, though with transparent underneath I largely planned for this to be more subtle

Kept the green only on Marc's side to subtly visually separate him from Khonshu

Filling in colors! I decided to change the stroke direction of the sky and ground to separate them more

Went over the entire sky with purple and blue, and filled in the ground with a tan. This begins to mute and mix the different colors, and creates a solid layer I can smudge to get rid of any clunky white gaps. At this point I had to leave it alone for an hour or two so the pastel could solidify and wouldn't smudge wildly if I tried to add anything on top of it!

Went over the entire sky with two shades of dark blue! ...Pthalo and Prussian, apparently. This let me continue to emphasize contrast and outlines, while still keeping some richness and depth. Having good sillouhettes of the figures was important here, and you can see where I started getting rid of the clouds so they wouldn't distract from the rest of the picture

Raised the arm, not for the figure itself, but so the shadows would be more interesting to look at! Did some shading in the figures, and tested out the scratch board for the stars and the temple- it worked great, thank goodness!

For scratch board, I literally use the same mechanical pencil I use for the sketch, just without lead! I also used a bit of sponge I had lying around to brush away the oil pastel bits that got scraped up, so they didn't gunk up the rest of the picture.

Fleshed out the foreground! At this stage, I took pictures of the drawing and put them into grayscale to make sure I was maintaining good contrast. The left side was a bit boring, so I made it darker- this works thematically for Khonshu, while also upping his visibility.

There were definitely more subtle ways I could have done Khonshu, and I struggled a bit to render without overworking, but I like where I ended up.

I also smudged out and re-scratched the temple so it would sit better!

Scratch board fun!!! Because I got rid of the clouds I needed some visual interest in the sky, so I added a star for each of the three of them- they're color coded to match the shadows I detailed as well! Is the 'multiple shadows' visual inspired directly by yugioh? Yes and with no shame, someone please give me this crossover!!!

And after some tweaking, detailing, and removing the tape- tadah!!!

#moon knight #moon knight fanart #artification #traditional #oil pastel #masking off the edges made the picture look so legit and cool I am so excited by this #it was a pleasure to make some art for this thing which has been consuming my brain!! #fun fact I also have some Legit Papyrus paper sitting around and oh man I wanna do something super cool with it hahaha #oh also for this I referenced the Lemire run and also the Moon Knight t-shirt my big sis got me- thanks sis!

[cayennecrush]

hand practice with gykhi and kona 👭💕

#these were just pencil sketches but i decided to clean them up and add some color #i had a surprising amount of fun with this considering yknow. hands LOL #turns out practicing anatomy and things dont have to be so bad if its ur ocs #kona #gykhi #undercurrent

[lesbianlotties]

Sam Fraser Has a Good Day

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson Characters: Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street), Deena Johnson Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Not Canon Compliant, Everyone Is Alive, Nightmares, Breakfast, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Napping, Dancing, Late Night Conversations, Making Out, Kissing, Fluff without Plot, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff, literally what the title says Words: 2401

In the span of a couple of days, Sam Fraser was: in a car crash, chased by several undead killers, used as bait, almost overdosed, drowned, possessed, tied up in the trunk of a car, hit in the head several times... and somehow she survived.

She deserves a good day. She deserves to: stay in her girlfriend's house and steal her sweaters, sleep until noon, have a good breakfast, eat jello in peace, get clean bandages, play video games, eat ice cream, take a nap, dance to her favorite songs, go on a late-night drive for cheeseburgers, and cuddle and kiss her girlfriend the entire day.

Sam wakes up startled, as usual. She is gasping for air and sitting up hastily. Was she having a nightmare? Is she stepping into a nightmare now? Because she can tell she’s wearing one of Deena’s t-shirts. But what if her mom sees her? Is she going to catch her? Should she start running from something, or keep herself from running toward something? 

“Sam?”

That soft voice is the one that breaks the spell.

“Deena,” Sam sighs. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Deena whispers, tentatively wrapping her arms around her girlfriend. Instantly, she feels Sam relax in her embrace.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles, tucking her face on the crook of Deena’s neck. “Just a nightmare.”

“I got you,” Deena says softly. She places a kiss on Sam’s forehead and carefully guides them to lay down again. “It’s early. Why don’t you go back to sleep?” Deena asks, realizing right after that Sam fell asleep before answering at all.

--

A couple of hours later, Sam wakes up again. This time there are no nightmares, no screams of terror caught in her throat, no reaching out blindly for air or a weapon. She wakes up slowly, clutching the heavy blanket that covers her body, yawning without restrain, and eventually opening her eyes slowly. The first thing she does is look for her girlfriend, and she finds her sitting at the foot of the bed, sketching on a notebook with an endearing frown of concentration on her face.

“Good morning,” Sam says through a new yawn.

“Well,” Deena smirks fondly at her, “it is closer to noon now, but good morning to you too, baby.”

“What? Noon?” Sam frowns and attempts to rub the sleep off her eyes. “Since when do I sleep longer than you?” Sam asks, and puts on a pout on her lips for her next question, “And why are you so far away?”

Deena chuckles affectionately at her and puts away her pencil and notebook. She crawls back to her girlfriend and playfully flops down beside her. “Hey,” Deena greets her with her signature raspy tone. She receives a dreamy “hi” and a soft peck on the lips in response. Afterward, she explains, “To answer your question, I just thought you deserved a day to sleep in.” When Sam gives her a look of pleased surprise, Deena adds, “In fact, I think you’ve earned a full day, just for you, to rest and enjoy.”

“Deena, you don’t have to do that,” Sam attempts to protest, right before her girlfriend interrupts her with a kiss that turns into two, and three, and four, and soon enough they simply lose count.

--

Deena’s plans encounter an obstacle as soon as they manage to leave the comfort of her room to go make breakfast. Sam was fresh out of the shower, wearing one of Deena’s t-shirts this time. Deena barely gets to open the fridge before Sam tries to intervene with a soft-spoken, “Let me.” It’s safe to say that Deena puts up quite a fight, though.

“I just wanted to take care of you for one day, okay?” She insists. “You fucking deserve it.”

“That’s sweet,” Sam replies, feeling absolutely endeared. She leans in and places a kiss on Deena’s forehead, and Deena tries and fails to keep up her frown. “Listen, I appreciate it, and I love you for it, okay?” Sam says, giving Deena’s lips a small kiss. “But consider this. One, you already took care of me at my worst. Two, a perfect day, for me, means that you get to enjoy it too, and I get to take care of you too, got it? And three… do you really want to burn my breakfast on my special day?”

Sam attempted to quickly kiss Deena’s cheek and run away, but the brunette was quick enough to reach out and take her in her arms, ticking her in revenge for the not-unfounded critique of her culinary skills.

--

After their meal, the two girls make their way to the living room’s couch, where they are free to cuddle and exchange lazy kisses for as long as they could possibly want. Eventually, though, Deena finds the strength to pull away long enough to have an actual conversation.

“So, while you were sleeping, Kate and Simon stopped by,” Deena says. “Everyone feels kind of bad about you, you know, getting possessed and shit.” Deena pauses with a grimace, not proud of her choice of words, but Sam quickly kisses her cheek to urge her to go on. Deena begrudgingly stands up from the couch, to look for a certain bag, and explains, “Josh, oh so generously, gave us the gift of privacy and he is staying the fuck away from home for the day. He’s sleeping at Simon’s house. Also, he says you can play his video games, if you want. And… Kate and Simon brought all this.”

Deena drops a bag from the Grab N’ Bag on the couch and Sam eagerly looks through its contents. She gasps, “Finally!” And pulls out one of many packets of jello. 

Deena’s love-sick laugh spills right out of her lips. “You’re adorable,” Deena says before kissing the top of Sam’s head and climbing back to the couch beside her. “There’s also popcorn, chips, ice cream is in the fridge, a couple of your favorite movies that I think were yours in the first place and they’re just returning, and a happy birthday card because they don’t exactly make cards for the shit we’ve lived,” Deena explains, content to watch her girlfriend smile and nod happily while enjoying her jello. Then she clears her throat and not so contentedly adds, “We also have a bunch of uh, fresh bandages and stuff.”

The two girls exchange a look and understand exactly what this means.

--

“This is not what I had in mind when I planned to give you a perfect day,” Deena says. She is sitting on the bathroom counter without a shirt on while Sam gives the final touches to the fresh bandage on Deena’s stomach. At the beginning, her hands were shaking with guilt, and fear, but she quickly got them under control and lovingly worked on the healing wound that a different version of herself caused.

“I told you,” Sam insists without looking away from her work. “I also want to take care of you, you know?” She is standing there without her shirt on, with an equally fresh bandage on her back.

When Sam iss done, Deena gently grabs her hands and moves them up to her lips to kiss them sweetly. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Sam turns breathless at the gesture. She feels butterflies in her stomach and decides to tell Deena how much she’s enjoying her day. Speechless as she is though, Sam only thinks to lean forward and connect their lips, determined to kiss her girlfriend until they lose track of time.

--

Some time later, Sam finds herself comfortably seated on her girlfriend’s lap, wearing her sweater again, and biting her lip in great concentration as she tries to succeed at one of Josh’s video games.

“You nerd, I can’t believe you’re into this,” Deena chuckles fondly behind her.

“Hush, I almost got it,” Sam mumbled.

As much as Deena wants Sam to win whatever game that is, she thinks it would be a crime to hold herself back in a position as convenient as this one. So she moves Sam’s blonde hair out of the way and starts placing feather-light kisses on her neck. At first, Sam tries to ignore her. Then, she squirms just a little. After a very effective bite from Deena, a small whimper escapes from Sam’s lips.

“Tell me,” Deena starts saying with a seductive whisper. “Do the other cheerleaders know you’re secretly a dork?”

That finally gets Sam to stop the game and turn around with a gasp. “Deena!” she protests, although she’s laughing. And she crashes her lips together. She would hate to let Deena win so easily, but she feels much more like a winner in this situation.

--

Sometime in the afternoon, Sam wakes up on the couch with her head on Deena’s chest. She’s so perfectly comfortable and warm and safe, that she starts to feel suspicious. She didn’t even have a bad dream at all. She starts to fearfully consider this might be nothing but a dream about to turn into a nightmare, but then she moves her head up to look at her girlfriend and her worries vanish all at once. Deena is still asleep, she’s frowning a little and her lips are slightly parted as she adorably mumbles in her sleep. The feeling of love and adoration in Sam’s chest is so strong and so real that she doesn’t have any doubt this has to be her reality. 

After all the pain, the fear, and the danger of it all, this is real, and they earned it. It’s not even just about those days of extreme violence when they ended the curse, it’s even bigger than that. It’s a moment of well-earned peace and happiness that’s been more than three hundred years in the making. They have been fighting for this moment their entire lives, and they were so close to losing hope forever, but they made it. Deena was right, they fucking deserve it.

So, Sam makes a couple of decisions. First, she decides it’s best if they go one day without watching a horror movie. As much as she loves them, they have had enough horror for a while. And two, she decides that continuing her nap is the perfect way to honor Deena’s wish of giving her a perfect day. She gets comfortable again on top of her girlfriend and drifts back to sleep.

--

Not too long later, Sam and Deena are in the middle of a tube of ice cream and halfway through watching Grease. Well, Deena is watching the movie. Sam is a little more focused on the extremely amusing sight of Deena trying to avoid smiling at the movie.

“Oh my God, you love it,” Sam keeps giggling whenever Deena slips up and grins at the movie on the television screen.

“No, I fucking don’t,” Deena rolls her eyes, makes no move to quit the movie, and adds through gritted teeth, “I just acknowledge that it’s a classic.”

Her words only make Sam smile even brighter as she continues to take spoonfuls of ice cream and marvel at the sight of her girlfriend.

--

A perfect day, of course, wouldn’t be complete without listening to the mixtape Deena made for Sam, and dancing in the middle of her bedroom without a care in the world.

Sam is the one that starts dancing, swinging her arms around, not very gracefully. And Deena shakes her head at her with extreme fondness. “You are a weirdo, Sam Fraser,” she says, making her girlfriend laugh, completely unaffected by the comment.

“Dance with me,” Sam replies with a carefree grin on her face. She steps forward and pulls on Deena’s arms until she convinces her to dance with her.

As usual, Deena tries to put up a fight that she loses as soon as she stares into precious blue eyes. There’s not a thing she wouldn’t do for Sam. They already had to do the most extreme things for each other. How could she refuse her girlfriend a dance?

It’s a perfect evening to a perfect day. The two of them dance to their favorite songs, laugh wholeheartedly, kiss without holding back, jump and spin and fall in each other's arms again and again, as if falling in love all over with every new song.

--

As comfortable as it would be to stay home for the last few hours of the day, the perfect dinner to complete the day means getting cheeseburgers. Not even Deena complains about the idea. After all, she always loved driving around town with Sam in the passenger seat, humming along to the songs on her mixtape, her blonde hair glowing under the streetlights they passed, completely comfortable silence between them, without a destination in mind. 

They park the car at a familiar spot. They eat their cheeseburgers, playfully feed fries to each other, and have a perfectly good time. Conversation flows easily between them, reminiscing of old memories or sharing dreams of a bright future that starts to feel more possible than ever before.

When Sam starts yawning, Deena is quick to point out, “You’re sleepy.”

“Am not,” Sam scoffs in that very particular way that tells Deena her girlfriend is blatantly lying.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Fraser. How rude,” Deena teases her.

Sam giggles happily in response. She can’t deny she’s looking forward to returning home to Deena’s bed, but she genuinely loves to put up a fight against her girlfriend, no matter how often she ends up losing. 

“I’m very awake,” Sam insists, a knowing look on her face because she can easily predict Deena’s answer.

“Prove it,” Deena says.

Even before she’s done saying the words, Sam is leaning in to kiss her. They kiss, again and again, until Sam whispers against Deena’s lips, “Take me home.”

--

It’s well past midnight when Sam and Deena finally agree that even perfect days must come to an end. They lie in Deena’s bed, facing each other, legs tangled together, often exchanging kisses or sweet words that only exist in that vulnerable space between them.

“Thank you,” Sam whispers. She pushes a stray brown curl behind Deena’s ear, then her hand rests for a moment there on Deena’s cheek, her thumb lovingly caressing her skin.

“I told you,” Deena replies in an equally hushed tone even though they have the entire house for themselves. “You deserve it,” she adds, then she turns her head just enough to place a small kiss to the inside of Sam’s wrist, making the blonde smile timidly.

“I’m not talking about today,” Sam says. She considers explaining that she means she’s saying thank you for absolutely every moment they spent together since they met, but…

“I know,” Deena says. Her smile widens and she adds, “Just so you know, I also enjoyed today, a lot. So thank you too.”

Sam replies with a sweet kiss to Deena’s lips. Then the two of them cuddle closer and slowly, peacefully, happily drift off to a good and restful night of sleep.

#fluff without plot!!! i said fluf!! without! plot! #fear street #sameena #sam x deena #deena x sam #sam fraser #deena johnson #fs #fear street fanfiction #fear street trilogy #fear street movies #my fic

[excelsi-or]

your type (pt. 6)

Hiiii friends, it’s only been like two weeks! Pretty good in terms of posting for me lol. I don’t know what it is about this story in particular, but I feel so self-conscious about posting new parts. But I’m also not someone who likes to leave things half finished.

I hope you’re all doing well :) 

BIPOC recs: I actually have a few! Two books: Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 - Cho Namjoo (basically follows a woman’s life in South Korea and all the micro-oppressive things that women face in their personal and career lives); Winners Take All - Anand Giridharadas (a non-fiction about how billionaires create such a disproportionate world for us all; I love listening to Anand’s talks about this subject. I find it fascinating). Music: Cross Country - Breland (excellent country song); Boyz II Men - Kirby (I love this woman’s energy)

w.c. 2.6k

pairing: jihoon x OC/reader

pt. 1; pt. 2; pt. 3; pt. 4; pt. 5

The summer semester has her in the research lab 8 hours a day. Luckily, Jihoon is also on campus for just as long. His professor got him a gig working on music for a few groups in various companies. It helps get his foot in the door, and while the deadlines are tight, he genuinely enjoys working.

They take their lunch breaks together, wandering the green or just wandering hallways if it’s too warm outside. But since he doesn’t have other classes, Jihoon’s been chatting with a few girls he’s met.

And he’s told her all about them, so she isn’t blindsided if someone else decides to share it with her.

“How was your date last night?” she asks at lunch.

Jihoon shrugs. The girl had come over since Seungcheol was at Jihyo’s. “She was whatever.”

She lifts an eyebrow, eating the sandwich that Seungkwan made for her lunch. She’s now taken to spending the night at Seungkwan and Hansol’s when Seungcheol visits.

Jihoon sighs. “Jiwoo was uninteresting.” When she has no response to this, he pouts. “She didn’t really have any opinions on anything, so we couldn’t find anything to talk about.”

“But you didn’t just go for dinner.”

“She was fine in bed.” Jihoon shrugs. “Didn’t really tell me what she liked, so hard to say how she felt about it.”

“Ahh.”

“What does that mean?”

She pops the rest of her sandwich in her mouth. “I don’t really know how to continue from that.”

Jihoon snorts. “Well, you’re the one who asked.”

She thinks for a minute. “Are you just saying she was uninteresting?” She kicks him lightly under the table. “Did you listen to her?”

“Of course I did!” Jihoon sips his coffee. “You said that I need to look at people more,” he makes a point of staring at her, “and to be aware of my body language because it comes off as standoffish.”

“And still?”

“All she talked about was her dog. I love talking about people’s dogs, but not for two hours.”

“Dinner was two hours?”

Jihoon shakes his head in frustration. “The kitchen kept getting the order wrong. Anyway, enough about my failed date, how’s your research going?” He pushes a napkin towards her.

She pulls out the pencil she was using to hold her hair up. Her hair cascades around her and she begins sketching out her reaction. While Jihoon hasn’t quite learned all the chemistry terminology, he recognizes various things, specifically the compounds she’s working on. She’d taught him some basics about catalytic testing, using drawings to help him follow along.

Multiple times she’s insisted that her research is really boring, especially for people who aren’t in science. But Jihoon likes listening to her talk, and her research lets her dominate the conversation. He asks questions and clarification, and she’s always great at simplifying things.

Jihoon has learned that her amazing attention to detail translates well to analyzing his songs. And she’s always very honest about the parts she likes and doesn’t like.

“I have some finished works I want your opinion on.” They start to clean up their table.

She glances up at him. “You don’t have a date tonight?”

Jihoon waits for her to fall into step with him. “I do, but I also have deadlines. So, if you’re not tired later, meet me in the studio?”

She waves goodbye to him. “I’ll let you know where I’m at.” She waits for him to exit the building before going to put her earphones in. As she’s heading to the stairs, she sees Seulgi heading towards her. They cross paths in the chemistry labs, but have never been on real speaking terms.

She smiles at Seulgi, about to go around her like normal, when the woman asks, “Are you and Jihoon dating?”

Despite her earphones in, she does hear the question. She turns. “Uhm, no.” She pauses and Seulgi says nothing. “Why?”

“I just…” Seulgi gives her a once over. “You seem too nice to be dating Jihoon.”

She’s taken aback by that observation. While Jihoon has given off the hot-cold vibe, player energy, and a slight lack of communication skills, she can’t say Jihoon’s ever warranted a comment like that. “We’re just…” She tries to come up with a word. “We’re just friends.”

“You’re smart.” Seulgi seems to mull something over. “But smart girls like you have fallen for his charm.”

“Like… you?”

“Once, but I’m not talking about me here. I’m talking about my friend.”

This piques her interest more than she wishes it did. Jihyo has warned her against listening to all these testimonials of women dating Jihoon.

“Maybe you just need to give the man a solid chance. If you’re gonna spend all your time with him anyway.”

Against Jihyo’s advice, she asks, “What happened to your friend?”

“Jihoon broke her heart. He doted on her and from the sounds of it, worshipped her, but then all of a sudden, he went cold. Stopped answering messages, stopped picking up the phone, avoiding her in the hallways. Then he said—”

“‘I’m ignoring you now, please leave me alone?’”

Seulgi tips her head. “Have you talked to Wendy?”

She runs her tongue along her bottom teeth. “No. I haven’t.”

“So how did you—?”

“I met another girl he’s dated. And… he’s a creature of habit, so… figured he’d say something similar.”

Seulgi hums. “Well, Wendy refuses to see any other man now. But she’s fine, mostly. We just can’t mention Jihoon around her. So, just…”

“Be careful?”

Seulgi chuckles. “So you’ve heard the warnings before?”

“A couple times.” Under her breath, she mutters, “Maybe I should heed them more.” She gives Seulgi a friendly nudge as she walks away. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Is everything okay?”

Jihoon received her text around 4:30, saying that she wasn’t feeling well and would go straight home after she was done in lab.

“Yeah, I’m just… I think I’m getting sick.”

She had seemed fine when he saw her.

“Okay, I’ll walk you home then.”

There’s a long pause. “I actually caught up with Taehyung, Jungkook’s boyfriend? He said he would walk me home.”

Jihoon turns in his chair at this odd development. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll… see you tomorrow then.”

“Bye.” Almost like an afterthought, she adds, “Sorry.”

Jihoon turns back to stare at the pieces of work he has open in the task bar that he wanted to show her. Instead, he closes them and goes back to work.

Time passes without him realizing. Before he knows it, it’s time for him to meet up with Ara. He glances at the clock, thinking.

Jihoon (19:14)

Meet me at the gym?

Jihoon (19:14)

Hey, don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight. Caught a cold.

Soonyoung (19:15)

Sure. See you in 10.

Mingyu (19:15)

I’m in.

Ara (19:15)

If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you have another woman in mind.

But okay.

Get well soon, babe.

True to their word, Mingyu and Soonyoung meet him at the gym near their homes. Soonyoung leads the way inside and they go stretch while Jihoon disappears to change.

When he reemerges, Mingyu asks him what’s wrong.

“She cancelled on me.”

“Who?” Soonyoung is stretching on his right.

Jihoon crosses his right arm across his body, feels the stretch in his upper delt and across his arm. He updates them on what’s happened in the last 7 hours, from lunch, to her saying she’s sick, to Ara.

Mingyu frowns. “I didn’t realize you two were still going on dates. I thought you’d already gotten to the… dating part of dating.”

“Wait,” Soonyoung seems to realize something, “are you seeing other women right now? We cannot win this bet unless you commit!”

Mingyu observes Jihoon in the mirror. He has a dazed look in his eye, as if he’s thinking hard about something. “You actually like her.” He turns to Jihoon. “You’re genuinely upset that she didn’t come to the studio.”

Jihoon wasn’t really frowning before, but he is now. “No. I’m not.”

“Wonwoo hyung said that he thought you were seeing other women again.” Mingyu turns back to the mirror. “I said that couldn’t be possible, because you don’t like to lose.”

“Can we just work out?” His tone is harsh, but his friends hear a small plea in there too. They exchange looks over Jihoon’s head and shrug.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Soonyoung nudges him towards the free weights.

It isn’t until after their gym session on their way home that Soonyoung and Mingyu begin grilling him.

“Are you seeing other women right now?” Mingyu asks.

“Well…” Jihoon adjusts his bag on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Soonyoung and Mingyu’s jaws drop.

“Dude. The bet.” Soonyoung gives him a push. “What if she finds out?”

Jihoon watches his feet move beneath him. “She already knows.”

“She knows? And she still goes out with you?” Mingyu demands. “Are you guys just friends?”

Soonyoung groans in frustration. “Seriously, Jihoon, bets are serious business. We went all in on this bet. You can’t just let Seokmin win a bet like this.”

“What happened, hyung?”

The question seems to release something in Jihoon. He throws his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. I really don’t. She just… holds herself at a distance from me. I can’t seem to…” He makes grabbing motions in the air. “Get anything out of her.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we should just give up here. I don’t know if I can win this bet.”

“Yah!” Soonyoung throws an arm around his shoulders. He squeezes his arm. “I am not losing to Seokmin and Seungkwan on a bet that I know that we can win. You are the best at this.”

“She’s just as good at keeping me at a distance. And apparently she’s also had men castrated before.”

Mingyu and Soonyoung blink in surprise at the sudden information.

“Okay, well, we’re not going to let that happen to you,” Mingyu states.

Soonyoung agrees. “But you’re going to have to start pulling out al your moves. You—”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Listen to me. I have been at this since February. The girl won’t even let me kiss her.”

Mingyu scoffs. “You haven’t even kissed her yet? You guys are just friends.”

Soonyoung holds a hand up in Mingyu’s face. “You are not being encouraging.” He readjusts his grip around Jihoon. “Look. We’ll help you then. Lee Jihoon doesn’t tap out like this.”

“You said she canceled on you.” Mingyu tips his chin in Jihoon’s direction. “Why?”

“She said she was sick and found someone else to walk her home.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. He releases his grip on Jihoon to get a better look at his face. “That’s it?”

Jihoon scowls. “Did I not tell you that I haven’t even kissed her yet? I eat lunch with her every day and then I walk her home.”

“Are we in the 1700s? What the fuck?” Mingyu demands.

“I can’t work out what makes her tick. She tells me stuff about herself, but nothing I can use. All I’ve learned is that she’s one of the smartest people I know, reads a lot, paints, and can give me actual feedback on my music.”

“Oh, come on, that can’t be all you’ve learned.”

Jihoon sighs, racking his brain for more information. There are obviously little things he’s noticed, like that she drinks a shit ton of water; that when she thinks something’s amusing, she lets out a little breath of laughter; or that she presses down on her fingers with her thumbs when she’s nervous. But he can’t share these things. They aren’t useful.

“I’ve learned she hasn’t really dated anyone since Byunggu. That she doesn’t even count that guy as a boyfriend so Jungkook is the last man she dated.”

“Byunggu… why do I know that name?” Soonyoung looks to Mingyu.

“Because he’s the guy who’s either been threatened, murdered or castrated,” Jihoon grumbles.

Soonyoung waves him off. “No.” He reaches behind Jihoon to hit Mingyu’s arm. “Isn’t he that guy who debuted last year?”

Mingyu’s brow furrows.

“He stopped coming to parties because he was filming some show or something, remember?” He pushes Mingyu, as if that will jog his memory. “He was one of your girls’ friends. Remember? She wouldn’t stop talking about him? That’s why you dumped her?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Mingyu pulls his phone out and looks something up. When he turns the phone to Jihoon, Jihoon squints at an article about this man who is currently doing small roles in various dramas. He doesn’t recognize the face. But until this point, he’d never seen any photos of this elusive ex. A debut would explain why he disappeared into thin air.

“What am I supposed to do with this information?” Jihoon pushes the phone away. “She clams up as soon as he comes up.”

“Okay, okay. Forget trying to replicate the men of the past.” Soonyoung says. “Just… be you.”

Jihoon stares at him in disbelief. “She doesn’t like me.”

“She must, because she’s spent a lot of time with you, hyung.” Mingyu sips from his water bottle. “Noona only gives certain people her time, if you haven’t noticed. Her girls, Hansol, Seungkwan, Wonwoo hyung these days.” He shrugs. “If you’re spending so much time with her, she likes you at least a little bit.”

Jihoon bites his tongue, annoyed that they’re right. “I’m only going to give this another month. If I can’t get this girl into my bed, then there’s no way she’s going to say ‘I love you’ first.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” Jihyo asks.

The two roommates are having a night in, watching a movie but talking the entire time with take out on the table.

She came home looking preoccupied, so Jihyo forced her to put on her pajamas, pick what sort of take out they would eat, and to bundle up on the couch. Then she forced her roommate to tell her what was wrong.

“I don’t know. Do you think it’s a sign that two different women have told me I should be careful?” She pouts. “I don’t want to feel like I need to tread carefully.”

“I don’t know what Jihoon was like with those other girls, but he likes you. I know what a guy looks like when all he wants is to get you into his bed. That look on Jihoon’s face when he sees you is pure adoration.”

She carefully breaks apart a cookie before popping a piece into her mouth. “If anything, Jihoon’s just a friend.”

“A friend who adores you. Who you also seem to like.” Jihyo nudges her with the back of her hand. “You can’t go around thinking every boy is going to hurt you like Byunggu.”

“I don’t think that. Why would I think that if I don’t even give them a chance to try?”

Jihyo snorts, both amused and frustrated. “Jihoon is putting in the effort with you. You didn’t even give him your number for like a month and a half. And he still made it work.”

“I did that to keep him away from me.” She rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her face. “So, thanks for helping him out with that.”

“You still hang out with him.”

“You know, he’s seeing other girls now.”

Jihyo pauses. “Really?”

“He tells me about them. He had a date yesterday. He has one tonight.” She shakes her head. “I think it’s just better for me if we stay friends.” She notices Jihyo on her phone. “What are you doing now?”

“Asking Cheollie if Jihoon’s home.” Jihyo turns her phone her way, grinning. Seungcheol had sent a picture of Jihoon next to him on the couch. The two seem to be playing video games. “Give the man a chance. You don’t know what kind of boyfriend he can be if you don’t.”

#woozi #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #Lee Jihoon #lee jihoon scenarios #Seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt

[tojismaiden]

sketch | levi ackerman x reader

WARNING: none. just fluff and a tiny bit of angst.

prompt: after finding out you did sketches as a hobby, levi decided to challenge you and asked you to sketch someone you hadn't met before.

NOTE: this is based on the eren fan art that i saw but i forgot whoever it was that posted it and i thought of doing one for levi.

The Survey Corps were aware that your father was an artist. One that could sketch someone and something with perfect accuracy and sometimes even sketching someone and something that he hadn't seen before and based it upon someone's description of them. Your dad had somehow passed this knowledge to you before he died on the fall of Shiganshina and ever since then, you had secretly taken up sketching as a hobby— one that you would do whenever you were down, stressed, or just wanting peace.

However, you weren't exactly slick enough as you sat yourself down against a tree because soon or later, Sasha had seen you and your drawing and begged you to draw her a picture of a freshly cooked steak. Connie somehow heard the commotion and asked if you could draw something you hadn't seen before to which you said yes and kindly asked you to draw a picture of his hometown.

Eren, Mikasa, Armin, and Jean soon followed and all were amazed by your accurate sketching skills and how fast you would make them.

The commotion would soon draw the attention of one Captain Levi who looked at the group annoyingly mainly because they still weren't done with their chores. He hated seeing people slacking and wasting their time.

He would step out of the cottage and began walking towards the group.

"Oi, you brats!" His strict voice would immediately shut up the group, making them stand straight and look back at the Captain.

"What the hell are you all doing out here? You're not even finished with your chores, the cottage still looks and smells like shit."

"We're sorry, Captain, we just got distracted." Eren would say and gulped, fearing what Levi would do as a punishment for slacking off.

"Yeah, Captain, but look! Y/N here is so talented? Remember when she once told us that her dad was a sketch artist? She could do it too and look what she drew for us!" Sasha beamed and showed the drawing you had made for them causing you to smile sheepishly and looked up at Levi.

You were currently injured after you had twisted your ankle when you fell off a horse so Levi decided to be kind enough to let you off the hook and heal while the others did your portion of the chore.

Levi looked down, the infamous stoic expression plastered on his face as he looked at the rather intricate and impressive details of your sketches.

"Look, Captain! She even drew my hometown and she hasn't been there before. She just drew it based on my description but she got it all right!" Connie would add and showed him your sketch of Ragako. Connie's words somehow got his attention and Levi looked down to look closely at the drawing before pulling away.

"Tch! You slacked off of chores for some sketches? Thought you brats did better than that by now. Go back inside and clean!" Levi barked causing the group to put their fists on their chest by their hearts and saluted Levi before running back inside the cottage.

"I'm sorry about that, Captain. I didn't mean for them to slack off." You'd eventually say and stood up carefully from the ground after gathering your sketchbook and pencil with your crutch, "I was about to send them back but they were far too excited with my drawings."

Levi was silent for a while. His back was turned to you as he watched, from afar, his squad going back inside the cottage to continue busying themselves.

"Springer said that you could draw things that you haven't seen before?" He would ask and you would nod in response.

"I-I... I guess? My dad taught me how to do it when I was young. He used to do it all the time." You'd reply. Levi hummed in response before turning his head back to look at you.

"I suppose the same applies to people you hadn't met before?"

You hummed in response and nodded again.

"Yes, Captain. I've done it before."

Levi nodded and put his hands inside the pockets of his pants before he nodded over to the cottage.

"You can walk, right? Come to my office, I have a task for you. But don't ever speak to anyone about this. Do I make myself clear?" His words caused you to nod vigorously, fearing what type of punishment you would deal with if ever you even spoke about this to any living soul.

"Y-Yes, Captain!"

"Good. Now let's get going because once Hange gets back, I won't have the time to do this."

And with that, you followed Levi back to the cottage but since the group had been busy with their chores, they didn't pay you any mind and only thought you were going with Levi to discuss some things about your next move, knowing that you won't have to stay here for long.

Once you entered, Levi gestured to the chair in front of his desk before he closed the door and walked over, sitting himself down on his chair.

"Not sure if I could still remember but I'll do my best. You're going to draw a woman." Levi started, causing to scramble and flip your sketch book open to a completely clean blank page.

"She's fairly young. Around her late twenties or early thirties. She has long black hair. Straight, parting in the middle." He would say, all while staring off in the distace as you nodded and sketched your way to his description of this woman that he speaks of.

You didn't know who it was that he was describing. And a part of you doubts it would be his lover. Levi didn't seem like the type to fall in love with his comrades or even has the time to engage himself in such a thing especially when humanity is at the mercy of those man-eating Titans.

Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you decided to focus more on Levi's words.

"Her face is heart shaped. Eye brows are a bit thin. Straight, slightly upturned nose. Narrow, grey eyes. Small but full lips."

You took note of what this woman looked like and the more you sketched her, the more you realized this woman looked a lot like Levi except for the fact that she looks much softer compared to him. Unlike Levi, this woman had a soft stare despite her narrow eyes. She wasn't at all emotionless and frowning. You thought it would best suit her if she was smiling just a tad bit. Your instincts told you so.

"Give her a white dress. Smock."

You'd nod and followed Levi's instructions as you went ahead and gave her a smock dress that looked so fitting for her. Silently, you hoped you gave Levi what he was asking for. You didn't know who this woman was but deep inside you knew she must have been someone who was very important to him.

You were now putting in shades onto your sketch, making sure the woman in your drawing looked flawless as possible. It was so bizarre that she looks so much like Levi. It was like Levi himself in a girl's clothing and his hair longer but without the undercut he usually sported.

Once you were done, you carefully stood up and gently place your sketch book onto his desk face down so he could turn it over himself once you sat down.

"Did I get it right, Captain?" You asked, watching him as he turned the sketch book over, his eyes widening slightly as a breath escaped from his lips.

You'd watch as Levi brushed his fingers against the paper, as if he was trying to memorize every part, every crevice of your drawing of this woman. You noticed how his eyes looked rather... soft for one moment before he realized he wasn't alone in this room.

"I hope you don't mind." He'd say and went ahead to carefully cut the drawing from your sketchbook with a cutter. For he didn't want to risk ripping it.

"By all means, go right ahead." You'd say.

"You captured her perfectly." Levi said, his gaze never leaving the drawing, "I remember her wearing a dress like this. It was white but since the Underground was as dirty as a rat's home, the dress turned dirty grey."

You stayed silent as he spoke, nodding slowly at his story.

"If you don't mind me asking, Captain, but... who did I just drew?"

Levi was silent for a while before he set the drawing aside and pushed your sketchbook carefully back to you.

"She's my mother. Her name was Kuchel. She died because of some kind of disease and maybe starvation."

His words left you speechless for a moment that your eyes widened for a bit before you nodded slowly.

"She's beautiful."

"Yeah. She was. She was a prostitute in the Underground so you could imagine how it was living there. But she did her best for as long as she could."

"She must be proud of you. Being humanity's strongest soldier after all."

Levi scoffed and looked as if he was trying to fight off a chuckle, "She'd have my head is more accurate. If she was here, she would have never let me joined the Survey Corps. And if she found out that I did, I'd have an earful with the woman."

You'd chuckle, "Mothers are like that, I guess. Doesn't matter how old you are. You'd still be their kid."

Levi nodded slowly before he stood up from his chair and leaned against his desk.

"Okay, brat. Enough with the chit-chat. Go back with the others and rest up. We don't need dead weight for when we make our move, won't be long 'till we have to get going."

You nodded, taking note of Levi putting up his walls again though you already knew it would eventually happen considering this man wasn't the most approachable person in the world.

"Yes, Captain." You'd say and grabbed your sketchbook from the his hand before you held on to your crutch.

"And, Y/N?" You lifted your head up to look at him.

"Thank you. It's been years since I last saw my mother and I feared I may have forgotten what she looked like. I only ever saw her in my memories, in my dreams. This is the first time I talked about her since she died. So, uh... thank you."

You smiled softly and nodded your head.

"You're welcome, Captain. I'm glad I drew her accurately."

"I should ask you to draw someone for me again. But that's a story for another time."

"May I ask who it is though?"

Levi paused and gulped.

"They were my comrades. They were with me when I first joined here. They were with me when I was in the Underground."

Your mouth formed a small 'O' before you hummed in response.

"Alright, enough talk. Get out of here, brat, I got shit to do." Levi would say before you nodded and went on your way and closed the door behind you, making your way back to the group where they began to bombard you with questions as to why you were in Levi's office, to which you lied and answered that you were discussing what the next move would be.

They bought it, of course.

Unbeknownst to you, Levi smiled slightly down at your sketch of his Mom.

"You still look beautiful as ever, Ma."

#attack on titan #attack on titan fic #levi ackerman #levi ackerman fic #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #kuchel ackerman

[uwua3]

Hello! Sunflowers hold a really special meaning for me so when i read the "sunflower dreams" My heart was so happy!! I havent felt this happy in a long time since quarantine started so thank you for taking the time to write it! It really made my day. If i could request a kazunari x reader where they're both artists that would be amazing. Maybe the reader can be a famous anonymous art influencer? Its up to you! Again thank you so much for writing "sunflower dreams" 💜

i’m so happy i could make you smile ‧⁺◟( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ ) it’s messages like these that absolutely make my day! thank you so much for taking your time to even read it, i’m glad to know it touched your heart ♡ i hope you have a good rest of your day—please know all of a3! love you vvv much!!! ｀･ω･)9 i hope this makes your heart happy just like before! thank you, anon, for everything

summary: every time you fell in love, you made a new art piece

author’s note: please smile from this absolutely soft and endearing kazunari fluff! in times like these where negativity is all around us, it’s good to take a break and purposely give yourself happiness. i hope this is a light in your day and makes you experience all the goodness of love! ♡ — concept based on “to all the boys i’ve loved before”

word count: 3,389

music: i like me better – lauv

to everyone i’ve loved before.

🌻🎨 miyoshi kazunari

you created art every time you had a crush so intense, you didn’t know what else to do

no matter how big or small it was, or how long or short it lasted, love is love. even if it was a random stranger you’d never see again or someone you knew for a lifetime, love is love

therefore, there was no exact total. because even if you didn’t remember every single person you’ve made art for, you clearly remembered what it was like experiencing the euphoria of love. the phenomenon of your heart selflessly beating for someone else. the attack of getting hit by cupid’s arrow out of no where. the rush of emotions unlike any other

love was everywhere and you made sure to create something that was a memory of it. that was when you decided to practice art after being unable to recall a person’s face a moment too long

it was your form of a love letter. a picture spoke a thousand words you couldn’t write, and art was the perfect way to convey that. online for everyone to see were your love letters in art form: portraits of everyone you’ve loved

you fell in love again and again, a new art piece posted soon over the years of your life. under the username, to-everyone-ive-loved, a lifelong project was in the works for all of social media to see

unknown to the rest of the world, you were the artist behind the blog “to-everyone-ive-loved” who created portraits from memory

but, you didn’t mean to fall in love with another artist as well

all it took was one comment and you were theirs

it was one of your most recent posts, a finished piece on a stranger you saw. you found yourself in veludo way, the ideal street to find people you’d never forget. after witnessing a sudden street act, only one actor caught your eye that day

you didn’t know his name, but you didn’t need to. you were in love

you immediately rushed home without a second thought, the inspiration and creativity infectious after watching him perform. something about his energy was wildly entertaining and bizarre, like a modern pop song as a person. he was effortlessly trendy, popular, and charismatic just from the few minutes you saw him

the moment he stood up on that street corner like it was a stage, all eyes were on him and he knew it. as you sketched into the day, you remembered the small details clearly. dirty blonde hair with no dark roots in sight, glittering green eyes, wide welcoming smile. he had the face of an actor, that’s for sure

when you posted it right after finishing, you didn’t expect any major attention. on average, your posts got 100 likes or so. while it was an impressive feat, nothing could’ve prepared you for that one comment

kaz-PIKO: i’m in love with your art ♡

as your popularity and fame grew before your very eyes, you clicked on his profile and realized it was him. the actor you had seen earlier at veludo way

you didn’t know what happened, but all you knew was you couldn’t forget this one person, miyoshi kazunari, no matter how hard you tried

no matter where you went, you couldn’t draw anyone else except that boy named kazunari. after scrolling through his entire instablam account, you found out he was an actor for mankai company’s summer troupe. he was a star in his own right, with a stage presence like the spotlight was constantly on him and a heart of gold

this was the first time you ever got so caught up on someone that they didn’t leave your mind. hours became days, and days began becoming a week before you let yourself follow him back

everyone you had ever drawn had never recognized themselves before. it was all because a follower connected the visual similarities between your art and kazunari’s unique traits that kazunari knew you had seen him before

if only he wasn’t a social media influencer with followers reaching the hundreds of thousands. at least, his popularity attracted attention to your profile...

this was a problem, however. because if you couldn’t draw anyone else, what could you do? once again, you stalked kazunari’s blog once again like it was a habit

it was never really a rule to make one love letter per person, but you never had wanted to make another for the same person. until, now

video after video. picture after picture. story after story. you could see kazunari’s face even when you closed your eyes. what about him made you daydream about him constantly? was it his charming voice that could make anyone stop and stare? his intricate piercings that were different every day? his ability to make you feel at home? whatever it was (or maybe it was an accumulation of everything and more), you had to draw kazunari again

when you posted it, you typically didn’t add more to the caption than the date and time. except this time, you felt like all your rules were being broken over someone who had no idea who you were

to-everyone-ive-loved-before: XX/XX/20 (3:33 A.M.) — social butterfly

you watched it upload. it was a piece you had never done before. glowing butterflies of all colors surrounded the center of the masterpiece, a smiling kazunari

hopefully, this would solve whatever feelings you were having and the world would go back to normal. you’d move on, fall in love with someone else, and repeat

it didn’t work, because some time later, you woke up to a comment that made you feel the butterflies in your stomach

kaz-PIKO: like a butterfly, i’ll fly to you, wherever you are~ ☆

and for some reason, you wanted kazunari to find you

you had never felt so motivated to draw before. however, your muse was the same. a beautiful boy named miyoshi kazunari who was slowly capturing your heart without even knowing it. you watched the pages in your sketchbook lessen and lessen. the corners of assignments and napkins and anything in between was covered in doodles. if there was a writing instrument in your hand, something related to kazunari would come out of it

it was a fascination. a fixiation, even. you had only seen one performance before falling in love. was it because kazunari responded that it made you feel like you had a chance?

you wouldn’t admit it, but it was becoming embarrassing with how much you were staring at the few unread messages from kazunari in your dm box. they came in right after you had followed him back, and more arrived when you posted the “social butterfly” piece

what was stopping you from talking to your muse? you knew the answer without thinking: what if these feelings were real?

obsessions and crushes come and go, but... love, love stayed. there wasn’t any possibility you could love someone from afar without knowing anything about them, right?

but, then again... you did know some things about kazunari. you knew kazunari was the best actor of all time, with expressions and gestures the equivalent of art. kazunari was art—in every single way possible. everything about him made you want to draw and draw and draw

you only drew kazunari for a certain time, no matter which stranger crossed your path. people you knew you would’ve sketched simply became passer-bys, and it was all because of kazunari’s sunny smile that you were in love. or, what you thought was love

the more you thought about kazunari’s unread dms, the more you wondered what this was. why did kazunari make you so happy? was this truly the first time you were experiencing... a crush?!

for the first time since that street act, you found yourself in veludo way. while half of you was hoping you’d randomly bump into summer troupe’s moodmaker, the other half was petrified about how kazunari was a real person. a very much popular, recognizable person

it was the weekend, and the burden of university projects was telling you to go back and focus. yet, with a sketchbook in one hand and a pencil tucked behind your ear, you were very much prepared to draw to your heart’s content

as you tried to flip to a clean page, you heard something that made your heart flutter. despite the noise and busy atmosphere of veludo, a distinct laugh was audible above the crowd. when you looked up, your eyes barely registered a deep blue jacket before walking straight into the person

you nearly tumbled to the ground before two hands steadied you, a surprised “whoa!” leaving their mouth before being followed by a gentle laugh. the usual embarrassment didn’t set in until you went to go thank the person, only to stop

oh my god. you had just bumped into miyoshi kazunari, your muse for the past month or so

kazunari grinned, even though it faltered slightly at your wide-eyed expression and awkward silence. he didn’t seem to mind as he adjusted his black top hat, pocketing his phone and confidently meeting your gaze

“i’m so sorry~! i hope you’re okay, i’m kazunari!” kazunari introduced and you realized he didn’t know you were behind to-everyone-ive-loved-before. you quickly adjusted yourself, pretending as if this wasn’t the highlight of your entire week

when you introduced yourself, kazunari’s eyes sparkled with interest as he easily led you into conversation. despite being a bit of a socially awkward artist who preferred being alone over anything else, kazunari was... comfortable. you didn’t feel self-conscious of how you acted, because he readily accepted how you were with a smile

was he like this was everyone or... did he find you to be a work of art, too?

standing off to the side, you finally noticed several members of mankai were advertising their latest play. bright, aesthetically pleasing flyers were being handed out to everyone walking by, and you seemed to look a moment too long before kazunari followed your gaze and suddenly snapped his fingers

“oh! are you interested in theatre?” you really weren’t, but you nodded anyways just to see kazunari’s excitement. he pardoned himself for a moment just to snatch a flyer, returning to show it off with a proud smile

“please come to mankai company’s summer performance!” kazunari’s smile sparkled and before he looked around to see if anyone was watching, he winked. kazunari covered the side of his face that was facing his troupe members, pretending as if you two were sharing some big secret

“plus, i’ll be there. if you come, i’ll make sure to do my very best~” kazunari bargained, even though you already knew he was already planning on wowing the audience with his charisma. you took in his genuine want to impress you and the butterflies came back

“i’ll come.” you agreed without even checking the date or reading anything. now all of you just wanted more & more opportunities as the person kazunari was surprisingly interested in, not as the artist who was basically in love with him

agreeing right away was worth it when kazunari shot you a grateful, blinding smile in return. you stumbled over your words with how taken back you were, but asked anyways, “do you like flowers?”

kazunari’s eyes softened for a moment, his usual energy suddenly gone before returning. he seemed genuinely moved by your question, and you wondered how many flowers it’d take to see him smile again like that

“i do, especially if they’re from you.”

“what kind?”

someone called kazunari’s name, insisting they were going to be late for practice. kazunari shouted back an agreement by telling them to go ahead first, before putting all his attention on you once again

“hibiscus.” meaning delicate beauty

before kazunari could ask for your socials, with his hand already reaching for his phone, you cut him off, hoping your voice wasn’t off

“next week. 7 P.M., mankai theatre. i’ll be there, front row.” you promised and took off, rushing off with a wave as kazunari stared after you for a second before waving back enthusiastically

as you left, kazunari was about to leave before he noticed something on the ground. it was a plain sketchbook, unassuming at first but it was nearly bursting at the binding with how many pages there were

when kazunari picked it up, he was about to flip to the first page before mankai called his name again, impatient this time. kazunari held onto the book and sent one last glance towards your direction before disappearing, hurrying to make sure the director wouldn’t penalize him for being the reason everyone was late

when you arrived home, you instinctually reached for the pencil behind your ear. at the same time, you put your hand in your bag, attempting to feel the familiar edges of your sketchbook

then, after turning your bag inside out and finding nothing, you collapsed onto your desk chair with shock and disbelief

you lost your sketchbook in veludo way the moment you met kazunari. what if he had it?

you drew another piece and stared at your screen, wondering if you should post it. it was kazunari once again with a yellow hibiscus flower behind his ear, the same gentle smile you couldn’t perfectly capture gracing his lips

you typed the caption and backspaced before settling on something that only you and him would know

to-everyone-ive-loved-before: XX/XX/20 (8:01 P.M.) — delicate beauty

you hesitated before deleting the post a second after. maybe, you’d keep some artwork to yourself

kazunari had the sketchbook open next to his bedside, his phone in his hands and your profile open. he could recognize your art style a mile away, and the moment he saw the first sketch after practice, he couldn’t believe it

did this explain why he felt such a natural attraction to you? when you bumped into him, kazunari swore he could see the sparks flying. you made him feel like he was falling in love and you only proved him right when you two talked earlier. he wanted to know everything about you, he wanted to see you again

was this what love at first sight felt like? kazunari giddily typed a message over and over again, the unread messages of his filling his screen

kaz-PIKO: heya!! ★>d(,,･ε´-,,)⌒☆ just wanted to say i LOVE your art fr!!! we should totes collab, you know???

kaz-PIKO: thanks for drawing me btw :0 does this mean you live near veludo? let’s meet up!!!

kaz-PIKO: ,,, i don’t usually say this but, that social butterfly piece was breathtaking. you must really like me, huh? (･ω<)☆ jk haha

kaz-PIKO: no but really, it’s beautiful. thank you, honestly. it made my day, you make me happy ♡

kaz-PIKO: you must be really beautiful, too. i would want to draw you as well. lmk if ur up for that haha

kazunari read back his previous messages, all of them delivered but unopened. he realized how... how open he already was with the anonymous faceless artist, despite never interacting with them

now that he knew what you looked like, it only reassured his intuition that he was rightfully head over heels for you

kazunari typed something before deleting it, closing out of instablam and throwing his phone somewhere on his bed

kaz-PIKO: i was right, you are beautiful. i may have fallen in love, too

some things were better left unsaid. after all, you two had until next week to figure everything out

for the rest of the week, all you and kazunari did were think about the other person. a small part of you was afraid kazunari wasn’t the dream boy you imagined, but he was much more. you noticed he started posting more often and turned his notifications, wanting to be one of the first to see his practice videos and university selfies

you didn’t post any of the art you made of kazunari, making it the longest you hadn’t posted ever. kazunari couldn’t help but refresh your account every now and then, hoping he’d see his face again, as selfish as it was. kazunari wouldn’t know how’d he feel if he saw someone else had your heart

the longer time went on, the more you were certain. every fascination you had with someone was temporary, and you remembered the feeling rather than the person. but, with kazunari, you liked him for who he was. everything kazunari made you feel was new and exciting, but even when that went away, you still liked him

kazunari was your first crush, for real

kazunari liked making people like him. so, your online confession through art wasn’t exactly a surprise. but, yours was different. it was earnest, honest, and everything he didn’t know he was needing

kazunari looked through your sketchbook again and again, tracing over the notes you wrote in the margins and admiring your skill

kazunari liked you, and he was certain he would’ve still liked you even if you weren’t to-everyone-ive-loved-before

when showtime arrived, kazunari was oddly nervous. peeking from behind the red curtain, kazunari could already see you were one of the first sitting front row, just like you said. he had practiced his lines a thousand times and summer was fully prepared, why was he nervous?

before he went on, kazunari ignored the urgency of the mankai staff and quickly texted a message to your profile, hoping you’d at least see the notification this time

kaz-PIKO: i like you, too

(when you felt your phone buzz, you quickly silenced it)

the show moved you to a standing ovation, just like everyone else in the audience. as summer walked out to bow and express their gratitude, you watched kazunari’s eyes search for yours as he tilted his head towards backstage. you nodded, knowing you’d do anything to see this kazunari. actor kazunari, who was on cloud 9 with his performance and glowing from praise

you wanted to see, to experience, to draw, all versions of kazunari

after the applause, you looked around backstage before feeling a hand on your arm, the feeling reminiscent of the first time you bumped into kazunari

“you came.” kazunari breathlessly stated, as if he was surprised. before he could say anything else, you presented him with a bouquet of hibiscus flowers. the same shade of yellow you drew him with

“of course, i wanted to see you again.” you honestly admitted, knowing it made you flustered. kazunari carefully took the flowers before grinning, gently placing then beneath his chin. he looked like a vision, you wish you could’ve asked him to stand still so you could capture this moment forever

“i wanted to see you, too.” kazunari softly said, all the energy of being on stage gone. it was tranquil and peaceful, like you two were the only people in the entire theatre

kazunari took a moment to admire you before realizing something, taking something from behind him and presenting it to you. it was your sketchbook on the bottom, but a smaller version was on top of it, signed in silver sharpie. kazunari’s signature was glittering like his eyes as you took it

“next time, let’s draw together.”

kazunari’s sketchbook was filled with you. anything from small doodles to encouraging messages was found inside, with tens of post-it notes of just thoughts about you. kazunari’s art was colorful and extremely out of the box compared to his usual traditional style. it made you smile

kazunari watched you flip through it, already knowing this was the greatest act of love he could’ve declared this early on. he anticipated for you to reach the end

when you landed on the last page, you saw a note

do you want go on a date with me?

“next time, respond to my dms! that way i don’t have to write everything~!” kazunari teased and you two shared a laugh, knowing everything was going to be okay

“yes.”

“yes...?”

“yes, i’ll respond to your dms. and yes, i’ll go on a date with you.”

eventually, you ended up closing your blog for good. your last post was a picture of you and kazunari, with one caption

to-everyone-ive-loved-before: XX/XX/20 (3:33 P.M.) — to the one boy i love now, i love you

kaz-PIKO: i love you, too ♡

#miyoshi kazunari #kazunari miyoshi #a3! act! addict! actors! #a3! #act! addict! actors! #a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3! #mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #kazunari x reader #a3! kazunari #a3 kazunari

[doexoeyes]

Of Finches & Firsts

In case you wanna read ahead:

Archive Of Our own link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707513

Wattpad link:

https://my.w.tt/ZoUHpu1e59

Summary: “A Hufflepuff? Crushing on a Slytherin? Sounds like the start of a terrible joke to me, but ok.” You’ve harbored feelings for Draco Malfoy since your first year at Hogwarts. Secretly, of course, and very much from afar. But when you’re finally taken out of your role of being a background character in his life, will it be what you always wanted, or what you wish you never knew?

Chapters

Chapter 1 ♡ Chapter 2 ♡ Chapter 3  ♡ Chapter 4 ♡ Chapter 5

Chapter 4: Dirty Pants

Your latest run in with Malfoy had consumed your head for the majority of that week, even, unfortunately, during the tournament.

You were, of course, over the moon at Cedric’s success at capturing the golden dragon egg (Harry’s too, however you would keep that to yourself for the time being until the tension between him and your house blew over), but you just couldn’t shake off the feeling of having had Draco be so close and how he decided to take something of your’s for himself.

It sent you through an overwhelming spiral of thoughts and confusion and you so desperately wanted a friend to talk to, but you knew that Mauve and the others would immediately disapprove.

Anything Draco did was a red flag to them.

Still, that did lead to your most important question; why did Draco do what he did? He couldn’t seriously have had any real interest in your ribbon. It just all seemed like he was...toying with you, but if so, why would he waste his time toying with you in the first place ?

All of these questions received no answers for days until you had finally deemed your endless hours anxiously dwelling on it enough and decided to find your own answers.

Thinking back to the first day you had interacted with Draco, you grabbed your sketch book and pencil pouch and headed to the astronomy tower after dinner, waiting to see if you would run into the Malfoy boy.

Thankfully the universe seemed to be in your favor, because you did.

“Finch,” he greeted upon seeing you, his infamous smirk on its proper place. “Been running into each other more lately. I think you’ve become a bit obsessed,” he teased as he made his way towards you with slow steps.

You clutched your sketchbook to your chest, silently pretending it was a shield of sorts to encourage you to hang onto what little courage you had.

You then took a breath and began.

“We need to talk,” you stated cautiously, not knowing how this would turn out. “I need you to be honest with me.”

Draco frowned, clearly not a fan of your words. “Talk? About what?”

“About what happened a couple days ago. About the umm...” you weren’t sure why, but the words you were looking for escaped you so you chose to point to the top of your head where your hair was done up in a ponytail once more.

Draco stared at you, confused, before giving out a scoff, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Oh, your ribbon? Why, want it back? Has no one taught you about sharing, Finch?” and you clutched your book tighter as he once again placed himself inches away from you.

He really wasn’t a fan of personal space, it seemed.

“Why would I have to share my ribbon with you?” you questioned, feeling silly and small in his presence.

“Because I wanted it. Simple as that,” he answered, eyes looking at you as if to challenge him in saying something else about the subject.

You had no plan to do so.

“Ok...” you said, disappointed that that was all he had to say on the matter.

This was definitely not going according to your plan. Then again, you weren’t even sure you had one in the first place.

His eyes then flickered to the sketchbook you were holding to your chest. “What’s that you’re always bringing up here with you?” he asked nosily and your cheeks immediately flushed.

“It’s, umm...it’s a sketchbook. I like to draw in my free time.”

“Oh really? Well then you’re going to have to share that with me,” he said, moving as if to grab the book but you immediately stepped back, shaking your head with wide eyes.

“Oh no, absolutely not,” you blurted out, taking Draco aback at your sudden outburst.

He frowned once again. “And why not?” A ghost of realization then hit his face and he smirked knowingly. “Oh, I get it. It’s filled with drawings of me. Am I your muse, Finch?” he taunted, lifting his brows.

You unfortunately couldn’t control a small laugh from escaping, nerves setting in as you knew now that you had to explain. “No, actually, I’m...quite terrible at drawing and I’m terrified of you looking at them because...well, they’re really bad,” you confessed, and placed a hand over your mouth to contain the rest of your nervous giggling.

Draco eyes you now like you were completely mad.

“So, you’re telling me you spend your time doing something you’re horrible at?”

You bit your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to explain it to him best. “Well, yes. Have you never done something not because you’re good at it or you have to, but simply because you enjoy it?” you asked, and the very blonde boy remained starring at you oddly.

“No, actually, that sounds bloody ridiculous and like a terrible waste of time.”

You subconsciously pushed your bottom lip out, your expression resembling a small pout, as you stood there awkwardly, eyes avoiding his. Feeling the weight of the book on your chest, you looked at it for a moment before handing it towards him, wondering what was possessing you to do so.

He looked at your offering with furrowed brows, eyes asking you the same question.

“Just pass through it. No point in not letting you see it now that you know that I’m awful at it. You might find some amusement in it. Just, please, be prepared. I wasn’t being hard on myself, I really am crap at drawing.”

He snatched the book from your hand then, an action you thought was a bit too dramatic, and opened the book, eyes analyzing every page as he flipped through it.

You stood there, watching him pass through the book as you chewed on your bottom lip nervously. You were never usually this bold, letting someone (especially someone like Draco Malfoy) go through your sketchbook knowing very well how terrible your sketches were. Yet, you felt that the only way the tension between you two would dissipate was to be honest and open with him, like how you wanted him to be with you. Maybe then he’ll tell you the real reason why he took your ribbon...

How silly of you to still be hung up on such a little thing.

“Wow, you weren’t wrong. You really are shit at drawing,” he commented midway through his flipping.

You blushed, embarrassed, but also found his blunt honesty amusing, and couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. “I know. It’s a good thing art isn’t part of our curriculum. I would absolutely fail, without a doubt,” and you felt your chest swell up at hearing him laugh along with you.

“Honestly,” he said, handing the book back to you once he finished. “You know, you’re very strange.”

“And you’re very judgmental,” you quickly threw back, causing Draco’s eyes to widen slightly, not expecting your response.

You raise a brow at him, lips forming into a soft smile. “You only think I’m strange because you don’t understand what I’m talking about,” you elaborated before leaning down to sit on the floor.

You patted the spot next to you, looking up at Draco as you did so, but the boy shook his head with a frown.

“Are you mad? I’m not sitting on the floor. I’ll get my pants all dirty,” he said in disgust.

You playfully rolled her eyes, looking up at him from your lashes. “They won’t be, but if they are, I promise I will clean them for you. Just...please sit with me?” you asked, eyes silently pleading with him.

He stood there stubbornly, arms crossed against his chest and you were sadly made aware of what his answer would be. Just as you were about to tell him to forget about it, however, he sat himself on the floor next to you with a huff.

“There. I’m sitting. Now what?” he asked begrudgingly and you had to keep yourself from grinning.

You opened up your sketchbook to an empty page before handing it over to him, along with a pencil. “Take this and just...go with the flow,” you instructed.

He looks at you like you told him the most insane thing possible.

“You want me to sit here and draw?” he questions in disbelief.

“Mhm,” you said, smiling sheepishly at him. “Just one drawing. It could be of anything you want. A bird. A flower. Even a stick person. I just want you try it out for yourself.”

“I’ve drawn before, you do know that right?” he scoffed, finding the task you had assigned him to be entirely ridiculous.

“Doodling while taking notes in class doesn’t count,” you pointed out.

With a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, Draco took the book and pencil from your hands and began to do as he was requested.

It was a funny sight, you admitted to yourself, seeing the boy draw with a frown etched on his face. He looked very unamused at first, but as he continued moving his pencil throughout the page, the frown on his face softened and a more concentrated look falls on his features. You smiled softly to yourself, trying to keep your eyes away from the page he was working on, wanting to see it only when he finished.

After a couple of minutes, Draco cleared his throat and handed the book back to you.

“Personally, I don’t think I did too bad,” he admitted, eyes on the page you were now able to see.

A snake graced the middle of the once empty page and you were surprised to find that it was a very well drawn one. Lips slightly parted in surprise, you noticed he had even shaded in the scales.

“Don’t think you did too bad?” you repeated, eyes taking in the details he was able to add from memory.

Draco immediately frowned once again, taking your tone the wrong way. “Well it’s at least loads better than your pitiful attempts,” he spat out.

At that, you immediately looked up at him, shaking your head. “No, I mean that in a good way. As in you did way better than just ‘not too bad’. You actually did a wonderful job,” you admitted sincerely.

You were aware of Draco’s infamous temper. The way he’d snap at the drop of a pin, especially if it was dropped in a way he didn’t like, had him labeled as a simple hot head by others. And although that could be true, you understood why he reacted in such a way; he was taught his whole life that people could be cruel, so he needed to be cruel first.

You knew all about the Malfoy family, namely Draco’s father, Lucius. You remember the day you went back home after your first year at Hogwarts, how you gushed to your father about your new school and your new friends and the new boy you really wanted to befriend.

You father had recognized the name ‘Malfoy’ immediately, and frowned as he looked at you in concern.

“You have to be careful with that boy. I can’t judge him, because I’ve never met him personally, but if he’s anything like his father, then he’s not someone you want to surround yourself with.”

You were snapped back to reality when Draco spoke once again.

“Really? That good?” he asked, looking his drawing over.

You nodded. “Yes. I guess you found something you’re naturally talented at.”

He looks up at you, expression unreadable. You feel your face warm up at the sudden intimacy you felt, realizing how close he sat next to you and how you could notice the different shades of gray in his eyes.

Clearing your throat, noticing how flustered you were becoming, you closed your sketchbook and put your pencil away. The sound of the pouch zipping fills the silence and you feel even more awkward until Draco finally speaks up.

“Are you going to go on the trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow?” he asked, causing you to turn your attention back to him.

“Oh, umm...yeah. I am,” you answered, attempting to play it cool despite your still blushing self.

“Perfect. You’ll join me then,” he said, standing up and dusting his pants off. Your eyes widened but Draco didn’t acknowledge it, simply stating “I’ll see you tomorrow, Finch,” before exiting the tower.

You remained staring at the spot Draco had been, processing the entirety of your latest exchange, feeling your heart race a little at the realization that he had just formally asked (well, demanded) to hangout tomorrow.

.....

What in Merlin’s beard just happened?

♡

Tag list: @sadgirlnumber92899​​, @yea-that-potato, @avellanas-nutty-empire

#draco malfoy #harry potter #hufflepuff #slytherin #draco x reader #draco fanfiction #draco imagine #draco x oc #imagine #draco lucius malfoy #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco x hufflepuff!reader #wattpad #aoo3 #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ THE DRAWING ❜

with Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas.

Request: Hi lovely! No idea if this'll make it in for the first 10, but please can I request one with Creeper where you're a bar tender for the club but you draw in your free time. Creep has a crush on you and one day one of the guys tease you because they realise you're drawing Creeper and he defends you because he thinks its super sweet and then asks you out on a date? 💖

BY @mycupoffanfiction

Warnings: none.

Word count: about 1.5k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl, who is making me such beautiful gifs ✨

Masterlist.

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“LOOK AT THAT!”

You were peacefully drawing before starting your turn at the clubhouse, sitting on a couch on the porch. In front of your pencil, Creeper was fixing something in the engine of his bike. Until Angel takes off your sketchbook from your hands, laughing and with the clear intention of teasing you, calling everyone attention. Jumping off from the couch, you try to grab it, but when he decides to raise his arm over his head, you know that you're fucked up. You have been badly in love with Creeper since you met him. He used to be extremely kind with you, always taking care of you of whatever you need, without having to ask for it, or without complaining about it.

“Angel, give it to me”. You have one hand on his left shoulder, jumping and trying to reach the sketchbook with the other. But he's so tall, that you can't grab it.

“WERE YOU DRAWING CREEPER?” He starts to laugh louder, feeling your cheeks burning and stopping every move of your body, to punch his chest.

You can't turn at Neron, really ashamed, running inside the clubhouse to hide yourself. Bishop and Taza look at you from the pool table a little confused, until they hear the conversation outside.

“Damn… It's really good”. EZ says, touring with his eyes every minimal detail.

“Let me see”. Gilly holds it after cleaning his hands, nodding in agreement. “She fucking drawn his tattoos, damn”.

“Hey, yo', shitheads!” Creeper takes the sketchbook of his huge fingers, closing it without looking at it. “Yo' fucking assholes, leave the kid in peace”.

“Carnal, you should see it”.

“If she doesn't show me, I'm not allowed to see it. Neither of you all”.

Knowing that you were drawing him really melts his heart, starting to think that maybe you too feel something about him. Walking towards the bar, the president moves his head pointing at the hallway to the dorms, making him nod just one time. But actually, he just has to follow your sobs and the curses in spanish to the closed bathroom.

You're sitting on the floor, against the wall, with both legs curled and surrounded by your arms. The only thought that crosses your head is that, if you could have any chance with him, Angel burned it down. You shouldn't draw him, at least, not without asking. And probably he must be thinking that you're crazy or that it's weird. Or both. You don't even know if you're going to look him at the face again.

The knocks on the door pushes you out of your thoughts, raising your crying eyes terrified. Breathing deep, you get up from the floor, walking slow to it. Slightly opening the door, a tattooed hand appears holding your sketchbook.

“Did you…?” You whisper with a low tone of voice, taking it.

“No, and I'm sorry about what Angel did”.

Finally, letting him see you, he clicks his tongue a little upset.

“I'm sorry too for… drawing you. I hope they don't annoy you for much long”. You have your gaze on your feet, unable to lift it up.

“Can you show it to me?”

Frowning confused, and narrowing your eyes, you look for the sketch with trembling fingers. Turning it under them, Creeper leans forward taking some seconds to admire it. He likes it. Actually, he likes it too much. You have drawn him perfectly, not knowing about your skills with a pencil. He's really fascinated, holding the sketchbook to look at it closer. As he heard Gilly, focusing somewhat better his orbs, he can see the tattoos on his neck perfectly placed over the paper. Even the badge of his Harley is on it.

“Didn't know you… can do things like that”.

“Tell me you're talking about the draw and not about being… creepy”. You mutter rubbing your nose, slowly raising your gaze towards his. The gesture on his face races your heart, with parted lips

He suddenly breaks into hoarse laughs, shaking his head, and you can swear that it's the best thing you have ever heard. Fleeting smiling you tear off the drawing to offer it to him.

“Keep it, if you like”.

“Really?” He asks slightly frowning, moving your hand close to him, insisting. “Yo! Mama… thanks. It's pretty cool. I mean… You draw in an amazing way”.

He holds it between both hands, smirking at you like a child who is receiving the best Christmas gift of his life.

“I was thinking that maybe you would like to share some beers, after finishing your turn”. You can notice how he's trying to hide the nerves in his voice, surprising you for both facts. For the invitation, and for his feelings.

“Ah… Yes… Yes, 'course!” Quickly answering, you nod taking a step to get out of the bathroom.

“'key. So you can tell me about this hobby”.

“Yeah, sure”.

“Cool, ah... I have to go back. See you later”. He says, leaning at you to kiss your cheek.

You can watch him walking away through the hallway, happily focused again on your draw. And you're not sure how to feel, but you're about to have a heart attack.

While working in the bar, serving beers and shots with EZ, you have caught Creeper some times looking at you from his seat, spending more time inside the clubhouse than outside, like it's not normal for him. But what makes you tickle in your stomach is the way he has to push away every Vicki's girl who tries to sit on his lap, or to sit too close to him. And maybe that means something.

“Hey, kid. Table”. Tranq appears through the glass door.

Checking the hour on the screen of your phone, you get somewhat nervous when you notice that your turn is already done. Palming EZ's back, you step out from the bar after cleaning your hands, leading your steps to the inside of the Templo. The olders are there, counting money and dividing it into four rows. One is yours.

“Sorry about Angel, querida”. Bishop says when you're close to him. You just shrug.

Putting inside an envelope your salary of the last two weeks, he offers it to you.

“Yeah, he's a little stupid sometimes”. Taza chuckles, surrounding your waist with an arm and resting his head on your other side.

“Nah, it's okay”. You reply, putting an arm on vice's shoulders.

“You okay with Creep'?”

“Yes, yes. Don't worry. We are gonna share some beers now”.

“Uh, I'm feeling jealous”. Che says laughing loud.

“Nah, you are my fav”.

“That shit hurts, kid”. Tranq adds with feigned annoyance.

“Go get your boy, kid. And enjoy”. Bishop says, before letting you go to have your own party.

The other Mayan is already waiting for you with two cold beers in his hand and a cig in the other, sitting on a sofa next to his brothers. You can feel the same nerves on him that inside you, when you finally meet again. He gets up showing you a huge smile, placing one of his tattooed arms around your back, ignoring a ‘you are welcome’ from Angel. He's actually very proud of what he did unconsciously, looking at you two stepping out from the clubhouse to the sofas on the porch. Falling down on it, you curl your legs over it and against your chest, grabbing one of the drinks to have a sip.

“Why did you start to write?” He finally asks, seeming so interested in it that your insecurities come up.

“My… parents used to fight every day when I was little. I was stressed, so I… started to scratch a paper with a pencil until it was totally black”.

Maybe it's not what he was expecting, but now he looks more focused in every word your vocal chords pronounce.

“But it started to be insufficient. And I found out that concentrating all my senses in drawing, it was like I was alone in the world. So, now it helps me to disconnect, whenever I feel low”.

“You weren't feeling okay this evening?” Creeper asks, sounding worried.

“Yeah, no… I was feeling okay, I mean… I was just stalling and you looked good fixing your bike”.

“Yeah, I saw that”. He can't help but laugh nodding, drinking from his beer after having the last smoke.

“Did they… tease you too much?”

“Nah, I don't care. At least, I earned some kind of date with you”. Crashing softly the two bottles, he makes a toast. “For the first of many more”.

“Okay, next time, I wanna talk about your tattoos”.

“That's gonna be a long one, mama”.

✨ Tag list:

@starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @jadesamhart @mycupoffanfiction @claytoncardenasbabymama @thesandbeneathmytoes @phoenixhalliwell @thewarriorprincessxo @sugary-x-sweet @multiyfandomgirl40 @imanerdychubbyqueen @iambabyharry @firebenderwolf @itsanofrommesir @noz4a2 @peaches007 @edonaspanca @irenne-stans @skyofficialxx @that-chick212

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #neron creeper vargas x reader #creeper vargas x reader #creeper vargas #creeper

[silverdecepticon93]

Daughters of Justice x BNHA: Super-Pets

Context: All of the DOJ have pets, I just wanted to write about them! Also, sorry about the GIFs, they were the closest I could find to the actual animal.

Bakugo x Bat! Reader:

      When Bakugo first met your pet, he was understandably a bit hesitant to approach him. After all, not many people owned a huge black boa constrictor as you did. However, Omar was a friendly and gentle creature, and one of the things that you loved most in the world. So it made you very happy, even if you didn’t show it, when he and Bakugo started to get along.

      “Geez, he’s heavier than he looks,” Bakugo grunted as tried to stand up, Omar had curled up around his shoulders like a scarf and seemed to be moving a lot slower than usual.

      You looked up from the book you were reading before frowning slightly, “He may be cold, I keep telling Father to add a heater in here for the pets.”

       “Has it ever occurred to you that he doesn’t want your creepy-ass snake down here?” Jason mused as he fixed up his helmet.

       “He allows you to come down here, does he not, Jason?” You rejoindered. 

      Bakugo snicker as you tried to lift Omar from his shoulders while Tim tried his best to hold in his laughter, Jason only rolled his eyes and continued to work on fixing his helmet. Bakugo followed you as you carried Omar to your room, the snake now wrapping around you for warmth and nuzzling its head to your cheek.

     “The snake’s more affectionate than you are.” Bakugo mused, making you look up at him with a deadpan look on your face but he can see the glint of amusement in your (e/c) eyes.

      As you two walked, he tried to get as close as he possibly could to you. Your snake perked up when you held his hand and you two were now walking shoulder-to-shoulder. Slowly, Omar maneuvered himself to wrap around Bakugo’s shoulders as well as you, bringing you two closer together.

       “It appears Omar is, how is it said again? Oh yes! Wingman.” You said as your fingers softly petted his scales.

       “Nah, I just think he likes me better,” Bakugo mused and a soft smirk appeared on his face as the snake lovingly nuzzled against his cheek.

Deku x Super! Reader:

     “Dynamo! Here, boy, c’ mere!” You said as you patted your legs, crouching down slightly.

     Izuku had seen a lot of strange things during his school year at UA but never had he seen someone playing frisbee with their half-Kryptonian dog using an old satellite dish, all while flying in the air. He chuckled slightly when your dog, Dynamo, barked happily before flying over to you and sent you back flying and flipping through the air.

     When you stopped, your puppy was happily licking the side of your face while you laughed and chuckled, holding him close and tightly. Dynamo had been another one of Lex’s cloning experiments, obviously one of Krypto the original Super Dog, and how could you resist not adopting him.

      “Clark accepted that dog a lot faster than he accepted me.” Conner mused in an ironic tone, making you roll your eyes as you flew down next to him.

      Dynamo wagged his tail happily and flew out of your arms, now running on the ground towards Izuku. He was now running around the green-haired boy happily, his floppy ears rising and falling as he jumped up and down.

      “Dynamo, off of Izuku, Off.” You ordered. However, Izuku only smiled and bent down to pet the dog, “He’s fine, (Y/n), he just wants to have fun. Dontcha boy?”

        As though agreeing with Izuku, Dynamo barked happily before jumping on top of the boy, a sickening ‘crack’ sounded through the air.

      “Omigosh! Izu-kins, you okay?” You asked him, shooing off your dog and kneeling down. Izuku tried to muster his best smile but it looked pain, “I-I think he might’ve broken a rib or two.”

     “We seriously have to neuter your dog.” Was all Conner said before going to phone to call an ambulance.

Ochako x Wonder! Reader

      You always had been a tough kind of person but there was a slight secret about you, you simply couldn’t resist cute small things. Something you liked to tease Ocahko about because compared to you, she did look a little bit small, but height difference didn’t necessarily matter.

      “How do you know that your mouse won’t run away?” Ochako asked as you two walked to the pet store. 

     You shrugged as your spotted mouse, Achilles, rummaged out of your shirt pocket, his cute little nose sniffing the air.

      “I dunno, Achilles is pretty loyal, plus, he loves me too much.” You finally said as you began to pet the top of the mouse’s head softly, “Isn’t that right, cutie?”

      The mouse seemed to squeak in agreement, making both you and Ochako chuckle as you two entered the store. Thanks to a visit from Velocity and her pet, it resulted in Achilles’s exercise wheel being broken so you decided to buy a new one, Ochako was there since your mother decided to give her a day-off and because you guys decided to make it a cute little half-date, too.

     “Aw, look at the other cute little mice!” Ochako cooed as she pointed at an animal display of mice. You were also staring at them in interest and read the species tag before looking down at your pet, “I wonder what species Achilles is.”     “You mean you don’t know?” Ochako frowned, looking at you. You shrugged, “My grandma got him for me, she never told me what species he is though.”

     “Huh,” Ochako finally said before her stomach started rumbling, you also heard the noise and smiled softly when she giggled nervously. You looked out the pet store window to see a restaurant across, “How about we get that exercise wheel, and then we can get some pizza?”     “Sounds good to me!” Ochako beamed as Achilles squeaked happily at the idea as well.

Denki x Flash! Reader:

      “Veloci-bunny! Get back over here!” You shouted as you ran around Star labs, you followed a small white streak.

     You stopped when it managed to go under the desk, now using its powers to phase through god knows where. You scowled angrily as you crossed your arms over your chest, from behind you, you could hear the tired pants of your boyfriend, Denki Kamanari.

    “I don’t know which is one is funnier,” He panted as he looked up at you, “the fact your rabbit is faster than you or that you named her Veloci-bunny.”

     “First off, I was twelve when I got her,” You responded, “and second of all, you can blame my dad and Uncle Cisco for making her so fast.”

     At the mention of your Uncle, the familiar sound of a portal opened up behind both you and Denki to reveal Cisco Ramon, all dressed up in his ‘Vibe’ persona, with a cage in his hand that contained your albino rabbit.

     “Yeah, well you can thank your Uncle Cisco for getting her, too.” He mused, handing you the cage.

     You smiled and happily took the cage from him, looking down at your rabbit, Denki looked curiously over your shoulder to see the white rabbit trapped inside, the only thing that stood out to him was the black lightning symbol on its forehead.

      “How’d she even get out of the cage?” Denki asked but was surprised to see your pet started to become blurry and fall through the cage, only to take off in a white streak. You frowned and handed your blond boyfriend the cage, “Like that. I’ve got her this time, though!”

      Denki made a lot of stupid choices in his life but dating you, was absolutely NOT one of them.

Shoto x Arrow! Reader:

     Chiko was your extremely protective pet bird, you often had to keep her in her cage or else she might nip at your parents or Roy or even your baby sister Mia. However, Shoto looked as though he was the only person Chiko would allow next to you, on occasion.

     “I’m sorry, Sho, don’t take it personally,” You said as you inspected the nip on his finger, “Chiko just has a protective streak.”

     “I wonder why that is,” Shoto asked as you grabbed the medical kit in the lab, grabbing some antiseptic wipes as well as a band-aid. You only shrugged as you took out a wipe and started to clean the finger that Chiko had bitten, “It might be because I found her in a box, poor thing had a broken wing but she didn’t let me help her at first. I don’t know who her owner was but I don’t think they took good care of her.”

     Shoto saw your pet finch fly onto the table next to you two, you took out a band-aid and put it over Shoto’s cut.

     “She’s covered for anything medical so you shouldn’t be worried, I’d still keep an eye out for symptoms,” You said as you put the two items back into the first-aid kit then you stared at your bird, “and you are in big trouble.”

      “I’m sure she didn’t mean it,” Shoto smiled as he looked over to the bird, reaching his hand out. Chiko tilted her head in confusion but slowly hopped next to the dual-haired boy and started to rub her head apologetically on the bandaged finger of his hand. You turned back to see Shoto smiling softly as Chiko kept on nuzzling her head on his finger, the scene made you smile slightly as you walked over to the two of them, “Okay...maybe she’s not in that much trouble.”

      Chiko chirped happily at that announcement.

Momo x Green Lantern! Reader:

     Momo watched in awe as you painted your portrait ever-so-carefully. A wide spectrum of different types of green being used as you did your best to capture the image of your muse, your pet turtle, Michelangelo.

     Currently, he was munching on a leaf, something you put just to distract him. You were still painting over the pencil sketch of the canvas but Momo adored the focused way you painted as well as the elegant and satisfying you moved the brush.

      “Did you name your turtle after the famous artist?” She finally asked. You blinked and looked over at her, “huh?”

      “Well, I was learning about more european history today and read about ‘Michelangelo’ he was an Italian sculptor and painter. Did you name your turtle that because you are an artist yourself or because he is a painted turtle?”

     You chuckled awkwardly at her question before coughing a little, “Um...no, not really. I named him after my favorite character from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

     Momo blinked a bit before tilting her head, “Is he the one with the blue mask?”

    “No, that’s Leo,” you responded as you went back to your painting, “here, how about when I take my break, I can show you the TV show. I have the whole collection.”

     Momo tilted her head but smiled softly, “You seem to like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

    “Well, I am the Green Lantern so bad-ass green characters are just my favorite,” You explained jokingly before looking at your turtle, “Isn’t that right, Mikey?”

     You turtle continued to munch on his leaf before nodding in your direction slowly making you smile.

     “It’s cute that you gave a little lantern ring, too,” Momo observed. You furrowed your eyebrows before looking at her, “I….I actually have no idea where that came from.”

#Momo x Green lantern! reader #Momo x fem! Reader #momo yaoyorozu #momo x reader #momo x you #Bat!Reader x Bakugo #Bakugo Katsuki #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #deku x reader #deku x you #Izuku midoriya x reader #Izuku Midiroya x you #Denki Kamanari x reader #Denki x Flash! Reader #denki x you #Ochako x Wonder! Reader #Ochako x fem! reader #ochako x reader #ochako x you #Shoto x Arrow! Reader #shoto x reader #shoto x you #shoto todoroki x you #shoto todoroki x reader #BNHA x DC

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 2

chapter 1!!  chapter 3!! you can also find this fic on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 7500 exactly. i am so lame.

Author’s note: hello!! when i was uploading ch 1 on here it never once crossed my mind that i should probably add ch 2 as well ... but oh well! it’s here now. hope u all like it. reblogs and likes and whatever else are very much appreciated. also i forgot to say last time- i paint a little but i am NOT a professional artist! i’m making all of this up as i go! if i’m wrong with something do NOT tell me. shh. but ok now enjoy!!

A blank canvas stands before you, as big as your torso and propped up on an easel. White, unmarked, clean- pristine and teeming with potential.

You hate it.

In your lap sits your sketchbook. Pages upon pages of rough, half-baked ideas, each more mediocre than the last. You thought that maybe you could churn something decent out if you came to your studio, soaked in enough of the atmosphere to coax out some sort of productivity.

Well, you were wrong. It’s the opposite- the empty canvas is slowing your thoughts down, muddling them together, disorienting you.

You stare at it for the better part of an hour, white searing into your vision, shoulders sagging with each passing minute.

There’s something there. You have something, a rough chunk of an idea in the back of your mind that could be great, but you can’t figure out what it is. And it’s not something you can just google- you can’t search up how to think a thought you haven’t had yet- so you sit on your own, unproductivity festering, oozing out like the orange from the skylights.

You’re not doing too well. The sun sets before it’s five, it’s Monday, you have a fifth adult class to teach, yesterday you only got to a third of your chores. It sucks- you should be better than this! Put-together, neat, confident, creative, actually able to do something.

You wallow freely, feeling no satisfaction when you reach forward and push the side of the canvas with one finger, tipping it off the easel and sending it clattering to the floor.

The warmth of the sun burns into your back. You don’t like wasting time like this, never have. Maybe you needed to, though, to help get you back on track.

You heave out a sigh and crack too many joints as you stand up, folding up your easel, picking up the dreaded canvas, shoving your sketchbook into your purse. The drawing pencils you set out on the table are neatly lined back up into their metal tin, the kneadable eraser kneaded for a few frustrating seconds before it’s put back as well.

You zip your coat all the way up to your chin. It’s still freezing outside, and the walk from your studio to the subway, from the subway to the other studio, is always a cold one.

***

At least you can move on from the watercolors.

Oil pastels! Still not a very desirable medium, but for today, you’ll take it. At least it’s saturated, at least you don’t have to worry about the whole thing coming apart with a spare drop of water. The way it stains your fingers and blends unpredictably is kind of charming, too.

You run through your demonstrations. You gesture to where the paper is located. You make a few suggestions for what people could draw: trees, landscapes, birds. Then you remember a box of handheld mirrors the studio owner keeps in one of the storage closets, and run over to get it.

“You can use them for self portraits,” you say, and then a particular man in the back scowls, and then you add that it’s optional.

But Steve takes two mirrors.

You don’t have time to analyze all of that. You walk around, offer a few words of advice. Shonna lays the preliminary sketch for a heron, and you’ve never seen grey and yellow look so nice together. Your favorite couple, Marcie and Ahmed, draw each other, but neither of them can draw. They laugh at themselves as they misshape each other’s noses, miscalculate the distance between each other’s eyes.

It’s cute. You stop at them and laugh a little, before continuing your round to the back of the room, to Steve and Bucky.

“Everything working out okay?” You say, while Steve frowns into a mirror.

“I feel kind of stuck-up doing this,” Steve says, and brings the mirror even closer to his face, right up to his eyes.

You laugh a little. “Don’t worry,” you say, and peer down at his sketch, which is already looking uncannily like him. “It looks just like you! You even got the nose right.”

Steve nods, still bothered by the apparent narcissism of this activity. He pulls a peach pastel from the set. “I guess,” he says, unconvinced, and streaks the pastel over the side of his drawn face, and you quietly marvel over how well he understands shadow. “Are you okay?”

The question catches you off guard.

“What?”

Steve sets his mirror down.

Next to him, Bucky glowers at you, like he wasn’t smiling at your bad jokes in the cafe, like, two days ago. He’s so vehement- you’re starting to think that you dreamt up the entire encounter.

“You look kind of stressed,” Steve says, and then winces. “Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, and hesitate for a second, before thinking what the hell, and deciding to just let it out. “I am stressed. I’m so stressed- Steve, I’m, like, this close to losing it.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s wrong?”

He’s so sincere. Always so nice, and you don't even care that Bucky’s glare deepens when you pull out the seat and sit down in it, because you are dying to tell someone.

“I have this show in the summer,” you say, and clench your hands, because just the thought of the show makes you want to wring your own neck, “but I still have no idea what to do. I mean, I do, but it’s like, I have point A and point B, but I don’t have the line connecting it. Does that make sense?”

“What are the points?” Steve asks, and takes up the mirror again, to analyze the lower portion of his face.

“Okay,” you say, and lean back in your seat, and maybe it’s a little unprofessional, but you’re cool enough that it really isn’t, “Point A is that I want everything to be busy. Lots of patterns and fabric and plants. Like, I don’t want there to be any resting space for your eyes, because that’s boring. And point B is that I want to use people- and this is where the problem comes in, because I don’t know what people to use.”

You’re talking kind of fast, but Steve seems to still be understanding what you’re saying.  “Why not?”

“Because I want it to be personal. For my previous stuff, I would just post ads on Instagram whenever I needed models, and take pictures of random people and paint them. But I don’t want to do that again, but I don’t know what I want to do. I want people to look at the people and say ‘wow, that’s personal,’ but I don't want them to be able to tell how personal it is. Like, personal at an arm’s length.

Steve stares at you like you have definitely lost it.

You pointedly don’t look at Bucky.

Then he reconsiders, and gives you a supportive little smile, and you can feel your stomach sinking further and further down.

“I don’t fully understand that,” he says, and reaches not for the orange or red pastel, but the pale blue one. “But I’m sure you’ll get it. Just give it some time.”

You watch him outline his chin, the left side of his nose, little strokes of his eyebrows. Blue and leaving little smears and flakes of color, and creating this swirling pattern with one of the streaks of peach, like ocean and sand upon each other, so pretty and bold.

“Thanks, Steve,” you say, and he grins into his mirror, still adding blue. It looks amazing. “Also, would you ever consider switching careers? The art world is missing out on you.”

He blushes.

“Use people you know.”

You and Steve turn fast to look at Bucky, still glaring. His red oil pastel, held tight in his gloved hand, looks ready to snap.

At least you’re sitting diagonally from him, instead of directly across. At least you don’t back down from looking him in the eye.

“For what?” you say, like you aren’t following, even though you are- you just have a feeling that he won’t tell you what he’s thinking unless you ask for it.

“For your painting thing,” he says. “Because it’s personal. To you.”

You stare at him like he’s crazy for a second or two, and he looks into his own mirror, set flat on the tabletop, without peering at his face. You glance over at his paper, at half a page full of perfectly identical red boxes, and realize that he’s drawing the ceiling panels.

Okay- lame.

But also, like, funny.

Then it starts to click.

“Wait,” you say, and you feel bashful, because he’s been listening to you this whole time, and in his silence he must have been thinking of you, and the thought of that is just too satisfying for you to let go of. He’s been thinking of you.

Or maybe he just wants you to leave.

“That works,” you say, and then you suddenly have the connecting line. “That works perfectly. It’s, like, not personal, but…”

“Familiar,” Bucky says, and you are half a red box away from leaning over the table and throwing yourself into his arms.

That’s exactly it.

“Thank you,” you say, and your brain is running a mile a minute, and he’s just staring at you. “Thank you so much. That’s exactly it, oh my god.”

You don’t even realize how far you’ve leaned over, hands balanced on the table, craning your head towards him. And you don’t even care- pieces are shifting and everything makes sense, and the weather outside isn’t cold, it’s beautiful! And this class is wonderful. Bucky himself is wonderful.

You float through the rest of the class. The clarity of your thoughts is jarring, the way you understand what you’re trying to do now. Flowers, fabric, and then you have an idea with a pair of earrings. You ache for a pen and sheet of paper to write it all down, but if you started doing it now, you don’t think you would be able to get up once the class ends.

Once, you smile at Bucky. He doesn’t return it- and you’re too in over your head to care.

***

He’s not genuinely interested.

This is a precaution. Bucky takes lots of precautions- he sleeps with weapons at his bedside, goes out with knives strapped to his body, always sweeps unfamiliar rooms before sitting, doesn’t tell anyone anything. This is just another thing thrown on top of his already exhausted routine, necessary to his safety and sanity and-

To his basic peace of mind.

He’s not a very good typer, so he asks JARVIS to look it all up instead, and transfer it to his overpriced, Stark-issued laptop.

There’s relief in that action itself- he tells JARVIS the wrong name twice, because that’s how personally disinterested he is. So disinterested that even something as simple as a name eludes him.

He doesn’t care.

The information gets transferred to his laptop. Bucky takes his time, carefully scanning the screen, preparing to tuck away anything concerning, for future reference.

There is a lot of information.

Articles- too many articles. Editorials, interviews, reviews. And pictures, and even videos, and he wonders if Steve ever brought this up to him, this level of renown that apparently you possess, and Bucky just wasn’t paying attention. But no, that couldn’t have been true- he’s been genetically enhanced to always be paying attention.

He’s a slow reader, and whenever the fonts are too small it gives him a headache, so rather than reading an article, he goes to the pictures tab.

Your art shows up first. He clicks on the picture to enlarge it, and it takes a long while for him to fully comprehend what he’s seeing.

A woman dancing with a cow in the background, a woman with butterflies on her eyelashes. Two men wearing crowns of pearls, but when he zooms in closer, they’re birds. A figure in a dress, wearing sleeves that resemble fish, with a halo of koi fish circling her head. Everything has to do with animals, and there’s so much movement, and he doesn’t like art, but he does have to admit that it’s all so pretty.

And there’s lots of yellow.

And as he scrolls further down, there’s pictures of you. In some, you stand with people who look ridiculously pretentious, with weird hair and odd clothes and thick-framed glasses. Other artists, he guesses, who have to let everyone know that they’re artists before they even open their mouths.

Then there’s pictures of just yourself. You, unsmiling next to a half-finished canvas, in the middle of twirling a paintbrush between your fingers. You, unsmiling in a white-walled photography studio. You, smiling while wearing a ridiculous sequined dress, which confuses him until he reads the description, and learns that the dress itself is an art installation.

It makes his head hurt.

He looks some more, even though he’s not really learning anything. Or maybe he is learning, just nothing concerning like he was hoping for. Something that would justify this search in the first place, but all he’s found is that you have pretentious colleagues and wear ridiculous dresses and deserve Steve’s admiration the way you’ve been receiving it.

Eventually, he coaxes himself into clicking a link. An article with a big publication, too big for just an art instructor- but you’re not just an art instructor. you’re, like, good. The article is an interview, which could have just been recorded and uploaded, but for some reason, it was transcribed and written in article format anyway.

The twenty-first century is stupid like that.

When it was written, you had just had your first solo exhibition, and it was more successful than anybody ever anticipated. The interview is meant to be a little off-the-wall, charmingly eccentric, asking about favorite foods and then your future aspirations in the same sequence, and then debating different colors and some political situation within the same question.

Bucky stumbles through a paragraph or two, not really comprehending anything but getting the gist, and his head hurts more, but he’s blissfully relieved of it all when Steve barges into his room without knocking.

He shuts his laptop screen so hard that the screen nearly cracks.

“Woah,” Steve says, and puts a hand up, but doesn’t take any steps back. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says, and stares at the laptop with fury, as if he’ll be able to close the tab that was still open through telekinesis alone.

“O-kay,” Steve says, totally unconvinced. He hoists the bag on his shoulder- his gear bag, with his supplies. He’s headed out for an indefinite period of time, anywhere between three days and two weeks. In the bag is his suit, in its patriotic spandex glory, his other supplies, bandages and a gun and a sketchbook.

To pass the time, if he gets bored on the flight.

“Are you leaving now?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods his head. “Yeah. Just came to say bye.”

“You mean see you later,” Bucky corrects, because those two things mean different things, and the difference is enough to matter to him.

“See you later,” Steve says, and he shifts, one massive wall of muscle leaning from one foot to the other. He’s uncertain of something- like Bucky can’t handle himself on his own.

He can handle himself.

Bucky lifts one silver hand and waves.

***

He doesn’t need to go.

Steve hasn’t returned, still somewhere in South America, away on a mission. It’s not like anyone is going to check, either, if he attends or not. It’s not like this is required, like he has some sort of moral or contractual obligation to show up.

Still, it’s become part of his routine, and deviating from routine makes his skin itch. As Monday strikes again, he slides into his seat in the art studio. At least he’s not too early; he doesn't know how he would be able to handle any pre-class conversation without Steve being there to do the actual conversating.

You start right on time. Always so prompt.

“We’re going to be working with oil pastels again,” you say, and make a big gesture with your hands. You wear chunky gold earrings that wink under the lights. “But I’m going to let you do whatever you want. Draw whatever. I’ve got out a few different types of paper, and some different tools for creating textures- I’ll show you all how to use them really quick.”

You scrape a sheet of paper hastily colored purple with something that looks like a plastic knife. Then you use something that looks like a plastic-toothed comb, and then some other pointy plastic objects to make lines and whirls on the paper. Texture. He watches the paper, some, but mostly you.

You look over at him two times. No more than you do at anyone else, but he still notices- as a precaution.

“Okay, I'm done. You all can get to work,” you say, and set the purple sheet down on your own table, at the front. “Have fun. Get crazy with it.”

Bucky looks down at the paper he’s set on the table, yellow-white and slightly textured. He looks at the oil pastels, sitting so dejectedly in their little cardboard dish, a product of low budget and disuse.

He takes the yellow one.

You come over to his table some time later, after getting to everyone else. He’s always last, he’s noticed- because he sits at the back, and because you like to take your time talking with Steve. But Steve isn’t here today, which means you won’t linger, which means he can continue on sitting in peace.

“How’s it going?” You ask. One of your hands comes to rest on top of the chair across from him.

“Your shoe is untied.”

Your smile falters as you look down, at your red sneaker- you wear hot red sneakers- but reaffirms itself a second later as you slide the chair out, and prop your foot up on it.

Bucky suddenly feels off. Your knee rests slightly above his head, and your head is tucked down but still looming high over him, cast in shadow. He’s beneath- under. And you’re double-knotting the laces of your shoe.

“Thanks,” you say, and it’s awkward to thank someone for something so little, but you don’t say it like it’s awkward. “I probably would’ve tripped on the laces. Anyways, again, how’s it going?”

He considers the question. “Fine.”

“Fine,” you repeat. You take your foot off the chair and tuck it back in, and then lean- loom even more- over him, looking over at his piece of paper.

He glares at you, even though you’re not looking at him.

“Wow,” you say, and your eyebrows are creasing, and he thinks that you’re struggling to come up with something to say, and after seeing those paintings online, he can’t even take offense at it. “Those lines are so… straight. How are they so straight?”

Because his metal hand has an internal stabilizer.

“They just are,” he says.

You look at him. Everything suddenly feels stuttered and slow, drenched in honey. He’s expecting some type of joke, and praying for the ground to open and swallow him up, bury him under six feet of tile. Has silence always been this unbearable?

“Awesome,” you say.

Then you look away and he’s able to breathe again, and you’re turning away, ready to flounce back over to someone else. He looks back down at his paper and picks up the pastel again, fingers pressing over the paper wrapper, so that he doesn’t get anything on his glove. He draws another straight line.

“Wait, one more thing.”

You turn around and his head snaps up, fully alarmed.

You take in his expression and look like you’re about to laugh. But you stifle it back, bite on your lip as you pull the chair back out again and sit down, across from him. Steve isn’t even here- Steve isn’t even your motivation for being here, today, and all he’s thinking about is you in that ridiculous art installation of a dress.

Floor-length. V-neck.

“So,” you say, and Bucky can’t look at you. In his peripheral vision he sees you curl your hands together, resting on top of the table. The glass on the watch flashes. “So, you know the idea that you gave me last week? With painting people I know? I started this painting of my mom- and all of these ideas in my head make sense to me now- wait. Let me show you, first.”

He keeps his eyes dutifully trained on his paper. Still, he can hear the smile in your voice as you pull your phone out of your back pocket, tapping away at something before turning the screen around for him to see.

Your arm is stretched all the way across the table. Bucky leans in a little bit, to see the picture you’ve pulled up.

A partially painted image of a woman that looks like you but not you, with almost the same face as you, but with hands mottled with age and a mouth starting to droop at the corners. Your mom, apparently, sitting with her hands clasped the way you’re clasping yours. She wears earrings that look like huge flowers, lilies, or something, and in a white dress that looks halfway like a swirled illusion.

“Nice,” he says, grudgingly, and you keep your hand outstretched. He wonders if you want him to take the phone from you, if you’re waiting for him to say more. “I like the dress.”

You beam at him. He’s been looking at you without realizing. “Thank you. I actually got the idea or the pattern from Steve- I’m just stealing ideas, aren’t I- but did you see the thing he did with his self-portrait last week? The swirls? It was so pretty- I couldn’t help myself. Anyways, where is he today?”

“Out of town.”

Dread curls at the pit of his stomach.

Bucky doesn’t know why, but he has the heavy, stone-cold realization that he does not want to be talking about Steve right now.

It must show, because you’re in the middle of opening your mouth to say something, and then abruptly close it.

“Oh,” you say, and you shift. He realizes that he doesn’t want you to leave yet, either. “Nice.”

You’re getting out of your seat. You must be feeling it too, the heaviness, the atmosphere so overwrought with polite dislike, because he still doesn’t like you, even though he knows your name now, but-

“What’s your next painting going to be?” he asks, so quickly that it comes off as a little frantic.

Your eyes widen and you’re carried back down, drifting back into your seat.

“I’m so glad you asked that,” you say, as you settle in. For a second, you’re frighteningly put together, shoulders straight, hands neatly folded, earrings glinting. “I’ve been wanting to tell someone about it so bad.”

You want your next painting to be of your dad. A portrait of just his face, close enough to add little, inconsequential details. You have this idea where you create patterns that look like flowers out of his wrinkles. He has teeth that are always yellow, because he drinks so much coffee, you say, a habit you’ve picked up, but you want to paint them almost neon, bring as much attention to it as you can. His hair is thinning and you want to make it all blue, like a receding tide.

It devolves, and his grip on the pastel loosens as you fall into something more and more jumbled, divulging other ideas you have, about things that aren’t directly related. You want to go big- much larger than life. A canvas as big as your body, just to paint a head. You make your own canvases, too, and you show him your palms, skin beneath your fingers raised and bumpy, with a ropy pink scar on your right hand. It’s from an incident with a saw, you say, even though you know your way around a saw. He almost wants to touch it.

Bucky thinks of his own right hand, with as many scars as it has lines. What does that mean, in terms of fate? He knows his way around a saw, too, and many other bigger, dangerous things, but you don’t know or don’t care about it. It devolves further, you sink lower in your seat, shoulders curving forward, and you’re telling him something else about nothing, and you aren’t minding that he’s mostly focused on just listening.

*

You’re laughing when someone behind you clears their throat.

You turn back, to see Shonna, looking uncomfortable as she fiddles with the strap of her purse.

“I’ve got to go,” she says, and, for whatever reason, gives you a look. “I finished my drawing, so I’m taking it with me. See you next week.”

“Have a good night!” You say, and cast a spare glance at your watch, to see how early she’s leaving.

She’s not leaving early.

You’re running nearly twelve minutes over.

“Oh my god,” you say, quietly, and pull away from Bucky. You have to pull this back together, quickly, you stand up and clear your throat.

“Hey, everybody,” you say, and so many people older than you turn to look at you, but the situation you’ve put yourself in doesn’t let you appreciate the thrill of it. “I wasn’t paying attention- we’re running past time. You all can go ahead and head out. I’ll clean up today. I’m sorry.”

Bucky is ignored, and it’s funny how quickly you’re able to slip away from him, him and unrelenting blue eyes and a stoic silence to bounce all of your thoughts off of. You keep your back to him and head back to the front of the room, standing and exchanging pleasantries as everyone heads out, apologizing with smiles and chastising yourself for being so careless.

Nobody berates you, though. You keep on expecting them to. There’s a sudden, sharp pain in the back of your neck. They all leave, and then it’s just you, standing by the entrance and staring at all the tables you have to clean, all the unfinished art projects you have to slide on the art racks, alongside the sticky poster-painted houses and clouds and corner-suns drawn by the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes.

All by yourself.

Or not.

Bucky lingers, putting his pastels back in the tray. He’s so silent that you missed him the first time, even though he was standing right there. Isn’t he some type of spy?

“Bucky, I got it,” you call. Without anyone in the room, it's like everything you just said to him didn’t happen. There’s no buffer and it’s just you and just him, and it's so empty. “You don’t have to clean up.”

Something in his gorgeous face shifts. You wish he was a little more expressive. His eyes hang dark underneath the brim of his dorky hat.

“I can help you,” he says, and adds, after an impossibly long second of hesitation, “I’ll make sure you don’t break any jars.”

You laugh out loud, but you’re confused. First listening to you talk on and on, now offering to help you and trying to make a joke- he doesn’t like you enough to be doing any of it. 

You know you like him, or at least find him intriguing enough to disregard his douchiness, but, like, still. Something’s off.

But then again, how do you deny him after that joke?

“Thank you,” you say, so formally, and you want to grimace. “That’s really nice of you.”

He blinks slowly, and you think that he’s going to smile, catch a ghost of it in his eyes.

It vanishes too fast, as he slides the cover back on the tray of sad oil pastels. You’re about to make some cynical comment about the lack of funding for the arts, just so there’s something to occupy all this new space between you and him, so you don’t accidentally lessen the space by doing something dumb, like moving closer to him.

“Where do I put these?” He asks, holding the sad tray up.

***

Steve returns for the seventh Monday class! You’re so happy when he walks in through the doors, abandoning your stacks of paper and speed-walking toward with a smile and a bouquet of paintbrushes.

“Hey, Steve!” you say, and he spooks, a little, but relaxes when he sees it’s you. No Rina today- she’s been leaving early lately. Maybe there’s some residual fear in her, just from that stare she was subjected to, all those weeks ago. “It’s good to see you.”

You get those stares every week, multiple times an hour, are getting one right this second- she needs to get over it.

He smiles and comes further into the classroom, meeting you over one of the tables. “It’s good to see you, too. Sorry I missed class last week.”

You wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. Here, take these for a second.”

In his massive hands, the paintbrushes look silly. Like dandelion stems, but it’s Steve, so he holds them gingerly, at a distance, like the wood might snap if he applies even the tiniest bit of pressure.

It’s not a good thought that you have next- it’s a deplorable thought- but you wonder if all super-soldiers have hands like that.

Behind Steve, there’s Bucky, standing in his usual black ensemble and glower. You know, now, that if you asked him to help, he would, but your mouth suddenly goes gummy and you trail off to the shelves instead, talking yourself up as you try to find a container for the brushes.

There, on the top shelf. How did it get all the way up there? You swipe it off and turn around, cheery and hopefully composed enough to not let any of your deplorable thoughts slip, and-

He’s there.

Not there, not all up in your face the way you would not want him to be, but closer, next to Steve instead of behind. His cheeks are rosy. You look out the window, to see if it looks cold. His face is pink, but he looks cold. Winter Soldier. You’re running hot, hot, hot.

“Hey,” You say, and politely smile, like while cleaning up last week, you didn’t spend an extra twenty minutes just talking to him.

“Hey,” he says, and does nothing, like the impassive brick he always is.

God.

You can’t be like this. This isn’t… it’s not cute. It’s embarrassing.

“Help me find the palettes,” you tell him, and place the container on the table for Steve. “I’ve been looking for them, for, like, ten minutes, and I can’t find them. And we’re painting today, so we need palettes.”

Steve dumps the brushes into the container. Bucky nods. He understands the importance of the palettes.

“Okay,” he says, and in the time it takes you to turn back to the shelves, he’s already standing behind you, surveying the shelves with you. Steve is probably giving you a look- he and Bucky seem like the kind of friends that tell each other all of their feelings, paint each other’s nails and read each other's diaries- he probably knows what’s going on.

If he does, you would like for him to tell you. All you know is that you’re really liking this.

Bucky finds the box of palettes wedged in the back of one of the shelves, in between thick pads of watercolor paper and glass cases of craft knives.

“Thank you,” you say, as he hands the box to you, as his fingertips just barely brush against yours. “Thank you so much.”

You catch another ghost-smile. “You’re so welcome,” he says.

Behind Bucky’s back, Steve gawks at you in disbelief.

*

Acrylic paint- the love of your life.

“It’s best for me to just let you guys loose,” you say, in your spot at the front of the room. Even now, your hands are itching, humming with energy, humming for a paintbrush. “If you need help, ask me, of course, but it’s more fun to just try and see what you can do.”

That’s part of why you love it- for its ease. Quick-drying, not water-soluble once dried, saturated. What is there even to explain? That you apply it with a brush? That you can blend with it? All of that is, like, obvious. All of it can be learned from trial, and any error can just be painted over.

Expression is so simple, with acrylic paint.

It’s messier, too, but nobody’s perfect.

You walk around. Shonna sketches out more birds- finches, yellow and mid-flight. Marcie and Ahmed start by painting without sketching first- one going for a sunset, the other palm trees. Classic. You catch a few others, silhouettes, some flowers, some abstract paint splatters.

Then, of course, you head to the back.

Steve is something out. You can’t tell what it is, yet, but you know that it's going to be beautiful. It’s already beautiful. He looks up and gives you a wordless smile, then gets right back to work. One of his hands is splayed over the sheet of chipboard, the other drawing quick, light lines with his pencil.

You wish that you could give them canvas. But canvas is expensive, and again- funding is bad, and you want to save the few you’ve scrounged up for one of the later classes, when everyone is more confident in their abilities.

Bucky mixes paint on his palette. Red and… black.

“That’s a pretty color,” you say, nodding down at the sad maroon. He looks up at you and you ball your hands into fists, placing them on your hips, not because you put your hands on your hips, but because you feel like you should be doing that right now, with how he’s looking at you. Gutting you.

He acknowledges you with a nod, and goes back to mixing the colors. 

Good grief, how much more is he going to mix?

You’re suddenly searching your mind for something interesting to say.

It’s awkward, and you’re even more mad at yourself- how can you be awkward in your own class? You’re so off today. Even Steve is solely focused on his canvas, and you’re happy for it- he’s drawing and really getting into it, but now you have no reason to linger!

You stay, for another awkward, insufferable second, before moving on to somewhere else.

It’s whatever. You want to think about it, but you push it out because there’s so many more important things to consider- like the painting of your mom nearly finished in your studio, the sketched-out canvas of your father, the dozens of other little ideas pushing up through the cracks in your thoughts, like delightful weeds.

You want to paint Rina. If her hair is still red when you see her, you’ll draw her upside down with poppies, wearing whatever crazy outfit she wants. You want to paint another friend, who’s constantly travelling but might be in New York next month, draped in gold jewelry and marigolds. You might even- you might even draw a few people you don’t talk to anymore, or people you don’t talk to enough, draw them with pansies and chrysanthemums.

Flowers. First, you were fixated on animals, but now it’s flowers- but it’s wholly unsymbolic, because symbolism gets trite, and you just want to make something that looks pretty.

Nobody asks you for help. Acrylic is fun like that- it’s a medium where you can help yourself.  The class gets loud- lively, even, and you just sit in your chair at your table and take it all in.

Bucky, in the far back, works on his painting with concentration that rivals Steve’s. You look for too long.

He can probably feel your eyes on him. You wonder if you should look him up, but that’s weird. Really weird, and what would you even search for? A Wikipedia article? Pictures? An interview?

Maybe you should, but you like the hot-and-cold mystery just how it is.

*

The class ends on time. You’re extra vigilant today, showing people how to lay their paintings on the drying racks, showing them where to dump their paint water.

You say that you’ll wash the brushes. Bucky can tell that you don’t trust anyone else to do it properly. You say that you’ll wipe down the tables, too, and you’ll move all the supplies back to the shelves. All you want is for everyone to put their paintings away and wash their palettes.

The work is done, and everyone files out, spurred by you wishing them all a good week. Steve lingers, as usual, and Bucky follows behind him.

You didn’t talk to him that much, today.

“Did you figure out your painting yet?” Steve asks.

“I did,” you say, and tell him exactly what you told Bucky, but more clearly, more well-articulated.

And less… elaborate. No talking about the idea for the second painting, no mentions of the canvases you make yourself. You don’t show him your palm.

Steve chats with you for a few minutes, until the conversation fizzles out. He shifts his shoulders and tells you he’s going to go.

“Have a good week,” you say, smiling, looking back at Bucky.

Steve gets to the doorway, and Bucky stays right where he is, and his stomach does a flip, because he can’t believe that he’s really going to be doing this.

“You coming, Buck?” Steve says.

“I’m going to stay back for a minute,” Bucky says, while looking at you.

He’s not a confident person, but he’s also not not confident. He just does what he has to do, without thinking, without sitting on it long enough for it to morph into anxiety, because when you've been impassive for seventy years, it’s hard to turn the faucet back on. 

Right now, though, he might be getting what they call butterflies.

“Why, is there something you-”

Steve cuts himself off. He understands.

“Nevermind,” he says, backtracking. “Okay. See you later.”

He leaves.

“What’s up?” You ask, as you head over to the sink. You’re so nonchalant, and he doesn’t know if he’s resenting it or grateful for it, so he just watches you pull cleaning supplies from the cabinet underneath.  “Are you here to help me clean up?”

No, but he’ll do it, if...

“Yeah.”

You reach out and rip a wad of paper towels from the dispenser.

“Great,” you say, and he’s just thinking, No, this is not great. You hand him a spray bottle and the paper towels. “Wipe down the tables, please. I’m going to get started with these brushes.”

He starts to wipe down the tables.

You get the sink running.

The streaks of paint on the tables haven't dried yet, so it all comes off with no effort. He gets through it all pretty quickly, one table after another.

Then he’s at your shoulder, tossing the wad of paper towels in the trash, setting the spray bottle precariously on the sink’s edge, since your legs are in front of the cabinet.

What else could he do? Sweep? Turn off the lights? He doesn’t know if you would trust him to do either of those things. He could close the blinds, but the sky is in transition, from grey to blue to ink, and he likes the way the dark seeps into the room.

It sets up the atmosphere.

You give him a quick smile, rub your thumb over the bristles of another brush. “That was fast.”

He shrugs.

It’s a dead conversation- he’s not used to this. Maybe he should be chatting you up, but he doesn’t chat people up, ever. You’re supposed to be the one that talks first, says something for him to go off of. He’s not good at this, but he suddenly wishes that he was.

“Cleaning brushes is such a painful process,” you say eventually, trying to sound exasperated, even though you’re  clearly not. “Takes forever- oh, wait. Not painful, paint-ful. Get it? ”

He gets it.

“You’re funny,” he says, and it’s not much, but it’s something. He wants to laugh but doesn't.

You add another brush to the growing pile of clean ones, laying on a bed of paper towels. The sink water drains slowly, dirty grey-brown.

“I know,” you say. “But anyways, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Is Bucky your real name?”

The fuck?

You’re genuinely asking, brows drawn close together. He wants to reach out and smoothen it. And also tug the strings of your apron loose, and hook a finger inside the hoop of your earring. He’s wanting to do lots of things- all crazy, irrational things.

“No,” he says, and he sounds weird saying it, when all that’s weird is you having asked in the first place. Your frame of reference for him is so poor- which is better for him, better for everything. It’s almost flattering. “It’s a nickname.”

You open your mouth for the next question, but he beats you to it.

“My real name is James.”

You abruptly look over at him in disbelief. “No way. Really?”

“Really.”

You’re on the last brush. You run it under the tap and the bristles send streams of purplish paint water over your fingers, and turn your head, looking over at him. He meets you back, glare icy, even though inside, he’s burning up.

“You don’t look like a James,” you say, and grin at him, and keep yourself looking at him as you finally shut off the sink.

He knows he doesn’t- that’s why he doesn’t go by it. But he’s going to indulge you, because he wants to.

“Don’t look much like a Bucky, either.”

“It’s a cute nickname, though,” you say suddenly.

His heart leaps to his throat.  

“You think it’s cute,” he says, and he shifts over and leans, against the wall, crossing his arms. He’s been standing too close, feels so unnaturally light. He can’t even pretend to dislike you anymore, not when you use the word cute to describe him, not when he likes it. Not when your name is rattling through his head over and over, a mile a minute.

“It’s so cute” you start, nodding along to yourself, “It’s like… nevermind. I don’t even remember what I was about to tell you. Can I get your number?”

That was not smooth.

At all.

But it still works, doesn’t it? You’re not trying too hard, so he doesn’t have to try too hard, either.

“Yeah,” he says, and smiles at you- and takes extra satisfaction in the way you light up. Yellow and radiant.

“Okay.” You wipe your hands down on your apron before pulling out your phone. Its case is glittery pink. The tips of your fingers have pruned.

Before, this would have all been so easy. Bucky could have you beside him the day he met you, turned you over in a whirlwind, in a flurry of milkshakes and dancing to music nobody listens to anymore. He wonders if he should miss you- and then tries to imagine you in a red lip, peroxided curls and a modest day dress, and gets the answer for himself.

He doesn’t miss it.

“Here,” you say, and hand him your phone, and he takes it immediately, he’s so over in his head.

He types his number in with his right hand. When he hands the phone back, the question is already burning in his mind.

“When will I hear from you?”

He shouldn't ask. But he needs to know, always needs to know things. Things can only be so irrational, it has to start making sense sometime- and anyways, it doesn’t seem to bother you. You stare at his number, type something in and put your phone away, and the whole time you’re grinning, and he realizes.

You’re pretty.

“Sometime.” you say, and you reach behind your back to untie the strings of your apron. As you bring the neck of it over your head, you wink.

Sometimes, parts of him still feel frozen, trapped in ice, like he wants to smile but can’t remember how, like he’s forever moving too slow, falling too far behind and below.

Right now, he’s all thawed out.

“You’re gonna keep me waiting like that?” He says, and he takes a daunting step forward, cocks his head to the side. He’s on autopilot, reacting on muscle memory alone- this is flirting, this is charming like it’s ‘38.

You nod, adopt a mock seriousness. “I am,” you say. “I like to keep a little bit of mystery.”

“Mystery girl.”

“You know it.”

His heartstrings loop over themselves, tying into in a double-knotted bow.

#oh my god why is this so long #someone take my typing rights away #i beg you #hope yall like this one! #like this or i'll eat ur toes #NO i am just kidding ... i would appreciate the likes doe it is very validating ... #ok now back to regular tags #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #reader insert #imagine #bucky barnes fic #avengers #captain america #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #fem! reader #artist!reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #fluff #marvel #bucky barnes fan fiction

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

The Intern | Part Two

Summary: You move to New York to focus on your art but end up working as an intern at Stark Enterprises

Chapter Summary: you get an surprise visit on your day off

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word Count: 1600 and something (kinda short but i’m already half way through writing part three)

A/N: for the purposes of this story Stark Enterprise is set out like an office building in New York and the story does not follow the same timeline as the movies. Reader does not know Peter is SpiderMan. Also, spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :)

Masterlist   Part One

- - - - -

It had been a week since your meeting with Tony and since then the two of you had become quite good friends. Tony would make sure he came to the desk everyday or found you at lunch with Peter to catch up with you both.  

Today was your first day off in a while and it was much needed. You’d spent the day in your loungewear, doing some painting and listening to old 80’s rock music. In the evening you decided to order pizza, and do some baking while you wait for it to be delivered. You were just getting the ingredients ready when someone knocked at the door. ‘Pizza is early’ you thought as you put down the flour and headed to answer the door. 

“Wow that was quick- oh” you said opening the door surprised to see Tony on the other side. 

“Sorry were you expecting someone?” He asked.

“No no, just thought you were the pizza guy” you laugh awkwardly. 

“No pizza here I’m afraid. Just me. Wanted to check in, see if you’re okay? Didn’t see you in work today”

“It’s was my day off. I’m back in tomorrow”

“Ah right. Good. Well, that’s great then” he turns and goes to leave. 

“Would you like to come in for a drink, and maybe some pizza? Seeing as you came all this way.” You ask, surprising yourself with your sudden confidence. 

“I don't want to intrude..”

“you wouldn’t be. Ive been on my own all day, it would actually be nice to have some company.”

“Thanks” he smiles and walks past you. You shut the door, silently cursing yourself as you realise that your boss, THE Tony Stark, has now seen you in your paint stained loungewear. You follow him into the open plan kitchen/living room of your apartment and wish you’d cleaned up first. Your paints, brushes and sketchbook still all over the coffee table from earlier and the kitchen messy with baking stuff. 

“Sorry about the mess” you apologise, fiddling with the messy bun you’d thrown your hair into this morning, attempting to tidy it up a bit. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not that bad”

You raise your eyebrow at him.

“no really, I’ve seen rooms in much worse states than this after some of the parties I used to have back in the day”

You both laugh and Tony walks over to look at one of the paintings hanging on your wall “this is nice” he says pointing at it and you walk over to stand next to him. The painting is of a beach with the sun setting over the ocean, the orange glow reflecting off the waves and ripples in the water. 

“its the beach I used to visit every summer when I was a kid. Some of my favourite memories happened there” you stare at the painting daydreaming about the past. Picnics with your parents, playing fetch with your childhood dog, swimming on really hot days. Tony watches you out the corner of his eye, smiling when he notices the content smile that has appeared on your face. When you suddenly take a breath and snap back into the present he turns his attention back to the painting. 

“this is actually one of the first paintings I ever did-“

“you painted this?” Tony interrupts, turning to look at you and you give him a shy nod. “wow, you have a real talent. When you said before that ‘painting didn’t pay the bills’, I presumed that just meant you weren’t very good”

You burst out laughing his blunt honestly which takes Tony by surprise. 

“no, no what I meant was, the art world is a hard one to get into as an unknown artist. I couldn’t risk waiting around for that big break.”

Tony nods, looking at you thoughtfully.

“can I see some more of your work?” He asks.

“yeah sure, I’ve got some stuff in a folder in my room” you say as you run off toward your bedroom. When you come back out carrying the folder of paintings you notice Tony sitting on the sofa looking through the sketchbook you’d left on your coffee table. 

“these are really good y/n, really I mean that.” He says, turning the pages and you take a seat next to him “you’ll have to paint something for me to hang in my office, that place needs brightening up a bit-“ he stops when he reaches a pencil sketch of Steve Rogers and you feel your whole body cringe. “this guy? really, you drew this guy?”

“what, I, uh..” You stutter “..he’s got a good jaw line. It’s very satisfying to draw” you shrink down into the sofa wishing it would swallow you whole, then theres a knock at the door.

“ah that will be the real pizza guy” you say jumping up to walk to the door but Tony stands in your way.

“no let me get it. You get us some drinks. I’ve been here a full five minutes and you’ve still not got me one” he winks at you and you roll your eyes playfully.

As you get glasses out the cupboard and put them on the counter you notice Tony is acting suspiciously. He walks slowly and carefully toward the door, and takes a long look through the peephole before finally opening the door. You presume he’s just always on high alert because of who he is. Being a high profile business man and one of the best known superheroes must mean he’s used to having dangerous people lurking around every corner. 

After pouring two drinks you move over to the sofa and place the glasses down on the coffee table and hiding your sketchbook under the sofa. Tony appears with the pizza and you quickly move your paints off the table to make space for him to put the box down. 

“thanks for grabbing the pizza, you’ve saved me the embarrassment of anyone else seeing the state of me right now” you say gesturing to your clothes, as he takes a seat next to you and you hand him his drink.

He looks you up and down, shrugs and says “I’ve seen worse” and winks at you. He holds his glass up for you to toast and you hold your glass up too.

“to you, and your weird fascination with Captain America’s chin” he teases you and you shake your head at him.

“I am not toasting to that” you laugh

- - - - -    

An hour later you’d both got through the whole pizza and almost a whole bottle of wine, talking and laughing the whole time as Tony told you about some of the things he used to get up to pre Iron Man. You get up to carry the empty pizza box over to the bin in your kitchen and refill both your glasses. 

“hey what’s for dessert” Tony shouts over to you.

“well I was just about to start making brownies before you arrived”

“I was only kidding about dessert but actually I would kinda love some brownies right now” Tony says, getting up and walking over to join you in the kitchen.

“well I guess we could bake some?” you say half joking but Tony grabs your apron off the hook on the wall and ties it around his waist which makes you laugh.

“what are you laughing at, I'm ready to learn”

“wait, you’ve never made brownies before? Not even as a kid?” You ask in disbelief and Tony shakes his head.

“my family weren’t really into that sort of thing” he shrugged. 

“well then Mr Stark, I am about to change your life” you say, handing him a wooden spoon and he smiles at you. 

Tony mixed together the melted chocolate and butter with the eggs and sugar while you measure out the flour into a bowl. You handed him the flour to add into the mixture but as he poured it in he dropped some of the flour onto the arm of his suit and you laughed covering your mouth with your hand. 

“oh you think thats funny do you?” He says and he takes a hand a handful of flour and chucks it at you, laughing. You gasp and wipe some of the flour off yourself before grabbing a handful and throwing it back at him. He grabs your hand mid air and pulls you slightly but you trip over your own feet and stumble into him. He catches you and the laughter dies down as you both look into each others eyes, faces dangerously close to each other. His eyes flicker down to your lips and he moves in slightly. But then he stops, and lets you go. Clearing his throat and taking a step back. You take a deep breath and brush some flour off yourself. 

“well, uh, this was fun” he says, slightly awkward “but, I should probably be going now”

“yeah, yeah..” you agree walking him to the door “it’s getting late”

He stops at the door and turns around to smile at you.

“thanks for the pizza, and for the baking lesson”

“no problem” you smile “i’ll bring some of the brownies in to work tomorrow” 

“Good night y/n” he says walking out the door

“Good night” 

You close the door behind him and press your forehead against it, replaying what just happened in your head. Did you really just almost kiss your boss? And did he almost kiss you back? Did you overstep your boundaries even inviting him in tonight? Would things be awkward tomorrow? 

You let out a frustrated sigh and go back to the kitchen to finish baking and tidy up the mess from your flour fight. You know there’s no point thinking about it tonight but you also know that you won’t be able to think of anything else. 

Part Three

Taglist: @brownbuble​ 

#marvel fanfic #iron man x reader #iron man fanfic #Tony Stark imagine #iron man imagine #Robert downey jr #tony stark x reader #tony stark #tony stark fanfic #the intern

[2manyfandoms2count]

AU Yeah August Day 13

Here’s another AU for @auyeahaugust! Will it evolve into a fully-fledged story? Probably. Hope you’ll enjoy! xxx

---

Day 13: Flower Shop AU

Marinette stared at the blank page in front of her, pensively tapping her pencil on her desk. She could have sworn that she’d found the perfect outfit to close her next fashion show as she was about to fall asleep the previous night. Something so spectacular, she knew she’d remember it in the morning.

Except morning had come, and still the design eluded her. She had raked her brain throughout breakfast, causing a couple of spills, during her commute to work, which had almost made her miss her stop, and ever since she’d sat down at her desk, three hours ago. The page just stared right back at her.

She sighed and dropped her pencil. Leaning her head on top of her hand, she took a look at her surroundings. She loved her office. She had furnished it in a way that let her creativity flow, and it did the trick - most of the time. The wide windows let the Spring sunshine in, the rays ricocheting against the smooth white surfaces of the cabinets, and the strategically placed mirrors. It made the room look larger, brighter. 

She had restrained what she considered to be her clutter to the right hand side of the room. A large cork board took up most of the wall space there, covered in overlapping swatches and sketches. On a low table below it were piles of fashion magazines, more or less old, that she kept for reviews or inspiration. A couple of picture frames also stood there, containing pictures of her parents and friends, and some good shots of herself at fashion shows.

Her eyes swept the room and landed on an intricate vase that sat opposite her. The cleaner, Mister Fu, always made a point to buy flowers for her office, and refused to put them on the company’s bill. It was his way of thanking her for keeping him on despite his old age. She’d never been able to tell exactly how old he was, but one thing was for sure: he was beyond French retiring age. He’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere when she’d established her brand, and worked around as the two-room office expanded into a three-room, a full floor, and now a whole building with Marinette Designs gaining more and more recognition in the fashion world. He cleaned, DIYed, decorated, and had a good eye for things that needed fixing, even if no one knew it yet. She’d come to consider his services as invaluable, especially the odd wisdom bits he provided every once in a while. She really could have done with his help today, maybe he could have helped her with the eluding dress. He’d taken the day off, though, and, if she judged by the wilting flowers that stood in front of her, had forgotten his self-appointed florist duties. Maybe that was what was blocking her flow.

She stood up and walked towards the vase, grabbed it, and made her way towards her office bin. It had been a wonderful bouquet, colourful and fragrant. The sweet smell of lilies remained as she picked them up and shook them gently above the vase, so as to get rid of as much water as she could before throwing them away. As she dropped them, a small card disentangled from the stems and landed next to the paper basket. Marinette crouched down and picked it up.

“The Cat’s fleowers.”She read, cringing at the bad pun. A little black cat holding a four-leafed clover sat under the flower shop's name, and above its address. 

She recognised the street as one she took every day, and the number as being between her metro station and the office, yet she couldn’t picture the shop. She shrugged, slid the card on her desk and walked back to her chair, plumping down in front of the taunting white page. 

Quarter of an hour of fidgeting, head scratching and deep sighing later, Marinette looked up again, having achieved nothing but weak sketches. The vase caught her eyes once again, its emptiness now bothering her. 

She glanced at her watch. Quarter to twelve. She’d be off for her lunch break soon, anyway. She grabbed her vest and handbag and left her office, giving a small wave at her secretary as she did so. 

She breathed in deeply and smiled contently as she exited the building, reveling in the warm sunshine that landed on her face. She dug out her butterfly sunglasses and walked down the street.

---

Adrien was bored. He usually never tired of working in Mr Fu’s flower shop, but today seemed like the exception. He’d met Mr Fu by chance one day as he came back from one of his modelling jobs, and had helped the old man carry large potted plants inside the premises. Adrien had fallen in love with the cool atmosphere and the plethora of flowers, which made him feel like he’d just stepped into a different corner of the world. He hadn’t hesitated when Mr Fu had asked him if he’d be interested in working there on the days he couldn’t come in. The fact he could wear a relaxed attire, rather than his usual smart dress, was a bonus. So far, no one had recognised him.

Although the shop was generally quite busy, it seemed like everyone had decided to shun flowers today. Not one customer had pushed the door to his little botanical heaven. Even Plagg, the resident black cat, had decided to loaf around, hidden somewhere between the azaleas and the hibiscuses. 

Adrien was about to give up and head out early for lunch when he heard the characteristic jingle of the door. His breath caught as an elegant lady walked in. She wore a simple, yet tasteful, red polka-dotted dress which had him instantly nickname her ‘Ladybug’. Her eyes were masked by large sunglasses. Standing in the midst of the flowers, she looked like a model in a jungle-themed photo shoot. He would know, having participated in more than one.

From where he stood, at the till, he had a good view of what was going on in the shop, without actually being seen, hidden behind the hanging plants section. He watched as she walked around hesitantly, examining the different bouquets on display. She turned around and her apparent perplexity made him shake out of his admiration. He strode out of his hiding place, smoothing his black and green apron as he did so.

“Hi, welcome to the Cat’s fleower’s, may I help you?” He wished there was something more original to say, but he could hardly go ahead and just offer her flowers. 

Marinette frowned slightly, although her expression was hidden by her bangs and glasses. There was something familiar about the man standing before her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She quickly scanned his appearance, her designer eye turning into critique mode, and tried to identify where she’d seen him before. He was, she would say, conventionally handsome, in an ‘I don’t try’ way. His blond hair was tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed (it wasn’t a bad look, but it could be improved on), and his glasses bore a layer of dirt which occulted his eyes, that she assumed were green. He definitely would have stood out from all the manicured men she mixed with in the fashion world. A stray Chat Noir amidst a bunch of aristocats. 

Maybe she’d just seen him in the street.

“Hello, I wanted to buy a bouquet, but I can’t really pick. You have a beautiful selection.” She smiled, and Adrien could swear his heart skipped a beat. 

“Thank you.” He replied, deciding to take the compliment as if he’d ordered the flowers himself. “If I may ask, what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, nothing in particular.” She shrugged. “I just like having blooms around when I work.” 

“That makes two of us.” He winked. “Is there anything you feel drawn to? Or any emotions you’re feeling?”

Marinette thought it was quite a personal question to ask someone he’d just met, but didn’t dislike it.

“I’m short on inspiration these days.” She admitted.

“Creativity boost, coming right up!” He grinned. Now was his time to shine; ever since starting this part-time job, he’d started reading up on the flower language, and it seemed like his study would finally be paying off. “As it happens, I have angelicas, which represent inspiration, in stock. I’ll also add hollyhock for ambition, gerberas for stress relief, sweet basil for good wishes, and-”

He was interrupted by her ringtone. Ladybug fished her phone out of her handbag, and saw a familiar face on the screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this.” She apologised, swiping to answer. He nodded understandingly and gestured that he’d be wrapping the bouquet.

“Hello?” 

“Hi boss!” Alya, her PR manager, and incidentally, her best friend greeted. “You are going to LOVE me.”

Marinette shook her head, amused. “You know I already do, what did you do this time?”

“I only went and got you THE Adrien Agreste’s number!” Her friend squealed, making her move her phone away from her ear. 

“You didn’t!” She gasped. “How?”

“Girl, I’ve seen how you drool over his pictures, I needed to do something about it! Nino knows him, it wasn’t very hard to convince him to give me his number.”

Marinette had nursed a crush on the model ever since he’d given her his umbrella at the end of a fashion show, back when she was still an intern working for a big brand. It didn’t hurt that he was one of the most handsome models out there. They’d seen each other again from afar during fashion weeks, their interactions often summarised to a little chit-chat over a glass of Champagne, surrounded by a crowd.

“But what will I even do with it?” She asked, panic seeping through her words. How could she justify getting his number? And what would she say? Would he even know who she was?

“Marinette, I can feel your anxiety from here, breathe.” Alya chuckled. “We’ll work on it.”

“Okay.” Marinette steadied her breathing. “Meet you in ten for lunch?”

Adrien’s heart sank as he heard the words. He’d been about to ask her if she felt like grabbing a bite with him. He grabbed his pen and scribbled a quick ladybug sketch on the back of the business card, along with the words ‘see you again soon!’ and stapled it to the bouquet.

Marinette stole a last look at the flower shop as she exited it after paying, and smiled. She had to admit, Chat Noir’s enumeration had left her dubious. She definitely wouldn't have thought of arranging those flowers together, yet the bouquet was beautiful. She held it out at arms length to examine it, and saw the card. Her mind raced, and she suddenly knew how to end her show. She accelerated her pace to get back to the office before the idea flew away.

Adrien Agreste’s number, wonderful flowers, and a strike of inspiration. The Cat’s fleowers had worked like a lucky charm. 

She had a feeling she hadn’t seen the last of it.

#mlauyeahaugust #auyeah2020 #flowershop au #lovesquare #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #mlb #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #elle writes

[wulfrann]

Contrast (AFTG Exchange Winter 2019)

All for the Game

Relationship: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard

Additional Tags: Meet-cute, Painter!Neil Josten, Journalist!Andrew Minyard, Bonding over Shared Trauma

[One-shot - 5452 words - Published 2019-12-16]

I wrote this for @sofiescastle! You asked for a meet-cute, so that’s what I tried to do. I’m not that good at writing rom-com-y situations, but I gave it my best and I hope you’ll enjoy it!!

( @aftgexchange Sorry that I’m posting this on the last day possible. I’m really bad at deadlines.)

Summary:

Painting is everything for Neil. It’s what’s kept him going while he was on the run, and it’s what pays for his flat and his food nowadays. So when the man who made this dream a reality asks him to paint a mural for his shopfront, Neil is more than happy to say yes - and that’s before he realised that Wymack actually inteded to pay him.

Neil gets more than he bargained for, however, when a normal day of work ends up accidentally involving one angry, blond Minyard with a taste for expensive shirts.

Read on AO3

* Neil shut the trunk of the van and wiped his hands on his pants, leaving spots and specks of paint at various stages of drying upon the rough fabric. Better his work clothes than the steering wheel, although the inside of the van certainly wasn’t spotless. Neil had only so much energy devoted to keeping things clean, and he tended to use it on his possessions that weren’t part of his work, like dishes and his couch.

(Granted, he’d found the couch next to a garbage can, but once his friends had helped him get it cleaned up and brought into his apartment, no one could have told the difference. And it’d made the space look permanent, which wasn’t a word Neil’d ever had a habit of using for the places he lived in. But now? Now he had a carpet.)

Neil got into the van and grabbed his phone. He went to his contacts, clicked on one of his favorites, and counted the ringtones it took for Wymack to pick up.

“Hey, kiddo,” Wymack’s gruff voice said after the third beep. “You at the shop yet?”

“Not yet. I just finished loading the van, I should be there in ten minutes.”

As he spoke, Neil put the key into the ignition and checked the time. He’d told Wymack he would be there by 9, and he would be.

“Alright. Text me when you’re parked, I’ll help you unload and show you what you’re working with.”

“I can-”

“Nope, don’t even try,” Wymack’s voice cut off. “You’re doing me a favor, kid, I’m helping you get your shit out of your shit car whether you like it or not.”

“It’s not a favor,” Neil pointed out.“You’re paying me.”

“Damn right I am, so you better do as I say,” Wymack concluded, then hung up before Neil could say anything else.

Neil pulled the handbrake and started the car.

It took him exactly 7 seven minutes to reach The Foxhole’s block, and barely another to find a practical parking place nearby. At nine in the morning on a monday, he hadn’t expected anything less.

Neil debated unloading the trunk by himself after all (he estimated that he had about five minutes before Wymack got tired of waiting for his call and showed up to check the premises), but decided he was grateful for the job and for Wymack in general, and dutifully sent the text he’d been asked for.

Wymack arrived two minutes later. They had all of Neil’s supplies by the coffeeshop in five, and Neil wasted no time getting it all ready once that was done.

Wymack picked up a roll of masking tape. “You can paint over everything from here,” he said, putting a piece of tape on the pavement roughly one meter to the left of the coffee shop's shutter door, and then another one on the right, “to here.”

Neil glanced up from the bucket of soap water he was hunched over to check. Wymack had shown him the surface he would be working with already, when he’d come over a few days ago to talk it out. The coffee shop had been open though, so he hadn’t been able to see the whole thing. As far as canvases went, it was pretty great..

“You can paint as high as the ground floor goes, since I don’t own the whole building,” Wymack added. “And keep the sign clean.”

Neil unfolded the stepladder and propped it next to the wall, a few centimeters left of the paintable surface so it wouldn’t be in the way at the beginning when he didn’t need it.

“Anything else?”

“Just make it look good. I’ve already approved the sketches.” He clapped a heavy hand on Neil’s shoulder. “You’ve got talent.”

Neil breathed in, blowing the tension that Wymack’s gesture had awakened out of his system and into the sunny morning air. “Thank you, sir.”

Wymack squeezed his shoulder once and let go. “Now get on with it. I’ve got accounts to review.”

“Yes sir,” Neil said, earning an eyeroll.

Then Wymack was leaving, and Neil was smiling as he turned to the wall. He grabbed the mop and started to clean the dust and grime off of it.

The Foxhole’s shopfront was already painted a solid color, a green that Wymack wanted to keep for the background, so all the prep that was left after that was taping the borders and protecting the sign and the ground with tarps.

Neil had used grids before, to help him stay accurate and faithful to the proportions, and he had to admit they were useful, but he’d decided early on that he wouldn’t use one for this mural. It wasn’t heavy on perspective or placement like some of his work could be, for once, but mostly he just liked it better when he was working freehand. It left more breathing room for the instinctive changes Neil liked to bring to the designs as he transformed the idea into the real thing. Sketches never translated perfectly onto their medium, especially murals. It could be frustrating, as they never turned out exactly as he’d expected, but that was what he loved most about it.

The design for The Foxhole’s mural was simple enough. Wymack had asked for ‘foxes and flowers’; Abby had wanted it ‘wild and welcoming’. So that was what Neil had given them.

Foxes, small ones, ran and played and grew strong on the shutter door, with azaleas all around and peach blossoms above. One bigger fox sat watching them on a bed of mayflowers. Proteas stood behind it, mirrored on the opposite side of the mural where an oak tree stood guard. It was a sunny scene and there was peace there, but the foxes had teeth and claws and their edges were sharp enough to cut.

Neil started with a pencil. He sketched the rough shapes according to his template, taking care not to smudge the lines, then worked his way to the finer details and rearranged a few things as he went. Once he was satisfied with it, he finally got to uncap the cans of paint. He started with the base colors, filling the lines with orange, pink, white, brown and dark green, taking care not to let the paint drip anywhere it wasn’t supposed to.

Once the base was done, he had to take a break. The acrylic needed about an hour to dry completely, so he figured he’d stretch his limbs and eat a late lunch. He couldn’t wander too far off without risking a theft, however, and ended up buying a cheap and bland sandwich from the bakery that faced the coffee shop.

It was only then that his favorite part began. Now he could blend the colors, mix them, work out the details and the shading, add movement and life to the scene. Now he got to play with textures and patterns and lighting, with the bark of the oak and the bite of the fox and the brightness of the mayflowers. On a whim, he decided to add a thick, black outline to the foxes, jagged and irregular, stylizing it so it looked almost like a flame. He made the flowers look brighter in contrast, turned the tree into a foil, tweaked the light so it flirted with the mystical.

At some point, Neil edged out of his frenzy long enough to take several steps back and look at the whole thing.

It was perfect.

Except for all the ways it wasn’t.

Neil picked up the smaller brushes and went in again, correcting details here and there, chasing a perfection that would remain out of reach for as long as he’d keep looking for it. That was fine by him - Neil didn’t actually want the mural to be perfect. All he was after, all he needed, was that moment - that there it is, where he’d take a step back and exhale, and everything would just - settle. And he’d knew that was it.

He was getting close, Neil could feel it, so very close, when the stupidest thing happened.

Neil had just noticed something off with the color of one of the proteas and had stepped down the ladder to retrieve the brush he’d been using for the deep pinks, rushing back towards the mural immediately, when someone had run into him.

Or, perhaps more accurately, when he had crashed into someone. With a paintbrush dripping pink and his hands (and everything else) covered in paint.

There was a rough sound from the someone as they collided, and then the wet sound of a paintbrush full of paint landing against a hard surface. The someone was shorter, so Neil looked down.

Very, very annoyed eyes met his.

The guy stepped back with a scowl, letting his hand drop from Neil’s arm, where it’d landed, Neil assumed, to steady the both of them. He was blond, and broad, and dressed in all black from head to toe. It made the large pink stain on his chest all the more conspicuous.

In terms of contrast though, Neil couldn’t help but notice, it worked. Pale hair, pale skins and golden eyes set against a vast darkness, dominating the whole but for one splash of vibrant color. It was threefold, and ridiculous, and Neil wanted to paint it.

Which is why Neil said, “I think I found your color,” instead of apologizing like a normal person. 

But to be fair, he hadn’t been ‘normal’ since his birth. Being born into the mafia tended to do that to you.

The man’s eyebrows twitched, and the corner of his mouth curled ever so slightly down. “What you did is ruin my shirt.”

Neil felt a smile pull at his lips. “I don’t know. I think it looks better that way. Makes you look more... approachable. Less like a criminal, what with all the black.”

“I don’t care about looking ‘approachable.’ And you’re the one vandalising someone else’s private property.”

“I’m not vandalising anything. This is my job. I have a permit and everything.”

“Congratulations,” the man deadpanned.

“I’ve done it before,” Neil said, smiling sharply. “Painting illegally. It’s not typically done by daylight.”

“How surprising. I take it you’re Wymack’s new stray.”

Neil’s smile vanished. “I’m not a stray,” he said, though he had been. But he’d worked hard to make sure he’d never be again. Then the rest of the man’s statement struck him, and he couldn’t help but ask. “How do you know Wymack?”

“I used to work for him,” the man answered, laconically. Neil waited for him to say more, but he just turned around to stare at the mural instead. Something itched in Neil’s hands - an urge to hide it, protect it from all eyes until it was perfect - but he let it go. He took a step forward so he was standing next to the man instead of behind him, and looked at the mural for himself.

One of the proteas was paler than the others. There was a leaf he’d forgotten to highlight. One of the azalea’s pistil was barely visible. The outline of one fox could use more precision.

They were little things - inconsequential but nonetheless present, and he felt a pull to correct them - but even then, something in his chest just - settled.

“Kitschy,” the man’s voice drawled on his left. “But I suppose that’s fitting.”

Neil shrugged. He was happy with it. It did fit the place, but also the vibe he’d wanted for it. “It’s done.”

The man’s gaze flickered down to the paintbrush Neil still held in his hand, one eyebrow arched in question although his face looked bored.

Neil shrugged again. “I thought it needed more. I was wrong,” he stated, and smiled at the man, half-grinning by the end. “Thank you for the change of perspective. I could have ruined it, if I hadn’t run into you.”

“How… fortunate,” the man said, flat-voiced and not meaning a word of it.

Neil took the whole mural in one last time, then slightly shook his head and turned to clean up his mess. He dumped the brushes in the bucket of water he’d used to clean the wall, then picked up one of the rags he used to wipe paint off and handed it to the man. He’d turned away from the wall as well, and took the rag with both eyebrows raised.

Neil gestured at his own chest, around where the stain was. “So you can wipe the worst of the paint off,” he explained, then pointed at the bucket. “Dunk it in the water there, it’s got soap in. It won’t take it all of, but I’ll take you to my place once I’m done packing up and you can wash it there.”

“Why would I do that?”

Neil blinked up from the paint can he was closing. “Because I live like ten minutes away and I have a washer and dryer?”

“I don’t know you.”

Neil shrugged. “I’m Neil,” he said, holding out his hand. The man stared at it without moving. Neil looked at it, noticed the amount of paint smeared on it, and took it away. “Neil Josten. I’m a painter.”

“I noticed,” the man said, then rolled his eyes at Neil’s expectant look. “Andrew Minyard.”

Neil grinned. “I’ve heard about you. Are you the journalist, or the doctor?”

Andrew scowled. “Journalist.”

Neil hummed. “Thought so.”

Andrew went back to wiping his shirt with the wet cloth, and Neil walked over to the bucket so he could start scrubbing the brushes clean.

He always lost himself in the task. There was something cathartic about sitting there, rubbing the paint off and seeing it swirl and mix in the water, after spending so many hours with his mind directed solely at the mural, attention and focus held so taut that he’d sometimes forget to blink. Tidying up, in contrast, was a mindless task. It set his brain at rest and allowed him to come back down to earth.

By the time he was finished, Andrew was long done with his shirt and stood leaning against the wall with his cellphone in hand, waiting.

“Changed your mind?” Neil called out to him.

Andrew barely even glanced at him. “I’m not the one inviting a stranger into my home.”

Neil shrugged. “You know Wymack. That’s enough for me.”

“Your survival instincts are disastrous.”

Neil’s grin split his face in half. “You have no idea.”

That earned him a look, but nothing else.

Loading everything back into the van took longer without help (Andrew looked up a few times as Neil came and went, but that was it), but soon enough everything had been put away and all that was left for Neil to do was to tell Wymack he was done. When he looked up from his phone, he found Andrew standing some ways in front of him, his own phone nowhere to be seen.

Neil tilted his head towards the passenger door. “Ready to go?”

All he got in reply was a soft huff, and then Andrew was opening the door and getting in. Neil was smiling as he walked over to the other side of the van and hopped in.

“The paint will wash off,” Neil offered as the van rumbled to life. “It resists to the rain, but not the washing machine.”

“We all have a breaking point.”

Neil supposed that was true. He’d seen plenty of people break, and had come close himself several times.

Unlike paint, though, people could get back up. Even when there was more scar tissue left than skin, muscles would pull and pull at the the body until it stood.

Neil didn’t say this. He didn’t know how, and doubted Andrew would understand if he had. 

Then again, if he’d worked with Wymack, maybe he would.

It was this thought, and the comforting manoeuvering of his van through an itinerary he knew in his sleep, that pushed Neil to try.

“People are more like bones than paint,” he told Andrew. The look he got in response was so intentionally bored it pushed Neil to try harder. Like maybe, if he could find the right words, Andrew’s blank surface would crack and he’d get a glimpse at the colors hidden beneath. “Paint washes off. Or fades. And if you want to, you can always cover it up,” he said. He wasn’t looking at Andrew anymore, but the attention directed at him was unwavering as he spoke. “People aren’t so easy to get rid off. We bend, and we give, and we break,” he took a steadying breath, eyes intent on the road even as the mangled lines marring his hands pulled at the skin, “but we mend. We scar. We stand back up. And we keep going.”

Run, his mother had told him more than once. Never look back. There is nothing for you there.

It had worked for him, for a while. As long as he hadn’t looked back, all that had existed for him was a narrow path forward, and the impossibility to slow down. His survival had depended on it. But when she’d died - Neil’d stumbled. She had died and Neil had tripped over her corpse and nothing would ever wash that landmark off the surface of his life. Neil had slowed down. The path had still been there, but everything around it had been there, too. A little blurred, a little out of focus, but the longer he had stared, the clearer it had become - and the slower he had run.

Of course, it’d meant that they caught up to him.

But he’d survived.

He had found help and had gotten back up and he had kept going.

And through it all, he’d learned to stop running.

“Not all of us do.”

Andrew’s voice startled Neil. It brought him out of autopilot and pulled his thoughts back to traffic as efficiently as if he’d been pinched. It took several seconds for the words to make sense.

“No,” Neil agreed. “We don’t. My mother didn’t,” he added, flicking a glance at Andrew’s profile and smiling when Andrew turned to look at him and stayed. “But I did. And I have a feeling you did too.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“That’s not true,” Neil countered. “I know you worked for Wymack. I know you’re a journalist, and that you have a twin who’s a doctor and whose name also starts with an A. I also know that Kevin thinks your diet’s disastrous and your journalistic skills impressive. Judging from the articles I’ve read, I’d say he’s right.”

“So you really are Neil Josten,” Andrew retorted, something tense in his tone. “I wondered. Tell me, are you this obsessed with every acquaintance Kevin has, or should I feel flattered?”

“I’m not a stalker,” Neil protested. “Kevin just can’t shut up about you. And I get why. That piece you did on the Moriyamas -” Neil cut himself off before he could say you were right. He was not ready for that conversation. Maybe later, if their paths crossed again, which - Neil was surprised to find out - he was hoping they would. He faltered for a bit, before settling for an honest, “It was brilliant,” and hoping Andrew wouldn’t question it.

No such luck.

“Was it now,” Andrew droned. It wasn’t said like a question.

Neil tensed. He knew Andrew had noticed when he met his eyes, but stubbornly refused to acknowledge it as he started to park his van in the exact same spot he’d pulled it out of in the morning. He was thankful when he started to unload his equipment and Andrew didn’t pry. He just stood there and smoked.

When you feel yourself start to spiral, focus on what your senses tell you, not your mind, his therapist had said. Neil dutifully focused on the task at hand and the smell of ash until the taste of blood had all but vanished from his mouth.

When he’d locked the door to the shed he kept all his work stuff in, Neil finally felt centered enough to speak again.

“I hope you’re not allergic to cats,” he told Andrew. “Sir’s very affectionate.”

Andrew arched an eyebrow. “You’re cat’s name is Sir.”

Neil grinned. This was a topic he could relax into. “Sir Fat Cat MacCattherson. She’s fat.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Neil led them to the stairs. Andrew didn’t protest.

“I’m not the one who named him. Do you know Allison?”

“Yes,” Andrew said, distaste evident in his voice. “Tragically.”

Neil shrugged. “She’s not that bad.” Andrew apparently had nothing to say to that. Neil wasn’t deterred. “Do you have a pet?”

“I have a cat.”

“What’s its name then?”

A pause. Then an aggravated sigh. “King Fluffkins.”

Neil stopped. He turned around to catch the expression on Andrew’s face, and raised both eyebrows. “I’m going to guess it wasn’t your idea.”

Andrew looked unimpressed. “Congratulations, it was my cousin’s. You guessed correctly and win nothing,” he deadpanned, and pushed past Neil.

They stopped on the first floor. Andrew remained silent as Neil opened the three locks on his door, and didn’t question it when Neil locked them back up once they’d slipped inside.

Sir came up to them to investigate as soon as she’d heard the door, as Neil had known she would. She headbutted Neil’s shin first, then wandered over to sniff Andrew. He waited for her to rub against his leg before offering her his hand, which she sniffed some more, then rubbed against to ask for petting. Andrew dutifully indulged her. The softness that came over his features was subtle, but unmistakable. It caught Neil by surprise.

Once Sir had had her fill and wandered off, however, all the tension that’d left immediately returned to Andrew’s shoulders.

Neil could sympathise. Entering someone else’s space always left him on edge the first few times. It’d taken months for him to feel at ease in the flat Matt shared with Dan, and they’d already been friends. Andrew and Neil were strangers. Allowing him in his flat would have been unthinkable years ago; now it simply left Neil unbalanced. At least he’d have something to report to his therapist the following week.

“Is it okay if I throw some of my stuff in with your shirt?” Neil asked to distract himself from the feeling. When Andrew nodded, he retrieved the laundry basket in his room.

He pointed Andrew towards the laundry/storage room with his chin and Andrew held the door open for him, since his own hands were occupied with the laundry basket. He emptied it into the washing machine, then picked out the few items that would need some stain-remover to go back to their original state.

“I’m surprised we didn’t meet earlier,” Neil mused out loud as he poured the detergent into the little plastic drawer and pushed it shut.

Andrew was leaning against the wall when Neil turned around, watching him. “Kevin likes to keep his life compartmentalised.”

“He’s dating a former Raven,” Neil pointed out, frowning.

“Former. Why do you think they haven’t tried to transfer into the same team?” Andrew said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Neil thought about it. He’d assumed Kevin had tried, but had never been curious enough to ask. It made sense now. It’d also explain why they still hadn’t made their relationship public.

“I just thought Kevin was emotionally crippled,” he said.

“He is,” Andrew stated, then gestured impatiently with his hand. “But I’m done talking about Kevin’s boring life.”

“He’s a gold-winning olympic athlete,” Neil pointed out.

Andrew made a disgusted sound. “ He’s Kevin. He could be the queen of England, and I’d still be bored discussing his life for more than two minutes.” He shifted against the wall so he was facing Neil, eyes narrowed and suddenly sharper than they’d been. “I’d rather we talk about you, Neil Josten. I can’t figure you out.”

Neil’s hand tensed on the edge of the washing machine. He put it in his pocket and leaned a hip where it had been, smiling to hide the learned anxiety that was rising in his guts.

“I’m not that interesting.”

“Oh, but I think you are,” Andrew said, leaning slightly forward like he wanted to tell Neil a secret. “Everything about you says damaged goods, yet here you are. Bringing a stranger into your home on a whim. Doesn’t exactly align with the amount of locks you’ve got on your door, now, does it?”

Neil bristled. “I’m not defenseless.”

Andrew looked into his eyes without flinching. “No,” he said, a thoughtful tone to it. “I don’t think you are.”

Neil frowned. He didn’t know what Andrew meant by that. Was he talking about his scars? Had Neil let his past show, somehow? Had Kevin talked more than he should have?

Neil shook his head. Relax. Took a deep breath. You’re not on the run anymore.

He leaned away from the washing machine and gestured at Andrew’s stained shirt. “I’ll get you a shirt or something so you can take this off.”

Andrew said nothing. He followed Neil to his room, stopping at the entrance to lean against the doorframe as Neil rummaged through his clothes. He had the nagging feeling that he was being evaluated, somehow. Andrew was judging him. Neil decided to ignore it and focused on finding a t-shirt that would fit Andrew’s broader frame, settling on a grey hoodie that’d always been a little oversized on him.

“Here,” he said, handing the hoodie to Andrew, who took it without a word. “You can change in the bathroom over there.”

The hoodie fitted Andrew fine. It was a little tight around the arms and shoulders, but not enough that it looked uncomfortable. Neil took the shirt from Andrew and sprayed the stain-remover where it was needed, then threw it into the machine and started the cleaning cycle.

“It’s gonna take about an hour for the cycle to be over,” he told Andrew. “And then another half-hour for it to dry.”

Andrew’s brows furrowed slightly, but he did not otherwise complain, so Neil told him to make himself comfortable on the couch and slipped into his own room to change. He threw his work overalls on a chair so the fresh stains from the mural would dry, and exchanged it for a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

Andrew’s eyes trailed over his arms when he returned to the living room, a spark of interest in his gaze as he took in the mismatched mix of tattoos and scars that covered them. If he noticed that Neil had caught him looking, it didn’t show. Maybe he didn’t care. Neil brushed it off either way and made his way over to the kitchen part of the room, pulling one glass out of a cabinet then turning towards Andrew.

“Do you want something to drink? I’ve got tap water and juice.”

“Depends on the juice.”

Neil opened the fridge to check. “I’ve got apple, tomato, orange, ananas, or grapefruit.”

“Apple. That’s a lot of juices.”

“I like juice,” Neil said, and shrugged. He got the brick of apple juice out of the fridge and poured two glasses of it, shutting the fridge’s door with his hip. He stuck the juice under one armpit then and brought the glasses over to the coffee table, setting one of them down in front of Andrew. He sat down on the other cushion with his own glass.

Andrew sipped at the juice. Neil leaned down into the back of the couch and sighed. He could feel his body finally allowing itself to relax after the hours of painting. He turned his head towards Andrew and was about to ask him if he wanted to watch a movie or something while they waited when Andrew glanced down at his exposed forearm.

“What does this one represent?” he asked.

Neil followed his gaze down to the tattoo. It was one of the first ones he’d gotten: the outline of a card, with a burning car trapped inside. Below the card was a date.

Neil swallowed. He could almost feel the heat radiating off of it now, even after all those years. It burned his eyes. He looked away from the tattoo and found Andrew’s eyes instead, studying him. Brown eyes, like the earth. Unwavering.

He didn’t know why, exactly, looking into Andrew’s eyes made the words spill. But they did.

“It’s my mother’s funeral,” he said. His voice was low. Barely above a whisper. Andrew was listening. “She died in that car. I was too weak to pull her out, so I burned it.” If Neil closed his eyes, he could see it. The vast expanse of sand and the sea, rolling back and forth in rhythm. The flames filling up the car like they were trying to eat it. The smell.

Andrew bumped his knee with Neil’s and the beach disappeared.

“I buried her ashes on the beach.”

Andrew held his gaze for a little while longer, and then he turned away. His other knee - the one he hadn’t used to bring Neil back - jumped three times. When he spoke, his voice sounded oddly distant.

“The woman who gave birth to me abandoned me to the foster system. When we were ‘reunited’, I found out she’d been abusing my brother for years.” Andrew took a sip out of his glass. “So I killed her.”

Neil wasn’t as surprised as he probably ought to be. There was something about Andrew that spoke of violence. Not right here. Not in the present. Yet it was etched into him like a giant scar.

“What about your father?”

Andrew shrugged. “Doesn’t exist.”

Neil sighed. “I wish I’d never known mine,” he said. “But at least I got to see him die.”

The weight of Andrew’s gaze on the side of his face was strangely comforting. When he raised his glass in the air, Neil turned to follow the motion with his eyes.

“To dead parents,” Andrew said, and tipped his glass back.

Neil laughed.

*

They watched Grey’s Anatomy. Neil managed to make it through the first two minutes of the first episode before starting to roast the stupidity of the cast. Andrew joined in immediately. Neil laughed too many times to count, and managed to make Andrew snort several times in return.

They were well into the third episode when Andrew’s phone rang. The phone call itself couldn’t have lasted more than thirty seconds, but by the time Andrew had hung up, it was clear that he needed to go.

They’d forgotten to check on the laundry, however, so it’d just sat there in the washing machine for at least half an hour, which meant that Andrew’s shirt wasn’t dry. It also meant that Andrew couldn’t trade it for the hoodie he was still wearing.

In the end, Neil told Andrew to keep the hoodie, and Andrew gave Neil his phone number so they could meet up and return their respective items of clothing. Neil didn’t have a habit of inviting people over, but the flat felt oddly empty once Andrew was gone. He went for a run. It helped.

They traded the hoodie and the shirt a few days later. They’d agreed on the coffee shop where Andrew got his caffeine fix every day, and sat down to wait for their drinks. Neil asked what Andrew was working on, and just like a whole hour passed.

There was no reason that they should meet again after that. Sure, they’d probably cross paths sooner or later due to their intersecting social circles. But there was no reason to make it happen on their own.

Except - well.

There was no reason that they shouldn’t meet again, either.

*

[5:24pm] Hey, Andrew.

[5:26pm] Neil.

[5:26pm] I need a favor.

[5:27pm] Careful, Neil. You already owe me a shirt.

[5:28pm] Like hell I do. Your shirt is fine.

[5:29pm] Easy for you to say. You don’t have to wear it.

[5:30pm] The shirt is fine, Andrew.

[5:31pm] Would you go to art therapy with me next weekend?

[5:32pm] Why?

[5:36pm] My therapist thinks I should try it. She said it could ‘help me address some of the more repressed parts of my trauma.’

[5:38pm] Sounds fun.

[5:38pm] Ha ha.

[5:40pm] Are you coming with or not?

[5:42pm] Sure. But I’m not painting.

[5:43pm] You won’t have to. I’ll text you the address and time.

[5:44pm] Thanks, Andrew.

[5:46pm] Don’t mention it.

#aftg exchange winter 2019 #andreil #aftg #tfc #neil josten #andrew minyard #all for the game #the foxhole court #wymack #wulfrann writes #I can't tag sofiescastle bc the url doesn't exist apparently?? #the ao3 handle does exist tho #I'm really sorry about the late posting #Life was busier than expected

[smoljoelito]

obra de arte || joel pimentel

word count: 2,499

requested by/request: my own idea I threw into my queue lmfao

description: you draw joel pimentel per request, but you don’t expect him to see it.

warnings: fluff

masterlist

tags: @quierick @mepuserojito @ericks-mala-actitud @woowoodaaboo @ella-se-vuelve-loca @joelsaww @honeyzhong @sarswilltakeyouout @pimentelssmile @whippedforcnco @notsoteenagegirl @richukisbb @besosdecnco @emsy55 @cloudfiveclub @erickspretend1 @hardtoadore

———————————————————————————————————--

Everyone has their outlet in life, as you like to call it.

An outlet, to you, any activity you do that brings you a happiness high or gives you a sense of calamity. For some, it’s working out. The intensity and achievement of small goals gives a lot of people a shot of dopamine that becomes an addiction. For others, a creative outlet suits them best. Some people sew, draw, sing, do DIYs, and/or dance and use it as their escape from the stressors of life. Then there’s the rare few, that their outlet is their job.

For you, you’re lucky to say that you have been able to take your favorite thing in the entire world, art, and make a living off it. Never in your life did you think you’d be able to do such a thing, but after beginning to innocently post a few artworks on your art Instagram account your friends encouraged you to make, you began to grow.

It was a snowball effect, starting slow, but as soon as the bigger art accounts began to repost your drawings, it grew faster then you could ever imagine. Whimsical art was never your forte, but realism for you came naturally. You could draw anything; humans, nature, dogs, cats, buildings, etc, as easily as breathing air. Some people even began to call you an art prodigy, which you never truly believed.

Your favored medium? Anything that you can make art with. You go through phases, sometimes loving markers for quick art, topping them with colored pencils for details. Sometimes, especially for nature, you enjoy pastels, oil, and chalk, to get the beautiful blending of colors needed to successfully make the picture come alive. Your favorite, however, seems to be painting, specifically watercolor. As much as you love oil paints, there’s nothing like layering watercolors together, giving a gentle and soft finish, but also an imperfect look that seems to draw the whole piece together as one.

Most say you have the ability to make anything come alive; from highlights to lowlights, from perfecting skin colors and providing the correct background to make it all tie together. It’s a special gift of yours; being able to find whatever makes people’s eyes sparkle, and this is how you have your success as an artist. You have the ability to make your models look alive by putting them in a situation where they automatically feel the most lively, where you can see the natural glow coming off their skin. The sparkle in their eyes isn’t painted on, and the flush in their cheeks isn’t just the paint, but it’s the model, and artist, in the prime. People look better when you decide to paint them, it’s like magic, how everything comes together so perfectly on the canvas. It’s like you have an innate ability to make absolutely anything, beautiful. 

Now on a full-ride scholarship to your favored art school in LA, you’re living a dream. Most of your artworks for school, you sell for money, but in the summer, you take commissions and requests to keep your talent and extra money up. So, at the moment, you’re working on a gouache watercolor painting of Joel Pimentel, a request you recently got. You know the band he’s from, since you’ve been listening to them for quite a while, but never so much into it to learn their names.

When you got the request, you decided to do it out of other’s you’d received since, for some reason, you had an incredibly good feeling about it. Your intuition is usually fairly good and right, so you decided to paint the curly-haired boy, whose name you just learned. 

Finding the right picture seemed to take you longer than the drawing, but after searching his Instagram account, photographer’s accounts, and google images, you found the most candid photo you could find of him smiling, seeming to be in his element, and he is.

The picture was taken inside of what appears to be a recording studio, but that’s not going to matter anyway since you’re making the background a single color; blue ombré, light blue at the top to accentuate his hair, and then dark blue at the bottom. Painting him, however, would be done in black and white. You enjoy messing with colors in such a way, just to experiment and keep creativity flow up.

With the picture in front of you, you begin your sketch. For some reason, once you get the basic shapes of his face and body down, you always start with the eyes. Eyes are your favorite thing to sketch because they are so versatile. With a few highlights, you can make them look alive and glowy, and with a few more highlights and some shadings, tear-filled and irritated. To perfect them, that’s where you always start. Then you move up to the hair, and then down the rest of the body. 

When the basic outline is done, you already have pride in the drawing, excited to finish it. Painting it is your favorite part, and once you get a basic grey wash across the entire drawing, you start with, surprise, his eyes. Once you get down the basic color blocking, you begin to add details; small white highlights around the inner corner to make his eyes look extra radiant. From there, you work outwards, building shadows in his face and hair, then letting it dry while you start on the bottom half of his body. 

This is how you work, layer by layer, until the clock reads 3:11 A.M. and your eyes are shutting every few seconds, requiring you to jolt yourself awake. After cleaning up your art hands, which is what you call your hands after they’ve been covered with whatever medium(s) you’ve been using for the day (A/N: this is what I call my hands after I’ve made some art since they’re trashed lol) and you wash your face, you practically collapse in bed. 

Upon waking up the next morning with the brilliant sunlight of the morning lighting up your room, you groan at the light pounding of your head. It’s your own curse, you’re a perfectionist, and you absolutely cannot stop doing anything you’ve started until it’s completed. 

You pop a few Advil that you leave by your bed, gulping them down with some water before pulling back the covers, exposing your body to the AC. A hiss escapes your lips as the cold meets your body rather gently, brushing over your skin like a light kiss, yet leaving behind shivers and goosebumps in its wake. Quickly, you snatch your favorite hoodie you wear around the house, pulling it on your body, before letting your toes greet the chilly floor. 

After you freshen up in the bathroom, your feet pad against the floor towards the kitchen to get yourself a cup of coffee. While it brews, you head back to your art desk you keep by the window of your apartment, finding the painting of Joel staring back up at you. A gasp escapes your lips as you hold it up, heart-swelling at how good it turned out. Just as you take out your camera to take a photo of it, you can hear your Keurig spit out the last bit of your fresh cup of coffee.

Once you have mixed in enough cream and sweetener, you head back into the living room, setting the cup down on a coaster on your desk. From there, you pick up the painting, signing it quickly, before hanging it on the white wall of your apartment. After you set up some white lights, you snap a picture of it with your camera. 

While you work at your desk, you leave the painting on the wall for fear of spilling your coffee on it, yet you have no fear of it spilling on your computer. The realization of your art life makes you chuckle as you plug in your camera to your computer.

After a few quick edits, you send the photo to your phone before uploading it to Instagram and your story, making sure to tag Joel and CNCO to help with exposure. From there, you set down your phone and put away your computer, sipping on your coffee as you think about your next possible artwork. 

Once you’ve downed your first cup of coffee, you stand up, putting all your lights away and placing the painting of Joel in a portfolio case, before picking up your phone.

A gasp escapes your lips as you find your phone blowing up with notifications from Instagram, a few specific ones catching your eye.

cncomusic has uploaded your post to their story.

cncomusic has tagged you in a post.

cncomusic has mentioned you in a post.

joelpimentel has uploaded your post to their story.

joelpimentel  has tagged you in a post.

joelpimentel has mentioned you in a post.

joelpimentel wants to send you a message. 

Quickly, you open Instagram, reposting the notifications to your story as you squeal with excitement. Then, you head to your direct messages, accepting the request to allow him to message you.

joelpimentel: Hey! You’re drawing is so good, I love it so much and so does my mom. We were wondering if we can buy it off you if you’d be willing to sell it to us. Thanks so much! You’re really talented :)

Your jaw practically hits the floor as you stare bug-eyed at the message. Before your brain can even process it, your thumbs are typing.

artbyy/n: Hey! Thank you so much! I really appreciate it. Unfortunately, I won’t sell it to you, but I will send it free of charge :)

Almost immediately, you see he begins typing back.

joelpimentel: You’re welcome, anytime :). No, there’s no way I’m not paying for it! That had to take forever. My mom says she’s going to pay you.

artbyy/n: LOL it didn’t take me that long. The medium I used wasn’t my most expensive medium and it was a request, not a commission, so I don’t really mind. I mean you already reposted my art and tagged me in it on your account and on CNCO’s account, that’s payment enough. My follower count is skyrocking lol thank you!

joelpimentel: Fine, okay. You’re welcome lol. Do you want to ship it to me?

artbyy/n: Sure! I can get it in the mail today if you send me your address right now.

joelpimentel: Alright, here it is! Thanks again :)) My mom is really excited.

artbyy/n: LOL well, tell her I said thanks! And you’re welcome, anytime!

Quickly, you take one of those long yellow envelopes and write the address on it with a brush pen to add to the artsy vibe. Calligraphy is also something you do in your free time, just to take a break from art sometimes. Then, you take the artwork and slide it in between two pieces of cardboard inside the yellow envelope before sealing it off with a rubber stamp with your initials on it. 

After putting on a stamp and paying for shipping, you take your keys and slide on some shoes, before walking outside to find your mailbox. Unfortunately, all the mailboxes are on the first floor of your apartment building, so you hop on an elevator and take the ride all the way down.

Around ten minutes later, you find your way back into the apartment, locking the door and kicking off your shoes. You head back over to your phone, finding many new notifications from Instagram.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

It goes on and on for many notifications making you giggle, and then you see there’s a new message from him.

joelpimentel: Your art is amazing holy crap is there anything you can’t draw? Sorry for bombing your phone my mom and I were looking LOL.

artbyy/n: LOL I tend to draw the same things over and over again, so probably haha. It’s totally okay! A celebrity is liking all of my pictures and you think I’M complaining? Also, hi mom lol.

joelpimentel: I think you’re wrong you could probably draw blind. LOL you still have a right to complain. She said hi and wants to know if you speak Spanish cause she saw some of your captions are in Spanish.

artbyy/n: I actually have drawn blind before! It’s a form of art called the blind contour line drawing! Lol yeah I do! I love speaking Spanish so much I would speak it over English if I could. I took classes in high school and now I’m getting a minor in it! Last year I went to Ecuador to study abroad and I just got back a few weeks ago. It feels weird to speak English lol.

joelpimentel: I know the feeling. When I travel with my band and speak Spanish all the time then flip languages it feels unnatural. That’s so awesome you learned it though! Not a lot of people speak it that weren’t raised in a Latin family. My mom says that’s really cool and wants to know how you liked Ecuador.

artbyy/n: Thanks! I know right. I love the language and culture. I just love languages and cultures in general though. Really I could sit and listen to someone tell me about their culture for hours. In my free time last year I started teaching myself Italian too just because languages are cool. 

artbyy/n: Ecuador is the most beautiful country I have ever been too. I cried like a baby when I left. Everyone was so nice there, including my host family. I miss my host mom so much :( she’s the light of my life lol.

joelpimentel: I love languages too! I try to learn a few words from every country I visit. The world is an incredibly cool place haha. I’m interested just like you are :). 

joelpimentel: Ecuador is amazing. One of my bandmates, Chris, is from Ecuador! He’d be so happy to hear you loved it. Aw, I’m sorry :( hopefully, you can visit soon.

The conversation goes on for hours like this, and you only realize when your stomach starts rumbling from lack of food. Really, you’re never on your phone, so it’s odd for you to sit, staring at a screen all day long. A smile has been plastered across your face the entirety of the conversation, and you can’t help but hope he keeps talking to you for a while. It seems you both have the same likes and dislikes, so the flow of conversation is some of the easiest you’ve ever had. 

The smile on your face lasts the rest of the day as you two happily text until it is time to go to bed. When he wishes you goodnight, you swoon, phone dropping onto your chest as you stare up at the ceiling grinning.

Oh boy, you’re in for some trouble.

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do we want a part two?

#joel pimentel #joel imagines #joel one shots #joel pimentel imagines #cnco #cnco imagines #cnco one shots #my imagines #my one shots