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bxtchforstyles · 3 years

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You Better

Harry Styles x CEO!Y/N

Harry's girlfriend is the CEO of Gucci, and it is no easy job, but getting to design her boyfriends suits makes it all worth it.

Warning: minor swearing

Word Count: ~1.5k

gif not mine

"Hi baby," Harry was quick to greet her at the door, planting a small kiss to her cheek. "How was work?"

"Long." Y/n sighed as she took her coat off, hanging it on the hook near the door. "Very, very long. never thought I could go to that many meeting in one day."

Harry loved when Y/N came home, and she loved coming home to him. He was an absolute angel to her, especially when she was stressed and annoyed. Always greeting her at the door with kisses, making her dinner, running her a bath. Harry was everything that Y/N dreamed of in a relationship.

"I have a question for you, love."

Y/N nodded as she followed him into the kitchen, seeing there was a large pot on the stove, most like some type of pasta that Harry loved making for her.

She sat down at the island of the kitchen as he went over to the stove to tend to the dinner, looking back at her occasionally. "Ya know how I have the tour for the second album coming up, right?"

She smiled, "Yes I am well aware that Love On Tour will be stealing my boyfriend."

"Well, that leads me to my first question." He takes a step towards the countertop she was sat at, looking across at her. "I was wondering if, maybe, you wanted to go on tour with me, or at least the American leg of it.

Y/N smiled even brighter this time, "I would love to go with you! I'm sure I can work something out to where I can work virtually for a couple of months."

He was gleaming with excitement, never being able to experience tour with her the last time around because she didn't have much seniority at her job and didn't want to abuse her power of having a flexible schedule.

"Now, what was your other question?"

Y/N noticed how he almost immediately got nervous when she said that, making her stomach start to sink.

"I don't want you to see me asking you this as rude, or as if i'm using you, because that is definitely not the case whatsoever,"

"Babe, I know that you're not using me." She almost laughed, "what is it that you want to ask me?"

"The last tour, the suits I wore were a large part of my performance, since the fans loved them so much," He was completely rambling now, "and I loved them too, they were amazing. I just wanted to know there was any way-"

She cut him off, already know what he was going to ask. "You want me to design your suits for tour again."

He let out a sigh of relief before nodding.

"Of course I will bub!" She was now the excited one, "I've been waiting for you to ask me, I just didn't want to overstep if you already had picked out a designer."

"Oh thank god." He let out a sigh of relief.

"I've had so many designed that i've put aside for you. Home many shows are there going to be?"

Y/N was a very smart woman, and Harry knew that from the start.

When the two of them first met, it was when Harry had done the Gucci campaign in 2018. Y/N was just an employee at that time, working in the design as well as the management department.

She had been the one to style him for all of his photo shoots for that day, and at the end of, Harry knew he had to see her again.

That's when Gucci offered to design a suit for each one of his tour stops, which he was ecstatic about.

Y/N had been apart of the main design team working on all sixty of the suits, top to bottom. She had always secretly been a little star struck by Harry, always wanting to impress him.

Now though, four years later, they had been dating for almost three years and Y/N was now one of the CEO's at Gucci.

Her dream.

Some people thought that the only reason Harry got special promos, suits and other things of the sort was because his girlfriend had such an important role in the business. But what they didn't know, was that everyone in the entire Gucci enterprise work team loved Harry.

"Can i see some of them?" He asked, speaking of the designs she had mentioned.

She immediately got up out of her seat at the barstool she was sat in, trekking quickly towards the foyer to retrieve her work bag. She pulled out her design binder, where all of the pictures of the modeled suits were.

She set the large binder in front of him on the counter, "Now, I know that most of these drawers are on female models, but please, keep an open mine."

"When do I not?" He sent a smirk at her before opening the binder.

The couple spent the next couple of hours looking at all of the suits that Y/N had sketched, deciding what on the designs to keep, and what parts needed to be reconfigured.

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

"Baby, I love how you look in pearls. They make your eyes shine." She gleamed as she walked into Harry's fitting room in her designing room.

"I really like this, actually." He told her, before attempting to adjust the suit jacket.

She took over, "Here, let me." He fixed the Jacket and the collar before directing him back towards the large mirror.

"Perfect." She stated.

"I really love it."

Y/N was over the moon looking at her boyfriend, seeing the many visions she had of the suits she designed for him come to life. The black suit jacket was lined with pearls, along with some pretty gold buttons that laid against Harry's torso.

She was smiling from cheek to cheek. "I'm really glad, hopefully you like all the suits I've designed for you."

That's when Harry turned around to walk into her office, immediately stopping in his tracks as soon as he entered. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, wondering what he was looking at.

Until she herself walked in her office behind him, then she knew exactly what he was looking at.

"Please tell me that one is for me." His pleasing eyes were already begging her.

In the center of her room, was a standing mannequin, covered in a dark purple suit, covered in pink and silver rhinestones.

"Um-"

He widened his eyes, grabbing his girlfriend by the shoulders dramatically. "Y/N, angel, I will literally pay you however much you want if i can have this suit."

It was in fact not meant to be for Harry, but looking at his face, Y/N didn't think she could ever say no to him.

"You don't have to fucking pay me for it, Harry." She laughed at her boyfriend's offer, but he only narrowed his eyes at her playfully.

"But I will."

"I don't want you to." She protests back before beginning to take the suit jacket off of the standing mannequin. "Let's see if this even fits."

As soon as she put the jacket on him, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Fits like a glove." Y/N smiled, adjusting the buttons on the suit.

"Okay, you have to give this to me now." Harry looked at himself in the mirror hung on the wall of her office.

"I'll see what I can do."

He sat down on the couch that was sat against the wall, opposite of Y/N's office. "Who was it originally for anyway?"

She sat on her desk, facing her boyfriend. "Well, it was supposed to be for Justin Bieber, he wanted a suit for the Met Gala that matched Hailey's, but i'll figure something out."

"Oh my-" He gasped in shock at the fact he was wearing a suit that was intended to be warm by Justin Bieber. "Wait," He then started.

"What now, Harry?" Y/N rolled her eyes playfully.

"You're telling me my girlfriend is the CEO of Gucci, and i've never got to wear a cool matching suit with her? What the fuck is that about?"

"Ya know, I usually don't have the time to make myself a fancy dress to match Mr. I want a bright red suit that is entirely covered in hand sewn crystals."

"Oi! You have to admit that suit was one of the best I've ever worn!" Her boyfriend protests.

"One of them? It was the best!" She shoots back with a hint of shock in her tone. "Anyways, maybe I'll design us some fancy matching suits for when my insanely talented boyfriend sweeps the Grammys."

"Holy shit, I love you." He gasps as he plants his lips against here.

Y/N smiles into the kiss, "You better."

AUTHORS NOTE:

i hope you enjoyed, please send any requests that you have and I will try to respond to them asap!! thank you for reading! TPWK<3 xoxo- hails

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles x ofc #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles blog #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #solo harry #harry styles #ceo! y/n

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spencerreidslove · 4 years

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Let’s Be Bad

A/N: I was rewatching season 6 episode 13 “The Thirteenth Step” when it hit me. What if Spencer and Y/N were a crime duo being hunted by the BAU? So this idea was born. This fic is my baby and probably one of the longest things I have ever written. There is mentions of aclchol, a couple sexual themes, and normal Criminal Minds case stuff, so be aware. Let me know if you guys want a part 2 with their interrogation and stuff.

————-

“Buckle up crime fighters, because this one is bad.” Garcia said, standing up at the board. She clicked the remote to show a murder scene, four bodies in total, in a totally destroyed gas station.

“Not only did our bad guy murder four people last night in Chandler, Arizona, the police believe that he also did this.”

Gracia clicked her remote and the picture changed to another scene, six bodies this time, in a drugstore.

“A massacre just outside of Las Vegas, three weeks ago.”

“Three weeks is a long cooling off period.” Rossi said.

“M.O’s the same, though. All shot in the head and then all dragged into a line, store totally destroyed.” Prentiss said.

“With last night’s murder bringing the body count up to 10, the police need our help now. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch said, standing up from the table.

“Seriously? You want to go somewhere cold?” Spencer asked as you made your way into a small sandwich shop, just over the Utah border.

“Yes! Imagine waking up on Christmas Day to a white Christmas.” You said, wrapping your arms around one of Spencer’s.

“Where would we go that’s like that?” He asked, looking up at the menu, printed on a board.

“Wyoming. Up in the mountains. It’s nice there. We’ll get a cabin, live up there, together.”

“Alright,” Spencer said, smiling. “We’ll go to Wyoming. After.” He put one of his arms around your shoulders.

“After.” You agreed.

The two of you made your way to the counter, where a man, no older than 20 or so was waiting.

“What can I get you?” He asked, cleaning a spot on the counter.

He looked up and immediately his eyes latched onto yours.

Spencer said his sandwich order, but the boy didn’t seem to hear him. He was too busy staring at you, making you very uncomfortable.

“Hey.” Spencer said, slamming his hand on the counter. This seemed to knock the boy out of his trance.

“Sorry.” The boy said, still not taking his eyes off you.

“Take your eyes off my girlfriend and take our orders.” Spencer said, getting angrier.

“Sorry, she’s just like really pretty.” The boy said. Under his breath he mumbled, “I don’t see how she ended up with you.”

“That’s it.” Spencer said. He reached into his waistband and pulled out his pistol. Spencer quickly shot the boy in the head, and then turned to the other two patrons in the store. He quickly shot them, and then started moving to put them in a line.

This wasn’t the plan. You had only killed 2 days ago, the police would be quick to link you to this murder. But, Spencer sometimes had a temper and when it took over, there was no going back.

You pulled out your own pistol, and shot the remaining store worker who had come out from the back room.

“I’ll line them up.” You said to Spencer. “Go clear the security cameras.”

Spencer nodded and went into the back room. You spent the next few minutes lining the bodies up in a row. When you went into the back room, you saw Spencer toying with the panel that controlled the cameras.

The cameras quickly went blank, and only showed dark screens.

“I’m so glad you’re smart enough to know how to do that.” You said.

“IQ of 187 sweetheart.” Spencer said. “C’mon, let’s get going before the cops show up.”

“Hotch!” Emily called putting across the parking lot. “You aren’t going to believe this.”

Hotch turned his attention from the local police officer to Emily.

“A witness was next door at the craft store and saw a man and woman leave the sandwich shop together a couple of minutes after the gunfire.” Emily said.

“We’re looking for a man and woman killing team?” Hotch asked.

Emily shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Another witness said he saw the back of the liscine plate from across the street.” Morgan said, coming up to the group. “He didn’t get any numbers but he saw it was from Nevada.”

“Makes sense of their first murder was in Vegas.” Emily said.

“Prentiss, make sure the witness who saw the man and woman gets to a sketch artist. Morgan, see if the man remembers what type of car they were driving, then see if Garcia can find anybody from Nevada who drives that model.” Hotch said, directing out tasks.

“Going from three weeks to a 2 day cooling period is a massive deescalation.” Rossi said. “Something in that shop must’ve set them off.”

“You said the security cameras were wiped?” Hotch asked.

“Yeah, you can’t even access them now.” Rossi said.

“Get then to Garcia, she’s the only person who might be able to get them back and working”.

“They’ve found out that we’re a man and a woman team.” You said, calling out to Spencer, who was in the bathroom. You were laying on the bed in a random hotel, watching the news, where a blonde woman was talking about your most recent murder.

“Doesn’t matter. They haven’t linked us to the others, have they?” Spencer asked, coming out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

“They don’t have a clue.” You said.

“Good. For all they know we just shoot random people. They have no clue about the others.” He said.

You smiled as he came over beside you and started kissing your neck. “They’re never gonna get us.” He said.

You laughed a little as Spencer nicked lower on your neck.

“They’re too stupid to know what we’ve done.” You said. You could feel Spencer smile as he continued his kisses lower.

“What have you got Garcia?” Hotch asked to the laptop that was sitting on a table in the local police precinct.

“Not a lot, sir. Whoever wiped these cameras is some kind of genius. It’s nearly impossible to get the footage. And I am a cyber genius.” Garcia said.

“So you can’t get any footage off them?”

“Sir, I said it was nearly impossible. I will have this footage recovered wether it kills me. Au revoir!” Garcia said, signing off.

“These sketches aren’t helpful in the slightest.” Prentiss said dropping the pictures on the table. “The witness said she only saw the side profile of the woman and the man had sunglasses on and was faced away from her for most of the time.”

Hotch sighed. “We don’t have enough.”

“Ok, why these people? Why these places? They’re clearly going somewhere, but where is that?” Morgan asked.

“We have too many questions and not enough answers.” JJ said.

You were laying across the backseat of the car, your head in Spencer’s lap. You were drinking some kind of random alcohol Spencer had picked up straight out of the bottle.

“I can’t believe we’re here.” Spencer said, stroking your hair and looking out of the window.

“I could’ve waited.” You said.

Your car was parked down the street from your childhood home. It was your brother’s birthday and you knew he would be home. It was finally time to exact your revenge, just had Spencer did.

“Y/N, c’mon. It’ll be good for him to be gone.” Spencer said. “Plus, I get to see your childhood room in all its glory.”

You laughed a little and shoved him lightly. “You got it?” You asked.

Spencer moved as he reachedfor his bag in the front seat. He pulled out a small vile of poison. “Wouldn’t forget it.”

You slowly sat up. “We have a birthday party to attend.”

“Oh!” Garcia cried, looking at her computer screen.

She quickly reached over and dialed for Hotch’s phone number. “What have you got, Garcia?”

“I got the footage back! It took a lot of work and a lot of trouble but I got it! It’s already sent to your tablets.”

Hotch picked up the tablet and clicked play on the video Garcia sent him. In the video, a young man and woman were walking into a sandwich shop, talking and holding hands.

“Keep an eye on those customers that just walked in.” Garcia said.

They reached the counter and engaged in a heated discussion with a worker.

“There’s no sound on the original video, so I don’t know what they’re saying.” Garcia said.

The man took a pistol out of his waistband and shot the worker, and then turned and shop the other customers. The woman reached and grabbed a pistol and shop the other employee that had come running out.

The woman began lining the bodies up while the man disappeared into the back room. The woman joined him, and then the cameras went dark.

“Garcia, run their faces, see if anything comes up.” Hotch said.

“Already on it. If they have ever been photographed, I will find their entire life.”

Hotch let out a sigh of relief.

They finally had a break in the case.

“I’m nervous.” You said. You and Spencer were standing on the front porch of your childhood house, waiting to ring the bell.

“It’ll be fine. We get in, act all friendly, and then we put it into their drinks, and then we get out.” Spencer said, coming over and rubbing your back.

“Alright.” You said, ringing the doorbell.

There was a moment before somebody came to the door. “Y/N?” A woman asked on the other side of the door.

“Hi, Mom.” You said.

“I thought you said you’d never wanted to come back here again?” Your mom asked.

“Yeah, well things change.” You said. “This is Spencer, he’s coming in too.”

You and Spencer made your way past your mom into the living room where your brother and his wife were sitting.

“Y/N?” You brother asked.

“Max.” You said, addressing him. “Happy Birthday.” It took everything in your power not to slap him. He was the reason for all your suffering.

“It’s nice to see you.” He said, standing up and going to hug you. You flinched slightly, but still managed to hug him back. He squeezed you just a little too tightly.

“And who’s this?” Max asked, looking at Spencer.

“Spencer.” You said.

Max sighed and shook his head. “Never one to elaborate.” He stuck out his hand for Spencer to shake.

Spencer kindly shook it back, giving Max just the slightest smile.

“Happy Birthday.” Spencer said.

You caught Spencer’s eye as Max moved to sit back down. It would be a happy birthday, just not for Max.

“We are looking for a man and woman killing team, they are most likely in a relationship and are on a mission.” Hotch said, standing in front of the local PD.

“At this time we do not know what their mission is, but we believe they are on a trip to reach that point. They started in Nevada, and were last seen in Utah. They could be headed for any of the surrounding states, including back to Nevada or Arizona.” Prentiss said.

“They are rapidly devolving, as they went from having a three week cooling off period, to two days. We don’t know when they’ll strike again and have to catch them sooner rather than later.” Rossi said.

“All of their attacks have been in small stores; a drug store, a gas station, a sandwich shop. We believe they choose these places due to personal connection to one. Whoever they are going after probably owns a small store.” Morgan said.

“With that in mind, we suggest all owners of small stores who know somebody who looks like this, to keep an eye out. Do not try to approach them, they are armed and dangerous.” JJ said, from her place outside, briefing the news.

“Everybody keep an eye out and be vigilant.” Hotch said.

The crowd dispersed. Morgan’s phone began to ring.

“Talk to me Babygirl.” He said, answering.

“Well, tall dark and handsome I have some great news for you. I got a hit off the faces from the security feed.” Garcia said.

Morgan put her on speakerphone and the team gathered around to listen.

“Your man is Spencer Reid. Child prodigy from Las Vegas, he graduated high school at age 12 and his IQ tests 187. He dropped out of college at age 16 due to the fact that his mother’s schizophrenia was getting worse. Reid became her full time caregiver until around age 25, when he sighned her up for a new drug test that involved her living in a new campus.

“It seemed to be working, until a year ago when the main Doctor administered a new drug cocktail that was not FDA approved, and ended up killing Reid’s mother and several other patients.” Garcia said.

“Garcia, where’s that doctor now? They might be going to kill him if they both lost a parent.” Rossi said.

“I would say yes, but it seems like they already have. Four weeks ago the doctor, his wife, and son were found dead in their apartment from cyanide poisoning.” Garcia said.

“What about the girl?” Prentiss asked.

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She is from Silverton, Colorado. She was working in a casino in Vegas until around a month ago.”

“Must be how they met.” Morgan said.

“She filed several cases against her older brother Max Y/L/N for physical abuse, but the charges were dropped everytime. From the looks of her hospital records it was bad.”

“They’ve exacted their revenge on Reid’s nemesis, now they want revenge for Y/N. Garcia what’s Max’s address?” Hotch said.

“He won’t be there. On his wife’s Instagram it says they’re going home for his birthday. I’ve sent you that address.” Garcia said.

“We need to get there, and fast.” Rossi said.

Talking and laughing with your family for several hours was painful, and Spencer could tell. They had watched you suffer for years at the hands of your brother, and did nothing.

“Why don’t I refill everybody’s drinks?” You asked, standing up.

“I’ll help you.” Spencer said.

After you had collected everybody’s cups, you made your way to the kitchen where you filled everybody’s cups with what they had asked for.

Spencer pulled the cyanide vial out of his pocket, and put a little bit in each cup. When you returned to the living room, you handed everybody their cups and watched as they took drinks.

It would be a few minutes before the poison started to kick in, but you couldn’t wait.

After a few moments, your mom started to choke.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Your dad asked. Then he started to choke. After just a few seconds, everybody was on the floor, choking in pain.

You and Spencer quickly came around, grabbing phones and smashing them with your heels, making sure no one could call 911.

When you reached Max, you kicked his face. “That’s what you get you son of a bitch!”

You kicked him again, and again. Before you could do some more damage, Spencer grabbed your arm.

“We better get out of here, darling. We have a lot of ground to cover.” He said. You nodded and followed him out of the house, with one last slam of the door.

“Dammit!” Morgan said, entering the house and seeing that all members of the Y/L/N family were dead in the living room floor.

“They’ve already been here.”

“Hotch, these bodies are still warm, they can’t be far away.” Prentiss said. “We probably just missed them.”

“Hey! We just got a hit from APB, their car was seen headed twoards a hotel a few miles from here.” The local sheriff said.

“Dave stay here and figure out what happened, Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, with me.” Hotch said.

You and Spencer we laying on your bed in your hotel room, drinking the same alcohol from earlier.

“You were right.” You said.

“I am about most things. Be more specific.” Spencer said, taking the bottle from you.

“That it would feel good to have him gone.” You said. “I already feel twenty times freer.”

“I knew you would.” Spencer said. He placed the bottle on the bed side table and rolled ove on top of you. “I know lots of things that would make you feel good.”

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the door.

“Spencer Reid! Y/N Y/L/N! This is the FBI open the door!” A male voice called from the outside.

You and Spencer both looked at each other in terror.

Could they maybe have found us? Your eyes asked.

The door was suddenly knocked open and FBI agents were flooding into your room.

Spencer and you were being pulled apart and cuffed.

“Spencer Reid, Y/N Y/L/N, you are being charged with the murders of 21 people.” A serious looking man said.

“What?” You said. “You have the wrong people!”

“No we’re pretty sure we don’t.” A brunette woman said.

“You have to have the wrong people! We haven’t done anything!” Spencer said.

You were both being hauled up by the agents behind you.

“Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.” The agent behind you said, reading off your Miranda rights.

Your eyes caught Spencer’s as you were pulled to separate police cars.

Could this really be it? You thought. It looked like it just might be.

Tags! (Open)

@rexorangecouny @magnificentmgg @rachelxwayne @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @just-damn-bored @andreasworlsboring101

#aaron hotchner #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #derek morgan #dr spencer reid #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #mgg #spencer reid fanfic #penelope garcia #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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dothwrites · 4 years

Note

worried Dean @ Cas: “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

---

It’s a widely accepted tenet in the art department that Castiel Novak is a genius.

Dean first hears rumors of Novak’s skills when he’s a freshman. He doesn’t believe them at first. He suspects they’re overblown by groupies who are too interested in trying to get into Novak’s pants (not that Dean can blame them: with his shock of dark hair, ice-blue eyes, and delicate scrollwork of tattoos spiraling up his arms to disappear under the sleeves of his very tight t-shirts, Novak is a walking wet dream). Then, at the end of his freshman year, he’s busy setting up the annual art show when a piece catches his attention.

At first glance, the painting is deceptively simple. A shadowed figure stands in the center of the canvas, his arms raised up to the sky. Around him are swirls of red, black, and gold, somehow blending into one color in the background. The more Dean looks, the more ambiguity he finds in the painting. Are the swirls of gold lifting the figure up or restraining him? Is the figure fading into the black or breaking free? Is the red coming from him or is he drawing it in? Are his hands raised in supplication or defiance?

Dean loses track of how many minutes he spends staring at the painting, admiring the shading, the color, the symbolism. Transfixed, he reaches out to touch at the rough surface of the painting before he recalls himself and snaps his hand back to his side.

“You can touch it if you want.”

Dean whirls around at the deep voice, his eyes widening when he sees Castiel Novak standing behind him, hands tucked deep into his pockets. Castiel raises a pierced eyebrow at him.

“Seriously. Go ahead.”

Dean shakes his head, aware of Castiel’s reputation. “I can’t...we’re not allowed to disturb the artwork--”

Castiel’s mouth twists and Dean doesn’t know whether he’s angry or deprecatory. “Well, I’m the artist, and I say you can.”

Castiel’s eyes rest heavily on him. Dean swallows, his heart picking up a rhythm that seems attached to the flick of Castiel’s tongue over his lower lip. Hand shaking, he reaches out to brush his fingers over the textured canvas.

“It’s rough,” Castiel says from right behind him (when the hell did he get that close?), “because becoming is always rough.”

And that’s how Dean Winchester decided Castiel Novak was a genius.

---

As school and life continues, Dean admires Castiel Novak from afar.

From what he can tell, Castiel doesn’t have many friends. He has admirers, which he ignores, and he has a few people who hang onto his fame, which he disdains, but actual friends? The only thing keeping Dean from volunteering is the thought that Castiel will turn the same withering look on him.

Castiel haunts the art building and, as Dean continues delving into the Art program at Carver Edlund University, he does the same. Sometimes he’ll pass Castiel on his way to his studio. Castiel always nods at him, but it’s a companionable gesture, the same that you might give to someone at the grocery store. He never stops to chat, doesn’t even remove his earbuds.

And that’s fine. So Dean’s harboring a crush that’s as much intellectual as it is physical. Plenty of people have crushes. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s obsessed. Not like he lurks around just so he can leave at the same time Castiel does. Not like he skulks through the dark halls so he can get a look at Castiel’s new project. That would make him creepy and pathetic, and those are two adjectives which certainly don’t describe Dean Winchester.

After a while, denial doesn’t even taste bad, just a little bitter.

By the end of his sophomore year, Dean’s accustomed to the status quo. He notices the light in the private studio allotted to Castiel (all senior Art majors get their own studios, but Castiel got the nicest of them), but he doesn’t stop on his way to his own (shared) studio. When he arrives, however, he screeches to a halt.

His studio is filled to the brim with snotty freshmen. His personal workplace has been completely commandeered by a freshman with a (barf) man bun. “What the hell?” Dean sputters. He can feel his face turning red with rage. “This is my time.”

Man-Bun pops his gum as he looks at Dean. His eyes are so hazy Dean’s surprised that he’s not deep-throating a bong at that very moment. “Um, guess again? We totally booked the studio for tonight?”

Seething, Dean storms to the schedule and checks. Sure enough, there’s a long list of names on the door for the studio space. “I always have Thursday,” he protests, but it’s an empty sort of rage. “I’m always here for Thursdays.”

Man-Bun shrugs, turning back to his psychedelic smattering of colors. “Not this Thursday, dude.”

Dismissed, Dean gathers his remaining dignity, and leaves. Standing out in the hallway, he reviews his options. He’s kicked out of his regular studio, and he needs to work tonight, otherwise he’ll never get his final project for figure drawing done. Every studio he passes is booked to capacity; clearly the art program is full of procrastinators. In fact, the only studio that has any sort of room...

“No. No. Shit.” Dean weighs the consequences of failing his class versus metaphorically throwing himself into a volcano. Finally, his fear of failure takes over, and he knocks on the door of his last remaining option.

The door swings open, revealing a Castiel who looks significantly more disheveled than normal (though normal Castiel usually looks like he was rode hard and put away wet). A smear of blue paint decorates one cheek while his earbuds dangle from his neck. Dean tries to ignore the spirals of Castiel’s tattoos, especially where they disappear under his shirt (he especially tries to ignore the thoughts of what those tattoos look like underneath Castiel’s shirt). Castiel blinks in surprise.

“Dean. What are you doing here?”

(The fact that Castiel knows Dean’s name comes as a shock. Dean assumed that he was one of the thousands of nameless faces Castiel passes every day.)

“Um, first let me say, it’s totally awesome if you say no, I don’t expect you to say yes, it’s a huge imposition--”

“Dean, you’re rambling.”

“Can i use your studio? Or share it? I wouldn’t ask, but a bunch of douchebags took mine and there are no other spaces open, and I really need to finish this project--”

“Sure. Come on.”

And with that, Castiel steps back and beckons Dean into his studio.

Dean crosses the threshold with something resembling awe. He never imagined, in his wildest dreams, that he would be allowed into Castiel’s inner sanctum. He tries not to gape too obviously as his eyes dart from corner to corner of the room. It looks...like a studio for the most part. Several canvases are hung around the room; if they’re discarded attempts or inspiration, Dean doesn’t know. They could easily function as either. Castiel finally steps in front of him, directing Dean’s attention to one corner of the room.

“Would there be good?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, that’s good.” He pauses, eyes darting nervously around the studio. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

Castiel frowns, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No, of course not. If you were, I wouldn’t have opened up the door.” With that, he seems to consider the topic of conversation closed, and retreats back a few steps.

He sets up his work and tries to ignore the fact that Castiel Novak is watching him. It’s almost impossible not to feel his eyes; the skin on the back of Dean’s neck prickles in awareness, but he perseveres.

He sets his sketch on the easel before casting a critical eye upon it. He frowns as he notices every imperfection. it’s based off a series of sketches he jotted down in class earlier that day. Dean remembers the careless grace of the model, the way that the fabric had draped artlessly over his waist and shoulders, but he can’t recapture the specific atmosphere of the room, which was what made that particular model striking. Every time he tries to put onto the paper how the room felt, his figures end up wooden and two-dimensional.

“You’re paying too much attention to the form.”

Dean jumps, his charcoal pencil scrawling an ungainly line across the page. Not a huge loss, he was already going to toss this one anyway. He turns around to find Castiel standing directly behind him.

Castiel nods towards his sketchpad. “In your drawings. You’re paying too much attention to the form. That’s why it’s coming out wrong.”

“The form is all there is,” Dean replies, a little peevishly. He knows the sketch sucks, but that doesn’t mean he wants Castiel freaking Novak pointing it out to him.

“The form is one part. But you have the lighting and shading and you have the intention. The intention is...the feel of the room. It’s what remains unsaid and unseen to those who weren’t there. It’s what you’re trying to capture by paying so much attention to the form. Of course, by concentrating too much on the technical, you lose the abstract.”

Castiel flicks over to a new page with a deft flick of his wrist. He plucks the pencil from Dean’s grasp with one hand. With the other, he poses Dean’s hand close to his face. Castiel stares at Dean for a few excruciating seconds before he turns his attention to the empty page.

Dean hardly dares to breathe as Castiel sketches. He’s not sure how he’s going to return to real life, knowing now the tiny crease that knits between Castiel’s brows or how the tip of Castiel’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth. How is he supposed to live, knowing Castiel hums tunelessly as his hand works?

“There.” Castiel flips the sketch to face Dean. In it, Dean finds his own face, rendered in a few lines. It’s rough, certainly, but it’s a close enough likeness. More than that, Castiel’s managed to capture...

“Do I look that scared?” Dean blurts out, before he can stop himself.

Castiel actually laughs, deep and rumbling, from the diaphragm. It’s a lovely sound, one that fills the studio, and one Dean would gladly hear again and again. “You don’t look scared.” He sets the pencil down on the easel and turns fully to face Dean. “Anxious maybe. Hovering on the edge of anticipation.” He steps closer. His chest almost brushes Dean’s, which could be misinterpreted as Castiel not understanding the concept of personal space.

What can’t be misinterpreted is the unsubtle drop of Castiel’s eyes to Dean’s lips.

“I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I’ve really wanted to kiss you for almost a year,” Castiel says, his voice scraped rough around the edges. His eyes drag up to Dean’s, and Dean’s taken aback at the wild glint in them. Castiel steps closer and his clever fingers slip into the spaces between Dean’s fingers. “Please Dean,” Castiel breathes, raw and needy, “please, can I kiss you?”

“Fuck yes,” Dean murmurs, which is all he gets to say before Castiel’s hand cups the back of his head and his lips descend upon Dean’s.

Not that Dean’s bragging, but he’s had quite a few good kisses in his life (and been told that he gives quite a few good kisses). Castiel blows them all out of the water. Dean’s never been kissed so thoroughly before, like Castiel wants to own him, like Castiel’s interested in finding exactly what makes Dean tick. His teeth nip at the swell of Dean’s lower lip while his tongue delicately traces the seam of Dean’s lips. Dean eagerly opens his mouth, moaning into Castiel’s mouth as Castiel’s tongue slips in along his.

Hours or days later, when they part, Dean realizes that while one of his hands is cupping the spur of Castiel’s hip (holy fuck, those hips feel like handles for his hands), his other hand is still holding Castiel’s. It’s certainly the sweetest kiss that’s ever given him a boner.

Castiel laughs, a little breathless. It’s only then Dean realizes he’s a little taller than Castiel. “You do live up to expectations,” he murmurs, and Dean’s not sure whether Castiel’s talking to himself or not.

The words spark a recent memory in Dean, and suddenly nothing is more important than finding out the truth. “You said you wanted to do that for a year?” Castiel nods, his eyes suddenly shifting to the side. “Why?”

“Everyone always goes on about my art. How groundbreaking it is, how I’m a ‘once in a generation talent’.” Castiel uses finger-quotes, which should not be as endearing as Dean finds it. “And it’s nice, but none of them even bother to see my art for what it is. They just see my name attached to it and they lose their shit. But last year...You saw that painting. It didn’t matter to you who made it. You saw it and appreciated it for what it was. And I...I saw you.”

Castiel swallows. For all his suave confidence earlier, he looks oddly vulnerable now. “So, anyway. Yeah. For a year now. Um...” He glances at Dean’s easel. “I guess I’ll leave you alone now. Or if you want privacy, I can go.”

“Or,” Dean says, the pink flush on Castiel’s cheeks giving him all the bravery he’ll ever need. “You could stay.” Castiel’s eyes slice to him, their blue intense and jaw-dropping. Dean grins, a little predatory, like they’re on even ground.

“After all, I’m going to need a model for this sketch.”

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #college au #art school au #artist!cas #artist!dean #nervous!dean #meet cute #dothwrites

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cosmiclatte28 · 3 years

Text

Butterflies and Brushes (YuTae)

a/n : this is a promise I made for the wonderful IG account yutae.0126

warning : Slight suggestive content, but nothing explicit (or yeah?) Romance, bxb proceeed to masterlist if you’re not comfortable and pic something else. Romance, fluff, flirty!yuta and cold prince! Taeyong

ARTSCHOOL AU! nude panting (nothing explicit though, safe to read for anyone mature enough)

My first Yuta x Taeyong or Taeyong x Yuta fic and I am excited to see how this goes!!

Here we goo!!!

Oh yeah I attach a picture for the poses below because I am afraid the explanation is not enough and sorry for my failed attempt to draw. (I blotted it okay and failed still )

Every campus has that one hot guy everyone is afraid to approach and another guy with the total opposite appeal.

Well the same thing happens in this top college of visual arts, not only do they have talented artist in process of making visual arts, the students themselves have top visual points.

Meet Lee Taeyong, the campus' Aphrodite with a stoic face and a piercing gaze. Rumor has it, his beauty comes from the way he keeps his face poker whenever he walks around the campus. Though he rarely smiles, everyone believes he has his own reasons for being that. Afterall, no one dares messes up with Taeyong, not after the famous incident where he punched a bully so hard in the face after dissing a freshman's work of art. That freshman is famous here, he's called Ten. A sweet guy from Thai who draws amazing realistic drawings.

Moving on from the coldest guy, we have the warmest guy who always smiles. He wins the “healing smile fairy" nickname thanks to his gummy smile.

If Taeyong is the Aphrodite here, Yuta is Apollo. His smile is enough to defrost a thousand years of snow and with one wink, you're 90% guaranteed to have a good day.

The Japanese guy with long blonde hair -sharing similar traits as to that famous Howl character- is the one who always smiles no matter what!

Every girl has fallen for his smile, every guy envies his attractiveness. He is playful, cheerful, and flirty! No one walks away from Yuta without a smile or a blush, no one but Lee Taeyong.

Yuta has never personally encounter Lee Taeyong. He just knows the famous cold-hearted prince who shares the same painting class with him. Despite sharing the same class this term, Yuta has never seated next to him nor has he the chance to talk with him. Taeyong always comes into the class near the starting time and leaves first.

T'was until one eventful moment that the two opposite individuals are put together for their final Junior year project. The teacher insists for their final project to draw a realistic nude painting of their assigned partner. Nude painting is not something new to the students here, besides the teacher paired the students and asked their conscience about it. Yuta won’t turn the chance down, but when the teacher asked Taeyong if he is okay with his partner, Yuta can’t look into his direction. All the Japanese guy can do is fiddle with his hands while waiting for the teacher to call out his name and pair him with another student.

“Sure, I mean I don’t have any reasons to object.” Taeyong's deep voice resonates through the studio and believe it or not the whole class was holding their breaths. Yuta almost squeals when Taeyong accepts the partnering scheme. When the teacher asks him, Yuta immediately nods and gosh his silly smile over there was caught in Taeyong's peripheral view. Believe it or not, for the first time in forever, Lee Taeyong smirked in public.

Ten who sits close to Yuta secretly gives a sly smile to the Japanese man. Yuta tosses a questioning look and Ten mouths “Everyone is confused if they want to be in your shoes or Taeyong's"

Yuta blushes at his words, Ten sure knows how to tease him. Well, Ten is one of Yuta's best friends and he is the only one who knows about the secret mission Yuta has in his heart. Yes, Yuta aims to be able to make Taeyong falls for him like any other people. It is not an easy task, Yuta is aware of that, but because of that he is more than challenged to succeed.

“So, I guess I'll miss you,” Ten suddenly says this when they're packing up their books.

Yuta glances to the room and sees Taeyong is still there, unlike usual!

“What do you mean?” Yuta asks back

Ten winks, “He is coming here, maybe asking your number. I won’t bother, see you!” he taps Yuta's shoulder and flies all the way down the room leaving Yuta alone with Taeyong on his side.

“So… you are my partner for our final project, right?” Taeyong's secret voice greets Yuta's ear. He almost falls on the ground for realizing how good his voice sounds.

Yuta quickly nods his head and waits for the other to continue.

“I don’t want to flunk this class, so when should we start?” Taeyong goes straight into business.

Yuta feels a bit sad that the man in front of him is strictly stuck to business, but he is the best in masking emotions, Taeyong wouldn’t be able to guess.

“Yes sure, I also want to start early. Umm when do you have free time?”

Taeyong picks his phone out and goes to his planner, he scrolls and sees how busy he is. He sighs, not wanting to disturb the warm guy in front of him longer…

“Put in your number and I'll text you my free time. Also, sorry for bothering you.” He sheepishly gives a tiny smile! Microscopic but not to Yuta!

Yuta wants to jump right now, Taeyong is asking his number! How silly was he, thinking about so many ways to ask the latter's number without sounding too flirty or rude. He didn’t have to worry, Taeyong did it well.

Yuta quickly types in his number and saves the contact. He presses the call button and when his phone rings, he shuts it off.

“Cool. I got your number.” Yuta, who is usually verbose, only slips in efficient reply but his warm smile is always there.

Taeyong seems a bit taken aback by the smile; Yuta didn’t notice this. If he noticed, Yuta won’t let that go.

“Okay, see you then.” Taeyong shuffles in his place and finally leaves Yuta alone. The class is empty already and Yuta sits back on his chair.

He controls his heartbeat that is beating faster than a runner, and he hides his face in his hands as he feels his cheeks getting hotter.

“I MUST BE DRUNK HAPPY!” he muffles his scream to himself and Yuta elicits the brightest smile ever that day.

He walks through the corridors, tossing smiles and greetings to everyone he sees and that radiant look really energized everyone else.

“I wonder what's wrong with Yuta hyung, he looks really bright!” Renjun, a freshman from China, asks Ten.

Ten just smirks, “He won the lottery maybe. Come on! I want to learn how to do water color with you!” he pulls the younger away.

That afternoon, Yuta is seated on the edge of his bed with Ten sleeping on the soft mattress.

“Ten why isn’t he texting me? Should I send him my schedule first?” Yuta sounds like a nervous teenager who is confessing to their crus.

Ten laughs out loud at his worries, “Yow! Yuta! You're the flirtiest guy here and you're nervous and confused about talking to Taeyong?! You know your rules.. because this is Taeyong you wait! You don’t want to look easy on him right?”

Yuta frowns “Well yes, but Ten I am so excited! Like I am afraid I cannot draw him nicely and I’ll hurt his feelings! Gosh Why does it have to be nude realistic painting?! If it's comic I'm sure he will fall for my drawings!”

Ten scoffs, “Silly because the class we're taking is realistic painting??? Come on you're good with your hands. He will like it.”

Yuta feels nervous, he is not the best in realistic drawing but he is not that bad.

Yuta suddenly turns his head to face Ten, “Hey!” he grips Ten's wrist.

“TEACH ME HOW TO DO BETTER REALISTIC DRAWING!!” he sounds so excited and nervous at the same time.

Ten grins “What will I get in return?”

Yuta rolls his eyes, there is always a catch with Ten.

“I don’t know?? I'll treat you pizza?”

“Nah, not interested. What about that model friend of yours,’ number??”

Yuta frowns for a while, trying to remember who is Ten talking about

“Johnny?” Yuta raises his brow

Ten bites his lips and nods, Yuta reaches out his hand and the other one seals the deal.

“Okay, you follow me to the studio tomorrow after 2? Bring a sketch book I'll help with the sketching first and then we'll go to the painting part which I know you do okay.” Ten jumps in surprise when he catches the light of notification in Yuta's phone.

They both crowd the screen as Taeyong's name appear in Yuta's message box.

“Best day ever…” Yuta shyly opens the message and replies back with his own schedule.

They talk for awhile and come to an agreement that they'll start doing it next week.

“TEN! WE NEED TO DO THE CRASH COURSE ASAP. I am not going to disappoint him.” Yuta looks so ambitious and Ten is just happy he's getting Johnny's number.

Crash course was not that easy. Ten is a strict teacher and he keeps on nagging Yuta to fix his way of sketching. Well Yuta's inattentive to small details, but Ten insists it is the most important thing.

“You're doing nude painting, every stroke matters! What if he ends up not having edges? You'll hate yourself.” Ten reminds Yuta his goal.

“Don’t you want to impress him? Plus I’m sure you'll get good finals if you follow my tips.”

Yuta ends up doing three more drawings, all from seeing Ten posing in front of him.

“Ten, you're just playing around with me right? You just want me to draw you?” Yuta slams his pencil down after the third time of renewing Ten's picture

Ten throws an apple he found at the table to Yuta “You think I'd ask you to draw me?! I'd rather ask Taeyong!”

Yuta shoots his eyes while rubbing his head “Hey! We agreed he is mine. Don’t you dare!”

Ten analyzes the sketch Yuta did and smiles “Now this, will make Taeyong interested in you.” He examines his friend’s work and compares the first two.

He just stays quiet and tosses three of the papers side by side to Yuta “See that? If I'm not your friend… I'd charge you a thousand dollars already for this class.”

Ten is not lying when he said that, within three sketches (and two hours of painful comments) Yuta's drawing significantly improves. He barely knows he can draw like that third drawing he made.

“Yoksi… Ten you're so talented! My best friend!” he hugs Ten and Ten just slightly coughs “Don’t forget the deal.”

Yuta just smiles and fishes his phone, he quickly sends a contact name to Ten and when Ten receives the number, Yuta takes his chance to leave the room.

He's now more confident in seeing Taeyong. He didn’t know what will happen on the day they'll meet but he sure wants to make a good impression.

“Hey so, you'll directly follow me home? Or do you have to do something first?” Taeyong starts the conversation that afternoon after their painting class.

Yuta has not talked with Taeyong after they exchange schedules. They haven’t talked and discussed about their themes, but Yuta guesses they'll figure it out on their way home.

Yuta shifts his head from cleaning up his mess and looks at Taeyong, the stoic man has a tint of blush in his cheek upon seeing Yuta's radiant smile but he quickly hides it away.

“Pull yourself together Taeyong, why are you like this?” Taeyong speaks to himself in his heart.

“Yes Taeyong, I have nothing to do and i'm ready to go." The blonde man smiles to the red haired man and both of them are trying their best to keep their emotions low.

Taeyong slings his bag and nods his head “Hope you don’t mind walking, my apartment is only a 15 minutes walk.” He leads them out of the class and Yuta copies his long steps.

No Yuta doesn’t mind walking an hour if that is with Taeyong. Under the sun, the two angelic man of the school walk side by side… inviting by passer to stop and sneak a picture of them or just stand there frozen upon what they see.

Taeyong keeps his stoic face until they reach the outer gate, meanwhile Yuta is busy waving his hand to anyone he knows and just smiling to random students.

Taeyong snickers when they reach the outer gate “You really are kind to anyone eh? The rumor is true.”

Yuta widens his eyes “Rumor?”

Taeyong smirks and looks into the younger's hazel eyes “Well yes the rumor that you are the school's Apollo? Because they say your smile heals everything?”

Yuta doesn’t know how to react, well he knows that but what should he do? Saying “oh yes and you're the aphrodite that everyone fears….”no that is not good.

Taeyong suddenly shakes his shoulder and loosen down his tie. Well their school gives them uniform with ties, and Taeyong loosening it doesn’t help Yuta's red face. Gosh he looks so hot.

“Hufth glad we're far enough from school and cameras.” He gives a small smile. Yuta is confused, okay so Taeyong did realize the students love to take pictures of him… he also knows how to smile?

Yuta’s confusion makes him ask the red haired man “So you do know?”

Taeyong raises his brow, “Know what? Knows that my picture is secretly famous in the dark web? Being used for sketching references? Comics?”

Yuta gulps well yeah he did see some comic works having illustrations very similar to taeyong and him,… “You know how to smile.” Was the thing Yuta's unfiltered mouth let go.

The blonde Japanese man covers his mouth in fluster, he quickly bows while muttering “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to say that.”

Taeyong freezes in place when he heard that remark, he turns his heels around and faces Yuta who is now looking on the grounds.

Taeyong smirks, interesting, no one dares talk to Taeyong that way and Yuta just did.

“Say that again?” he smirks looking ten times hotter and dominant.

Yuta grins and scratches his head, “I didn’t say anything. Pretend you hear nothing.” He tries to hide his face away but Taeyong bravely brings his chin to face him.

“Well as a matter of fact, yes Yuta, I can smile.” He puts back his cold face and his eyes pierces through Yuta's weak soul. He turns his body away and continues walking… he smiles when he realizes how cute a flustered Yuta is. What he doesn’t know is that behind his back, Yuta has already level up his game.

If that is how Taeyong is going to play the game, he chooses the king of flirt. Yuta will not lose to Taeyong.

The younger shakes his thoughts away and pick up his steps. Once he is next to Taeyong again, Taeyong quickly puts back his stoic face.

“So, what is your theme Taeyong?” Yuta opens the conversation.

Taeyong has been sleepless for the week, trying to find a pose where he can capture Yuta's ethereal beauty in his oil painting. He went through a lot of illustrations references and even imagined Yuta posing for him. He cannot lie, that man really has his own attractiveness and Taeyong cannot pinpoint where.

“Well, as a matter of fact I've prepared several poses for you. Wait before that who is going to draw first today?” Taeyong asks the most important question. He is not spoiling the theme to Yuta right now, at least not in front of a kindergarten school they just passed by.

Yuta shrugs his shoulder “If you're ready to pose, I'll draw firs… You're a better painter. I'd rather paint you first rather than seeing how great your work is and lose confidence doing mine.” He laughs and Taeyong giggles.

“No way, your drawing is good Yuta! I love your anime illustrations.” Taeyong slides a sincere praise here.

Yuta feels happy that Taeyong knows about his works, “But your abstract painting is wonderful! You're going to be a great artist one day!”

Taeyong feels flowers bloom in his heart, but his face isn’t showing anything.

“Okay then, if you want that… I can pose for you today.” Taeyong hates to admit he actually feels like losing a bet but there is no bet.

Yuta secretly smiles, so Taeyong is the first one giving up for Yuta eh?

Yuta claps his hands “Great! I have some ideas you can choose okay! Pick the one you're most comfortable with.”

“Okay… oh do you mind we walk a bit further and then go back?” taeyong pauses in his track.

Yuta doesn’t understand “Huh?”

Taeyong sighs and shakes his head, not believing himself for saying this outloud to anyone, “I need to feed some kittens there…”

Yuta softens his face “Sure! I love cats and dogs! Didn’t know a cold guy like you cares so much about animals.”

Taeyong can relax now, he feels better knowing that Yuta didn’t laugh at him “Thanks, they're too young to survive.” Taeyong walks into a corner and purrs. Slowly three cats emerge from the dark and meows softly while taking defensive stances when they sense a new presence of Yuta.

Taeyong giggles as he extends his arm to pour the cat foods he had prepared to the ground “Don't be afraid, he is my friend… he won’t hurt you guys.” Taeyong uses a nasal voice to baby talk the kittens and calls Yuta friend?! Oh gosh Yuta is ready to die, Taeyong is a totally different person out here! And he is more than eager to portray that emotion into his painting.

Yuta ends up squatting down beside Taeyong and plays with the kittens for a while. Both men giggling at the smallest action the clumsy cats made.

“Okay, we have to go, or we will end up not working.” Taeyong stands up and brushes his dust off, waiting for Yuta to follow him back to his house.

Yuta bids the kitten farewell as he catches back Taeyong’s long strides and they finally make it into their place for the afternoon.

“Make yourself at home, or at least like this is your studio.” He is glad he cleaned up his room last night.

Yuta nods his head, he sets his canvas up, prepares his pencils, and anything else he needs for the project.

Taeyong has to admit he is nervous, now that he realizes he should be the first one stripping.

The older excuses himself to bath first, earning a small giggle from Yuta, but since Yuta wants Taeyong to be comfortable he lets him go.

As the older finishes his shower, Yuta has pulled out his phone and opens up his choices of poses. Unlike Taeyong who cannot choose a pose, Yuta already has one in mind since the first day Taeyong came to him.

He wants the older to sit on one of the armchair he surprisingly has in his apartment. He’ll have Taeyong sit cross legged, posing as elegant as he can while staying in that position for hours. Yuta esitimates he’ll need six hours to draw, yes draw.

Then maybe they’ll continue the next day for the layers and coloring. He wishes they can finish before time runs out.

“Okay, so how do you want me to pose?” Taeyong comes out of the shower fresh with only a towel covering his lower privacy. Yuta almost chokes upon seeing his appearance, but he is professional enough to hold it back.

Yuta chooses to just show him what he wants and Taeyong easily agrees, “You want me to sit? That’s kind of you. Someone else asked me to stand and damn I got tired, but t’was okay since they paint me nicely.” Taeyong says as he takes his seat and sets his body to look like how Yuta wants.

In front of Yuta, sits Taeyong in his heavenly state. His armchair despite being super simple, looks like it is a throne thanks to Taeyong’s indescribable aura. The man in red hair is sitting cross legged on the armchair, leaning his head to the side supported by his left arm. His face shows the same expression that of a model. His eyes? They were soft minutes ago, but now they’re piercing through the air. Yuta can fall to his knees right now and follow every command this king beholds.

“Please tell me if you need any breaks,” Yuta says breathily.

Taeyong nods, “Oh before that, I haven’t asked you… Do you want any drink or special condition for drawing?”

Yuta thinks for a while, “Well, I can’t work in too much silence, so please talk with me while I start sketching you.”

Taeyong takes a good note on that and as the younger man ties his hair to a man bun and pulls his sleeves up, Taeyong is more than excited to be paired with him. He wants to know how great Yuta can draw him.

They talk about random things like where they studied before entering this school, hobbies, favorite foods, even ended up talking about cats and dogs.

“I’m considering buying myself some fish and put them in the aquarium. What do you think?” Taeyong asks while leaning his head more to his resting hand. Yuta lets one of his hand rests on the arm rest and his head is leaning to that hand. (Super ugly sketch I tried blotting is attached below)

Yuta still focuses on his drawing, “Fish? Their water maintenance can be expensive.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, “That’s the least I can own in this apartment, they do not allow dogs or cats.”

Yuta just hums, “Okay then go with fish. I don’t see why you’re hesitating.”

“Because if they die, I’ll be super sad.” Taeyong answers in a heartbeat.

Yuta almost drops his pencil upon seeing this side of Taeyong, the soft hearted cute guy is hiding behind a cold mask.

“Sorry if I sound rude, but you’re totally different in and out of school! What makes you act like that in school?” Yuta is glad about his sketch right now, at least his crash course with Ten is saving his face.

Taeyong smirks, “You want to know, or you want to know?” he teases the blonde man a bit, starting to feel super comfortable. Hey nothing beats being comfortable faster than being naked in front of them right?

“Just tell me. Everyone’s talking about you being a heartless cold man, but in real life you’re totally soft and I hate that people are talking about the wrong you.” Yuta blurts his heart out and gasps when he realized what he just said.

Taeyong seizes the opportunity, “Oh, you care about me that much? Well I did that because I’m tired of being the center of attention.”

Yuta clicks his tongue, “And you being like a cold bitch is just making you more into the spotlight.”

Taeyong giggles, now he is using bitch in his sentence? “Well thank me, I give you the spotlight of the good guy!”

Yuta wants to slap him hard if he is his long best friend, but not yet.

“You’re interesting Yuta, you really look astonishing when you’re focused. I wonder if you got a female partner, how distracted will both of you be.”

Yuta hums, “Well that didn’t happen, now I am here drawing you like one of my French guy.” His humorous side comes out.

Taeyong laughs heartily at that, “Okay sorry, I have to keep my expression.”

Yuta nods, “Thanks for realizing, I almost ruin the drawing with your big smile.”

Taeyong grins, “You better draw my cold face there, no one should see this side of me yet.”

“As you please, Your Majesty. Now you may rest, I’ve finished roughly and let me order us something to eat.”

Taeyong is thankful when Yuta tosses him back his towel and the red hair quickly runs to his room to fetch some clothes. Once Taeyong is inside his room, he runs to the mirror and checks how red his ears are actually. Gosh, did Yuta realize?

While Taeyong is changing clothes, Yuta orders them a meal and he keeps his canvas in a safe place.

They have a good time talking again through dinner and like a long best friend who met, the two click like puzzles made for each other.

“Thank you for the meal,” Taeyong says before Yuta leaves his house.

“Thank you for being a nice model. Don’t see my canvas yet okay. I’m not confident with what I have right now.” Yuta wears his jacket as he steps outside the door.

Taeyong nods, he knows that same feeling and he will respect Yuta for it.

“Great, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Yuta smiles, “Yes! Let me know if I need to prepare anything.”

He leaves, walking down the road another five minutes to arrive in his small apartment.

They decided that they will take turn, tomorrow Yuta will be in Taeyong’s shoes.

“I hope you don’t mind lying in my bed,” Taeyong says as he explains the concept pose he has been thinking again last night.

Yuta shakes his head, “I’m down for anything! You’re one of the best painter in the class, It’s an honour to be your muse. I’ll do anything for a good result.”

Taeyong slyly smirks, “Anything?”

Yuta winks (hell he is not losing okay), “You heard me loud and clear.”

“Okay then, you… wow, that’s a nice tattoo! We should get that in the frame.” Taeyong runs his eyes over the toned abs and the pretty butterfly tattoo on his lower abdomen.

Yuta smiles, “Yeah I got a story behind it, I’ll tell you later.” Yuta makes himself comfortable between the white sheets Taeyong has prepared and covers his lower abs below with the thin linen. His butterfly tattoo is half peeking but that is exactly what Taeyong needs.

“I hope you’re not allergic to flowers,” Taeyong suddenly appears with a bag of flower petals. Yuta blushes, this man really prepares a lot.

“Absolutely not, just do what you need to do.” Yuta stutters a bit. Where is his confident flirty personality at time like this?! Taeyong calmly places the petals in different places, once he is satisfied with what he has the Aphrodite walks to his fridge and takes out one cold can of beer.

“I need some cans to draw,” Taeyong explains himself, though Yuta didn’t ask anything.

The drawing session begins, and they casually talk again, Yuta is facing the opposite side of Taeyong and from a lower view, he can clearly see how Taeyong frowns and how he bites his lips while concentrating on his canvas. Yuta can see each detail in Taeyong’s face from a new angle!

He loves the shade of red his lips have and his hair! His hair is envious. Yuta sees Taeyong pauses to sip his drink some time and when he feels like closing his eyes on the sheet, he doesn’t hear any warning from Taeyong and so the blonde angel falls asleep after watching the man he secretly likes.

Taeyong finishes not long after it and when he realizes the younger is no longer talking, he peeks over his canvas and smiles upon seeing Yuta’s calm sleeping face. Even in his sleep, he looks super kind and angelic!

“You really are son of Apollo or maybe Apollo himself,” Taeyong brings a strand of hair away from Yuta’s eyes. Gently, he pulls a thicker blanket over the younger’s bare skin and lets him rest for some more.

Taeyong leaves the room and controls his quickening heartbeat. When pulling the blanket over Yuta, he is close to his face and inches away from those plush lips. Taeyong feels his heartbeat increasing and he has to quickly walk away before doing things that he didn’t want.

Yuta wakes up feeling sorry for falling asleep, but Taeyong just shakes it off. Saying he totally understands, and he doesn’t mind. With that being said, they eat dinner together again before finally parting goodbye. To make things faster, Yuta brings home his canvas so he can start layering and do the basic stuff he can do without the model. Same thing for Taeyong.

That night, both men busy themselves in their own studios. Accompanied by one light, cups of coffees, soft music, and each other’s sketches on their canvas witnessing just how love struck both parties are. Yet both souls are too stubborn to fall on one knee and confess this big crush they have to the other.

Another week comes and this time they need to meet again. Yuta and Taeyong have already been comfortable with one another, to the point where Yuta can talk in the hallway with Taeyong. Something super rare to be seen! Not Yuta’s part but seeing Taeyong walks and talks with someone at school is the hottest news of the week.

Through hours and hours of staying together in the same place, stroking paint brushes, learning each and every flaws and beauty their muse have, it’s not surprising how comfortable and close they are right now.

Yuta knows just every detail of Taeyong’s face. He notices the rose print scar next to his right eye, the small mole on his lips, the way Taeyong’s eyes twinkle with stars, how his hair stays in place despite the hours of posing.

Taeyong is able to draw Yuta base on memory too now. He finds the perfect hue of his skin, the right yellow shade for his smooth hair, the way his eyes relax and the story about how Yuta’s butterfly ended up being printed in his torso.

Taeyong cannot deny the bubbly feeling in his chest. Is he feeling that dangerous chemical reactions in his body? Is he in love?

It’s already the last week from the deadline and the two choose to finish everything tonight. So, that afternoon Yuta comes into Taeyong’s house with a sleepover supply and they start their last journey of painting.

There’s a tugging feeling in Yuta’s heart as he finalizes his painting. A satisfied smile comes to his face when he sees his final painting of Taeyong. His eyes run from the breathing perfection sitting like a throne king waiting for his interesting part in life to start, and to the canvas he’s been working on for hours! A satisfied smile comes to his face when he feels his hours of blood, sweat, and tears of working being paid off with the portray lying before him. He is proud with how he manages to capture the soft side of Taeyong hidden under his cold guy shell.

Yuta waits for the paint to dry, and while doing that he is now again, lying on the bedsheets of Taeyong’s room. The fresh linen once smelled like fresh laundry, the day when Yuta fell asleep. Today, it smells different. A slight hint of musk and mint, is this how Taeyong smells like? Did the painter across him sleeps on the same bed he is lying bare right now? If that’s true, this is hot.

Unlike Taeyong who shows his soft side to Yuta, through this painting course Taeyong realizes just how charismatic Yuta is behind his warm healing smile. The same guy who tosses hearty smile in public can hold an intense fiery gaze on sheets. Taeyong bites his lips as he runs his eyes one more time over his perfectly pliant muse. Yuta feels relaxed on that bed, and that makes Taeyong feels less guilty for asking Yuta to stay a bit more since he needs to finalize the tattoo and the details.

“Mind if I see that butterfly a bit closer again?” Taeyong excuses himself and bends to scrutinize over the complex lines.

Yuta holds his breath and hides his read ears, he can feel his face burning from embarrassment but Taeyong doesn’t seem to care. He even traces the lines to get the shape and returns behind his canvas.

What feels like eternity finally comes to an end and both heart secretly wish they have more time to enjoy the presence of the other, looking each other without being judged creepy, but everything has an end.

“And I’m done!” Taeyong sets aside his canvas to dry next to Yuta’s. They plan to add their names and signature later on tomorrow maybe to not ruin the colors.

“Do you want some drink?” Taeyong asks as he tosses Yuta a big teeshirt and his pants.

Yuta nods, “Let’s order some good food and have a bit fun tonight. This project is tiring, but I’m glad with my result.”

Taeyong scrolls his phone to order some foods and beers, he agrees with Yuta. This ending needs a celebration! As the two men sit on the dining table, chopsticks reaching over for foods and glasses being refiled with golden liquids, their heads slowly turn drowsy.

“I hate that this thing end actually…” Taeyong, who is a lighter head than Yuta has fallen to his drunk state, comments.

Yuta swears if he is sober right now, he will blush, but no. Now he is similarly under alcoholic control and he can’t seem to control his flirty side.

“Oh yeah? You like seeing me that much? My presence is enough to make you happy?” Yuta leans in closer and rests his chin elegantly on his right palm.

Taeyong furiously runs his hands over his face, “Gosh yes Yuta! You make me crazy! Being super hot on my bed with just one linen over you, not to mention I really want to bite that tattoo mark!”

Yuta giggles, drunk Taeyong is fun to play with. He bravely stands up and walks over to sit beside Taeyong. Daringly runs a hand over the tensed shoulder, “Guess you’re super tired already. You’re starting to speak nonsense.”

Although Yuta wants to hear more about Taeyong’s true feelings to him, he knows it is not polite of him to listen to Taeyong’s drunk rambles. What if Taeyong didn’t remember anything and it will make things awkward.

Taeyong pulls Yuta who is trying to walk away, and makes the blonde man falls into his lap.

“We’re both stubborn and our egos are too high. Fuck it, I’m gonna say this now.” Taeyong’s grip on Yuta’s slender waist tightens.

“I love you, I love you so much Yuta! It pains me every night to finish this painting without you in my room. I can finish it because I memorize your features, but it doesn’t feel the same when you’re here posing and breathing the same air with me.” Taeyong’s lower voice growls inside Yuta’s ear.

Yuta cannot think of anything else, rather than focusing on the glistening lips Taeyong has and it takes every ounce and angel in Yuta’s body to hold himself back from attacking that lips.

But the devil won tonight, and the blonde man sticks his lips into the red hair’s. Taeyong presses his neck deeper and lets Yuta takes control of the intense lips battle. No one is backing down, the two gods of the school have met and the opposite attractions have connected.

Just like North going South, butterflies looking for their flowers, and soulmates finding one another…

Taeyong finds Yuta and Yuta finds Taeyong.

Both separate souls finally become one, after years and years of waiting. Seasons of love months, and hours of portrait painting.

“I love you too, Lee Taeyong. And you drive me crazy.” Yuta breaks the kiss to whisper this right next to his lips and seals their bond back with a deeper meaningful kiss.

On the edge of the room, their painted portraits of each other glow under the moonlight.

Epilogue

“This is very nice! I mean Taeyong!!! I’ll definitely buy this at any price!” Yuta gasps and shakes his head when he sees the result Taeyong shows.

Taeyong shyly looks into his feet, after what they did last night somehow, he feels like he cannot see Yuta’s eyes this morning.

Yes both young men have woken up under the same blanket, bodies sticking to each other as the cold morning air tries to creep up their soft skins. Taeyong wakes up being under Yuta’s possessive strong arms and he knows he wants more of this in the future!

“I am not selling it.” Taeyong smirks.

Yuta’s face fell, “Not even to me?

He shakes his head, “No. I like that masterpiece I made.”

Yuta frowns and pouts, “Okay then… I am also not selling mine to you.”

Taeyong runs his eyes over the painting. He needs to admit, he didn’t expect Yuta to paint him that nice… but everything in that picture speaks a thousand words about Taeyong. Taeyong is dying to have that paint in his room too! But if this is how they’re going to do it…. Okay then no one will have their own portrait.

“Fine.”

“Okay, then when are you free?” Yuta suddenly asks

Taeyong sounds flustered, “Eh? Are you asking me out on a date?”

Yuta rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue, “I am booking you for a painting session. I need you to make my portrait but this time I will keep it in my room.”

Taeyong steals a kiss on his lips, “Wow, okay then the price is a portrait from you too.”

“Seriously guys? Infront of my salad?” a voice suddenly interrupts the two madly in love couple.

“Oh, sorry Ten, we forgot you’re there…” Yuta picks his tablet up and shows his face and Taeyong’s back on his screen.

This morning Ten video calls them wanting to see how their painting look like.

“Those are perfect. Why don’t you two live together and put them up in the same place. That way both of you can see it every day without actually selling it.” Ten rolls his eyes and grins.

The couple look into each other’s eyes and grin “That’s not a bad idea…”

“Okay I regret saying that, now go… Ew stop displaying affection in front of me.” Ten shakes his head and closes the call when the screen once again shows both of them sucking their faces off.

end

How is it?? cringe enough???

please give comments and inputs :”)) I really am looking forward for your opinion about the story

Thank you for reading, sorry for the long post

Have a nice day/ sweet dreams :*

xoxo

Cosmic

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creative-poptart · 4 years

Note

Hello! This is my first time sending a request and I’m hoping that I made it in on time! I was wondering if I could request some headcanons of UT, UF, US, and HT Sans with a Crush that loves to draw them! They mostly do it without the boys’ knowledge, but that’s usually because they want to capture genuine emotions from them, not posed. Thank you for any consideration! Happy writings! (Also, if you could confirm that you got this in anyway, I’d love that, even if I didn’t make it on time)

No worries, Anon, you made it in on time! I’ve been taking quite a break, but I’m going to try and get some asks answered!

UT Sans/Vanilla: Bold of you to assume that he doesn’t already know that you’re up to something when you tote your sketchbook around all the time. In all honesty, Vanilla doesn’t really care too much about what you want to do with your spare time, but it is a genuine surprise when you show him that you’ve been sketching him the whole time. He doesn’t really see himself as model material, so when you show him the sketches and doodles, he’s genuinely taken aback. That’s not to say that he hates it, he just doesn’t think that he’s worthy of being your muse for any length of time. That being said, part of this goof wants to make sure that you have something nice to look at, so once he’s aware, he’ll try to give you funny poses. If you want him to stop, just tell Vanilla, and he will.

“all that we know is that this old bag of bones is somehow a muse for you. that’s one small thing we didn’t know for a long time.”

UF Sans/Red: Whereas Vanilla might be more aware of what’s going on, Red doesn’t pay too much attention to what you’re up to. Sure, he knows that you’re doodling something on that sketchpad of yours, but he has no idea what is ending up on that paper. Luckily enough for you, though, he ends up sitting still for hours on end, which makes your sketching process a lot more streamlined. He won’t mind that you want to have something to draw if you do end up showing him your works. However, it definitely flusters the absolute heck out of him so that he’s blushing like mad, but he won’t really complain. Red’s touched that you chose him twice: once when you said yes to him when he asked if you would date him, and when you chose him as your muse.

“you really wanna try ‘n’ draw my ugly mug all over ya pretty notepad? there ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ ya, sweetheart, but don’ expect me t’ know why ya doin’ it.”

US Sans/Blue: The other skeletons on this list are far more self-conscious about their appearances, Red with his scars and Vanilla with his general low self-esteem. This is most certainly not the case with Blue, since he prides himself on being immaculately dressed and cleaned. Sure, he’s got a lot of issues with how others feel about him being more childish, but so long as you don’t make him look like one, he’s ecstatic. He will want to pose for everything that you want to draw, so finding a way to catch him off guard is going to be tricky. Your best bet is to be a fast artist because otherwise, you won’t be able to finish it without him moving out of the way. Blue’s best poses are going to actually be when he’s asleep, and he won’t be moving nearly as much.

“I TRULY AM HONORED THAT YOU WANT TO DRAW ME!! IS IT SO BAD THAT I WOULD LIKE A HEROIC POSE FOR YOUR AMAZING ARTWORK?”

HT Sans/Axe: For the most part, Axe hates being seen and absolutely abhors how he looks because of his skull. Your art is going to fly under the radar since he really won’t be able to stop you too much or remember what it is you’re drawing. The whole time you’re drawing, he’s more than happy to stay by your side and snooze, or just cuddle up to you while you’re working. When you show him what you’ve been working on, he’ll definitely be taken aback that you want to have him on your sketches. You’re going to have to be very gentle in telling him what you plan on doing with said drawing. Axe doesn’t want to have too many pictures of himself, since he doesn’t like how he looks, but your art is something this boy loves seeing, so he’ll probably keep it for a bit.

“there’s really no reason to keep this here, so... you can keep it, but can we get it a frame or something where it won’t be seen too much?”

Thanks for the ask, Anon!

#undertale #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #undertale sans #underfell #underfell sans #underswap #underswap sans #horrortale #horrortale sans #tarts answers #poptartasks #anon ask

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 3 years

Note

hiii 5 30 and 32 for harrison pls (my king <3)

5. Your oc has to make something for an art exhibition. What would they make? How terrible is it? Would they enjoy making it?

on one hand Harrison would do something like splat paint on a canvas OR have y’all seen the episode of suite life on deck when zack sneezes jelly on a canvas and all the rich white people are like yessss we love itttttt THAT would be the art he makes! (yes i’m watching shows from the 2000s ok it’s breakdown time) ON THE OTHER HAND harrison is actually a visual artist lol (I always forget this because it seems so out of character but it’s been canon since book 1!) SO! if anybody follows SLEW on YouTube, that’s totally how his art would look! Either way he’d love making it! he would draw Lonan yes I said it (I have a few scenes I cut out from Feeding Habits where he actually does this which I’ll put under the cut)!

30. What topics does your oc know the most about? Are these obvious or would these be surprising to others?

Harrison knows a lot about building things and taking them apart etc though I can never do that justice for him because I am incompetent at both :) that is definitely expected he just has that vibe (is it because he wears flannel?? maybe??) like I said he is also a visual artist so I would assume??? knows a lot about art history?? I don’t enjoy art history because I have no attention span but I think he would love that and know tons of little facts and that would totally be surprising to others! again I probably don’t do him justice in that field because I was the worst at art history!

32. What five ingredients would you throw into a cauldron to make a potion based on your oc? How would you cook/mix them? What would the potion do?

The 5 ingredients would be 1) WAFFLES (loves them, would die for them), 2) pasteis de nata (LOVES these I cannot blame him) 3) coffee (he has no blood it’s just coffee) 4) cinnamon (i just re-read book 6 of fostered and the amount of times reeve compares harrison to cinnamon?? yall i’m no longer calling it cinnamon i’ll be calling it harrison) and 5) hot sauce (because he’s SPICY). Because Harrison is chaotic I would put it all in a blender and make a smoothie :) The potion would make you ~happy and ~relaxed and just generally chill and in love even if that’s with yourself (the only vibes harrison wants)!

This is the first Harrison Drawing Lonan moment which is from a subplot that no longer exists!

In his room, he scales his bed and tacks sketches to the ceiling with dashes of masking tape. He is so fast, if anyone sees him do this, they will question their sanity, and by the time he’s done and all the pieces are up, he’s in the centre of a black hole, and the black hole is a single face of charcoal, and the face has got hair that carves his forehead like raven wings, his eyes swathes of cyan pastel, his body staining Harrison’s hands irreparably and hours later, Harrison lies on his sheetless bed like the next star waiting to be vacuumed into the mouth of his muse.

(why am i fangirling over my own writing it’s so CUTE i cannot harrison loves lonan so much oh my he really does!!)

This is a random flashback that never really went anywhere?? but apparently it’s an entire scene oops! maybe I’ll put it somewhere if it fits!

Lonan’s eyes in monochrome still look like the ocean. He’s vivid in charcoal, a good model, slushing the rind off a mandarin.

They sit knee-to-knee on the jute mat by the hearth. Fire icebergs Lonan’s retinas and embers pinch his hair.

Harrison scrawls onto a scrap advertisement for a washing machine set, Lonan’s jaw melding with its Best Offer: $599 Two Piece. He is firelit and juddering with heat. He is peeling the mandarin like its his own work of art, each removal tear of skin nearly a fresco, ready for auction. He is the only thing Harrison is interested in studying.

Harrison finishes a flare of Lonan’s hair. From above the notebook he watches, aware he is noticed, so unashamed in his staring. Tonight, Lonan is his raven with the ocean in his eyes, his muscle memory, his magnum opus. At one point, Harrison no longer looks up to check his reference; he remembers exactly where every slot of him goes.

On Harrison’s last lick of hair, Lonan has finished peeling the mandarin. The segments sit, unpaired like jewels. A line of juice dribbles off his palm. It is only inevitable that they lean toward each other, charcoal and citrus, and Lonan looks at the portrait and Harrison feeds off that fruit with fervor.

“It’s missing something,” Lonan says, their bodies criss-crossed as Lonan examines the portrait and Harrison eats the mandarin. When Lonan gestures for the pencil, Harrison nudges it to him.

Lonan retrieves it and leans over Harrison so their hands morph. The pencil makes contact once more with the paper, and together they pull lines against the paper, curve up, hook down, hatch. They move in singularity, their fingerprints one fingerprint, their palms one palm. Harrison tastes mandarin, so Lonan does too. Lonan stamps charcoal onto his ring finger, so Harrison does too.

By the time they’re finished, the portrait has become two. Lonan’s right charcoal eye becomes the left charcoal eye of another face, Harrison’s, their faces combined into monochrome together.

It is inevitable, not choice, when their single hand tears the portrait from the book and reels it into the wall of flame. It is inevitable, not choice, to simultaneously feel a jilt of joy for at last burning together.

did harrison just call lonan his magnum opus oh my GOD so cute okay i’m going to go bye!!

#asks

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slashyrogue · 4 years

Text

AU-gust Day #28: Fashion & Models AU

Hannigram AU: Model No More

Fifteen years have passed since fashion designer Hannibal Lecter launched his own infamous, “Thrill Kills” line. The clothes were universally praised and heralded throughout the industry but years of the line’s build up made Hannibal lose his inspiration.

He’s spent years trying to come up with something to follow the majesty that was “Thrill Kills,” and finds himself thinking he may never have that again. Lecter Wear is still a multi-million dollar company but even the rich are starting to tire of his throw away designs.

Which is why as he’s sitting at home looking through old fashion magazines for inspiration he’s struck by the sight of one particular model. He’s young, possibly in his early twenties, and just so beautiful Hannibal cannot look away.

He finds the same model again and again that very year, fifteen years ago to be precise. The model’s name is listed as Will, and he’s wearing Bedelia Du Maurier’s clothing in Vogue magazine.

Seven calls later he’s looking up Will Graham, and finds that after his one year of modeling the man never was photographed again. Hannibal suddenly gets inspired and begins to draw Will, in many different types of men’s clothing, and by dawn he’s got a new line.

The clothes go into production immediately but Hannibal’s mind is on the fall fashion show. He must have Will, needs to showcase him, and when he has his people find the man’s address he sends a missive hoping to get one in return.

Will ignores him.

Confused and a bit worried he calls again, and again, and again.

His number is blocked despite leaving messages.

He sends clothes along with letters.

They are all sent back.

Hannibal is so distraught he flies to Wolf Trap, Virginia where he’s greeted not so very warmly by Will Graham now in his middle age and still quite beautiful.

“Get off my lawn,” Will says, holding a shotgun.

“Mr. Graham, if you would just...”

Will aims the gun at his head. “I want nothing to do with this shit, Mister. Take no for an answer.”

Hannibal backs away, startled, and just as he’s about to his car a dog comes running out into the road from Will’s open door.

“Winston, no!”

There’s a rush as a large truck comes barreling down the road almost at the same time, and Hannibal rushes forward capture the canine right in the truck’s path. He’s knocked to the asphalt as he’s hit and the truck stops.

“Get the fuck out of the...”

Will punches the driver in the face. “You almost killed him AND my dog, asshole! Get the hell out of here before I kill you myself.”

The man glares at them both and gets in the truck driving off.

Hannibal holds onto the dog, still winded, and stares up at Will.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m....a bit sore.”

He sighs. “I just picked him up last night,” he mumbles, “He’s not well trained. I didn’t...”

Will holds out his hand and helps Hannibal to his feet. His clothes are of course, ruined, and yet when Will smiles at him he couldn’t care less.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Will says, petting Winston, “You saved my dog’s life.”

“You’re welcome. If you wish to repay my...chivalry...”

Will scoffs. “Did you throw yourself in front of a pickup truck just so I would model some clothes?”

“No, but if it helps...it was worth the pain. I have sketches to show you, if you’ll permit me.”

Will sighs. “Fine. Just one cup of coffee and you’re gone.”

“That sounds fair.”

“And I’ll help you get cleaned up.”

They walk into the house and Will tends to his scrapes and bruises with care. Hannibal finds himself even more enthralled by the elder version of Will than his younger self, and when he’s sufficiently mended takes out the sketches.

“Oh...it’s me.”

“Yes, you see....”

Will lifts one of the sketches up and looks at the drawing for a very long time.

“I hated doing this shoot,” he sighs, “I hated all of it, and you...you....”

“I need you for this, Will. If I did not think your face was the focal point of my vision I would not be so determined.”

Will sighs. “I...I did try on this one,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head, “It was a little snug but...not bad.”

Hannibal smiles. “Would you allow me to see you wear the suit? I would like to very much.”

“If I do, that doesn’t mean I’m saying yes.”

“I’m well aware.”

Will nods once and leaves without another word.

Hannibal is of course excited at the thought of seeing Will in the black suit. He wants to see him in everything he’s created but just this once would be everything.

Will comes out less than fifteen minutes later, and he’s floored by the sight of him.

“Oh, Will.”

“It doesn’t fit all that well.”

Hannibal stands and comes up to him, fixing the tie. They’re very close, and Will’s cheeks pinken just enough to remind him of the young man in the old magazine photographs.

“I think it fits perfectly. You are...My Design.”

Will smiles. “I’m not saying yes.”

“Of course not.”

“But, if you, want to show me some more stuff I wouldn’t punch you in the face.”

Hannibal beams.

“Let me show you what your beauty created.”

“I’m not that kid anymore,” he says, sitting down at the chair beside him, “I work on boat motors, I have seven dogs, and I’m not...I’m not this.”

Hannibal puts his hand on Will’s. “No, Will....you’re better. I cannot wait to show you off to the world. If you’ll allow me the privilege.”

Will blushes again. “Just show me the damn sketches, Mr. Lecter. I’m not making any promises. No matter how many times you throw yourself in the street.”

Hannibal smiles. “I am quite durable, and...very persistent.”

“Oh I know, Mr. Lecter. I know.”

“Call me, Hannibal.”

“Okay Hannibal,” Will says, leaning back in the chair and looking like the the devil in disguise, “Show me what you got.”

“With pleasure.”

#au_gust_2020 #hannigram au #fashion & models au #failed twitter attempts

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misssunflowersandsangria · 4 years

Photo

Work in Progress Wednesday

Creators: work on or post something from your WIP. This is your weekly reminder to get something down on paper (real or virtual). It’s also a chance to share your progress with your followers and give them a sneak peek of what’s to come!

Fans: leave a comment on an unfinished fic and let the writer know how much you love it. Reblog an artist’s sketch and let them know you can’t wait to see the final product. Send someone an ask cheering them on!

Feel free to repost this image!

Hello all! I’ve been feeling...well I’m not too sure honestly. Writing has been a little weird these last few months weeks so I wanted to use this just as a way to motivate myself a little with what I’ve already come up with and hopefully, it will push me to write/finish some of those WIPs. Be gentle these are still really rough ... and if I do get around to writing them I might change some stuff around...

There are so many different stories that I’ve started that I might never finish so I wanted them to live somewhere.

There’s a few ShikaTema, SaiIno and one ChoKarui (also some starts to my Lemonade Series so be aware of titles/notes)

**I’ll update this as new ideas come about. They will appear first in the post.

Previews after the cut.

Knots (Part 3 of “Ties that Bind Series”- ShikaTema, Suna Sibs)

“I’m worried, she’s really sick.”

“Maybe it's like ya know. That time of the month.” Kankuro’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“You idiot. You absolute moron.” Temari's voice shot back through the layers of blankets.

“I think she's okay.”

“Temari, are you okay?” Gaara asked carefully.

She nodded her head. “I’m fine. Everything is just fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well you’ve been locked in your room for days now. You haven’t snapped at anyone or called me stupid. We’re getting concerned.”

She sighed, taking a deep breath seeing the worry clear in their eyes.

“Shikamaru proposed.”

Their expressions brightened. “Temari! That’s great, congratulations!”

“We should be celebrating.” Kankurou stared at his sister curiously. Gaara was right. Something was wrong. “Why isn’t Nara here?”

“I couldn’t say yes.”

Their eyes shot wide open. “Temari?”

“Shikamaru needs to be in Konoha and I couldn’t leave you two and Suna. Who am I if i’m not Temari of the Desert?” She knew that she made the right decision. She couldn’t just leave her brothers and Suna because of something as trivial as love right? This was the right thing to do. She assured herself but then why did her heart feel like it was tied up in knots?

Candles (SaiIno-One Shot)

The concept of birthdays had always been foreign to Sai. He’d never learned the actual date of his birth and never realized that such days were cause for celebration. So much of his past and the circumstances by which he’d become part of the Root were shrouded in darkness. The one person that could tell him when his actual birthday was, was dead.

There were little events that were celebrated in the Foundation. Completion of missions, not dying on said missions were the two events in which he could remember “celebrating.” Other than that there was little else that would be cause for celebration.

Once he started becoming more a part of the village he learned early on that birthdays were actually important milestones. Whether they were small, intimate gatherings of close family and friends or large, elaborate events, birthdays were something to celebrate. They were time markers and allowed the celebrant to reflect on all their past experiences and look forward to all the wonderful experiences that lie ahead. Perhaps that was why birthdays were never celebrated. No one in the Root had a clear memory of their past. Each mission could be life or death so it was foolish to believe that there was a future to look forward to.

Still, as he began to settle actual roots, and the path in which he wanted to walk a birthday seemed like an important element to have. Everyone had a birthday, he deserved one too. The actual date though was to be determined. There were few actual dates that held any value so selecting a random one out of the year was difficult. It also seemed strange to arbitrarily pick a date as well.

“Ino? I have a request.”

“Of course Sai, anything.”

“Would you mind sharing your birthday with me?”

“What?”

“I don’t know when my actual birthday is. Such things weren’t considered important. One day I’d like to find out but for now if you don’t mind I’d like to share my birthday with you. It’s not something that we need to announce or even really recognize but I’d like to have a date, a number that I can put down. I feel like the day I met you I was reborn in a sense. That my real life started. I can understand if you don’t-”

Stolen (Multi Chap AU ShikaTema ):

Shikamaru watched her closely and saw the shift in her eyes. Where she’d been terrified initially he noticed a kind of calm and peace. He released the shadow binds around her wrists but sent more to surround her creating a maze of shadows and lines.

“Don’t fear the shadows Temari. Learn to dance amongst them.”

Temari with focused eyes and a determined spirit moved gracefully between the lines. She landed in pockets of light and moved swiftly before she could become trapped. He watched on enchanted as she leaped and moved effortlessly avoiding what he threw at her. It was as though she was floating, gliding in the wind above the darkness.

Runways (Model AU ShikaTema):

Unrestrained raged swirled in Shikamaru’s normally soft brown eyes as he held Temari’s shaking body. His glare was heavy on the cowering figure trembling on the floor.

“My family will bury you. I will make sure that you never work in this industry again.”

Temari was taken aback by the ice in his voice and all she wanted was for this night to be over and for life to return to normal. “Shikamaru...” Temari’s voice quivered in a frighteningly unfamiliar way and his protective hold tightened.

“I’m sorry-”

In spite of himself, Shikamaru laughed off the worthless attempt to quell his anger. “It’s far too late for apologies. I suggest that you leave now. That you make it so that no one remembers your name or face because by the time that I’m done you will wish that you never crossed a Nara.”

Stalemate (Mafia AU, ShikaTema)

Shikamaru’s midnight eyes surveyed the crash of sweaty bodies moving and pulsating to a heavy beat. He took a long drag of his cigarette overwhelmed by the sheer number of people and heavy bass. It wasn’t often that he made the trek out here often depending on his associates to check on their businesses. His father told him though that it was important for the king to be seen by his people.

For a while, his family had to operate in the shadows. That was no longer the case. The Naras, Akimichis, and Yamanaka’s ruled this area. Government officials, police officers anyone who had “power” were all on their payroll. Very few things happened in this city without them knowing. Everyone knew who they were and they no longer tried to hide it.

When he was younger he’d complained constantly that this was a drag. He never wanted to become the head of the Nara crime family. It wasn’t his choice, it was his destiny. Still, he grew into the role and had accomplished more than they’d ever dreamed.

He didn’t delight in the benefits of being an infamous crime boss. The club was far too loud. The women who threw themselves at him were too troublesome.

His eyes continued to scan the room before they fell upon one person his heart began to beat wildly. From where he stood he could tell she was a striking blonde but there was something different. Something was drawing him towards her. He studied her for a while. Becoming increasingly frustrated as she flirted and smiled at the club patrons. His hands clutched painfully around the balcony railing as he tried to keep his anger in check.

He called his security detail over.

“The blonde bartender, bring her to my office.”

“Yes sir.”

Protective Instincts (Mafia AU, SaiIno, Mafia Princess Ino, Bodyguard Sai *same universe as “Stalemate” ^)

The tension in the back of the SUV was suffocating. The air heavy, anger rolling off of the man sitting next to her.

“Sai...I-” Ino began before being cut off.

“Don’t, I’m barely holding it together right now. I just need a minute.”

A beat of silence passed. “Are you mad at me?” She pouted and despite how angry and upset he was Sai shook his head.

“No, I could never be mad at you. I’m mad at your actions and the stupid risks you take but no, never at you.”

Satisfied with his response and sensing that he was calmer Ino crawled into his lap settling her head against his chest.

He knew that he should push her away. It wasn’t necessarily appropriate for her to be this familiar with him but she melted so perfectly against him. He felt whole when she was in his arms.

“I’m sorry Sai, I should have told you. I just wanted a regular fun, night out.”

“But you’re not a regular person. You put yourself at risk.”

“Sai, it’s one of our clubs, nothing was going to happen.”

“I can’t take that chance, Princess. I knew that I shouldn't have taken the night off. The person on your guard tonight is fucking dead.”

Her eyes widened feeling guilt crash over her. She still had to learn that her decisions had very real consequences. “Sai, no. Please, it’s not his fault. I snuck out. I manipulated and orchestrated the whole thing. Please don’t take it out on him.”

“Ino.”

She forced his gaze to meet hers. “I’ll deal with my dad if it gets to him. Please.”

“Fuck, fine. He and I are going to have a talk for sure but that will be all. I promise.”

Ino sighed in relief knowing that he’d keep his promise. “Thank you.”

“Why did you take tonight off? It’s not like you.”

He took a deep breath his fingers pushing back stray hairs away from her eyes. “I just needed a break, Beautiful. Clearly, it didn’t last long. I can’t take my eyes off of you for a second.”

She relaxed into his chest. “I like your eyes on me.”

Obscura (NSFW SaiIno- Lemonade Series) -Idea courtesy of @ promptmaker

Sai grinned as Ino moved into the next pose. She was a natural in front of the camera and seeing that smile always made him happy.

He’d purchased the camera recently as an attempt to explore a new artistic medium. Especially now that he had memories worth capturing. Ino happily volunteered to be his subject. He was thankful that after this he’d have a whole set of photos of his Light.

“Great job Beautiful these look incredible.” He complimented her drawing her into a kiss.

“Thank you, Sai.” She paused for a minute before her eyes lifted back to his a playful look in those baby blues.

“I have an idea for a for pictures if you don’t mind.”

He nodded excitedly about the prospect. He enjoyed any time that they shared together. “Of course not Beautiful, whatever you’d like. Let me just adjust these lights.”

When he turned back around he was surprised to see that she’d removed her top and was now leaning forward her breasts heavy and exposed. A mischievous smile across her lips.

“Fuck.” He breathed. So she wanted those kinds of pictures.

Main Course (NSFW ChoKarui- Lemonade Series -Idea courtesy of @ promptmaker

“I made you all your favorite food and this is what you want to do instead.” Karui teased Chouji her honey eyes glowing with anticipation.

Chouji grinned as his mouth descended over her delicate neck. “I think that you’re mistaken Sweetheart. You are by far my favorite thing to eat.” She could feel his grin against her skin.

“Besides, if you didn’t want this to happen you would know better than to make yourself look so appetizing.” He countered his hands grazing over the skin that the apron left exposed.

Goosebumps erupted over her skin her breathing coming out in short pants. “Well, perhaps we should have dessert first.”

So that’s what we’ve got folks. Actually even just making this post is inspiring me to finish/write! Are there any that you’re interested in reading? thank you for getting this far and for supporting me.

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drawbauchery · 4 years

Text

Two Of A Kind

(fic by cartoons-tothemoon)

Rico was, in many ways, comparable to a feral cat. He came and went as he pleased, he always came back with some sort of new scratch or bruise with no explanation, and he gave off the energy of some sort of dangerous, feral…Thing, despite being almost passive outside of combat situations.

However, similar to a feral cat, despite the threat of pain or personal injury, you couldn’t help wanting to pet it, or keep it around. Rico was scrappy, and to a lot of people, that was charming.

That was how Kowalski rationalized it anyhow.

Of course, nobody could guess that he’d be currently hooked up with the prince of a sovereign nature, but at this point, it was one of those things that might as well happen. If Skipper was allowed to have his weird homoerotic waltz with his frenemy and Private was allowed to clandestinely pine over Skipper the way he did, why not?

Of course, Kowalski wasn’t precisely sure what he was allowed. He was a man of science, of course, but was he not too flesh and blood, like his compatriots? His last relationship with Doris, “The Dolphin” as she was often called, had soured in a manner that he was still at least a little sore over, but surely enough time had passed for him to move past all this…Right?

It had been a slow day in the lab. Skipper told him that if anything else spontaneously combusted this week that he’d lose his microwave privileges, (which, on one hand, was fair, but on the other hand, was just sort of humiliating) so all he could do was sketch out vague models and schematics until night fell, which gave him some time to think about stuff he usually didn’t.

For instance, all of the…Whatever was going on as of late.

He knows it wasn’t always like this, but something had changed, and he had no idea what caused Skipper and Private to go from close friends to close friends with issues, or what caused his perception of Rico to shift from highly unstable maniac to highly unstable maniac with a heart of gold.

However, just as he thought he was making a connection between the several, loud, pounding knocks struck against the door to his lab, which practically caused him to jump out of his skin.

“I AM NEEDING OF YOUR HELP.”

“The door’s unlocked.” Kowalski called, yet still rising to his feet to open the door himself.

“THERE’S NO TIME, I NEED-“ the door opened, revealing Julien, who stopped yelling. “I need a doctor. You’re like a doctor, right?” Julien asked, looking a little more frantic than usual, his hair spiking up in stress.

“I….Guess?” Kowalski himself questioned. “I certainly have the most first aid training.” He turned back to the lab to grab his first aid kit. He hoped he’d have everything he’d need considering how often he had to use this thing as of late.

“Good enough.” Julien said, soothing his nerves by playing with his ponytail. As soon as Kowalski returned, he grabbed his arm in his, and began walking Kowalski down the hall. “It’s Rico.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Kowalski sighed.

“Really? That’s all you have to say? Are you sure you’re a doctor? Because your bedside manner is terrible.”

“I never claimed to be a doctor. What’s up with him?”

Julien froze, and turned to Kowalski, while smiling a sheepish smile. “You’re not going to tell the boss man about this, right?”

“No? Probably not?”

Julien continued his brisk pace at that.

“Good, because that guy just hates fun! I haven’t so much has ever seen him crack a smile! He’s such a bring-down. Anyhow, I mentioned to Rico a few days ago that I’d love to go dancing sometime, so we went out tonight,”

“It’s only 6…”

“SO WE WENT OUT TONIGHT, and let me tell you it was banging!” Julien said, but his face seemed to fall as he approached his room, and held Kowalski’s arm tighter.

“Nobody there recognized me, but…A lot of people…Still wanted something from me…And…” Julien stopped walking entirely. They were just outside his door.

“I never felt so scared. Death didn’t even scare me, but this? This was…”

Kowalski was simultaneously terrified and calm. He never had to do this kind of comforting before, bringing someone down from a panic attack. “Deep breaths,” he said. “Deep breaths. You don’t have to say anymore.” He placed the hand that Julien claimed on the small of his back, as that was all the position would allow, and saw as he instantly relaxed.

“Rico took care of them. And then we came home.” Julien said, with a level of severity and seriousness never seen on the man. Julien opened the door to reveal Rico sitting on Julien’s bed, covered in various bruises and scratches and blood. Far too many to go unnoticed.

“Fists can only do so much against glass and knives and guns.” Julien murmured, he looked rather guilty at the thought that this was all his fault. A feeling Kowalski wasn’t even aware the foolish prince knew. A feeling welled up inside of Kowalski as he wished to hold and comfort the man he saw before him at this unexpected reveal of depth. He always thought of Julien as far too annoying and horny to deal with, but…Maybe he did contain some level of multitude within him. Maybe there was something more there to see. This fascinated him.

Of course, this reverie would not last long.

“Are you trying to sew your wounds closed with dental floss?”

“It’s, uh, c-c-cleaner than the th-thread I k-keep in my p-pocket.” Rico shrugged, then winced.

Kowalski sighed, and made his way towards the bed. He popped open the first aid kit, and delicately took the arm Rico was hastily trying to stitch up on his own. The wound looked rather deep, like if the knife had been at a different angle, he’d be in a rather different place right now. However, he was here.

“Your stitches are so sloppy…”

“Y-Yeah, well, y-you try sewing in a t-taxi cab s-sometime.”

“I’m probably going to have to pull them out. You’re rather lucky that your other injuries aren’t very serious.” Kowalski looked up, seeing Julien nibbling his lip in the corner, looking almost as bad as Rico, emotionally.

“Julien?” He perked his head up at the sound of his own name. “Could you get me an ice pack if you would? He’ll need it for his black eye.” Julien nodded, walking out of the room at a relatively fast speed, leaving the two alone.

“I’ll probably sew the new stitches in first, then we can loosen your floss stitches so we don’t have to worry about the wound being reopened…” Kowalski muttered, not to anybody in particular, but Rico was there for it.

“Ar-are you going to t-tell Skipper?”

“Julien already asked.”

“And?”

“I don’t see why I would.” Kowalski shrugged, taking out some anti-septic wipes to dress his other wounds. “You were just doing your job.”

“W-What?”

“Julien told me. You defended him against some guys in a club? It seemed rather…Chivalrous of you.” Kowalski choked.

“Ch-Chivalrous, huh?”

“Don’t get any ideas.” Kowalski said, trying to stop something before it started. “I just wish you two were more careful.”

“Awww, y-you c-care about us.” Rico smirked, leaning in for effect. Kowalski could feel the room getting rather hot, and not just because he wore a sweater all the time. Kowalski decided to take the bait this one time, just to throw him off his game.

“Yeah, I do. I care about all of you, a lot. It’s just that the others aren’t actively throwing themselves into danger at a moment’s notice. The others aren’t trying to steal aspirin trucks or get on Skipper’s bad side. You are.”

Kowalski took the moment to straighten his posture on the bed, and tug on a bandage for harder than he necessarily needed to do.

“You don’t value your own life enough for you to be doing all you do. Is it too much to ask for a little self preservation from you?”

Rico was speechless. It was…All rather strange, to have to listen to Kowalski talk like this. They weren’t what you would call the most open with their feelings, and considering the face Kowalski made before he launched into this tirade, he was just doing this to throw off his flirting. However, it worked, he sounded genuinely worried, and it legitimately made Rico feel…Bad. He felt bad for making Kowalski feel bad, because Kowalski was always…There. Not like, on his side all the time, but there. He was present. Comforting isn’t how he would describe his presence, but he found comfort within it. If he wasn’t there, things would just feel off and bad. Rico couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how Kowalski thought of things.

“S-sorry.”

Kowalski sighed. He sounded tired. Julien knocked quietly on the door as he rushed to hand Kowalski the freezing cold ice pack for Rico’s shiner. He thanked him kindly, and with that, he was finally able to move on to the process of actually stitching up Rico’s wound, as all other trivialities that drew Kowalski’s eyes were addressed. It was a rather calming process actually, as Julien sat beside Rico as Kowalski did his work, quietly watching.

When he finished his labor, he received a fist-bump from Rico, and a hug from Julien.

“I thank you a million times over!”

Kowalski hesitantly patted Julien’s back. “Yes, yes. Of course. Just remember that I’ll need to remove the stitches in the next two weeks and-“

Julien sobbed a little into his chest, and Kowalski leaned more into the hug as he held him tight and let go soon afterwards.

“Hey, everything’s going to be alright. You can remove most of the bandages in two hours, and if Skipper asks, Rico got in a fight with the feral cats in the alley again.”

“Those g-guys are j-jerks.” Rico muttered, and that was when he realized how long he was holding his boyfriend, while he was crying about his boyfriend.

“You’re two of a kind.” Kowalski smiled, which made Julien smile as he turned back to his boyfriend to make fun of his little pout. Kowalski’s smile grew somber, as for a moment, he realized that he’d thought that…Maybe, he was allowed “this,” whatever “this” may be, but the last thing he’d want to do is spoil their fun, and that was the last thing he was considered.

He packed up his first aid kit again as Julien peppered Rico’s face with kisses, and made his way for the door.

“Hey ‘walski. D-Don’t burn that m-midnight oil, huh?” Rico remarked, winking. Julien stopped his onslaught of affection to catch Kowalski running out of the room, cheeks burning, and his boyfriend’s own smug, slightly soft reaction.

“So, what did you guys talk about while I was gone?”

“K-Kowalski said that he l-loved us.” Rico replied, batting his eyelashes and leaning in close to Julien before he got hit in the face with a pillow, knocking him to the floor.”

“He did not!” Julien laughed.

“He d-did!”

“Not!”

“Did!”

“Not! I don’t believe it!” He smiled, not in a cruel way, but something that said that he was also a little soft for the strangely uptight man.

“Hmmm.” Rico hummed, quizzically. “I g-guess you’ll h-have to wait and s-see.”

“And I guess you will too.”

(This was supposed to be your typical fanfic set-up of one character patching the other’s wounds, all the while scolding the other for their wrecklessness. I’m a sucker for that. I would’ve done it as Skipper/Private if I could figure out who was going to be who, but this was also a lot of fun!! I can’t believe I haven’t written for these guys yet. I hope you enjoy!)

#cartoons-tothemoon #fics #pom #blood #this trio is such a good ship ok #i'm calling it julicoski #also you got all my gushing yesterday #so take my love in the form of a draw #and i'm torn between requesting skivate or just more followups to this one alsdknf

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vloggerparker · 5 years

Text

i love you, steve harrington || s.h

↬ pairing(s): Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader

↬ genre/warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers!au, mentions of blood & injury

↬ word count: 2.1k

↬ synopsis: after the battle of Starcourt, best friend’s Steve and (y/n) share their intimate feelings with one another

↬ a/n: this is based off the request the lovely @annabeth-parker got and I wrote to it too because I thought it was so cute!! their ask box is opened to ships and requests currently btw! and yes, I couldn’t decide which gif to use out of the two. no, I am not ashamed.

“Dustin!” your shouts are weighed with relief as you saw his head of curls through the crowd. He spun around, eyes searching the sea of people before meeting yours, and you hop out of the back of the ambulance with a limp in your step as you sprint towards him. Your body ached in pain but it immediately subsided as you held your younger brother in your arms, his whole body shaking with sobs as he squeezed you harder than he ever had before.

Your eyes fluttered open one at a time, glimmering with watery tears as you see your best friend, Steve, staring back at you. He looks worse for wear, but the smile he sends you nearly stops your heart, and despite his beaten face, he still looks beautiful. You swipe your tears away as Dustin finally pulls away from you, but the urge to cry is still there as you make way towards Steve while your brother reunited with his friends.

There are no words, and as soon as you’re close enough, Steve is embracing you with such a force it was like he was trying to break you, and you were letting him with the certainty that he would put you back together. His shoulders are shuttering as if he were crying, and you gasp and pull back to see his face, but rather than tears he has a large, toothy grin on his face.

You quirk an eyebrow up at him, questioning his sudden laughter. His eyes travel the length of your body, and through a laugh he said, “girl, you look like shit. Not like, the shit, but like shitty. Like dog shit.”

“Thanks, Harrington.” you roll your eyes with pursed lips. The mood is still lighthearted, though, because Steve knows that just behind those pursed lips was a smile waiting to be tempted out. “We almost die and that is the first thing you say to me? And it’s not like half your face isn’t swelled up like a balloon, so I don’t want to hear it.”

He snickered and said, “let’s sit you down.” he hooked an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his as he guided you to a nearby ambulance.

You both plopped down into the back of one of the many red vans with heavy sighs. You had already received medical attention to at least the fracture in your leg, but going off Steve’s blood stained face, he hadn’t had any. You pulled the first-aid kit off the wall of the ambulance and began rummaging through it before Steve joked, “are you licensed for this?”

“Maybe,” you paused for a moment, “well, no, but I do the same thing for animals. How different could it be?”

“Very?” Steve said, laughter falling into sync with his words. “(Y/n), you’re a veterinary intern; you patch up animals, and the last I checked I wasn’t a dog.”

You rolled your eyes, looking at him expectantly. His eyes bounced from yours to the bottle of alcohol and gauze in your hands before breathing out a sigh of defeat. There was no use for him to try railing against you, because no matter how hard he did, you were too stubborn anyway. He slid closer to you where his bare thigh was pressed against yours, but you ignored the skin contact and focused on not spilling alcohol everywhere.

“Thank you,” you drawled out your vowels, bringing the alcohol-soaked gauze to his chin, hovering over the cut. “This is going to sting like a bitch, Harrington. Just know it’s okay to scream.”

Steve scoffed. “As if I would- God dammit, (Y/n)!” he exclaimed, lurching away from you.

“I told you.”

After disinfecting the first cut, Steve was resolutely unreactive for the remainder of the time spent at his aid. You had finished when you began repacking the first-aid kit, but was stopped when Steve caught your wrist in his hand. Your eyes asking a handful of questions dashed towards his allowing your eyes to make blissful contact. You thought on how despite how annoying Steve was, how he complained or at best always looked bored, his moronic obsession with his hair, that you were madly, hilariously in love with him. And he’s just staring back at you, lips parted just enough to entice you.

The atmosphere is palpable and your ears buzz, and suddenly it only feels like it’s you and Steve in the parking lot. His eyes are warm and inviting, baiting you, and it’s like a hook around your neck reeling you in before logic asserts dominance over your mind once again. Steve was your best friend, just your best friend, and you were painfully aware of that.

You could see his lips moving as he said something, but it didn’t quite register in your brain until he broke eye contact and released your wrist, grabbing the gauze pads back from where you put them away and held them out in front of you. You shook your head as to clear it like an etch-a-sketch. “It’s my turn to play doctor,” he said, his words uncertain from the blank staring he got the first time he said it, “you know, clean up your face.”

Heat spread from your chest to the tips of your ears as you nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

As he applied the alcohol wipe to a cut above your eyebrow, you squeezed your eyes shut, bottom lip pulled between your teeth to stifle any yelps of pain. Steve chuckled to himself as he pulled the gauze away and blew cool air to the cut. After he was sure it didn’t sting for you anymore, he stopped and said, “I’m so lucky to have you, (Y/n). I’m so glad you’re alive and safe.”

His admission caught you mildly off guard, but you kept the surprise to yourself as to not scare him away. It wasn’t often that you and Steve had intimate conversations about your relationship, or that Steve opened up his feelings to you at all, so when he did you treated the situation delicately.

“I honest to God don’t know what I would do without you.” he stopped as his hands fell to rest in his lap. You opened your eyes to see his head hanging as he fiddled with the gauze in his hand. You made to reply when he took a deep breath and continued, “I care about you so much, (Y/n), so much that I don’t even know what to do with myself. You drive me insane. If I’d lost you tonight, (Y/n).. if I’d lost you tonight, I-I-”

His voice began to shake, and you reached out to cup his large hands. “Steve…” you started slowly. His gaze flickered up to meet your eyes, and he swore he saw his entire world staring back at him. “Are you trying to tell me you’re in love with me? Me?”

“I… I think so.” a pause, then he declared with more confidence, “I think I am. I’m in love with you, (Y/n).”

You stare unblinkingly back at Steve, mouth slightly agape. It’s surreal hearing those words fall from Steve lips, and it’s all too good to be true that for a fraction of a second you think if this is all a dream. You almost pinch yourself, but you don’t, because if this is a dream you’d rather not wake up at the best part. You can physically see how anxious Steve had become with the silence following his confession, and though your heart is crying a word vomit of cheesy responses, it’s like you’ve been left breathless with the inability to exhale, inhale or do anything.

“Say something, please, so I know I’m not making a fool of myself.”

“Kiss me.”

“Kiss you?” he parroted, shock striking his features in accordance to your straightforward response.

You hesitated for a brief moment. This moment was going to be the turning point of your relationship, and some of your surrounding relationships. Nancy was a good friend to you, and also Steve’s ex-girlfriend. Jonathan had been a dear friend of yours since you could remember, and Steve was his bully in high school. The only reason you weren’t guilty to be Steve’s friend was because you promised yourself a friend was all that would come out of him. Dustin. Your own brother looked up to Steve as his role model and his best friend. What would he think of this?

But then looking at Steve’s slightly pouty lips, it seems idiotic to deprive yourself of him. All logic flew out the window and you’re driven solely on emotion and instinct, and before you know what you’re doing all you can feel is his lips against yours, swollen yet soft, and your body melting into his. His hand cupped the back of your neck and his thumb brushed the exposed sliver of skin at your hip where your shirt had ridden up. His mouth moves meticulously, warm and steady against yours, a dizzy breath fleeing your lips from his intoxicating touch.

He pulled away, the both of you breathless, shyly staring into each other’s eyes while soft pants filled the silence. A smile upturned his lips, more to the right than left, and you know with that smirk he’s fit to make a brainless remark. “That’s what I was missing out on?! How the hell did you get to be such a good kisser? You’ve only had like one boyfriend!”

You burst into a fit of giggles with a shrug. “I guess Jonathan taught me well.”

“Byers?” he gasped incredulously. You nodded, holding back a second round of laughter. “You dated Byers?”

“No,” you corrected, “him and I used to goof around in middle school; use each other as practice for when we got into real relationships.” you shrugged again, reliving the silly memories of unsure lips and bruised noses from accidents. “I guess it all paid off for both of us.”

Steve followed your gaze to see Nancy and Jonathan under a shared blanket in the back of another ambulance, lips locked. His eyes flickered back to yours, and a beautiful grin overtook his face. “C’mere.” he beckoned you to him, eyes fluttering shut as you both leaned in to close the distance.

“Harrington, what the hell!”

You sprung away from Steve like he was diseased, eyes blown wide and staring ahead of you at your younger brother with his friends gathered in a line behind him. He was absolutely smoldering, eyes narrowed and beaming angrily at your boyfriend. You almost smiled. Boyfriend. Steve Harrington was your boyfriend.

“And you!” Dustin shouted, and you visibly flinched at the loudness of his voice. “What’re you doing with him?!”

You crossed your arms over your chest and gave your brother an eye roll. “Quit being so dramatic.” you told him with a sigh, only to backtrack when you saw the look of complete outrage on his face. “Or don’t…”

He redirected his anger back to your boyfriend. “Harrington, what’re you doing sucking faces with my sister?”

“Dude, calm down.” Steve said, hopping onto ground level in front of Dustin. “I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, but I need you to understand that your sister is everything to me. I would never hurt her and I’d do anything to protect her.” by the end of Steve’s admission, Dustin’s expression had notably relaxed. Though Steve didn’t stop there. “And just because I’m dating your sister, our dynamic isn’t going to change. This,” he gestured between them, “won’t change.”

You could see the smile Dustin was stowing away behind his tightly pressed lips. Steve reassured him of everything he wanted to hear, and after that initial shock and rage, you knew Dustin would be happy for your relationship. He played it off cooly, waving his hand around as he told Steve, “don’t make me regret this.” and stalked away with his friends, muttering something about being ready to go home.

As the crew wondered further off, Steve rejoined you at your side, hand reaching around your shoulders to pull you into him. You rested your head on his shoulder, heartbeat slowing as his breathing carried you towards comfort. “You know,” he voiced suddenly, “I told you that I loved you, and you never said it back.”

You both laughed quietly at his joke, and you snuggled further into his chest and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head as you whispered, “I love you,” testing the words on your lips and nodding to yourself. He hummed quizzically, and you found yourself getting more and more drowsy as the day finally caught up with you. You said softly, “I love you. I said that I love you, Steve Harrington.”

↬ a/n: if you liked this, you should check out my other Steve fics on my masterlist!

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labyrinth-runner · 4 years

Note

oop ok abby can i please get more to pirate!obi finding reader in the brig & bringing her onboard? you've honestly given me serotonin from your answer haha love you!

Kara, because I love you, I did this a day earlier that I had planned.

As of rn. This doesn’t have a formal name

Gif from:https://thecl0newars.tumblr.com/post/619119447899357184/obi-wan-kenobi-that-thing-he-does-i-love-him

Scenario: Based off this ask Kara sent me earlier this week. ALSO PLEASE COME TO ME FOR PIRATE!OBI Y’ALL

Word count: Little under 1700

No Warnings

Obi-Wan smirked as he swung from his ship to the one they were boarding. The dread pirate Hondo had been terrorizing these seas for so long. Obi-Wan was going to take back what was rightfully his, specifically a compass that would lead him to his heart’s desire. He had lost it after a drunken night of poker. By the time he woke from his drunken stupor, Hondo, his pants, and his compass were gone. Talk about getting fleeced. He’d been tracking Hondo ever since, determined to take back what was rightfully his. He’d finally caught up with him in the Corellian sea. The sea battle had been fairly limited, and now they had attached grappling hooks to board. There was always a sense of excitement in the air as he swung from his territory onto someone else’s. His men were diving into the battle, which was good. They’d distract the crew long enough for him to find what he needed and get out of there. He tried not to tangle with other pirates, you know, the Code and all. He did have some honor… for a pirate.

He snuck his way through the battles, delivering blows here and there as he needed to clear his path. Eventually he made it to the Captain’s quarters. He found it surprisingly empty. He assumed Hondo must be engaged elsewhere. Swiftly, he searched for his compass, eventually finding it in the man’s desk with other broken objects.

“Oh, Hondo, you never were very good at determining something’s worth if it had no monetary value,” he smirked. He tossed the compass in the air before catching it and tucking it into his pocket. “Now, time for some fun.”

Obi-Wan dashed into the fray, sword a-swinging. For all his grandeur, he really was one of the best swordsmen to sail the seas. It was almost second nature to him, his sword an extension of his arm. He made his way around the ship until he heard banging coming from down below.

“Skywalker, cover me!” He yelled to his first mate as he went down below. Below decks was empty of pirates, but he heard clanging, as if metal were striking metal. Odd, he thought, but then he saw you.

You were so thoroughly done with pirates at this point. You’d been captured by Hondo a few ports ago. Apparently he thought he could sell you to some wealthy dignitary, but you had been too much of a handful. That was how you found yourself bound, gagged, and placed in a cell. You had been stripped down to your knickers, Hondo figuring that at least your clothes had value, even if you didn’t. His intention was to maroon you on the next island he found. Instead, you were praying to the maker that you weren’t hit by a stray cannonball as you saw them cut through the hull of the ship around you like nothing. You wondered if perhaps you were being rescued by the royal navy. Oh yes, that would be wonderful. Surely your father’s friend, Admiral Yularen, would be a sight for sore eyes. You found the metal water cup in your cell and started to bang it over the bars to attract attention. You cried out, voice muffled by the gag of course, when you heard footsteps approach.

This was it. This was your savior!

This… was another bloody pirate.

Who was continuing to come your way, while staring at you. Lovely, you thought, he clearly has no manners.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he smiled, leaning against the bars. He reached through to tilt your chin up. “It appears there’s a little bird in a cage. Would you like to be set free?”

You closed your eyes. Go with this pirate who at least wants to free you for some reason, or stay here with Hondo and be marooned? Well, there was not much of a choice to be made. You nodded.

“Alright, then,” he nodded back. He found the keys over on the peg across the room and unlocked the door. Without warning, he hoisted you over his shoulder. You let out an indignant sound as you started to hit his back. How dare this ruffian man handle you? You tried to yell at him to put you down! However, nothing resembling words could be heard around the gag.

He playfully whapped your butt with the broad side of his sword.

“Careful, Lass, wouldn’t want to make me drop you,” he replied. You could tell by the tone that he had a smug grin on his face as he took you up the stairs and back into the midst of the on-going battle. He took hold of a piece of rope, wrapping it around his hand as he stood on the edge of the ship.

“Ehhhh, Kenobi! What are you doing with my prisoner?!” Hondo called out after him. He turned to face Hondo and gave him a little salute.

“Finders Keepers, mate! You know the rules!” He yelled back before swinging back towards the Negotiator.

He unceremoniously dropped you on the ground.

“Alright, men, fall back or fall behind!” He yelled as he started to cut the grappling hooks free with a smirk. The ship lurched forward, already sailing away from the battle.

You heard footfalls as the men landed back on the ship. You were surrounded, and suddenly very nervous as they leered at you. A man with longer hair that the others came up to you, spinning you around to get a better look.

He let out a whistle. “I wasn’t aware we were taking treasure, Captain.”

You scoffed.

“She’s a woman, Skywalker, not a prize to be won or stolen. Never joke about a lady’s heart. The only way you can get that is if you earn it, and if you do, well… you best be treasuring it,” Obi-Wan replied, strolling back over to untie all your bindings.

“What are you to do with me?” You asked.

“Nothing yet, Lass,” Captain Kenobi smiled. “What happens next is up to you.”

He nodded to Anakin who proceeded to place a plank down on the deck, half over the water. Your eyes widened.

“What’s that for?”

“For you. You can either join my merry band of men or you can walk the plank. It’s bad luck to have a woman aboard, and I’m not entirely fond of dead weight, am I boys?” He called out to the crew.

They responded with a cheer. You swallowed. Well, you weren’t just about to jump off a ship after being rescued from another. That would just be foolish. But, you still felt the need to ask. “Why save me if you were just going to throw me overboard?”

“Ah-ah, darling,” he said, wagging his finger at you, “I’m not throwing you overboard. I’m giving you a choice, something that Hondo didn’t. Now, lass, what’ll it be?”

“Well, clearly I’ll join the crew. I don’t have a death wish,” you replied.

“Good. Although, you’ll have to find a change of clothes. Walking around in your underwear is rather distracting and affects the work quality of my crew,” he smirked, earning a bunch of wolf whistles from the crew. Captain Kenobi offered you his hand. “Come with me.”

You cautiously placed your hand in his, following him into his cabin. He dug around in a chest, presenting you with a baggy pair of red and white striped pants, a belt, and a billowy pirate shirt before shoving you behind his changing screen. You swiftly dressed before stepping back out into the room. You smirked, seeing his eyes widen and a slight blush creep up on his cheeks above his beard.

“Like what you see?” You purred.

“Be careful about stoking fires around here, little one, you’ll set the boat ablaze and be trapped on it,” he winked.

“Some like it hot,” you smiled back.

He chuckled, “I think I’ll enjoy having you around, lass. Now, you’re free to go where you like. I’m needed above deck.” He whipped out a compass from his pocket, smiling at it before leaving the cabin. You followed him out, walking to the bow as he walked to the stern. You leaned over the edge, noticing a figurehead there. You almost did a double-take looking at it.

“Admiring the view?” The first mate, Skywalker, asked.

“She’s beautiful,” you murmured, looking at the carved woman.

“Aye, that she is,” he said, a weird look on his face. “Looks a bit familiar, don’t you think?”

You tilted your head, leaning out a bit further to get a better look. She looked like you. “Who’s it modeled after?”

“That’s the thing,” Anakin said, “Obi-Wan, the Captain, doesn’t know. He had it commissioned based off a sketch of his soulmate that he got from some fortuneteller after they hooked up on the island Mandalore.”

“Is that so?” you murmured.

“Land ho!” A voice shouted from the crow’s nest. The crew around you, once idle, now began to work in a fury, readying to dock at the island coming up on the horizon. This could be your chance to find your way back home. You looked down at the ring your fiancé, Rush Clovis, had given you. You’d hidden it away in your clothes so that Hondo wouldn’t take it. Your life with him would have been comfortable, yes, but that wasn’t what you wanted. It wasn’t what you craved. No, you wanted adventure, and a love that consumed. You turned your head, locking eyes with Captain Kenobi. He gave you a smirk that lit a spark. You bit your lip, looking down at the ring in your hands. No, you wouldn’t be going home. Not today, not ever. With one flick of your wrist, you hurled the ring into the clear blue depths of the ocean below. A sense of freedom enveloped you, fresh as the sea breeze. It would be a pirate’s life for you, and somehow, it didn’t seem all that bad.

#Pirate!Obi

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notcatherinemorland · 4 years

Text

More Hamlet Thoughts because i leave everything to the 11th hour . production continues to be the 2018 globe w/ Michelle Terry

Hamlet and Ophelia’s uhhhhh fight

Ham’s personality twists into cruel mockery of her at the line ‘Where’s your father’ and OHO the facial expressions

Ophelia kept trying to hold onto Hamlet’s hand and body and curl her fingers around hamlet’s hand and it was very heartbreaking . Hamlet was a ball of chaotic energy who scrabbled her hands off himself. rlly interesting to watch

this turned around with hamlet scrubbing over her face as he presents her to the audience’s 4th wall for the make up lines. and shoves her down to the floor at the end

the physical manipulation hamlet takes out on ophelia is a super interesting segue to the players scene

2 b / x 2 b

ham sat in the middle of the front of the stage and held the hand of an audience member who he talked he speech to. very intimate and closed and really interesting interpretation

im a nerd so i really like the juxtaposition of such a grand and philosophical speech being told on such an intimate and small scale

Hamlet’s still got his smudged clown makeup on

hamlet and horatio come across Very gay in the ‘something too much of this’ line. i vibe

hamlet decimated his friendship with R&G and i LOVED how Horatio held him and then forced him away to give him just a touch more character. this Ht loved R&G as well and i appreciate the bit of character we all try to give horatio

Horatio’s Emotions over R&G’s impending death is a++ give this man some emotional range

OH the ‘if your mind dislike anything, obey it’ can we PLEASE listen to horatio the lone voice of reason within elsinor’s halls

that’s not me being gay, that’s a legit analysis of Hamlet in that everyone in Elsinor has a twisted sense of reality and morality and Horatio as an outsider is immune and must watch in horror

the argument is flawed with R&G but hey it’s not my theory.

THE TRUMPETS . there’s live trumpets

the music they played to signal the half time of the play was wonderfully dissonant and i VIBE WITH THAT that is the ENERGY of Elsinor right there

honestly im annoying and i don’t particularly care for the play scene as an audience member. like academically the play within a play is rife with analysis but like. to just sit and watch it feels like such a halt in the energy

plus i really dislike it when they use gross physical comedy in the dumb-show because again. im annoying

anyway they only do the dumb-show (more tollerable than a lot) and they use drum beats and purcussion in place of lines, and have hamlet explain what’s going on with his lines. it’s certainly different and its a lot quicker than the text is

This Claudius is Prime Smarmy Politicians and is very indignant as he tries to pray and i REALLY LIKE HIM

The scene transitions are .. non existent in this play and i LIKE IT

the lines follow on immediately between scenes as the other characters are leaving the stage

i love how it supports the theme of acting this play has and how it breaks down the barrier for the audience of personal vs private

thats not quite what i want to say uhhhhh. in other productions some of the scenes are really discreet from each other- like how pearl necklaces have stoppers between the pearls- and that’s especially evident in films, but here it’s the opposite and the scenes bleed into each other to create a really fast paced and chaotic energy and i REALLY LIKE IT

‘personal vs private’ is on god my favourite theme in hamlet and the way it works with the audience creating it here is GREAT

Closet scene... OH BOY

this hamlet is CRUEL oml

the ghost enters after hamlet spends 3 minutes berating his mother and she’s crying on the floor by the audience and hamlet immediately stops and starts weeping

‘oh save me’ sounds so small and childlike and it really showcases the love between them

not that kind of love, sigmund fucking freud. get your mind out the gutter

the disdain hamlet has for gertrude absolutely breaks my heart but that’s a me thing because i haven’t been able to see my mother in person for coming up on a month due to quarantine :(

added an extra hug before ham leaves .. v sweet

Claudius comes barreling in and picks up ham’s dropped sword. :eye emoji: doesn’t put it down until Hamlet’s brought in for questioning. but he’s still holding a book (english dictionary presumably?) and this act of holding a sword for 2 scenes WILL be reiterated time and time again in ever hamlet essay i write forever to whatever end i so desire because it’s easy to manipulate to my own purposes. bless this moment

There’s a seagull that keeps interrupting claudius at perhaps the funniest possible moments in his soliloquies and honestly WHERE is it’s Olivier

Ophelia’s madness isn’t as explicit as it is in other versions, but watching her tumble into emotions and lack of restraint is so, so heartbreaking.

this is one of the productions of hamlet that makes a really convincing case for ‘madness’ in elsinor being synonymous to speaking one’s mind and being truthful about one’s heightened emotions and like. i Love that interpretation

lets be real i love 99% of hamlet interpretations

the 1% is freud. fuck that guy

I’m Digging the parallel of Ophelia’s emotional outburts of grief (in madness) to Laertes incensed outburst of grief . ohoho

Laertes gets rosemary and pansies, Claudius gets fennel and columbines, Gertrude gets the rue, Audience member gets the daisy and the thought of violets

unfortunately i once wrote a shite poem about gertrude and weather she know of the poison in the cup at the end and unfortunately that’s all i can think about for the last 40 mins of the play hfdhgjgghjhgj

im annoying so i read along with the play and the duets Claudius and Laertes make of the meter and the word formatting on the page comes across really different on stage, which is super interesting.

not to be really fucking dramatic but i read in the info packet of this play that the pillars on the stage are actually tree trunks carved and painted to look like marble and considering how many times i had to hear the words ‘appearance vs reality’ in my english class, i think im allowed to use the smirk emoji about how the setting of the globe is Integral to Hamlet as a play

i am itching to write an entire 4000 word tirade about the use of the physical body in hamlet because between the actual acting on stage, polonius, ‘one auspicious and one dropping eye’ and all whole host of references made to physical body parts i am going feral

PLUS this one incorporates sign language

i actually hate the word incorporates but needs must

The Ophelia’s death speech is of course wonderful, but i can’t stop thinking about how John Everett Millais made his model (who’s name escapes me in a terrible irony because i got this information from an exhibition about the female pre-raphalites) sit in a cold bath for hours on end whilst he sketched and it made her very ill because the fire went out and she was sat nude in a bath of cold water for hours.

Gravedigger only has the songs and the hamlet interaction, and he wears a high vis jacket. he’s also played by the ghost’s actor, which whilst understandable in such a small cast, amuses me greatly

Hamlet’s got his hair tied back and in a military style jacket, and marches around with Horatio who’s in a hoodie and a black duffle coat (absolutely a student) and the same tight plait. Ham’s definitely meant to be sane now, he speaks very brusquely and all but marches around the stage

Not To Make An Edelgard Reference But edelgard’s cause in 3H was also cemented by a timeskip and a military outfit and a brusque personality hehehe

Hamlet gets into the ‘grave’ to chat to Yorick which, again, i will use in every relevant essay i will write and manipulate this scene to whatever end i desire and on god i thank this production for this

a level me would have gone feral

current me is also going feral

Grave Scene: a terrible one for your family to walk in and ask what the fuck you’re watching

Polonius’ actor plays the priest. yes, capsule wardrobe of a cast, i know but i’m an english student it’s my duty to wring every irrational inch of analysis out of this thing

i won’t trail on about unsubstaniated interpretations of Polonius’ parenting skills and fate in Hamlet but on god i will find an essay about it

i always enjoy it when someone leaps in the grave .. the melodrama... the meaning... the liminal spaces...

the DRAMA of seperating feral laertes and the really calm and imposing hamlet is excellent and a bit hilarious and the camera is going nuts

i’m very aware that everyone is now traipsing about over the grave in the middle of the stage and THAT’S a fun dynamic you don’t get from film or text

ok I’ve just noticed the video has the ‘top chat replay’ going and the very first line i saw is ‘what if hamlet had tiktok’ and i am CRYING

Ophelia’s actor also plays Osric and is a) absolutely hilarious and b) again, capsule wardrobe of a cast will not stop me from analysing everything and anything this play may or may not offer me.

im not saying hamlet is a play about inheritance and the burden of it, but also... isn’t it :eye emoji:

if bloody fire emblem fates can do it so can i, step off

Fencing scene: oh thank god it’s nearly over

The hearts on their fencing get ups parallel Hamlet’s clown outfit with a heart on the sleeve Very Nicely

Gertrude isn’t wearing her headpiece anymore .. ohoho dispelling the trappings and suits of dishonesty, if you will

The duel is a) bloody terrifying because sword fighting and b) judged by Osric (Ophelia) and the poetry of having ham & lae’s duel waged over and judged by Ophelia is absolutely excellent

Claudius’s aside (or to laertes? camera didn’t follow) had no right to be as humorous as it was jdfsghfkd

Gertrude figured out it was poison in this one. Nice

I like the call and response effect of ‘Treachery! Seek it out! / It is here Hamlet’ they made with Hamlet running around they stage to find little propped up Laertes

The dramatic eye contact of Hamlet and Claudius as he forces him to drink the poison.... OH HECK YES

the way they sink to the floor in a pair, with hamlet crawling over his body to make sure he dies... oh LORD

the swing hamlet does with his arm to the audience to cast them as ‘the unsatisfied’ was EXCELLENT and i would like that in every production of hamlet please

the tussle of horatio and hamlet over the cup..... iconic.... and i enjoy the parallel of that to hamlet with claudius as they’re stood in the same corner

The harsh projection of Hamlet’s voice and the blunt manner of his words about Fortinbras’ inheritance of denmark against the soft way Horatio rocks Hamlet back and forth ... i want to CRY

Horatio got to have emotional range in this production .. wonderful

i always enjoy the way the play tails off with politics in a room of dead bodies.. the layers the absolute onions

how none of the drama within the castle has any meaning to anyone outside of it is Excellent

and then the way the prison and enclosure of elsinor is finally broken with military force in parallel to the tumultuous interpersonal relationships within it... i vibe yet more

they actually ended with ‘go bid the soldiers shoot’ which i enjoy a lot!!!! and the music is wonderful

then they all start doing this dance which i think is meant to be about the themes of the play and to be perfectly honest it’s a bit crunchy for me but the music absolutely slaps!!!

final thoughts:

that sure was a hamlet production and i thought it had a lot of heart and did some new things very very well!!!

and i loved the emphasis they put on the costuming!!!!

overall: a solid hamlet. very nice. i greatly enjoyed it!!!!

#hamlet blogging #OH BOY THIS IS LONG THIS IS SO LONG

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barryslightningrod · 5 years

Text

Course Credit

WestAllen for the prompt, “Person A is studying a major in art & takes a life drawing class. Person B is one of the nude models. Person A has trouble concentrating/keeps erasing their drawings, not because Person B is naked, but because they’re a neighbor & Person A already has a crush on them. Bonus: Person B is either oblivious or is aware of Person A being flustered. Bonus 2: Person A works up the nerve to ask them out after class. Bonus 3: Person B tries to see Person A’s sketches. You decide how Person A responds.”

Barry Allen gathers his sketchpad and charcoal pencil collection in preparation for his walk to Central City University’s studio. As a fine arts student, he loved nothing more than being afforded the privilege of attending a school that valued its liberal arts and humanities programs just as much as its STEM ones. He didn’t think he’d have been able to bear being greeted with disapproving eyes any time he introduced himself and his major otherwise, an occurrence that was far too often whenever he revealed his studies to certain relatives or former high school classmates, even when he explained his desire to work as a forensic artist. Luckily enough, CCU was the perfect utopic institution where the two disciplines coincided with mutual respect, where he could vibe well with his mechanical engineering major roommate Cisco Ramon, and even strike up a close friendship with him.

For some time now, he’s anticipated this assignment for ART 236, Anatomy and Figure Drawing, a drawing elective. When deciding between electives, he knew registering for this particular course was an obvious necessity considering his career goals. Even if his goals changed, it would allow him to step out of his comfort zone of computer graphic design, and he owed it to himself to take advantage of as many opportunities as he could to expand his graduation prospects. It would speak to his skillset if his portfolio included a wide array of images and techniques.

Today’s project has him slightly nervous because it was the first time he was working with a live model. In class, they were moving past drawing from photographic references and onto actual living, breathing people.

Nude people.

He knew he had opted to get himself into these circumstances and that his choice of career could likely have him recreating naked bodies for the rest of his life, but the initial awkwardness of it all was still an obstacle he was going to have to overcome. To ease the discomfort, his professor, Dr. Wells, had each student list their availability at the beginning of the semester to be matched with a model for a private drawing session in the studio. Dr. Wells insisted that one-on-one sessions would allow for maximum concentration and leave no room for anything else, but Barry would rather at least a second student be working adjacently. Caitlin Snow, his TA, would be present in the office next door if assistance was needed, so he did feel a sense of relief that he wouldn’t be entirely alone with a naked stranger.

Hopefully, he would grow accustomed to it sooner rather than later so that his focus could be entirely on producing the best image. He didn’t want his nerves to affect the quality of his drawing, or a more frivolous desire, the chance to secure another A on his transcript. Of course, Barry was aware that artistic talent could not be quantified in grades, but he was still proud of his perfect grade point average and had aspirations to graduate with honors.

The trip to the studio is a short one from his dormitory. Barry checks the time on his phone, and in a panic, sees that it’s 10:08 AM. He was already late to his meeting with the model, and he still had to check his phone in with Caitlin and go over paperwork with her before entering the studio. He curses himself for adding unnecessary stress to a situation he was already apprehensive about and rushes quickly into Caitlin’s office.

“Barry,” Caitlin greets flatly. “You’re late.”

“I know, I know,” Barry acknowledges. Caitlin was a fellow art major, though on a premed track. When she introduced herself during the first day of class, she described this course as the perfect blend of her anatomic and artistic interests, which was why she applied to be a teaching assistant. She was a good one, but she was quite strict and cold, and evidently had a habit of bluntly stating truths, most especially when they least needed to be heard.

Still, he knows her assessment of him is a factor in his overall grade, so he forces a smile and an apology.

“You may be a fast drawer who impresses Dr. Wells-and myself,” Caitlin admits, almost reluctantly. “But you should still be mindful of my time and the time of your model.”

Barry’s stomach sinks at her reproach, despite her compliment. It was true that he had garnered praise for how quickly he worked compared to his classmates, even earning himself a fond nickname, “Flash”, but that still didn’t mean he wanted to be thought of as irresponsible.

Caitlin seals his phone into a security baggie and has him review and sign the College of Art and Design’s non-harassment policy, as well as its student rules and guidelines for figure modeling sessions.

“I’m here if you have any questions,” she concludes.

“Got it,” Barry nods, anxious to get started. He makes his way down the hall, hoping the piece he produced could make up for Caitlin’s dissatisfaction with him.

He pulls the studio door aside, ready to greet his subject, his apology for his tardiness already on his tongue-

He slams the door back shut again as soon as he’d opened it, hardly believing who stood in the room. He half wanted to open it again to check his eyes weren’t deceiving him, but he feared letting it fall closed a second time once he got confirmation that it was indeed her and embarrassing himself even further.

Forget graduating with honors: he was going to fail this class entirely.

Caitlin must have heard the door slam, because she peeks her head outside the office to see what the source of the noise had been.

“Is there a reason you’re not inside the studio already?” she interrogates. “I have an Orgo exam later you know-”

“I can’t do this,” Barry blurts, without even an attempt at pretense.

Caitlin frowns. “Why? Are you uncomfortable or something?”

Barry decides to go with that excuse, given that it wasn’t entirely false: “Yes.”

She stares at him.

“This is an elective course, one that you opted to take. You JUST signed a form promising that you understand what’s expected of you.”

“I did,” Barry gulps. “But-”

Caitlin sighs.

“Look, Barry-don’t you think I’m also going to be a little uncomfortable the first time I have to examine a naked patient?” she states matter-of-factly, as though medical school admission were guaranteed in her future. “You’ll get used to it.”

“You don’t understand!” Barry cries, near hysteria now. “I didn’t realize that-that-”

“That this assignment is worth thirty percent of your final grade?” she suggests, brows raised.

She was right. There was no option besides following through with the situation at hand. If he left, he would receive a zero, and if he asked for another model, that would certainly raise suspicion. Worst of all, it might offend her, and that wasn’t exactly the best thing to do to someone he admired, someone he wanted to love, someone whose affection he dreamed about…

Mortified, Barry swallows again to compose himself and opens the studio door for a second time, coming face-to-face with his crush, Iris West, wearing nothing but a robe and an expression of confusion.

“Are you the ART 236 student?” she asks immediately. “Barry Allen?”

“That’s me!” Barry chirps, despite breaking out into a sweat.

Iris relaxes visibly. “Thank God. I was beginning to wonder if I came on the wrong day.”

If only you did, Barry wishes. He would almost rather draw a naked Dr. Wells than go through with this.

“Why did you come in and then sprint out?” she probes, furrowing her brows.

Barry's pulse pounds loudly in his ears. He should have known that Iris wasn't going to let him off the hook easily.

“Oh-uhhh-I had to use the bathroom,” he lies, before realizing that presenting himself as someone who put off bathroom use to the point of barely containing himself wasn't quite attractive.

Nonetheless, Iris accepts his explanation as sufficient and seemingly moves on to the next rational step of their meeting, introducing herself.

“I'm Iris West," she states, beaming up at him with her signature smile that confirmed she was indeed the one and only.

"I know," he replies, smiling back instinctively. His grin vanishes however once he realizes Iris isn't exactly aware he knows who she is.

Sure enough, his fear is validated.

"You know me?" she questions.

“Uh-uh-” Barry stammers again, wondering how possibly he was going to explain himself without coming off as a creep. He can't believe the deeper hole he's managed to dig himself into.

"We-we took a Gen-Ed course together actually," he confesses, hoping that would seem more normal than he'd convinced himself it wasn’t.

To his surprise, Iris doesn't seem disturbed by his recollection of her, despite how large the student population was. On the contrary, she appears thoughtful.

“What course was that?" she inquires. “I feel like I would have remembered you.”

At that, Barry's heart flutters. Why would she have remembered him? Would he have left a positive or less-than-stellar impression on her?

He decides to take his chance at answering that question, letting her make the judgement lest he torment himself further.

"It was PSYC 100,” he explains. “I was pretty quiet in class, but I just-remember you always answering questions and leading discussions.”

That much was true, as it was the first time he had been made aware of her, in all her drive, intelligence, and beauty, but he leaves that part out.

"Hmmm," Iris considers, before perking up. "Well, I'm sorry that I can’t remember you, but all that means is that I get a second chance to get to know you now to remember you later, right?”

Barry blinks before an easy smile takes over his face. That was such a nice thing to say. It didn't surprise him that Iris was as sweet as she was beautiful. Maybe he had won the jackpot in being assigned to her for the chance to get to know her better. How else was he ever going to otherwise? Catching glimpses of her at random spots on campus? Reading her articles in the student paper? Clicking her profile on Facebook?

His optimism is short-lived though, as she tugs onto the belt of her robe, reminding him that she was completely nude underneath and that this situation was far from how he wanted to become more acquainted with her.

"So," she bubbles. "Are you ready to start?”

There was no way he would ever be ready, but Barry has no choice but to brace himself and nod yes.

Wordlessly, and with such ease, as though she were alone, Iris slips her robe over her shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. Barry silently thanks whoever had placed the chair in the room in the spot it was at, otherwise he might have collapsed instead of stumble into it out of sheer mesmerization.

His throat goes dry as he takes her in fully, certain that any high score he earns for this assignment would rightfully be attributed to her rather than his technique. Alternatively, he could completely botch the entire thing due to an inability to keep his cool around such beauty.

He had known ever since he first laid eyes on her that she was beautiful, but nothing could have prepared him for just how exquisite she would be unveiled. The first thing he takes note of after her allure is how much more petite she seems nude. Without the enhancements of shoes or clothes, her true height is apparent. She has a chiseled collarbone that Barry isn’t sure he can sculpt with his charcoal. He had practiced drawing breasts of varying shapes and sizes from photographs over the course of the semester, but he’s never seen a pair suspended from a chest as gracefully as hers. As they make contact with the cool air, her nipples animate before his eyes, and he’s suddenly overcome with the thrill of the challenge in capturing their pebbling with a still image.

His gaze follows the contour of her waist that gives way to her rounded hips, then her supple thighs, between them a matte of dark curls whose texture he’s already itching to replicate. Even her feet and hands strike him, despite weeks of browsing and sketching from photos upon photos of different human appendages.

His only regret in looking at her was that he was duplicating her in black, white, and grey, because he'd love nothing more than to paint the vivid brown of her skin or the soft pink of her lips. A portrait devoid of her coloring wasn’t an accurate representation of how commanding a subject she was.

Unfortunately, while his eyes recognize her beauty, so does his body, and he registers that his gaze upon her triggers his pulse, which prompts his own anatomy.

Fuck.

Barry crosses his legs and clears his throat, setting his sketchbook on his lap. Thankfully, he snaps out of his daze the moment he does, because Iris had been trying to get his attention all while he was ogling her.

"You alright?" she inquires. “You've been staring at me for a while now.”

Barry adds that to the growing list of ways he's been giving himself away today.

"Oh, haha," he fumbles. “Sorry, just an artist thing. We tend to-study our subjects intently,” he bullshits. “You know, so that we can do the best job possible. It’s easy to get caught up sometimes, especially when they're beautiful-I mean, not beautiful-I mean, you ARE beautiful-”

Iris smirks. “Let’s get to it?”

Yes. The less he spoke the better.

"How do you want me to pose?"

“Right.” Barry could deal with logistics. He rummages through his sketchbook, to show her a photograph of a figure sprawled across a couch, arms spread out carelessly above her, ankles slack beneath her. “This is the pose my professor wants us to recreate.”

“That’s a relief,” Iris breathes. “I was worried I was going to have to stand on my head or something.”

“No, no,” Barry assures her. “This is a beginners’ assignment, so he just wants us to get the hang of structure and shading and proportions for now before we move on to more complicated poses.”

Iris settles down onto the couch and leans back, raising her wrists above her head so that they dangle off of the arm rest. Her legs follow suit on the sofa’s other end.

“Is this okay?”

Barry takes a deep breath. Seeing her spread out and on blatant display under quality lighting was even more glorious. His dick twitches at the vision.

“It's perfect,” he manages.

He commences his sketching like he typically does, positioning vertical and horizontal lines in strategic locations on the page to scale the image. His next step is to lightly trace shapes to represent different body parts, but just as Barry puts his pencil tip to the paper to draw an oval, he hesitates.

It doesn’t feel proper to craft a body as beautiful as Iris's from basic shapes. She’s too ethereal to arise from simple figures. Suddenly he wants to try to emulate her as intricately and as meticulously as he can, fashioning her from head to toe. It would take him longer than he’s used to, especially considering his "Flash" status, but he owes it to Iris to capture her as best he can, even if Caitlin isn’t going be too pleased with him.

He hopes she’d studied enough for her exam later.

"Why are you taking out a fresh sheet of paper?" Iris wonders, a smile quirking her lips. “Am I harder to draw than you thought?”

You have no idea, Barry muses truthfully, but he’s also honest when he replies, "Wanna make sure I get you down in a way that does you justice.”

Iris's smile widens, and the image of her lounging elegantly while her eyes sparkle at him has his dick straining in his pants. He squeezes his thighs together tightly and does his best to concentrate on his work.

“So, what year are you?" Iris asks, her tone singsongy.

“I'm a sophomore," Barry answers, tracing an outline of her silhouette.

“Me too!” she gushes. Barry tries not to let himself feel too roused at her enthusiasm. "Art major?"

Barry connects the ends of Iris’s profile together.

“How’d you know?” he jokes, trying to make her laugh before self-consciously following his attempt to be funny with a, “You?” He was eager to know everything about her after all.

"I'm undecided," Iris states. "But it's a toss between psychology and journalism."

Barry bobs his head thoughtfully, now shading under the neck of his figure to highlight the angle of Iris’s chin.

"Both valuable in their own right."

"So is art," Iris remarks. "If only more people in the world thought so."

“Yeah," Barry agrees, pleased that she not only was accepting of his studies, but critical of the society that wasn’t. "I actually have a career plan that’s more ‘practical' as they say, but even if I didn’t, I still would study art. It’s what I love.”

"And that's all that matters," Iris comments warmly, and Barry’s surprised to be more moved by her support and approval than he’s ever been by anyone else’s, even his parents and friends.

"I wish I were more artistically inclined,” she sighs.

You are art, Barry wants to say, but instead he grasps another opportunity to compliment her.

"Well, I wish I had your writing skills," he says, meaning it.

Iris perks up, shifting slightly. “You-read my articles?" she asks incredulously. “In the student paper?”

“Ahhh wait-can you go back to how you were,” Barry snickers, finding her excitement endearingly adorable.

“Oops, sorry about that.” Iris settles back into her pose. "I just can’t believe that people actually read what I write in CCU Local. I love researching and reporting, but I was worried about joining the paper here because CCU's journalism program isn't all that. That's why i'm also considering psychology.”

"I think you have potential in either subject," Barry declares sincerely. “I remember how passionate you seemed in class and I’ve read how thorough your articles are. You have a way with words."

“Thanks,” Iris beams. “It's really nice to know that someone out there is reading my stuff.”

It falls silent momentarily, and his drawing exerts its relaxing properties on Barry. He finds himself consumed by his piece enough for his initial nerves to ease. The bulge between his legs is still there, but thankfully, isn't as bothersome as it first had been. He'd probably take care of it once he got back to his dorm because as much as he hates to admit it, the tension in his body at the sight of hers is too good not to release.

He’s actually almost done sketching her body so that he’ll be able to progress to her face, surprised at how long it’s taken him to get her down on paper compared to his usual pace, but Iris was deserving of all his attention and effort when it came to her details, from her dainty ankles to the grains of her brows and everything in between.

"I'm surprised I'm not sick of this yet," Iris giggles. “Usually I start to get restless after half an hour, but it's been fun talking to you and watching you work.”

Barry tries not to let that get to his head, particularly the part about watching him.

"How long have you been working as a figure model?” he asks, hoping to deflect the conversation from himself and exhibit a collected manner.

"This is only my second semester doing it.”

“Do you like it?” he continues, genuinely curious.

Iris shrugs. “I guess? It's a side gig that earns me some extra money. You know how crazy expensive this school is.”

Barry nods sympathetically, recognizing that probably nothing could unite him and Iris like the burden of college tuition could.

“Are you-shy about it?” he wonders, unable to help himself.

“Not really,” Iris replies practically. “I was a little bit when I first started, but you get used to it the more you do it.”

“That makes sense.”

Iris studies him carefully: “You should think about modeling.”

“Me?” he exclaims, pausing from his work to stare at her, bewildered. “I don’t think I could.”

“Why not?” Iris challenges.

“I’d be way too nervous,” he snickers. It was true: he didn't think he could ever possess the valor to strip down naked and be scrutinized.

“You really do get used to it,” she promises, “but I understand, it’s not for everyone.”

“Yeah,” Barry agrees, seizing the opportunity for humor. “It’s for the better though cause I don't think anyone would be too excited to have to draw me,” he jokes.

“But you’re beautiful,” Iris says simply.

Barry nearly ruins his sketch with the jerk of his wrist, his face heating dangerously. Of all the possible responses she could have offered, that was the absolute least one he expected. In fact, it never even would have crossed his mind.

“Uhhh-thanks, that is-that’s really nice of you to say,” he stutters, knowing his blush was deepening with each word he uttered. “Especially when you yourself look-like that…”

His brain finally figures it’s better to just shut up and his mouth follows suit. He swallows to get a hold of himself, his heart pounding in his ears as he erases the stray mark on the paper with what he hopes is subtlety. If he didn't know any better he would think that Iris was grinning slyly at him, but he doesn't want to consider what those implications could be. She was most likely just teasing him anyway.

It’s time now for him to draw her face, so he sighs and gets straight to it, knowing this would be the most challenging part of the session. Copying faces was always more difficult for him than anything else, and at the task of duplicating one like Iris’s, he was intimidated even further.

“Okay so, I don’t mean to be commanding or anything, but I’m working on your face now, so I’ll need you to hold a steady expression, which means-”

“No talking?” Iris guesses.

“No talking,” Barry laughs nervously. Perhaps this was better for his sake as well as the the drawing’s.

“Got it.”

Once silence permeates the studio though, Barry wishes that they could still talk. In the absence of their casual conversation, the setting and situation suddenly take an intimately private turn from the academic, given her nudity, his attraction to her, and her possibly reciprocated attraction to him (???). The atmosphere becomes too muted for his liking, too charged. Most fraught and suggestive of all is how she bores into his soul with that piercing smolder of hers that he has no choice but to keep looking into, not even just briefly, but requiring his fixed attention, as he has to replicate it as best he can. Without being able to speak, their eyes seem to carry on an exchange of their own, one devoid of words and laden with something else.

He prays desperately that she's oblivious to the reddening of his cheeks because he senses them burning up again as his focus alternates from her face to the page and back again as he crafts the apex of her chin, the bow of her mouth, the circle of her nose. He attempts to animate the zeal in her eyes, the wisp of her lashes, the purse of her brows…

God, she was gorgeous, and this was turning out to be one of his best pieces, perhaps his best simply because she was so.

He tries not to each time he glances up at her, but when he studies her lips, he contemplates kissing them, and when he studies her nostrils, he pictures their flare in pleasure, and when he studies her pupils, he imagines them gleaming at him with want-

Barry releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been suppressing at the tension accompanying his overwhelming eye contact with her.

“All done.”

“Already?” Iris queries.

“That’s actually the longest I’ve ever taken,” Barry chuckles. “I’m usually much quicker, but…”

“But?” Iris probes.

“But…I guess I wanted to take my time,” he says, his gaze directly on hers.

Iris blinks at him before sitting up slowly, making her way toward his chair. He notices she doesn’t fetch her robe to wear again.

“Can I see it?”

He inhales sharply at her towering over him, but tilts his sketchbook so that she can see her portrait.

“Wow,” she marvels, drawing her own breath in. “It’s beautiful.”

“You are,” he agrees, subdued.

Their eyes meet, voluntarily this time. Barry feels a bit lightheaded at her proximity, all the nerves he had repressed materializing. Now that he didn’t have his assignment to occupy him, he was gradually slipping back into his daze at the vision of her.

“Can I-use this for my portfolio?” he asks, somewhat to calm himself and somewhat because he really did want to know if he could.

“Of course,” Iris urges, still seemingly stunned over how well he had done. “People need to see how talented you are.”

“Its all you,” he insists to her once more.

He doesn’t think he can stand being in her presence any longer, not especially with her still naked, making no attempt to dress, and watching him carefully. The crotch of his jeans starts to constrict again.

Barry stands abruptly.

“We’d better get going,” he announces, hoping this might prompt her to at least put her robe back on.

Iris continues studying him, as if he hadn’t said anything.

“My TA is waiting for us,” Barry tries anew, using Caitlin as a convenient excuse despite not having been considerate of her earlier. “She has an exam later.”

Still, Iris doesn’t acknowledge what he’s said. Barry shivers, breaking out into a sweat. There was no sketchbook to save him this time, no diversion he could employ. There was only her standing before him in all her glory, refusing to take her eyes off of him.

“I signed a form that said I would remain professional throughout the entire session,” Barry offers one last time, his last-ditch effort to prevent what his physiology was readying him for.

That finally elicits a response from Iris.

“So did I,” she whispers, and then she’s on him, and any coherent notion outside of her flees Barry.

He doesn’t know why he stood from the chair in the first place, since Iris was just going to thrust him back into it, kissing him fiercely as she did. Barry makes a noise he’s never made before, startling himself at how helpless he sounds, but it’s fitting considering he’s never lacked defense like this.

Then again, did he really expect Iris West to not be a force of her own?

“Iris,” he breathes, powerless beneath her as she sucks on his lips in a frenzy. “Iris-God-”

She bites him at his pulse point, having moved onto his throat, and Barry thinks he might meet God right then and there, wonders if he’s going to make it out of the studio alive.

Iris surfaces, but not to go any kind of easy on him.

“Let’s make this an even playing field, no?” she coaxes, lifting the hem of his tee past his navel.

He doubts his own nudity could repair the imbalance between them, but he lets her strip him of his shirt nonetheless.

“Wish I could trace these on paper,” she huffs, grazing his freckles with her fingertips. Apparently, not being able to fulfill her wish wasn’t going to stop Iris from trying to, and she bends her neck to lick a path across his chest from mole to mole.

Barry jerks underneath her tongue, at the mercy of her ministrations.

“Didn’t you-say you wanted an even playing field?” he manages to get out before shuddering at her wet kisses to his skin.

A cunning smile takes over Iris’s face, and Barry questions if he just signed his death waiver.

“You’re right,” Iris smirks, fixating on his groin: “We need balance.”

Before he can prepare himself, she has his fly open in an instant and her palm around his erection.

“This has been ready for me for a while, hasn’t it?” Iris purrs in his ear. Barry swells even further in her hand, his own way of confessing that, indeed, it had.

She wastes no time wrestling his jeans down to his knees. He kicks them off his feet for her, figuring it was the least he could do. There’s already a dark spot expanding through his shorts, seeping outward as if she needed further proof, and if that wasn’t enough, his springing free at her tugging was the last credence.

She eyes his dick hungrily.

“You ever try to draw this beauty?” she murmurs, wrapping her fingers around him.

Barry squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he’ll delay the inevitable.

“No,” he musters, his legs trembling with anticipation.

Iris laughs.

“Relax, I’m not going to let you come like this,” she promises, though she rubs his shaft until his head tilts and his jaw drops, all his control forsaken.

“I just want to treat you like you treated me, to convince you that you’re beautiful,” she tempts. “Like you’re something to be worshipped, something to be admired, something like art…”

Her voice drops several octaves as she stills her wrist: “Besides, there’s no way this cock is coming anywhere but inside me.”

“I told you you have a way with words,” Barry manages to choke out, his hips seeking out her movements again while she giggles at his desperation. “But I hate to break it to you-I don’t have a condom.”

Iris actually swears in frustration, apparently choosing to express her dissatisfaction with him by kissing him furiously. Barry recognizes the chance to finally get on equal footing with her. He manages to get her hands off him and pry her own thighs apart, figuring he should apologize for his lack of protection.

“What are you-hunnnh…” Her mouth parts to break their kiss as he makes bare contact with her skin, his finger passing where she protrudes most.

Barry swears he can only see the white in her eyes before they close, answering to his fingers on her. He spreads her, already dripping impatience, and strokes her like she’s velvet, up and down the curvature of her, around and between the flesh of her, in and out of the cleft of her.

“Of course you’re good with your hands,” she rasps, her pelvis surging forward, her depraved attempt to to parallel his touch.

“Only when they have a good subject,” he entices her, getting the hang of her game, and he can tell it’s working because she mewls appreciatively. While his fingers soothe her, he licks the skin under her breasts, just at the line where they started, hoping to rival her even further. He’d outlined them in pencil as best he could, but nothing he had created could come close to her texture beneath his tongue, her flush nipples between his lips.

The fingers fondling her were now coated down to his knuckles.

“Wait,” she breathes, still feverishly grinding into his hand. “Wait-I want your cock.”

“But-”

She doesn’t give him the chance to finish because before he knows it, her palm is squeezing the head of him against her.

“Iris,” he sighs, because the feeling is divine, “I wasn’t lying-I don’t have-”

“It’s okay,” she gasps, sliding up and down until her cunt opens around the length of him, his shaft locked in the thick of her folds. “Just-do like this…”

And they do just that, Iris rolling into him and Barry bucking into her, exchanging breath to whine and moan together, comprising their own unique chorus. She worries him in between her folds, seesawing up and down his cock, and Barry watches her through half-lidded eyes, knowing that no artist could ever capture the image of her like this arching against him, pressing into him, her breasts moving in rhythm to her panting. Perhaps his whole study of art, maybe even the entirety of its discipline and its practice was futile for this reason alone.

Just when Barry thinks he can no longer hold out, Iris thrusts forward so that the tip of him aligns with clit. She rubs against his skin one more time until she spasms around him, the sensation so sublime that he in turn shoots upward once, twice, and finally for a third time before trickling back onto the floor.

Barry lays slack against the chair, astounded at what had just occurred. He couldn’t believe he walked into the studio an hour ago to complete an assignment only to be reduced to a post-orgasmic state with Iris West buried into his shoulder.

“What-just happened?” he vocalizes, because he feels like he needs confirmation that this is real.

Iris giggles against him.

“We made a mess,” she jokes, glancing down at the tile.

Barry tilts his head back to study her, wondering if she had any regrets about what they had done, but when he finds her beaming down at him, it’s hard to stop his mouth from twisting into a slow, satisfied smile, mirroring her own.

“That was-”

“I know,” Iris agrees, making no attempt to conceal her suggestive grin or the lewd wiggle of her brows.

Barry’s smile takes on a playful hue of its own. “Aren’t you a writer?” he teases. “Shouldn’t you be able to describe what that was?”

“Yeah, well, some things render you speechless,” she replies haughtily, eyeing his lips before bending forward to take them in her own. Barry smirks at her wit, opening his mouth to accept her kiss-

A pounding on the door startles them apart.

“What are you two still doing in there?!” Caitlin’s muffled voice demands. “I’m going to be late for my exam!”

It’s then that Barry realizes he very likely may have just lost his chance to earn an A on this assignment, but as he and Iris chuckle together and dress each other, all he can conclude is that she had absolutely been worth it.

Author’s notes: This is only my second AU, and again, Barry is an artist 😂 @cygnetofthesea asked if I could do this literally months ago. I don’t typically do prompts (probably because they take me that long loll), but I did give this one a shot. I hate my ending, as usual, but I hope you enjoyed!

#westallen #westallen fic #alternate universe #AU #my writing #course credit

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