#i was supposed to be studying and this was supposed to be a quick sketch

[hagnoart]

So. I read Free From Falling by @xiaq months ago, first as on ao3, then in the ARC form back in November and now I am not so patiently waiting for my physical copy to arrive. All of that to say I am WEAK for Sydney and Matts and I really need to draw them both together asap and not just Matts losing his mind over how hot his girlfriend is.

The first time I drew Sydney can be found here.

Oh and it’s based on this, you probably know but still:

[frankensteinposm0]

« But you are everything to me. »

I might turn this into a comic but I have to think about it. Anyways the sillies 🫶🏻

[tianhai03]

did another arthur study for fun

[chaikajpeg]

elias with deer antlers

References:

"Mature red deer stag", photo by Bill Ebsen, taken 26. september 2009 in Jægersborg Dyrehave in Denmark (if that tells you anything)

2. T-Michael (a tailor and a founder of a fashion label if i'm not mistaken)

also, i hate cropping my drawings and could not decide what version to choose in the end, so please have both

[honeythegoat]

Kinds of dreams I think Kinger would have:

-Queenie you, You're really here

+Of course I am Kinger, you are here

-Please don't leave again Queenie, it's really lonely

+Where would I go without you silly

And then he wakes up :D

[dreams-and-stars-world]

I loved the snake man

[whomeidontknowthem]

[aeb-art]

sighs

[r0k1z]

Abby!!! My PC on DoL

[padmesweetheart]

Study of You

Pairing: College! Art Major!Sam Monroe x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Domestic Romance

You were stretched out across Sam’s twin dorm bed, wearing his hoodie and a pair of fuzzy socks you stole from your own room two doors down. The blanket was barely clinging to your hips, the cheap dorm mattress creaking softly every time you shifted. But the real soundtrack of the room was the scratch of pencil on paper and the occasional huff Sam let out when something didn’t come out quite the way he wanted.

He sat on the edge of his desk chair, hunched over his sketchpad, brows drawn together, hair a little too messy from where he kept running his fingers through it. The lamp cast a warm glow across his face, catching the shadows in his jaw and the concentration in his expression like it was meant to be painted itself.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. You didn’t want to.

“How long are you gonna look at me like that?” he muttered without looking up, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re making it hard to draw.”

You smiled lazily. “I’m not doing anything. You’re the one being all… artsy and broody.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Broody, huh?”

“Tragically handsome, tortured soul,” you teased, rolling onto your side. “You’re living the full art school fantasy.”

He finally looked over his shoulder at you, lips twitching into a smile despite himself. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“You’re cute,” you said, voice going a little dreamy as you tucked your chin onto your arm. “Do you even realize how good you look right now?”

He shook his head and turned back to the sketchpad, but not before you caught the pink that bloomed across his cheeks.

You watched his hand glide across the paper, wrist loose, pencil catching the light. Every so often, his fingers would smudge something deliberately, and you knew he hated when things looked too clean. Too safe.

“You always look like you’re in your own world when you draw,” you murmured, voice soft. “Like the world’s quiet in your head for once.”

Sam slowed his movement, glancing at you again really looking this time.

“It is quieter when I’m drawing,” he said. “Especially when you’re here.”

You swallowed a little too hard at that, heart tripping over itself.

“What are you sketching?” you asked, voice suddenly more fragile.

He hesitated, then tilted the sketchpad toward you.

It was a quick study of you messy lines, some shading still unfinished, but unmistakably you. Your arm bent beneath your head, the folds of his hoodie around your shoulders, the tilt of your gaze fixed somewhere just past the viewer.

You blinked. “Is that… when I was laying here like ten minutes ago?”

He nodded. “You were just looking at me. Like I mattered.”

Your throat went tight.

“You do matter,” you said softly, reaching a hand out toward him.

Sam stood, dropping the sketchpad onto the desk, and crossed to the bed, climbing over you until he settled beside you, half-on, half-wrapped around you.

“I know,” he murmured, nuzzling into your neck. “I just forget sometimes. But then you look at me like that, and it’s like…” He paused, pressing a kiss under your jaw. “Like maybe I’m not so messed up after all.”

You rolled into his arms fully, hands coming up to his cheeks. “You’re not messed up,” you whispered. “You’re real. And you’re everything.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment he just stared at you like he couldn’t believe you were his.

“I was supposed to finish that drawing,” he murmured.

“Finish it later,” you said, curling up against his chest. “Right now you’re busy being worshipped.”

He laughed, arms tightening around you, and whispered into your hair: “Fine. But only if you keep looking at me like I’m magic.”

You smiled against him. “Deal.”

And in the warmth of his dorm room, with his sketchpad forgotten and your hearts pressed together, magic didn’t feel so far away at all.

@skyguytoast @dessxoxsworld @endairachristensen26 @bxbyysstuff @inlovewithallmusic

[giannaln4]

Silly Little Bet

lando norris x artist!reader

summary: You were an artist and Lando loved to do what you did best with you, even if he wasn't very good at it. (917 words)

warnings: this turns into a make out (not heavy, very short), use of y/n

a/n: hi lovelies! i know i said i was going to take a little break, but honestly i just need to not think about quali today (still crying about it idk what to tell you). anyway, this is incredibly short so i’m sorry but i still hope you enjoy it! pls let me know what you think!! feedback is very much appreciated 🫶🏻 i also wanted to thank everyone who reached out to me and sent support ❤️‍🩹 ily all so much, i really appreciate it!!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

Quiet nights were your absolute favourites. Getting to spend time with your boyfriend without having to worry about some schedule one of you had to stick to was perfect, to say the least. You always found a way to occupy yourselves, doing anything and nothing at the same time. 

Tonight, though, you got to do one of your favourite activities: art. You were an artist, a professional one, and of course he loved that about you; he loved seeing you in your element, so focused on what you did best, and even though he didn’t know yet, you loved dragging him with you so you could see him struggle a bit to at least not be the worst artist the world has ever seen.

Now, he was extremely talented, and if he weren’t a racer, he would be somewhat of an artist; he’s said it himself many times, but that was before he met you, because compared to you, he would never say that about himself, no matter how many times you have said it to him. 

Right now, you found yourselves sitting on your shared bed, facing each other, trying to win a silly little bet you made earlier. It was simple, really. You were supposed to draw the other person, and whoever loses would have to come up with a plan for dinner, which the both of you already knew would end up being a homemade meal, eating it on the couch, and watching some dumb show. This really worked out for him because, as talented as he was, he still struggled to draw real people, and he knew he was setting himself up when he accepted.

You knew that too, and you also knew he only gave in so he could have another one of your drawings of him. But that was okay, because another one of your favourite things was to admire his focused expression while he tried to replicate someone on a blank piece of paper. 

If he was being completely honest, the top reason he loved doing some type of art with you was because you would always come up to him and help with something, holding and guiding his hand or just being really close to his face as you explained something, so he would never say no to that suggestion.

“Okay, so I do you and you do me. Do I have to paint it as well?” He asked as you poured some of your art supplies on the bed.

“No, just a quick sketch,” you replied, scanning the bed as you carefully chose the pencil you wanted to use. “I’m starving, anyway.”

You started sketching each other; you were faster (and probably better) than him, but you couldn’t help but blush any time his eyes fixated on your face for too long, studying every aspect of you to try to draw it. After several minutes, you were done, just finishing up a few details before placing the paper on the bedside table next to you, away from him so he wouldn’t see it yet.

“How is it going?” You asked.

He looked up at you and yelled, “Don’t move!” When you started to get up.

"Sorry,” you whispered, going back to your previous position.

You stayed like that for a while, watching as Lando looked at you repeatedly and then back at the paper, occasionally erasing stuff. He was almost done, but there was one thing holding him back. “I can’t get it right,” he sighed, dropping the pencil.

“What can’t you get right?”

“Your lips. They look too big or too small, and now the paper looks worn out from erasing so much.” He was clearly frustrated.

“Can I see it?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Lando asked you with an embarrassed look.

“Of course I’m not going to laugh; why would I do that?”

“You are a real artist, Y/N. You finished a while ago, and I’ve been stuck here trying to fix it, but I’ve only made it worse.”

“Lando, you are actually talented; I don’t make you do art with me because I wanna have a laugh. C’mon, show me.”

He sighed again and slowly turned the paper, showing you the drawing. “It looks terrible.”

Your eyes set on the paper, and an endeared smile appeared on your face. “It looks great, baby.”

"No, it doesn’t; as I said, you’re an artist, and you know exactly what’s wrong with it.”

“I mean it." You whispered, leaving your spot on the bed and sitting next to him, “Maybe the proportions are a bit off, but it does look great, I promise.”

“Thanks,” he replied with a smile, a moment of silence filling the room as you both stared at the drawing. “You know, maybe I just need to take a closer look at them.”

“Oh- I guess that would be helpful." You turned your body to face him, cupping his cheek and brushing away a few curls that rested on his forehead. “Do you want help?”

He nodded and broke the distance between you, locking his lips with yours as he pulled you onto his lap and his hands fell on your hips to intensify the kiss. You got closer and closer, pausing when your bodies couldn’t possibly get any closer to each other even if you tried.

“You know I can actually help you,” you said against his lips and in between kisses.

“Uh huh” Lando replied, not really thinking about the drawing anymore.

[moonlight-joy]

A Writer’s Muse

MASTERLIST

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary:  At a masquerade ball, you share a kiss with a stranger. The next day, Benedict won’t stop teasing you about your secret rendezvous, unaware that it was actually him.

Pairing: Reader/Benedict Bridgerton

You had always known that Benedict Bridgerton was an artist.

You had seen him sketch at balls, in the gardens, during long afternoons in the Bridgerton drawing room. His fingers, always smudged with charcoal, moved effortlessly across the page, capturing the world with an ease that left you breathless.

But never—not once—had you realized you were his favorite subject.

And you would never have known… had you not found his sketchbook.

It had been left on a table in the Bridgerton library, tucked between the pages of an open book. You hadn’t meant to pry. Truly, you hadn’t.

But when you saw your face staring back at you from the pages, drawn with such detail, such tenderness—

Your breath caught.

There were dozens of sketches.

Some were simple—a quick charcoal outline of your profile, the curve of your lips when you smiled. Others were far more detailed—the way your hands rested in your lap, the way your eyes softened when you looked at something you loved.

And then—there were the ones that made your heart ache.

A drawing of you sitting beneath the large oak tree in the Bridgerton gardens, your dress flowing around you like water, your expression serene.

Another of you reading by candlelight, your face bathed in a soft glow, lips parted ever so slightly in thought.

One of you sleeping.

Your chest tightened.

This was not the work of a man who had simply sketched a friend.

This was the work of someone who had memorized every piece of you.

Someone who had studied the curve of your cheek, the shape of your hands, the way your mouth quirked when you were lost in thought.

Someone who—

"You weren’t supposed to see that."

You gasped, snapping the sketchbook shut as Benedict’s voice filled the room.

He stood in the doorway, his expression frozen between panic and something else—something vulnerable.

Your heart stammered in your chest.

“I—” You swallowed hard, holding up the book. “I didn’t mean to—”

Benedict strode forward, reaching for it. But you stepped back, clutching it tightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered.

His jaw clenched. “Because I knew this would happen.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Benedict exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark curls. “I knew you’d look at me differently.”

Your fingers curled around the book. “Benedict…”

“Please,” he murmured, voice raw, “just forget you saw it.”

Forget?

How could he ask that?

How could he expect you to unsee the way he had drawn you—not as just anyone, but as someone who mattered?

You lifted the book, flipping to a sketch—a particularly detailed one of you laughing, your head thrown back, joy captured perfectly in every line.

“This is not something I can forget,” you said softly.

Benedict swallowed. “Then what do you want me to say?”

You met his gaze, searching. “The truth.”

Silence.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his body taut with tension.

And then—

“The truth?” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded.

He took a slow, measured breath.

“The truth is,” he murmured, stepping closer, “I have been drawing you for years.”

Your heart pounded.

“The truth is,” he continued, his voice rough with emotion, “I never meant for you to see them because—because if you did, you’d know.”

“Know what?” you whispered.

Benedict exhaled, his gaze dark and unreadable.

“That I love you.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

Your lips parted, but no sound came.

Benedict ran a frustrated hand through his hair, laughing bitterly. “You see? This is why I never said anything. Because now, you’re looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.”

You shook your head. “No.”

His brow furrowed. “No?”

You stepped forward, closing the space between you. “I’m looking at you like—like I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

Benedict stilled.

“I’m looking at you like I can’t believe it took me this long to realize,” you whispered. “That I love you too.”

His breath caught.

Then—before you could second-guess yourself—

You kissed him.

The moment your lips met, it was as if the world had been waiting for this exact moment.

Benedict inhaled sharply, his hands finding your waist, pulling you close as he kissed you back with a desperation that stole your breath.

It wasn’t hurried.

It wasn’t frantic.

It was slow, reverent—like he was memorizing every second, every feeling.

When you finally pulled away, Benedict pressed his forehead against yours, his breath uneven.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

You smiled, brushing your fingers against his cheek.

“I love you.”

His eyes fluttered shut, his expression one of pure relief.

And then, with a soft chuckle, he murmured—

“Well, I suppose I shall have to sketch this moment next.”

You laughed, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Only if you let me keep the sketchbook.”

Benedict smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

But then, before you could reply, he took the book from your hands, flipping to an empty page.

And right there, in that very moment, he sketched something new—

Not a portrait of longing.

Not an image of unspoken love.

But the two of you together, hands intertwined, a love no longer hidden between the pages of a book.

And as he looked at you, his muse, his heart—

He knew he would never stop drawing you.

Because you were his greatest masterpiece.

Please support my work with like and comment

[bonelyheartsclub]

♡ Poplar - Valentine's One-Shot ♡

Written by @/duskyskye

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Splendid, absolutely splendid!”

Poplar gazed at your latest piece, raising it above his head. You’d tried your best to work with the tiny watercolor canvas and brushes he had available for you, but you really thought you could have done better with this one. Especially compared to Poplar’s prowess.

“I don’t know,” you thought aloud, “I don’t think it’s really all that.”

“Nonsense! The way you rendered this flower is lovely! I love the shading you did on the petals.”

“Poplar…you and I both know I was just following a tutorial. I couldn’t do that without help.” Your tone was light as you spoke, though the creeping feeling of inadequacy was still present. Of course, Poplar wasn’t taking that from you.

“Hmm…what I know for certain is that you shouldn’t be nearly this hard on yourself. Everyone begins somewhere, after all! I think you’re off to a lovely start. Now, may I?” Poplar stood, gesturing to the wall. You gave him a shrug and a nod, trying to keep the smile on your face. Without another word, he positioned your piece just above his desk mirror.

“Well, I think that makes for a lovely centerpiece. Done by an even more lovely person.” Poplar smiled, looking at the wall.

You followed his gaze. Yep. That was your piece, alright. Next to the other paintings that he had hanging. They seemed to dwarf yours in quality, the brushwork and delicate detail reflecting Poplar’s talent in his craft. You shuddered a little bit.

Poplar seemed to pick up on your discomfort, his smile faltering as he sat back down next to you.

“Does it really bother you that much? Your painting?”

You gave him a small nod. He sighed, looking downcast for a brief moment before his sockets widened, his smile quickly returning as he turned to you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever shown you my old paintings, now, have I? Oh dear, what a shame. Though surely if you’re so bothered by someone’s early works, you’d have no interest…” Poplar made a point of acting hurt, leaning dramatically against his desk. You giggled at the theatrics. Maybe you were a bit on the theatrical side yourself with how downtrodden you were being.

“Are you acting like that because you think they’re any worse than mine?”

“Darling, I KNOW they are.” Poplar gave you a quick grin before taking his cane and walking to his dresser. With a flourish, he pulled out a well-loved folder from the top drawer.

“I suppose I should clarify before I open this, but I am showing this to you with the express purpose of helping you understand that everyone struggles when beginning in a new medium. I fully expect you to laugh, to judge, and so on. All I ask is that when you reach the life drawing section, you refrain from visibly cringing too hard.” Poplar slid back into the seat beside you, placing the file on the tabletop where you had been working.

“What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?”

“You’ll find out in just a moment.”

You opened the file, which contained a relatively thick bunch of papers. The top started with a few color studies. Each labelled with various brush styles, paint colors, and blending methods. Wet on wet, wet on dry, flat wash, gradients, glazing… all things you had a vague understanding of, but more than you think you would have the patience to complete. You could tell that the strokes and coloring were not nearly as neat as the works that were displayed above your head.

Pages turned from dedicated exercises to a few applications. Circles in various colors were shaded using the previous techniques. He was experimenting with the various colors available to him. You could tell that he had also been following guides with a few of these as he got the hang of the technique. It all seemed fairly rudimentary, but you could tell that he had put a lot of effort in.

At this point it appeared he was branching out his sketching skills as well. Leaves and flowers were a common subject, it seemed. It was at that point that he broke the silence.

“Ash was beginning to garden at around the point I started to commit to bettering myself in the visual arts. It’s interesting, trying to capture the detail in such tiny little things. Though I think you can see that the subtlety is easy to lose.” He finished with a laugh.

Sure enough, the linework was notably shaky. The symmetry he had tried to go for had been lost. The lines clearly lacked confidence, and the veins of the leaves looked more like fur than anything else, somehow. Not that you could do much better if you were going for absolute realism.

“I think you still did a good job.” You said, gesturing to a couple illustrations. “This leaf looks really nice!”

“I’m well aware that they’re wonky, darling. They were my first attempts.” Poplar offered you a smile. “You don’t need to struggle to come up with compliments.”

“No, no, I genuinely think they’re good! Especially for first attempts.”

“Then I suggest you continue onwards. Though while you do, would you mind if I make a sketch of my own while you continue to peruse?”

“Go for it.”

Poplar nodded, pulling his sketchbook and a pencil into his hand. You flipped to the next page.

Poplar had shifted from leaves and flowers to objects that you recognized from around his room. A porcelain plate with floral decoration that he displayed on the other side of the room. A plush that he had carefully mounted on top of his shelves. What you assumed was either an older bed of his, or one of his cousin’s, as it wasn’t the one you were next to currently. Each had what looked like at least an hour of work poured into them. Even if they weren’t the best sketches, you could see he was gaining a better eye for detail as he worked at it.

Then you flipped to the next piece.

You could only ASSUME that what you were looking at was his first attempt at drawing chicken. 

You looked back at Chicken, who had been fast asleep on their pillow for the majority of their visit. You turned in your seat, looking between the sketch and the real thing.

“Ah. You found it.” Poplar broke into a fit of giggles. “It’s absolutely awful, isn’t it? It’s alright to laugh.”

Well, it was…certainly an attempt. Poplar had gone VERY heavy on the wrinkles. One eye was notably misshapen compared to the other, and the muzzle was disproportionately long for a cat. The end product was what you could tell was Chicken from the approximation of feline traits and almost nothing else.

“I don’t know, I think you did ok.”

“No, I absolutely crashed and burned. There are only two reasons that that sketch isn’t in the bin. The first is that when I’m struggling with a piece, it reminds me that I could do so much worse. The second is that when I’m feeling overconfident, it humbles me.”

Hearing him talk…yeah, you knew what you sounded like now.

“Should I continue going through this, or do you think that your point came across just fine?” You asked him, a slight hint of comedy in your tone. The stack that you had left to sort through wasn’t thick.

“Oh, by all means, continue. I’m still working on what I’m doing over here. Though if you’re curious about any of the other pieces within, you only need to ask.” Poplar looked up at you from his paper, gesturing to you to continue.

So, you did.

While none of the pieces invoked the same level of shock in you that Chicken’s portrait did, you could see the purpose of these sketches was very much to learn the ropes of anatomy and shape. It wasn’t like you had much room to speak, of course. It was more of a comparison to his current work than anything else. You could see things improving as you thumbed through each sheet of canvas, each work growing more refined as you went on. By the end, you could see a couple of full pieces that started to look very nice.

“So?” Poplar eagerly piped up as he saw you close the folder. “What are your thoughts? Do be honest about it.”

“It’s your beginner’s folder. I think you showed a lot of promise even back then, even if your pieces weren’t always the best work.” You stated bluntly. Poplar smiled at your tiptoeing.

“Now, tell me: how many folders in do you think I am now?”

“…I have no clue.”

“Fifteen. All as big as this one. Plus at least three sketchbooks. It’s a hobby, but I’m quite dedicated.”

Your eyes widened. Wow, no wonder there was such a jump in quality between then and now.

“No kidding you’re, ‘dedicated.’ I can see that all that work paid off.”

“I’d like to think so. Of course, everyone has areas in which they can improve with their artwork. I’ve just been working hard enough and for long enough that things come to me more naturally than they once did. For instance:”

Poplar thumbed through the sketchbook he was holding to an earlier page. On it was a similar picture of Chicken, this time with more precise proportions. A marked improvement from what you had seen before.

“I see. You did an amazing job on that.” You reached out, gently touching the paper.

“I’m glad you think so! Though I find I’m still not the best at rendering skin folds. They look more like the folding you’d find on clothing than the kind you’d find on skin. It doesn’t help that I can’t use myself as reference, what with the bones and all.”

Poplar closed the sketchbook, looking you directly in the eye.

“I never want you to feel bad at where you’re at in your art journey, my love. We all have to start somewhere, and personally, I think yours is much better than mine. What matters is that you’re trying, because if you keep doing that, then you’ll get to where you want to be eventually.”

You looked back at the piece he’d hung up on the wall. Sure, it was more of an attempt than anything, but maybe it wasn’t so bad. You chuckled.

“Yeah, I got you. I appreciate the reassurance, Poplar.”

“Any time, my love. Now, are you curious as to what I was working on while you were distracted with my crimes against art?”

You giggled at his joke.

“Of course.”

Poplar opened the sketchbook back up, turning to a point about midway through.

What greeted you on the page was your reflection, not fully rendered due to the lack of time, but still clearly you, nonetheless. Your hair was perfectly textured, your eyes stood out brightly with a small amount of rendering, and your skin looked as light as the paper it was drawn on.

“Poplar…I’m flattered.”

“Well, you know, I think it has room for improvement. Time to shade and color, for instance. There’s SO much to improve on. After all, it’s hard to compare a pencil sketch to the TRUE work of art that it’s based on…”

“Yeah, yeah!” You shoved him, both of you laughing. “Seriously though, this is gorgeous. Thank you for this.”

“Of course, my love.” Poplar leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on your cheek. “You know that if you ever feel as though you’re lacking confidence, I’m happy to give you any encouragement you need. Even if it means showing you my first attempts at drawing my cat.”

You smiled, not doubting his words for even a second.

“Thank you, Poplar… and you know what?” You pulled a new canvas from the paper stack Poplar had supplied you and confidently took a pencil in your hand. “I’m ready to start on my next piece.”

Poplar’s sockets sparkled; his grin widened from cheek to cheek.

“I’m excited to see what you create, darling.”

[zyart-jpg]

"And would it be alright if I pulled you closer"

Pairing: Jay Jo x Reader

Summary: What started as a study session turned into something softer—shy glances, sketchbook doodles, and the warm kind of silence only shared between two hearts quietly falling.

Tags: Established RS, Fluff, Artist! Reader

A/N: yaaay this one's for you @ravenwritten even though we always beef <3 LMAOOOOO jk, i wrote reader as an artist cus you draw so well!!!! hope u like it :>

Jay loves studying—he really does.

The structure of it, the logic, the calm rhythm of equations and annotated readings—it all makes sense. It’s comforting in the way people rarely are.

But you—sitting next to him with your thigh pressed to his, humming some half-forgotten melody under your breath, pencil tapping lightly on your sketchpad. You’re not even doing anything loud—just doodling, occasionally tilting your head to look at him like he’s part of your subject matter.

And god, how is he supposed to concentrate when you’re like this?

He blinks down at his book, reads the same sentence for the fifth time. It still doesn’t make any sense. 

He sighs, barely louder than a breath.

“You… don’t have to stay here while I study,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on the barely-highlighted paragraph in front of him.

You pause mid-sketch. “Huh?”

Jay stiffens slightly. He doesn’t want to look at you—because if he does, he might lose whatever nerve he’s barely gathered to say this properly.

“I mean, it’s probably boring,” he adds, quieter now. “Just sitting here. Watching me study.”

You twist toward him, the bounce in your leg halting. “Am I bothering you?” you ask, voice soft, expression tightening just a little like you’re trying not to sound hurt. “I can move if—”

His hand shoots out before he can even think. He grabs your wrist—not rough, not panicked, just firm, like it’s instinct.

You blink down at where his fingers are wrapped around yours.

“...No,” he finally says, eyes still not meeting yours. “I just… thought you were bored.”

The way he says it is so tentative, almost like he’s asking permission to keep you there. Like he doesn’t trust himself to deserve it.

You soften. Your free hand reaches over to tug lightly at the sleeve of his hoodie. “I’m not bored. I like being here.”

That’s when he glances at you—just a flick of his eyes—and you smile.

He looks away again, ears red. “Still… If you are bored, we can do something else. You don’t have to just sit there.”

“But I want to.” You lean in a little, resting your head on his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’re warm. And you make those little concentration noises when you read. It’s cute.”

He huffs a breath through his nose. You can feel the way his shoulder tightens a little beneath you, like he doesn’t know what to do with the compliment.

A beat passes.

Then he clears his throat. “What’re you drawing?”

You perk up, immediately straightening. “Wanna see?”

You could see the way he seemed unsure, only focusing on how your eyes twinkled and your nose twitched—he nodded.

So you slide your sketchpad toward him, flipping it to a page filled with quick character doodles, some of them cartoony, others more detailed.

Right in the center is a sketch of a boy with messy hair hunched over a book, hoodie sleeves too long, expression focused but gentle.

He stares.

“That one’s you,” you say casually, grinning. “Studious Boyfriend.”

He just blinked silently.

You glance up, and for a second, he’s just looking at the drawing. Then at you. Then down again.

“I don’t look like that,” he mutters, but it sounds more like he’s embarrassed than disagreeing.

“You do to me.”

Jay doesn’t say anything.

But when you go back to doodling and humming again, he shifts just a little closer—barely an inch, like maybe you wouldn’t notice. But… he doesn’t mind the way your legs touch again. Not at all.

Neither of you moves away this time.

You both return to your own little worlds—him with his book, you with your pencil—but something feels different now. Warmer. A little too warm, actually.

Your head tilts as you shade in the folds of his hoodie on your sketch, trying to act normal. Trying not to notice how you can feel his body heat against your side. Trying not to think about how your heart’s been doing this weird fluttery thing ever since he touched your wrist.

Jay kept staring—at his book, at the desk. He hasn’t flipped the page in ten minutes.

He sneaks a glance at you. Then forces his eyes back to the same sentence he’s been pretending to read. Then glances at you again.

You’re humming—some soft little tune, probably something you made up—and it sounds like safety. Like the kind of sound he could memorize if he let himself.

He shifts again. Not big. Just enough to bring his elbow a little closer to yours.

His fingers twitch beside his leg.

Say it, he tells himself. 

“Hey…” he finally says, albeit quiet.

You glance at him, eyes wide, still soft with that look you always get when he speaks. “Hmm?”

His gaze flickers to your lips—just for a second. Then immediately back to the book, like he’s been caught thinking something he shouldn’t.

“...Nothing.” He exhales, his voice a little too shaky to pass for casual. “Never mind.”

You pause. Then smile, cheeks already pink. “You sure?”

He gives a small nod, but doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens, like he’s trying to chew his thoughts into something easier to swallow.

Instead of answering, he shuts his book.

You blink. “Break time?”

Jay nods, stiff as a board. “Five minutes.”

You smile, stretching your arms overhead with a sleepy yawn. “Perfect. You need to reward yourself for being so good.”

That makes him go still—like you just hit him with something he didn’t know how to process. His ears go pink, but he doesn’t protest.

You set your sketchpad aside and scoot closer without thinking, resting your head on his shoulder with a sigh. Like it’s normal. Like it’s nothing.

It is absolutely not nothing to Jay.

He freezes.

You can feel how tense he is beneath you—like he’s trying not to breathe too hard in case it scares you off. Slowly, painfully, he lifts one arm and hesitates behind your back before finally resting his hand there, awkward but sincere.

His palm is warm.

Your fingers find the drawstring of his hoodie, fiddling with it idly, and you murmur, “You always smell like laundry and paper.”

He lets out a nervous, tiny sigh—not the bad kind, but more like a relieved one.

You look up at him, and your face is so close to his that you both freeze again—eyes locked, breath caught.

Jay swallows.

His voice comes out as barely a whisper. “C-Can I hold you?”

Your eyes widen. You weren’t expecting that. Your cheeks flush bright.

“You already are,” you whisper back, a bashful smile tugging at your lips. “But yeah. You can.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, gently tugging you closer so your head rests more fully against his chest. It’s clumsy—he moves like he’s afraid of messing it up—but it’s sweet. Honest.

Then, after a moment of silent panic and courage battling in his chest… he leans down, and presses the faintest, most featherlight kiss to the top of your head.

You stiffen for half a second. Then melt.

You bury your face in his hoodie, hiding the huge, dumb smile stretching across your lips.

He’s blushing so hard he can feel it in his ears. His hand is still on your back, but now it’s trembling just a little.

“This is a good break,” you say softly.

“...Yeah,” he stammers.

And as you both sit there—hearts racing, hands fidgeting, faces red and shy and warm—Jay wonders how five minutes with you can make the rest of his day feel this easy.

Maybe even… perfect.

MASTERLIST

[detectivesvu]

Sharing Secrets

Mike Dodds x Fem! Reader Tags: Brief mentions of child abuse. Word Count: 3.6k "I just...hope I haven't completely messed things up."

The air of the SVU victim interview room was completely still.

It wasn’t uncomfortable per se, but it was definitely quiet and not much conversation to fill the air. After all your years at SVU, talking to victims and hearing their stories still stung just as much as your very first day on the squad.

Of course, as time went on and you had more experience under your belt, you were more confident and comfortable talking to victims. You knew that in some cases, you were the only person in their corner. You were the only person who understood what they were feeling and what they were going through. Work experience helped, but it didn’t put even a dent in the way it still made your stomach turn to hear such traumatic events day in and day out.

And certainly, adults were one thing…kids were entirely another.

Too often, SVU was handed cases of kids being assaulted and abused…traumatized and scarred for life. With the adults, you always managed to move on, but kids? Kids’ cases stuck with you forever. Hearing small, meek children tell you that they had been touched or beaten…almost always by someone they knew and trusted. It was impossible to get used to hearing and seeing that every day…it was inconceivable to believe that anyone could lay their hands on a child.

Today was no exception.

He hadn’t hardly said a word since he sat down. He was practically trembling with anxiety as he did everything he could to avoid looking at you and your detective partner sitting directly across from him. If he did sneak a glance, his eyes tended to go to Detective Dodds, who only returned a quick soft smile each time he locked eyes with the 5-year-old.

His eyes were trained on the numerous pieces of paper strewn in front of him, a variety of different colored crayons scattered there as well. He was doodling away with the different crayons, silently dreaming up and sketching multiple pictures as a way of entertaining himself…and distracting himself from the two of you attempting to speak with him.

You and Dodds had been trying to get through to him for nearly half an hour. Each question you asked only earned a meek response and an uncomfortable body movement.

He was scared to death no doubt. Confused as to why two police officers were asking him so many questions that he didn’t want to answer…and even more confused about the situation that landed him here in the first place.

“That’s a really nice picture,” Your voice — soft and full of warmth — spoke to the young boy sitting across from you. “Do you like to draw?”

He said nothing. His eyes — full of fear and yet still so full of innocence — only flickered to you for a moment as a physical show that he had indeed heard your question. His left eye was swollen and a grisly shade of black and blue…evidence of what he had endured that landed him at SVU. His head barely nodded up and down as he set the crayon in use down, his cheeks tinting pink under your gaze.

Mike studied the picture that the child was currently working on. It was no Picasso masterpiece by any means…but even Mike could put together what it was supposed to be.

“Are these your favorite foods?” Mike asked, noting that he could spot a variety of foods that were universally kid friendly.

The child gave another small nod. Eyes now focused on his hands fiddling in his lap. This boy had been through hell and back, so it was no surprise he wasn’t interested in chatting about what foods he liked with two adult strangers. If that boy knew anything for sure, it was that the adults that were supposed to love you could hurt you beyond comprehension…so trusting an adult he didn’t know was not an option unless they gave him a reason to.

It was odd though. The boy had been much more talkative when Sonny picked him up and brought him into the precinct. He hadn’t been a chatterbox by any means, but according to Sonny — the kid wasn’t so clammed up like he was now. Something was making him uneasy.

“Pizza, ice cream, sandwiches…all really good stuff. I like all of that too,” Mike said, trying to establish some kind of common ground with the kid. Mike pointed to one particular image on his picture, a rectangular shape with a symbol on it that he identified to be a certain type of fruit. “Is this a juice box?”

The boy nodded once more, shrinking down into his seat as Mike continued.

“If you want, we can get you a juice box. We have some around here.”

For the briefest moment, the boy perked up. His eyes glimmered just long enough for you and Mike to catch it and know that you were making some progress.

He cowered and shrank into himself again when he locked eyes with you, and that’s when it clicked for Mike.

“Detective,” Mike turned to you, a small, reassuring smile on his face. “Would you get my friend here an apple juice?”

Mike had a look on his face, a look that let you know he had something in mind. You and Mike — a dynamic duo as work partners — understood one another. Your thoughts often flowed together smoothly and with ease. In many ways, your bond went well outside of work. The two of you didn’t just blend together as partners…but as people. If Mike needed you to leave, then you trusted him.

“Sure thing,” You retreated from your chair. “I’ll be right back.”

Mike kept his eyes on the kid, who allowed his own eyes to follow you as you exited the room and disappeared behind the wall. He released a long breath once you were gone, unbeknownst to him that you would be watching from the other side once his promised juice box was retrieved. Mike let the silence simmer for a few minutes, not wanting to immediately start asking more questions.

It wasn’t until the boy snuck another glance at Mike that he decided to try and press further.

“So…let me ask you something. Does Detective [L/N] make you nervous?”

The boy’s wide brown eyes locked with Mike’s for only another moment as he nodded, fiddling with his small hands.

“Can you tell me why she makes you nervous? You didn’t seem to like her being here," Mike asked. "I'm your friend. You can tell me."

The boy was clearly wrestling with himself. Not wanting to give in to Mike’s question…but deep down knowing that he wasn’t here to do anything other than help him. The boy then spoke for the first time in half an hour. The tiniest bit of comfort filled his senses as he finally began to answer Mike’s questions.

“She’s pretty…” He gave the tiniest, shyest grin with a small voice.

Mike couldn’t help himself. His laugh was light and surprised, but genuine. This was the first time he had said anything, and he chose to say that.

You yourself gave a small laugh, cradling the beloved apple juice in your hand to be delivered once Mike made some decent headway in this conversation.

“He’s getting through to him.” Olivia, who was standing to your immediate right, said aloud. “Even if it’s at your expense.”

You shook your head and shrugged, completely unbothered.

“I don’t mind,” You answered. “Mike knows what he’s doing.”

Mike could tell the kid was warming up. He didn’t want to lose momentum now while he was on a roll.

“Is that why you didn’t want to talk with her in the room?”

The boy nodded and surprised Mike by posing a question of his own.

“Do you think she’s pretty too?”

Suddenly, the questioning at your expense was getting a bit personal. Mike shifted in his seat a bit -- he wasn't going to lie to this boy, but he also knew you were listening. Right now, this kid was his priority.

“Yeah, bud. I do.”

The boy brightened up, clearly interested in this ordeal. Mike didn't mind. If it distracted him from what he had been through, then he was more than willing to dish out his personal business.

“Are you boyfriend-girlfriend?” The boy straightened up, now having no trouble keeping eye contact with Mike.

“No, we’re not boyfriend-girlfriend.” Mike chuckled again at the phrasing of the youngster's question.

“Why not?” He tilted his head slightly with curiosity.

Mike's eyes widened at that question, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He wasn't expecting that question, and it caught him off guard. Mike was too far down the road of this conversation to turn back now. If he lost this kid's trust, they might never really know what was happening to him. He turned his attention back to the child, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Mike admitted, trying to maintain his composure. "We're partners...but not the kind that dates."

It seemed that suddenly the boy was very invested in your and Mike’s relationship because he continued to press on like he needed to know for his own personal reasons.

“But if you think she’s pretty, why don’t you date?” He asked. “You like her don’t you?”

Mike chuckled again, amused by the boy's curiosity and keen eye for detail. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating his answer for a moment before speaking.

"Well...you're right. I do like her," he admitted, a smile on his face. "But it's not always that simple. We work together every day...and sometimes," Mike said, hesitating for a moment, "Work can get in the way of things."

“Oh…” The boy said quietly, thinking for only a moment before continuing. “So you don’t like her more than a friend?”

Mike pondered on the question. It really was a difficult one to answer. Because the feelings he had for you weren't just that of friendship. They were stronger, deeper, but he didn't know how to articulate it to a 5-year-old child. He leaned closer to the boy, his voice serious but still friendly.

"I do like her more than just a friend. A lot more," He confessed, his smile still on his face. "But it's a bit tricky when we work together. Does that make sense?"

The boy picked up on Mike’s quiet tone, and he matched his whisper when he spoke next.

“Yeah but…why don’t you tell her you like her?”

Mike was caught off guard again by the boy's insightful question. He shifted in his chair, feeling a pang of guilt and regret in his chest. The simple truth was, he had thought about expressing his feelings to you more times than he could count. But there was always a reason not to.

He sighed, his voice low and conflicted.

"It's not that easy. If I tell her how I feel...it could mess up our friendship."

Mike realized he was probably oversharing with him. In no way was his feelings for you the child's responsibility...but the boy didn't seem burdened in the slightest -- this was the most interested he had been in talking all day. A slight smile appeared on the boy’s face as he leaned over the table, whispering even quieter to Mike.

“I think she likes you too.” He grinned.

Mike kept his expression unchanged, but his heartbeat was beginning to quicken in his chest. He knew there was no turning back from this now. He leaned in toward the boy, mirroring his whispering tone.

"What makes you think that?" He asked in a hushed voice.

The boy shrugged, but his eyes were completely lit up at this conversation.

“I don’t know…” He giggled. “I can just tell.”

Mike knew this conversation was getting way off track. The purpose of this interview was to get this boy to tell him about what he had endured at his daycare center, and how he ended up bruised and beaten — but at this point, Mike figured it was valuable to finish it out.

“You’re a smart kid,” He said. “You can tell me. How can you tell?"

Mike was impressed at how observant and perceptive this kid was. At such a young age, he had an astute sense of things that many adults didn’t even pick up on in their own relationships. The boy scrunched his eyebrows, thinking hard. Mike chuckled at the sight and waited patiently for his answer.

"Well," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "She smiles at you a lot. And she listens when you talk. Like...she really listens."

Mike was speechless. He could tell this kid was observant, but this was beyond impressive. It seemed that this five-year-old was beyond smarter than he was.

“But I won’t tell her if you don’t want her to know you like her,” The boy said. “I promise."

Mike knew that it wasn't a secret anymore, given that you were probably watching from the other side and had heard this entire conversation. Still, Mike admired the kid's loyalty. He leaned forward, a conspiratorial smile on his face.

“Thanks, kid. Let’s keep it just between us for now, okay?”

Mike knew you had to have been watching and listening this entire time. His stomach was in knots knowing that you had just heard him spill his liking for you to a child. He hoped and hoped that this kid was right, and that your friendship and partnership wasn’t over.

As if on cue, the door to the room opened — revealing you with two small boxes of the promised apple juice. The boy shrank into his seat slightly when you entered, but shared a knowing glance with Mike.

Mike's eyes darted from the boy back to you, trying to keep a casual demeanor despite the wave of nerves that washed over him. He could sense the boy's slightly timid behavior as you entered the room, and the knowing glance the boy shared with him was both reassuring and foreboding. He tried his best to act natural, standing up to take the juice box from you and set it on the table in front of the boy.

"Perfect timing, thanks." Mike said, his voice betraying a hint of tension underneath.

She knew Mike was going to try and continue the conversation with the boy now — and get the full story of the abuse he had endured. She wouldn’t be sticking around - just long enough to give him his juice.

“I brought you a second one…just in case you were extra thirsty.” she smiled at the boy, her heart pounding at the new knowledge of Mike liking her so much more than she ever realized. “If you want anything else, let Mike know, okay?”

The boy took one of the juice boxes, unwrapped the straw and punched it into the hole.

“Okay,” He gave her a shy smile. “Thanks.”

The thought of you potentially knowing Mike's feelings for you — the fact that he may have given away his secret to you via a 5-year-old — was almost overwhelming. But he pushed it aside, needing to focus on the task at hand.

As you excused yourself to leave the room, he shot you a quick nod, a silent thank you for the juice and giving him and the kid some privacy.

“Okay, buddy…” Mike said calmly, trying to shift gears. “Can you tell me about your daycare teacher?”

For the next hour or so, Mike and the boy talked back and forth. The boy told Mike all the details of how his daycare teacher abused him and other kids in his class — and gave SVU enough reason to question and potentially arrest her.

Through the boy's detailed and sometimes-heartbreaking account of the abuse he and others had suffered, Mike listened intently, his heart breaking a bit more with every new piece of information. He jotted down notes as the boy spoke, making sure to capture as much information as possible for the investigation. The more Mike learned about the daycare teacher's treatment of the children, the more determined he was to bring her to justice.

When the boy was out of things to say and SVU had enough information, Mike stood from the table and held his hand out to the boy.

“You’ve been very brave and helpful to us,” He said, smiling once more when the boy walked around the table and took his hand. “Thank you for helping us.”

The boy nodded, walking out of the room hand-in-hand with Mike — entering Olivia’s office where you, Olivia, and Carisi were waiting. Olivia wore an expression of curiosity, Carisi looked as if he was about to explode to go tell the entire squad room what just happened, and you were looking at Mike...purely in awe as he stood in front of you.

Mike squatted to meet the boy’s height, gesturing toward Carisi with a grin.

“I need to get back to work now. Detective Carisi is going to take you now, okay?”

The boy nodded again, leaning in to whisper one more thing to Mike before going with Carisi.

“I won’t forget our secret.” He said, and Mike patted his shoulder affectionately.

Carisi took the boy with him, leaving Mike alone with her and Olivia. As Carisi led the boy out of the office -- no doubt going to tell Fin and Rollins about this -- Mike stood up and stood stoically, now facing you and Olivia, his nerves mounting. He avoided your gaze, focusing instead on straightening out the notes he had taken during the interview. The silence in the room was deafening, and Mike's heart was hammering in his chest.

"I'm going to call Barba," Olivia said, which was Olivia's way of saying she was leaving the room. “I'll send Fin and Rollins down to that daycare center."

Mike nodded in acknowledgement as Olivia relayed the news about the teacher, his heart racing even faster at the impending prospect of being alone with you. He swallowed hard, bracing himself for the conversation that was to come. Olivia swiftly left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mike stood frozen for a moment, mustering up the courage to finally look over at you. He took a deep breath, his gaze meeting yours. It wasn't like Mike to be so nervous. Mike was always confident...super focused on work. But right now, he was terrified that your partnership and friendship was ruined.

He could tell you weren’t angry with him or anything of that nature. If anything you looked…relieved.

“So…” You couldn’t help but flash a small grin, his chest fluttering at the sight. “You think I’m pretty?”

Mike let out a nervous laugh, a mix of relief and anxiety coursing through him. Seeing your small grin made his heart skip a beat. He couldn't deny it now - he was about to see the outcome of his confession.

"Guilty as charged," he admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "That kid wasn't wrong."

He paused for a moment, the weight of his feelings for you heavy in his chest.

"I just...hope I haven't completely messed things up."

“Come on, Mike…” You took a step closer. “You know it would take way more than that to mess things up between us.”

Relief washed over him as you took a step closer. The distance between you guys was shrinking, and he could feel the tension in the room growing. He studied your face, searching your eyes for any hint of rejection.

"I was worried that you'd think this completely changed everything." He said, his voice quiet but firm.

"Well…it certainly does change things…in a good way." You smiled.

Mike's head was spinning. This was certainly not how he expected his day to go...and for the first time ever, he was distracted from the current case at hand.

He took a cautious step forward, closing the distance between you guys even further. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt. He saw nothing but genuine hope.

"The kid was right after all," You said. "But this is a conversation we can have when we get this case figured out. We need to get him taken care of."

He gave a slow nod, his gaze locked on yours. As much as he wanted to blurt out everything he was feeling, he knew you were right — there was work to be done first.

"You're right," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We need to focus on the case. But when this is all over…"

"When this is all over..." You finished his sentence for him. "We will see where we go from here."

The promise of "what's to come" overwhelmed him like no other. It had been so long since he had something other than work to focus on. He took another step forward, the urge to be closer to you nearly overwhelming him. But he stopped himself, knowing that until the case was closed, he couldn't act on any impulses.

"Right," He agreed. "How about dinner at my place?"

Your smile grew, and a slight heat rushed your cheeks.

"It's a date."

The matter was put to rest for now. They had work to do and a case to solve. But neither of you could deny that it sat in the back of your minds for the rest of the day. The day had taken an unexpected turn after all, and a most welcome one at that.

Mike was patient, and he knew with a little more time you would be able to see where this would lead.

Although, you both already had a pretty good idea of what that would be.

[berry-bread-bakery]

just saw your skystar art and OH MY GOD??? HOW DO I GET _THAT_ GOOD AT DRAWING STARSCREAM???

AAA THANK YOU!!!! It’s been a minute since I’ve drawn him and even the more recent art is a lot older. I just sorta forgot to post them, but I’m so happy you like it!!1!1 Okay, so when I first got into transformers, Starscream was an immediate favorite and i would draw him non-stop for months on end. I suppose i eventually figured out how to stylize him in a way that i wanted (even if it changed sporadically from time to time lmao). I used him A LOT to practice how to draw mechs and experiment with stylization!

Although sometimes when i think TOO hard about drawing a character i like, i analyze too much, but it’s a blessing and a curse. Sometimes everything seems to come out wrong until i have a page full of [character] where i can take notes of which aspects of each drawing I’d like to keep/get rid of. That’s how it went with my perfectionist tendencies anyway😭 But maybe don’t do what i did and beat yourself up if it doesn’t look good the first few tries unless you’re persistent enough to let that be motivation to continue and improve lol.

All in all: just doodling him a bunch and letting your hand feel out how you draw him/get used to his shapes, then everything should be swag!!!! This goes for anything, too. If you draw anything enough it will feel natural, but ALSO USE REFERENCES IF YOU NEED! Take no shame in looking at how he looks in cannon and in fanart. Studying how other artists draw things can be very helpful in understanding a possible area of struggle! I see quite a few people that think references are evil and that totally might not be you, but i had to get that out

OUGH ANYWAYS have this idw Starscream quick sketch study that i think is actually from January of this year :3 💕