#when i tell you i was in the TRENCHES trying to draw him that sketch took like over an hour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

charcubed · 3 years

Note

hey char, mind to share your fave stevebucky headcanons? 👀

Oh I LOVE that you asked me this :’) Thank you!

I honestly have so many if I really think about it because I love them so much and I think about their dynamic so much that I have so many favorite things... but here is what I think of off the top of my head:

• Steve was color blind before the serum, according to canon. I have a headcanon that Bucky used to try to describe colors to him. I wrote a mini fic about that here.

• Bucky was drafted for the war, but didn’t tell Steve. Steve sort of assumed that Bucky enlisted, and Bucky never wanted to correct him. How could he? Steve wanted to enlist so badly, and Bucky didn’t ever feel like he could admit that he didn’t have the same drive to want to ~fight for the country~ like Steve did. He didn’t want to disappoint him and he was afraid Steve would think he was a coward. So Bucky just... never told him that he was forced into war. It was never his choice to fight for the country. If it was up to him, they would’ve stayed home together and stayed safe and never fought at all.

• They were always physically rough with each other, in the sense that they'd wrestle as boys all the time, and Steve loved that Bucky never treated him as fragile. Buck knew he could take it. Even after the serum, they'd still scuffle a bit like kids, finding a bright spot in a war-torn world. They’d be awake in the trenches on lookout, having soft conversations in the night, and shoving each other after one says something stupid or makes a bad joke.

• Steve is bi, and Bucky is gay. Bucky was consciously aware of his feelings for Steve way, way before Steve was aware of his for Bucky. In the 30s, Bucky has a bit of a reputation for ~dating around,~ but not in a rude ladies’ man kind of way but rather his reputation is “Bucky Barnes is a real charmer. He’ll show you a good time and he’s really sweet, but he never pushes your boundaries.” Some women wishes he’d push their boundaries, but he doesn’t. He’s taken so many women out on dates because he never lets it get super serious, since they’re not who he wants and it’s mostly for appearances’ sake, especially since he and Steve live together. He definitely enjoys hanging out with women, and treating them nice, but most of the time his motivation is to try to set up double dates–half because Steve deserves to find a great girl to date, and half because a double date means Bucky can selfishly do a date activity “with” Steve and not have it mean anything. Meanwhile though, Steve gets jealous as hell and testy about Bucky dating all the time, but he’s oblivious to the fact that it’s because Steve wishes Bucky would be with him instead.

• Their first kiss was when Steve was 16 and Bucky was 17. I’m not necessarily saying that’s when they actually got together, but something significant happened between them at those ages... maybe they kissed because they were drunk, or it was so Steve’s “first kiss” would be someone he knew and it was for “practice.” And then they both never talked about it again, because they’re idiots and were afraid to ~ruin things~ between each other. That’s why Steve says “Rumlow said ‘Bucky’ and all of a sudden I was a 16-year-old kid again, in Brooklyn.” That’s why “seventeen” is one of Bucky’s trigger words as the Winter Soldier. It checks out, because Bucky is a little bit older than Steve.

• Steve doesn’t fully admit the depth of his own feelings for Bucky to himself until he finds out Bucky’s been captured by HYDRA. And then he tears Europe apart to get him back. He’d have done that anyway, obviously, but... the prospect of losing Bucky forever is really what makes him realize how much he can’t handle that concept. Because he’s in love with him.

• After Bucky “dies,” Steve gets more reckless, and that’s part of the reason he put the plane in the ice and didn’t try to survive: he didn’t want to live in a world without Bucky in it. This is supported by canon. And so I headcanon that, after Steve finds out about the Winter Soldier, one day he abruptly realizes that he could’ve died in that plane crash and never known Bucky was alive and brainwashed and suffering. He thought Bucky was dead and he wanted to follow him, and he could’ve left Bucky even more alone in the world without knowing it. When Steve realizes how close he came to leaving Bucky behind like that, he throws up. It horrifies him to think about it.

• They each have a pair of dog tags where one says “Steve Rogers” and one says “Bucky Barnes.” They swapped one tag each, so that they’d have a matching set, because while they couldn’t list each other as “next of kin,” they wanted tangible evidence that would show other people how important they are to each other. So people would know: tell him if something happens to me.

• Their Brooklyn accents come out / get heavier around each other, especially if they’re bitching about things or arguing.

• Bucky is a complete sci-fi and fantasy nerd–which is now confirmed canon, and I love it. In particular, I like to headcanon that he loves to read paperback sci-fi novels, and discount romance novels. He unironically enjoys them, and he leaves them allllll over the place. One of the things they love to do is Bucky will sit around and read while Steve will sit around and draw/paint, and half the time Steve gets distracted sketching Bucky’s facial expression he makes while he’s reading.

• Bucky is also a pop culture gremlin. He will try and often get interested in pretty much anything and everything, without rhyme or reason. In modern day, he and Nat will watch trashy reality TV together–sometimes to make fun of it, sometimes to get invested. Steve thinks they’re insane for that. And sometimes Bucky will like one niche thing but then for very specific reasons he dislikes another similar thing. It makes sense to him, even if Steve doesn’t get it.

• Steve tends to be pickier with the kind of stuff he enjoys. He’s always had Strong Opinions™️ on everything, including and especially art. Put him in a museum and he’ll have a lot of thoughts on all of it. He doesn’t judge things or hate on other people for liking things he doesn’t like at all, but he won’t get hooked on a movie/show quite as easily. The one exception is animation, which he absolutely adores, and he goes on a wild binge of all kinds of animated content for awhile–shows and movies–because the various art styles and uses of the medium to tell crazy stories just fascinates him.

• Easy access to so much music is one of their mutual favorite things about the 21st century. Bucky often gets into individual artists’ entire discographies and becomes a fan, whereas Steve often gets into a handful of specific songs from a wide range of various people. Like... Bucky will often love an entire album, and Steve will often love 2 songs specifically more than others. But even with that, Steve loves collecting vinyl records–both old and new ones.

• Bucky has a fantastic singing voice even though he’s shy about it, and he tends to hum along to music when distracted or working on something else–especially while making something in the kitchen.

• Bucky likes technology more than Steve; Steve likes physical stuff more than Bucky. Bucky loves to take photos and videos of things all the time, hoarding digital memories in a way that’s precious to him, knowing that they’re “safe” and accessible anywhere. They lost so much of the objects that they loved a century ago, and photos were scarce, but now... there are endless ways to have pictures. When Bucky was recovering in Wakanda and Steve was on the run, Bucky would often text Steve photos–sometimes without captions–to wordlessly share bits of his days with him. He’s got a good eye for photography, except for when he takes the photo equivalent of shitposts to make Steve laugh. Regardless, Steve gets his favorites printed–some of Bucky’s photos, some of his, some of their selfies–so they also always have something tangible to hold onto.

• Bucky calls Steve “sweetheart” sometimes, just to be a little shit–and he means it. It makes Steve turn red every time, without fail, but he secretly doesn’t mind it.

Okay I’ll stop hahaha. Those are the main ones that come to mind for me all the time when I think of them!

Thank you again for asking :D This was so fun to write all in one place!

#anonymous #asks #stevebucky #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #headcanons #literally sat here and spent like an hour writing this. like it's 2017 again. NO remorse! a nice way to wind down my evening #char writes things

311 notes · View notes

a-supernatural-writer · 3 years

Note

hcs for poly! tlb with a fem! s/o who’s style is dark academia and is really blunt/logical and smart. she basically gives off a ‘mysterious, quiet, dark, critical’ vibe (she also doesn’t really know how to handle people who are extremely emotional and she doesn’t know how to soothe someone. she’s just really oblivious/clueless when it comes to others feelings). i’m so sorry if what i requested doesn’t make sense or if it was too much. i am seriously incapable of writing anything without making it look like an essay lmao. love your work btw 💕✨

Dark Academia Fem! S/O

Poly Lost Boys x Fem reader

I had so much fun writing this! I love the dark academia aesthetic! And it made perfect sense and it wasn’t too much! Having a lot actually helps me expand and write more so thank you. And I’m the same, once I have an idea, I write a lot, so you’re all good! And awww!!! Thank you!!! 💗💗✨✨ I really appreciate it! I hope you enjoy!

Okay, so you are very different compared to the large number of characters on the boardwalk. Your style consisted of button shirts, sweaters or turtle necks, dress pants or a plaid pleated skirts, cardigans or waistcoats, oxford shoes or even wire framed glasses if you wore them for seeing or just for the look.

To say that you caught the boys attention would be an understatement. You seemed to stand out amongst the crowd and they became curious. You were a mystery to them and they love the challenge.

Somehow, someway, after days or weeks later, you became good friends which soon lead to you dating four trouble making punks. It was tough on both parts, but it happened, and hey, you weren’t complaining.

You were very blunt when you first met them, not really interested in them and more or less interested in the book in your hands. It took a lot of “accidental” run ins to even get you to hang out with them.

You slowly opened up when they offered to take you out for dinner at a local diner. They’re constant joking soon had you letting out small, almost whisper-like giggles and tiny smiles that sent them into a frenzy.

When you would start talking about yourself, your ideas of fun were different from theirs. You liked museums, opera houses, bookstores and going to theaters to see plays. The games you played were chess and cards, and the music you listened to was old. You were pretty sure they thought you were boring but you actually peaked their interest.

After a while of being friends with them, they asked you out. You liked them and the only logical step was to see if you liked them the same way they liked you was to date them, so you said yes.

In general, them having a girlfriend with a 1940s/1950s dark prep look was fun. David and Dwayne like it the most. Paul next, then Marko.

David actually really likes picking out your clothing on most days. You have an extensive collection of clothing with material from cashmere to linen, all the colors consisting of browns, black, cream and even a little dark green.

His favorite thing to put you in is trench coats. Doesn’t matter what color it is, he just likes seeing you in them. Also, there are a handful of times that he has MADE you wear his trench coat. Yeah it almost swimmed on you, but he thought it made you look cute and it fit in perfectly with your look.

Dark academia isn’t only your style, but it’s your way of life. David is the one that plays chess with you. You had to reteach it to him and pretty soon, the two of you had your own little set up in the cave that was always ready for a game of chess.

David is sort of like you… in a way when it comes to others feelings. But deep down he knows that he really likes you and tries to show it the best he can. He took you to a theater to see a play that you were constantly talking about and so he took you on a date. You being you, didn’t realize that’s what it was until he told it straight to your face. Let’s just say you were speechless for the next hour.

Also, when it’s just the two of you, deep inside the cave where your nest is, classical music is playing from your record player. It could be Beethoven, Tchaikovsky or Mozart. Whoever it is, David is the one that will listen to it with you the most. I think he really enjoys classical music and he enjoys it even more if the two of you are cuddling in your bed.

Occasionally Dwayne would join the two of you. You would be sitting in between David’s legs as Dwayne sat in between yours, his head leaning back against your chest. It was like a cuddle pile… cuddle train?? Whatever you wanted to call it, it was cuddling while the three of you relaxed listening to classical music. And it was darn cute.

Dwayne loves listening to you go on and on about any books you were reading at the moment. Whether or not it was nonfiction or even about any type of history. He was down. He lived through a lot and he knew about half of the stuff you gushed on about, but for some odd reason, it never bored him when you talked about it.

He would be the one to get you new books, leaving you sweet little notes tied to them. Of course you thought it was just him being nice and thanked him for it without thinking there was any romantic meaning behind it. Yeah he was one of your boyfriends but it never really crossed your mind that way. He would just shake his head at your obliviousness and give you a small peck on the lips.

Don’t ask him why, but his favorite look on you is a light cream colored blouse with a plaid skirt and Mary Jane shoes. Dwayne is a leg man so… he’s very happy when decide to show off some skin if you decide not to wear knee-socks or stockings with it. Even if you did wear them, he would still be attached to your side the entire night.

Like David, Dwayne would bring you out to a lot of places that were opened late at night. If there was an art exhibition in town or even a museum that was open late, just say the word and he will happily drive you on his bike. Heck, David might even tag along.

Also, late night bookstore dates… oh my heart, it’s too sweet it hurts. There are times that he does have to throw you over his shoulder when the bookstore is closing and you're pretty much refusing to leave. When he does that, you just stay frozen over his shoulder, not knowing if you should be blushing or cursing at him for carrying you like a sack of potatoes.

If anything, you and Dwayne connect very well. You’re naturally very quiet and so is he. Not much is said between you two but there's a mutual understanding that can’t be explained. While the others are out causing trouble, you and him are on the sidelines watching hand in hand or your reading and he's just staring at you as you do so.

Paul and Marko kind of give you whiplash. They’re loud and rowdy and definitely 100% opposite from you. But they interested you. They had a very chaotic outlook on life which made you ask many questions.

Paul found your look sexy. He’s horny and you give off preppy school vibes, he’s living for it 24/7. Constant teasing of you giving him ‘private lessons’ which results with you whacking a book against the back of his head. But it doesn’t stop the reddening of your ears which doesn’t make him stop.

This man is also your designated jewelry expert. You only wear some accessories and they're very simple. So you are very surprised when Paul finds you jewelry that is your style and collects it for you. You like leather watches, guess what, he’s got it for you. You want some fancy victorian looking brooches, he’s got that too. Simple rings with a single jewel in the middle, expect constant ‘will you marry me’ jokes, but he gets you the best.

Also, he’s not overly big into your music selection. He does try to get you into his type of music, which you only like very few and far between. But when you do get him to listen to your type of music, it’s only if you agree to listen to his music the next night. You guys come up with a system and decide to switch every few nights.

Each of the boys have their favorite look on you and Paul's is when you wear a button-up of any color with a simple black tie, a pencil skirt and a pair of Dr.Marten boots. He especially likes the tie… for reasons. God damn it, you know the reasons, get out of here.

He’s a very affectionate boy and he finds your looks over confusion some of the cutest shit he’s ever seen. Probably the first one to tell you that he loves you and you honestly like glitched out. Did you feel the same way? Yes, but poor little thing you doesn’t say it right away, but Paul knows that you aren’t really used to saying things like that without warming up to it. Which is okay. He knows even if you don’t say it.

He definitely steals one of your blazers to put pins on it. Marko helps, putting a few patches on it that they both know you would like. It’s the one item that stands out in all of your clothing and you will wear it if they ask you to.

Marko definitely thinks the look is cute and it suits you very well, but why no color?! You wear dark colors but nothing bright like the colors that are on his jacket. He tries to slip in some colorful clothing into your everyday look, it never goes as planned but you give him an A for effort.

He loves how dark you can be at times though. You want to go to a local graveyard just because? Sure! Let’s go! He’s your designated graveyard buddy. You have many date nights there, looking at all the different gravestones and finding it interesting when you jot down some names in one of your notebooks.

Speaking of notebooks, you have many of them. They were filled with notes from books you’ve read, real life observations or even just some random poetry and short stories that you wrote. Marko would go through them a lot and even sometimes draw little doodles or rough sketches that were thought up from your writings.

When you spend nights down at the Boardwalk, your go to drink isn’t a slushie or a milkshake or even a soda. It’s coffee or tea. Yeah, and only Marko knows your drink orders by heart. None of the others seem to remember them correctly which you thank them for trying but Marko has got them all beat.

Marko likes seeing you in sweaters and in your trousers or linen shorts with chelsea boots. If anything, when the two of you are alone, just wearing a knit sweater and shorts were perfect for him. He likes how cozy and warm you look. He’s very happy when he cuddles you and you are warm.

Now when they tell you that they’re vampires, you think that they’re joking. Vampires aren’t real, they’re a work of fiction. Yes there was a real man named Dracula, but there was no way that they were actual vampires.

Then they showed you hard proof and then there was no denying it at that point. Instead of running away, you were fascinated. You wanted to understand your boyfriends vampire ways that lead to you conducting extensive research and a notebook dedicated to them.

They showed you everything about them, how they feed, to which you didn’t bat an eyelash of watching them feed one night. You were one morbid chick but they saw that as a plus that you didn’t react. You had graveyard dates for crying out loud, nothing really surprised them at that point.

Flying came next and they had a lot of fun showing you just how high they could go with you in their arms. You never screamed at the height, you were too caught up in seeing the overhead view of the town. You could get used to seeing a view like that every night.

Then came the other things; how they slept before you came along, what actually hurt them and what didn’t. There was one time that you stared at their vampire faces for hours because you were taking notes on how their facial features changed.

Soon you had to stock up on more turtlenecks because of the many bite marks they would leave behind from feeding on you if the weather was bad one night. It wasn’t tough adapting to their occasional feeding. A lot of your clothing already covered up your skin so it was easy to hide from people on your nights out.

Not too long after, they popped the question. Would you want to be a vampire? Live forever, never grow up? Be with them for all eternity? You didn’t really need to think about it for too long, you knew what your answer was and so did they even if you didn’t say it out loud. You loved your boys and not much would change.

When you did change, it was entertaining for them to watch. You soon started taking down notes about your progress, comparing and contrasting your experience to their own.

To the eyes of many, you became even more dark and mysterious. You had an aura around you that drew people in, it’s what got you your four vampire boyfriends, only now, it brought in your meal for the night.

202 notes · View notes

mattzerella-sticks · 3 years

Text

So I had an idea for a DeanCas Pokemon AU that I never worked on because it was just too grand of a project, but after commissioning @gabester-sketch to draw this picture of Dean and a Sylveon (here) I’m thinking, even if I never get around to writing it, I still think it was great and am gonna share it.

So, basically, it would have been an AU set in the Kalos region (my favorite region), with Dean and Sam having grown up in Vaniville Town. When they were young, the town was beset by criminals and set aflame, the boys losing their mother in the fire. While Dean got Sam to safety in their neighbor Bobby’s arms, he then got seperated and ended up losing consciousness under a tree. He was mostly unharmed save for twin scars on his palms in the shape of ‘x’s (which he will hide with gloves), but because of the fire he ended up being traumatized of both fire and Pokemon. Fast forward many years, they have been raised by Bobby because, after the fire, John decided to recommit to being a Pokemon trainer and find the villains who set the fire. Sam wants to set out on his own journey, but has been held back by Dean’s worry longer than he should have - meaning all of his friends got to leave town when they were ten while Sam’s been there an extra 6+ years. Until one day, Sam leaves, telling Dean that he is going to start his journey and he hopes he forgives him.

Dean, naturally, chases after Sam - thinking he can catch him before he gets far.

Yet Dean, being Dean, gets lost quite easily in the surrounding grass and forest and his anxieties start rising. He gets cornered by some wild Pokemon and doesn’t know what to do, when suddenly an Espurr appears and battles away the Pokemon. A trainer arrives, too, with mussed dark hair and blue eyes hidden behind wide-rimmed frames, and he’s dressed dishevedly. He introduces himself as Cas and asks why Dean didn’t send out his own Pokemon. Dean says that he doesn’t have any. This begins a conversation that Dean quickly walks away from, stubborn, claiming that he doesn’t need any Pokemon.

He’s lost again, and mad that he didn’t ask Cas for directions. He’s sitting by a lake when he feels something brush up against his side, and it’s a little Eevee. Dean tries to make her go away, but she won’t, instead nestling into his lap. At first he’s so panicked, but the more Eevee cuddles and uses Baby-Doll Eyes at him, and as he pets her, Dean relaxes. Until some Team Flame members burst in, saying that they’re here for the Eevee. Dean doesn’t respond well and say that it’s not their Eevee. They battle, with Dean holding his own, but when it looks like they’re gonna be overpowered, Dean runs away with the Eevee and stumbles on Cas again, and together they send Team Flame running. Dean thanks Cas, while Cas observes that he’s seemed to have gotten himself a Pokemon. Gives Dean a Pokeball to catch the Eevee with. Together, they make it to the next town where Dean learns Sam’s already left for Lumiose. “Good thing you have a Pokemon,” Cas comments, “you’re gonna need her if you want to go to Lumiose.” Now Dean has been forced on his own Pokemon journey.

Along the way Dean will find his party growing, and he’ll be coming out of his shell with the more people he met. The Pokemon professor I had in mind was Chuck when I created this but I have changed my mind and it’s Missouri, with Charlie and Kevin as her assistants. Lumiouse City gym leader was Ash, little sister Jo and mom Ellen would also be introduced. The third gym leader would be Claire, who we also find out is Cas’s niece after Dean meets with Cas’s twin brother Jimmy - thinking he’s Cas. And the sixth gym leader was originally gonna be Jess, but because I am an Eileen-stan, Eileen would be the Fairy gym leader who also tells Dean she was very interested in his brother. And Dean’s party would grow to include a Togepi that he evolves into a Togekiss, a Feebas he helps grow into a Milotic, his Eevee evolves into a Sylveon, a Buneary bruiser that will evolve into a Lopunny, a Litleo that helps him overcome his fear of fire type Pokemon (saving her from a fire that Team Flare started in former Team Flare now Elite Four member Meg’s house) that will evolve into a Pyroar, and a Cubone who he keeps out of its Pokeball most the time (like Sylveon) that he picked up because we all know why.

And, during his journey, Dean becomes a great trainer in his own right, though he doesn’t battle for badges. He becomes great friends with his Pokemon. Pokemon have always naturally been drawn to him, which he’s now starting to see isn’t such a bad thing. He’s also meeting new friends, like Cas who he keeps running into and, you guessed it, develops a crush on him.

Finally Dean makes his way back to Lumiouse City for the Pokemon Tournament, and while out and about in the city finally runs into Sam. Sam is shocked to see Dean, especially Dean with Pokemon, while Dean just starts berating Sam for sneaking off like that. They mend fences pretty easily, Dean saying that if it weren’t for Sam leaving Dean might’ve been too afraid to leave home to go on his own journey. Sam would love to stay and chat, but he needs to register for the tournament. Dean lets him off, saying they should meet up for lunch (”a picnic”). Sam agrees. After running into Sam, Dean then runs into Cas, and Dean fills him in on the Sam stuff. He then invites Cas to their picnic. Cas agrees, but hasn’t shown up despite Dean and Sam and their Pokemon all already being there for half an hour. Cas does arrive, apologizing, being held up, and Dean is ready to tease him until he turns and sees Cas dressed much differently than before.

Cas is in a suit, his hair pushed back, no glasses, and wears a trench coat. Sam is agape, asking Dean why the Kalos Champion knows who he is.

That’s right! Cas is the Champion of Kalos! We finally meet his party, which includes a fully-evolved Meowstic.

It’s an enjoyable picnic and they’re all walking around the city when they see a Pokemon battle going on, check it out and - it’s John Winchester!

More reunions! John is proud of his sons for setting off on their journey, and asks to see their Pokemon. He approves of Sam’s but finds that Dean’s aren’t fit for battle. Dean is rubbed the wrong way by that but stays silent, but Sam goads them into a fight. Dean’s Sylveon vs. John’s Tyranitar. It’s a strong match-up, with both Pokemon getting good hits in. Sylveon falls, however. John, though, says that Dean trained her well and things are fixed there.

It’s time for the tournament and everyone is there. Including Chuck, the CEO of this corporation. Sam’s progressing well throughout the tournament, until he finally faces Nick, a mysterious competitor who’s been mowing down his challengers ruthlessly. Before the battle Dean, in a trance, rises from his seat. Sylveon worringly chases after him. Just as the battle is about to start, the stadium goes dark, and Team Flare make their reveal. They begin attacking, with those who are able to combatting this all. Sam is busy dealing with Nick, Cas tied up battling grunts but also worried about Dean. He goes to find him but only sees John, who explains Dean had to use the bathroom.

In actuallity, Dean is being kidnapped by Team Flare and their leader, Chuck. Cas and John make it to see Dean being squirreled away, Sylveon left behind.

Dean wakes up in the Team Flare headquarters, where it’s revealed Chuck wants to absorb the powers of life and death through their avatars - Xerneas and Yveltal. He’s already succeeded with Yveltal, but failed years ago during the Vaniville Assault. That’s right! Chuck caused the fire that killed Dean’s mom and scarred him. This is where we learn that Dean, while lost in the flames of the town and forest, stumbled upon Xerneas’s tree form. Dean died due to smoke inhalation, but was given new life through Xerneas’s interference. Because of this, his Pokemon’s fairy attacks were much stronger than normal, and it aided his charm. Bascially, Xerneas passed its energy into Dean, making him Xerneas. And Chuck wants to absorb it even if it kills Dean.

Cas, Sam, and John all decide to launch a rescue mission. They sneak into the underground compound and fight to free Dean. Meanwhile, Chuck moves to awaken Xerneas. He succeeds in doing this, Dean’s hair turning pink because of it. He doesn’t absorb Xerneas’s power, however, as the others cut in. Chuck disappears, deciding he’ll just go through with his plan without Xerneas then.

The group converge, freeing Dean. Except it isn’t Dean, it’s Xerneas. “I’ve always been Xerneas.” This doesn’t sit right with any of them, but before they can comment Xerneas teleports away, sensing Chuck. The others leave the compound, trying to get a sense of what’s going on.

Chuck’s real goal was to destroy the world by killing Zygarde, then start over using Xerneas’s power. Chuck has grown into a horrible amalgamation of man and Pokemon. Dean does the same to stop him, and they battle while the others go to wake Zygarde from his slumber. They succeed, and Zygarde comes and rips Yveltal free from Chuck, leaving him a regular man again.

Xerneas goes back to normal, Dean-sized again, and says that once he leaves Dean, Dean will surely die. Everyone starts to cry, including Dean’s Pokemon who all jump out of their balls to argue with the deer entity. Xerneas, troubled, searches their feelings, and understands. He converses with Zygarde and when Zygarde frees Xerneas, Dean is still able to wake up and is himself again (there was a way!) His hair is still pink, though. Everyone celebrates!

Epilogue - Sam wins the tournament and faces off against Cas, defeating him and becoming the new Kalos champion. Cas is glad, as he’s ready to retire and explore more that life has to offer. Dean asks what that might be, and Cas kisses him.

Back when I thought of this, I think around s9/s10, it was way out of my skill level. And now, I dont have the time lol. It seems like it’d be a 20+ chapter piece. But what a fic it would be...

#supernatural #spn #pokemon au #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #john winchester #destiel fanfic idea #this is probably as far as I'll be able to go with it #especially since most of my notes were lost in my dead computer lol

8 notes · View notes

birdy-bat-writes · 4 years

Text

Final Conclusions

A/N: So Fish and I came up with this Dad!Constantine concept while talking about this one OC I created and a few OC’s she created. The one I created is named Maya. The premise of her story is that she’s a love interest for Damian and she treats John like a mentor/father figure since he’s teaching her to control her magic. This plot is basically what has sprouted any of the Dad/Uncle/Mentor Constantine content I’ve created. Fish has contributed a lot and I love her so much. The basis for this interaction is that John finds a lot of amusement in the fact that Damian likes Maya and he just hates John so much. Even though it’s based on an OC, I’m going to write it x reader style with the reader having the same powers as my OC. So now that there’s context let’s begin!

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

It’s the opening night of the Gotham Academy’s festival of the arts. The night where young artists and musicians show off their talent in the galleries and performances, and two people who never show up to these things- like ever- both happened to be here at the same time for the same reason. You. And it irked them to no end.

Both John and Damian arrived at 6:30 pm on the dot. Damian looked so irritated to see John there. Why is he even there? He doesn’t even like going to these things. But then again, neither did Damian. He decided to put his irritation aside and began to walk into the building with John. He had to admit, John stepped up for the occasion.

John cleaned up, did his hair, shaved and actually wore a jacket that was not his usual beige trench coat, all to attend some crummy high school art show. But he did it anyway because it was your work that was being displayed. The disdain he felt towards these events was replaced with a sense of pride he had in you. He sported a grey blazer and black shirt with matching slacks, that contrasted Damian’s black suit.

“Nice to see you here, Damian.”

“Likewise.” The conversation stayed stagnant for a while as they looked around at the different works displayed. Neither of them walked around much. The silence was broken when you walked up to them, looking elegant as ever in your green dress.

“Hey, guys! I’m so happy you both could come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Damian said sweetly. And that was a rare sight for John to see. Damian being sweet?!

“Do you want to see my display?” They both excitedly nodded “yes” and followed you to a wall at the end of the hall. You cautiously cut through the crowd and pointed. “Tada!”

“That looks amazing, Y/N. You’re more talented than you know.”

“Not bad, kiddo. It’s the best thing I’ve seen from you since that chicken you managed to turn green.”, John said ruffling your hair. Thank goodness you left it down. If it was done up, it would have taken ages to fix, but since you knew john was coming, you took the precaution. He had a habit of doing that when he was proud of you, and it made your day every time.

“Thank you. I’m just going to check out the ceramic displays, you guys want to come?”

“No thanks, dear.”

“I’ll just wait here.”

“Okay, see you in a bit. I’m so happy you both are here.” You chimed. You had that little gleam in your eye that you always did when you were happy, and Damian didn’t fail to notice. He lingered on it. Just as he did with your smile, and the soft glow on your cheeks. He was regrettably brought out of his love-trance by the sound of John’s voice.

“Does that look like ketchup on paper to you too? Or is it just me?” Damian wanted to roll his eyes and say something snarky, but instead, looked up at the painting john was talking about. It really did just look like a glob of red paint.

“I can’t even tell what that’s supposed to be. If it’s abstract, they did a good job.”

“To be honest, I don’t really get this ‘art’ thing. Half of these canvases look like something a two-year-old could muster.” John said, and Damian sighed in return.

“You have to look beyond the surface. Art is about the emotion behind the paint and pencil.”

“Alright, Picasso, what’s that one about then?” Damian stayed silent. “I thought you were an artist; you don’t get art?”

“I sketch sometimes but that doesn’t make me an artist.”

“Ah, damaged closet-artist.” Damian groaned lowly.

“There isn’t anything in that piece to understand. It’s just paint splatters. Half of these can only be admired for their technical skill; there’s no emotion behind them. If there is one, it’s not one that I understand.

“Whose work do you like then?” Damian gave that one some thought,

“I like the classics, I suppose. The only current artist whose work I’ve liked is Y/N.”

“Interesting, so, what emotion do you get from her work?” John had his trademark devilish grin plastered upon his face. He knew Damian was head over heels for you, and it sure was fun to get a rise out of him with that. Damian was trying not to let his mind wander off to the charcoal sketches he has framed in his room. You drew them for him and left them in his room one day. They were all sketches of Titus, Batcow, Alfred the cat and his personal favorite, a charcoal rendition of a polaroid you took. It was the two of you at the beach with the family, and Damian was smiling. It was rare and reserved just for you, so he couldn’t help but think the emotion he got from it was love. That photo stayed between the two of you, and the drawing wasn’t shown to anyone but him. John doesn’t get the luxury of knowing that. Why did he even ask? Why is he even here?

“Why did you come here?” Damian asked.

“Y/N invited me.”

“You don’t like going to these events. Why’d you say yes?”

“Same reason as you mate, I care about her more than I hate the rest of society.”

Damian gave a light nod that anyone would have missed if they weren’t’ looking for it. “What about you? It’s not like you enjoy school activities and such.” Damian looked a little flustered.

“I wanted to support my friend and classmate. It’s important to her.”

“Right, you wanted to support your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

“Aye, but you want her to be.” John said with a smirk.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t give me that. Its plain as day that you like her.” Damian scoffed and looked down for a while.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?” He tried to play it off like sarcasm, but that didn’t really go as planned.

“You hate people and yet you love being around her. You’re an artist and can’t understand anyone’s art but hers. You want to protect her from anyone who you think isn’t good enough for her, myself included. The signs are pretty obvious.” Damian looked a little flushed but remained speechless. “And besides, she’s pretty easy to fall in love with, I hear. My home phone gets calls from boys on the daily.”

“What?! From who?!?”

“Hehe, and that’s how I came to that conclusion.”

“Constan-!”

“There you guys are! I’ve been looking for you. Art awards are going to be announced soon. Want to go find a seat?” You had just found the boys and were ready to take them into the auditorium for the Art Awards.

“Sure thing.”, John said cheerily.

John smiled and Damian just returned a cold glare.

***

They were seated next to each other and chose not to complain about it. Instead, opting to tense over the fact that they were nearing the end of the awards ceremony and your name hadn’t yet been called. This meant one of two things: Either you were about to win one of the top cash prizes or you weren’t going to win anything. And the thought of the latter had both John and Damian gripping the arm rests of their seats tight enough to dent them. The anticipation was building in all of you, but it flooded away from you when you turned and looked at the boys. They looked more stressed than you did, and it made you want to laugh. Of course, you stifled it. This is what you liked to call “Chaotic caring energy”. And truth be told, these two were awfully similar for a pair of people who can’t stand each other.

It was down to second place. You had lost hope and accepted you wouldn’t win anything. The boys hadn’t, though. They were literally at the edge of their seats, and you swear you saw Damian grab John’s shoulder at one point. Just then, you heard your name called. First place, Y/N L/N, 8th grade.

“Yes! I’m so proud of you!”

“Well done, N/N! I knew you’d be up there!” They could be heard over the Loud cheering from the rest of the audience. You walked up and received your award and you waved at them from the stage. John looked at you with a genuine smile and adoration in his eyes. He knew you were talented, and he was so proud of you for working so hard for this. You had finally gotten the recognition you deserved and the look in his eyes reflected how happy he was about it. Damian noticed too. John really cared about you. Damian saw it now. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad mentor for you after all.

While leaving the hall, the three of you saw Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim and Alfred waiting by the doors. They congratulated you and showered you with hugs. They had seen the ceremony as well, but they watched it from the auditorium balcony. While you were off showing your plaque to everyone, Damian took an opportunity to say something he felt he needed to say.

“Hey, John?”

“Hm?’

“When you said I want to protect Y/N from people who aren’t good enough… I don’t consider you to be someone I should protect her from. You’re a good mentor.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” They shared a look of agreement. Perhaps they had finally settled a truce. “And of course, I’m a good mentor for her. I’m the master of my craft.” John added smugly.

“I saw you light your tie on fire once.”

“Who said that was an accident?” They shared a chuckle. Meanwhile, Bruce and Alfred were making celebratory dinner plans, and you were standing flabbergasted with the boys because Damian and John were smiling at each other??? They walked up to you and overhearing Bruce’s discussion about dinner, Damian took the liberty of inviting John to join you.

You choked on your saliva, Tim looked beyond concerned and when John said he’d be delighted, everyone freaked. Bruce looked terrified, Dick squinted, and Jason was about to take a picture while Alfred just stared.

“Are they smiling at each other?”

“No, that’s not possible.”

“Um, they’re walking side by side and talking without grimacing.”

Y/N looks like she’s about to pass out. Someone catch her.”

102 notes · View notes

pastel9girlbunny000die · 4 years

Text

Age Gap... AU

One Piece~

♡The characters are all between 27-29 unless said otherwise

♡The s/o is between 16-18

Warning: ...Kissing and Cuddles? PDA, nakedness and language.

Part 2

Exstra 😱😵🖊 {At some point I couldn't stop writing.}

Portgas D. Ace 🔥

🔥You met Ace at school during one of your art classes.

🔥He came in to do a favor for one of your teachers, to give tips on art and give you guys professional guidance and at some point he posed as a model.

🔥Yes a model !!!

🔥Soooo you kinda got to see him naked the first time you met, he was opened with all his god like built.

🔥When the class was done sketching. He caught a glimpse of your work seeing as it wasn't nearly done, so he offered to stay longer for you to finish.

🔥God damn you wish he didn't, him being there is the very reason your sketch wasn't done. It was too embarrassing to look at a naked man infront of you and sketch.

🔥Not knowing which to concentrate on?

🔥Ace saw that, and offer to help you like exstra lessons at his home maybe improve the areas you lack at.

🔥And you gladly took that offer.

🔥At some point after teaching you for half a year. You started just acting like a couple without knowing when it actually happened.

🔥Ace loves his s/o with every bit of his heart.

🔥You spend most of you free time with each other, either sketching each other or chilling playing video games or talking.

🔥Ace is a professional artist, with both a degree and diploma in practical arts, so ofcourse his art is going to so much more advanced than yours.

🔥You love staring at him while he paints.

🔥Ace loves not wearing a shirt proves he is comfortable in his own skin, he also got his s/o into wearing less clothes.

🔥With the less clothes you got use to drawing him only in boxers.

🔥And somehow you guys turned into that couple that's completely fine with walking around each other naked in his apartment alone.

🔥Ace's job is something he loves doing while having fun. Yes he does teach arts at a university.

🔥Remember your still in high school not in a college/university.. yet.

🔥Ace is a very clingy man he will hug you a lot even when his naked. He gives you a lot of pet names he's favorite is, teachers pet.

🔥He doesn't do small half ass kisses. Its either long and passionate or heavily horny make out.

🔥Ace's s/o loves the tattoos on his skin, trenching her/his fingers over his arm or back.

🔥Ace reminds you of a cowboy though to his country style and mostly the hat in his bedroom.

🔥Yes you have met his friends especially Marco, you didn't mind hanging out with them their nice people and fun.

🔥You met Ace's family the first week he started teaching you. You met his two brothers and his Father that goes by White Beard.

🔥The second White Beard met you, he told Ace to never let you go or he will beat the crab out of him

🔥Ace took it to heart and loved you even more.

🔥You never really told your parents that your dating Ace. One day you just brought him home and hanged out in your room, at some point they just assume you guys are dating and they we're all right with it.

🔥When it comes to drawing Ace, you love to draw his face the most, make it look like his freckles are stars.

🔥His black hair and freckles are the most notable features on him.

🔥Your first date, wasn't that bad except at a random part he fell asleep

🔥In the beginning when he started teaching you, you though he was just tired but it happens frequently so it made you worried.

🔥He calmed your nerves telling you he has narcolepsy and his fine, might fall asleep at random times but his okay.

🔥It made you relax, and questioned him if there's a way to stop it but he only shook his head and dropping down on you snoring as he sleep hug you.

🔥You can only ask him help with art work/homework anything related to art otherwise not he can't help, he'd be just as dumbfounded as you.

🔥He inspired you to get a tattoo of your own name in your (Body part), but he was against the idea of a random person touching so he did it himself.

🔥Accidentally spelled one letter wrong so he had to cross it out, you strated yapping at him that he did it purposely.

🔥He made it up to you by giving you another tattoo on your (Body part) that was your favorite (animal of your choice/any tattoo of your choice.)

🔥You guys never gets mistaken for relatives or family members even friends, cause Ace's is all over you, making out even sucking on your neck.

🔥But they do know you guys have an age difference but they don't know how much

🔥His already in his late twenties, and doesn't care as long as you are with him and love him for who he is rather than his age he'll love you back.

🔥You were happy afterwards.

🔥PDA *Public display of affection*

🔥He would hold your hand even kiss you.

🔥But he loves wrapping an arm around your waist having you lean against his body.

🔥Signaling others that you are taken and your his property.

🔥PDA kissing😏😳 just like I said, Ace only allows long and passionate or heavily horny make out kissing.

🔥He makes sure sexual tension rise when your with him, his happy knowing you desire him, so does he.

🔥The fire in your relationship might take a very long time to whither away.

🔥He loves you dearly.

Exstra exstra!!!

Portgas D. Shanks 🍺

🍺Unlike the others Shanks is way older. Reaching 37.

🍺But very childish and energetic.

🍺You decided to take on a part time job just to own a little side cash for yourself, you start working as a waitress/waiter at an old diner in town.

🍺One day Shanks and his friends came in after work to hang out and drink the place dry having some sort of celebration.

🍺And his glad he came along, (His friends might've made him go unwilling) but his glad one glimpse of you and he already knows what's for dinner on the menu.

🍺At first glance he didn't seem very approachable, maybe it was his appearance the three scars over his eye or maybe his big god like built

🍺But once spoken to him he passed off a kind caring and loving atmosphere his actions where so nice he even apologized for accidentally touching your hand

🍺Through out the night he shot complements and cheesey pick up lines, that made you either giggle or blush.

🍺You where kinda sad when he left. (or rather his friends dragged his black out ass out of the diner)

🍺You really wanted his number or at least his name.

🍺The next day he came in for breakfast, you were lucky to catch him, some how you talked the day over with him.

🍺So on he came in everyday, either for breakfast lunch or dinner, which pleased you very much.

🍺on some occassions you joined him, being able to enjoy the food you cooked and seeing him enjoy your cooking as well as the beer you pour for him.

🍺One evening your co worker pointed out that you must have been enjoying your dates.

🍺You were a little confused but decided to ask Shanks himself

🍺"Yeah, we've been going on dates for awhile now, why?"

🍺"u-umm?" That was your only response.

🍺You just let go, and decided to start calling yourself Shanks's girlfriend/boyfriend.

🍺He made sure you never regret it

🍺Later on you guys hanged out more outside of your part time job, and more at his house

🍺He began loving you more and more each day he's kinda a clingy guy

🍺He loves holding you in his arm and kissing you all over your face and neck.

🍺Only way he can show you how much he respects and care even loves you.

🍺He was happy that you didn't back away when you saw his missing arm.

🍺But you love how he still cable of a lot of things and doesn't need anyone's pity

🍺It makes you few him in a new light

🍺But sometimes he takes advantage of his disability and asks for your help, like putting on his shirt or drying his hair, a lot of other more minor stuff that might give you naughty thoughts.

🍺You know exactly what he's doing, but you get to enjoy it too.

🍺He can't help but laugh at you blushing at his bare skin, he loves you trying to be innocent

🍺Shanks has great friends their all lively like him and loves to drink as much as him. Whenever you come over to his place you might meet 3 or 7 of his friends enjoying a beer and BBQ.

🍺They respect Shanks very much, and is happy for him that he found someone that can deal with his childlike nature and take care of him at the same time

🍺When you are hanging out with them, they always tease Shanks and you making Shanks fall in a fit of laughter and you blush madly in his lap.

🍺School work/homework is something you can easily ask Shanks about he might not have all the answers but he knows more than he lets on.

🍺So at times you get better grades than you did before, the way he explained some things made it easier hand that you played more attention to your hot older boyfriend.

🍺But Shanks doesn't have much family left and never saw why you need to meet those his not close too.

🍺You just simply forgot to introduce him to your parents.

🍺Until it back fired, you forgetting to introduce him made the situation even more difficult.

🍺You just mindlessly invited him to a one of your family BBQ's and he cheerfully agreed.

🍺Once he came by the weekend that's when you remember that you forgot to introduce him to your parents before your family and distance relatives and family friends.

🍺You sucked it up and acted normal, which displeased Shanks since you didn't sit on his lap or kiss him much not even hugs.

🍺At first he thought you were embarrassed of him but saw you running around handing drinks and snacks to those who just use you as an little servant girl/boy, too lazy to get off their own asses and do it themselves.

🍺He also knows you have a hard time saying no, since you are a good person and very nice

🍺He decided to deal with the matter himself.

🍺Place down his beer, he grabbed your little ass that was about to hurry pass him, pulling you down onto his lap hugging you to his chest.

🍺Your tired body automatically rest on him laying your face in his neck

🍺Not a few seconds later you two started having a nice loving conversation he made you giggle at his words. Rubbing his hand in circles on your back.

🍺Making you love him more.

🍺That's when your mother/mom came by angry calling you lazy for not helping the others around.

🍺Before you could get up and back to "helping" the family, Shanks grip around your waist tighten.

🍺"Listen here, miss. I'm not a rude guy but the table is right over there, now I haven't seen (y/n) for entire week cause of my business trip. Now they can serve themselves, or can they all not walk."

🍺Your mother/mom got furious now turning to you.

🍺"Whose this?" She simply pointed at the red head

🍺"(Y/n)'s man... lover... Boyfriend. Which do you prefer miss?"

🍺"I forbid you to see him ever again."

🍺"You can't. (Y/n) is 18 an gown adult so she/he can make her/his own decisions. You have no say in the matter."

🍺Your mother/mom huffed crossing her arms stomping away. Not liking him one bit

🍺Your Dad/father couldn't help but laugh liking Shanks even more.

🍺This is the kind of guy he'd let his daughter/son marry one that can stand up to your mother/mom stupid shit.

🍺You thought that was the end but the tables quickly turned on your mother/mom.

🍺Shanks is truly the one for you.

🍺So having him meet your parents didn't go all that well especially with your mother/mom.

🍺The things you love about Shanks ofcourse his personality and body.

🍺But his red hair is what you love the most, running your fingers through the red locks makes you happy all the time. Is truly a beautiful color.

🍺Red has a range of symbolic meanings, including life, health, vigor, war, courage, anger, love and religious.

🍺You even asked if its his natural hair color and you got a yes, he even proofed with some baby pictures of himself.

🍺Which you adore the ones that his near your age.

🍺But you will always love the him who is in front of you the him you met and fell in love with.

🍺Shanks has a pretty good job, he is the owner of one of the biggest four business company in the world.

🍺Yes! That means his quite rich. Your set for life marrying him.

🍺That's where some of his friends teases him, calling him your Sugar Daddy.

🍺You have never really asked him for anything not even a penny. If you want money you make your own.

🍺A gift, you refuse any gift unless it is his love and affection that you'd gladly take.

🍺Shanks drinks alot sometime you question his liver. When his drunk his someone that anyone would like around a happy drunk, his not sad or angry, just ×10 more cheerful and clingy.

🍺PDA *Public display of affection*

🍺He wants bear hugs daily. Once your in his lap he doesn't let you out for a long time same goes for your butterfly kisses he wants them daily.

🍺He'd die without your attention.

🍺Your eyes must always meet his.

🍺PDA kissing 🍻😚~ Shanks doesn't mind cheek kisses or a make out session, he thinks it's brave of you that he won't take you then and there.

🍺At home DA *Display of affection*

🍺He loves when you leave a trail of kisses on his neck down to his lower abdomen, it happens rarely but he just loves being under your touch

🍺The little things you do for him makes him wanna keep you for himself.

***

The End.

Maybe~😏

#one piece #fanfic #male reader #fem reader #one piece fanfic #portgas d ace #portgas d shanks #Shanks #Ace

51 notes · View notes

taliaquinn · 4 years

Text

Why Me!? Chapter 12

Mass Panic immediately ensued following the texts.

Rose couldn’t help but tear up at the thought that she won't be wearing the beautiful new dress she designed with Marinette. Alya was panicking because she knew how much Marinette's MDC dresses cost. Yes, she stalked her website, but only to trash talk it with Lila, Lila even told her how some of those designs were her idea and Marinette stole them.

Adrien decided to try and call his ex-classmates but was shocked to find that he was blocked . He decided to try calling Marinette but was even more shocked to find that the line was disconnected.

Alya finally had enough of the chaos and decided to try and get control of the room again. She blew a shrill whistle “EVERYONE QUIET, Look we lost only a few people, most of them bullies, we don't need them together we can handle this”

No one would admit the queasy feeling they got at the pit of there stomachs. They knew Marinette might've been a bully but she was an excellent president.

Gotham Airfield Gotham City, U.S.A 7 a.m

Marinette stirred and was shocked to find that her parents were up and getting there carry on luggage. Quickly glancing out her window she was shocked to find that they Landed in Gotham. Eep. Quickly gathering her art supplies she followed her parents down the steps.

Suddenly she heard a squeal “Oh my gosh she’s so adorablleeeee, Bruce are you sure this is your kid?”, she looked up to see a blonde girl jumping up and down while clinging to another boys arm.

Mr.Wayne seemed to have a look of eternal suffering etched on his face. “Yes Stephanie I'm sure, How’d you even know we were going to be here ?”

“Tim told me” The guy she was clinging to slightly grimaced while side-eyeing Mr.Wayne who was giving him a glare.

“Of course”

‘MARIBUGGGG” Dick quickly ran towards the steps and scooped her up and twirled Marinette around. Marinette couldn’t help but clutch to her supplies for fear of dropping them while giggling.

“Hi Dick,really happy to finally be here” She hugged him back, while he put her back down. Suddenly Dick was abruptly shoved away

“My Turn” Suddenly Marinette was engulfed in by a blonde tornado.

“Steph you’re suffocating her let her goooo” The guy Tim said as he was approaching them.

“But shes to adoranble~” the blonde said, still holding Marinette captive. Why was it always the Blondes who tried to kill her?

Oblivious to her plight her parents went on ahead and greeted Bruce and Dick who had to stumble back to Bruce's side after being viciously shoved.

“Bruce I want to say a huge thank you, We can’t wait to get Marinette situated and head back to Paris,” Sabine said making sure to quickly shake his hand and giving Dick a quick hug.

“Ha, I swear all three of us eventually dozed off on the flight,” Tom said while moving to do the same.

After a few more seconds Stephanie finally released Marinette.

“Oh gosh, you’re too adorable for words~ My name is Steph” Wait did Bruce have a second daughter? Marinette thought he only had one other daughter, Cassandra?

“Are you another one of Bruce's kids?”

“What!? Oh gosh,you’ve only been here for a few minutes and you already recognize that Bruce has an adopting problem, pfft luckily I am not one of those poor suckers. I am just here to eternally annoy them plus I’m besties with Cass, Bruce’s other daughter” Stephanie explained.

She quickly pulled Tim towards them. “This is one of those poor suckers, Marinette this is Tim Drake, He’s constantly sleep-deprived and suffers from severe caffeine addiction”

“It's not severe”

“Yet”

Marinette couldn’t help but snort. Being a Fashion designer/superhero/ highschooler, Marinette has learned how to make a dang good pot of coffee. Also how to tell if she’s hallucinating or not from lack of sleep. Seriously there was this one incident where she was seeing hamsters take over the school's library, there was also that one time where she saw a mob of pigeons chase a man, but that turned out to be pigeon man who got akumatized again.

“A fellow addict, nice to meet you,” Marinette said.

Stephanie suddenly started looking at two before seemingly coming to a startling revelation

“ OH GOD, THERE'S TWO COFFEE ADDICTS NOW!!!” She yelped. She suddenly scurried away in a desperate attempt to call Alfred and warn him about the new incoming addict.

Dick glanced down and noticed that Marinette dropped a few of her pens and markers. He knelt to pick them up quickly he handed them to Marinette.

“You like to draw?” He asked giving her another quick hug

“Yeppers I mainly focus on designing outfits and making them as well, where’d you think your jackets came from?”

“ No way, I thought you bought them!!! I love mines and I know for a fact Bruce loves his.”

“Well yeah I make a lot of my clothes, I have a website where I sell some of the clothing, I also do commissions” suddenly Dick was once again shoved away.

“MDC!!” Tim exclaimed

Marinette jumped back a few steps before suddenly realizing that he was a fan.

“M.D.C are your initials, I knew I recognized the Jacket from somewhere”

“Yep based off another Jacket I sold on My website, except some of the detailing is different”

“You’ve gotten recognition from Audrey Bourgeois and Gabriel Agreste,” Tim gawked. Dick was busy grumbling complaints “What is it with you two and shoving me”.

Marinette quickly went over to help him up. She quickly got one of her suitcases and opened it up pulling out a few articles of clothing. Quickly she handed Tim his jacket, and since she wasn't aware of Stephanie's existence she settled with Handing her a Trench Coat since it was cold.

Stephanie immediately shed her current coat and shoved it at Tim to hold. She put on the trenchcoat and admired the embroidered birds around the sleeves.

“Oh my gosh, you have such a good eye”

Stephanie immediately shed her current coat and shoved it at Tim to hold. She put on the trenchcoat and admired the embroidered birds around the sleeves.

“Well duh kinda necessary” Marinette teased

“Wait you didn’t bring any of your supplies?” Dick responded, noticing that Marinette didn’t bring Big enough suitcases to carry some of the bigger sewings and designing supplies.

“Well, we had to kinda leave in a rush so…. I didn't have enough time to pack some of the bigger supplies”

“I have an idea! We can go around Gotham and buy some of the supplies!” Dick suggested.

“Maybe on the weekend Dick, We gotta take her to the manor and let her and the Dupain-Chengs meet the rest of the family,” Bruce noted joining them. Honestly, though Bruce was more worried about a certain butler ripping him a new one for taking so long to introduce him to his newest granddaughter.

College Francis Dupont Paris, France 8:30 a.m

People walking into Bustiers Class couldn’t help but be disconcerted at all the empty seats the next day. They all decided to sit on the right, some glancing at the empty seats on the left.

Lila finally walked in and with the flip of her hair, she strolled straight and made sure to take a seat next to Alya. Right in Marinette's old seat. It was odd seeing someone else sit there. Eventually Madame Bustier walked in and only took a momentary pause upon seeing the small class size.

Adrien slowly walked in and lightly jumped at the new class size. He took his usual seat next to Nino. However, it wasn’t too long before he felt a tap on his shoulder. Both he and Nino turned to face Alya and Lila.

“Hey, Adrien you mind switching seats with me? I wanna sit to Nino” Alya announced. Adrien, however, didn't miss Nino’s slight grimace. However, Lilas's look of pure hopefulness was the thing that made Adrien slightly grimace as well.

Regardless of how Adrien felt he knew he had to say yes.

“Sure”

Meanwhile in Mendelievs….

“I call dibs on sitting next to Kagami!!!” Chloe loudly exclaimed and made a mad dash towards the empty seat next to Kagami.

Nathaniel immediately moved to sit next to Marc. Sabrina sat next to Juleka. Ivan decided to sit next to Max. At first, it was a slight adjustment getting used to Mendelievs class, she taught and had control over her class. No way was she going to permit and outburst or arguments when she taught. However, she did permit them to talk whenever she was done teaching.

“Marinette just quit ?” Probed Aurore. She was furious at the fact that Marinette was essentially driven to quitting.

“Yup” Chloe responded popping the p, “But now she’s staying with Family in Gotham for a bit, she even texted to mention how she might transfer schools and stay in the states”

“B-but sweet Marinette in Gotham, don’t they have like a gajillion crazy villains? At least the Akumas’ damage in Paris can be reversed and they're only temporary” Aurore mentioned

“Marinette is tough, plus she’ll be away from this crazy school” Nathaniel offered while finishing up a sketch for his and Marcs’ comic

“Plus Marinette said she’ll call us once she’s comfy and everything” Chloe finished.

“Poor Marinette”

Wayne Manor Gotham City, USA 9:00 a.m

Marinette knew Mr.Wayne was rich but holy cow, he makes both the Agreste and Bourgeious fortune look like pennies. She never understood how rich he was.Seriously he has a fleet of luxury vehicles in his garage. The inside of the manor looks photo-ready, AND all of his kids have gone to a 30k a year school. Thank God she was going to a Normal School.

Mr.Wayne made sure to take Maman and Papa to a luxury hotel suite to get them settled before bringing them back to the Manor. She quickly said goodbye and gave them big kisses on their cheeks.

Marinette was occupied still gaping at the giant Chandelier when suddenly she was face-to-face with two teenagers.

Dick immediately noticed that there was an awkward staring contest going on and moved in to ease the awkwardness.

“Marinette this is Cassandra shes the fourth oldest,” Dick said while introducing the two. Marinette was occupied gaping at Cassandra. She was so pretty. Cassandra took a quick step forward before quickly putting her hand on Marinette's shoulder.

“Cass” She gently chided.

Marinette only slightly stumbled before yanking out a sweater from her duffle bag and practically shoving it at her. Sue her she was intimidated and impressed.

“Me?” Cass was surprised. She took the sweater but couldn’t help but hold it close to her. It was so soft. Marinette made it for her, and she didn’t know her!!! Cass couldn’t help the grin that was overtaking her face. She made sure to get closer to take a long glance at Marinette who was giving a cynical Jason his own sweater, along with gloves. Nervous. jittery. uncomfortable.

“Huh, you are most definitely too sweet for this family" Jason couldn't help but coo at the sight of the petite blue-eyed girl.

"I'm Jason Todd, technically dead and black sheep of the family. Whenever you get tired or pissed at Bruce, trust me that is a guarantee, feel free to crash at my place.” He piped. While shrugging off his leather jacket and putting on his new turtleneck sweater. Holy crap was it soft.

Technically Dead? What in the world!? Are they choosing to ignore that!? Marinette was so confused. Seriously first off Cass has the biggest grin on her face and seems to be studying Marinette, Jason Todd just admitted he’s still technically dead!? Are all siblings this confusing? She’ll have to ask Luka. Seeing as he seems to be the only one in their friend group who has a sibling.

Taking a glance around the entrance. Marinette noticed that she suddenly had older siblings and even a younger one. One week was all it took. Marinette took a glance at Cass she mirrored her grin. She realized one thing.

THIS FAMILY IS INSANE!!!

And now she's a part of them. Crap.

Tag list:

@another-fan-of-anotherplan @damianette-is-life @amayakans @parallelparabox @miukiiu @valeks-princess @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @thezestywalru @dreamykitty25 @souleateralicestein @thestressmademedoit

A/N:

I hope that all of you lovely peeps are staying healthy and safe. Please enjoy todays chapter. Feel free to reblog and leave a note <3.

#miraculous ladybug #mlb au #maribat #batfam #marinette deserves better #damian wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #class salt

244 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

A man out of time

Summary: Steve wakes from the ice only to find everything he knew is gone. Can you help him?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: angst, Steve being a man out of time, comforting, sadness

Lost. That’s how Steve feels when he steps out of the Shield headquarter. He can punch as many punching bags or walls as he wants to, but his life is gone.

Peggy is gone. Bucky is gone. His whole world just gone in the blink of an eye.

Well, at least to Steve. One moment he was on the plane, talking to Peggy and the next moment he wakes to a world which isn’t his anymore.

People tried to lie to him. Tried to pretend he did not get ripped out of his time but here he is. Standing in the middle of an exhibition of his life.

“Oh, do you like Captain America too?” A soft voice rips Steve out of his daydreams. He’s hiding behind a trench-coat, thick sunglasses, and a base cap. “I heard he’s alive. Can you believe this?”

“No.” Steve chokes out. He wants to leave but then you say something he never heard someone say to him before.

“That’s awful. He sacrificed his life to save the world and now he has to live in a world which isn’t his any longer. I am afraid he’s terrified. Imagine coming from the ’40s and being confronted with things that are normal to us. I…I wish we could help him…”

“You would help him?” Steve gives you as soft smile as you point toward a picture of Bucky and him.

“He lost his friends, his world and I bet he had a girl at home waiting for him. Such a tragedy. Don’t you think? He deserves better than this.” A single tear slips down your cheek and Steve captures it with his thumb.

“Don’t cry. A pretty dame as you should never cry.” Giggling at his odd words you give him a shy smile. “This world, it’s strange to me.”

“Same, Mister. Hey, uh—this might be strange to you but if you ever need someone to talk to…here.” Handing Steve your business card you shrug. “Don’t worry, it’s free for you.”

“Grief counselor?” Steve reads your card.

“I…I lost someone a few years ago. No one was able to help me and I was close to…” Sniffling you squeeze Steve’s hand.

“Let’s say I wanted to give up. I met this woman, at the hospital and she was the only one understanding me as she lost her husband too.”

“I am sorry to heart, ma’am. I…I’ll keep it in mind.” Steve stammers. “I am afraid I don’t have what people call a mobile phone.”

“Oh—that’s no problem, Sir. You can send me a letter or come to my office. Well, it’s rather a room in my house but if you ever need help, come by. My door is always open.”

“Thank you…” Watching you walk away Steve tugs the card into his wallet. He won’t take your offer but it’s a nice reminder that there are still kind people out there.

Walking down the street Steve tries to get used to the noises, the people rushing by and the shopping windows stuffed full of things no one will ever need.

He’s taking a shortcut, at least Steve thought so as he gets lost in the middle of Brooklyn, his home, the place he should know by heart but there is nothing left matching his memory.

Before he gets lost completely, he stopped at a café, the waitress is nice, even asks him for an autograph and then she’s gone, not sparing him a second glance.

Steve gets his sketch block out to draw you. He still remembers your face, the way you smiled at him, and the sadness hidden behind your beautiful y/e/c eyes.

For a moment he just draws your eyes, tries to capture your beauty but surrounded by too many people, noises, and the constant ringing of phones he can’t concentrate.

He gives up, pays for the pie he never tried, and silently walks toward the train.

Steve tries not to make eye contact with anyone. He learned fast that people nowadays believe you try to provoke them or have something bad in mind if you look too long at a person.

Nervously he sits on his place, glances out of the dirty windows as he tries to remember better times. He’s nervously rubbing his thumb into his hand, close to letting out a sigh as he remembers your face again.

Alone again. He should be glad that he’s finally alone at the apartment Shield offered to him but now the deafening silence makes him go crazy.

Sitting on his desk he glances at the picture he tried to draw of you. He still got your card hidden safe in his wallet, so he does the only thing coming to his mind. Steve grabs his sketching block to find you…

“Stay safe. Promise me to call if you need help.” Helping your last client to get into her nephews’ car you give her a soft smile. “I know it’s hard to lose a child, but do not give up. I…I know the feeling of hopelessness too well.”

“Thank you. I promise to pay you next time.” Your client whispers but you shush her. “How about you bake me one of your famous pies and we are even.”

Steve hides behind a tree, watching you wave at your client. A soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as you drop your keys, cursing.

“Hi.” He steps closer, his sketch block still in his hands Steve gives you a hopeful smile. “You said if I ever need someone to talk to…” Unsure if you will let him months later Steve looks at you. “I can go…”

“No. Come in. This was my last client and I got more pie in my fridge than a bakery. If you want to, we can talk, or we can just sit in my backyard and enjoy the sun.” Steve nods eagerly, following you into your house.

“I like your house. It’s…” Steve smiles as you close the door behind him.

“Old-fashioned?” Nodding Steve follows you into the kitchen, admiring your 40’s wallpaper. “My mom had a thing for your time, Captain Rogers.”

“You knew, didn’t you?” Steve laughs as you give him a curt nod. “Why didn’t you say a thing?”

“I know how it feels when the need to be alone becomes too strong. I didn’t want to disturb you but I also had the feeling you need a friend.” Shrugging you open your fridge to have a look at the pies. “Cherry, blueberry or apple pie, Captain?”

“Apple pie,” Steve whispers as you get the plate out.

“There’s nothing more patriotic than eating apple pie in a 40’s style house with Captain America.” Steve watches you place the pie onto the table to get plates and forks for both of you.

“Nothing more patriotic than a kind person offering help. I saw and heard what you did. Do you even earn money this way?” Smiling you point toward a free chair.

“I have enough money for a lifetime. My father, he owned one of the most beneficial company’s. I sold it to Tony Stark after my father’s death. My father, he was a …”

“Capitalist?” Steve ends your line and you nod, sitting next to him to cut the pie.

“He was fair, Mr. Stark. I got some billions on my bank account so; I do this for free. My clients, they try to pay me, won’t accept my help for free so I donate the money or eat a lot of pie.” Laughing you hand Steve a fork.

“Why living in Brooklyn in an old townhouse in that case?” Searching your face Steve curses himself for asking you such a stupid question.

“I had a nice large house in Manhattan. I was…” Looking for the right word you sigh deeply. “Back then I was a spoiled rich brat. My husband and I, we lived the life of billionaires and all but then…”

Hiding your face in the palms of your hands you choke out a sob. “One night Richard, that was my husband's name he…he was drunk and we fought. Somehow he ended up sleeping in the guest room. He forgot his cigarette and…”

“There was a fire?” Whispering the words Steve grasp for your hand to squeeze it tightly.

“We were too engrossed in fighting over a stupid luxury vacation and diamonds to enjoy life." Swallow the lump in your throat you fall silent.

“The fire, it spread out. Richard was dead within minutes, just like my baby boy…” Sniffling you feel Steve bring you into his arms and you wrap your body around the tall man.

“I am so sorry, doll.” Steve husks and you sob into his shoulder.

“I was lucky as I loved sleeping with an open window, even during winter. The firefighter found me unconscious but alive. Richard, Michael, and our nanny were found dead. Smoke Intoxication according to the coroner.”

You hold tight onto Steve, crying into his shoulder why he does what he can best. Helping someone.

“After I came out of the hospital, I remembered my grandma’s old townhouse. My mom restored it years ago, and I wanted to get out of Manhattan, so I moved here and stayed.”

Looking up at Steve you let him wipe away your tears. “Didn’t you come here to get help? Now I ruined your shirt and mood with my sob story, Steve. How about we have tea, pie and talk a bit about your problems.”

“I am a man out of time, doll. But…” Now he gives you a shy smile. “I think I found a reason to like this new world. Maybe I found a place I like.”

“If you do not like your home…” Biting your lower lip you take a deep breath. “I have a spare room and need a man in my house to help me fix stuff. The sink is dripping, and I am pretty sure the lawnmower hates me.” Humming Steve looks at the pie on the table.

“If I get free pie and your company, I’ll fix all you want, ma’am.” Now you laugh at his serious expression. “Where shall I start?”

“Today, we will do whatever you want, Captain. How about you tell me how it felt to wake from the ice. I know it must’ve been hard.”

“When I woke in that room all I could think about was that I’ll make it to my date with Peggy. I was happy and wanted to leave only to realize it was a lie. She had a whole life while I was sleeping. I…I feel lost…”

“One day Steve, you’ll find a purpose in all of this. For now, let’s start with me telling you all I know about this world…”

All works Tags

@yolobloggers

@shikshinkwon

@miraclesoflove

@mogaruke

@shatteredabby

@soryuwifeyxx

@letsdisneythings

@i-love-superhero

@psychicforest

@thevelvetseries

@deanmonandnegansbitch

@sabascio

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@that-place-called-middle-earth

@the-broken-angel-13

@trumpettay

@zxph-yr

@belovedcherry

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

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore

@notyourtypicalrose

@voltage-my2dlove

@officialmarvelwhore

@randomgirlkensy

@juniorhuntersam

@lumar014

@doctorswife221b

@sister-winchesters99

@sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

@the-soulofdevil

@chonisberonica

@redroomproperty

@natura1phenomenon

@chaoticfiretaconerd

@heartislubbingdubbing

@hhiggs

@sea040561

@midnightsilver16830

@rvgrsbrns

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@amandamdiehl

@grincheveryday

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

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

@roonyxx

@stylesismyhubs

@multisuperfandom

@mrspeacem1nusone

@fallenoutofrose

@rynabarnesrogers

@denisemarieangelina

@gabifernandessn

@heyiamthatbitch

#A man out of time #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot #marvel tag #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve x y/n #steve rogers one shot #captain america #captain america fanfic #captain america oneshot #captain america x reader #angst

340 notes · View notes

monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Embers - Male dragon shifter x reader, Chapter Five! (sfw)

So... this was supposed to go up on Friday but no one reminded me and I’m clearly not able to set a weekly reminder like an actual adult.

Hope you’re still enjoying this weekly series... Don’t forget to show me it some love if you are.

And I seem to have thrown my 'short chapters/800 words only' thing out of the window. This one is the longest so far, at 2455 words long. *rolls eyes at self*.

One, Two, Three, Four

An entire week passed without word from Mikaeïl. You had almost given up on the whole commission for this departmental murder mystery dinner, when one lunchtime your phone buzzed and you answered with barely a glance away from what you were doing. With a searingly important deadline looming for work, your stress levels were possibly at their highest since university finals, and you had been staring at the computer screen for what felt like days without a break.

“Yeah?” you barked, still tweaking the design while holding the phone with your other hand.

“It’s Mikaeïl,” came a surprisingly shy, male voice at the other end. “Is now a bad time?”

Your heart skipped a beat or two and you grinned despite the lingering frustration that the design wasn’t looking anywhere near ‘there’ yet. “No, not at all,” you smiled, “I’m at work, but I’d much rather talk to you.”

That seemed to fluster him a little, but he cleared his throat and said, “Well… I spoke with the department and showed them your preliminary design. They loved it and are very happy to commission you to do the posters for the event.”

“Fantastic!” you grinned, genuinely thrilled to have a more exiting project to work on than this steaming pile of minotaur shit currently sitting on your computer.

“I thought we might discuss it in more detail when you bring Celia over on Friday...” he said, his softly-articulated words doing odd things to your insides and heartbeat. You could imagine him standing amongst his hoard of plants, one arm folded protectively across his slim chest as he stood, ramrod straight, surveying the gardens beyond.

A second after that image had flashed through your mind, you realised that it wasn’t your turn to being Celia to her flute lesson that week. When you said as much, he sighed and said, “Never mind.”

“I mean... Celia doesn’t have to be my only reason to come over and see you, does she?” you asked playfully, doodling with the stylus on a new layer of the design. As you listened to him speak, his eyes began to stare out at you from the screen as you drew them, all distant and guarded, but glittering and somehow soft all the same.

“No,” he said slowly, the slight smile audible in his rich voice. “No, of course not. I’m rather busy with work this week, and I’m presenting a paper at a conference on Thursday, but if you’re alright to meet up in town instead during the week we could do that?”

“Stickybeaks?” you suggested, thinking of the cafe where you’d first met him.

He clearly along the same lines because he gave that sonorous chuckle that made your stomach churn pleasurably. “Perfect. What day suits you? I’m free most days after five, except this Thursday.”

“Friday?” you suggested. “I think Stickybeaks stays open til seven. We could have an early supper? That way you can tell me all about the conference too, if you like.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you,” he said reflexively.

“Oh, I think you’d have to work quite hard to bore me. I’m really quite a curious person...”

There was something melancholic about the tone of his clipped response. “If you say so,” was all he said. “Well, Friday works well for me. Shall I meet you there at half past five? That will give me enough time to walk over from the department.”

“Perfect. Looking forward to it.”

A beat too late, he said with a slight crack in his voice, “So am I.”

You rushed out of work that Friday and ended up getting to the cafe way too early, so you got out your A3 sketch pad and started to draw a number of variations on the same theme that you’d doodled back at Mikaeïl’s house. When he stepped through the doorway at precisely 5.29pm, Mikaeïl glanced around, the lenses of his round glasses glinting in the low light, and when he saw you, the hard line of his tense shoulders eased just a little.

Mikaeïl nodded politely at Lidaë, who was fluttering around behind the counter as usual despite the fact that there weren’t all that many customers in at that time, and then he strode over to your place in the back corner. The pathway through the sleek, modern tables gave you the opportunity to admire the slender form of his body and the effortless grace with which he moved, almost like a dancer. Today he wore a butterscotch coloured trench coat, belted tightly at his slim waist over black skinny jeans, and his autumn-red hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail again, with the shorter sections at the front falling down to mask the full intensity of his bright golden eyes.

“Hey,” you said, half standing.

“I hope you haven’t been here long,” he said by way of a greeting and staring at your drawings again with that odd expression again.

“No, not really,” you said, awkwardly sitting back down again. “I finished work a bit earlier than usual and came straight here. I roughed out a few more designs for the poster anyway.”

“You’ve been here long enough to have finished your drink,” he said pointedly. “Can I get you another?”

You eyed your empty cup and then glanced at your watch. “I just turned in a major project that’s been bugging me for weeks,” you grinned. “I think I earned a grown up drink…”

He cocked his head slightly and the corner of his pretty mouth twitched ever so slightly to show his amusement. “Congratulations. And I think I might join you in that.”

By the time he returned, you’d shunted the sketch book to one side and once he’d set your drink down, he took his coat off to hang it on the back of his chair. It was a real effort not to stare at the beauty of his figure. Perhaps it was the artist in you, but you really noticed the strong, straight lines of his waist and thighs, his body clearly tightly corded with extremely lean muscle, and the elegant movements of his fingers as he worked the buttons of his coat.

When he was finished, he sat and shyly drew his ponytail over one shoulder, twisting the end of it between his fingertips and blinked softly at you. “What?” he asked in a breathy murmur.

“I… Uh…” you blushed, and settled on a bashful, “Nothing. Have you come straight from teaching?”

He nodded.

“Oh boy,” you laughed. “Your students must love you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” he said bluntly.

“I wasn’t,” you said, feeling a heat creeping up your neck. Did he seriously not have any idea how attractive he was? “Don’t take this the wrong way then,” you said, sipping your drink and letting the warmth of the alcohol ignite a little courage in you, “But if you were my professor, I’m not sure I’d get much learning done…”

“Then I’d be failing in my duties as a teacher…”

Damn but he was hard work.

“Never mind,” you said. “How did the conference go?”

“Very well, to my surprise,” he said, holding the stem of his wine glass as if it were a rare specimen rose. He inhaled the scent of the wine before drinking, and closed his eyes briefly as he savoured it. His throat worked and you watched his sharp Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and that newly-kindled heat in your cheeks flared a little hotter while blood rushed south away from your brain to somewhere a little less articulate.

“What was your paper on?” you managed to rasp.

He cleared his throat and swirled his wine absentmindedly around his glass. “It’s… hardly a dinner time conversation,” he said.

“What, because you study bodies and death?”

His golden gaze flicked up to meet yours. “Most people find it repulsive.”

“You’re searching for answers,” you said. “I’m sure you’re respectful about the way you treat the remains. What’s repulsive about that?”

Mikaeïl blinked, and then his hard, wary expression flickered to something a little gentler, bordering on relief. “Well, alright. I was presenting my preliminary findings on the use of MRI and CT scans to determine the presence of necromantic activity in long-dead remains…”

“That stuff shows up? Even centuries later?” you asked, instantly intrigued.

He made a side to side shake of his head. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. X-ray has been used in the past, but because any damage caused post-mortem usually presents exactly the same whether the person in question was truly alive or undead, it’s not always particularly accurate… I want to explore the use of other technology to explore the effects that necromantic magic in particular has on the body after the heart has ceased beating.”

“That’s awesome,” you breathed, and he smiled again. “Was it well received?” you asked tentatively.

“Yes, for the most part. Non-invasive examination is always preferable, so there was a deal of interest from others in the field. I even had a lich in the audience who was willing to undergo some testing, which was encouraging.”

“Did you study medicine at the university here?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Quite some while ago though,” he said. “I worked as a medical examiner for a long time.”

You frowned, and he read your next question in your eyes.

“I’m not as youthful as I look,” he said. “My kind is long lived. And before you ask, I’m just over two hundred and sixty.”

“Whoa…” Honestly, it wasn’t actually that much of a surprise, given how… ‘remote’ he seemed at times. A moment later you added with a wry smile, “You must have enjoyed watching the leaps and bounds that science has made then in the last hundred or so years! I’d love to witness something like that…”

“That’s…” he faltered into silence.

“What?”

Mikaeïl steepled his long, fingers and rested his lips against his index and middle fingertips, elbows resting on the table. “That’s… honestly not a reaction I’ve had before.”

“I don’t understand?”

With a dry chuckle, he said, “Most people - though the number is admittedly few - discover I’m old enough to be their ancestor, and they start to act strangely. Friendships have been hard to initiate, and even tougher to maintain, though I’m sure that’s partly due to my own…” he swallowed, apparently unsure of the word before settling on, “‘Quirks’.”

You shrugged. “It sucks, I’m sure, but anyone who doesn’t at least try to understand or get to know you is missing out, and probably isn’t worth the effort anyway, at least in my limited experience. Can I ask you another question though?”

As his lips hitched up on one side, he nodded. “Of course.” And with that, he seemed to relax a little more in your presence.

“Is it super rude of me to ask what you are? I had thought you were at least part tiefling, but that was literally just from the horns and the eyes.”

“A common misconception,” he said over the rim of his wineglass before he took another sip. “And one I usually let slide. But no, I am not any part tiefling. I am… my family is… that is to say…” He set his wine down, took off his glasses, and cleaned them with a little cloth that he drew from his top pocket while he said quietly, “We are dragon shifters. Wyvern, technically.”

You blinked in silence for a stunned moment. Dragon shifters were exceptionally rare these days, having been hunted ruthlessly for sport, mostly by orcs but also by humans, about five hundred years ago. They’d been massacred in droves almost to the point of extinction. “No way,” you finally breathed.

He acknowledged the truth with a brief pursing of his lips, and returned his glasses to his face. Tersely, he added, “Please don’t ask me to prove it here. I won’t fit into this corner of the cafe, and besides, shifting is a huge inconvenience to say the very least.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said hastily. “I’m just… amazed? Surprised? Honoured?”

Mikaeïl deftly and promptly steered the conversation onto your drawings and drafts after that, and you allowed him to slide the limelight onto you. Clearly an intensely private individual, Mikaeïl had just honoured you with the truth about himself, and, curious as you were about what he might look like in his wyvern form, you respected his gift by focusing on the real reason you were there. This was not a date after all, no matter how much you wished it were.

Despite that fact, however, it was five minutes before closing time when Lidaë flitted over to you, her iridescent hummingbird’s plumage shimmering, and politely asked if you’d mind wrapping up so she could close up her cafe.

Mikaeïl startled from your conversation as if he’d suffered an electric shock. “I’m so sorry, Lidaë,” he said, standing abruptly and pushing his chair back with a decidedly ungraceful scrape on the wooden floorboards. “I had no idea it was so late.”

She patted his arm fondly and shook her head. “Never you mind, my lovely. I’m glad to see you having such a good evening.”

For the first time since you’d met him, his pale cheeks flushed and he glanced briefly at you before fumbling to pick up his coat. Once he’d slid it on, he fished out his wallet and insisted that he pay for everything.

Outside, with your bag packed and a design finalised, you looked up at him and he turned his deep, golden eyes on you. In the light from the street lamps overhead, his yellow eyes reflected the soft glow in a decidedly inhuman way, and you felt something stirring inside you again.

Feeling perhaps a little uncharacteristically bold, you reached for his shoulders, took them gently in your hands, and leaned in to kiss his smooth, cool cheek. As you withdrew, you saw that he’d gone rigid, his eyes wide with surprise. Allowing yourself a small giggle at his expense, you grinned at him.

“I’ll bring the finished design with me when I bring Celia over next Friday, if that’s ok.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed softly.

“Looking forward to it,” you said. “And thank you again for supper.”

“My pleasure,” he croaked, bowing his head. “Sincerely.”

Tossing a final grin and a wave his way, you walked off down the street, leaving him standing there, and when you glanced back, you saw that he was walking away in the opposite direction, his fingertips just brushing his cheek where your lips had kissed his skin.

To be continued next Friday! (don’t let me forget!)

—

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier or higher!

#exophilia #dragon shifter #dragon #dragon x reader #dragon shifter x reader #weekly story #weekly series

317 notes · View notes

downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

Photo

an excerpt from my WIP, Six Feet Under The Stars

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Why is your hair… like that?” Eli asked one day, the curiosity taking hold out of nowhere. He watched as Beck, in solid form and hanging upside down from the bed, hoisted himself back up and frowned.

“Like what?”

For a moment, Eli hesitated, trying to figure out the best way to describe what he was wondering. “I can tell that the base is blond, but it has this kind of… green tinge to it. I dunno, I’m just curious, that’s all. I’ve never noticed it on other spirits, but then again, none of them have ever gone solid in front of me before.”

Beck shrugged, twisting around and reaching down to the floor to retrieve his newsboy cap. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Eli hopped off the bed and moved to his closet door, swinging it open so that the mirror faced toward the bed. “Have you not looked in the mirror?”

For a moment, Beck simply stared at him, before finally sliding off the bed and walking over to stand beside Eli. In the mirror, the reflection of Eli looked back at them, but Beck was nowhere to be found, the side of the mirror where he should have been empty and unassuming.

“Looks like I’m not visible in mirrors even when I’m solid.” Beck stepped back and flopped down onto the bed again. “I must be more like a vampire or something; I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

With a sigh, Eli turned around, foot tapping the floor as he thought for a moment. As the idea came to him, he snapped his finger and walked over to the desk, beginning to rummage through the drawers. Beck watched passively, saying nothing as the other approached with a handful of sketchbooks, coloured pencils, and watercolour paints.

“What are you doing?” The words were tinged with good-natured laughter as Beck pushed himself further up the bed to give Eli space.

“Get comfy.” Eli grinned, flipping through the pages of his sketchbook until he came to an empty one. He picked up some pencils, glancing up to see that Beck hadn’t moved, and was simply watching him blankly. “Go on, get comfy!”

Beck slowly shifted, eventually settling on a crosslegged position in between the pillows at the head of the bed. “Why?”

“I’m gonna draw you. Stay still.”

“Wait--” Beck blinked, and he looked around as if there might be someone else hiding in the corners of the room that Eli was talking to. “You’re… drawing me?”

“Don’t be so scared!” Eli pointed his pencil at the ghost. “And stay still! I haven’t figured out how to draw portraits of moving models yet. C’mon, it’s not like you have anywhere else to be right now, you said it yourself earlier.”

Grumbling under his breath, Beck returned to his previous position, limbs twitching as though simply the act of staying still was something he could barely handle. Eli began to sketch, occasionally smiling and hiding the fact that he was doing so by looking down at his pad again. More than once he had to remind the other to stop fidgeting, and as to be expected, he was met with grumbling every time.

Finally finished with his sketch, Eli looked up, accidentally locking eyes with Beck, who had apparently been watching him. For a moment, the two were frozen, and then Eli cleared his throat, shaking his head as though trying to flip his hair out of his face. “Okay, you can do whatever now.”

Beck hesitated, then leaned forward. Eli’s heart picked up speed, thinking something else entirely was about to happen, until he noticed that Beck was trying to peek at the sketchbook. He clasped it to his chest. “I’m not done with it yet, I haven’t added colour! I just meant you can stop… staying still now.”

“Oh.” Beck looked away for a moment, then slid to the edge of the bed and rose to his feet. He wandered aimlessly around the room for a few moments before finally alighting at Eli’s desk, picking up one of the books there and opening it.

For almost another two hours, Eli kept working on his art piece. He would glance up every now and then, trying to make sure the colours were mixing properly. In the end, he decided it wasn’t half-bad… not perfect, and certainly not photorealistic, which was what he hoped to do someday, but it looked like Beck and that had been the intention.

He could have stood up to go to the desk, where Beck still sat reading, especially since he had to put his art supplies away. But, perhaps selfishly, he decided he would rather have Beck on the bed again. “Hey! C’mere. I finished it.”

The ghost looked up, newsboy cap so far down over his eyes they were barely visible. He set the book down on the desk and crossed the room to sit next to Eli, reaching up on habit to twist his cap backwards so that he could be seen properly. His body, while still solid, was beginning to look transparent again - it wasn’t a surprise to Eli, after all, Beck had been solid for hours now and it took energy that he needed to recharge in spirit form. A warm sensation blossomed in Eli’s chest at the thought that maybe Beck had stayed like this for so long so that that the colours of his face, his hair, and his clothes would remain vivid rather than washed out and greyed.

Eli handed the sketchbook over to Beck, who sat and studied it for several minutes; the portrait was a full body one, showing everything from his outfit - dark trench coat over dark pants, scarlet shirt, and leather suspenders - and his facial features; worn but expressive, hair long and shaggy and falling across his shoulders, a green-tinged blond, the newsboys cap perched atop his head and the ruddy scars that encircled his neck.

Eli had wanted to capture it all, and as he gazed not at the art but at the ghost he had taken inspiration from, pride swelled in his chest. He had done well.

Finally, Beck looked up from the portrait. “That’s… that’s what I look like?” The question was trepidant, his brow furrowed as he looked up at Eli, then back down at the paper, then back up again.

“Yeah… I mean, it’s not perfect, I’m not a professional, but it’s--yeah, it’s what you look like.” The strange expression on Beck’s face brought concern with it, and Eli’s hands began playing with the hem of his sheets. “You don’t have to like it, I just wanted--”

“No, no, no, no. “ The shadow that had fallen over Beck’s face vanished and he shook his head, reaching out to shove Eli’s shoulder in a playful manner. “Don’t start with that. I do like it, and you did fine work, it’s just…” He shrugged, glancing down at the paper again. “I haven’t looked in a mirror since… before I died probably. I’ve got no memories of what I looked like. This is kind of like seeing myself for the first time… just feels strange.”

The realisation settled in and Eli nodded. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s alright.” Beck shuddered, disappearing for a few moments, and when he reappeared, it was in spirit form, faded and floating ever so slightly above the bed. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t… couldn’t hold the form anymore.”

“No, it’s okay! Thank you so much for keeping it until I was done with the picture.” Eli shifted slightly, missing the sensation of the body next to him but unwilling to say anything of it.

“So, uh…” Beck floated slightly further upward, no longer giving the illusion of sitting on the bed. “The… scars don’t… scare you.”

For a second, Eli didn’t understand what the other meant. When it hit him, he shook his head vehemently. “On your neck? Of course not. Like I said, all ghosts have them, usually. It’s sometimes the only way I can figure out how they passed away.”

Beck said nothing in response and for a few minutes, the two of them simply sat in silence. Eli, finally feeling awkward, rose to his feet and went to put his art supplies away. From behind him, he heard, “So what about the hair?”

“I’m not… scared of your hair,” Eli returned, frowning. When he turned around the ghost was giving him an expression that could only be described as teasing.

“No, the green stuff, you dolt.” Beck’s face brightened into a grin, betraying the lack of malice behind his words. “I don’t have an explanation for you, I’m afraid. Despite how long I’ve been dead, I’ve never looked into the specifics of ghost anatomy and shit like that.”

“Oh!” Cheeks burning more than they already were, Eli threw himself onto the bed facedown, lifting his head only enough to speak clearly. “I’m guessing it’s some sort of ectoplasm or something that sticks with you when you go solid. For some ghosts they leave behind this sort of green residue when they leave this world and go back to the next. I’m guessing for you, some of it just sort of comes with you when you go solid. I wasn’t sure, because I’ve never seen it on a ghost before, but then, I’ve never seen any of you go solid before either.”

“Ahh. Well, the more you know.” Beck ran his fingers through his transparent hair, making an interested hum.

Eli curled up on the foot of the bed, clutching one of the pillows to his chest. A glance at the digital clock said it was only 5pm, but the sun was setting, and his parents weren’t home to harass him about eating… and despite wanting to stay up, wanting to spend as much time as he could with Beck, Eli found himself with heavy eyelids and a desire to curl up closer to the pillows and blankets.

He could hear the ever so faint whispering sound that occurred when Beck used his powers, and the darkening room was lit up with a faint purple glow as the LED strip lights along the perimeter of Eli’s lights turned on seemingly out of nowhere. A few seconds later, the shimmering form of the culprit came floating over Eli’s head and coming to a stop at the head of the bed.

Eli didn’t try to move closer, content where he was at the foot of the bed, but rolled over so that he was faced toward Beck. He could just barely make out the details of the other’s face and body, an outline that seemed to glow a faint green-blue, harder to see in the dim violet light that bathed the room. And even though he couldn’t feel a solid body beside his own, he found the other’s presence still brought comfort and peace.

“Get some rest, kid. I’ll be around when you wake up.”

Eli mumbled something, trying to say… he wasn’t sure what. Something grateful, something appreciative. He found himself drifting off to sleep before he could manage, safe under Beck’s gaze.

#wip: six feet under the stars #my writing #writeblr #excerpts #new writeblr #writing community #writing

7 notes · View notes

astxlphe-fics · 4 years

Text

Snapshot.

Atsushi likes to draw in the park. He doesn’t realize how many times he’s drawn the handsome photographer until the man comes talking to him.

Kuniatsu / Artist Atsushi, Photographer Kunikida (also ft. bug lover kuni)

Word count : ~3K

Atsushi settles down on the grass, back against the tree, and crosses his legs. He sets his cardboard folder against his knees and opens his sketchbook.

It’s new, and empty, a gift from Kyouka for his birthday, along with the set of pencils he’s brought with him. He puts the metal box on the ground next to him, picks on and looks around.

It’s a sunny day, in April, so the weather is still somewhat cool and the park isn’t as packed as in the summer months. Atsushi takes in the tree line, in the high building behind it, the people walking, the guy sitting on a bench playing a video game, the blond man lying on his stomach, a camera in hand.

He starts to draw.

Broad strokes shape the trees, from gross shapes first until he moves on to smaller details, leaves and patches of grass and the shape of a man with a camera.

It takes over an hour for Atsushi to get to the point of drawing him, deciding last minute to add him to the scenery, and when he looks up to check if he has moved, he finds the man in the exact same position.

Utterly still, and a look of complete concentration on his face.

Atsushi draws him, smiling to himself, taking great care in the placement of his finger on the camera button, in the way his messy ponytail falls on his back, in the angle the sunlight makes his glasses glint.

About another hour later, about ten minutes after he changes page and takes on drawing a spider that crawled up his leg, the photographer sits and stretches, setting his camera around his neck. Then he walks to the man on the bench, who puts his video games in his trench coat.

They exchange a few words, and leave.

Atsushi tries to imagine what this man could possibly have photographed.

Bugs.

What Kunikida absolutely wants to photograph is close-ups of bugs.

It takes longer than he expects, but waiting is something he can do. His roommate is Dazai Osamu, so his patience is forged in fire, iron and exasperation.

The last bug close-up he takes is a caterpillar crawling its way to the nearest leaf, set right in front of his camera, and he has a pretty good shot of it eating.

When he is done, he sits back and stands, joining Dazai, who puts away his video game.

“Are you finished?” he asks, and Kunikida nods.

“I’m done.”

“Show me!” Dazai leans over to see the screen of his camera, almost knocking Kunikida off balance.

“Oi, be careful!” He huffs and turns the camera back on and opens the gallery, flipping through the different pictures he took during the last few hours.

There is, besides the caterpillar, a group of ants carrying bread crumb from where a family had picnicked for lunch. He shows him the ladybug as well, particularly proud of this one, as it's a picture of it as it takes off.

Several grasshoppers, a yellow butterfly and a bee.

Dazai looks over the pictures, and his nose wrinkles as he makes a face. “That’s gross, Kunikida, you could at least try to take pictures of more glamorous subjects.” He grins. “Like me.”

“Bugs are certainly glamorous,” Kunikida shoots back. “Unlike you, they’re an essential part of the ecosystem and are underappreciated. They need to be more recognized for the role they have in preserving our environment!”

Dazai sighs over-dramatically, draping himself on his shoulder. “Am I not an essential part of your ecosystem? Kunikida, you black-hearted man.” When Kunikida rolls his eyes, Dazai pulls himself straight again. “I’m only trying to help you. If the cute boy over there knew you took pictures of bugs—”

“The what now.”

“Don’t turn around,” Dazai orders, and Kunikida almost does as a reflex. Instead, he glances back to where Dazai is looking, to a (admittedly cute) white-haired young man sitting under the tree. “He’s been staring at you for an hour.”

“He’s drawing,” Kunikida hisses, starting to walk away. “This activity usually requires a lot of staring. He just happened to look in my general direction.”

Dazai doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says. “But you’re wrong. He was looking at your butt.”

“Dazai.”

The park is a good source of inspiration, Atsushi decides on the third day of drawing there. He changes his spot every time, looking for new sceneries and people to draw. There are a lot of critters he ends up doodling, from birds to bugs and a few squirrels.

He brings a hot drink with him today. The temperature has dropped during the night, and it’s pretty much cold, so there is no one in the park besides Atsushi himself — and the photographer.

Today he has a tripod and facing away from him, and it’s an angle Atsushi rarely draws anyone in, so he takes the opportunity to put it down on paper.

His friend is with him today too, and Atsushi plans to draw him as well, but he quickly forgets about him. He puts special attention in the angle of the photographer’s shoulders, well defined by the blue coat he’s wearing. It stops under his knees, mid-calf, and then Atsushi makes sure to draw the folds of the pants just right.

Once, the photographer makes a movement to turn away, seemingly in Atsushi’s direction. Atsushi ducks his head, pretending not to be watching.

Then he tries something new. He looks up, trying to guess what the man is seeing, what he is taking a picture of, and sketches it as well as he can. It’s not perfect, but it’s a fun game that he finds out he likes to play, for now.

Once he is done, he catches sight of a cat playing in the grass and changes his subject.

Maybe, he thinks, he should bring Byakko to the park with him, next time?

Kunikida comes back to the park often.

It’s not necessarily to take pictures of bugs, though he likes it, but he needs practice in taking pictures of larger sceneries and finding a focal point in it.

A subject, noticeable enough to draw the eye, placed in a way that makes it looks part of the larger picture rather that the focus of it.

He turns on his heels, and catches sight of the young man he has seen two days before — the one who, Dazai insisted, was looking at his butt. He’s sitting just on the line between shadows and sunlight, bent down, focused on his drawing, hair overshadowing his face.

His pen scratches at the paper, and he periodically looks up to the calico cat playing a few meters away.

When he does, the light hits his face just right.

Kunikida twists the head of his tripod and turns the camera in his direction, making sure to include the cat. The white-haired artist isn’t paying attention to him at all so, the next time he looks up at the animal, Kunikida snaps a quick picture.

He opens the picture folder and stares at it.

It’s perfect.

It’s not the only picture Kunikida takes of him.

“You’re turning into a stalker~" Dazai teases, poking his side, and Kunikida flushes.

“I’m not a stalker!”

“S—ure. It’s not your fault he is so photogenic, right?”

On the latest one, he is lying on the ground, legs swinging slowly as he draws a different cat. This one is black and white, and Kunikida saw it arrive with him. It’s probably his cat.

Over the next few days, it seems like every time Kunikida tries to take a good picture, this young artist is just there, in a corner, looking a natural part of the place. He zooms in on one of them as much as he possibly can before it turns blurry.

He is smiling here, wide enough to show some of his teeth, to make his eyes crinkle and shine.

Kunikida spends several second looking at it, at every details of his face he can make out, committing them to memory. Then, he duplicates the pictures and crops it.

That’s a smile he wouldn’t mind seeing up close.

God, he’s starting to sound like Dazai.

Next to him, Dazai’s obnoxious laughter only gets louder, and Kunikida would strangle him with his bare hands if not for the attention it would draw.

“I should apologize to him,” he decides suddenly. Because taking secret pictures of a stranger isn’t simply weird, it can come off as downright creepy, and Kunikida is not a creep. Because he’s started to look for this young artist on shots he’s definitely not on, and to zoom in on his face, and this is getting out of hands.

“You can’t!” Dazai can barely contain his glee. “He’s napping!”

Indeed he is, and Kunikida gives up. He huffs and settles on the ground to take more pictures of bugs, stopping all movement to wait for one to approach him.

A few minutes later, he finds himself nose to nose with the young man’s cat, who bops its face on the camera lens.

Resigned, Kunikida adjusts the settings and presses the button. The cat’s nose looks enormous on the resulting picture, it’s curious eyes wide, its face magnified. One it's taken he sits up and shows it too the cat.

“There,” he says. "Are you happy?”

It stares at the picture of itself, rubs its head on Kunikida’s hand until he gives it a good scratch, and leaves.

The cold has passed now, as the end of April nears, and more and more people come to enjoy the sunshine and warmer weather. Atsushi sees families and several dog walkers.

He sets Byakko upon the grass. “Don’t go too far,” he tells the cat, who flicks her black-tipped tail at him before ignoring him.

The photographer is almost facing Atsushi today, so he has to be more discreet while drawing.

He focuses on his face, this time. On the line of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the shape of his eyes, and the way he frowns where he’s focused. He adds in as many details as he finds, and the more he draws the more his eyes are drawn to him.

By the time he is done Atsushi feels like he knows this face by heart.

The photographer’s expression changes as he takes different pictures of crowds while Atsushi records them in his sketchbook as fast as he possibly can, stomach fluttering as he discovers the range of emotions this man expresses.

It’s wonderful practice, especially when his tall friend annoys him until he turns to him.

“Stop it, Dazai,” Atsushi hears him snap when the friend in question purposely waves in front of the camera to wave at him. He supposes the picture is ruined, because the photographer emits a loud noise of frustration. “Dammit, it’s all blurry now! Stop that, you useless waste of bandages!”

The sound attracts Byakko’s attention, and she wanders away from Atsushi. She curiously paws towards the pair until Dazai notices her and bends down to pet her.

She rubs her head against the man’s hand, before messing around, coming close to knock the tripod over. The sight it almost as Atsushi on his feet, but before he can Dazai looks up. His eyes catch Atsushi and he smiles, wide, like a Cheshire cat.

Atsushi’s face burns. He has been caught staring. To make it worse, Dazai tugs on the photographer’s arm and points to the cat, then to Atsushi. The man picks up Byakko and walks over to Atsushi with decisive steps.

He's mad at him, he thinks as he tries to read his face. He’s going to yell at him for staring or for letting his cat mess around his equipment.

The photographer stops right in front of him, and Atsushi realizes his work is in plain sight. He slams his sketchbook close, hoping he hasn’t noticed it — and the handful of drawings of his face all over the page.

“Is this your cat?”

“I’m sorry,” Atsushi says, standing up to take her. “I’ll be more careful with her —”

“Please do,” the man answers, handing her to him. “What is she called?”

“Byakko.” He scratches at her ears and sighs. “I’m really sorry, I figured the park would be safer for her than letting her out in the streets.”

“No harm was done.” His face smooths over as he notices Atsushi’s distress, as if trying to reassure him. “She came over to me yesterday as well, and got her picture taken for her troubles.”

“Really? Thank you for not—you know—” He shrugs. “Uh, I’ve seen you around? Several times. I’m Atsushi.”

“Kunikida, it’s a pleasure.” His eyes fall on the discarded sketchbook. “I’ve seen you here as well, you seem to be a prolific artist.”

“I try!” He sends him a weak smile. “That’s how you progress, right?”

“Of course. Practice makes perfect— you must be skilled.”

“I can show you?” Atsushi offers, cheeks fading to a light pink. “If you want?”

Kunikida nods. “I can show you some of my work as well, if you’d like.” He gestures back at where his camera is still set. “I’m a photographer.”

Atsushi picks his sketchbook up again and flips it to the previous pages, trying to find one he likes enough to show off. He’s never liked showing his drawings to anyone, but Kunikida doesn’t seem the kind of man who would laugh at him, and something like excitation bubbles in Atsushi.

Until he realizes just how many times he has drawn Kunikida in the past few weeks.

“Uh—” The sketchbook snaps shut again, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Would you look at the time! I should really head home!”

“What��”

It’s obvious, from Kunikida’s face, that he’s seen them. He glances from the sketchbook to Atsushi, who is currently stuffing his things in his bag as fast as he can.

“I can hear my mom calling me!”

It’s only after he offers to show Atsushi his work that Kunikida remembers just how many pictures of him are on his camera roll.

He is almost relieved when Atsushi runs away, because it would have been a lot to explain. He would probably think Kunikida is a creep.

“Or maybe not,” Dazai tells him, thoughtful. “You say you saw that he’s been drawing you? So, I was right, he was looking at your butt.”

“Dazai, I’m sure he didn’t draw my butt.” He sets up his camera and looks around.

“Shame, it's very nice.”

After three days of going back to the usual park, Kunikida finally resigns to the fact that Atsushi isn’t showing up anymore. Since then, all his pictures have been bland — incomplete — so Dazai suggested moving location.

This new park is larger than the previous one and different enough to give him new material. The trees are denser and clear-cut paths run through it. A fountain stands in the center, the water flowing with a soothing noise.

Next to him, Dazai flops down on the grass, staring up at the sky and pulls out his earphones. Kunikida takes a picture, mentally labelling it as “Dazai being a lazy ass, as usual”.

It's only half-hearted, because Dazai doesn’t have to come with him on his photographing endeavors, and some days Kunikida wonders why he comes at all. Besides, saying he doesn’t enjoy Dazai’s company would be a blatant lie, they both know it.

Suddenly, Dazai rolls on his side and takes one of his earbuds out. “Your favourite subject is here,” he points out. “Looks like someone had the same idea!”

Following his fingers, Kunikida finds Atsushi sitting near the fountain, scribbling in his sketchbook. He almost has his back to him, so he can’t see his face.

“You should—”

Kunikida doesn’t hear the end of Dazai’s sentence. He grabs his camera and walks towards him until Byakko, sitting by him, raises her head in his direction.

She stands and meows, attracting Atsushi’s attention, and he turns around. His eyes go wide as he sees Kunikida, and he stammers out something that sounds like “hello”.

“I would like to take a picture of you, please,” Kunikida declares, and Atsushi’s face turns into a deep, concerning red.

“Uh?”

He raises his camera. “You also don’t have to be embarrassed about drawing me. People watching — and drawing — is a strong hobby that can only lead to great progress in your art.” He pauses. “There are also several pictures of you I took without your knowledge and consent, I’m sorry. In my defence, you are often the only person who doesn’t move around.”

Atsushi looks a lot less panicked now that he knows Kunikida doesn’t hold anything against him, and laughs. “I hope you know how weird this sounds.”

“I’m aware.” His strict composure softens, and he pushes his glasses back up his nose. “So, can I take a picture?”

“Sure.” He sets his sketchbook down. “How would you like it to be?”

“Just a portrait.” He crouches to be on the same level as Atsushi, who is still sitting, and smiles as the camera is pointed to him.

It’s the first picture he takes where Atsushi is looking right at the camera, smiling at him, and Kunikida’s heart jumps in his chest. He sits on the bench, right next to Atsushi, to show him.

The young man leans over until their shoulders touch and stares at his own face, not unlike his cat did just a few days ago.

His cheeks are still pink when he pulls on of his uneven strand of hair behind his ear. “Could I see the other ones?” He gulps, and seems to gather the courage to add something else, twisting his hands: “I mean, I could show you mine—” his graphite stained fingers tap his sketchbook as he speaks “—and you can show me yours. Over coffee? Maybe?”

Kunikida blinks in surprise, taken off guard, but he smiles. “I would like that.”

#bsd #kuniatsu #kunikida doppo #nakajima atsushi #bsd kunikida #bsd atsushi #writing

32 notes · View notes

patchwork-panda · 4 years

Text

If A Moment Is All We Are (ch 2)

For those who prefer AO3 format: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121633/chapters/58417417#workskin

Part 2:

My breath was growing ragged as I sprinted back to my apartment complex; clearly, the lack of food and sleep was finally taking its toll. I managed to make it all the way up to my floor before I finally tripped in the middle of the hallway and fell to the ground, not two feet from my own door. As I stared down the hall, the doorway to Mrs. Yamazaki’s unit seemed to draw me in. I immediately closed my eyes to keep from looking at it but as soon as I did so, the haunting images of the vision I’d had earlier resurfaced and it was all I could do not to break down right there on the spot.

I’d seen that cat-shaped clock once before, when Mrs. Yamazaki had first pulled me into her apartment and sat me down in her living room. The TV had been exactly where I remembered it, set to the channel Mrs. Yamazaki had kept it at all evening; she’d even told me about the comedic variety show she sometimes stayed up to watch on weekends, the program that played every Saturday, including this one, when the man with the snake tattoo breaks in to her apartment and stabs her in the chest...

I felt something welling up in my throat and I quickly pushed myself back to my feet, covering my mouth with one hand as I dug around in my pockets with the other for the key to my unit. My vision swam as I struggled to put the key into the rusty lock and the more I tried to concentrate on getting back inside where it was safe, the more vivid Mrs. Yamazaki’s grateful, smiling face grew in my mind’s eye.

“I don’t know where I would be if you weren’t here, Kyou-chan...”

I shook my head to clear the images away—it didn’t work.

“From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

The lock clicked open and I threw myself inside my apartment, kicking my grocery bag into my apartment so that it lay in a sagging heap in the entryway. I slammed the door shut behind me.

“Don’t thank me...”

My feeble voice echoed throughout the empty room. The dizziness returned and I covered my face in my hands and slumped against the nearest wall.

“I don’t deserve it.”

I sat there for some time, my head still filled with the angry buzzing that usually followed these horrific visions of death and I curled into myself, hugging my knees to my chest and forcing myself to breathe until my breaths evened out again. Out of nowhere, my stomach growled—very loudly—and I shakily reached into the bag for one of the bananas I’d gotten earlier.

When I was about halfway through my banana (with the headache disappearing, I could feel my blood sugar returning to a normal level), I heard a chime from my laptop. One glance at my desk showed me that, as usual, I’d forgotten to close my laptop before I’d gone out and as I got up and walked towards it, I saw that I had a new email notification.

“New Commission,” it read.

Gears turned in my head as I stared at my computer; I suddenly had a crazy idea.

Picking up the pace, I half-ran to my desk and immediately swept everything off of it except the laptop. Empty boxes and wrappers cascaded onto the floor but I ignored them and went straight for the pencil drawer. Drawing and sketching had always been just a hobby of mine but since leaving college, I’d managed to use my artistic ability to earn some money by doing commissions—drawings of anime and video game characters. It wasn’t a lot of money and I still needed to stretch whatever my parents had left in my bank account (I couldn’t handle telling them I’d dropped out) but I made it work.

The crazy idea solidified as I flipped my sketchbook to a fresh page and began sketching lines.

Maybe I could use my art skills to save Mrs. Yamazaki.

Drawing what I could see of the attacker was the easy part. Convincing the police that they needed to do something would be the challenge...

***

“Half-past eleven in a week’s time, you say,” the officer deadpanned, raising one eyebrow as he looked over my drawing at me.

“Yes, that’s right,” I said, nervously fiddling with the strap on my bag.

I’d done the impossible. I literally couldn’t remember the last time I’d left my apartment twice in a single day—I’d even showered twice today and eaten an actual piece of fruit. Not only that, I was wearing the cutest blouse I possessed, had thrown on a decently fashionable light jacket and picked out clean jeans and sneakers to wear, with not a speck of anime memorabilia in sight. For the first time in months, I could honestly say I looked like a normal person; I’d even taken off my face mask and stuck it in my bag before walking inside the police station.

As I watched the officer look over the sketch I’d made, the most accurate impression of the snake tattoo I could recreate, I felt a flicker of my old self returning to me. Despite having just seen another vision of a death this morning, I managed to force myself out of my apartment and now here I was, the furthest I’d ever been from my apartment in ages, talking to a complete stranger face-to-face. Perhaps this was all I needed in order to leave—someone to be concerned about besides myself. If I could end my self-imposed confinement for Mrs. Yamazaki’s sake, maybe with time I could do it for myself.

Maybe.

As long as I never ran out of face masks and nitrile gloves, it should be easy enough... I did have another mild panic attack after finding out I’d ripped my last pair of gloves when I’d saved Mrs. Yamazaki. At least wearing a face mask convinced enough people on public transit that I had a relatively bad cold and needed to be avoided...

I was in the middle of figuring out how to wean myself off of face masks and gloves when the police officer pushed my drawing back towards me and let out a heavy sigh.

“Look uh...” he squinted at me. “What was your name again...?”

“Kusunoki,” I said. “My name is Kusunoki Kyou.”

“Right. Kusunoki-san.”

He scratched his balding head.

“This is highly unusual. You say you overheard a man on the street talking about planning a break-in on his cell phone... and he gave an actual address—your neighbor’s address actually—and an exact time...?”

I nodded uneasily as he repeated my story, his suspicion starting to show in his tone.

“And instead of snapping a photo of this man and bringing us an image of his actual face, you went home and made a drawing of his tattoo.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“Yes...?” I squeaked.

He scowled.

“Listen, we’re a very busy precinct and we don’t have time for crazy stories. Go home and study for your exams or something.”

He got up from his seat and escorted me to the door. By the time I shook my elbow out of his grasp, I was already outside and the automatic glass doors had slid closed with a sharp slap. I stood there on the sidewalk, staring at my own shocked reflection, my useless (but meticulously colored) sketch wrinkling beneath my fingertips and my brain unable to process what had just happened.

Everything had been going so well...

However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized the officer was right. My story really didn’t make any sense. Any normal person would think it was a prank, especially coming from a weirdo like me; I was lucky I wasn’t fined for my antics.

I’d managed to clean myself up a little but my nervous mannerisms and inability to meet the police officer’s gaze must’ve overrode my general appearance, making me seem suspicious and unreliable anyway. I twisted a lock of long black hair between my fingers, staring past my reflection into the office, turning away only when the officer looked back up.

Distantly, I heard the crosswalk light change and a cool breeze began to blow.

In the end, I couldn’t change a thing...

The breeze tugged at my drawing; it started to slip out of my hands but I didn’t tighten my grip.

My efforts didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I should just go home right now and go back to being a useless shut-in...

Suddenly, the wind picked up. It ripped the heavy sketch paper right out of my hands and I watched it numbly as it flew high into the air and sailed away into the crosswalk, where someone abruptly jumped up and caught my drawing in his hand.

“Whoops!” he exclaimed, snatching it out of the sky.

Drawing in hand, he jogged towards me, the crosswalk light changing from green to red behind him. As he approached, his face broke into a brilliant smile.

“Is this yours?” he asked warmly, holding the crinkled page out to me.

I nodded mutely and reached out for the sketch.

He was tall and relatively good-looking, with a mop of unkempt brown hair that curled loosely around his face and a pair of intelligent brown eyes that sparkled pleasantly in the light. Curiously, underneath his tan trench coat and professional attire, his palms, wrists and even neck were covered in a thin layer of fresh white bandages. It was almost as if he’d just walked out of the hospital... As I looked at up him, his eyebrows slowly rose until they disappeared into his bangs and the corners of his mouth began to twitch in obvious amusement—I realized with a start that I was staring at him instead of taking back my drawing.

“Oh...! I’m sorry!” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he laughed, his eyes shining with mirth as I quickly stuffed my sketch back into my bag. “I’m flattered to have caught the eye of such a beautiful woman.”

I abruptly stopped trying to close my bag and looked up. This time, I really stared.

“Huh?”

In one smooth movement, he gathered both my hands in his and tenderly held them to his chest.

“And what radiance you possess,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. “With your lips as red as a Camellia blossom and your eyes as dark as the finest port wine—ah, if only I could drown in your eyes...! To cross paths with such beauty on so fine a day—has fate smiled upon me at last...?”

He gave my fingers a squeeze and I swear I felt time stop.

His grip was firm and his hands were so nice and warm that it took me a moment too long to realize that my skin was in physical contact with his and I needed to let go right away...!

But something was off.

Although he held my hands tightly in his, I wasn’t seeing anything from the distant future. No death, no scenes from another time, another place. No. Just this oddly flirtatious stranger in front of me, holding my hands in his and giving me compliments my shell-shocked brain couldn’t process.

“Beauty...? A-are you talking about me?”

He smiled, his lips curling around perfect, white teeth and what was left of my brain completely short-circuited.

“Of course I am.”

He leaned in close, his long bangs shifting softly with his movements and my cheeks burned when I noticed he was even more attractive up close. I could barely hear his next words over the sound of my own pulse pounding in my ears.

“Are you doing anything later this evening?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “If not, I was wondering... would you be interested in joining me in a double su—”

“THERE YOU ARE, DAZAI!!” someone bellowed.

I let out a yelp and instinctively pushed the man away, snatching back my hands in the process and backing several steps away. The sudden outburst had shocked me back to my senses and while I thought my heart was going to jump right out of my chest, the bandaged man in the trench coat didn’t look fazed in the least. With a small, disappointed sigh, he shot me an apologetic look, straightened up and turned to face the crosswalk where the noise had come from.

“Kunikida-kun! I was wondering when you’d catch up,” he called, his voice pitching up into an almost sing-song tenor, a big goofy grin plastered on his face as he waved jovially to someone standing across the street.

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Kunikida roared back.

There, standing at the opposite crosswalk, looking angrier than anyone I’d ever seen, was a very tall man. His arms were crossed so tightly over his chest, it looked like he could snap himself in half if he squeezed any harder. Like Dazai, he was dressed like a professional, wearing a beige vest and pant set over a long-sleeved black shirt, a wine-colored ribbon tied neatly at his collar. He wore his hair long, in stylishly cut dark-blond ponytail and his rectangular glasses flashed menacingly as he glared sharply at Dazai. Unease building in my stomach, I watched his foot tap up and down with the uncanny precision of a metronome, like a countdown, and as soon as the crosswalk light turned green, he charged at us with all the force of a raging bull. I threw myself out of the way just as his arms shot out and his fingers closed around my companion’s bandaged neck. To my alarm, Dazai started laughing.

“Didn’t I tell you this morning that we had a very tight schedule today?” Kunikida barked, viciously shaking the brunette, who appeared completely indifferent to the assault, even entertained as his body rocked back and forth and his feet nearly lifted off the sidewalk.

“So what do you do? You wander off as soon as we leave the station and where do I find you? Flirting with a woman in broad daylight in the middle of the street! Smearing mud on the Agency’s good name while you are on the clock! You disgust me!”

At once, he dropped the guy and turned to me. Instinctively, I took a step back but to my surprise, he bent forward at the waist at a nearly perfect ninety-degree angle, sweat beading on his brow as he began apologizing to me.

“I am deeply sorry about my partner, Miss. This is completely inappropriate and the Agency will be taking full responsibility for his actions.”

“It’s okay!” I exclaimed, half afraid Kunikida would finish Dazai off if I said anything even remotely incriminating. “I’m fine. He didn’t do anything... bad...?”

Kunikida stared at me, the look in his gray-green eyes somewhere between confused, doubting and dumbfounded. Next to him, Dazai dusted himself off and I could feel his eyes on me as I chose my next words carefully.

“Really. It��s fine, you don’t need to do anything...” I glanced at Dazai’s skinny, bandaged neck, wondering when the bruises were going to show. “I’m alright.”

At once, Kunikida’s shoulders collapsed in obvious relief and as he straightened up, he fished around in his pocket to produce a small slip of paper.

“Here. My card.”

Bowing politely as I received it, I glanced over it. It was a rather plain-looking card, the sharp black text looking just as neat and tidy as the man in front of me. Intrigued, I read the card aloud.

“Kunikida Doppo-san. Armed Detective Agency?”

Something about that name sounded familiar...

“We’re detectives, Miss,” Kunikida said, as I turned the card over in my hands. “If you or anyone you know have any need of our services, please don’t hesitate to give us a call.”

“Detectives? As in private investigators?” I asked, suddenly feeling hopeful.

When Kunikida nodded, I quickly took the (very crumpled) drawing back out of my purse.

“Actually, I do have something I could use your help with. You see, I’m trying to stop a murder—”

“Murder?!”

Kunikida looked stunned but I kept talking as he and Dazai exchanged a glance.

“Yeah, I have this neighbor, Yamazaki-san. She lives across the hallway from me and if somebody doesn’t intervene in the next few days, she’s going to—”

“I’m really sorry,” Dazai interrupted me, looking apologetic, “But wouldn’t it be better to be asking the police for help on something like this?”

The hope died in my chest.

“I already tried asking the police,” I said stonily, staring at his feet. “They wouldn’t listen to me. They... they thought I was playing a joke on them.”

Kunikida stepped forward. He looked like he was about to speak when Dazai stopped him with a meaningful look. Dazai then turned to me, bowing his head a little as he spoke so that he was closer to my level.

“Hey...”

He put a bandaged hand on my shoulder.

“They’ll listen to you,” he said gently, his smile radiating compassion, “You just have to go in there and act like you’re someone worth listening to.”

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at his fellow detective.

“I mean, just look at Kunikida-kun. It works for him.”

“What the hell does that mean, Dazai?”

“What I’m trying to say,” Dazai continued, blatantly ignoring an increasingly incensed Kunikida as he spoke, “Is that you should try again. Look behind you, there’s been a shift change. Maybe you couldn’t convince the last person, but perhaps this officer will take you seriously.”

I turned and looked at where he was pointing, and sure enough, a different person had taken the place of the older, balding man from before. Dazai patted me on the shoulder.

“You can do it. I have faith in you. Oh, but just in case it doesn’t work out...”

He reached into his coat pocket and produced a card that looked very similar to Kunikida’s.

“You can contact me or Kunikida-kun and we will help you.”

He took my hand, placed the card face-down in the center of my palm and curled my fingers over it. Again, nothing happened when his skin met mine. I was dumbfounded. I looked up into his face and saw that he was smiling again, turning the charm back up to eleven as he stroked my hand with his half-bandaged fingers.

“In fact, you can call me if you need aaaanything at all,” he said, winking.

I flushed.

Unable to stomach any more, Kunikida abruptly seized him by the scruff of his neck, lifting him off of the ground (my hands fell out of Dazai’s at once) for a fraction of a second before slamming him down onto the sidewalk in a move straight out of a martial arts movie. Stunned into silence, I could only watch as Kunikida gave me a curt nod, asked me to call him directly if Dazai ever bothered me again and coolly adjusted his glasses, sliding them back up his nose.

“Please excuse us,” he said humbly.

He inclined his head in farewell and immediately dragged his limp companion down the street and out of my sight, Dazai’s tan trench-coat scraping unpleasantly against the sidewalk as he was taken away. My fellow pedestrians and I stared after them for a moment and only when people began walking around again did I remember to look at the card Dazai had placed in my hand.

“Dazai Osamu. Armed Detective Agency.”

#dazai x oc #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #kunikida doppo #osamu dazai #doppo kunikida #bungou stray dogs #bungou sd #bsd

13 notes · View notes

sxftgray · 5 years

Text

Be Mine

Pairing: Castiel x reader Category: Imagine Warnings: None Y/N POV//

Dean, Sam and I were watching Harry Potter on February 13th, the day before Valentines day. Sam said that he was going to visit some friends and go camping. Dean had a wild plan to be at different bars, hoping to get lucky. I on the other hand, wanted to spend the day with Castiel. We aren’t dating, and I doubt he likes me, but I would rather hang out with him instead of getting drunk.

When I first met Castiel, it was when Sam and Dean saved me from vampires. Ironic isn’t it. I was a hunter in training, barely knew anything. They took me to their bunker, introduced me to Castiel, and asked him to fixed me up. When he told me he was an Angel, I didn’t believe him. But when a bright glow appeared from his hand and healed my wounds, all my doubts were out the window.

There were many things I adored about him. From his smile to the way he tilts his head when he’s confused. I loved how he can be so soft and innocent, to strong and commanding when in a fight. Dean always makes fun of his voice along with Sam, but I believe it suits him.

We ended up going to bed halfway through the movie, seeing as how we weren’t really paying attention to it anymore. I said good night to the brothers as I headed to my room. Passing Castiel’s room on the way, I saw him throwing and catching his angel blade while laying on his bed.

His trench coat hung on the wall, his shoes neatly put away. His tie laid straight on the dresser next to his shirt that was folded. His left arm was behind his head while his eyes followed the blade as he flipped it in the air, catching it with his right hand. A soft tune could be heard from the man, but I couldn’t recognize it. I smiled, returning to my room as I laid in my bed, slowly falling asleep.

It was evening on Valentines day. Sam and Dean were already gone. I had planned to spend the whole day with Cas, but when I had woken up, he was nowhere to be found. I was in my room sitting at my desk. I pulled out my sketch book and pens that Sam had bought me for Christmas. He told me that he used to draw to get rid of stress, he believed that it would help me as well. I began to sketch a dragon breathing fire. Halfway through my sketch, I heard the front door open.

“Castiel?” I yelled. “Is that you?”

I heard paper crumbling and then a thud. The sound of soft footsteps echoed around the bunker. The front door closed, heavy footsteps following.

“Castiel?”

“Yeah, I’m here, just putting things away.”

I let out a sigh of relief as closed my book and went out to help the Angel.

“What’d you get Cas?”

The Angel turned to me, red blush powdering his cheeks as he gave me a smile. His right hand was hidden behind his back, along with his left.

“Castiel?” I asked with a smile.

“Well, Sam and Dean may be having there own type of fun, but I get to enjoy today more than them because I get to spend it with the most beautiful human I know. I know that I’m an Angel, and you’re a human, but I’d loose my grace if it meant I could be with you forever, even though I know for a fact that you would be going to heaven when your time comes. I’m not good with words, as you can probably tell.” Castiel laughed. “But what I’m…trying to say is…” He held his right hand out to me, showing me a bouquet of roses, all different colors. “Will you be my human, and let me be your Angel?”

Tears slowly fell down my cheeks. Castiel smiled, as he put the flowers on the counter next to him, wiping my tears away.

“Is..is that a yes?’

I laughed a little while nodding my head. Castiel smiled as he leaned in, kissing me. I kissed back while wrapping my arms around his neck. His hands slowly fell onto my hips as he pulled me closer to his body. We both smiled into the kiss, holding each other close. I heard a small meow, opening my eyes in shock. Castiel’s eyes fluttered opened as he pulled away smiling.

“Castiel? What was that?”

“I believe that was your second gift.”

Castiel walked around me, crouching down as he tapped the cement floor with his finger nails repeatedly. My eyes widened as I covered my mouth. In walked a small black kitten with blue eyes and a red bow tied loosely around his neck. Castiel moved his left hand to the cat, buckling a bright blue collar with a tiny bell that dangled in the middle. He lifted the cat, taking off the bow and standing, walking over to me. The kittens paws reached for the ribbon, pawing at it while meowing.

“His name is Ash, but you can change it if you’d like.”

Ash looked over to me, tilting his head as he meowed. He tried to get out of the Angels grip, causing Castiel to put him down. I watched him circle me then rub his head against my leg purring.

“I like Ash. I feel like it suits him.”

I looked up at Castiel, seeing that he was staring at me with a huge smile.

“Happy Valentines day Y/N.”

#spn cast #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel masterlist #spn castiel #castiel x reader smut #dean Winchester fanfic #dean x reader #dean Winchester x reader smut #sam Winchester fanfic #sam x reader #sam x reader smut

75 notes · View notes

wayverse · 5 years

Text

Pink Pendant

genre: soulmate!au

pairing: ten x reader

word count: 1.9k

drabble | scenario | short story | series

A/N : Hello! I’m trying to make my posts look prettier; i saw this layout and thought it would be nice to try, so let me know if this is how I should format my works or not! Let me know what you think of this work as well -- my inbox is open to constructive criticism and suggestions for drabbles or pieces! -- admin m

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

Everyone’s soulmate links develop the moment they’re born, and it’s different for every couple; your best friend, Hendery, for instance, has a timer on his wrist. Your other friend, Lucas, has everything that their soulmate loses turn up into his room.

You didn’t know what your link was, until you started middle school. You were in class one day, jotting down your notes, when something began to appear on your wrist. You didn’t notice at first; you didn’t feel it happening either, but soon, there were drawings of little puppies on your body, ones that you didn’t put there.

You never drew on yourself, afraid that you would get “ink poisoning” according to your mother, but your soulmate seemed to have no problem with drawing on themselves. You would get song lyrics, doodles, and the accessional shopping list popping up on your body, your soulmate acting as if their body was their own personal notebook. Once, you had woken up with what looked like marker on your face, and you guessed that your soulmate had lost a bet, or had been the first to fall asleep at a party. You had to stay in that day, as your soulmate couldn’t seem to get it off no matter how hard they tried.

You had always wanted to write back and forth with questions to your soulmate; where did they live? how old were they? What were their passions? you could tell that they were an incredible artist, as they constantly drew tiny sketches on their palms or wrists whenever they were bored.

One of them caught your eye not too long ago; it was bigger than most of the sketches he had done before, using up your entire forearm instead of just your wrist. It was a sketch of a small cat, jumping from planet to planet in a solar system. Your soulmate even colored it in, though the colors quickly rubbed away. That day, you had gotten bold; the colors were rubbing away, anyways, so you took your pink pen and drew a heart pendant on the kitty’s collar, before taking a picture of your soulmates work like you had always done.

Because of your soulmate, you began to look into art, and even went to art exhibits around your town, dragging Hendery along so you wouldn’t have to be alone. He always complained that the exhibits were too boring, and that he never understood why people would pay money to just look at a painting.

“I am NOT going to another one of those exhibits, (Y/N)” Hendery stated firmly one day, after your constant begging, “They’re so boring! I fall asleep every time I go to one.”

You and Hendery met up with Lucas and his friend Xiaojun at your favorite coffee place to talk about a project that you all would be working on together, which soon ending up being less about the project and more about plans that you all had that weekend. You had planned on going to another art exhibit, wanting to bring Hendery along, but he was currently denying your request.

“Please!” You beg, shaking Hendery’s arm softly as he attempts to bite the cookie he just bought, “Please!! There’s one I really want to go to, it’s themed ‘A Starry Night’ and I really want to see it! After this one you will never ever have to come to one ever again!”

“That’s what you said about the last one!” Hendery shook his arm away from yours, taking a bite of his cookie, “I reject your proposal, because you’re going to go back on your word again!”

“I didn’t know you liked art, (Y/N),” Lucas said, “I have plenty of fun art exhibits you could go to.”

You perked up a bit. “You do?”

“Our friend from another school is an art major,” Xiaojun began to explain, “He and his friends throw party-esque art exhibitions. Lots of food, fun music, if it’s themed then it’s usually done at a place that allows them to explore the theme.”

“We’re going to the one this weekend; the theme is a surprise, but Kun said it was a cute theme, so it should be fun.”

“Hendery,” you looked at him, batting your eyelashes as he rolled his eyes. “Please? I promise, this is the last one. If you really don’t like it when we get there, we can leave after a couple of minutes. I’ll even treat you to pizza after! Just come with me, please?”

Hendery groaned, rubbing his temples.

“Fine, but the pizza better come with garlic knots.”

—

The invitation Xiaojun had given you said that the attire was semi-formal, which made it easier for both you and Hendery to dress for it. You had followed the invitations directions, and were confused when they led you to what looked like a cat cafe.

“An art exhibit? Here?” you say softly, looking at the address on the invitation and back at the cafe, “But why?”

“Who knows,” Hendery mumbles, hand shoved in his pockets as he kicks a pebble along the sidewalk. “We should get inside so your fifteen minute timer can start.”

“You may have fun,” you hum, hooking your arm through his as you two begin to walk towards the entrance, “Never doubt what art can make you feel.”

“Yeah, Okay.” Hendery dismisses as he pushes the door open, the soft music of the exhibit suddenly filling your ears. You take a quick look around; everyone was dressed in semi-formal attire, putting your heart ate ease to know you didn’t over or under-dress — everyone was talking, which was a deep contrast to the more silent art exhibits you usually take Hendery to. There was a table filled with sweets in the shape of fish and other delicacies kittens would eat, while kittens were littered all all over the place. There were cats playing with toys, being pet by other attendees of the exhibition, and one even came up to you and Hendery the moment you entered.

“Hey, buddy,” Hendery immediately leaned down to scratch the kittens chin, “How are you?”

“See?” you taunted, “You already like it. Now, go pet cats while I try and find Xiaojun and Lucas.”

“Got it,” Hendery says, giving you a thumbs up as you walk away from him.

It didn’t take you too long to find Lucas and Xiaojun; both of them were adorned in kitty ears, standing in a circle of people while handing them drinks.

“Oh,” you chuckle, capturing Xiaojun’s attention as you stand behind them, “This is too precious. I have to take a pi—“

“No!” Xiaojun says, grabbing your hand as you begin to take out your phone, “No pictures. We lost a bet with Ten, so we’re servers for the exhibit.”

“This is our attire,” Lucas says, touching the ears on his head, before gesturing to the men he was talking to, “And these are the hosts of the exhibit.”

There were three of them; one of them was tall and lean, his body hugged by a white trench coat. His smile softened up his rough features, making his cheeks bunch up at the end. His name was winwin.

Another one’s name was Kun, who seemed to be the one running the exhibition; he was tall and quite friendly, even making Lucas run off to grab you a drink.

“And this is the star,” Xiaojun said, gesturing to the last man, “His name is ten. He only draws animals, so his pieces never end up in their exhibits. This whole theme was his idea.”

“It’s really cute,” you say, locking eyes with Ten. He was very pretty; his eye-shape resembled the cat that he was currently holding in his arms, and his smile was very warm and welcoming. It made your heart clench, in a way it had never done before.

“Thank you,” he said kindly, “I have a lot of pieces up today, so feel free to ask about them if you have any questions.”

“But first,” Kun said, grabbing a hold of tens arm, “We have to mingle with the other guests and try to find some buyers.”

“Right, right.” Ten nodded, smiling back at you, “It was nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

Xiaojun bumped your shoulder as the three walked away. “They’re not that scary. I think you’d like them. Here, i’ll show you some of my favorite pieces.”

As you walked around, you tried to catch a glimpse of the three artists; ten in specific. He caught your attention as soon as Xiaojun began to introduce you to them; though you weren’t very close in proximity, you could smell his sweet cologne, and it made your head spin.

“How old is ten?”

“A couple of years older than us,” Xiaojun said, taking a small platter of fish-shaped treats, “He’s really talented, in a lot of areas. Why?”

“No reason,” you dismissed his question, waving him off, “I’m going to go look at the pieces. Now go and do your job.”

Xiaojun smiled at you before leaving you to look at some of the works. It seemed that Winwin was a sculptor; His main pieces was a sculpture of a small kitten sitting inside a large cat bowl in the middle of the room. Kun’s work was hung up on almost every wall; his way of art was realistic backgrounds, with cartoon kittens doing activities within the scenery for a contrast. It was very eye catching; almost every piece of his already had a green “sold” sticker on its frame. You kept looking for tens, since he was supposed to be the star of his exhibit, but you couldn’t find any.

You circled around the exhibit once or twice, before you saw it; a large canvas that somehow blended into the feeling of the comforting cat cafe. It took up almost the entirety of one wall, which was why it blended in so perfectly. The painting on the canvas, though, had you staring utter disbelief.

Painted on the canvas was a large solar system; it was in black and white mostly, with few colors leaking out of stars or a planet, with a kitten jumping in between two planets. You felt a sense of nostalgia rush over you, your heart beginning to beat faster and faster as you came to a realization. When you looked at the kitty’s neck, you couldn’t help but gasp; there it was, the small pink pendant in the shape of a heart, made to look like it was swinging as the kitten was jumping from one planet to the next. You sat there, looking at it for what felt like minutes, when you felt a light tap on your shoulder.

“Do you like it?”

You turn around to find Ten, a small smile playing on his lips as he looks from you to his piece. “I drew it a few years ago. It started off as a small doodle, but I felt like I had to put it onto the canvas. I knew people needed to see it.”

“It means a lot to me, actually,” ten hums gently, his eyes focusing on the pendant. “It’s not totally my piece, in a sense.”

“I know.”

Tens head whipped towards you. “You know? What do you mean you know?”

You quickly take out your phone and begin searching through your photos, before handing him your phone. On the screen was the photo you had taken of your soulmates drawing on your wrist—the same drawing that is hanging on the wall as you stand next to him. Ten looks back at you, a soft smile on his face.

“It was you.”

#ten #ten scenairo #ten scenarios #ten lee scenario #ten lee scenarios #wayv #wayv scenario #wayv scenarios #weishenvv #ten nct #ten nct scenario #ten nct scenarios #ten wayv scenario #ten wayv scenarios

17 notes · View notes

venusxxlangdon · 6 years

Text

draw me like one of your french boys

warnings: smut, fluff, handjob, oral (female receiving, facesitting), praise kink, sub!Michael, Hawthorne!Michael, shy!Michael, female!reader

summary: reader is an artist looking for a live model for her new artwork. When she meets Michael, she realizes that the boy, who looks like a Renaissance painting, is exactly who she’s been looking for. They grow found of each other, and one day Michael asks her to draw him. Naked.

word count: 6850

Every artist experiences existential crises at least once in their lifetime, and if they haven’t experienced it yet, it means that they are about to. It’s an inevitable burden that occurs in everyone’s life, especially after they become successful and the dependency of other people’s opinion increases. An artist, who once created for the sake of the process itself, gets trapped in the idea of being liked by their audience. That’s what you were afraid most of all. To become a puppet whose only desire would be to meet somebody else’s expectations.

The sales of your paintings have increased drastically in the past six months and, as your manager kept telling you, it was high time to paint more. You started making new clients and getting offers for a personal exhibition, but it all felt like the weight of the world was forced on your shoulders. You wanted to rebel against it: tell your manager to shut up, and lock yourself in your studio, where you were alone with your thoughts and nobody told you what to do. It had always been your happy place with sketches all over the floor, your very first paintings hanging on the walls, a huge easel right in the center of the room. You loved the smell of fresh oil and ink, and two huge windows that offered a fascinating view of city skyline. How disappointing it was to come over one day and realize that nothing was making you happy anymore, and the main reason for that was right in the corner of the room. A big canvas of your last painting you had been struggling to finish. It was a drawing inspired by the early Renaissance period: a cherub in the rose garden, wrapped in a navy blue silk that was coming down his lean body in waves. The flowers turned out really beautiful, so delicate and precious with the drops of dew on the rosy petals. The problem was with the cherub. For some reason you couldn’t paint his face, and the blank space instead of its place was driving you mad. You wanted it to be special, and you had spent days trying to find a proper live model who could pose for you, but, unfortunately, all these handsome males, you tried to get inspiration from, lacked the innocence of an angel (especially that one guy who posed for you half-naked, when you were painting cherub’s chest, and decided to hit on you. You were quick to explain to him that the job of a live model wasn’t about hooking up with an artist and made sure that he wouldn’t appear in your studio ever again), the lightness and purity. Days went by, your manager started being really annoying, but you kept looking for that very special one, because you felt he was somewhere out there. Your intuition never deceived you.

It was a regular rainy afternoon when you found yourself sitting in a local coffee shop not far from your studio, thinking how bad you didn’t want to go there and face the unfinished painting which was some sort of a reminder of your inability to draw something decent. Another notification popped up on your laptop desktop, and you already new what it was gonna be about. One more email from Mallory.

“Y/N, Mr. Gallant called, and he’s expecting the painting to be done and delivered to his apartment by next Sunday. Get back to work, please”. You sighed disappointedly. Fuck this stupid time-management. You are an artist, a free-spirit and you will be done when YOU decide that it’s time. Having aggressively shut the lid of your laptop down, you stared through the window.

The rain was oblivious of your worries, as each drop bequeathed itself into a cooling air. You felt pathetic and unprofessional. Why everything had to be so complicated? Why did you let your perfectionism take over and prevent you from drawing a face of any model you could pick from a local model agency? It wasn’t even the artwork you’d hang in your apartment, and the man you were painting it for could care less about the face of a cherub as long it was pretty. You knew the answer to all of these questions — because you could never do things halfway — it was either all or nothing, even if it meant sacrificing set deadlines.

You rolled your eyes when your phone started vibrating with an incoming call.

“Yes, Mallory?” You didn’t even have to look at the display to know who was calling, Rubbing the bridge of your nose tiredly, you prepared yourself mentally for another lecture from your manager. “Y/N, you know I would really appreciate if you answered my emails” the voice on the others side was monotonous.

You sipped your coffee and winced, realizing that the drink had gone cold. Damn.

“I told you I was busy” you answered and looked around the coffee shop, thinking that the way you spend your time could hardly be identified as “busy”. Chewing on your bottom lip, you brought your gaze back to the window.

“Please, tell me that at least you’ve read my last email and you are familiar with the new deadline” you could picture the way Mallory adjusted her glasses, her thin lips pursed, and pale face grimaced with annoyance.

“Yes, I have” you mumbled in response and narrowed your eyes, as you noticed a group of boys crossing the other side of the street. They looked young. Really young. Maybe in their early 20s. Dressed in brown trench coats, they were jumping over puddles briskly, trying not to get their feet wet. Only one of them had an umbrella, so the others were trying to get under it. They were pushing each other with their elbows, playfully fighting for dominance. And then you noticed him. A tall guy who was trying to follow the running boys with his coat unbuttoned, so you could see his black and white uniform. There was a silk ribbon tied neatly around the collar of his crisp white shirt that made him look like he was straight out from some 18th century novel about a private boarding school. His blond hair, wet in the rain, sticked to his chiseled face with sharp, prominent cheekbones and pointy chin.

You literally got glued to the window, admiring him, and forgot that Mallory was still on the line.

“Y/N? Y/N? Can you hear me? The painting should also...”

You cleared your throat and understood that it was either now or never. You didn’t have much time, as the boys took their way down the street away from the coffee shop.

“Mallory” you harshly interrupted her. “I can’t talk right now”, you hanged up on her without even letting her finish the sentence. Her complains were the last thing you worried about when there was a gorgeous boy, who had the face of a cherub you were dying to paint, just several feet away from you. You grabbed your jacket and stormed your way out of the coffee shop. It seemed like your heart was about to beat out of your chest with an overwhelming excitement like a trapped bird. You have found him. You have finally found him.

Faster than the wind you ran after the boys hoping they didn’t go far. You saw the tall guy take a turn around the corner, and without even realizing what you were doing, you shouted at the top of your lungs:

“Excuse me, sir!”

He didn’t pay attention. “Shit” you thought to yourself and speeded up. Raindrops were running down your cheeks, and the wind was blowing right in your face making it extremely uncomfortable to run.

“Heeey!” you almost stumbled and instinctively put your hand out to prevent yourself from falling. Your purse hanged off your shoulder and nearly fell down in the puddle, but you managed to catch it. “Excuse me!”

Right at that moment the guy stopped and slowly turned around. With a slight confusion on his face he watched you slowly approach him, as you were trying to calm your heavy breathing. You imagined that you looked like a wet rat with your hair clanged to you face and smeared mascara — definitely not the most presentable look for the artist whose paintings cost thousands of dollars.

“I’m sorry? May I help you?” the boy asked. His voice was low for an angelic appearance like his. He looked even more handsome up close. The gray sky tinted his blue eyes beautifully, making them brighter. They were piercing at you cautiously, as he was trying to figure out whether he found you familiar. Even though his hair was wet, you still were able to tell that it was curly, as they were sticking to his cheeks in messy waves. You took a deep breath and tucked a piece of your wet hair behind your ear, but it didn’t make any difference to your look.

“Hi!” You smiled brightly. The only thought “it’s him, it’s him!!” was ringing in your head, making you grin like an idiot. Nobody could understand your delight at that moment. It seemed like sleepless nights, when you were eating yourself up for the lack of inspiration, have come to an end. If only this beautiful boy before you agreed to work with you! You would be the happiest person in the world. “I’m sorry for bothering you, sir. But I really need to talk to you...”

“Mikey!! What’s up, dude? Are you coming?” the other boys were calling him. He turned around and raise his right hand in the air.

“Just a moment!” he shouted back at them. He adjusted the collar of his coat bringing it up, so the rain wouldn’t get behind his back. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

You realized that you should’ve introduced yourself first, but you were taken aback by the beauty of a real-life angel, so you couldn’t blame yourself for that.

“My name is Y/N. I’m an artist” he furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding how it was connected to him, “and I’m looking for a model” you explained. “I’m working on a painting...”, you paused, “of a cherub for a very famous client, but I can’t finish it because I don’t have a model whose face and I could paint, and you are exactly what I’ve been looking for”, you bubbled excitedly.

You could see the blush bloom on the boy’s cheeks. He parted his finely-carved, scarlet lips, but didn’t say anything. Only somewhat confusingly ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not a model”, he mumbled, lowering his eyes. You couldn’t explain the feeling inside of you as you watched him. He reminded you of Botticelli paintings. There was something ethereal about him: in the detached beauty of his perfectly sculpted face. He looked so fresh, so innocent, so pure, as if he was made of ivory and rosy petals.

“It doesn’t matter”, you hurried to assure him, “you don’t have to be one. It’s just...” you took a deep breath, thinking that you might have die if he didn’t agree. “I’ve been looking for a face like yours for months. It would be an honor to work with you...?” You heard one of the boys calling him “Mikey”, but you wasn’t sure what full name it stood for.

“Michael. Michael Langdon” he said, still smiling shyly. He drew his bottom lip between his perfect white teeth and looked at you through his lashes. “Look, I’m really fluttered. Thank you for your words, but....”

“Michael, we are going now!”, the boys shouted, and he turned his broad back at you one more time. It was pouring by now, and you knew that you couldn’t hold the boy any longer.

“Michael, please, think it over and give me a call, okay?” You took your business card out of your purse and handed it to him. “I’m offering you 50$ per hour. One session usually lasts up to 3-4 hours. Please, do the math and give it a thought”.

His doe-like eyes widened at your words. Not only he was blushing from your compliments, but he was stunned by the boldness of your offer, as if you were asking for something inappropriate.

“I-I-I’m really not sure...” he stuttered. You understood his reaction: how often does one gets stopped by a stranger who offers them to model for a renaissance-inspired painting? But you really, really needed him, and you were running out of time.

“Look, I’m not expecting you to answer immediately”, you said looking him in the eye, and noticed that he instantly looked away, blushing even more, “let me know if you agree by Friday, okay?”

The boys started whistling at Michael. He took your card hesitantly, his fingers were slightly shaking. He looked up at you and nodded slowly, hiding the card in the inside pocket of his coat.

“Alright, thank you”, his voice sounded hoarse, so he cleared his throat and repeated himself, “thank you”.

The corners of your lips twitched, but he didn’t return a smile, being too confused and embarrassed with all this unexpected attention to his persona. You watched him join his friends. They tapped his shoulder, as he approached them, and shoot you a curious look.

You realized that you didn’t even care about the pouring rain anymore. You were completely soaked, but the only thing you were capable of thinking was a gorgeous blue-eyed boy you just met.

xxx

The sound of the ringing phone disturbed the comfortable silence of a Saturday afternoon you were spending in your studio. You were waiting for Michael’s call yesterday, but as the hour and the minute hands of the huge clock on the wall stroke midnight, you understood that he turned down your offer. That’s why you found yourself in your studio on the following day, standing in front of the unfortunate painting and thinking that you needed to start looking through the list of potential models Mallory had sent to you.

“Hello?”, you answered the phone, noticing an unknown number on the display. A familiar raspy voice made your heart drop.

“Hi, is it Y/N?”

“Michael?” you turned away from the painting and sat down on sofa, placing your feet on a small coffee table.

“Yeah, hi”, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. Got really busy with school”. School? How old was he? “But I have been thinking about your offer...”

You hummed.

“Have you?”, you had to admit that you didn’t like the fact that he ignored your request to call you back by Friday, because it meant that he wasn’t the most responsible person, and only God knew how you were gonna arrange the appointments with him since he was incapable of planing his time. But then again, weren’t you the same way? For a second you even sympathized with Mallory who had to deal with your own irresponsibility 24/7 (but only for a second).

“Yes”, you could tell by his voice that he was nervous. You smiled at the memory of him blushing in the rain. “Well, I-I-I think I’m ready to try...” you swear you could ready to explode brighter than the fireworks on the 4th of July, but you managed to keep it cool.

“That’s really nice of you. Thank you, Michael. Do you have a pen to write down the details?”

You two agreed that he would come on Tuesday for 2 hours, so you could look at him properly and decide what exactly needed to be added to the painting. Then he could come 2 time a week for 3 hour session. You didn’t plan for the entire process to take too long, 3 weeks maximum. Thank God you had managed to persuade Gallant to give you more time. Actually it didn’t even take a lot of effort: last week, after you discovered Michael, he came came to your studio and got so stunned by the painting that he let you take as much time as you needed. If only all clients were this way.

On Tuesday Michael knocked on your door in time. Dressed in a loose cotton shirt and linen pants, hair clipped in a messy bun, you went to greet him. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another. Just like you thought, his hair was curly indeed. Crisp, golden locks were styled messily, covering a part of his forehead. He was wearing the same coat and holding a big leather bag in his hand. You stepped aside, inviting him in.

“Hi”, he said, blushing, and you curiously wondered if it was an uncontrollable habit of his.

“Hello, Michael”, you took his bag from his hands and carefully placed it on a table by the hangers. “I’m glad you came”.

He nodded. His long fingers started undoing the buttons of his trench coat. He carefully hanged it, and you noticed how elegant his movements were. He pulled the sleeves of his black sweater a bit up, exposing his delicate wrists. You definitely were staring, but not in a romantic way. You were observing him like a picture in a museum and wondering how you got so lucky to meet this precious boy. He was looking around cautiously, as he followed you into the studio, scanning the unknown environment with his eyes. You made your way to the center of the room, took one of the chairs and pulled it closer to the window, not far from the easel.

“Please, make yourself at home” you smiled at Michael. He looked amused, as he studied a huge painting that was almost of the size of the wall for one of your old clients who ordered it about eight months ago. You created your own version of the Miracle of the Bread and Fish, and really like the result. For some reason, biblical scenes always were your favorite to work on. “Would you like some coffee or tea, maybe?”

Michael looked at you and shook his head.

“No, thank you, I’m good”, his eyes were searching for a place were he could sit, and you pointed at the chair. He took his seat and folded his hands neatly, lacing his fingers together, so you wouldn’t notice them tremble. You watched him amusingly with your head tilted to the side. He was absolutely adorable.

“Do you live here?”, he noticed your gaze and smiled shyly, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

You shook your head and turned away to take the painting of the cherub and carefully place it on the easel.

“No, I rent this studio for work purposes”, you nodded at the painting. “So what do you think?”

Michael was in awe. His ocean eyes were glistening with excitement, the tip of his pink tongue ran along his bottom lips nervously, as he said under his breath:

“Oh my God, this is magnificent”.

For a moment it seemed like he stopped being nervous and expressed his opinion sincerely. That’s what you adored art for: it made people feel different spectrums of emotions, all at once. It lifted the armor and left one bare, vulnerable, and unguarded. “I’m not sure if...”, Michael covered his mouth with one hand and than placed it back on his thigh, “if I’m good enough for posing for such a masterpiece”.

You couldn’t believe that such a stunning human being could doubt his looks. Michael’s appearance was worth being painted by the best artists all over the world. How come nobody told him that?“

“I think you will be just perfect for that”, you didn’t admit it, but making Michael blush was your new favorite activity. “But it maybe a bit tiresome to sit still for such a long time”, you instructed him, “you’ll get used to it”.

It was quite a disaster, you had to admit to yourself after some time. Michael just couldn’t keep still. He was constantly shifting in his chair, playing with his fingers, and always felt the need to scratch his jaw or toy with the collar of his sweater. During your first session your were doing sketches of his face, and by the moment your time was up you were practically begging him to relax and stop frowning. He couldn’t let go of his pressure and shyness.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N”, he pleaded, as he was putting on his coat. You smiled at him, washing your hands and watching him get dressed from the kitchen.

“It’s okay”, you approached him and gave him the money for his work, “thank you for coming today, Michael. I’ll see you on Thursday”.

Despite his surprised squeak, you pulled him closer for a hug. You needed him to relax for the sake of posing for the painting. The sessions might haven taken longer than you had thought.

xxx

It took him a while to start opening up to you. By your fourth meeting his hands stopped shaking and he no longer seemed to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t feel embarrassed to ask you to make some tea for him, and you learned that he liked it with lemon and one piece of sugar. As he sipped on it, watching you preparer the canvas and oil paints (you were done with pencil sketches by that time), he told you about his studies at Hawthorne school (Michael was twenty, and apparently, hated his birthdays. You found this fact absolutely astonishing, and made a side note to change this horrible omission), his friends, and his family. Turned out that he had a very troubled childhood, so his behavior started to make sense to you. Sympathy towards him grew with every session, and at some point you caught yourself thinking about him all the time. The thought about your meetings coming to an end made you feel extremely frustrated. Even though you kept reminding yourself that the relationship between you two had to stay professional, and it was wrong of you to think about him in a romantic way, but every time his blond mop of soft hair popped in the door frame you couldn’t hold in a radiant smile. It was impossible not to hug him and accidentally brush your fingers against his flushed cheek. He looked so damn cute.

You grew found of this marvelous boy, who turned out be very sensual, with a bright and vivid mind that generated ideas at the supersonic speed. He loved asking you questions about history of art, he was genuinely interested in learning about your favoring painters and why you loved them so much. He never stopped amazing you with his mindset, and his child-like innocence bribed you.

Another Tuesday night was traditionally spent in your studio apartment with Michael at his usual spot in front of your easel. You were working on the cherub’s eyes. Crystal blue and bright just like Michael’s. Your brows were frowned as you were trying to concentrate on the movements of the brush. The smell of oil paint was filling the room. You glanced at Michael to pay very close attention to his long eyelashes framing his eyes. That’s when you noticed a very strange look on his face. You couldn’t understand what was that. Confusion? Doubt?

“Michael, what’s wrong, darling?”, you asked him adding another brush stroke to the canvas. He slowly shook his head, trying not to move too much. From hours of watching him attentively you had learned his body language quite well. Now you could tell that something was definitely up, judging by the fact how he was holding onto the chair. His knuckles turned white. However, you proceed to painting, considering that maybe he was thinking of his problems or whatever there was on his mind.

“Love, please, look up for me”, you asked him after a while, trying to paint the patches of light in the eyes of the cherub. Michal started biting on his lower lip, but obliged your order and lifted his gaze. Suddenly it all felt like you were back to session 1, when he refused to relax. You put the brush aside and whipped the excess of paint off your fingers.

“Michael, please, tell me what’s bothering you?”, his face turned bright red at your question.

“Nothing”, he mumbled in response.

You sighed and took a step towards him. Carefully you took his face in your hands, forcing him to look up at you. You were glad that he didn’t shy away from your touch like he used to at the very beginning.

“Love, I can’t paint you when you look concerned”, you gently stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he instinctively nuzzled against your palm. It was unprofessional of you, you thought to yourself, but whatever. “You know that you can tell me anything”.

His eyes flattered, long eyelashes were casting shadows on his cheekbones in the dim light of the room. He wrapped his fingers around your wrists and carefully put your hands away.

“You’re gonna laugh at me”, he said, looking down at his knees. You frowned. Why was that? All this time you were trying to show him that he could trust you and you were his friend, and his doubts almost felt offensive to you.

“Michael, darling, I would never”, you assured him, watching him closely.

A broken cry escaped from his chest, as he hid his face in his hands. You started really worrying about him, was something hurting him? Maybe he wasn’t feeling well? You petted his head lovingly.

“I can’t tell you”, he sobbed, and looked up at you. The expression of his face was unreadable. Eyes glistened with salty tears, as he was desperately trying to hold them in. “It’s so e-emb-b-barrassing. You...”, he sighed, “you’re going to think that I’m weird. I can’t ask you for this...”

By that moment you stopped understanding anything from what he was saying. You wrapped your arms around him and brought him closer to you, resting his head against your stomach.

“Shhhh, baby”, you coed, running the fingers of your one hand though his hair and petting up and down his spine with the other hand. “What do you want, Michael? Please, tell me”.

You felt him tightening his hug and nuzzling into your shirt like a cat. He sighed heavily before he answered:

“I was thinking”, his voice sounded so small and vulnerable, and you started wandering what sort of a dreadful sin Michael was going to confess that made him so insecure. “Maybe you could draw me?”

He lifted his puppy eyes at you, and you looked at him confused.

“Baby, isn’t it what I’m doing?”, you chucked softly. Silly boy.

Michael closed his eyes and nuzzled back into your stomach. You had to listen carefully in order to understand his muffled words:

“I was thinking maybe you could draw me naked?”

Your fingers froze in the air inches away from his curls. At first you thought that you must have misheard him, but as his shoulders started shaking in anticipation, you realized that you had heard him correctly. Your heart started pounding, you could hear the blood ring in your ears. The most terrible thing , in the context of your unprofessionalism, was the fact that his words sent impulses straight to you core making a thin cotton of your panties wet. You cleared your throat, looking for the right words. Michael was terrified. He decided that if you had stopped playing with his hair, you got mad at him, so he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears.

“Michael...”, you started slowly, but he interrupted you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry”, he was talking fast, afraid that you could kick him out for his foolishness.

Multiple thoughts were running through your mind at that particular moment. Could you really draw him naked and manage not to lose control? Of course, it would be a wonderful sketch for your portfolio, but you doubted if it would be okay for you psych. The silence was making Michael feel even more embarrassed, so he started standing up from his chair, but you placed your hands on his shoulders to keep him seated. God, he was so scurrying all the time, it was almost unbearable.

“Alright, Michael”, you finally replied, hoping that he didn’t sense how hesitant you were about this decision, otherwise it would devastate him. A wide smile spread across his cherry lips.

“Oh my God, thank you, Y/N” he whispered giving you that look through his lashes you could never say “no” to.

You nodded and made your way to one of the shelves to get a sketchbook.

“Well,” you turned back to him, “get ready, and I’ll go find the fabric to wrap you in”.

Michael was eager to oblige. You didn’t expect him to want it so bad, but as he quickly stood on his feet and rushed behind the folding screen, you thought otherwise.

Unable to believe what you had just agreed to, you started looking through the rolls of fabric, trying to decide what color would suit Michael. Probably silver. It would look good with his skin tone and the icy blue of his eyes. You grabbed the fabric and approached the changing screen behind which you could see the outline of Michael’s body. You hurried to hang the piece over the screen and shook your head, as if it would help you to get rid of the indecorous thoughts.

“I think silver will look good”, you said to Michael, “just wrap yourself in it when you are ready”, you swore your hands were shaking. What, you and Michael suddenly switched personalities? God, how were you gonna draw him when you were blushing like a teenage girl?

“Damn, Y/N, you’ve worked with so many models. Get your shit together and breath”, you scold yourself.

“Okay, I’m ready”, you turned around when you heard his low voice, and your jaw dropped. Adonis in flesh. You stood there blinking dumbly trying to comprehend the view of his broad shoulders, taut stomach, and his creamy thighs wrapped in silver silk. If the fabric had been navy blue you would have thought that your cherub painting came to life. No less. You opened your mouth and then closed it without saying a word. Michal blushed and awkwardly crossed his arms, waiting for the instructions.

You coughed and turned your gaze away from him.

“Alright, get comfortable on the sofa”, you figured that a chair wasn’t suitable anymore. The boy laid down on a green velvet sofa you had bought for an extremely expensive price at one of the auctions, and at that moment you were glad that you had, because Michael’s pale skin looked even more fragile, tinted by the emerald color of velvet upholstery. He bent his long legs, carefully put them on the soft material, and leaned back on the pillows with his hands behind his head. For a second you forgot how to breath.

But as soon as you started sketching you felt relaxed. You let the pencil wonder around the clean sheet of paper, drawing the outlines of Michael’s body. He couldn’t stop smiling and looked genuinely happy that you’d let him pose for you. The skin of his cheeks and neck was in delicate pink hue, and he was biting his lips again. You wish you could bite them, too. Fuck.

Your brows frowned when you noticed that the silver fabric slipped off a little and didn’t look as good as you wanted it to be, so you put your pencil aside and stood up to fix it. Michael thought there was something wrong with him.

“Did you do something wrong?”, he asked worriedly. You wondered why he always felt the need to blame himself for everything.

“No, I just need to adjust the fabric”, you explained, without meeting his gaze. You tried not to touch his skin, as your fingers cautiously folded the silky piece, draping it in wavy folds. But the skin of his stomach looked so soft, and couldn’t help yourself and brushed it with just the tips of your digits. The muscles in his tummy tensed immediately, and you heard his breath hitch, so you hurried to take you hand away. Then he did something that sent the remains of your self-control straight to hell. Michael wrapped his fingers around your wrist and put your hand back on his stomach. Feeling enchanted, you slowly moved it to his abdomen and stopped right above the happy trail of blond hairs that went under the fabric. When you glanced at Michael, he was watching you in awe, his lips parted and his eyes wide open. It felt like his skin was burning under your touch.

“You like this, don’t you?”, the tone of your own voice was so low, you didn’t even recognize it. Michael gulped and nodded. His lids fluttered, as you move your hand to his chest.

“Please”, he murmured, licking his scarlet lips. He looked so soft, so innocent, and you wondered how beautiful he would look all wrecked and fucked out. You felt the adrenaline rush through your veins and the familiar heat between your legs. The last thought that came across your mind was “Fuck it”, as you leaned forward and pressed your lips against Michael’s parted ones. He let out a surprised mewl, but eagerly kissed you back. You felt his hands sliding down your waist to pull you closer against his bare chest. The fabric couldn’t cover the outline of his arousal: you could see the contour of his erect cock in the crease of his thigh. The tip of your tongue ran across Michael’s swollen lips, and he gasped into the kiss.

“You’re so pretty”, you said, as you broke the kiss, pressing your forehead against his. The look in his big eyes was completely dazed. You smiled and cupped his face in your hands. “Babe, are you with me?”

Michael nodded and pulled you for another kiss. You yanked his head by his locks and moved your lips to his jawline. Numbing on the thin skin, you decided to test the waters and slowly snaked your hand down to his cock. He moaned brokenly when you stroked it through the fabric. There was already a wet spot of his precum. You moved the sheer material aside and took a look at the long shaft with flushed head glistening with the pearls of his arousal. He squeezed his eyes shut, when you wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock and slowly stroke it.

“Y/N”, he pledged. He sounded so needy, so desperate. You formed a fist and started making circular motions with it around the head of his cock. Michael opened his mouth, but couldn’t say a word, lost in the sensation. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He looked like a painting with his boyish features, soft curls, and ripe, sinful lips he kept licking. You started stroking him faster, thrilled to take him apart and find out what his angelic face looked like when he was cumming.

“Shhhh”, you soothed him, lacing the fingers of your free hand into the strands of his hair and gently scratching at the nape of his neck. “My pretty boy”, you kissed his forehead.

Michael whimpered and pressed his head against your breasts nuzzling into them through your linen shirt. Holding tight to you, he carefully cupped your right breast and squeezed it slightly, making you moan and throw your head back. He was pleased with your reaction, as it got him braver, and he started unbuttoning your shirt, exposing more of your skin. You kept pressing feather light kisses to his closed lids, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose and his lips. His face must have been carved by angels from the finest marble. He wrapped his lips around your nipple and delicately sucked on it, drawing broken moans from your throat.

His hips were rutting against the crumpled fabric, meeting the thrusts of your hand. You stopped only for a second just to lick your palm, and wrap it around him again to resume pumping your fist.

“Y/N...”, he whined hopelessly, “I’m close”.

You knew that he wouldn’t last long. He was so young, you were surprised he hadn’t cum right after you kissed him.

“C’mon, darling”, you encouraged him, teasing the slit of his tip, “cum for me, angel. My personal cherub...”

You adored the way his lips twitched, forming a perfect “o”, the tense muscles of his stomach that spasmed in a convulsing pleasure, as he came all over your palm in white ribbons. You wished you could paint him this way. The picture of him cumming undone was forever imprinted in your mind. You smiled fondly when he looked up at you, feeling the warmth coil in the pit of your stomach.

“Thank you”, he whispered, and you chuckled at his boldness. His hands traveled up to your unbuttoned shirt and slid it off your shoulders, reliving your exposed chest to him. He caressed the nipples and leaned forward to suck on them again, swirling his wicked tongue around the hardening buds. “I think I owe you an orgasm now”.

You looked at him in surprise. He didn’t have to. You just wanted to make him feel good, but Michael seemed pretty determined.

“Could you, please, sit on my face?”, he blushed at his own words, but managed not to turn his eyes away from you. Such a polite boy.

You hissed through gritted teeth, and before straddling his chest you involved him in another passionate kiss. He shifted on the pillows, sliding down the sofa to let you straddle his chest in a kneeling position. You scooted forward until your thighs were on either side of his head. The gold curls were disheveled. Lowering your body, as your pussy made contact with his face, you moaned loudly. Michael placed his hands on your thighs and calves for your leverage. As soon as his tongue licked a wide stripe across your wet folds, you cried out, thinking you were in heaven. The feeling of dominance was alluring to you, and in no time you started drawing figure eights with your hips, rubbing yourself against his tongue. You were probably suffocating himself a bit, but judging by Michael’s muffled moans he was enjoying it. He used his fingers to help himself and spread you open, wrapping his lips around your clit. The gently sucking was alternated with him lapping on your folds.

“Good boy”, you praised him, and his whimpers sent delicious sensation to your throbbing core. You reached for your hair clip and took it off, letting your hair down in loose waves. “Just like that, baby, just like that”.

You thought that you lost yourself when his started fucking you with his tongue, stretching your tight walls with each thrust of it. Your legs started shaking not only from your attempts to keep steady, but from the mind-blowing pleasure the boy between your legs was causing you. He was devouring you, as if you were his last meal. You looked down at him and moaned at the sight of him all soft and flushed beneath you. The fact you were sitting on the face of the boy, who looked like a real-life angel, made your insides quiver. A really warm fuzzy feeling spilled inside you, making you scream out Michael’s name, as your orgasm pierced through every cell of your body. It was so good, to the extent of being extricating. Everything seemed unreal. Michael had let go of your thighs, and you bent over to kiss his mouth covered in your wetness.

You were laying on top of Michael, skin on skin, legs entwined, as you two were kissing lazily on the sofa.

“What are you going to do with all the sketches of my face after you sell your painting?” he asked, stroking your bare thigh.

You folded your hands on his chest and rested your head on them.

“I was thinking of using them for my personal exhibition”.

Michael’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

“You never told me about the exhibition! Y/N, that’s awesome!”

You petted his cheek, smiling at his reaction. Thanks to him you started to remember what it felt like to be grateful for every little thing in you life. Somehow, despite all the difficulties, Michael managed to keep his inner child safe and happy.

“Am I invited?” he wondered shyly.

“Of course you are, love” you rolled your eyes at his silly question. “You are my muse, after all”

Tag list: @lovelykhaleesiii @langdons-rep @babypinkstyles94 @sammythankyou @kaigitana @ms-mead @sebastianshoe @langdonsdemon @iloveziggystardust @chaoticevillangdon

People who might like it: @lvngdvns @icylangdon @ritualmichael @langdonsoceaneyes @ccodyfern @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @sojournmichael @wroteclassicaly

Amazing art by @theghostoflangdon

#michael langdon smut #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagine #ahs apocalypse #duncan shepherd smut

701 notes · View notes