#IT WAS ANOTHER SKETCH TURNED RENDERED... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bonelyheartsclub · 3 months ago

Text

♡ Poplar - Valentine's One-Shot ♡

Written by @/duskyskye

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

“Splendid, absolutely splendid!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll find out in just a moment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it.”

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

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

Then you flipped to the next piece.

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know, I think you did ok.”

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

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

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

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

So, you did.

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

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

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

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

“…I have no clue.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggled at his joke.

“Of course.”

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

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

“Poplar…I’m flattered.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#bhcmyvalentine25 #bonely hearts club #bhc

148 notes · View notes

sirludox · 1 year ago

Text

Thank you so much everyone for liking my little drawings and doodles!! It means the world to me 😭!

Here's another sketch dump with a bunch of stuff and some random headcanons for things! Including Sanji needing some help preening after being particularly injured <3 (want to turn this into a proper comic one day :D)

Plus some original drafts for the strawhat crew as ponies/horses which I need to one day finish rendering them all haha

#one piece #op #roronoa zoro #zoro #black leg sanji #sanji #donquixote doflamingo #sir crocodile #dofuwani #zosan #straw hat pirates #monkey d. luffy #sketch dump

659 notes · View notes

kociakarma · 4 months ago

Note

Hiii I really love your art and was wondering if you wouldnt mind showing what kind of brushes you use for your recent drawings thank you so much and i look forward to your future arts!

Of course! I've answered this a few times before but have never really tagged it properly, and I also realised that I've never actually explained what I use each brush for so I'll do that now!:

I'm gonna go through each of these brushes in order (and if i remember correctly, I'll link the top two since they arent default CSP brushes). (NOTE: almost all of these brushes have anti-aliasing turned off so that it can look more crispy and pixely!!! there is one exception to this that I will get into)

For this brush, I exclusively use it for sketching, it's advertised for inking digital manga panels, but with how the pen pressure is I feel like it adds form to my sketches

This brush, Sleuth-y Pen, is what I use mostly for MSPFA panels, mostly for lining, but sometimes for sketching too if I'm having a hard time with my usual sketching pen. It's really good if you want to replicate the homestuck style, and good for broad strokes on smaller canvases. The only issue is that the brush isn't great for that style if you use it on a larger canvas (ideally you would want 650 x 450) and can be especially messy if you're trying to get smaller details, such as open mouths, and certain facial details. I use another brush for that, which I will get into soon.

My second use for the sleuthy pen is for lineart on larger canvases in my usual artstyle! It has a texture to it that I like, as I like having my art appear a little rough around the edges, and the issue regarding small details isn't nearly as prominent of a problem

Almost done! Now we have the G-pen, a default CSP brush! This used to be one of my top 2 pens, along with its counterpart "Real G-pen" but nowadays I use it for two things: clean-up during rendering (usually getting those smaller details done that the sleuthy pen has difficulty with) and for doing SOME MSPFA panels (Vast Error, for example)

As you can see here, Liaaam's face is a little smoother than the rest of him, that's because I use the G-pen for those details, to keep things a lot cleaner! As for my other use, Vast Error's style from my understanding is a lot more "smooth" and "clean" which is why I exclusively use the G-pen for it, you can also make a lot of thick, juicy brush strokes with it which I feel works really well for the hair and folds in the clothes!

Finally, the Real G-pen, another default. This one is very similar to the last, its only differences are that it's slightly sharper and ever so slightly more messy. It's almost like a medium between the sleuth-y pen, and the g-pen.

I'll be honest, I don't use this pen much anymore, BUT, I still consistently use it for one thing and one thing only: Friendsim sprites. If you want to make friendsim sprites I highly suggest this pen, and making sure it's set to "weak" antialiasing. If you want to go the extra mile, I like to use a lasso-fill tool to block out shadows in all of my art, although if I'm using a rougher brush I'll usually do that manually. There's also other brushes I've been using more for rendering full pieces, such as a "rake brush" and a "design pencil" with low pressure to get details like blush down without making it too intense. That's basically it! I'll link the brushes below if I can find them: sleuth-y pen textured pen rake brush

#ask #tutorial #art tips #brushes #homestuck #hs fanart #fantroll #mspfa

179 notes · View notes

te1eky · 5 months ago

Text

thinking about…

CollegeStudent!satoru in your intro to painting class, nothing but amiable smiles and snowy hair. flushed cheeks and toned arms. aquatic eyes and cream skin. pretty as a picture.

he always sits in the row in front of you, occasionally turning back to persuade you into giving him yesterday's lecture notes. which you always obliged. you'd often look down at him during class to find him lazily drafting sketches: eyes and hands were his favorite. rarely did he pay attention to anything your professor was saying.

"whaddya think of this?" he'd grin, shoving his sketchbook in front of your laptop where you were actually doing work. his drawings always looked a bit ragged and sharp, clashing with his own stylish appearance. despite this, they were cohesive in their own respect.

"beautiful," you'd laugh back, and he beamed at your praise. this went on for a while: light conversation and bashful giggles and fleeting glances. all of which evolved into closing distance and ghostly touches; graphite-smudged fingers softly traced against yours, sending jolts of arousal across your skin. presumably, one thing led to another:

“satoru, you’re gonna break something, fuck!” you whined, sprawled out over one of the tables in the campus art studio. you made sure to keep your arms away from any of the precious painting supplies surrounding you. meticulous hands gripped the plush of your thighs, holding them steady around his waist.

“don’t worry sweetheart, i’ll be real careful,” satoru winked as he snapped his hips even faster. asshole.

how or why were you fucking your classmate in the art studio after hours? you had no idea, nor did you care. the fullness of his cock inside of you was enough to forget about most things, the logic of this situation included. the coolness of the laminate table rivaled the scorch of your skin, coating the surface in a thin dew.

a whimper escaped your parted lips as satoru continued pounding your cunt viciously. slick pooled onto the table, much to his amusement. “you’re making such a mess, baby. how unbecoming of you,” he teased. his tone was so sickeningly sweet, sharply contradicting the condescension of his words.

all you could offer was another lewd moan, knuckles turning white as they clutched the edge of the table for dear life. satoru’s cock was ruthless and unforgiving. your pliant hole fluttered around him as his tip nearly kissed your cervix over, and over. your sweater was pulled over your chest, letting your tits bounce with every cruel stroke. the sight was nothing if not a masterpiece.

“please, mmh! s-satoru, fuck!” you attempted fruitlessly to warn him of your impending orgasm. white-hot pleasure rendered you absolutely weak. satoru’s gorgeous face twisted into a malicious grin.

“please what, sweet thing? use your words.” the chime of satoru’s voice was nearly drowned out by the sound of your wet cunt swallowing his cock whole. your vision blurred, eyes watering from the overwhelming pleasure. your sight zeroed in on the outline of this white-headed angel demon before you, as if he was some heavenly body.

“please s’toru- gonna cum- don’t stop pleasepleaseplease��

he chuckled and leaned closer to you, licking long, wet stripes up your neck. his lips grazed the shell of your ear, “cum.”

and so you did. you mewled against his shoulder as your orgasm ripped through you. you cried and moaned and thanked him, thanked him for being so good to you. you thanked him for fucking you like he loved you. like he knew you.

before you knew it, satoru’s orgasm followed closely behind. he was all desperate whimpers and whines and profanities; his porcelain complexion adorned with bright pink splotches. his toned chest heaved slightly as he caught his breath.

soon enough, you were both decent again. you sanitized the table with supplies you found in a nearby closet while satoru sorted your belongings. he handed you your bag and began heading for the door. before he left, he turned to you,

“wanna come over soon? help me study my anatomy?”

pt.2

#gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #teleky #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

208 notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 5 months ago

Note

Thanks for answering my ask about comedic nudity!

So I ended up forgetting about the og idea I wanted to send because I didn’t write it down. 🙂‍↕️

But I do have another idea that involves Reader being a freak for art! If you’ve ever played (or watched someone play) Persona 5, Reader is a little bit like Yusuke, they love to draw and paint and all that fun stuff. They’re also a bit of a simp and have pages in their sketchbooks dedicated to drawing people they fancy.

So, not really nudity here, but one day while drinking, Reader gets so drunk off of their ass they finally dare to ask the question that’s been gnawing at the back of their mind:

“Hey, [muse]…D’ya wanna model naked for me?”

Bonus points if they’re trying to ask it to their muse in question, but they’re so drunk they don’t realize they’re facing someone else entirely.

Like, their muse could be Sunday and they’re trying to ask Sunday to model naked for them, but they’re facing Robin.

It can also be other combos!

Like, Muse:the person Reader is actually facing

So—

Gepard:Serval

Blade:Firefly

Dan Heng:Sushang

Lingsha:Yunli

Jing Yuan:Yanqing

These are just examples off the top of my head but basically pick any one or think of another pair yourself and make it as chaotic as you possible can. 🤣

If you make the title “Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls” istg—

Portraits of Desire

Tags: Sunday x Reader x Robin, Aventurine x Reader x Topaz, Artist!Reader, Fluff and Humor, Alcohol-Induced Shenanigans, Artistic Obsession, Mild Suggestive Themes, Confessions in Chaos, Playful Banter.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption and intoxication, Light innuendo, Embarrassing humorous situations.

A/N: sadly i already named a previous fic that, so I can't name this one the same title 😕💔

(Credits to @kakyoriya on Twitter/X)

The Charmony Festival's afterparty had always been a lively affair, filled with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You, an artist swept into the chaos of Penacony’s surreal world, found yourself seated at a circular table with Sunday and Robin. Despite your initial plans to observe the Halovian pair discreetly, the generous flow of Halovian wine had turned those plans into a swirling mess.

Your sketchbook lay open on the table, pages flipping as a gust of laughter erupted around you. The pages showcased the delicate strokes of your pencil—portraits of Sunday, Robin, and various festival moments. They were all expertly rendered, but your fascination with Sunday was painfully obvious. His eyes seemed to pierce through the pages, and even his halo was meticulously detailed.

Robin chuckled softly, her hair shimmering under the festival lights. “You’ve truly captured his essence.” she remarked, pointing at one of your sketches.

You hiccupped, the wine adding a rosy hue to your cheeks. “Well, it’s ‘cause he’s so damn… inspiring!” you slurred.

Sunday, ever dignified, raised a brow but allowed a faint smile to curl his lips. “I see. I suppose I should thank you for the flattery.”

The room swayed as you turned, your intoxicated mind suddenly consumed by a thought you’d never dared voice. You reached out, grabbing Sunday’s gloved hand—or at least you thought it was Sunday’s.

“Hey… hey, you!” you stammered, squinting up at Robin instead. She tilted her head, bemused.

“Yes?” Robin replied, her voice lilting like a melody.

“I’ve been… thinking,” you began, leaning closer to her. “You’re… perfect. Your symmetry, your aura—it’s breathtaking!”

Robin’s brows knitted in surprise, her cheeks flushing faintly. Sunday, watching from across the table, cleared his throat. “They mean to ask me, Robin. I’ve noticed their fixation.”

But you, oblivious and unbothered, barreled forward. “Model for me. Naked. Just once!”

Robin sputtered, her elegance momentarily faltering. “I beg your pardon?”

Sunday, his eyes narrowing slightly, stepped in to steady you. “I believe you’re mistaking your audience.” he said, his tone carrying both humor and restraint.

You blinked, your intoxicated brain struggling to process the situation. Then, your gaze shifted, landing on Sunday’s halo. “Oh, right!” you exclaimed, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You! I meant you!”

Robin burst into laughter, her melodic voice echoing through the room. “Oh, this is priceless.”

Sunday, maintaining his composure, leaned down to meet your gaze. “While I appreciate your artistic passion,” he said smoothly, “I fear your request might be better suited for sober conversation.”

The IPC gala was a hub of high-stakes networking, dazzling lights, and endless champagne. You, an artist with an eye for detail, found yourself amidst the extravagance, clutching your sketchbook like a lifeline. Aventurine and Topaz had invited you along, each promising you’d find inspiration among the elite.

You had taken them at their word, sketching furiously as your muses moved through the crowd. Aventurine, with his flamboyant overcoat and peacock feather earring, exuded charisma that demanded attention. Topaz, on the other hand, carried herself with a composed confidence, her hair catching the gala’s light.

Hours later, you were drunk. Not tipsy, not buzzed—drunk. Your sketchbook was open to a page filled with Aventurine’s smirk and Topaz’s sharp gaze. The champagne had loosened your inhibitions, and you found yourself staring at Aventurine’s eyes.

“You’re like… a painting.” you slurred, pointing at him.

Aventurine, ever the gambler, leaned forward with an amused grin. “Am I now? Flatter me more.”

Topaz rolled her eyes, sipping her wine. “They’re drunk. Don’t encourage them.”

But you were already gesturing wildly. “I gotta ask. It’s important. Life-changing, even!” You turned—or at least thought you turned—to Aventurine, but your gaze locked on Topaz instead.

“Will you model naked for me?” you blurted.

Topaz choked on her drink, glaring at you with wide eyes. “Excuse me?!”

Aventurine burst into laughter, clapping a hand to his chest. “Oh, this is rich. I think they meant me, darling.”

You blinked, confused, before swiveling toward Aventurine. “Wait, yeah! You! You’re, like… perfection. I need to capture it!”

Topaz shook her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

Aventurine leaned closer, tilting your chin up with a gloved finger. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he purred. “But we’ll discuss terms when you’re sober.”

Topaz snorted. “You’re both ridiculous.”

And in your drunken haze, you could only laugh, thrilled by the chaotic charm of your muses.

168 notes · View notes

armiliadawn · 6 months ago

Text

Muse

Word count: 3700

Masterlist

Synopsis: It’s an ordinary day aboard the Victoria Punk, and you’re going about your daily tasks. As you turn down a corridor, you notice that the door to your captain’s workshop is slightly ajar. Driven by curiosity, you slip into the forbidden space, and what you discover there far exceeds anything you could have imagined…

Tags: Kid x f!Reader, SFW, complicity, slow burn, silent confession of love.

Notes: I hadn’t planned on publishing another one-shot so soon, but I recently watched a (very old!) movie, and one tiny yet intense scene inspired me! I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I wrote this. I spent several evenings working on the translation because I was so eager to share it, I hope it turned out well (my husband helped me a little, thank you to him ^^). Yes, it’s another Kid x Reader, what can I say? That fiery, angry man lives rent-free in my head. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

That day, you’re absorbed in your usual tasks, the gentle rhythm of waves lapping against the ship’s hull providing a steady backdrop. The sun hangs high, its light spilling across the deck of the Victoria Punk as the rest of the crew busies themselves with their own routines. The air carries the briny scent of the ocean, mingling with the tang of grease and metal wafting up from below deck, where Kid is deep in his projects.

As you move through a corridor, your eyes catch on a door left slightly ajar to your left; Kid’s workshop. You pause, your gaze lingering on the shadowed space beyond the opening. This place is forbidden. A personal sanctuary where the captain channels his inventive genius and passion for metal. No one enters without his permission, except perhaps Killer. And yet, an irresistible pull of curiosity stirs within you.

What could Kid be creating, hidden from prying eyes?

For a moment, hesitation takes hold, your heartbeat quickening at the thought of stepping where you shouldn’t. But something about that open door feels like a silent beckoning, drawing you closer. Carefully, you edge forward, nudging the door wider as your eyes adjust to the dim interior.

The workshop unfolds before you, revealing its chaotic splendor. The room is expansive, cluttered with raw metal, scattered parts, crumpled sketches, gears, chains, and half-finished weapons. It’s a captivating mess, a mirror of Kid’s explosive creativity and relentless energy.

A fire burns steadily in the forge, while the muted glow of a single lamp throws flickering shadows onto the walls, amplifying the room’s organized disorder. The air is heavy with the scent of heated metal and grease, clinging to every surface. A familiar, comforting aroma that brings to mind the essence of your captain.

Your eyes drift over a collection of sculptures - weird creations and metallic shapes - that seem almost alive under the trembling light of the lantern. Metal hooks, mechanical parts, and intricate designs lie ready to be forged into weapons or inventions wild yet meticulously crafted. Beneath the industrial roughness, there’s a distinct elegance, betraying the precision and mastery behind the chaos.

Then, something at the far end of the room catches your eye. A large object draped in a thick, heavy cloth, imposing and mysterious. Almost unconsciously, you move toward it, curiosity guiding your steps. Your hand grazes the coarse fabric, fingers lingering before you carefully lift the cloth, as if afraid of disturbing something rare and precious.

When the cloth finally falls to the ground, your breath catches. Before you stands a metal bust, sculpted with a precision you never expected from Kid’s hands.

It’s you. Captured in metal, every detail of your face, every strand of your hair, rendered with astonishing accuracy. The polished surface reflects the light, giving the sculpture an almost lifelike aura, as if it could speak to you, as if it could watch you.

Your gaze lingers on every detail. The contours of your face are beautifully rendered. You can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the tenderness that emanates from each line, each curve.

Staring at the sculpture, you feel as if you’re looking into a mirror. But not the kind of mirror that cruelly amplifies every flaw. This is a mirror that reflects a version of yourself you’ve never dared to see. The features sculpted with delicate precision present an image you’ve never associated with yourself, a beauty you never believed you possessed. Your eyes, usually so weary from your own doubts, appear full of strength in this creation. Your lips, which you’ve always thought too plain, are drawn here with such softness it sends a shiver through you.

It’s strange, even unsettling, to see yourself like this. To see this version of yourself through Kid’s eyes. You’re not used to thinking of yourself as beautiful or even attractive. Your reflection in a mirror is always accompanied by silent criticisms, unfair comparisons, those little inner voices reminding you of everything you’re not. But here, for the first time, you find yourself discovering beauty in your features.

You feel destabilized, almost moved, by this vision of yourself that Kid has immortalized in metal. Not because he’s idealized you, but because he’s seen something in you that you refuse to acknowledge in yourself. He has made it permanent, tangible, as if to say, "This is how I see you." It feels like both a declaration and a challenge: "Can you see yourself this way too?"

" What are you doing here?"

Kid’s deep voice snaps you out of your thoughts, making you jump. He’s standing at the entrance, his brows furrowed, his eyes glinting with a hard intensity. Your heart races, caught between guilt and surprise. You know you shouldn’t have entered, but what you’ve just discovered surpasses anything you could have imagined.

" I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to..."

Kid strides toward you, his steps heavy and deliberate. When he reaches you, he towers over you, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sculpture. A displeased smirk twists his lips. He doesn’t seem angry with you, but you can feel that something about this moment is troubling him.

"It’s a failure", he growls, grabbing the cloth and moving to drape it back over the sculpture.

You stare at him, incredulous. A failure? How could he even think that? This sculpture, with its intricacy and precision, captures far more than a simple resemblance. The details are so finely crafted that they reveal something of you that even your reflection in a mirror has never managed to show. This creation isn’t failed. It’s alive, vibrant. It shows a version of you that you never dared to imagine.

"Failed? Kid, it’s… it’s beautiful", you murmur, your voice sincere, your eyes fixed on the bust as if you’re trying to absorb every detail.

He shakes his head, frustration tightening his features. His fingers drum nervously against his arm - a mechanical gesture - so unlike the controlled force he usually exudes. Shadows of emotion flicker across his face; his usually hard features twist under the weight of agitation and something else… something vulnerable. Then, he lifts his gaze to meet yours. His amber eyes, always so piercing and brutally intense, now seem to search for something in you, something he can’t put into words.

"No, it’s not enough", he mutters, his voice rough but unsteady. "I… I can’t capture what I see when I look at you."

His words hit you like a thunderclap, a truth you hadn’t expected to hear in the raw, suffocating atmosphere of his workshop. Your heart leaps in your chest, every syllable vibrating in the charged air between you. Your throat tightens, and a warm flush spreads through your body, burning your skin and leaving your breath unsteady. How could he speak of you this way? His words, so simple yet deeply sincere, stir something within you. An emotion you weren’t ready to confront.

Your gaze shifts to him, taking in every detail: the taut line of his jaw, the rigid set of his shoulders, but most of all, the way his eyes seem to devour you, as if silently pleading for you to understand what he can’t articulate. Beneath his gruff words, beneath the façade of a hardened and ruthless man, lies something disarming—a tenderness you never imagined, a vision of you that you struggle to comprehend. A beauty. A strength. Qualities you’ve always refused to see in yourself.

Your mind reels, thoughts tumbling over themselves in an unrelenting swirl. This isn’t just about art or a sculpture anymore. What stands before you is far more than a crafted piece of metal. It’s a reflection - not only of yourself - but of what Kid sees in you. It’s a glimpse into his most hidden thoughts, the ones he’ll never express with words but pours into his hands and raw talent instead.

You lift your eyes to him, your breath still uneven. Kid remains motionless, but his gaze pierces through you, vibrating with such intensity that it almost steals the air from your lungs. In this room filled with heat, metal, and tension, you feel something inexplicable. The vulnerability he’s showing, exposed despite himself, touches you deeply, far more than you could have anticipated. It’s no longer just his art you see. It’s him. His doubts, his hopes, his silent way of watching you, interpreting you, revealing you to yourself.

And that revelation unsettles you, stirring a mix of fear and exhilaration, an irresistible urge to see yourself through his eyes.

"I could pose for you, if you want."

The words slip from your lips almost without your permission, propelled by an impulse you can no longer control. The silence that follows stretches endlessly. Heat rises to your cheeks as the weight of what you’ve just offered sinks in, what it truly means. Posing for Kid, standing there under his sharp, unyielding gaze while he molds you, sculpts every detail of you… It’s far more than a simple proposition. It’s baring yourself to him, offering something intimate, personal.

Kid says nothing, his eyes locked on yours, but you catch the faint flicker of surprise in his gaze. His shoulders, once taut with tension, seem to relax, and the hard lines of his face shift subtly. A spark, barely perceptible but undeniable, lights in his amber eyes. It’s a mix of interest, intense curiosity, and perhaps something deeper, something he can’t put into words.

Your heart pounds wildly, each second of the tense silence amplified in your ears. He doesn’t answer right away, but his gaze speaks volumes, holding you as if you’ve just offered him a treasure he never dared dream of. The tension between you tightens further, like an invisible, fragile thread pulling taut under the weight of your suggestion.

Your breathing slows, almost as if suspended, each breath heavy with the anticipation of his response. It’s a moment of rare intensity, where even the smallest movement, the faintest flutter of an eyelash, feels magnified, as though the simple act of breathing might shatter the delicate balance of this charged instant.

Then, he tilts his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. That subtle movement, so small yet deliberate, feels like a tacit yes, an acceptance of what you’ve offered. His lips part slightly, but no words come, as if he refuses to break the moment’s fragile power with unnecessary speech. That silence, laden with meaning, sends a shiver cascading down your spine, awakening every nerve to the possibility that has just unfolded between you.

Kid takes a step closer, narrowing the distance between you, and you can see the focus in his eyes. That burning intensity that tells you he accepts, that he’s ready to explore this moment, but on his terms, with the same passion and force he pours into his art.

"Do you realize what you’re offering?" he asks, his tone a blend of incredulity and restrained desire.

Holding his gaze, you nod slowly, feeling the heat rise within you. This is no longer just an agreement but an unspoken promise of a connection you can already sense - intense, consuming - a path you’re about to explore together, with every glance and every gesture as your only language.

"Yes, Kid. I do."

The simplicity of those words carries a weight far beyond their sound. Kid remains motionless before you, his gaze searing, almost devouring. He steps closer, his breath mingling with yours in the heat-laden air. His eyes lock onto yours, and you feel the pull of a dive from which there’s no return.

Slowly, he reaches out, his fingers brushing along your jaw with a gentleness that feels almost impossible from someone of his stature. That single touch ignites every fiber of your being. He studies you, perhaps searching for any flicker of doubt, but you know he’ll find only the glow of certainty, a shared connection you’re offering, a bond you’re eager to explore with him.

Straightening slightly, he commands the space with his imposing presence. With a subtle motion, he signals for you to follow. He moves toward the center of the workshop, where shadows dance to the rhythm of the flames. His steps are slow, deliberate, echoing softly against the floor. You follow without hesitation, drawn by the gravity of his presence, each step pulling you closer to a moment that feels suspended in time. Your breath quickens, your chest tightens, but you continue forward, guided by the magnetic intensity surrounding him.

He stops and turns to face you, his amber eyes fixed on you with an almost devouring intensity. His hand reaches out, guiding you gently to a place where the dim firelight illuminates just enough to make every shadow more vibrant, more alive.

With deliberate care, he places his fingers on your arm. The touch is light, yet it sends a shiver through you, warmth radiating from the contact. He draws you toward a chair bathed in the soft glow of the hearthlight.

"Sit, he murmurs", his rough voice resonating like a caress.

You comply, settling into place under his scrutinizing gaze. Kid approaches, his massive silhouette casting an imposing shadow on the floor, yet his movements are surprisingly gentle. He leans in slightly, his large hands finding their place naturally on your shoulders, adjusting you with care. His fingers press lightly, guiding your body to find the perfect angle.

"There", he murmurs, almost to himself.

He steps back briefly, then moves forward again, this time to touch your face. His hand brushes along your jaw, his warm fingers gliding over your skin with a precision that feels profoundly intimate. He tilts your chin toward the light, his thumb grazing your cheek in a way that leaves you breathless. Your entire body seems to respond to his touch, every nerve heightened.

"Lift your chin… just a bit. There", he whispers.

His eyes linger on your face, tracing every shadow, every curve. He studies you as if he’s trying to etch this image into his memory. Slowly, his hands leave your face, but the warmth of his touch remains, imprinted on your skin.

"Look at me", he breathes, his voice barely audible.

You obey once more, lifting your gaze to meet his, and the tension between you becomes volcanic. His eyes drift in yours for a moment before he gently lowers your hand, placing it on your knee. Every movement, every adjustment he makes to your body feels both deliberate and laced with an underlying sensuality, as if he’s already sculpting - not with his tools - but with his hands against your skin.

At last, he steps away. His towering figure stands outlined by the flickering firelight, every muscle and scar cast into sharp relief—marks you find yourself wanting to trace with your fingertips. His eyes remain fixed on you, burning with a mix of intensity and admiration. The air feels thick, saturated with a heat that doesn’t come only from the hearth. As he retreats, he studies you one last time, then, in a silence that needs no words, he picks up his tools, ready to begin.

The crackling of the fire fades into the background, as if the entire world has shrunk to this workshop. To the flickering light of the flames dancing on the walls. To the intoxicating scent of heated metal and the magnetic presence of Kid, standing before his creation. His fiery gaze stays locked on you, but his hands speak another language entirely. They glide, caressing the polished surface of the sculpture with a delicacy that is almost hypnotic, a meticulous care that contrasts with the raw strength his body naturally exudes.

Every movement he makes seems to sync with your breath. You follow the precise motions of his fingers on the metal as if it were your own skin he was touching, and not the sculpture. When he slowly traces the line of the sculpted jaw, a shiver runs through you. He hasn’t even touched you, and yet, you feel every caress echoing within you, a wave of heat spreading under your skin.

You track his every motion, captivated by the way the metal bends to his touch, its surface smoothing or curving exactly where he wills it, each almost imperceptible adjustment betraying his absolute mastery over the material.

His hands move lower, tracing the familiar curves of the sculpted neck, following with an unexpected tenderness the lines of your body you know so well. Your eyes remain locked on his, unable to look away. It feels as though, in this silence heavy with tension, a wordless dialogue has formed between you. His gestures speak of intensity, of control, but also of a desire he seems to channel into the metal, perhaps unable to express it any other way.

Kid leans in slightly, his face drawing closer to the sculpture, and your heart skips a beat. His fingers pause on the line of the metallic lips, a motion so slow, so deliberate, it feels almost sacred. The tension in the air becomes palpable, almost unbearable. Every movement of his hands, every stroke against the metal, seems a reflection of what he wants, what he longs to do with you. Your breath grows shallow, every muscle in your body taut with the anticipation he stirs, even without touching you.

His fingers glide upward, tracing the curve of the sculpted cheek with unexpected tenderness. You can almost hear the material hum beneath his touch, ready to surrender completely to his will, and the shiver it elicits seems to pass straight through you. He lifts his eyes, and you find yourself lost in their fiery intensity, where an uncompromising flame burns. He’s not just capturing your face, he’s searching for something deeper within you, a silent echo of his own desire.

Kid barely moves, yet the intensity of his gaze, combined with the precision of his hands, pulls you into a whirlwind of sensations. This is no longer just a sculpture; it’s a bridge between you, a silent language where every motion of his hands on the metal reverberates through your body. When his fingers trace the curve of the sculpted shoulder, then slowly move down the metallic arm, it feels as though a trail of fire marks your skin, awakening every fiber, every nerve to an impossible heat.

At last, he steps back, observing the sculpture with a gaze as intense as ever. His fingers hover mid-air, as though hesitating to add one final detail. But he doesn’t. A deep silence fills the workshop, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. You remain still, captivated by what he has created—and by the man before you, whose tension feels almost electric, saturating the air between you.

The sculpture is breathtaking. It’s you, but it’s also so much more. Every detail seems to breathe, alive with the energy he’s infused into it. But what strikes you the most is how he sees you. Strong, beautiful, vulnerable, and intense all at once. Your features, shaped by his hands, capture something you never even knew existed within you.

Kid looks at you now, his eyes igniting something deep within your soul. He says nothing, but his gaze is enough. It’s heavy with meaning, charged with a desire he no longer tries to hide. You feel exposed under the dim light, as though the sculpture isn’t the only thing he’s laid bare tonight. And yet, you’re not afraid. You feel drawn, pulled by the magnetic force he emanates.

You stand, hesitant at first, but step closer, as if compelled by the invisible bond forming between you. His eyes never leave you, tracking your every movement. Your breathing quickens, and a burning heat floods your body, but it’s not the fire causing it. It’s him. His presence, his power, his mastery over everything around him, including you.

"It’s you I see in this sculpture", he murmurs at last, his voice rough and low, almost an admission he hadn’t planned to make.

The words hit you like a tidal wave. He doesn’t wait for a response, and you have none to give. You’re already too absorbed by what he’s created, by what he’s just revealed. Slowly, he approaches, and you remain still, unable to look away. When he’s close, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, he raises a hand. With the same gentleness he showed while sculpting, his fingers brush against your cheek.

The touch is searing. You shiver under the caress, your lips parting slightly as a breath escapes you that you hadn’t realized you were holding. His gaze drops to your lips, and for a moment, he hesitates. But only for a moment, because the tension between you becomes unbearable.

At last, he closes the distance. His lips capture yours with a controlled urgency, a blend of strength and tenderness that makes you melt. You close your eyes, surrendering to the fiery wave rushing through you. His hands glide from your face to your waist, pulling you closer as if he can no longer bear the space between your bodies.

The fire in the hearth is nothing compared to the heat consuming you both. His kisses grow deeper, more demanding, and you match his intensity, your fingers tangling in his red hair, still damp with sweat. The room, the world, seems to fade around you. There is only the two of you, and this passionate connection, finally unleashed after being held back for far too long.

Kid lifts you slightly, gently pressing you against the workbench, his gaze locked on yours as he murmurs your name with a fervor you’ve never heard before.

You don’t know when the moment shifts. Only that you’ve both surrendered - slowly - to the purest expression of love, where silence and tension say everything, where every gesture becomes a promise of what’s to come.

And the sculpture, in its stillness, stands as a silent witness to this shared surrender, its metallic sheen capturing the passion that finally finds its way, unrestrained. In this workshop, where fire meets metal, your bodies come together with an intensity even the silence cannot contain, etching this moment into the flickering light of the flames and the eternal steel of what he’s created.

Tag list : @jintaka-hane @novemberhope @imveryyellow @pandora-writes-one-piece Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be added (or removed) from the tag list.

Masterlist

#kid pirates #kid x reader #captain kid x reader #one piece x reader #kid x you #eustass captain kidd #eustass kid #captain kid #eustass captain kid #eustass kidd x reader #eustass kid one piece

162 notes · View notes