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hollandsfavbabe · 4 months

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Wet & Wild II

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: SMUT, porn with a plot, sexually explicit language, cursing, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, nipple play, locker room sex, swimmer lingo

word count: 5.5k

part 1

tags💜: @midnightwrriting @no1runawaymilkdad @ihave-aboringlife @blahhucantmakeme @laniirackssss @blood-bloss @lmaoyani @geminiflanagansblog @ruyaas-world @hrlzy @povobsessed @stephstephstephsteph @chakin @10ava01 @lem0ns77 @velvrei @hdhdhdndhdndk

masterlist

a/n: sorry if the tags aren’t working, I tried to include everyone that wanted it. lmk if you have questions on anything. hope you enjoy!!

A week has passed since the last time you’d seen Art and you try to rid any thoughts of him from your mind as you enter the women’s locker room, the day so early that the sun has only just risen. You’d only spent a few hours with him, but he feels more important to you than a mere acquaintance, especially considering you’d let him have more of you than most people would ever get to. You try to tell yourself it won’t matter if he shows or not, but deep down you know that it will. Regardless, overthinking won’t help you in the water so you shove it down as you steadily pull on your tech suit, careful not to rip the delicate fabric. Your headphones are currently blaring your hype playlist in your ear, but you slide them off once you notice movement to your left as Chloe opens her own locker.

“You ready?” she asks you, pulling out her own racing suit from the depths of her swim bag.

“Not really,” you admit, giving up on stretching your tight suit to your full body frame for the time being as you opt for a tie-back bikini top instead. Your shoulders are ever so grateful. “I’m so nervous.”

“Why? Because of your race or your little tennis boyfriend?” she teases, lips quirking into a classic Chloe smirk. As your best friend, she was the first and only person you told about your interaction with Art at the party and, of course, she had been teasing you about it since. While during practice it was amusing, you are not in the mood for jokes right before a race, especially one of such importance.

You furrow a brow, shaking your head to signal that it’s not the time for such jests concerning the blonde. As the good friend that she is, Chloe immediately understands as she moves to help tie your suit straps, a simple task that you are unexpectedly failing at due to the pressure of the meet ahead of you.

“You’re going to do great,” Chloe comforts, placing an assuring hand on your shoulder once she’s finished with your straps. “I’m sure of it.”

“What if I don’t break the record?”

“Who cares? You can try again next time. If that’s the worst that can happen, you don’t have anything to be nervous about,” she smiles in assurance. “Besides that record is as good as yours -” she makes a gesture to your tech suit that has the most magical of time bending abilities if wielded by the right swimmer. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Nothing can stop you now.”

“Thanks Clo.” you grin at her appreciatively, and though your nerves don’t settle in the slightest, you feel more comfortable living in cohabitation with them now. They’re so much easier to manage when you’re not alone.

It’s only minutes before the rest of your team has arrived and you have hours before your event is scheduled to take place, yet it only feels like seconds before you’re being seated in the waiting room amongst your competitors, tech suit finally fully on. Rousing music plays through your headphones though you are sure to skip any songs that seem even the slightest bit romantic. You try to slip into the right headspace, the line between confident and cocky that has always aided you in not panicking just before you step up to the blocks in the past. You try to find it, using any method at your fingertips, but it’s no use. You can’t seem to find it no matter how hard you try and suddenly it feels as if the weight of the world is crashing down on you when the door opens and your event is called. You stand with the other women and together you line up behind the blocks.

The sun shines much higher up in the sky than it had been when you dove in during warm ups, blaring down to reflect off the red of your cap that bears the Stanford logo in white along with your last name. You take your rightful place behind the starting block of the middle lane, and though you already wrote your heat and lane in black sharpie on your forearm just to be sure, you can’t help but worry that you’ve already missed your race.

It’s only when the head announcer calls your event on the loudspeaker that you stop dwelling on it, her voice echoing through the stands that seem so much taller now that you're in the center with so much pressure resting solely on you. You rake though the rafters to your left, hoping to be comforted by the sight of Chloe or one of your other teammates until you realize that they are more than likely preparing for their own events in the warm up pool.

It's then, just when the swirling hurricane of emotions is hurtling toward you, that you see him. He’s seated in the first row, blonde curls circling his head like a golden crown and a wide smile lighting up his face when he sees that you’ve finally spotted him, one that you can’t help returning as he mouths sweet wishes of luck to you.

Art came. He actually came!

The storm subsides and all of a sudden you’ve lost all your inhibitions. Instead of buzzing anxiety, you are filled with a new light and the confidence of a record breaker. It’s all so clear with Art in the stands and as his presence wafts away your storm of worries, you come to the realization that you can do it. You know you can.

The whistle of an official blares through the speaker and on cue you slide on your goggles and mount the block. You’re really starting to feel the compression of your suit as you bend into your diving position, waiting for the magic words. The signal that it’s time to race and leave everything you have in the pool as you go.

“Swimmers, take your marks…”

You take one last breath before the sound blares and you dive off the block. It all comes naturally to you and with the help of your suit, you find yourself breaking out farther than ever before.

You only have a few strokes until you’re at the end of the pool when out of nowhere, the girl in the lane beside you starts to catch up to you until the two of you are neck and neck and it doesn’t escape your attention when she flips a split second before you’re able to.

You know it’s not about winning, you told Art that, but it’s as if a fire has been lit behind you and you’re suddenly determined to go for the gold. You push yourself harder than you ever have before and though you're not sure where the energy has come from, you know it’s exactly what you need. You’ve failed if you’re able to get out of the pool without stumbling.

Before long you catch up to the swimmer beside you, taking your first and only breath as you summon the last of your power, pushing through the water like a jet-ski. At once you’re behind the flags and unlike before, there’s no one beating you to the touch pad resting on the side of the ending wall as you slam your hand down and come up for air.

The crowd erupts with applause once you finish and at first you’re under the impression that it’s because of your win until your eyes glaze over at the scoreboard and nearly burst from your skull at the sight of the result.

You had accomplished your goal. There it was, a time faster than the Stanford record glowing right beside your name. But you didn’t just pass it by a few flimsy hundredths. Your new record was more than a second faster.

You can hardly believe it and you know if the proof weren’t right in front of you, there’d only be disbelief instead of this crashing wave of accomplishment and pride. Though you’re in severe oxygen debt from the race, you find yourself screaming in excitement at your gigantic accomplishment.

“We have a new record!” an official announces through the loudspeaker once the other girls have returned to the starting wall, followed by your name and new time. You search for Art again once you’re out of the water, all but failing to suppress your grin as you find him clapping in the stands and smiling down at you as if you were the most precious stone in the world.

Your teammates are filled with the same immense pride when you join them in the locker room once the meet is over. You’ve since changed from your tech suit, switching out the tight fabric for your cozy hoodie, tie-back bikini top, and a towel tied around your waist. The suit in question now hangs in your locker with the rest of your clothes that you had been in the middle of putting on before the congradulations began.

“I fucking told you!” Chloe shouts, clapping you on the back like you had just won the lottery. You imagine such a feat couldn’t match the pride you feel now.

You almost say that you can’t believe it, but the words stall on your lips. You actually can believe it, this is something you’ve been working tirelessly for. And now, after a long hard race, the record title is finally yours.

“Did I see a certain blonde in the audience?” Chloe smirks, nudging you as you wave goodbye to one of your other parting teammates.

“Maybe,” you drawl, trying your best to hide your growing grin, but the thought of the man makes you feel like flying through the air as year worth of buried emotions bubble up to the surface. You haven’t felt anything like this for a very long time.

“You know what that means…” Chloe whispers to you after you pull away from a hug with one of the other girls who like everyone else, is on her way out. The night’s party is being hosted at a house that’s a longer commute than usual in honor of the women’s tenth annual win and unlike your teammates, you aren’t in any hurry to get there knowing the a portion of the celebration will surround you.

“Drinks on you?” you guess, pretending you are clueless as to what she’s getting at. You hope it’s enough to deter her from whatever inevitably grotesque she’s about to say, but you know it’s to no avail as she laughs and shakes her head.

“Nice try,” she smiles, nudging you with her elbow. “I meant that he’s definetly going to fuck the shit out of you next time you see him.”

You cringe bashfully at her words, hitting her on the shoulder as she backs away from your shrunken form.

“Chloe!” you chide, though you both know no real anger lies within your tone. She’s been like this since the day you’d first met her: always the same old loving, indecorous Chloe.

“Just saying.” she shrugs before turning to say her goodbyes to the last lingering one of your other teammates.

You turn to open your locker, finally ready to change out of your damp towel until you’re startled by the clacking footsteps of unfamiliar tennis shoes heading in your direction. You assume it’s another random spectator who had bypassed the many signs clearly stating that the locker room is for athlete occupance only, but at once you find you’re very wrong when you turn to see who it is.

Art stands before you and though it was his decision to invade the women’s locker room, he looks as surprised as you.

“Hey,” he says, almost breathlessly. You’re thankful when you notice that Chloe is fully dressed to your left, just pulling on her knit cardigan.

She smirks smuggly at the sight of him, swinging her bag over her shoulders before sending you a wink and a swiftly muttered, “Told ya.” Without another word she exits, leaving you and Art utterly and completely alone.

“You realize this is the women’s restroom, right?” you jab as you hear Chloe shut the door behind her, though it’s all in good fun. As far as you know, no one is coming anywhere near the locker room for the next several hours.

“I was waiting outside for you,” he states, gradually lifting his hands from their tense place in the front of his jean pockets. “I thought everyone else had already come out, but I guess I was wrong.”

“That’s just Chloe,” you laugh, gesturing in the direction of the exit path your best friend had just taken. “Don’t worry, she won’t tattle.”

He chuckles, amused by your jest before he takes a slow step closer to you. Like a sparkler to your stomach, you become acutely aware of the tension between the two of you, growing like the blush colored blossoms of a cherry tree in spring. “I’ve thought about what you said.”

This makes you smile.

“And?”

“You were right.”

You’re heart flutters, so light that if it weren’t encaged within your chest you’re sure it would’ve floated away. He pauses to take another tense step in your direction, now only a foot away.

“Do you know how Tashi and I met?”

“I don’t, actually,” you say, words laced with a twinge of sarcasm.

“Right,” he laughs, realizing the folly behind his question. It was more rhetorical than anything, but he begins the story like a spider spindiling its web. “Well it was only about a year ago. We met at the US open. Patrick and I both went after her and you know what she told us?”

You wait for the answer.

“She said she’d give her number to whoever won our match. That was the first time I ever lost and it was to my best friend.”

“That’s who was at your match, wasn’t it?” you ask.

Art nods solumnly, though the pain that had been etched on his face from your last meeting has vanished, as if the thorn in his side has been replced by a budding rose.

“I didn’t know Art, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he urges. “It’s all okay now. I’ve realized that none of it matters anymore and it’s all because of you. If I’m being honest, I thought maybe if I won my match, then Tashi would leave him. But it’s not what I want anymore. I don’t want to be the winner she’s running to. I don’t want to have to earn her love.”

“What do you want?”

There’s a pause, a distinct moment where the glint in his blue eyes from the bright lights above conveys a clever message to you than any words could. Then he speaks.

“I think you know what I want.”

It’s all the confirmation you need to know that he’s finally playing the same game as you. He’s unbearably close now as his head reaches up to gently rake through your stringy wet hair. You welcome his touch, breath catching in your throat at the feeling of his fingers as his lips hover just above yours. If you’re being completely honest, you haven’t stopped fantasizing about it since the night of the party. Since the moment he had kissed you.

“You were right,” he whispers as his hot breath tickles the tips of your top lips with every placid word. “I don’t care about winning anymore. The only point I want to score is you.”

“That’s a really bad joke.” you remark, pointing out the obvious from his corny declaration. But Art doesn’t share your smirk, his face settling in an expression that’s much more sensual.

“I’m not kidding.”

You feel the immediate shift in energy as your smirk fades to parted lips and Art’s longing gaze moves downward from your eyes. What little space left between you is squashed as you allow him to pull you even closer, noses prodigy one another as Art’s fingers drift from the tips of your hair to cup the back of your head. It’s almost salivating the way he looks at you and you’re suddenly eager to remember what he tastes like.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks through a whisper, so quietly that if you hadn’t been right in front of him, you surely wouldn’t have heard it. It’s milliseconds before you’re nodding exuberantly with more urgency than a speeding ambulance (something you might need if your heart decided to beat any faster).

“Pleas-” you start, but Art’s on you before you can even get the word out, covering your lips with his until all you can taste, smell, and feel is him. Everything is him.

He’s gentle with you at first, testing the waters as his lips pass smoothly over yours. You lift up your hands to invite him in, squeezing the toned flesh of his arms before you drag them slowly up to the nape of his neck. You toy with some of the curls that rest there, twirling them between your fingers while sinking into the sounds he makes in return. He lets out a soft moan into your mouth, and at once his tongue melds with yours. You match the new intensity, swallowing each low groan.

Unlike your last encounter, it’s Art who pulls away this time, forcing you to scowl at him in confusion, eyes squinting and lips puffy. He twists his head to the left, glazing at the wide space behind him as he slowly moves the both of you backwards to the nearest flat-board bench until one of its edges grazes the top of his shin.

“What are you doing?” you ask through a whisper, leaning forward so that your lips titillate the tip of his ear which sends inadvertent shivers through his whole body. Art turns back to you, smirking as he leans in for another sloppy kiss, earning a salacious sound from you before his lips shift from yours and trailing from the corner of your mouth to the line of your open jaw where his teeth scrape against your skin. You can feel him grinning as he makes you emit the softest of moans.

“I want to make up for the other night. I said some things - I’m not proud of.”

You give a giddy chuckle as you cup his cheek, amused by the fact that he thinks his past behavior was inexcusable until Art’s head dips to suck on the tender skin of your neck and you can’t help but whine. You’re glad you have the lung capacity of a swimmer otherwise you might’ve fainted from the near constant lack of oxygen.

“Art, honestly-” a sudden gasp is ripped from you as you feel him nipping at your sweet spot, crumbling like a tin can under pressure. “-it’s fine.” you barely manage to finish your sentence.

He places a few more steady kisses to the column of your neck, working his way down to your clavicle. You tip your head back, an unintentional effect from the sensation of his lips as he lays the last just near the edge of your collarbone before raising his head to look at you and it’s almost as if he can see right through you.

“Does that mean you don’t want what I’m offering?” he questions, glancing down at the steady movement of your chest as it rises and falls beneath your hoodie. You don’t recall when in the last few minutes he managed to move his hands down to your waist, but you can feel them now as clear as ever. He grips the sides of your hoodie, nimble fingers sliding under the thick gray fabric until they find the skin beneath and his touch feels like fire, sparking flames along your hips with every small caress. It’s so hot that you aren’t sure how Tashi could pick anyone over him. You aren’t sure how anyone could deny him for that matter.

“No…” you admit and at once his hands start to travel higher and higher until they reach the bottom band of your bikini, inflaming the whole of your torso as he meets the straps still tied neatly together in the middle of your spine forming a perfect bow. His fingers follow the provided path, meeting at the center of your back as he starts to twirl one of the tails of the knot around his pointer finger.

“May I?” he asks, his tone so deceivingly politely as he gently tugs on the string. He waits patiently for your consent as his eyes pan up from your chest to your expression. You can’t get the words out, already too overwhelmed from the sizzling sensation of his touch, but you make sure to nod with the utmost enthusiasm. Who were you to tell Art Donaldson no when he was so eager to touch you? And you, in turn, were so eager to feel him.

He smiled at your agreeance and instantly unfastened the tie of your suit, pulling on the strand until the entire bow came undone. He lips pressed against yours once more before he settled down on the bench and raised the hem of your hoodie just enough to expose your stomach, peppering kisses to every inch of you.

You released your hold on him to assist in pulling the hoodie over your head, tossing it behind you where it lands in a crumple pile near the metal door of your locker. Without any tension left to hold it up, the triangle cutlets of your bikini slump to reveal two perfect pebbled nipples, leaving the towel looped around your waist as your only source of coverage.

Usually you’d feel insecure being so bare for a man that’s practically a stranger, but from the dazed look Art gives you as he takes in the sight of your figure, you find that you don’t mind it in the slightest.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Art mutters almost involuntarily, sending shock waves down straight to your core. The words came bursting out before he could find the strength to hold them back, his brain too busy processing your beauty to have any control over any sort of filter. You return your hands to his head of blonde curls just as he presses one last kiss to the center of your abdomen, exactly below your rib cage.

The movement is so sudden that you can't count the seconds that pass before he grabs at your breasts, each hand perfectly cupping the mounted flesh. His mouth is slower, trailing kisses up the valley of your chest.

His thumb works the sensitive skin encircling your nipple, running over the hardened peak in an unperceivable pattern that forces another well earned moan from your lips. It’s encouragement for his other hand that immediately drifts upwards to mirror the actions of the other. Every pinch and slight movement is like gasoline to your fire, all pouring in a downward stream to the part of you that grows more needy with every passing second. You could cry from the sensation of it all, the intensity only growing when you feel him pass his tongue over your left nipple. You try to suppress any sounds this time, teeth biting down on your lip as you curve your head back, but it forces its way out despite your efforts. You grip the hair fixed to his crown and pressure him forwards so that he remains in place.

“Shit, that feels - really good.” you praise, your phrase strung together like an old beaded bracelet as changes in pace break apart each word. When Art does part from your breasts, it’s to press wet kisses down the line of your abdomen as flickering thumbs replace his mouth. He pauses as he reaches the softest portion of your stomach, stopping just above the knot that is covering your very bare lower half, and though you don’t recall informing him about your lack of undergarments, you are sure that he already knows.

“I need to taste you,” he whispers against your skin.

He doesn’t ask you for permission anymore, but instead glances up at you from his spot on the bench and it’s everything you need to understand what he wants from you. And of course you want it. You’re sure if he wastes a second longer to tend to your throbbing center, you might just pass out in his sturdy arms.

“Please, Art, I need you,” you’re able to get out, though it’s breathy and delicate from the way that he’s rendered you.

He’s quick to oblige as he takes the top of your towel cover in between his perfect white teeth and yanks the fabric hard enough for it to fall to your feet. He’s on you in an instant, one of his hands moving to support your shaky frame as he slides a knee between yours to spread you open.

He coaxes every cry out of you with his tongue, wet and skilled as he traces it along each fold, his nose bobbing against your swollen clit not dissimilar from his left hand that still lies atop your breast. You press him closer to you as he swirls his tongue around you, over and over and never in the same way more than twice in a row. It’s overstimulation at its best, overwhelming you until you're trembling in his grasp and before you know it, you’re riding the edge of the wave to pure pleasure.

“Fuck, Art! I’m- I’m-“ you can’t even finish your sentence, he feels so good. He hums against you in amusement, the vibrations of his voice meeting your core in a melting sensation that you find yourself grinding into uncontrollably.

“On my tongue,” he promotes against you before licking a steady stripe along your center. It’s then that you know you’re done for. Your cry is almost inhuman as you leap off the edge, diving into the heart of the wave as Art finally relinquishes his hold on your breast and uses the newly unoccupied hand to pierce into your arousal, calloused fingers curling into you as he helps you down from your high. Even after you cum you know you still have more in you. And you can tell from the growing bulge in his pants that Art isn’t done with you either.

He stands to kiss you with dampened lips as the taste of your own arousal invades your senses, but you withdraw from the embrace after only a few seconds to ask him your burning question, desire already regrowing like a flooding river of need.

“Art, I need you,” you start, pulling at the canvas material of his button up. “Please, please fuck me.”

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles before pressing his mouth towards yours and back you up to the wall of lockers that are neatly arranged behind you.

Granted by his permission, you unfasten each button of his shirt until it’s enough to pull it off him which he happily helps you accomplish. You can’t tell who’s more desperate for you to feel the dense muscle of his chest as he places your palms face down on his pecs, granting you the assurance you needed to explore his body.

You take your time, squeezing and prodding just as he had done to you until one of your hands is low enough on his stomach to palm him through his light wash jeans. The soft whimper he returns is nearly enough to send you over again. He pulls back as he lets you undo his belt, eyelids fluttering after you’ve unbuttoned and unzipped the only thing keeping you from him. You’re quick to pull him out, not at all shocked by how hard he is and it’s a major ego boost knowing it’s all because of you.

“See what you do to me?” he whispers against your lips as if you needed more proof of his longing for you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Please,” you beg. “I need to feel you.”

Art is quick to oblige as his calloused fingers grip the soft skin of your hips, so rough that you can feel every callus from his racket as he pushes you against the lockers, thrusting up into you. While he’s dying to continue, he hesitates so that you can acclimate to his size. It takes no longer than a second as you release a guttural groan and wrap a leg around his waist, aiding him in hitting even deeper within you.

“Fuck!” you cry, throwing your head back against the cold metal as Art nips at your neckline again. You’re drowning beneath the blissful rocky wave and from the sounds that he’s making, almost re-enacting one of his matches just for you, you can tell that Art is too.

It happens so quickly that your mind struggles to understand it, spinning wildly as the wave pulls you under once more along with Art who finishes in a similar amount of time. You lean into his chest, breathing heavily as you take in the heavenly scent of his undoubtedly expensive cologne and slightly wincing as he pulls out of you slowly. He ducks to pick up your fallen towel as he starts to clean you up.

The realization that it’s over doesn't quite hit you until Art helps you get dressed, buckling his belt back up only once you’re decent and in return you hand him a spare shirt so he doesn’t have to redo every button on the one you’d nearly torn off him.

“Thanks,” he smiles gratefully, pulling on your shirt which fits tighter around him than it would around you, though it’s nothing to complain about as every miniscule ripple of muscle is on display.

You’re both thinking the exact same thing as you exit the locker room, hand in hand with the same guilty expression on your face as you pass an incoming janitor who is too busy scowling to ask Art what he was doing in the women’s locker room. It’s obvious from the encounter that it won’t be your last and as Art drives you to the planned frat party, you’re even sure that it’s not the last of the night.

Time proves you right as you’re seated next to Art a few weeks later, curled into his side as you share a large plate of the appetizer combo at a local Applebees. It was the only thing open after a long day of matches and meets and steamy rendezvous in between. The two of you were going on steadier than the trunks of ancient trees as you continue to support each other, you attending all of Art’s matches ( even if it meant skipping a practice or two) and Art cheering for you at all of your meets. You’re not sure if it’s the consistent attendance, but the both of you were only getting better at your respective hobbies by the day, particularly Art who hadn’t lost a match since meeting you.

You’re both jokingly arguing over who gets the last quesadilla when a familiar woman stops near your table, joined by a man you’d never seen before, though you recognize him from several of Art's detailed stories. He straightens beside you, gathering himself to greet the new company.

“Hey guys, long time no see!”

“Art,” Patrick nods to his friend before smiling to you and offering his hand, one that you take without a second thought. “I’m Patrick.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You must be Tashi.” you turn to the girl and you can’t help, but analyze the peculiarities of her expression. It’s clear she is content with her own man of choice, but something about the way she looks at you tells you that she’s still involved in the tennis philosophy you managed to screw out of Art. She looks at you like you’re a player she’s lost to. And from what Art’s told you, you're certain it’s the first time Tashi has lost.

“It’s nice to meet you.” she fakes a smile before pulling Patrick to the door, careful not to stay long enough for the conversation to lead anywhere important. It’s awkward and strange, but you know it’s for the best. You’re not particularly interested in anything she has to say anyways.

“Did you see that?” you ask, pointing in the direction of the doorway that the couple had used for an easy escape.

“What?” Art wonders, looking towards you in anticipation.

“I think she’s looking for a new winner.”

Art leans in to peck the apple of your cheek, assurance that no matter the circumstance, he’ll never be available to the likes of Tashi Duncan again.

“Must be because I’ve won,” he reasons, “-because I have you and there’s nothing she can do to separate us.”

You smile at his sweet words, praying that he never ceases to use his talent for affectionate poetry as you lean in to kiss him. Whether he wins or loses or even never plays again, you couldn’t care less about the outcome of his career. As long as Art’s happy, you’re prepared to take on any challenge you’re put up to, whether on the court or in the pool.

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson fanfic #stanford art!!!#art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fic #tashi duncan #patrick zweig #challengers 2024 #challengers movie #challengers #challengers fanfic #swimmer life #swimming #smut #mike faist

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art · 6 months

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Creator Spotlight: @chaaistheanswer

Hi everyone! I am Clara, but you can also call me chaa! I am a digital artist based in Auckland, New Zealand, with a bachelor’s degree in Creative Media Production. After graduating from uni, I moved out to pursue my art career and I’ve been a freelance digital artist ever since. I love concept art, especially character design! Creating characters influenced by my love for fantasy is what I live for. Thank you for stopping by, and I hope you enjoyed my art! And thank you, Tumblr, for this opportunity!

Check out our interview with Clara below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I specialized in art in high school and have a bachelor’s degree in Creative Media Production from Massey University with an animation pathway. For our thesis film, which I worked on with several of my classmates, I took on the role of producer, art director, and concept artist. Our short film was featured in the Wellington Film Festival Terror-Fi in 2020. After graduating, I went on to become a freelance artist, but my goal is to work for the gaming industry as a character concept artist. Ever since I first picked up a pencil, I knew I wanted to become an artist!

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

Art block is quite common among artists, and unfortunately, I too have fallen prey to the affliction. I have several ways of overcoming art block: watching movies, playing games, reading, or going out for a drive with my sister. These are just a few things I love to do to help keep my creative juices flowing!

What is one habit you find yourself doing a lot as an artist?

I tend to obsessively research about completely unrelated topics while I draw. I find learning new things helps improve my concept designs, especially in creating backgrounds for my characters.

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

Video games and anime were my biggest inspirations! Anything with a captivating story that’ll send me to the edge of my seat, and loveable characters. I’m particularly drawn to high and dark fantasy.

How has technology changed the way you approach your work?

Technology has made a huge impact on us artists over the last few years. I used to draw a lot on paper, but since getting a tablet, I find myself searching for the undo and redo buttons and even trying to zoom constantly while I draw on paper. I used to only draw for myself as well, but after posting my art online, I now have an audience to whom I can share my art. Because of this, I am able to earn a living doing what I love by creating illustrations for clients.

What is a recent creative project that you are proud of?

I am very proud of this recent commission I’ve done for a client! Fortunately, the piece turned out exactly how I wanted it to look, and my client was very happy with the result. I am also in the process of working on a Webtoon, which is going as smoothly as I hoped it would be before its re-release!

What advice would you give to younger you about making art that's personal or truthful to your own experiences?

The best advice I would give my younger self is to never hold back! Try not to think about the negatives of creating and sharing art that you believe in. Embrace vulnerability, and don’t be afraid to dig deep into your own emotions and experiences. Always explore, and don’t limit yourself to your own bubble. And most important of all, stay true to yourself! Stay true to your values and beliefs, and never compromise your own authenticity for the sake of pleasing others. Your art is a reflection of you as a person.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@yuumei-art has been an inspiration to me since my early Deviantart days. I admire how she uses her skills to focus on environmentalism and cyber activism. @nipuni is another inspiration of mine. I found her when I was in the process of recovering from Dragon Age Solavellan hell. I admire how she manages to capture faces well while also sticking to her style. Her paintings are so beautiful and very pleasing to my eyes!

Thanks for stopping by, Clara! If you haven't seen her Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here. For more of Clara's work, follow her Tumblr, @chaaistheanswer!

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #chaaistheanswer

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zriasstuff · 8 months

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Final blow- Mattheo Riddle x reader

Mattheo Riddle oneshot; including a classic wizarding duel, tension filled atmosphere, and a cute ending <3 (SFW)

“For our next duel, I’m asking Mattheo Riddle and Miss Y/n to please step up onto the platform”

The words from professor Snape echoed through the duelling practice room, and as of right now everyone was staring at you two. It didn’t come as a shock to you when you were picked. Both of you were pretty much on the same level, with the exception of course that you had way less of an ego than Mattheo.

Defense against the dark arts was your favorite subject, especially when it came to doing hands on things. Duelling just happened to be one of your favorite things to practice. The tougher the opponent, the sweeter the victory, you believed. With Mattheo, you had to make sure that you would fight till the last moment, and to not go down without a proper fight.

“C’mon, go up!”, your friends encourage you, “You got this!”. They all believed in you, and told you that your chances were good, making you feel more secure in your skills. Through all the encouragement you got, you start moving towards where the showdown would take place.

As you go up, you look at Mattheo, who seemed confident to say the least. He knows he’s good and everyone else knows it too. Moreover, all the quidditch training certainly gave him a strong and muscular body to work with.

Before the duel begins, you scan the crowd one more time for looks and chants of support. “MAKE US RAVENCLAWS PROUD!”, you hear someone yelling amidst all the people. That you were extremely thankful for, since you could really use all the positive reassurance you could get. You quickly say thank you back to the crowd.

At the same time, the Slytherins must’ve seen this as another competition and started yelling all sorts of things in support of their representative too. Together, they sure looked like a mean bunch.

“YOU GOT THIS MATTHEO!”, his friend Blaise hollers loudly. Draco, right after, shouts out “YEAHH, DESTROY HER!”.

What a gentleman you mutter to yourself, and Mattheo must’ve heard it because you hear a slight chuckle escaping his mouth.

“Nervous”, he quietly asks you.

“Not at all”, you respond in the most self assured manner that you can muster.

He himself didn’t look nervous at all, but rather excited to have a “play partner”. Frankly you weren’t either, but you also knew that going up against him wouldn’t be easy.

Mattheo keeps looking you in the eye with a slight grin, so to match his energy, you hold eye contact with him too and make sure that your posture is straight. If you don’t look capable from the beginning, you are never going to make it to the end.

To commence this duel at last, Snape retells the rules of combat and announces that “only magical acts can be used as a form of offense or defense. You may disarm or harm your opponent, but must not seriously injure them.” Otherwise Madam Pomfrey would surely throw another fit at you “immature rascals”.

You were counting on disarming Mattheo to be your tactic. His fatal flaw was, noting from your past observations, being too aggressive, and not fully protecting himself. Besides that, he was flawless.

All eyes on you guys now, you start off by bowing to each other to pay your respects. “Good luck”, he whispers to you while you’re on eye level. “Same to you”, you reply, to make him know that you weren’t scared.

As Snape was counting down from three, you calmed yourself down once again, telling yourself that it would be fine. When Snape reaches the final number three, Mattheo immediately goes into the offense and casts several stunning spells, which you block with your shielding spell. You had practiced that one so often, that you could confidently utilize it at any given time. Mattheo keeps trying to push you back further. One after another, his attacking spells are blasted at you. And one after another you block them. It was a back and forth dance between you two, neither one of you budging yet.

He came alarmingly close though. One of his spells had caught your shoulder, sending an electrifying shock through your body. Another one had hit your torso straight like a bullet. That one had caused you the most pain. You grunted and held your hand over the wounded area, but it was still bearable. You just had to fight through the pain.

Both of you kept going, at this point recognizing that victory wouldn’t come easily to either one of you. Mattheo, looking forward to making things a little more playful, cheekily calls out “holding up pretty well for someone like you”. You knew he was trying to get you off of your game by sounding condescending. He was well aware of your capabilities. Therefore you clap back by saying “that shouldn’t come as a surprise, and you’re not as good as you think you are”.

Having said that, you hear a few murmurs amongst the students. Snape takes the time to remind you to keep the personal bashing to yourselfs until the duel is resolved. Mattheo seems to take it quite personally though, now casting out especially aggressive spells.

Even by then you are able to hold up, but there was still no opportunity to really harm him. The back and forth kept going to the point where neither of you saw an end to this.

After a while, having been so concentrated on defending yourself and managing your pain, you hadn’t even looked at Mattheo anymore to see how he was doing. You just saw his spells shooting at you. So, when you finally did look, you noticed that Mattheo was getting a little riled up himself and losing his edge. He always tries to keep his cool, to not show any signs of weakness. Yet, there you were, taking hit after hit, and not backing down. It made him frustrated to see his efforts not meeting his expectations.

After more exchanges of non sufficient spells, you are getting way too tired, and you decide it’s time to put this exhausting duel to an end. You just had to wait for the perfect moment.

In Mattheo’s mind, he was also just waiting for the perfect moment, hoping for you to retreat.

When you glance at the audience again for just a second, you see the gawking mouths of some of the Slytherins. Instantly, it boosts your confidence. If even they were stunned by you, then all was going right, and you knew you got this. If you could really defeat Mattheo, his ego was probably going to be bruised for a good several days at least.

Between further dodging spells, and shielding yourself, it was really difficult to find the perfect moment, though you had a feeling it would come soon enough. Mattheo was getting even more frustrated. His spells weren’t as accurate anymore. His arm was losing strength and going a little limp. And most important of all, his confidence became tainted.

While trying to catch his breath for a second, Mattheo simultaneously lowers his arm. During that one scarce moment, you decide to deliver the final blow.

“EXPELLIARMUS!”, you call out. Everyone’s eyes were wide open, seeing exactly as the spell hit Mattheo, causing his wand to fly across the platform, all the way into your hand. You catch it with precision, and watch his look of disbelief. You couldn’t even fully believe it yourself. He was done for.

“Wanna wave the white flag now?”, you cheekily ask him now, as he’s still trying to catch his breath. It was a little mean, but he could handle it.

Mattheo still can’t believe what just happened based on the look on his face. You see him scrunching his eyebrows, and mouth hanging wide open.

Although he knows he’s got nothing left, he still replies with “never”.

“As you wish”, you say with a wide grin, because in the next second, your final spell sent him flying across the room. Mattheo falls off of the duelling platform at the end, all the way onto the ground.

As his body hit the hard floor, all students from every house, except the Slytherins of course, started cheering for you. You felt as if you were on cloud nine hearing all their chants. Your heart was still beating rapidly, as if it was going to explode any second. A little part of you can’t believe that you just sent Mattheo flying across the platform, but the bigger part was gloating with pride.

You watch Mattheo prop himself up and walk back onto the platform to go up to you. He warmly, to your surprise, meets your gaze and brings out his hand to shake yours.

“Looks like you didn’t need luck after all”, he congratulates you. You’re taken aback for a second because this behavior of him wasn’t what you expected at all. He clearly notices and goes on to say “I rarely lose, but when I do I try not to be a sore loser”.

When he goes to his friends, he turns back and winks at you with a smirk plastered on his face. Winning was already quite the event, but Mattheo being a perfect gentleman weirdly made your insides churn.

…

You wait for everyone to leave the room after enough duelling was done for the morning. The reason was because you saw, from the corner of your eye, that Mattheo was also taking his time. You didn’t even know exactly why you were waiting for him.

Not that it was your planned intention, but you decide to go up to him and tell him that it was a great, although stressful, duel. Perhaps that would fuel some kind of conversation.

“No need to gloat”, he throws back at you. He didn’t sound all too happy, and maybe he did take the loss stronger than he showed at first. Your mind starts to spin and look for kind words. You definitely didn’t mean to insult him, so you quickly stutter out

“No- that’s not what I-”

Before you could finish that jumbled sentence though, he chuckles out loud, his eyes giving you a look of sympathy. His entire demeanor has changed now, the upset look from before just having been a facade.

“Chill, I was just kidding”, he cheerfully says. Seconds later he adds “You won fair and square, I’m actually really impressed with you”. It sounded like he meant it genuinely.

That compliment wasn’t something you expected. Relieved at his relaxed attitude, you choose to go along with his joking manner and respond with “I’m definitely going to hold that over your head forever”.

That earned you yet another precious chuckle from him. His laugh was truly contagious because shortly after you start laughing too. You had actually never expected that talking with Mattheo could feel so carefree and fun.

“Y’know I actually thought you were a lot more arrogant”, you honestly admitted to him during your talk. As far as the truth went, this was it. You could see that it had certainly been a little presumptuous of you to assume that about him.

“Well that’s because you don’t really know me and make pointless assumptions, but I don’t blame you”, he boldly calls you out on your prejudices too.

Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as you imagined, but definitely still cocky.

Suddenly he puts his hand on your shoulder, which makes you jerk back at first. The sudden contact just came as a surprise. He also takes notice, but when he sees that you don’t mind after the initial shock, he just kept it there. “So, wanna get out of here?”, he suggested. “We could talk and you could get to know me better”, Mattheo proposes, obviously referring to your previous statement.

“Well, how can I say no to that”, you comply while flashing him a gentle smile.

And with that, both of you leave the room, with Mattheo’s hand still wrapped around your shoulders.

#harry potter #oneshot #slytherin #slytherin boys #fanfic #mattheo riddle #ravenclaw #drabble #wizarding world #harry potter oneshot #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle oneshot

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nouearth · 1 year

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servicing justice: superman [1]

pairing ; kal-el / clark kent / superman x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, superman. word count ; 2144. series ; servicing justice. genre ; smut. rating ; m. warnings ; bigdick!superman. blowjob. gloryhole. handjob. mouth-fucking. oral (reader giving). sexworker!reader. note ; yeah, okay. maybe i've been watching too much of a certain video genre, ahem. but i hope you guys enjoy my first smut! it's been a WHILE since i've written one, so i know it's rusty, HAHA. looks-wise, i mostly had maws's superman in mind (because the art style is so good and so himbo), but feel free to imagine it with any superman!

it isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. you’ve been kneeling on the floor for quite some time now, waiting for your assigned client. your palms begin to sweat to a minimal but uncomfortable degree. did i fuck up already? you ask yourself as your mind clouds with questions, doubts, and even judgement regarding this new job.

“jesus, what did i get myself into…” you recall the long process it took for you to end up here. the intensive (and ridiculously long) process of reading and signing multiple forms and documents almost had you backing out of this opportunity. though looking back at it, it was understandable since it’s quite unheard of to be… a sex worker for superheroes.

for an incredible pay, your privacy will essentially be stripped away starting from today. all phone messages, calls, and social media activities will be monitored during your venture as a sex worker, and that post-graduate life was not going to pay itself. for the most part, so far everything seemed… great? being driven to work by a chauffeur, having your own personal room and health coverage provided, and most importantly… eating free lunch was not bad at all.

or maybe you’re just naïve.

all you had to do was kneel and suck a few superhumans off. as the newbie, you were told that you’ll be starting on gloryhole duty due to privacy reasons; at least until you built enough camaraderie. though, you didn’t even mind since there would certainly be less strain on your body.

you couldn’t help but snicker at the mere thought of an entire league of superheroes holding a meeting regarding this subject matter. especially since almost everyone in the world, including you, holds these superheroes in such high regard.

“meeting is adjourned until 9 am tomorrow! until then, please help yourself to some delicious food trucks from outer spac-“ your humorous imitation of a noble superhero is silenced when you hear the door opening. within your private booth, all that blocks you from meeting your approaching client is another door with a hole cut through.

your curiosity is piqued when you catch a sight of the man’s physique through the hole. plaid shirt and jeans aside, and assuming he had to underdress, he’s huge. maybe because you’re kneeling right now, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never been near a superhero before, but you couldn’t help but be in awe at the size of the man. your eyes complete a full body scan by the time he approaches the door and before you could say something, he does.

“sorry i was late-“ a gentle voice echoes behind the door. contrary to his soft voice, the man’s large hands work aggressively at his belt, unlooping the leather with impatience yet eagerness as he anticipates the mouth that’s been waiting for his arrival. “there was this whole thing with this cat in this tree and then this school bus got hijacked- not my best day, unfortunately.”

“i’m sorry to hear that. sounds like a stressful day, yeah?” your voice is compassionate. you felt bad for the unnamed superhero and a part of you wanted to continue the conversation further, but your job isn’t to listen to their feelings. it’s to pleasure.

“yeah…” a huge sigh of relief expels from the man’s dry throat when he pulls his pants down. frustration stains another one of your client’s sigh, clearly troubled by the restrictive fabric guarding his erection. you watch with parted lips as he couldn’t help but give himself a needy stroke through his tight briefs, fondling his balls then beelining his palm to the very plump tip of his cock. your own cock hardens at this scene, and you find yourself doing the very same. mimicking his impatient hand to tend to the sensitive pressure below, you tiptoe the fine line between frustration and pleasure as your tightening pants and briefs define what it means to be an absolute nuisance. “very stressful.”

it doesn’t take much time before you’re faceful of cock and somehow, you manage to salivate more than you did a minute ago. the man’s throbbing erection is brimmed with thick pre-cum, stress practically leaving his body with every drip. it’s a heavenly sight that’s enough to make you stick your tongue out just in time to catch the substance into your mouth, not wanting to waste a single drop. the salty taste always catches you off-guard yet at the same time, it puts you under a spell. a tantalizing spell that commands you to drag your warm tongue over and back the underside of his thick shaft, completely avoiding the plump glans to have his cock leak even more… stress.

the taste of his musk drives your palm further into your erection, palming at whatever you could as you preoccupy yourself with teasing the man. you almost felt bad for him. contrary to his build, his whimpers are… so small, so weak. you notice his hands grip over the top of the barrier, and it turns you on upon realizing how this supposed hero could become so fragile at the simple taunt of your tongue.

“please…” the superhero whimpers out, needlessly fucking the air in hopes of granting his cock some type of friction. you’re amazed, and a little proud, by how much pre-cum he’s been leaking by now, and it all goes right onto your tongue. the wet muscle follows the natural curve of his cock to meet up with the wet and plump head. his hips buckle into the barrier and feeling it shake, you keep him steady by wrapping your hand around his shaft. you’re addicted at this point. addicted to the salty taste of his pre-cum as your tongue licks and explores into the slit of his cock, while at the same time, your hand works at his large cock in slow, but steady strokes.

“oh christ-“ he breathes out, repeating the same two words under his shaky breath as you continue to pleasure him with your tongue and hand. after a few licks, you pull away to give your tongue a break. in doing so, your grip tightens around his shaft to pace your strokes quicker. when you find a moment where your wrist needs a break, you let your client catch his breath. his cock throbbing more and more with every passing second when your tongue and hand aren’t exploring him, and you bask in the sight of it. you believe you deserve a medal at this point. not for doing a great job (though, it doesn’t seem too far-fetched), but for having control. you haven’t even sucked him off yet, but you’re content on remaining just like this for a while longer. though, that wouldn’t be fair for the superhero.

before he could whimper out another plea, your warm mouth finally wraps around the head of his cock and your ears perk at the sound of his low moan almost instantly. your hand returns to its rightful position around the lower base of his penis as you cycle your tongue over the glans, satisfying your need to taste his musk once more. seconds later, your hand lets go when you push your head farther, taking in an inch more of the hero’s cock. your knees dig into the floor as you push your head more and more, stretching your mouth with his cock until you feel yourself gagging.

“fuck.” you sniffle out when you pull back. perhaps you were challenging yourself too hard. you think to yourself as you catch your breath, using the remaining moment to sloppily jerk him off with your saliva. part of you wanted to challenge yourself to deepthroat him, impress your client on the first day. but you already know you wouldn’t be able to take it… at least, for now.

“you could hurt someone with this, y’know?” for some reason, you thought you needed to crack a joke as if there was an awkward silence that needed to be filled. maybe you just wanted to hear him talk again. his voice is warm and inviting, somewhat fitting for a superhero or even a television host as the moment you hear his voice again, you felt safe.

“i have before- oh god.” you lube up his cock with your spit as you continue to jerk him off, refraining yourself from fucking his slit with your tongue again to concentrate on his words. “which is why i don’t do this much- sex and stuff… it’s all troublesome, really.”

“yeah?” and just when you talked yourself out of challenging yourself, you feel the competitive spark ignite inside of you again. “well, i guess you just have to find the right one. could be anyone, even people you just met.” you try to play it nonchalantly, hoping that double-handing his wet cock would distract him.

he was beyond speechless at this point, moans drawn out by means of your sloppy strokes. you swear you can hear his heartbeat behind the barrier when you lean your head closer to suck him off again. you moan along with him, drawing out every breath of yours as you bob your head up and down, taking more of his cock every time you come down. your hand twists and strokes the remaining few inches that isn’t violated by your tongue and mouth, following your mouth like a reel as your intent to make him cum is fervent more than ever.

it hurts. your mouth hurts by how large your client is and tears brim in your eyes as you hold yourself back from gagging. but you don’t stop yourself because you’ll know it’ll be worth it. your endeavor to please him to the fullest has you drowning out his groans into white noise and you can barely register the fact that you’ve been on paused for a while now. you find yourself in a closer position than before, where your mouth is open, lips fully pressed around the carved hole as the superhero fucks into your mouth, fucks into your gags like you’re his personal flesh light. you didn’t care how dirty you looked, how you had saliva and spittle dripping out from the corners of your mouth and onto the floor. who would see? and you didn’t care that you were too preoccupied to touch your dick right now, because you know you’ll be thinking about this very moment for the rest of your life. and right now, you didn’t know if you wanted to be covered in his cum or to have your mouth be filled with it.

remaining in this position, you glance your teary eyes up at his grip over the barrier again. the strength in his grasp forms small cracks in the material of the barrier and that was the sign you knew you fulfilled your sense of purpose.

“christ, i’m going to come-“ your eyes shut again and you breathe through your noise, bracing for impact. he pushes his cock down your throat and hits that sore spot one last time before unloading his cum into your mouth with a stifled groan. warm, hot seed quickly fills you up and you pull your head back an inch to fully enclose your lips around his cock, ensuring none escape your lips.

in a heartbeat, you swallowed it all. his warm cum coats the back of your throat like medicine and you moan around his cock at the taste, intoxicated. you made sure to lick every inch of his cock clean, calmly slurping any saliva and cum that threatens to leave your mouth as you pull back up with a soft pop, swallowing the remaining remnants of his stress away.

“t-thank you. i needed that…” he pulls his softening cock out, careful in avoiding the hole as he was still sensitive. “did you need a tissue or anything? i think i have one somewhere…” you can hear him rummage through what you can only assume would be his bag and you find it charming, a quiet laugh leaving your swollen lips as you lean back onto your elbows to take a breather and stretch your legs out.

“no, no. i’m okay. i, uh, don’t think i wasted a drop.” you proudly brag, only for him to respond with a shy chuckle. you watch him tidy himself through the hole from a leaned back view, occasionally tilting your head in various angles to see if you could catch a glimpse on who the mysterious superhero is, but the barrier remains an obstruction to your view.

“well then, i… uh… thank you for your service.” he covers up the silence with another laugh and you join in, re-adjusting his pants and belt before turning his back towards you and heading out the booth. “i’ll try not to be late next time.”

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x male reader #clark kent x you #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent smut #nou.fics

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writingficsanddaydreams · 1 year

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His Eyes

Mihawk x gn!reader

Summary: you may dislike eye contact, but that doesn’t make his eyes any less mesmerizing

Content: some fluff, a little romance. They’re on a mission. Reader is autistic.

A/N: this is a shorter piece, just a snippet of an idea really, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So now I’m making you all think about it too! Like all my stories, Mihawk is based on a mix of his live action personality, and the little bit I know from watching some of the anime and reading the manga quite literally years ago.

—————————————

Dracule Mihawk. A great warlord of sea. A man so powerful that his very presence makes others stop and step back wherever he goes, who can freeze a person in place with just his intense, piercing gaze.

You love his gaze.

You love the color of his eyes, the way that lantern light plays across the striking yellow, bringing out those hints of gold. You love the shape of them, the way his eyebrows furrow, that little line that forms above his nose when he’s so focused. You love how he can seem to command a room with his gaze alone.

His eyes are mesmerizing.

“How is it you can stare at me, yet request I avoid the same?”

His words send a shiver through you, one that strengthens as he turns that gaze briefly your way. His arm is is draped carefully across the back of the tavern booth, his fingers just brushing your shoulder.

You shrug and smile—just a little smile, the one you practiced because you know it secretly makes him pleased, even if smiling doesn’t come naturally to you.

“It’s not like I command you,” you tease, even as you draw your knees closer to your chest to better balance your sketchbook and lean slightly into him. You like sitting like this, both because it lets you naturally look away when he does decide to stare at you, and because you love the feeling of his nearness as you lean slightly into his side.

“Hmm.” He turns his gaze away. You quickly peak up at him and are pleased to see the slightest twitch to his own lips, a hint of his own smile.

He’ll never show it, not here in this tavern where every other person subtly watches him. But it’s there, and you’ve enjoyed drawing it out of him since you started working together as temporary partners. Especially since you started to be something more…

You turn back to your own work, drawing your fountain pen across the thick sketchbook paper.

A line here. A small adjustment there. You let yourself fall into the art, even as you listen to the conversations murmuring around you.

The din of voices can be overwhelming at times, painful even when so many noises echo together, but useful. You’ve learned ways to manage it, found tools to let you block out the sound when it’s too much and learned how to sort through the sounds when you do have the energy for it. Now you sit and listen, letting your art pull you slightly away from it all, even as snippets of conversation come and go.

“…can’t believe that seller cheated me! I…”

“…Mihawk here…?”

“…will drink you under the table…”

“…think Garp sent him? Does he know we…”

You still your pen, glancing only slightly up from the page. That conversation was from not too far away. The targets.

“You noticed them too,” comments Mihawk, in that eternally bored, yet oh so confident tone.

“What now?” you ask, turning your gaze back to your sketchbook. “Capture them here or flush them out?”

If you were working alone, you would probably wait for them to leave on their own, then follow them and complete the mission once away from all the noise and bustle of the tavern. But it’s fun to work Mihawk’s way as well, to see just what it is that makes him so simultaneously feared and respected. You find it fascinating how he toys with his targets at times, as if a job is simply a game to him.

“It has been quiet lately. A chase might be entertaining.”

You grin, even as you carefully try to capture a slight shimmer of light in your sketch.

This is the part you find so fascinating.

The way he can inspire or horrify people with just a glance. The way he moves so carefully and intentionally through his work, even as he sometimes treats it as a way to relieve the boredom of being truly the best. The way he knows how good he is, knows his power and wears it like a cloak.

You know the moment he turns his gaze from a casual analysis of the room to a hunter spotting its prey.

It’s in the slight gasps as that muted conversation staggers to a halt. The sharp sense of fear that drifts through the tavern. The way Mihawk’s intense gaze cuts straight through the crowded tables and towards the targets, even as everyone else breathes in relief that it’s not aimed at them.

You’ve done this just enough times now to know that soon your targets will try to leave, try to flee.

Then it will be time to act.

For now though, you enjoy leaning into your warlord, carefully drawing your pen across a sketchbook page as you capture the dangerous beauty of his vivid eyes.

#dracule mihawk #mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece x reader

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cosmerelists · 1 year

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If Cosmere Characters Were on Tumblr...

Sure, we blog about Cosmere characters. But what if they were here, blogging for themselves? Here is what I think it might be like...

1. Dalinar: Never changes the default icon

He gets blocked a lot.

Dalinar: How odd. No matter how many blogs I follow, my “dashboard” remains empty.

Renarin: I think they all blocked you because they think you’re a bot.

Dalinar: A bot? But I took your advice and chose a unique blog name: Big_D9762.

Renarin: ...

Dalinar: What?

2. Jasnah: Acts like Neil Gaiman

She comes on tumblr as a break from doing research and ruling, answers a few questions, and leaves again.

Anonymous asked: I love your work breaking down gender barriers in Alethkar by being queen and stuff! Do you plan to further erode unnecessary gender distinctions, like by letting women eat spicy food and show both hands?

Jasnah-Kholin: Wait and See.

3. Vin: Reblogs a thousand things in a mad fury and then disappears for days

She does not use the queue function.

Vin: Yeah...I don’t fuck with the the queue function. If you see me, you see me.

Elend: Hey Vin, did you reblog the crab rave like 15 times in a row?

Vin: I was feeling it.

4. Elend: Has a carefully curated queue

His “queue” tag is “Vin is a queue-T.”

Elend: The only exception I make are donation posts and political ones, since those need to be reblogged immediately.

Elend: But otherwise, the queue function is great for lovely, regular content!

5. Adolin: Runs a fashion blog

He has ALL of the Rosharan runways.

Adolin: It’s easy to let Alethi fashion dominate, but a REAL fashion blogger makes sure to have a wide variety of nations and fashions.

6. Shallan: Posts her art

And she tries not to be frustrated when her quick Kaladin sketch gets tons more notes than her very detailed sketch of the chasmfiend.

Shallan: It’s like, I get it--Kaladin fan art is ALWAYS popular.

Shallan: But that chasmfiend was very detailed!

Adolin: Maybe you should draw Kaladin riding it.

Adolin: Shirtless.

Shallan: ...

Shallan: I’ll take my three notes, thank you very much.

7. Tien: Always reblogs no-note art posts

And he always leaves a nice comment too!

Tien: The colors in this are so lovely!!

8. Navani: Considers herself a tumblr patron

She’s one of those bloggers who, if she reblogs your post, you know you’re about to make it big.

Navani: I don’t really make original posts, of course. I’m not a real blogger.

Navani: I just find other people’s clever posts and help promote them!

Navani (typing): "This...has...10,000...notes...to...me...”

Navani: You know they’re happy when they just respond “PLEASE NO”

9. Kelsier: Stirs up his followers with so. much. discourse.

Especially about Hoid.

Kelsier: Friendly reminder that Hoid (1) will let a planet burn to get what he wants; (2) beat up an innocent ghost (me) once; (3) is dating someone WAY younger than he is; (4) insults women.

Hoid: I insulted men too. I was the King’s Wit.

Kelsier: I’m adding you to my DNI.

10. Szeth: Very popular for his “shit posts”

Szeth, of course, is 100% sincere the entire time.

Szeth: It is odd.

Szeth: The vent post I made that simply said “my talking sword is a bad conversationalist” has like a million notes.

Szeth: ...

Szeth: Tumblr is a strange place.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Dalinar #Jasnah #Vin #Elend #Adolin #Shallan #Tien #Navani #Kelsier #Szeth

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autolenaphilia · 8 months

Text

Some thoughts on The Coffin of Andy and Leyley

I found out about The Coffin of Andy and Leyley from an ”antiship” blog that I was on solely to block, because these people are always violent callout culture transmisogynists. Them getting very upset about this game having incest in it piqued my interest. The art looked interesting, and if these people hate it, it can’t be all bad.

(Case in point about the transmisogyny, from my understanding some people tried to dox the pseudonymous and secretive developer of this game, Nemlei. And the motivation was to prove the doxxer’s suspicion that Nemlei is a trans woman, because “only a trans woman could create such degeneracy.”)

Sure enough, TCOAAL is actually a nuanced and well-written psychological dark comedy /horror game. This is going to be more of a preliminary analysis than a review so full spoilers beyond this point. It’s by necessity preliminary since the game isn’t finished yet. My review is: go buy it if you are a fellow sicko who enjoys interesting stories about cannibalism and incest and like visual novels.

TCOAAL uses a trick from more transgressive forms of horror fiction, where the protagonists are not the heroes, but the villains, and the story is from their perspective. Andrew and Ashley Graves are murderers who kill people, sacrifice their souls to demons and cannibalize their bodies. They would be the villains of a more conventional horror story, their crimes investigated and thwarted by some heroic detective perhaps. But in this type of story, you are denied the comfort of heroes, or even innocent victims as you watch the protagonists twisted psychology lead them to commit terrible deeds.

The tone of the story mostly isn’t really horror, but very dark comedy, kinda Jhonen Vasquez-ish. The horrors are portrayed with a gleeful flippant tone, and cute appealing art. The tone mirrors how especially Ashley feels about her crimes. The game’s tone gets serious sometimes, going for straight horror occasionally, acknowledging how heartbreaking yet insane the Graves situation is, but there is a deep vein of the blackest humor.

Andrew and Ashley

Andy and Leyley themselves have this co-dependent toxic abusive sibling dynamic. Ashley is emotionally abusive, extremely possessive and manipulative towards Andrew. But her beloved Andy is the only person she actually cares about, and the rest she is able to kill with gleeful abandon in her heart.

Yet Andrew is not purely a victim. I’m going to talk at length about him, because the gap between how he describes himself and what the game shows is fascinating. I’m not the first to point this out. And it even extends to the game’s promotional material, like this official art on the game’s steam page is actually subverted by the game itself.

His character is not "doormat extraordinaire" who just "exists", the words "very not good, in fact very bad" apply to him too.

He is a victim, and loves to point at times how exploited, manipulated and abused he is by Ashley and he’s of course right. But he also uses that as an excuse for the horrific violence he commits, that he is just a doormat has been manipulated and corrupted by Ashley. “I was just being manipulated by Ashley to do it” is his variation on the old Nuremberg defense for his crimes. He has no sense of personal responsibility, no understanding that even if someone else tells you to do it, you are still responsible for your actions.

And the game itself proves that “it’s all Ashley” is not really true. A lot of the violence and murder are definitely on Andrew’s own initiative. He is violent towards Ashley too, the abuse is reciprocal. And he like Ashley doesn’t care much about other people. He gets distraught about killing people, but if you follow his dialogue, he is mostly freaked out about the consequences for himself. He is dependent on Ashley as someone who he can lay all the responsibility and blame for his own actions for. And of course, there is genuine affection there, because things are complex. He was parentified to take care of Ashley as a child and still has the drive to be her caretaker and protector.

It’s a fascinating pair of characters, and an interesting dynamic to observe.

“Der Mensch lebt nur von Missetat allein”

And the game’s writing is smart enough to have them not be an individualized evil, that came out of nowhere. Andrew and Ashley are the products of a neglectful and cold parents. Their mother made Andrew the favorite, but basically in order to parentize him to take care of his younger sister. And their dad can’t even remember the names of his kids. Not that the cycle of abuse starts with the parents, the mother had Andrew and Ashley when she was 15 and 17 respectively. But that doesn’t excuse how they ultimately, sell their kids’s lives for money to an organ harvesting scheme. This scheme is strongly implied to be part of an hilariously over-the-top soda company, toxisoda (it’s implied their soda is literally made from humans, so the company is doing the same thing that Ashley and Andy does, but on an industrial scale).

This is the situation that pushes Andy and Ashley to become evil murder-cannibals horror movie villains they become. They are deliberately being starved to death, and decide human meat is preferable to that. And the point here is obvious. To quote Brecht, “Erst kommt das Fressen, dann kommt die Moral” or in english translation “Food is the first thing. Morals follow on.” Andy and Ashley are bad people who kill and eat other people, but they are the product of an evil society. A family system where children are property of their parents to be abused and sold. And ultimately a capitalist system which kills people to feed others, a societal and systematic version of what Andew’s and Ashley does. They literally become cannibals to escape becoming literally or essentially cannibalized themselves by the capitalist system. Capitalism is a system which works on prey and predator dynamics, and they just fought to became predator instead of prey. To further quote the same song by Brecht, in capitalism, “Der Mensch lebt nur von Missetat allein” or in english “mankind is kept alive by bestial acts.” And in that broader view, Andrew and Ashley’s small-scale evil is dwarfed by the system they are born into.

Incest

It’s with all this context the game’s treatment of incest must be understood. It’s a horror game, about two siblings with a fucked-up abusive relationship. Of course there is incest, it’s far from being the worst thing these two do. The game only gets more explicit about incest in one optional ending, but it’s there explicitly and subtextually from the very start. Ashley jokes about it repeatedly, it’s there in the possessive jealousy Ashley feels for any of Andrew’s girlfriends, it’s implied in the casual physical intimacy of the siblings. Like it’s very obvious that their fucked-up but close relationship can lead there right from the beginning of episode 1. It’s a very natural conclusion to their dynamic. And the characters know it, Ashley definitely knows it, and their own mother accuses them of it. Andrew denies his mother’s accusation of fucking Ashley, and he’s probably not lying at that moment, but his relationship with Ashley leading there make perfect sense and he is not just capable of admitting that. Anyone who claims to have played this game and then claims be shocked that there is an optional incestous ending can’t have been paying much attention. This is the incest cannibalism game.

The Graves siblings are heading towards committing more murder as long as they stay alive, and incest is a minor sin for them. And probably not even the unhealthiest way for their relationship to develop. It definitely won’t fix them, but I doubt it will make things much worse.

And condemning the game morally is just absurd. This is a horror game, and you are outraged about the incest and not the murder-cannibalism? The Graves siblings relationship is not portrayed as healthy and the incest is part of that.

In fact the game portrays this double-standard in the actual story. It’s the possibility of her kids committing incest that finally makes Mamma Graves admit she is “the worst mother ever”, and not the whole selling the lives of her kids for money thing.

Sure, there is a fair argument to make that the incest is romanticized and fetishized. Ashley and Andrew are certainly drawn as attractive, and even the abusive elements can be part of the fetish. But the thing is, Ashley and Andrew are not real people, it’s fiction, it’s not real incest, so if people get off to it, I have no reason to see it as a problem.

The antiship blogger was actually especially angery about this official art from a devlog and honestly after playing the game, it kinda sums up my feelings about the incest controversy:

#the coffin of andy and leyley #my writings #gravescest #kinda #also i had much fun quoting brecht here #the coffin of andy and leyley spoilers

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cochart · 2 months

Text

Welp, long time no see.

I’m still alive but just finding it hard to draw for myself these days. It’s not like anything’s really wrong per se, but I guess things are not good either.

I feel like I have lost optimism for the creative industry. I currently don’t rely on comics for the majority of my income, so I’m not in financial crisis or anything, thankfully. But it’s still depressing to think about how the field you’re passionate about is rather bleak. I’m thankful to be involved in some interesting projects and gigs, but I just don’t find it sustainable.

I also have been working without any vacation since March. I’m thankful that I have work and income, but grinding so much is taking a toll especially when my job requires me to examine let’s say uh what I consider tradwife literature.* This is a rant for another day, but I never imagined reading literature of desire that you cannot sympathize with could be mentally so draining.

Many of my friends and colleagues in the creative fields are experiencing burnouts as well. So I guess it’s sort of an epidemic right now. Usually, I break out of any art block within a month. But things are not going so smoothly this time around.

I still do have bunch of comics I want to draw though—an original lesbian comic, some summer shuake comics, and some Silmarillion stuff.

#coch text

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crackedpumpkin · 1 year

Text

|| ʙʟᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ || ᴘᴛ. ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ||

a/n: Hello loves! So sorry I kept y'all waiting for part three, I hope you enjoy this! Just wanted to let y'all know that I'll be flying off to South Korea for a vacation, and will only be back on the 22nd of June so updates will be paused till then. I'll try to continue writing on my trip, but there are no guarantees I won't be too tired lolol. Love, pumpkin.

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

Blackmail — The act of attempting to force someone to do something or give up something valuable by threatening negative consequences if they don’t, especially revealing negative information about them.

That's what the online dictionary says anyway, which is perfect!

As such, it wouldn't be blackmail as much as it would be....persuasive negotiation. Which is the exact opposite of blackmail, which, again, is perfect!

Yeah, you’re getting nowhere with this.

You stifle a defeated groan as you collapse onto the plush mattress of your bed, dragging your hands down your face. Your phone beeps with a message, startling you out of your thoughts.

Nicole [ 7.15 PM ]: Did you find what you were looking for?

Nicole [ 7.15 PM ]: ?

Nicole [ 7.30 PM ]: Update me tomorrow.

Right. Nicole. Your hand falls limply to the side, fingers loosely gripping the device.

Crap.

How would you explain it to her? She’s always been good at sniffing out your lies. To tell, or not to tell. That is the question. Maybe you should just pretend nothing happened. That’d be the only reasonable thing to do in this situation, right?

But your art is at risk here. And if it’s anything you’ve learnt over your many years of living, it’s that you’re a stubborn bull that can’t back down once you’re set on something. And right now, you’re set on getting Spiderman to be your model.

You might get your mojo back if you draw him enough times. Maybe your art block won’t be so constipated anymore, and perhaps you might even get into the art school you have your eye on.

And maybe, just maybe, you might catch the eye of the art scouts at the end-of-year exhibition.

So there’s no way you can afford to give this up.

You’ll convince him. You have to.

— — — — —

“So, why’d you ignore my messages yesterday?”

You flinch away from the sudden hand on your shoulder, fingers decorated with rings glinting in the sun. Michael winces from where he’s standing opposite you, taking a long, slow sip of his juice box.

You stammer out Nicole’s name in surprise, the girl in question looking at you with a raised brow and serious eyes. She scans your nervous smile and flushed cheeks, letting go of you with a nod.

“You met him. How was it?”

Damn it.

“I didn’t end up meeting him,” You say with a defeated sigh, hoping it’s not excessive. Being under Nicole’s observant gaze is one of the scariest experiences in the world, with pigeons in close proximity a close second.

“Okay,” Her dubious tone gives you a slight sense of hope, only for your heart to drop at her next question. “So, why’d you ask me for Miles’s photo?”

“I, uh, ran into him and thought he looked familiar. So, I asked for his picture to double check,” You admit, hoping the truth mixed into some lies would be enough to convince her.

“Right…What’s your impression of him, then?”

“Cute?” You blurt out without thinking, recalling the framed picture of his young self with his parents on the small table.

“You think he’s cute?”

“M-maybe?” You try, but it clicks once you see the disgust in her eyes. “Yes! I do, in fact, find him very attractive. One might even say that he is now my…crush?”

You pray she doesn’t notice the underlying wince in your words. Nicole shudders, taking a small step away from you. “You need to get your eyes checked or something. I’ve known the guy since we were in diapers, and trust me when I say that he’s nothing but trouble.”

“I won’t do anything, I promise. Besides, I’m sure the crush is just temporary. It’ll blow over before you even know it!” Mainly because you don’t have a crush on the guy in the first place. But you do need to figure out a way to trap him to persuade him into being your model.

“Wait, you met Miles?”

“Why’re you glossing over the fact that she likes him?” Nicole says incredulously, gesturing to you with wide eyes. It’s probably the most expressive you’ve ever seen her, save for the time you invited them to go cafe hopping with you on a sweltering Monday.

You’d never heard so many variations of curses before, all of which Nicole unintentionally introduced you to. Since then, you’ve learnt to only hang out on cooler days with better weather and cafes within walking distance.

“So?” Michael shrugs nonchalantly, but the amused smile on his lips suggests otherwise. “Why are you so affected?”

“Because it’s my best friend liking Miles Morales - the guy I’ve known since we were babies. He’s not good enough for her.” Nicole decides with a frown. You turn to her, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes as you place your hands on your heart.

“I’m your best friend?” Nicole rolls her eyes at your words, crossing her arms. “You can drop from that tier anytime, so you better watch out.” She replies simply with a halfhearted glare, but her words have no bite to them. Her ears are tinted red.

“Aww,” You coo, throwing your arms around the girl who baulks in surprise, almost falling to the ground had you not steadied both of you. She wriggles under your tight hug, giving up quickly with a groan.

“Let me get in on that, chicas-” Michael is cut off when you kick his ankle, biting back a pained cry while you continue to hug Nicole, who has a satisfied smirk at your action. “Good job.” She pats your arm, and you reluctantly let go, dramatically wiping the tears away.

At least you succeeded in distracting her.

The rest of the day practically flies by, your body on autopilot and going through the motions of taking out your textbooks and doodling on them. Math, Science, and History were all meaningless in your eyes as you tried to make another plan to meet him. The past three attempts had shown you exactly how difficult it was to meet with the hero, much less alone.

You’re not one to give up, though. You stare down at the piece of paper filled with doodles and scribbled words — an outline of a plan, circling Spiderman’s name in red.

Okay, let’s try this again.

Attempt #1: Meet Him At The Park - The Friendly Way.

You take a tentative glance around. Good, No dogs are in sight. You look over to the park's far end, where you had set up a sign saying that dog treats were being given out for free if they assembled there.

Sometimes, lying is an essential means of survival. Another quick scan of your surroundings confirms that no one is in the path of the taco truck, and feeling only slightly guilty when you spot the owner’s surprised expression, wondering why his usual customers aren’t present.

However, you try not to linger on that, choosing to double-check if everything you need is on you.

Phone? Check. Earbuds? Check. Wallet? Check. Spiderman?

You grin once you spot the masked hero landing in front of the taco truck, right on schedule.

Check.

Standing up, you slowly make your way over, giving him time to place his order. Every step is light, your heart oddly calm as you approach him. Yeah. You got this. It’s just getting him to agree that’s the hard part.

Okay. You got this. Play it cool.

Walking up to the taco truck, you clear your throat, propping your elbow onto the small metal platform near the baskets of condiments. You casually glance at him, scanning his suit from head to toe before meeting his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies slowly with a slight tilt of his head, surprised by your sudden presence. He taps his fingers against the cold metal of the taco truck in a steady rhythm. You take a slow breath. You can take your time. It’s just a boy under the mask, after all.

“So, how’s being Spiderman going?” You ask absentmindedly, looking down at your nails and only now noticing that you’re in desperate need of a manicure.

“It’s going good. And you?”

“Could be better.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Is it anything your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman can help with?” His words are filled with worry, now giving you his full attention.

Got him.

“Well…” You trail off, barely managing to hide the excitement in your eyes and voice. Now’s the time to approach him carefully. If you’re careless, you could lose one of the few opportunities to get him to be your muse.

“Uh-huh?” He grabs the paper bag of tacos the owner hands him, handing him a crumpled bill from a hidden pocket in his suit with a quick nod of thanks in one smooth movement. However, he hears a slight commotion a short distance away, eyes narrowing as he tries to determine the source.

“I’m an art student, and I need a muse,” You continue, encouraged by his questioning hum and failing to notice the way his gaze is focused on something happening behind you. “So I was thinking-”

“Right, uh, miss. You seem like an absolutely wonderful lady. I’m so sorry, but we’ll have to continue this conversation another day. Duty’s kinda calling right now. I’ll pass by the basketball court tomorrow, and you can ask me your question there?” You can’t tell if he’s smiling, grinning, or even scowling under the mask. But it didn’t exactly sound hostile, so that’s that you suppose.

“Meet me at the sub shop on Fifth Avenue, two lefts after the huge statue and a right at the Lego store. Two-thirty P.M.,” You reply immediately. Why Mr Perez’s shop, in particular, you didn’t know. But you’re not about to chase after his ass again after the last few times. Not a chance in hell.

He agrees with a quick but apologetic nod, already swinging off with his paper bag of tacos and heading toward the angry horde of dog parents around the sign you placed earlier. You watch him land before them, trying to calm the group down.

Well, at least you got an appointment with him tomorrow. The problem now is how to make sure he accepts. Plus, him constantly running off isn’t the most ideal scenario in your situation.

So, you have to make sure he stays put.

You walk off, heading to the sub shop with the beginnings of an idea. (While simultaneously forgetting about the horde of dog parents who’re growing increasingly angrier from the absence of promised dog treats).

— — — — —

“Mr Perez, nice shirt! Did you separate the whites from the colours? It looks so clean!” You greet as soon as you walk in, taking a deep breath and smiling at the scent of pickle brine. The store is relatively empty, the last customer leaving through the door just as you walked in.

The store owner walks to the glass door, flipping the sign around to read Closed. He sends you a wary glance, walking back behind the counter to start cleaning up while you lean against the glass display case.

“What do you want?”

“Who said I wanted anything?”

“You only compliment my laundry when you want something.” It’s true. You do tend to do that. You suppose it’s time to be rid of the habit. But not today, for you have much more important goals to pursue.

“Okay. I need to borrow the storeroom for, like, a couple of hours tomorrow afternoon. No disturbances, complete privacy. Not even Didi is allowed in.” You get straight to the point, not bothering to beat around the bush.

“...Are you doing drugs?”

“That’s gross. And unsanitary. If I were doing drugs, I’d do it in the Science lab at school.” You point out, scrunching your nose in disgust.

“Are you smoking? Vaping?”

“No, and no. C’mon, Mr Perez, I thought you knew me better than that!” You huff, though you know that he’s just joking from the amused twinkle in his eyes.

“Fine. Just give me the signal. Besides, Didi’s at preschool tomorrow till five.” He says simply, wiping down his workstation with a clean cloth.

“Really? No takebacks!” You say with an exaggerated gasp, not expecting him to actually agree. The bright smile on your face makes him chuckle, shaking his head fondly as he washes up the kitchen knives in the sink.

“What time will you be coming?”

“Two-thirty. Remember, you promised no questions asked!” You call out over your shoulder as you exit while raising your hand in a quick salute. You saunter on home with your hands in your pockets, chest swelling with pride that you got a guaranteed meeting with the very boy you’ve been trying to convince to be your muse.

You’ve definitely got this.

— — — — —

Attempt #2: Kidnap Meet Him At The Sub Store - The Friendly Way.

Two-fifteen P.M.

You glance over at the IKEA clock hanging from the wall opposite you in the storeroom, tying the string securely around the metal shelf. Taking a step back, you survey the setup, scanning it for flaws in your otherwise perfect plan.

You arrange the chair to sit behind a wobbly table that’s about to break any day now due to countless playtimes with Didi’s mischievous ideas. (And maybe some of your own, but Mr Perez doesn’t need to know that.)

The bright light in the slightly cramped storeroom only adds to the ambience (of what, you don’t really know yourself). The punching bag hanging in the corner of the room is definitely no cause for concern. Maybe he’d think that you’re really into exercise. All that’s left is for Spiderman to get caught in your perfect trap. You’re pretty sure he won’t get hurt in the process.

The only thing left now is to wait. You head out into the front of the store, waving Spiderman over as soon as you see him enter. He follows with a skip in his step, only to slow down when you guide him into the storeroom.

“Uh…This is new, even for me.” He comments, looking around at the stacked boxes and metal shelves, unsure of what to make of this sudden change in vibe. You gesture at the chair, closing the door behind you.

“Sorry, I just needed a place away from prying eyes.” You sigh, discreetly watching him take a seat. He does so without hesitation, and you immediately grab the end of the string that’s hooked onto the metal shelf, using all of your strength (and the help of a pulley) to yank it.

Spiderman yelps, dangling from the ceiling by a tightly secured string around his ankle. “What the-? You said you needed help!”

“And I do!” You reply, a tinge of desperation in your words. “Just…just hang on.” You breathe out, taking the frying pan on the shelf next to you after securing the string and leaving him dangling still. You approach him, Spiderman failing to notice, too preoccupied with trying to escape.

“Michael better be right about this,” You mumble under your breath, taking a quick swing and hitting the spot on his head that Michael promised would knock anyone out instantly. Spiderman’s eyes close, his cry of protest cut off as his hands fall limply to his sides.

“Oh.” You stare down at him, squatting down and reaching your hand out to gently massage the spot where you hit him with a guilty smile. You hadn’t expected it to actually work. “Sorry, Morales. My goals aren’t to harm you, promise.”

Standing back up with a wince, you can feel the joints in your body popping from the sudden stretch. You never really bothered with exercise, categorizing your sketching and painting as such.

You huff, grabbing his arms and pulling him across the room after untying him from the string around his ankle. “But one of them might be to start working out,” You say through gritted teeth, finally reaching the punching bag. You take a deep breath, doing your best to pick him up and hold him against it while you tie him up.

“No-” Your muffled cry is cut short when your arms give out, and you fall onto your back with the unconscious hero lying on top of you. You groan, pushing him off you, eyeing the punching bag with distaste.

Another repeated attempt ends in the same result, and your back starts to ache from the impact of the hard surface against your back. You see him starting to stir, your eyes widening in panic, instinctively grabbing the frying pan and hitting him again. He falls back to the floor with a hushed groan while you breathe a sigh of relief.

You stand back up, eyeing the punching bag, before an idea hits you.

Finally, you sit in the chair in front of the punching bag, taking out your sketchbook from the bag you'd placed on one of the shelves this afternoon and beginning to sketch him leisurely. You spot him slowly blinking, regaining his consciousness as he realises that he’s tied up.

"So..." You drawl, leaning back in your seat with a lazy grin. The city's local hero, Spiderman, dangles upside down in your trap. You actually did it. You got him to stay put.

He struggles to get free from the tightly bound ropes, almost tugging off his mask in the process before giving up seconds after. “Not again…” You hear him groan in defeat, looking back up at you with a deadpan stare.

"I have to admit, I love the new suit." You comment, grabbing a pencil and doing a quick sketch, ignoring his earlier words.

"What do you want from me?"

You pause, looking up from your sketchbook. "You sound pretty young to be a hero." You purse your lips, trying to guess his age.

"W-what? No, I don't." His voice turns gruff, and you chuckle from how obvious he was forcing it to be.

"I don't really want much. Just to draw you is all." You hum, flipping a page and letting pencil meet paper.

"What?"

You don't respond, eyes trained on sketching the dimensions of his midnight black suit. "I like the spray paint."

"Thanks," He's surprised by your comment, hands still furiously working to free himself.

"Aren't you a villain?" He questions, unable to hold back his curiosity. You weren't really doing anything to him either, not like the muggers or robbers that roam the streets at night.

You were just... drawing him.

"I just thought the suit was cool." You respond simply with a shrug, looking straight at the white material on his mask that hides his eyes.

He flinches, surprised by the sudden eye contact. "And you trapped me because...?"

"I wanted to draw it."

"You could've just asked."

"I tried. You weren't really paying attention, or you weren’t available. Hero duties and all, remember? "

Now that you mentioned it, the hero does remember you from the mugging and the excuses he’d made, shrugging sheepishly in response.

"Oh. My bad."

The corner of your lips tugs upwards into a slight smile. At least he has the common decency to admit it.

"Could you untie me, though? It's getting a little uncomfortable." He voices out, fingers still trying to wriggle free.

"Sure, but I'll need something in exchange."

He sighs. Of course, you did. People always wanted something from him as Spiderman, be it a photo or to gain clout.

"What is it?" He's wary now.

You grin, hands closing the sketchbook with a loud snap as you place your pencil on your chair, getting up.

"That's easy," You walk towards him with ease, eyes filled with certainty. You're inches away from his upside-down figure, leaning in slightly until your lips are next to where his ear would be under the mask.

"Be my model, Miles Morales.”

He stills at the mention of his name. “Wh-what? I don’t know who this Miles guy is, but I’m obviously not him.” He laughs nervously, shaking his head.

You can practically see the waves of panic flooding through his mind. “You just changed the pitch of your voice,” You point out casually instead, leaning back against the wall with a smirk, your hands in your pockets.

“I’m telling you, I’m not this Miles guy you think I am. Though I’m very sure he may be cool enough to be Spiderman, I am not him.” He almost trips over his words, flinching when you move your hand close to his mask.

“Then I guess you won’t mind if I take this off?” You hum, spotting him trying to use his electric powers to break free. “Don’t bother. The strings are made out of insulated material.”

He flinches away from your fingers brushing against the side of his face, his eyes meeting yours and knowing he’s already lost this battle. “Fine.” He surrenders, his eyes narrowed into a hostile glare directed at you.

“Don’t be like that,” You chide, sitting cross-legged in front of him with a disapproving shake of your head. “Besides, I’m just here to make a deal with you.”

“Is this about the model thing?”

“Yeap,” You confirm, popping the ‘p’. “Here’s all I’m asking. Let me meet up with you twice a week. I’ll even pay you ten bucks per session. All you gotta do is sit there.” The intensity of his glare lessens somewhat, though you can still sense his wariness. Makes sense, though, considering you’ve just essentially ensured he can’t say no. Besides, your terms and conditions aren’t half bad either.

You wait patiently for his response, giving him time to mull over it.

“Deal. Now let me go.”

“Uh-uh, not just yet,” You tut, moving over to your bag, grabbing the makeshift contract you drafted last night, and showing it to him with a triumphant grin. “I even added two different lines for both of your signatures. Spiderman’s and Miles Morales.”

He rolls his eyes, and you take that as a good sign, cutting him loose. He falls gracefully to the floor, landing in a perfect superhero pose. You applaud, giving yourself a mental pat on the back for staying calm throughout the entire exchange. He takes the pen you hand to him, scrawling his name on the dotted line. You smile widely and keep the contract back in your bag, practically on cloud nine with this accomplishment.

Unfortunately, the euphoria makes you forget you’re still in a cramped storeroom.

Wincing when your elbow knocks against a loosely stacked box, you and Spiderman watch it slowly topple on its side, landing on the floor with a loud bang before looking at each other with wide eyes.

Okay, so maybe you don’t got this as much as you thought.

You freeze when the door opens, looking behind you to see Mr Perez with his hand on the doorknob. His eyes flit from you to Spiderman, his gaze settling on the open box on the ground with vegetables spilling out of it before looking back at you with furrowed brows.

As soon as your eyes meet, you smile sheepishly.

“I’ll babysit on Friday.”

— — — — — — —

taglist: (definitely not because I forgot I said I'd tag people lol)

@oh-kurva @brunnetteiwik @queerponcho @sleepingnova @1theestallionyas

#spiderman: into the spiderverse #Into The Spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #into the spiderverse x reader #spiderman: into the spiderverse x reader

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