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rafferty3207 · 1 year

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omg I'm the anon who requested the jamie x reader neighbours fic and boy you delivered! fucking love it! can't wait for part 2

This is so lovely anon, I'm so glad you liked it!!! For you, I will deliver a part two with the caveat that I'm so sorry I got carried away and now it will be in three parts (sorry again), but the last part will be the finale!!! Anyway I present to you:

Too Good to Be True (part two)

read part one here

warnings: allusions to abuse, mention of anxiety/panic attack, daddy issues, two hopeless idiots flirting, a bit of angst at the end but worth it (sorry again)

A/N: I have nothing to add except this gif is not mine and has turned me feral

It’s been several days since you left your phone number and you are nervous.

You don’t get why you care so much.

It’s just Jamie, your annoying neighbour. Your annoying, but also extremely handsome neighbour. Your annoying, handsome neighbour who massaged your feet, and your legs, and almost your thighs and god you couldn’t think straight. You’d been able to get nothing done as you had spent the last few days just constantly replaying that evening in your head. And to make things worse, it turns out Annoying Handsome Jamie was in fact a very famous Premier League footballer. Who has also been caught having sex on TV. (Yes, you had binged the entirety of his Lust Conquers All series since that night, but that was neither her nor there.)

After almost a week you had given up. The exhibition was just under two weeks away and you hadn’t seen him in the garden or outside the house at all. He had probably come to the conclusion that you were both too weird and too normal for him and the only conclusion was move on with your life and forget his stupid sexy face ever existed, when you got a text.

u free tonight

Jxoxo

Of course, you wanted to play it cool. After all, you had spent the entirety of the week waiting for this message.

29 minutes and 59 seconds later.

I might be.

The phone immediately pings.

do u not know??

xoxo

Depends, what are you thinking?

thought u wanted a model

Xoxo

Of course, he was thinking about the painting. As you also definitely were. You were a professional artist. Almost.

What time?

ill come after the match

You spend your evening preparing and also perhaps figuring out an outfit that says 'casual bohemian artist that definitely doesn't care' while redoing your makeup twice. However, as the hours stretch on and on and on you are at the point of giving up and going to bed, when the doorbell finally rings.

You race down, before waiting a minute, quickly checking yourself in the mirror and pulling out your phone to pretend you had already been looking at something when you open the door.

But before you can pull the casual act, he walks right past you.

“Hello to you too, Jamie.”

He strides into your living room where the canvas is set up and immediately starts taking his clothes off.

“Woah, what do you think you’re doing there?”

“Er, I thought you were painting nudes?”

“Er no-” At this point his shirt has already come off and he’s starting to unbutton his trousers. Of course he is very toned, with tanned arms and neck where his football shirt has been. You feel the breath knocked out of your body, glimpsing the very top of his boxers as you struggle for words.. He looks at you confused. Eventually you stutter an answer. "K-Keep the trousers on, okay?”

“What should I do then?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do I pose, like?” You shrug.

“However you want to, Jamie.”

“I dunno what I want.” You sigh.

“You just need to stand there and look pretty.”

“Well I do that all the time, so.”

“Great. So just…keep doing that.”

Jamie smiles to himself.

“What is it?”

“So you do think I’m pretty?” He smirks at you. You fold your arms.

“What are you, a sixteen year old girl Jamie?” You start sketching. “Besides, you know what you look like.” You go back to drawing in silence. You swear you see his cheeks dust pink for a second before he ouffs his chest back out and smiles.

“Aren’t you going to ask if I think you’re pretty?”

You freeze.

“No, because if you haven’t noticed, I’m not sixteen. I am an adult woman and I don’t need random men for unsolicited affirmation, no matter how pretty they are.”

Jamie opens his mouth, before closing it again. Maybe that was a bit harsh, but what else could you say? Tell me how pretty you think I am Jamie. Or better yet, show me. I’m dying to know. You could practically feel the feminism leaving your body.

You dismiss these thoughts and get back to sketching. You can see Jamie is looking down and acting fidgety, swinging his arms.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” You walk over and plant your arms on his shoulders. He is surprisingly warm and firm to the touch, and you try not to blush. “Is it okay if I move you?”

He nods, surprisingly quiet. You turn him ever so slightly, before gently pushing him down onto your stool. As you move one of his (very muscly) arms, you swear you feel a slight tremor. Was he shaking? You step a little closer, a hand on his back.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Jamie.”

His face hardens.

“But I said I will, so I will.”

“But you don’t have to. Only do this if you want to.” You smile at him, and his face softens again.

“I do want to, trust me. It’s just been a long day.”

“Okay, but if you need to stop or take a break, just say the word.”

You step back to your canvas. You try to focus solely on the drawing, but every time he looks at you, you find your whole body heating up. Despite this, you steal glances anyway. He stares at you constantly, in a way that makes you feel stupid and giggly. Observing all the soft and hard lines of his body, you eventually start to notice small scars all over his body until you reach his hands. You don’t know why it took you so long to notice, but his knuckles are slightly bruised.

“Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me about your day.”

“Why? It was dead boring.”

“I don’t know. I find it helps me find the right mood.” You prepare your brushes. “You know, it tells me what colours to use.”

“Oh. I mean, nothing much happened.” He looks down at his feet. “I got up, went to play football, came here.”

“But why did you text me? Why today?”

“I dunno.” You sit in silence for a moment, as you mix the colours. “I mean, my dad came to the match.”

“Right.”

“Pulled his usual shit.”

“Usual shit?”

“Just being a complete dickhead.” You start painting.

“In what way?”

“Saying stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just the usual stuff.”

“You keep saying “usual” Jamie. I don’t think whatever he said is usual for most people.”

“What about your dad? He said that thing about you being a teacher right? Because you couldn’t paint or summat?” You put your brush down.

“Yeah he did say that. He says a lot of shit, none of which I would consider usual. Or at least it shouldn’t be.” You step off your chair and towards Jamie, reaching gently for his hand. “We don’t just have to take this shit, you know.”

“I don’t fucking take it!” He pulls away. You flinch back. He looks alarmed as he realises. “I should go.” He starts to walk out.

“Jamie, I didn’t mean to upset you -” You walk after him as he paces towards the door. He halts at the entrance.

“I’m not upset, I just - I came here because I didn’t want to think about my dad. When I’m with you, I never think about him. Or anything else, really.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.” Before you can reply, he runs off.

The next few days pass by. You send a few texts to Jamie, but no reply. The exhibition is only a couple of days away now, so you try to keep yourself busy. But his words won’t stop swirling in your head to the point you struggle to sleep. So you do what you always do: paint.

It’s not until one of these nights when you're up late at the canvas that you glance out of the window. Your heart stops. Someone is lying in Jamie's garden, very still. You dare to look closer. Is that..Jamie? He looks glassy eyed. He can't have...Without thinking, you run down.

"Jamie! Jamie!" Your heart is thumping in your ears so loudly you can't hear anything else. "Jamie are you okay?" You ask as you scramble to climb the fence. However just as you are almost over, you catch your foot, spectacularly falling over it into the bushes. You hear that trademark laugh.

"Why are you laughing? I thought you were dead, dipshit!" You say, crawling out of the shrubbery.

He remains lying down but he’s smiling at you now.

"Why would you think I was dead?"

"Why are you lying in your garden on your back completely still at 2am? Let's not pretend this is normal." You crawl down next to him.

“You’re going to think I’m stupid.”

“No I won’t.”

He looks away from you.

“I mean everyone else does, why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t think they do.”

“There’s my dad. Plus, I’ve read Twitter.”

“You know how I feel about your dad and Twitter is full of very stupid people. But never mind them. I can promise you I don’t. And let’s be honest, I’m the only opinion that matters.” He scoffs as you offer him a pinky. But, he puts his pinky in yours before looking back up at the night sky.

"I can't get up."

"What? Are you injured?"

“No…I dunno, I told you it was stupid."

“It's clearly not that stupid. Are you okay Jamie?”

"I dunno. I was thinking about the other night with you and my dad and then I came outside because I needed some fresh air and then I lay down and started thinking about everything and now it feels like I'm stuck here. It's stupid -"

“Stop saying that.” You lie down and grab his hand. “Sometimes when you've gone through some shit, it comes out of your body in weird ways. But you're okay. We can stay here for as long as you like, but when we get up, you will be able to.”

He nods, and the two of you lie there holding hands in silence. You take some deep breaths and he follows. Eventually a small voice pipes up.

“I think I can go in now.”

You sit up and slowly pull him.

"See?"

He smiles at you gingerly before he looks down.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Huh?”

You look down. Both your knees are cut, along with one of your palms and your wrist.

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

He gently holds your wrist up to the light. He looks sad.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I need to work on my graceful dismount. Either that or just walk around to the back door.”

“I mean, I dunno, I think you could give Simone Biles a run for her money.” You swat him.

“Oi, you cheeky shit! Next time I’ll just leave you for dead.”

“I think the blood loss is going to your head, we should treat that ASAP.” He leads you into his house. “I think I’ve got a first aid kit upstairs.”

He starts walking up and you follow him. He seems surprised. You realise your error.

“Oh, I can wait downstairs if you like.”

“Er, no, it’s fine.” He steps into a bedroom and starts rummaging around in what is clearly an ensuite bathroom. You sit on the edge of his bed and look around. There’s pictures of him and his mum, as well as some pictures with the team and one with a slightly older moustachioed man.

“Is that your dad?”

He pokes his head out and laughs.

“No, that’s our coach Ted.” You look up at him. “He’s a nice guy though. Annoyingly nice. Almost too nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Right.” It was clear Jamie was soft on this man, but you wouldn’t push it today. He sits down and starts gently wiping the cuts. It is the same tenderness he held your foot, and it is the same tenderness that is slowly melting your heart. If you didn’t know any better, you would think you were starting to fall for Jamie Tartt.

You yawn as he applies the final plaster. “Right, you need to go to sleep.” He says, through his own yawn.

"I could say the same for you"

You sit up to leave, but hesitate. YOu feel Jamie’s about to say something.

“Hey, I don’t suppose.. You’d maybe fancy…”

You turn around.

“Staying around?”

Jamie looks at you pleadingly.

“No funny business I promise.” He looks up and offers you a pinky.

“What if I want funny business?”

“Eh?”

“I’m just messing with you Jamie. Besides, I’ve already stolen your knickers anyway.”

“Someone told me that’s a weird thing to say to people.”

“Well, that person sounds very wise.” You look around. “Can I use your bathroom?”

He gestures towards it and you go in. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you think: what the fuck is going on here? You splash some water on your face and tell yourself to get a grip.

“There’s a spare toothbrush in the blue pot if you need it.” Jamie calls through the door.

“Ew gross Jamie, I don’t want to use one of your many girlfriend’s toothbrushes!”

“I’ll have you know that’s brand new as I don’t have any girlfriends at the moment. Although there are sanitary towels if you need them love.”

“Piss off you patronising git!”

“‘Ey, I was trying to be nice and a good feminist and that.”

You brush your teeth before coming out and leaning against the doorframe.

“No girlfriends? What happened to the Island’s top scorer?”

He groans before flopping back onto the bed.

“I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

“I’ve been doing my research.” You get into the bed next to him. He flashes you a dirty grin.

“Bet you have, you little perv.”

“Me? The perv? What you did in that jacuzzi was a crime to my eyes, and probably in several countries.”

“Woah, you have been doing your research - that was like episode 42? 43?”

“What can I say, you make good television?”

Jamie pulls the duvet back before hovering for a moment.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” He gestures to the bed.

“I know. But I’ve been in your position before, and I really needed a friend back then. And I think you would do the same.”

“Any time.”

You squeeze his hand.

“Now go to sleep, you menace.”

“Aye aye captain.”

____

You wake up and find yourself once again not in your own bedroom. In fact, not only are you not in your own bedroom, but you appear to be cuddling Jamie Tartt. You panic silently. Your leg is swung over his, while his arm is draped over you. You try to move, but still asleep, he squeezes you a little tighter. And then something really surprising happens.

He kisses you. Just a little kiss on the forehead, but your chest is fluttering. You hate to admit it but, it feels just so natural. You’re so content and relaxed in his arms then…

Fuck. You fell back asleep. You’re in the exact same problem as before.

This time however, you are both awoken by Jamie’s phone going off. He reaches to switch it off, eyes still closed, but then it rings again. And again. The third time his eyes shoot open.

“Shit!”

“What is it?” You ask from behind bleary eyes.

“The match!”

You slowly sit up and watch him run around and get dressed, silently handing him things on occasion. He runs downstairs and you plod along after him, still half asleep. He runs out of the door, before abruptly stopping and turning around.

“Aren’t you going to wish me good luck or something?”

You wrinkle your nose at him in confusion.

“I don’t need to. You’re going to smash it anyway.”

“How do you know that?”

You shrug and smile.

“I just know.”

At this point, he strides right up to you, before cupping your face in both his hands.

“Jamie what are -” Before you can finish, he kisses you, hard. Your eyes flutter closed and you melt into the kiss, before he pulls away, but only just. His arm reaches around the small of your back and his forehead touching yours, he whispers.

“Wait for me.”

He runs off to his car, and you stroke your bottom lip, where you trace the swell of where he used to be.

Your heart is still pounding and you are unsure what to do with yourself, so you try to make yourself at home. You take a very long, hot shower before getting changed. Of course, you didn’t have any clothes here, so you find some pyjama shorts along with one of Jamie’s old jerseys.

You sit down to watch the match. You had never really gotten into football, but now you were glued to the screen. You couldn’t believe that the little Jamie on screen was the same one who shared a bed with you last night. And the same Jamie that kissed you…

The game is electric, and Jamie in particular is the standout player. Even the commentators remark on his zest this match as he keeps skilfully weaving through the players to lead Richmond into not one, not two but three goals.

Once the match is done, you watch, still glued to your seat when Jamie is invited to an interview.

“Jamie the way you played today was extraordinary, against Man City too. If you don’t mind us asking, what happened?”

“Ah well, I was really inspired by Simone Biles. She’s honestly changed my life.” At that moment, he turns straight to the camera, grins and winks, and you feel like he’s somehow winking right at you. Your heart skips a beat. You were really in trouble.

You look at your phone and Jamie Tartt is trending. Simone Biles herself has already tweeted reminding everyone she is a married woman and has never met Jamie. There are plenty of other women, including some famous other gymnasts and celebrities offering their Biles-like services to Jamie in some rather explicit tweets. You wonder if Jamie reads these ones too.

You walk to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea and as you wait for the kettle to boil, you look at Jamie’s calendar. There’s all sorts of notes, primarily training and matchs but you notice your exhibit is there too, with a little heart drawn around it. Jamie never stopped surprising you. But then a cold shock goes down your spine. You remembered today’s date. You are meant to be going to the gallery this evening to plan the exhibition. Shit. You check the time. You’ve still got three hours left, but you need to get back into your flat ASAP. You scramble around before realising that you had left your phone in the flat last night in the chaos to get out. But you also remembered Jamie and what he had said.

Wait for me.

You write a little note and stick it on the fridge.

____

Jamie comes back way later than he planned. Of course, after the match, there were drinks and celebrations but he couldn’t concentrate on them, just trying to leave to get back to you. He finally manages to break away, but when he gets home, he finds the living room empty. He searches around the rest of the house, and you are nowhere to be found. He checks his phone. No messages. He gets a message through from Keeley about how he’s trending online.

Of course he sees all the Simone Biles stuff and smiles to himself. He made a note to send Simone Biles a message in future, if this all worked out. Then he sees all the stuff other women are saying online. A lot of it is quite graphic and he wondered what you’d think. He imagined the two of you laughing together at them. Then he sees. The tabloids are already speculating. Not only do they actually think he’s having an affair with Simone Biles, but they have already posted some paparazzi shot of him with Keeley, along with long extensive timelines of his tumultuous dating history. His stomach drops. Anyone would run away if they saw this much baggage.

He tries to ring you. Once, twice, three times, No pick up. He’s desperate and pacing, until he realises he can just walk over to your front door. He rings the bell several times, before loudly knocking. Still nothing.

He can’t believe how much he’s fucked it. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed you, but he couldn't help it. No one had made him feel like this, like he was going crazy but also that he was calmer than he had ever been, like riding a lifeboat in the centre of the storm. As he walks back into his flat and into his kitchen, he doesn’t see the small corner of a note that has fallen under the fridge. He checks his phone again.

Still nothing. What could he do?

____

Sorry for the angst kids, hope it was worth it and the finale will be juicy!! lmk if you want to be tagged in the final part!! Not sure if I've done these tags right, apols if not!!

@skewedcherries @e-mmygrey @reading-blogs @alex-sulli @cameoutstruggling93 @sqrlgrl22 @maydayfigment @aiyaiy @alipap3 @okkkkkkksure @city-of-cards

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt x reader #fanfic #romance #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 9 months

Text

Life drawing

Nude model!reader x art student!Zoro.

Modern AU. Sequel to The art model.

This fic is dedicated to @star-yawnznn.

*****

Zoro grins when, opening the house door, he finds himself face to face with a bag of delicious chocolate cookies, courtesy of your mother's bakery, that you're offering him with your arms raised, like a celebrant sacrificing to the Gods.

"You know, there's no need for you to bring something every time you come; you're already doing me a favour."

You shrug as you walk inside, letting him close the door behind you. "Even though he doesn't put on weight, eating so much can't be good for Luffy's health." you point out "And I know you like them."

"Well, they are good..."

You share a smile as you follow him towards the kitchen (like the rest of the house a spacious room, perfectly clean and tidy) where, without even bothering to ask, Zoro uses the enormous coffee machine on the counter to prepare a drink like he knows you like it.

Six months have passed since your first meeting with Zoro at the East Blue Art School, six months since you accepted his request to pose for him privately at home as well as in Shanks' class - your home, at first, since he needed to keep his interest in drawing and art, not to mention the fact he hasn't stopped attending the school years ago, a secret from his father. Unfortunately, last month your landlord has decided to host his niece in the flat's spare room, while she searches for a more stable accommodation. Even more regrettably, your new, temporary flatmate is an aspiring metal guitarist, who told you she needs to practice at least six hours a day if she wants to join one of the best bands in town, which means the place has not known a moment of silence ever since she put down her luggage, as well as her guitar, in the hallway.

Which is why in the last four weeks you have been the one going to Zoro's, instead of the other way around. It's a temporary solution, you have assured him, feeling guilty for the nuisance even though nothing of it was your fault, and hoping you will soon have the whole flat to yourself once more, even though your landlord's niece has not been as industrious in looking for a new place to stay as she has been in preparing for her musical career. You know how important his drawing classes are to Zoro, but he assured you it wouldn't be a problem: his father, a business broker who also manages a fencing school, has recently landed an important client that keeps him at work every day until late.

And so, your already familiar arrangement has changed, the location of your private modelling session shifting from your flat to Zoro's home. You don't mind - you actually like it, and not just because it allows you to get away from your flatmate's guitar for a while. You like going to Zoro's; you like Zoro himself, you have come to realize, and while you do not yet feel ready to confess your feelings, you enjoy spending time with him, and helping him to improve as an artist.

"How was your day? You had a double shift today, if I'm not mistaken." you point out as you accept the coffee Zoro is offering you, and listen as he tells you about his day at work, at the bookstore owned by his friend Kuina's father "You know, I'd be curious to see the shop one day, after you've told me so much about it..."

"You can come whenever you want; I can give you a discount, if Koushirou is not there." he offers, and winks at you; he's wearing a black shirt that makes the green of his hair stand out even more than usual, his three earrings dangling gently when he moves.

"Well, there was a book I was thinking about buying..."

Chocolate cookies, you both agree, go splendidly with coffee. You enjoy your break in silence, at ease next to each other in the kitchen lit up by the soft sunset glow; according to Luffy, Zoro doesn't make friends easily, and you are pretty proud you are now part of that narrow group - or at least, that he doesn't appear to mind you coming to his house.

"Shall we?" you propose in the end; as much as you enjoy his company, the time at your disposal is limited, since you still have work to do for your classes tomorrow "You want to continue with what we were doing last time? I was lying on one side with a book in my hands..."

"Actually..."

"Yes?"

Suddenly tense, Zoro rubs the back of his head, hesitating for a moment as if not knowing how to broach a delicate subject. "I was wondering if this time we could do something a bit different."

Your sessions with Zoro, whether at his place or yours, usually follow the same pattern. Every two times, he asks you to assume a new pose: standing, sitting (on a kitchen chair, on a stool, on the floor...) or lying on the sofa, sometimes with an object in your hands but usually in a way that allows you to read or review your notes. Once you are comfortable, Zoro makes sure the room is well-lit, places a comfortable chair in front of you, retrieves his sketchbook and pencils from the suitcase he keeps them hidden in together with his art school books to make sure his father doesn't find them, and gets to work, drawing diligently for an hour and a half.

It is, in the end, more or less what happens during your classes at the art school; after all Zoro's drawing sessions are the reason you meet, the reason why he asked you to pose for him. You expected to do the same today as well, just like the many times you have met before; you didn't expect him to propose a change... and, you will reflect later on, you have no idea what this day has in store for you.

"What d'you mean?"

Zoro has turned his back to you, focused on the cups you used for your coffee and that he is now washing in the sink "Well... I was thinking today you could pose like you do in class."

"As in...?"

"Naked, yes. Unless, that... bothers you..."

It shouldn't, of course. After all, you have been an art model for six months, and by now you like to think you are quite good at it, since Shanks no longer needs to correct your posture and you can keep the most uncomfortable pose for a long time without complaining, even though the job is more tiring than it looks and in the end your muscles beg for mercy. Besides the fact that it helps you pay rent (you expected your landlord to lower it until his niece found another place to stay, since your apartment is not fully yours anymore, but the thought must have slipped his mind) and your bills, posing is probably the best job you have ever had.

You enjoy it, a lot, in a way you can't properly explain to someone who has never been in your place, and by now you are completely accustomed to pose naked, like you have done from the very first day. Shanks was right, there is nothing sexual, or inappropriate, in being an art model, nothing you should feel guilt or embarrassment for; if the students look at your breast, it is simply to make sure they are correctly drawing it, which is not always easy, and when a couple of months ago, Nami asked you whether you had put on a little weight (you had, no doubt, because of all the treats your mother brings you back from the bakery!) she assured you she only wanted to know because the shape of your belly and thighs had changed marginally and she really wanted to portray you as faithfully as she could. In the end, for the students it wouldn't make much difference if on the stool at the center of their semicircle Shanks had placed a potted plant or a teddy-bear, instead of asking you to sit there, apart from the fact that the human form has been the most popular art subject since time immemorial, and any artist must be capable to competently reproduce it.

You expected your sessions with Zoro to go the same way, which would have been even easier for you, since you would have been in your own home. Instead, the first time he came to your place he said you could keep your clothes on, because the naked body was harder to draw and he, unfortunately, still had to learn to correctly portray clothed people. He had no preference regarding the clothes you wore, and didn't mind to choose poses that allowed you to read or revise your notes during the sessions.

And now this. You should have imagined he would ask you sooner or later, you relect; Zoro's figure drawings have improved since you started posing for him privately, and by now he must feel capable of moving to something more challenging, which means that it is time for you to take your panties off for him - so to speak.

"Of course, if that makes you... uncomfortable, or if you'd rather have someone present..."

"Of course not; it's... all right." you hurry to answer after a moment of uncertainty; after six months of private sessions you had gotten used to posing with your clothes on, but after all it is nothing you haven't done a hundred times already "I didn't bring my night-gown, though."

Zoro gives you this ("It is clean, I swear.") and invites you to leave your clothes in the bathroom near the living room, while he prepares his things.

"I will be just a minute."

"Take your time. Just..." he hesitates, once more as if unsure of what to say, which strikes you as odd - Zoro is not a blabbermouth, but in six months since you met him you never had the impression he was too shy, or afraid, to say what is on his mind. By now you are, if not exactly friends, at least good acquaintances, and you never had troubles finding something to talk about; why does he seem so awkward all of a sudden? What delicate matter is he afraid to broach...? "Listen, you know I'm Luffy friend, do you?"

Considering that your friend's crew has practically adopted you ever since you started posing for their class, so much that you are routinely invited to hang out with them and they all came to your birthday party two months ago, the question sounds unexpected, and weird, at your ears.

"Of course. Why is that relevant now?"

"Nothing. Just... I'll wait for you here, ok?"

Still a little perplexed, you move to the bathroom, where you leave your clothes in a neat pile and refresh yourself; there is nothing more unpleasant than body odour when one is posing, naked or otherwise. Zoro's night-gown is, predictably, not exactly the right fit for you, which shouldn't be a problem, since you are going to take it off in less than a minute, but wearing it feels strange all the same... intimate, in a way. You had never worn a man's clothes before, or rather, no man had ever given you his clothes to wear, and having Zoro do it, even just to avoid having you walk buck naked around his house...

You chide yourself for those naive, childish thoughts, especially towards a man on whom you can no longer deny having a crush, and whose company you genuinely enjoy; you don't want Zoro to think he made you uncomfortable. You are here to pose for him, and pose for him you will, like the professional model you are; everything else doesn't matter... even though you have to admit, you like being alone with Zoro, having his attention focused on you. A secret, innocent joy you allow yourself to indulge in.

You wash away what is left of the make-up you had applied earlier, before heading to work, remain for a moment still, staring at your reflection and reminding yourself you are an adult and ought to behave accordingly, and then leave the bathroom.

Zoro is preparing your station in the living room, with a lamp near the sofa, on which you have already posed lying many times... after taking off your shoes, and nothing else. His sketchbook and pencils are placed on a little table near his favourite chair, retrieved from their hiding spot in the suitcase; propped against the chair's armrest are Zoro's three swords. He doesn't carry them around when he is at home, but, he told you, he always keeps them close, as if expecting to be attacked at any moment, even in the safety of his own home: it is a not uncommon habit among swordsmen, that his master (and father) accustomed him to since he was a child.

He turns, startled a little, when he hears you approach, and when he sees you wearing his night-gown he seems to have troubles swallowing for a moment. "So, uhm, everything ok?"

You wonder whether he expected you to have troubles taking your clothes off. "Sure. So... how do you want me?" you ask back; then, suddenly realizing how that question, that you must have posed a hundred times before, might sound differently from how you had intended it, you hurry to rephrase: "What pose do you want me to assume?"

Zoro asks you to lie in profile, propped on one elbow, with one leg stretched and the other partially bent towards your belly; the pose is similar to one Shanks asked you to assume for a class at the Art School last month, which leads you to suspect Zoro was not satisfied of his work of that day. He looks away, seemingly embarrassed, when he sees you take off his night-gown, even though he saw you do the same at the school a hundred times already.

You don't find it weird. In fact, it might be because you're doing it in a new place for the first time, but for a moment you feel awkward as well, almost as if that gesture had a different meaning, almost as if it mattered...

The night-gown passes from your hand to his; while your gazes don't meet, your hands brush against each other.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem."

A moment later you are lying on the sofa, easily settling in the same position as a few weeks ago.

"Are you comfortable?" Zoro asks you, and you nod, by now used to the slight inconvenience of an unnatural pose, since no one, especially not at your age, has ever died from a stiff arm or a sore leg, and by now Shanks' class has drawn you in positions that wouldn't be out of place in the experts' section of a yoga manual.

"Yeah, don't worry. Can you take my book from my bag, please? I have an exam next week..."

A minute later Zoro is already sitting at his place, the sketchbook balanced on his knee, the by now familiar whisper of the pencil rubbing on the paper filling the room. As usual you remain still as a statue, face lowered on the pages of your book... even though your eyes keep rising to the young man in front of you; at times your gazes meet, and you could swear Zoro's eyes are smiling even though his expression remains serious.

You like this, you have realized for a while, this weird menage you have built together, the chaste intimacy of posing for a single artist and the innocent flattery of having his full attention focused on you - if only because Zoro wants to makes sure he draws the angle of your shoulder as faithfully as he can. You have no idea how long he will need your help for, or if he will ever decide he can do without your private sessions, but you are determined to enjoy it as long as it lasts, and to pose for him every time he asks you to, even if it means sacrificing the little free time school and work leave you; it is a very unexpected sort of relationship, perhaps an anomalous one, intimate and at the same time strictly professional, but you treasure it all the same. Zoro is not a particularly personable man, you have come to suspect, but you know he is fond of you, and appreciates you as a model and a person.

You can't help wanting more. But at the same time you are happy with what you have, and you hope it lasts.

Zoro draws in complete silence for a while, while you revise two chapters of your book, trying to make sense of your own notes.

"You are not cold?" he asks after a while, and you assure him you are all right; you have already noticed Zoro has turned the heating on, no doubt more for your benefit than his, since you are the one who can't simply put a sweater on if she gets chilly. You'll have to thank him.

"My father knows about you, you know." he adds, almost absentmindedly, and your are immediately alarmed.

"What?! He knows...?"

"Not that you pose for me, and I still attend the East Blue; he... he knows I had a girl over, that's it." Zoro explains, face momentarily hidden behind his sketchbook "Last time... I forgot to wash the coffee cups, and he noticed there was a trace of lipstick on the border of one."

"Oh, God, Zoro, I'm sorry..."

"That's ok." he assures you, while a sudden grin blossoms on his lips "He didn't mind, and I doubt he could ever imagine what we do. He just thought... you know..."

You force yourself not to smile. "... that you have a girlfriend?" you finish for him "And that you had taken advantage of his absence to invite her over?"

"Something like that, yes. I... I didn't correct him, I hope you don't mind."

You don't. "I don't." At all. Another small, innocent pleasure, part of a little fantasy you're probably too old for but that in the end doesn't hurt anyone; and truth to be told, you are happy to help Zoro, since you know how much attending the drawing school means to him. You return your attention to your book, but try as you might you really can't focus, let alone memorize the notions on the page in front of you, your eyes simply skimming the text without retaing any information.

And the fault is his. Well, it is yours, to be honest, since you are by now an expert model, not to mention a veteran student and an adult woman, and you should be able to ignore the presence of a man, no matter how handsome, and concentrate on something as important as an imminent exam. For God's sake, Zoro has never skipped a class at the art school, which means that you have taken off your clothes in front of him two times a week for six months! By now he knows your naked body so well he could draw it by heart, and he does need a model, even though his life drawings have improved, it isn't simply a ruse to... meet you in a more private setting and... and... and why are you fantasizing about that, now?!

Oh, God. You do like him, you realize suddenly, much more than you had imagined or allowed yourself to think until today. He is handsome, and athletic, and he has a beautiful smile, but in six months since you first met you have learnt to know Zoro, and to appreciate and respect him as a man and as a friend as well; you like how protective he is of his friends (and of you, given that time that a drunk man approached you as he was walking you back at the bus stop after a drawing session; Zoro drew the Wado Ichimonji and threatened to amputate any part of his body the man would touch you with) and steadfast in the pursuit of his dream, and kind-hearted towards those who suffer or endure injustice, even though those who know him less well wrongly consider him cold and selfish. You are attracted to him, and while you already enjoy being his model and friend, you do wish your relationship would develop beyond that... you wish to be important for him, to feel his gaze brush against your skin and know he is not simply wondering whether he drew your arm faithfully enough or he should start over.

"Shanks is very pleased with your progress." you mention after a while; unlike what happens during class at the art school, where silence is religiously kept from the beginning to the end of the class, Zoro told you he doesn't mind chatting a bit while he draws, and he is exactly the sort of conversationalist you prefer: no interest in small talk, and has always something interesting to say "I heard him saying that at the end of your last class."

Zoro is pleased, even smug, as he smiles and tilts his head to one side, as if to observe you from a marginally different perspective. "He did say I got better at life drawing, even though I shouldn't focus on that and neglect my other classes."

"I'm sure that won't happen."

"I hope not... and in any case, if I improved I also owe it to you. I haven't forgotten how much you're doing for me, (name)."

"I'm doing nothing, just staying still."

"You know what I mean. I know you'd have many better things to do with your time, and you're not even letting me pay you..."

"Zoro... we are friends." you point out, completely serious; you are now looking straight at him, so engrossed in your conversation to notice you have broken the first, cardinal rule for all art models: never change pose mid-session "You know I could never ask you money. I am happy to help you, since I know how much this matters to you."

Zoro looks at you; he has stopped drawing, even through you couldn't say exactly when. "We weren't friends when you accepted to pose for free."

"No, but you were Luffy's friend, which is equally important. Would you have accepted to be paid, if you were in my place?"

"Maybe I would have."

"No, you wouldn't have."

"No, I wouldn't have." he admits, and smiles at you, and you have never wanted to kiss anyone so much in your life "Anyway, I owe you, truly. Thank you."

You assure him you are happy to be his model, and you really are, so much that you hope your sessions will continue even now that his life drawings have improved; truth to be told, you'll happily spend the evenings of the rest of your life posing for Zoro... unless, of course, one of the two decides, or in your case finds the courage, to ask the other out.

"I think you changed position."

"Yeah, sorry." you admit as you lower your gaze once more.

"No, it's your arm."

"My arm?" you repeat, perplexed, since you hadn't noticed you had moved it "Are you sure?"

"Yes, you moved it when you used your hand to turn the page. Wait..."

Zoro stands, crossing the living room floor in a quick stride until he's keeling in front of the sofa; not looking at you (accurately not looking at you) he lifts your wrist with his fingers and moves your arm a few inches to the left. It's a completely innocent gesture, but you choose that very moment to unthinkingly move on the cushion, searching for a more comfortable position... and inadvertently pressing your chest against Zoro's hand.

His fingers are warm against the skin of your breast, the sensation clear, almost painfully so, despite the contact lasting less than a second. You gasp, more out of surprise than alarm, but that is nothing compared to Zoro's reaction: he jumps, retracting his hand as if he had burned himself, and his face has burst into flames as well, his usually tan complexion turning a bright red.

"Oh my God...!!"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Zoro almost shouts; he moves back so quickly he almost trips on his own feet "I didn't do it on purpose, I swear..."

"It's ok; I'm sorry, it was my fault, I moved... in the least appropriate moment." you admit, feeling yourself blush as well; you have never felt so embarrassed, and so naked, in your life, not even during your first session with Shanks' class "Zoro, forgive me, I made you... uncomfortable..."

He sighs, unable to look you in the eyes, his face still bright red as he covers it with his hand, standing five paces from you. "No, the fault is mine. Shanks always says an artist should never approach a model without asking for permission, let alone touch them... especially if they are naked."

He lowers his hand, gazing at it as if he could read his future in the lines of the palm; that is the hand he touched you with.

"I shouldn't have asked you to pose nude; I'm sorry."

"I'm perfectly used to it, as you very well know." you insist, desperately trying to ease the tension.

"Yes, at the school; I thought... it would be different now that you're here..."

Silence falls on the room, and between the two of you, for the first time since you met an uncomfortable, somewhat charged silence that you don't quite know how to interpret... as if you were standing over the edge of a precipice.

"I thought... you wanted to practice drawing clothed people, because it was easier..."

"I did." Zoro admits, as he retreats to his chair; he picks up the scabbard of the Wado Ichimonji, his fingers idly fiddling with the strap "At first. To be honest, I have felt ready to shift to nude drawing for a while, but I didn't want..."

"You didn't want...?"

"Oh, hell!" Zoro exclaims, finally turning to look at you; he seems angry, even though not necessarily at you "I didn't want you to think I wanted to look at you naked! I know you trust me because I'm Luffy's friend, and that posing naked is the rule, but I was afraid you would think that I had... designs on you and would take advantage of our drawing sessions to... to..."

He stops mid-sentence, but he doesn't need to continue; he has said enough, more than enough, to make your heart skip a beat - or four.

"... listen, let's just forget it, all right? You can get dresses, I can start over..."

"And you do?"

"... sorry?"

"You have designs on me?" you quietly ask as you slowly change position once more, sit on the sofa and then stand, only partially using your arm to cover your chest "Not that you would take advantage of me, or try to hurt me in any way; I know you are not that sort of man. But... did you ever consider having me naked in your house, while we are alone, could change things between us?"

"I... I..."

"That something might... develop?"

Zoro's face is still burning; he is stuttering, something almost unimaginable for a usually collected, self-assured man, but it is sweet seeing him like this... and you would lie if you said discovering you can have this effect on him is not exciting.

"I would not blame you for it; the heart has rules of its own, like my mother always says, and it's not like I'm the woman of your best friend or your step-sister. Also, I must confess... I would be flattered. And very happy."

A few more moments of silence follow, as you let Zoro fully grasp the meaning of your words, and he seemingly gives you time to recant them or elaborate with limits and conditions - something you have no intention of doing. You have known Zoro for six months; too little to speak of love, perhaps, or to make plans for the future, but more than enough to know that you like and care for him, sincerely and well beyond his undeniable physical beauty. You want to be more than a model for him... and you want him to do more than simply look at you, studing the shape of your hipbone or the position of your elbow.

Much more.

You are so engrossed in each other neither hears the sound of the house door opening. Zoro turns towards you, delicately placing his sword back against his chair's armrest; he is in full control of himself once more, not smiling and still five paces away, but the intensity of his gaze, the barely controlled desire in his brown eyes, makes you feel as if you could already feel his hands (warm, elegant, used to both wield a sword and hold a pencil, capable of being both gentle and strong) brushing against your skin, caressing it, worshipping...

"Are you sure?" he asks in the end, taking a single step towards you "Because I'd really like to..."

"Zoro, are you home?"

The voice coming from the corridor outside the living room is masculine, refined and more mature than that of the young man in front of you; it expressed a simple question, the tone relaxed and devoid of tension, but both of you react as if a known criminal had just threatened to make the house blow up.

"My father." Zoro whispers, suddenly panicking; he looks back at the chair on which his sketchbook and pencils are still placed, close enough to the door anyone coming into the room would see them for sure. And if that someone is Zoro's father, the man who has no idea he is still attending the art school, years after demanding he withdraw, you don't even want to know what could happen... "Oh, God... cover yourself, quick!"

Zoro quickly grabs his night-gown, that he had left on the back of the sofa, and passes it to you; you take it, look at him, need just half a second to assess your priorities, and throw the night-gown on his chair, where it neatly falls covering his drawing tools.

"What...?"

A moment later the door opens. "Zoro, are you here? I just need... oh."

Until today you had only seen Zoro's father in pictures, like the one of the two of them at the fencing school hanging from the living room's wall, and you doubt Zoro had even told him about you, even just as a friend, at least until his father had noticed a trace of your lipstick on a coffee cup; therefore, this is your first meeting and God, you couldn't imagine a worst possible situation... nor, it must be acknowledged, a more memorable one.

Dracule Mihawk is a tall, very attractive man in his forties, with dark hair, a neatly trimmed bear, and beautiful bird-like eyes that earned him the sobriquet he is mostly known under. Zoro, who deeply respects him even though he still sees the older man more like a mentor and a future adversary than a father, told you he is gifted with an almost preternatural self-control, never letting himself be carried away by his emotions and very rarely reacting with joy, surprise or sadness when something unexpected happens.

You should perhaps be proud of yourself, then, since your presence in his house, and especially your state of undress, leaves the strongest swordsman in the world completely speechless.

"Zoro... what is happening?" he asks in the end, turning to look at his son "Who is this girl? Why is she... oh." he adds after a moment, averting his eyes "I see I'm interrupting."

Zoro quickly steps in front of you, who are staring at your feet as you desperately try to cover your most intimate parts with your hands. "She... she is my friend (name)."

"I see. I'll leave the you alone, I just needed to take some papers. I... apologize for disturbing you."

He nods at Zoro and then at you (who force yourself to reciprocate, fully aware that you must be red as a beetroot), turns, not noticing or perhaps not pay attention to the night-gown on the chair, and leaves, closing the door behind him.

For a whole minute both you and Zoro remain still as statues - or as models posing. "Do you think he suspected something?" you finally ask in a whisper, fearing your quick thinking was not enough to keep Mihawk in the dark. On the other hand, findinga naked girl in his home is technically not something the tutor of a young man should feel suspicious about...

"I... don't think so." Zoro answers slowly as he turns towards you; he is close enough you can feel the warmth of his body on yours, so close you could kiss him without having to move... "You... covered my drawing things instead of yourself."

"I did. Believe me, that was the most embarrassing moment of my life, but... I know how important it is for you to keep attending the art school, and that you don't want to disappoint your father, so I thought..."

Zoro grins as he takes your head in his hands; the purest affection shines in his brown eyes. He kisses you on the forehead and "I just want to make sure everything's all right." he quickly explains "He wouldn't take it out on you, he's not that sort of man, just... give me a minute, ok?"

"Of course. Can I take your night-gown if I hide...?"

"No."

You smile. "All right." you answer, and Zoro winks at you before following Mihawk out of the room. A couple of minutes, and pressing your ear against the door allows you to listen to the conversation between father and son.

"If you wanted to have the house to yourself for an evening you could have told me, Zoro. You're an adult, I would have had nothing against it."

"I know, just... I didn't really expect it to happen. And you're usually not at home at this hour."

"As I said, I had forgotten a few documents I had to look over with my new client. She's the girl you told me about, the one of the lipstick? Is she your girlfriend or...?"

A few moments pass before Zoro's answer; suddenly, you wonder whether he suspects you are listening. "Not yet; but I was planning on asking her tonight."

"Good. I don't mind if she stays the night, but if she doesn't, make sure your friend gets home safely."

Zoro promises he will. A minute later, the house door opens and closes, and soon after, Zoro returns to you, looking relieved but somewhat gloomy.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, just..." Zoro smiles as he takes you in, still completely naked, clearly appreciating the view way beyond simply as a good subject for a portrait, but a moment later he sighs "I... don't like lying to him. I know he never wanted children, but he took good care of me for years; he deserves better."

"You're old enough to decide how to live your life, Zoro. I know your father is a swordsman, and I don't doubt he only wants what's best for you, but what's so wrong with liking to draw?"

Zoro tells you that for people like him and Mihawk, the sword is much more than a hobby or an interest, no matter how passionately one practices it - it is a call, a way of life, a purpose one has to focus all their energies and willpower on, and that leaves no space for anything else. "Truth to be told, the sword is my real passion; as much as I like drawing, that's what I have decided to dedicate my life to, the thing I would choose if I had to pick one. It's just..."

"Just...?"

"My parents could draw. They were illustrators, for books and advertising and other things; they taught me, and then since I liked it, they sent me to the school. I know I'm not as good an artist as I am a swordsman, probably not good enough to earn my living with that, but I do like it, and... and drawing makes me feel close to them. You know, as if they were still with me."

Zoro looks at you, vaguely apologetic as if he felt guilty for ruining the intimate moment you were about to share with his sad musings. You don't mind; if anything, you have discovered a new part of him, the insecure, uncertain heart of a young man torn between his dreams and obligations, between the devotion to his birth parents and the loyalty to the man who has taken care of him. A part of him Zoro probably does his best to keep hidden, because he is that sort of man, but that you have discovered, and you can't help loving it.

"What are you smiling about?" Zoro wonders as he rests his hands on your naked hips, his touch relatively chaste but possessive enough to make you shiver pleasantly.

"I was just thinking how happy I am Luffy convinced me to come pose at the school." you muse "I found a new job I really enjoy, some great new friends, and..."

"... and you met me? Is this what you were going to say?"

"Hmm, perhaps..."

You laugh; Zoro laughs with you. "I'd really like to kiss you now." he murmurs in the end; in the well-lit room, you can see he has blushed, just a little "If that's all right for you, that is."

"Of course it is."

Zoro's lips are hot against yours. You waste no time before kissing him back, messy and awkward at first, but soon your mouths learn to know each other, they find a rhythm to follow and pursue together, a wild, unrestrained dance that you feel already addicted to a minute later, and soon your tongue finds Zoro's in his mouth, and his moan of pleasure reverberates through your body.

"(name)... fuck..."

His hands are still grasping at your hips, his whole body tense; he's still restraining himself, not wanting to take more than you are willing to give, but the time for qualms is over, and you want Zoro to know that while this is not how you expected your relationship to begin, you don't regret it, far from it, and you have never desired anything and anyone like him, and his hands on your skin.

"Touch me, Zoro." you whisper, your lips still pressed against his "Please, I need you to touch me..."

He moans again, fierce and avid and hungry, as he takes your face in his hands and then lets an arm snake around your waist, pressing your body flush against his; Zoro is still clothed, but you can feel the effect your nudity has had on him through the fabric of his jeans. You roll your hips against his erection, just as his free hand descends to squeeze your ass, and you both whimper.

"Let's go to my room." he proposes in a whisper, and you eagerly nod. Zoro quickly retrieves his swords, while you hold his sketchbook and pencils against your chest, then offers you his free hand, and you let him guide you towards the corridor.

"In here."

The room is large but sparsely furnished, which you expected; the bed is the sort with the mattress, covered by a duvet, directly placed on the floor. "Nice." you comment as Zoro, whose hands are shaking slightly, retrieves the suitcase, to hide his drawing tools, from the closet. He turns, and grins - no, he smiles at you.

"I changed the bedding this morning."

"Which has nothing to do with the fact you wanted to ask me to pose naked, I'm sure..."

He doesn't deny it, but he laughs - an unexpected, happy sound that fills your heart with tenderness, and the desire to hear it again. Zoro places his swords next to the bed, to be grabbed at a moment's notice; you want to ask him whether he expects an assault during the night, but a moment later Zoro has started undressing, and it would be physically impossible for you to focus on anything else.

As you expected, he has the body of an athlete, without an ounce of fat, well-muscled shoulders and arms, a flat stomach... and a large scar marring his chest, clearly old but still evident enough to make you pause.

"Oh, God... who did this to you?" you murmur, your fingers brushing against the edge of the wound as you try to imagine how painful it must have been "Was it... during a competition...?"

"Not exactly. It was my father."

"What?! Zoro, he could have killed you!" you cry, appalled; he doesn't deny it, but looks distinctly blasé about it, as he explains he had officially challenged Mihawk, foolishly thinking he had even just a single chance of winning, and his teacher had to show him how tremendously wrong he had been.

"That seems... cruel... I mean, towards any students, and especially his own son..."

Zoro shrugs, as if he really didn't care, or perhaps challenges and duels between swordsmen followed rules you cannot understand. "I'm not saying it was pleasant; but it taught me a lot, and from that day, I have promised myself I would never be defeated again."

"Well, if you're happy..."

Zoro takes your hands in his. For a moment all you can do is look at each other, and while you are the one who had never seen the other naked before, you can see awe, and desire, in the brown eyes of the man who has seen you unclothed a hundred times already. He kisses you once more before accompanying you down on the bed, and from there your hands start moving, hungrily searching, caressing, stimulating, and a sensual symphony of moans fills the air. His lips close around your nipple, and you instantly forget how to breathe; your heart is pounding, a fire burning down in your belly, and you have no words to describe how much you want him, which means that you'll have to show him...

Zoro's erection is beautiful, heavy and proudly erect, soft green hair descending from his navel in a thin strip and surrounding the base; you look at him in the eyes as you play with it, your hand moving up and down around the thick column. Zoro sighs, a lazy and happy smile on his lips, as he bucks his hips. "Oh, God, (name)..."

"You like this?"

"I love this... oh, this is even better than I had imagined..."

He has to ask you to stop after a few minutes, and takes your hand in his. "I don't have anything to put on." he confesses, which startles you a bit.

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, I... never really needed them." he admits, as he rubs the back of his head, like you have already seen him do when embarrassed "I can... go buy some; there's a pharmacy across the street."

You reflect on it for a moment. "No; if you don't mind, I'd like you to stay." you answer in the end as you turn on one side, scooting even closer to him "We can... cuddle, that'd be nice as well."

Your idea is approved. In the next two hours you do much more than simply cuddle, exploring each other's body and exchanging your pleasure; you talk a lot, play, joke, and simply enjoy that intimacy and closeness you both want to experience together. Part of you is deeply disappointed you didn't get to have sex with Zoro, especially given you are almost embarrassingly wet and the touch of his hands is addictive, especially when you see his fingers disappear between your legs, but the evening is lovely all the same, your body and Zoro's locked in an embrace. You didn't revise for your imminent exam like you had planned, but given what you have spent the last two hours doing, you feel physically unable to care.

"I really like you, you know." he whispers in the end; he has found a pizza in the kitchen's freezer and now you're eating together on the bed, still naked like the day you were born, and it may be the company, but you feel as if you had never had a better meal. After all, you did tell him he could buy you a pizza as payment for your posing sessions... "Not just because I think you are beautiful."

There is a spot of tomato sauce on his lip; you smile as you clean it with your thumb. "You do?"

"Of course. And I think you're kind, and generous, and you care about your friends, and... what I'm trying to say..." he sighs, and then mumbles something unintelligible, but you don't mind, because you are confident you know already what he wants, because you heard him talk about it with his father, and you want it as well.

"I'd like that." you answer as you place the empty pizza plate on the floor next to the table and then lay next to him once more; it's not exactly the grand declaration of love you had hoped to receive sooner or later, but it is very Zoro, and because of this it is perfect "I'd like that very much."

"Are you sure?"

"Zoro, I don't know what else I could do to show you I like you as well. Now, I can't stay the night because I have class early tomorrow. What about we cuddle some more before I have to go back?"

Zoro happily takes you in his arms, smiling as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. "You know, a lot of artists are jealous of their models." he mentions, his fingers delicately playing with your hair "So I hope you won't let anyone else draw you, at least like this... and that you'll pose for me again."

"You don't have to worry." you whisper back as you turn in his arms; his hips press against yours, making you shiver pleasantly "I'll be your model, and only yours, as long as you want me to."

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Roronoa Zoro #Roronoa Zoro x reader #Mackenyu #Bellona's stuff

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synergy-poprocks · 1 month

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#0007: Squirtle

well that was certainly a relief after Venusaur took me nearly three weeks!! Meet Tortuguita ("Little Turtle" in Spanish)!! He's got a quirky nature and is "alert to sounds." I gave him some headphones so he could chill without sounds bothering him, and some sunglasses a la Squirtle Squad because it seemed fitting. He's enjoying some well-deserved floor time or possibly floating in a river in that second shot as us folk who are sensitive to sounds like to do when we're overwhelmed.

. . . it just now occurs to me that I may have made an autistic-coded turtle, and you know what? that seems right.

thoughts under the cut:

Ok I am MEGA proud of how the normal model on the right looks. There are some flaws but he looks REAL good, especially the eyes. I see my roommate draw on her tablet all the time and copied one of her tricks where she uses the selection tool to adjust proportions when something she's done doesn't look quite right, and doing that to make the body a better size in relation to the head made ALL the difference. My little line trick I learned with Venusaur helped get the feet right, which were probably the hardest part to nail aside from the lines on Tortuguita's stomach. The one on the left has some issues proportionally and still looks a little flat, but isn't too bad. The glasses took a while, but 'm happy how they turned out overall. I cut myself a LOT more slack when doing my own poses etc., though I did use a little help from a Pokémon Sleep style to see where the tail should go. I didn't have it on my canvas like I do for my other references though, just pulled up on the side on Serebii. This one's ended up even better than the one based on the official art work, I think!!

Goal wise, I think I've finally found a way/thickness/color for outlining that I like. I do need to work on making stuff more 3D when I'm not working with a reference, but the one I worked on WITH a reference has some decent depth.

Overall, I'm getting better and I can feel the progress. The last one was a bit of a slog, but Tortuguita was a fun one!!

#pkmn #dexl #living dex #pokemon #0007

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k00294254 · 7 months

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MOVEMENT paint work shop week one.

For this workshop we worked with a live nude model Jeff. We started with a palette of 3 colours red , blue, and white. We then took half of the white and added it into the first colour, mixed that then added it to the secondary colour. This gave us a palette of three distinct colours. We started with composition of where Jeff was placed in the room the floor and background and under painted them. Then we began creating his form and capturing the light and shadows in the background. I don’t like how my painting of him came out in the end I wouldn’t say painting is my thing although I do like how the background came out and the colour palette.

We then went on to do quick posed sketches of people in the church gallery some sitting and some standing. I preferred this as I do prefer drawing although I do prefer to take my time with things so the quick change of poses were hard to keep up with. In the end though I did like how some of them came out.

Like in the workshop I wanted to take three colours and mix them in order to Create a palette which is what I did in my darker painting of mushrooms although I did go in and add white highlights in the end. I quickly sketched out the shapes of mushrooms I wanted to paint like in the workshop and finished the painting in a short amount of time.

RESEARCH. My project with the theme movement is about mushrooms, Mushrooms can almost double in size over 24 hours.

I chose the focus my project on mushrooms because I find them interesting and I wanted to go in a simpler direction than I did last time. Mushrooms are interesting for many reasons including that they are closer to humans than plants according to their D.N.A. They also help trees talk to each other and are the largest living thing on earth.

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nyxs-sins · 3 years

Text

Brothers + Datables Reacts to Fan Art

Warnings: Mentions of scandalous art pieces. Cussing.

Lucifer:

What. The. Fuck?

The man has never taken his shirt off why is he shirtless in some them-

IS THAT LUCIFER X DIAVOLO FANART?!?!

Figures out Mammon is selling the pieces.

MAMOOOOOOON!!!!!

Doesn’t know whether he wants to beat the ever living shit out Mammon or take a nap.

He does both.

Saves all the Lucifer x MC fanart.

Mammon

Tries to sell the fanart of Lucifer.

Actually succeeds for a little while.

He isn’t phased by fan art of himself, scandalous or otherwise.

He’s a model, why would he care? He’s hot and he knows it.

Gets hung upside down in the Underground Tomb once he’s caught.

He wasn’t let down until Lucifer realized that MC was willing to fight Cerberus to get him down.

Denies liking the Mammon x MC art but his photo gallery says otherwise.

Leviathan:

Is secretly one of the artists.

He has a secret website where he takes requests and sells art on.

Refuses to draw fanart of himself unless MC is included but he never posts those.

Gets all blushy when he sees the more scandalous pieces of himself.

Doesn’t do anything about it though.

His fanart is the least accurate because he is always wearing super baggy clothes.

The few pieces he finds that are pretty close impress him.

Satan:

He doesn’t care.

Is secretly one of the biggest suppliers of Lucifer x Diavolo art.

Dragged Belphie and MC into creating and distributing the art with him.

Knows MC is the one that made their fan art popular but will die before he tells on them.

Once saw fan art of MC dressed like a cat and then proceeded to chase them for a week trying to get them to act out the photo.

He loves anything with cats.

Is a little grossed out by the more scandalous images but ignores it for the most part.

Most Satan x MC fanart usually has one of them dressed like a cat or reading.

He has a whole album dedicated to that art.

Asmodeus:

He absolutely loves it.

Cosplays the art of himself down to the last detail and uploads the images of Devilgram.

Encourages fans to make more fanart of him and his brothers.

He likes art of just his brothers, but will comment things like “you know what would make it even cuter? If you added me into the picture!”

Really feeds his ego.

Will do various poses for artists and will try to convince MC to join him.

His favorites are the more scandalous pieces, of course.

Saves all the fanart of Lucifer shirtless.

The only thing he likes better than Asmo art is Asmo x MC art.

Beelzebub:

Didn’t find out until he randomly came across a drawing of Luke cooking with Barbatos.

Thought it was cute so he kept looking at the fanart.

Was confused when he saw Lucifer x Diavolo art.

Traumatized when he saw scandalous art pieces of himself and his brothers.

Immediately went to MC and Belphie for comfort.

He didn’t look at Devilgram again for nearly three months.

Doesn’t understand all the excitement about the fanart and doesn’t want to.

Had to physically hold MC back from fighting Cerberus to get to Mammon.

Belphegor:

He almost slept through it all.

Didn’t find out until a traumatized Beel told him about it.

Was ready to burn down the world because it scared Beel.

Is secretly in cahoots with Satan in supplying Lucifer x Diavolo art.

And any other fan art that he knows will get a rise out of Lucifer.

Honestly it’s probably the longest he’s ever been awake during the day.

At night is when he really gets to work though.

Loves MC x Belphie fanart but will die before he lets anyone find out.

Diavolo:

Saves all of the Lucifer x Diavolo fanart.

And the MC x Diavolo fanart.

Was not above buying fan comics of him and Lucifer until his supplier mysteriously disappeared.

Lucifer wanted to stop him but couldn’t.

Wanted to draw fan art himself, but Barbatos stopped him by giving him more paperwork.

Sad Demon Prince noises.

He still doodled little comics on the side of his paperwork when he could get away with it.

Barbatos:

Doesn’t care No. 2

Typically just smiles and nods when Diavolo shows him the fan art.

Until he saw Barbatos x Diavolo.

That’s the only time he’s ever messed up dinner.

He nearly burnt down the kitchen.

He also knows that MC is the one that made fan art popular.

Doesn’t know what to do with that information though so he does nothing.

Until it starts to get out of control and he tries to stop them.

It’s too late to stop them.

My Lord please stop doodling on your paperwork-

Solomon:

Supply and demand.

He has the supply, they have the demand.

He also loves seeing the others’ reaction to the art.

As far as seeing art of himself, he doesn’t really care.

Secretly saves everything that has to do with Asmo and Barbatos.

Will rub the fact that he has A LOT of Solomon x MC fanart in the brothers’ faces.

Even though he made most of that himself.

Simeon:

Didn’t even know about it until Solomon showed him.

Immediately starts praying to God for forgiveness.

He likes the cute, holy art.

And the art of Luke cooking.

But the more scandalous stuff he sees about himself…

Solomon had to stop him from bleaching his own eyes.

Luke:

Has the purest fandom in the three realms.

Still a little weirded out by it though.

Didn’t know it was a thing until he saw Beel looking at a drawing of him cooking with Barbatos.

Told Simeon about it and he forbade Luke from ever looking up fanart.

His phone got parental controls put on it so Simeon could make sure he didn’t.

Now he’s even more worried.

ThOsE sTuPiD dEmOnS-

Doesn’t even know why he’s calling them stupid at this point but he’ll never admit that.

Secretly worried when he finds out some of the art traumatized Beel.

Brought him some sweets to make him feel better.

“We aren’t friends! He’s a demon! I just needed someone to sample my sweets!”

BONUS! MC:

Laughs in evil.

Is the one who made fanart popular.

Everyone knows better than to post inappropriate things about Luke because MC WILL break their knees. And their necks. And burn down their family’s homes.

Has the most fan art out of everyone, even Asmo.

Is also shipped with everyone.

Refuses to confirm or deny any and all ships.

Except MC x Luke those people die.

Luke is their son and they won’t accept anything else.

#obey me solomon #obey me luficer #obey me belphie #obey me barbatos #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me diavolo #obey me reactions #obey me dateables #obey me brothers #obey me simeon #obey me luke

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cupidsintern · 3 years

Text

the death of hyacinthus - pt. i

this is my old renaissance au with artist!billy and model!steve so enjoy lol

The light spills out onto the floor before the window, making the worn wood of the floor look bright again, like new. The light doesn't reach Steve though. Billy set up the scene like that on purpose, closer to the center of his studio. No direct light. He wants this to be lit like it's the beginning of twilight. In his head, Hyacinth dies at sunset.

The room is silent, has been for a while, other than birds outside the window, a breeze that made the window tap against itself lightly, and fabric shifting if Steve stirs from where he is at all, draped across this haphazard construction of pillows, blankets, and a bench.

That's the word Billy used; “drape”. When Steve got to the studio Billy was kicking pillows around on his little model platform, trying to get everything set up right, hardly even greeting Steve at all before launching into his explanation of how he wanted Steve to look.

“-and he’s dying, but he’s not dead yet,” Billy walked half a circle around the platform, hands out. “So Apollo would- damn-” A pillow fell over, he pushed it back up. “Would be here. So if you can just sort of drape yourself across right here-”

Steve was stripping off the last of his garments when Billy turned back around.

“Here?” Steve finished kicking his stockings off, crossed to step up onto the platform.

Billy swallowed, looking Steve in the eyes because at least it meant he wouldn't look down, slack jawed. “Yeah, that's- that’s perfect.” Steve was already settling in to sitting down, letting his head fall back against the seat of the bench, throat exposed.

The way he was sitting shifted his weight in his hips more; Billy tried to look critically. Not appreciatively. He shouldn’t be appreciating the son of the nobleman that had decided to be his patron. Not that Steve was even supposed to be modeling for him beyond the two portraits he’d already had done.

“Tip your knee down more,” Billy stepps back, takes in the composition.

Steve drops his knee.

“Turn your head towards me.”

Steve obliges. The line of his nose looks perfect at three quarters.

Billy stepps up to the platform again, pulls some of the fabric forward, lets it fall over Steve's legs more, over his groin- good. Less distracting. More poetic or something- and the line of his thighs beneath the fabric has just the heaviness Billy is looking for. He steps back again.

“What’s the myth again?” Steve’s jaw gains definition when he speaks with his head at this angle.

“The Death of Hyacinthus.”

“I know that part.” Steve rolls his hand a little. “The part before that. How does he die?”

“He- hang on.” Billy steps close again to push things around, make the lines right. “The wind- Zephyr- gets jealous of his beauty. Apollo throws a discus, and Zephyr pushes it off course, so it knocks Hyacinth in the head. Apollo holds him while he dies.” Billy says it all matter-of-factly. He's trying not to get distracted. He picks up Steve's arm to tilt back towards him a little. His skin is warm like the sunlight staining the floor.

“That's sad.” Steve says. His arm feels relaxed in Billy’s grip. “Weren't they close? Apollo and Hyacinth.”

Billy feels a familiar warmth at his neck of this topic. This thing that always comes up when he and Steve are alone. “They were lovers.”

Steve doesn't say anything back to that.

Billy gets the composition mostly how he wants it- and he’ll probably try Steve in a couple different poses, this is only for sketching. He takes ages deciding where to set up to actually draw it- Steve makes fun of him. Billy says he’s not the one naked on a pile of old curtains. That makes Steve laugh. His stomach flexes a little when he laughs.

Billy's glad Steve can be part of his process now.

He gets some general gestures down on paper. He really nails the angle of Steve’s throat- which he's proud of. He needs the arch of the thing to be perfect. And he gets the general idea of Steve's features down quick- he’s drawn Steve's face maybe a thousand times by now. The way his arm falls is tricky- he’ll come back to that in a bit.

“Billy.”

Billy looks up at Steve’s voice. He’s sat up a little, something short of coy in his eyes. “I’m cold.” “You’re cold.” Billy says back to him. Because he never does what Steve implies. Only what Steve says.

“Yeah, like you said- I’m bare ass naked on a pile of curtains.”

“Your calling.”

Steve laughs again. “Do you think we could close the door?”

“We?”

“You. Can you close the door.”

“Who’s the revered artist here?”

“Who’s the patron?”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he drops his chalk into the lip of his easel anyway, walks to pull the door to his studio shut, separating them from the rest of the house. Steve left it open in the first place.

“You’re not my patron.” Billy says when he gets back, picks up to start drawing again.

“I’m close.” Steve only sounds a little superior.

He’s right. He is close to being Billy's patron. He recommended Billy to his family, he talked up Billy’s version of the pieta, he introduced Billy to the Influentials of Florence, got him this nice new studio, set up in one of the family houses. He was only a little superior about it.

Mostly he was nice.

Nice to Billy. Excited about the things he drew, always asking him what he was working on.

Asked to sit for him once, twice, how many more times, he was part of the process now.

This might be what having a muse was, if Billy believed in things like having muses.

Steve scratches the back of his calf with a foot, then sets his legs back down.

“I’m surprised you don’t get bored doing this.” Billy cracks two of the knuckles on his drawing hand, shakes out his wrist. He’s only prying a little.

“I like watching you work,” comes Steve's easy reply.

“Still.” Billy smudges at a stray line with his thumb. “You’re always fidgety at dinners and shit. Not here.”

“Dinners are boring.” Steve sighs.

He had expressed that sentiment before. That he found Billy much more interesting than anything his family ever did. That he’d trade his infinite wealth for the virve Billy so possessed. Only he didn't say it like that. He said “I’d trade all of this shit for whatever makes your art so beautiful.”

And Billy said “You wouldn't want to. Trust me.”

Billy, having seared the image of Steve into his brain by now, was adding more definition in places, really letting his focus slide out of his head.

And it’s quiet for a bit. Billy doesn't notice when the silence breaks- the sound of shifting fabric, bare feet on wood floor-

“Shit, that’s really good.” Steve's voice startles Billy a little, but he doesn’t let it show. Just turns a little abruptly to find Steve leaning over his shoulder.

“Looks just like me.” Steve continued, hovering his fingertips over Billy's rendition of his nose.

“You don’t have to sound so impressed every time.” Billy rolled his eyes, pushing Steve’s hand away.

“Oh, excuse me for showing some enthusiasm.” Steve hummed another laugh, still looking at the paper. He traced a finger absentmindedly down his own flesh-and-blood nose, marveling at the likeness.

Billy couldn't focus enough to continue with Steve so close. Not like he’d never seen Steve in next to nothing before. But this was really and truly nothing. And even naked as the day he was born Steve exuded wealth in just the way he stood. Like clothes were nothing but decoration on something already… beautiful.

“Can you go back to your spot, please?” Billy got out, looking away like he was annoyed.

Steve just smiled at him before padding back to his platform, throwing the fabric back over his legs.

But now the composition was wrong-

“So,” Steve’s voice carried across the sun-soaked chambers. “Why Hyacinth?”

“What do you mean.” Billy was trying desperately to collect his thoughts.

“I mean, he’s dating a god, right? Why him? What's so special about him.”

“He’s beautiful.”

“And?”

“Well, I mean, he’s a Spartan prince, he’s legendary. Apollo doesn't even really pick him. Hyacinth has, like, a bunch of people to choose from. He picks Apollo.”

Billy can’t draw like this, especially since Steve fucked up the composition- probably on purpose.

Billy gets up with an unintentional little huff and gets close to Steve again, has to adjust his legs again, avoid staring at the pinks that dust Steve’s everywhere-

“You draw me a lot.” Steve interrupts Billy’s train of thought.

Billy looks up, holding Steve’s wrist like it was his own. “You sit for me a lot-”

“What's your favorite part to draw?”

Billy’s breathing feels thicker, like his throat is coated in honey, sweet but hard to breathe. “Of you?” “Yeah.”

“Your nose.” Billy says easily, because it's safe to say.

Steve smiles. “You've said that before.”

“It's true.” Billy prepares to turn away again, to tell Steve they should get more done while there's still daylight.

Steve’s fingers hook against the palm of Billy's hand. This is playing with fire.

Steve lifts Billy's hand up, touches it to the bridge of his nose.

He can feel the sharp bone under his forefinger.

“Where else?”

Billy inhales. It's a feat. “Your jaw.”

Steve pulls Billy's hand down his cheek to touch his jawline. They’ve been avoiding this forever,

“And?” Cliche game of cat and mouse. Right now, Billy’s the mouse.

“Your shoulders.” Billy watches Steve drag his hand down his perfect neck to the slope of his perfect shoulders. “Steve.”

“Billy.” Steve mocks Billy’s warning tone just a little. “Come on, what else?”

Billy swallows again. He doesn't respond he just lets his hand wander lower, lower, down his chest, to his stomach-

Billy stops his hand, pushes back against Steve’s. “I’ve never drawn you nude, if that's what you’re implying.”

“Maybe you should.” Steve’s finger’s slide up Billy's forearm to hook under the edge of his rolled up sleeve.

“I’d need a couple different references...” Billy trails off. He knows Steve is about to kiss him.

It’s still delicious when he does. No number of days, weeks, waiting for one of them to make a move, of thinking what that move would be, what it would feel like, would have prepared Billy for the spit-sweet taste of a first kiss in the late afternoon.

i might do a part ii or just leave it like this lol

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve x billy #billy x steve #harringrove fanfic #harringrove fic #my fic #my writing #its the renaissance au

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lovenona · 4 years

Note

and i repeat: anthropo-ceramics geto suguru is the type of toxic where he'd take your virginity, make a sculpture about the experience, then smash it on the ground as a metaphor

this ask is my entire life. this ask is my lifeblood. everyone please saddle up for the ride of a lifetime, otherwise known as 1500ish words of toxic geto featuring sukuna being a good fucking friend – please continue at ur own risk this absolutely contains geto being a pretentious toxic fucker and mentions of virginity/first time but yes i guarantee it does have a happy ending (link to the full college! cinematic universe here)

let’s begin with the basics – why wouldn’t you fuck geto suguru? he has the type of beauty that lingers on the back of your eyelids even after you’ve long since departed from him; it’s the kind of fragrant, lasting beauty that you think sculptors muse over when they coax life from their marble. he’s smooth, like still water, and calming, like the sound of birds rustling and leaves swaying at dawn. he is helen: a beauty that nations would go to war over.

and sure, he is pretentious, the kind of toxic pretentiousness that festers inside of all pretty boys who call themselves “leftists” but can’t be bothered to call their mothers or to care about their partners. but it’s the way he speaks, the way he looks at you with such fervor and attention in his eyes that you’re utterly willing to let him break your heart.

and maybe it’s not often that someone looks at you the way geto does: it’s not often that someone looks at you like they want you, body and soul. and it feels nice to be cared about, to be flirted with, even if the figure doing the flirting condescends you in a way that is different, harsher, colder, than the way ryomen sukuna does.

so geto suguru takes you on dates. after the avant-garde poetry reading, in which you feigned excitement as he recited a poem on global imperialism that you didn’t quite vibe with, he brings you to local bookstores with overpriced yuppie memoirs, farmers’ markets with organic fruit, human rights protests and philosophy meetings where greasy boys bitterly discuss the communist manifesto. he takes you to dinner, too, to vegan restaurants that you can’t help but rave about on yelp later and to bars where they serve your cocktails in mason jars.

geto suguru, for all his faults, is incredibly lighthearted with you; he makes you feel beautiful and desirable and warm, even when he’s explaining anthropology to you with such intense vigor that you lose track of his meaning. after everything, you’d be lying if you said you regretted your time with him.

after awhile you let geto fuck you – and yes, he was your first time, which you were naturally quite nervous about. but you appreciated him because he waited for you; he never pressured you into behaviors you didn’t want; he never asked you for services you weren’t ready to provide. and so when you slept with him, after an invigorating open-mic night at the fair-trade coffee shop near campus, you felt ready for the intimacy. geto made you feel attractive, comfortable, safe. he praised you the whole night, gave you caresses that lit you up like fireworks, provided such a level of god-tier aftercare you still reminisce about it, even now.

but that’s the thing about anthropology-ceramics major geto suguru: he’s quietly toxic. he’s a poison that sneaks up on you, infecting your bloodstream when you least expect it.

you weren’t sure if geto wanted to pursue a relationship, either. you’d fucked, sure, and you went on dates, but he was always the type to avoid long-term commitments. rumors float around campus of the many partners he’s ghosted, of the relationships he exploited for his own “artistic musings.” they aren’t loud rumors, to be sure, but they hang around his aura like a strange, ghostly scent.

geto is a pretentious little fuck. you’ve known it and agreed to enter his circle anyway. maybe you hoped, perhaps naively, that the rumors would simply not apply to you.

which was a stupid idea. three weeks after the experience, since which you have only spent one-on-one time with geto only a few times, mostly to talk about school, the art department hosts an art show. it’s a regular occurrence, where the art students show off their best works, grad students display their in-progress theses, and outsiders can browse the displays, drink wine, offer to give outstanding students jobs and internships. it’s truly a big fucking deal for the art department; many of the school’s the most successful artists received their first acclaim here.

you’ve always enjoyed attending, even if the level of talent and expertise sometimes intimidates you, even if you know you’ll never be on this level. you know sukuna’s got a few paintings lined up to be on display – paintings you’ve modeled for, drawings you’ve watched him labor over for hours on end. you reckon that for all your begrudging time together, you might as well show your face in support.

but what you didn’t count on was geto’s contribution.

at this art show, there are, every now and then, some interactive performances, speeches, explanations on certain works. so it happens that from the back of the auditorium you watch geto take the stage, wheeling a small, white sculpture behind him. from your perspective it could have been a flower – perhaps a lily, but you can’t be certain.

(geto always did like sculpting precious, dainty flowers.)

he doesn’t call you by name, but he doesn’t have to. he talks at great length in that smooth voice of his about the construct of virginity, the purity culture plaguing the globe, the emotional sensitivity of having your first time. geto seguru tells an avid audience what you felt about fucking for the first time. he recreates the entire night for two hundred listeners: he recalls the foreplay, the insecurity, the orgasms. he doesn’t call you by name. he doesn’t have to.

he may have asked for your consent the first time. but he certainly did not ask your permission to do this.

you’re not sure if you should laugh or cry when geto dramatically smashes his own sculpture, citing the “destruction of virginity” and the need “to demolish a social desire to classify one’s morality based upon their sexual activity” and “the symbolic popping of the cherry” among other phrases that are utter bullshit. you’re watching the fragments dance across the stage and you feel exploited. you feel used in a way that feels utterly worse than anything else geto could have done.

did he ever like you? or were you simply a muse for this moment?

you’re about to ditch the art show and go wallow in self pity at your apartment when a familiar presence slides in beside you.

“that’s kinda fucked,” sukuna says, hands in his jacket pockets. he’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye. his tone tells you he’s joking. maybe he just doesn’t know. “no one gives a shit about virginity constructs anymore, idiot.”

“yeah,” you respond, but the energy is gone. you feel strange, like you’re hovering outside of yourself. your head hurts: you’re angry. you decide you’d like to cry when you get home. “what a piece of shit.” it comes out strangled and lost.

sukuna notices the dejection in your voice, the sag in your shoulders, the way you’re just barely able to hold yourself together. he may be arrogant, not ryomen sukuna is not mean.

a familiar arm around your shoulders, keeping your sanity together. “shit’s lame. let’s get the fuck out of here.” it’s a phrase that captures everything that remains unsaid between you: i’m going to beat the shit out of geto the next time i see him. that’s absolutely unbelievable.

you never explicitly told sukuna about your weird relationship with geto: you didn’t have to. it was always evident to the both of you. it was written in the way you’d look a little bit longer in geto’s direction, in the way you let yourself be strung along and become someone else. you’ve hung around sukuna long enough that you know his body language and that he knows yours. you’ve hung around sukuna enough that there are a lifetime of stories that never need to be told.

you nod. “yeah.” thank you. i know.

you’re both uncharacteristically silent when you exit the auditorium, when you collect sukuna’s belongings that are still lounging by his artwork as you prepare to leave. ryomen sukuna is famous for never shutting the fuck up. but as you button your coat, he’s silent, and it’s strange. comfortable.

“thank you,” you say with uncharacteristic softness as he throws a sketchbook back into his backpack and zips it shut.

“why?”

“for asking my permission,” you say, gesturing to the gallery wall behind him, to the painting of you – “eros” – that you had posed for awhile back. even now, you find that it captures an essence you did not know you possessed. “he didn’t. ask, i mean.”

ryomen sukuna has always craved your attention. and maybe he’s glad he’s got it back – but it feels sour. he doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking upset for you. he doesn’t understand why he wants so badly for you to be happy again. what he does understand is that he plans for retribution.

“that’s fucked,” he settles on. “what bastard doesn’t ask for consent?”

you smile – and he does too, one that’s less feral and almost kind. and so you fall back into routine, already, some kind of weight lifting from your shoulders. ryomen sukuna may be a menace, but you can rely on him, trust him: that much you know.

“you know,” sukuna says offhandedly as you exit the building and enter the parking lot. “i know where geto’s car is, i’m just saying. and i’d be lying if i said i didn’t have an extra precision knife in my backpack right now.”

#IDK YALL #SMTH ABT THIS JUST MAKES ME FERAL #IF U NEED A FOLLOWUP U KNOW WHERE THE ASK BOX IS #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #adele writes #artist!jjk #letters to adele #geto.seguru #ryomen.sukuna

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capsironunderoos · 4 years

Text

Please, Come Home

DINCEMBER - December 11 - “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)”

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Summary: Din takes a job just before Life Day and wakes up to a message from his family.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: A ~lil~ spice, if you really, really squint... other than that just a really angsty Din Djarin, and sad times spent apart from his cyare.

Author’s Note: I’m slowly catching up on my Dincember prompts! Tomorrow is my last day in the classroom before Christmas break, so I’ll be able to really catch up soon. Again, this is pretty short, but I hope you guys enjoy!

Here’s the previous prompt: DINCEMBER - December 9 - “Let It Snow”

And the link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

It’s quiet on the Crest tonight, somber almost.

Din hasn’t had a moment like this to himself for too many rotations to count, so he sits in the pilot’s seat, the Crest on autopilot, arms crossed and helmet-clad head leaned back onto the headrest as he watches the stars pass by.

He’s been by himself for a few weeks now, but he doesn’t find the same peace in it that he used to.

Before you, and the child, he longed for moments spent on his ship, amongst the stars to just… be.

Now, he finds more peace when he’s sitting in his cabin with you and the child, snuggled up on the couch and under blankets as you quietly read aloud.

Over the past few months, Din had started to take less odd jobs. You’d both been saving credits for awhile so that the two of you could take a break, spend some time with Grogu, and see a little bit more of the galaxy.

This was his last big job for awhile, and he’d been tasked to hunt down a prince who had made a run for it during the middle of his own wedding ceremony.

Din had wanted to turn it down at first, because he hadn’t been presented with any leads or a tracking fob, and he knew that the job posed the possibility of running into his family’s Life Day celebrations.

You had encouraged him to take it, though, telling him that as soon as he returned you would have the bags packed and the three of you could embark on your adventure.

Plus, the reward for the safe return of the prince had been very steep, and neither of you could think of a reason to pass that up.

Over the weeks you’d been separated, Din had been receiving and sending holograms to you and the child.

Some of them were silly, as you were often interrupted by Grogu impatiently jumping into the hologram to show his papa a new drawing he had made, or to model a new robe you had bought for him in the small marketplace just below the cabin.

Some of the holograms were short but sweet, consisting of you giving Din a brief recap of your day, or of Din telling you good morning and that he loved you.

Others were reserved for late, dark nights on the Crest, when Din missed you so much that he was forced to work with the videos you sent specifically for his eyes only.

There were also one or two transmissions that he hated to think about.

You had sent one to him late one night as he slept, when he knew you should have been resting as well, crying silently in your shared bedroom. You told him how much you missed him, how hard your day had been, and how all you wanted was to crawl into bed beside him and have him tell you everything would be okay.

When he watched the message the next morning he found himself crying as well, finally acknowledging the fact that being apart for so long was taking its toll on the both of you.

Unfortunately, he was unsure as to how much longer he would need to be away before he could return home, and just as he had suspected, Life Day had arrived in the blink of an eye.

So, he sits now, in the pilot’s seat of the Crest, watching the stars as he awaits your transmission.

He knows there is one coming, because Grogu will beg to show Din the new toys he had opened up, as if you and Din hadn’t been the ones to buy them.

He smiles at the thought, knowing that he is waiting solely because you decided to spoil the child this Life Day, as if he wasn’t already spoiled enough.

It would take at least an hour for him to open all of his presents, if not longer.

Din finds himself laughing at the thought of Grogu becoming more enamored with the wrapping paper than the toy itself, as he had done in the past, and he can see the frustration, and love, written on your face as a result.

At that thought, he feels a soft pang in his chest.

He wants nothing more than to be there with you, sitting on the floor as your back rests against his chest, the both of you smiling at your kid as he has the time of his life.

Din can almost feel the warmth radiating from the fireplace, and he can almost smell the fresh pine decorations and the Hoth chocolate you’ve made.

Before he is granted the opportunity to slip further into his daydream, his console lights up with the familiar reminder that he has received a hologram.

Din wastes no time in sitting up in his seat and clicking the button for the message to play.

Suddenly, you are projected before him, the child in your lap as you both seem to look right at him.

“Hello my love!”

You call out, and he chuckles as Grogu squeals out a greeting as well.

“We have officially opened up most of our presents, haven’t we?”

You ask the child sitting in your lap, and he laughs at the way you make your voice sound funny when you ask him your question.

“Of course we saved some for when you return, Din. I want you to see him when he opens his presents, okay? I want you to have those memories too.”

Your voice wavers as you address him, and Din resituates himself in his seat to keep himself from focusing on the longing in your voice. You clear your throat and he is pulled back into the moment.

“Okay, Grogu, show your papa your favorite gift,” at your words, the child lifts a stuffed animal from under his robe, proudly holding it out to the hologram.

You laugh and so does Din.

Grogu is obviously very proud to be showing his dad his new toy, which just so happens to be in the shape of a Sorgan frog.

“Okay, now go get what I told you about,” you request through your laughter, and Grogu is quick to drop the toy in your lap and scramble down to run out of the frame.

When he disappears you continue to watch him, to make sure he is executing whatever plan the two of you had concocted correctly.

Din takes the opportunity to observe you for a moment.

He notes that your hair has gotten longer, and that your smile still makes his insides weak.

He also notices the way you fold your hands together in your lap to rest atop Grogu’s toy, and he thinks about how he would give anything to be sitting with you, holding your hands and pressing each knuckle to his mouth as you both wait on the kid to return.

He thinks about how you would smile up at him, and how you would plant a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, just out of sight from Grogu.

“You got it?” You question, and his thoughts return back to the hologram.

Grogu babbles a response, and Din notices that he is pushing a box into the frame.

When he is satisfied that the box is where it needs to be, he turns to you for confirmation. You nod excitedly at him and he scrambles back into your lap, his small eyes and ears just barely visible over the top of the present.

“We have something for you to open up too, so we need you to come home soon.”

Din can’t seem to focus on the present clearly meant for him, as all he can see are the tears that have begun making their way down your face.

“Please come home, Din. We miss you. I miss you. I’m not sure how much longer…”

Your voice trails off when the kid looks up at you as a result of the sudden quiver in your voice.

“Tell papa goodbye, Happy Life Day, and that you love him,” you prompt, and Grogu manages to string together a couple of coos before he scrambles back out of your lap to go play with his new presents.

“Seriously, Din, I miss you. Please come home soon, I cannot stand loving you from afar. And I do, I love you across any expanse in the galaxy, but I want to love you here, in our home. I see how hard you’re working to provide for both me and Grogu, but I want you here to experience that life you make with us.”

You fall quiet for a moment as you ponder your words.

“I love you, Din Djarin, and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. Happy Life Day.”

With that, you blow a kiss into the hologram and the transmission stops.

Din presses the correct buttons to stop the projection and to archive the transmission before he begins setting up his space to send his own.

As the Crest prepares the proper technology, Din begins to talk to you as if you were there.

“I am coming home soon, cyare. I will not rest until I hold you in my arms once more.”

Here’s the next prompt for Dincember: DINCEMBER - December 14 - Cold

#dincember #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #mando #mando x reader #mando x y/n #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #star wars x reader #star wars #sw #baby yoda #grogu #Mandalorian #mandalorian x reader

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itslieutenanthawkeye · 3 years

Text

Lucky Guy

Day 7 of Jeankasa Week: College AU

AO3

Sasha and Connie dragged him forward; they’d loaded him up on caffeine that very afternoon, picked up a set of clothes for him and tried to shave his stubble. Jean hadn’t allowed them to do the latter. The night was starting, and he already felt tired.

Final exams had worn him out, consumed all his energy for the sake of a pass, for the sake of a chance of a good job in the future, a nice home for his family. Not that he had any prospects at the moment, mind you. All he seemed to have was stress, and exhaustion nowadays.

He understood that the two dragging him to the party wanted to help him wind down, but Connie had already started taking over for his family business and Sasha had graduated culinary school a year ago. They were living the adult, independent life already.

Meanwhile Jean was stuck with physics and mathematics. At least the artistic portion part of his classes was fulfilling.

“So, where’s Niccolo?” Connie asked as they got on the tramway.

“He had to close up, but he’ll meet us at the party later.” Sasha said, taking them to the long seat at the back of the tramway. Jean sat in between the two, listening to their chatter in silence. “Aren’t you going to lighten up, Jean? You look like someone just died.”

Jean lowered his head, the repetitive rattling of the cart almost lulling him to sleep. “My will to live has died.”

“Come on, man, is it that bad since Marco left?”

“That traitor.” Jean said, with a tone of voice that spoke longing instead of anger.

Marco and he had decided to study architecture together; Jean driven by his knack for drawing, Marco driven by his desire to be by his side. A year into their university course, however, he’d gotten that scholarship to study photography in Hizuru. A great, one-in-a-lifetime opportunity that didn’t come around twice.

An opportunity that would force them to stay apart for four full years. Since neither had enough money to fly back and forth and Jean had not wanted to give up his studies in Paradis, they’d decided to remain friends. They’d been friends since the beginning, after all.

After the first months of heartbreak, Jean had realized that Marco had left him with just about enough money to pay for three months of rent. Although he couldn’t blame him, Jean had gotten the habit of cursing him lowly for the past year, whenever he was forced to balance his part time job and his ridiculous physics lessons.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t get another roommate.” Connie said, scratching the back of his ear. “Are you just holding out until a cute guy shows up at your door?”

“Or girl.” Sasha added, opening a bag of potato chips sneakily.

“Oi, Sasha,” Jean said, frowning. “We’re gonna get a fine because of you.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Sasha said, waving her hand to undermine the matter. “You guys want some? They’re new spicy ones.”

Jean reached out under her jacket and took a few chips into his mouth. “I take it the restaurant is doing well? With you being okay for paying fines, I mean.”

“Niccolo said that breakfast menu I came out with put us on top. If we keep it up, in about two years we’ll be able to set our next location,” she said proudly, her mouth also half full of chips. She gave Jean a significant look. “We’ll need an architect for the place. And someone here will be almost finished with uni.”

He smiled. “Thanks. I’ll make sure to remind you.”

“You know you can ask for money, right, Jean?” Connie said, resting his back against the seat. “You don’t need to work yourself to death when you’ve got us.”

Another lazy smile came to his face. “I don’t want to be a burden to you guys.”

“You’re more of a burden when you don’t come with us to these things,” Connie said. “First, you missed all barbecue nights at Niccolo and Sasha’s. And now you didn’t want to come, and you know Reiner throws the best parties. His little cousin took down that Galliard guy the last time.”

“Isn’t she a kid?” Jean blurted out.

“She likes to sneak in to get in fights with the college kids.” Connie explained, laughing. “I think she’s been in martial arts since five or something.”

“Now that’s a surprise,” Sasha said, elbowing Connie as the tramway arrived at its next station. Jean looked at the person getting on and his breath caught. Wearing a corseted black dress, her hair up in a high ponytail and wearing a choker around her elegant neck, Mikasa Ackerman stood out as a comet across a blue sky.

“I didn’t think she’d come tonight,” Connie said. “You know, considering Eren.”

“What happened with Eren?” Jean asked.

“Don’t you check her feed?” Connie asked, wiggling his eyebrows. “You know, since you had that huge crush on her in high school and whatnot.”

“I’ve been busy.” Jean said, too tired to try and deny that crush he’d had on her in their school days, the crush that had always irked Marco somehow. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m too busy to be concerned about other people’s drama.”

“They broke up,” Connie said in a gossipy tone, as if Jean hadn’t just snapped at him. “Around six months ago. He skipped town. Didn’t want to be tied down or something, wanted to be free as birds or whatever. He’s backpacking in the continent, I think.”

Jean sat straighter on his seat. That dick. That stupid, nihilistic piece of shit. “Why didn’t you guys tell me? Isn’t Sasha her best friend?”

“Because you disappeared the whole semester, man. That’s why I told you to ask for money instead of working yourself to death,” Connie said, shaking him by the shoulder. “You miss out on parties and gossip.”

“Stop it. She’ll hear you,” Sasha said, lifting her arm to wave at Mikasa. “Hey! Mikasa, over here! Come sit with us!”

Jean felt heat in his cheeks. “Sasha, don’t. She’ll come.”

“That’s what I want.”

“I can’t talk when she looks this pretty.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Stop being an idiot, Jean.”

Mikasa��s eyes caught sight of them and she made her way to their seat, not bothering to hold onto anything to keep her balance as the tramway moved forward. They had known each other from high school and little things had changed about the way she moved; she carried herself with the elegance of a swan, and the strength of a mountain. He remembered teasing Eren about her being the boss in their relationship during their very last year of school, when the embers of jealousy had begun to die for Jean, and chuckled lowly at the memory of the enraged response he always received.

“Hi, everyone,” she greeted them. Sasha scooted to the side, and Mikasa sat between her and Jean, close enough for him to smell her perfume. “Are you guys going to Reiner’s?”

“Best parties in Trost.” Sasha said, offering her the bag of potato chips. “Want some?”

Mikasa dipped her hand in the bag. “Aren’t you scared you’ll get a fine?”

“She says she’ll pay it,” Connie explained, reaching over Jean and Mikasa to grab more.

“Sasha,” Mikasa said sternly. “How many more fines are you going to pay?”

“She’s paid more this month?!” Jean said.

“She has. It’s getting ridiculous, she can’t go on a tramway without getting hungry…” Mikasa stopped herself from talking and settled her eyes on him, with a vague surprised expression on her lovely pale face. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been busy with work.” Jean said, shrugging, hoping that she wouldn’t see the blush in his cheeks that look of her had caused. He waited a second, wondering if he should bring up that he had, in fact, seen her. “I saw you, though. Drawing, in the Maria building.”

Understanding washed over her face, and her mouth fell open. “You should’ve said hi, Jean.” She said. “It’s a huge classroom, there’s no way I could’ve seen you.”

“I’m sorry.” Jean muttered. Truth was, he hadn’t wanted her to see him in the state he’d been in two weeks ago. With his double shifts at work and his assignments for the end of the semester, Jean had resembled a walking corpse more than a human.

Mikasa was an anthropology and history major and, much like Jean himself, worked part time jobs. However, with her looks, most of her part time jobs were related to modeling. That morning at creative drawing, she’d been hired to pose for the class covered only by a thin sheet. And despite being a class full of professionals, Jean had still not wanted the girl who resembled a goddess to see him bordering a mental breakdown.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?” She asked him.

“Does it show that bad?”

Mikasa’s mouth made a perfect O in terror. “I didn’t mean to sound like that.”

Jean chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. It shows. If uni wasn’t free, I would’ve gone broke already.”

“You need to look after your health more, Jean. Have you even been eating well? If you don’t sleep and don’t eat well, you’re just going to burn out,” Mikasa said, then froze, grabbing the hand that was going to reach out to him. “I’m sorry. I just sounded like a mother there.”

“You’re right, though.” Jean replied, smiling at her. “I haven’t been eating well. With work—”

“Is that why you haven’t been to any of the barbecues?”

“You went?”

Mikasa nodded. “We missed you.”

Jean’s head came up with a thousand names to call himself in that moment. He missed his friends enough during the semesters without the knowledge that she’d been hanging out with them at barbecue night. “I’ll make it next time.” He managed to say. “Did Armin go?”

“He’s been busy with moving in with Annie.” Mikasa said, sighing. “I don’t think I’d talk to anyone outside work if it wasn’t for Sasha and Mina.”

“Wait, Armin moved out too?” Jean asked, growing concerned. “Did those two just up and left you alone in that huge apartment?”

“Armin left me some money to pay a couple more months’ worth of rent.” Mikasa said, almost apologizing in Armin’s behalf. Jean’s fists clenched automatically; he’d seen how smitten he was with that marleyan girl, but leaving Mikasa alone to pay for that huge apartment by herself…

“Besides, I insisted,” Mikasa added with a low voice. “I didn’t want him to wallow in self pity with me when he has a perfectly lovely girlfriend.”

Jean sighed tiredly. He should’ve known. Even heart broken, Mikasa cared more about her friend’s happiness than her own economic safety. In a way, it was something that made her all the more charming in his eyes.

“Hey, are you two going to ignore us all the way there?” Connie asked, slapping the back of Jean’s head. “Why did you have to sit in between us if you’re just gonna talk to each other?”

“He’s right,” Sasha said, shaking Mikasa by the shoulder. “Mikasa, pay attention to your best friend now! She brought chips for you!”

Mikasa narrowed her eyes in Sasha’s direction. “Since when do you carry food for anyone but yourself, Braus?”

Sasha’s face contracted into a miserable expression, and she threw herself over Mikasa, hugging her while kissing her head. “Not the last name treatment, Mikasa!”

Maybe a few years ago, Mikasa would’ve thrown Sasha back onto her seat. This time, however, she limited herself to exchange an amused look with him and Connie, patting Sasha’s head in a conciliatory manner. “Alright, alright. Control yourself,” she told Sasha. “Don’t you have a boyfriend? What will Niccolo say if he sees you hugging a woman like this?”

“He’ll probably think we look hot.” Sasha replied innocently.

“What a perv.”

“Mikasa!”

_________________

The tramway took them to the west end of Trost, where high skyscrapers and fancy apartment buildings rose into the sky. The elevator took them a whole thirty floors up to Reine’rs apartment. As soon as they walked in, Jean stared at the ceramic floors, the balcony with its hot tub and view of the distant mountains in the island. When Reiner came to greet them with a hug for each, Jean held him by the shoulders.

“When did you get this rich?” He asked, baffled. How had everyone gotten rich so quick before him?

“My mother and I won the alimony trial last month,” Reiner laughed, hugging him again to then make a wide gesture with his arms at the people in the room. From the way he moved, Jean guessed he was already drunk. “Nineteen years’ worth of unpaid alimony, all paid in full!”

The crowd cheered, raising their beer bottles in the air to celebrate his makeshift toast. “Galliard, Pieck!” Reiner said, stumbling back into the crowd, being caught by the two exchange Marleyan students. “Get the karaoke machine going!”

Sasha and Connie dived into the party in full, going over to Mina, who had her hands full while pouring two bottles of vodka into a large crystal bowl filled with fruits and juice. Jean rubbed his temple; getting drunk wasn’t on his list of priorities, not with so little sleep in his system.

He turned to look at his right, realizing Mikasa stood by the door, watching the crowd move around Reiner’s apartment with apprehension. He took a couple of steps in her direction, leaning against the wall with his hands crossed over his chest, perhaps in a subconscious attempt to appear nonchalant. “See anyone you know?” He asked.

“Too many people.” She muttered in response, rubbing her arms. “Sasha said this was going to be like the barbecue.”

One would think that with her looks and strength, Mikasa would be a little more popular. She’d been an introvert since secondary school, shielded behind the personalities of her two childhood friends. And despite that a few people had managed to break through the cold outer layer of her personality (like Sasha, who’s might as well have gone through it with a war hammer) it always seemed to Jean that there as hidden sadness behind her eyes, a brake of sorts that didn’t allow her to express herself to the fullest.

“Let’s go to the balcony,” she said, pulling his sleeve. “Bring beers.”

Jean almost -almost- felt bad for Reiner’s father as they walked along the balcony. Trost had skyscrapers aplenty, but very few had a perfect look of the suburbs and mountains, and very few had an infinity pool with a hot tub included. The place must’ve costed a fortune. He could almost see his own neighborhood from this height.

They found a set of unoccupied pillowed seats at the corner, far from Reiner’s infinity pool, and sat there to watch the city in silence.

“I live there,” Mikasa said after a while, pointing south to a cluster of colorful buildings. “It’s the big tall one, with the red lights.”

“Ah, party town,” Jean said. He and Marco had tried to find a place there, but the rent had been astronomical, given its strategic location near the universities and clubs. “Was it a big change from the suburbs? That’s where you grew up in, right?”

“It was a huge change from my uncle’s house,” she said, her eyes set on the red building, amused at some memory Jean wasn’t aware of. “He was grossed out when he visited last year.”

“College neighborhood isn’t for him?”

“He said it was too dirty,” Mikasa said, sighing. “Although I’m sure he was terrified at the number of teenagers that threw themselves at him. He said I was to visit him from now on.”

Jean giggled at that. “Girls threw themselves at Levi?”

“Apparently he’s got something that makes university students go crazy.” Mikasa said, making a disgusted noise. Jean laughed again; Levi had been their teacher in middle school. How any college girl found him so appealing, he didn’t understand.

“Well, at least you can have fun in that neighborhood.” Jean said.

Mikasa made another disgusted noise. “I was only there because Eren suggested it. It was too loud for my liking. Too many creeps on the streets. And the rent is too high.”

“How did you guys manage to afford that? I mean, Eren and Armin aren’t precisely rich,” Jean said, covering his mouth as soon as he realized what he’d blurted out. “I’m sorry, Mikasa! I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Mikasa said, shaking her head in amusement. “Eren’s brother paid for most of the rent. He works in Marley and sent him money.”

She finished with a sigh, setting her eyes on the floor for a second before taking a sip of her beer. When she turned to look at him, Jean recognized annoyance in her eyes. “Now that he’s gone, Zeke stopped paying for that big chunk of the rent.”

“And Armin moved in with Annie,” Jean finished saying.

“And I’m in that huge place all by myself,” Mikasa said, taking another sip from her bottle. “Scraping my bank account to pay utilities, taking any modeling job that comes up besides working at Sasha’s restaurant, two months behind on rent.”

“Did Sasha offer you money yet?” Jean asked, recalling all the times their friend had tried to hand him checks for his rent.

Mikasa smiled. “A couple of times. But I don’t want to be a burden to her. As good as the restaurant is doing, having her own business can be tricky. One bad luck streak and she’ll be needing that money she offers me.”

“What about a roommate?”

“Nobody I know can afford rent there. I don’t want to disturb Niccolo and Sasha, and Levi has plenty on his plate. And it’s impossible to find a place this late in the year,” Mikasa said, sighing tiredly again. “Do you know how close I am to modeling underwear? A man in this shady company offered me so much money for nudes the other day—”

“Move in with me.” Jean blurted out, and his words were followed by excruciatingly long minutes. Mikasa rested her back against the seat, scrutinizing him with those perfect, serious eyes. “I don’t mean in a weird way. I mean, my rent is much less than yours must be. But ever since Marco left, it’s been harder to afford it on my own. I could use a roommate, and all the people I’ve interviewed were weirdos.”

“Won’t Marco be angry?” Mikasa asked politely. “Won’t he be upset that a girl is living with you?”

Jean smiled. “We’re not together anymore.”

“No?” She said, looking genuinely surprised. “Why? What happened? I thought—”

“Neither wanted a long-distance relationship, or had the money to afford one,” Jean explained, surprised at the lack of pain in his words when he spoke of what had happened. Perhaps, the exhaustion throughout the year had forced his heart to get over a heartbreak quickly.

“Besides,” Jan added, arching his eyebrow in her direction. “I know for a fact that hizuran people are beautiful. I couldn’t deny him having fun over there. So, we decided to stay as friends.”

Mikasa smiled, and Jean blushed. “You’re a good friend.”

“I’m not,” Jean replied, leaning back against his seat as well. “I had no idea about you and Eren. You’re our friend since high school, and I had no idea you’d gotten your heart broken too this year. So, I’m not that good of a friend.”

Mikasa rested her hand at her sides, her pinky almost touching his, leaning back to catch sight of the night sky. “You’re in no obligation to carry anyone’s pain, Jean, let alone mine.”

“What do you mean? You’re my friend.”

“I know. We are friends,” Mikasa said quickly, as if noticing the hint of pain her previous words had caused in him. “What I mean is…I knew it was going to happen. I saw the change in Eren. I knew he wouldn’t want to stay put. He was more in love with the idea of freedom than with me. I should’ve ended it a long while ago. So, no need to carry pain that was dragged on for no purpose.”

“And you didn’t want to go with him?”

Mikasa thought about it for a moment. He could hear Reiner and that Pieck girl singing at the top of their lungs inside, as well as Connie’s laughter. And yet, all his mind was set on was her, how her eyes focused on his as she spoke every word, how a bit of lipstick had smudged on the edges of her mouth due to their drinking. Jean had always been aware of Mikasa’s beauty, but he hadn’t been truly enthralled by it in a very long time.

“I don’t think I would’ve gone,” she said at last. “I love the island. I love my home. I want to have a peaceful life here, grow old here. I like seeing new places, but I don’t want to spend my life wandering. He did.”

Jean nodded, understanding her fully. All he’d ever dreamed of was a nice house in the inner districts, alongside the wife -or husband- of his choosing.

“Besides,” Mikasa said with a quiet laugh. “He never asked me to come.”

“What a fucking idiot.”

Mikasa blinked in surprise. “I’m not mad at him, Jean. You don’t need to be in my behalf.”

“I’m not mad on your behalf,” Jean said, shaking his head, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows, feeling all of that frustration he’d had towards Eren in high school come back in full. “What kind of idiot do you have to be to break the heart of someone like you?”

“Someone like me?”

“You’re fucking amazing!” Jean said, shocked by the confusion in her face. “Mikasa, you’re gorgeous, smart, strong. You can lift a whole hundred pounds without breaking a sweat…who would want to break your heart?”

Another chuckle escaped her throat, and she gave him a look that he could only describe a sweet. “Thank you,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “My heart was breaking the whole last year we were together, though. I guess in a way, him leaving helped me heal.”

“I hope he falls into a pit.” Jean muttered, then shook his head. “No, I hope I fall into a pit, for not noticing you were hurting before.”

“You had your thing with Marco moving away,” Mikasa replied. “If anything, I was the jerk for not helping you like Connie and Sasha did. I was too focused on trying to force Eren to be happy with me.”

“Still, I should’ve helped.”

“You’re helping now,” Mikasa replied, lifting her pierced eyebrow. “You’re letting me be your roommate, aren’t you?”

Jean took a deep gulp of his beer before speaking. “So, you are taking up on my offer?”

“Yes,” Mikasa said, setting her eyes on the section of town in which he lived in. “If you take up on my offer.”

“Which is?”

“The agency wants a couple male models,” she said, elbowing him playfully. “I heard from Sasha how you’re killing yourself at that part time. This money won’t be great, I do warn you, but it will be better, and you’ll have more time to study.”

The color traveled to his cheeks yet again. “I-I’m not a model, Mikasa.”

“No need to be modest, Kirstein,” she said, scrutinizing him again, her gaze sensing a shock of electricity across him. “I saw you on that beach trip we did. You’ve got nothing to envy from the models.”

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, and Jean’s mind became a storm. Had she just told him she found him attractive? No, it couldn’t be. She’d just said he had nothing to envy from male models. But that was just a creative way to call someone hot, wasn’t it? She had no reasons to call him hot, however.

“Jean, I think—”

“Niccolo!” Sasha’s shouted drunkenly, startling the two in their seats. It wasn’t until they turned in her direction that Jean realized how close their faces had been to each other.

“Alright, alright. Do it again.” Niccolo laughed, sounding quite drunk himself. Sasha grabbed her shirt and tightened it around her waist, showing him her bloated stomach.

Niccolo giggled. “It’s adorable! It does look like you’re pregnant,” he said between snorts. “How many garlic buns did you eat back there?”

“Why are you calling your baby a garlic knot, Niccolo?!” Sasha half-laughed, half cried, only causing Niccolo to laugh harder. They were soon on the floor, struggling to catch their breath because of their laughter, and Jean was grateful for the protective mesh at the edge of the balcony.

“They’re drunk.”

“They’re high.” Mikasa said, casting a glance inside. “Ymir and Historia are here.”

“No wonder they’re high.” Jean chuckled. Historia wore a beautiful pink dress, looking as happy as ever with Ymir’s hands around her waist. Ymir, as always, wore a dark suit. As always, she was more focused on kissing Historia’s neck than the conversation around her. They’d been inseparable since their wedding, and from the sparkling necklace around Historia’s neck, Jean supposed their business was growing well.

Mikasa grabbed his sleeve. “Do you want to go get some?”

“You smoke that stuff?” Jean asked, wondering when he’d smoked anything last.

“Not really.” Mikasa admitted, looking at Sasha laughing on the floor while placing a thousand drunken kisses on Niccolo’s forehead. “It looks like they’re having fun, though.”

“We could do it to celebrate,” Jean said, shrugging. “You know, each of just found a good roommate and we might not be as broke from now on.”

“You are sure about the roommate matter?” Mikasa asked, frowning. “You’ll have to take a few visits from my uncle.”

“I’ll cope.” Jean said, looking at Niccolo and Sasha. “Are you sure? What if Eren returns and gets mad?”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “He can get as mad as he wants. I won’t care.” She said, and from her tone of voice , Jean knew she was done talking about Eren for the time being. She looked more annoyed at the inconveniences that Eren had caused her than heart broken. Perhaps, the exhaustion had forced her to get over a heartbreak quick, as well.

Jean offered her his hand. “Shall we, my lady?”

“You’re still an idiot,” Mikasa said, intertwining her arm with his. “Thank you, by the way.”

“No, thank you,” he said, using his other hand to take their bottles. He offered one to her and lifted his own. “Toast? For roommates?”

“For roommates.” Mikasa said. Their bottles clang together, their sound foretelling a change of wind for the two, perhaps.

______________________

Gabi walked along the bookstore holding onto Falco’s arm. She and her mother spent summers with her cousin Reiner in the island. And despite this being her fifth year visiting him and despite the luxuries of his apartment, she missed him terribly each time she left. So, she clung to him before and after her journeys, enjoying their time together as if it were a treasure.

“Want to get an ice cream afterwards?” He asked.

“The place by the zeppelin museum?” Falco nodded in response, and Gabi smiled widely. “Alright, then. But it’s my treat this time.”

“Let me buy the comic books this time, at least,” he said, pulling out a book with a few giants on the cover. “This looks good, doesn’t it?”

Gabi frowned at the sight of the naked giants. “I hate historical fiction.”

“It’s not like titans were real, Gabi,” Falco said, running through the pages. “This is mostly political-oriented. See? They even consulted a historian from Paradis to write it.”

“Hey, I know her!” Gabi said excitedly, looking at the picture of the main consultant from the work. “She’s the head of the anthropology museum at the island. She’s Reiner’s friend.”

“Is she?” Falco said, his eyes wide as he stared at the picture of Mikasa, who wore a fancy pantsuit and had her hair up in a ponytail. Unlike at the parties, her make up in this was formal, no bright pink lipstick, no dark eyeshadow. “She’s really pretty, isn’t she?”

“Falco!” Gabi said, then took a second look at the picture. “You’re right, she’s really pretty. Her husband is a lucky guy. He always says it himself.”

“Oh, she’s married?”

“Yeah, she married a friend of hers, I think. It was a late spring wedding, so I didn’t get to go. They’ve got a baby on the way and everything,” Gabi said, scrunching up her nose. “He’s friends with Reiner too, but I can’t recall the guy’s name.”

“Gabi, you see those people every summer,” Falco said, his kind face showing a slight hint of repeoach. “You should at least learn their names.”

“Reiner has way too many friends for me to remember,” Gabi replied, not wanting to admit that she did need to be a little more polite to them. “I do remember he had a bit of a horse face.”

“A horse face?” Falco said, horrified. “This woman here married a guy with a horse face?”

Gabi smiled amusedly. “She seemed quite smitten by him. Every time I go and they’re there, they’re always all lovey dovey. Kissing, hugging, they can’t keep their hands off each other,” she said, tilting her head to the side with a flirty smile. “Besides, it was just a nickname. The man is handsome, and taller than most guys, too.”

“Gabi, don’t talk so kindly about married men.” Falco said, closing the magazine with his cheeks flushed. Although his expression caused her own smile to grow wider.

“Are you jealous?” She teased, then placed a fleeting peck on his lips. “You’re way more handsome than horse face. And, you still have more years to grow. I’m sure that you’ll be taller than him by when we get married.”

“Gabi!” Falco said, flushing harder.

#Jeankasa #jeankasaweek2021 #JeanMika #jean kirschtien #Mikasa Ackerman #Jeankasa Week 2021 #fanfic #drug mention

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johnkrrasinski · 4 years

Text

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞

Chapter 4: Leaving Out the Side Door

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers (in future chapters) x Reader

Word Count: 2,325

Summary: Steve Rogers; a Hollywood A-lister and your clandestine occasional hookup. Best friends since childhood, but people change and friendships fall out. Now you were merely strangers with benefits. What happens when one day you stopped being his doormat to be a better man’s queen? The selfish Steve Rogers would not like it. How far is he willing to go to get his favorite possession back?

Warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, dark Steve (in later chapter), angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole in this one, no redeeming qualities. (MUST BE 18+)

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @belovedcherry who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for being a friend when i truly needed it. i’m really glad that you trusted me to write this story for you. with all my heart, i sincerely hope you like it. this series will be updated every day.

You were on your knees with your hands tied behind your back as he vigorously thrust into you. Your heartbeat pounded in your rib cage and you began to feel numb from the hours he had fucked you. Steve was relentless when he was chasing his own climax, greedily used you as a tool; giving zero fucks about your pleasure or your discomfort, to dump his load in.

Steve didn’t need to see your face or hear your consent. He could go on and on for hours and still not feel satisfied. One thing that you had learned from this being in this dead-end friends with benefits thing with Steve Rogers is that his stamina was relentless. And he wouldn’t think twice about getting what he needed whenever he needed it.

Steve impaled you as your face was squeezed into the pillow, you could hear the squelching noises from the ceaseless cycle of disposing his semen in you and then pushed it back in when he was ready for the next round. Your head began to feel dizzy and your visions turned hazy. You’d tell him to stop because you couldn’t take it anymore, but you knew you didn’t have any strength left in your body to do so.

So you ascended from your body and let him take the wheel; allowing him to go as fast as he wished. He kept hammering until he felt your cunt clenching around him and his cock pulsated, then the line blurred as the coil inside you burst, withering every nerve in your body.

“Ah, fuck.” He grunted. He stayed still inside you until he felt himself softening and then he retreated.

Steve unbound your wrists and he threw himself on the other side of the bed. You knew better than turning to his side and cuddle on his chest unwarranted. He always expected you to get up and get out of his house instantly because he either had another place to attend and didn’t want to see you still here when he comes home or he was ready for another hookup.

Every now and then, you’d let him use you to fulfil his needs and you’d volunteer in cleaning his apartment afterwards. Even after those countless nights where you weren’t the one who made a mess of his sheets.

Ever since that night in your dorm; the first time you were reborn into a blossomed woman and the first time Steve paved the way of traversing to the electric piquancy of venereal act for you, you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop letting him through your door or drive to his place at three in the morning just so he could let off some steam.

Every time you try to say no, he’d always pay you a visit unannounced. He’d paralyze you with his words and freeze you with his unchaste touches. “Shh, let me make you feel good, baby. You just gotta surrender yourself to me.”

You’d try to push him away but your brittle tenacity was unavailing. Fast forward to five years later, when you finally got your degree and life vagabondized to unexpected places, your sex life was still staying still in one spot.

You were recruited by National Institute of Mental Health as their project manager. You were possibly the youngest candidate to occupy this position but they were very impressed by your resume and your interview that they didn’t have any better choice than giving you the job.

You loved it, you excelled at what you do. Helping people and tending for their mental health was the aim of your life. You had a clear vision of how you were going to initiate a concept, plan a strategy and execute the plan. You respected your colleagues and vice versa. It was a suitable environment for you to work in and you enjoyed every minute of it.

Your best friend aka your former roommate, Natasha was your rock. You still talked to her everyday and she’d always text you in case she couldn’t call. You’d exchange stories about how your days went and she’d always send you pictures or videos of her adorable cat, Liho. It always carved a smile on your face.

The same goes for Wanda, although with her busy schedule of graduate school and supervised experience made things a little difficult for you to stay in touch, she still updated every nugatory detail of her life. You loved her and you missed her excruciatingly. You had driven to New Haven during some weekends to see her and spend time with her, but when the weekend was over, you had to return to New York because your job was waiting for you.

They were your two most endeared girls and you couldn’t wait for the day you finally introduce them to each other. Natasha and Wanda had said hi to each other a few times back when you were still living in the same dorm but, you really wanted to spend time with the two of them at the same time. They would totally click.

But if anyone asks you about your love life? Well, how could you explain something that was nonexistent?

Unless “friends” with benefit counts for something…

A bell on your apartment dinged and you reached for the door. A man in black with purple nuances uniform showed up with a package in his hands. “Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Here’s your delivery. Sign here please.” He handed you a piece of paper to draw your signature on and you accepted it without question, knowing full well it was another extravagant gift from Steve. Yep, that Steve.

The Steve Rogers.

A Brooklyn-born movie star of various blockbuster films, a remarkable singer and the face of Calvin Klein’s campaign this year… and Gucci Guilty’s last year.

The notorious womanizer but it was all good because he was the man. When you had starred alongside Leonardo DiCaprio and posed next to Oprah, who would give a shit if you never stopped playing the field, right?

And because he was The Steve Rogers, he could’ve spent his money on any lavish item and he could’ve put his dick wherever he wanted it. That included you, being the object of his wealthiness and his manliness.

How many times had you tried to reason with him when he constrained you to come over after a drunken hookup with a twenty-something model to clean up the mess and take out the trash? Perhaps just a few numbers exceeding the number of times he’d play the most charming man in the world only to forget your existence until he wanted you again.

So your feet innately transported you to your car, wearing the brand-new crimson red, bodycon dress with deep V-neck that displayed your cleavage, spaghetti straps baring your arms and a backless design that made you shiver due to the crisp air and drove to a place you had grown so accustomed to.

And this was the God knows how many times you were corrupted on his bed again. You had been so busy with your upcoming project that NIMH was ready to announce but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to resist the urge to come over to his place.

You stood on your wobbly feet, cleaned yourself up and see yourself out. Wouldn’t want to keep another mistress waiting in line…

Three weeks have passed since you last slept with Steve Rogers. Whispers on the streets chirped that he had been occupied with shooting a new film, erotic thriller slash mystery genre. Seems appropriate.

You yourself had been snowed under your work. The fundraiser event that NIMH was holding had been wearing you down but it was all worth it when the show was on. Negotiating with sponsorships, seeking donations and managing ticket sales were not easy, and it was all part of your responsibility because you were the boss, but you aced it anyway.

You were also responsible to hire professional entertainers and well, knowing that you got some connections to a well-known actor, of course, he was the first name on your list. But due to schedule conflicts, he couldn’t make it. It wasn’t a problem though, you still had a long list of names; film stars, movie producers, musicians, directors, moguls, etc.

You stood in your black sequin dress at the corner of the venue, inhaling all the sedulity and gumption you had invested in this event for the past couple of months. A part of you was secretly hoping that Steve would be here to see it, but you quickly eliminated those thoughts away.

9th-grade summer break. Upon the verdant hills overlooking the tranquil lake below; the moon’s faint glow ricochets on the water.

“What do you wanna be when you grow up, y/n?” his head reclined on his the palms of his hand, arms sprawled out like a butterfly’s wings.

“I wanna… Help people. My mom is a nurse and my whole life I watched her taking care of people she’d never met and I wanna have her big heart. I wanna do something that saves people.” you beheld the twinkling stars in the crepuscular sky, privily prayed that every word would come true.

“You wanna be a nurse like her too?” His eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know… Maybe I’ll host a charity event or something and then I’ll use all the money for those who need it. It looks cool in the movies.”

“When I make it, I’ll come to your event and help raise the money too! People would be interested in giving money to celebrities, right?” the credence glinted in his eyes.

“But the money will not be for you, doofus.”

“Yeah, I know!” he chided. “I wouldn’t take a single cent even if I could. My mom taught me that if I were given the chance to put others first before me… I should and I will respect her legacy.”

You watched the host and your project leader, Tony Stark stood behind the acrylic podium and he greeted the crowd a good evening. He opened his speech, cajoling the guests with his words to share a little bit of their wealth as many as possible and closed it with a cordial adieu.

You made your way to one of the most respected guests; Benjamin Woods was sitting on the fifth table. Two times Oscar nominee and you were jittery to talk to him, but in this line of work, you were trained to be confident and act like one of the elites. So you weren’t going to freak out like an obsessive fan, you gotta keep it cool and classy. Plus, during the briefing, you were told to fraternize with as many of the guest as possible, persuade them to help us reach the goal.

You had your eyes set on the target until you bumped on a six-foot man, spilling the martini in his hand all over your dress. It caused a few heads turning but that was the last thing you cared about right now. “Shit!” you squawked.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry miss.” a British accent was hinted.

You grabbed a napkin from the nearest table to wipe away the stain but of course, it was futile. He offered a hand by saying “here, let me help.”

“No, no it’s fine, I’ll-” you looked up to see a handsome man with a pair of grey, slightly blue and green fused at the core. His dark brown hair matched the stubble covering his entire jaw and you were captivated by the work of art that was his face. Man, what a gorgeous creature. “…Manage.”

“I’m truly sorry, I must really stop reading through my emails while walking.”

“Don’t worry about it, sir. It happens.”

“Can I at least get you a drink? I’d feel really bad if I don’t do anything to compensate for my error.”

You averted your gaze from him to the person you really wanted to talk to but that could wait. You still got a few more hours to properly introduce yourself. “Yeah, why not?”

“Splendid.” You both walked toward the bar and sat on the stools. The next thing you knew, you had spent the last one hour talking and acquainting with this man. Apparently, he was the executive director of Filmmakers Without Borders where funding films and new media projects that aligned with themes of social justice, empowerment and cultural exchange was the prime focus of his job. He believed that if he could support ideas that would make the world a better place, he’d do it without a second thought.

He was also a big traveler. He loved seeing magical places in foreign countries, he was keen on exploring new cultures and learning new languages even if he could only recollect a few basic words. He claimed that he had traveled to nine countries in Asia and he planned to travel across Europe, his so-called home, once he had conquered the omnifarious continent.

And what enthralled your heart the most about him was that he was a proud father of two adorable dogs; a greyhound and a pomeranian and a benign Siberian cat. He spoke about them so fondly. He showed you pictures of them and he said that he’d love for you to meet them. Oh man, was that a subtle invitation to come over to his place soon in the future?

He was a real gentleman, courtesy and multifaceted were the proper words to describe this man, and you had only known him for one hour. Eventually, duty calls and you still had a role to play in this event, but before you could hop off the stool, he had asked you for your number and you gladly gave it to him. You had a feeling that this wasn’t farewell but rather, an incipience. The question is… What could it be of?

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misssquidtracy · 4 years

Text

Noble Intentions (Part 3).

The end of my slightly belated contribution to Gordo’s FabFiveFeb week. I finally managed to snap a leash on it before it could breed any more 🙌🏻

All credit for FabFiveFeb goes to the gorgeous @gumnut-logic 💚

Prompt: You did what?

Genre: Humour.

Characters: Gordon & Brains.

Part 1 Part 2

-x-

“Magnificent!” Brains cooed, peering out the window of the Helipod at the forested slopes of Bogota’s Eastern Hills, “What a t-truly remarkable place!”

Gordon smiled and tightened his grip on the yoke, “See, Brains? Wasn’t this worth getting up early for?”

The scientist twisted his head to gaze out the opposing window and peeped in delight when a flock of colourful finches zipped past, “Absolutely! Though while the views are stunning, it’s Dr. Gabriela I’m really looking forward to meeting. I can’t believe she’s one of just a handful of senior ophthalmologists investigating the link between vision restoration and gene t-therapy. I’ve never felt defined by my eyesight, but I’ve always wondered whether a t-technique exists that could reduce my reliance on corrective lenses. I went to a clinic specialising in photorefractive keratectomy and refractive lens exchange a couple of years ago, but nothing ultimately came of it. I’m excited to see if Dr. Gabriela has any suggestions. How lucky for me t-that you were able to get me an appointment at such short notice!”

“Yeah…” Gordon bit his lip and tried to ignore the guilty sensation that was holding his conscious hostage. He’d been up all night researching various scientific phrases he could throw at Brains in an effort to persuade him to tag along to Gabriela’s charity event. While his initial sales pitch had been enough to convince the engineer to abandon tinkering with his hatch deployment actuator, the little reading that Gordon had done on eye health hadn’t prepared him for the barrage of questions Brains had thrown at him.

“Does Dr. Gabriela have access to a VT 3 vision screener? And how up-to-date is her femtosecond laser?”

Sweat started to bead on Gordon’s forehead as he fought the urge to start making words and phrases up, “Oh, everything she uses is top of the range, Brains. Top of the range I say.”

The engineer made a noise of contentment similar to the one he’d made after Scott had given him permission to butcher the stray GDF R.O.BOT that had ended up in Tracy Island’s hanger.

-x-

Five short minutes later, and Gordon was ushering Brains through a pair of automatic doors that led into a gymnasium of sorts. While the scientist was content to admit that he’d never been to a South American country before, the layout of this so-called ‘private clinic’ was definitely not what he’d been expecting.

It wasn’t long before the discomfort of being in unfamiliar surroundings began to eat away at Brains’s composure. Thankfully, he had the ever sociable Gordon for backup, “Is this the w-waiting room?”

“Yeah…kind of,” Gordon replied, waving awkwardly as several people doddered past and began setting up easels, “You know what, let’s save Gabriela some trouble and start getting things ready for her. I know she’s a very busy woman, so any time we can save her will be a win for us.”

A peep of shock forced its way out of Brains’s mouth as he was bundled off towards a corner of the room that was obscured by a curtain of sorts. He’d done some preliminary research on Bogota’s economic health and was aware that the area was seismically sensitive and had suffered extensive infrastructural damage as a result of said seismic activity. Even so, he’d expected something markedly different when Gordon had bleated about how ‘top of the range’ this place supposedly was.

“Okay, you need to strip off,” Gordon instructed, shoving the scientist behind the safety of the curtain before politely turning away, “All new patients have to undergo a full-body CT scan to check for any underlying health conditions. Unfortunately they’re out of gowns, so you’ll have to do it in the buff.”

Any preoccupations Brains had with the decor of his new surroundings flew out the window quicker than Scott on an amphetamine at the bluntness of Gordon’s statement. Stripping off for an invasive procedure was to be expected, but for an eye exam?

Something didn’t add up…

“Oh, and you can’t wear your glasses during the scan either,” Gordon announced, inserting an arm through the curtain and popping the lenses neatly off the engineer’s nose, “Metallic objects can interfere with the final result. Now, chop, chop! Gabriela is waiting.”

Eager to avoid anything that could cause social awkwardness, Brains set about hesitantly disrobing. He’d never had a medical experience quite as…rustic…as this one, but reminded himself that not everyone had access to the same resources and technology they had back on Tracy Island.

Plus, he trusted Gordon.

-x-

“Is he here?” Gabriela asked, clattering towards Gordon like a giraffe on stilts, “Because I’ve got seventy people who’ve paid good money to put a member of International Rescue on their canvases.”

“Relax,” Gordon soothed, jerking his head in the direction of where he’d left Brains, “He’s getting ready now. How long will the whole thing take?”

A cloud of noxiously sweet perfume wafted through the air as Gabriela ran to consult her diary, “The entire class is three hours long, but guests are encouraged to take reference pictures during the first few minutes. Obviously, we can’t expect a model to pose for so long, so we generally ask for them to sit for just the first hour. Most people should have finished subject studying and underpainting by then.”

“He won’t last that long,” Gordon sighed, jolting when John suddenly issued a rescue order for a couple of stranded hikers on the Nepali slope of Everest. Thankfully, Scott picked up the call before enquiries could be made about Gordon’s whereabouts.

“Fifteen minutes, minimum,” Gabriela clinched, aware that her guests were starting to twiddle their brushes in impatience, “I just need him long enough for photos to be taken. I know it sounds tedious, but photographic shots are necessary for shading and contouring. Plus, guests can refer back to them if they don’t finish in the allotted time.”

Caramel eyes narrowed to slits as Gordon calculated the risk of further hoodwinking his blind colleague.

“Okay, fifteen minutes,” the aquanaut affirmed, striding back to where he’d left his charge, “You done yet, Brains?”

“I t-think so,” came the uncertain response, “But how am I going to get to the radiology clinic in t-this condition? Surely it would have made more sense for me to ‘prepare’ myself in the same room as the scanner?”

“Oh, it’s a portable one that can scan you from a distance in any position,” Gordon blabbed, throwing Gabriela a thumbs up as he gripped the curtain and prepared to yank it back, “Top of the range, remember?”

“If you s-say so,” Brains stammered, blinking like a mole that had just emerged into the sunlight, “I t-trust you.”

The hand that was about to rip the curtain back paused, it’s owner reflecting on the depth of the three words that had just been uttered.

Sure, if Scott hadn’t threatened to ground him, then Brains would be back in the safety of his lab and Gordon himself behind the curtain. And the entire event was funding a very worthy cause with numerous far-reaching benefits…

…but was it all worth humiliating a friend over?

Everyone who had the pleasure of meeting Gordon always described him as an uncommonly kind man. He had an almost innate ability to see life through other people’s eyes. Though it was emotionally exhausting at times, it was the driving force behind his desire to make people happy. He soaked up emotions like a sponge, and had learnt over the years that the best way to keep himself light and fluffy was to project as much positive energy into the people around him as possible.

Despite being disoriented and confused, Brains had willingly put a healthy chunk of his dignity into Gordon’s hands. And now his ass was on the line.

Quite literally.

Gordon sighed. Noble intentions or not, no impulsive decision was worth a friend’s modesty.

“Change of plans, Brains,” the aquanaut informed, “Gabriela’s got an emergency telephone consultation, so has referred you back to your usual guy in Sydney. You can get dressed and come out. I’ve popped your glasses down by your shoes, so don’t tread on them.”

Of course, the life of someone in Gordon’s line of work with Gordon’s personality meant that for every battle won, another was lost. While the moral dilemma over Brains’s involvement in the event was over, there was still the issue of Gabriela and the roomful of impatient artists she’d amassed.

“Hey, Brains? I’m just nipping home real quick. Tell Gabriela I’ll be back within the hour with a fully-fledged International Rescue operative for her…um…thing. This neighbourhood isn’t the safest place on the map, so don’t leave the compound by yourself. See you in a jiffy.”

The partially dressed Brains had less than a second to formulate a reply before Gordon bolted out the door, a metaphorical trail of fire blazing in his wake.

“I really must talk to Scott about a p-pay rise...”

-x-

One hour later…

MAX beeped seductively as he stretched his robotic limbs across the chaise lounge he was sprawled across.

“Draw him like one of your French robots,” Gordon suggested to a dark haired woman who had been studying her easel for several minutes, the hilarity of his own joke causing a snort to break forth. The woman remained impassive, her eyes fixed on the contours of MAX’s storage pod. Titanic references were clearly neither wanted, nor appreciated.

It hadn’t been the event anyone had expected. There had been no naked emergency responders, no naked engineers, and by extension, no naked calendar. Thankfully, MAX’s delight at being asked to participate in a human activity, combined with his enthusiasm for arts and crafts had gone some way towards placating some of the slightly miffed attendees.

“Well, we hit out target,” Gabriela announced, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “Plus, MAX managed to rake in a fair few tips. That should cover the cost of food for the day.”

A sad series of beeps sounded as MAX dropped his gaze to the floor. He’d hoped to use the human money he’d earnt to buy his own easel, since Virgil was getting tired of him constantly vandalising his. Maybe he could ask Scott to pay him every time he emptied the dishwasher, just like he did with Alan…

“Chin up, MAX!” Gordon cooed, loading as much leftover food into the Helipod’s storage bin as was physically possible, “I’ll pay you twice what you earnt in tips for your time today. How does that sound?”

Brains smiled and self-consciously adjusted his glasses, “Thank you G-Gordon. We both thoroughly enjoyed our time here today. I must say, everyone did an excellent job at capturing MAX’s likeness. I think the canvas I p-purchased will look wonderful next to Kayo’s picture in the lounge. Of course, we’ll have to shift the r-rest of you up a bit to make room.”

Gordon gave a distracted nod around the sandwich he was chewing, his own small reward for a day chock full of hoop jumping.

After watching his creator disappear outside to chat to Gabriela (who was in the middle of a well-deserved smoke break), MAX wheeled over to the bag containing the portrait Brains had bought and carefully extracted it, his eye widening in awe as he drank in the masterful brushstrokes that came together to recreate him.

There was just one thing missing...

...a moustache.

-x-

Present day

"Uh, Gordon?" Virgil's voice was low and gentle, a stark contrast to the shrieks of delight Mandy was emitting, "Do I need to remind you about what happened last time you signed up for something like this?"

Gordon most certainly didn’t need reminding. He still hadn’t fully recovered from the tongue-lashing Scott had given him after discovering the portraits out of whack and MAX’s canvas next to his launch station…or the follow-up tongue-lashing that had come about after he’d learnt the reason behind the portraits being out of whack.

Hopefully an expensive bouquet of flowers on top of one of Scott’s ‘fat-ass cheques’ would keep Mandy from hunting him down and gnawing off his toes while he slept…

It wasn’t all bad though. Scott would never admit it, but Gordon’s previous display of charitable benevolence had warmed his heart enough for him to disclose to John the one person they could all freely bare their naked asses to if they so wished.

The Hood. But on two conditions:

1. He had to be en route to a prison cell at the time.

2. The phrase ‘kiss my ass’ would have to take on a literal meaning instead of a metaphorical one.

FIN

#Team Sea Bean #Gordon Tracy #Brains #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #fanfiction #thunderbirds fan #tracybros #tracy bros #tracy boys #tracy brothers #Tracy Island #international rescue #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Alan Tracy

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fightingforcreativity · 4 years

Photo

The Muse’s Mark

Notes:

@journeythroughtherain. thank you for the lovely comments already and the quick check of the ficlet~

@dreaminglypeach, thanks for giving me the premise for this.

@starkbucksbingo,@buckybarnesbingo

it’s a fill~

Fill Info

SBB

Title: The Muse’s Mark

Collaborator Name: J_Gun_i (fightingforcreativity)

Link: https://fightingforcreativity.tumblr.com/post/639021152477528064/the-muses-marknotes-journeythroughtherain

Square Filled: O1 AU: Artist/Muse

Ship/Main Pairing: WinterIron

Rating: M

Major Tags & Triggers: sketch art (showing nacked chest and tiny part of the genitals) , WinterIron, Artist Bucky, Muse Tony, One night stand, finding each other again

Summary: Everything that was left of his one night stand was a haunting memory of a mole, just high enough to be seen in a locker room, but low enough to encite exploring.

Word Count: 770

BBB

Title: The Muse’s Mark

Filled: B5 Bucky/Tony

Author (Artist): J_Gun_i (fightingforcreativity)

Pairing: WinterIron (BuckyxTony)

Rating: M

Warnings: sketch art (showing nacked chest and tiny part of the genitals), WinterIron, Artist Bucky, Muse Tony, One night stand, finding each other again

Summary: Everything that was left of his one night stand was a haunting memory of a mole, just high enough to be seen in a locker room, but low enough to encite exploring.

Link: https://fightingforcreativity.tumblr.com/post/639021152477528064/the-muses-marknotes-journeythroughtherain

Sketch art and fill under the cut.

For Bucky it had been years since he had met the slender, witty brunet who had since then occupied his mind. Bucky had, in his drunken stupor, not managed to ingrain the man’s name into his memory and despite them enjoying each other's company and bodies thoroughly, only three things remained with Bucky. One was the smaller man’s general build; slender and small but a hidden strength underneath. Another thing was the hazelnut colored hair, the texture soft and curly.

The last detail Bucky remembered was a mole. It was small, not very noticeable at first glance and if not for the placement Bucky most likely would have never seen it. For the mole was adorning the skin of the brunet’s hip bone, just shy of dipping into the more intimate path, precariously balanced between high enough to be seen in locker rooms and such, but low enough to encite wandering lips to explore even lower.

The next morning had found Bucky alone in his bed, not even a note left.When it was clear that he couldn’t remember much else of the one night stand, he pestered his best friend to draw what Bucky could tell him. At one point, one of those where he had complained that the mole just didn’t look right, Stevie had shoved the blond’s sketchbook against Bucky’s chest and ordered, “Do it yourself then!”

That had been the beginning of Bucky picking up Art. By now he was rather good, according to people who bought some pieces of him. The artist had no idea why they believed so because most of his drawings and sketches featured just one damn motive over and over.

Ever since that night, Bucky hadn’t been able to draw much else but that damn mole. Sighing, the artist looked at his latest sketch; another male chest and lower region adorned by various flowers and leaves, the focus easily drawn towards the mole.

“Will I ever find you?”, he wondered into the empty apartment he shared with Steve. ~~~ Bucky would never understand how Steve managed to trick him into attending Steve’s mostly boring life model classes with him. But here he was. The students for this class were acquaintances of Bucky, a few of them maybe even friends, like Natalia. Steve and he met with her for board game evenings on a semi regular basis. They were all preparing their individual workplaces, when the door opened and the professor entered. She smiled at them all brightly before she announced in her very chipper way, “Everyone, good to see you again. This time it’s a real honor for us to have Doctor Stark pose as our model! Please, everyone welcome him and then let us set to work. For this class we have four weeks, two sessions a week, which, I admit, is rather short, but let’s try our best!” Bucky blinked. He was slightly confused as to why a man like Doctor Stark would sit down to be a model, especially for a naked life model class. A quick glance towards his best friend told him that Steve had no clue either.

Shrugging, Bucky tried to treat this class as any other, an opportunity to try to forget about the mole.

Doctor Stark was undressed and already positioned by the time Bucky had readied his workplace and taken his coal pen in hand. At first glance nothing was catching Bucky’s interest, at least not too much.

Yes the hair looked stylish and probably had more products in it than Bucky owned, and the chest was well toned, as were Doctor Stark’s arms. Bucky wouldn’t mind taking that man to bed. While his grey eyes roamed over the model, Bucky’s hand had started to sketch, until everything stopped.

For Bucky it felt as if time itself had stopped. His mouth was slightly agape. His heart thumped in his chest. Bucky’s mouth felt suddenly dry and he wished for just a moment to not have seen the man’s hip. Because there, right on the left side, not too low to be considered indecent if seen in a locker room but not high enough to be boring, sat a mole. The very same mole that had haunted Bucky for years now.

When his eyes snapped towards the man’s face, he saw the recognition, and the sly smirk playing on Stark’s lips. Flushing, Bucky resumed his work.

Later he would try to talk to Doctor Stark.

Later they would go out together.

Later, way down the road, they would become the Muse and the Artist to each other, exclusively.

Finally, Bucky’s drawings had a face.

#bbb2020 #sbb2020 #bingo fills #AU: Artist/Muse #Artist Bucky Barnes #Muse Tony Stark #one night stand #sketch art #j's fics #j's art #winteriron

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rbbalmung · 4 years

Text

Pokemon SwSh GPL AU: Get to know _____

I mentioned yesterday that I would go more into why I like Bea and Bede as a pair, and this is how I’ll do it! Quick notes for newcomers: I’ve aged up the main cast a bit so instead of being 10-12, they’re 16-17 (as an adult, I cannot fathom a 10 year old living on their own for a year). I head cannon Bede as 17 and Bea as 18, so they’re only about a year apart in age. I think I’m gonna call them Pinkpunchshipping? Thoughts? I’m open to workshopping the name.

Original prompt by some-imaginative-otp-imagines:

Get to Know Bea x Bede (Ship name still being determined):

1: Who spends almost all their money on the other? Bede. 100% Bede. I don’t see Bea as someone who would show affection through gifts, but Bede is the complete opposite. He is constantly bringing her little sweets as pick-me-ups.

2: Who sleeps in the other’s lap? Bede will sleep with his head in Bea’s lap all the time. It’s hard not to nod off when she’s playing with his fluffy head of hair.

3: Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes? Bea, probably, but not in a seductive way? She works out a lot, so it is common for her to come home after a long workout and immediately get out of her sweaty clothes. Bede doesn’t yell at her because he gets too flustered whenever it happens (how these two got together in the first place is a mystery to everyone).

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway? Bea is a morning person and Bede is a night person. They’ve tried to adjust it so that they wake up and go to bed together but gave up after an irritable week. As long as Bede is around when Bea goes to sleep and Bea doesn’t wake him up at the crack of dawn, they’re good.

5: Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies? Bea can cook one thing and it is ramen. They are damn lucky that Opal forced Bede to learn how to cook, otherwise it would be takeout every night.

6: Which one reads OTP prompts and says “Oh that’s us!” and which one goes “Eh, not really”? Neither. Bea is a realist and Bede is an individualist that doesn’t like being compared to other people.

7: Which one constantly wears the other’s clothes? On stay-at-home days, Bede will borrow one of Bea’s oversized hoodies to wear (his sense of fashion means he gives up comfort for beauty, so he owns next to no sweats). Bea thinks it’s adorable and teases him all the time for it.

8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?” Okay, stick with me on this one. I think that they almost always do errands together because, early in their relationship, they would always buy the wrong thing for the other. Going shopping together started as something they had to do as a pair, but now I think it’s just a lowkey way to spend time together.

9: Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions? Bea would drive, Bede would give directions. She is better at staying focused for long periods of time and he’s better at planning ahead.

10: Which one does the posing while the other one draws? Bea would definitely draw Bede. Bea picked up sketching to de-stress from Honey, so it is incredibly likely that Bede would be an eventual model for her (it’s not like she starts sketching him constantly when she recognises her feelings for him and nearly bursts into flames when he finds her sketchbook. That would be silly).

11: If they were about to rob a museum, which one does backflips through lasers and which one is strolling behind with a bag of chips? My first thought was that obviously Bea would be the backflipper, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised Bede would be the backflipper. He is so freaking extra about everything. OF COURSE he would try to show off.

12: Which one of your OTP overdoes it on the alcohol and which one makes the other stop drinking? Bede is a casual drinker, so his tolerance is pretty high. Bea hardly drinks, so it only takes her about 2 shots to get drunk. Bede tries to get her to take it easy, but if someone (like Raihan) challenges her, she will not back down. There hasn’t been a New Years Eve party that Bede hasn’t carried Bea home.

14: Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own? Bea. It takes separation and a lot of long talks for her to realise that her home life was very toxic. The only reason she decides to take Bede’s last name when they get married is to spite her parents.

15: Which one screams about the spider and which one brings the spider outside? Bede 100% is freaked out by bug pokemon, but he tries to play if off like he isn’t scared.

16: Which one gives the other their jacket? I feel like it depends on the situation. Space Heater Bea is never cold, so if it’s chilly, Bede is the one getting the jacket. However, Bede will give Bea his jacket as a form of comfort if he senses something is off.

17: Who keeps getting threatened by the other’s overprotective older sibling (or a similar figure)? Bea is very intimidated by Opal. They are complete opposites when it comes to personality other than their shared competitiveness. Bea is convinced that Opal hates her (Opal actually really likes Bea, she just would rather die than tell her that).

18: Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other? Oh my god, when I say it took forever for one of them to confess, I mean three whole years of hopeless pining. Neither of them are good at talking about their feelings, so they’ll try to find subtle ways to confess to the other. Unfortunately, they are also as dense as each other when it comes to romance. I think Bede would eventually get so frustrated that he blurts it out, then immediately tries to take it back. Thankfully, Bea was too stubborn to let him.

19: How good would your OTP be at parenting? Terrible. Absolutely terrible. I think they would definitely try their hardest if it ever happened, but I also don’t really see them having children?

20: Which one types with perfect grammar and which one types using numbers as letters? Bede = Perfect Grammar. Extra dramatic. Will call someone out if they send him a spelling error. Bea = short, chaotic sentence fragments. Bede tried calling her out on it once but she shut him down real fast.

21: Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them? They are both SUPER protective people, so I like to think they take turns. Bea tends to scare them off by fighting them, and Bede destroys people with his words.

22: Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun? Bede has definitely picked up some dramatics from Opal’s training. Whenever the occasional “pink” pun slips into his sentences, Bea has to try very hard not to comment on it.

23: Who comes home from work to see that the other one bought a puppy? If Bea finds a stray pokemon, she will hold onto it until it can be returned to its owner. She also catches a lot more fighting pokemon than she will every need and goes camping with them once a week. 6 pokemon Bede cannot relate.

24: Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they’re tired? Oh my gosh, neither. It’s not that they wouldn’t give the other a piggy back: Both are too prideful to ask for one, so they mostly just end up leaning heavily on the other until they return home.

25: Which one competes in some sort of activity and which one does the overzealous cheering? Bea gets waaayy to into Bede’s pokemon matches. She will scream at the TV (or from the audience if she is in Ballonlea that day) until she is hoarse. Bede gets really embarrassed, but it's because he’s flattered.

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder? Bede. I mentioned earlier that Bea falls asleep faster than Bede (unless his head is on her lap), so he has a secret folder of photos on his phone with the two of them cuddling together. Bea knows he has this folder and will get incredibly flustered if it’s brought up.

27: Which one would give the other a makeover if they asked? BEDE. He wants nothing more than to give his sporty girlfriend a high fashion makeover. Bede thinks she’s beautiful, of course, but he just wants to see what it would look like. One year on his birthday, she humors him and he is BUZZING WITH EXCITEMENT.

28: Which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of? Bede is super intimidated by some of Bea’s pokemon. (Bea is intimidated by his type advantage against her, but that’s different).

29: Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains? Bede. He’s taller and insists on being a gentleman.

30: If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures? I feel like they would go to Kalos. Bede would insist they visit the boutiques while Bea made sure they hiked in the mountains. Bede would take the pictures, but Bea would sketch a lot.

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #GPL AU #pokemon headcanons #bede x bea #pinkpunchshipping #beade #pokemon bede #swsh bede #bede #rival bede #gym leader bea #swsh bea #pokemon bea #bea #Pastel boyfriend x buff girlfriend

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lsobelevans · 4 years

Text

Couldn’t stop thinking about my victorian artist’s muse AU so... this is for Alex week day 6 + time.

In which, Michael is convinced that Alex is the missing key to their quest in reforming the arts. He just needs to find someone who will paint him right.

Michael brings Alex to Rosa Ortecho first.

Her apartment is, of course, planted in the sketchiest street of London Alex has ever set foot in. Michael stops in front of one narrow building, squeezed between a blacksmith and a butcher. Everything about the place makes Alex nervous, he wants to turn around and run back to the respectable safety of his household, to run away from the ceaseless noises, the nauseating smells… but Michael goes in, mindlessly stepping over the body of a passed-out drunk man that was blocking the entrance and Alex would rather go with him than stay alone outside for a single second.

He follows Michael up the cramp staircase and they only stop at the end, in front of the top floor apartment. Alex’s apprehension spikes when he realizes some of the noise, aggressive grunts and muffled impacts, are now louder and coming from inside. Michael, still unfazed, knocks on the door and opens it without waiting for an invitation. He rushes in, tailed by Alex, to find Rosa Ortecho in men’s trousers and a loose shirt, hitting a bag of sand hanging from the roof. There’s an alarming brutality in her moves, a crudeness Alex isn’t sure he has ever witnessed before. Michael ignores her, removes a pile of books from a couch and sits there, patting the empty space beside him, inviting Alex to join.

“Could take a while,” he says, spreading his legs on a stool. Then he notices Alex’s wide eyes, that he can’t take away from Rosa, as her blows on the bag become stronger and harsher. He’s known her from reputation, of course, but seeing her in person holds nothing to the muttered gossips that have reached Alex’s ears.

“She needs to get the energy right. She’s conjuring all the life she can.” Michael explains. Now he is staring at her too with a bit of wonder. He matches her rhythmic blows as the words roll of his tongue. “It’s pure.” Punch. “Unhinged.” Hit. “Soul.”

They watch her like that, in silence. She doesn’t acknowledge their presence for a long time, making Alex wonder if she even noticed they’re here. He’s about to bring it up to Michael when she finally decides the bag has learned its lesson and puts an end to her beating.

She greets them while taking off the bandages on her hands and she downs a glass of port before offering them one that Michael takes and Alex declines.

She throws one quick glance at Alex, shrugs and makes him strip off his shirt and take place in front of the window, but not before dropping a fake crown with paper flowers on his head.

Alex expects to be there at least until the sun goes down, something Michael had briefed him about. Turns out after only a few minutes of sitting at the easel while making faces, fidgeting with her tools and chalks and not giving him a single proper instruction, Rosa sighs in defeat before turning around to face Michael.

“What the fuck do you expect me to do with this, Guerin?”

He looks up from the book he had just picked up, looking genuinely startled for the first time since Alex has crossed his path, days ago in the back of his father’s hat shop.

The argument explodes so fast and easily it makes Alex think they do this a lot. Michael gets up from the couch, surges in front of Rosa and then there’s yelling, dramatic hands thrown in the air and verbal digs are exchanged back and forth. It reminds Alex of one of those really bad plays his mom used to take him and his brothers to in Coven Garden.

“I like Alex,” Rosa says, with an apologetic smile in his direction. “He’s pretty. I’m not saying I will never have him sit for me but for this particular work it's just not quite-”

“Pretty?” Michael replies with an outraged, disgusted face. “You're making the biggest mistake of your life, Ortecho. It's excellence, paradise served on a goddamn plate and you're being… picky.”

Heat rises to Alex's cheeks. Michael keeps talking about him like that, like he's something exceptional, and Alex doesn't know what to make of it.

Michael's words are met with a snort from Rosa. “Sure, whatever you say. Listen I just need someone with more- less- Guerin, I need someone who doesn't shies. Who knows what they’re doing. I need a damn whore.”

Michael shakes his head in utter consternation. He even takes a step back.

“Oh coming from you that is rich.” She points an angry finger at him. “We always paint whores, and you know it.”

“And how well has that worked so far?” Michael asks, this time grabbing a fistful of paper from a counter and shoving them in Rosa’s direction. “Aren’t you weary of always coming up with the same uninspired junk?”

This time, Alex sees her lips thinning and her fist tightening to her sides, body tensed with real anger. Remembering the sandbag, he wonders if Michael is braver or dumber than he first assumed, because the man doesn’t back down even a bit.

She yanks the sketches from Michael’s hand. “It’s worked pretty well, actually. And unlike somebody, I actually have commissions and I can pay my models with something else than-”

“He”, Michael points at Alex, his eyes still fixed on Rosa, “Is exceptionally better than any whore. The point is simplicity. The point is everything that is true and heartfelt…”

“Why don't you paint him then?” She turns around and throws herself on a chair, as it seem her anger has shifted to a deeper lassitude.

“Oh I will, but as for now he…” Michael’s face falls for a second and he mumbles. “All right. I cannot pay him properly.”

Rosa gives him another snort. “You need a patron, Michael. And he needs experience. But until then, if you really mean to have him painted… I heard DeLuca has a project. Something fancy, Shakespearean, and she couldn’t quite find the right model. Maybe he will actually earn the money that you promised when you made him quit his job and family to follow you into this doomed madness.”

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

Maria DeLuca is looking at him so intensely that he is sure her gaze is actually piercing into his soul. He wouldn’t be surprised if she knew all of his darkest secrets now, if she was familiar with all of his deepest fears and desires. When he and Michael called, she immediately grabbed his chin, not hard but firmly, and has been examining his face for what feels like an eternity, without saying a word. Not long ago, this would have unsettled Alex, but he is getting used to Michael and his friend’s strange ways. After all, she is less scary than Rosa, she seems less tormented and she hasn’t even punched anything in the time Alex has made her acquaintance.

There’s something different about her, something closer to what Michael has, that makes Alex want to be her friend, want to please her.

He throws a quick look at Michael who has been waiting in the corner. He smiles back at him with an encouraging nod, so Alex waits.

At last, she lets go of his face and turns to the other man.

“You weren't lying,” she says. “He's perfect. Curious mingle of simplicity and refinement, constantly walking the line like a tightrope walker…” for a moment, she seems lost in her thoughts. She grabs a notebook and scribbles something, eyebrow knitted.

“Sit for me!” She exclaims, closing the notebook. “I'll pay you, which is more than this imbecile can promise. It won't be easy, but you'll get out of it a richer man in your heart, your mind and your wallet.”

“It would be an honor.” Alex agrees, earning himself a soft smile.

“Great,” she says. “We will begin now. Michael, help Max fill the bath and light up some candles, will you?”

To Alex’s surprise, Michael complies. Where Rosa seemed to excite him, Maria seem to have the opposite grounding effect. He wonders how the three of them function as a group, if they undo each other’s excess, if they only find their balance together, where Alex’s place would be in all of this.

Posing for Maria is hard.

She makes him wear a flowy robe and has him lay in a bathtub only warmed with candles for hours on end. Unlike Rosa, she explains what she wants from him, in too many words when all he can do is try to keep himself afloat, but she smiles at him, and so does Max, her protégé, so Alex does his best to be good and stay still. Then Michael watches him with proud eyes, and something lights up in Alex’s abdomen, and for the first time in his life, he feels he is right where he belongs.

When the night has finally fallen and the flame of the candles isn’t enough for Maria to keep drawing, they help him out of the tub and provide him with towels. She invites him and Michael to take a look at her work before leaving, and while discovering his own portrait, immersed in the green waters of a mystical lake, he is stunned.

He can see what Michael sees, the exceptional nature of it, the composition of something new, the beginning of a different era. His features are brought to a different plane of life by Maria’s talented lines, it’s a haunting mirror, so unsettling that he has to look away. And then he can only accept Michael’s whispered words.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

-----------

During the day Michael’s place is all windows and cream drapes, wild plants and sunlight, like a greenhouse garden, a lung in the suffocation of central London. Alex is in awe every time he walks through the glass doors, as he was the first time Michael brought him in. Surrounded by books and sketches and dirty painting tools, Michel fits there, in the untamed wilderness, the carefree, the unexpected.

In low evening light, everything glows orange and the light of the torches dances on their cheeks. The mess looks tidier, all the sounds are muffled and the air is calmer.

“Gonna go find some refreshment,” Michael says, taking off his coat. “to celebrate your first time sitting.”

He disappears somewhere behind a long hanging sheet, leaving Alex free to look around.

Even in the dim light, Alex peeks at the canvas, then at the sketches scattered on all the surfaces. He runs his fingers on paper, feels its grain, picks one up randomly. It’s a woman, with wild flowers in her hair and a soft, melancholic gaze. Another one, a body, fabric and color. In the night, the figures seem almost otherworldly. He is easily taken by them, transported by the smooth lines, so much that he doesn’t hear Michael coming back behind him.

“You like those?” he asks, glancing over Alex’s shoulder.

Alex’s breath catches at Michael’s low tone, at his proximity.

“They’re brilliant.” he replies, barely a murmur.

Michael sighs and takes a step back, leaving Alex cold and almost disappointed.

“No, they’re not. And they never will be,” he says, looking away as something breaks in his voice. “I’m so close Alex. So close to get it right but I’m just. Stuck and I can’t- unless-”

He looks back at Alex with a glint that reminds him of Rosa, with a sort of urgency that matches her hooks, alive, dangerous.

“You have stricken me.” He declares. It is a simple fact, a statement that doesn’t call for any reply, and yet.

“I will.” Is all Alex can say, with a hard determination that he surprises himself with. “I will sit for you.”

He’s known, since the first time he laid eyes on Michael, that he would do anything the man asked of him. That he would let himself be stolen away, and that he would never turn back to his dull, nonsensical life. He’s known he would never be small again, and that his hunger for greatness, now that he’s had a taste of it, is going to be insatiable.

Michael laughs a litte.

“I cannot pay you what you deserve.”

“Teach me then. Help me improve. I want to paint and to write. I have potential, I have things to say. Let me become one of you. Let it be my payment.”

Michael has gotten closer now, so close in Alex’s space that he can see, even in the dark, the details on his face, his lips, the small reflections, sparkles of light in his eyes. He lays a hand on Alex’s cheek, grazing softly with his thumb and Alex shivers.

“You’re burning. Are you sure you didn’t catch something at DeLuca’s? This foolish bathtub...”

It has to be Alex who closes the gap between their lips, but it’s Michael’s hands that are suddenly all over him, and he feels awake, alit, as he is clumsily led toward a bed in a corner of the room, trying not to catch himself on piece of fabric or to knock off an easel or a candlelight.

#alexweek2020 #alex manes #michael x alex #malex #maria and rosa are featured #Hunt!Rosa is the loml #this is the first writing i've ever posted in this fandom i'm pretty sure???#because i can't really write but this wouldn't leave me alone #thanks to sára for reading and encouraging <3 #fanfic #i don't think there's really any warnings except that i'm sorry if it doesn't make any sense #what is english anyway #mine*#myalexweek*

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