#artist au

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Big Name Feelings

FANDOM AU! • Crowley is a BNF fic writer, and Aziraphale is a lurking artist who might be just a little parasocially in love with him. How they ever became friends is beyond him, but here they are: One month out from Prophet Con, and Crowley is asking him to be his boyfriend. Just for the weekend, of course.

Length: 103,997 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Safe in Public, Human AU, Slow Burn, Fake Relationship, Pick-me-up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

*Minor Spoilers* It's here! The finale of one of the most entertaining and immersive fanworks that I have ever experienced is finally upon us! I feel like most of you who follow me here are aware of this fanfic or have read it. However, for those who haven't or might come across this post later: I'm begging you to read this one. Buckle up; it's a long post today.

So, if you're not aware, this fanfic involves writer Crowley and fan artist Aziraphale. Crowley, being ace, seeks a boyfriend to shield him from unwanted attention during an upcoming convention. Aziraphale, smitten, agrees to be the fake boyfriend. This Arrangement is sure to work out exactly as planned!

Every one of the author's stories feels cinematic to me. The worlds are always so real and immersive, but this one, in particular, will have you feeling like you're actually watching the story unfold in real life. Some of that is achieved through embedded media like chats, artwork, and Tumblr posts, bringing a sense of reality to these conversations. The rest comes from really rich prose. You'll flow through it very easily, yet deeply.

The use of fandom and a convention as the backdrop for this fic was, to be honest, genius. I've seen attempts before, but none captured the spirit quite like this one. The fandom lore for The Nice and Accurate Prophecy (the in-universe fandom they're in) was rich enough for us to fully grasp the shape and feel of why they loved it so much, yet it never impedes the ongoing story. This story perfectly captured what it's like to be a fan: how friendships develop, how ideas and fan theories are freely discussed, the passion for a shared topic. The con, in particular, will fill anyone who has ever attended a fan convention with a strong dose of nostalgia and love. Oh, and having them in their 50s? Thank you! There is no age limit to fandom!

Having Aziraphale as the artist and Crowley the writer was not the most obvious choice, but it's one that worked amazingly well for the story! Crowley struggles with words and expressing his feelings in real life. However, in stories, he can build his own world and express whatever emotions are on his mind. Aziraphale, who does not wish to draw attention to himself in real life, expresses himself through his bold and beautiful artwork. His specialization in traditional, physical artwork is so fitting for him, though he's not unwilling to try new tech. There is a scene where they stumble upon some street art that Aziraphale had done. I teared up at that scene, and it's not even angsty! Just the casualness of it, how it's not Aziraphale but Crowley who boldly leads them to it, how Aziraphale doesn't sing his own praises. He's not self-deprecating, but he doesn't celebrate his work. He's still learning that he has value that's worth celebrating. At least now he has Crowley to teach him to be proud of himself.

They are both beautifully written characters. It's a real testament to the skill of the author to bring these characters into such a different reality and have them be unmistakably Aziraphale and Crowley. Sure, they're updated for the time and setting, but their souls are still the angel and demon we know and love. This setting is an amazing way to explore the different sides of their personalities. Crowley's asexuality, in particular, was one of the best depictions I've ever read. It brought a new level of understanding to me, and I'm sure many of you will feel a kinship with him. Really pay attention to what's being said here, there's some really deep and insightful passages that are worth analyzing. Like this moment, which may have been a subconscious thought, but again speaks to how deeply the author understands the characters.

This was such an amazing experience as a fan. I've never had a fic feel like this much of an event before. Every chapter drop was so exciting; I never knew what exactly to expect. And now, with the end being over 100k words?? Where did that word count come from! That's insane! I'm sad to leave this iteration, but I'm so excited for what's to come next. So please, if you haven't read this, give it a try. It's such a impressive work, so much time and effort was put into this and you can tell. It's not only a love letter to Good Omens, but one to fandom and fanspaces as well. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this journey

There are some explicit scenes towards the end, but they are all marked and skippable, so I'd say you're perfectly fine reading this in public.

Edit from after actually seeing the finale: no I’m not tearing up it’s just really dusty in this room. I’m being so normal rn 🥹🥹🥹

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #Big Name Feelings #BNF #ghostrat #extra long #three flames #safe in public #human au #fandom au #artist au #writer au #slow burn #pretend relationship #fake relationship #friends to lovers #pick me up #BNFinale

[themorningsunshine]

Be My Muse

Pairing - Aritst!Bucky Barnes x Reader (Childhood best friends to lovers)

Summary - Muse - A person or spirit that gives an artist the desire to create things

Bucky has been in love with you for years, but just can't get himself to say it. So, instead, he decides to show you.

Warnings - None, just fluffy fluff 

Word Count - 2.4k 

a/n - This is for @buckybarnesevents ‘s Connect 4: June-iverse event. Card Number - C4037 for the prompt C1 - Aritst. Thank you to the lovely @bluehourbucky​ for motivating me to actually finish writing this. 

"Come on, Buck. Just tell me."

You watched as the man you called your best friend shook his head, once again refusing to let out anything about his upcoming art exhibition.

"Oh, come on. Don't be this way." You didn't want to pressurize him, but he was acting weird about this exhibition for the past 2 months.

Every single time when he had an art exhibition coming up, he would ramble about it for weeks to you and you loved it. The way he was excited about what he had made and also the way his nervous ticks showed up always a week before the actual event, you loved every bit of it.  But this time, he hadn't spoken a word remotely related to it.

To top it all off, he had said that this was the most important exhibition of his life.

You were bound to be scared.

"Okay, what about this, you give me a hint, about anything, it doesn't even have to be the centerpiece, literally anything, and I will stop bugging you." You were practically begging now.

"Come on, doll. You are going to come to the main event. You can look at it then." He said putting your cup of coffee in front of you, is pretty much one of the only ways to distract your mind.

"See it then? With everybody else? Is that what I am to you, now, Buck? Just a person in the audience? I knew this day would come." You picked up your cup and with a dramatic turn walked out of the room.

Had you stood there for a moment longer, you would have seen the way Bucky scratched his thumb and bit his lips, two of his most prominent nervous ticks.

Only if he could tell you that you weren't just a person in the crowd. No, you were much more than that. You were everything .

He just had to wait.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

The day of the exhibition came sooner than he would have liked, but to you, it couldn't have been further away.

Bucky had been a little distant with you for the past week and you hated it. You hated it more than anything else in the world.

Usually, he would take you with him to carry out the errands related to the exhibition, 'cause he always got super nervous and you would be there to ground him. Like anchoring him back to the shore.

But this time, you had absolutely no idea what even was the theme of this exhibition. Every single time you offered to go with him for anything, he would always make excuses, and you were confident that they were lies 'cause when did Bucky start to go grocery shopping in the middle of the week?

In the almost 2 decades you had known him, ever since you were a kid, he had never hidden something this important from you.

To say that you were scared would be an understatement.

When you finally entered the exhibition, you were proud to see how many people had shown up. You had always known that Bucky would do exceptionally well as an artist and you had taken every chance you got to tell him exactly that.

As you were about to turn the corner and look at the first painting, you almost collided with a wall of muscle.

You looked up only to be met by the gaze of one of your closest friends.

"Steve, hey!!"

You saw as Steve tried extremely hard to hide the huge grin that threatened to spread across his face and you could swear you saw happy tears brimming in the corner of his eyes.

You squinted as you took a step to the side to let a man walk in, realizing you were blocking the way.

"Y/n, you need to come with me."

"Not now, Steve. It's Bucky's exhibition. I need to stay here."

"He has asked you to come with me."

You narrowed your eyes as you asked, "Are you sure?"

Steve nodded as he took your hand to try and take you away from the paintings.

Dread filled your chest. Did Bucky really not want you in here so much?

You follow Steve as he leads you toward an isolated door of the arena.

You turn to look at him and he signals you to get inside.

"Okay, if you are kidnapping me, I might as well let you know that no one is going to pay a single penny as ransom to you." You joke. You have been friends with Steve almost for as long as you have been with Bucky and you trusted them with everything.

Steve chuckles before replying, "Just go in, y/n."

You open the door and take a step in, only to realize that it's pitch dark. Before you can turn back to look at Steve, the door closes behind you.

You take a deep breath and call out, "Bucky? I swear to god if it's one of your stupid pranks, I'll kill you."

Suddenly, a small light gets switched on beside you and you turn to realize that it beautifully illuminates a painting.

You take a step forward towards it, only to realize that it is a sketch of an eye and it's beautiful .

You can see the way it shines with a glint even though it's just a sketch and you bring your hand forward to run it across it.

It is then that you notice the little note sitting at the bottom right corner of the sketch.

All the city lights combined couldn't shine brighter than your eyes.

Your lips turned upwards into a smile as you read the words. Even though you had absolutely no idea what was happening, it was a huge comfort to know that it was all Bucky's doing. You could recognize that handwriting anywhere.

You looked around hoping to figure out at least something, but all that the little illumination below the sketch showed you was that it was more probable than not a huge hall.

Not even a moment later, another small light was switched on just beside the first one.

It was a painting this time. A very old painting.

It was a small girl sitting on a swing hanging from the tree. A blissful smile on her face, carefree and oblivious to the troubles of the world.

When you noticed the bracelet that she was wearing, you took a step forward, squinting to focus on the painting.

It was you.

And then the memory of that day placed itself at the forefront of your brain.

"Come on, Buck." The little 11-year-old girl called out to the brown-haired boy.

He just shakes his head and refuses to move away from under the tree he is sitting, a sketchbook in hand.

"Why do you even like painting so much?" She had asked, crossing her arms across her chest, puffing in annoyance at his lack of response before walking away towards the swing herself.

A smile finds its way to your lips at the memory. It was about a couple of years after the both of you had met, and yet, it was as clear as day in your mind. Even after all the memories you and Bucky created together over the years, small - innocent ones like these from all those years ago never left your heart.

You look at it intensely for a long time. A couple of tears brimming at the corner of your eyes.

It's been so long. You couldn't help but think. The both of you had grown up but never grew apart. There was always a connection, an instant pull that always brought the both of you back to each other, almost like how no matter how far any of you went, you never forgot your way back home.

After some time, you finally noticed the little note written in the bottom left corner of the painting, just like in the first one. But this one was different. This sentence was the one that would change your whole life for you. In the best way possible. It read :

The day that 12-year-old fell in love, without even knowing what love meant. All he knew was that he was going to love that girl with everything he had, till his last days and beyond.

Your breath hitched in your throat. He loved you.

Bucky Barnes was in love with you.

That's when it hit you.

Everything you have ever wanted. The only thing your heart has ever yearned for, was right in front of you all along.

The love that you had read about in books, the kind of love that swallowed you whole until there was no part left untouched, the love that you have looked for your entire life, has been right there. Right beside you. In the form of the oceanic blue eyes that had enamored you for the last 20 years.

You were in love with your best friend.

The realization doesn't hit you like a truck, or leave you gasping in surprise, it brings with it a sense of peace, a sense of everything falling into place.

You look around frantically searching for the man that you had loved all along without ever knowing it.

You loved him when he fought those bullies to protect Steve and got hurt in the process.

You had loved him when he had brought you cookies when you had gotten sick during Christmas, not being able to move.

You had loved him when you had supported him in his decision to do what his heart desired, in his journey of becoming an artist.

You had loved him when the both of you had said your goodbyes while leaving for college in distant cities when the tears had fallen from your eyes and on the ground and he had comforted you that your friendship won't fall apart.

You had loved him in the nights that were spent staring at the stars together, in the afternoons that had been spent watching movies, curled up beside each other, just the two of you.

You had loved him then, and you love him now and you were pretty sure you were going to love him till the world was nothing but dust.

A light suddenly gets switched on just beside the old painting, and this time too, it's you.

Painted years after the last one, it's you staring at the night sky, a soft, content look on your face.

This time, your eyes frantically search for the note, and sure enough, it's right there, at the bottom.

'Cause, darling without you,

All the shine of a thousand spotlights

All the stars we steal from the night sky

Will never be enough

Never be enough

You can now feel tears rolling down your cheeks, as your lips turn into the widest grin possible.

You turn around and as you do so, all the lights in the room begin to turn on, each revealing a painting of you. Taken in the simplest moments.

There is one with you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a pout evident on your face as you had tried to bake a cake for the first time.

There was one where you were sitting at the beach, staring into the ocean.

The one that you liked the most was the one in which you were sleeping contently, a blanket loosely draped over you, that you could swear hadn't been there before.

Before you can look at the rest of them, a voice comes from the corner of the hall and you turn just in time to look at Bucky Barnes himself.

Your smile grew wider if it was even possible and you almost ran off to embrace him when he started speaking.

"One day, you asked me why I drew. Why I felt the need to express whatever it was I felt through a canvas. I didn't tell you, then, but now I want to, doll.

It's you. It's always been you. You have been my muse, my pillar of support, my motivation to get up every morning, my need to paint because there was no other way I could express to the girl I was in love with that she was all I ever dreamt about. That she was everything I could ever want.

I love you, doll. I love you with everything I am and everything I'll ever be. There are a hundred ways this could fall apart, and trust me, I have thought about each one of them more than I should have. But if there is one chance that this could work, that I could be yours, not just in movie nights or weekly trips to the grocery market, but in every way possible, I want to take that chance. In slow mornings and in intimate nights, in tough days and in the celebratory evenings, I want you, I need you to be a part of all of them, doll because life just doesn't feel like life without you."

As if your feet had gained a mind of their own you ran towards him, circling your arms around his neck and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss was gentle, soft, full of need and unspoken feelings, of time lost, it was everything .

He pulled you impossibly closer to him, not wanting to ever let go.

Finally, when the both of you pulled away, still staying close with the widest possible grins on your faces, you whispered, "I love you too, Buck. So damn much." You say it so slowly, it feels like a dream to him.

You would one day shout out to the world how much you loved him, but for now, it was going to be your little moment. When the city of Brooklyn went about its day just like it did every day, two people who were irresistibly, irrevocably in love with each other stood there, holding each other, in the gentlest of embraces, embers of their love while keeping them warm, strong enough to burn the whole world down.

You stay there for what feels like forever before Bucky whispers. "Doll, be my muse?"

You look up at him, drowning in his oceanic blue eyes, only to reach home, before you whisper, "Forever."  

#bucky barnes #aritst!bucky #marvel #oneshot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #artist au #childhood best friends to lovers #love #love confessions #fluff #bucky barnes fluff #art #painting #connect4au

[fandoms-writings]

Pairing: Bartender!Neighbor!Bucky x college!artist!reader (intended female reader)

Summary: A horrible date and forgetting your keys lands you in the hands of your handsome neighbor who is more than willing to lend a helping hand.

Series Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, age gap is 10-ish years, smidge of angst, a date gone wrong (not with bucky), bucky being a gentlemen should be it’s own warning, some suggestive thoughts and language, cursing, making out, mentions of anxiety, disappointed parents, mentions of alcohol, fluff, pet names (sugar, baby, sir, daddy), weed consumption, tiny bit of self doubt from Bucky, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), Bucky talks a lot in bed, unprotected sex (protect yourself irl please)

Each chapter will contain it's own warnings.

❂︎ - Smut

Forgotten Keys and Warm Tea

Make Our Own Traditions

Masterpiece ❂︎

Adoration of the Heart ❂︎

Soak with Me ❂︎

#bucky barnes fanficiton #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky fluff #bucky smut #mcu fanfiction #bartender au #artist au #college au #fandoms-writings #bartender!bucky #artist!reader #college!reader #neighbor!bucky

[snow-143]

Water Coloured Tears | Jeon Jungkook

pairings | childhood bsf jungkook x artist reader

genres | angst, childhood bsfs, hurt/ comfort?, college au, fuckboy jk, eventual smut

summary | college. everybody dream right? you finally get to leave home and have all the freedom you like, but you didn't care about any of that, you were happy as long as you had your best friend with you. except he's done a full 180 on how he used to be and you despise who he is, but now you have to suffer through a 5 month art project with him as your muse.

warnings | swearing like a lot (i’m british), alcohol, angst, probs drugs, eventual smut, fuckboy jjk, she resents him a shit ton, forced proximity, ik nothing about art classes don’t come for me, i’m using british school holidays bc it’s easier for me, more to be added

one- pilot

two- drunk call

three- drunken rambles (jks pov)

four- dont waste my time

five- mommy’s boy

six- late night inspo

seven- forgot you were insane

eight-

#bts non idol au #bts x reader #fanfic #bts fanfic #bts angst #jungkook #jeongguk #jeon jungkook #kpop fanfic #jungkook fanfic #angst #fluff #smut #college au #bts #bts jungkook #artist au #bts art au

[green-ajah-aes-sedai]

Stiles Stilinski x Derek Hale

Artist x Writer AU

For @whitewiccan

#stiles stilinski x derek hale #derek hale x stiles stilinski #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek #teen wolf #teen wolf au #artist au #writer au #artist #writer #teen wolf moodboard #teen wolf aesthetic #teen wolf edit #a gift #rowina tag #my edits

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Shadow mainly got into art because Maria encouraged him. She was his inspiration and the best part of every drawing or creation was seeing the smile on her face.

And then she was murdered and Shadow never wanted to make art again. There was no inspiration, no smile, no love. He couldn’t create. It was too sad.

But then he meets Sonic, who gives him the spark and smiles he needs to create again. By falling in love with Sonic, Shadow is able to fall in love with art once more. 🎨🖌️🥹💕

#I love your brain—oh my god #Artist AU #Sonadow #OKAY BUT LIKE I FUCKIN LOVE THIS?! SHADOW COMMUNICATED BEST WITH ART

[dickmastersfruit]

artist regulus who's in love with drawing james as often as he can

#bbgart #this is based on a microfic i wrote hehe #current wip #regulus black #artist regulus #james potter #jegulus #marauders #the marauders #fanart #digital art #digital drawing #artist au #regulus #james #sirius black #remus lupin

[mythicalmisery]

Fighter/Artist AU : GhostxSoap

Soap quickly made his way from his last lecture to his motorcycle sitting in the parking lot. Knocking over anyone who stood in his way, earning him a few choice words as he practically sprinted down the halls. He had three midterms that week and was fucking exhausted. One would think that being an art major would be less stressful, but that was wishful thinking. 

He slid his helmet over his slightly grown-out mohawk, lifting the kickstand and setting off on that familiar drive to the other side of town he took every week. Soap had a particular affinity for sketching real-world objects and people. He believed that capturing the human form, with all its complexities and intricacies, was one of the most challenging and rewarding aspects of his craft. To hone his skills, he sought out places where he could observe people in their most natural states and one of his favorite places for this purpose was Price's MMA boxing gym.

Price's MMA gym held a special place in Soap's heart. It wasn't just a place for fighters to train and beat the shit out of each other. Soap had practically grown up within the confines of that gym, having spent his high school days cleaning it after hours in exchange for some pocket change. It was during that time that he earned the nickname "Soap" because of the way he scrubbed the floors and equipment spotless.

One of the main reasons Soap loved the gym was the owner, an old family friend, retired military captain John Price. Price had been a mentor to him, teaching him valuable life lessons and discipline. Soap considered him a father figure, especially after his own father had passed away when he was just a child.

Soap’s best friend, Gaz, was among the gym’s most dedicated fighters. Gaz had dreams of making it big in the world of UFC, and he trained tirelessly, leaving no room for distractions. Despite their different paths in life, Soap and Gaz remained close friends even as his career started to take off. Soap often joined in on his training sessions and sketched Gaz as he practiced his punches and kicks, capturing the intensity of the man's movements. 

Every week, Soap would visit the gym, finding a comfortable spot in the corner, sketchbook in hand, and losing himself in the world around him. He sketched the fighters as they sparred and practiced. Each line and shadow made with his pencils captured their movements and forms on paper forever. The clanging of weights and the thudding of punches in the background became a form of comfort for Soap over the years. Easy to get lost in the symphony of noise. 

This particular day, he noticed something was off as soon as he stepped foot in the gym. It was uncharacteristically quiet. Everyone standing around was talking in hushed voices and whispers. As Soap sat down in his usual corner, he instantly noticed the subject of everyone's attention. A newcomer, and a striking one at that. Blond hair, tall, and with a physique that could only be described as imposing. Soap recognized him from one of the hundreds of fights he was forced to watch every week with Gaz. His name was Simon “The Ghost” Riley and he was quickly becoming a rising star in his weight division. Sports networks raved about him and were labeling him the next big thing in the world of mixed martial arts. He was talking with Price in the corner of the ring, Gaz also joining them off to the side. If he remembered correctly, the man was from Manchester. Price had mentioned wanting to bring in more talent, guess it finally happened. 

For three whole weeks, Soap couldn't tear his eyes away from Simon Riley. There was something captivating about him, something that drew Soap in like a moth to a flame. Simon's powerful physique and the way he moved in the ring were a sight to behold. He quickly became Soap's favorite subject to draw, and he couldn't help but blush every time he caught himself focusing too hard on the details of Simon's impressive figure. Gaz certainly never let him forget it after casually flipping through his drawings one day and noticing a recurring theme. He had offered to introduce Soap to the man but he swiftly denied the invitation, painfully aware that the fighter was well out of his league. 

It was during the fourth week of his new infatuation that shit hit the fan quickly. Soap had been lost in his sketches like normal when he felt a sudden tug on his sketchbook. It happened so suddenly he was powerless to stop it. Startled, he looked up to find the one and only Simon Riley holding his sketchbook with an unreadable expression on his face. Flipping through the multiple pages filled with sketches of himself. 

"Seems like I have a stalker," Simon teased, his lips quirking up into a playful smile.

Soap's cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, "I-I'm not a stalker. I just... I’m an art student, I come here to practice, I swear”

Simon chuckled, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, you're quite talented,” he admitted, still studying the sketches. “These sketches are impressive.”

Soap was still furiously blushing as the man handed him back his sketchbook. Soap couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with Riley, he was even more intimidating up close. 

“Thank you, and I’m sorry” he managed to say, his voice a tad shaky. 

Simon’s teasing grin softened into a warm smile. “No need to apologize. I’m flattered, actually. Not every day I meet an artist who appreciates my…assets.” He winked, making the man's blush deepened even more. How cute. He mercifully decided to let Soap off the hook and started to back away. 

“The name's Simon, Simon Riley, by the way.”

“I know who you are,” the man stated, causing that lopsided grin to reappear on his face. 

“And does the artist have a name?”

“You can call me Soap.”

“Soap? What the hell kind of name is that?” Simon chuckled.

“It’s a nickname, you haven’t earned the real one quite just yet.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Soap,” the Brit said as he turned to head back to the training mats. 

From that day forward, whenever Soap visited the gym, he couldn't help but steal glances at the fighter whenever he could. And it seemed that Simon was just as intrigued by Soap. He began to pay more attention to the artist in the corner, watching him sketch with a keen interest. He would often strike up a conversation with Soap between training sessions, asking about his art and life outside the gym. Soap found himself drawn not only to Simon's physical presence but also to his genuine interest in getting to know him. One day, after finishing his training session, Simon decided to take their interactions a step further.

He leaned up against the ropes of the ring, that stupid smile plastered on his face. “Hey, Soap,” he called out, beckoning him towards the mats with a toss of his head. 

Soap blinked in surprise. “Me? In the ring?” He asked, his voice wavering slightly with a mix of excitement and nervousness. 

Simon just grinned and nodded his head back at him. “Yeah, why not? Just some light sparring. It will be fun.”

Soap hesitated, but the prospect of getting into the ring with his crush was too enticing to resist. To be that up close and personal with the man. He slowly shook his head and made his way to the ring. Rolling under the ropes and hopping up to face Simon who had that beaming smile aimed at him. It took everything in him not to melt right through the mat. 

“If I pin you, you tell me your real name. Deal?”

“Yeah cause that’s bloody fair coming from the professional fighter,” Soap scoffed back.

“Ah, don’t sell yourself short Soap, you seem like you know your way around the ring” Simon embellished with a wink. Cheeky bastard.

Soap watched countless sparring sessions, but had never imagined himself as one of the participants. To his surprise, he held his own quite well, showcasing a natural talent for the sport. Maybe spending years in the gym watching fighters had taught him more than he realized. Simon seemed impressed by his movements and techniques. His usual playful demeanor was giving way to genuine respect, even though he was going easy on the artist. They exchanged blows, both men sweating and grinning as they moved around the ring. 

As they sparred, Soap couldn’t help but stare at the man's body before him. The taught muscles shifting under his tight black athletic wear. Yeah, this was a bad idea. He glanced up at Simon's face, noticing the mischievous glint in Simon’s eye. Fuck. He definitely had been caught ogling the man's body. 

Suddenly, without warning, Simon hooked his left leg around Soap's ankle, sending him sprawling to the mat. Before he could even register what happened, Simon was on top of him and pushing down all his weight. He was trapped. 

Soap struggled beneath Simon’s crushing bulk, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You… you did that on purpose. I was distracted,” he accused, though he couldn’t hide the hint of a smile on his face. 

Simon laughed above him, his eyes locking onto Soap’s with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine. “Maybe I did,” he admitted, leaning in closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “But I have to say, I like seeing you blush.”

Soap’s heart raced as he realized the proximity between them. Simon leaned in, his lips hovering just above Soap’s, leaving no room to wonder about his intentions. When Soap didn’t pull away, Simon closed the gap, capturing Soap's mouth in his. The kiss was electrifying, sending a rush of desire through Soap's body. It was a moment Soap had only ever dreamed of, and he responded eagerly, their lips moving in sync as the world around them faded away. 

When they finally broke apart, Soap's face was flushed, and his breath was unsteady. Simon grinned down at him, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted.

Soap’s voice quivered as he replied, “Me too.”

“I expect a real name to call you now since I won,” he cheekily stated.

“You bloody cheated ya wanker!” Soap shouted at the man. 

“Don’t be a sore loser now mate,” Simon punctuated with a kiss to the man’s nose.

Soap huffed as he finally accepted defeat, the man was impossible. “John. John MacTavish”

Simon beamed at the man beneath him, hands holding Soap’s face like a prized possession as he leaned back in for another kiss. 

“Nice to meet you, Johnny”

Epilogue

As weeks went by, Soap and Simon’s connection deepened. They spent more time together outside the gym, going for coffee and sharing meals. Soap found himself falling hard for the enigmatic fighter, and it seemed that Simon’s interest in him was just as strong. 

One evening, after a particularly intense sparring session that had ended with a playful wrestling match on the gym floor, Soap finally mustered the courage to ask Simon a burning question. “Why do they call you ‘The Ghost’?”

Simon’s expression grew somber, and he sighed. “It’s a nickname I got during my early fighting days. They said I moved like a ghost in the ring, that I was elusive and hard to predict or some shit like that.”

Soap nodded, but he could sense there was more to the story. “Is there a reason you chose to become a fighter?”

Simon hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I had a tough upbringing, Johnny. Fighting was a way for me to escape the fucking shit in my everyday life. What started as a necessity for survival turned into my salvation. It gave me purpose and a sense of control over my life. God, that sounds pathetic doesn’t it,” he scoffed. 

Soap could see the pain in Simon’s eyes. He reached out to place a hand on his arm and scooted towards the man where they were still sitting on the mats. “It’s not pathetic Si, I’m glad you found something that brought you solace,” he said softly. Eyes never leaving the others, making sure he knew he meant every word. 

Simon smiled, his gaze softening. For once in his life, he truly believed Johnny had meant what he said. He was so used to people lying and using him, causing him to always stay distant and closed off. Something about the little artist in the corner had knocked all those barriers down the first time he laid eyes on him. “And I’m glad I found you,” he admitted, leaning in to capture Soap’s lips in a passionate kiss. The man had sketched his way into his heart forever. 

#ghostsoap #ghostxsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #fluff #call of duty modern warfare #artist au #fighter au #my writing

[violettduchess]

Heya Violet! I'm going to request an ikevamp fic for the first time, so how about either of the Day 4 prompts for Leonardo? I'm excited to see what you come up with 👍

A/N: Hi @scorchieart 💜 Thank you for your request! This is for the Different Universe Same Love CCC hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady

This combines scorchie's request with an anon request for Soulmates AU with Leonardo 💜

Leonardo x f reader

WC: 5254

"There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." -Vincent Van Gogh 

“I hate this,” you grumble as you check your phone for the hundredth time. Where the hell is this place? It feels like it's been hours of California coastline rolling past your window. Beautiful, yes. But also so inconvenient. You lean forward towards the front of the town car.

“Abel, how much longer?”

Your driver glances at you in the rear-view mirror, smiling good-naturedly. 

“Another 15 minutes, chérie.”

You flop back into the cushioned leather, sighing. If you had known this would be a part of it, you would not have taken the role. 

Maybe. 

Ok, fine. You probably would have taken it anyway. 

The story of a woman who breaks all tradition to become a famous 19th century painter? You can practically hear Theo’s words in your ear all over again: “You want to be stuck in rom-coms forever or do you want to be taken seriously? Make art that matters?” The Dutchman is a tough agent, too direct for most actors’ fragile egos to handle but that’s why you like him. He is always honest with you.

Outside the town car window, the ocean continues to roll by, a blur of slate-gray and white. Picking up your phone for the hundredth time, you type in the name of the artist you’re on your way to see. 

Just like every time you’ve done it before, all you get is his Instagram page which is entirely too sparse and full of only half-finished paintings, close ups of brushes, a few small, charcoal sketches. Nothing about the man himself. 

You swipe Instagram away and tap on Spotify, closing your eyes and allowing a podcast about the Golden Age of Hollywood to help pass the remaining time.

“Love the vibe,” you murmur as you step out of the Mercedes, pushing up your tortoise-shell sunglasses in order to better take in the picturesque brown and white wooden house. It really does seem like something out of a Kinkade painting. It's perched on the edge of a plateau, facing a slope of green hillside that disappears into a smattering of gray rock. The rocks give way to a stretch of dark brown sand which leads you right to the blue-gray beauty of the Pacific Ocean. It's here the warm vibes end though. This beach is nothing like the sandy beaches of Southern California. This is something wilder, something sharper. There is no manicured, processed beach feeling here. This is nature allowing you into her world, the crashing of the waves onto the shore not an invitation but a reminder. You’re here with her permission.

Abel comes around, carrying your luggage and pauses, taking in the house. “It’s lovely,” he murmurs. 

You shoot him a Look. “It’s miles from just about anything. I hope Vlad knows what he’s doing.”

Vlad is the director of the film you are going to star in. The one who said you needed to spend some time with a real-life artist in order to understand the lifestyle, the thought process, the way of viewing the world. And he knew just the person. A friend of a friend, an artist of some small renown, who made money on the side by working as a consultant for various productions. He had invited you to stay with him for a few days, to teach you basic painting and drawing techniques so it would look realistic on film, and to answer any questions you had. Vlad vouched for him, claiming he was a good man, one he would trust his star with. 

You turn to Abel. “Only leave if I give you the sign.”

He smiles indulgently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’ll be fine. But I will wait until I see it.”

Steeling yourself, you gather your bags and make your way down the short driveway and up the dark wooden steps. There’s no doorbell so you knock loudly.

You aren’t sure what you expected. A man named Leonardo made you think he would be older with flowing white locks and a long wizard-like beard. What you did not expect was the door to be opened by a golden-eyed Adonis with ombre hair and one of the friendliest, most open smiles you’ve ever seen. 

“Benvenuta, cara mia. Welcome.”

That voice. Your heart is doing tiny backflips inside your chest as a horde of butterflies excitedly flutter their wings inside your stomach. It takes you a moment before you figure out the way words work again.

“Thank you.”

Behind your back, you wiggle two fingers at Abel furiously. 

The driver covers his grin with the back of his hand, nodding once to Leonardo in greeting before sliding back into the vehicle. He watches through the car window as Leo takes your bags and you follow him inside, the white wooden door closing behind you.

“Good luck, chérie,” he chuckles softly. Somehow, he is certain you will be just fine.

You are utterly charmed. The main house is small, and the guest house just behind it even smaller, but they are both unique, beautiful in their own ways. Everything is simple, clean. Wide windows keep the ocean in view at all times. In every room there is something to look at. A miniature painting of sunset over the water on the living room table. An antique nautical map hanging on the wall of the dining room. An oversized forest green couch that looks like it's just waiting for you to snuggle into it.

Leonardo has just brought your bags to the guest house, a one room structure with a brass bed, rustic homemade dresser, a small desk and a tiny en-suite bathroom.

“I know you are probably used to more luxurious accommodations.”

“No, this is lovely. Really.” You glance down at your phone, considering whether to post a picture to your socials and hear him laugh softly at the expression on your face. The sound settles itself into your bones, warm and welcoming.

“Reception is a bit shoddy out here. You have the best chance when you go to the living room.”

Tucking your phone into the back pocket of your jeans, you flash him a smile. “Thanks for the tip.”

He holds your gaze a moment and you feel like sand, being pulled towards an irresistible ocean. 

“You must be starving. Let’s eat before I show you my studio.”

With a pleasantly full stomach and a glass of red wine in hand, you step inside the studio and gasp. Gone are the clean lines, the simplistic beauty of the rest of the house. Here is a world of color and chaos, paint and pandemonium, art and anarchy. Canvases are everywhere, paint pots and brushes, charcoal and sketchbooks. And while it may look like mayhem, there is a truth about it that stirs something inside you. This is the man behind the easy-going smile. This is his heart and soul made tangible, made material. 

He notices the way you’re looking around, sees the look in your bright eyes and he knows that you see it, the love he has for his craft. You're not some Hollywood actress looking down her nose at a mess. You're one artist taking in another artist’s medium and appreciating it. His heart unexpectedly shifts, sliding closer to some unseen edge. 

“This is…incredible.” You walk slowly through the space, stopping in front of whatever catches your eye. A half-finished sketch of a whale breaching the surface of the water. An anatomically correct drawing of the underside of a starfish. A canvas of yellows and oranges and reds, a practice in blending.

“How come I’ve never seen you post a finished painting on your social media?” You stop when you come to a whole row of them, leaning casually against the back wall of his studio. Crouching down, you inspect a painting of a man from behind, his arms spread out wide towards a turbulent, white-capped ocean, daring it maybe. Or welcoming it.

He shrugs, running his hand through his hair, a tick you’ll come to recognize as something he does when he is uncomfortable.

“I sell a few here and there. Not enough to earn a living but that’s what jobs like this are for, yeah?”

You rise slowly back to full height, taking a sip of the rich wine.

“Have you ever showcased your work?”

He scoffs as he lifts a paint-stained rag from one corner of his supply table and toys with it before tossing it right back.

“To what end? I paint for me. That is enough.”

That sounds like someone who is too scared to try. But you keep the words locked in your mind, aware enough to know that might be reaching a bit too deeply into his psyche for comfort.

“So….when do we begin?”

He smiles slowly and it burns through your body, warming you more than the alcohol.

“Tomorrow. Sunrise.”

All those hours you could still be sleeping. Instead of being warm and snug in your very cozy guesthouse, you are shivering on a beach, sitting on a blanket next to Leonardo as he flips open the sketchbook in front of you. He’s in an oversized brown knit sweater and jeans, looking like a model for some outdoor clothing company whereas you, trying to pull your fitted sweater down over your exposed lower back, look like some Hollywood wanna-be who wasn’t prepared for the cold California morning.

He places several small gray pebbles in front of you on the blanket.

“Sketch these.”

You tilt your head. “They’re rocks.”

“There is challenge in even the simplest of forms. Please try.”

You’re skeptical as you yank down once more on your sweater, sitting cross-legged and staring down at the pebbles. It can’t be that hard. Picking up the pencil, you begin trying to capture their form. 

It proves to be much harder than it looks. 

Your brow furrows as you look from your sketch, which is doing a fantastic job of being horrible, to the smooth stones in front of you.

“You must relax,” he murmurs as he scoots closer. “You’re gripping that poor pencil like you wish to strangle it.” He reaches over, covering your hand with his. You’re immediately hit with the faint smell of tobacco. Does he smoke? And something else….something earthy and rich and entirely too appealing for this early in the morning. His fingers, graceful and strong, carefully manipulate yours, sliding over your skin and leaving small ripples of heat in their wake. He touches your wrist, over the place where your heart is beating so quickly, tilting it just so. 

He holds you there, moving your hand like a puppeteer might the wooden cross of marionette. You watch as the pebbles slowly come to life, flowing from the tip of your pencil.

“Let go,” his voice, gentle as the morning breeze, deep as the sea, whispers in your ear. “You must let go and allow the pencil to do its job.”

Slowly he removes his hand and the sudden lack of contact spurs a tiny whimper from your throat. Luckily, he mistakes it for dismay at his lack of coaching and chuckles.

“You continue on your own, cara mia.”

You’ve been called many things: The Girl Next Door, America’s Sweetheart but somehow, that nickname rolling so casually off his tongue suddenly means more than any of that. You’re smiling despite the cold, despite the wind, despite your stupid, impractical sweater.

Inhaling, you try again, the pencil less a tool in your hand as an extension of it. And while your pebbles don’t look amazing, they do look much closer to what you are trying to accomplish. 

“Well done,” he says, looking over your shoulder. “You're a quick learner.”

You smile at him, his words washing over you, warm as sunshine.

“Can I try something else? Maybe try the sand and the ocean?”

He nods, reaching for the hem of his sweater. The next thing you know he’s removed it and wrapped it around your shoulders, leaving you surrounded by soft wool that smells like Leonardo. Your heart stumbles.

“Si. Let’s try.”

My life has never been this disconnected from work and yet, so full, you think as you wrap the beige blanket tighter around your body, watching Leonardo paint. You’re sitting outside on the large porch, the breathtaking view of the sand dunes, the boulders, the sand and the endless sea stretched out before you like a slice of paradise.

You’ve been here almost a week and the world has changed. The bright lights of Hollywood seem so far away. Now you’re concerned with daylight and sunrises, the way light falls across an object or a person, how to capture its essence with charcoal and acrylics, watercolor and wax. You haven't even touched your phone other than to reassure Theo you are fine, doing well and learning a lot, soaking in the experience of being an artist so that you can find it again when the cameras are on you. You’ve abandoned your socials, only leaving a message saying something about the life of an actor and secret prep work that you can’t talk about. It’s technically not a lie.

You watch as Leonardo dips his brush into a red that looks far too bright and finds a way to make it exactly the right shade of sunset, adding an element to his painted sky that you didn’t even know was missing until he put it there. He’s relaxed, his body loose, movements like flowing water as he almost lovingly drags the brush along the canvas. He showed you how, a few mornings ago. You’ve been haunted ever since by the feel of his larger body behind you, the way he reached around, gently taking hold of your wrist, and showed you how to hold yourself, teaching your body the dance of a painter. He is patient, always answering any question of yours the best he can. And so intelligent. The other night you curled up on his overstuffed green couch to look through several of his notebooks, filled with sketches and half-finished designs for contraptions that looked more sci-fi than present day. One entire page was devoted entirely to drawing various animal wings. The next was an excruciatingly detailed drawing of his own hand.

He talks about art the way you talk about acting: a way to conduct emotion, to spark a connection between people. You feel like he understands when you explain how acting is a form of devotion to humanity, an expression of love. Most people roll their eyes when an actor begins talking about their craft. His smile tells you all you need to know about how well he truly does understand. 

He shakes you from your reverie when he joins you on the bench, wiping his hands on a towel and reaching for his glass of wine.

“And? What do you think?”

You tilt your head, pretending to study the easel with its beautiful interpretation of the actual sunset that is happening behind it. He has not replicated it exactly, but captured the symphony of colors, the dramatic brass of the oranges and romantic woodwinds of the pinks, the clouds with their warmly colored underbellies and of course, the ever present sea, gilded in gold.

“It’s beautiful, Leo.” 

“You like it, which means I’m pleased.” He takes another sip. “Consider it a gift, yeah?. It is, after all, our last weekend together.”

Those words carve themself into the moment, slicing away the peace you’ve been feeling. Dismay bleeds from your heart. You were going to have to face it, the fact that your time with him, magical as it has been, is coming to an end. But you had hoped, irrationally, that maybe if no one said it, you could just stay here, in this beautiful house with this beautiful man as long as you wanted.

Your face, the tool of your trade that you can usually control so well, betrays your thoughts.

“Cara mia.” He reaches out, his fingers curling inwards for a moment, hesitant. The man who never has a problem touching you when correcting your hand or positioning your arm now needs a moment of courage. Because this isn’t a teaching moment. Maybe none of them ever really were. He only knows that from the second he opened the front door and you were there, with your smile like sunshine and eyes bright with intelligence and excitement, he felt drawn to you like he's never been toward anyone before.

You turn your face into his touch, reaching up to cup your hand over his. You press a kiss into his palm. The lull of the waves is drowned out by the roaring of your heartbeat. And then he leans towards you, taking your face in his beautiful hands, and he kisses you. 

Your heart cracks open and oceans of desire and want and something else, something nameless underneath those wild waves of emotion flood you. He feels so good. This feels so right.

You kiss with the exhilaration of new lovers, wildly and without a care for anything else in the world. The sunset and her majestic colors be damned. There is nothing as beautiful as the wildfire of gold in his eyes, the melody of his breathing. You’re on his lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, pressed as closely as you can be and it isn’t enough. He slides his hands under your blouse, pressing the palms of his hands to your bare back. It isn’t enough.

You manage to tear your mouth away from him long enough to get out one word: “Inside.”

He stands up and you wrap your legs around him, his strong arms supporting your weight as he carries you inside the wooden house on the plateau, impatiently stealing every kiss he can before laying you down on the oversized green couch, covering your body with his. He softly growls your name in a way that sends fire cascading through your veins.

The sky outside darkens as the last rays of sunset disappear. Her show is over. You both belong now to the night.

Heart, say good-bye because you are no longer mine. You lay on your side, facing the open window of Leonardo’s bedroom. The ocean breeze, cool with night’s kiss, waves the pale curtains and skims over your skin, raising goosebumps along your bare arm and shoulder. 

You close your eyes, reveling in the heavy feeling of your body, tempest-tossed and satisfied, peppered with the light marks of your lovemaking. You're a goner. You’ve fallen overboard, heading further and further down into the churning depths of your feelings for Leonardo. And you’re not sinking. Not at all. You’re kicking your legs and diving, excited to explore the deep and all its mysteries.

He stirs in his sleep and you roll back to face him, watching as he slowly surfaces from whatever dream he was lost in. His warm eyes, framed by such dark lashes, flutter open. When he sees you, laying on your side, facing him, he smiles slowly and reaches out a hand.

“Come here, cara mia.”

The thought of resisting doesn’t even cross your mind. You slide over into his arms, marveling at the feel of his body against yours, strong muscles, long legs. He presses a kiss to your temple, then nuzzles your neck affectionately.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You smile, tipping your head up to meet his gaze. Now may not be the right time to tell him everything you’re thinking. You don’t want to scare him away.

“No thoughts. Just....” You slide your hand over his chest, over the lean muscles of his abdomen, and then lower. His golden eyes flare bright with immediate hunger. His lips part as he exhales.

With a groan he pulls you to him and you close your eyes, letting his greedy mouth and wandering hands take you away.

This is only the beginning after all. You have plenty of time to figure out what's next. 

A Year Later

“Now that’s just one review! The rest are all like it!”

You listen to Theo’s exuberant voice as he names all the various publications that are writing rave reviews about the film. Funny, everything you thought you ever wanted is coming true. You made a movie that is earning positive reviews across the board, with your performance hailed as a stand out, a tour de force unlike anything you’ve ever done. There’s already talk about awards and other dramatic parts and are you interested in endorsements?

And yet, you’re miserable.

Leaning back into the plush seat of the town car, you stop Theo’s voice message and tap on Instagram and, like a lemming drawn to a cliff, go to his page.

All comments are turned off and there is only one picture posted: a short message thanking people for their interest but he is on hiatus.

The post is six months old.

How did it all go so wrong? You had been so happy.

Your eyes fall closed and memories play themselves out in front of you, like a flickering movie reel from yesteryear.

You and Leonardo on his porch, cuddled together under a blanket as you watch the sunrise. He can’t stop touching you and you him.

Driving with him back to Southern California, his eyes widening when you pull into the driveway of your home, modest by Hollywood standards, a palace compared to his small wooden dwelling.

Your pool. Cold water. Hot mouths. His hand pressed against your lips, stifling your sounds even as he continues moving.

The paparazzi finding you after a few days of blissful privacy, snapping a shot of you two leaving Starbucks, his hand casually resting on your hip, thumb stroking the stripe of bare skin between your jeans and the hem of your shirt.

Your names splashed across gossip sites and social media. He gains thousands of followers in a matter of hours, people hoping he’ll post an image of the two of you together. An older picture of him from several years ago at an art gallery opening in SoHo is all they have and it is everywhere. And it is not enough. They want more.

They follow you home. They follow you to work. They follow you when you go out to eat. They follow you to appointments, to meetings, across town and back. They yell your name, they ask about him. They are relentless.

And then they start to follow him. To your home. To the restaurant where you’re meeting. To his home. They wait by the wooden house on the plateau, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and him. They yell your name, they ask about rumors, they demand to know when the wedding is.

They swarm you both like locusts blocking out the sun, sucking up all your air.

And then his paintings begin to sell. Never has there been such a demand. He can’t keep up. And he isn’t happy.

Because he says he did nothing to deserve it aside from being with you. No one cared before. He has not earned this success. It’s the side-effect of loving you. Side-effect, you repeat one night, staring at him across your marble kitchen island, that makes it sound like loving me is some kind of disease.

He cures himself by leaving. You wake up one morning and all his things are gone. He is a ghost who has vanished back into the nether of sea-spray and morning fog from whence he came.

All he leaves you with is a note, the paper torn from one of his notepads, in his messy, slanted writing: “I’m sorry.”

A note, and all the splinters of your broken heart.

And now you’re almost at your destination. The tiny bed-and-breakfast tucked away in a remote corner of the California coast. Your refuge from the rest of the world. The place you come to heal.

You’ve been here a few times since he left. The owners, Wolf and Jean, are like family. They took care of you before you became successful, when you were a starving artist looking for your big break, and have continued to do so even now, when you could easily stay at any five-star hotel across the globe but always come back here, to warmth and comfort.

The first time you came here after he left, they filled your room with macaroons, your favorite dessert. They must have heard the news from some entertainment program or maybe some celebrity news ticker. You could have killed the Starbucks barista who spoke to the press, saying how you suddenly were coming alone to pick up your coffee and how pale you were, your eyes red from crying.

Another time they subtly laid a newspaper on your bed. At first you weren’t sure why but then you saw the tiny article about Leonardo having a small but successful showing in Denmark, worlds away from the bright lights of Hollywood. Like a 1950’s schoolgirl, you had cut out the small black and white picture of him and folded it, hiding it in your wallet. Doing so felt both pathetic and comforting at the same time.

Another winding road, dipping between tree and rocky coast and then one final turn. The familiar blue and white building comes into sight and you can feel yourself breathing easier already.  The car slows to a stop and a moment later, Abel opens the door for you.

“We’re here, chérie.” His champagne-colored eyes have a twinkle to them which leaves you wondering if he knows something you don't.

Forever ago, this place used to scare you with its pointed roof and close proximity to the edge of a very steep cliff. But it’s become your home away from home and you’re soothed by the sight of it.

“I’ll just get my—” Your weekend bag is already on the ground next to you and the town car is halfway down the drive. You frown slightly before hoisting up your bag. Well, he was sure in a hurry.

You bound up the familiar steps, opening the friendly blue door and step into the foyer.

“Jean? Wolf?”

Odd, they would normally be here to meet you, food and drink in hand.

You glance around, taking out your phone to make sure that you had sent them the correct date and time when you spot something hanging on the wall. Your fingers go numb and your phone falls, landing with a harmless thud on the thick carpeting.

Hanging on the wall is a new painting. It’s a woman, sitting on a beach at sunrise, wrapped up in an oversized, cozy brown sweater. Her head is tipped back, eyes closed, a serene expression on her face. It’s soft and romantic. Not a brushstroke wasted nor a color excessive. 

The sea is a deep gray-blue. 

The sky is a garden of pinks and lavenders and orange. 

The woman is you.

You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out. 

How....

“Cara mia.”

Like an apparition he is suddenly standing there, in the doorway. Not some memory or picture or dream, but Leonardo, flesh and blood, right there in the same room as you. The sight of him hits you like the full force of a typhoon, draining all the color from your face and sending you back a step.

As you recover from your shock, you notice now how nervous he is. His hands, normally so strong and steady, whether creating art or touching you, are shaking. He has dark circles under his golden eyes, shadows of what has been haunting him.

“Leonardo.” His name is twisted upon itself, hollow and aching when it passes your lips. 

“May I speak? I have something to say to you. Please."

You nod, your breath held prisoner in your lungs, your wounded heart limps in circles in your chest, aching at the sight of him.

He draws a deep breath.

“I was a fool. I pushed you away because I was afraid. Your world is so much bigger than mine and instead of joining you, proud to be by your side, learning how to navigate new waters, I ran.” He pushes a hand through his hair, an inhale needed to steady his nerves. “That was wrong. I hurt you. I’m so sorry, cara mia. So deeply sorry for how stupid I was. I…I regretted it immediately but it was too late...Dio, sono un idiota.” 

He shakes his head, defeated. The failure of words in the face of what he did is stark and he finds himself unable to go on. Nothing can begin to explain the festering regret he's lived with from the moment he walked out your door. He isn't good enough with words to explain how the minute he was heading away from you all he wanted to do was to turn back. How without you the world was drained of its vivacity, its color. He trapped himself in a gray existence of his own making and now his escape lies solely in your hands.

You breathe in and out, taking a moment before you respond.

"You did hurt me. Badly. But…." You take a second, searching for the right words. "I could have helped prepare you for what it means to be with someone like me. It was so much to ask of you to just be ok with your life suddenly being turned upside down. For that, I'm sorry."

Silence grows between you, thick as brambles and just as thorny.  Neither of you can meet the other's gaze. It hurts, every second that ticks by without a word. Neither of you knows what to say, neither wants to leave. It is Leonardo who finally clears his throat, a throat where so many words are bottlenecking in their fury to get out.

"I'll leave you in peace then." 

The words are clipped, his accent thick as emotion chokes him. The final, tenuous connection between you is close to crumbling. He's about to turn away when one word shoots straight from your heart like a rocket.

"Wait!!"

He freezes, his sunrise gaze locking with yours. Dare he have hope…..

The minute you start towards him he rushes to meet you.

And then you're in his arms and your cheeks are wet and he's holding you so tightly your ribs feel crushed but it doesn't matter because he's turning and turning, the world is spinning, your heart is rising light as a feather, and then your feet touch the ground again and he's showering your face with kisses, painting you in his love, holding the back of your head, whispering your name breathlessly over and over and over, a song, a declaration, a prayer.

You hold on to his neck, your laughter as bright as sunlight across the waves, returning his kisses with ones of your own, all over his beautiful face, kisses pulsing with hope, with desire, with promise.

He leans back, lowering his mouth to your ear and whispers. His words engrave themselves onto your heart and you pull away to answer him the only way you can answer something like that: with a kiss deep as the sea, tender as the night.

You've found each other again. And you'll never again be parted.

(What did he whisper? This fic is acrostic so check out the first bold word of every section) 💜

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight

#ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen leonardo #leonardo da vinci #celebrity au #hollywood au #soulmate au #artist au #different universe same love ccc #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #otome fanfic #violettwrites

[pollenallergie]

artist!billy knight who almost always ends up recreating your image in his art, sometimes intentionally, other times unintentionally.

billy sits down to paint a landscape painting for a commission, and he thinks to himself, “hmm, i think maybe if i put someone sat at an iron garden table drinking tea somewhere over here, then that would really complete this piece.” so, he adds the person in, thinking up different features for them at random as he goes along, all the while thinking, “yes, yes! that’s much better.” until, finally, he realizes, “shit, that’s my partner. for fuck’s sake, i promised i’d stop putting my partner in my clients’ commissions. well, they’re already there and looking stunning, as always, so it’d really be a waste to just paint over them… might as well just leave them there and hope it doesn’t become an issue with the client.”

#you’re his muse… but not in a ‘destined to crash and burn’ type of way #more so in a sweet wholesome healthy realistic type of way #it’s a healthy sort of obsession… a fascination if you will #a profound admiration #he just loves you so much that he can’t help it!!! #artist!billy knight #artist!billy knight x reader #artist au #billy knight x reader #billy knight #billy knight strike #billy knight thoughts #billy knight hcs #billy knight headcanons #billy knight hc #billy knight headcanon #joseph quinn characters #joseph quinn x reader #billy knight x you

[lilyofthevalleyys]

out of curiosity (i totally don’t need this for my fic or anything haha), what would Barty wear to an art exhibition (perhaps to impress Evan)?

#marauders era #dead gay wizards #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #rosekiller #evan x barty #barty x evan #artist barty #artist au

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Of Fire and Falcons

Since they met at a Florida Renaissance faire a year and a half ago, fire spinner Crowley and falconer Aziraphale have been a great deal more than friends, but they've never quite admitted what they really feel about each other. Now Crowley has fallen in love, and he has five weeks at the Catskill Mountains Renaissance Faire during the most romantic season of the year to convince Aziraphale to see the light. A Good Omens Human AU set on the American Renaissance faire circuit.

Length: 54,201 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: After Dark, Romance, Human AU, Pick-me-up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by CemeteryAngel725

*Minor Spoilers* God, I know this is a particularly adaptable pairing but how does every AU just work with them? This setting is so far removed from canon and yet unmistakably them. Except hornier, much more horny. Like complete sluts they are in this.

So in this AU Crowley and Aziraphale are both Renaissance Faire performers. Ren Faires aren't exactly my thing, but when I was a senior in high school they filmed a (awful) movie at the Ren Faire near us and we spent weeks there as extras, during public hours and after. It was such a neat experience going slightly behind scenes (also because we got to meet Matthew Lillard and Christina Ricci). So I have a normie soft spot for them. This perfectly captured the atmosphere. Even down to the rainy days! The camaraderie and community was wonderful. It's not just a flimsy backdrop for the AU, it's a full fleshed out and lived in world. I don't want to spoil the ending, but something brings the entire group together and it was a wonderful scene. I love the Faire family they have made.

More than that, Aziraphale being a falconer and Crowley being a fire performer was thrilling and unique. They are both so competent at what they do and each have such an awe of each other's skills. Which just makes them even more horny for each other. Truly this is the one time where going to a haunted house as foreplay makes sense for them. I'm like, yep, that tracks. They have a wonderful relationship here, with real life problems. This story doesn't make up villains to create a Heaven/Hell type of separation for them, it's just normal life that keeps them apart. Eventually they will become each other's anchor and home. A safe place to land. Also thank you for giving them tattoos!!! I adore them tattooed

Lots of fun and lightly kinky sex here, so not one to read out and about. It's such a fun, lighthearted romance. The setting is such a wonder to explore. And now I'm craving a bread bowl....

Read it here, fic by CemeteryAngel725

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #Of Fire and Falcons #CemeteryAngel725 #after dark #romance #pick me up #five flames #wedding #human au #performer au #artist au

[ghostcathedrals]

supportive bf gojo satoru who always shows his admiration for your artworks. gojo satoru who literally gets all of his colleagues and students to go to your art exhibitions or merchandise selling and then eventually they become your regulars since they love your art

and then he spoils you by buying you supplies, getting you a new stylus whenever it breaks, dedicates an entire room in your house as a studio, volunteers to be your body reference (yes he does the poses too) hell yeah!

he also gives you back and hand massages

he likes how rough your palms are (fingers in mouth advocate) especially when your hand touches certain parts of his body (his abs, his cheeks, his chest⎯ ok fine everywhere)

he loves putting your art everywhere near him so that even if you're both away and busy, he still sees you and feels you in them. so yes his planners have stickers on them; your framed artworks aesthetically designed on the walls of his workspace; the postcards he sends to people are still your artworks.

his prized possession is an artwork of you two together on the grass, bodies facing opposite directions, and your heads right next to each other

hell yeah

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #artist au #i know that bitch likes spoiling

[typically-untypical]

The Model

AU: College, Artists

CW: Non descriptive nudity

WC: 1,550

Date: 12/12/2023

Honestly, when Roman signed up to be a nude model, he assumed it was going to be an ego boost, people staring at his form, drawing his superior figure. He didn't expect it to be surprisingly grounding. The artists didn't look at a whole person. He was just a thing to be drawn. After one of the sessions he had actually asked about their technique and they explained what they saw. Instead of seeing him as a full person he was a set of muscles. He was a shadow in the light. He was more of himself, and less. Roman went from thinking he was going to be their new star to realizing most of them didn't even see him as a human, at least not when his clothes were off and it was sobering and interesting. However, that moment came with another. Each artist saw him differently and thus, he started looking at the artists. Each of them had their own quirks, their own stories and there was an intertwined story that caught his attention. 

Two times a week, for about an hour each, Roman would let his eyes linger on the two artists in the back. He focused on their dynamic on the way the both weakened and strengthened each other. He had yet to learn either of their names, all he knew was one of them had purple fringe that he pinned up when he drew, and the other had beautifully long blonde hair that he meticulously tied back with two non art pencils. Roman had taken to calling them purple and blonde.

Purple was intense when he sketched, brow furrowed and lip held tightly between his lips. He second guessed every line and movement. Blonde didn't help that anxiety. Blonde liked to tease Purple, pointing out his mistakes and flaws until Purple eventually snapped at him and jabbed him with a pencil. That normally caused the lead to break, which would cause Purple to swear and Blonde would provide a new pencil that Purple would begrudgingly take. Their hands lingered for a moment too long and it made Roman's mind wander. 

When Blonde sketched, he looked confident in every stroke of his pencil, every movement of his hand but their personalities seemed to swap when it came time to paint. Once brushes were on canvas, Purple would take in a deep breath and there would suddenly be an intense clarity in his eyes. He didn't second guess colors, strokes, or anything of that nature. Honestly, Purple almost looked serene when he was painting. Blonde, however, shook with nervousness, hiding behind a facade of confidence that Roman had started decoding the longer he stared at the two of them. Blonde had faith in his ability to draw but not to paint. Purple wanted his drawings to be perfect, but painting was his escape.

Roman was remiss to admit that his heart started to flutter for the both of them. He had always been a romantic, and watching two people, so desperately involved and in love with their craft, it was intoxicating. There was one major problem.

He was fairly sure Purple and Blonde were dating. If he had only ever seen them in the art class, he wouldn't have guessed. He would have honestly assumed there was a pining but neither had made the first move. However, he had seen them around campus a few times at this point and they were almost always joined at the hip. Still, Roman hoped that one, if not both, were interested. He just hadn't expected to get his answer in the library. Roman had seen the two of them making out in the stacks of books, hidden by the pages rarely checked out at the beginning of the semester. He wasn't even supposed to be there that day, but he had been looking for his brother and there was Blonde, using one of the library step stools to be the same height as Purple, pinning him to the bookshelf kissing him like it was the last thing the two of them would ever do together. Roman gawked, eyes stuck on them for a few moments. He was frozen in place, mouth open as he watched something he knew wasn't for him. He couldn't look away, until purple's eyes were on him. It was like lightening hitting him. Roman turned and walked out of the library, feet speeding him away from the crowded courtyard and the busy hallways. He weaved and maneuvered, working on autopilot until he stood in front of the locked theater. They had finished the fall play a few weeks before he started modeling, it had just been something to give him a bit cash and something fun in between plays. Why did he... how did he fall in love? He didn't know them. Sure he had seen their personalities through their work but he didn't know them. Obviously he didn't because he didn't know they were dating.

"Fuck, I'm so stupid," He said, putting his head in his hands as he slid down the door, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Well it's a good thing I like them dumb." There was a smooth voice that spoke over Roman, two shined black shoes standing in front of him and Roman was ready to turn his embarrassment into anger when his mouth snapped shut. Blonde was standing in front of him, that insufferable smirk on his face. It was the same one he would show purple before handing him a new pencil. Roman wasn't going to be a homewrecker.

"And why is that a good thing? I don't think I ever said anything about liking you."

"Feisty," Blonde smirked. "You're right, I am just making assumptions based on the way you were looking at Virgil and I but I could be wrong." He held out his hand for Roman. "Tell me, am I wrong?"

No, he wasn't wrong but that didn't mean this man had to know that. Roman was about to open his mouth, already standing up and disregarding Blonde's hand when Purple came walking down the hall, no, not Purple, Virgil.

"Jay, why the fuck do you walk so fast?" He was out of breath. "Hey, sorry about him... about that." He was blushing just a bit. It was so minimal Roman could have excused it as the weather, or as Virgil over exerting himself, but maybe Roman was hoping, just a bit, that Virgil was blushing for him.

"You're the model in our class, right?"

"Yes, that was me, and it's quite alright, about um... I shouldn't have been looking. It wasn't very gentlemanly of me."

"Oh, you are the model," Janus said, "I almost didn't recognize you with all of your clothes on."

"Janus," Virgil admonished. "He's just being an asshole. Sorry about him, again."

Roman nodded, unsure of where to go from here, but he was still sitting on the floor so he figured he'd at least stand. Taking Jay's hand he pulled himself up. There was a bit of an awkward silence between the three of them and Roman hated silence. "Not to change the subject but what are the two of you doing here? If you would like to tell me off I'm happy to apologize but otherwise, I am a bit confused."

The two of them looked at each other having a conversation without words before they turned back to Roman. 

"Honestly," Janus started, "I enjoy a good voyeur, and you were so polite. Virgil on the other hand wanted to make sure you didn't get the wrong idea. We are polyamorous after all."

"Yeah, we aren't mad or anything. It was a bit embarrassing but... you're good looking, and we're open. So... damn it, I wasn't going to say anything until the last day of class." He was blushing up a storm now and Roman felt his heart jump. "Look, we don't know anything about each other, but do you want to get coffee or something? Like, with me, or with both of us, or even just with Janus. Whatever you're interested in. Cuz, I don't know, it might be cool to get to know you or something like that."

"Yes," Roman said, realizing he was still holding Janus' hand and quickly pulling it away. "Yes, I would enjoy having coffee with the both of you, and like a gentleman, I would be happy to pay."

"Nah, I asked. I'll pay. You can pay for dinner," Virgil's voice was a bit more confident now and Roman smiled, bowing the best he could. 

"I would be happy to take the both of you out to dinner to get to know you better."

"Good," Janus said, grabbing Roman's hand and slipping a pen out of his back pocket. "Text us with the details."

He wrote his name with the flourish of a heart and Roman felt his own heart skip another beat.

"Come on, Cassanova," Virgil rolled his eyes, grabbing Janus and pulling him away. "See you later." He waved to Roman and Roman waved back before looking down at his hand. 

A date. He had a date with both of them!

A smile spread along his face. Becoming a nude model was the best choice he had made in a while.

@tsspromptmonth

#TSS Rare Gifts Event 2023 #Untypical Creations #Sanders Sides #Sanders Side fic #Fanfic #Virgil Sanders #Janus Sanders #Roman Sanders #Artist AU #college au #Do I know anything about nude modeling? No. #Was that going to stop me? Also No.

[snow-143]

Water Coloured Tears | Jeon Jungkook

one- pilot (1.7k words)

Jeon Jungkook. The man that everybody wants, the man that knows this and loves the attention. On campus everybody knows him as Kook. However, I know him as Kookie, or I suppose my Kookie if were being critical. 

He's never told anyone this and neither have I. A well kept secret that only we know here. Of course when I go back home for holidays everybody asks about him, how he's getting on and if were still close. 

The truth is we haven't spoke since the last day of high school, but I keep up the act, answering their prying questions with a soft smile on my face. He's doing good, I usually answer. I'm not lying, from what I can tell he is doing good, amazing even if you look at it from the college dream perspective. 

No one ever asks how I'm doing, they're just curious about the towns golden boy who disappeared the second school was out. Never returning during any breaks from college life. He simply just up and left. Not even savings a second to say goodbye to anyone, except for me. 

I cant tell if this was worse or better, it kind of gave me a false sense of hope, he said goodbye to me and no one else, surely that means something. It didn't. 

In a way I'm kind of glad that they're only curious about him, you see when they ask how he is I don't have to lie, it may not be a full truth but its not a lie. If they asked how I am though, the smile would be far too forced, a toothy one that I am all too conscious of. 

The first time I was returning home I had over thought my replies far too much, only to realise no one cared anyway. I was always Jeons best friend, the hopeless girl who would follow him around with hearts in her eyes, much like a lost puppy. Never my own person, never anyone to be concerned about. Even my mother loved Jeon more. He was the son she never had. The golden child she had always wanted. 

I suspect that she knows I don't talk to him anymore, the depression I fell into after he left was far too telling. Yet she still asks about him, still insists on me taking extra food back to college with me in case he isn't eating properly. She always packs all of his favourite foods, never mine. Never anything I ask for. 

It was a shock to  me when I realised he went to the same school as me. I was overjoyed. Thinking that it must have been fate, destiny had brought us back together. 

That hope died along with my lingering feelings for him when we bumped into each other and he acted like I didn't exist. Just some random girl on campus who couldn't watch where she was going. 

I still remember the pain in my chest when he scowled at me, I could distantly hear some girls snickering at my audacity to bump into 'the Jeon Jungkook'. But it was all muted out by the sound of his heavy footsteps walking away from me. Walking right into the arms of the prettiest girl I have ever seen. 

Her name is Jennie. I've come to learn that she's not only gorgeous but also smart and the sweetest person you'll ever meet. She's honestly perfect. God. I'd date her if I could. But she's only got eyes for Jungkook. 

If I'm being honest, and get over the childish resentment I have towards the idea they'd be the perfect couple. The thing with Jungkook is that he never dates. Not even someone like Jennie. 

He's completely open about this, letting every girl he starts something with know that it wont go any further than a friends with benefits situation, they always think they'll be the one to change him though. 

He cant really be blamed when they get their hearts broken, he was upfront from the beginning, they just refused to listen. I wouldn't say they can be to blame either though, everybody I've ever known has loved Jungkook, its almost impossible not to. I suppose I know this better than anyone. A living and breathing example that you cant be close to him without falling for him. 

But now here I am, resenting everything to do with him. I wasn't upset at him for leaving, I understood that, but everyday of summer that I didn't hear from him buried me deeper into my hurt and anger.

He still had a phone, it didn't have to be the end of our friendship. Seeing him again just cemented this. He was so cold to me, I suppose I get it. He has a new life now, new friends. I guess I'm so hurt because he was all I had and it turns out I was nothing to him. 

I had learned to be content with this. Keeping everything and everyone that has anything to do with him far, far away from me. It was a difficult task but a one I felt I had to do for my own sanity. Yet it was all in vain. All the friends I could've had, all the parties I could've attended, all lost for nothing. 

Because now here I'm sat in my stupid art class next to no one other than Jeon Jungkook. How cliché, being paired up with you childhood best friend who you were madly in love with. 

We've been assigned to take candid picture of our partners and make 5 pieces out of them. all with different emotions in mind and all in different mediums. We've been allowed free rein on this project. However, we will be deducted points if our professor doesn't think our pictures are spontaneous enough or don't show enough emotion. She also is expecting all our pieces to match up with the others, so in total  she wants 10 pieces that represent both of our styles but can also all go together as one project. She's given us all a polaroid camera each, its honestly all so perfect. 

This would usually be my wet dream. I'm allowed to do whatever I like on 5 completely separate projects. But the brooding presence beside me is damping the whole experience for me.  

I'm quite surprised when she tells us this will be our last project of the year, giving us 5 months to complete it. She informs us that it will be 60% of our final grade and she wants us to go big for all 5 of the pieces. 

I can tell other people are stressed by this from all of the muttering around the room but I honestly couldn't think of anything better. 5 months to express myself through my art anyway that I like. I can already feel the ideas rushing to me. 

From an artist perspective I can kind of see me being paired with Jungkook as a blessing. If I have to channel all my emotions into my art I can't think of a better person to do it through. However, as the petty person I am I couldn't be more annoyed. I can tell he's pissed off too, he still has the same habits, I could read his body language with my eyes closed. 

It kind of hurt, I cant lie, I know why I'm upset but is it really so bad for him to be paired up with me? Is he scared I'll ruin the pretty little reputation he's maintained here. It's honestly baffling how much one person can change. He never care what people thought of us before but now he cant even bare being paired up with me. He used to beg our teachers to put us together at school. 

He finally looks at me, a scowl evident on his face, I don't want to be paired up with you either, dickhead. 'I'll ask if there's anyway we can swap.' 

It's strange, the way my heart hurts at this, much like when he first left, or when he ignored me. It's silly, I didn't want to be paired up with him either. 'whatever.'

I'm already packing my things up to leave the class room when our professor starts talking again. 'Oh and one last thing, under no circumstances are you allowed to switch partners. I want this project to be as authentic as possible, I chose people you aren't friends with on purpose, I want you to learn about each other and to show that in your art. I want it to tell a story.'

It's like she's staring directly at me and Jungkook, 'For fuck sake.' Is all I hear him say before I leave the classroom. 

'Hey, wait up.' Jeon grabs my arm, forcing me to face him. I haven't looked him in the eyes since I first bumped into him. The temptation to walk away from him just like he did to me is immensely strong. 'We should at least exchange numbers for the project.' 

He sounds far to annoyed to my ears and it ticks me off even more. 'You're such a cunt.' Ripping my arm away from him I go to make my exit again. Call me dramatic but this is the first time we've talked since he left and I cant help but be a little bit pissy with him. God, he even deleted my number. 

'What the fuck is that meant to mean.' Oh, he's seething . Good. 

'Are you serious right now?' 

'No.' he deadpans. god this boy infuriates me. 'Of course, I'm serious. What is your problem.'

'You're my problem. You and your stupid better than thou act.' It comes out as a laugh. An angry one. 

'Look, I don't know why you're so mad at me, but you're going to have to get over it if were going to pass this class.' It's a reasonable point ill give him that. But really, he doesn’t know why i’m mad at him? That HAS to be a joke.

Sighing I decide to compromise, 'Just message me on Instagram, or did you delete that too?' It's petty I know, but I had to get it out.

'I'll message you later.' Completely ignoring my childish remark, he begins walking in the opposite direction. Being the one who gets to walk away yet again.

prev | m.list | next

—————

a/n: and it begins 🤭

#books #bts non idol au #bts x reader #fanfic #bts fanfic #bts angst #jeon jungkook #jeongguk #bts jungkook #bts #bangtan #artist au #bts college au #college au #forced proximity #bts smut

[ahlovelightaflame]

Fabulously Floral ~ *Boo Seungkwan*

Summary: You've been selected as the artist of the month for a local art museum. In an effort to make yourself stand out you decide to make a bunch of flower crowns. Now you just need to rope your boyfriend into helping you.

Pairing: Boo Seungkwan X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Drabble

Word Count: 509

Warning: N/A

Masterlist

Taglist: @foxwinter

“You really like flowers, don’t you?” Seungkwan chuckled as he tried to walk through your art studio.

Glancing up at him with confusion, the flower crown perched precariously on your head slid down over your eyes. You frown as you move it out of the way to respond to him. “What do you mean?”

He gestured to the thousands of flowers both real and fake, choking all available space in your studio. “It’s just a guess.”

Giving a sheepish smile, you answered, “Yeah, but you have to admit, they are very pretty, aren’t they?”

Again, Seungkwan laughed as he finally made it to you. “You’re right, they are. So you’re working on a new art project?”

“Sort of.” You beamed and gestured to the completed flower crowns next to you. “I was asked to be the next artist of the month at the local art museum! Isn’t that so exciting?!”

“Yes, it’s fantastic.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. “You’re pretty amazing, my little moonbeam.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his kiss. “Thanks sunshine. I’m pretty excited about this installment. I want it to look like the whole wing of the museum has been transformed into a fairy garden, you know?”

“I think you’ve more than got that covered.”

“Now I’m making flower crowns for everyone who visits.”

Seungkwan’s cheeks puffed out at your plan. “That’s a lot of work, moonbeam. Especially if your installment lasts for a month.”

You nodded. “I know but it sounds like such a cute idea, yeah? People will really know my name then!”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“So do you want to help me?” You asked, already holding out the necessary supplies for him to take.

He shrugged but sat next to you anyway. “Sure. You’re going to need all the help you can get. Just don’t be surprised if they’re not as good as yours.”

“Well, you know what they say: practice makes perfect.”

So the two of you sat together on the floor of your studio as you made flower crowns. Every so often, you had to help him fix a mistake. But he got the hang of it soon enough. When you took a small stretch break, you gasped when you saw the time.

“Seungkwan! We’ve been sitting here for hours!”

“Almost three hours.” He confirms, not looking up from the flower crown he was currently working on.

“We need to get up! Walk around and get our blood flowing!” You urge, grabbing him by the arm to try to pick him up.

“Hang on! I’m almost done!” He whined.

You watched as he finished the crown before smiling brightly at you. He took the one you had still on your head, and placed his on your head instead. You felt your cheeks heat up as he kissed your cheek.

“There. Now you have one I made just for you.”

You grabbed the special one you had set aside, you put it on him and smiled. “And now you have one I made for you as well.”

#Seventeen #Seventeen Fanfiction #Seventeen Drabble #KPop #KPop Fanfiction #KPop Drabble #Carat #Boo Seungkwan #Boo Seungkwan X Reader #Boo Seungkwan Fanfiction #Boo Seungkwan Drabble #Boo Seungkwan Fluff #Seungkwan #Seungkwan X Reader #Seungkwan Fanfiction #Seungkwan Drabble #Seungkwan Fluff #Artist #Artist AU #Drabble #Fluff