#i should’ve used my actual art pencils
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Not sure why I chose the character @monstersandgirls-webtoons has said is their hardest to draw for my first fanart lol, but it seemed like a fun challenge 🥰 This is probably a bit uncanny in my style(?) but I’m still pretty happy with it.
#fanart#monsters and girls#sera#lili#drawing#pencil#i should’ve used my actual art pencils#instead of a mechanical one#but I didn’t feel like getting them out#lol
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demotivated artist!reader x bllk boys
(bachira, kaiser)
tags: gn!reader, kaisers gratuitous stripping of course, bachira being a silly little guy, kaiser being an attention whore
bachira
you sat at your desk, mindlessly watching a youtube video that was supposed to be your background noise as you did your art. instead your sketchbook was left on the fresh blank page as you were completely engrossed in the video.
“aren’t you supposed to be doing something” you snapped out of your focus from the distraction and turned to see bachira cheekily smiling at you with an eyebrow raised and hands on his hips
“ugh fine you caught me,” you said as you turned back to look at your computer and felt bachira wrap his arms around you and his head rest on his shoulder.
“i just… don’t know how to start. i’ve been on an art block for weeks now and it’s starting to wear me down.” you let out a deep sigh as you rambled and tapped your pencil on the desk, “it’s just so hard to find any ideas now”
as bachira listened to your rant, he unwrapped one of his arms from your shoulder and silently reached out for your colored pens and markers with his tongue out in absolute concentration, none of which you noticed.
your ramble got interrupted the second you heard marker scratching on paper. you look down to see bachira doodling on your sketchbook
“bachira?! what the hell are you doing!?” when you said that, he quickly snatched up your sketchbook and a couple of markers and ran out the room giggling, too fast for you to catch up. ‘god why did i date a football player’ you sighed and ran out to find him
you spotted him on the couch, comfortably laying on his stomach as he continued doodling on your stolen sketchbook with your stolen markers. you immediately snatched the book out of his hands.
“i cannot believe you would take my things like that! not only did you take my sketchbook, you also drew in it without my permiss- oh wait…” your scolding trailed off as you took a look at the page he drew. you saw the vibrant squiggles and lines he did along with some star shapes and hearts.
“wow this is actually really pretty,” you said, sitting down right next to him. you took one of your pens that bachira stole from your desk and started to draw on that page, using the art bachira did as a colorful background to bring out the black ink of the figures you drew in front of it. bachira rested his head on your shoulder and watched the entire time.
“hehe looks like i once again saved the day,” bachira laughed as he looked at your ‘collaborated’ work.
you rolled your eyes at his comment. “ok fine i guess you did help with my art block,” you smiled and kissed his cheek, “i appreciate it and i appreciate you”
bachira grinned and wrapped his arms around your waist, “you are so so welcome!”
“is this something you did with your mom every time she couldn’t paint?” “oh yeah constantly” “ah should’ve guessed”
kaiser
you sat at your desk while scrolling through different photos on your laptop, trying to find something to draw since your brain was completely dried out of ideas
“babe~” you sighed as you heard a whiny voice from behind you. uh oh kaiser needs attention. you turned your head to look at him
“what do you need kaiser”
“how much longer are you gonna be in here for? you’ve already been here all day…” it’s only been an hour.
you rolled your eyes as his whining got more desperate and you spoke, “who knows at this point. i’ve been stuck for a while so you might have to wait for the rest of the day.” you glanced at him, knowing that would get to him.
“no darling! you cant stay here all day”
“well if you have any ideas for me, i’ll love to hear them”
he closed your laptop, pushing all your things aside, and sat on your desk right in front of you with his leg crossed over his knee, “how about this… you should just draw me.” he smirked as he looked down at your unimpressed face
you thought about it for a second before nodding, “you know what… that’s not too bad of an idea! i’ll do it.”
“ok great!” he said as he started taking his shirt off.
“kaiser no! i don’t need a nude model so please leave your shirt on!”
“fine…” he groaned, hesitantly removing his hands from his shirt and smoothed it out. he mumbled, “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before anyway”
you playfully rolled your eyes and got your stuff ready. you started drawing him as he did various poses while basking in all your attention. every now and then he would try to convince you that him stripping off his clothes would help more but you kept shooting that idea down. you had to deal with him constantly walking naked around the house already.
once you finished, you showed him the sketches. he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you multiple times, each one on a different spot on your face. “wow you did such a good job! you captured my beauty so well”
he took photos of your sketches while gushing about how good of an artist you are and how blessed he is for having you (and also how blessed you are for having a great and attractive model like him)
the next day while he was out at practice, he showed off your drawings to his teammates, bragging about how beautiful and talented his partner is
a/n: haha hai so like i was planning on only sticking to hcs format for this blog but i really wanted to do like a drabble/hc thingy and i also have very little writing experience so sorry if this sucks ass. hope you enjoyed it!
this was supposed to be a three character post but i struggled to
think of another so if anyone wants a part 2 with diff characters, feel free to request so with the characters you want!
#blue lock#bachira x reader#kaiser x reader#michael kaiser x reader#blue lock x reader#blue lock x gender neutral reader#blue lock x you#★ snail.writes ★#bachira#kaiser#wrote this while watching various reaction videos
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33. you are such a nerd
@khaleesa, thank you for this awesome prompt! It was a lot of fun to write. And thanks to the lovely @pipergirl17 for betaing! I hope to work on the other prompts in my Ask box soon.
~*~
Hoard
Eddie sprawled on his stomach across Chrissy’s white eyelet comforter and peered over the edge of the bed, like the invisible Bilbo peeping at Smaug. All around herself, his girlfriend (someday he would stop italicizing that word in his mind, but today was not that day) had spread a veritable dragon’s hoard of paper, folders, notebooks, flashcards, pencil cases, and pens of all colors on the pink shag carpet.
Sitting cross-legged in her running sweats, framed in a patch of afternoon sunlight, Chrissy looked luminous as she carefully pried open the lid of a box of new pencils as if it were a treasure chest.
“Tell me again,” Eddie said.
He pushed up the long sleeves of his T-shirt and rested his chin on the heels of both hands in what he hoped was a coquettish and distracting manner, his jean-clad legs bent and kicking his socked feet behind him like he was at an honest-to-god Annette Funicello pajama party.
“Why are you doing this, exactly?”
Chrissy gave him the briefest of eye rolls, because she’d already started to explain on their way upstairs…though she’d been interrupted when they’d passed the Cunningham household’s actual dragon, who’d bellowed after them, “Door stays open!” Eddie could almost feel the mistrust billowing like acrid steam from Laura’s sewing room. Well, the old reptile would get used to him sooner or later. Or not.
“Make fun all you want,” Chrissy huffed (oh, she was cute when she was miffed at him, and maybe he shouldn’t rile her up, but he was a dumbass still getting used to having her undivided attention, so sue him if he occasionally resorted to his old habits of poking and prodding and other sorts of ill-advised provocation, and anyway, she didn’t seem to mind). “But it’s the end of spring break.”
With that, Chrissy pinned him with a friendly glare, as if a reminder of the calendar date should’ve made everything crystal clear.
Smirk (and dimples) still firmly in place, she broke the eraser off one of those brand new pencils, an unexpected act of violence that made Eddie’s eyebrows shoot upward. She tossed the nub into the flowery little trash can under her desk. Then she grabbed a fat, pink, arrowhead-shaped cap eraser from a pile of them and twisted it onto the top of the pencil.
“Ah, I see,” said Eddie, not seeing at all.
Chrissy only laughed at his confused expression, so he lay flat on his chest, chin on the bed’s edge, letting his arms dangle so he could fiddle with the felt tip pens scattered on the carpet. He stole a glance at Chrissy and pondered why one eraser might be somehow inherently better than another, so much so that she had to amputate and reattach, like some nerdy bookworm version of Mary Shelley.
“School starts back in a couple of days, right?” Chrissy went on as she attacked the next pencil.
“Uh-huh.”
Eddie shoved aside her big green binder and slid his fingertips along the pens as he lined them up, orange and purple and red and blue—
Bonk! Another brand new nub landed in the trash can, and another cap eraser got reamed by a wooden writing instrument.
“I always reorganize my school supplies after fall break, Christmas break, and spring break. It helps me stay focused.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he bullshitted, as if he had any idea about systems for focusing.
He arranged the pens according to the colors of the rainbow, remembering Roy G. Biv, the acronym his seventh grade art teacher had taught for the progression of colors. But Chrissy owned way more than the seven basic shades here. There were at least two dozen. Did she carry these to school every day in a pencil case, a small treasure trove in her pink backpack?
“I love school supplies,” she gushed, continuing her mutilation of the pristine set of Ticonderogas, popping off a dozen heads one by one and replacing them with bloated Frankenstein ones.
He knew she had a thing about control, and Eddie had seen her do her fair share of feverish erasing in the two classes they shared this year. But were twelve cap erasers really necessary?
Messing with the felt tips on the floor, he must’ve asked that last bit out loud, because Chrissy said tightly, “Oh, you know. Just in case I need to correct a lot.”
Oops. He’d touched a nerve. He needed a distraction.
“I bet you pack five extra pairs of underwear for every overnight trip,” he mused, “just in case you have a blowout.”
“Ew!” she squealed.
An eraser nub hit him square between the eyes, which made him flinch and blink.
“Seriously, Eddie. Are blowouts something I should worry about?”
“Oh, I dunno. Hang around with me long enough—”
A larger arrowhead eraser smacked him on the cheek. He caught it before it fell off the bed, stuck it on his pinky, and made it speak over Chrissy’s giggles.
“Look, lady,” he Muppet-squeaked, “you have an eraser problem. And possibly an underwear problem. You need help!”
Chrissy pointed to his pinky. “Speak not to me, nor my Trapper Keeper, ever again. You’re just jealous of my loot.”
“I have absolutely no use for dragon-guarded treasures,” Eddie murmured, quoting Tolkien as he slipped the eraser from his pinky and laid it reverently in Chrissy’s outstretched hand, “and the whole lot could stay here for ever, if only I could wake up and find this beastly tunnel was my own front-hall at home.”
Watching him, Chrissy’s eyes glimmered, prettier than any gemstones. His cheeks warmed.
It was something to be looked at by her, wasn’t it? To be admired? He dropped his gaze back down to the pens he was arranging and hoped his face wasn’t too red.
“That’s it.” The words were barely a breath.
Eddie’s gaze rose again to find Chrissy staring down at her hoard of loot, hands upturned helplessly on her knees, the arrowhead eraser still in the center of her palm like the One Ring.
He tried to match her hushed tone. “What?”
“That’s how I feel. All the time. This house. All my things. It’s just…stuff.”
And she had no other home but this beastly one.
Eddie's heart pinched.
“Come up here,” he said.
She did, lying on her stomach next to him, chin resting on her folded arms as she watched him arrange the felt tips into different configurations with one hand. Gravity made his veins bulge a little; they looked knobbly and greenish-blue in the bright light from her window. His hand could almost be a pale dragon skittering over its mountain of treasure.
He didn’t know what to say, because he couldn’t say what he wanted to.
Come away with me. Let me be your treasure. You are already mine.
Leaning into her with one shoulder, he reached awkwardly into his front pocket and scrounged for the ever-present handful of mismatched polyhedral die, which he tossed to the floor, a field of shimmering stars around what he’d written across the landscape of her Pepto-Bismol carpet.
“Wait.” Chrissy’s head lifted from her forearms. She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Does that say—”
It did indeed. Eddie had arranged her plethora of pens to read
NERD
“You are such a nerd,” he whispered, creasing his brow and dipping his chin for emphasis. He wondered if she could somehow read on his face what he was really thinking.
Chrissy looked back at him and smiled like he’d just placed a crown on her head. He swallowed. Maybe she could read his thoughts. Eddie tucked her lovely smile away into his own mental hoard, for safekeeping.
“Takes one to know one,” she said, cutting the inhalation for his retort short with a kiss.
He nodded his fervent agreement until her widening grin made further kissing more difficult, but not impossible.
The eraser lay forgotten on the floor with the rest of the hoard.
#hellcheer#hellcheer fic#eddissy#stranger things#stranger things fic#chrissy x eddie#eddie x chrissy#eddie munson#chrissy cunningham#ask fic#writing prompts#my fic#hoard
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Hellstrom III
Marvel Spotlight #14-15
#14-15 Writer: Steve Gerber | #14-15 penciler: Jim Mooney | #14 inker: Sal Trapani #15 inker: Jim Mooney
These issues were a fun read. I like Hellstrom’s stories where he has to go do an exorcism and fight some demons. I like the structure but so far this is feels much more superheroey and less Constantine/Hellblazer. That’s something that I’ll just have to get over. I like the world building on exorcisms with Daimon making a sigh of Ankh on the floor to keep the ice demons in the building. It also seems like to beat Hellstrom you just have to get the trident out of his hands which is an easy weakness. We meet a new character Dr. Reynolds who I’m assuming will be a romantic interest for Daimon. There’s also a common theme of Hellstrom telling these morons to leave him be to do his thing and of course, since these people have the curiosity of a cat they break their “vow”. Hellstrom does smack Reynolds in the face (similar to Blaze pushing Rocky down in a Ghost Rider issue) which went too far. Of course Daimon is the Son of Satan and is an asshole so maybe some people will use that to explain why he did that but for me it went too far. Cause yes, Reynolds did break her vow by going to the university building but the janitor was the one who actually broke the Ankh symbol by dousing it with water. So Daimon should’ve smacked the janitor. Also there’s a really annoying line where after Reynolds gets smacked she’s shown crying and she says why does he frighten and fascinate me so? Like, it just came off stupid and just badly written. Yes, she endangered humanity but it was the janitor idiot who actually actively endangered humanity by getting rid of the protection! I really hated that moment.
Something I do love about Daimon is his chariot of fire. I gotta say I really enjoy the split personality fighting for control of Daimon. He’s light and dark so I do like that. He’s fighting his father constantly for heroic means (Daimon) but also selfish reasons (Son of Satan). I like the duality of man story being told through Daimon even though sometimes it’s just not interesting. Please give me Satana. She has yet to appear in this comic and it is very annoying for me.
Doctor Reynolds comes back in the next issue continuing this love interest storyline and I just rolled my eyes. We did get a good fight between Hellstrom and Baphomet (Satan’s physical goat form). Reynolds and her colleague ask Daimon to do a lecture at their university. One thing I think could be a good idea but I’m not a fan of, is the idea that Satan decided to merge Daimon’s two forms into one in this issue. Like, they do away with the status quo after 4 issues and I just found that baffling. Especially since the whole duality was one of the most interesting parts of this character. So I hope they do away with that next issue. I really liked the idea that if Hellstrom is the Son of Satan, he can’t fight against the cult’s chanting for Satan to come to them. I definitely prefer Gerber’s Man-Thing work to this stuff.
I gotta say that Jim Mooney’s art was great throughout and he did various cool splash pages and I love when he drew a trident to hold panels within it (see above).
He also did some references to famous paintings. So yeah overall, I did enjoy these issues but this book is definitely on the lower end of my rankings. I’m interested to see what comes next! Next post will be about Werewolf By Night! Thanks for reading and I’m sorry if I’m complaining a lot, I just write what I honestly think.
#marvel#marvel comics#marvel spotlight#son of satan#daimon hellstrom#Hellstrom#horror comics#70’s comics#70s comics
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You guessed it, the slaughter of Dhar Mann’s videos is back! Boy, does this video make me angry.
A while back, someone had mentioned that Dhar Mann took down his videos about disabled people, then reuploaded them with the intent to donate the funds to a charity that helps disabled people. This charity in particular is the Special Olympics.
For anyone who’s not familiar with the Special Olympics, they’re a non-profit organization that was founded in 1968. This movement was started by Eunice Kennedy Shriver, the founder. She started Camp Shriver in her backyard before the founding of the Special Olympics in the 1950s and 1960s. Camp Shriver was a summer camp for disabled children. Eunice started this summer camp from seeing how unfairly and unjustly disabled people were treated. They provide year-round sports training and athletic competition in a variety of Olympic-type sports for disabled children and disabled adults. Their whole mission is to be inclusive and accepting of all people, to put it simply.
I couldn’t find anything sketchy or problematic about the Special Olympics or any scandals about the organization as a whole. That’s a good thing. Their website has a button for accessibility preferences too, which is awesome. Eunice did great things for disabled people in her life.
My whole opinion on Dhar Mann putting fundraisers on his videos about disabled people? Honestly, he should’ve done that from the beginning instead of taking the videos down due to rightfully deserved backlash and criticism just to reupload them with the fundraisers. It feels like it was either an afterthought, or it was his way of trying to get disabled people like myself to shut up and stop criticizing him. I’m thinking it was probably the latter. That’s not gonna cut it, Dhar! I’m still gonna criticize you and your videos!
I think I talked enough about this. Let’s get into the video review.
The video starts off in an art class led by Cruella DeVille’s bigoted cousin…sorry, her name is Gertrude Renee! I forgot. She’s teaching her students about still life art and she’s looking over their work. They were supposed to draw an apple, a cowboy hat, and a vase. When she’s looking over a young man’s sketch that actually doesn’t look that bad, she gives him what we like to call deconstructive criticism. Ms. Renee demonstrates this by asking if what the guy drew was a vase or a deflated football, draws a huge X over his sketch, and tells him to do it again.
A pencil is dropped on the ground, and that’s where we meet Donny, who’s an elderly disabled man. Donny is the one who gets all the verbal abuse in this video, if you will. His disability specifically is Parkinson’s Disease, which is a condition that deteriorates part of your brain and the symptoms get worse overtime. Some of the most common symptoms that you can see are mainly physical, such as motor difficulties, changes in mental health, and more. The average age where people can get Parkinson’s is sixty years old, and it’s slightly more common in men or AMAB people than it is in women or AFAB people. People can get Parkinson’s as young as twenty years old, but that’s very rare. Remember this, as Ms. Renee uses this as a weapon against Donny throughout the video.
Ms. Renee asks to see Donny’s work. Donny says that his work is a little rough, but he can fix it. It’s a shaky sketch, which actually looks like he put in some effort. (Personally, as an artist myself, if I were an art teacher, I would’ve at least seen the effort put into someone’s piece. We all start somewhere!) Instead of giving some constructive criticism and some pointers that could help Donny improve, Ms. Renee berates Donny for apparently “not making any progress” during the past few weeks. Donny tries to explain to her that he can’t help his lines not being drawn perfectly straight or the curves being “lumpy” due to his Parkinson’s, but he came up with a solution. He made his piece appear more interpretive instead. Ms. Renee proceeds to berate her student some more, mock the solution he came up with for himself, and is just an overall ableist, stuck-up cunt. She takes his pad of paper off the easel, gets everyone’s attention, and shames Donny in front of everyone. After that, she tells Donny to try again “without the shaky lines”...which, AGAIN, isn’t possible for him because he’s DISABLED. When Donny explains this to Ms. Renee that he’s disabled in a different font, she says that maybe he shouldn’t be drawing then.
We’re finally introduced to the only person who seems to be standing up for Donny, Frida. She tells Ms. Renee that Donny is trying his best. Of course, Ms Renee, being the cunt she is, says that she’s “just prepping him for the real world.” She then goes on to say that people don’t buy art from people they “feel sorry for” (honestly…that’s false, but okay) and they buy art from people they feel inspired by (again, not always the case, but okay).
When Ms. Renee finally leaves in a huff, Frida tells Donny to not let her get to him and she actually likes his drawing. Donny tells her that he’s always wanted to be an artist, but he never made time for it. When he finally made time for it, he developed Parkinson’s. Donny sees Frida’s art and says that her art is so much better than his.
(I need to stop right here because I still struggle with this mentality. I still compare myself to other artists, it discourages me from drawing even though I love to draw, and it’s a vicious cycle. I know how hard it is not to compare yourself to other artists as an artist, but like I said, we all start somewhere and we all have different styles. We all have our preferred forms of art and preferred tools of trade. However, it’s not okay to bash on other people for their art just because you might not like it. I’ve had this happen so many times, and it sucks. Art is subjective, yes, but it’s also very personal to many artists. It costs nothing to not be a dick.)
Frida says that she’s dreamed of going to this prestigious art school that she got into, but can’t pay the tuition, so she’s in this class instead.
After class, Frida and Donny go to a store (which looks like a student store more than anything, but okay) for some art supplies. Frida says that Ms. Renee is very talented, but her reviews are filled with people who had “a lot to say”, so Donny shouldn’t take her comments so personally. Donny says that he thinks her criticisms are “spot on”. Frida asks to see one of Donny’s sketches, which makes him uneasy at first. She says that art doesn’t have to be perfect and only has to come from the heart. Donny relents and shows Frida one of his sketches. It’s of a woman. Frida says it’s beautiful and asks who that woman is. She says he should have it framed. Donny is unsure, as he has never shown anyone his art before. They go up to the cashier to ask for a frame. The cashier looks at Donny’s sketch and says it looks nice.
Ms. Renee pops up out of nowhere asking if her “latest masterpiece” is done yet. She’s showing it at some boujee, hoity-toity art gallery. Donny says he’s heard of that place. The cashier brings out a small frame. Ms. Renee says she didn’t ask for an extra frame, but the cashier says it’s for Donny. She mocks Donny, like she did earlier. When Donny shows Ms. Renee what he’s putting in the frame, she says it looks like a jellyfish. Frida corrects her, and she says that she liked it better when she thought it was a jellyfish. Ms. Renee tells Donny that he “shouldn’t be wasting his disability money” putting something “like that” in a frame. (Girl, that’s not your place.) She picks up her framed art and is about to be on her merry way. She not only continues to be rude towards Donny, but she also brings her son into it for some reason…like, girl, your son wanting to be a basketball player is irrelevant. Donny is having second thoughts, but Frida stops him. She invites Donny to come along with her to the art gallery.
They go to the art gallery, look at art, and are met by Ms. Renee being a snob, like usual. She’s a bitch towards Frida and Donny for just being at the art gallery, then is all buttering up Henry, the art dealer. She even flirts with Henry.
Frida eats some shrimp, and invites Donny over to try some. He tries to grab a piece of shrimp to dip into some cocktail sauce. The server is trying to be helpful, but Donny tells him that he can handle it. Cocktail sauce ends up getting on Ms. Renee’s dress and her painting. Donny obviously feels bad about accidentally knocking over the cocktail sauce, and the server is apologetic. Ms. Renee doesn’t handle this very well. She yells at Donny in front of everyone in the art gallery. Frida stands up for Donny, but Ms. Renee says that Donny is “expelled” from her class. She intimidates Donny and Frida to get them to leave. Donny is embarrassed (y’know, because the guy got yelled at and berated in public by his teacher who shouldn’t be a fucking teacher), apologizes, and leaves. Frida tries to go after Donny, but is stopped by Ms. Renee. Frida tells her teacher that she didn’t have to treat him the way she did. Her teacher continued to spew venomous bullshit, which Frida is having none of. Ms. Renee insults Frida too, and tells her to have a pity party with her “old cr1pple friend”. Frida leaves and finds Donny sitting outside on a bench.
They sit outside on the bench, talking to each other, having a real heart-to-heart conversation. Donny continuously beats himself up for Parkinson’s. Frida comforts him by saying that there are many disabled artists who make it in the art world. Donny asks how she knows about all these artists. Her dad was a disabled artist who painted with his feet. She said her dad was “disabled from the waist up”.
The way she worded this rubs me the wrong way. Not only from a wording standpoint, but also from a medical standpoint. I’ve done a little bit of digging on the way Frida worded her dad’s disability. From what I could find, I believe she meant to say that he’s paraplegic(?), but I could be wrong. I couldn’t find any term that was close to being “disabled from the waist up” except for paraplegic.
Frida goes on to say that her dad said that he didn’t have a disability, just a “different ability”. OH MY FUCKING GOD. JUST SAY “DISABLED”! IT’S NOT A BAD THING TO SAY THAT A DISABLED PERSON IS DISABLED! YOU’RE NOT GONNA HURT THEIR FEELINGS. HOLY FUCKING HELL. STOP FUCKING SAYING THAT DISABLED PEOPLE HAVE “DIFFERENT ABILITIES”! IT’S IGNORANT, INSENSITIVE, ABLEIST, AND YOU’RE DOING NOTHING BUT DOWNPLAY DISABLED PEOPLE AND THEIR SUPPORT NEEDS. I THOUGHT FRIDA WAS A SOMEWHAT DECENT CHARACTER UNTIL SHE SPOUTED THAT ABLEIST RHETORIC HER DISABLED FATHER SAID TO TRY “INSPIRING” DONNY, A DISABLED ELDERLY MAN. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
Donny is “inspired” by Frida’s disabled father and says he’d love to meet him. Until Frida tells him that her dad passed away. Donny reveals that the woman in his sketch was his late wife. He then has a revelation that he should prove Frida’s dad and his late wife right instead of proving Ms. Renee (or Gertrude) wrong. Frida says that she’s gonna write a negative review on Gertrude before they leave.
There’s a montage of Donny practicing, people being amazed by his work, Frida helps him get more exposure by taking videos of him, he sells lots of paintings, he’s living the dream.
Gertrude is back on her bullshit at the art gallery, like usual. She brought her old piece again and harassed Henry about bids. Some girl comes up to say that a piece sold for $15,000. Gertrude thinks it’s for her piece, but it’s actually for Donny’s piece. He spews the ableist rhetoric again, some mom (Karen…Katherine Norland, a real piece of work) comes up with her disabled kid, and Donny spews the ableist rhetoric TO THIS KID.
Karma’s a bitch, they all lived happily ever after, Gertrude lost her job, whoop-dee-doo.
My final thoughts on the video: This video is fucking garbage. Dhar Mann clearly can’t make ONE video about disabilities without spewing ableist rhetoric or turning what disabled people go through into trauma porn or sympathy porn. It’s obvious that he hasn’t listened to the voices of disabled people, and he probably never will. With all the ableist bullshit in his videos.
Your target audience is kids, correct, Dhar? Well…you know that disabled kids watch your videos too? By saying that their disabilities are just “different abilities”, you’re telling them that being disabled is a bad thing. It’s not a bad thing to be disabled. You’re also downplaying what disabled kids go through just because there are disabled kids who do extraordinary things. Like, their disability doesn’t become non-existent because some might know quantum physics or some shit. I know that’s a stupid example, but you get my point.
Sorry this took so long to get out. Hope this long post makes up for it.
#tw dhar mann#dhar mann is an ableist piece of shit#tw ableism#it's not a bad thing to say that a disabled person is disabled#disabilities aren't different abilities#anti dhar mann
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There needs to be a whole case study on artist TikTok. The amount of hatred and toxicity there is insane. That fucking app single-handedly made it so I never want see another artist or to share my work ever again.
Almost every single time I’ve posted a piece of my art there I’ve gotten so much hate. I’ve gotten comments making fun of my disability, making fun of my skill set, making fun of my current situation as well as doxxing and death threats just because I don’t draw as well as everyone else. Because my artstyle is bad. It’s so infuriating.
I’ve always been super self conscious of my work for as long as I can remember, being on TikTok just made it even worse. I can’t pick up my pencil without this voice in my head telling me I should just quit right now because there are 10,000 artists who are half my age and much much more talented and skilled than me. Pair that with at least 500 AI programs that could whip up something in 10 seconds flat.
I used to feel so proud of myself for seeing something through that I just had to share but now I just can’t take pride in anything I do because it’s not and will never be good enough. My stepparents shitting on my hobby hasn’t helped either. Drawing is seen as a waste of time at their house. It’s not a “real” hobby, it’ll never help me in the real world, but that’s it’s own can of worms I don’t wanna open right now. It feels like the whole world is telling me to quit.
It really sucks too because I’ve been at it for quite a while. I found a unique style I really enjoyed. A style that combined everything I loved as a child. I worked really hard to get to where I was but I just can’t take pride in my style anymore. According to the comments it’s too childish and cringey. It’s far too late to try and change it because I don’t actually know how to draw anything. I never went to an proper art class so I never got to have any real art experience. I can’t draw hands, proper anatomy, realism, still life, anything. I feel like it’s far too late for me to learn how to actually draw anything nowadays. The yt tutorials don’t help. Maybe it’s the AutiHD I don’t know. I just don’t learn that way. All I know is that it’s too late for me. I’m 21. I should’ve had this shit figured out years ago. I’m too old to be a beginner artist.
So I guess that’s it… my career ended before it even started. I had a …run. I can’t say for sure if I had fun or not but it certainly has been a ride.
#the YouTube art community also wasn’t any better#TikTok fed off of that#this has been on my mind for a while#art community#artist#quit#quitting#art#rant#rant post#artist struggles#personal rant#art rant#artist rant#ex artist#toxic#toxicity#vent#not sure what to do now#vent post#struggles#mentally exhausted#social media#TikTok#tiktok as a whole has been eating away at my mental health but that’s where all the actually funny videos are now.#not a jojo post
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“Ugly art”
I’m not sure how to label this, originally intended for it be a mark exercise, It has aquired some emotional significance to me, to the point of naming it, it’s kind of emotionally charged, but it’s not really vent art, I wasn’t trying to express anything with it.
I have absolutely not clue wat to call this thing.
Anyhow, I have been struggling with feeling like a faillure, just in everything, Didn’t actually graduate this year my art was getting worse the more effort I was putting and in general putting effort in life was either doing nothing or making living more painful.
Art wise this meant that drawing with the stylus was simply painful, I drew with a mouse and keyboard for about a year, I reached a fairly high high, I got to a point where what I want to draw and improve at was getting stunted by the keyboard and mouse, I was basically transitioning from Paint to Krita again.
So I fished out a stylus I was given out of a closet that I forgot about and set to try and do that transition again, this time mouse to stylus.
I’m putting a lot into it, to the point of gripping the stylu’s pen in a “propper” way rather than how I usually hold pens and whatnot (my normal grip would put too much pressure on it, I have snapped a bunch of cheap pencils in half over the years simply by using them), looked up what sort of exercises would I need to do with it in order to get the muscle coordination, how tf you actually draw using your fingers, hands, wrists, elbows, arms and shoulders.
I basically set myself to learn how to run upsidedown in order to be a marathon runner. (granted I did procrastinate a bit with deciding to actually do that)
And that’s all fine, I know it’ll take a lot of time and effort in order to get there, I knew the quality of what I’ve made would decrease, same thing happened when I first moved from Paint and I’d be able to use less of what I’ve accrued with mouse and keyboard with the stylus compared to it (I was essentially making quasi drawing layers on paint by the point I decided to move on).
The issue came when I came to be patient and kind to myself over this, it became specially painful as I was making the linework for a piece of my sona, 2/3 of the time was spent ctrl Z’ing every new mark I drew so it fit the sketch better and meshed nicer with the other marks already there.
I broke when 2 things happened, requring to have a straight line at the sole of one my feet that meshes with the toes (so a straight line that connects well with not only one curved line from one side of the foot, but another one in a different direction making the toes), and a bit less importantly that the backside of one of my knee’s wasn’t working when I lined it, it looked fine on the sketch, but it was because it was thicker than the lineart, so I’d have to prob redjig the sketch since it was a fairly large rework.
And that’s the keyword that made drawing so painful, *rework*, all I was doing was making a mark, undo and repeat, I honestly should’ve scrapped that piece sooner, because it made me too anxious to draw at all, so I stopped drawing which made me anxious to start drawing again, and then when I set myself to start drawing again, even if it’s almost nothing, just a mark exercise, I didn’t because all I was doing was worrying about starting to draw (thanks ADHD)
Doing anything with the stylus was pain, and setting up my workspace to use it takes a bit of effort which is basically poison at this point, so I basically stopped using it, I didn’t want to give up on improving, so I didn’t go back to drawing with mouse and keyboard (it’s not pixel art, it’s legit cartoon/manga ish stuff made with the straight line tool lol), so I stopped drawing and just kept constantly comparing to myself.
All this rambling is to give context to why this specific mark exercise became significant for me. at this point drawing has been a obligation I set myself that I procrastinated.
I actually enjoyed making this thing, which is why the quotations in the name of it are also a part of the name, I don’t give a shit, I don’t care if I draw “good art”, I’ll draw shit, I’ll draw stuff that looks worse, I don’t care if I draw stuff that makes me look like I’m getting worse, stuff that’s ugly.
Whilst I initially did undo some of the marks in order to make them again but I tried to only undo whatever I did if it was a random squiggle the stylus drew because I accidentally hit the pen on it, I also used it for my signature so it’d be legible
A given line is squigly? it stays. The lines are fraying? they stay. Stuff is not allgined? they stay. The marks aren’t close enough and it’s becoming less of a line and more noisy rectangle? it stays. Straight lines are curves? they stay.
It looks far worse than another mark exercise I made last week, but this one the hard part was stopping rather than continuing.
Really hope I do the same thing for a full piece next year, It’s gonna be hard but I’m gonna try to stick with making “bad/ugly/crap art”
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Evaluation
Throughout this unit, I feel like I focussed a lot of my ideas around illustration as I really wanted to improve on using illustrator. I used my skills with a pencil and translated that onto illustrator, although I would like to improve over time by finding a more unique art style to my illustrations to fit a purpose. Alongside this, I found myself spending a lot of time practising After Effects and enjoyed getting a better understanding of the programme and all its capabilities. Subsequently, I discovered that there were things I wanted to achieve on After Effects that weren’t possible like 4D rendering and animating a 3D object, so I’d like to dive more into that in the future.
Unfortunately, I had quite a rough term due to family emergencies which negatively impacted my mental health, leading to my absence being higher than usual. This meant that I missed a lot of crucial parts of the unit in terms of development, I feel as if my ideas would’ve progressed a lot more if I had made tutorials. Nevertheless, all I can take from this term is that I need to look after myself more and make sure I’m prioritising my time management to ensure I am getting the most out of my studies. I felt that I fell behind too much this term and am determined to be more mindful in the new year.
In regards to my design process I feel I should’ve researched a lot more to influence my final design choices, especially as part of the 15 minute city project which felt slightly rushed. My design didn’t develop enough for where I would’ve liked it to have been. I also feel I need to focus more on layout and type, that seems to be my weak spot in VisCom as I come from such a Fine Art background, but I’d say it’s coming along gradually. From this unit I have learnt that support is always there if I need it and I must learn to seek it if necessary as it’ll benefit me and my studies.
Upon reflection, I would’ve liked to have spent more time on my process book as I feel it’s very bland and plain, I didn’t consider the amount of work there actually was from this term. I should’ve begun it earlier in the term. Alongside this, I wish my group and I experimented more with the interpretation project as I feel it didn’t reach a good standard as a final piece. Despite this, I really enjoyed working with that group and made a couple of good friends who have supported me through this term keeping me up to date.
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A Genuine Mess - Atsumu x f!reader
Pairing: Atsumu x f!reader
Summary: Atsumu insults you, the quietest girl in his class. But as he gets to know you, your few words often leave him blushing.
Genre, etc.: Tooth rotting fluff, Atsumu is a dork in love but still consistent with his canon character, reader is quiet but not timid
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: I wanted to try a different personality for the reader as well as taking one of Atsumu's negative character traits and flipping it on its head :) This was fun to write. Hehehe.
Words: 1.9k
*****
"What? She's here for me?" said Atsumu. He pressed his lips together to hide the smile forming on his lips. As he attempted to walk to the gym doors as normally as possible, Aran tilted his head while Osamu wore an amusing smirk.
Atsumu leaned on the frame of the gym doors. "What'd ya want?" he asked you, trying to be as smooth as possible. His voice didn't reveal his usual arrogance and was unexpectedly gentle.
"Could I see your hand?" you asked him with a quiet but direct tone.
When he held his hand out in front of you, you delicately turned it over, palm faced down, and positioned his fingers one by one. You didn't notice him gripping the side of his jersey in his other hand, trying to keep it together every time your fingers grazed his skin. You let go of his hand to pull out your phone and angled it to get a good shot of his hand.
Click.
"Thank you Atsumu-san," you told him, putting your phone away and leaving the gym.
Atsumu returned to the court, not even able to hide the childish grin from his teammates anymore. Some widened their eyes and others dropped their jaws as they witnessed the entire scene.
"So when did you start liking her?" Suna asked him.
"I don't like her," Atsumu adamantly responded.
A laugh escaped Osamu's lips and Atsumu told him to shut up. He hated that his twin knew exactly why he was acting like this.
*****
"Well that looks ugly."
Seated at your desk, you looked up from your sketch to see Atsumu's scrunched up nose. It didn't take long for it to disappear. Osamu whacked him on the head for insulting the quietest girl in class two and quite possibly their whole year.
"Sorry about this jerk," Osamu told you. "He doesn't have a filter."
But when he started to drag Atsumu away from you, they heard the rare sound of your voice.
"Miya-san," you said.
They both turned around but after looking at each other, they assumed you were referring to your classmate Atsumu.
"Why does it look ugly?"
"Ha?" Atsumu gawked at you. He scratched the back of his head. "I dunno. The shoulders just looked gross"–he got whacked on the head again–"Hey!" He glared at Osamu.
After they bickered for a bit, they turned their attention back to you, but you were already facing your desk, immersed in your sketch. Osamu raised an eyebrow at Atsumu, expecting him to know what that was all about, but he only shrugged his shoulders, not having a clue either.
The next time Atsumu heard your voice was when you came to see him at his desk.
"Ha? What's this?" he asked.
In front of him, you had placed another sketch. You didn't say a word but looked at him as if you were expecting some sort of comment.
Atsumu raised an eyebrow but looked at the sketch anyway.
"What's wrong with this dude's hand?" he asked as he squinted at the drawing, holding your sketchbook up to his eyes. "It looks like it's dislocated or something."
The classmate beside him shot his eyes open. He then looked up at you to see your reaction.
"Thank you," you told Atsumu with a little nod before returning to your desk. Those were the only words you had for Atsumu and they had left him and his classmate speechless.
Atsumu's eyes lit up the third time you came to his desk.
"Which one looks the worst?" you asked him, showing him three different sketches.
"This one," he said, pointing to the one in the middle. "There's no way a person could have hair like that."
You ignored his comment and asked him again which one looked worse. He still chose the middle one, saying the expression reminded him too much of his brother.
You gave him a nod as thanks and as he watched you return to your desk, there was a small uptick at the corner of his mouth, gazing at you gathering your pencils together and continuing your progress.
Over the next couple of weeks, he watched you from afar as you drew doodles during class when you should've been paying attention. He wondered if he should actually write notes from the lesson in case you needed them. Maybe he'd pass them to you the next time you showed him your artwork.
But you hadn't made a trip to his desk during the next two weeks. Why did you stop coming? So when you left the classroom, he quickly opened the sketchbook that was left on your desk and went through it page by page, curious to see what you'd been drawing this whole time. As he flipped through the pages, he saw how your drawings had gradually improved. He couldn't help but smile at your growth as an artist.
"Miya-san."
He jumped at your voice and snapped the book shut. He fumbled over his words. "I wasn't looking! It just fell and I picked it up from the ground!" he told you. "When I put it back on yer desk it just happened t' be like that!"
He then saw an expression he had never seen on your face. Your brows were furrowed and your lips turned into a frown. You let out a deep breath. "Miya-san, you're free to look through my sketchbook, but please don't lie to me."
His eyes widened before he lowered them to stare at the classroom floor. Shoulders sagging, he told you in a hushed voice, "I'm sorry." He sighed and dragged his feet back towards his desk. But just when he was about to pull out his chair, he heard your soft voice.
"Miya-san," you said, looking directly at him when he turned to you. "Like I said, you can come and look at it whenever you want."
Atsumu pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a stupid grin on his face. But his eyes betrayed his attempt as they crinkled and turned into crescents, elated at your offer.
*****
Over the next several weeks, Atsumu used any excuse he could to chat with you at your desk before he finally settled on talking to you about anything and everything. He tried to get to know you, asking you questions, but your answers were short and simple, not knowing how else to respond.
However, Atsumu shamelessly continued to talk about himself, his brother, the team, and whatever else was on his mind that day. You always nodded and listened with a smile.
"I think she's just being nice to you," commented Osamu.
"She's never stopped me," Atsumu replied with a huff, crossing his arms, which only resulted in Osamu shaking his head.
Without looking up from your sketch, you told him, "I like hearing him talk."
Osamu's eyes grew at your response but when he glanced over at his twin, Atsumu's ears and cheeks had turned red.
"Oh?" the silver haired twin said with a sly grin. "You're blushing 'Tsumu."
"No I'm not!" Atsumu said after clearing his throat and turning his head away. Osamu was about to tease him when instead, you said something that deepened his blush.
"It's cute."
Osamu's jaw dropped. Atsumu froze at your comment before deciding to put his face down on your desk, burying it into his arms.
As you and Atsumu got to know each other, he learned that you were still close with your friends from middle school. They were there for you, always supporting you and your passion for art. But when you asked them what they thought about your drawings, they had always said they looked good. You were grateful for them but you couldn't tell if they were just being nice.
"So is that why you asked me about yer drawings?" Atsumu noted. You confirmed it with a nod and he looked at you with longing eyes and a soft smile.
You caught him off-guard when you took a photo of him. "Your expression was interesting just now," you told him. "I want to use it as reference."
Atsumu blushed and covered the lower half of his face. He muttered something through his hands that you didn't quite catch.
"Hm?" you asked.
"Y-you can use me as reference any time."
You took him up on his offer. You'd often snap pictures of him, casually pulling out your phone when you'd find an interesting expression on his face. You even came to see him at practice when you wanted to practice drawing some hands. He often wondered what you noticed about him when you used him as reference, what expressions you saw in him.
One day after classes had ended and volleyball practice was cancelled, he sat at the other side of your desk as you switched to a different drawing pencil from your set. What did you see when you looked at him? His eyes? His nose? His lips?
His hand rose next to your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. When you looked up at him from your drawing, he pulled his hand back, suddenly realizing what he was doing.
He bit his lip, scolding himself for doing that to you. You called his name and his attention was back on you.
"Why did you stop?" you asked.
Butterflies were fluttering in his stomach, not at all expecting those words. Looking at you through his eyelashes, he saw you directly looking back at him. Were you serious?
Somehow getting the courage to make a move, he drew his hand toward you and gently cupped your cheek. He bent over your desk and brought his lips near yours, stopping midway as if waiting for permission to follow through. You leaned in a little closer and he closed the gap, feeling your soft lips against his.
Pulling back, his eyes studied your face for some sort of reaction. He bit his lip, doubting if that was what you wanted. Perhaps he didn't do a good job or you had changed your mind after the kiss.
What if you were just doing this for reference?
He searched your eyes for an answer, not knowing that you saw the insecurity in his.
"I liked it, Atsumu."
His eyes grew. He was both delighted and flustered, not believing that he got to kiss you, that you'd accept a kiss from someone like him. He hugged you and placed a kiss on your forehead, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.
*****
"Guys! I have a girlfriend!" Atsumu declared, storming into the gym the next day. They all raised their brows when they saw who was holding his hand.
"Are you serious?" asked Aran.
"It's probably fake," Suna commented.
"He must have bribed her or something," Osamu added.
"All of ya just shut up!" Atsumu yelled at them as they all gave him a skeptical look. He sighed and dropped his shoulders as he held your hand.
They snickered and teased him, but when there was a silent pause in the air, they heard your voice for the first time.
"I like him," you told his team. Your voice was quiet but they heard every word. They freaked out, gawking at the two of you, an unlikely pair.
Atsumu turned his face away because his cheeks went red again. Your words, more often than not, caused him to be up in a fluster.
*****
I hope you enjoyed it.
I couldn't help but have Suna say it was fake for all my "A Glimpse of Yellow" readers. lolll.
If you liked this one, you might like one of these:
1) my Tendou one-shot (timid!reader)
2) my Sakusa one-shot (where he gets a crush on exchange student!reader)
3) my Kyoutani one-shot (another unexpected pairing)
And I want to shamelessly throw in my Suna chaptered fic (fake dating) just because it's my current series. lol.
I also have a Google form for my taglist if any of you are interested in it.
#miya atsumu x reader#atsumu x reader#atsumu fluff#atsumu scenarios#miya atsumu#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu fanfic#atsumu fanfic#hihqnetwork#animehorizons#angelwalker’s virtues
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> Ollie since Charles likes paintings so much, why don't you draw something for him?
“Uh, I don’t know… what if it turns out bad?” But right when the words left his mouth, he realized what he just did. Disagreeing with a human? He was so bad! Such an awful pet. Who cares if Master hates the drawing and beats Ollie for it? A human thinks he should draw something, so he will.
“S-sorry, I’m sorry for d-disagreeing! I shouldn’t do that, that’s so bad, I’m so bad. Of course, I’ll draw something right away. I’m sorry.”
He wandered into the kitchen, feeling terrible. He saw a pencil left out here earlier — he should’ve put it away, he was so bad — and there was paper in the far right drawer. He would never dream about using Master’s art supplies.
“What would Master like?” Ollie whispered aloud to himself. It was imperative he made something that Master would actually like. Maybe that way he’d get a less harsh punishment.
In the end, he settled with a portrait of Master himself, reasoning that most owners like themselves a lot and enjoy it even more when their pets recognize it. Something along the lines of, oh my pet could’ve drawn anything and he decided to draw me!
Just as he was finishing the picture, Master walked in. Ollie flinched. He was at least hoping that he would be able to go to Master Charles and present himself to be hurt. Now it was more like Master catching Ollie in the act.
“Mr. Charles, I-… I’m so sorry, I was bad, so very bad! I-I messed up, I used your stuff, I dared to try and make a p-picture. I- I- please, mercy, sir! Your filthy pet is sorry, please-“
“Woah, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Master crouched down and Ollie tensed, practically feeling the fist coming down before it had actually happened. But there was no hit. There was no touch at all.
“Ollie, darling? Oh, my precious darling, can you look at me? That’s it, there’s a good boy. There’s my good boy. I’m here, I’m here. What’s wrong? Is it the picture?”
“Y-y-yes, sir. I mean, Mr. Charles. Yes, your pet made a hideous, ugly thing. It dared to try and make art like you.”
“It? Oh, love, don’t talk that way. You aren’t just an object in my eyes. That must be what someone else told you. And I don’t think it’s hideous at all, I think your picture is lovely. You are allowed to make art, darling.”
Ollie nervously looked up, prepared to see an furious Master who just lured him into a false sense of security. He prepared to be hit or grabbed or spat on. But instead Master just looked concerned and loving.
Tentatively, Ollie leaned his head onto Master’s lap. He did not trust himself to speak right now, fearing that he’ll ruin whatever gave Master the idea that he shouldn’t beat his slave unconscious then and there.
Master let Ollie lay down and started to run his hands through Ollie’s hair. There was no malice or anger or hate in the movement. Master didn’t grab his hair or yank him around.
The pet knew, of course, that this quietness wouldn’t last. Eventually, Master will make him talk and explain himself. He might even punish Ollie later. But for now, at least they could be calm and silent together.
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hello love !! i absolutely adore your writing, i find you do the characters so much justice <3 i was wondering if you would be able to do a piece where the reader, a mewly appointed captain of the regiment, has a talent for drawing that no one knew about. she suddenly finds time for this hobby and commences drawing portraits of her fellow comrades, mainly of levi, and picks up the habit of leaving all the sketches under the door of erwins chambers once a month, thinking it would be a great anonymous gift or at least, some fun. levi does not see it as fun and instead is convinced this is a threat to him directly and that someone is watching them, making it known that they can attack at any time. everyone hunts for the culprit in secret, the reader doesn’t know bcs she’s in the capital delivering something. levi finds out it was the reader and they fight physically about it, accusing her of treason etc... until reader confesess it was her and that she had feelings for him, he says he likes her back but she should’ve brought a different approach , fluff in the end <3 much love <33
“Works of Art,” Levi x Reader
Why can I see Levi being dramatic like this over some drawings🤧💀
Summary: You’re secretly an artist that draws your fellow comrades (mostly Levi) and secretly leave it under their door but Levi takes it as a threat.
Warnings: none
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You had sat in your room, pencil in hand and a piece of paper laid out in front of you. You didn’t know what to draw at first but your mind settled on your previous Captain.
You’ll admit that most of your drawings has been Levi and you couldn’t help but feel the urge to draw him, he had the most perfect facial structure- at least to you and it was much better to draw out on paper.
Of course you’ve drawn your other comrades from time to time. You’ve even slide the drawings underneath their doors at odd hours so nobody knew it was you.
It’s not like you didn’t want them to know but a scout spending their days slaughtering Titans just to come home and draw wasn’t exactly an ideal topic you wanted to get into.
As time went on, the more you paint and draw out Levi on the canvas in front of you, your stomach would flutter, being able to admire his face without staring him down from across the room.
You admired Levi more than anything, he really inspired you in ways he doesn’t even know about. The first day you saw him riding down the town with his horse, coming back from a expedition and you were standing off to the side just a teenager.
That day, that look on his face, the way he carried his team and was the most popular for his skills- you wanted to be like him and after convincing your family (more like telling them you’re not taking no for an answer) they finally let you go off to the training corps.
Now years later, you’re here. You were under Levi’s team for well over two years before you got pushed up to be a Captain but you missed the moments being under Levi’s team- you enjoyed every moment. You missed the days he’ll willingly train you and push you towards success and that was the main reason why you were so great at being a scout, why you were pushed up as a Captain.
You looked up to him, you watched his work and you trained yourself into oblivion to be as good as he is.
Now you’re sitting here on your day off painting his face. You were embarrassed thinking too hard about it, if he were to walk in right now- it’ll be over for you. You wouldn’t be able to look at his face again.
Months went by quickly, the more drawings you had left under your comrades door- the more Levi started to see it as a threat as he looked at the piece of paper with his face on it.
He even called a meeting with Erwin to discuss about the drawings, he felt as if he was being targetted- that the scouts were being targetted and he didn’t take this lightly.
He was more determined to find out who it is and even told a few close comrades to search in secret. You didn’t know this- only because you were in the town doing some work.
Levi noticed you didn’t come to the meeting and walked inside your office, his eyes looking around and he didn’t want to be nosey but out of the corner of his eye- towards the back of the office tucked in the corner was some paint.
This interested him enough to walk over, flipping open the sketch book and seeing the pages, the drawings and even found a few of his face. This immediately boiled his blood, you were a traitor- you were targeting him- that’s all he could think of.
He stormed out of there, grabbing his things and walked outside to try and find you. It was absolutely the worst timing for you- you stepped inside the land where the base was at while fixing the uncomfortable gear you wore around your waist until unexpectedly Levi had charged at you with his sword.
You were thinking this is his sick way of testing out your ability and training- he usually did back when you worked under him.
You slipped your blade out with ease and blocked his attack that near struck your face.
“Levi?!” Your eyes were wide at how close the blade was, he could’ve easily killed you and he didn’t seem phased.
Instead he used his leg to trip you on your back, wincing at the impact of the ground and he held his blade towards your throat with his foot rested on top of your chest to prevent you from moving.
“What the hell are you doing? Is this some sick training exercise?”
“Why have you been sending threats to my office, brat?” He stared at you with a look of disgust on his face and you froze, what threats?
“What are you talking about?”
“The drawings. Are you a traitor? Are you threatening to kill me?” He pressed the blade down more, the tip of it just barely touching your skin but from how sharp it was- it was made a cut.
“They’re just drawings, Levi!” You gave him a crazy look, he was acting completely insane, who acts like this over drawings of them? Shouldn’t he feel special?
“Why is your sketch book mostly my face then, hm? Explain that before I slice your throat here.”
You opened your mouth to say something but quickly shut it. You didn’t want to openly admit your feelings towards him and you sure felt violated for him snooping around in your office. But you also felt completely embarrassed- he’s seen your sketch book.
A lump formed in your throat, your eyes looking away from his as your cheeks started to grow hot and he got impatient, grabbing the collar of your shirt and yanked you up on your feet.
Now you were face to face with him, the dirty look he was giving you could instantly kill you if it was possible and you felt intimidated and terrified.
“Use your words, brat! I’m running out of patience.”
“Okay! Okay.” You put your hands up in defeat, your eyes connecting with his and your hands started to get sweaty.
“I- uh... how do I put this? Most of my drawings are... of you. Only because I admire you, you’ve inspired me to join, to train harder than most and I also.. like you.” You rushed the last part out, your cheeks red as a tomato and he stared at you in disbelief at first.
“So, you draw me because you like me?”
“Yeah, exactly.” You stuttered, biting down onto your bottom lip and he let go of you collar, making you stumble back.
“Why be so secretive about it then?” He asked, putting his blade away and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’re not the easiest person to open up to, Levi.” You admitted, scratching the back of your neck and he gave you a unamused look.
“Look, Y/N.” He started off, bringing his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Honestly, you could’ve just done it in a different way instead of acting like a spy. Maybe if you would’ve been straight forward, I would tell you I like you just as much.” He looked up at you again, making your heart stop for a quick second.
Did he just admit feelings for you after holding a blade to your throat? You were stunned, you didn’t even know what to say about his confession but it made butterflies fly around in your stomach and your cheeks were turning a shade of red again.
He noticed how flustered you were, chuckling to himself and reached over to place his hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the warm skin and your eyes stared into his.
“Oh- sorry, I guess I should’ve done a different approach.” You said quietly, your hands starting to get shaky as his eyes burned right through you.
“Yeah, you should’ve.” He rolled his eyes, gesturing him to follow you inside and you were quick to follow behind him as he went straight for your office.
Once both of you were inside, he was quick to grab your sketch book and open it back up again. He turned more pages and looked at the drawings he didn’t bother to examine earlier.
You felt shy being in here and watching him go through your sketch book at the many drawings of his face- you even had a drawing of his hands and that made him laugh under his breath at the sight of it.
“You’re talented, I give you that.” He closed the book, setting it down and walked to where you were as you leaned back against your desk.
“Oh, thank you.” You gave him a shy smile, your heart pounding in your chest the closer he got to you.
“Now what if I actually killed you because you were being so sneaky?” He asked quietly, the sarcasm in his tone made you tilt your head as you thought about it.
“Guess I would’ve died an idiot.”
He rolled his eyes again, standing in front of you and even leaned forward to trap you between your desk and his body as he gripped onto the edges of the desk, his eyes staying on yours.
He tilted his head, almost admiring your face and you stayed quiet as the tension grew between the both of you.
“How bout you draw me right here, right now.” He offered, making you raise your eyebrows at his suggestion.
“Really?” He nodded his head, a smile coming across your face as he stepped back and grabbed one of the chairs.
You were quick to grab your sketch book and sit down in front of him, the excitement running through your veins as you grabbed a pencil and opened up to a empty page.
Your eyes moved up to meet his, watching the smile on his face only grow and it made your heart flutter considering it was rare to see him smile and it was rare for him to even agree to do something like this.
But he sat in front you, intrigued and wanting to watch your work up close and how it’s done. He was also very intrigued in you and the hobby you loved so much.
During the time of you drawing him, you had finished up his face before he had leaned over and grabbed a hold of your chin in his hand.
The sudden contact caught you off guard, your eyes staring into his before he had planted his lips on yours in a short but soft kiss.
When he pulled away, he had licked his lips and leaned back against the seat, urging you to continue on as your shaky hand tried to finish off the work of art named Levi.
.
.
.
Woooooooo hello
• Main Masterlist •
• AOT Masterlist •
#levi ackerman fanfic#levi ackerman imagine#levi ackerman imagines#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman headcanons#levi Ackerman#levi imagines#levi imagine#levi x reader#levi headcanons#levi fanfic#aot imagines#aot headcanons
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A Day In The Life
requesred by this genius anon: “Aight imma hit you with a good one: Literally everything as platonic, but a day in the life of reader in high school with the minor gang (too my, tubbo, ranboo) and all the faculty at the school are dreamsmp members”
Platonic! Minors gang (tommy, tubbo, ranboo and purpled) x reader
trigger warnings: none
premise: a day in the life of a student at the DSMP public high school
{with all the shit that goes on the smp there's no way it could be anything but a public school}
{also if I do things slightly off or something its cause my high school is weird, we only have four blocks a day, but I think most have seven, so we’re going with that}
{also the dream/george thing, is based on two of the sciences teachers at my school being suspected of having an affiar}
{Full teacher list:
English: Mr. NotFound
Drama: Mr. Soot
Spanish: Mr. Dream (its mexican dream lol)
Gym: Coach Sapnap and Coach Punz
Home ec: Miss Nihachu
Music: Mr. Quackity
Chemistry: Mr. Halo}
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Home room: Mr. Callahan
You sighed, trudging toward the school entrance, god it was way to early for this.
The halls were already crowded with people heading to there home rooms, and Mr. Minecraft, the principal, was standing outside the admin offices, greeting everyone with a smile.
“Good morning, (y/n).”
“Good morning Mr. Minecraft.” You grumbled as you passed.
You hurried through the foyer and up the stairs, toward Mr. Callahan’s room.
“Hey!” Tubbo called, hurrying down the hallway, “(y/n)!”
“Hey Tubbo.” you yawned.
He fell into step with you, “You think Callahan will actually show today?”
The one good thing about your home room teacher is that none of the kids ever seemed to have seen him. It meant that some days, while other home rooms had lectures of bullying or something, your class got to hang out for 30 minutes.
“I don’t think he even exists.” Purpled said, falling in on your other side.
“He definitely doesn’t.” You agreed.
~~
History: Mr. Blade
“Hey (y/n)!” Ranboo called from his seat at the front of the room as you came in.
He was lucky enough to have moved homerooms and ended up getting the same room as his first block.
“Hello Ranboo.” you sighed, sitting down in your seat next to him.
Tommy came in and plopped down behind you, “Well you sound like shit.”
“No swearing in my classroom, Tommy.” Mr. Blade chided, hardly looking up from the book on his desk.
You turned to look at Tommy, “It’s too early for this.”
“You say that everyday!” He laughed.
“Yeah! Cause this class starts at 7:45 in the god damn morning!” You half exclaimed.
“Bloody hell you’d think you’d get used to it-”
“Tommy, what did I say about swearing?” Mr. Blade cut Tommy off.
“But you didn’t yell at (y/n)!” Tommy yelled, “That’s not fair Tech!”
Me. Blade glared at his brother, “Do you want me to send you down to Phil’s office Tommy?”
“I didn’t even do anything!”
After a moment under Mr. Blades glare, Tommy sighed, “Please don’t send me down to Phil.”
The teacher didn’t respond, instead standing up and moving to stand in front of the board, queuing up the intro slides for the day, “All right everyone, settle down. Today in our ‘tour of the ancient world’ or whatever, we’re going to start our mini unit on Greece.”
~~
Statistics/Math: Mr. Was Taken
After a class that ended mostly in a rant about the myth of Heracles, you said goodbye to Ranboo and Tommy and met up with Purpled to head to math.
Mr. Wastaken was already passing out the notes when you two got there, sliding into your seats at the back of the classroom just as the bell rang.
“You’re late.” He chided, dropping the papers onto your desk, then Purpleds.
“Purp needed to refill his water bottle.” You explained.
“Seriously?” Mr. Wastaken questioned, “Dude, it’s second block, why the hell was your water already empty?”
Purpled shrugged, “P.E?”
“Ehh, wrong, Sapnap doesn’t have you till sixth period.”
“Stairs... are murder man.” He fumbled.
You nodded, “First floor to the fourth floor is tough Mr. Wastaken.”
Rolling his eyes, the teacher moved back to the front of the room, “Alright, last nights homework was a bit of a flop so we’ll be more review for the quiz tomorrow.”
You groaned internally, pulling out your pencil.
Purpled nodded, “I fuckin hate review days.”
“I can hear you, you know!” Mr. WasTaken half yelled.
~~
Chemistry: Mr. Halo
After Math you and Purpled headed down to the science hall to meet back up with Tubbo to head to Chem.
“Welcome back everybody!” Mr. Halo greeted cheerily, “Good to see smiling faces for chemistry!”
How he managed to stay so upbeat, no one would ever know.
You sat down at your lab table with Tubbo, “You think we actually make it to doing the lab today before he starts talking about Mr. Skeppy again?”
“Oh no chance.”
You chuckled, pulling out your notebook as Mr. Halo pulled up the opening review before the lab.
Twenty minutes later found you elbow deep in the lab, quite literally.
“It was supposed to just be a small scale elephants toothpaste!” Mr. Halo cried.
Purpled grinned, “You should’ve taken my wildcard factor into account sir.”
You laughed, wiping the foam off your apron (thank god for lab aprons), “That was brilliant!”
A few minutes earlier, Tubbo had helped him do out the math to scale up the experiment by 20%, and you had willingly given up your own materials to help.
Now most of the classroom was covered in the foam, and Purpled and the girl who had been unfortunate enough to be partnered with him were knee deep in it.
“I sent the video to the groupchat.” Tubbo whispered.
“Good.” You chuckled again.
Mr. Halo groaned, “You three start cleaning this up, Elizabeth, dear, why don’t you join a different group.”
“I volunteer to switch with her!” Drista yelled, “they look like fun!”
Mr. Halo sighed, “No- no absolutely not- I can’t deal with you added to the mix.”
Drista pouted, the rest of the class went back to there work, and you, Tubbo and Purpled began to clean up the foam.
~~
Drama: Mr. Soot
As Purpled left for his history class, you and tubbo headed twoard the music/performing arts suit, where you met up with Ranboo.
“Tommy said he wished he could’ve been there to see the foam.” Ranboo reported as Tubbo peeled off into the band room, and you both continued on to the green room.
“Hello, Hello, Hello!” Mr. Soot greeted in an aussie accent (you know the one).
“Oh god please say were not doing accents today.” Ranboo muttered.
Mr. Soot laughed, “Nah, we’re going to do some more rounds of improv.”
“Oh thank god.” You said as you moved to take a seat at one of the side tables.
“That would have been hell.” Ranboo agreed.
More people poured into the room, take seats all around as Mr. Soot began to dig through on of the closets.
As the bell rang he let out a triumphant cheer, turning around and brandishing a very large bowl of paper slips, “I found the prompts!”
“Oh dear lord.” Ranboo muttered.
“Mr. Soot can we please do like, anything else?” You asked, “Like scenes, or hell I’d even take monologues, you know we’re all shit at improv!”
The teacher sighed, “I suppose we could do something else. I guess we can begin our next topic, you’re all going to be assigned scenes and given time to practice them, we’ll present on Friday!”
The entire class breathed a sigh of relief that you had managed to change his mind.
~~
English: Mr. NotFound
After a very chaotic lunch full of Tubbo retelling a bunch of jokes Mr. Quackity had told during music, you trudged off to the one class that didn’t have any of your main group of friends in.
The one good thing about having Mr. NotFound as a teacher was that he had no clue what he was doing.
More often then not you would be left to do essays or read the required books, and then watch the movies that went along with them.
And, just your luck, your English block happened to take place during Mr. Wastaken’s prep period.
“Right, everyone, today’s a work day, finish up anything you need to for this class, or another, and I’ll put on a movie.” Mr. NotFound said as soon as everyone was seated.
Ten minutes into the movie the teacher had left, and you pulled up the group chat.
(y/n): Mr. NotFound has yet again suspiciously left during class.
Purp: sus
Purp: just went by WasTaken’s room
Purp: he’s not there
BooBoy: I saw him down in the science hall ten minutes ago
BeEs: Science hall is oposite to English isn’t it
(y/n): yeah it is
BooBoy: very sus
Purp: I swear their having an affair
BeEs: defintly a lesbian
BeEs: *leassion
BeEs: lesion
BeEs: le-a-zon
BeEs: you know what I mean!
BooBoy: take your time Tubbo
You chuckled quietly, putting your phone down to look back up at the movie on the screen.
~~
Spanish: Mr. Dream (its mexican dream lol)
“AYYYY kids!”
You groaned as your Spanish teacher burst into the room.
“What is with this guy?” Tommy muttered.
“ayy man not cool.” Mr. Dream said.
“Mr. Dream your ten minutes late!” Someone pointed out.
“SHut up man. And I told you just call me Mexican Dream!” The teacher said.
You frowned, “That doesn’t make sense, theres no way your first name is ‘mexican’.”
“Well its not,” He explained, “But its cause I’m the Mexican version of that math teacher!”
“Why couldn’t I have taken French like Boo and Purp?” Tommy asked the ceiling quietly.
~~
Home ec: Miss Nihachu
The last block of the day was always the best, but not just because school would be over soon.
There were three main reasons why everyone agreed it was the best.
1. Miss Nihachu was the nicest teacher in school
2. baking was done often, and everyone always got to take some home
3. it was the one class you, Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo and Purpled all had together.
Soon your found yourself crowded into one of the tiny kitchen areas with all your friends, as Miss Nihachu gave instructions.
“Now, if you make a mess you will be cleaning it up! I’m looking at your kitchen a!” She said, half threateningly.
Ranboo pushed away from the group, “I’m not with them I swear!”
Miss Nihachu rolled her eyes playfully, “Sure your not.”
Surprisingly, a mess was not fully made.
Somehow between Tommy wanting to taste the cookie dough at every step from butter to flour, Tubbo trying to add as many chocolate chips as he could, and Purpled all but refusing to move from where he was sitting on the counter, you and Ranboo managed to get the cookies into the oven with no real disasters.
As you wiped down the empty counter space you sighed, “That wasn’t too bad.”
“Yeah.” Tubbo agreed.
Tommy only nodded, still eating the large glob of cookie dough he’d stolen.
Ten minutes before the bell rang and when everyone was supposed to be finishing cleaning up you sniffed the air suspiciously, “Why do I smell burning?”
Tubbo took a deep breath, “I smell it too.”
“Oh yeah, something is definitly burning.” Ranboo agreed.
You whirled to face Purpled, who was absently scrolling through his phone, “Purp you did set a timer right?”
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I don't give a damn
Steve x f!reader
Summary: Sometimes Steve's forgets how times have changed. You're there to sing him a song about it.
Warnings: swearing, drinking, kisses, themes of sexism, i guess spoilers for Annie Get Your Gun (although that's from the 50s so I don't really think it needs much warning lol)
Word Count: 3020
a/n: another karaoke fic (because I wasn't kidding when I said I love them). Most of the songs I've been listening to have come from a playlist aptly titled ffs. It stands for both "for fucks sake" and "feminist fight songs" in my mind, hence the similar theme of this fic and My Name Isn't. This one was inspired by Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation"!
Masterlist
You and Steve don't see eye to eye on most things. It's not that you don't get along. You respect each other too much to fight about everything, but you have differing opinions on most things.
Take movie night for example. Cap always wants to watch something from his list. He's always trying to pick a "classic".
Most of the time, you would rather watch something you haven't seen. Unless it's a comfort thing, you don't really like repeating movies.
You both understand the other's perspective, so rather than a screaming match you typically settle it with a game of rock, paper, scissors.
Unfortunately, that's how most of your interactions go.
Outside of missions and team building nights Tony forces upon the group, you don't spend much time with him. The two of you are just polar opposites.
The problem with that? You have a massive crush on Mr. America himself.
Not that anyone else would know that. You're highly trained in the art of covert operations. You know how to hide your feelings, although you are certain Natasha at least suspects something.
You've resigned yourself to taking this secret to your grave, that is until Cap says something one movie night that sets you on edge.
-
"Rock, Paper, Scissors, shoot!" You held out your fist, having chosen rock.
Steve smirks, covering your fist with his open palm. "Paper beats rock, time for another 'classic'." He squeezes your hand before letting go. He picks up his book, trailing the pencil down the page for the next movie.
The high you were currently riding from his touch quickly dissipated when he announced the movie he wanted to watch.
"Annie Get Your Gun is next on the list." He smiled, closing the book before returning it to his pocket.
You couldn't help but scoff, "who suggested that one?" Annoyed at the sexist themes of the 50s musical movie.
"Someone said to watch all of the best pictures/musicals from the Academy Awards to see how times have changed." Steve scrunched his face in thought. "I can't remember who though."
"What? Most of those movies are terrible if you ask me." You whined a bit, annoyed at the idea of watching your least favorite type of movies.
"Your just annoyed cause you lost rock, paper, scissors. Let the man cross it off his list and move on." Sam chimed in from across the room.
You huffed, making a face at Sam before turning to get more comfortable on the couch. "Fine, this one still sucks though." You frowned, nonplussed by the idea of watching another 'classic' with another sexist storyline.
Somehow, you sat through the musical without any interruptions, unless you counted aggressively rolling your eyes.
The second it was over, you were turning the TV off, excited to be done with it. You were three steps from the exit when Cap called out to you.
"I don't know why you hate that musical so much, Y/N. I thought it was sweet what Annie did for Frank."
You narrowed your eyes as you turned back to him. "Would you lose on purpose to 'get the girl'?" You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the phrase. "Would any of you?" You looked at all the men in the room.
"I don't think it'd be very fair. Wouldn't want her to think she was better than me if she's not. Besides, it depends on the girl." He may have been going for a flirty tone, but you just grew angrier at Steve's response.
"Right, because why should you have to pretend to be worse to appease someone else?" Everyone in the room could see where you were going with this. Everyone, that is, but Steve.
"Yeah, that's a good way of putting it." Steve nodded along, glad the two of you were finally agreeing on something.
"The why'd you think it was sweet when Annie did it?" You stepped closer, narrowing your eyes even farther. "The whole musical Frank was too stubborn, his ego too big, to deal with the fact that Annie was better than him. 'You can't get a man with a gun'? Bullshit, you could always shoot him." You let out a dry laugh at your own joke, completely fed up with sexism in movies being written off as love.
Steve was taken aback at how everything had shifted. He thought he was finally in agreement with you on something, so he clung to it. "But she did it for love... her reputation, all the medals, they still showed how good she was." Halfway through speaking, he realized he was only making it worse, but it was too late. The damage was done.
"For fuck's sake, she shouldn't have to pretend to be any less of a badass sharpshooter than she is to find love." With another roll of your eyes, you went to leave, stopping again at the sound of Steve's voice.
"Maybe she was just scared she wouldn't find anyone with that reputation." He nearly smacked himself for that one, why couldn't he just shut up? He just didn't want you to be mad at him.
With one hand on the doorway, you looked over your shoulder. "That reputation? I'd rather have that reputation than a relationship where I have to feed his ego." With that, you walked to the elevators, beyond ready to call it a night.
-
"I'm an idiot." Steve sighed, head in his hands, elbows on his knees while sitting on Bucky's bed.
"Yep. You just kept digging." Bucky agreed easily, not sure where to start with the advice.
Steve shot him a glare as he began pacing back and forth. "I mean, she clearly didn't like the movie. Why did I even start the conversation? I should have just let her walk away. She already barely tolerates my presence as it is. We disagree about everything, even if we rarely fight over it. I should've just cut my losses and enjoyed the time we spent together, even if it was with everyone."
"Punk, you need to relax. Just go apologize, then maybe you'll actually go to sleep at some point tonight." Bucky shoved Steve out the door, slamming it shut before he could object.
Mumbling about what a jerk Bucky is, Steve made his way to your door. He hesitated, turned around, walked a few steps, turned around again, and eventually knocked.
You opened the door with a yawn, having been close to sleep when the noise startled you. "What d'ya need, Cap?"
He couldn't help but smile at your sleepy state, never having seen you this unguarded before. "Uh, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. You're entitled to your opinion, and there was no reason for me to fight you on it."
A look of annoyance briefly flashed across your face at the mention of the movie, but you relaxed given his apology. "I'm glad we can agree then. It's a terrible movie."
"Oh, no, I still like the movie." He had never wanted the ground to swallow him whole more than he did in that moment. Floundering for a way to undo what he just said, he started rambling. "I mean, you're right. It is kind of sexist, but that was just the time period you know? Like in the 40s, dames had to constantly worry about how their actions would affect their reputations." Up to that point, he had been staring at the floor, rapidly spewing more words. "I mean, you wouldn't want a bad reputation, right?" He chose the wrong sentence to make eye contact.
The sleepy, slightly confused smile was gone, replaced by a look he had hoped to never have directed at him. You spoke with an eerie sort of calm when you replied. "I think you're a little stuck in the 40s, Cap. I shouldn't have to worry about my reputation anymore than any man does his. Goodnight."
For the second time that night, a door slammed in his face. Bucky was definitely wrong. He would not be getting any sleep after talking to you.
-
"Ladies and gentlemen, it's karaoke night. Yes, I've rented a bar. No, you may not stay home. We start at 8!" Tony walked in, made his announcement, and instantly walked right back out.
Everyone nodded, taking in the brief encounter with Tony. Well, everyone but you and Steve. The two of you were too stuck in your heads to listen to Tony's ramblings.
It had been three days since movie night, and Steve still hadn't worked up the courage to talk to you again.
What could he even say to explain why he was so flustered? "Sorry for the other night, I can't seem to form coherent thoughts when I'm around you, because even though we rarely talk outside of missions, I have a massive crush on you"? No, that was definitely coming on too strong.
He just needed to find the right words.
Meanwhile, you were confused. You never would have imagined Steve to be so stuck in the past. Of course, you understood things were different before he got stuck in the ice, but he's really made leaps and bounds in his understanding of feminism and equality since he first realized what year it was.
You wanted to ask him where the whole speech came from, but you were afraid of the answer.
"I guess that means it's time to get ready since it's already 6:30! I swear, he never gives us enough notice for these things." Wanda smiled at Vision, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, before grabbing you and Nat to go change.
"What are we getting ready for?" You asked when Wanda finally let go of your arm, having entered the elevator.
"Karaoke! Didn't you her Tony?" She eyed you suspiciously, clearly debating whether or not to look into your mind.
"She was too stuck in her head to notice me throwing popcorn at her, she definitely didn't listen to Tony." Nat smirked at your startled expression, laughing when you reached up to brush the kernels out of your hair.
You glared at both of them, "I was just thinking about some stuff. That's all."
"Yeah, some stuff named Steve." Wanda cackled, having decided to peak into your head. It was for your own good after all.
"Wanda! You said you wouldn't read my mind unprovoked." You wanted to be angry, but part of you was relieved you wouldn't have to keep this secret anymore.
"It was provoked! You wouldn't tell me what you were thinking about." Wanda smiled, also knowing that you were happy to have shared the secret, even if not by choice.
"And don't try to change the subject. Steve, huh? Somebody's got a crush." She was taunting you like a child would on a playground, shaking her head back and forth for emphasis.
"Well, yeah, but that's not what I why I was thinking about him." They each gave you a pointed look, obviously not believing you. "Seriously! I was thinking about movie night." You frowned, upset at the memory.
You quickly filled them in on what Steve said when he came to talk to you as you made your way to Nat's room to get ready. (She has the biggest vanity, so it makes the most sense to go to her room).
"I can't picture Steve trying to defend himself like that. Normally if he's fallen back into his old ways, someone points it out and he apologizes." Nat made a face, trying to put two and two together. "Unless..." She looked at Wanda, gesturing for her to read her mind.
"Oh my god!" Wanda squealed, nearly knocking you over with her excitement. "Steve's got a crush, toooooo." She happily dragged it out, much to Nat's amusement.
"Please, the man barely talks to me as it is. Our most substantial conversation revolved around my 'bad reputation' or lack thereof." You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the memory. "I seriously doubt he's got a crush. I do want to fix this though. I don't like when people are avoiding me. I get all stressed about accidentally running into them."
"He totally has a crush." Wanda smiled again.
"It's the only reason he would turn into a rambling idiot in front of you." Nat added.
"What song should I sing tonight?" You desperately tried to change the subject.
Wanda smirked, already having a perfect song in mind. "I think I've got one that could solve both your problems..." She filled you and Nat in on her plan, and although you doubted the crush aspect of it all, it was a good way to break the ice in terms of Steve avoiding you.
Hopefully it would show him you were more confused than upset, and everything would work out.
You changed quickly, embracing 80s fashion to go with your song choice. You wore black leather pants and a matching jacket, slipping on a tight red shirt underneath. Although, you still did your hair like you normally would, not fully committing to the 80s vibes.
With the addition of some red lipstick, a rarity for you, you were ready. Wanda and Nat finished their looks as well, and the three of you left for the bar.
-
You were honestly a little surprised when Steve walked up to you immediately after you walked into the bar. He handed you your favorite drink, smiling as he took in your ensemble.
"I wanted to apologize. I didn't mean all that stuff I said, just sometimes I forget how much things have changed and I-" You cut him off, not wanting him to suffer (or ramble) too much.
"Steve, it's fine. I was honestly more confused than anything else." He smiled, taking a sip from the drink he provided you.
"Really? You definitely looked angry when you slammed the door in my face." He outwardly cringed at bringing it up again.
"Okay, I was angry at first, but then I was mostly confused." You nodded, trying to convey that you weren't upset with him anymore.
"Good. I'm glad because avoiding you was getting pretty difficult." He wanted to smack himself again. Why does he always say the stupidest things around you?
To his relief, you laughed at his 'joke'. "Plus, this makes my song choice even more fun." You winked before walking back over to Wanda and Nat, leaving Steve to wonder about your performance.
-
"Y/N! You're up next." Tony called from his seat near the stage. He really liked to enforce his 'everyone must participate in team building, that's how it becomes team building' philosophy when it comes to karaoke night.
You couldn't help but smirk at Steve as he whipped his head around to witness you walking onto the stage. He's been eagerly awaiting your performance.
Everyone who knew the song started laughing at the first sounds of the guitar. The two super soldiers though? They were confused.
"I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation."
Once you started singing, you couldn't take your eyes off of Steve. He was blushing at being called out, Bucky's hysterical laughter next to him not really helping the situation.
"Living in the past, it's a new generation."
Bucky nearly fell out of his chair laughing. Even Steve had a smile on his face. You bobbed your head to the music, relying on your previous drinks to really get into the performance.
"A girl can do what she wants to do, and that's what I'm gonna do. And I don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation. Oh no, not me."
You put air quotes around bad, really playing it up since everyone was having so much fun with it. Tony, Nat, Wanda, and Sam were jumping around, dancing as you sang. Bucky was still trying to catch his breath from laughing so hard. Steve was full on grinning by the last chorus, slightly shaking his head at your antics.
"So, why should I care about a bad reputation, anyway?"
In typical Tony fashion, he saing along for the "oh no, not me" bit of the song, encouraging everyone to scream the words with him.
By the time the song was over, you were a little out of breath, sweating a bit from the lights.
"Now's your chance, punk. Go bring her another drink." Bucky shoved the glass in his hand and gave Steve a slight push in your direction as you walked off the small stage.
You hugged Nat and Wanda before making your way toward the bar. Steve intercepted you, handing you the freshly made drink.
You smiled, uttering a quick thanks before eagerly taking a sip. The cold liquid did wonders for your parched throat.
"That was quite the performance. Really called me out 'on my bullshit' as you would say." You couldn't help but laugh and tease him a bit more.
"Captain, language!" You placed your empty hand on his shoulder, sliding down to his chest with your next question. "Whatever will the world think of you?"
"Well, recently I've adopted a new motto." He whispered, leaning in closer so you could here. "I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation."
Caught off guard by his use of the lyric, you laughed, leaning into your hand on his chest for support.
"Something we agree on then." Your breath caught in your throat when you realized just how close he was.
"I think there's one more thing we agree on..." He trailed off, eyes quickly glancing down at your lips.
"What might that be, Cap?" Your eyes drifted down his face as well, giving him enough courage to lean in.
His lips caught yours in a passionate kiss. He pulled you closer as you wrapped your arms around his neck. The two of you moved in sync, as if you were made for each other.
You were so lost in each other, you paid no attention to the cheers from your teammates. You didn't even register Nat and Wanda screaming "I told you so" as Steve pulled you in for a second kiss.
#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x y/n#captain america x you#captain america x reader#captain america#marvel fic#marvel
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Chapter 15: Grand Gesture
Summary: GRAND GESTURE: He or she must be willing to put it all on the line now or risk losing the one thing they need to become whole-hearted. It’s life or death now.
CW: Smut in the last third of the chapter. Questionable quality.
Summer 2017
“Fuck!” Gwen felt her center of gravity shift as she leaned forward, overbalancing on the rickety chair she’d been using to reach the ceiling. It tipped perilously on two legs, then lost the fight with physics and sent her sprawling with a crash that shook the dozens of tiny papers taped around the room. She hit the ground with her hip and the side of her face, one of them making a disturbing crunch sound and both shooting bright white pain down her entire right side. “Shit!”
She was halfway to her feet, wondering if the crossed-eyes dizzy feeling was from lack of sleep, hitting her head, or marker fumes, when fingers closed around her upper arm and she was hauled upright. “Gwen! Goodness, are you okay?” David let go of her, his gaze roving around the room as he took a step back. “What happened in here?”
She looked around, taking a deep breath and noticing for the first time in hours the thick perfume of tacky glue and paint, as though David walking in had turned her senses back on. It was done, mostly. Well, no — it’d never really be done, but it was enough to prove her point.
She hoped.
While she was panicking, David had wandered over to the center of the room, ducking to avoid a string of origami animals dangling from the ceiling. “Is this for camp?”
“Yes — I mean, no, it’s from camp, and maybe we can reuse some of it but no, it’s . . . not really . . .” She’d planned this, during her mad crafting frenzy: how David would come home, wonder what she was doing, and she’d carefully tour him through everything — or maybe she’d let him get on with his morning routine while she added a few more things, made it just a bit closer to perfect.
But his presence had pulled her to a halt. She’d been like a shark all night, afraid to stop moving or she’d die, but now that he was here she felt drained, the giddy, terrified adrenaline that’d been keeping her going evaporating in an instant.
Though hey. At least she had a good reason to be tired, for once.
He frowned at her discarded supplies strewn carelessly around the room. “Are these from Art Camp?”
The question jolted her into action, and she stumbled forward jerkily, like the Tin Man without oil. “Yeah, but I already took it out of my paycheck, it’s fine. I’ll go shopping tomorrow for new stuff.” She wanted him to hear what she really meant, what she was trying to put together through exhausted babbling: that this was important, that it was worth sacrificing sleep and money for, that she loved him and she respected him and she wanted him to know that.
Finally, finally, he turned his attention to the walls. “Gwen, what is all this?”
“It’s you,” she blurted out, then winced and rested her forehead in her palm. “No, that’s not — it’s — some of the stuff you’ve taught me, look . . .” She took his hand, her nerves trembling at the brush of his fingers against her own, and pulled him toward the doorway. She’d made a messy semicircle around the room, right to left like a supermarket. Dropping his hand, she took a step back, steepling her fingers like she was praying and pressing them to her lips with another steadying breath.
She had one chance.
“Okay,” she began. “So . . .”
---
Gwen looked like she was on the verge of falling over, listing dangerously to the side as she led him across the room. There were feathers in her hair, and scraps of paper; she was speckled with color, marker and paint and even a smear of glitter glue on the tip of her nose, the pads of her fingers nearly black with a rainbow of ink that stained his hand as she held it. It was obvious she hadn’t slept, even more obvious that she desperately needed to.
But her eyes were bright even if the circles under them were dark, and she thrummed with an energy and animation David hadn’t seen all summer.
And he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her, not when it finally felt like she’d returned to him.
“— song you taught me last year,” she said, and he felt a flash of guilt that he hadn’t been listening. She tapped the paper she’d stuck to the wall, the lyrics of his Camp Campbell song scrawled across it in uneven lines. “All the camp activities, remember? At least the most important ones.”
(It was really just the ones that fit best into the rhyme scheme, but he didn’t correct her as she moved on to a second piece of paper.)
“This is a list of all the facts about nature I’ve learned since I started here,” she continued, gesturing. This one was crammed so tightly with writing that he could barely read it, bullet points snaking in all directions and increasingly smaller handwriting as it moved down the page, until finally Gwen had started attaching sticky notes to the wall below and around the list. “I had to keep going back and adding things as I thought of them. I know I’m forgetting something, but I can’t —” She gestured around her head in a classic “scatterbrained” motion, chuckling weakly. “I’m kind of all over the place right now.”
Next: a bullseye, a pencil stuck point-first into the wall. “I couldn’t really shoot an arrow,” Gwen explained, “but remember that summer you taught me archery? I’m still pretty good at it — we went to a shooting range for Claire’s birthday last year and I was the only one who hit the target every time.”
Next: a messy drawing of a forest, a little stick figure kneeling next to a moss-covered rock. “That one time we got lost in the woods trying to find a good place for bug-catching, you got us out because you knew how to find north. You’d be pretty great in a zombie apocalypse.”
Next: a sheet of black construction paper poked through with holes, hastily taped to the back window so light from the lamp outside shone through in little pinpricks. He leaned closer and realized that they were in the rough shape of the constellations visible above Lake Lilac. “I didn't know much about stars and shit outside of, like, horoscope stuff — I mean, in the city you can’t even see them — but you always pointed out which constellations and planets were out during the summer and now I know them all too.”
And on, and on. Scale models of the crafts and activities they’d done at Camp Campbell, nature facts, and on one wall she’d tacked up a typewritten letter to the Director of Admissions at Queen’s University Belfast. Skimming it quickly, it looked to David like an application.
“I was trying to get into their Environmental Science program. I wrote about Sleepy Peak Peak and Lake Lilac,” she admitted, looking almost embarrassed. “I got in. And I mean, they’re not the best program out there, but they’re still in the top 300 worldwide so that’s pretty cool, I guess —”
“Belfast?” He leaned in closer, confirming that he’d read correctly. “Isn’t that in England?”
“Yeah.” She looked impressed, and he suppressed a weary smirk; yes, he did know a bit about the world outside of Camp Campbell. But she surprised him by adding, “I had to look that up, actually.” She shrugged. “Guess I should’ve just asked you, huh?
“Anyway, that was a couple years ago. I didn’t go, obviously,” she added, responding to his unspoken question. “International travel’s a bitch. I needed a scholarship, and my grades weren’t good enough. I think I only got in at all because of my letter.” She gestured at it, not quite meeting his eyes. “Which I never thanked you for. Or most of the stuff I’ve learned from you. I’ve been . . . kinda taking all that for granted. So, uh . . . thanks, David.”
He wanted to tell her she was welcome, that she didn’t need to thank him at all. That sharing these things with her had been the highlight of his life since they’d met, even if it hadn’t seemed like she cared about any of it. But there was a lump quivering dangerously in his throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.
After a second she cleared her throat awkwardly and led him over to a row of stick figures hanging from the ceiling. “Some of these are from Yoga Camp,” she said, pointing at a few of the ones contorted into uncomfortable shapes, “but also all that other stuff you do. Like smile exercises —” and yes, one of the stick figures had a big pink smiley face, “— and breathing techniques and stuff. I use those sometimes when I’m having a panic attack. They really help, even if smile exercises still make me feel like a dumbass most of the time.”
The decorations started to get more abstract as they made their way around the room, simple crafts and trivia giving way to colorful scribbles and symbols, representing things he’d said to her about her relationship with her parents, her love life. “You have really good advice, you know that? You could be the next Dear Abby or something, seriously. I think that’s still running.”
(It was; he read it every morning with his pre-breakfast tea.)
“These get worse, sorry . . . I was getting tired.” Gwen jerked her chin up at a wobbly butterfly — or was it a bird? — dangling over their heads. “I use your advice about hummingbird-ing all the time. With writing, mostly, but sometimes at work or something, too.”
He gently reached up and touched the bird’s feet, watching it spin in a lazy circle. Technically the idea had been his mother’s, a way to avoid burnout by flitting from one project to another and adding just a little bit to each, instead of devoting all energy and resources to one thing and slogging through until it was done. The whole idea was part of his ethos of being a counselor — wasn’t Camp Campbell a place to get a little taste of everything, after all? He remembered explaining it to Gwen during her first week at camp, just over five years ago.
He wouldn’t have ever imagined that she’d actually remembered.
He didn’t think she remembered any of this.
But the evidence was all around him — on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, dozens of examples, mementos of the tiny moments that meant everything to him. Immortalized, remembered, in increasingly sloppy handwriting and doodles.
In the corner was a bright red card that looked familiar. David moved over to it and laughed in recognition: it was one he’d sent her after her first or second summer at Camp Campbell, when he’d seen on Facebook that she was looking for work. He tugged it off the wall, careful not to damage the cheap cardstock, and smiled down at the deer wearing a plaid hunting cap, which he’d made out of tissue paper and markers (he’d gotten much better since then, thanks to a few years of Decoupage Camps).
‘Good luck on your job HUNT! I know you’ll slay the interview!’
“I’ve kept that for years to show my friends,” Gwen said, making him jump; he hadn’t realized she’d come up behind him, but she was close enough to nearly rest her head against his. “I felt like it really captured the kind of guy you were.”
Her breath prickled the side of his neck, and he distracted himself by opening the card — ‘oh deer, is this joke going on too long? I feel like it’s overkill!’ — noticing how worn the crease was, like she’d opened and closed it hundreds of times. “Does it?”
He felt her shake her head without having to face her, stray wisps of hair that’d escaped her ponytail tickling his cheek. “Not even close.”
Unable to resist, he looked back at her over his shoulder, and she took his arm, turning him around the rest of the way. He thought she was going to kiss him — she was close enough that he could see a smeary glue thumbprint on her cheek and what looked like half a smiley-face sticker in her hair — but she just took the card from him, setting it carefully on the couch before taking hold of both his hands. Her expression was grave, shining faint with hope, and between the craft debris and her naked earnestness, she looked incredibly young and vulnerable.
“There’s more,” she said, gesturing with her chin toward the far wall, “and I’ll let — I want you to look at it, but . . . I just had to tell you, I’ve been taking you for granted and it’s not right. I’ve been pretending I still think of you as this —” Pulling one of her hands away, she picked up the card again, her fingers shaking so the deer’s toothpick antlers clacked together, “— sweet, silly, kinda childish David, who belongs with someone sweet, and silly, and kinda childish. And I tried to be that and . . . I mean I sucked at it,” she said, breaking off with a weak laugh, dropping her eyes to their joined hands. “And it . . . kind of broke me. But I didn’t even think to ask if that was what you wanted, because I thought I knew what you needed, and that was — so, really fucked.” She looked back up at him, her eyes dancing with purple fire, her grip on his hand tightening. “And I — I don’t, you know so much that I don’t — I could fill the entire cabin with stuff I’ve learned from you, this doesn’t even scratch the surface.”
She paused, like she was waiting for him to interject, but David felt like he’d been turned to stone, paralyzed and unblinking while his brain whirled.
“But none of it matters if it doesn’t show . . . if you don’t know —” Her voice cracked, and she dropped his other hand, pressing a fist to her mouth. “— h-how amazing you are, how much you matter to this camp and to me and . . . and I didn’t know people could actually be happy 'til I met you. I mean, I guess I knew technically, but not that it was a real thing people actually were. But you figured it out. You’ve known what you wanted since you were a kid and then you got it and I’ve never done anything without second-guessing myself a million times but you just did it, and it meant making so many decisions about your life that could’ve turned out wrong but they didn’t because they were the right ones for you. And you knew it. You always have.” She swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands, crying in earnest now. “You’re a marvel, David. I should’ve said that every fucking day. And I know it’s probably too little, too late, but I’m sorry. For not telling you and — and for everything.
“And I . . .” She swallowed hard, taking a few heaving breaths before continuing, and he knew she was trying to hold onto her composure even as tears poured down her cheeks, “I don’t know what you wanna do. With — with us, I mean. But you’re right, I haven’t been a good girlfriend to you, and if you don’t want to . . . if you want me to leave right now or after the summer ends or if you just wanna be friends or whatever , that’s fine. A-and — if you do . . . y’know . . .” Her face crumpled, her shoulders curling in on themselves. “I love you so much,” she managed, her words harder to make out through damp, hiccuping breaths. “Whatever — whatever you want — I — I — I trust you.”
Understanding pierced his chest, a small pinhole that allowed light to pour, warm and white, into his heart.
“I trust you.”
David hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hear those words until that moment.
He stepped forward, plucking the card from her hand and tossing it onto the floor (he could make her another one, dozens if she wanted, hundreds) and tilting her chin up so he could kiss her. Her cheeks were wet under his palms, her mouth salty and acidic with the taste of not-quite-morning breath, and each brush of his lips against hers was broken by her pulling back to drag in a sobbing gasp, her mouth moving clumsily like she was as close to fainting from exhaustion and emotion as she looked.
It was, without question, the best kiss of his life.
He broke away to press his forehead against hers, sliding his hands from her face to cup the back of her neck and closing his eyes. “I love you too, Gwen,” he murmured, his heart fluttering at the giddily-incredulous, teary laugh she gave in response. “And I think you need to go to bed.”
She leaned back, and the bleary confusion on her face was so precious he rose up on his toes to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Huh? But what about . . .”
“I’ve got some stuff to think about,” he said, then gestured at the crafts she hadn’t shown him yet, “and look at. And after that . . . we should talk. But it won’t be a very good talk if you fall asleep,” he added with a laugh as her eyes drifted closed.
She opened them halfway, just enough to glare at him, but the effect would’ve been more intimidating if she hadn’t been swaying slightly. “’m fine.” The adrenaline that’d been keeping her going was clearly wearing off fast, and David was a little worried she wouldn’t make it to bed, that he’d just find her unconscious on the floor of the hallway. “You didn’t sleep either,” she accused, pointing at him with a finger stained silvery with graphite.
Goodness, he loved her so much he couldn’t stand it. “I had a nap.” Not a long one, but he was used to not sleeping much. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“It’s already the morning,” she complained, but like a sleepy robot she turned and shuffled back toward the front of the cabin. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and shower and stuff. So I look less like a sludge goblin.”
“You do that, Gwen.” He waited until the bathroom door had clicked shut before turning back to the mess she’d made of their living room. It was almost hard to tell the difference between what was art and what was trash left over, there was so much of both; it looked like an explosion had hit a crafts store.
Gwen wasn’t someone who put a lot of effort into things she didn’t care about. It was one of the most frustrating things about having her as a coworker, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love how unabashedly honest she was, how he could read her feelings just by looking at her work.
There was the soft sound of tape unsticking and one of the decorations sagged, a corner curling away from the wall and drooping down. He pushed it carefully back into place and fumbled for his phone, setting it to camera mode.
This was worth remembering.
---
Gwen was positive she’d never be able to fall asleep; how could she, when things were still so up in the air? But she wasn’t twenty anymore, and after the exhaustion and emotional turmoil of the last few hours — days, weeks; hell, if she was being honest it’d been years since she’d truly felt well-rested — and despite the anxiety buzzing inside her skull she was out in moments.
Soft fingers in her hair drew her back to earth, and when she opened her eyes David came into focus, crouching next to her bed so they were at eye level. He smiled as she blinked at him, warmth and sunshine he probably didn’t even know he was emitting. “Goooood morning, Gwen!” he chirped, his voice way too loud for how close they were, and she winced. “Sorry,” he added, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Habit.”
“It’s fine,” she said, because she’d missed his morning bellow so much more than she could ever miss having non-punctured eardrums. She sat up, clumsily swiping at her face to double-check for drool or errant eye gunk. “Morning.”
“How are you feeling?” He hopped onto the bed, making her and everything else on the mattress bounce. He was being so . . . normal, like all the drama last night had been a dream.
Fuck it. They had some hard, painful conversations coming; she could enjoy a little bit of normalcy while her brain booted back up. “Good,” she replied, yawning. “I mean, tired, but I’m always tired so —” Her blood chilled, and suddenly she was wide awake.
There went normal. All because she had to remind him of what an unloveable disaster she was.
But when she looked back up he didn’t seem annoyed. He leaned against the wall, stretching his legs out so they dangled off the edge of the bed. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She scoffed before she could stop herself, and his gaze flicked up to hers, taking her breath away. (God, how she’d functioned for almost four years without feeling more than a flicker of attraction to this man was unfathomable.) “Really. I want to know what’s going on with you.” His hand landed on her knee, light as a bird but blazingly warm even through her blankets. “All I want is for you to let me in.”
A swell of emotion swept up from somewhere in her chest, causing her eyes to prick with tears for the thousandth time. She looked away and sniffed as discreetly as possible — which wasn’t very, she assumed, since he immediately reached over and handed her a tissue from the pack he kept stashed in his pockets. “I mean, if you want me to complain, I can do that,” she muttered, tamping down another flow of tears through willpower. “I can complain about fucking anything.”
David’s laugh made her turn back toward him, because it didn’t have a trace of sadness or pity or anything she’d expected. It was so purely, entirely delighted , more than even he could fake, and he was looking at her like she’d said something surprising and wonderful.
“You really like it,” she blurted out, unable to hide the awe in her voice. “That I’m like this. Whiny and —” she waved vaguely “— bitchy, and whatever.”
“I don’t.” He shook his head and her stomach plummeted. But as she took a breath to respond he shifted closer, gently cupping the back of her neck so he could tap his forehead against hers. “I love it, Gwen. I love everything about you.”
A laugh burbled out of her before she could stop it, and she pulled away to hide her face. “Oh my god. You bastard. You’re so cheesy.”
His fingers closed around her wrists, tugging her palms away from her face. “I love you,” he said, kissing the skin she’d covered with her hands — the tip of her nose, each cheek, her top and bottom lip, her eyebrows.
“I love you, too.” She could already tell that if he was going to keep saying that to her she’d spontaneously combust, because this was all too cute and romantic and lovely and she still didn’t fully understand how this was happening, why he didn’t hate her.
But she’d promised she wouldn’t question his decision, whatever it was. She owed him that much.
His smile faded slightly, a faint line appearing between his eyebrows. “What’re you thinking?”
“Nothing,” she lied automatically, and when that only made him sigh she added, “I said I was going to trust you,” hating the note of defensiveness in her voice, because of the two of them she didn’t have much grounds for righteous indignation.
“Then trust me with how you feel.” It should’ve sounded too much like a cliche, something she’d tease him for, but he was right and they both knew it.
She’d put him through hell by not telling him the truth, and they both knew that, too.
Gwen closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to relax. Things were — they seemed okay, didn’t they? Almost normal, but better, because all her ugliness was out there for him to see and he knew about it and he didn’t seem to mind. And wasn’t that something she’d never thought she’d ever actually find? “I don’t get it,” she admitted, her voice sounding small and stupid. “I keep feeling like . . . like I tricked you somehow. Like I didn’t explain well enough why you shouldn’t want me, because if you really got it you wouldn’t be here. Not because I think you’re stupid,” she added quickly, desperately, “because I don’t, really! But — but even smart people can be . . . I don’t know, manipulated?”
The confusion in her voice made her pause, sit back. Manipulated? That couldn’t be right, could it? She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone, and she was pretty sure you couldn’t manipulate someone by accident.
Or maybe you could; she hadn’t always paid a ton of attention to her psych classes in college.
“I’m sorry,” she managed after a few deeply uncomfortable moments of silence. “I’m trying, I promise, but I understand if . . . you know. Whatever.” (She still hated saying it, especially now that it seemed like it might not happen. Breaking up with David was hard enough without having to say it.)
He put his arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side and kissing her temple. “Thank you for telling me, Gwen.”
“You’re not mad?”
She felt him shake his head as she rested hers on his shoulder, scooting down to make up for their (lack of) height difference. “I wasn’t really mad when I came back this morning,” he said, “even before I saw everything you’d made. I had some time to cool down, and I . . . started thinking, I guess.”
Gwen wanted to look up at him, but she wanted to soak in his warmth more so she nuzzled into the curve of his neck, inhaling the smells of floral detergent and piney-woodsy cologne left over from the day before. “About what?” she asked, like there could possibly be more than one answer. Like maybe he’d been pondering the sociopolitics of Malaysia or something.
He let out a little huff of laughter, and she knew without looking that he’d glanced up at the ceiling in a slow blink (that he insisted was less rude than rolling his eyes outright, even though it was just as obvious). “You. Everything that’s happened this summer — and before it.” His shoulder shifted slightly under her cheek, a shrug aborted halfway through so she’d be comfortable. “Things started making more sense after everything we talked about tonight. Like the day we . . . well, when you told me about that gentleman you . . . almost took home.”
“He wasn’t a gentleman, he was a douchebag,” she interrupted, immediately feeling like an asshole. But David chuckled and squeezed her closer, like he enjoyed her company even when she was being annoying (which he did; somehow he actually did) and she let herself relax against his side, believe that maybe things were going to be okay after all.
“I’ve thought about the stuff you said a lot since that day. Mostly the parts that made me feel the worst.”
She flinched. “I’m so sorry —” she began, but he cut her off with a kiss to her forehead.
“I have trouble with . . . rejection,” he continued, sounding embarrassed. Like that minor character flaw even came close to the millions of ways she was fucked up. “I — I guess you could call it ‘abandonment issues’? But at first, and for a while, all I could hear were the ways you didn’t . . . seem to want me around anymore.”
“But I did —”
“I know.” Another soft kiss, and she wasn’t sure if it was to reassure her or himself. “I know that now. And I think, knowing that . . . it made what you said sound different.
“You were drunk — I know, you downplayed it, and it wouldn’t have excused . . . but your judgment was still impaired. And you didn’t kiss him. Thinking back, it didn’t even sound like you really wanted to. Did you?” She shook her head, not willing to look up at him because no matter how gently he tried to frame this she still felt like it was her fault. “And I just couldn’t stop thinking, how if this had happened a few years ago you would’ve told that story so much differently. If we were still just friends, maybe. You would’ve stormed into the cabin raging about how some jerk had ‘put his mitts all over you’ —”
Gwen couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing, pushing away from him and resting her head in her hands. “That can’t be how you think I talk!”
“It was an edited version,” he admitted, flushing. His smile was wide enough to illuminate the room, catching and refracting the dreary dawn light. “Please come back?”
She snuggled into his outstretched arms, her heart panging at the plaintive note in his voice. She wrapped herself around him, legs entangled with his and arms squeezing his waist; she’d missed him just as much. “Your impression of me is really bad,” she said with an uncontrollable giggle that made her feel like she was fourteen.
“I’ll work on it.” For a moment he just held her, soaking in the relief of being together and being okay. (At least, that's what she was doing.) “Why did it bother you so much?” he asked after a minute or so. “It doesn’t . . . well, it just doesn’t sound like you did anything wrong.”
“I guess — yeah, maybe not, technically anyway. But you’d just visited and saw how terrible my life is, and I was having an even harder time being a less-shitty version of myself . . .” He made a soft noise, almost pained, and pulled her closer. “So when this asshole showed up and was, like, exactly the type of guy I usually go for, it felt like . . . I don’t know. Like the universe was telling me we didn’t belong together. That sounds stupid. Never mind.” She pressed her face against his chest with an embarrassed groan. “Pretend I said something that doesn’t make me sound like I write horoscopes for a living.”
“I like horoscopes!” he replied, because of course he did. After a moment he added, “Thank you for telling me. It . . . helps confirm some things I was thinking earlier, when I left. Because what you said, and what you’ve been saying for a long time . . . I’ve been hearing it the way that’d hurt me the most, but I think you meant it to make me hate you.” He paused for a second, then added, “Do you think I’m right?”
Gwen shrugged, feeling more than a little like one of his campers receiving an aggressively pacifist talking-to. “Yeah. I don’t . . . like myself all that much.”
“I’ve noticed.” And David pressed another kiss to the top of her head, like he was rewarding her for being honest. Or like he just couldn’t help himself. “You haven’t treated me very well lately, Gwen. And I was — am very unhappy about that. But I don’t think it holds a candle to how you treat yourself.”
She wriggled away enough to sit up and look at him, frowning. “So you’re, what? Willing to come back to a shitty relationship because you feel sorrier for me than for you?” she demanded, even though it would’ve been smarter to just not say anything and enjoy his pity while she still had it.
But again, she said she’d be honest. And the true Gwen was kind of a bitch.
His smile turned sad, and he carefully tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. “See, that’s what I mean. You never give yourself the benefit of the doubt.” When she frowned, not understanding, he took her hand and began playing with it, wiggling her fingers and twining them with his. “I understand better, now. How you’re feeling and what you’re thinking. And I’m not going to let you treat me like I’m a kid, or — or stupid, or whatever. I know you don’t really think that,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “There’s a whole cabin’s worth of proof in the living room that you don’t really think that. That’s why I wanna try again. Miscommunications, misunderstandings . . . those are fixable. And now that I know what’s been going through your head, I don’t think you’ve done anything I can’t forgive.”
Her eyes filled with tears — again, and she was going to die of dehydration if she didn’t get ahold of herself — but this time she couldn’t resent them too much, not when it felt like she was brimming over with hope that was eager to burst free. “What’re you saying, David?”
He shifted back, turning so he was sitting cross-legged facing her, and took both her hands in his. “I keep . . . trying to find a way to say it,” he admitted, looking down at their twined fingers and flushing pink, “because ‘do you want to be my girlfriend again?’ is maybe too middle-school, but ‘dating’ sounds too casual, and —”
Gwen pulled out of his grasp and closed the distance between them, straddling his lap and taking his chin in one hand. His face lifted toward her before his eyes did, darting from her chest to over her shoulder before finally meeting her gaze. She wound her free arm around his shoulders, sliding her fingers into the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. With the hand cupping his jaw she gently swiped her thumb across his lower lip, slightly chapped but still warm and softer than it looked, each breath skating across her skin feather-light and making her skin prickle. “Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to his, holding back a laugh — or maybe a sob, she wasn’t quite sure; the emotions roiling inside her were too much to separate between happy and sad. “Whatever you’re asking, yes, I want it.”
She felt his smile spread under her thumb before he brushed her hand away, tilting his head so he could kiss her. “Good,” he murmured with a breathless chuckle, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “I mean, I was pretty sure you’d say that, but still — that’s a relief.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You idiot.” Her blood turned to ice, and she pulled away from him, stricken. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t she be anything but herself for five minutes? “I didn’t mean — !”
David smiled, far more fondly than she deserved. “I know, Gwen.”
Groaning, she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m trying, really I am.”
“Don’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back until she was upright, looking down at him again. “Please don’t try so hard to be what you think I want. Just be you.”
“Right.” She forced her shoulders to relax, tilting her head back and rolling her neck until it cracked. “I’m . . . gonna have a hard time with that. ‘Just me’ is kind of the worst.”
“I know you think that,” he said, pressing his half-open mouth to the hollow of her collarbone and making her shiver. “And I’ll keep reminding you until you don’t think it anymore.”
She managed a weak chuckle, leaning into his lips as he moved up her neck. “Good luck with that.”
His answering laugh rolled over her skin, warm and teasing. “Haven’t you heard, Gwen? I like projects.”
Jesus. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she tugged him upright, taking a moment to appreciate his gasp that wasn’t just surprise. “I love you,” she said, loosening her grip and kissing his forehead, petting away the furrows her fingers left in his fluffy red hair.
His expression softened. “I love —” he began, and Gwen tightened her hold on his hair and pulled back, just so she could watch his eyes flutter shut and his breath catch, “— y-you too.”
Dragging her palm down the side of his neck, she settled her thumb on his throat, feeling his pulse flutter rapidly, and bent to kiss him again. She hadn’t necessarily meant to turn it into anything, just wanted to feel his lips against hers, but her fingers tightened involuntarily in his hair and he moaned, and it was a lit match dropped down her throat to a stomach full of gasoline, a whoosh of heat blazing to life in the pit of her belly. “David,” she breathed, not so much because she had anything to say but because she needed to say it, to roll the sound of his name around in her mouth, let it melt like chocolate on her tongue and infuse her whole body with sweetness.
“Gwen,” he said, and she thought he was doing the same thing, saying her name just because he could, but then his hands were on her shoulders and he was pushing her away, gentle but firm. “Gwen, wait, we should — talk about this —”
“Oh, shit, yeah. Okay. Sorry.” She sat back, her face warming. But as she settled her weight more firmly in his lap he jolted; and if she’d thought she was embarrassed it was nothing to the way his already-flushed cheeks flamed pink, spreading in blotches up to his hairline and the tips of his ears, down to disappear underneath his bandana. He stammered out an apology, avoiding her eyes even as his cock twitched, like bashfulness could disguise how hard he was against her. She quickly rose back up — the last thing she wanted was to make him feel ashamed, or pressured; everything between them was as tremulous and new as the first time — but realized almost instantly when David squeaked that this just shoved her chest in his face.
She hovered there for an awkward second, the two of them staring at each other in mortified horror. Then his whole expression wavered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before quickly flattening into a thin line, and the break in his composure took hers out too. She snorted, and they both burst out laughing. “I’ll just sit over here,” she said through giggles, rolling off his lap and settling on the other side of the bed with her feet curled under her so they were no longer touching. He made a small sad sound like a squeeze toy deflating, and Gwen rolled her eyes and stretched out one leg until her foot brushed his knee. “Here, hold my foot if you’re that lonely. It’s practically holding hands.”
His eyes widened, hands closing around her ankle and setting it on his thigh with something like reverence. “Thank you,” he murmured, gently tracing the outline of her foot with his fingertips. “That was very sweet, you know.”
God, she was blushing, wasn’t she? She had to be. “Yeah,” she agreed, trying to ignore the ticklish feeling as he kept playing with her foot like it was a toy doll. “Felt weird, too. I kinda wanted to insult you or something, just to balance it out.”
He smiled, wiggling her big toe like he was playing that little piggies game she used to do with her nieces when they were babies. “That’s my Gwen.” And he sounded pleased, almost proud, like she’d done something wonderful.
But that was David; even though sometimes he was completely oblivious, sometimes he noticed and appreciated the tiniest, most inconsequential things. That’s my David, she thought, her heart swelling like it was going to burst. “You wanted to talk about something?” she reminded him, waggling her toes to get his attention.
“Oh! Right.” He gently took her foot and set it on the bed next to him, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “Sorry, I was getting distracted, and that was the whole point of you moving over there.” (He said it with a pout, like she’d gone to Spain instead of just out of arms’ reach.)
“I thought the whole point of me moving over here was so you could cool down, tiger,” she teased. But when he didn’t respond except to flush darker, his gaze firmly on a fraying edge of the pillowcase in his arms, something weird and hilarious clicked in her head. “Oh my god, are you into feet?”
“No!” He lifted his head to give her a tragically betrayed expression. “Not a weird amount!”
She grinned, poking his thigh with her outstretched foot. “What’s a weird amount?” she asked.
He shrugged, not quite able to maintain the kicked-puppy look when a smile kept trying to break through. “I don’t know. Watching people in heels step on fruit. I don’t like that sort of thing, I’ll have you know,” he added defensively, and for a second Gwen was sure he’d stick his tongue out at her.
“Sure, but you’re into them enough to know those videos exist.”
“I think I’d like to go back to you being nice to me,” he muttered, and she felt a stab of panic before he gently patted her ankle and met her gaze with a slight smile. Like he knew what she was thinking.
So she shoved past her nervousness and said, “But I thought you wanted me to be myself. And as myself, I can’t believe you never told me you were a foot guy!”
“I’m a you guy. And . . . you know. All of you. You’re perfect.”
“Yeah, but the feet are a thing, huh? At least a little bit.” When he didn’t answer she laughed, shaking her head. “So do you, like, want a footjob or something?”
“I really don’t.”
“How have we been dating this long and I didn’t know about this? What other freaky sex things are you hiding?”
“Nothing!” he said, hugging the pillow tighter. After a moment he looked away and added, “I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”
“David.” She leaned forward, waiting for him to look at her and see in her expression just how ridiculous that was. “You can’t get weirder than I am. You know that.” When the color in his face receded just a little bit, and his eyes flicked back toward her hopefully, she sighed and attempted to dredge up one of the strangest kinks in her vast library. “I’d totally fuck Drogon.”
He frowned thoughtfully. “From Game of Thrones? So would I- Iiiiiii mean, s-so would most people.”
“No, not Khal Drogo, Drogon. The dragon. Not like a humanized version, either — just full lizard.”
“Oh.” He smiled a little, almost a smirk, and Gwen felt distinctly, lovingly judged. “That does make me feel better. Thank you.”
“No problem. And tomorrow I’m gonna go into town and get a pedicure, just for you.” She wiggled her toes at him, grinning. “I’m thinking something slutty, like hot pink.”
“Gwen!” He shoved her foot away, laughing. “I was trying to have a serious conversation before you started talking about — about slutty toes and dragons!”
She cracked up too, falling over onto her side and nearly toppling off the bed. “Slutty toes,” she repeated breathlessly, and it took a few minutes to recover; every time they tried to make eye contact they burst out laughing again.
“Okay, okay.” Gwen finally sat back up, trying in vain to smooth her hair out of its mass of tangled bedhead. “I’m sorry, you were trying to say something serious. What’s up?”
“Right.” He took a deep breath, fingers knotting in her blankets until his knuckles were white. “It’s just . . . it was starting to seem like we were going to — um, you know. Be intimate.”
She resisted the urge to tease him for his word choice. “I was open to it, yeah.”
“M-me too! That’s why . . . well. Okay.” He took a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face, and Gwen noticed for the first time how tired he looked.
“Hey, we don’t have to do anything,” she said, shifting closer so she could put her hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”
He nodded, patting her hand before brushing it away so she didn’t feel rejected, and once again she felt a rush of love so intense it almost brought tears to her eyes. He could be so simply, effortlessly kind, without even thinking about it. “I do. At least, I think I do. I- I mean, I know I do, but it’s hard to . . .” He waved his hand around his head like his thoughts were scattering birds.
“The night before we . . . well. Ended things.” He flinched at his own words, and she felt the same pain flicker over the surface of her heart.
It’s okay, she reminded herself, wishing she could sweep him up in her arms and block out all the bad memories she’d put there. It still hurts, but we’re going to be okay.
Like he’d been thinking the same thing, David stretched out his hand to find hers, squeezing her fingers. “I said I didn’t want to,” he continued in a rush, “you know. Be together like that. And you . . . seemed to get mad — at me. And then the next day you broke up with me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath that had tears behind it, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “It’s okay,” he said, opening his eyes and giving her a slightly-watery smile. “I’m okay. But I just need to know . . .”
“God, no,” she jumped in, taking up the thread of his question as it trailed off into nothingness. “David, no, it had nothing to do with — I freaked out, but I was already — I mean, I was gonna fall apart over anything, it didn’t have to be that. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” She couldn’t stand it anymore, so she pulled his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles because she wanted to respect his need for space but she had to touch him or she was going to die.
He swallowed, watching their joined hands for a moment before looking away. “You — that really hurt me, Gwen. I just needed to tell you that.”
All the anger he’d thrown at her in the past several hours, all the pain and frustration, and it was those small, matter-of-fact words that slashed her heart in two. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
She hated apologizing — it always felt weak, or dangerous, or something. Like it was an opening for someone to hate her even more, like she was handing them a weapon to hold over her head for the rest of her life. (It was why she hated receiving them, too; she could be spiteful and vindictive as anyone, but it was uncomfortable watching someone flay themselves in front of her.)
But with David . . . it didn’t feel like she was giving him leverage when she told him she was sorry. She wasn’t scared he’d hold onto it and throw it back in her face someday. She wasn’t resentful of him, and she wasn’t worried about how he’d react.
She wasn’t anything but truly, genuinely sorry.
And he didn’t brush it aside, act like she had no reason to apologize the way she’d half-expected. Either she hadn’t been giving him enough credit, or he’d grown up while she wasn’t paying attention. Maybe a little of both. But whatever the cause, he just stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and nodded, a ghost of his smile returning for a second. “It’s okay,” he said, looking at her like she was — god, like he loved her. “Hearing it helps.”
She wasn’t sure if he needed more than that, but she wasn’t going to let a single doubt linger in his mind. “Seriously, David, you can — I won’t ever be mad at you for saying no, ever. For any reason, or no reason or . . . whatever. It’s okay. It’ll always be okay.”
“I — um, I had a reason.” He spoke fast, his eyes wide like he’d surprised himself. Still, he pressed his lips together into a flat line and met her gaze, clearly nervous but just as clearly not intending to end the conversation until they’d said everything they needed to. He was so brave. “I should’ve mentioned it at the time, but I guess I was scared.”
Gwen snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I can relate to that.”
He rewarded her with a small, soft smile before continuing, “The thing is, everything had just been so gosh-darned strange between us, and it felt like you were avoiding me all the time — except when we were together like that.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It sounds silly, but I couldn’t help but worry that maybe that was . . . all you were interested in me for.”
Her stomach sank. “And then when you said no, and I freaked . . .”
David nodded, his throat moving as he swallowed again. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking away. “It — it sure felt like you only wanted me for that one thing, all of a sudden, and when you couldn’t get it . . .”
“I dumped you,” she finished, covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, David.”
“I was a little nervous to tell you to stop.” He pulled his hands from hers so he could fidget, twisting his long fingers together. “Earlier — just now. A minute ago. So we could talk. I — I know it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t stop thinking you might get mad at me again.”
“I wasn’t mad,” she replied, her hands shaking with how badly she wanted to hug him. (And god, what a change from their normal paradigm, that she was the one who had to hold herself back from a hug.) “I mean, I was, but never at you. I was mad at me, for screwing things up. I — you’re right, I was avoiding you, or avoiding talking to you, I guess. Because I didn’t know how to talk to you, how to act so you wouldn’t find out that I’m . . .” Her throat closed, thick and gummy with tears, and she took a deep breath and swallowed them back. “Rotten,” she finished, which was a stupid, melodramatic word but it felt right; it described the way she still felt despite everything, squishy and overripe and putrid. “It was getting harder to hide, once we were together all the time. And when we were fucking —” She couldn’t tiptoe around the words like David, not when she could just say it and watch him flush red. Even her rotted heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled. “It felt like I didn’t have to try so hard. I couldn’t be amazing, but I could make you feel amazing. And if I could do that . . .” She sniffed, looking away and wiping her face clean. “I thought I was letting you know how much you mean to me,” she admitted, the realization coming right on the heels of the words. “I mean, obviously I wasn’t — add that to the list of things I suck at — but when you didn’t want to have sex, it . . . I took it really hard.”
Her face was turned away, so his hand on her shoulder made her jump. “It felt like I was rejecting the only thing you had to offer,” he guessed, his voice soft and sad but no longer on the verge of tears. “Gwen . . .”
“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head like she could rattle her self-pity out of her head. “That was just me being stupid, I know that. More importantly — seriously.” She looked back at him, at his beautiful open face, at the way he was watching her like she could possibly have something to say that mattered. “It’s never been about sex with you, David,” she said. Felt the encroaching tears yet again and decided to ignore them. If they came, they came; they weren’t going to stop her, because it was the most essential thing in the world that he knew, that he believed her. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex is really good —” He chuckled, blushing exactly the way she’d hoped he would, and it gave her a little glowing spark of strength, “— but it doesn’t even come close to being what I love most about you. None of that stuff —” She gestured toward her bedroom door, and the mess of crafts cluttering their common room. “— comes close. It’s — everything, a billion other things I don’t know how to explain or describe or show you but I love you, so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone and it scares me, and — I’m rambling. Sorry.” She shrank back, feeling like an idiot again. “I just wanted you to know that. It . . . we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ever, and I’ll never be mad at you, or disappointed, or anything like that.”
“Thank you, Gwen.” He was quiet for a minute, and she felt the tension ratcheting up in her shoulders with each long, spiraling second. Part of her wanted to snap at him to just say something, finish the damn thought before he gave her a heart attack, but that was her anxiety and regret talking, and she never wanted to take her own issues out on him ever again.
(She probably would, considering what a mess she was. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it on purpose.)
“You’re right, though.” David’s voice was a surprise, as was the soft laugh accompanying his words. He was sitting with his head tilted back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he could see through it to the fading stars and brightening sky. His gaze dropped to meet hers, and he immediately looked down and away, biting his lip to try and hide a smile. “We are pretty darn great together.”
A massive weight dropped from Gwen’s chest, rolling away like a stone. “Yeah,” she agreed. Then, to test the waters: “I taught you well.”
It worked; he turned back toward her, his shyness replaced with half-serious indignation. “I like to think some of it was natural talent!”
“Ehh,” she teased, holding her hand out flat and seesawing it back and forth in a “so-so” motion. “Pretty sure enthusiasm was doing most of the heavy lifting in the beginning there.”
He crossed his arms over his chest with a disbelieving scoff. “Well, I never!”
She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. What a dork. “Y’know, I should say we were insanely good. But I dunno, for all I know you’ve totally lost it.” Shaking her head mournfully, she quickly glanced over to make sure he wasn’t actually offended.
His mouth dropped open, his eyes growing wide before narrowing. “I haven’t lost anything!” he snapped, and — oh, the playful irritation in his voice made her stomach twist. Not in the awful sick way she’d been tied up in knots earlier, but with a flush of heat that took her breath away.
Managing a smirk, she laid back on her elbows, a warm glow of satisfaction blooming in her chest as his gaze dropped to her stomach, to the narrow strip of skin where her camisole had ridden up. She waited until he dragged his eyes back up to her, dark and intense like the ocean in a storm, then grinned at him.
“Wanna bet?”
His face lit up — or, not quite. Because his smile was bright and warm as sunshine, but underneath the tenderness was a sharp competitive edge that he almost never turned on her. It was almost intimidating, but the shiver it sent down her spine had nothing to do with fear. “Always,” he replied.
Before she could respond he’d pushed himself to his knees and grabbed her just above her calves; a quick tug forward and Gwen was pulled flat on her back, dragged down the bed until her body was sprawled out beneath him. He let go of her, bracing his hands on either side of her head and bending down to capture her mouth in a kiss.
She curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, bending her knees so he was caged between her legs and arching her back to bring as much of her skin against his as possible. He was warm, almost uncomfortably so — her furnace, her own personal sun, and she wanted nothing more than to melt into him. When he abandoned her mouth in favor of trailing long, suckling kisses down her neck she pressed her lips together, biting hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound.
“You could’ve —” A gasp, too sudden for her to swallow it back, and she felt David’s satisfied smirk against the base of her throat as he bit down again. “— given me a concussion, you asshole.”
He hummed in assent, his lips skating up to her ear and his tongue lapping at the sensitive spot just behind it. “I know,” he said mildly, “but I didn’t.”
He gently took her earlobe between his teeth, and she couldn’t help the strangled noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Grabbing his hair again, she dragged his mouth back for another kiss, enjoying the shudder that rolled down his spine and made him tremble everywhere his body was touching hers. For a few dizzying minutes she held him there, barely allowing either of them to draw breath. His mouth was blood-hot, warmer than even her fevered skin, and she didn’t know exactly where she wanted it because she wanted it everywhere — against hers, his tongue lapping at the roof of her mouth and making her shiver; around one of her nipples, his teeth catching on the pebbled skin; sucking bruises into her inner thighs, closing around her clit, dipping inside her cunt, her asshole, along the sensitive strip of skin between the two. She wanted him to kiss her places that weren’t even close to erotic but she knew would burst into flame if he so much as brushed his lips over them: the bone jutting out from her ankle, the ticklish spot inside her elbow, wherever the fuck he wanted to press the gorgeous wet heat of his mouth she wanted to let him, because from the very first kiss he’d been good, better than he’d had any right to be but time and experience had worked their magic and now his mouth could ruin her; without even trying he could reduce her to twitching, shuddering goo.
“Take this off,” she gasped, not sure if she meant her clothes or his because she was wriggling out from under him and trying to remove both at the same time, her fingers clumsy and shaking with how badly she needed to touch him without any fabric in the way. She struggled to her knees, practically yanking her camisole off and throwing it across the room before hooking her fingers in his belt loops and dragging him close enough for her to undo the buckle. “Come on —”
“So I won?” He laughed breathlessly, untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head in one fluid motion, smugness making him unfairly graceful like he was trying to show off.
“Sure, whatever,” she muttered, because who cared about some bet when he was kneeling half-naked in front of her? They’d had silly, jokey sex but that was not this, not when he was so beautiful she was having trouble looking directly at him, hair mussed and lips damp and swollen and pink blooming in blotches under the light constellations of freckles across his skin. He looked debauched, flushed and obscene even with half his clothes still on, and there wasn’t room in her brain for humor when all she could feel was clawing shaking need. She dropped onto all fours, leaning down to trace the hard outline of his cock with her tongue, and even through his shorts he was burning warm. He sucked in a sharp breath, his pulse spiking under her mouth, and Gwen couldn’t resist closing her lips around the shape of his erection, breathing in the salty-ammonia smell of precome and feeling her mouth water. “David,” she began, but there was no end to that sentence so she lifted her head slightly, bit the delicate ridge of his hipbone where it peeked out from the waist of his shorts, caught him as his hips stuttered forward. She kept him steady, one hand splayed across his lower back, as she rose to her knees without lifting her mouth from his skin: over the barely-there softness of his stomach (no werewolf six-pack here, despite his lean strength), tongue swirling among the faint red hair below his belly button, following the curve of his ribs, just barely brushing one nipple — he made a small, strung-out noise in the back of his throat, almost despairing as she moved on up to his neck — until she found his lips again, dragging him into a bruising, breathless kiss.
When she pulled away David’s smile was gone, drawn out of his mouth and leaving him panting. “Okay,” he murmured, soft and almost reverent, but before she could figure out what specifically was okay he hauled her forward like she weighed nothing, capturing her lips for a second before trailing down her throat, pausing at a sensitive place above her pulse point and biting down hard, sucking the skin between his teeth.
Pain bloomed under his mouth, rippling out into shockwaves of cold-hot pleasure, and when he bit her again she couldn’t hold back a moan. “You’re gonna — leave a mark,” she gasped, gently shoving his head away and running her fingers over the damp skin. It was already tender, and judging by David’s expression, contrite and amused and darkly heated, it was going to be a hell of a hickey. “I can’t hide this!”
“I’m sorry!” he tried, but it wasn’t close to convincing when he couldn’t hide his grin. His eyes drifted down to the mark again and he licked his lips, expression growing dazed for a moment before he snapped back up to look at her face. “I can make you a bandana, if you want. Just until it fades.”
“Fucker.” Gwen laughed, not so much because it was funny but because it was him, and she loved him more than she could possibly stand. Tired of the overheated, confining clothes she was still wearing, she shimmied out of them, tossing her pajama shorts and half-soaked underwear without bothering to see where they landed. “Come here,” she said, pressing her legs together and shivering at the wet slide of her inner thighs and labia, a thousand nerve endings sparking to glistening life. “You can make it up to me.”
She swore she could almost see his mouth water, his gaze dropping between her legs as he took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he said — and they’d never tried that before, but judging by the way his cock twitched and his eyes jumped sheepishly to hers, it was something he’d thought about a lot. Filing the information away for later, she held out her hand and pulled him closer when he took it, resting her forehead against his. It took just the slightest shift in the angle of her head to kiss him again so she did it without thinking, her hand sliding between their bodies to curl loosely around the outline of his erection.
He gasped shakily against her mouth, his hands fluttering up and down her waist like he couldn’t decide where to touch her. One of them dropped to her ass, a light, almost hesitant touch, and she rewarded it with a soft groan; he made a weak noise in the back of his throat and pulled her closer, kneading her ass before slipping lower, between her legs. The heel of his hand brushed teasingly against her clit as he pressed two fingers into her, and she mimicked his pace, gliding her palm down the length of his clothed cock and relishing the way his fingers twitched against her inner walls.
He fingered her like that, slow and steady, for — she didn’t know how long. Lost track of the strokes that sent warmly buzzing tendrils up her spine, lost count of the breaths gasped raggedly between their lips, of the kisses that melted into one another until she wasn’t entirely sure where she was, she was hyper aware of the heartbeat pounding in her clit and every too-gentle drag of his hand but numb to literally everything else that wasn’t right here, wasn’t David —
“Fuck,” she breathed, pressing her forehead against his shoulder with a shuddering sigh. She turned her head and lapped at his throat, sucking his skin into her mouth and biting down hard enough to make his fingers jolt inside her, pressing against her g-spot for one delicious moment. “God, I -- please, David, just make me come, please --”
Another shiver, another twitch of his fingers that took her breath away. “Okay,” he said, his voice strangled and hoarse. He pulled out of her and sat back on his heels. “Lay down, all right?”
Yes, yes, whatever he was thinking was 100% all right with her. She almost kneed him as she scrambled into position, but her embarrassed giggle evaporated as he lowered himself onto his elbows, scooching her up the bed like she weighed nothing and settling between her legs. Alarm cut through her arousal, her mind immediately trying to calculate the last time she’d showered, let alone shaved --
His eyes flicked up to hers, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know,” he replied before she’d even opened her mouth. “I promise, I really want to.”
Oh, god. She covered her face to muffle a squeak, flopping onto her back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m that predictable, huh?”
David hummed thoughtfully, the sound vibrating up the inside of her thigh. “Only with some things. Other times you surprise me quite a bit.”
“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her mound, his tongue dipping into the V formed by her lips and just brushing her clit — a teasing touch, his mouth moving away even as she lifted her hips instinctively. “I’m surprising?”
“You are,” he said, the camp-counselor cheer in his voice making what he was doing feel even more obscene. He traced the line of her cunt with his mouth before gently fingering her open. “The first time you did this, for example. That surprised me quite a bit!”
“This?” She knew exactly what he meant — her stomach still dipped and swooped at the memory of kneeling on the floor of his shower, the heady rush of confidence and vulnerability she’d felt looking up at him with his cock at her lips — but she tilted her head back with a sigh and breathed, “Pretty sure I’ve never eaten you out before. Not that I wouldn’t be into that, just saying.”
He gasped and spluttered, pulling back to wipe his mouth and staring at her with wide, shocked eyes, then coughed, tapping his chest with his other hand. “Excuse —?!”
When he lowered his head to cough again and take an unsteady breath, Gwen sat up on her elbows, not sure if she should be amused, worried, or mortified. “Oh my god, please tell me you did not just choke on cunt juice!”
David gave her a disgusted look, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “There had to be another way to word that,” he said, as primly as he could while still struggling to catch his breath. “But — um, you didn’t…w-was a joke, or…?”
“I meant it,” she admitted, “but I get it if you don’t want to, don’t feel pressured either way —”
“No — I want to.” He looked startled by his own words, and immediately dropped his gaze, smoothing his palms down her thighs like he could disguise how his fingers trembled. “Sometime. If — if you do.”
Gwen let the awkward silence linger for another moment, not quite sure how to move forward. “Good. That’s…something to put on the to-do list.”
“Y-yes. Okay.” He did meet her eyes then, brightening. “See, you did it again!”
She frowned. “Did what?”
“Surprised me.” He leaned over her body to tug her into a slow, sweet kiss. When she pulled back to breathe he cupped the back of her neck, holding her close and brushing his nose against hers. “You’re an adventure every day, Gwen,” he murmured.
“Yeah, I’m a real goddamn roller coaster,” she grumbled, shifting her hips upward in a blind search for his touch. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking ride me already.”
David laughed softly against her mouth before turning his attention to her jaw, throat, collarbone — a damp, shivery brush of his tongue against her skin moving down her body. “Well goodness, Gwen, now I’m confused.” She both hated and loved the smug, teasing tone he got whenever her composure cracked. “I could make love to you,” he continued, nipping the skin just below her bellybutton and making her jump, “but I thought you wanted me to do this first.”
He closed his lips around her clit and sucked gently, catching her with an arm behind her back as she arched toward the maddening wet heat of his mouth. Lowering her hips back to the bed with infuriating tenderness, he paused, resting his cheek on her inner thigh and looking up the length of her body. When she met his eyes he smiled, pausing to press a chaste kiss to her leg before returning her gaze.
“What do you want, Gwen?” And he asked it untauntingly. Seriously. Like he wanted nothing more than for her to tell him what to do, and like he’d do it without question.
His sincerity was going to be the death of her, she decided with a groan, burying her hands in her hair and shielding her face from his view with her arms. “Fuck. I don’t know. Everything.”
When it came to David, she always wanted everything.
“That’s a real swell coincidence, then!” He traced the seam where her hip and leg met, then dipped down, dragging his fingertips through the wetness smearing her thighs before swiping them up to circle her clitoris. “Because ‘everything’ is exactly what I’d like to give you.”
She barely had time to absorb the statement before his mouth was on her again, sliding the hood back with his lips before swirling his tongue beneath it and around the exposed clit. It was almost too much, too sensitive, bordering on painful and if he stopped she might actually die; she knotted her fingers in the flimsy sheets to keep from pushing his face harder against her, vaguely aware that she was mumbling nonsensical pleas, an incoherent litany of “oh god yes please fuck don’t stop” —
He didn’t. Without lifting his mouth he braced one hand under her knee and pushed it toward her chest, bending her leg and using two fingers of his other hand to enter her. It took him a second but when he found her g-spot he pressed up hard, stroking with the same rapid pace of his flicking tongue. It was more pressure than she was used to, strangely achy but pleasurably so, and it was impossible not to writhe under his touch as the need to come coiled tighter, dragged her higher, kept her suspended on the brink for a frustrating, dizzying, electrifying moment that stretched like a rubber band…
Then it snapped — a dam breaking, a wave cresting and finally letting gravity take over — and she curled forward with a sob of relief, pleasure rippling through her limbs and turning her bones to liquid, trembling through the aftershocks.
The shift from overwhelmingly perfect to just plain overwhelming was a split second. “Nngh, stop, stop —” She pawed weakly at his head, just barely smacking the edge of his fringe with her fingertips, but he lifted his mouth from her with a look of concern. “You’re fine,” she added quickly, struggling to catch her breath and shivering from the buzz of overstimulation, “s’just too much.”
David nodded, relieved, and sat back, wiping his face with the back of his arm. “Wow,” he murmured, eyes wide and awed. “Wowzers. Gwen, have you ever done that before?”
She sat up, frowning. “Come like a train? Like every time we — whoa.”
The sheets between her legs were wet. Not damp, wet like she’d spilled a glass of water (and cooling rapidly, she realized with a grimace, shifting to avoid the blotchy patch). Presumably the same wetness dripping down David’s chin.
“Oh my god.” She groaned, hiding her face in her hands like if she couldn’t see it, it would disappear. Or feel it slicking her inner thighs. “And uh, not really,” she finally muttered, a belated answer to his question. “Once or twice, but you’ve really gotta work over the g-spot to make it happ --” She glanced up just in time to catch his expression, a flash of recognition mixed with pleased sheepishness. “Which you were.” David quickly looked away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and flushing pink. “On purpose?”
“I -- I’d read about it, that’s all!” he said, meeting her gaze defensively. “I knew it was, well . . . a thing. That some wom- people can do. And I was -- I’ve seen -- I was curious!” Gwen tried to stifle a laugh and failed, turning it into a choking snort, and he blushed even darker. “I know I should’ve just asked, but I couldn’t figure out how to say . . .”
She waited for him to finish the sentence, but when it became clear he had no intention of doing so, she injected as much demented cheer into her voice as possible and chirped, “‘Golly gee, Gwen, could I try making you squirt sometime?’”
Her imitation of his voice was passable -- she’d spent enough years making fun of him to get good at it -- and though he turned his head away she was positive he rolled his eyes at her. “I don’t know if that counts as bad language or not.”
“Oh no. It’d be so shocking if I said one of the no-no words.”
He chuckled, trying and failing to disguise it as a sigh, and climbed out of bed, tugging the rest of his clothes off. (As he picked up his shirt and wiped his face clean, Gwen quickly bent forward and sniffed the damp spot on the mattress. A little like saline, mostly like nothing. Good to know.)
“So how often do you trawl the internet for sex tips?” she asked, grinning. “Or -- god, tell me you’re not checking out books from the library.”
“Of course not!” He looked horrified at the thought. “And . . . sometimes. More often, after we started dating. I . . .” He paused, looking like he was reconsidering the rest of that sentence, and joined her on the bed to lean back against the headboard. “The time you visited, when I -- used my mouth on you for the first time.” (And what was it about his delicate tiptoeing that made it sound so much more filthy than if he’d said it outright?) “I thought -- or, well, I hoped . . . anyway, I did a little reading. Online, obviously. Just in case.”
So that was how he’d been so goddamn good right off the fucking bat. Always prepared, her boy scout. “Well, I appreciate it,” she said, and sat up, throwing one leg over his lap and draping her arms around his shoulders. “Can I please fuck you now, Mr. Greenwood?”
He sucked in an unsteady breath, his cock twitching up against her; the tip of his head slipped between her outer folds, making them both gasp. “C-condom,” he breathed, his voice raspy and uneven, and she scrambled off his lap before she could give in to the voice in the back of her head insisting they didn’t need to stop and get anything, he was right there , if she’d angled her hips right he could’ve been inside her already --
Her fingers were shaking as she retrieved the foil packet and brought it over, letting him take it with relief. (There was no way she wouldn’t have ripped it, with the way her whole body was trembling like the room had dropped ten degrees.) She watched him roll the latex down his cock, unable to tear her eyes away from how beautifully flushed it was, precome beading at the tip and slicking the inside of the condom.
God, she needed him inside her. Immediately.
David caught her with a breathless laugh as she vaulted back up onto the bed, curling his fingers around her hips and holding her steady. “Careful,” he murmured, and she rolled her eyes, fumbling blindly between her legs to line him up. “Have I- hhha --” He cut off, squeezing his eyes shut with a sigh as the head of his cock pressed into her, “t- told you how beautiful you are?”
Gwen frowned. It was kind of hard to focus on the question when her body was fluttering and pulsing as it adjusted to the welcome intrusion. “A lot?” she guessed, sinking down the last few inches too fast and bottoming out with an electric shock of pain and pleasure. “Fuck.”
“No. Not like that.” He slid one arm between their bodies, parting her folds to see the way she stretched around him. “I -- think you’re so pretty,” he managed, gently tracing her inner labia with his fingertips. “I like your colors. And how we -- um, contrast.”
No one had ever told her that her cunt was pretty before. It was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David would do. And he was right; his cock looked so pale against her, where she faded from shocking pink into a dark purplish-brown that lightened as it blended into her normal skin tone. There was something about it that reminded her of a sunset -- which was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David made her think.
“You’re an idiot,” she said, pressing her forehead against his and raising up a few inches, “and I love you so much.”
“I — love you too.” Suddenly he froze, his eyes widening and his grip tightening around her waist, keeping her from moving.
“David? Everything okay?” God, he wasn’t having some kind of terrible flashback, was he? Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this.
His eyes flicked up to hers, and a wide, sunny smile spread across his face like spilled honey. “This is just like the first time.”
It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about, but then it hit her: this was like the night they’d first had sex, from the position to the location to the dizzying, giddy strangeness of it.
God, he was perfect.
“Sort of.” She pressed a hard, quick kiss to his lips before grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging his head to the side so she could reach his neck; he whimpered and twitched twice, each pulse against her inner walls taking her breath away. “Except I know you way better now.” She punctuated the statement by licking a wide stripe up the side of his throat, then sucked a mark right beside his Adam’s apple, where it’d be safely hidden by his bandana. “All your weak points.”
“I—” He swallowed, tilting his head obediently as she trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses up to his ear, “d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She just hummed; that wasn’t worth dignifying with a real response, and the vibrations against his damp skin made him shiver. Instead she toyed with him: tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue, nipping at his earlobe with just a hint of teeth, exploring the delicate area around his ear and neck she knew so well, had staked her claim to a hundred times before.
David’s breathing quickened, roughened, and she had to tighten her grip on his hair to keep him from squirming. Her hips weren’t moving but his were, minute jolts she was positive he couldn’t control. “Gwen,” he gasped, “please, I -- hhit's too much, I can’t --”
“Could you come like this?” she asked, fighting to keep her own voice level. She could feel his pulse pounding in his cock and in his throat, under her lips; her clit throbbed in response, a metronome perfectly attuned to him. “Without me even moving? Or just . . .” She squeezed her internal muscles, clenching around him in a quick staccato pattern, and lapped her tongue against his neck in time.
“Nnno. Or -- yes?” His fingers tightened around her hips, a helpless spasm. “I don’t know. It’d . . . be torture.”
His voice was so low, wrecked, and Gwen’s stomach went into a dizzying, delicious free-fall. “Good,” she said before she could stop herself, think it through and reject it as sounding weird and freaky. David successfully pulled back from her, his eyes wide and blown out with arousal, and he looked so beautiful she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “I want to torture you sometime. Nothing you’re not okay with -- and not now, but . . .”
“Yes,” he breathed, and the word was barely out of his mouth before his hand curled around the back of her neck and he was dragging her mouth to his, a kiss made of teeth and desperation with words gasped out against her lips: “yes, god, whatever you want Gwen please I love you --” His other hand slid to cup the curve of her thigh, urge her up onto her knees so he could fuck her properly, pull her back down to set a rhythm that bordered on frantic.
She couldn’t help but laugh, even as she braced her palms against the headboard for better leverage to ride him faster, harder. “Told you,” she teased, biting his lower lip hard enough to drag a breathy whine from him. “Weak.”
That made him moan, drawn-out and broken, and he slipped one hand between their bodies; curling it into a loose fist, he splayed his index and middle fingers just enough for her clit to glide between them, adding an extra jolt of friction every time she moved her hips. Gwen gasped, clutching at his back with one hand as her second orgasm coiled tighter at the base of her spine.
She bit his shoulder because she could, because she had to, because he’d like it and because it was that or scream loud enough to wake the entire camp. “Fuck, god, David --”
He shuddered and buried his face in her hair, his breath hot with a stream of pleasured mumbles beginning and ending in her name --
Gwen didn’t know which of them came first. It didn’t matter, really, because they dragged each other over the edge. His cock was almost painfully hard, unyielding as iron as her muscles tightened and fluttered around it, and the sudden snap upward of his hips as he came nearly knocked her breathless.
She was going to be sore tomorrow. Or . . . later today. She turned her head and mouthed at David’s neck, relishing the sweet-salt taste of his sweat, and let him hold her up as they caught their breath.
“I love you too,” she whispered belatedly. David huffed a weak laugh into her hair, stroking her back with a touch that was light and ticklish. “But we’re sleeping in your room tonight. I don’t wanna deal with the wet spot.”
Yeah, she was going to be sore, and exhausted, and facing a hell of a cleanup both in her bedroom and outside of it.
David groaned and gently pushed her upright, sliding out from under her and taking her hand, like she was a camper who needed to be ushered back to bed. “Phone,” she bleated, weakly reaching for it as they walked past, and he paused to pick it up for her, and in that second she loved him even more, more than she’d ever thought possible.
Worth it.
#campcamp#camp camp roosterteeth#gwenvid#cc gwen#cc david#this ending is too awkward to put in the main tags but fuck it#i spent weeks working on this okay#maybe even months#i am exhausted and cannot look at this anymore#hope y'all like your smut interspersed with pages upon pages of talking#because that's what you're getting#the only reason this isn't a total disaster is raenbows and don't anyone forget it#forestwriting
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Painting stars
Sirius enters an art shop, hoping to finally buy the supplies he'd been saving up for for months, but walking through that door brings him much more than expected
This is my first oneshot and I hope you like it and I'll post more writing like this hopefully and my writing can also be found on ao3 my username is @loveglowslikethemoon hope you enjoy :)
Today had been pretty quiet with only a couple customers and the shop was closing in 10 minutes, I was ready to go home...
Ding!
I look up from my book, ‘What kind of customer turns up this late?’ I think. I look around to the door, standing there is a tall, handsome young man, his grey eyes excitedly glancing over the shop, his black hair tied up into a bun. His fair skin is disrupted only by a small beauty mark, under his eye. The confident smile that suddenly splits his face as he turns to me, brings out two dimples that break his otherwise smooth cheeks.
"Afternoon! I'm looking for art supplies, I mean I am in an art shop" he says, chuckling. "I actually need some advice, you have a very wide selection and I'm not quite sure what to pick." he gestures vaguely at the shelves full of pencils and brushes, paint and charcoal, canvases and sketchbooks... "You see I love painting but I have no idea which brushes to use, it's embarrassing really."
"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, actually it's quite common, that’s what I’m here for” I reply with a smile “So you said you paint, right? What do you need, brushes, paint, canvases…?”
“I… um… I actually need everything… You see my parents, well, they kicked me out… and I left everything there… but I've finally saved up enough money to buy new supplies so here I am” he explains chuckling nervously. I look around nervously, unsure what to answer to that but I try to remain as steady and professional as possible.
“That's… terrible, I’m so sorry.” I say, smiling nervously, trying to seem comforting.
“It’s alright, it’s a good riddance I guess.” he replies cheerily “so about those supplies, what do you recommend?”
“Follow me, I’ll show you my recommendations. You’ll have to tell me a bit more about your style of painting so I can give you my best advice.” I say, leading him over to the shelves.
I quickly give him an overview of the different supplies before giving him a more detailed review of each product and advice. We slowly go through the shop and I don’t even notice the minutes fly by. As I walk to another shelf, I catch a glimpse of the clock. I should’ve closed the shop half an hour ago but I decide to leave it. I was having fun. What was the harm of staying open a little while longer? As the minutes pass, our chatter becomes less professional and more friendly. We talked and laughed together and soon enough, we’d picked out all his new art supplies.
“Well there’s everything you need!” I say, walking back to the counter. I start counting the price while chatting to him. “That’s £81.99, the easel is on the house for being such an amiable customer. Do come back if you ever need anything else, it was a pleasure to serve you.” I smile sadly, it had been more than a pleasure and I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye now.
“Thank you” he answers, giving me another of his confident smiles “I- I was wondering if umm… this might sound a bit weird but-” his piercing grey eyes quickly shift away, his normally confident appearance fading to show a childlike nervousness. “Before I left home, well, before I was forced out, I was studying anatomy, and well… I think you'd make the perfect model… Would it be alright if I painted you? If you don't mind, of course. Please don't feel forced to accept anything, but I'd love it if you do. And we could get a chance to get to know each other a little better, maybe somewhere where you don't work.” he clears his voice, as though happy to get this over with, and shifts his grey eyes back to me, his confidence returning. A new childish smile splits his face, as though it had never left it.
My eyes widen as I register what he just asked, and I quickly look away, embarrassed. ‘Perfect?’ as the word races through my mind again and again, I feel my face heat a little. Perfect? Me? No one had ever even called me pretty, let alone perfect, but now this man, who looks like a model himself, wants me to model for him and used that word to describe me. I return the smile, although mine is more nervous than childlike. He tilts his head slightly as though reading my emotions but seconds later, he lets out a small laugh which I quickly copy, trying to diffuse the awkwardness that flourished in me throughout this interaction.
“Are you sure you want me? I mean-” I cut off as I watch him nod confidently “alright I'd love to then!” I answer him, flattered, yet I can't stop the slight shake of my hands. What if I mess up? What if he ends up hating me?
“See you then” he says happily, turning away with a wink. I watch him as he walks out, finding myself to be grinning like a child, like him. I only have one thought left, ‘I don't have to say goodbye.’ I stay standing there for a few minutes with this thought before I snap back to reality. My eyes snap to the clock.
“Fuck” I whisper as I work out the time. If my boss finds out I closed the shop two hours late, I'm done for. ‘Oh well, it was worth it’ I think ‘and anyways he might not even find out.’ I start packing my bag when I suddenly realise he didn't give me a name let alone an address, how was I ever going to find him?! My eyes trail back to the door but of course he is long gone by now… I look around, panicked, as though expecting something to magically give me his address and that's when I notice the folded piece of paper on the counter. I slowly open it, my fingers trembling at the thought that it may not be what I think. I flatten out the paper and quickly read the snippet of writing. I smile inwardly, holding the small, unfolded piece of paper, relief slowly flooding through me as I trace the sentence again and again with my eyes, struggling to believe the evening's events.
19:30 tomorrow room 29 Mirror Hotel - Sirius Black
“Sirius Black” I whisper softly, smiling. “It's nice to meet you, Sirius Black”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I try to steady my hand as doubt rises in me again, one thought racing continuously through my mind ‘What if I mess up?’ I reach out and knock on the door hesitantly. I wait for a few seconds, yet it feels like an eternity, before the door is swung open.
“Found my note I see!” he exclaims, standing in the doorway with a huge grin lighting up his face. I smile back, trying to look as confident as he did.
“Here I brought you this” I reply, showing him my bag. I take out a small black book and present it to him, “it’s my favourite book, actually I was reading it when you came into the shop, I thought that maybe...” I trail off, embarrassed. I rub the back of my neck, feeling the warmth radiating from my palm. “I just thought maybe you'd find it interesting, I've read it so many times I practically know it off my heart” I laugh quietly, quickly glancing up at him “sorry I'm rambling”
Sirius looks at me, curiosity in his eyes. A small laugh escapes his lips before he turns to me and takes the book. He flips it, seemingly interested before looking back at me and taking a step back, to free the entrance. “Well why don't you come in?” he asks, before marking a pause, “I'm sorry I don't think I caught your name.”
“I'm Remus.” I respond, looking back up at him.
“Remus, that's a nice name.” he comments, his grin never leaving his face “the book seems interesting! I'll be sure to give it a try” I listen to him talk while I walk into his room, which is surprisingly organised. There isn't much, a table with an old laptop on it, two chairs, a bed, which takes up most of the space, a set of drawers, a small window and, in the corner, the art supplies he'd bought the day before. “You can sit here” he tells me, pushing one of the chairs towards me, I take it and sit down, putting my bag down next to it, unsure what to do next, I watch him walk over to the corner and pick up his art supplies.
“What do I need to do?” I ask, my hands still trembling slightly in my lap.
“Nothing, don't worry” he replies “just sit there and relax, there's nothing to be scared of” he addresses a friendly smile at me, pulling up the other chair to face me and setting up his easel in front of it. He takes out a brush and some paint, mixing them on his palette, and starts moving his hand up and down the canvas in big yet careful gestures. As the minutes pass, I start to feel more relaxed, watching his movements getting smaller and slower. “So, tell me a bit about yourself” he says, his eyes not moving from the canvas.
“Hmm oh well my life isn't very interesting. I grew up here with my parents, they're both gone now. I work in an art shop, as you know, I really like reading and I don't know what else to tell you…” I answer, thinking that my life must be too boring for him.
“That sounds interesting to me, you must know the surroundings pretty well then! Maybe you could show me around a little, I've been here for a few months but I still manage to get lost sometimes.” he tells me, chuckling.
“I'd love to, but only if you show me how to paint” I reply, nodding happily. As the minutes turn into hours and his painting progresses, we keep talking, about everything and nothing. It felt easy to talk to him, no not easy, right. Soon enough, I knew him like he'd been my friend for years. While we talk, his eyes tend to stay on the painting but sometimes they glide over to me, snapping back to the painting seconds later. In what felt like a short period of time, yet was a few hours, the painting was finished.
“Are you ready? If I'm honest, I'm a little nervous but if it's bad, blame it on the fact I couldn't paint for the past few months.” he admitted with a nervous chuckle, grabbing the canvas and hesitantly turning it towards me.
‘wow’
That's it. That's the only thought that went through my head as my eyes met themselves on the canvas. It's so beautiful and…
“Well? What do you think?” he urges nervously. I suddenly notice his hands trembling slightly and his eyes watching me intensely. He always seems so confident, yet I can see the fear in his eyes now.
“It's so… It's stunning… I'm speechless” I reply, looking him in the eyes quickly before turning back to the painting. The painting looked so realistic, my light curly brown hair and pale green eyes standing out against my pale skin, there is only one alteration. Instead of the freckles that normally sprinkle my face, are little stars. They're beautiful, shining like the stars I can now see from the window.
“Your freckles, they're beautiful, they look like the stars in the night sky. I thought I should paint them as such… They're like little beacons of hope and friendship, when I walked into that shop, I never thought I'd make a new friend, and well, thank you for giving me hope.” Sirius looks at me, his eyes sparkling with the same hope he was talking off. As I look at him, straight into his eyes, I feel a smile reach my lips, knowing my eyes have the same sparkle in them. And as our eyes dig deeper into one another, as we share a smile of happiness of who we found, the minutes slow, as though this moment was frozen in time, which I wish could be the case. Suddenly, we both break eye contact, as though embarrassed by the connection we'd both felt in that second. We both look back up to the painting, our eyes meeting again for a second, causing my face to heat a little. I slowly lift myself out of my seat, taking a step towards the painting to get a closer view of the talent etched on the canvas in front of me.
“It's- it's really stunning” I mutter, still speechless, taking yet another step forward. As I slowly edge forward, I notice something, something that had escaped me at first glance, as it usually escapes others' attention. A thin scar, tracing along the bridge of my freckled nose. Freckles which usually hide it, making it hardly noticeable, especially at first glance. A scar that had been given to me when I was only five, by an overexcited grey dog at the park. It's claw had scratched against the skin of my nose, after it had ambushed me. It had left me with a gash, one that never properly healed and could now be observed under the shape of a scar. This scar. The one he had noticed, when no one else had.
“You got my scar” I whisper in amazement. I slowly reach out to touch it, feeling like all that matters now, is this single detail. A small detail yet seeing it there had given me hope. At the last second, I pull my arm back, like an instinct, and, remembering the paint is still wet, I drop my hand to my side.
“Of course I got it, how could I miss it?” as his voice reaches my ears, I glance to my left to find him standing next to me, admiring the same spot as I was. Him. The man who, right now, felt like a dream come true. We both turn to face one another at the same second, almost as though we're in tune with one another. I find myself getting lost in his stormy grey eyes again, knowing that he was looking straight back into my emerald green ones. For a moment, there's no movement, we both stand there in silence, our eyes sparkling at each other, knowing that this is right. A shadow suddenly masks one of his eyes and I understand that a lock of his hair escaped his small bun. I watch it sway slightly before I instinctively take a step forward, closing what little distance is left between us, and reach out. I mark a pause, waiting to see if he'll reject the movement, but nothing happens. Carefully, I grab the small lock of hair and delicately brush it behind his ear.
As I hesitantly move my hand away, Sirius lets out a low throaty laugh, and I suddenly feel compelled to do something I'd never dreamed of. Instead of pulling my hand back, I instinctively slide it down to the back of his neck, cradling it carefully in my hand, and lean forward, closing the distance between us centimetre after centimetre until we collide. It was a short kiss but our movements were coordinated perfectly.
We pull away, almost reluctantly, and I watch his face quickly turn a deep crimson, knowing mine isn’t much better. I watch his eyes, like two storms lost in the middle of all this redness.
“That was… something” my eyes move down, as I utter these two words, as though expecting them to close the distance again. Our faces were still within centimetres of one another, making me struggle not to kiss them again.
“Something utterly spectacular” Sirius laughs breathlessly, intensifying my impulse to lean in again.
The room falls silent again, as I continue to watch the slight quiver on his lips. The only disturbance in the otherwise perfect silence is the sound of light rain splashing against the window and pavement along with our shallow breathing.
For a long while, we stand there, gazing quietly into each other's eyes, not uttering a single word, yet I feel complete, everything I need is right here, in front of me. This man, who has the most luscious hair, elegance and grace radiating from his unpolished appearance, a mischievous yet friendly glint in his eye, who is staring up at me with those mercury eyes.
And in that second, I feel certain that this is where I belong. That being with Sirius is right.
#sirius black#remus lupin#wolfstar#moony#padfoot#remus x sirius#sirius x remus#sirius orion black#remus john lupin#moony x padfoot#padfoot x moony#sirius and remus#remus and sirius#the marauders#marauders#marauders era#incorrect marauders quotes#marauders pranks#marauders oneshot#marauders one shot#marauders headcanon#marauders fandom#marauders fanfiction#harry potter#marauders textpost#harry potter textpost#james potter
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Nude
Run through - Steve wants to try new things so he takes a painting class with a nude painting subject. Only the woman he has to paint are you, Peppers assistant and his crush.
Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader
Word count - 2k
Masterlist is linked in the bio!
Steve Rogers was many things. He was an artist, an amateur cook (who really does try), a loyal friend, a good citizen, a soldier. Yet when people looked at him, they only ever saw the captain. His friends called him cap. He'd go weeks without hearing his own name. Sometimes he felt the lines were blurred. When did Steve Rogers end and Captain America begin?
He had a big wake up call when he confronted Tony, saying he wasn’t iron man, it was an alter ego. To which Tony said that Steve was basically captain America. And Steve couldn’t argue or disagree, because it was true. He didn’t want to lose himself in his work anymore than he already had. His therapist told him to make healthy boundaries, which is what he’s going to do.
So he ordered some colors and pencils online and got to work on his art, for the first time in a long time. It was exhilarating and freeing. He could lose himself in it, go on for hours without thinking and seeing anything but the colors and his canvas. Which was extremely rare for him. He could rarely ever shut his brain off or run from his traumatic memories.
Everyone could see the visible change in him. How he seemed happier. Clint even joked about it saying
“Cap must be getting some”
To which Steve only snorted. There was no room for anything as complicated as a relationship or sex in his life, not right now.
But wouldn’t it be nice? To have a woman to hold and to paint. To love and care for. He didn’t let himself delve too much into that fantasy. Because even if it was a nice escape once in a while, he knew that while Steve Rogers might make a good partner, Captain America would certainly not. He would never subject any woman to deal with either of them.
With some encouragement from Sam and his old friends he started attending painting classes at his alma mater, the Brooklyn College, every Saturday evening. It helped him make some friends. He didn’t know if he could call them friends. Most of them were too different from him. They seemed like different types of 'tortured artists'
When he heard that there would be a nude subject to paint the next class, he was a little bit hesitant. Such a thing would’ve been scandalous in the 40s. But he was trying to open himself up and that meant pushing his comfort zone, even just a little bit.
When he set up his canvas, oil colors and brushes that Saturday he expected male subject. He didn’t however expect to hear a woman’s voice. He was too focused on his set up to look up, whatever. He didn’t care if it was a man or a woman. There wouldn't be anything erotic about it. This was strictly professional and educational.
He looked up to take a good look at his subject, when he felt as if his soul was knocked out of him. There you stood, his crush, Pepper Potts' assistant, and the woman who turned him down.
“You know back in my day they used to play elevator music” He said to drown out the awkward silence. Even after all this time, he still didn’t know how to talk to women. He had had a crush on you since the moment he laid eyes on you. You were always so funny and sweet. Asking him and everyone about their day, if they were doing well. Always willing to help others.
When he let it slip that he likes banana bread, you baked him a whole loaf of it, which chocolate chips so ‘so you think of me when you have them. They’re my signature of sorts' you had said proudly. Of course he’d be thinking of you when he ate it. Overthinking actually. Wondering If you like him as he likes you, or if you’re just being your sweet self.
“Oh we still have that!” You chirped “but not in um professional or business buildings like these”
He just nodded. Tapping his foot impatiently. You would get off in just six floors it was now or never. “Hey uh – what are you doing this Friday?” he asked shyly.
“Oh just watching some Gordon Ramsay with my dog probably. I have no life” you laughed at your own self depreciating joke “Why?” you tilted your head.
“I was thinking, maybe we could get dinner? Only if you uh – you wanted to, you're free to say no” he promised. Maybe he should’ve asked you to ‘hang out' or 'for a coffee' like most people these days. But he felt that was no way to treat a lady, especially one like you.
“Oh Steve” he was already disappointed upon hearing your tone “I would’ve loved to. But even though we don’t work together, it wouldn’t look good you know? I mean I don’t care much for 'my image'” You said making air quotes “But I don’t, it’ll be complicated” You looked completely defeated. As if it hurt you to say no more than it hurt him to hear it.
“I completely understand” He nodded “no hard feelings” he gave you a smile as he watched you walk away. It did break his heart a bit, but he’d respect your feelings.
He looked at you taking off your satin robe revealing your bare body to the class of twenty or so artists. His breathe hitched. Your hair flowing down your back and covering a bit of your left breast, your soft stomach and thighs, the patch of soft curls at your core, your nipples hard against the chilly air, and how your stomach rolled a bit as you sat uncomfortably on the stool. You were beautiful. A work of art even. There was absolutely no way he could do you justice. He started drawing an outline on his canvas. You would very well be his best subject.
You looked around a bit, your fingers holding onto the stool for dear life so you could stave off the anxiety and feeling of being so exposed. Then your eyes landed on him. You thought you were dreaming, maybe you didn’t see properly, so you did a double take. Then you were frozen on the spot. There he was, Captain Rogers, the first Avenger, the man you often dreamt about, sitting right in front of you while you were naked as the day you were born.
You had no idea what you should do. This was literally like a nightmare come true. If you flee it would look bad, if you didn’t it might look worse. You decided you’d follow his lead. So you peeked a glance at him from the corner of your eyes and saw him, sketching you? Holy shit Steve Rogers was drawing a nude portrait of you. What has your life become?
You had always been insecure about your body. You knew magazines, porn and movies were meant to feed people lies to get them to buy more things. That didn’t make you feel any less bad about not looking anything like the women in them. You tried to remind yourself that you have many things going for you. Like your supporting family, your loving friends, your cute labrador, your amazing job.
Speaking of your job, exactly why you turned Steve freaking Rogers down! A man that looks like him asking you out and you say no. Your friends flat out laughed in your face at your unfortunate predicament, where the cake is right there but you can't eat it. Now that you thought about it, it was funny.
Your co-workers weren’t kind to you. Even on your best day you didn’t look anything like the women you worked with, who would stab you in the back the first chance the get. You were kind to everyone, but you knew by now not to expect the same treatment back. Which was why you had to say no to the beefy blonde. You didn’t want to be branded as the ‘office slut’.
Which now you were sure you would be. You didn’t know Steve enough to know he’d be willing to keep this a secret. He didn’t seem like someone who would do that to you. But you still couldn’t help but think the worst.
You squirmed and shivered in the chair for a good part of the next two hours. By the end your back was sore and you did everything you could to avoid looking at Steve, only sneaking glances here and there, while he seemed too engrossed in his work.
You had done this a couple of times before, to accept your body for what it is and get comfortable with it. If you weren’t going to love it no one would do it for you. Finally the time was up and the artists were asked to pack up for the day.
You quickly got up from your stool putting the robe back on. You turned your back to Steve, stretching your muscles. You couldn’t wait to lay down on your comfy bed and just get out of here. But you knew you needed to have that inevitable conversation. You probably would never be able to look Steve in the eye after this.
You walked towards him as he was cleaning up his work station. “Fancy seeing you here” You cringed at your embarrassing attempt at a British accent.
“Hey there” He gave you a bashful smile scratching the back of his head “I didn’t expect to see you here”
“Right back at ya” you returned his smile, no longer feeling on edge. It was strange how his presence served to comfort you.
“You do this often” he asked casually. You couldn’t really hear any judgement in his tone, not what you would expect from a hundred year old.
“No not really. It just uh – I’m trying to love myself. Which I already do! Of course” you let out a nervous chuckle “just trying new things and stepping out of my comfort zone”
“That makes two of us” he said as he was done packing his bag, which he was deliberately doing at a slow pace. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.
“Can I... Look at your painting?” You asked nervously. You didn’t know if you wanted to see his interpretation of your naked body, what if it was bad? But what if it was good? What if he was impressed by you...
“Uh it’s not done yet. And frankly I’m not that good”
“I seriously doubt that. I’ve seen the sketches in your office” You caught your slip of tongue. You couldn’t let him know about your borderline unhealthy obsession with him.
“Well, have a look then” he relented showing you his canvas.
You let out a breathe you didn’t even know you were holding at the painting. It was breath-taking. The woman looked like you, but why was she so beautiful and graceful? In the painting she was sitting on a stool, like you, in front of a tree admiring a rose in her hand. She was naked as well. It reminded you of classic Greek paintings where women weren’t perfect, but were celebrated for their imperfections.
“It’s amazing Steve. I – do I look like that?” You stammered not being able to tear your eyes off the painting.
He shook his head at your shock “On the contrary you look much better I’m glad you like it”
“You’re a great artist” you gushed
“I don’t know about that. I’ve seen much better” he said humbly.
You would argue with him. But you knew it would be of no use. Looking at the beautiful woman in the painting gave you the surge of confidence you needed “Steve, does the offer for that dinner still stand?” You straightened your back looking up to lock eyes with him.
“Yes” He blurted without even thinking “how about tomorrow evening?” He asked.
“Yes that will be awesome! You can pick me up at seven. I’ll text you the address“ you said making an mental note to do so.
You could hardly wait for your date. You didn’t really care about what your co-workers would think of you. As long as you were happy their opinions didn’t matter.
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This was actually a request. But I can't fir the life of me find the person who requested it. I hope you see it babes❤
#steve rogers x reader#chris evans x y/n#chris evans x you#chris evans x reader#captain america x you#captain america x reader#steve x reader#steve Rogers x you#avengers x y/n#avengers x you#avengers x reader#marvel x reader
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