#artsy reader

[nonscathingbullets]

The Art of War

Chris Knight x Artsy Reader

‼️ANON REQUEST‼️

Apologies for any spelling mistakes or errors!- No matter how much I proofread, I always miss stuff.

(So sorry it took so long!! I really hope you enjoy it!)

"Honey, we just care about your future," your mom tried to assure you as she poured a cup of coffee.

"Heh. That's putting it nicley," your father added as he plopped down in the recliner in the living room. "Stop trying to spare her feelings and tell her the truth. Art is a ridiculous hobby that you have no chance of turning into a viable career."

You stared down into you on cup of coffee with a hopeless sigh.

What could you say?

"Well... I'm sorry you feel that way because I have an art show coming up and I was really hoping you two would come check it out..." You trailed off, already feeling embarrassed you even said anything.

This is how everyone in your family was.

All business all the time.

You were pretty much the only exception with your artistic bent and your lack of interest in normal studies.

Sure, science was cool, but you had zero intentions of using it as a gateway to a job.

You were smart as a wip, and everyone was shocked that you even picked Pacific tech as your college of choice despite your disinterest in what most would call 'future stability'.

Chris spotted you as you dragged your feet down the hallway to your dorm and was quick to stop you.

"Hey, babe. Why so glum, chum? Kent blow up your studio again? I knew giving him access to dynamite was a bad idea..."

You halted the dragging of your feet and looked up at Chris with a dejected sigh.

Normally, you'd light up at the sight of your wacky genuis boyfriend, but not today.

Chris picked up on it right away and paused, placing a hand on your cheek.

"Wait a minute. You're actually upset. Babe, you look like Mitch after his hamster got fried on Ickagami's electric servo motor. What happened?" He asked, his tone more concerned.

You groaned.

"Just my parents... the usual. 'Art isn't a viable career. You need to so something that'll make you money when you graduate. Stop hanging sensual paintings of the mail lady in the living room.' I just can't take it anymore!" You shouted practically clawing at your own face in anguish.

Chris grabbed both your hands, holding them by your side securely.

"Hey. Cut it out. Listen... Ha! I got it! You're gonna love me even more than you already do. So much so that you're dip me in chocolate and eat me like a strawberry. Me, Icky, Mitch, and Jordan will help host your art show. We'll have as many people come out for it as possible. We'll whoop it up so big, your parents will have to hear about it from their friends!" He said excitedly as he grinned at you.

"I dunno Chris... what if it fails? Then I'll really be proving my parents right..."

"Sorry, did you forget who your boyfriend is within the past ten seconds? Besides, it's a moral imperative. Now, come on. We gotta haul everything you have into the truck." he commanded as he grabbed your hand and tugged you as fast as he could to your dorm where every piece of art you created that school year was scattered everywhere.

All over the floor, your desk, your bed. Even spilling put of your closet.

"Nice to see you've picked up my impeccable organization system," he commented with a smirk.

The night of the art show finally came, and you, Chris and co were dressed to the nines as people filled in to veiw your artwork.

"I don't get this one... is it a butt or...?" Ickagami asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"Icky, that's a fish," you corrected with a chuckle.

"Oooh... I love this one! It reminds me of the sweater I made for Mitch when we first met!! I mean, I don't know if that's what you were going for, but it so beautiful. You're so talented! I wish I could do this! Maybe I could. Should I try? I think I might. Oooh I'll need paint and a camra..." Jordan rambled as she studied one of your mixed media pieces.

"Thanks J," you told her with an overjoyed smile.

You looked around at everyone, sipping their beverages and enjoying your art.

You were over the moon.

Chris snuck up behind you and grabbed your waist making you jump slightly.

"Guess what? Somebody bought one of my foxy lady's pictures..." he announced, kissing you cheek. "For twelve hundred dollars as well."

You gasped in disbelief, turning around to look at Chris.

"No way! Are you serious?? This better not be like the time you told me Phil Collins was giving a speech on campus and it was actually Bill Colin, some scientist they were having as a guest speaker," you warned as you tugged at the back of his shirt in bof eagerness and anxiety.

"Save tearing off my clothes for when you give me my 'thank you' present later," he winked. "Now come on and lets see what else these trust fund socialites will give up their wallets for."

"Wait!! My dad says he'll buy this one!" Mitch proclaimed, gesturing towards a picture you took at Venice Beach at night. You'd worked for three solid days on that lighting and finding the best spot that showcased the lights and palm trees along with the night life.

"Oh wow!!! It's so pretty!" Jordan gushed as she admired the picture more up close.

By the end of the night, you had sold a total of ten paintings, all in the upper hundreds to the lower thousands.

You couldn't believe it.

You said outside in the courtyard located right behind your dorm and stared up at the sky, adoring every single star.

The sound of footsteps came closer and a familiar voice snapped you out of your trance.

"Let me guess. You're thinking about how sexy I looked in that nurse uniform during the dorm Halloween party?" He teased, sitting down next to you.

He put a strong arm around you and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head.

"My girlfriend is famous!" He practically broadcasted to the whole school.

You rolled your eyes suppressing a giggle as you snuggled closer to him.

"Thank you so much Chris," you murmured into his chest.

He ran his fingers through your hair gently.

"Of course, babe. See what happens when you leave everything to a genuis? Next, I'll teach you how many licks it takes to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop."

The next week, your parents came to visit you on campus and you wasted no time flaunting your success in their faces.

"Well... you can't just rely on a fluke to determine your future. Just because a few rich people threw you a couple hundred dollars doesn't mean anything," your dad pointed out. "Now, for your own sake, become a biochemist or a physicist."

You couldn't help the grin that spread across your face.

"Does this look like a couple hundred to you?"

You inquired, waving the stack of bills in their face.

They were completely speechless.

"What? That's not possible..." your mother chimed in, reaching towards the money which you quickly yanked out of the way.

"Of course it is! People Ike what I do. So much so that they were willing to pay handsomely for several pieces I had on display. And all you to put in their living room," you boasted loudly, as you wiggled around.

Your adrenaline was pumping making it hard for you to stay still.

Chris was walking by, when he noticed the three of you talking and took the opportunity to pop in and say hello.

"Yep! My baby's a genius!" He announced with a giant giddy grin plastered on his face. "Now, if you'll excuse us, one Mr. Michael Jackson has placed an inquiry about a piece of your daughter's art. Sorry to steal her from you. Bye-Bye," he sang, tugging you away swiftly, leaving your parents with their mouths agape.

"Chris... are you for real??"

"No. Sorry, babe. It's Phill Collins all over again. But at least I got you all to myself now. So how about a limbo burger from purgatory? Icky's treat."

"I'm game," you responded, as Chris twirled you under his arm.

[hqwkeyes]

okay soo the bob fic i mentioned... yeah definitely gonna be a series.

i have almost 10 google docs pages of it written. and that's just the beginning. like those are just the bones of this thing. almost 4k words and reader and bob have only said a few words to each other but guys i promise this is gonna be sooo worth it.

[marveladdictt]

Secret Sketchbook

PARING: Peter Parker x Reader

SUMMARY: Peters wandering around your room and happens to find your sketchbook that’s strictly off limits. So of course he can’t help but look inside to see what (or who) you’ve drawn.

WARNINGS: Nothing really, just fluff and me making it over dramatic as always 👍

“Y/N?” Peter yelled from outside your window, he knocked again but didn’t get an answer. You had left your window open, like you always do, since Peter coming back from patrol to snuggle with you had become a regularity. He decided to just slip the window open and crawl in.

“Y/N?” He called out again as his feet landed lightly on the floor. That’s when he heard the shower water running and your soft humming coming from inside. He smiled to himself as he listened to your angelic voice, even when there was a door between the two of you, you still managed to make him smile. He decided to just wait for you to finish instead of letting you know he was here since he knew it would make you rush out. It had been a stressful week at school for you, and he wanted you to relax.

Instead he opted to just wander around your room for a bit. He picked up a framed picture of the two of you. you were at the park on a sunny day with an Ice-Cream that you were sharing. It was the most cliché thing ever, but he loved it. That was one of his happiest memories. He put the frame down and looked at the polaroid's that covered your wall. Pictures of you, your friends, your family, and your pets. You look so happy. Peter let out a small chuckle when he saw the photo of you two in face masks with his hair tied up on the top of his head like a toddler.

He started to stroll around, letting his fingertips glide on the smooth wood of your table, he picked up a snow globe and examined the trees inside of it. He had a mental debate as to whether or not he should put on your cherry lipstick but decided against it since being killed for breaking your makeup wasn’t on his bucket list. But that’s when his eyes landed on the leather sketch book sitting in a pile of pencils and eraser shavings. He slowly walked over to it looking around like he was committing a crime. With careful hands, he picked it up and out lined the golden tree in the front cover with his finger. The edges were warn from being carried almost everywhere you went. You were an amazing artist, Peter knew that much, you had won many awards from some of your pieces. Peter absolutely adored how artsy you were. Sitting with you, and watching you draw was one of his favorite things to do. You always worried that he would get bored, but he loved seeing you in your element. There have been a few times where you’ve tried to teach Peter, but it ended up looking like a preschoolers handy-work. Nun the less you still loved them and made him sign each and every one of them saying that ‘everything is art.’

The thing was, you were always really secretive about your drawings in your sketchbook, insisting that they were just ideas that flowed into your mind and were so terrible you didn’t want anyone to see. Peter knew for a fact that wasn’t true, but he also knew that you were a perfectionist so you both saw perfection differently. Peter respected your privacy, he really did. But it was like his fingers had a mind of their own as they started to untie the leather string. He flicked through the delicate pages, his eyes growing wide at all of the breathtaking things you’ve drawn. Every single detail was exact. With each page he turned he became more and more stunned. There was a drawing of the forest where you had your first kiss, and the view from the rooftop he showed you, there was a sketch of your school and he even found a random one of an apple you were eating, every pencil stroke precise. There was a beautiful lake, and a few super detailed drawings of up-close eyes. These were all memories.

That’s when he flicked to the next page and saw a title called ‘Peter’ with hearts around it. His breath caught in his throat and his heart felt like it was about to burst. You have a section in your beloved sketch book for him? Granted you did have like three for your dog but still, it made Peter ecstatic. Taking a breath he flipped the page and saw a drawing of him in science class writing notes with his tongue caught between his teeth as he tried to figure out the formula. He didn’t know whether to be astounded or roll his eyes at the fact that you were doing that instead of the work. Turning to the next page he saw one of him half in his spidie suit, sitting by your window. It looked printed it was so precise. The next one was of him and Ned when they finally finished building the LEGO Death Star. He remembered that day like it was yesterday. He was begging you to help them build it and kept of hassling you about sketching all day but now he couldn’t be happier that you stuck to that. The next was a close up of your hands intertwined, you were both wearing the promise rings he got. Absentmindedly Peter sat down on your bed, his cheeks were starting to get sore from how much he was smiling. Flipping the page again, he revealed one of your favorites, it was Peter sitting by a tree, laughing at something you said while rays of golden sunlight streamed down on him lighting up his hair and eyes. He didn’t even realize he was crying until he felt a hot tear land on his hand, he quickly wiped it away, not wanting to get your art wet. You are so precious Peter thought to himself.

“What are you doing?” You snapped; voice filled with panic. Peter turned around and that’s when you saw the tears in his eyes. Ok now you were really panicked, were your drawings that bad? Before you could say another word he ran up to your and hugged you lifting you off the ground and spinning you around.

“Woah!” You laughed as he put you down,

“What was all that about?” You questioned, tilting your head.

“I love you!” Peter exclaimed

“I love you, I love you, I love you!” He gently grabbed your face and places chaste kisses all over it, literally showering you in love.

“I love you too baby,” You smiled, pecking his nose,

“These drawings, I’m- I mean you’re- they’re” he was getting all tongue tied and flustered and you found it adorable. Laughing you held his hand and gave it a loving squeeze.

“Breath baby, breath,” you laughed

“Right sorry,” He took a deep breath and tried again.

“Y/N these drawings, they are amazing. Seriously, I mean I knew you could draw but this…” he trailed off pointing to the sketch book.

“This is a whole new level of amazing, I mean, I understand why that book means so much to you now. I seriously have the most talented girl.” he laughed carding a hand through his hair.

“And the ones you had of me? That’s- I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done to me. I didn’t even realize you payed that much attention. There stunning. Each and every one of them. Just like you.” He added, putting a hand on your cheek. You were as red as a cherry by this point, unable to look him in the eye since taking complements, wasn’t really your strong suit.

“Now how am I supposed to be mad at you for prying when you say stuff like that?” You huffed feigning annoyance. He laughed at that, picking you up and carrying you over to your bed.

“M’ sorry I pried, but I’m glad I did,” he smiled.

“Well, I guess since you were so sweet about it I can forgive you this once.” You joked. Peter picked up your hands and balled them into his own, giving them a loving kiss.

“Who knew these hands could create such beautiful art.”

“Aww Pete” You buried your head in his chest blushing again. Suddenly, he got up. You watched him, dumbfounded as he collected things throughout your room. He came back and plopped himself opposite you laying out your sketchbook and a variety of pencils. He looked at you expectantly and you just tilted your head in question.

“Draw something?” He said hopefully, giving you puppy dog eyes. You scoffed.

“I can’t just draw something out of thin air Pety,” You stated matter of factly.

“Isnt that how it works?”

“I need to have inspiration, to be in the mood, I can’t just wave a paintbrush and boom! Artwork.”

“Inspiration huh?” He smirked leaning forward and tilting his head, you reciprocated his movements expecting to be met with his soft lips but instead he grabbed you and flipped you over. Attacking you with tickles.

“Ahhh!” You yelped trying to get away from him, but he cadged you in, his fingers lightly tugging against your sides making you gasp in laughter.

“P- P-heterrr” You laughed squirming around as he started to attack your rib cage.

“Feeling inspired yet baby?” He asked. You nodded furiously, one, because you wanted to breath properly, and two, he actually had giving you inspiration; it was him sitting above you, laughing while his soft curls framed his dusted pink face. He beamed and got off you.

“Yay!” He chimed like a child.

“You cheated,” you giggled as he once again pushed the art supplies toward you.

“What can I say. I know your weaknesses.” He said in a creepy voice, making you laugh again. You looked down and started on the drawing as Peter watched the pencil move against the paper intently.

[sunder-soul]

first of all your work is AMAZING- like damn that smut? 👀 but anyway- i’ve had this concept for awhile imagine that reader was the one who made the design for the dark mark for tom riddle? like y/n is an artist and likes to draw, paint, all that jazz, and she saw the symbol in like her dreams or something and decided to draw it. and then tommy boy sees it and takes a liking to it like, “...i could use that-“ i don’t if this is a weird ask or not but i thought it was interesting. 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

So this has been in my inbox for so long bc I just couldn’t crack how I wanted to tackle it and then yesterday BOOM I had an idea so here I am!! Hope you enjoy  💖

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

Consume

Summary: Reader looks into Tom Riddle’s tea leaves on an unlucky day in Divination. Something looks back.

Word count: 1.5k

Content warning: none.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’ve heard of the domino effect before, but never has it been so grimly demonstrated to you than in that exact moment standing in front of the entire Divination classroom with the only spare seat left opposite Tom bloody Riddle.

It started (or at least, as far as you can tell) an entire week earlier when you’d walked in on Ophelia Greengrass sobbing in the fourth-floor girl’s bathroom during second period. Up until then you’d not spoken more than half a dozen words to Ophelia across your entire time at Hogwarts, but it had felt wrong not to say anything – and as it turned out, Ophelia had been in dire need of someone saying something to her. She’d been dating Lestrange for a little over three months and by the sounds of it things were not going well.

So of course you’d comforted her as best you could but it was hardly surprising when she tentatively approached again you the next day, and the next, and the next, and then every single day for an entire week there had been a new horror story until yesterday you’d finally had enough and told her that she should break up with him.

That, of course, was why he’d confronted you in the corridor that morning on the way to Charms, angrily accusing you of losing him his girlfriend. And that was why you and Lestrange had been caught by Peeves with a watering can full of Bulbadox juice brandished gleefully in his spindly hands.

Which was how you both ended up in the hospital wing for the entirety of first period, Lestrange with boils all over his face and down his back, and you with them on your hands from where you’d managed to shield yourself.

You’d left Lestrange behind complaining loudly as the matron peeled back his school shirt, sprinting all the way up to the Divination tower at breakneck speed, throwing the trapdoor to the classroom open and scrambling inside, the trapdoor falling shut behind you, the very final domino.

“Sorry I’m late, Professor,” you gasp as you spin around to face her. “Peeves caught me and Lestrange!”

The class snickers.

“That’s quite alright, quite alright…” Cassandra Trelawney says, deep and ringing, “we have not yet started, take a seat with Mr Riddle and we shall begin…”

You freeze. Riddle…?

That’s when it hits you.

Lestrange always sat with Riddle in Divination.

And you’re so late that everyone else already has partners.

You turn to see Tom Riddle sitting at the back of the room looking at you with a polite but blank expression on his face. The class giggles again. The vast majority of Hogwarts students are at least somewhat in love with Riddle – beautiful, intelligent, polite Riddle, orphaned and poor but refined and successful. Better yet he barely speaks to anyone, leaving a lot of empty space of endless possibility for people to fill in with their personal daydreams.

He scares you.

Those horrible boys that hang around him remind you of flies hanging around rotting meat. And if they’re the flies, that makes Riddle…

You grit your teeth and step forward, weaving between the other tables and snickering students to take your seat, dropping your bag to the floor and eyeing the tea set on the small table apprehensively.

“Begin your readings!” Trelawney calls.

You frown and turn to Riddle questioningly. “We’re doing tea leaves?”

“Tasseography,” he corrects smoothly, leaning forward and picking up the burnished copper pot with one hand and pouring steaming tea into the little china cup in front of him.

You blink at him silently. There’s something manufactured about his face that you can’t put your finger on.

“Shall I go first or would you like to?” Riddle asks casually, pouring you a cup, too.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, looking away.

Riddle sets the pot down and picks up his cup in long, elegant fingers, lifting it to his lips. “The instructions are on page seventy-nine,” he says after taking a sip, looking around the room disinterestedly.

You pull out your book and find the right chapter and scan the first few paragraphs as Riddle finishes his tea, sipping absently at your own, and by the time he finally hands you his cup your heart rate has finally returned to normal from running up eight flights of stairs.

“You have a scattered-type formation,” you say, checking it against the diagram on your page, “and it’s north-west oriented.”

“Mhmm,” Riddle says noncommittedly, his dark eyes level on the parchment before him as he takes notes.

You lean forward over Riddle’s cup and frown as you compare it to the pictures in the book. “That looks like shepherd’s crook,” you say, pointing to a cluster shaped like a pinched hook, “which means… either the responsibility to protect, or the exertion of power and authority over a group of people.”

Riddle scoffs very lightly, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he continues to write.

Something about it had clearly struck a chord with him, but you pointedly train your eyes back on your book. “Oh,” you frown, checking his cup again. “Or it’s the old glyph for seven.”

Riddle stops writing. You look up curiously at the sudden lack of his quill scratching evenly on his parchment to find him perfectly still, his eyes on your face. “Seven?” he repeats, tone distinct.

You nod and push your book around to show him. “The number seven used to be drawn like that, too.”

Riddle’s eyes drop to the page and linger there for a moment before he resumes taking his notes – though his expression is much more preoccupied than before.

But something in Riddle’s cup has caught your eye. Beside the shepherd’s crook/number seven is a lump of tea leaves so distinct in form that it’s almost comical – the round of the cranium, the square of a mandible, and gaps in the leaves to indicate two eye sockets.

“Oh,” you say in surprise, pulling your book back around. “Wow, that’s pretty clearly a…”

You trail off, frowning. You’ve noticed the tea leaves below it, the long twisting trail that leads directly into the skull’s mouth. A cold, creeping feeling is curling in your stomach as something about the image before you seems to move, you can almost see the thing writhing, it almost looks like a…

“How are we going?” Trelawney asks, suddenly right beside you.

You jump, looking up at her in panic. “Fine,” you say quickly.

She lifts her brows, assessing you thoughtfully. “Hmm,” she says, before glancing at Riddle. “And you?”

“Fine,” Riddle echoes smoothly. But he’s not looking at Trelawney.

He’s looking at you.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The image worms into your thoughts like a deep root, twisting into places you don’t expect to find it and spreading itself out more and more. The dreams are first, and then the nightmares, and finally the night terrors. The skull hovers before you, its pitch, hollow eyes bore into you, the snake coiling endlessly with its fangs yawning wide.

Something about it is cold and evil, some sort of strange perversion of an ouroboros, the eternal snake broken by the skull’s mouth.

Consuming it.

“What is that?”

Your head snaps up from your parchment feeling like you’ve just been jolted awake from a deep sleep, and it takes you a second to process the sight of Tom Riddle before you, his eyes fixed attentively on the parchment strewn on top of the essay you’re supposed to be writing.

He’d caught you drawing it for the hundredth time.

“Nothing,” you say hastily, sliding it away under a book. “Just a doodle.”

Riddle’s eyes flick to yours. There’s a cold rigidity to his expression that you don’t like. It’s a coldness that feels horribly familiar.

For a moment you almost think he’s going to force you to show him, but after a long moment Riddle looks away and he’s gone, disappearing off further into the library. You exhale in relief and pull out the parchment again.

Drawing it made the thoughts go away for a bit, like manifesting the horrible thing distracted it from its need to live in your head. You lift your quill and carefully write a single word next to the skull.

Consume.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The parchment goes missing the next day.

You never prove that he took it, never even mention it to him, but Riddle’s eyes have a cold glimmer to them when he catches your eye in Divination next, the smallest curl to his lips like he’s daring you to bring it up.

The dreams abruptly stop.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

When you see it next, it’s in a photo on the front page of the Daily Prophet beneath a terrified headline, a spectre hovering just like it had in your nightmares at school years prior. Except this time it’s real. This time it’s above the burning remains of the family home of a prominent Muggle-born politician and Voldemort’s name is a shadow on everyone’s lips.

You stare at it on the page, the snake writhing in ink, the black, hollow eyes of the skull, and you think about Tom Riddle’s cold smile watching you from across the classroom, his manufactured beauty, the boys that hung around him like flies around rotten meat.

He’s named it the Dark Mark.

[dearestones]

Portrait of the Hooded Figure (Yandere! Brian Thomas/Hoodie x Artsy! Reader)

Warnings: Yandere character, implied kidnapping, possessive/obsessive behavior.

@mice-on-venus-things Request: Hi could I request a yandere masky or hoodie with an artsy s/o pls :)

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.

.

Brian loved watching you sketch in your notebook.

The first couple of times you had caught him staring at you, his eyes glittering, but face surprisingly blank, you had assumed that he wanted your attention. It had been a while since you had established a relationship with him, but there were still times that you were flustered to know that he was yours.

Somewhat.

You were still apprehensive concerning Brian’s… extracurricular activities and his affection for you.

(And by affection, you clearly meant everlasting devotion bordering on obsession).

Regardless, whenever you seemed disturbed or uncomfortable by his staring, Brian’s eyes would furrow a little, which only heightened your embarrassment. However, your fear would be assuaged by what happened next.

He would always offer you a kind, but muted smile before pointing at your sketchbook once again. It was a calm, but almost childish gesture. Draw for him, it seemed to say. Relax and don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.

And well, when you’re stuck with a man who you know has been affiliated with circumstances not appropriate for polite company, you couldn’t help but acquiesce to his requests.

Sometimes, you would draw people. Other times, fancy landscapes and vistas would pique your interest and you would hasten your fingers and search the recesses for your imagination to better align your perceived vision and what you eventually drew on paper. Sometimes, a bout of madness would take over and you would draw abstract, almost nonsensical figures and shapes to bide your time.

Brian loved all of them.

In particular, he happened to like it whenever you drew your nonsensical shapes and fever dreams. There was meaning there, he had said. A meaning that you couldn’t quite grasp. You tried questioning him, but he would wave you off and putter around his editing software on his aged laptop.

(You tried asking a couple times what he was doing, but you never did get a straight answer out of him).

Whatever the case, you kept drawing because you had nothing else to do.

(There was nothing that you could do… especially after he had taken you away).

But there were times… times when night would come and you would find yourself itching for your colored pencils, your charcoal, or your paints. You had to draw…

You had to draw him.

Him. The man who had taken you away from your previous life, had forced you to remain submissive and docile, and was still encouraging the one thing that challenged you and kept you alive.

You wanted to draw Brian.

But how should you draw him?

Would you prefer to draw a mere caricature? Or would a realistic depiction do him justice?

The thing about drawing specific things—like people, in this instance—you needed a reference. You’ve heard of people posing for others, but you weren’t quite sure if Brian would be willing to stay still for you. He was the quiet sort of man, observant too, but the way he would stare.

It was unsettling.

And so, for a few anxiety inducing moments, you merely wondered if you should just picture him in your mind’s eye. Memory would serve as your muse.

You put your pencil to paper and—

Nothing.

For some odd reason, you somehow lost all memory of what Brian looked like. Were you suffering from artist’s block? Has your memory become faulty somehow?

You struggled for a few moments before settling on drawing something else.

Unfortunately, Brian, ever the watchful observer, picked up on your distress and walked towards you, a concerned look in his dark eyes. Apprehensive now, you practically drop your pencil atop your notebook, your breathing hitching in confusion as Brian sits in front of you.

“You know, you can draw me anytime you want,” he offered nonchalantly. “All you have to do is ask.”

You swallowed hard and nodded before picking up your pencil once more.

“Is… is it okay if I draw you?”

Brian smiled and said, “Of course.”

And then you drew him—him, the figure in your nightmares and dreams, the hooded figure in the woods, and the one who held your heart.

The drawing came out better than you expected.

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DISCLAIMER: I do not condone yandere behavior outside of fictional settings. Please don’t mistake the actions of fictional characters displayed in works of fiction to be considered harmless in real life.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

CREEPYPASTA MASTERLIST

[hqwkeyes]

sooo someone sent in a bob x reader request and it has evolved while writing. like really evolved. like i think it's actually going to be a series because i apparently cannot resist going into detail. like the headcanon i posted yesterday came about because of a tiny detail i wanted to add to part of the story.

i also haven't felt compelled to write a series since TDDUP so this is bringing back a ton of memories lol.

sooo stay tuned!