Just a set of drabbles and scenarios with the Black Panther Characters that helped me out of a writer's block many a time.
And yes, the reader is black all up and through this!
Enjoy!
"Hi, you left your sketchbook in one of the classes we have together and I meant to give it back like a week ago but everything in here is the most beautiful drawing I've ever seen"
I don't know why I thought of M'Baku as an art major but...here we are. Just the thought of him instructing his model a certain way + looking at her with such an intense gaze whilst he draws? And the type of intimacy in a setting like that? Basically the Reader is a stuffy English Major. Kill me now. TT
Also, I apologize if the photo I use stays, I used it to reference the kind of dress I wanted the Reader to be wearing for the impromptu painting session M'Baku is putting this poor girl through.
Pairing: Artist!M'Baku x Black!Reader
Word Count: 4,216 words (i really do be doing the most lmao.)
Warning: There's a makeout scene, nothing goes beyond that. Mentions of hookups, some curse words.
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Your mama taught you that in order to right a wrong, you must face it head on. Only she failed to mention if taking your hot classmate's sketchpad qualifies as a happy accident.
A simple classification error on her end.
But how were you going to explain it to him? Hey, you left one of your sketchpads in our Western Art History class and I meant to give it back but I got so caught up in your drawings that I forgot? By the way, I love your attention to detail?
This couldn't possibly be happening.
In the early hours of a Friday morning, you stood outside of the studio door on your tip-toes with the large sketchbook tucked into your side, peeking through the slits of the blinds to find the tall individual towering in front of a half-painted canvas. It wasn't like you could see the clear expression of his face, but to be able to point out exactly who those strong, broad shoulders belonged to wasn't too difficult either.
M'Baku was a man of the Arts, a third year Art Major at best. He preferred traditionalist art over more modern pieces because they hardly pay any homage to the classics. The critiques he gave would be overflowing with rhetoric and blatant signs of bias, but they paid him no mind.
He was right.
They were wrong.
Who knew someone so hard-headed could be so close-minded?
Nonetheless, the women in our class didn't care. They only saw what was on the outside: a tree with a sexy brain that they could climb forever and ever and ever.
According to those rumors, he held quite the reputation of mindlessly sleeping around with those women.
