#maybe i will draw something else for his actual birthday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redstarwriting · 11 months

Text

happy birthday

miles morales x reader

request?: yes

request: “I LOVEDDD THE HC’S OMG OMG WORK OF ART!!! i was wondering if you would write something expanding on getting miles’ doodles tatted as an adult!! i would love to read more abt it, it’s so cutee”

requested by: anon

word count: 2.2k

genre: fluff

Warnings: language, tattoos, mentions of tattoos and needles, Miles is so sweet it's sick

A/N: GLADLY!! i've been itching to get a new tattoo since the minute i got my first like three years ago and writing this just made me want to get another one so bad LMAO. i hope you enjoy!

also in case you were wondering what hcs anon is talking about, it's my pda/general affection hcs i wrote for hobie and miles! you can check it out here if you haven't already and feel compelled to :)

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“Miles! Baby, can you give me a tattoo?” you ask, and he smiles. This has become a common practice in your relationship. From the time y’all were kids in love to now, you would always ask him for a tattoo. Of course, he didn’t actually give you tattoos, he just drew on your arm. He’s mentioned you, and even urged you, to get a tattoo every now and again. Especially when he offered to design them, but you always say his temporary ones are more special than any other tattoo you could get. He isn’t upset about it. He genuinely loves drawing on you. “Of course, babe. Come here,” he says, motioning you over to him as he grabs his markers he has specifically for your “tattoos.” You go over to him, sitting between his legs and extending your arm. “Can you draw it right next to the uh… elbow pit?” you say, and he laughs. “Elbow pit?”

“Yeah, like the inside of my arm and not on the bicep part or the elbow pit part, but the forearm part by the elbow pit,” you explain, pointing to the area you’re talking about. He chuckles. “Elbow pit.”

“Well, what else would it be called?” you ask, smiling, and he grins, starting to doodle on your arm. “I’ll text and ask my mom what the scientific name for it is after I’m done here,” he says, and you lean your head back against his shoulder. “Oh, god, please don’t tell her I called it an elbow pit.”

“Oh, I’m totally telling her you called it that,” he teases, placing a quick peck on your lips before returning his attention to your arm. He draws a spiderweb, of course, but in the shape of a heart. He adds his Miles touch to it by making it look like the web was spraypainted, and having it pop with black and red. You don’t even look at the tattoo as he draws it, you just stare at his face. You love watching him when he does his art. You assume it’s similar to the way his face looks when he’s swinging around the city as Spider-Man. He’s in his element, laser-focused and yet has an ease about him that mesmerizes you. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he says, smirking and turning his attention to you. You feel your face heat up but roll your eyes. “Can’t, arm’s a bit preoccupied.”

“You can get creative; I have an idea. Maybe use the one I’m not drawing on?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and he shakes his head. “What do you think, amor?” he asks, and you look. You smile. “I love it, Miles. Thank you,” you say, kissing him on the cheek. He grins, wrapping his arms around your waist as you admire his art. “What time is it?” you ask, and he glances at his phone. “11:15. Why?”

“Ganke and I are gonna go get some lunch today.”

“Should I be worried?” Miles jokes. “No, dummy. We’re just talking about… something happening soon,” you say, and a sly smile spreads across Miles’ face. “How soon?”

“I’ve said too much,” you say, trying to get up. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is Spider-Man and can easily hold you in place. “Nuh uh, how soon is this something happening?” he looks at you with a shit-eating grin, and you roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know, spider boy?”

“I would. Is it, and this is just a wild guess… something happening tomorrow? A special something happening on a very special day?” he guesses, and you sigh. “Don’t tell Ganke you found out…”

“I knew it!”

“We’re supposed to be planning your birthday party, yes. For tomorrow. On your birthday. Are you happy you spoiled it for yourself now?” you feign annoyance, and he laughs. “I am, actually. Now I know to look good for you tomorrow.” You roll your eyes. “You always look nice, Miles.”

“Only for you,” he grins at you, turning your face to look at him. The two of you share a kiss before it’s interrupted by his police scanner going off. He frowns slightly. “It’s okay, Miles. I gotta go soon anyways,” you give him a quick peck for squeezing out of his arms. He sighs. “Fine, fine. Guess I’ll go save the city. Be the best thing that ever happened to New York and all that.”

“My hero,” you joke, and he grins. “You know it,” he says, slipping his mask on and sliding his everyday clothes off. “I’ll see you later, Miles. Stay safe. Love you.”

“You stay safe, too. Love you more.” He leaps out of the window, and you make sure he’s gone before you call Ganke. “Yo, what’s up?”

“You gotta plan Miles’ birthday party tomorrow.”

“Woah, what?” You sigh. “I already have the roof of our building booked out for it, I ordered the cake already and will pick it up tomorrow and have all the decorations. You just need to invite everyone, okay?”

“You mean I have to reach out to people in different dimensions, tell them to clear their schedules for tomorrow, and hope for the best?” Ganke asks, and you hum into the phone. “Yep! Thanks, Ganke! Also, if Miles asks, we went and got lunch, okay?”

“And where are you really going?”

“I’m getting a tattoo to surprise him for his birthday tomorrow,” you say, grabbing your keys and putting some money in your pocket. You put Ganke on speaker, sending a quick text to Hobie. “You need to stop using me as a cover-up, (Y/n).”

“Who else am I supposed to use? Gwen?” you say, and Ganke sighs. “I mean, yeah, you know she would be down to help you with something like this.”

“Ganke she is so bad at keeping secrets like that, and you know it,” you say, admiring the art on your arm again. “Then use Hobie.”

“Wait that’s actually a good idea,” you say, “Especially since he’s the one giving me the tattoo.”

“AND YOU STILL USED ME?!”

“I PANICKED! He was asking questions! Just, listen, invite as many people as you can think of, alright? Please, and thank you.”

“Fine. Go get inked or whatever they say,” Ganke says. The two of you give some quick goodbyes before hanging up. You receive a reply from Hobie, and a portal opens in Miles and your bedroom. You step through it and find yourself in Hobie’s flat. “Can I just say it’s about damn time you got one of ‘is works tattooed onto ya,” Hobie says, motioning to his couch. You sit and he gets his whole get-up ready, all the cleaning wipes and gloves and the tattoo gun all ready to go. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m getting it now and that’s what matters,” you say, and he clicks his tongue. “I can guarantee ya this is just gonna be the beginning. Kinda becomes an addiction,” he says, sitting next to you, and fiddling with his gun. “Then I guess I’ll just need to have Miles draw on me even more.” He chuckles. “Lemme see it.”

You show him the drawing, and Hobie shakes his head. “Your man is corny,” he says, and you shrug. “I like it.”

“I know,” he dips his gun in ink, and looks at you, “Ya ready?” You nod, and he begins tattooing Miles’ art onto your skin. The two of you talk the whole time, really, and you let him know about the party tomorrow. He, of course, agrees to come, and can’t wait to see Miles’ reaction. It takes a few hours, but eventually he finishes up and it looks exactly like Miles just drew it on your skin. Hobie places fake skin over it and gives you the rundown of how to take care of it. He turns away from you to put something away, and you quickly slip $100 under a pillow on the couch. You know he won’t accept any money from you because he’s ‘not a capitalist pig,’ so you have to be sneaky with it. “Thank you so much, Hobie,” you say, and he winks at you. “Anythin’ for my mate’s better ‘alf.”

He opens the portal again, and you two say bye until tomorrow. You’re back home, literally, in no time, and you quickly throw one of the hoodies Miles left lying around on. This way he won’t see the tattoo, and you can play it off like you missed him. Especially since you did kind of miss him and it is sort of a staple in your relationship that you wear his clothes when you do. That’ll make him melt and he’ll forget all about the art on your arm. And you were absolutely right.

It ended up being a late night for Spider-Man, and when he got home, he saw you curled up on the couch, sleeping with his hoodie on, and all he could think about was that you missed him. He carefully picked you up and carried you to your shared bed. You started to wake up as soon as he was getting in bed after taking a shower and cleaning up, and he began desperately trying to get you to go back to sleep. “What time is it?” you groggily ask. “It’s like 3am, (Y/n/n), I’m here now, we can go to sleep, okay?” he says, slipping into bed next to you and pulling you on top of his chest. “Happy birthday!” you sleepily say, burying your face into his chest. He smiles. “Thank you, amor. Let’s get back to sleep now, yeah?” You make a muffled mmhmm sound and are out like a light almost immediately. Miles smiles to himself, wondering how he got this lucky.

You can imagine his disappointment when he wakes up the next day and you’re not snug against his chest, but he feels better the minute he sees a little note on his chest that explains you’ll be home, you just had to go do something for him. He gets up and decided he can do his Spider-Man duties until you text him and let him know he needs to come home. It may be his birthday, but the city still needs it’s defender. So that’s exactly what he does. He cannot explain how grateful he is that none of the big bads were trying to start anything today, because if he didn’t get to see you and eat a slice of cake, he was going to scream. The day went slower than he wanted but also sped by when eventually he got a text from you saying to come home. He immediately obliges, swinging in through the window and putting on some of his nicest clothes. He walks out of your room and sees you chilling on the couch. “Miss me?” he asks, walking over and bending down to kiss your lips. You giggle. “Obviously. Hey, before we go up to the roof where there totally isn’t a party waiting for you, I wanna show you something, okay?”

“Okay,” he grins, and you grin back. “Cover your eyes.” He does as instructed, and hears you shift slightly. “Okay… open them.” He opens his eyes, and immediately sees his “tattoo” on your arm. Only it was covered in a clear wrap. And it’s real. His eyes get big, and he looks at your face. You give a small smile. “You always encouraged me to get a real tattoo, so… happy birthday.”

“Yo! It looks so good, hold up,” he gently grabs your arm and softly traces it through the saniderm. “When did you get this?”

“Yesterday.”

“You weren’t actually with Ganke, were you?”

“No, I was with Hobie,” you say, and he shakes his head. “I got a little liar on my hands, huh?”

“It wasn’t lying it was covering my ass because you ask too many damn questions,” you say, and he laughs. “I love it, (Y/n/n).” You smile and the two of you share a kiss. “We should probably get up there. Some people are waiting. Oh, and pretend like you haven’t seen it yet. Hobie wants to see your reaction.” Miles laughs. “Alright. Well, I hope he knows I’m not gonna stop drawing on you. And that he fully traced my art,” Miles says, and you shake your head. “I’m sure he knows, Miles. You really like it?”

“Like it? Baby, I told you I love it. I love you; I love this tattoo; I love that this is a birthday present from you… everything about this? I love it. I don’t even need to go up there to make the day better because all I need is you,” he says, and you smile. “Hobie was right. You’re so corny.”

“Nah, hold on, he said that? Forget everything I just said it’ll be a perfect day when I punch him.” You laugh as the two of you make your way up to the party. But the whole time, Miles keeps finding his eyes drifting to your tattoo. Something about having his art on you permanently makes his heart swell with pride and happiness. And he and Hobie were both right.

It’s not the only “tattoo” that will become real.

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#miles morales x reader #spiderman x reader #miles x reader #spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #miles morales #spiderman #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv

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another-lost-mc · 7 months

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Hello! Hope your doing well, I just wanted to request how Lucifer (and his brothers if you want) would react to an MC with a birthday on the same day or near their birthday? I am requesting this because I only just found out my birthday is the day after Lucifers, I really don’t know how I never realized this, but yeah. You don’t have to do this right away I know your busy, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your day/night!

- 🥀

a/n: that could lead to so many fun and touching moments! my birthday is the day after solomon's and I think a combined party with him would be awesome, as long as he's not allowed to cook anything.

sharing the same birthday with mc | the demon brothers + dateables

1.2k words | sfw | fluff | gn!reader

cw: slightly suggestive in belphie's section because it's him. hints of possessiveness if you squint (mostly the dateables).

There are different reactions to knowing your birthday is on or near their own. Almost all of them will try to prioritize your own preferences instead of their own. If you do (or don't) want to celebrate your birthdays together, they'll accommodate you so that you have the best birthday possible. ♡

Lucifer — He's the Avatar of Pride and one of Diavolo's closest friends. A large celebration is inevitable and he has a certain image to uphold. If it were anyone else but you, he might be offended about sharing the spotlight of his birthday with someone else. Since it is you, he's not only open to the idea, but he's suddenly more invested in making sure the others take the preparations seriously. He also realizes that throwing one party (and dealing with the chaos that ensues) might be better than trying to throw two parties.

Mammon — He's totally onboard sharing his birthday party if it's with you. Everyone goes all-out to make the party bigger and better, and he's not going to complain about that. He still wants to do something special though, just the two of you. Maybe the day before or the day after the big party, nothing fancy, as long as you can focus on each other. Plus, he just happens to have another present he got for you, one he didn't want to give you at the party in front of everyone else. It's more sentimental, and he blushes when you open it and your eyes sparkle happily like the most beautiful gems he's ever seen. Without the others around, he gets to keep this perfect moment all to himself.

Levi — This works out great for him and he's more than willing to share the spotlight with you. It draws attention away from himself which means he's not as anxious. He doesn't usually like how much of a fuss everyone makes about his birthday. He might actually enjoy himself more knowing that he has something else in common with his Henry you. When the celebrations get too intense and completely unbearable, he can sneak away while everyone is distracted by the other guest of honor. Honestly, he thinks you deserve more attention than he does anyway.

Satan — He knows you have excellent taste and is completely fine to let you choose what kind of party to have. His brothers complain about his boring birthday ideas: going to a museum or gallery, seeing a play or obscure film in the human world. It's painfully transparent when they're more enthusiastic about doing those things if you want to. Satan can't find it in his heart to be (too) angry about it, because he holds your hand or sits next to you the entire time. He's going to make the most of it and no one else can complain. It's his birthday, after all.

Asmo — The only thing better than a big party celebrating his birthday is an even bigger party celebrating both of you! He's almost unbearable during the planning stage - he insists that everything must be perfect because you deserve nothing less than that. By the time he's done organizing everything, his birthday almost feels like an afterthought because he gets so caught up in making it the perfect day for you. He holds your hand and tucks you against his side when the party guests greet you and offer their birthday wishes. He takes countless selfies of both of you, but he keeps most of them for himself because he just can't bring himself to share them. You're stunning in the matching outfit he gave you as part of your gift, and he feels like the luckiest demon in the three realms every time you return his happy smiles with a bashful one of your own.

Beel & Belphie — They're already used to sharing birthday parties with each other, and they're happy to share with you too. They love their brothers and appreciate their friends, but on their birthday, they would rather spend the day with you alone. Their dream birthday is the perfect blend of all three of your interests. Beel gets to splurge on his favourite foods, and Belphie clings to you like an overly affectionate sloth. He's half-serious when he asks you to feed him because he's too tired to feed himself, and Beel just smiles around a mouthful of food watching the two of you bicker across the table. Beel gives you his gift, something thoughtful but practical, something he knows you wanted. Belphie nuzzles against your shoulder and slides his hand under the hem of your shirt and promises, "When we get home, we should have a nap - and I'll give you your present then."

Diavolo — His birthday is already one of the grandest celebrations in the Devildom, and he likes that it also falls on Halloween. Adding your birthday celebration to his is the best excuse to throw the biggest party in the three realms. Even if you share a party together, he makes sure that all the attendees acknowledge your birthday as much as they acknowledge his. He makes a toast in your honour and invites all your other friends to do the same. It's a glimpse of what it feels like to treat you like royalty, and Diavolo thinks he wouldn't mind sharing his birthday (or more) with you.

Barbatos — He doesn't usually like it when the others make a fuss over his birthday. It feels sort of pointless to someone with his power - time has strange meaning to him now. He softens his resistance to big parties or elaborate plans when he realizes he shares that special day with you. He would gladly take a personal day to celebrate his birthday (or yours) if you ask him to, since it's your company he enjoys the most. The Little Ds work hard to make sure Barbatos has nothing to worry about on his day off, but he's suspicious that they're only behaving so well because of you. Every year he looks forward to his birthday because he can spend the day spoiling you, and since your birthdays are so close together, he has the rare luxury of being spoiled by you too.

Simeon — He would prefer to spend his birthdays with you alone. He doesn't have many desires, but your company is something he craves constantly. That doesn't change when your birthday is the same as his, or is very close to it. If he's smart about it, he can make your combined celebration work to his advantage. It's not a lie when he tells everyone that an outing or special trip might be more exciting than a party at the castle, and it's hard to resist when there's still so much of the Devildom for you to experience and explore. (Simeon mostly counts on having more opportunities to sneak you away for some alone time if the others are distracted by their own activities.)

Solomon — He gloats that your birthdays are (nearly) identical, as if you're kindred spirts that share a special bond the others don't. (He brags about it so much that if they didn't care before, they're annoyed by it now.) The month of December in the human world can be so festive and nostalgic, but he understands why having a birthday during a holiday season can be a double-edged sword. Sometimes your birthday felt second-place to the other celebrations going on that time of year. You're his adorable little apprentice, and he promises like an oath that you'll never be disappointed or alone on your birthday again. You've never felt so special because you know he means it. (Your only request is that he lets someone else handle the birthday cake.)

read more: when it's mc's birthday (nsfw) | obey me masterlist

#obey me #obey me x reader #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader #diavolo x reader #barbatos x reader #simeon x reader #solomon x reader #obey me fluff #obey me headcanons #x reader #gn!reader

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feyhunter78 · 2 months

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I just found your page and I totally didn’t read all of your Miguel O’Hara fics. One I love how you write kissing you caught that spark off a kiss with someone you love in a way most books don’t get right.

I can’t sit here and sing your praise all day but I do have a question. Fully up to you and if it’s just a Drabble that ok but will you ever being writing something else for Side walk kisses? It’s so cute and I can see more moments with Miguel and Y/N just being silly cute mindless college students so helplessly in love. Fluff smut angst whatever you decide to Drabble in I will be fully ok with

(This is the first time I’ve done an ask so sorry I I seem a little over excited)

AHHH I love when I'm people's first asks, it always makes me feel so special!!! I thought I'd try my hand at a bit of angst for you anon!

Insecurities

You know you shouldn’t be jealous. Shouldn’t feel bad about yourself, shouldn’t be debating making up some excuse and dashing off to the humanities building to rid yourself of this pit in your stomach like a snake sheds its skin.

But that would require leaving Miguel alone with Xina, and you think you’d rather die than do that. So, you’re stuck in the courtyard right outside the library, holding onto Miguel’s bicep possessively as you struggle to keep up with the flow of conversation.

Now you wouldn’t say you’re an insecure person, sure you have your insecurities like everyone else, but they don’t plague your mind, or weigh heavily on you as you go about your day-to-day business. Right now, though? As you take in Xina, her long thick dark hair, her stunning almond eyes that sparkle with intelligence, the flawlessness of her skin, the way she so easily keeps up with Miguel as they discuss the intersection between genetics and robotics, you’re feeling pretty insecure.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, when making your calculations you have to factor in the deficiencies in the code, just as you have to factor in potential genetic flaws.” Xina says, a smile tugging at the edge of her lips, excitement clear on her face.

“Of course, with genetics it’s harder to eradicate flaws than in code, but I could see it following a similar pattern.” Miguel responds, nodding at her words.

You’re so lost. If they wanted to discuss the intricacies of the English language or the way philosophers can so heavily affect the development of a nation’s culture you would be there, front row and ready, but science? Science is not your forte.

Xina laughs and smacks Miguel’s arm, pulling you out of your thoughts, Miguel is laughing too so you do the same which draws her attention to you.

“Oh, y/n, I’m so sorry, we’ve been so rude, what do you think?” She asks, and you can’t tell if she’s genuinely curious, or just hates you.

You stumble for a moment, then say, “I agree with Miguel.”

She laughs again. “You think Charles Darwin would be a good computer programmer?”

Miguel joins in, and for the first time ever his laughter sounds sour to your ears.

“Oh, um, no, I just—”

Xina smiles sympathetically at you, but it feels a bit patronizing. “It’s okay, not everyone can keep up with us.”

Okay, maybe running and hiding was a good idea.

“Y/N is actually top of her sorority for GPA, she’s read more books than anyone else I know, and she helps me write all my lab reports.” Miguel jumps in.

“That’s so cute.” Xina coos, looking at you as if you were a kindergartener presenting her with a crayon scribbled drawing.

You give her a tight smile, then squeeze Miguel’s bicep. “Hey, I’m gonna head to class, but I’ll see you later?”

He nods, and lets you go, reabsorbed in his conversation with Xina.

You toy with the bracelet Miguel got you as you sit at your desk, waiting for class to start. It’s a pretty thing, a birthday present, simple and elegant, highlighting your birthstone, the words, mi dulce, engraved on the inside in a small, flowy script. It jingles pleasantly as you mess with it, and glints under the florescent lights.

“The professor isn’t here yet, right?” Kelsey slides into her desk next to you and starts unpacking her bag.

“No, he’s running a little late.” You say, absentmindedly shading one corner of the blank page in your notebook with your pencil.

“Okay, good because I have something kinda fucked up to show you.” She says, pulling out her phone and scrolling until she finds what she’s looking for.

You lean towards her, the thought of gossip perking you up a bit.

“So, you know that Ava girl, the bitch who used to date your man?”

“I wish I didn’t, but yes.” You grumble, feeling that familiar gloom settle back over you.

“Okay well she’s been trying to get with this Kappa Sig, and you know how the brothers are like obsessed with me because my brother is their president and an absolute legend as they always remind me.”

“Yeah, it’s the reason we got into their parties freshman year.”

Kelsey’s brother was a decent guy, all things considered. Older than you two by a year or so, with the charisma of a cult leader but lacking the desire to start a cult. Throughly satisfied with his fraternity and the Fortune 500 company he’ll go on to work at once he graduates. He was nice enough, extending his protection to you and anyone else close to his sister while in the Kappa Sig house.

“So, one of them texted me about her trying to sleep her way through the frat, but then, my brother sent me this video. I gotta warn you, it’s not school appropriate.” She says as she slowly turns the screen towards you.

At first, you recoil. It’s Ava, half naked, and some guy, on a bed that looks vaguely familiar. The guy’s face is out of the frame, but he’s shirtless, his pants pushed down exposing his dick to the camera, Ava’s hand wrapped around it pumping furiously. “Um, what the fuck is this?”

“Just wait.” Kelsey says quietly, glancing around the room to make sure no one else is watching. They’re not, they’re too busy with their own phones or side conversations.

You half watch the video, feeling weird about watching, your idea of a good time isn’t watching your boyfriend’s psycho ex jack some guy off.

The guy finishes, his hips bucking and Ava saying something you can’t hear since Kelsey’s sound is off.

The camera shakes as Ava picks it up and shows off the face of the man. Dark hair, glazed brown eyes with hints of crimson, perfectly formed lips parted. You know that face, but you don’t want to accept it.

“Is that Miguel?” You’re horrified, sick to your stomach, head spinning, every unpleasant feeling and sensation you could feel erupting all at once.

You can see Ava go to grab his face, guide him lower, moving to take off her underwear, and you turn your head, unable to watch any longer.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know when it was filmed, but Darren said he had one of the brothers send it to him yesterday then made all of them delete the video from their phones. He knows Miguel’s your boyfriend, said he was just looking out for you.” Kelsey puts away her phone and looks at you, eyes searching your face, before giving you a one-armed hug. “I’m so sorry y/n, I can ask him to see if he can find out when it was filmed?”

You want to cry, you really, really want to cry. “It looks recent, that’s Miguel’s bed, I’ve been there, I’ve slept on that bed, I—I can’t think about this right now. Thank you for telling me, and tell your brother I said thanks too.”

Kelsey nods and squeezes you tighter before letting go and giving you a sad smile.

The professor finally shows up, and you throw yourself into your notetaking, graphite digging into the pristine white paper as you try to drown out the images in your head with the sound of your professor droning on.

Part 2 here!!!

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho

#meg's writing #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #nerd miguel #nerd!miguel #nerd!miguel o'hara #college!miguel #college!reader #college au #sorority!reader

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deepouterspacecandy · 2 months

Text

Whispering Pines

I plan for this to be a two-part piece, at least, as there are many mushy and maybe even spicy things planned for it—but today is my birthday and I’ll be away from my computer for a few days to celebrate. I really hope you enjoy reading it in the meantime. Big fluff, 18+ only.

In a world where infected roam the earth and surviving has become a daily battle, life is as good as it can be. Perfectly fine, by your standards, until Abigail Anderson entered the picture.

From the moment you saw her shredding all competition in the gun range, she stirred something inside of you that now clouds your mind and distracts you from almost everything else.

The term “crush” makes sense to you now, with the overwhelming burden of longing and unseen affection absolutely crushing you into miniscule particles of dust, drifting hopelessly at her feet.

Your infatuation has pushed you into a range of activities you wouldn’t have pursued otherwise. While it has undoubtedly made you a more capable soldier, it is unfortunate that the attention your accolades have received is not something you can reciprocate, even if you wanted to.

It’s not just her striking smile, or her perfect blend of rugged and soft features—not the sheer strength she exudes when she ambles through the chow hall in her tank top, cargo pants so snug across her muscular thighs it makes your knees weak.

It’s just her. A beautiful amalgamation of countless quirks and habits that, for some wicked reason, forces your senses to impossible heights when you desperately need them to subside.

“Are you hearing me right now?”

“Shit, sorry,” you say. “Go again.”

You lower your head apologetically, Manny’s face expressing absolute scandal when he notices the broad-shouldered goddess that diverted your focus from him. His very best friend and comrade, naturally.

When he waggles his brows at you and calls Abby over, your stomach swoops so low that the rapid beating of your heart contradicts the notion of standing still.

“Manny, don’t—Manny! Oh, Jesus Christ.”

With a brief, calculating glance at your fidgeting form, he meets Abby halfway, abandoning you in line.

As you lose focus on your surroundings, panic draws emphasis to the position of your hands. You become acutely aware, contemplating whether they should rest in your pocket or if that would come across as too deliberately cool.

You avoid watching them talk amongst themselves, the air thick with secrecy, because obviously if you don’t see her, she can’t see you and then you can vanish without a trace, escaping to a haven that grants respite anywhere but here in the damn burrito queue.

When you reach the front of the line, you snatch up your lunch with such speed that the person serving you may have mistaken your haste for a bad mood as you swiftly exit through the nearest doors and into the hallway.

“I can’t believe you,” Manny pants, trying to catch his breath as you fumble with your overcrowded keyring. “The first woman who’s ever tried to escape my charm.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you snicker. Metal jingles aggressively as you struggle to enter your apartment. “God, what’s wrong with this damn thing?”

In a display of cunning, Manny unveils a spare key, undoubtedly gained through some act of thievery, and shoves you aside. With a kick, he swings the door open and stretches his arm above your head to hold it for you.

“Do I even want to know?” you ask, gesturing at the stolen key.

“Probably not,” he chuckles.

He rests against your kitchen counter and, realizing you won’t ask him to go, hops onto the hard surface. He devours his meal, one enormous chomp at a time, legs casually swinging as you wander through your suite, trying to regain your appetite.

“So,” Manny says, balling up the wrapper before tossing it at your head. “You’ve got it bad for my girl, huh?”

“You’re actually the worst, do you know that?” you say. “I hope you never get laid again.”

Laughing uncontrollably, Manny tries to catch the messy wrapper you toss back at him, causing him to nearly tumble off the counter.

“That’s what you get, sucker!” you exclaim. “Looks like you won’t be making the softball team, after all.”

With a snort, Manny jumps down from the counter and starts rummaging through your mini fridge, in search of something to wash down his lunch.

“We’ll see after this weekend who is the real sucker.”

“What does that mean?”

With a voracious gulp, he drains the last drops of your juice rations, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He’s finally seeking retribution for all the snacks of his that you’ve been helping yourself to.

“Manny, what did you do?” you groan.

An abrupt knock at your door startles you, as Manny’s knowing look turns your mouth bone-dry.

“I’ll go wash up. You better get that,” he says.

With a leisurely pace, he saunters down the hall, his footsteps creating a gentle rhythm as he heads towards your bathroom and out of sight.

Thunderous knocks continue to echo through the room, causing your thoughts to scramble. You smooth out your shirt and fuss with your hair, taking a few calming breaths before flinging open the door.

A pair of bright, curious blue eyes greet you on the other side, setting your cheeks on fire. Swallowing hard, you stand there speechless, desperately grasping for something significant to say. Knowing what Manny told her would provide some helpful context, but that shithead has left you in the lurch twice today.

Abby sizes you up, her attractive face adorned with a growing smirk that spotlights her confidence.

“Hi,” she says with a warm smile, extending her hand for a friendly handshake. “I’m Abby.”

“Hey, yeah—I’ve noticed. I know,” you blurt, feeling yourself internally recoil at the gibberish spilling from you like a waterfall.

As you both stand there, the handshake lingering for an unusually long time, Abby’s amusement at your expense only seems to intensify. As she patiently waits for you to decide when it ends, her eyes crinkle cheerfully at the edges. By the time you pull away, your whole body feels sweat dappled and flushed.

Manny shouts from somewhere inside the apartment, sending your shoulders straight to your ears. “Are you going to invite her in already—where are your manners?”

His outburst earns a gratuitous eye roll from Abby, who then tilts her head with empathy towards you.

“Would—you like to come in?” you stammer.

“Yeah,” she says. “That’d be great.”

----------------------------------------

A few times each year, Abby takes charge of organizing events for the younger generations on the FOB. She leads a series of survival challenges—scavenger hunts, fishing and hunting, target practice, crafting competitions, herb, and plant identification—to help keep morale up and to preserve strength in the community.

Although you haven’t taken part, you’ve heard positive feedback from soldiers and their families on base. It’s a good thing too, since Manny has kindly stepped in and volunteered you to help Abby with the next one.

“I know it sounds corny, but it really helps build teamwork and keep everyone active,” Abby explains, referring to a relay race she wants to set up outside the walls.

“No, not at all—it sounds awesome,” you say.

“I was going to go solo, but if you want to come along, I’d appreciate the extra hands,” she says. I usually camp for a few days and build everything myself. It’ll be nice to have some company out there.”

Abby’s fingers find a loose thread that is spindling out from a tear on her jeans, and she starts to fiddle with it. Manny clears his throat, prompting you to join the conversation rather than staring at her like she’s an enchanting extraterrestrial.

“I love camping!” you squeak, putting Manny on the verge of collapsing with laughter as he hears the sheer excitement in your voice.

It wouldn’t be completely terrible if the couch swallowed you whole, but despite your nerves, Abby does a decent job of making you feel relaxed in her presence.

“Yeah? Do you have a tent and everything?”

It’s clear that the universe is conspiring to make you look like a fool, so of course you don’t have camping gear of your own. To be honest, you’ve always been thankful for the opportunity to choose your work while off base because every time you observe your unit setting up camp, it reminds you of how complex it all seems.

Your inclination is to prioritize keeping everyone fed and using your expertise in weaponry and stealth. If you attempted to pitch a tent with only tarps and some rope, someone would inevitably wake up in a puddle.

“I’m not so great with the tent erecting stuff,” you say, mentally cuffing yourself the minute you hear yourself speak.

You’ve never uttered the word erecting in your life before now.

You avoid glancing at Manny’s face, aware that he’s eagerly anticipating the chance to mercilessly ridicule you. With a sugary, lopsided smile, Abby boldly extends her middle finger towards her best friend. You can bet that he is making all sorts of faces behind your back.

“We can share mine,” Abby offers. “If that’s cool with you.”

“Sure, that works for me,” you say with a nod, trying like hell to stay composed against the heat climbing your neck.

Abby bites her cheek to suppress a smile.

“Good, it’s all settled,” Manny says, slapping your back. “Just you and Abby, all alone in the great outdoors.”

----------------------------------------

“I’m going to kill him,” you grumble.

Upon hearing the news of Manny finally pairing you and Abby together, Nora is giddier than you’ve ever seen her. While assembling a medical kit for your camp out, she gives you a cheeky look.

“That girl needs her shit rocked,” she says, bouncing her flawlessly manicured brows. “If you want my vote, I say you send her home to us limping.”

“Oh, my god! I’m never going to get my face to calm down.”

You press your palms to your forehead, desperate for a cold cloth.

Nora’s bright, warm giggles fill the room, matching the kind-heartedness she emits.

“There’s no way Abby isn’t dreading this,” you say, passing a roll of gauze to Nora’s outstretched hands. “You should’ve been there—it was like I forgot how to talk or something. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Well, if I know her as well as I think I do,” Nora says with a grin. “She probably found your mess pretty damn cute.”

“You think so?”

“Totally. She digs the dorky ones,” she shrugs, handing you the fully stocked medical kit. “Just be real with her, okay? Everything with Owen did a number on her. I’d hate to have to kick your ass when you get back.”

“I don’t think this is that kind of trip,” you say. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Leaning against the desk, Nora twirls a pen in her hands, lost in thought. The Salt Lake Crew, as you understand it, formed an unbreakable bond, strengthened by the shared experiences and obstacles they encountered while growing up together side by side. Though some challenges they faced have become distant tales, her face still carries the etching of the profoundness of their connection.

“I’m going to tell you something because I trust you, but please don’t make me regret it.”

The sound of the pen tapping against Nora’s thigh is quick and incessant as she gathers her thoughts. A small puff of air escapes her as she studies you intently from a distance.

“Fuck it,” she says, her lean hands gripping the tabletop. “Abby gets these—bad dreams, okay? Not all the time, but when she does, it can be rough. It’s why she goes out there alone.”

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Yeah. So, it’s a pretty big deal that she’s bringing you along this time,” Nora explains. “Please be good to her.”

----------------------------------------

The two of you venture outside the gates in the early morning, the scorching heat prickling your neck. The drought-stricken summer is the hottest you can remember in ages, dry grass crunching beneath your boots as you trek on.

You bring your shirt up to swipe at your sweaty face, drawing Abby’s gaze as it travels down your body.

This time, it’s her face that flushes with a rosy hue as she realizes you caught her stealing glances.

“It’s cool of you to help me out,” Abby says, redirecting attention. “Even though it’s boiling out here.”

“I thought about bailing, I’m not gonna lie,” you chuckle.

The heat and Abby’s quick pace are leaving you out of breath, but you’re determined to keep up.

“Why didn’t you?” she asks.

You reflect on Nora’s words and how she pleaded with you to treat Abby honourably. Her advice was to be authentic, and even though vulnerability can be frightening, you’re going to bite the bullet.

“I’ve wanted to get to know you for a while,” you admit. With the sun piercing through the trees, blinding your vision, you tightly clutch the straps of your backpack and hang your head. “I hope that’s not weird.”

Abby stops in front of you, and it momentarily obscures the bright rays of sunlight, offering you instant relief. The freckles sprinkled along her sun-kissed skin become more prominent, enhancing her natural beauty. She’s so pretty it makes your chest ache, and your thoughts run wild.

Kneeling, she hunts through her bag and pulls out a crumpled ball cap. When she stands up and carefully places it over your head, making all the necessary adjustments, flutters stir between your ribs.

“This hat is weird,” Abby says, her soft smile contrasting with her words.

Before continuing the journey, she pauses to fix a few messy tendrils of your hair, her touch lingering behind your ear for a split second. It’s enough to overlook the blazing temperature outside, mistakenly convincing you it’s only a sensation within your body.

“What about you—where’s yours?” you ask.

Despite her attempt to hide it, her smile is unmistakable as she tilts her head away.

“It looks better on you.”

“I highly doubt the accuracy of that statement,” you quip.

If you had known she was such a sweetheart behind closed doors, you might’ve summoned the courage to approach her differently. Life is brief, and it dawns on you how much time you’ve squandered in fear.

Amused, Abby shakes her head and then gestures for you to follow her. You would willingly accompany her to the deepest depths of the earth if she wanted. Fortunately, you’re already experiencing a preview of that, with the summer heat threatening to sear you like a salmon steak.

Abby jogs ahead of you, her eyes hooked on something beyond the treeline. You match her speed, eager to discover what has caught her interest.

She leads you to a lake, with its surface as clear as crystal, mirroring the vibrant emerald hues of the surrounding trees. Wildflowers bloom at the water’s edge, cradled between pebbles, their petals a delicate splatter of yellow and purple. A family of ducks glide gracefully across the surface, leaving ripples in their wake.

You wish you had something to offer them.

“Please tell me we’re going swimming,” you say, spellbound by the lush oasis and the promise of a refreshing dip. “I haven’t been to the lake for years.”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Abby says, beaming at you. “Have you ever gone skinny dipping?”

Her teeth graze anxiously over her bottom lip, examining you—her watchful eyes appearing filled with hope that she didn’t unintentionally cross a boundary.

“Only in my bathtub,” you say with a nervous giggle. “But I guess that doesn’t really count.”

“You’re a total dork,” Abby teases. “It’s kind of growing on me.”

“I’ll take it,” you say, delighting in the way she impishly scrunches her nose at you. “So, are we doing this or what?”

“You first,” she says, her eyes gleaming mischievously as she flicks at the brim of your hat.

When you toss it aside, Abby lifts her shirt up and over her head, balling it up to pitch on top of her bag. Her smooth, honey-blonde braid sways between her exposed shoulder blades as she widens her stance, unfastening her leather belt. Her back is a landscape of tight, defined muscles that leave you feeling dizzy.

Abby’s gaze meets yours as she looks back, a trace of wonder dancing in her eyes.

“Like what you see?” she asks.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby

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aryxchse · 15 days

Note

I just read your Percy Jackson x daughter of Persephone fic and I really would like to read one for daughter of Hekate.

I mean you still have me questioning my Cabin but for the sake of all those years that I was daughter of Hekate, I would love to read Percy Jackson x daughter of Hekate from you.

casted a spell on me / percy jackson x daughter of hecate! reader.

a / n : my wife y'all 👆🏻

warnings : cursing

- percy wanted to gift hazel a special crystal for her birthday

- but he never really understood the girl, nor the crystal things

- so which cabin everyone visits when stuff like this happens?

- the hecate cabin.

- you were the only one left in cabin when percy barged in

- while you were cleansing (?) your room

- "hello?"

- "i am so sorry- should i leave? am i intrupting something?"

- you shrugged him off with a laugh, saying that it's not important enough for him to leave

- and he happily stayed

- "you.. know hazel right?"

- "duh, she's my ride or die."

- and everything began like this

- there was 2 weeks until hazel's birthday and percy decided to use that time wisely

- and he was kinda glad that he started working early

- because, he get to spend time with you

- man he's already whipped, look at you doing magical stuff and casting a spell on the boy

- the last part was percy's own delusion but yeah, you could turn him into a pig and he would be thankful

- "you could gift her tarot cards as a bonus, she's interested in those."

- "...show me."

- this boy knows NOTHING

- and when you read his cards he was gasping like a little girl

- hes so amazed by you omg

- you could make up something for the uno cards and he would scream 'this girl fucking rocks!!'

- did i said hes whipped? do i have to??

- anyways back on hazel's birthday gift mission

- since you ran out from hazel's favorite crystals, somehow, you both got the chance to shop outside in the mortal world!!!!

- it was a perfect first date in percy's head

- he's asking you personal questions like which crystal is best for your aura or smth

- sneaky bastard

- you guys shopped together until night and lost your dessert for the week

- but who cares? it was the best date

- people saw percy leave with a different crystal each time after visiting your cabin

- you got this boy wear crystals for lucky charm

- he joked that he only needed you for luck but anyways-

- the mission was complete eventually

- but percy didn't left your side even after hazel's birthday

- you guys are ment to be together now okay?? it says that on your birth chart

- your zodiacs are matching too

- shut up you made him a manifest queen

- he lets you draw symbols on his arms for some reasons you came up with

- hes scared you're really making him obsessed with you, because of the amount of times you're in his head, is embarresing

- and he needed to make you his

- like immediatly

- or else he'll go crazy from his love

- maybe you did cast a spell-

- "i think i learned how to read your cards."

- when he said that in one of his regular visits, you couldn't help but get curious

- did he actually learned that fast?

- so you gave him your cards and picked a few, he started looking at them like he knew something

- it said that something will happen good this week

- but instead, percy said

- "you're in love with a raven haired boy aren't you?"

- you tried so hard not to laugh

- and it was true, so you let him play his game

- "oh my gods! how did you know?"

- he literally smirked

- "i'm a natural pretty."

- he started to look more, and told you to pick two more cards

- you could already see what it meant, but you were curious what he will say

- "hmm, this guy has gorgeous sea green eyes, man you have taste!"

- a snort left your lips but you quickly gathered yourself

- "can you see any initials??"

- "oh totally! the lovers card is upside down so it means p and j."

- you were turning red from holding your laugh at this point, and he started to get a feeling that you figured what he was doing

- no shit sherlock

- "how weird, doesn't that ring any bells to you too? or is it just me?"

- "maybe it's that hot dude called percy jackson?"

- "OHHHH yes!! i knew i remembered that initials from somewhere!!"

- you both burst into laughters

- "my dear student, i see you payed attention to my classes!"

- he laughed at your tease until he finally managed to answer

- "being in love with you helped."

- smooth, jackson. smooth.

#I HOPE U LIKE ITTTTT #because i somehow did?? idk #perseus jackson x you #percy x you #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson series #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson headcanon #pjo show

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theotherbuckley · 2 months

Text

WIP Wednesday 💜

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone 💗 I have an exam later today and then it’s my birthday tomorrow heh anyway here’s some healing fic and guess what! Buck is actually healing :D

TW: mentions of SH scars

Bobby knocks on the door again. “I’m starting dinner now. It will be ready in about an hour, okay?”

Buck doesn’t say anything.

“Buck?” He hears again. Fuck, Bobby thinks something’s happened to him, he’s so stupid he should just respond. Just say okay.

“Buck, are you okay in there?”

He puts on his short-sleeve shirt and opens the door. “I—I’ll help. If you—If you want.” If you still want me here. If you can look at me after this.

Bobby stands frozen, surprise written on his face. And then he smiles. There are tears in his eyes, but he’s smiling nonetheless. He draws Buck into his arms and gives him the biggest hug.

He knows how he looks — arms battered and beaten with a blade and his own mind as the weapon. It’s not a pretty sight. Yet here is Bobby, holding him like he might disappear if he lets go, loving him in spite of his flaws.

This is all Buck ever wanted. To be loved anyway.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Athena says before joining in and wrapping her arms around Buck.

He has a family.

He is not alone.

Maybe, maybe he can get through this.

When they break apart, tears streaming down all of their faces, Bobby says “I’d love some help.” And that’s that.

He helps with dinner the best he can. Bobby doesn’t let him use the knives, which he understands to an extent, but also, he’d never do that in front of them, he wouldn’t subject them to that. Regardless, he helps add the spices, get some herbs from the garden, and dress the salad. He still feels better than he has in weeks, even with Bobby looking at him every 5 seconds like he’s checking he’s still there. It’s nice to know that someone cares enough to check.

“We love you so much,” Athena says at one point. “I just want to remind you. We love you no matter what.”

Buck looks at her, with glistening eyes, and says, “I love you, too. Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else he can say to convey just how grateful he is for their existence. For taking him in and loving him even when he’s at his worst. For loving him like he’s theirs. Which he is, he supposes, they’re family afterall.

Tagging the usual moots <3 @disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @jeeyuns @wildlife4life @honestlydarkprincess @eddiebabygirldiaz @spagheddiediaz @jesuisici33 @your-catfish-friend @ladydorian05 @giddyupbuck @eowon @elvensorceress @watchyourbuck @steadfastsaturnsrings @housewifebuck @thewolvesof1998 @king-buckley @rainbow-nerdss @cal-daisies-and-briars @evanbegins @diazsdimples @wikiangela @bucksbirthmark @underwater-ninja-13 @daffi-990 @fionaswhvre @aspecbuddie @lover-of-mine @nmcggg @tizniz @monsterrae1 @smilingbuckley @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus @incorrect9-1-1 @buckdefencesquad @actualalligator let me know if you’d like to be added or removed <3

(Edit: i accidentally posted this at 12am Wednesday instead of 12pm ajidksksk my bad guys)

#wip wednesday #911 abc #911 fandom #evan buck buckley #911 fic #911 fanfic #healing fic #purple writes

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hoardlikegoldenirises · 3 months

Text

This is Peter's "move your arm before I kill you" face 😄 aka his "I only agreed to stand here to make my aunt happy and would rather be anywhere else" face.

EDIT: decided to change the eyeshine color lol

closeups and a bonus doodle below:

say cheeeeese!!! (left to right: flash, janine, aracely)

I realized while drawing this that I accidentally put the boys in left-to-right order from least- to most-fucked up face 😂 Ben and his perfect nose 🙄🤣 IDK what he's saying but probably something engineered specifically to make Peter mad.

He's smiling. 🙂💢 See? Busted nose. Turns out I also put them in order of "least to most traumatized," now that I think about it... Peter is a little less uptight by 2016 but... only a little. He might even not be wearing the costume under his clothes.

I know you're probably thinking "how the fuck is Ben less traumatized than Peter?" but in this case it's true. Ben is the most well-adjusted of them all. Comparatively.

Kaine is definitely wearing his costume under his clothes. Head to toe coverage, no skin except face and hands basically ever. When I sat down to sketch this pic this morning I realized that he probably doesn't like having his picture taken, because he has very bad self-esteem (understatement) and lots of scars, but probably also for Warren reasons, as essentially an ex-lab specimen. So he's hiding.

His hair would be in the process of growing back out from a buzzcut, if it's November 2016... so a bit longer than his shoulders, most likely.

If it wasn't like, May's idea to take the pic and Janine w/ the camera Kaine would not be tolerating this. He'd either leave or break the camera LOL but... if May wants a pic... he can at least pretend to be in it.

Miss Maybelle... The only one in the pic who doesn't have anything weird going on (ah, her strange nephews and their strange eyes). She has an O2 tank though. Her lungs are not very strong after 2012 because ummmm... Kaine stabbed her in the chest. (He apologized, it's fine 😓😅)

Ben's tan lines 😂 peter has 'em too but Peter is all covered up obv. Peter's neck tan line is actually way higher up though, because his costume has a higher neckline so he has to wear higher collars/scarves/whatever even if he rolls the neck down. But (not pictured) Peter's arms are more tan than Ben's because Ben's Scarlet sleeves are longer than Peter's Spidey sleeves. Obv Ben isn't wearing (the top of) his costume in this pic though. and they can both roll the sleeves up anyway.

That's the watch Peter got May for her birthday in 2007 btw. Actually the color is wrong because I didn't bother to check my own #lore but also because I almost forgot to color it at all (lol whoops) so I was just like. It's purple, I remember that much. But the strap is supposed to be "pale violet linen."

I also almost forgot to draw Peter's wedding band entirely 😂 Luckily I remembered! lol

Kaine is wearing a kilt, by the way (over jeans or leggings or something probably... well, maybe not leggings if his costume is underneath...) My goal is for him to find a different way of expressing his masculinity. related to why i am sticking to pink for his theme color (for costume etc.) and letting him grow his hair back out. I think he probably has some genders going on but not in the way that Flash has. He's not a girl. More like he wants to be nothing at all... null gender... etc... but also he doesn't have the language for that and would likely push back against it because of the way he was treated by Warren and the issues he has with like. personhood and manhood... but experimenting with (expensive) clothing is a way for him to explore his own autonomy in spite of that treatment and a way to learn to hate himself a little bit less, maybe, even though he's still very insecure.

he also has a "nazi punks fuck off" shirt, but... he wouldn't wear that to thanksgiving with aunt may... probably. I'm sure his leather jacket is around here somewhere...

i picked thanksgiving arbitrarily btw 😂 it just made the most sense as a reason for may to force i mean ask them all to come over and get pictures and stuff. kaine leaves nyc in 2012 following ben and only comes back for good in 2016, but when he and aracely first come up in the summer there's a bunch of stuff happening so it makes sense to do fall, once it's settled down...

May: Oh, by the way Peter, I invited your... brothers... to Thanksgiving. Peter: You did WHAT?!

#let's pretend they have a photo backdrop because i didn't want to draw a background #ben reilly #peter parker #kaine parker #aunt may #clone bros #nadiart #fanadiart #came in through the window last night #flash would be on E for like a year at this point... small changes #not sure which art tag to use for this.................#rough art #but also #shiny art #kind of in between #peter is a lil tilted (i mean the drawing is literally crooked) but he looks extra tilted because ben's sleeve is in front of his shoulder #alas #i'm not fixing it

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accio-victuuri · 8 months

Text

CPN : ZZ’s mysterious driver & Web’s “selfie”

So I thought about whether i should talk about this or just leave it be. Cause i did mention the mystery driver in the August CPN post but I kept it vague and left minimum information. Because at the time, it sounded so galaxy brained and that it’s something that will never be what we want to be. And that’s fine. There are a lot of cpns/speculations/interpretations that are barely plausible and even us, we know it’s not possible, hence the term “clowning”.

this is one tho is making all of us go 👀.

( isn’t he the most gorgeous man ever? i don’t blame wyb for wanting to fetch him or visit. )

If you’ve been in this fandom long enough, you’ll know that sometimes the most nonsensical clues will become key points in the future. or those impossible cpns will (sometimes) sooner or later become more true.

This incident is a great example of that…..

For ZZ’s LOCH filming, there are proxy shooters who wait outside the site and film when ZZ arrives and leaves. Their clue is the car he uses but i don’t think he was ever photographed coming in or out like what happened with SBMS. That time, you can physically see him leaving/arriving to the hotel back entrance. There are photos and videos.

So 8/13, the same thing happens and cpfs noticed that the driver looked peculiar. It’s not his face per se, but what’s on it (p2).

We were clowning that it’s WYB with his helmet but it doesn’t look like his usual one. It’s too covered up.

At the time it was full on clowning. Would he really do this? Were other drivers photographed before and what did they look like? Is this the first time this mystery driver popped up? I haven’t seen the answer to that so that’s why i’m questioning it too. Maybe XZ does not want any part of the team to be recognizable.

A piece of the puzzle is added tho because of the Selfie WYB shared. As displayed above, we are putting it side by side. So is this him confirming our clowning? What are the chances that we were speculating about him wearing a different kind of helmet ( as the driver ) then he pops up with this selfie in particular.

Is this another coincidence? 🤡🤡🤡🤡

It’s also giving this vibe. His photo when he celebrated ZZ’s birthday and drove to where he was. Did he take this photo for the same purpose?

There is also a cpn going around based on XZ’s workday, it ended 20:20 and then WYB posted 20:39 so did he post it for XZ to see after work?

CPFs also noticed it’s taken from wechat camera. So meaning he sent it to someone else and yet again, we got leftovers. You could actually argue that “selfies” or things he shares on his weibo now are “leftovers”. I actually like that. He did not take a selfie or film a video with the intention of “posting for fans”. He probably shared it to xz or his circle of friends and decided why not share it on his weibo + fans.

Bonus is in today’s episode of SBMS there is this scene. Shengyang was looking through drawings of what looks like a moto goggles (?). LOL. The universe is really joining in on the clowning. Does WYB know this scene will come up the next day? Hmmmmmm…

It’s one of those things that is the reason why so many people are drawn to this pairing and fandom in general. Candies like this are why more and more people, even to this day, are becoming cpfs. We don’t even have to make “brainwashing” packages. You can’t even make these up. It just happens.

-END.

Disclaimer: I know the implications and dilemma of taking candies from these proxy shooters who make their lives hard. Tho the entrance of the shooting site is a public space and they know LOCH crew is in there, it’s still not an excuse to camp out. If you think about it, these paparazzi are the reason why the mystery driver have to dress like that instead of a normal person. So yeah. I understand if people don’t wanna eat this candy because of that or feel 50/50 about all of this.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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swtnrcmnt · 1 year

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୨୧ — s.r headcanons

some of these might be canon, lol sry 🤗

- absolutely hates insects. like if either one of u saw a spider there would be a 30 minute discourse of who has to kill it

- listens to what the other team members listen to just to see what kind of music they like

- takes mental notes of things the team members say they have interest in or want so he knows what to get them for their birthdays

- if he ever got social media (most likely by the convincing of none other than penelope garcia) it would take him actual centuries to figure out how to use it

- spends most of his birthdays alone reading poetry books in his bedroom while occasionally watching old tv shows

- also never uses his tv. like ever. except for the few occasions when he’s read everything in his apartment already and has nothing else to do

- or when it’s halloween and he wants to watch his favorite horror movies

- has a few pen pals from other countries that he hopes to meet one day if they continue writing to each other

- although we know he’s not bad at drawing, i feel like he likes to doodle to pass time. just little characters he made up for himself

- even though he’s most likely a homebody, i feel like he would enjoy little walks in the park or through trails in the woods during the fall and spring

- oh but the second he has to walk through plain woods and bumps into a spider web.. he’s out.

- is always dressed up for some reason other than when he’s alseep.

- like he could be staying home for the day, but will still dress like he’s about to go to work instead of spending the day in pajamas

- can’t handle spices. like he would be one of those people who find chicharon (iykyk) spicy

- was a virgin until at least season 5 SORRY 😭

- maybe season 2 if he was lucky but i don’t get the vibes

- the type to fall in love fast.. and i mean fast.

- would really enjoy the sims if he wasn’t such a technophobe

- used his iq against people. like he would go “actually..” anytime somebody says something scientifically incorrect that only people like him would know even if it was just a hypothetical thing they said

ok that’s all for now ty bye 💞💞

#swtnrcmnt ۵ #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x singer!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x bau!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds headcanons

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mntalbrakdown · 1 year

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k. - X. Thorpe

masterlist!

mentions of: slight cussing, jealousy?, love confessions

synopsis: Xavier likes you, and always has, now its just time to tell you

inspired by: Mac Demarco- K

a/n: i take requests!

the snow was falling down from the sky. It seemed that December has rolled by fast. It was almost your birthday, Xavier has been buying you gifts and painting you all year long. Every month he would draw you in his sketchbook or whenever he felt like it. He thought it was better than taking pictures of you because it took him more than one second meaning it was more "romantic". He drew you pretty often because you felt like home, you felt like someone he will never stop loving in more than one way.

"Hey pretty boy, what's going on in that brain?" you ask coming up to him from behind

"Just thinking to myself"

"You only are that silent and don't want company when you are stressed" you point out.

How do you do that? How do you know what is going on with him, that isn't your "power", so how do you do it? He can't do that to you. The more and more you point things out about him the more scared he is that you will find out what he truly feels about you. The more that you point things out about him the more he comes to know himself.

"Hello? Xavier?" you wave your hands in front of him

"Sorry, I need to go" he starts to walk the opposite way, but you both have next period together.

You decide to let him go because he lets you go when you're not in it, mentally. You secretly love it but hate it because you like being around him, it's one of your favorite things to pass the time. To be in his shack and just sit there while he draws whatever he draws and you just talk and talk about who you are as a person, and who you wish to be. Xavier was a great listener but hated talking. You had to pry him open every time something was wrong.

You step into your class, and you see Xavier and Wednesday sitting next to each other, you let out a sigh and just walk to the closest seat available, Ajax. You and Ajax weren't close, you let him do his thing with Enid, but left when it was just the two of you, so this would be fun.

"Hey, may I please sit here?" you ask as your already pulling out the chair he nods like he has much of a choice.

You could feel eyes on you multiple times throughout the period, you couldn't tell if it was Enid's or Xavier's or both. You let them be, not your problem, for now.

The days seemed to roll by quickly, it was the weekend before your birthday. You decided to sit at your tree. Maybe it was freezing for everyone and decided to stay in, but you liked the ice hitting your cheeks, the only thing that is not bundled up. You were warm, listening to the music blasting through your earbuds. Looking how the snow hits the ground and how it accumulates.

He looks at you from across the quad. He sees how red your nose is, yet you refuse to move from "your tree". The more he picks at who you are, the more he seems to grow to love you. He loves how you decide that you have trees to meet up at instead of actual locations. He loves how you carry around three different types of headphones just to be positive that you can actually listen to music at any time.

He is so greatful that he got to meet you before he even dared to seek someone else. He would not have enjoyed life as he does now. He wouldn't live life. He would just walk through it. He is sold to you. You are his without even knowing it and you can't return him.

"What are you doing here bug?" he sits next to you on the snow and he is shivering

"That seat is taken" you don't even turn to look at him, you don't offer him a blanket, and you feel terrible because he is freezing.

"Here I'll sit somewhere else" he gets up smooths everything out and goes to sit next to you on the other side

"So is that one" you turn to look at him, you don't dare take off your headphones you just want to see the snow fall with the music in the background

"What is going on with you?" was it something he did? he ponders to himself.

"Nothing" you can see the fog coming up as you speak and you smile, it is cold and you love it.

"Than why are you being a bitch?"

"Thorpe, you can be a bitch all the time and I don't call you that, but the moment I am to you, you can't handle it? Sometimes I wonder what I see in you" you whispered the other half, he could hear it, he could have fucked up hands, from always drawing you, but never hearing.

You grab your stuff that is ice cold and start to get up. You wipe off all the snow that is on you and walk to your dorm. Or so you thought. you could hear the pitter-patter of the shoes following you

"Just because you walked away doesn't mean the conversation is over"

"You sound like my mother Xavier" you turn around and see the man in all his glory...again

"I know your birthday is tomorrow, but I wanted to give you something right now because I feel as though this is the only way I can get you to see how I see you" he starts to get into his backpack and pull out the sketchbook. The cover isn't a boring ordinary photo, it is the very first drawing of you he has ever made. It was you under your favorite tree. Listening to music and in love with the white cold flakes falling from the sky.

"does it move?" it was a stupid question at the time, of course it moves, its his power

"Anytime it feels as though my love has gone away, settle down turn around take this picture and let it play" he says making the picture move. It was the flakes falling and you bopping your head to the music.

You flipped through the pages. He made them all move. You took each and everyone of them in. Observing how they moved and liked the way they he did them so intricatly. You liked how each month he made a portrait of all those time you rantting about your day, now you know why he would stare and than look away at the same time.

"How and why?" You look up to Xavier

"I spend 12 hours of the day staring at you and the other 12 dreaming of you and imagining you." He says as if it was nothing

"No in between?"

"No, never, I even got report cards of my teachers saying that I stare at you too much" he says with his shit eating grin

"I must look very interesting"

"You are interesting, in the best way possible, or I would be bored by now" It was true, he must love finding new things on you, and he especially loved the occasional different hairdo, to draw.

"I would like to get to know you better than just being friends"

"Thorpe are you implying we should date?"

"I got to know your heart, I still have so much for me to learn"

"You are so annoying" you slap his chest as he brings you in to kiss

"C'mon I know you like me sweets" he brings his big grin again

"Ok, I'll go out with you" you say tip-toeing to kiss him

"Thank god for Ms. Weems for giving you a tour" he says wrapping his arm around your waist

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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

Text

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) Part 3

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1 PART 2 PART 4

PART 3

The rest of dinner is pleasant, but not terribly emotionally eventful, comparatively. You survive by telling stories about Helen from when you were children, which John listens to with a wistful look in his eye. Maybe it's the wine, and the excellent food, but that sharp edge in his obsidian eyes softens, somehow. It is endearing, and your heart aches more than it should.

You are so full you try to decline dessert, but the special is a chocolate mousse and John insists you should split one, even if you only have a bite. You are not sure if the waiter brings one spoon on purpose, but you watch with fascination as John takes the utensil between his long fingers and scoops up a delectable little nibble.

When he offers it to you from across the table you think you might die. You have had far too much wine to not do exactly what you want to now, which is to accept the sweet morsel between your lips while meeting his eyes, wishing it was something else.

Your panties are drenched by the time the meal is through. You know that you are the worst, living vicariously through your older, better, sister, but just in that beautiful moment, its hard to care.

You can always hate yourself properly tomorrow.

John's hand finds a home at the small of your back as you are leaving. You know there are Feminist! reasons to hate when a man does that, but secretly it’s your kryptonite at the end of a long evening when there’s a crowd to navigate and you're tired and not really sure which way to go.

“Can I drive you home?” he asks, looking down that straight patrician nose at you. You could draw him from memory, you've studied his features so much tonight. You probably will, later, when you’re alone in your apartment with just the reminiscence of him.

“I live in Brooklyn,” you warn him.

He seems amused by this.

“I know.”

You pause for a moment at this. But then, it’s not so strange he knows. Helen could have mentioned it a hundred times.

“Okay.”

When the valet rumbles up in a sinister black American sports car, you lift an eyebrow.

“This is yours?”

“Did you think I would drive a Mercedes like some kind of asshole?”

The next car in the valet line is a Mercedes, and the stodgy old dude behind you who just exudes Old Money looks like he's received an extra stick inserted in his ass. You huff, your lips twisting as you are fighting a grin.

“Usually I would make a crack about a midlife crisis, but it really does suit you.” You'd heard tell of The Car, but had never actually gotten to see it.

“Kind of you to say.” It’s so deadpan it takes a moment for you to realize he’s teasing you.

He holds the door for you, and you can tell by the way he’s looking at you that he has not taken anything you've said seriously, or personally.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

The car is kind of bare bones inside, but it is undeniably cool. The sound of the motor is a tactile experience—you feel it in your bones as you pull away and take off down the street. You feel it other places too, as you look over at John seamlessly working the gears. Perhaps you look at him longer than what is polite, thinking about how once Helen used to sit in this seat, and they would undoubtedly go on adventures upstate, her cameras in tow.

You close your eyes, because you are tired, and you are thinking, and for the umpteenth time you are fighting tears. As you go across the Brooklyn bridge you roll down the window. The cool air helps clear your head.

The lights of the city at night from up high are a treat. Usually you're taking the subway.

Only once you arrive at your building and John parks on the street do you realize you never really gave him any directions. But once again, you shrug it off.

There is a long moment of silence after he turns off the engine. The intimacy of an enclosed car at night, the weak light of the street barely intruding. “Do...you want to come up for a drink?” you ask, before you can really stop yourself.

Another long moment passes, as he looks at you in the shadows of the car, undoubtedly weighing the merits of this suggestion. His dark eyes glitter in the night, and your heart is in your throat, hoping he'll say yes.

“Sure.”

He is watchful as a hawk of the street as you make your way to the security door of your walkup. He frowns when you simply pull the door open, no working lock.

“How long has that been like that?”

“At least a year. Shall we say the landlord moves at his own pace?”

“Give me his number.”

You laugh. “Ok.”

“I’m serious.”

You pause to look at him, his face half in shadow. A chill runs down your spine, the hair lifting on your arms; he is so beautiful, but there is something dangerous about this man. Something only your deepest instincts left over from the days of life in caves picks up on. It is…intoxicating, because somehow you know you are not the one who needs fear him.

Your landlord, on the other hand…you might be getting that new lock sooner than later.

You start to climb the stairs. When your heel catches the edge of the old wooden runner he is there, steadying you with a hand on your waist. You lean into him without a thought. He's taken charge of you, for the evening at least, and you are more than happy with the arrangement.

For the evening, at least.

Your key sticks in the vintage lock, the way it always does. The more modern deadbolt goes quicker. And then you are inside your humble sanctuary, and you can tell John is a little shocked by the cacophony before him. Helen liked the ordered balance of modern design, but you are a maximalist at heart. The walls are covered in art, your own, and friends’, and collected pieces as well. There are little shelves filled with curios from your travels and thrift stores around the city. What isn't filled with art is taken up by plants, on the floor, and side tables you have rescued from the curb over the years, and hanging from the ceiling too.

“Come on,” you say, taking his arm to guide him through. It's not actually messy. Everything has its place, and is fairly clean. The space is just full. “Have a seat. What do you drink?”

He lowers himself onto your cerulean blue couch, still looking around. It’s almost as though he forces himself to look back up at you.

“Bourbon, if you've got it.”

“Sure.”

You slide off your coat, hanging it on a vintage brass coat rack from an old hotel long defunct.

“Ice?”

“A little.”

You make his drink, and a vodka tonic for yourself. You cross the room to join him. “Thanks,” he says as you hand him his glass.

“Sure.”

He is still surveying the room, and you are content to sit in companionable silence while he takes it all in, used to this reaction from newcomers.

“Did you make these?” he asks, looking to a cluster of small but highly detailed portrait paintings on the wall closest to you.

“Yes.”

They had taken months with a tiny 20/0 brush. You can be…obsessive, when a project grips you.

“Impressive.”

“Thanks.”

“May I...” He pauses, taking a deep draught, nearly finishing his drink in one go. “I overheard, this morning. About the piece, with Helen's photographs. I know Helen said you don't like people in your studio, but I was wondering...if I could see it.”

It dawns on you that this is the reason he agreed to come up. Possibly the reason he took you to dinner too. You are relieved, in a way, even if your heart aches a little for it.

Even though it’s true that you usually hate letting anyone into your studio, the place where you think and dream and create, the resting place for the unborn and half-finished creations of your imagination, you do not hesitate in your answer.

“Yes. Of course you can see it.”

You stand from the couch and hold out your hand to him without thinking, and he takes it. It’s as though you both know you're going to need a little extra emotional bolstering for the task ahead. You take him to the second bedroom that is your art studio. The smell of linseed oil and paint is heavy on first entry, though you are used to it.

Helen’s piece is still on your easel, the most recent thing you’ve finished. Usually you like to work small, but this canvas was five feet on both sides. It took you months to go through the boxes of photos she’d left you, then to lay it all out, deciding which photo went where according to value and structure. You could have done it easier with photoshop, but the personal quality of this project demanded completion by hand, from start to finish.

To complicate things more, you used a transfer technique to affix them to the canvas, giving the images a hazy dream-like quality. In between it all you had painted with miniscule strokes, miniature scenes and tiny embellishments, adding color, pumping up contrast and value. There were words she had said to you, short one sentence stories from your childhoods, and miniature daisies sprouting through the cracks. It was a galaxy of image and memory, each square foot containing a multitude. Yet when you stood back and unfocused your eyes, it was unmistakably her face looking back at you, larger than life, beautiful and filled with warmth.

The subject of the photos ranged from her arty pieces of architecture and landscapes from trips she’d taken, to more candid shots of family and friends. There were also several images of John, and it occurred to you that maybe you should have okayed that with him. You’d been working in the pitch of such a fever dream with the materials Helen had left you, it hadn’t even occurred to you at the time to reach out to ask. You’d made this piece in a damn near fugue state, swinging between working rapaciously and crying in a ball on the floor. There had been some catharsis in finally finishing it, but the process had damn near killed you.

“I hope it’s okay…that you’re in it,” you say as he stands before the canvas, his exacting gaze taking in every detail of every inch.

He has not let go of your hand; in fact, his grip has tightened almost painfully upon your fingers. You don’t think he realizes he’s even doing it, and you let him hurt you, the way you’re pretty sure you’re hurting him with this visceral reminder of the life of the woman he’d loved.

“I’m honored,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion, his jaw clenched. “Such a full life she lived.”

“Only the good die young,” you answer, barely able to raise your volume above a whisper against the constriction in your throat. “It’s not fucking fair. All the horrible people in the world…and the fates took her.” Your voice cracks. Your eyes are burning, and you know you are on the brink of losing your shit again. He pulls you in against him, and there are no arguments this time about preserving his suit or your dignity. It’s too easy, to settle into the solid warmth of his chest. This man feels like he could be a bastion against all that is bad in the world; it is hard not to wish to just stay there beneath his chin forever.

“I would have traded, if given a choice,” you whisper into his collarbone. “In a heartbeat.”

“Me too,” he answers. “But she never would have allowed it. She loved you beyond measure.”

You give a tinny, sad little laugh—or maybe it’s a sob—for the tragedy of it all. You know that no one—no one—will ever love you the way Helen did. Will ever protect you, the way Helen did. You will wander the Earth for the rest of your days with a Helen-shaped hole in your heart that will never heal.

“I know she felt the same about you.” Minutely you lift your head to look up at him. “It’s easy to understand why.” You touch his face lightly, wiping away the tear that is hovering on the blade of his cheekbone with the side of your thumb. When you realize how casually you have invaded this man’s personal space, this man who has been so kind and tolerant of you, you try to draw away. But his hand covers yours on his cheek, the scruff of his beard surprisingly soft beneath your palm.

Your eyes meet, and you can see that John is drowning in the loneliness of so much loss. You reckon you look about the same; this day has left you feeling like you fed your heart through a meat grinder. Pushed to the brink, perhaps there is little wonder that when his face descends, you do nothing at all to fight it.

Yet he does not kiss you.

His lips hover above yours, and you think you might expire of longing, caught in the limbo of waiting. He brushes the tip of your nose with his. It is almost unbearably sweet. You feel like it’s a gesture between two people who have been in love for ages. A remembered gesture, a sweet habit left from a different relationship, a different woman you resemble, but can never really be.

You should stop this. You should back away before you both get hurt. But then his lips touch yours, and any small amount of resolve you might have worked up to do the right thing shatters.

At first it is the simplest press of lips; light, and sweet. He is shaking; or maybe it’s you who is? He rests his forehead against yours, savoring the moment, or trying to talk himself out of whatever it is he is about to do.

It’s his choice, you know.

You no longer possess the willpower to stop him either way, and your wicked heart rejoices when he leans in to kiss you again. Still, he is gentle with you, as though you are a thing in his grasp that might break.

He isn’t wrong about that, and yet as the kisses go on, you feel it in him when something snaps—the change is sudden, and visceral, and you cannot withstand the onslaught as he slants his mouth over yours. It is like being caught in a hurricane, grabbed up by his inexorable strength and the fury of his desire. You’re not really a small woman, but he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing at all, backing you into the wall.

You know it’s wrong, somewhere in the back of your head, but it feels so good. Or maybe, it could be right? Maybe it could be ok, to take comfort in this certain someone who also loved the person you lost. Doesn’t that balance, somehow?

You are full of shit, but you also don’t care.

All you know is that he’s hiked your leg over his hip as he’s kissing you, and you can feel the hard length of him pressing into your center, and you might collapse with the heady pleasure of it all.

You reach for his belt, but he catches your hands, panting as he presses his forehead against yours again. “Let me touch you?” His words are laced with such a mix of fragility and need that you know no matter what he asks you for tonight, you won’t say no.

A trembling sigh escapes you as you nod, and he kisses you again, hard and hungry and you’ve never surrendered so willingly to anyone before in your life. He’s running a hand up your thigh to the molten core of you, pushing your underwear aside to slide a single long finger inside your desire-slicked body, and you are lost.

Utterly wrecked, and irrevocably lost.

He toys with your swollen little clit with his thumb while he finger fucks you, his mouth on your neck and you are so close, before he picks you up all together like you weigh fucking nothing, and walks you to the couch in the other room. A vague thought enters the cloud of your sex-addled brain, a small sense of relief that he has removed you from Helen’s watchful gaze on the easel.

Any guilt you might feel vanishes with the thrill of him dropping you on the soft cushions, which is only topped by him dropping to his knees before you in that beautiful suit, (that beautiful suit!), and hooking his fingers in your panties, practically tearing them down your thighs.

There is a moment of eye contact, that burning dark stare that bores a hole straight to your soul, before he falls on you like he means to devour you whole and lick the bones clean. You’ve never felt anything like his furious mouth on you, the hard licks and soft kisses, the circling of his tongue around your clit, the relentless pleasure he mercilessly bestows until your back is arching and you cannot stop and you cannot wait, you are cumming in his mouth.

It’s the most magnificent thing you’ve ever felt, this fierce and fiery pleasure that is like fireworks inside your cunt and across your skin, and he keeps licking you slowly through the tremors and the aftershocks until you beg for mercy.

There is a moment of reverent quiet, while he rests his cheek on your thigh, your hands stroking his long dark hair. But when you try to reach for him, “Come up here,”—you are suddenly in his arms again, and he is carrying you to your bedroom, laying you down. You expect him to climb in with you, but with a flourish he covers you with the sheet, effectively trapping you, pressing a hard but reverent kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest, y/n.”

“Wait!” you plead as he is walking to the door, dizzy from the whiplash of this change of direction. You hate the desperation in your voice but at the moment you’re unable to care. “Where are you going?” Even you can hear how pathetic you sound.

He stops in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. His profile is half in shadow. He looks like a masterpiece by Carravagio, beautiful and terrible to behold. You want to paint him in this moment, almost as badly as you want to fuck him.

“I’m going home.” You cannot tell if that is regret in his voice, or pure exhaustion?

“Why?” You know you sound wretched, like the lost little girl you are inside.

“Good night, y/n.”

Then he is gone like a shadow, like he’d never been there at all. You barely even hear the front door snick shut. If it was not for the glorious soreness between your legs, maybe you would have thought it was all just a magnificent dark dream your twisted little imagination thought up.

You weren’t usually prone to such dramatic thoughts, but it was possible that John Wick had just ruined you for all other men, and you didn’t even get to see him naked.

PART 4>>

Part 1 Part 2

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #i'm so sorry i'm sorry for everything #john wick fic #john wick x you fic

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lovingmusicalmen · 1 year

Note

"Wh- so you did remember my birthday!" || "Of course I did. How could I ever forget?" with Jack Kelly?

This one's lowkey v cute! I hope you enjoy!

Still accepting blurb requests!

Fluff 21 - "Wh- so you did remember my birthday!" || "Of course I did. How could I ever forget?"

If you were to ask Crutchie, he would say that Jack was moping.

A claim that Jack himself would vehemently deny. Jack Kelly did not mope, though that didn't mean that he didn't occasionally feel a tad bit disappointed. Especially when his girlfriend avoided him at every turn and gave absolutely zero inclination that she knew his birthday had been coming up.

And, yes, perhaps that mild upset was showing through Jack isolating himself on the roof of the lodging house with only his sketchbook for company. If you were to ask Jack, that was the ideal way for anyone to spend their birthday.

So no, of course he was not moping, no matter what Crutchie and Race and whoever else had to say about it.

"Jackie? You up here? The guys said they saw you head up here."

Jack tensed up at the familiar voice floating up to where he sat sketching from his penthouse.

"Oh so you actually want to talk to me now?" Jack bit out before he could think better of it.

Okay, so maybe Jack was a little more upset than he wanted to let on.

"Jackie?"

He let out a long sigh, snapping his sketchbook shut and turning around to face his girlfriend.

Y/N stood at the edge of the penthouse, her arms behind her back. There was a nervous smile on her face, and she was bouncing up and down a little on her heels. Her clothes were surprisingly clean considering that Jack knew she had been working far harder than usual lately.

"Yeah?"

"I have something for you," she said, smile widening.

Jack raised a single eyebrow at her, refusing to let her words raise his hopes.

Y/N crossed over to him, moving her hands to her front to present him with two small parcels and a piece of card.

"It's not much - but happy birthday, Jackie."

Jack blinked at her, staring between his girlfriend and the gifts she was presenting him with.

"Wh- so you did remember my birthday?" Jack asked in mild disbelief. Y/N let out a quiet laugh, biting her lip as she nodded.

"Of course I did. How could I ever forget?" Y/N asked, her voice soft.

"But you've been avoiding me."

"I wanted it to be a surprise. And I've been taking a couple of extra jobs to try and save up for what I wanted to get for you."

"You didn't have to do that!" Jack hadn't realised he had stood up until he had already crossed over to her. He clasped his hands ever-so gently on her arms.

"Of course I did - I love you, Jackie! Happy birthday!"

Jack learned and pecked her cheek before accepting the objects in her arms. He couldn't help but laugh at the card - two crudely drawn figures on the front holding what Jack presumed were meant to be newspapers.

"Yeah, okay - we can't all be artistic geniuses, Kelly," Y/N huffed, pouting.

"It's beautiful. I'll treasure it forever, baby," Jack promised, swallowing back any further laughter that threatened to bubble up.

True to his word, he strode over to where he had tacked up several of his own drawings to the railings, adding the birthday card to the mix.

"Crutchie is going to think your artistic talent took a serious hit," Y/N snorted, and Jack turned around just in time to see her flop down onto the piles of old clothes and blankets which served as Jack's bed.

Jack just grinned at her, joining her on the bed and carefully peeling away the newspaper which wrapped the two parcels.

A single cupcake was revealed in the first box and Jack's mouth watered at just the sight of it.

"This must've cost a fortune,"

"You deserve a birthday cake, Jackie - not every day you turn 18," Y/N murmured, grabbing hold of his hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

"I love you," he said, tightening his hold on her when she tried to pull away and instead tugging her closer to peck her lips.

"Yeah, yeah," Y/N waved it off. "Open the other one. That's the real present."

"The real present?" Jack repeated incredulously. Y/N just nodded eagerly, eyes fixed on the scruffy parcel. Jack picked it apart carefully, his eyes widening as he revealed a brand new set of paints for him to use. "How the fuck did you buy these?" He whispered.

"I told you - I've been taking a lot of extra work," Y/N shrugged bashfully.

Jack didn't think twice before lunging towards her to pull her into a long, deep kiss.

#jack kelly #jack kelly x reader #jack kelly fanfiction #jack kelly imagine #newsies #newsies fanfiction #newsies x reader #newsies fic

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siphoklansan · 11 months

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700 Followers Milestone Celebration🎉

Introducing…

꧁𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐊𝐚𝗺𝗼𝐥𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡꧂

༄ชรินทร์ กมลนัฐ༄

“Could that be a fish-tail swishing behind his legs?”

Height : 178 cm.

Birthday : 17th of July

Homeland : East of Scalding Sands

Best Subject : Defense Magic

Club : Pop music club

Talents : Khon Dancing

Hobby : party, watching plays

Likes : going out, playing wood wind instruments

Dislikes : carelessness and cockiness

Favorite food : any type of noodle dishes (bonus points if they have lotus roots in them)

Least favorite food : artificial butter or ingredients in desserts

꧁𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜꧂

"𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞" The ability to put someone in a trance. The trance will show their darkest fear or deepest desires, depending on Charin’s intentions. The victim will be put in a trance when Charin summons a large lotus on the ground (kinda like a booby trap). If the victim steps in the lotus then off they go into dream land, they’ll just stand there with pale and dull eyes, completely still. The longer they take to break out of the trance, the more energy it consumes from both Charin and the victim.

The victim can fall unconscious if they’re in a vulnerable mental state or they take too long to snap out.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 : Warriors are adorned with talisman (tattoos) , giving wearers resistance to black magic and blot. And also some resistance to normal physical damage (ex. a normal blade, a bullet)

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝗺𝐚𝐧 : Charin is half merman. Though he can’t transform into a one, he possesses a skill that can swim just as fast as any merman.

꧁𝐅𝐮𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧꧂

I originally planned a second ability for him. He can summon tiny lotuses that can heal minor injuries if you eat them. It’s like a family thing, since he comes from a family of healers and such, but I decide to cross out the idea.

Charin is also based on the literature piece Ramakien like Anan! He’s inspired by the character…..*drumroll please*….Muchanu! (มัจฉานุ). Muchanu is the son of Hanuman, they’re both Yakshas. But Hanumna uh did the devil’s tango with a mermaid so yeah..there’s Muchanu🧍‍♀️

I originally planned for Charin to be based off Hanuman (หนุมาน), but I decided to go for Muchanu for shits and giggles. I just think the fish tail is so cute I couldn’t pass it up.

If I remember correctly, Muchanu is a goody-two-shoes and is kinda like a side character. I don’t think he had that much screen time.

I created Charin because I had a feeling that if I was in Twisted Wonderland, alone with no magic and no one that’d speak my native language, I’d be lonely as hell. So Charin is like a comfort character to me<33

His hair resembles a lotus (doesn’t really look like it but yeah) it’s not a blooming lotus though. And his hair is not a bun.

His big ears represents Yakshas that are related to monkeys(?) (or just monkeys. They draw monkeys pretty similar to yakshas (in the literature piece)

The swirl-pattern on his cheeks is something I notice in a lot of monkey character designs. Or maybe I’m tripping and I’m remembering it as something else but I swear I see it from time to time😭

꧁𝐀𝐛𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧꧂

Since Charin is (half) merman, he loves water sports! He loves going to the beach, go diving in the deep sea, he surfs too! He goes to the local beach so often that the people (and workers) there know who he is.

Charin’s a very fun guy. He loves to party too (he gets along with Kalim well too, and they’re both in the pop music club!) But he’s not that energetic to the point that it’s suffocating, he knows when to have fun and when to stop.

As the body guard of Anan, he doesn’t seem to be strict at all. It’s not because he doesn’t care about his job (maybe), it’s because…well….could any one actually beat Anan? Jokes aside, he may have a baby face and is fun to be around, but he’s actually way stronger than he looks. His father’s lineage are warriors that served the King of Yakshas, so I guess that’s where he got his skills from.

But hey, don’t get scared now! He’s a pleasant guy, he wouldn’t start a fight unless you give him a reason to. Though…he wouldn’t say no to a spar or two. Show him what you got, he won’t judge! Charin’s not the type to play dirty too, unless the situations are dire, of course.

Charin, ever the mysterious guy. You wouldn’t even know he had a fish-tail until later. He likes to hide his tail for unknown reasons.

Charin has a habit of being flirty, but that’s just a part of his personality. He doesn’t even know he’s flirty! And he’d get so confused that someone caught feelings. Hm? What do you mean you like him? He thought he was just being friendly…

YOU GUYS….THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 700+ FOLLOWERS🎉💓💓 I can’t believe I got this far omg😭 I’m so glad you guys stuck around even though I don’t post that often hjkggjgkgh I have so many things in my draft that I wanna post! You can check my agenda post (in my pinned post) to take a look!! I had so much fun on this app. The community is great and I’m already looking forward to posting more content (ง'̀-'́)ง I had A LOT of fun drawing my OCs (Anan and Charin) and I get to share it with you guys!!!<333

Lmk if you have any questions about Charin, you can barge into my ask box and ask away!♡´･ᴗ･`♡

I would also like to end this by saying that if you are knowledgeable about Ramakien and you would like to correct some information in this post (or my other oc’s post) PLEASE DO!! I haven’t read about Ramakien in a longgg time, so feel free to correct me on anything! I’d appreciate it SO MUCH!<3

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #original character #twisted wonderland original character #☂︎︎siphok-museum☂︎︎#my little bby is here!!#THANK YOU FOR 700 FOLLOWERS AGAINNN<333333 #I LOVE YOU ALL MWAH MWAH

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robinsnest2111 · 6 days

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thinking about the Benson doesn't go ham on his coworkers AU where he and Randy tentatively get closer, Benson learns Randy recently turned 21 but no one really celebrated with him (except his mom who set up a very childish birthday party, party hats, confetti, an adorably decorated crocodile-themed birthday cake and all, maybe even invited some of her friends from church, Randy just letting the celebration happen around him, staring off into the middle distance, expressionless while all the middle-aged ladies congratulate him on his big day)

So Benson takes it upon himself to take Randy to a bar, get him his first alcoholic beverage, trying to get Randy out of his shell (or so he says).

After some back and forth, and some white lies fed to Randy's mom about where he's going and what he's doing ("just a sleepover with a friend from work, mom, no we won't stay up too late"), they end up in a bar a couple towns over (lest word get back to his mom) to properly celebrate.

It's still quite early, not too many patrons mingling just yet. Still, Randy clings to Benson's side like his life depends on it while Benson orders him his first drink. It tastes absolutely awful, and since he's with Benson and has built up some trust, he actually voices that thought albeit in a quiet voice only meant for Benson's ears.

Benson lets out a surprised chuckle, picks up Randy's glass to take a sip, then declares: "You're damn right it does." He assures him it's an acquired taste with a mirthful tilt to his lips, and Randy agrees to try another.

This next one, Benson explains, is a mixture of alcohol and soda, sweet enough to cover the awful taste but packing quite the punch if you overdo it. Just as expected, Randy takes a liking to it, asking Benson to get another one as soon as that bottle has run dry.

The hours pass, the evening drawing in more patrons to the bar, seats and tables are filling with people getting more and more drunk and loud by the minute. Randy is quite tipsy at this point, but also more open with his expressions and reactions to Benson's banter, actually engaging in their conversation, Benson revelling in Randy's attention and marvelling at how beautiful it is to see the boy so alive for the first time. They're still huddled close together, both pretending it's due to the bar filling up to capacity (and, if they're honest, beyond) but it's also something else neither of them can or wants to put a finger on quite yet.

Once it's some time past midnight, the patrons are starting to get a bit too rowdy for Benson's taste, a couple of them stumbling and bumping into Randy's shoulders in their drunken efforts to get from one end of the bar to the other. They apologise but the pats on Randy's back while they slur their "sorry, buddy"s make Benson's blood boil.

He decides it is time to go home, both he and Randy had enough for the night. And it's best to leave when the spirits are still high. Randy is very much drunk at this point, having had one too many of the deceptively sweet drinks. He clings to Benson all the way to his car, stumbling along, smiling up at him with unbridled adoration. It does weird things to Benson's heart.

Getting Randy into the passenger seat and all strapped in to make their journey home is surprisingly easy, the boy's limbs obeying at the slightest push and pull. Randy rolls his head into Benson's direction as soon as he's in the driver's seat, about to turn the key in the ignition. He shoots Benson the brightest smile he's probably ever smiled, mumbling out "Thank you Benson, I had so much fun. I think I love you."

The last part made Benson's heart stop for a second. "We'll see about that in the morning once all the alcohol has worn off."

cue Benson and Randy getting back home to Benson's place, tiptoeing past Benson's mom, curling up in Benson's bed. Randy waking up a couple hours later with a raging hangover, Benson helping him into the bathroom, holding his head and rubbing between his shoulder blades while poor Randy pukes his soul out into the toilet bowl. <3

#oops i wrote again. cannot help myself. when there's a moment to capture i try to capture it asap #literally typed this straight into the text box 👍#robin's writing adventures #stockroom syndrome #the passenger 2023 #non-american who has never had an alcoholic beverage in their entire life here but i do know about the US legal drinking age and #hangover experiences from partying too hard from some friends' accounts 👍

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seoafin · 2 years

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summer time record [i]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ↳ first years warning: teens being teens, brief mention of masturbation at the end (LMAO), gojo is a tsundere, a kiss(¿) word count: ~2.5k

There’s a faintly disgruntled look plastered across Satoru’s face, gaze directed towards the gift you had just dropped onto the desk in front of him.

He stares, lips pursed in a straight line that disregards any sign of emotion.

You look at him. Glance down at the thick stack of magazines you had just placed on the desk. Then you look towards Suguru who is hunched over, face angled to the side, shoulders trembling with laughter.

You can feel the downturned slant of your lips. Before you can raise the question of Suguru’s grand amusement that you have already pieced together, Satoru’s one step ahead of you.

“Oi,” he says, face tilted down at the spreads with a blank look. “Explain these, you bastard.”

You clear your throat, before Suguru incites more foul remarks from Satoru’s lips. “It’s my birthday present. To you.” You pause. Shift on your feet awkwardly. Look to the side. “Happy birthday?”

He stares at you. “Is that a question?”

You glance at Suguru, who seems to have gotten over his bout of hysteria and is now standing upright, face trained into a solemn look that is at odds with how his lips are twisted to prevent the laughter trapped in his mouth.

Maybe you had taken Suguru’s suggestion too seriously. What had originally been thrown out by a chuckling Suguru seemed like a good idea at the time, and the more you thought about it, the more you considered it seriously. Satoru liked gravure models. You often overheard the two of them talking about one shoot or another, so after days of deliberation it seemed like the most viable option.

You gather your wits. “You said you were really into Kosaka Yuka so…” you pat the stack of glossy magazines in front of you. “I bought you these.” You draw yourself back up and smile brightly. “Happy birthday, Satoru!”

A wave of red brightens his face, even though his lips are peeled back in a grimace. It strikes you that for all that he may or may not like your gift, he might be embarrassed. Thinking back on it now, gravure magazines weren’t exactly…fit for public consumption, if the stares you had gotten while in the video store meant anything.

The room is silent. Then Suguru bursts back into laughter, and the shameless noise fills the classroom.

This time, you and Satoru pin him with a glare. He closes his mouth, and clears his throat. Once again the room falls silent.

Contrary to what the both of them believe, you put a lot of work into thoroughly investigating the type of models you thought would fit Satoru’s tastes and compiled a list of shoots and magazines you thought he’d like.

Well, if he didn’t like it you wouldn’t take it too personally. You’d just move on, and get him something else. Afterall, it wasn’t as if it had been a difficult effort to sort through the different magazines and models. It was actually kinda enjoyable—

You stare at the cover of the magazine on the very top of the pile. Matsushima Hatsune stares back at you, spread on a bed, a teasing smile hanging from her lips while scantily clad in white. Your gaze suddenly slides down to your feet as your hands grow clammy.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” On second thought, maybe a gift like this really was better received in private.

“Embarrass,” he repeats.

Your collar feels hot all of a sudden. “If you don’t want them, I’ll—”

Satoru snatches the entire pile up before you finish. “No,” he says tightly, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I’ll take them.”

You blink. “Okay.”

Satoru and Suguru are looking at each other again, sharing a look of long suffering.

——

If you didn’t know better, you’d say Satoru is sulking.

Feet kicked up onto the desk, chair precariously tipped over, his face is turned towards the window and the soft orange glow of the setting sun. He’s quiet, contemplatively so, lost in his head, save for the few glances in your direction out of the corner of his eye every few minutes.

It’s scrutinizing.

You eye him, the open book on your lap long abandoned. You cap your pen, place it down on the desk in front of you, and smile.

“I’ll get you something else,” you say, referring to your botched birthday present. “What do you want?”

He blows out another sigh, shoulders deflating, lips forming a pout, and you think it’s rather dramatic.

“Some new records? The new gameboy? How about we go to that new French bakery that opened up in Ginza?”

He stares pointedly out the window in clear rejection.

Oh, you realize. He is sulking. You didn’t think he hated your gift that much. He had still taken it, hadn’t he? Maybe this was related to something else, another incident altogether.

Oh—

“Is this about the other day?”

His head whirls towards you, so quickly his glasses fall slightly askew on his nose. “Hah?”

“When we were out the other day…” you study him, wondering if you’ve hit your mark. “You know.”

The chair slams down onto the floor as his feet come down to the floor, setting him down level opposite from you. He scowls defensively. “’s not.”

There’s a flush working its way up the base of his neck, and you fight to maintain your neutral expression despite the smile itching at your lips. Seeing Satoru like this isn’t so bad every once in a while. As irritable as he is in this state, you enjoy seeing him honest.

Your voice lowers as if someone might be listening, and you lean in. “I know those girls wanted Suguru’s number but—”

“That’s right. That’s it,” he says, cutting you off curtly, mouth deepening into something begrudging. It eases the longer he holds your stare. And then his knees are knocking against yours, face hovering close, and his narrowed eyes flash behind his sunglasses. His mouth works as if he’s swallowed something bitter before they reopen. “So. How are you going to comfort me?”

You stare at him. Red is streaked across his face; eyes searching your face with a fidgety edge that extends to twitch of his legs, the way his shoes hit yours, his long fingers curling against the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

Comfort…him…?

The phrase throws you back to a conversation earlier in the week. Shoko had patched you up after a mission in an abandoned warehouse in Roppongi. Eight minutes and your sprained ankle along with several bleeding cuts had been healed. A doraemon bandage had been neatly applied to the small cut on your face, and Shoko had gently patted it down afterwards. Your heart had raced so hard you were sure she could hear it.

Right before though, Shoko had stared at the package of the doraemon bandages she had found in the drawer that kept bandages (a gag gift from Satoru) and sighed.

“Don’t you remember things like that? Parents fixing us up after a tumble down the slides on the playground? Once I scraped my knees on my pavement after a large dog ran into me.” A wry smile. “I was inconsolable until my mother kissed it all better.”

The image of Shoko as a small girl had drawn a smile to your lips. You had just been about to ask for any pictures, about her parents. However you remembered something then. The memory of kisses being peppered over the raw aching skin of your palm. You had tried so hard not to cry.

Kiss…

Of course you do. “Do you…want a kiss?”

It’s not after the question leaves your lips that you realize that may not be what Satoru wants to hear. Far from it. You expect another scowl, or maybe even a sour, disgusted look like when he’s forced to sit through another one of Suguru’s lectures about his recklessness and disregard for others, but his face goes blank.

“A kiss,” he finally says after a few heartbeats of silence, as if he’s actually considering it. His direct gaze is absent, concealed behind the darkness of his shades. Paired with an unreadable expression, you think he might actually laugh you out the room. You sweat, preparing yourself for the inevitable disdain.

Your gaze apprehensively shifts away. “I just meant—”

“If you insist,” he interrupts, voice strained despite the lazy tone he adopts. He shifts his face towards you, waiting.

You wonder if he’s making fun of you.

Without any fanfare, you marginally lean forward and press your lips to his cheek in a chaste kiss you’d imagine a parent would give their child. A goodnight kiss, right before being tucked into bed. The memory dissipates as soon as it came.

Satoru’s eyes go wide, and before you can settle back in your seat, turns his head to face you straight on. His breath fans over your lips.

His sunglasses are crooked again. Your hands come up to adjust them parallel to his face.

“Happy birthday,” you whisper in a tone that can’t possibly begin to convey the love you feel as you look into a sea of brilliant blue. “I’m glad to have met you.”

The words leave your lips, but you don’t hear them, as if they’ve been swallowed up by his infinity.

Satoru doesn’t break eye contact as his parted lips wordlessly move. For a second, time distorts, slowing and stilling, and you think that this is how Satoru feels the world around him: delayed in hyper focused moments that envelop the world and all senses. You are both everything and nothing beneath his gaze, but right now you also feel as if you are the only person left in the world.

The moment is as delicate as the wings of a hummingbird, one easy breeze from being shattered.

A loud slap rings throughout the air.

You startle back into your seat.

There’s a hand shaped print on his cheek where you had just offered him a kiss of comfort, red enough that it should be stinging his face. In tandem, his sunglasses has jumped down the slope of his nose, revealing a dazed look.

He blinks. Then stands.

You watch him jerkily make his way towards the door, and without a single look back, he’s gone.

——

“It’s a bit late for dinner,” Suguru comments as you poke at the ekiben you had bought earlier in the day after arriving at Tokyo Station. The dining room is empty, save the single light you had turned on just ten minutes prior.

You stare into your bentou, and Suguru sighs.

“Are you still mad at me?”

Silence. You squint at your rice, chopsticks poking holes.

He takes the seat across from you, opens his own pair of chopsticks, and steals a tomato off your salad.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding sincere enough that you spear him with a slightly sullen look that he smiles at.

“I took it seriously, you know,” you grumble. “I put a lot of thought into picking the best magazines for Satoru and all the different models I thought he’d like.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Suguru ends with a breath of laughter.

You shake your head. “I’m going to buy you gravure magazines for your next birthday Suguru.” His smile subsides a little at that, and you push on in a deceptively light tone. “How about Harada Meiko? You like her don’t you?”

He feigns innocence. “Who?”

You’re not amused. “Harada Osana. Born in Fukuoka in ‘85 to Hayashi and Minami Sugimoto. Became a gravure model at 19 and is mainly known for her lingerie shoots. 1.58m. Black hair, brown eyes, her three sizes are 97-60-88cm.” You recite the details you’ve somehow memorized in your research as tell tale signs of nervousness begin to manifest on his face.

You stare him down, fully willing to call him out on his bluff.

His eyes dart away to the side, before remeeting your gaze. You can see his resolve faltering, facade slipping away as panic slowly overtakes him.

You continue on tonelessly. “Last month when we went down to that arcade in Shibuya, there was a poster of her next to the dance machine that you and Satoru were staring at. Satoru said and I quote, ‘Have you seen her last year’s calendar shoot? Her December shoot. There’s a reason why they call her the J-cup ban—’”

“Okay, okay,” Suguru forces out, and it sounds like a confession amidst his cherry face. His eyes beg you not to continue. “You got me.”

You smile, mood suddenly light as you bring a mouthful of rice to your mouth. Suguru exhales, looking haggard and years older.

“Just what kind of things are you remembering,” he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes.

“Everything.”

He looks at you.

“It’s important to me,” you say. “You, Shoko, Satoru. The kinds of things you guys like, the people you’re interested in…I want to know it all.” You collect these small tidbits, unnoticeable pieces of information, like small invaluable pieces of gemstones and cherish them. You wear a wide smile. “When it comes to you, I’m always paying attention.”

Suguru looks at you in visible surprise.

You set your chopsticks down. “Now, you must be hungry, coming down here this late at night.” You push your bento forward. “Eat up!”

——

You see Satoru for the first time in two days when he plops down across from where you are seated in the courtyard, overlooking the docks situated on the lake that has begun to freeze over for the winter.

Despite the chill in the air, and the recent frost layering the grass, he looks fine in his jujutsu tech uniform. Infinity sure is convenient.

You can feel the weight behind his intent stare, and if you weren’t used to it, you’d think it as disconcerting as you know it can be. Instead, you flip to the next page of your book.

“Yuzuki Aikawa.”

You don’t even blink. “157cm, 53kg, brown hair, blue eyes. 39-24-35cm.” You flip another page. “My personal favorite shoot was the bunny cosplay on page 16.”

“...You’re a real encyclopedia alright,” Satoru replies, deadpan.

You brighten, filled with happiness and a bit touched. “You went through them?”

“Not much else to do with them,” he mumbles, burning a hole into the table. He’s being unusually mild. You think you might even get an indistinguishable ‘thank you’ if he keeps this up.

Once again, silence fills the air as you train your focus on your book.

“What else,” he suddenly starts up again, “did you think I’d do with your birthday gift?”

That garners a response that has you blinking, confused. He stares at you intently now, a furrow in his eyebrows, as if daring you to answer.

It’s obvious isn’t it?

“Jerk o—”

Two hands cover your mouth from behind you. The rest of your words come out muffled over Suguru’s hands pressed firmly to your mouth.

“...”

nsfw part two

#gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x reader #hello this is being posted while im at work #m.jjk #str

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