#GraffitiGirl | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

devdozes · 20 days ago

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GRAFFITI GIRL!!♥

reader is an archer, phainon the cutie patootie is a very famous basketball player

The sound of an arrow slicing through the air had always been familiar, comforting even. You had spent years perfecting your craft, mastering the bow until it felt like an extension of yourself. Every competition, every target practice, every moment spent under the sun with an arrow nocked had led to this: your undeniable rise in popularity as one of the best archers in the city.

It had started as murmurs online—clips of you landing impossible shots, slow-motion replays of arrows piercing bullseyes from meters away. People admired your technique, your precision, your beauty. And you had thought that was all there was to it. Until one morning, when your phone blew up with messages that had nothing to do with archery.

[Bro, when did you get into graffiti??]

[Check your socials. You’re literally everywhere.]

[You’re the ‘Graffiti Girl’ now lmao.]

Confused, you scrolled through your notifications, and what you saw nearly made you drop your phone. Murals—detailed, striking, larger-than-life murals—of you, painted on walls all over the city. They weren’t just random sketches either; they were hyper-realistic depictions of you mid-shot, bow drawn, gaze sharp and focused. Some were vibrant and colorful, others grayscale and hauntingly dramatic, but all of them unmistakably you.

“What the hell?” you muttered to yourself, staring at a particularly stunning piece where you stood against a stormy backdrop, hair windblown as you let loose an arrow.

The internet was eating it up. The hashtag #GraffitiGirl was trending. Speculations ran wild. Who was the artist? Was it a secret self-promotion? Some even joked that you had an unknown admirer with insane artistic talent.

“I swear, I have no idea who’s doing this.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat in the archery range’s locker room, still in your gear. “I hold a bow, not a spray can.”

Your coach chuckled, sliding their phone over to you. “Well, whoever it is, they sure captured your likeness. People love a good mystery. It’s only making you more famous.”

You groaned, scrolling through yet another wave of tagged posts. “Great. Because being known for my archery skills wasn’t enough, now I’m an urban legend.”

Still, as the days passed and more murals appeared, you couldn’t shake the curiosity gnawing at you. Who was behind this? And why you? The portraits were breathtaking, each one showcasing a level of admiration and effort that felt almost personal.

Little did you know, someone was watching from the shadows, amusement dancing in cerulean eyes. Someone who had been following your career longer than you realized. Someone who had a habit of leaving their mark wherever they pleased.

Phainon smirked as he capped a spray can, admiring his latest work. “Let’s see how long it takes for you to find me, Graffiti Girl.”

The next day, another mural appeared, this time on a massive billboard near the heart of the city. It was unlike the others—this one had your signature pose, mid-draw, but behind you was a flurry of painted arrows, almost as if they were frozen in motion, caught between reality and artistry.

You stood beneath it, staring up in awe and bewilderment. “Okay, this is getting ridiculous.”

A few people nearby were already snapping photos. A pair of teenagers whispered excitedly before one of them approached you hesitantly. “Uh, excuse me… are you really Graffiti Girl?”

You turned, exhausted. “I’m really just an archer.”

“But you’re the girl in all these paintings, right?” They held up their phone, flipping through dozens of pictures of the murals.

You sighed. “Yeah, that’s me, but I’m not the artist.”

They grinned, undeterred. “Can I still get your autograph?”

You blinked. “You want my autograph? I—” You looked around. A few more people had gathered, watching with anticipation. Clearly, they wanted one too.

With a deep sigh, you took the offered notebook and signed your name. “Here.”

“Thank you!” The kid practically squealed before rushing off. More people moved in, shoving out shirts, phone cases, anything they could find for you to sign.

You shot a glare at the enormous mural overhead. “Whoever you are, you better come out soon, because this is officially out of hand.”

Meanwhile, from the rooftop above, Phainon chuckled to himself, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The steady rhythm of arrows striking targets filled the air as you exhaled slowly, eyes locked on your next shot. The world around you faded—the buzz of your rising fame, the endless stream of people calling you "Graffiti Girl," even the latest mural that had appeared overnight. None of it mattered when you were here, bow in hand, muscles tensed in perfect control.

You loosed the arrow. It cut through the air with precision, landing dead center. A perfect shot.

And then, peace shattered.

"YO! GRAFFITI GIRL!"

The loud, unmistakable voice of Stelle nearly made you misfire the next arrow. You turned just in time to see two figures strolling onto the archery ground like they owned the place.

Phainon, the city’s golden basketball star, walked with lazy confidence, hands in his pockets, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. Beside him, Stelle, the infamous baseball prodigy, balanced a bat on her shoulder, looking far too pleased with herself.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” you asked, lowering your bow.

Phainon tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “What? We can’t visit our favorite viral sensation?”

Stelle grinned. “Yeah, man, you’re, like, famous famous now. People keep saying you’re the face of urban art or whatever.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I am NOT an artist! I don’t even own spray paint!”

Phainon hummed, glancing at the newest mural painted on the outer wall of the training center. “Damn. Whoever this artist is, they’re crazy talented. Captured your whole ‘focused warrior’ thing perfectly.”

You shot him a flat look. “Don’t sound so impressed. I don’t even know who they are, and it’s driving me insane.”

Stelle whistled. “Must be a super fan. Or a stalker. Could be both.”

“Helpful,” you muttered.

Phainon chuckled, stepping closer until he was just within your space. “C’mon, Graffiti Girl, you have to admit—it’s kinda fun. The whole city’s obsessed with you.”

“I didn’t ask to be turned into a public phenomenon!”

Stelle shrugged. “Too late. You’re a legend now.”

You groaned, grabbing another arrow and nocking it, trying to drown out their teasing. You had a tournament coming up, and the last thing you needed was to be distracted by whatever graffiti conspiracy was unfolding around you.

Unfortunately, Phainon and Stelle weren’t exactly the type to leave you alone.

The next day, you arrived at school only to be met with another painstakingly beautiful mural of yourself—this time on the wall behind the campus.

It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

You stood in front of it, staring up at the massive artwork. It depicted you mid-tournament, bow drawn, eyes burning with determination. The shading, the details, the way your hair seemed to flow as if caught in motion—it was infuriatingly well done. And at the bottom, in neat spray-painted letters, was the artist’s signature: a tiny crescent moon with the words “For Graffiti Girl.”

You groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Students passing by murmured in awe, some taking pictures, others outright staring at you with knowing smirks. “It’s her,” you heard someone whisper. “The Graffiti Girl.”

Clutching your books, you stomped towards your locker, praying for some kind of normalcy. But the moment you swung it open, you froze.

Inside, neatly placed on top of your books, was an assortment of your favorite snacks. A small bag of chips, a neatly wrapped protein bar, and even a chilled bottle of your go-to energy drink. Nestled beside them, almost too perfectly positioned, was an empty spray paint can.

Your eye twitched. “Oh, come on.”

Laughter echoed down the hallway, and you turned just in time to see Phainon and Stelle walking past, both of them grinning like they knew something you didn’t. Phainon lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Morning, Graffiti Girl.”

You glared. “I swear, one of you is behind this.”

Stelle snorted. “Us? Nah. We’d never be that subtle.”

Phainon only smirked, golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “But if we were, wouldn’t that make things more fun?”

You stared at him, trying to decipher his words, but he simply turned and walked away, hands still in his pockets, the very picture of nonchalance.

You looked back at the empty spray can in your locker.

ugh, who even were they man

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

You spent the rest of the day ranting to Phainon and Stelle about the unknown graffiti artist.

“I mean, who even does this?” you huffed, dramatically waving your arms as the three of you sat outside on the school’s courtyard steps. “They’re obviously super talented—like, I’ll give them that—but why me? Why not, I don’t know, a city landmark? A basketball star? A baseball player?”

Phainon, sipping his drink far too nonchalantly, shrugged. “Maybe they just really like archery.”

Stelle snorted. “Or really like you.”

You shot her a glare. “Not helping.”

Phainon leaned back, resting his elbow on his knee. “So, what’s your plan, Graffiti Girl? Gonna track them down? Challenge them to an art duel?”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know! But this whole thing is making me look like some kind of underground celebrity, and I just want to focus on my tournament.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s kinda cool,” Stelle teased. “Not everyone gets a mysterious, devoted artist making masterpieces of them.”

Phainon smirked. “Yeah, sounds like someone’s muse-worthy.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “If I ever meet this artist, I have so many questions. Who are they? How do they know what I look like in such detail? And where do they get the time to pull this off?!”

Phainon hummed, the corner of his lips twitching. “Yeah. Sounds like a real mystery.”

You didn’t notice the way his fingers idly spun a tiny, dried fleck of paint between them.

The day of the tournament arrived, and you walked onto the competition grounds with your bow slung over your shoulder, mentally preparing yourself for the matches ahead. You had spent weeks training for this moment—blocking out distractions, fine-tuning your form, and ensuring your focus was razor-sharp.

And yet, the universe clearly had other plans.

The moment you stepped onto campus, five brand-new murals greeted you, each one more breathtaking than the last. They were scattered across different walls, but all of them had the same theme: you, in various moments of focus, determination, and skill, capturing your strongest moments in striking detail. And at the bottom of each piece, painted in elegant, sweeping strokes, were the words:

“Good luck on the tournament.”

Your stomach flipped as you took in the sheer effort that had gone into them. The shading, the lighting, the emotions conveyed—it was insane.

You were about to scream when your phone vibrated aggressively in your pocket. Pulling it out, your screen was flooded with notifications. Your name was trending.

#GOODLUCKGRAFFITIGIRL had taken over social media.

You scrolled in disbelief, seeing hundreds—no, thousands—of posts from people cheering you on. Fans from across the city, even people who had just seen the murals online, were hyping you up. Some were posting pictures of the new graffiti, while others were leaving comments like:

“She’s not just an archer, she’s an icon, a hella pretty one.”

“Whoever this artist is, they’re singlehandedly running a one-person PR campaign.”

“I don’t even know much about archery, but now I NEED to see Graffiti Girl win.”

Your face burned as you kept scrolling. There were even clips of your past competitions being shared with captions like “She’s insane at archery. Watch this shot.” Some posts even tagged you directly, wishing you luck.

Phainon and Stelle appeared at your side, both peering over your shoulder at your phone.

“Damn,” Stelle whistled, eyeing your phone with her golden eyes, “You’re famous-famous now.”

Phainon leaned in closer, resting his chin on your shoulder as he smirked. “So, how’s it feel to be the city’s most beloved archer AND street art muse?”

You groaned, stuffing your phone back into your pocket. “I—this—WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

Phainon chuckled. “The people love you, Graffiti Girl. Better give them a good show today.”

You huffed, gripping your bow tighter. “Oh, I will. But first—if I ever find this artist, I swear—”

Stelle nudged Phainon with a knowing grin. “Yeah, that’d be interesting, huh?”

Phainon only smirked wider, cerulean eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah. Real interesting.” ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The tournament grounds were packed, buzzing with excitement. You had expected a crowd, sure, but not this many people. And definitely not this many people holding up signs—actual signs—with your face on them. Some were even prints of the murals, and others had bold letters saying “GO GRAFFITI GIRL!” with little spray paint designs drawn around the words.

Your face burned. You had never been this flustered in your life.

As you walked toward the competition area, people waved at you, called out your name—or rather, your new nickname. “Graffiti Girl! You got this!” “We believe in you!” “HIT IT, Queen of Archery!”

You tried to keep your composure, but the overwhelming support made your heart swell. It was… kinda nice. Embarrassing, but undeniably nice. You smiled, even let out a giggle, feeling lighter with every cheer.

Then the tournament began, and you switched into focus mode.

Arrow after arrow, target after target—you gave it your all. The wind barely mattered, the noise in the background faded, and it was just you and your bow. The final shot came down to a near tie, and with one last deep breath, you let the arrow fly—

Bullseye.

The crowd erupted. Your name—no, Graffiti Girl—was chanted over and over, people on their feet, cheering, clapping, screaming. The wave of excitement crashed over you as the realization hit—you won.

Grinning, you lifted your bow triumphantly, beaming as you took in the cheers. Stelle tackled you in a side hug, shaking you back and forth.

“YOU DID IT! WINNER WINNER GRAFFITI GIRL PAYING FOR DINNER!” she cackled. (my friends used to chant this whenever I won)

You laughed, still breathless, before suddenly remembering—

Phainon’s tournament.

“OH, FUCK—” you gasped.

Grabbing Stelle’s wrist, you sprinted toward the basketball court, dodging through the crowd, ignoring all the people still calling out congratulations. You weren’t missing his game.

The moment you burst into the gym, the match was just about to start. Phainon stood near the court, spinning a basketball effortlessly on his finger, golden eyes glinting under the lights.

He turned just in time to see you practically skid to a stop in the front row, waving your arms dramatically.

“PHAINON! KICK THEIR ASSES!” you yelled.

Stelle cupped her hands around her mouth and added, “YEAH, SHOW ‘EM WHY YOU’RE THE BEST, PUPPY BOY!”

Phainon’s smirk grew as he caught your gaze. Instead of responding, he simply lifted his hand—then mimed shooting an arrow, as if mocking your earlier win.

Your stomach flipped.

Still catching your breath from running, you huffed, crossing your arms. “Just play, show-off!”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ The match was intense, fast-paced, and full of electrifying moments. Phainon moved like he was born for this, his fluid movements and precise shots making the game look effortless. Every time he made a basket, the crowd roared, and you and Stelle screamed the loudest.

“ PHAINON, YOU’RE A FUCKING MONSTER!” Stelle shouted, practically jumping.

You clapped your hands over your mouth as Phainon landed a perfect three-pointer, his sharp gaze flicking toward you for just a second. He was smug. He knew he was winning.

The final quarter arrived, and with only a few minutes left on the clock, Phainon’s team was ahead but not by much. The tension in the gym was thick as the opposing team tried desperately to catch up. But Phainon wasn’t having it.

With one last perfect steal and a smooth drive to the hoop, he launched into a jump, executing a flawless dunk just as the buzzer rang.

Game over. Victory.

The gym exploded with cheers. Phainon’s teammates swarmed him, patting his back, ruffling his fluffy white hair. The crowd was on its feet, chanting his name.

“PHAINON! PHAINON! PHAINON!”

You grinned, cupping your hands around your mouth. “LOOK AT YOU, MR. MVP!”

Stelle hollered, “GRAFFITI GIRL APPROVES!”

Phainon, drenched in sweat but still frustratingly attractive, turned toward you, shaking his head with an amused smirk. He made his way toward where you and Stelle stood, stopping just in front of you.

“You didn’t miss a second, huh?” he mused, his mischevious eyes glinting.

You crossed your arms, feigning nonchalance. “Had to make sure you didn’t embarrass yourself.”

His smirk deepened. “And?”

You huffed before breaking into a grin. “Not bad, Puppy Boy. Not bad at all.”

Phainon chuckled before reaching into his gym bag and pulling something out—a can of spray paint. He casually twirled it between his fingers, gaze never leaving yours.

Your heart skipped a beat.

…Wait.

What?

Stelle gasped dramatically. “OH—”

Phainon just grinned. “Funny thing about graffiti…”

The moment Phainon casually twirled the spray paint can between his fingers, the world seemed to freeze.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, as if everyone simultaneously pieced together the puzzle. People exchanged wide-eyed looks, pointing between Phainon, the can, and you—Graffiti Girl.

Even Stelle’s jaw dropped. “OH SWEET MOTHER OF TRASHCANS.”

Your brain short-circuited. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish as you stared at Phainon, completely speechless.

“…Wait. You—?”

Phainon, still frustratingly smug, simply lifted the can and gave it a little shake. The soft rattle of the ball inside felt deafening. Then, with the most innocent, playful grin, he looked you dead in the eyes and went:

“:3”

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

The crowd erupted. People were screaming, cheering, some laughing in pure disbelief. “PHANION WAS THE ARTIST?!” “OH MY GOD, HE WAS DOWN BAD THIS WHOLE TIME!” “GRAFFITI GIRL AND PUPPY BOY SUPREMACY!”

Your brain couldn’t keep up.

“You—you—you did all of that?” you stammered, eyes darting between him and the can. “The murals? The portraits? The ‘GOOD LUCK GRAFFITI GIRL’ everywhere?”

Phainon just shrugged. “Seemed like a fun way to support my favorite archer.”

Your entire soul left your body.

Stelle absolutely lost it. “OH AEONS, HE’S DOWN HORRENDOUS!” She grabbed your shoulders, shaking you like a ragdoll. “GIRL, DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?! HE’S BEEN SIMPING PUBLICLY!”

The crowd agreed. Loudly.

“GRAFFITI GIRL X PUPPY BOY! GRAFFITI GIRL X PUPPY BOY!” The chant started slow but quickly picked up speed.

Your face burned hotter than the sun. “OH MY GOD, SHUT UP—”

Phainon just leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only you to hear, his cerulean eyes glowing with amusement. “So… do I get an autograph, Graffiti Girl?”

You wanted to throw yourself into the sun.

Instead, you grabbed the front of his jersey, yanked him down, and kissed his cheek.

The crowd went feral. Screams, camera flashes, Stelle wheezing in the background.

You leaned back with a smug smile, still holding onto his jersey. “I think this is better than an autograph.”

Phainon.exe stopped functioning.

For a second, he just stood there, blinking, before his entire face broke into the biggest, most lovesick grin imaginable. He looked like a golden retriever who just got told he was the best boy in the whole world.

Then, with absolutely zero hesitation, he picked you up, arms wrapped tight around your waist as he spun you around like some kind of rom-com protagonist.

“OH MY GOD, PHANION, PUT ME DOWN!”

“NEVER! YOU’RE MINE NOW, THE ARTIST HAS FINALLY GOT HIS MUSE!”

day 791683639 of wrting abt things which will never happen to me

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