#and so much of it is just. staring. at the page.

[turnipoddity]

i’m writing my thesis and i thought like, whew i did so much work!! let’s see how many words i’ve typed in already—and it’s just around 6.000 words… about 30ish pages. My mind immediately goes to how dedicated fanfic authors are… i stare in horror as i realize how many pages of fanfics i must’ve read all this time… this is a love letter to all fanfic authors out there… y’all are insanely talented and so dedicated to your work

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Thank U

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violenc, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bruce Wayne/Batman (Christian Bale version)

Summary: you try to thank the vigilante who saved your life.

In the same universe as Home Sweet Home

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

‘To Batman’ 

No, that sounds ridiculous. All of this is just absurd. You don’t really think this will go anywhere but you just need to get the thoughts out. After a sleepless night, you need to put it somewhere before it boils over inside of you. 

You need to thank the man who saved you. If that’s what he is. He seems inhuman with all that he does for Gotham. 

‘My hero’ 

Ugh. New page. 

‘Hi. 

You don’t know me, but you saved my life. I know I’m not the only one and I hope I’m not the only one to say thanks. That’s what this is. I know it isn’t much but I’m not sure how else to do this. 

If you don’t remember me, that’s okay. I was walking home and there was a man following me. Then two. Then three. Then you were there. 

And just as quick, you were gone and so were they. I didn’t get the chance to thank you but I got home safe. Because of you. 

Batman. My hero. 

I owe you my life. 

Stay safe. 

Just another Gotham citizen.’ 

You reread the letter and cringe. What are you doing? You’re crazy. Is this pick-me energy? 

Ugh. You just can’t get over it. Your heart races every time the scene plays out in your head. Those men, their footfalls echoing yours, getting closer and closer, penning you in as they came at you from all sides. 

Your shoulders rose as you shrunk down and braced yourself for a heedless fight. Then the sudden flapping, the crash and crunch of violence, the shadows at battle against the brick wall as you stood by helplessly. Then the silence and his grizzled command. 

‘Go home.’ 

You ran all the way there. You didn’t look back or stop. And you didn’t sleep. You couldn’t. The dregs of adrenaline are still in you. 

Fatigue finally sets in as the sun rises. You fold up the letter and slide it into and envelope. You don’t expect this to go well. You don’t know what you’re doing. 

You’re in the same clothes as the night before. You feel like you’ve been frozen. That night fogs around you like a cloud. So close... it could’ve been so much worse. You could have been another news story. Another body in and alley. 

You walk down to the precinct. You stare at the doors for a while before you make yourself enter. The last time you went there, the only time, they wouldn’t even file a report about the man who sleeps outside your apartment door. He went away though... just a few days later. 

You go up to the counter. 

“Hi, erm, I need to get this to Commissioner Gordon.” You say. 

The uniformed officer doesn’t look up. He laughs.  

“It’s just a letter,” you plead. 

“Girl, you’re wasting everyone’s time right now,” the man doesn’t look away from the computer screen. 

“Please,” you hold the envelope through the little gap under the thick plastic window. 

“What’s this? A love letter?” He scoffs. 

“Joe, don’t be a dick,” another officer approaches and takes the letter. “I’ll give it to him.” 

“Oh, thank you so much,” you preen. 

“Don’t know if he’ll read it,” he mutters. 

“He just needs to look on the outside,” you point. 

He flips the envelope and reads your writing; ‘Batman, c/o Commissioner Gordon’. He tilts his head as he looks up at you. He shrugs. 

“Whatever, it’s a reason to stretch my legs,” he wiggles the letter between his fingers. “Have a good day, ma’am.” 

“Thanks, officer.” 

You turn and scurry out of the precinct. You don’t think the caped crusader will ever see that letter but at least you tried. It might not help you sleep at night, but it will be one less thing keeping you awake. 

[creamflix]

toji fushiguro x reader; no reader gender implied. heavyyyy angst, no comfort. artist! toji + reader. flashbacks. one-sided love, remincising. — masterlist here ☆

"always the artist, never the muse."

toji fushiguro clung to those words like a lifeline, like an apology he muttered to himself when he was alone in his room, staring at a blank page that haunted him as much as it inspired him.

they said he was a fuckboy, playboy supreme, the kind of guy who’d leave you breathless and forgotten in the same night.

and maybe that was true.

maybe it was easier that way, easier to keep everyone at arm’s length when the one person he couldn’t forget had slipped through his fingers.

it had been five years since he’d met you.

a random train ride home, him half-asleep, you sitting across with a sketchbook open on your lap.

he couldn’t take his eyes off you, the way you were so lost in what you were creating, your pencil dancing across the page. when you caught him staring, he felt a flicker of embarrassment, quickly masked by his usual, easy grin.

“what’re you drawing?” he’d asked, trying to sound casual.

you looked up, eyes widening in surprise, and for a moment, he thought he saw a hint of amusement there.

“just a study,” you replied, lifting your sketchbook to show him — a messy, half-finished sketch of a figure in motion. “still working on it.”

he leaned closer, catching the faint scent of your perfume, his eyes scanning the lines, the shadow work. “you’re pretty damn good,” he murmured, almost to himself.

a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “thanks,” you said softly. “not often someone notices.”

he felt something tighten in his chest. “well, i noticed.”

you laughed, and he thought it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

“are you an artist too?” you asked, tilting your head, genuinely curious.

he scratched the back of his neck, hesitating. “yeah, kinda. i don’t really…talk about it.”

“why not?” your voice had been so soft, so damn sincere. “art’s meant to be shared, right?”

he’d paused, the words catching in his throat.

it wasn’t that simple, wasn’t something he could just share.

not with everyone.

but with you… it had felt different.

“maybe,” he’d muttered, more to himself than to you, “just… maybe.”

he hadn’t wanted that ride to end.

he could have listened to you talk about art supplies and your favorite brushes and the little frustrations of the creative process all day.

he remembered every word.

“do you ever feel like it’s never enough? like no matter what you draw, there’s always something missing?”

he’d nodded, knowing exactly what you meant. “yeah, all the time.”

and then your stop came.

the universe’s cruel timing, forcing you to leave when he wanted to ask for your name, your number, anything to make sure this wouldn’t be the last time. but he’d held back, let the fear of seeming too eager or desperate paralyze him.

“guess this is me,” you’d said, standing up, and he’d caught the faintest hint of a sigh in your voice. “it was nice talking to you…?”

“toji,” he’d replied, voice rougher than he intended.

“nice talking to you, toji.” you gave him a little wave, stepping out of the train, disappearing into the crowd, and he’d watched you go, something hollow taking root in his chest.

“damn it,” he’d muttered to himself, gripping the seat as the train pulled away.

five years later, he was still cursing himself, wishing he’d just called after you, asked you to wait, to stay, anything to keep you from walking away. he’d gone through more meaningless flings than he could count since then, and yet none of them mattered, none of them filled the space you’d left behind.

in his studio, his fingers hovered over the page, pencil poised to draw yet another sketch of you. he could see you so clearly in his mind — the way your eyes had lit up when you talked about art, the little smile tugging at your lips when he’d asked too many questions.

sometimes he could still hear your voice.

“do you ever wonder if the right people just… pass us by?”

he’d scoffed, tried to brush it off, but that question haunted him.

yes. god, yes, he wondered.

every damn day.

he spent hours drawing your face from memory, perfecting every curve, every expression, capturing the moments that never happened, the smiles he’d never seen, the touches he’d never felt.

“what’s wrong with me?” he muttered to himself, rubbing a hand over his face. why can’t i just let you go?

he’d even tried to find you once, scouring social media for any trace of you, looking for artists who matched your style.

but you’d disappeared as completely as you’d arrived, like a dream he couldn’t wake up from.

in his mind, you were still that girl on the train, sketchbook in hand, eyes so bright they made him feel like a kid again, excited and scared all at once.

he could never shake the feeling that he’d missed something, that maybe if he’d just held on a little tighter, you’d still be there, a part of his life instead of a ghost haunting his art.

and now, he was stuck.

“always the artist, never the muse,” he whispered, tracing the lines of your face on his sketchpad. it was all he had left — endless drawings, memories of things that had barely even happened, a handful of words exchanged on a crowded subway.

he slammed his sketchbook shut, the familiar ache tightening his chest. you were gone, a stranger he’d never known, a muse he’d never have, and he had no one to blame but himself.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[hereforthehitsbaby]

So I requested this on another page but I’d like to see different variations! I wanted something cute and fluffy, and while I was on the thought, I was scrolling through TikTok and came across a trend where you and a friend took turns saying pumpkin and got progressively louder with each turn, so hear me out! :3

What if there’s a meeting that reader and Logan didn’t need to attend and they walk by the meeting door and reader then brings up the trend to Logan and try to drag him into the challenge, Logan agrees eventually and on like the third try, while their still at whisper level out of NO WHERE logan just shouts pumpkin as long as he can, and sprints away and the other X-men start to approach the door and reader sprints way and it ends with something cute between Logan and reader??? I just thought it was a cute idea!

If you find this hard to write or don’t want to feel free to ignore this! Much love.

Say It Louder | Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, nothing major this is just cute and sweet! Use of Y/N, Soft!Logan

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for your request! That was a blast to write, and I appreciate you taking the time out to request it! I hope I did it justice! :)

Hugh Jackman Taglist Sign Up

“Logan, Y/N, you are not needed this afternoon for the meeting. Take that time to prepare your lesson plans for next week.” Charles let out as he nodded in your direction, spinning his chair around to make his way down the hall. Neither one of you said a word as Charles disappeared around the corner of the mansion, standing in shock at how nonchalant he was about it. This never happens, Charles usually wants both of you to sit in on the meetings with Storm, Scott, and Jean; You taking notes and listening in while Logan voices his concerns on the matter. But why not this time?

Logan could sense trepidation in you as you stared at the floor, pondering the what if’s and what it could possibly mean. “It wasn’t a mission meeting,” he spoke softly as he leaned towards your face, nudging your shoulder with his. “It’s a satisfactory performance meeting, Storm and Charles are running it on Jean and Scott. That means you and I are clearly doing something right.” The low chuckle in which Logan let out made your heart flutter, heat rising to your cheeks as you roll your eyes. “Don’t jinx us, Lo!” You gasp gently so no one else could hear, a playful hint in your words as you start to make your way down the hall.

Curiosity still caught up with you as you saw the meeting door slightly ajar, hearing Charles stoic tone emanating from the room. The last thing you wanted to do was eavesdrop on a performance meeting but, there was a gnawing at the back of your mind that this may not be exactly what Charles was making it out to be. Alas you were fighting an internal war with yourself, hoping to God that Jean couldn’t hear your mind warbling. “Naughty, naughty girl,” Logan tsked right beside your ear as he followed you, the white tank top he was wearing covering his broad chest so beautifully. The smatter of chest hair peaking out from the top. “Don’t trust the old man?” Quickly you shook your head at Logan’s words, trying to find the best way to explain yourself to him. He was a human lie detector, he could call it out from a mile away, and you knew you needed to be honest.

“I do, but I had an idea.” You spoke with conviction, hoping to not just convince Logan of what you were on about, but yourself as well. A playful smirk ran across your lips as you took Logan’s hand, pulling him across the hall to the Art room door, enough to where Charles and the gang couldn’t hear. “Have you ever heard of the penis game?” You realized how it sounded once it came out, causing you to cringe a tiny bit at your wording. Logan on the other hand was quite intrigued, cocking his brow in your direction as he crossed his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.” A heavy sigh released from your lungs as you groaned, running your hands down your face. All you could see was Logan’s hazel eyes shining in the fluorescent hall lights, the mischievous glint in his irises, waiting to see what you wanted. “Not like that, you perv.”

Logan held his hands up in a fake surrender, like he wasn’t the one whose mind instantly went into the gutter. “You start quietly saying it and then gradually get louder. But for us instead of saying penis, we say pumpkin. You know, because it’s autumn. I thought it would be fun, since we have nothing else to do.” It was a fun childish game to play, something to create a fun atmosphere around the mansion while the current world was so serious. Every now and again it was nice to break out of the grey and beige reality, and into something more colorful, fun. A slow grin crept across Logan’s lips as he nodded, watching you intently as you pull your lip between your teeth, awaiting his answer. “Pumpkin.” He whispered low to where you barely heard it, chuckling as your eyes went wide.

He was never one to dive headfirst into a game suggestion, but now that he did – you were surprised. “Pumpkin,” you let out, slightly louder than Logan’s. It was concerning you deep down that he agreed so quickly, knowing he had something up his sleeve. Narrowing your eyes at him, you jutted your chin out as to silently tell him you’re next, to which he started to move closer to the meeting room, taking two large steps away from you. He whispered the word again, at the same volume as yours, causing your heart to stutter. Taking a deep breath, you said the word a bit louder, enough to not be a whisper or soft spoken, but enough for a normal conversation. “Good girl, princess.” Logan said with slight condescension in his tone, wanting to rile you up. You knew that better than anyone; Logan would always want to see the darker side of you.

“Your next, or are you giving up already?” You retorted, leaning against the wall as you heard Scott’s mumblings. Something shifted in Logan’s gaze, going from playful to animalistic. Your felt your pulse jump against your neck as his green eyes turned to a golden brown, his lips curling up crudely in a grin as he cornered you against the wall and doorframe. Logan gently started to lean in closer to you, cutting the space between you two short, your smile dropped quickly as your eyes went wide – not believing this was happening. Months of working so close to Logan it was the inevitable to develop a crush on him, but now? You realized it had always been more than that. You let your eyes drift shut with a hum as you pursed your lips, hands jittering from excitement as his body heat radiated comfort in front of you. Though it never came, not a kiss, not the deep envelopment of pining, nothing. Instead, you felt Logan’s body shift slightly to the right, pressing his lips against the crack in the door, your eyes shooting wide open.

“PUMPKIN!” Logan screamed as if he was being ripped apart, the loud boom sending shockwaves throughout the mansion. You jolted against the wall as you heard him scream out, mischief glinting in his eyes. You didn’t have any time to react to Logan screaming before you grabbed your forearm, tugging you along with him. His iron grip never laid off as he dragged you down the hallway, your legs catching up with your mind as you began to run. The clicking of heels radiated off of the linoleum, signaling that Jean was coming to the door to see what the hell that was. Getting to the end of the hall, Logan pushed the two of you up against the wall so no one could see, thinking you two were long gone. “You’re a child, Logan!” Jean called out with a laugh, waving you both off.

The murmurs of Scott, Storm and Charles were slowly starting to fade away as they made their way back into the meeting room, this time slamming the door shut for dramatic effect. It was quiet, too quiet once everything was closed off. Logan saw it as the perfect opportunity to break out into a toothy grin, laughing hysterically as he caught his breath, panning his eyes over to you. It was infectious, seeing him in such a playful mood, which caused you to break out into your own little giggle fit. You pressed your face into Logan’s shoulder as your giggles turned to hearty laughs, letting him lace his arm around your back as you leaned in further. The way your eyes crinkled when you were deep in a laugh caused Logan’s heart to race, the secret admiration he has for you plastered on his face. Biting his lip, he watches you as his own laughing continues, trying to bask in your radiance before it goes away. Now or never.

Logan brought his right hand up to your cheek, cupping your skin slowly. The exuberant giggles you were letting out started to seize as he held your face, causing your gaze upright towards him. His calloused thumb ran tender lines over your bottom lip, his touch sending shockwaves through you. Leaning down, Logan closed the much-anticipated gap between you two, letting his lips linger over yours for a moment to see how you’d react. It didn’t take long for you to press your lips against his, molding into one. Your left hand flew up to the back of Logan’s neck to pull him in closer, your face feeling hot, your eyes growing misty. For so long you had wanted this, and now that it was finally here – you refused to give it up.

The world stopped within the moment, everything slowing down to a calm pitter-patter. Your blood rushed through your ears, creating a whirling sound. The gentle thump of your heart made your eyes waver. Everything felt right, like you both were meant to have this moment. Destinies intertwining, fate finally giving in to the tension over the last few months. Nothing felt correct in your worlds as mutants, but this – this was that correctness you always dreamed out. Everything clicked with Logan, realizing that he was truly yours. “What was that for?” You managed to croak out, your voice hoarse from the kiss, emotion lacing your tone. Logan reluctantly pulled back from your lips as he pressed his own into your cheek, holding you tenderly for a moment.

You felt Logan smile against your cheek, a light pink blush flushing his features. Pulling back to face you, Logan never let your face go, instead running that same calloused thumb across the expanse of your cheek, nose, lips; Admiring your beauty in a way he always wished to do, rather than pining from afar. “A thank you, for making this a fun challenge.” Who would’ve thought, a simple fun game to cure two sets of boredom would end with Logan asking you to dinner, setting in stone a lifetime full of love, and affection.

----

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @coowayeoo @livelaughl0ve3 @mehjustalasshere @allen-444

[nakylvr]

helloo , I'm pretty new to your page but uhm can I request smut scenario number 5 from your 100 follower event , with Lara and FEM reader , thankiess :))

ofc!!! thank you so much for requesting 🫶

— UNHOLY

lara raj (katseye) x fem!reader

warnings/tags: language, nsfw content, g!p!lara, dom!lara, sub!reader, shower sex, mommy kink, unprotected sex, cumming inside

"i'm gonna take a shower real quick," you say to lara who's sitting next to you watching a random show on the tv.

"mkay," lara hums, nodding her head, not really paying attention.

you kiss her cheek quickly before getting up off the bed, grabbing some clothes from your drawer and then heading into the bathroom. you leave the door cracked open a little bit, turning on the water and waiting a moment for it to heat up.

after a few minutes, you strip off your clothes and climb into the shower. the warmth of the water has you letting out a soft sigh, running your fingers through your hair. you hear the door not-so-subtly open wider, and not but a minute later the curtain is pushed back. you know it's lara, obviously, seeing as she would always follow you into the shower whenever you would.

lara's arms wrap around your waist and she rests her chin on your shoulder. "you feeling okay?" she asks softly, moving your hair over your shoulder so she could kiss along your neck.

"mhm," you hum, tilting your head to the side to give her more access to your neck. "just wanted to relax before going to sleep," you answer. a quiet moan falls from your lips as she bites down onto your neck, soothing it by licking over it with her tongue. one of her hands trails down between your legs, finding your clit and gently rubbing it. "lara..."

"let me help you relax, baby," she whispers into your ear. she leaves another bite mark on your neck as her fingers drag along your folds, collecting your slick on her fingers. "you're already so wet," she murmurs against your skin.

you can feel her pressing against you as she pulls you closer to her, awaiting your response. "please," you whimper.

lara spins you around to face her, kissing you with such force a whimper escapes your mouth as she pushes you against the wall. your arms hook around her neck and you gasp quietly when she picks you up by your thighs, the tip of her throbbing cock prodding at your entrance. you throw your head back as she pushes inside of you in one thrust, hitting the wall with a thud feeling her fill you up completely.

"fuck," you whimper, eyes closing as she slowly pulls out before slamming back into you.

"open your eyes," she demands, "keep your eyes on me." she builds a steady pace, her cock hitting all the right spots in you in this position, and there's a sinister smile that forms on her face at the sounds coming from you.

you force your eyes to open when she tells you to, staring into her dark eyes with your jaw fallen open and loud moans echoing. "o-oh shit! lara!" you whine her name, overwhelmed by the pleasure you were feeling that you could barely form a coherent thought let alone a sentence. "oh my g-god!" your eyes roll back when you feel her hit your g-spot, gasping out her name.

"you're so fucking tight, baby. you were just made to take my cock," she says in a sultry voice. "god, you look so good like this. so pretty taking me like a good girl. my good girl." there's a sense of possessiveness in her voice that makes you clench around her cock, feeling the veins against your walls as she continues to pound into you.

"'m your g-good girl mo-mommy, f-fuck it feels so good!" you're too fucked out to even realize what you said, but you can see the way her eyes change and her wicked smile grows bigger.

"yeah? you like mommy fucking you like this?" she taunts, her cock twitching at the sight of tears filling your eyes. "is my good girl all fucked out already? you can barely even think, can't you?"

the tears in your eyes are on the verge of spilling as you whine and nod at her words, your hands clawing at her back. "ye-yes mommy i l-love it so much!" you can barely think, just like she says. the only thing on your mind is the feeling of her cock practically splitting you open at how rough she's being with you, her nails digging into your thighs tightly. you can feel your orgasm approaching, and you grab her shoulders for support as you gasp. "'m gonna cum!"

"wait for me," lara tells you, her cock twitching again at the few stray tears falling from your eyes and the way you're clenching around her. "you'll cum when i tell you to."

you whimper at her words, nodding while noticing the way she speeds up her thrusting into you, resulting in you only getting louder. "lara, please, please let me cum! 'm so close, please!" you beg shamelessly, not caring how desperate you sounded.

"fucking wait," she hisses out. her thrusts are becoming sloppy, hips stuttering as she nears her own climax. she leans forward and kisses you deeply, moaning against your lips at the way your walls feel gripping her cock. she pulls away for a second, lips nearly touching yours as she quickly says, "cum with me, babygirl" and kisses you again.

moaning into the kiss as she kisses you, waves of euphoria rush over you and you swear you're seeing white as you cum all over her cock. she cums at the same time you do, thrusting up into you one last time and moaning with spurts of her cum filling you up. your eyes close in bliss at the warmth of her filling you up to the brim, whimpering when she parts from the kiss and slowly pulls out of you.

she carefully puts you back down on your feet, her arms wrapping around your waist to keep you upright as your legs tremble. "you relaxed now?" she asks, lightly teasing at the dazed expression on your face.

"mhm," you hum, nodding your head.

"you want me to take you bed?" she says softly.

"please," you nod again.

"okay," she pecks your lips quickly, turning off the water and gently wrapping a towel around you. she picks you up and leaves the bathroom, going back into the bedroom and putting you down on the bed. "i love you so much," she tells you. "i just want you to know that."

"i love you too," you smile at her. "now come lay down, it's cold without you here."

"well of course, my dear," lara smiles back.

[narcissisticpdcultureis]

Likely NPD culture is really really REALLY wanting someone to use your art as their profile picture. Fantasizing about it. The absolute praise that would be to see that, even if no credit was given on their profile, but credit would just make it better. Someone loving my art SO MUCH that they would plaster it onto their discord profile or wherever, for everyone they talk to to stare at and bask in envy of my rapidly perfecting art style. Imagining someone asking who drew the art in their icon and being jealous of how good my art is when they scroll through my tumblr page. I woke up to 70 new notes in the activity tab today, and wondered if anyone liked the drawing I made enough to use it as their icon. Someone is bound to like my art that much, and I just don't know them yet.

-👑🔍

.

[yiichan]

Pove your blog! Pls could you write about yandere woozi and wonu next?

pairings. yandere!woozi x yandere!wonwoo x gn!reader word count. 1k. genre. yandere, request

warnings. obsessive behaviour, violence, rough treatment, mentions of cheating, mentions of polyamory, reader is the cheater, literal ankle breaking, sadism.

writer's notes. thanks for 'poving' my blog haha. you never said anything about whether you want it to be a short story or headcannon or member x member, so i'm just going to go ahead with this. honestly i shocked myself because i think it's the first time i'm writing something like this. once again, i do not condone this kind of behaviour in real life.

mentioning my imperial beta reader, @sousydive

network: @mansaenetwork

masterlist | navigation | main page | kofi | ao3

"Where are you going?"

You froze mid-lace, looking over your shoulder at Jihoon. He stood there, arms crossed, brow raised, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

"Just outside," you replied, feeling his stare heavy on you. You focused on tying your shoes, but before you could stand, his hand landed firmly on your shoulder, pressing you back into place. Startled, you turned slightly, only to see Jihoon looming close behind, his expression shrouded in shadows from the dim light.

"It's late," he said, voice low, his grip unyielding. "It’s not safe for you to be out there alone."

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady as you pried his hand away. "Jihoon, please—"

"You're going out to see Wonwoo, aren’t you?" His voice was ice, each word landing like a blow. A chill prickled down your spine. You shook your head, turning fully to face him.

"Jihoon, it's not—"

“I know exactly what’s been going on.” His words were a whisper, but his eyes held a storm. He leaned closer, and for the first time in your three years together, you saw a side of Jihoon you’d never seen before—cold, calculating, a darkness lurking behind his gaze. "Do you even know Wonwoo?"

"I—"

"Save it." His finger pressed against your lips, silencing you. His face inched closer until his breath was warm against your cheek, his grip firm as he lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Enough with the excuses, darling."

Guilt gnawed at you. You had betrayed him, that much was true. Jihoon was always locked away in his studio, composing, chasing his dreams for a future he promised would be for both of you. You had tried to be supportive, to be patient, but the loneliness had become unbearable, and in your moments of weakness, you found comfort in Wonwoo. Wonwoo, who listened, who was present, who made you feel seen. But with Jihoon right in front of you now, the weight of your choices bore down on you.

“I’m just trying to give us a future,” Jihoon murmured, his fingers tracing your jaw, his voice soft yet chilling. "You don’t need to run to him.”

Unable to look him in the eye, you shifted your gaze away, but Jihoon’s hold didn’t waver. He released you after a moment, straightening, his expression unreadable.

“Wonwoo isn’t in his apartment anyway.”

The doorbell rang, breaking the thick silence between you and Jihoon. Relief flooded through you, but it was short-lived. Jihoon scoffed, casting a sideways glance at you before strolling over to the door.

Your breath hitched when you saw who was standing there. Wonwoo leaned against the doorway, a sly smile curving his lips. "I’m not late, am I?"

"Wonwoo? What are you doing h—?"

"Not at all. You’re right on time, hyung." Jihoon’s voice cut through your question as Wonwoo stepped inside, closing the door with a casual flick of his wrist. "Hey, babe," Wonwoo greeted, his eyes sharp as they met yours.

Your stomach twisted in confusion. Hyung? Since when did Jihoon and Wonwoo know each other? Your mind scrambled for answers, but before you could speak, Wonwoo knelt down in front of you, a dark glint in his eyes as he reached for your shoelaces.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice smooth and deceptively warm as he slowly untied your shoes, “I thought Jihoon was kidding when he asked me to keep an eye on you. But I understand why now. You certainly have a way of keeping us both on our toes.”

His tone was soft, almost tender, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it—a veiled hostility that made your skin prickle. You pressed your hands to the floor for support, shifting back as he removed your shoes, fingers brushing a little too slowly over your ankles.

“But I never expected you’d try to seduce me like that, babe.” Wonwoo’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes not leaving yours even as Jihoon stood over him, watching with an unnerving calm.

Trapped between their gazes, a shiver ran down your spine.

Wonwoo’s grip tightened around your ankle, and you let out a yelp of pain, instinctively trying to pull yourself away. “Wo—”

“Don’t struggle, darling,” Jihoon murmured, a disturbing calm in his voice as he watched Wonwoo hoist you up, dragging you effortlessly with him. You kicked out with your free leg, desperate to break away, but Jihoon caught it with ease, his fingers wrapping around your ankle like a vice. He ran his nails over your skin, a soft graze that sent a jolt of fear through you, before his gaze flicked up, dark and unfeeling.

"I’ve known Wonwoo hyung for a long time,” Jihoon continued. “If you’d only asked, maybe I would’ve agreed to share.” His words sent a chill through you, and you thrashed against their hold, heart pounding, but the two of them remained unfazed.

Suddenly, you felt yourself yanked forward with force, your body skidding across the floor as Wonwoo took control, gripping both ankles now as he dragged you unceremoniously toward the bedroom. Your hands clawed at the ground, panic surging through you, but Wonwoo’s hold was unbreakable, his smirk mocking your futile resistance.

“And yet,” Jihoon’s voice drifted from behind, cold and scornful, “just the other night, I heard you were out clubbing—with some other guy who wasn’t hyung.”

A shiver tore through you, and you realized that the Jihoon and Wonwoo you thought you knew were gone, replaced by something far darker and more dangerous. You opened your mouth, desperate to scream for help, but a sinking realization hit you—it was useless. Wonwoo dragged you into Jihoon’s recording studio, the soundproof walls swallowing any chance of your cries reaching the outside world. The door clicked shut behind you, Jihoon blocking the only escape.

“Shall we begin your punishment, babe?” Wonwoo’s voice was smooth, dripping with malice, his grip unrelenting as he held you in place. Jihoon leaned against the closed door, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes watched you with a disturbing calm.

A sudden, sharp pain shot through your ankles, and you screamed, the sound ringing in your ears yet muffled by the padded walls. Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring your vision as your legs fell to the floor weakly. A gentle finger wiped them away, as you were slowly lifted and embraced by someone behind you. "Now you'll never leave any one of us, darling."

© yiichan, 2024 origin of divider

[undead-supernova]

Masterlist

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

plot: you and Mr. Munson are freshman english teachers at south jefferson high school and it seems that some of the kids think he's a better teacher than you. and, yeah, you're a little bit pissed

wc: 3.9k

no cw for this prologue - (lighthearted enemies to lovers)

a fun 2000s idea i had after watching the tv show English Teacher

title reference: We Are Going To Be Friends by The White Stripes

You were a curious moth to a smoldering flame. If anyone accused you of such a thing, you’d tell them they were crazy. And yet, here you were, staring at a piece of lined paper sticking out of a locker. 

It belonged to Dustin Henderson, obvious from the Weird Al sticker stuck next to another of a retro baseball hat that read This is my thinking cap! Yeah, undoubtedly Dustin’s.

You thought about trying to push it back in so he could avoid some stupid bully ripping it. There was no reason for anyone to do that, but Dustin was a freshman and, well, he wasn’t exactly the most popular guy here. 

Fuck it, you thought before taking a step forward.

As you touched the worn corner, you spotted your name poking out from the page. Next to it was…Mr. Munson’s?

You couldn’t help yourself from pulling it out just a little further.

I just think Mr. Munson is better

Huh?

You yanked the paper from the slit, fisting it with both hands as you scanned the page. That was undoubtedly his handwriting, haphazardly written like he was always thinking faster than he wrote. 

So what the hell was Dustin Henderson doing saying that Mr. Munson was a better teacher than you? Dustin was in your class, not his! How the hell would he know?

A sudden flood of panic washed through you, causing you to throw a glance over to Aisha sitting farther up the hallway, scribbling away at something.  She was always here before everyone else, begging you to give her homework early. Most days the answer was no. Most days.

But today, her attention seemed far away. 

You looked back down, noticing a bunch of tally marks in pencil and pen. Even one was made with…an Expo marker? What the fuck?

she’s hot though, someone responded under Dustin’s comment, taunting you in red ink.

dude I’m dating Suzie 

that doesn’t mean you can’t look

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

Why did this feel like betrayal? Why was the word gnawing at your gut? Why was it bringing that bagel you’d scarfed down this morning up to the surface? 

“Find anything good?”

You startled, instinctively jumping backwards and into the chest of the person behind you. Whirling around, you were face-to-face with Mr. Munson himself. 

This was the first time he’d spoken to you. Ever. You’d been here since last spring, subbing for a teacher on maternity leave before she decided to become a stay at home mom. The hiring process was much easier after that. You’d see him at staff meetings and watch him holding the door open for the students after school like he was herding zoo animals off of his arc. 

And now here he was, looking way too put together for a Monday morning. He had a crisp white button down with a noticeably ironed black tie and his long hair skillfully tucked into a low bun. His shaggy bangs were freshly trimmed with little tendrils framing his face. You couldn’t help but think he was the only teacher here without dark circles under his eyes. 

“I…” you trailed, trying to parse through everything that’s just happened. The tally marks. The comments. The other candidate standing in front of you. The sheer amount of tally marks declaring you inferior to said candidate. 

Mr. Munson’s eyes flickered down at the page, eyebrows shooting up. Before you could respond, he plucked it from your fingers. He mouthed the words as he read, scanning intently.

And then he let out a wheeze of laughter.

“Dustin fuc—freaking, excuse me, Henderson. You know, he’s just—” He looked back up at you, grin fading as he noticed your deflated expression. “Woah, hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, hurt your feelings or whatever.”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine and you hated that it wasn’t fine. 

There was an image that flashed briefly before your eyes, of a note stuck to your locker with gum. A love letter from your crush, the one you held to your chest with a death grip as you floated through the cafeteria to his table. The great swell of hope before the roar of laughter that ensued. Before he high-fived his friends and let you down hard. 

But this wasn’t your hometown. The walls weren’t flecked in vertical lines of blue and gold. The lights didn’t signal a death sentence.

And standing in front of you was your colleague, stuck with you in this limbo between the past and the present.

“Don’t let it get you down or whatever. They’re just kids.”

You could’ve sworn he saw the swirling fog that lingered in your eyes. Was this him letting you down easy? 

Then why does it feel like a jab?

Mr. Munson was acknowledged as the favorite teacher of the freshman class last semester. You’d caught the tail end of this recognition, watching him laugh and roll his eyes as he gave a quick salute and sat back down. Mr. Munson, who already had everything figured out within the first year of teaching here. 

You opened your mouth, pathetically suppressing the urge to ask, How did you do it? What am I doing wrong?

But the wave of students coming through brought you back to the current moment, stifling any admittance of weakness.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you said. “Gotta run, bye.”

You turned.

“Isn’t your classroom that way?”

Wincing, you turned back around, watching a smirk fill Mr. Munson’s stupid face. His eyes flickered toward your classroom three doors down from his before back at you.

“Yep, thanks. I know where my classroom is.���

“Yeah, I bet you sure do.”

“Great.”

That was the last time you would ever speak to Edward Munson.

Two weeks after you two found the list, you’d decided to sit in the empty break room for lunch. Every time you went to the cafeteria, you saw Mr. Munson there, laughing with the music and band teacher, Chelsea Jennings. 

The numerous times you’d tried sitting even slightly near them, you always heard Mr. Munson talking loudly about his Creative Writing elective. He’d rattle on about the short stories he’d assign them as models with authors even you didn’t know. Names that flew past your head, some even being professors from the local university you hadn’t attended. Professors that he still talked to.

You had taken up the Poetry elective, quickly updating the curriculum to include more female poets and sprinkle in some of the moderns. You’d desperately wanted to talk to someone else about it, but insecurity spread the second you realized all of your poets were well-known. But how could you ignore Emily Dickinson, Annie Finch, Pablo Neruda, and Mary Oliver?

Chelsea wasn’t the only one who talked to him so casually. The other teachers would greet him with such warm demeanours that it made you feel sick. George Bedding, the junior geometry teacher and Mathletes coach, ruffled Mr. Munson’s hair and pretended to punch him before sitting next to him. The fucking P.E. teacher and football coach, Shaun Atkins, even clapped a hand on his shoulder while heading towards the line for pizza day.

The few teachers that had been more than welcoming to you were never around for lunch. Angela Bradbury, one of the senior English teachers, was always helping students or hidden away in her room, nibbling on her Wonder Bread sandwiches while reading the latest romance novel. Sarah Stewart, an art teacher, was your closest ally but spent her lunches working on her own projects. 

See? There was no need to be jealous of him. You weren’t stuck on the outs. You fit in just fine.

Or, at least, that’s what you once thought. Now you had no idea how you were being perceived. And if you hadn’t come to the break room today, you would’ve spiraled. Again.

The room was small, coated in depressing beige with flimsy cabinets filled with powdered creamer and Folger’s coffee that expired two months ago. The refrigerator could barely keep anything cold. 

So, yeah, no one really came in here. 

(The other teachers hid a coffee pot in one of the supply closets with the good creamer in a mini-fridge you’d all chipped in for. Rumor has it that even Principal Scott used it.)

You sat down at the folding table, lower back already aching from the lack of support the metal chair gave you. At least you wouldn’t run into Mr. Munson again.

He’d just laughed while you were in the throes of humiliation. You supposed he didn’t have to think much about it because he was the one who was winning. Even if he was just some guy in his mid-thirties who must’ve taken this job as a last resort.

As if you hadn’t done the same.

But that was irrelevant. 

And, yes, you looked at Dustin a bit differently after the incident. Every time he raised his hand, which was a lot, you couldn’t help but see his penciled scrawl. 

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

You wondered dejectedly if they wrote that during your class. 

Before you could let out a frustrated groan, you noticed Mr. Munson in the doorway with a metal lunchbox covered in band stickers. He paused, wide eyes locking with yours. You couldn’t help but glare. 

Should the opinion of fourteen-year-old boys affect the way you treat another adult? No, probably not.

But you weren’t always known to be a rational person.

It could’ve been minutes. You couldn’t say. The two of you locked in a stare that seemed more like predator and prey than two teachers just trying to make it through another Tuesday. His dumb expression, dark eyes as wide as a deer caught in the fluorescence. You, a mountain lion trying desperately not to devour your sandwich, chips, and Coke in one bite. Including the aluminum can.

What was worse was the longer you stared, the more you noticed how attractive he was. Properly attractive, with lips coated in what seemed to be tinted chapstick. There was no way his lips were that pink, right? And he had to be using some kind of mascara with how dark his eyelashes were. Then there was his hair, seemingly still stuck in the Eighties with the waves. At least he brushed his hair at all, which was more than any of the greasy-haired teenage boys that frequented the halls. Maybe he could be something to aspire to.

Maybe he already was.

Mr. Munson moved silently, only heard as he pulled out the chair across from you, the legs screeching against the dirty linoleum. You surveyed his lunch, an already cooked ramen cup with a Dr. Pepper. He must’ve found a better microwave in Sarah’s closet.

The teachers of South Jefferson High School had a lot of secrets hidden in their closets. 

You finally dug into your sandwich, nearly moaning in relief. The school had implemented some new rule that the kids couldn’t bring snacks or they’d be “confiscated.” This rule applied to the teachers as well which was fucking cruel. You’d said your tearful goodbyes to apple slices with caramel and coughing fits between periods because you’d tried to choke down packets of Cheez-Its.

However, you weren’t prepared to watch Mr. Munson heave noodles into his mouth with a plastic fork, slurping and sucking the entire time. You couldn’t help your grimace, desperately trying to hold back the sound of disgust in the back of your throat.

Until he looked up, stray noodles plopping back into the styrofoam.  

“Uh, what kind of sandwich is that?” 

He only swallowed after he posed his question. Jesus Christ, this was the guy the kids were deeming their favorite? If only they saw him like this.

“Turkey and provolone,” you responded curtly. 

He lifted an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cause I see other stuff on it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Banana peppers and onion.”

“And lettuce.”

So much for that scared little deer. Now he was some annoying warthog or a fox trying to slither through chicken wire.  

“Why are you interested in my sandwich?”

He shrugged, a hint of a smile growing in the corners of his lips. You hated it. “It, uh, looks good.”

“It’s Jersey Mike’s,” you said bluntly. 

Mr. Munson only shrugged again. “I only have ramen at my apartment.”

“Right.”

“And that fridge is a piece of shit.”

“True.”

“Woah!” he exclaimed, a huff of laughter leaving his lips. “Did we just agree on something?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the feeling of being a teenage girl again. It figures you’d revert after being in this environment for so long, with the stinging scent of cleaning supplies and hormones spreading like diseases. But nothing prepared you for this to transport you back to a time once easily forgotten.

On instinct, your tongue grazed the front of your teeth, laving over the missing braces that hadn’t been there for nearly twenty years. 

“Why do you care?” you snapped. 

Something flickered across his eyes, too quick for you to distinguish. “Oh, I see,” he started, pointing his fork at you. It was then you noticed that it was in fact a spork. “You’re still pissed off about the list.”

You feigned a snort, waving him away as you took the final sip of your Coke. “What? No way.”

Another pearl of laughter flew out of him. “Has anyone told you you suck at lying?”

“Has anyone told you you’re annoying?”

As soon as it flew out of your mouth, you realized just how mean it sounded. You winced.

Mr. Munson let out another laugh but this one didn’t sound the same as the last. “If I had a penny for how many times I’ve been called annoying, I think I’d be, like, the wealthiest guy alive.”

“You’d surpass Bill Gates?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood.

He pretended to think about it before nodding. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wow.”

You couldn’t help the ease you felt when he played along. But the irritation started right back up as he reopened his mouth.

“I know you’re impressed,” he teased. “It’s okay. Go ahead and gawk.”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely starstruck.”

“Don’t worry about the list.” When you rolled your eyes again, he added, “Seriously! Those guys are just bored. I bet you’re a great teacher.”

“Thanks.” You didn’t even pretend to mean it.

After another shovel of noodles, he said, “But, just between us, I am kinda the best English teacher here.”

You couldn’t help a third eye roll. “I sincerely doubt it.”

A smug grin filled his face. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be sponsoring the new book club next semester.”

A flare of anger flooded your veins.

“What?”

“Don’t get too jealous there,” he teased.

You shook your head. “No, I’m sponsoring the book club.”

He let out a hum and tilted his head. “You sure? ‘Cause I didn’t see your name on there.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t see Edward Munson on that list.” You said his name with a certain amount of venom that you knew wasn’t lost on him. His resulting scowl said it all.

He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and fiddling with his tie. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to deal with us being partners then.”

You were at a loss for words, unable to do anything but watch him move towards the door. “Been great talkin’ to you,” he said. He threw his napkin in the trash can before glancing at you over his shoulder. “I’m Edd-ie, by the way. Don’t wear it out.”

He walked away but you couldn’t help but throw a napkin at his fading figure. It made it as far as the end of the table.

That was the first moment you wondered why he’d decided to eat here in the first place.

“There must be some kind of mistake!” you exclaimed.

Principal Scott shook her head for probably the fourth time in two minutes. “I don’t see why you can’t work with Mr. Munson on this. If anything, that makes the club stronger.”

“It’s my chance to try and connect with these kids,” you explained, desperation leaking through your professional demeanor. “Ed—Mr. Munson has been here way longer than I have—”

“Only by a year,” she corrected, but you were far from over.

“ —and he has a leg up on me with them! I want to start making an impact! Kids these days are less interested in reading than ever before. It stopped being cool. What if I could inspire them to care? What if I could get them to read things that change their point of view on the world, to inspire them to think further outside of the little box their environment puts them in?”

Eddie was impressed by your speech, even if he wasn’t supposed to witness it. He’d actually been on the way here to talk to Principal Scott himself to try and keep his spot as the club’s head sponsor. Maybe keep you there but reduce your authority.

But then. Well. He heard you talk like this.

“And that’s great,” Principal Scott continued. “I just don’t see why you and Mr. Munson can’t do that together.”

“The kids like him,” you said before coughing. “At least, that’s how it seems.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to do this work if he’s taking the spotlight? I’m just supposed to stay sidelined?”

He thought about the first time he saw you, at that first staff meeting you’d attended. You fidgeted a lot, all flustered and nervous like all new teachers were. Even in your fear, he thought you were pretty. Standing there, shifting from one heel to the other like you’d rather go barefoot than stand in the opposite corner.

You’d looked over at him at the same time, caught up in an awkward staring contest where both contestants refused to stop blinking and had no idea when to call it quits. It didn’t help that you seemingly relaxed at the connection. It was kind of adorable.

When he saw you in the halls after that, he found himself pausing to observe you. You were always there to wish the kids a good morning and a good rest of their day with a certain amount of sincerity that he could never muster. If there was a hyperventilating kid in the hallway, you were the first one to huddle them into your room to help them down from whatever ledge their raging hormones put them on that day. 

Once, he’d walked past your room to see you opening a drawer while saying, “Don’t tell anyone about my secret stash, okay?” You pulled out a bowl of candy that even had his mouth watering. The student nodded her head, puffy-eyed but already reaching in. “If you promise to keep it a secret, you can come get candy whenever you want. How does that sound?”

If you were outside directing carpool, the worst of all the roulette wheel of responsibilities South Jefferson had to offer, you always seemed energized. Like it wasn’t a chore whatsoever. 

He knew you cared about these kids. He did.

But you seemed to have absolutely lost it at the mere implication that you weren’t already everyone’s favorite English teacher. You’d developed some personal vendetta against him as if it was his fault that fourteen-year-olds with greasy hair, braces, and cruel acne flares thought better of him. Especially Dustin Henderson and his group of nerds. He meant that with all the love in the world, of course.

The way you spoke to him was more intriguing than infuriating. Amusing, even. But then you said his name with such disdain, such vitriol. It prodded at something deep inside him, a well of nearly forgotten memories that seemed to overflow the second you said his name like that.

So, yeah, maybe he was starting to develop a bit of a vendetta against you.

Eddie had to shift his plans. Clearly you weren’t going to give up easily. Maybe he’d annoy you to the brink of insanity and get you to drop your sponsorship. He’d always had proficiency in that skill. Besides, it wasn’t too mean. What was another push?

“Don’t you think you’ll get better turnout rates if he’s there?” Principal Scott reasoned. “If the kids like him so much, you can use that to your advantage—and his. I know Mr. Munson is a dedicated teacher. He’s given your speech to me dozens of times about things that quite frankly matter less. He’s passionate. Just try to work together. It doesn’t have to be that complicated.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Fine. I can do that. Thank you for your time, Principal Scott.”

“Call me Carrie.”

“Yes, thank you, Carrie. I’ll see what I can do.”

Eddie thought about walking away. Really, he did.

But there was a part of him that really wanted to see you. Your figure had been obscured by the doorframe and, sure, he’d gotten enough from your words alone.

Nothing prepared him for the sight before him. You were utterly defeated, scratching at your neck as you hunched forward. The cross-strap bag you always carried was slipping off of your shoulder, causing you to groan as you fixed it. 

As your eyes flickered up, he watched the scowl that seemed reserved for him deepen.

“What?” you challenged. “You wanna gloat?”

It was then Eddie realized he’d been grinning. He gestured to his face. “Was I not already gloating?”

“I can’t believe this,” you grumbled, quickly strolling past him.

But Eddie had a hard time knowing when to stop. And maybe, just maybe, he was solidifying his new plan. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

“You could take a picture, you know,” he continued. “just so you can keep up with every face I have when I win.”

“Shut up.”

Oh, he could get this done before Christmas break was over. If he challenged himself enough, maybe by the end of next week.

“I can lend you a camera if you’d like.”

You halted with a huff. “I’m trying to get things done for these kids. I’m trying to help them. Do you not get that? Or is this just a mask you wear to make people like you?”

Eddie tried to disguise the quirk of his eyebrow as he considered your words. But judging by the upwards flick of your eyes, he knew he’d been caught.

What was it that you saw in him that hadn’t been uncovered since his youth?

“You think so low of me.”

“I haven’t been given a reason to indicate any other kind of reaction to you and your incessant need to be a pest at any given time of the day.”

Eddie resisted the urge to give you a slow clap. Instead, he settled on “You done?”

You took a deep breath before nodding. “Yes.” Something seemed to shift as you took another deep breath and straightened your posture. “Winter break is coming up next week. We should try to figure out how to make this work. Why don’t we go get coffee or something and hammer out the kinks.”

“I think that is a great idea,” he replied, his tone more mocking than anything. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You opened your mouth, seemingly to say one thing before hesitating and starting over. “Meet me next Tuesday at Java Bean at one p-m.”

Eddie grinned, smugly wondering what your reaction would be when he said his next words. Professionalism be damned.

“It’s a date.”

Your eyes widened, amusing Eddie to no end. Oh, yeah. That hit something. 

“Do you hear yourself?” you asked, nearly scoffing at him.

There were those eyes of yours, searching for something in his. As if you were both trying to find the truth behind your cement walls of defense. But you gave up first, spinning around and trudging down the hallway.

“See you Tuesday!” he called after you, smiling triumphantly when your shoulders locked up.

Oh, yeah. This would be a cake walk.

thank you to @jo-harrington for all the time she took helping me with the writing process and @littlexdeaths for always making the best dividers. i love you both so much it's hard to articulate.

[stanart4clearskin]

stalker! art x reader

when art first saw you, it was at the freshman year orientation at stanford. he had been talking to a few of his tennis teammates when you had walked up to one of the guys to ask him a question

from then on art was captivated by you. art admired you from afar because he could never find the right opportunity to approach you because you didn't know each other

he thought you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. he didn't know what it was but there was just something about you that captivated him

art had mentioned you to patrick when he came to visit stanford and much to his disappointment, patrick didn't see you the way that he did. patrick thought you were decently cute but he couldn't understand why art was always drooling over your instagram photos

his stalker behavior had started out innocently. he would just visit your instagram page to stare at the photos you had posted of yourself. this had gone on for a few weeks until art had gotten tired of looking at the same three pictures every day and searched online to see if you had any other social medias

art couldn't find any other online platforms that you were on so he opted to walk by the tennis courts whenever you had practice

honestly that was probably the worst mistake art could've made because seeing your sweaty skin glistening in the sun made him a little dizzy and left him with a boner that he had to cover by awkwardly grabbing his crotch as he rushed back to his dorm

everyday like clockwork he would casually walk by the courts and would secretly snap photos of you so that he had some pictures to look at. sometimes he would strike up conversation with a few of your teammates that he knew

eventually this ended up into art finally having a conversation with you for the first time. art thought he might pass out as you laughed at his stupid jokes but he managed to keep calm until you left and to his luck you accidentally left your sweatshirt

he grabbed it with full intent to return it to you but he could smell you on the jacket so instead he found himself shoving his face into it as he jerked off to the thought of you

from then on he was determined to at least becomes friends with you so he found out what parties you were going to and he made sure he also went to those ones

he would stand with his friends drinking by most of the time his eyes were on you as you stood with your friends drinking

at one point he managed to nick your phone while you weren’t paying attention and he watched at you panicked and frantically asked around if anyone had seen it

after letting you freak out for five minutes he swooped in to help you look and magically managed to find your phone

from then on art had a habit of stealing your things just to help you go look for them because he realized how much you started to like him because he always found your missing items

[waitineedaname]

POV!!

i decided to go with a rewrite of something i've already posted this time! here's binghe's pov for a snippet of the age reveal fic i posted on sqq's birthday

--

"How old will you be turning?" Luo Binghe asked curiously, tilting his head up from where he was snuggled into his husband's chest. He was still a little peeved to learn his husband's birthday was only four days away -- he would still put together the best celebration the three realms had ever seen, but he couldn't help but feel he could make it even better if he'd been given more time to prepare -- but at least this was an opportunity to learn more about the man he'd married.

Shen Qingqiu stared down at him, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. It was still such a gift to see his honest emotions on his face, in the privacy of their own home and softened by years of marriage. "Do you mean combined between my previous life and this one?"

Luo Binghe nodded. "Shizun must be very old and wise with the experience of two lives," he said, fluttering his eyelashes at him. There had been many things that thrilled him about learning the truth about who his husband was. One was the knowledge that Shen Qingqiu -- Shen Yuan -- had loved him before they even met, had been a fan of his and had been so outraged by his suffering that it brought him across worlds to fix it. Another was the reassurance that some of the things that had confused him about his Shizun's behavior could be blamed on the mysterious System that had brought him here in the first place, and he had never truly wanted to hurt him.

Most exciting of all, however, was the idea that with two lives under his belt, Shen Qingqiu might be even older than he'd previously assumed. Luo Binghe found the idea thrilling.

"I wouldn’t say that," Shen Qingqiu said with a humble laugh. He stroked Luo Binghe's back while he thought. "Let’s see… I was twenty when I first transmigrated, and then there were those five years when I was dead."

His words were chilling to Luo Binghe, and not just because of the reminder of those horrible five years. Only twenty? Then that meant...

"I suppose at this point, I’m only a year older than Binghe," Shen Qingqiu realized, cheerfully oblivious to the crisis he'd just thrust upon his husband.

"Only… a year older?" Luo Binghe repeated. This was unthinkable. This whole time, he'd been revelling in the knowledge that his husband was much older than him, only to learn that was a lie?

"Yes?" Shen Qingqiu sent him a strange look. His Shizun, for all that made him wonderful, was not always on the same page as he was.

"So Shizun… isn’t old and wise," Luo Binghe said. Even prior to learning about his husband's former identity, he'd enjoyed how much older Shen Qingqiu was. It was the subject of many of his hormonal teenage fantasies. His Shizun, his kind older teacher, so mature and experienced...

Shen Qingqiu frowned down at him, his brows pinching together. "Well, this body is likely in its forties at this point," he said, as if that made things any better. Only in its forties! When he first came to Qing Jing Peak, he'd been unable to guess Shen Qingqiu's age, obscured as it was by his cultivation. He could've been over a hundred for all Luo Binghe knew! Only to learn he hadn't been much older than thirty when Luo Binghe joined the peak, when Luo Binghe was now nearing thirty himself?! This couldn't possibly get worse.

Luo Binghe resisted the urge to pout. "But you complain about your old hips when we–"

Shen Qingqiu cut him off with a swift smack of his fan, which despite everything still sent a pleased little thrill through him. "Don’t say anything else! They are old hips! Not all of us are blessed with youthful demonic stamina!"

That, at least, cheered Luo Binghe up a little. As much as he valued Shen Qingqiu's cultivation, he did wish his body's age was more visible. His husband would look so dashing with gray hairs and smile lines... But at least his sore back and hips betrayed his body's age, and Binghe was always more than happy to massage those aches and pains away.

Luo Binghe wormed his arms around Shen Qingqiu's torso and gave him his most pleading expression. "Shizun, why don’t we celebrate your birthday as your forty-eighth? Twenty-eight sounds too strange." Luo Binghe himself would be turning twenty-eight in the winter, and the idea of celebrating the same age as his Shizun made him shudder.

"Okay?" Shen Qingqiu looked bewildered, though he'd subconsciously begun petting his back again as Luo Binghe snuggled closer. "You really don’t need to make a big deal out of my birthday, it’s nothing special."

Please. Everything about his husband was special. And they had over a decade of missed birthdays to catch up on! Luo Binghe would make it the best celebration the Demon Realm had ever seen. "This one is happy to dote on his middle-aged husband," he said, squeezing him around the middle.

"I’m not–"

Nope, Luo Binghe was not hearing it. "His middle-aged husband," he repeated firmly, hugging him even tighter. He continued clinging to him like that until Shen Qingqiu's flustered swatting grew more urgent.

"Alright, alright," Shen Qingqiu said, once he'd relented and let go. He was clearly flushed but made an attempt to conceal his blush behind his fan anyway. "Pass me another mooncake, will you?"

Luo Binghe happily sliced him another piece and fed it to him by hand, already drafting plans for his husband's fiftieth birthday in just a couple years.

[lucy90712]

Hellooo,

Can you do Kenan x reader where they meet in a cafe and kenan sees him almost everyday so they starting to talk and its involves in a relationship

Kenan's POV

Today has been a long day and it's only 1pm. I've been up since 4am and really need a pick me up so I stopped at a random cafe on my way home from training to get some coffee. As its not the early morning the place wasn't too busy there was only a few people inside but still one girl caught my eye she was sat with her laptop and a table full of notebooks and pens. She was typing away and then stopping to write things down on one of the many pages she had open. This cafe isn't too far from the university in the city so I assumed that she goes the to the uni but something about seeing her being so involved in her studies really interested me. Once I got my coffee I watched her from a far as she stared at her notebook and her laptop before seemingly figuring out what she was trying to work out and going back to typing and writing. 

I know I shouldn't be staring at someone I don't know across a cafe but she was just so intriguing. I want to know what she's studying and why she loves it so much as it's very clear that she enjoys her studies. She is also incredibly beautiful she's not stereotypically beautiful but anyone who cares enough to spend more than a few seconds looking at her which I don't imagine many do will see that she's so naturally pretty. She's not even trying to look so stunning but just the way her hair falls so naturally and the way she keeps pushing it behind her ear when it gets in her way and the way her eyes light up when she figured something out that she's been looking at for a few minutes. I've never been so attracted to someone I've never met or even talked to before but something about her is just so perfect. 

Just when I was going to go and talk to her she started to pack up all of her things and left the cafe. For a few seconds I thought my chance was gone but then I thought about it and realised that she probably comes here a lot so as long as I come back at the right time she will probably be here. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Since the first day I came to the cafe everyday but as my schedule is slightly different everyday I didn't manage to catch the girl again. She was either just leaving as I arrived or was just getting there when I had to leave. It's been a week now and it's back to Wednesday which is the first day I saw the girl I've been hoping to see all week. Just as I was hoping she was sat at her usual table when I arrived so I ordered my drink and something for her which I took to her table. I've never been so forward as I was in that moment when I sat across from her at her table and put the chocolate chip muffin in front of her. If someone told me a few weeks ago that I'd do this I'd have said I'd gone crazy or hit my head or something but instead I'm just crazy about a girl I've never met. 

"Um hi can I help you?" She asked 

"Hi I know this seems crazy and if you want me to go away I will but I've seen you here everyday for the last week and I can't help but admire you how engrossed you are with your studies and how pretty you are so I had to come and talk to you and I thought offering you a muffin would be a good excuse" I said 

"Well the muffin is certainly appreciated but I'm surprised that you noticed me I've been coming here everyday since I started university and no one has ever noticed me" she said 

"I don't know how you were the first thing I noticed when I came in here" I said 

"That's very sweet of you to say if I ever paid attention to my surroundings I'd have definitely noticed you too" she said 

"I'd love to keep talking to you but I have a meeting before class I'll be here again tomorrow but for now I've got to go" she said 

"I will be here tomorrow then good luck with your meeting" I said

I helped her pack up her things before letting her go and realising I still don't know her name but I guess I'll find that out tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~

True to her word she was right where she told me she would be and this time she was paying attention so saw me walk in and sent me a smile. Just like yesterday I got something for her too which she was very appreciative of and she even cleared away some of her things so I'd have room to sit across from her. To start with things were awkward we just sat there not saying anything as she fiddled with the pen in her hand. My confidence from yesterday has dwindled and now I don't know what to say I don't want to say the wrong thing or make her feel uncomfortable but I just want to know everything there is to know about her. 

Your POV

When I came to my usual cafe to work yesterday I didn't expect this incredibly hot guy to give me a muffin and want to talk to me but here we are a day later with him still sat in front of me while we smile at each other not knowing what to say. I could start the conversation but I really don't know what to say I'm not used to guys being interested in me especially of random people in cafes that's never been how my life goes and I never thought it would be. 

"Why don't we start with introducing ourselves I'm Kenan" the guy across from me said 

"It's nice to meet you Kenan I'm y/n" I said reaching out to shake his hand which got rid of a bit of the awkwardness 

"Now tell me about your studies it's clearly something you are passionate about so tell me everything" he said 

"Are you sure I study engineering it can be complicated and most people don't usually care" I said 

"I don't know anything about engineering and I'd love to learn so go ahead tell me" he said 

I don't think Kenan knew what he was getting himself in for as once I start talking about engineering it takes a lot to get me to stop. I explained the basics of what I'm studying before showing him what I've been working on for my latest assignment as it's something I'm very proud of. Talking to Kenan about engineering was actually a lot of fun he actually asked me questions and wanted to know what I was doing and why even if he didn't really understand he tried his best to make sense of it all and that's all I can ask for. He seemed genuinely interested in my project which was to develop an upgrade to improve an f1 car as it's something he knows more about so I told him all my ideas and showed him my current progress. It was fun to have someone to talk to about my degree as none of my friends or family like to hear more than it's going well. 

After talking through as much engineering talk as I thought Kenan could handle I realised I don't know anything about him. I've never seen him around campus before but that doesn't mean he doesn't go to the same university. Looking at him I feel like he could study something like business but he could also study something sport related as he seems quite sporty but that could just be where my brain goes when I look at his muscles which are hard to ignore. 

"Now tell me about you I've bored you enough with all my maths and diagrams" I said 

"Before I tell you promise you'll hear me out before you freak out" he said 

"I'll hear you out but that sentence is scaring me a bit" I admitted 

"It's nothing bad don't worry it's just I play football for Juventus and most people usually freak out when I say that they either decide they want photos with me or run away and don't want to get to know me but I promise I'm not a stereotypical footballer I like to think I'm quite a normal guy" he said 

"I thought you were going to say you were a criminal a football player is so much less scary" I joked 

"Seriously though I don't watch football so it doesn't bother me who you play for if you're a nice guy which you seem to be so far then I'm happy to get to know you for who you are but you are going to have to explain football to me" I said 

He laughed until he realised I actually know nothing about football then he started to explain it all. He told me about his team and the league he plays in as well as another thing called the champions league which confused me to begin with until he explained it more. He then showed me some clips from his recent matches and while I don't know much it seemed as though he and his team are doing well. As he was showing me things I saw how many Instagram followers he had and I realised why he didn't want me to freak out 2.4 million followers is a lot especially compared to the 52 that I have and a good few of those are family members. Part of me wanted to run but I promised Kenan that I wouldn't and he is really nice and I like him a lot so I stayed and got to know Kenan and not the football player. 

We stayed at the cafe for hours talking and getting to know each other I stayed way past when I usually would as I was enjoying talking to Kenan. Eventually it got late enough that we both knew we had to go and he offered to drive me home which coming from anyone else I'd say no but I trust Kenan plus I know people would find out if he kidnapped me so I took him up on his offer. He drove me right to my apartment building front door but before he let me get out he asked if I'd like to go to his game this weekend and go to dinner afterwards. It took me a few seconds to realise he was asking me on a date but when I did I quickly accepted so we exchanged phone numbers and he promised to text me everything I needed to know. 

~~~~~~~~~~

For the last few days all I've been thinking about is Kenan and going to his match. I've been spending my evenings learning about football and watching any old matches I could find to familiarise myself with the game so I don't look like an idiot when I go to the match. With all my research I think I'll understand what's going on but I have no idea what to wear I mean it's not like I own a football jersey and Kenan invited me out afterwards so do I dress for dinner or do I dress for the game or find a way to dress for both. Thinking about it has been stressing me out I even asked Kenan what I'm supposed to wear and he told me that we won't be going anywhere fancy for dinner so he told me just to dress how I feel comfortable. That didn't really help as my version of comfortable is wearing sweats but I don't imagine that's what Kenan means so instead I've been staring at my wardrobe for half an hour now hoping an outfit will pick itself. Of course it won't so I did the next best thing and called my sister and straight away she picked me some jeans and a cute top as well as a jacket so that's what I wore and tried not to think about it too much. 

Once I was dressed I thought about doing my hair and makeup all nice but I realised that wasn't me and that wasn't the person Kenan wanted to get to know. After a couple more crises about whether I should go or if I was making a mistake I left my apartment and followed the instructions Kenan sent me to get into the stadium and find the seat he reserved for me which was so close to the pitch I could almost touch it and it was in the part of the stadium where the injured players and families sit as I recognised some of the players there from my research. I felt very out of place there I'm no one important I mean a few days ago I couldn't even tell you three teams in the Italian league and now here I am at a match and going to dinner with a player. 

The match went pretty well the team won and Kenan played well but it was over before I knew it and the next thing I knew I had to find my way to the locker rooms and wait for Kenan. It wasn't long before he came out dressed in some jeans and a shirt which has a few buttons undone which had me blushing as he just looked so good. As soon as he saw me he smiled and walked right over and gave me a hug and kissed my cheek which I wasn't expecting but I rather enjoyed it. 

"Hey you played so well I mean from what I can understand anyway" I said 

"Thank you you look beautiful by the way" he said 

"Thanks you look good too" I said 

"All to impress you now are you ready to go?" He asked 

"I'm ready" I said 

He grabbed my hand and we walked to his car where he had a bouquet of flowers waiting for me which only made me fall for him more than I already am. He drove us to a restaurant outside of the city so it was quieter and we sat at a table out the way so we could talk as much as we wanted and about anything and everything. It was the most fun I've had in a long time in fact I enjoy Kenan's presence more than I enjoy being with anyone else and that tells me that I've met someone special even if things are in their early stages I know I'm going to enjoy every moment of getting to know Kenan and every moment we get to spend together after that. 

After dinner Kenan took me home and this time he walked me up to my apartment carrying the flowers he got me in his arms. He put them in a vase for me and then came to stand in front of me looking in my eyes for what felt like forever until he finally leaned down and kissed me. The kiss was truly amazing the room faded away and suddenly we were the only people left in the world for those few seconds that his lips were on mine. 

"That was amazing" I said 

"It was" Kenan agreed 

"I think it's pretty clear that we both feel the same way so I'd love to take you on another date" he said 

"I'd love that" I said 

"Then it's settled I'm away for a few games but as soon as I'm back we are having a movie night and pizza at my place" he said 

"That sounds amazing I can't wait" I said giving him one last kiss before he left 

[heyheydidjaknow]

I’m not dead I promise. Nor am I done with x reader stuff. Finally, Mello gets his day in the limelight. Good for him.

Scarring

“That translation is wrong.”

“Thank you.” You did not look up from your notebook. “You know, it sure would suck if I went a minute without knowing that I’m bad at this.”

He took a sip from his milkshake, his weight leaned against the counter. “Get better, then.” He pointed at the page you were on, gesturing to the words. “The girl isn’t greedy; she doesn’t get to have a masculine adjective.”

You groaned, resting your head in your hands. “Jesus fucking— that’s the only noun in the sentence!”

Another sip. “If there isn’t another noun,” he explained slowly, not bothering to hide his condescension, “you assume there’s an invisible ‘vir’ there.”

“Why is it invisible? For whose benefit?”

“The author’s, mainly.”

You rubbed your eyes, pushing your hair out of your face. “This is bullshit,” you decided. “This whole thing is moronic.”

“Serves you right for learning a dead language.”

“Eat my dick.”

He snickered. “I’ll get right on it.” He looked around the diner for the fifth time, a frown settling on his face. “He’s late.”

You took a sip from your drink. “Serves you right for being a stalker.”

“It’s called espionage.”

“A rose by any other name smells just as stalkery.” You smirked. “Serves you right for agreeing to it in the first place— what if he doesn’t show up? What’s your plan then, genius?”

“Shut up.” He leaned his cheek against his hand. “He’ll be here.”

“Sure, sure.” You closed your notebook. “I give up. Three hours of torture is enough, I think.”

He stirred his milkshake, pulling the straw out of the cup and stabbing the bottom of it. “You won’t get a degree if you flunk out.”

“I don’t need Latin to graduate.” You took another sip from your drink. “I don’t need Latin as a general— how come you don’t know how to cook soup but you know Latin?”

He considered the question. “I wanted to prove that I could learn it.” Another stab.

You sneered. “Then I suppose your rival knows some Latin too, then.”

Another glare.

“If you want me to stop knowing what you’re going to say, stop being so predictable.” You tried to will away your simper with little success. “You can’t blame me for having basic pattern recognition.”

He looked back at his milkshake, took another sip. “I was better at it than him,” he grumbled. “He was always shit at languages.”

You giggled. “I’m sure he was.” Your gaze fell upon the clock behind the counter, your expression souring. “We’ve been here for an hour,” you pointed out. “How long—“

“His arrival time has a two hour margin.” He picked up the glass, scraping the excess shake off the sides. “If Holiday-- his horse-- won, he’s going to be here an hour before closing time. If Holiday didn’t win, he’ll be here thirty minutes before closing because he’ll spend more time at the bar. If he gets into an argument at home— which happens once every week or so, especially on Saturdays because they’re supposed to be their date night— he’ll come here first for dinner before leaving to get drinks and will go to a fast food place instead.” He took another sip. “The diner closes in an hour, so if he doesn’t show up in another thirty minutes, we can leave.”

You stared at him, blinking slowly. “I see.” You ran your finger along the edge of your notebook. “And let’s say this guy— who, for the record, you know too much about— doesn’t conform to the schedule that you assigned him; what’s the next step?”

There was something more in his glare this time, a familiar edge. “What if the Moon crashes into Earth before he gets here? What if the floor opens up and we all die?” His eyes darkened, and you were reminded, much to your subconscious’ dismay, who it was that you were dating. “I didn't give up my childhood for nothing,” he said, conviction dripping like tar out of every pore. “I know what I’m doing. He’ll be here.”

You opened your mouth to answer, thought better of it. You focused on your glass.

He blinked, eyes widening as his face softened. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.” He laced his fingers together, twiddling his thumbs. “I have— this isn’t—“

“Don’t stress it.” You smiled weakly. “It’s late; we’re tired. I know you— well, that you aren’t going to do anything stupid.”

He nodded curtly. “Good. I’m glad.” He reached over, taking your hand and running his thumbs over your knuckles. His hands were shaking. “I’m stressed out is all; there’s a lot riding on this.”

“I know, baby.” You ran your free hand through his hair, bringing it to rest against his cheek. “You’re right; it’ll work out.”

He nodded again, slower this time. “I won’t make you regret what you’ve done for me,” he promised. “This will be good for the both of us.”

You brought his hands to your lips, kissing each. “You don’t need to keep telling me; I know you will.”

“Good.” He glanced at the counter, letting his hands fall to his lap. “I’m glad.”

“Good,” you agreed. “I'm glad you’re glad.”

He grinned. “I’m glad you’re glad I’m—“

The door made a jingle as someone entered the diner. The look on your boyfriend’s face told you who it was.

You were smart enough not to look behind you.

He grabbed his glass, turning his back to the man. “What’d I say?” He looked over at you, pride shining in his eyes. “Good day for Holiday.”

You looked down at your closed notebook, pretending to study it. “I suppose you were right.” You glanced in his direction. “What time can I expect to have you home?”

He considered it. “One at the latest,” he decided. “If I can’t make it home before then, I’ll call you.”

You nodded, slipping your book in your bag. “One it is.” You stood up. “Can I kiss you goodbye?”

He shifted the glass, trying to catch the man’s reflection. “He’s too shifty to risk it.” He glanced up at you. “But I’ll kiss you when I get home.”

Waiting was the worst part of dating Mathew.

The second worst thing was the fact that he wouldn’t tell you his real name (he had offered Mello as a substitute— which the two of you agreed was an objectively silly name— but he claimed Mathew was as close as he could give you, what with the times being what they were). The third was that he got himself into bad situations all the time, but the very worst were these agonizing waits between seeing him after the working day was over and Good Samaritan laws practically stopped being in effect. It could have been worse, you supposed— he could be late and stupid enough to get hurt— but it did not make the wait any less unbearably long. He always came back, and you knew he always would, but it was impossible not to assume the worst at twelve-fifty. Fifty-six, now.

‘This show sucks.’ You turned the television off, letting your eyes fall closed.

A knock at the door.

You shot up from your doze. Quickly, quietly, you slid off the couch onto your knees, groping under it before your hand found a cool, heavy piece of metal. Taking the bat in your hand, you approached the door. Stealing yourself, you glanced through the peephole.

Him.

You exhaled, unlocking the door. He was doubled over, breathing labored, glistening with sweat. You pulled him inside, relocking up as he tried unsuccessfully to compose himself. His eyes were trained on the bat. “You should let me buy you a piece,” he panted. “That’s… fuck… that’s not going to be helpful if…” He swallowed, laughing in exhaustion. You could see now that he had dried blood stuck to the side of his face. “If someone comes here, a bat’s not gonna help. I could’ve shot you through the door.”

You reached out, tilting his head up towards you to get a better look. They were ugly scratches; pale skin outlined angry red and pink flesh. You tried not to ask. “You need to disinfect these,” you mumbled. “You’ll get scars.”

He waved your hand away, standing up straight. “I’ll be fine,” he assured you. “The guy just scratched me is all.”

“Disgusting stuff is under fingernails.” You took his hand, leading him towards your bathroom. “You’ll thank me later.”

Grumbling, he let you drag him along, let you sit him down, let you bring harsh antiseptic to the gashes despite his protest. He watched you, mostly, fiddling with his fingernails while you fussed over him.

Finally, he spoke. “You haven’t asked me yet.”

You crumpled up his bandage’s wrapper. “Asked you what?”

“What I did.” He kept his eyes trained on you like it was an effort. “If I did it.”

You shrugged. “Not my business.” You tossed them out. “Are you complaining that I’m making myself a bad witness?”

“I guess.” He swallowed. “I’m in, I think. If they hold up their end of it.”

You leaned against your sink, facing him. “Do you get paid this time?”

“I should.”

You nodded absently. “Are you okay?”

Finally, he looked away. “Well enough. I—“ He paused, amending his statement. The cool light of the bathroom— you meant to get those changed— casted dark green shadows across his face. “Well, I thought I would be doing different horrible things, but I knew I’d– I mean to say, I’ve about come to terms with my going to hell if there is one, so.” He smiled shakily. “It doesn’t matter much to me which circle, so I’m alright.”

You nodded again.

“I’m sorry for being late.” He looked down at his nails, forcing his hands onto his thighs. “I mean, I know I wasn’t late, but I should have let you know I was taking longer than expected to come home. My phone died, and I didn’t want to be dropped off close to here.”

“You’re alright. I appreciate it, really.” You gave him a once over. “But you’re not coming to bed without a shower. And I’m not washing whoever’s blood that is out.”

He looked down at his shirt, realizing— seemingly for the first time— that he was spattered with blood. “I look like I killed someone,” he noted.

You shrugged. “Nobody here’s going to call the cops on you for having blood on your clothes.”

“Disturbing, but convenient.” He rolled his eyes. “One more failure to add to the list for the justice system.”

“I don’t know if it’s that.” You crossed your ankles. “I mean, yeah, but I think it’s got more to do with people thinking that there shouldn’t be capital punishment for people guilty of the crime of being kinda weird.”

“Being put to death for being strange,” he mused. “How biblical.”

“It’s not that either,” you stressed. “It’s just that the Kira fanboys started leaking police records so it’s a bigger dick move than it usually is to call the cops for stuff.”

He leaned onto his elbows, letting his head fall forward. “Again,” he sighed, “how biblical.”

“Old Testament justice,” you conceded. “I wonder if Kira’s a Christian.”

“It’s not likely.” He looked up at you, dull blonde hair sticking to his face. “He’s Japanese; most Japanese people aren’t Christian.”

“I guess.” He had a lot of theories about Kira. They were usually accurate, but their quantity brought you pause on occasion. “That’s funny. So is it just faith in the police, then?”

“That’s more likely.”

“Someone should shoot him.”

“If you’ll tell me where to aim, I’m more than happy to.”

You looked down at your tile floor. “You'll have to wait in line.”

“I know.” A pause, then, “I wonder how much his body would go for.”

“Whose, Kira’s?”

“Yeah.”

You considered it. “I’m sure loads of people would want his head for one reason or another. He better hope he doesn’t end up in prison; you’d be able to buy him and his stuff piecemail.”

“Like a celebrity.”

“Like a pope.”

“Like a god.”

You hummed. “Enough people deify him already; all he needs is a church.”

“Wouldn’t that be funny?” You struggled to pinpoint his expression. It was almost sadistic. “What an accomplishment that would be, to be the first person in recorded history to kill a god.”

You let your head fall back. You really hated that light. “You sound like a serial killer.”

“I feel like one.”

“What’s your plan after you catch him?” You looked back down at your boyfriend. He was shivering. “Will the two of you just call a truce?”

He took a deep breath. “Probably not.” He traced one of the tiles with his foot. “If someone as powerful as Kira showed up again, we’d probably fight over who could catch them too. Then another person after that, and another after that. Rinse and repeat until one of us dies.”

“How miserable.”

“Naturally.”

You loved your boyfriend. You loved most things about him. His passion, his drive, his energy— you could see yourself starting a proper life with him. You shared your life with him, anyway, and a part of you believed that one day he would too.

But there was one thing about him you could not stand.

He was ambitious. Too ambitious.

It would get him hurt one day, and you hated that you knew that you would be around to see it.

[panthermouthh]

They don’t tell you that 90% of drawing comics is staring at a blank panel and thinking until your brain overheats

[corvid-khaos]

for such is the price of knowledge

(based on my headcanon that ford has a prosthetic eye)

[sioneve]

Today marks the 10th anniversary of Nicomaki duet song "ずるいよMagnetic today" release! 🩷❤️

At this point I treat the song’s release date like nicomaki couple anniversary 💀 i mean!! a duet song!! WITH VERY PERSONALIZED LYRICS ABOUT THEM TOO….. pls let me have a long life so i can make it every year 😇🙏

the last time i made anniversary art for zurui yo magnetic today was in 2019! It’s getting the biggest number i’ve ever posted on tumblr lol (but that is definitely cuz of the wild almost-to-kiss-tension-pose lol)

enjoy the meal for every nkmk shipper if you’re still breathing?? nicomaki will be forever my top, it surpasses all my ships across the universe. I love you both my dumbass magnet 🩷❤️

imagine applying physics reference to your art

process (lots of skipped parts i forgot to save)

[bite-the-bloody-hand]

Knight Commander Grenzel 'Zell' Hellsing - 10 of Swords

This piece has been so much fun to work on. I've learned a lot of new techniques and rekindled my love of illustration with this; I'm very excited to see where things go from here.

I went back and forth on doing a tarot-inspired portrait for my Knight Commander, partially because I didn't want to lean too hard on my gamer roots as a Dragon Age fan, partially because making a Tarot piece feel like it hit the mark is HARD.

Eventually I decided not to go for any one specific style and just let myself feel things out as I went, playing around with texture and composition until I landed on what looked and felt good.

As such, this turned into more than just a 10 of Swords piece, rather something that represents the full suite of Swords as well as the narrative themes that follow this particular character. Betrayal, Loss, and Anxiety paired with Clarity, Inspiration, and Ambition. Meanwhile, hidden in the background are clusters of six arrowheads representing victory within creative problem-solving. They look something like trees among winding riverbeds or nature trails- a reminder of his nomadic lifestyle and formative times in the River Kingdoms.

The scarlet halo suffused with blue light, and the blue cloth stained with blood, represent the constantly warring nature of his ancestries as a Dhampir and a Celestial. Heaven's light draws him, but also burns him, as represented by Lariel's flaming blade. Desna's butterflies remind his desire for freedom and secretly dreamy, romantic nature.

I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I do! Now to find somewhere I can get this printed onto a blanket or something.