#and then carrying around and filling out a sketchbook

[omegamoo]

moo do you have tips on how to draw

oh god uhm. these are vague more mindset-based things, warning. u can look up tutorials for how to actually draw if that’s what ur looking for… i know that’s how i started drawing. but okay. sure let’s go:

draw what makes u happy for realsies!!! i am never motivated to draw if i don’t like what i’m drawing. also find materials that make you happy (what digital brushes you like, what traditional mediums your prefer) because motivation is higher if u like what ur working with ive found

study the world around you. this goes for everything. people and clothes and backgrounds and animals. you’re living in it right now! i like to look at what i’m wearing and draw jade in it. or like. reference pictures!!!!!! gives me something to go off of. traits + such. i really want to work on just. going outside and drawing trees. because i can just see them! and i suck at drawing trees which has got to be a fixable problem

don’t be afraid of messing up or creating something that looks “bad” because it’s impossible to create something truly bad + u r ur own worst critic. if you’re just starting out it’s not gonna be how you want it to be right away because that takes time. my art style is always always evolving i am always growing. practice practice practice draw everywhere. get used to the feeling of pencil in ur hand. draw fanart on math sheets when you’re bored (i promise u no one’s judging) carry around a sketchbook and draw when ur inspired if you like traditional doodles

on the other side of “don’t be scared” is be proud of urself when u make something you like… celebrate that!!! yay!!

drawing is legit my everything i think. some days i hâte what im drawing some days nothing works and that’s okay too though. i pour my heart on paper and that’s what’s important. to me

[rosenclaws]

Hi! 👋

I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if I could submit a request?

The reader is a shy artist who is a friend of Wades. She carries a sketchbook with her everywhere to sketch new pieces, but she doesn't show her work to people unless it's to Wade.

She and Worst!Logan become friends and slowly develop feelings for one another, but they won't say anything to each other because they think that the other wouldn't want them. Until Worst!Logan finds her sketchbook by accident and finds the book is filled with sketches of him. Worst!Logan confronts her about it, but she's a stuttering mess, and they end up confessing to each other. And please make it extra fluffy. Maybe throw in a kiss or a makeout session. Your choice lol.

Thank you and have a good day! 😊

Hidden Feelings and Hidden Sketches || Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

warnings: drinking, swearing, wade making suggestive comments, make out sesh towards the end, reader gets drunk and logan helps her out. Logan also calls the reader sketch. It got kinda suggestive at the end I apologize sldfjka

a/n: Hi!! This idea is adorable omg I love it, I hope it was fluffy enough for you I have to admit I'm not great at writing pure fluff. I also hope wade is funny because I am not funny so its hard to write his dialogue sometimes. I also altered the plot a little so i hope its okay

You never quite understood how you and Wade became friends. He was possibly the biggest extrovert you have ever met and you were the exact opposite. He saw you once at his favorite diner with your sketchbook and he jumped into the seat across from you.

Yapping on about your art and if you drew often and that he once tried to paint but the class didn't appreciate his art and asking if you'd paint him naked as a present for his girlfriend. Which you declined very quickly.

He wouldn't leave you alone, talking and asking you all sorts of things. You getting a few words in and him covering the other 98% of the conversation. He left with the promise of seeing you again and disappeared before you could say anything else.

It was an odd experience that's for sure but you liked Wade. Sure enough he kept coming back and a friendship had blossomed. He invited you over to dinner multiple times but you always declined, choosing to meet at the diner instead.

Slowly he got you out of your shell around him. Cracking jokes and sometimes putting him in his place when he went a little too far. You showed him your sketchbook after a while and he gushed over your drawings. Begging you to draw him at his best angles and you would sometimes give in.

When he disappeared for a while you got worried, that is until he showed up with a new dog and a very handsome new friend. You couldn't take your eyes off of him. Wade spotted you and waved but you didn't even notice.

"I know right, he's like a tall glass of rage filled water." Wade sighs as he sits across from you.

"I uh what?" You hug your sketchbook close to your chest as you rip your eyes away from Wade's new friend.

"Oh don't pretend like you weren't eye fucking him the second he walked in here, not that I blame you." Your eyes widen as you start to stutter. Your face heating up as you stare at the pancakes in front of you instead. A loud grunt catches your attention. You can barely meet his eyes as your brain is too busy being embarrassed by what Wade had said.

"You can sit on my lap angel cakes." Wade pats his leg but gets shoved to the side as his new friend sits down across from you.

"Logan this is my friend, be a good kitty and play nice." Logan rolls his eyes and chooses to ignore Wade. He does look at you though, burning a whole through your skull.

"Hi Logan," You say shyly.

"Hi." A few beats of silence pass until Wade breaks it as usual.

"Well aren't you two the life of the party, if you excuse me I have to go relieve myself." Wade stands up and instead of asking Logan to move, starts to climb over the man.

"What the fuck?!" Logan hisses as he grabs Wades shirt and tosses him to the ground. You can't help the laugh that escapes your mouth as your friend flops to the ground.

"So rude." Wade shakes his head and heads off to the bathroom. Silence falls once again as you awkwardly push around the pancakes on your plate.

"What's that?" Logan asks, nodding towards your sketchbook. You grab your book and shove it into your bag.

"Nothing! It's uh, just a sketchbook it's nothing don't worry about it." Logan raises an eyebrow as you panic in front of him.

As if you couldn't feel more embarrassed. You debate on waiting for wade or just leaving to save yourself but Logan makes the choice for you.

"You don't have to stay, not holding you hostage." He sips his coffee as you let out a shaky laugh.

"Not much of a talker." You play with your fork as you look up at Logan. He's much more handsome up close.

"Neither am I." He offers a small half smile and you return it. He's still incredibly intimidating but maybe you can stick it out a little longer. Logan's food comes and the two of you eat in a comfortable silence and when you're done you work up the courage if he'll be here tomorrow. He holds the door open for you as you step outside.

You clutch tightly onto the strap of your bag as you wait for his answer. He lights a cigar and you try and suppress your smile when he says he will be. As you part ways you realize that Wade never did come back from the bathroom.

That sneaky bastard.

-on

The diner uh, meetings as you called them, with Logan were amazing. His grumpy exterior was hard to crack but eventually the two of you started to become friends. Being with Logan started to become your favorite parts of the week. He was more than the tough guy persona he put on. What surprised you the most is that he seemed interested in you too. Well you know as friends.

Logan could appreciate someone who liked the quiet. He never pushed you out of your comfort zone, never made you feel uncomfortable. He was just Logan. Call it what you want but it was only a matter of time before you fell head over heels for that man. Not that you'd ever tell him.

How could you?

He's a superhero. He's gorgeous and grumpy and funny and so much more. All you do is draw silly pictures. So for now you settle on friends. Even if he makes your stomach turn with ever smile. Even if his laugh is the best thing you've ever heard. Friends. That's good enough for now.

-

"Wade Wilson I am going to kill you!" You say angrily.

He had texted you asking you to meet him for coffee and you had agreed solely because you never got the chance to scold him for his little dine and dash.

"Leaving me alone with a stranger!" You slap his hand as he tries to reach for your pastry.

"Ow! That was so five months ago! Anyways I was just trying to help. You know, relieve the sexual tension." You gasp as he makes a very lewd gesture with his hands.

"Besides, you and Logi bear are spending a lot of time together for just being friends huh Boo-Boo." Before you can stop him he reaches for your sketchbook. Keeping it just out of reach as he flips through the pages.

"Give it back!" You plead as you reach across the table.

"Oh. My. God. How come you never draw me this sexy?" He shows you the pages and you fall back into your seat in defeat.

You know what's in there and now Wade does too. Pages and pages of sketches of Logan. You feel like a stalker. It's not your fault! Ever since you met him he's all you can think about. All you can draw.

"Please give it back." You beg but he refuses.

"You'll get it back after you admit to Logan how you feel."

"What!" Your jaw drops as you make another lunge for your book.

"I am a very impatient man and I'm not about to wait another thousand words for the two of you to fuck." He stands up and tucks the book down his pants.

"Ew really?" You groan as you let your face fall into your hands.

"I'm having a get together and you're invited. Logan will be there it's the perfect opportunity." You feel like throwing up at the idea of talking to Logan about any of this.

Maybe you could just steal it back tonight. Or maybe you could never show your face to anyone ever again. Yah the second option sounds better. If only it was that simple. You waited for many anxiety filled hours, the only thing on your mind is getting your damn book back. You knock on the door and it swings open with Wade standing there, a stupid smile on his face.

"Honey badger at 4 o'clock." He hands you a drink and pushes you right towards him. You shoo him away, taking a deep breath and head towards Logan.

"Hi Logan," You say nervously.

"Didn't think these were really your thing." He says with a smile. You laugh nervously and nod your head.

"Yeah well...I thought he'd finally stop asking if I came to one of these things." You joke. Logan snorts and offers you the seat next to him.

"Good luck with that." You sit next to him and swirl around the ice in your drink.

If you're going to tell him then you're going to need a lot of help. Logan's eyes widen as you down your drink in one go, making a face before asking for another one. He's never seen you at a party, let alone drink.

"Why don't you take it easy there sketch."

"It's a party right, why not have a little fun." Logan keeps an eye on you as you drink and drink. As the night passes on he realizes that you might have had a little too much. You can barely get a sentence out by the time the party's over.

"Hi Logii!" Your arms slink around his neck as you stumble into him.

"Come on, let me take you home." He chuckles as he helps you to the door.

"Nooo, I needa get my uh..." You stop and think for a moment.

"My uhhh" Logan hums as he helps you to your apartment. You stay close to Logan as you walk through the night. He's just so warm and he smells so good.

"Got your keys?" You pat around for them and frown. Logan reaches into your bag and pulls them out.

"Right here." He unlocks your door and helps you to your bed. You sigh as your head hits your pillow.

"Oh! my sketchbook. Wade has my sketchbook." You say with a yawn.

"I'll get it back tomorrow, now sleep well." Logan takes off his jacket and lays it on you. He brushes your cheek gently. A soft smile on his face as he leaves you to sleep peacefully.

"Good night."

-

God your head hurt and the sun was way too bright. You crack your eyes open groan as you head pounds. What were you even thinking last night? You wanted your damn book back that's what you were thinking. A loud knock on your door makes you moan in pain. Getting up you swing open your door only to be met with Logan holding your book. Your face pales as you see a smirk on his face.

"Wade gave me back your book." You reach out for it but he holds it back.

"You're a real good artist sketch." To your horror he opens up your book and flips to one of its pages.

Right in front of you was a side profile sketch of Logan. It had been while you were at the park or something. The sun was hitting him perfectly, he had this content look on his face. You couldn't help but draw it when you got back home. To capture him in a moment where everything felt okay.

"I uh..I.." You don't know what to say. He caught you red handed. Your face is on fire from shame and embarrassment as he finally hands over your book. You can't even look at him.

"I'm sorry." You whisper. Shutting your eyes you hope he gets the hint and leaves, leaves you to wallow in pity.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry." He grabs your chin and tilts your head up.

"I'm flattered sketch. I think you really captured me pretty good." You still can't bring yourself to say anything as you hug your book tightly. You can't tell if he's making fun of you or what.

"This isn't funny Logan." You try and push his hand off you but his grip is strong.

"Not trying to be funny." He brushes his thumb over your lips.

"Logan..." Your eyes flick down to his lips and you know he catches you.

"Say it, come on don't be shy. Not with me." Sighing you dig your fingernails into your book.

"I love you." Your voice is barely above a whisper, eyes squeezing shut. You almost hope he doesn't hear it but of course he does.

He presses his lips to yours roughly. You drop your book in shock as you melt deep into his kiss. Wasting no time in kissing him back, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. He deepens the kiss as his hands fall to your sides. You pull away much to his disappointment, his lips chasing after yours for a moment.

"I love you too." He kisses your jaw lightly making you sigh.

"You know, those drawings were good but I think you got my lips wrong." You furrow you eyebrows, you thought you got his lips pretty good. After all you stared at them long enough to memorize them.

"Yeah sweetheart, think you need a lesson." He walks you back until you hit your couch.

"Get up close and personal." He winks as you bite your lip. How flustered can he make you?

"Then maybe you can show me more of those drawings."

Well, If it would help make your drawings more, accurate. Then who are you to say no?

"Okay." You run your hands along his arm as you look back up at him. Nerves and excitement swirling around your eyes.

"Don't worry sketch, I'm a pretty good teacher."

[melancholyhigh]

ARTWORK

ft. leon x artist!reader

synopsis. you're an artist, and leon's your muse.

content. 1.5k words. fluff, smut. nude painting, leon's pov, needy leon, praise kink, masturbation, handjob.

note. this was j supposed to be fluff but i got ahead of myself.

masterlist. i love your guy's feedback :3

“Paint me like one of your French girls.”

You laugh at Leon’s statement. He’s perched on the small, green couch in your home art studio, wearing nothing but his pink, fluffy robe as you prepare your oil paints. 

“You’re my first French girl, Leon.”

–-

You had suggested painting him nude while you were both in bed, lazing around. You’re in each other’s hold, Leon’s arms around your waist and face on your chest when he asks about any new projects you had in mind. 

He loves hearing about what art piece you were doing or planned to do. It was how you expressed yourself, whether there was a deeper meaning or none at all. He found it beautiful. Every work you do it had a bit of your personality in it. He could tell your work from thousands by the intricate details they carry. 

When you told Leon you wanted to paint him, he wasn’t too surprised. You mentioned he was your favourite thing to draw or think of when you had art block. The admission had left him sputtering, his face red as he tried to get his words out.

On the third date, you showed him your sketchbook, pages littered with drawings and portraits of him. Some were quick sketches, while other’s looked like you took time to get every detail of him. 

You’re always on my mind, Leon. You had confessed. Was it a little creepy? At that moment, flipping through the drawings of him, the attention to detail they held, he’d say it was romantic.

People have always said he was pretty as a picture, yet you’re the only one that makes his heart beat faster and his tummy fill with butterflies when you say he’s the type of gorgeous you’d find in a painting. 

“A nude painting,” you specify. It was as if you told Leon he was the object of your affection for the first time again. His head buries into your chest, trying to hide his flushed face. You smile at his sudden bashfulness. 

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, baby.” You run your fingers through his soft hair. “I want to try something new, but it’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“‘S fine, angel. But can’t you use a picture?”

“Where’s the fun in that, pretty boy.”

He groans, muffled by your shirt, and you giggle. 

He loves to please you — in more ways than one — and nothing compares to the smile that graces your face, so he agrees. It’s not like Leon’s uncomfortable with you looking at him bare and vulnerable. There were other problems he was worried would interrupt your craftwork. 

–-

Leon leans back into the couch, doing just as you instructed. His bare back hits the soft cushioning, and it’s surprisingly comfortable. 

His robe is off, on the floor next to your easel. He rests his chin on his hand, supported on the arm of the couch.

He’s nervous. You said it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but this almost feels more intimate than being intertwined with you in bed.

Maybe it’s the gaze you hold when you’re analysing him, grasping the compositions and layering basic shapes onto the canvas. 

He can’t help but think of when you told him he’s your favourite canvas to mark up. Sucking the reddish marks into his skin which turn the prettiest shade of purple, as you like to put it. Or when you said the colour on his cheek was your favourite shade of pink.

You always did like to rile him up, muttering the filthiest things to him in the most mundane setting, just like right now. 

“Spread your legs wider, Leon.” You mumble in a casual tone as if you don’t know the implications of your own words. You’re so engrossed with getting your work right you probably don’t.

It’s so fucking sexy seeing you in your element. Your brows pinched together, and your face serious with concentration. 

He obediently listens to you, parting his legs wide, and the problem he wishes wouldn’t happen is currently hardening between his thighs. You don’t notice, mixing paints to ensure it's the correct shade. 

You’re probably 30 minutes into painting, and he’s already hard. You said you’d take a while to finish, and he could tap out whenever he wants to, but he doesn’t want to disappoint. 

Finally, you’re looking up from the canvas and towards Leon. Your brows quirked up in surprise when trying to examine his features, studying the curve of his nose and the sharpness of his jawline to imitate on the canvas. His face is pink, the shade you know and adore so much. 

Your eyes trail down his body, his dick fully erect, slapping against his stomach. Your gaze is on his face again with a smirk on your lips.

He knows, you know, he’s rock-hard simply from the glances you take at him and the words you mutter. His lashes flutter, and he moves his hand to cover his face while the other is shamefully obscuring his cock.

“Be a good boy, and don’t move, Leon. I want to make sure everything looks good.” You say, and he thinks you aren’t going to acknowledge his 7-inch problem.  

“Oh, and make sure your pretty dick is hard for me, okay, baby?” You go back to your painting, trying to hide your smug expression.  

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his nerves, but he relents, going into position, not before giving his cock a firm squeeze. 

“Don’t cum too, okay? I want to be the one making you cry.”

A few hours pass, and Leon is on the verge of tears. He listened to what you said, only providing himself with enough stimulation to keep his cock hard but not enough to tip him over the edge into bliss. 

Precum leaks from the head down to the shaft. His dick is red and spent. He wants nothing more than for you to stop painting and make him cum.

“I’m almost done. You’ve been such a good boy for me, baby.” 

Your words are almost enough to make him spill his cum over the expensive fabric of your eccentric couch. 

You’re adding the finishing touches to the painting with each stroke, making sure you get the placement of each mole or freckle correct and each vein of his cock following to the tip right. 

You swear he belongs in a museum. No art can replicate how beautiful he truly is.

“I’m done.” You sigh, moving to get up to rid your skin of paint. 

After rinsing yourself off the paint, you make your way to Leon. You get comfortable in a seat on the couch right next to him. He’s breathing heavily in anticipation, looking up at you through his long lashes. Pretty, pink lips parted as pretty gasps left him. 

You cup his face, pressing your lips to his. The kiss is soft as you move your lips slowly in unison. He breathes out your name when you pull away. One of your hands moves to his throat, softly squeezing. Leon whimpers, his hands moving to hold your waist.

“Good job, baby. You didn’t cum once. I know it hurts, but I'm going to make you feel better,” you whisper, softly kissing his flushed forehead. 

Your hand moves to his pulsing cock, and gives it a soft squeeze, relishing the whine Leon lets out. Your touch sends goosebumps along his skin, and he plants his head into the crook of your neck. 

His hips eagerly buck into your hold. He’s practically sobbing into your neck, his soft hair tickling the underside of your jaw. You rest your chin on top of his head, smelling the fragrance of his shampoo. 

You thumb the slit on the tip of his cock, using his precum as a lubricant to start moving your hand back and forth on his shaft. 

You start at a slow pace. You don’t want Leon cumming quickly, wanting to enjoy every cry and whimper. 

The soft shlick noise of you jerking Leon’s cock fills the room with his desperate cries. He pulls back away from the crook of your neck, tears flowing down his blushing face.

“Please, please, please, g– go faster, angel. I’ve been such a good boy for you. Let me cum, please.”  He pleads, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. His hips rutted frantically into your palm. How could you deny your boy?

“Okay, pretty baby. Cum for me.” You say softly, picking up the pace of jerking him off.

He whimpers loudly, thighs quivering lightly as his orgasm crashes and hot spurts of his cum spill onto your hand. He’s panting, dazed with lust and staring at you with what seems like hearts in his eyes. 

“T- thank you, thank you, s’much.” Leon gasps like a broken record, and you think he’s fucked himself dumb with your hand.

You peck his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up so I can show you my favourite artwork yet.”

[withleeknow]

do you ever just think about pining best friend hyunjin?

hyunjin, who treasures his personal space and quality time with himself more than anything, but somehow, he never has a problem with it when you're the one in his bubble.

hyunjin, who can be sharp and witty but gets tongue-tied every time you so much as chuckle at one of his jokes.

hyunjin, who carries two umbrellas with him at all times because he knows you always forget yours, and you get sick easily if you get even a little bit of rain on you.

hyunjin, who can't remember his own address after 1.5 bottle of flavored soju (it's peach, btw) but can perfectly recite your go-to breakfast order from memory, fishing it out of the inebriated depths of his mind like invaluable wisdom. oat milk latte with a drizzle of caramel syrup. almond croissant stuffed with cream cheese and strawberries.

hyunjin, who sometimes forgets to breathe when he sees you wearing one of his sweatshirts.

hyunjin, who absolutely hates it whenever one of his housemates borrows his favorite shampoo. but you? oh, when the thief is you, he suddenly has no qualms at all. maybe he secretly wishes that you'd do it more often. do it whenever you stay over. do it every week. ask him to buy it for you so you can use it every day. if that means that you're walking around smelling like him? well, he certainly isn't opposed to that idea.

hyunjin, who thinks about your mango lip balm a lot more than a best friend should. and your strawberry one. and cherry. maybe the lip balms aren't the issue here.

hyunjin, who thinks he must be on the verge of a damn stroke when you intertwine your fingers with his and call him your boyfriend to ward off unwanted attention in public.

hyunjin, whose sketchbook is filled with drawings that other people would think are just random things he sees in his every day life. blue tote bags. night lights shaped like a toaster. gold bangle bracelets. whale mugs. beige claw clips. lemon cheesecake yogurt cups. in a way, they're right. these are just objects that he sees daily. but only he knows that they're miscellaneous reminders of you. your favorite accessories, favorite silly purchases, favorite desserts. all you. everything is you.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener

[anemos-orca]

The Harbingers Cat

Balladeer x neko!reader smut, MDNI

cw: smut, female reader, reader is the Balladeers loyal assistant, reader draws NSFW, humiliation, fantasizing, probably more qwq

Series Tag: #▪︎HarbingersCat

NSFW under "keep reading"

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Being the assistant (and a neko one at that) of the 6th Fatui Harbinger was not an easy job, but you couldnt deny how much you enjoyed your work. Despite how you sometimes slipped up or were given a shocking flick of electro for doodling on the job, working under the Balladeers direct command was, to say the least, fulfilling. He tasked you with medial jobs that were "below him" such as paperwork, greeting new cadets, and cleaning his workspace. You found pride in your work and were eager to please, each subtle word of praise murmured by your higher up fueling you into wanting more and more. It was such a rare thing that, whenever it did happen, it was like all your hard work paid off and you were rewarded with something worth more than mora itself- i mean, who gets praised by the Balladeer??

Scaramouche was amused by you and your strange willingness to do anything he asked. Sometimes he would make up a "job" so rediculous, it felt painfully obvious how fake it was- but still, you never questioned him. If for the sake of not having to sift through countless morons, Scaramouche could brush off your stupid little mistakes and your gross habit of doodling. Though, as time passed, he noticed that you were beginning to act... peculiarly. He would catch you mimicing his expressions, the way he walked, the way he talked- he couldnt deny how pathetically adorable it was. His little neko assistant bossing a cadet around just like how he would, only to turn around with a cute, satisfied smile (despite your efforts to contain the satisfaction of successfully copying your boss) like a kid who managed to learn how to make a sandwich just by watching their mom do it. He couldnt take you seriously, not with the way your fluffy little ears flinched away each time he snapped his fingers right next to them just to startle you. Not with how your tail would poof up in excitement at the most meaningless and fickle of things. Not with the way those stupidly expressive eyes of yours seemed to sparkle each time he would murmur the simplest of praises.

After even more time had passed, he would catch himself studying the little doodles you had made in days past- whenever you were being covered by some idiot who didnt know the first thing about being his assistant, they reminded him that he wouldnt have to deal with his medial tasks once you came back. He would never admit it, but he tended to be more annoyed with people on the days you were gone. He didnt understand the strange, relaxing effect you had on him, and it was irritating.

You werent a puppet like him, so being in lethally cold conditions all the time weakened your body just like it would any other mortal. Therefore, you were often given a couple days off every few weeks to recover. Scaramouche couldnt imagine what you could possibly be doing on the days you spent cooped up in your tiny room all alone, but he figured you just slept through it. Besides, mortal activities were not his concern.

However, that changed on the day you accidentally forgot your sketchbook in his office. You had already left- it was late and you finished filling out his paperwork for the day- but you didnt notice the precious item you left behind. Scaramouche knew how valuable it was to you, considering the fact that it was always in your little satchel and you never left it unattended, so it piqued his curiosity. Why was a sketchbook, of all things, your most valuable item? Such a stupid thing to do, to hold something so fragile and easily ruined at high value. Despite his subtle curiosity, he couldnt care less about what you did, owned, or carried, so he never demanded to inspect it. Though, given this perfect opportunity to quell his after-work boredom, he couldnt help but take a peek.

The Balladeer leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk with a relieved sigh, satisfied to have a moment of relaxation. He flipped the cover of your tattered sketchbook open and examined the first page, reading, "If lost, return to (y/n) at once. Inspection is strictly prohibited. Doing so will result in high punishment." He scoffed, imagining your stupid kitty ears flattening back in seriousness as you wrote. The first few pages after were filled with redundant doodles of the most random things- creatures, expressions, trees, a large amount of dogs and cats- but as he continued thumbing through, he began to see drawings of... himself? He narrowed his eyes and sat forward, raising a judgemental brow. They started out silly and cartoonish, but within the next few pages, he found well thought out, clean, almost realistic drawings of himself in quite the suggestive poses. He couldnt help but snicker, amused by the newfound knowledge of your apparent crush on him. The drawings of the next page were even more suggestive and lewd, but compared to what he flipped to after that, they seemed tame.

He had plans for that sketchbook. Imagining the mortified, humiliated, and impossibly embarrassed expressions youd make when he would reveal to you that he had seen the way you fantasized about his cock- the thoughts painted a sadistic smile across his face, and for the first time in a long time, he looked forward to starting a new day.

Scaramouches eyes widened and his amused expression grew as he laid eyes upon a completely pornographic drawing of himself that filled the entirety of the page- he was sitting in the very chair he sat in now, fisting his hardened cock, a scandalously pleasured expression spread over his face, and thick ropes of cum cascading over his desk. He had to admit, it was a good drawing, but all he could think about was the lustful expression and blushing cheeks you mustve had while creating such lewd art of your own boss. He wouldnt have guessed your massive crush on him even with your overly eager-to-please demeanor, only thinking his little neko assistant acted in such peculiar ways from vehement loyalty- and he found the idea to be rather entertaining. He finished flipping through your sketchbook, studying every nasty drawing you made of him and, in turn, began imagining his own dirty scenarios about making his secretly filthy assistant help him with more... physical tasks. It excited him, and he could feel his body heat up at the tought of it. Slyly chuckling to himself, the Balladeer shoved your sketchbook into the top drawer of his desk and left for the night, being sure to lock the door to his icy office so you couldnt sneak in and take back what was rightfully yours.

You, on the other hand, were not. The moment you set your satchel down in your little room, the lack of its familiar clunk sound due to your sketchbook being inside made your heart drop. You frantically searched every inch of your room, overturning and messing up every nook and cranny looking for that blasted sketchbook, but it was nowhere to be found. It was too late to go looking for it- it was past curfew, and if you were found snooping about, you would be punished and questioned. How could you possibly face another Fatui member and explain that, "Oh, im not being suspicious, dont worry! Im just desperately looking for my lost sketchbook that contains highly inappropriate art of the 6th Harbinger, my boss." You gulped hard, an overwhelming feeling of guilt creeping through your skin and into your bones as you remembered where it last was. His office. Your tail bristled and your mind began to race, panicing at the thought of what was going to happen tomorrow- surely he had seen it and flipped through the pages, infuriated that his stupid little kitty assistant was drawing porn of him. Was he going to kill you? Imprison you? Exile you to the fridgid wilds of your homeland? Archons, your heart had never beat so hard in your life. It felt like it was trying to escape your ribcage to run away and hide. However, no matter how much you stressed, there was nothing you could do except face the consequences of your actions in the morning. Your stupid, foolish actions.

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[veronicaphoenix]

until the stars stop shining | noah sebastian

previous part to all that's left, but it can be read as a one shot.

summary: noah and his girl spend an evening by the lake | words: 1.2k | reading time: 5mins

tags & trigger warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff. noah is an illustrator, reader loves baking cookies, mentions of noah having been reader's first, and that's it—they love each other a ton.

This is for the anon that asked for something sweet and fluffy after i posted All That's Left. I hope this does it. It's not actually a standalone work, but a sort of flashback belonging to the same story where All That's Left happens. I have a full plot developed in my head, but I can't tell if I'll ever write it and post it, so here goes this little thing where you get to know a little bit more of those characters and the story.

Thank you for all your constant love and support <3

 ͢ until the stars stop shining

Noah leaned back in the Muskoka chair, one leg lazily stretched out, balancing his sketchbook on his lap. He was shirtless, only wearing his bathing suit. For over an hour, he had been sketching, savoring the tranquil solitude offered by the lake, the warm caress of the late afternoon sun, and the rustling of leaves. Early fall was the perfect time for moments like this, when nature felt intimate and unhurried. Most of the tourists had long gone, leaving behind only the soft chorus of birds and the quiet murmur of waves licking the shore.

The breeze teased the pages of his sketchbook, carrying with it the crisp scent of pine needles and the rhythmic whisper of water against the rocks. Noah’s pencil glided in slow, thoughtful strokes as he tried to capture the scene before him, but his thoughts drifted constantly to his girl.

The door to the cottage creaked open right then, and she stepped outside. She carried a wooden tray filled with oat cinnamon cookies, their powdered sugar dusting glinting in the soft afternoon light. The sweet, comforting aroma mingled with the crisp air, making Noah smile to himself even without glancing back. 

She padded softly down the dock, her bare feet almost silent against the worn wood, and placed the tray on the armrest of his chair, her fingers grazing his shoulder in a brief, affectionate touch.

“I baked something,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar warmth. Of course she had. Baking was her favorite thing to do.  “Something sweet for my favorite artist.”

Noah grinned as he finally looked at her, his eyes catching on the spot of flour smeared across her nose. She had no idea it was there, and he decided not to tell her—she looked adorable like that.

“You need to refill your energy after working so hard for hours on end,” she pointed out as she glanced at the open sketchbook on his lap. 

Instead of reaching for a cookie, Noah broke off a small piece and gently brought it to her lips. Her smile widened as she took a bite, the sweetness melting on her tongue. A moment later, he let out a soft chuckle, reaching to brush a crumb off her lip with the pad of his thumb. His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before dropping back to his half-finished sketch.

“I’m not half as good at drawing as you are at baking,” he admitted.

She tilted her head, glancing at the sketch. “This one looks pretty good to me, Noah.”

He smirked, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Wait until you see the one I did last night, after you fell asleep on the couch.”

“Why do you find it so entertaining to draw me?”

His gaze softened as he looked back at her. “Because you’re my favorite subject.”

That’s when he bopped her nose, making the flour stain disappear.

Her grin was bright and effortless as she leaned over the back of his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck. She rested her chin on his shoulder, close enough to feel his warmth. “And you’re my favorite person to bake for,” she whispered.

Noah’s cheeks flushed slightly at her words, a rare blush coloring his usually composed expression. She kissed the warm skin of his left cheek, lingering for just a moment before pulling away with a satisfied smile. She wandered toward the edge of the dock, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden planks. She sat down, her legs hanging off the edge.

Noah watched her for a moment, admiring how the wind gently tousled her hair and the way the light danced off her skin. The contentment in her posture, the way her eyes reflected the colors of the setting sun—everything about this moment felt perfect.

“You ever gonna let me teach you how to swim?” Noah asked.

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the water before she responded quietly, “I don’t know... I’m still a bit scared of it.” She dipped her feet a little deeper, letting the cool water lap around her ankles. “But... I love being here. With you.”

The memory of that first visit just the two of them was vivid in both their minds. This was Jolly’s cottage, the same place where Noah and her had meet back when she was still fourteen and he was eighteen. They had spent countless of weekends and birthdays and fourths of July in this very same place. But nothing had been as special as the weekend Noah convinced Jolly to let him stay with her, alone. It had been six years since then, and even now, the memory of taking her virginity—in Jolly’s bed—was still as clear as water.  

Noah watched as the wind played with her hair, blowing soft strands across her face. He picked up his sketchbook again, unable to resist capturing her in this moment—the peacefulness, the effortless beauty. His pencil moved in quick, steady strokes as he sketched her sitting at the edge of the dock, her feet in the water, the sun casting an orange glow over the horizon. He knew that one day, he would marry this girl. There was no question in his mind.

Once satisfied with the drawing, Noah quietly set his sketchbook aside and rose from the chair. He walked over to her with slow, deliberate steps, his heart swelling as he took in the sight of her in this perfect, secluded spot. Without warning, he bent down, pretending to lift her by the underarms as if he were about to toss her into the water.

She yelped in surprise, her heart leaping as she felt her feet lift off the dock. “Noah!” 

Before she could fully react, Noah pulled her back into his arms, turning her around to face him. She clung to him, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her arms tightening around his neck, her pulse racing from the surprise.

“Don’t you dare!” she gasped, breathless from both fear and thrill, burying her face against his neck.

Noah laughed with her, holding her close, feeling her warm breath against his skin. “I wouldn’t let you go that easily,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Still holding her, Noah carried her over to the blanket they had left spread out on the dock earlier. He gently laid her down, her body sinking into the soft fabric, and then settled beside her. 

“Don’t you ever,” she started to say, “ever, let me drown, Noah Sebastian.”

“Never ever,” he promised, showing her his pinky finger. 

She laced it with hers and finally, she let out a heavy sigh and cuddled closer to him, nuzzing her cheek against his bare shoulder. 

They lay close, facing each other, their fingers lazily tracing along each other’s arms and faces. Neither spoke for a long while. Her fingers trailed down his chest while his hand rested lightly on her hip. Above them, the stars began to appear, one by one, until the sky was a dark, glittering canvas. The moon’s reflection shimmered on the water.

“How long will you love me?” Noah asked, his voice barely louder than the breeze.

She gazed at him, eyes warm and steady. She placed the most tender of kisses on his lips.

“Until the stars stop shining.”

[icyminghao]

boynextdoor as boyfriends

pairing: boynextdoor (ot6) x gn!reader genre: fluff, headcanon

requested by @yawnzzznnn! hope you like it :)

JAEHYUN

he’s such a little puppy

he’ll be running to you whining at every minor inconvenience (especially after the boys tease him)

wants you to protect him and wants to protect you too

the type of bf who walks on the side of the street nearest to the road bc he’s cheesy like that

you don’t have to lift a single finger with him around! he’ll do everything for you

lowkey gets jealous bc he wants you to focus on him and him only

overall a lovesick puppy who yearns for your attention 24/7

“y/n…” Jaehyun is tugging on your sleeve and whining as you talk to Taesan about Oasis.

You turn to Jaehyun, ruffling his hair affectionately. “What is it, Jae?”

“You’ve been talking to Taesan for one whole hour! You came over to spend time with me,” Jaehyun whines, pouting and glaring at Taesan. Reading the room, Taesan makes up some flimsy excuse and leaves, leaving the two of you alone in the living room.

“I’m sorry, big baby, I must have gotten too carried away! It’s not everyday you find another Oasis fan around our age, you know,” you giggle, pulling Jaehyun into a hug. “I’m all yours today, okay?”

SUNGHO

the partner privilege you get from him is insane

you could literally ask him for anything and he’d just smile softly at you and agree

values your opinion a lot

he got a new haircut? he needs to know what you think. can’t decide what to have for lunch? he’s asking you for ideas immediately.

overall a hopelessly in love bf who would do anything for you

bonus: he definitely has a sketchbook filled with drawings of you and you only

“Sungho, can I braid your hair?” you ask hesitantly, looking at him from where you’re sitting on the couch.

Sungho smiles softly. “Of course you can, love. Come here,”

That day, the boys come back to the dorms only to get the shock of their lives. In front of them is a dolled-up Sungho with barettes on both sides of his braided hair, and the boys look on in disbelief.

“No way, Sungho. I’ve been bugging you to let me do this for weeks, and you let y/n do it after they ask once? This is so unfair!” Riwoo whines.

Sungho simply shrugs. “Well, you’re not y/n.”

RIWOO

he’s sooo shy

wouldn’t initiate skinship first when y’all first start out, and when you do he literally malfunctions

he’s not really good with his words so he’d express his love for you through other stuff like acts of service or gifts

once he gets comfortable in the relationship, though, good luck getting rid of him

he’s never letting you out of sight (or out of arm’s reach) whenever possible

overall he’d be a really sweet shy bf™ who’s really attentive to your interests and pays attention to whatever you say even if it looks like he isn’t (somebody pls get me a riwoo)

“This place is amazing, Riwoo. We finally did it!” you exclaim, walking around your new house and reeling over the fact that you finally moved in with Riwoo.

“I know, right?” Riwoo smiles, following behind you.

Your hands brush over the walls of the bedroom. “I think we should add some personality to the rooms. What do you think about painting the walls?”

“Sure. We could paint it light green,” Riwoo agrees, looking around. Your eyes widen in shock.

“How did you know I’d want light green?” you ask, genuinely surprised.

Riwoo chuckles affectionately. “You showed me your dream bedroom once while we were playing We’re Not Really Strangers. I think it was a year and a half ago?”

TAESAN

i feel like quiet moments together would be your thing

dates would either be chilling at the park while you read and he plays the guitar or chilling at the dorms

he may not talk much, but quality time is his thing and he’d always make sure his attention is 100% focused on you whenever y’all are together

probably has multiple playlists dedicated to you

overall a quiet but super romantic bf

“What song do you want to listen to?” you ask as Taesan starts pulling out of his parking spot.

Taesan shrugs. “Just look through my playlists and see if there’s any that you like.”

Oh, shit. Taesan realises the implications of his words, and looks over for a second to see you scrolling through his Spotify.

Sure enough, you let out a sound of surprise. One that Taesan would have gone crazy for, but he’s panicking hard.

“Uh, it’s not what it looks like?” he says softly.

“Tae, all the songs in this playlist are all my favourites! That’s so cool, do we have the same music taste?” you exclaim, bewildered.

Taesan chuckles awkwardly, “Yeah, we’re really meant to be, huh?”

Maybe next time he’ll tell you about his uncountable playlists dedicated to you.

LEEHAN

affectionate bf™

he’s absolutely in awe at literally anything you do

you just made dinner? he’s so proud of you. you just lost a game of league of legends? it’s okay, he thought you did absolutely amazing.

would fall in love with you ten times more if you entertained his fish hobby

y’all are the cutest fish parents!

overall the cutest bf who literally loves you and everything you do

“Darling, can we get this angelfish?”

“Hannie, we already have five of those back at home,” you boop Leehan’s nose affectionately, “what if they get jealous of the new addition?”

“Come on, babe, they’d love a new friend! We can call him Angel,” Leehan shakes your shoulder, pouting.

“Angel the Sixth?”

Leehan smiles. “Angel the Sixth.”

WOONHAK

lights up whenever he sees you

i feel like he’d love to rest his head on your lap, too, and put your hand on top of his hair as a silent request for you to play with it (you do. everytime.)

whines when you remove your hand to do something else

he definitely talks about you to no end to the boys (much to their dismay), he just loves you so much

cannot last a minute without interacting with you in some way (physical contact if you’re in close proximity, through text if you’re not)

overall a golden retriever bf who loves you so much (good luck getting rid of him)

“Did you wish y/n a happy birthday?” Sungho asks as soon as Woonhak walks into the practice room.

“Yeah, of course I did! I wished them the moment the clock struck twelve. Wait, how do you know it’s their birthday today?” Woonhak furrows his eyebrows in confusion. You and Sungho don’t know each other, so how…?

“Of course I know their birthday,” Sungho chuckles, “You wouldn’t shut up about it no matter how many times we complained this past week.”

a/n: i hope y’all enjoyed this bc i had so much fun making this!!! ok i should stop getting sidetracked now i need to focus on knocking on heaven’s (your) door ><

masterlist

[introcoryo]

political science major!coriolanus, whose idea of a night of unwinding is reading a chapter of machiavelli’s ‘the prince’ with a glass of pinot noir in hand. well versed in debate, often dramatically pulling out notecards with bullet points on them as you argue over where to have dinner.

nursing major!sejanus, who is well liked and trusted amongst his peers and professors, being known for a tenderness that you can only find in bob ross painting demonstrations. you help him study by quizzing him until dawn, a kiss for every correct answer energizing him more than any red bull could.

music performance major!lucy gray, always carrying around a honey burst colored guitar, her fingers absentmindedly strumming the air as she walks. she refers to you as her muse, and soothes you to sleep on rough nights with a hushed lullaby specifically written with confessions of love whittled between lyrics.

fashion design major!tigris, who fills out sketchbooks and sketchbooks with extravagant designs she someday hopes will hit the runway. she has appointed herself as your personal stylist, and kisses your temple as she gets your measurements for custom-made pieces.

[estellan0vella]

Don't Bring The Kids To Work Older Brother Sukuna AU HFBU Pt1

Walking through the bustling streets, you hold onto Megumi's hand while Yuji skips alongside you, humming a cheerful tune. The midday sun is warm, casting a golden glow over everything. Your destination is just ahead: Sukuna's tattoo and piercing parlour, a place that's become a second home to you.

You open the door, the familiar chime signalling your arrival. The scent of antiseptic mixed with a hint of ink fills your nostrils, and you instantly feel at ease. The parlour is lively as always, with the hum of tattoo machines and low chatter creating a comforting background noise. Your plan today was to bring Yuji to the parlour so he'd stop asking questions about the wrestling incident from four days ago.

"Hey, Suku!" Yuji calls out, his voice full of excitement. He dashes towards Sukuna, who is leaning against the reception desk, talking to Toji and Geto. Sukuna looks up, a grin spreading across his face as he sees you and the kids.

"Hey, brat," Sukuna greets Yuji, ruffling his hair before his eyes find yours. "Hey, baby." His voice softens, and you can see the affection in his eyes.

"Hi, Kuna," you reply with a smile, walking over to him. Megumi, still holding your hand, looks up at Sukuna with wide eyes.

Toji smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Looks like the little one's tired," he comments, nodding towards Megumi.

"Yeah, he's had a long day," you reply, bending down to pick up the sleepy boy. He instantly curls up in your arms, his head resting against your shoulder.

"Why don't you two go sit on the couch?" Geto suggests, pointing to the comfortable-looking sofa in the corner of the parlour. "Megumi can take a nap, and you can relax."

You nod, grateful for the suggestion. "Thanks, Geto." 

You carry Megumi over to the couch and gently lay him down, his body stretched out on your lap. The parlour buzzes with its usual activity as you settle onto the couch, gently laying Megumi down on your lap.

His breathing evens out quickly, and you can feel his small body relax completely. Sukuna hands you your sketchbook with a wink, and you open it, immediately starting to doodle.

Yuji, never one to sit still for long, bounds over to Toji and Geto. "Hey, Toji! Hey, Geto!" he calls out, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Why do Suku and Y/N/N wrestle at night?"

Toji nearly spits out his drink, while Geto's face splits into a wide grin. "Wrestle, huh?" Geto muses, glancing over at Sukuna, who is now rubbing his temples in exasperation.

"Yeah! When I went into the room one time, they said they were wrestling," Yuji continues, unabashed as you stare at your sketchbook. "Sometimes I hear Y/N/N saying 'harder, harder,' and it sounds like Suku is hurting her. But she keeps asking for it!"

Toji is now outright cackling, his laughter echoing through the parlour. "Oh man, this kid is killing me," he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. Geto leans back, shaking his head with a broad grin on his face.

"Lord kill me now," You sigh.

Geto, still grinning, decides to chime in. "Yuji, when grown-ups say things like that, it's because they're playing a very private game. It's not something kids need to worry about."

Yuji seems to ponder this for a moment before coming up with another question. "But why does Y/N/N say it feels good, but then sometimes she tells Suku it's too big?"

Toji lets out another round of laughter, nearly falling out of his chair. "Kid, you're really something else."

You lift the still-sleeping Megumi into your arms, using his small body as a shield to hide your burning face. He wraps his arms around your neck, nuzzling into you sleepily. The warmth and weight of the little boy offer some comfort amidst the onslaught of Yuji's relentless questions.

Geto, equally entertained but trying to maintain a semblance of composure, adds, "Yuji, sometimes adults exaggerate when they're playing their games. It's all part of the fun."

Yuji, not entirely convinced, tilts his head. "But why does Suku tell Y/N/N to take it like a good girl? What is she taking?"

You can feel Sukuna's tension radiating as he rubs his temples more vigorously. "Yuji, we've told you—it's just a game for grown-ups. It's not something you need to understand right now."

"But if it's a game, why does it make so much noise?" Yuji presses on, his eyes wide and earnest.

Toji lets out another bellowing laugh, nearly sliding out of his chair. "Oh, this kid is gonna kill me! I've never laughed this hard in my life."

Geto, barely holding it together, shakes his head. "Yuji, some games are just noisy. It's part of the excitement."

Yuji pauses, considering this, before coming up with yet another question. "Okay, but why does (Y/N/N) sometimes say she can't take it anymore? And why does Suku tell her she can?"

Toji is now almost incoherent with laughter, his face red and eyes streaming with tears. "Oh, this is gold. Pure gold."

You clutch Megumi tighter, feeling his gentle, rhythmic breathing against your chest, wishing you could use him to disappear entirely. The mortification is palpable, but you can't help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"Yuji," Sukuna says, trying to keep his voice calm and steady despite the deep flush on his face, "sometimes people push each other to be better, to go further than they think they can. It's about encouragement."

Yuji's face lights up with understanding. "Oh, so it's like when you make me run faster during soccer practice because you know I can do it!"

Sukuna nods, grateful for the comparison. "Exactly. Just like that."

"But why does Y/N/N sometimes say 'more, more,' and then say 'no more'? Is it like when I want more ice cream but then my tummy hurts?"

Toji falls out of his chair, hitting the floor with a thud but still laughing hysterically. "I can't handle this kid! He's too much!"

Geto is barely holding himself together, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "Yuji, it's a bit like that, yes. Sometimes people think they want more of something but then realize they need to slow down."

Yuji nods solemnly, taking in the explanation. "Okay, I think I get it. But what does Suku mean when he tells Y/N/N to 'ride it'? Do they have a secret pony?"

Toji's laughter reaches a new volume, and he starts wheezing, completely losing it. "Oh, man! I can't breathe!"

Geto leans back, wiping tears from his eyes, struggling to keep his composure. "Yuji, that's just more of the same game talk. It's all part of the... encouragement."

You bury your face in Megumi's hair, trying to hide your burning cheeks. "Yuji, maybe it's time to ask different questions."

Yuji looks thoughtful. "Why does Suku sometimes tell you to scream his name?"

Toji is now rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach and gasping for air between peals of laughter. "This kid! I can't take it!"

"I'm going to kill myself," You mutter.

You're at your wit's end, trying to maintain some semblance of composure while Yuji continues to ask questions that push the boundaries of your embarrassment. Megumi stirs slightly in your arms, murmuring something in his sleep, oblivious to the chaos unfolding around him.

Toji is still on the floor, laughing so hard that he's practically gasping for air. Geto, though struggling to keep a straight face, attempts to offer an explanation. "Yuji, sometimes people use words to describe how much they like something. It's like saying something is really good."

Yuji nods, apparently satisfied with this answer for a moment. "Okay, but why does Suku say Y/N/N is tight?"

Toji's laughter reaches a new crescendo, his face turning red as he clutches his stomach. "Oh, my sides! I can't breathe!"

Geto shakes his head, still chuckling. "Yuji, it's... um, it's a compliment. Like saying someone is really strong."

You bury your face in Megumi's hair, hoping to disappear entirely. "Yuji, maybe we should talk about something else."

Yuji, undeterred, furrows his brow in thought. "But what does it mean when Suku tells Y/N/N to take it all?"

Toji lets out another burst of laughter, slapping his knee as he struggles to regain his breath. "Oh, Yuji, you're killing me!"

Sukuna, who has been remarkably patient throughout this ordeal, finally intervenes. "Yuji, why don't we talk about something different? Like your favourite snacks or games?"

Yuji considers this for a moment, seeming to weigh his options. "Okay, Suku. But one last thing—why does (Y/N/N) sometimes call you daddy?"

"Seizure, seizure, seizure," You chant, looking at the ceiling, hoping that a seizure will take you out of this misery as Toji howls with laughter.

Sukuna moves to stand behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders as you continue to mutter prayers under your breath.

"Maybe don't wish for a seizure?" Sukuna suggests, squeezing your shoulders.

"It seems like the only option right now," You mutter. "A lot less traumatic"

Sukuna's hands tighten on your shoulders as he glances down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of amusement and sympathy. "It's not that bad, babe. We'll get through it."

Yuji, still curious, looks up at Sukuna with wide eyes. "So, why does Y/N/N call you daddy?"

Sukuna sighs deeply, rubbing his temples with one hand. "Yuji, it's just a nickname. It's something special between grown-ups."

Toji, recovering from his bout of laughter, wipes away tears. "Oh, this is too good. You two are never going to live this down."

"Do you want to die?" You glare at Toji. 

Toji, still laughing, holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just enjoying the show. No harm done."

Geto smirks, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, you guys are providing top-tier entertainment today."

Sukuna shakes his head, giving you a reassuring squeeze. "Ignore them, babe. Let's get these kids fed."

You nod, lifting a still-drowsy Megumi into your arms as Sukuna takes Yuji's hand. "Alright, let's go get some burgers."

As you all head towards the door, Toji calls out, "Have fun, you guys! And Yuji, keep those questions coming."

Geto chuckles, adding, "Yeah, we need more laughs around here."

Yuji beams, clearly enjoying the attention. "Okay! I'll think of more questions for next time."

You groan inwardly but can't help but smile. "Please don't."

Outside, the sunlight feels warm on your skin, and the chaos of the tattoo parlour fades into the background. Yuji skips ahead, his boundless energy infectious, while Megumi rests his head on your shoulder, his small body relaxing against yours.

Sukuna walks beside you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist. "You okay, baby?"

You nod, leaning into him. "Yeah, just mortified. But I'll survive."

He chuckles, kissing your temple. "You handled it like a champ."

Yuji looks back at you, his eyes wide with excitement. "Are we getting burgers now?"

"Yes, Yuji," Sukuna says with a laugh. "Burgers it is."

You head to a nearby burger joint, a place that's become a place you frequent. The kids immediately perk up at the sight of the colourful play area inside. Yuji practically drags Sukuna to the counter, while you find a booth and settle Megumi down, his eyes already lighting up at the sight of the menu.

Once you're all seated with your food, Yuji starts firing off more questions, thankfully this time about his favourite superheroes and cartoons. The conversation is lively and fun, a stark contrast to the earlier embarrassment.

As the kids dive into their meals, Sukuna leans over, his voice low and filled with affection. "I love you, babe. Thanks for putting up with all of this."

You smile, your heart swelling with love. "I love you too, Kuna. And I wouldn't trade this chaos for anything."

Yuji, overhearing, grins widely. "I love you too, (Y/N/N) and Suku!"

Megumi, with his mouth full of burger, nods. "Love you."

Sukuna laughs, ruffling Yuji's hair and giving Megumi a fond look. "Love you too, brats."

As you all finish your meal, you can't help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Despite the embarrassing questions and the chaos that often surrounds your life with Sukuna and the kids, these moments of love and laughter make it all worthwhile. And as you walk out of the burger joint, hand in hand with Sukuna, with Yuji skipping ahead and Megumi drowsily resting on your shoulder, you know that there's no place you'd rather be.

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Will is good at making decisions.

It’s one of the only things he’s good at, actually. He can’t fight. He can’t control water or lightning or plants. He’s not as smart as Athena’s kids or as charming as Aphrodite’s. He is clumsy and soft-hearted and stubborn. But he is observant, he always has been, and he prides himself in his ability to think ahead. He keeps his infirmary stocked and his siblings on schedule. He reigns in head counsellor meetings and draws up binders and binders of files and projects — he is organised. He watches, he notices, he reflects, he prepares. He’s as impulsive as the rest of them, sure, but he has enough contingencies in place that he’s solid. A solid head on his shoulders, and he knows it — the head medic must.

So when he watches himself, horrified, diverge from his very detailed twenty-nine step process entitled The di Angelo Dilemma: Approaching Friendship like a Normal Person and ask Nico to come over, he considers the possibility that he has been possessed. Maybe the eidolons that fucked everything up the first time around have been crouching in dark corners, patiently awaiting the perfect time to strike and ruin Will’s life.

“See you then,” says Nico, rushing out the door, and Will smiles at him easily, watching him dash across the common, and then he sets aside the folder he’s updating, walks calmly out of the empty infirmary, nodding to Mr. D. as he passes, turns a corner in the hallway, slips into his favourite supply closet, sticks a chair under the door handle, clears his throat, and screams.

It’s one of those good screams, by design; he takes a good deep breath beforehand and lets the sound billow out of him, lets it scrape the sides of his throat raw and reverberate somewhere in the base of his skull. Were he not home in a camp that regularly makes use of lethal weaponry and deadly rivalry, entire armies would come running to his defense. As it is, he is left to fall to his knees and scream until he is hoarse, or until he hears a faint will you shut the fuck up! echo from around the vegetable gardens.

“Why me,” he croaks, giving in and collapsing to the floor.

It’s a nice floor, really. In between breakdowns he returns and decorates the place, sweeping up the dust and covering floors and surfaces with rugs and throw pillows. A guitar leans in the far corner for when his mother is thousands of miles away and he’s feeling sorry for himself. A photo album lives half-shoved under a shelf for when he is in need of punishing. His sketchbook remains in a constant state of almost-full under the one dusty window. (That one carries slightly less general despair.)

He is, upon reflection, somewhat of a disastrous person.

How fitting.

“Ugh,” he says out loud, to himself, and reaches for his guitar.

He has no intention of playing anything worthwhile. In fact he doesn’t even bother tuning it, not that he can very well anyway, and just strums random chords and riffs and yells over a string of flat discortants, at one point, filling the tiny room with noise ontop of noise ontop of noise until everything is gleefully stifling, like a mass of birds clouding the sun, like the thirteenth year of swarming cicadas, like the twentieth layer of July Texan heat. Until the mess is transferred from inside of his head to outside of it. Until he has committed so many musical sins that his father retreats from the sky a full forty minutes early.

“I feel you are at fault,” says Kayla, when he finally returns to their cabin. “For.” She gestures vaguely at The Outdoors.

“Hnnngh,” responds Will, taking three steps and tipping, gracelessly, onto Austin’s bunk, nearly bouncing right off of it. He catches himself, barely, and presses hard into the pillow, curling when his brother makes space for him, when his sister sighs, deliberately loud, and presses her knee into his thigh as she climbs up, too.

“This is your own fault,” Kayla grumbles. Her bony shoulders settle along the dips of his ribs, next to Austin’s thin ankles. “You could talk about things before they blow up in your face, but nooooooo. You run around doing everything yourself. Moron.”

Will swipes the heel of his hand under his eyes, throat garbling a weird snort-laugh-sniffle. Those bony shoulders tip to the side, slowly, until she curls under his chin, dragging Austin down with her. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Sh-h,” Austin says, patting blindly until his palm finds Will’s face, then patting deliberately. His knees press against Will’s, now, forehead inches away, barely clinging onto the too-narrow mattress. “Quiet town now. Reflect in your foolishness.”

“So mean.”

Years ago, exactly how many Will refuses to count, this exact scenario would be met by lots and lots of teasing, by pinched cheeks and cuffed shoulders and a forehead kissed several times over. There would be at least six instruments played at once, a camera flash the second he walked in the door pouting, and more lights on that would ever be necessary. An oft-repeated and never-resolved debate, probably; you coddle him, Cass; oh, shut up, Michael, he’s little. The scent of woodgrain and antiseptic and vanilla. A thousand other details he never thought to memorize.

Now there is quiet, or at least more of it.

Kayla hums, notes muffled as she gnaws on her lip, and Austin’s socked feet tap against the blankets, mapping out the tune playing out in his far-away eyes. The last final glow of the horizon turns red, then orange, then violet, sinking into dark navy blue, and their aunt blinks her way into focus, stretching widely across the thin wisping clouds. The fairy lights wrapped around the pillars and ceiling beams blink alongside the stars, chatting away to each other, and the breeze from the window is soft and warm and almost as sweet as southern jasmine. There is a pit in the dead centre of Will’s chest, and he is afraid Kayla will fall into it, and then Austin; afraid they will succumb to his gaping maw.

“What if I ruin absolutely everything,” he says. He swallows, and then again, and again, because his throat is dry, escape for the burning trails mapping the his face from corner of his eye to mouth. “What if I — scare. Am. What if I’m the reason, again.”

Diana snorts. You are such a drama queen.

And that’s coming from this theatre, Lee adds, gesturing grandly to the gold pillars of the cabin. You’ll be fine, kid.

A chorus of agreements from the rest of the occupied bunks; Kate’s encouraging grin, Leanna’s fond hair ruffle as she dances past, Amir’s wink.

Will smiles and blinks back and he is gone, and Michael’s scowl disappears, and Kate and Phoebe’s laughter fades from the background. The cabin is quiet, shadowy; Austin and Kayla breathe quietly, swallow silently.

“I don’t know,” Kayla admits. “You — could be. Again.”

Will squeezes his eyes shut. He begs for Lee to go back to his sleep for the night. He inhales around the shake and inhales and inhales and inhales and feels the vacuum dead centre in his body, like from navel to spin, twisting, tubing, sucking; take, take, take, take. Can I, can I, can I. I want. Please. Let me have.

“I’m not sure it’s better not to try, though.” Austin’s hands curl around Will’s palm. “Right? You always say to — try. Do your best.”

A smile curls up the corner of Will’s mouth.

“I do.”

“And you did try.”

“I did.”

“Did it fail?”

Will flicks down to meet Kayla’s eyes, squinting one and tucking his chin.

“I asked to come over.”

“Oh, well — okay, Marilyn Monroe. Like that’s a new thing.”

“For no reason.”

“…Oh.”

“I could go on the sand rant, Kayla. I’m like a sleeper agent. As soon as he says it, I’ll — you know.”

Austin shifts, frowning thoughtfully. “I mean, he kind of already knows you’re weird.”

“Not this weird!”

“I think everyone knows you’re weird, actually,” Kayla adds. She wiggles, squirming and elbowing until she is half-perched on the fleshy part of Will’s waist, ignoring his wheezing. “Being a nerd dork loser is kind of your whole thing.”

“It is not!”

“You have binders dedicated to people, Will.”

“That’s not bad!”

“Specifically on how to best socialize with them, Will.”

“That’s — thoughtful!”

“…Sometimes being related to you is hard.”

“I am! Collecting data! To better my relationships! What is the issue!”

Austin and Kayla exchange a meaningful look — which does not, Will is relatively certain, usually involve putting your entire palm on your brother’s face and shoving it so it cannot be seen. Kayla.

“You’re doomed to fail,” they decide. And then they kick him off the bed, which is rude, but he is weak to their giggling, and it’s bedtime for them, anyways.

As per his carefully outlined routine they are sent to the showers and sinks, back in half an hour, bickering. As per his less carefully outlined but nonetheless regularly present routine they are separated physically from each other and shoved to seperate bunks. As per his most carefully outlined routine, he follows them each, ignoring their complaints, and presses the back of his hand to each forehead, closing his eyes as he lets his life force bleed into theirs, mixing, checking, making sure.

“We’re fine,” Kayla grumbles.

“Shut up and cough,” Will orders.

Austin gives him less trouble. Will makes a show of thanking him for it. Kayla throws her extra pillow. Will takes it, placing it on his own bed. It is silent after he says goodnight, silent as he clicks off the light, gathers his caddy, pads to the door.

“Goodnight,” whispers a voice, half hidden by the creak of the screen door as he opens it.

“Goodnight,” whispers another, half hidden by the cream of the screen door as he closes it.

“Goodnight,” Will repeats, grinning. “Sleep well, kiddos.”

They grumble, and their bedsprings groan as they turn away, mimicking the grate of the rickety porch steps. That, at least, is familiar; that at least matches the echoes that bounce around the walls of the cabin and the inside of his skull.

———

next

[hey-august]

Word count: Just under 1k Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, mentions of masturbation, sex, and oral.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Buggy who is surprisingly good at drawing.

Buggy who doodles all the time. Ugly little caricatures of people who piss him off. Goofy scribbles of bits that make him laugh. Potential skits. 

Buggy who scrawls on the margins of paper, the corner of napkins, anywhere he can relieve the itch in his hands.

Buggy who designs costumes for his crew. Colored pencils and oil pastels bring the flashy couture to life.

Buggy who carries a small sketchbook in his coat. Deckle edged paper wrapped in leather, perfect for practicing pencil sketches and graphite drawings as he observes the crew.

Buggy who doesn’t share the drawings in his sketchbook, though. Some had to learn the hard way not to look over his shoulder.

Buggy who realizes too late that you are overtaking his personal pages. What started as small forms to study pose and movement grew larger, capturing more of your essence.

Buggy who becomes obsessed with capturing the small details. How your nose crinkles when you laugh. The sneer in your lips when you’re pissed. The way you rake your fingers through your hair when you try to calm yourself.

Buggy who gets curious late one night. Curious and desperate.

Buggy who draws you from memory and fueled by his filthy imagination. The soft sound of pencil scraping along the paper is comforting.

Buggy who fills a page with you in compromising positions. The lewd expressions you might wear. What he thinks you’d look like split on his cock. Or mouth open, begging to have your face fucked. His hands gripping your plush thighs.

Buggy who fucks himself to the hand-drawn porn and cums all over the page.

Buggy who feels guilty and burns the soggy drawings, as best he can. It takes a few frustrating tries and he panics, even though no one is around.

Buggy who tries to ignore those feelings. Trying to draw anything except you. But everything looks like shit now. Proportions are off. He presses too hard when sketching, unable to erase the stark lines. Even his doodles lack life.

Buggy who gives in and scribbles you in the corner of his sketchbook before moving on to something else. And it works. His movements flow better. A weight is lifted off his chest.

Buggy who eventually caves to the nighttime muse once more. Filling another perverted page with the obscene images flooding his mind. This time, he doesn’t ruin the drawings with jizz or fire.

Buggy who revisits that page frequently. Adds to that page. Convinces himself that it’s okay, it’s not hurting anyone. In fact, it helps him by taking away other urges.

Buggy who eventually manages to misplace his sketchbook. He fucking lost it.

Buggy who doesn’t want to bring attention to his lost treasure. If he says it’s missing, some freaks might find it and look through the pages. They’ll realize what a pathetic loser he is.

Buggy who frantically retraces his footsteps, barking orders to keep everyone away from him. 

Buggy who finally finds it in the hallway just outside his room. The book must have fallen out of his pocket and laid mostly out of sight with the brown leather blending into the wooden floor.

Buggy who is relieved. It doesn’t look like the book had been touched or moved. Even the leather string is still wound around the sketchbook tightly.

Buggy who needs to get back to other duties after sloughing them off most of the day. He’s still on edge, reading into everyone’s interactions. No one acts differently, adding to the relief that no one knows about his perversions.

Buggy who doesn’t open the sketchbook until the end of a very long day. Who waits until he’s alone and in his room.

Buggy whose stomach lurches at the note peeking out of one of the pages. A page devoted to your smile. A note with your handwriting. “This is so impressive! I look so happy”

Buggy who slams the sketchbook shut and starts to pace around the room. Fuck. Did you find it first? Did you look through it? Why? What else did you see? What else did you see?

Buggy who freezes at the thought. Who stares at the awful book, as if it would pipe up and tell him in a fluttery voice.

Buggy who grabs the book and roughly throws it into a drawer, ready to lock up his feelings. Ready to deal with his unhealthy actions with more unhealthy actions.

Buggy who tries to go to bed but can’t sleep. He lays in bed surrounded by a carousel of thoughts. Of fear. And anxiety.

Buggy who sends over a hand to retrieve the damn book. He has to know. He’ll die if he doesn’t find out.

Buggy who can feel his hands shake with each heartbeat as he thumbs through the book, looking for more notes.

Buggy who feels both calmed and excited as he finds your commentary on a few more innocuous pages. Praises for his skill and appreciation for scenes he captured.

Buggy who finally flips to the page. That one.

Buggy who’s afraid to read the note you left there. But he does. “Want to collaborate one day?”

Buggy whose stomach and heart are in knots. 

Buggy who keeps reading. “I’d like to see what you look like too.”

Buggy who shows up at your door, panting and red faced. Sketchbook in hand.

Buggy who trails his fingers along your face as he fucks into you, commiting each detail to memory. The shape of your mouth with each moan. Your lust-filled eyes. The little teeth marks left after you bite your lips.

Buggy who can’t help but stare at your sex-tired body. Chest heaving. Glistening.

Buggy who still wants to taste you. To taste himself on you. Who uses his mouth and tongue to memorize more of your body.

Buggy who is surprisingly good at drawing and collaborating.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

A/N: Just want to highlight this line bc I love it "This time, he doesn’t ruin the drawings with jizz or fire."

[storm-angel989]

Valentino x Reader (He Always Keeps His Promises)

I honestly can't remember if I posted this or not so apologies if there is a double post!

I snuggled against Valentino in our bed and closed my eyes. Tiredness, exhaustion. All of those things that came with working on my feet all day. Heck, if I was being honest, I was exhausted even on my day off.  The last thing I wanted to do was get up out of bed, but Valentino felt otherwise. 

He sighed and ran a hand through my hair, tucking back a stray strand. When he walked into our bedroom after coming home from work, he wasn’t surprised to find me in the same position he left me in- sprawled out, remote in hand, laptop propped on a pillow, sketchbook and table on the night table. 

“Princessa. Come on now, you need to get up. You need to eat. Even a little something,” he said as lightly as he could. “Come on now.”

“Sleepy!” I whined and snuggled into him. “No. Too Sleepy.”

“Princessa.”

There it was. The warning tone that made my stomach drop in both excitement and fear. 

“What was the last thing you had to eat today?” He cupped my chin and forced me to look into his eyes. 

I hesitated. “Uhm. I had a few chips. Pancakes- Vox made them and brought me one.”

“And what time was that?”

“I don’t know!” I whined. 

“Then up you go.”

His arms wrapped around me and yanked me from my cocoon of blankets. I whined again and was rewarded with a sharp grab on the ass. 

“Princessa,” he said sharply as he carried me out to the kitchen. “Behave.”

“You pulled me out of my blankets, and now you’re making me eat. I have every right to whine,” I protested. 

“Quit being a brat and sit pretty for me,” he said sharply as his hand caressed my bottom before he sat me on the counter. “You need to eat, otherwise you won’t have energy for the rest of the activities I have planned for tonight.”

I hung my arms around his neck. “Val, I don’t need food, but those activities…”

“Won’t happen if you don’t eat, mi amore. I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but our bodies need energy. And we get that energy from food. And…”

“And Vox gave me the whole talk already,” I grumbled. I tried my best to mimic his words as sarcastically as I could. “Food goes in our tummies and makes us feel good!” 

“See? You understand the concept already,” Valentino replied as he added pasta to the boiling water. 

I heard him mutter something I couldn’t quite catch.

“Whatcha making anyway?” I asked, leaning over to see if I could sneak a peek. I reached over as if to stir the contents of one of the pots on the stove. 

He swatted my hand away. “It’s a surprise, princessa. Now tell me about your day.”

As we chatted, the amazing scent of my favorite pasta sauce began to fill the air. Valentino’s speciality. I felt my belly rumble and he turned and gave me a grin.

“Are we still going to insist we’re not hungry?” He asked teasingly. He stirred the cast iron pot with a wooden spoon. He scooped up just  a bit on the tip and blew on it before pressing it to my lips. “Open, princessa. What do you think?”

Flavor exploded on my tongue. Sweet, spicy, and absolute perfection.

“Amazing, as always Val,” I replied. “When will it be done?”

“Glad to see you found your appetite,” he replied. “Give me just a moment.”

I watched as he created a plate- salad, pasta, homemade sauce. From the oven came a few slices of garlic bread- made from the leftover Italian bakery bread. Four of my absolute favorite things. He leaned over and kissed my forehead as he handed me the full dish. 

“Eat every bite, mi amore,” he said with a dangerous grin. “And I promise you you’ll be rewarded.”

I felt a shiver run though my entire body, a mix between a jolt of desire and anticipation. After all, Valentino never broke his promises.

[raven-cincaide]

 Pumpkin Carving Contest 

Summary: You enter a pumpkin carving contest without knowing what to carve. In panic you settle for one of Megumi’s shikigami, without much thought behind the choice. In fact, you don’t think much of it…. until your Ex shows up, wanting to know what the hell you thought you were doing.

Pairing: Fem! Reader x (ex) Megumi Fushuguro  Sweetober prompt 3: Pumpkin carving contest  WC: 3.1 K Warnings: Cursing, hurt/comfort, hint at Megumi’s trauma, 

Think of something scary 

You stared at the unusually shaped pumpkin in front of you, your head rested in the palm of your hand while the second free hand nervously flickered through the drawings in your sketchbook. You had given up on trying to design something new and were desperately seeing if any of your previous ideas or sketches could be adapted to fit the pumpkin, which was significantly less jack-o-lantern round than what you were used to. No, it was relatively flat, and oval shaped like a cabbage with a long, thick stem.  

When you signed up for the carving competition and picked out your pumpkin, there were only a handful of pumpkins left to pick from.  All the perfectly round pumpkins and even the more classic, slightly dented ones were taken, leaving behind either abnormally large or significantly deformed ones. In sheer panic, you picked the first pumpkin you saw and stuck with that choice even as the competition administrator checked with you three times to see if he understood you currently. Knowing you were fucked either way, you stuck with your choice. 

This led you to the predicament you were in, sitting on the picnic bench at the event, silently staring at your notebook with the same cheap plastic carving tools that everyone else had. Yours however were untouched, while all around you laid the same tools in various shapes of destroyed. The sound of cracking pumpkins, curses and scraping of insides filled the space all around you. Most of the other competitors were well on the way with their creatuons and would surely be done within the designated three hours. You hadn’t even set on the design, let alone started carving. You may as well count your losses, although you weren’t ready to give up completely. 

What’s even scary to people? 

Three years ago that question would have an obvious answer to you. After being hunted by curses, dating Megumi and being around his Shinigami, the answer was less clear. What was a ghost or a spider in comparison to a house-sized snarling monster? What were bloody handprints when you had seen Megumi’s almost cut off fingers, and claw-sized chunks of missing flesh out of him? What were fake vampires when you had run in with s real soul sucker and lived!? 

You cut off your trail of thoughts as your eyes landed on a competitor's pumpkin that was chiselled out of human-like teeth to accompany the perfectly round Jack-o-Lantern eyes. You didn’t necessarily find it scary, a bit unnerving as your thoughts drifted to the impossible possibility of the pumpkin coming to life. Would it be scary then, or are just the human-like teeth.. Scary? 

Instantly, your mind brought up an image of a creature you had only ever seen once over a year ago. Large owl-like body with dirty orange feathers, huge talons that could carry or shred and a pair of wings. The face was a white mask with eerie human features and human-like teeth. Megumi had called the shinigami ‘Nue’ when he taught you how to make shadow puppets one late afternoon. You had been so excited to learn, doing your best to wiggle your fingers to mimic the shapes he was doing like second nature—dog, bunny and then bird. And even if you’d never be able to summon the magnificent creatures he could, the simple thing made you feel closer to Megumi. More connected. And you’d always make the sign for the ‘dog’ whenever you felt lonely. The memory brought a stab of pain to your heart, and you shook your head, desperate to chase away the pleasant-unpleasant reminders of your ex. Instead you forced your focus back to the pumpkin in front of you

Was Nue scary?

You tried to think back to what you felt when the owl-like beast had appeared. Was it fear you felt? Or just pure excitement as you got to ruffle its huge feathers all you wanted. Yet as time ticked away- and with no better alternative at hand- you sketched the design of the shinigami from memory and began to chisel away at your pumpkin. Using the pumpkin's naturally flattened shape as a guide for Nue’s wings, you carved them to stretch behind its main face, as though the shikigami was in mid-flight. The central focus was the face; the large eyes and the toothy mask clasped, teeth bared so every single one of them was visible. You also split the thick stem of the pumpkin and tried to shape it and hack at it to make Nue’s signature ruffle feathers at the top of his head. You didn’t think it would save your creation, but maybe you would get a little above zero points, 

Maybe even a participation trophy AND creativity trophy. 

Those were your thoughts as you submitted the pumpkin and your number to the contestant before going to wash up and then purposefully forgetting all about it, Nue, Megumi and the competition entirely. There was no point in walking around stressing about a sure loss and questioning whether you had picked the right subject for the right category. Nue wasn’t scary, and even if you tried to make him malicious, you doubted he would stand a chance against seasoned pumpkin carvers. Besides the winner would be announced a week later, at the end of the fall festival giving people, both locals and those from larger towns around, ample time to vote and photograph the dozens of pumpkins. 

The unmistakable highlight of the local newspaper. After all a pumpkin carving contest was the most exciting thing that happened in a small town over an hour from the capital.

By the time Sunday the following week rolled around, you had completely forgotten that you had used Nue as the subject for your pumpkin. You pushed back the memories of carving the creature into the orangy flesh, and the sentimental feelings that wanted to spill to the surface while you carved. You were the same as the way you had been since your and Megumi’s break up; controlled, collected, unbothered. 

Moved on. 

It was a lie, internally you were a total fucking mess who still couldn’t understand why after five years together Megumi decided to call it off. Even being months apart didn’t make it any clearer to you. And it certainly didn’t make it any clearer, or easier, when you saw Megumi standing by the podium where the three winning pumpkins were placed on stands of different heights. His hands in his pockets, face angled up towards the carved creations, eyes focused on the winner: the unmistakable carving of Nue taking flight. 

You must have been imagining things, and your cruel mind was playing tricks on you. He wasn’t there, and you hadn’t won the entire competition- had you? Yet as you stumbled closer and closer, you came to the unmistakable realization that both of those things were true. You won. The honour, a set of carving knives and a small cash price were yours to collect before the end of the day. You won, with Nue, and Megumi was here, staring at the same carving of Nue that you were. He didn’t turn around and leave the second you appeared like he had done whenever he ran into you post-breakup. He stood rooted in place, and so did you, staring at the same damn pumpkin as the rest of the world faded into the background.  

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Megumi’s voice sounded tired and frustrated as if you had done the stupidest thing in the world. It was the same tone he had used with you whenever a date turned into a mission and you threw a rock at a cursed spirit to give Megumi enough time to summon his demon dogs. 

“What?” You snapped back, your voice holding nothing but pure anger. Three months apart, and this was the greeting he gave you, after five years together? Although it served to enrage you, the tiny part of you that still loved this man beyond all words rang warning bells. Plus the annoying bells in your mind told you that something didn’t quite add up.  

“Don’t ‘what’ me” Megumi turned to face you, pure fury in his expression. “You have no idea the kind of danger you put yourself in by announcing your connection to me, and after everything-” He cut himself off and shook his head as if it wasn’t worth explaining what he meant and settle for a tamer “- you pull this type of stunt!” 

You faced him, your mouth set into a straight line so hard your lips were pale while you clutched your fists tightly to prevent yourself from snapping or slapping him for telling you how to lead your life, especially while he still talked in riddles. A deep breath, inhale in- exhale out. You did your best to stay calm, your mind completely focused on that annoying ringing voice that demanded answers, “‘This stunt’ What the hell is your issue anyway? We’re not a couple, I can do and carve whoever I want now” Your voice came out huffier and more bitter than you intended. Megumi narrowed his eyes at you. “Don’t be an idiot, especially after all the hoops and sacrifices I made to keep you safe-?” “-You made?-”  Megumi ignored your outburst and kept talking: “- and instead of quietly going on to live your best life, you’re practically screaming to the entire jujutsu society that you’re involved in our world, with me. You’re putting a target on your back, and I can’t keep you safe.” Megumi took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, a desperate attempt to distract you and anyone who looked at him from the obviously embarrassed blush on his face. 

You were quiet for a long moment, processing both what he was saying and everything he wasn’t saying, the subtitles that Megumi bore, which he didn’t want you to know about. The things that were part of his world, his reality and which he refused to let you enter even after dating for five years. Although to your advantage, five years was a long time to get to know someone, even as close off and aloof as Megumi. You wouldn’t say you read him like an open book, but you were as close as anyone to being able to read Megumi like an open book. 

 “Then get stronger, ” you said it so casually that it was Megumi’s turn to snort. But now it's you who’s not letting him get a word in; “Let’s face it, Yuji’s just proposed to his girlfriend who can’t even see curses or cursed energy-” 

“ -It’s different” Megumi snapped, his tone grew louder and more frustrated- loud enough to silence you mid-sentence.  Again he ran his hand through his hair as if it could calm his rage. “Yuji doesn’t have one of the three most powerful jujutsu clans demanding him to be their next clan head.” 

You raised an eyebrow at his excuse, your expression unconvinced. “You also don’t want to be part of Zenin”, you shot back instantly.

Megumi didn’t look at you. “It’s not that easy. If I leave, they’ll target you...” he trailed off unsure how to continue. 

It took you all of three minutes to gather yourself, your fingers moving from crossed arms to pressing against your temple in a more subtle facepalm - slash - combatting -the -oncoming -headache look.

“So let me get this straight Megumi,” You utter the words slowly, making it clear you were trying to follow his not-so-logical trail of thoughts. “You broke up with me because what? Yuji proposed to his girlfriend of 2 years, and it made you feel less of a man-” Megumi shot you a dark glare which you promptly ignored “- because for you to do the same, you’d need to break things off with Zenin clan which might take years, you think they’ll target me and think I will betray you-” 

-” I don’t think you will betray me”, he added hastily, and you threw your hands up in the air in surrender. 

“Then what, Megumi? Why did you throw five years out of the window? Then chastise me for carving Nue into a pumpkin. Make it make sense, please!” 

You were desperate now. 

You were desperate to understand his reasoning because his behaviour was the definition of contradictions and illogical. To push you away and coldly break up with you, yet so obviously still care about you and your safety. 

No, the Megumi that stood in front of you at that moment, frustrated and embarrassed, was the polar opposite of the aloof and composed, slightly awkward yet always well-prepared Megumi you’ve come to know and love. You needed to understand why. But he didn’t give you an answer, not verbally, at least. Instead, his eyes flickered down to your stomach, and lingered there for a long moment before they returned to your face. Your mind registered the action and tried to process it step by step. You weren’t pregnant; you two had never even talked about children until he suddenly hinted at it. So why would he suddenly fixate himself with that? 

A look of shame crossed his features; Megumi licked his dry lips, his fists shaking in his pockets. The penny dropped as you realised it wasn’t logic speaking but trauma, an irrational fear that if you were to settle down and get pregnant, then, you, who would automatically get primary childcare- if not by being a mother, then certainly with his long absences as a sorcerer-, would be swayed by Zenin the same way his own father had been.

 Megumi worried you’d sell your future children to the godforsaken clan while he would be helpless to stop it, tying him right back to the Zenin’s. A repeat of what he’d been through.

“You’re afraid.” it felt weird to say it aloud. Megumi has always been strong and always denied being afraid of anything, but now you knew he was afraid; afraid that his clan would somehow turn his and your life into a misfortune, a repeat of his father, Toji’s, life. A pain for you, a horror for him and a torture for whatever offsprings you two made. 

“I don’t want to waste your prime” Megumi’s voice was quiet now, rendered with guilt and the inevitable comparison he was making between your relationship and Yuji and his fiancee. The pair who was already settling down two years into their relationship, while you and Megumi had broken up at the five-year mark. Broke up over a hypothetical ‘getting more involved with each other’ and even more hypothetical children and what would happen if Zenin got involved in your lives. 

“This is so stupid” You breathed, pressing the backs of your hands against your eyes. You didn’t know whether you wanted to burst out crying or laughing. It was like a bad comedy sketch. “First, would you say it’d be a waste of ‘our prime’ if we can’t have children?” You look up from your hands to see Megumi staring at you with a deadpan expression. “No, I’m serious, just consider for a moment that we follow the supposed plan ‘we should be doing’, you know, get married before 7 years together have passed, then try for children only to find out one of us is infertile. Would that be a waste of 7 years for you?” 

He looked lost. You weren’t done yet. “Second, our timeline and relationship are different from Yuji’s relationship. If they want to get married within a year, that’s up to them. In the same way, it wouldn’t make a difference between us if Nobara were to get a shotgun wedding tomorrow. We’re only in our twenties, Megumi. And unlike some, I am not ready to put my career on hold for household duties and changing diapers.” Your voice grew quiet, and the tears you had been pushing back all this time threatened to spill down your cheeks in angry streams. 

There was so much more you wanted to tell him, you wanted to tell him how this was a conversation you two should have had together. You wanted to tell him that a future together, a tomorrow, wasn’t guaranteed. In the same way, his mother had been suddenly ripped away from his father, he could die in battle, or you could be hit by a car tomorrow and perish. 

A day,  week or a year wasn’t promised to either of you; life owed you nothing but that very moment. 

You wanted him to know that so it was pointless to make these huge plans for the future that would most likely not work out. Even more foolish was comparing your relationship with someone else's. To wait five, or ten years to get married might be a curse for one person- but a blessing for another. But you couldn’t voice any of that; you don’t know how, so you settle for a much simpler; “ You’re an idiot, Megumi. A big mean dummy” 

Megumi looked embarrassed, guilty and awkward and turned away from you, back to face the ‘scary’ pumpkins, which judged you from their stands. The blush on his face matched the crimson of his ears. And just like that, you were back from your little emotional bubble and in the real world, suddenly aware of the little audience of curious passers-by who watched your intimate exchange. 

Your own face flushed red, and you looked down, unsure of what to say. 

“You know.. You really hurt Nue’s feelings, carving him as the theme for ‘scary, creepy and nightmarish’ ¨

You realized the olive branch when you saw it, and although you are the one who should be angry and mean, telling him to fuck off, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny that little peace offering. It was hard to throw five years together, primarily because of trauma wrapped in communication issues. The fact of the matter was Megumi broke up with you out of fear and care, not out of spite. Somehow, that fact made him feel more human to you, more relatable in a way. Not so perfect. 

So you just stretched your hand towards him; “Then let me apologise to Nue, in person.” 

Megumi took your hand without hesitation, tugging it into his jacket pocket to keep warm against the chilly October weather before he began heading to a more private spot to summon your muse. 

This conversation was far from over, and things were in no way back to the way they were before the breakup. But at least you both had talked and came to the mutual realisation that you wanted to fix this, to make it work, and you were sure the rest would sort itself… one way or another.

Author note: In my opinion there are just not enough Megumi fics where you've gone past the initial stage of the relationship, moved past the 'getting comfortable together' but before happy hubby stage. You know the uncertain period where you don't know when to propose or even if you should. The no-longer-girlfriend but not yet wife stage. This was me trying to rectify.

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[florencemtrash]

Hummingbird: Chapter One

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

You leaned back against the desk, ignoring the leftover smattering of paint as it seeped into your overalls, and checked the time. Miles’s face was stuck to the pages of his sketchbook, blue and red ink staining his cheek as he snored softly. One hand loosely gripped an open highlighter, the other dangled over the edge of his desk, half-eaten sandwich abandoned on the floor.

Twenty minutes. He’d been asleep for twenty minutes, and if you let him sleep any longer, he’d be late for fifth period.

You rapped your knuckles on his pencil case, the ringing tin jolting the teenager awake. Brown eyes flashed around the room, fists shooting out in an amateur boxing move as he tried to figure out why his spidey sense hadn’t warned him of any danger.

But there was no danger here. Nope, just Miss Y/l/n staring at him curiously from under raised brows.

“Wakey wakey, Miles,” You wore your usual pair of yellow Converse and paint-splattered overalls, the pockets hanging wide and loose after years of carrying around paint bottles, brushes, and books. The school board liked to complain about your “improper dress,” but at the end of the day you were one of the school’s only art teachers - and the most highly approved by students.

“Oh heyyyyy Miss Y/l/n.” He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck before dropping to the floor and snatching up his forgotten lunch. This was the fourth time you’d caught him sleeping in your classroom. Any more and you might actually have to start giving him detention. He tossed pens, snacks, and his sketchbook haphazardly into his bag, but not before you caught sight of a familiar blond-haired, blue-eyed girl smiling in front of a backdrop rioting with yellow, pinks, and blues more vibrant than a fireworks display. “GWEN!” the comic-style calligraphy called out next to her glowing face. Miles always seemed to be drawing her these days.

“You’ve still got five minutes left, calm down.” Miles straightened up to face you, clutching his lunchbox to his chest and smiling nervously. You folded your arms over your chest and stared pointedly at the gangly boy in front of you. With how much he’d grown over the last few months you wondered if one of his ancestors had been a garden weed. 

“You want to talk about what’s been going on, Miles?” 

“What do you-what do you mean?”

“You’ve been falling asleep in my class, this is the fourth time I’ve caught you napping here during lunch, and now I hear from Mr. Maloney that you’ve been skipping English.”

“He-he told you that?” He tugged at the collar of his shirt, hoping for a breeze to drift in through the window and save him from his nerves. He thought he’d been good about juggling the responsibilities of being a high-schooler and everyone’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. If his parents noticed anything different about him they chalked it up to teenage angst and grief over Uncle Aaron’s death. But someone had caught him slipping up.

You shrugged, “The teacher’s lounge exists, and people like to talk.”

“Oh…” he mumbled, shoulders dropping.

The dull ringing of the school bell cut through the silence, followed shortly by the rumblings of conversation as students filled the hallway, moving with the current like fish in a river.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Listen, Miles, you’re not in trouble, ok?” Miles sighed in relief. “If you need to eat your lunch or just take a break in my classroom that’s fine with me. I just want to make sure you’re not trying to flunk out like last year.” 

He shook his head adamantly. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - drop out of Brooklyn Visions now. He had a plan for the future: go to Princeton, figure out multiversal traveling, and reunite with Gwen and Peter and the rest of the Spider-gang. Seemed simple enough… and totally doable…

“I promise that’s not the case, Miss Y/l/n.” The sincerity behind his words satisfied you.

“Alright Miles, but I’m keeping an eye on you,” You said dramatically, squinting your eyes and pointing at his chest. Miles snorted, mouth breaking open into a lopsided grin, “Now get out of here or Mrs. Cape will think I’ve convinced you to go to art school again.” 

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I just…”

“Yes, yes, you want to go study physics at Princeton,” you waved your hand in the air, tracing some invisible pattern in the sunlight before grabbing a wet wipe from your desk and tossing it to Miles, “Quantum mechanics, the multiverse, and all that stuff.” 

It wasn’t the first time he’d told you about his future plans, but the words that left his mouth had a tendency of flying over your head. The kid was too smart for his own good.

You paused and took a moment to look at Miles, to really look at him as he scrubbed away at the ink on his cheek, “Those Princeton schmucks would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks Miss Y/l/n.” Again he gave you that crooked, boyish smile.

“Alright now out, out!” You shooed him towards the door, watching as he saluted you and flashed you one last smile before joining the crowd of students and disappearing around the corner.

You slipped back into your classroom, the smell of charcoal, dried paint, and pencil shavings settling into your lungs - sweet and comforting. There wasn’t an inch of space that wasn’t covered in some manner of artwork: sketches, paintings, collages… colorful graffiti that you should probably scrub out before parent-teacher conferences. Most of the pieces were the works of current students, but sometimes people like to leave things behind on purpose, trusting that you would find a place for them somewhere.

You wiped down the desks, rubbed the worst paint splotches from your overalls, and then collapsed into your chair, swiveling around and munching on the sandwich you’d picked up at the Prospect St. bodega. You had thirty minutes of peace and quiet before sixth period. 

That’s more than enough time. You thought to yourself. Maybe I’ll get some grading done and-

A head of curly black hair popped into the room, face wet and screaming with tears. You straightened in your chair as the boy’s lips thinned, then turned down. His shoulders began to tremble.

“He…He,” Hiccup, “He broke up with me, Miss Y/l/n.” 

“Oh geez,” you sighed deeply, setting your sandwich down and ushering the boy in. 

There were things you missed about being a teenager… the highs and lows of a first love were not on that list.

>>>

Saturday nights were sacred - the only time you reserved entirely for yourself. No grading, no reviewing and updating lesson plans, no agonizing over student reviews. You’d used to go out with old college friends for drinks on the weekend, but most of them had moved out of the city or gotten married and were doing married people things.

Is this what getting older is like? You wondered as you snuggled further into your couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders to keep out the chill. It wasn’t too terrible… albeit a little lonely.

The latest in a slew of cooking shows played out on the tv, throwing flashes of light onto the book-burdened coffee table and providing the background noise necessary for you to finally get your thoughts out of your sketchbook. But the moment you went to put the pen nib down, your mind went blank, and not in a good way. Every line looked wrong, the eyes of the figure looking bloated and misshapen. Time creeped by slowly, dragging you along for a ride as smooth as sandpaper.

 You knew the cause of your frustration, but knowing never made it better. It had been two months since Richard had moved out, two months and one day since you’d found out he was cheating on you with some grad student at NYU. 

Pendejo.

You’d hated his interior decorating, but now the blank spaces on the wall screamed his name. 

You tossed your sketchbook and pencil onto the ground and went to make a cup of tea. Maybe you were better off calling it a night and crawling into bed. Mid-year reviews had just ended and you had a long list of emails to reply to in the morning. One thing you hadn’t been expecting when you’d accepted this job was the number of parents who’d be on your ass about their kids getting a B in art - in art. 

The tea kettle was just about to open its mouth and start singing when a crash sounded from the living, followed by a sheepish “Whoops.” The muffled word punctuated Paul Hollywood’s critique of someone’s lemon tart - too stodgy.

Your blood ran cold as the stranger continued to mutter. 

“There goes another one. Wow there’s a lot of stuff on the floor.” Another one of your precious potted plants hit the ground with a dull crack. 

You grabbed the wooden bat from where it leaned against the wall, swinging it easily behind your head. At least there was one good thing Richard had left you with. 

You creeped out into the hallway, backing up towards the front door with your eyes trained on the shadowy figure making a mess of your living room. The figure fluctuated in and out of existence as he stumbled about the room, tripping over the piles of books and art supplies littering the ground. His body splintered outwards like cobwebs and twisted with flashes of bright light, haunting and inhuman. 

The creak of the floorboards gave you away. All at once the figure stopped and turned around to look at you. Where its face should have been was a single, flickering white spot, pulsing with curiosity as it tilted its head to the side. 

Mierda. 

You bolted towards the door… but he was already there.

“Why hello Mrs. O’Hara. Nice to finally meet you.” A thousand voices said at once.

You screamed and swung. 

The first swing missed, leaving a crater in the drywall. The second swing hit true, but the bat merely sunk into the black void of his body, some force ripping it out of your hands as you staggered backward. “Oh! Well that wasn’t very nice.” The creature laughed. 

Spindly tendrils of dark matter grabbed hold of you and you let out one final scream before the Spot swallowed you whole.

There was a momentary blindness and the sensation of falling before you were unceremoniously spit out onto a hard granite floor. You winced at the rough cut of broken glass beneath your heels, with nothing to protect you but a thin pair of socks. You looked upward and gasped. 

Where there had once been a towering glass ceiling dozens of stories high lay a gaping hole, the metal beams blown backwards into the night air like a blooming flower. It took you a moment to recognize the building, after all you’d seen it nonstop on the news for weeks last year - Alchemax.

What the hell?

Police tape criss-crossed over the debris like yellow spider webs, the scene broken up by black holes that morphed and twisted around you, pulsing with the same energy as the stranger in your apartment.

I must be dreaming. You thought. But in the back of your mind you remembered bits and pieces of what Miles told you he’d been studying over the summer - wormholes and spacetime and portals to different universes. 

You picked up a piece of metal off the floor, experimentally tossing it into one of the spots. It disappeared under the surface like pottery in slip before popping back into existence above you. You only narrowly lunged out of the way before it crashed into the ground and stuck there like a sword in a battlefield.

“Beautiful, isn’t it Mrs. O’Hara?” the Spot stepped out of a hole in the fabric of spacetime beside you. 

You jumped back, choking the scream in your throat. “That’s not-that’s not my name.” You managed to say. “Maybe you’ve kidnapped the wrong person?” A stupid hope.

“Oh? What is it then?” You said nothing, daring to lean down and pick up a jagged piece of roof panel. It might not do much, but it made you feel safer with its weight in your hands. “Well you don’t need to tell me. I just wanted to ask you a question.” He blipped out of existence, taking with him the darkness that pooled out of his skin.

“Who is Spider-Man?” the voices said as the Spot reappeared right beside you.

“You’ve got to stop doing that! Pendejo.” 

“What?”

“Just talk to me like a normal person.” You pointed the roof panel at him, keeping him at a safe distance.

“Who. Is. Spider-Man?” He stepped closer, the tip of your makeshift weapon sinking into his skin like he wasn’t even there. 

The question made you pause. That was what he wanted to know? He had kidnapped you just to ask about Spider-Man? 

“Um, I mean, he’s kind of the local superhero. Stops thieves, saves kittens stuck in trees, makes questionable brand deals at times-”

“NO! I know who Spider-Man is.” 

You blinked in confusion, eyes shifting to the side, “Then why did you kidnap me?”

“I want to know Spider-Man’s identity! His real identity.” The edges of his body sparked, shooting outward and striking the walls of the room. Dust and plaster fell to the ground like snow.

“I don’t-how the fuck am I supposed to know who Spider-Man is?!”

“You know him! The other version of you knew him!” 

“What, other me?”

“The alternate universe version of you!” He threw his hands up into the air like a petulant child. The darkness around him grew with every passing minute, crawling around on the floor and up onto the walls like a reptile looking for its next meal. He slid his hands down his face, somehow pulling at the ether he was made of as he muttered under his breath.

“Whatever, I may have miscalculated. You’ll still be important. Don’t you worry. You may not know who Spider-Man is, but Spider-Man sure knows you.”

Next chapter ->

>>>

Author's Note: so... I may have gotten carried away and written the second chapter as well... hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @geraskier-thots @howabouticallyou @sweetheartlizzie07 @dont-mind-me27 @omg-edzia-stuff @sarcastically-defensive17 @trouble-sistar @saltyluminaryvoid @lunablue001 @sadslasher13 @yas-v @thel0v3hashira143 @trishuh8 @vague-flying-shape @tiana76 @dinuxia-bhm @mxtokko @devilsrose666 @natbratty @zettoaizawa-shusband @dorck26 @notasadgirlipromise @niyanispunk @thecraziestcrayon @athenxt @imnotyourbcbe @jannajuju @lunamoonbby @elle-19 @aces148 @sseleniaa @elaineiswithyou-blog @summerli-u @rattlethemskulls @sunseekerlove @bubbabobabubbles @loonalockley @aleombre @littlelilies @07-bilin @nerdalicios @insanely-creative-things

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hi 👋

I've been loving the fics you've been putting out and I saw you wanted some ideas for Nightcrawler? I love my blue child lol

How about this:

The reader is a shy artist that is a student at the x mansion. She carries a sketchbook with her everywhere to sketch new pieces, but she doesn't show her work to people unless it's to Rogue or Jubilee.

She and Nightcrawler become friends and slowly develop feelings for one another, but they won't say anything to each other because they think that the other wouldn't want them. Until Nightcrawler finds her sketchbook by accident and finds the book is filled with sketches of him. Nightcrawler confronts her about it, but she's a stuttering mess, and they end up confessing to each other. And please make it extra fluffy. Maybe throw in a kiss or a makeout session. Your choice lol.

Drawn to you

The halls of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters were bustling with energy, filled with students whose powers ranged from the awe-inspiring to the whimsical. Among them, you navigated the day-to-day with your head down, your ever-present sketchbook tucked securely under your arm like a shield. The thick, well-worn pages held a piece of your soul, capturing the world around you in lines and shades. But only two people had ever seen what you created within those pages: Rogue and Jubilee, your closest friends who shared in your quiet passion for art.

You were content to let the world flow around you, observing and sketching, but always from a distance. There was safety in your shyness, a barrier that protected your heart from the complicated emotions of growing up among mutants. However, that all started to change the day you met Kurt Wagner.

Kurt had a presence that was impossible to ignore. His vibrant personality, infectious laugh, and the way he moved through space with the grace of a performer left an indelible mark on you. His tales of life in the circus, the bright lights, and cheering crowds filled you with images you couldn’t help but capture in your sketchbook. You were drawn to him, fascinated by the blend of joy and melancholy that seemed to radiate from him in equal measure.

The two of you quickly became friends. Kurt would teleport beside you in the middle of your walks, flashing a playful grin that made your heart skip a beat. He’d talk, and you’d listen, sketching all the while, though never letting him peek at what you were drawing. You cherished these moments, but the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to ignore the feelings that had begun to bloom in your chest. Feelings that you were certain were one-sided.

After all, why would someone as incredible as Kurt be interested in someone like you?

So you kept your distance emotionally, hiding your growing affection within the pages of your sketchbook, where countless drawings of him lay hidden—his gentle smile, the playful glint in his eyes, the way he moved with a fluid elegance that never ceased to amaze you. Each sketch was a small piece of your heart, poured out on paper in the only way you knew how.

One afternoon, after a long day of classes, you found a quiet spot in the garden to sit and draw. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden light over the mansion grounds, and you lost yourself in the peaceful moment. You didn’t notice when your sketchbook slipped from your lap as you stretched, falling to the ground behind you. It wasn’t until you heard a familiar voice that you realized it was no longer in your grasp.

“Was ist das?” Kurt’s voice was filled with curiosity, and when you spun around, your heart dropped. There he was, holding your sketchbook in his hands, flipping through the pages with wide eyes.

“K-Kurt!” you stammered, scrambling to your feet, your face flushing with embarrassment. “Please, don’t—”

But it was too late. His expression softened as he realized what he was looking at. Each page was filled with drawings of him, capturing moments both big and small, from his bright laughter to the way his tail curled when he was deep in thought.

“Is this… me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

You nodded, unable to speak as you felt your cheeks burn with mortification. The urge to run, to hide, was overwhelming, but your feet refused to move.

Kurt looked up from the sketchbook, his golden eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You tried to form a response, but all that came out was a string of nervous, stuttering syllables. “I-I didn’t think you’d… I mean, I didn’t know if… I just—”

He stepped closer, closing the sketchbook carefully and holding it out to you. “You didn’t think I’d what? Like it? Or… like you?”

Your eyes widened at his words, and you could only shake your head, feeling tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I thought you wouldn’t want me,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Kurt’s gaze softened further, and he took another step closer, closing the distance between you. “I thought the same thing,” he admitted, his voice gentle. “That you wouldn’t want me, that you might be afraid of what I am.”

You shook your head more fiercely now, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No, Kurt, I could never be afraid of you. You’re… you’re incredible. You’re kind, and brave, and so full of life. I… I’ve liked you for so long, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Kurt’s expression lit up with a mix of relief and happiness, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that melted away all your fears. You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of him, feeling the warmth of his embrace.

“I’ve liked you, too,” he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fade away. The shyness that had always held you back melted under the warmth of his gaze.

“Kurt…” you started, but before you could finish, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a gentle, lingering kiss.

Your heart soared as you kissed him back, the world around you disappearing as you focused on the feel of his lips against yours, the way his hands cradled your face with such care. The kiss deepened, and you felt a surge of warmth spread through your chest, your hands clutching at his shirt as if he might vanish if you let go.

When you finally parted, you were both breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you shared a quiet moment of bliss.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Kurt murmured, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

You giggled softly, feeling a wave of joy and relief wash over you. “Me too,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He pressed another kiss to your forehead, his tail curling around your waist in a tender gesture. “I’m glad I found your sketchbook,” he teased lightly, earning a soft laugh from you.

“Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all,” you replied, your voice filled with newfound confidence.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the worries and fears that had once kept you apart now nothing more than distant memories. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a gentle twilight over the garden, you felt a sense of peace settle over you—a peace that came from knowing that you were no longer alone in your feelings.

[tatertot5678]

Weed. (Warren Lipka pt.2)

Warnings: weed (obviously), car sex… protected p in v, first time!reader 😦 backseat makeout session + sex

Part one

WHAT YOU WISH TO CONSUME IS YOUR FAULT.

“Uhm, yeah… it is you.” You mutter, hiding the sketchbook from him.

“Either I’m just high, or there’s tension right now” Warren states, looking over at you. You stammer and try to dismiss what he just said.

“Here, I have a good idea.” He doesn’t let you respond because he’s too busy pulling into an empty parking lot.

“What time is it?” You ask, looking down at the sketchbook then out at the empty lot.

“It’s… 2 something AM?” He states, looking over at you and taking another puff of his blunt.

“Oh, shouldn’t we be heading home?” You ask, looking at him.

“Hmm… I have better ideas…” he explains as if it’s the most simplest thing to fathom.

“Oh…” before you can say anything more, his lips are against yours, you taste his high on him, but it’s addicting. The weed taste mixed with the taste of simply Warren is excellent.

“M-mm… Warren…” you whisper against his lips, nodding toward the empty back seat. He nods quickly.

“You read my mind.” He crawls back, and you follow suit.

Now you’re laying under him, your legs wrapped around his hips, in a heated makeout session.

“Y-Y/N… f-fuck…” Warren mutters, before you feel his bulge against you, FUCK.

“W-Warren…” You whimper, your legs tightening around him. “I need you..”

That’s all it takes for his self control to SNAP. Hands griping at clothes, prying off the layers until you’re both shaking with anticipation.

Warren fumbles with his pockets, pulling out a condom, he’s NEVER carried condoms, that’s when you realize, was this PLANNED?

“Go on… give it to me.” You mutter, eyes wide and waiting.

Warrens shaken hands pull apart the foil of the condom and slipping it on.

“Ready?” He asks, and the response he gets is just frantic nodding.

“Good.” He slides in, groaning softly as he feels your walls open for him.

“S-shit!” You mutter, having never done this before.

“G-good GOD…” he whines, looking down at you beneath him.

“Go on, start.” You whimper, looking up at him with eyes wide with lust.

“How could I say no to that?” He starts his movements and quickly the sound of skin-slapping against skin, and moans, fill the car, oh GOD warrens moans are addictive.

“S-shit… W-Warren…” Your back almost goes off the backseat as you feel a different angle in you, GOD.

“I-Ngh…” He moans, looking down at you and his movements gets more shaken and wobbly as he gets closer to the brink.

“I’m… I’m close… y-y/n… I’m so close…” he whines, staring down at you.

“That’s okay, go ahead, speed up.” Your eyes fill with love and admiration.

“O-okay…” He speeds up his movements and quickly loses control, and you feel the warmth inside you from the cum that fills the condom.

“That… was…” “heavenly?” You interrupted , your voice shaken and breath is wobbly.

“Exactly. You always read my mind.” He slides out of you, now trying to figure out where to dispose of the condom.

“Just throw it outside, I’m sure the earth has worse in its air” you whisper, exhausted from what happened.

“Oh, what If some lady shoves it up her puss and has my child.” He states, his voice slurred from exhaustion and high.

“Warren, you dumb-fuck. That’s not how it works.”

“That was perfect for a first time.” You whisper.

The two of you cuddle in the backseat, and fall asleep in the car. Warren snoring like a soft kitten and his head shoved into your chest, your hand through his hair.