#can you tell i think about them? can you tell?? did the art not convince you??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 4 months ago

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where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.”

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name.

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.”

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?”

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves.

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face.

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts.

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose.

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils.

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup.

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you.

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you.

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around.

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach.

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.”

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off.

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness.

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso.

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in. You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass.

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock.

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly.

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts.

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks.

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door.

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted.

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

1K notes · View notes

d3stinyist1red · 21 days ago

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ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ɢʏᴀʀᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 𝟸

yan gyaru who is your clingy bestfriend

Every morning, he made sure to time his arrival perfectly so that he’d “accidentally” run into you near the lockers. "N/n!~" He grinned at you as you opened you locker, twirling his hair.

“Kajiro,” you greeted, adjusting your bag. “What’s up?”

“Just waiting for my favorite person, obviously.” He grinned, stepping closer. “You know, we should totally hang out after school today. I’ve been thinking about you all morning.” He pouted, trying to convince you. "wait no, we should have a sleepover!" His face lit up like a Christmas tree, eyes sparkling with excitement as you stared at him confused

"Im bus-"

"Okay, ill be at your house at 3pm, baby!" He said as he waved at you and left, blowing you a kiss.

meanwhile ur friend next to you looks at u weirdly "how tf did you bag that" You js shrugged

yan gyaru who while during class, spams u

ᴋ𝟺ᴊɪғᴏʀʟɪғᴇᴇᴇᴇ ׂ

hiii n/n :3

lets meet uppp!!!!

i wanna see ur faceee ;3

babyyyyy cmonnnn

im SOOOOO bored in this class without uuuu

i need to see u before i go crazyyyy :(

ʜᴏᴇsʟᴜᴠʏ/ɴ

bruh no

last time we met up in the middle of class, u wanted me to js skip n go on a date

n stop texting im abt to get my phone taken by the teacher

ᴋ𝟺ᴊɪғᴏʀʟɪғᴇᴇᴇᴇ ׂ

:( n/n ur so mean!

n change ur username nowwww!!!!

im supposed to be the only hoe that loves u!!!

GASPPP

do u have other hoes?!?!?!??! Are u cheating??!?!?! Youve been playing hello kitty adventure with some other bitches?!??!!?N/n, i will rip their scalp off their head, and throw a table at them.

Y/n L/n, who are the bitches u call hoes?

y/n, if u dont block them now, ur gonnna see me on the news for murder.

yan gyaru who during english class, just writes poets about his love to you. In art, he draws you and him getting married. In math, he daydreams about the day you guys live in a cute cottage home with your 2 bunnies, and a cat.

yan gyaru who once the final bell rings, hes OUT that class, practically running out to go to your class so you wont leave him.

yan gyaru who finally found you, and was huffing and puffing from all that running before grinning at you. "Lets go, babe?" He said, grabbing your backpack from your shoulders and carrying it himself.

It’s Friday night, and you’ve somehow got dragged into having a sleepover with the guy who’s been obsessively crushing on you for ages—your bubbly gyaru friend, who just can’t get enough of you.

The whole walk to your house, he was gushing and nonstop talking about how fun it was gonna be. “Babe! This is gonna be so fun, I can’t wait!” he chirps, holding onto your arm tightly as if he has doubts that you were gonna run away.

yan gyaru who from the second he steps in your home, he’s a non-stop chatterbox. He’s talking about everything—school, the latest drama, his favorite new clothes, and of course, you. His eyes are constantly on you, lighting up every time you laugh or even just nod along, internally cheering that he made you laugh.

“Oh my god, Y/N, have you seen the latest episode of that show we talked about? We have to watch it together tonight! It’s gonna blow your mind!” He said as he played with your hair.

You can tell he’s beyond excited just to be around you, and his energy is contagious. He’s always smiling, laughing, and playfully bumping your shoulder whenever he makes a joke.

yan gyaru whose endlessly complimenting you. He just can’t stop complimenting you. Whether you’re dressed up or in casual sleepover clothes, he’s still in awe of you. “You look cute even in pajamas, Y/N. Like, how is that fair?” He pouted, scrunching his eyebrows together as he rubbed your arm up and down

He loves finding excuses to be near you—adjusting your hair, teasing you about how comfy you look, or even just admiring your smile. “You’re seriously too cute, I’m not even joking. I could stare at you forever, hehe~.”

"bro"

yan gyaru who inists on staying up late even if your half asleep by 10 pm. He’s full of bubbly energy, even when you’re eyes are starting to close. “We can’t go to bed yet! We have to at least talk about… everything!”

He starts asking more personal questions as the night goes on, his obsession peeking through. “What’s your favorite part of the day? Did you think about me at all today?” His voice is playful, but you can tell he genuinely cares about your answers by the way he intently listens

When you start to get drowsy and start giving mumbled answers, he gives a soft laugh. “You’re so pretty when you’re sleepy. Here, let’s get comfy,” he says, tugging the blanket closer around you both.

yan gyaru who the next morning,

yan gyaru who teasing you about how you slept, offering to make breakfast, and texting you immediately after he leaves

ᴋ𝟺ᴊɪғᴏʀʟɪғᴇᴇᴇᴇ ׂ

last night was soooo funnn! lets do it again this week yeah? :3

yan gyaru who is ur fashionista bestie who is a little too obsessed with you <3

#yanderemalexreader #clingy yandere #soft yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere male #tw yandere #yandere blog #yandere #yandere gyaru #destinys worksss<333

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moonsaver · 6 months ago

Note

Context before getting into the actual idea: I recently saw some fanart based on concept art for Dr Ratio where he has slightly longer, messier hair and the fanart interpreted this as him having a bit of a rebellious phase when he was younger.

So now I’m just thinking about Reader going to school with him when he was going through this phase. He had a bit of a crush on her but didn’t know how to express it so he just messed with her constantly.

And now they meet again when he’s changed and he hasn’t gotten over her she’s just getting massive amounts of whiplash from how wildly different he is. Could be yandere 👀

Anon. I am GRIPPINT YOU BY THE SHOULDERS. Listen. Unfortunately i doubt i did this justice but i tried my best PLEASE okay

A bit long, under the cut!

Its not exactly easy to imagine Dr. Ratio of all people being rebellious, but that just makes it even more possibly believeable in my opinion. I am deeply convinced he has had his crazy scientist, jerkward asshole phase at least once and was soo deeply embarassed the moment he left it.

But listen. His professors all probably HATED him because he would probably constantly correct them, be so disgustingly overeducated to the point they'd send him to the library or tell him to get lost just so he wouldn't disrupt class. He's the infamous asshole who sits wherever he wants, and hoardes an entire table to himself if he's at the library or at the cafeteria. Any student who needs a pen or eraser or a pencil knows he's NOT the one to ask, even if it was in the middle of an exam worth half their grade and he was the only person beside them. He does literally anything he wants and no one can stop him except probably by force, and if they do, something worse ends up happening to them instead.

Anyways, here comes in reader. Probably already knows his sour reputation. Regardless, maybe you're the poor soul who's his seatmate. If the crush is already established, he's constantly bothering you. Asking for stationaries like the entirety of his desk isn't covered by it already (he likes the miniscule interaction), taking your notebooks without your knowledge and sometimes even scribbling inside of them (its his horrid handwriting, he's just trying to help you with detailed notes), he comments on how "lame" your outfit is, asking about your social life, rolling his eyes when your response isn't exactly.. pleasing (he's actually a bit content with it. Perhaps you'll hang out with him more, instead?). You note the smell of alcohol trailing him a bit everytime you interact with him.

It's not easy for him, especially when you can't seem to keep up and look so queasy around him. Aeons, his heart is so twisted up and squeezed everytime he seems to be getting more distant from you, but he just has no idea how to convey his feelings. Not when he didn't even account for the fact he'll have a crush on anyone in the first place.

Anyways, timeskip!

You're probably a researcher of some sort, maybe not so well known. Let's just say for the sake of simplicity you're a researcher on Herta's space station. It's not too soon before he runs into you, probably after the whole mess at the station's been "cleaned up" regarding the curio and whatever. Maybe he doesn't leave right after that interaction with Screwellum, and he decides to, by his curiosity, take a look around once again before he leaves (certainly not because he's heard a familiar name thrown around a few times).

And there you are. In your little research-getup, professional vernacular, hair all neat. He's probably right behind you in an instant, and you turn around to look as the colleague you were talking to suddenly starts stuttering and becoming squeamish while looking behind you. There he is, in all his (cruel?) Glory. The infamous asshole who was your classmate.

But.. it's surprising how much more mellow he's become (at least towards you?). His hair are neatly tamed, his build is taller and more muscular than it was back then, but his attire is also quite tame (if not a little.. fancy?), compared to his brash taste back then. His eyes still seem to hold contempt, but more distantly so.

Veritas figures your mouth is agape and you're speechless considering the change in his countenance as of recent. He's also not yet come to terms with the fact that his heart still twists and squeezes whenever he sees that unsure look on your face. If you were made of clay, and if he could, he'd meld the most beautiful smile on your face with his craftful fingers. Alas, he resorts to tamer methods. At least he supposes he's a wiser man, now. He's more aware of different courting methods.

He asks about your station, your current life, family, friends, etc .. in a seemingly disinterested tone. There's a bit of resignation but hidden constrain in his voice, everytime you mention a "close friend" of yours or a colleague you worked with "closely". But he hasn't been berating you the way he would have back then. His fingers slightly constantly strain, folded behind his back, trying desperately not to taper towards you – there's stray strands of hair on your face. Your headpiece is off centre. Your pen is slanting in your pocket. Your shoulders are too tense. Your eyebrows are furrowed. your eyes look tired. Have your lips always been chapped? They were fine back then.. hold on.

While you stutter out useless formalities and pleasantries, Veritas' eyes scan you over. Time has weathered you well, in his opinion. The thin line of his pressed lips dont quite indicate that. He sighs almost grimly, shutting you up in an instant. He offers you to accompany him and possibly consider joining the Intelligentsia Guild (is it not worth a shot trying? It may be foolish, but he's a tad too desperate when it comes to you). You timidly mumble out a refusal, the words barely leaving your mouth. He nods.

Catching up makes his heart squeeze and rush all over the place. Topics he once tried to teach you back then (by.. VERY unsuccessful methods,) seem to be elementary knowledge to you now. You work more efficiently, hold yourself in a better, more confident way, and you seem to be smoothsailing in your life. Granted, it's technically the bare minimum, but its been so long since he talked to you. The chirp in your voice, the chuckle you let out every now and then despite your nervousness around him, has his heart in his throat. He can't bring himself to try and even "set you straight" by giving you (unwarranted) advice or piddling your achievements, there's a soft smile he's duly hiding behind his scorning face.

He offers you again, if you are unsure about joining the Guild, and discreetly mentions it being filled with imbeciles regardless when you deny again, pulling another string of laughter out of you. Hmph, you weren't so joyful when he made those statements back in high school.

Granted,you're obviously still not quite sure about Veritas' new look. He's still got his infamous reputation as an extremely strict teacher, the oddball with an alabastor head and having worked with the IPC, it's not a pleasant image per se, but it's heaps better than his reputation back at school. You politely make a joke about it, and he groans, earning another cautious, light chuckle from you. He has become different. You prattle on about the length of his hair, his refinement of speech, the difference in how he holds himself now.. it does leave him melting a tad bit inside. You noticed it? Hm. Clever little thing.

Of course, goodbyes are seldom sweet. He does manage to pry out your contact information once again, before. If you don't budge,he finds another way regardless. Your network of colleagues aren't exactly as strong as you might have thought. He remembers this information carefully.

Like the old days, maybe he'll manage to keep slipping notes into your reports and files. Perhaps pull a few strings back in the old days to keep you in his class, he'll slowly knot and twist a few strings to bring and budge you over to his little workplace. Sooner or later, you'll end up in his home. He's sure of it.

And just like the old days, his little seatmate is by his side once again. Care to put up with him for a bit longer? Probably forever, in this case.

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girliism · 2 months ago

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HIHI just read ur latest priest in training!art, AMAZING as per usual, so what if reader is very iffy about losing her virginity, so art convinces her about naked dryhumping, reader straddling art with no panties on, just moving back and forth and arts dick, precum leaking at the tip, and art continues to tell her “its not wrong if i dont put it in..” as he’s thinking of how good he would feel in her.. 🥰☺️

y’all wanna see them fuck so bad 🙂‍↔️.

“but isn’t that just like sex?” you sat at the edge of art’s bed. he snuck you into the boys dormitory building and into his room. art shook his head. “it doesn’t count it i don’t put it in.” you were still a little weary. “it won’t be different from other things we’ve done.” except it was as very different your most intimate parts coming together to mimic the act of sex. “it doesn’t count?” you crawl closer to where art sat at the head of his bed. “nope. plus all this goes away when you take your final vow.” maybe in a way art was right you could have fun with him and when the time comes you can ask forgiveness.

art let his hands run along your thighs that sat on either side of him. “you’re so pretty.” art let his eyes roam across your body. “thank you.” you smiled pulling at art’s waistband. art was focused on the way your hands played with his underwear and didn’t see you move in to kiss him till your lips were on his. you stayed there unmoving with your lips pressed against his. art started to move his against yours finally putting to use what patrick taught him. art slid his hands up your back to unhooked your bra. with your bare tits on display it’s taking everything in art not to pin you down and start fucking into you. soon art’s underwear is off and his cock lays hard against his stomach between the two of you.

you left your panties on and only pulled them to the side. you’ve never been this naked in front of anyone before so your heart was pounding from the nerves. art puts both his hands on your hips and started to rock you back and forth slowly. breathy moans come from the both of you. your clit nudges up against art’s cock head every so often. “f-feels really nice.” your soft hands grip onto art’s shoulders as you grind yourself a little faster on him. art doesn’t know where to look, from the way your pussy slides so easily against him or how your face is flushed teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep quiet. “feels fucking amazing.” he grunts. precum pools on his stomach your whines and his moans mingle as your highs get closer. “so close.” you moan and art brings his thumb down to rub at you clit. “fuck - you gonna cum on my cock.” you nod dropping your head on his shoulder. “you’re probably so tight and warm inside right - shit - gonna let me in one day.” you’re moaning louder. “yes yes yes.” you babble. art smashes his lips onto your as you both cum together.

you guys got cleaned up and button back up your shirt smoothing out your hair. “art?” he hummed. “since we kissed does this mean we’re dating now?” you don’t know why you ask it’s just kissing felt more intimate than giving him blowjobs. plus you had friends with secret boyfriends and they kissed in the dark hallways of the school. “uh, yeah sure.” art nodded. the two of you were already practically dating. he often took you for ice cream with patrick third wheeling and with what you guys just did why not a label on it. “ok.” you whisper trying to hide the smile that crept onto your face.

art snuck you out the same way he snuck you in walking you home to the girls dorm house. “i’ll see you at class.” art said. you nodded your head yeah before pulling him into a quick hug. “bye, art.” art watched you walk inside. a new boner growing from just the feeling of your body pressed against his.

#girliism #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #priest in training!art

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always-just-red · 3 months ago

Note

Hey, a fluff scenario for cuddling with Rafayel? Thank you 🐡✨

This one really got away from me ahaha, whoops. There's also a moment where my fine art degree really leaps out, so look forward to that, everyone. My first time writing for Raf - thank you anon!!

Perspective

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: You've spent two hours preparing a meal for Rafayel, and he has absolutely no intention of sitting down to it.

Genre: fluff fluff FLUFF!

Warnings/Additional tags: established relationship, cuddling, kisses, lots of intimacy tbh (soft, not spicy!)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Thirty minutes. You and Thomas had spent thirty minutes on the phone trying to figure out where your boyfriend actually was. Half an hour of he’s not with you? and no, I thought he was with you!— back and forth, like a metronome, and it wasn’t exactly the first time, either.

You’re seasoned investigators at this point: called constantly out of retirement for one last job you swear you’re too old for, and yet you know is never going to really be the last. You’ve already got matching t-shirts printed for the tortured agent’s next birthday: ‘Special Unit: Find Rafayel.’ (He won’t find it half as funny as you do.)

Neither of you had heard from the artist since Tuesday, and— it being Friday— he was either in his studio, painting, or definitely dead. It fell within your jurisdiction to find out, so you’d driven here two hours ago, texting Thomas upon arriving:

He's alive!! 🥳🥳🥳

You’re less excited about it now.

Stood at Rafayel’s kitchen island, you lay out the last of the buffet you’ve prepared to try to entice him away from his art. It’s worked in the past: has seen him sniff the air and follow his stomach to whatever you were cooking, like a stubborn stray cat.

“C’mon, Raf,” you call out, because he’s not taking the bait. “Food’s getting cold.”

“Not hungry!”

Your fists ball around the cutlery you’re setting down on the marble; he’s not eaten for three days. You glance up at him across the open space of his home, taking a deep breath through your nose as you watch him scrawl away at his painting. Somewhere in your mind, Thomas is speaking. This is what you signed up for, remember?

Reluctantly, you cross between the rooms, folding your arms as you come up behind Rafayel. “Raf,” you insist again, “come and sit down. Please? You need to eat something.”

“I’m fiiiiiine.” His paintbrush drags viridian over the lower third of his piece.

“You’re not fine,” you huff, and he doesn’t respond. “Rafayel.”

“Rafayel?” he mimics with a chuckle. “You’re mad.”

He’s ‘Rafayel’ in only two types of circumstance: when he’s making you really, really happy, or he’s making you consider the career-leap between bodyguard and assassin. It’s an extraordinarily thin line, and he just loves walking the tightrope.

“I’m not mad, just worried. Can’t you come eat with me? Your painting isn’t going anywhere.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, smoothing out a stroke of paint, “but what about my inspiration?”

“That’ll be waiting for you, too.”

“You think?” His lips curve as he pensively pokes at them with the wooden end of his brush. “I guess you did spend a lot of time cooking, huh? And if you’re really that worried, then…” He spins around with wide eyes. An epiphany. “Feed it to me?”

You stare back, unmoved by the puppy-like expression. He looks cute, yeah, but you’re not falling for it again. This is exactly how he looked earlier, when you’d convinced him to at least accept a glass of water. You’d almost drowned him in your subsequent efforts to actually get it down his throat.

Rafayel mixes three colours on his palette as you relive the ordeal. Like the once-white of his shirt, it’s awash with vibrant greens and blues, some fresh, some days-old. He pauses when he’s done, but you can tell he’s itching to get back to the canvas. “Give me, like… half an hour?” he estimates. The number’s been plucked from thin air. “The food’s gonna be delicious, even if it’s cold. You made it!”

“Raf, I��”

“And how can I even enjoy it if I’m racing to get back here? I wanna savour it, y’know? And anyway…” he trails off, his attention drawn by something above.

“Yeah?” you prompt, glancing upwards. There’s nothing there.

His gaze snaps back. “Sorry, the ceiling was doing something weird. But yeah, anyway, it’s not like you have to— I mean, it’s not like I’m going to— wait. What were we talking about again?”

Not much surprises you these days, but your mouth is still agape. Enough is enough. “Put the paintbrush down. You’re done.”

He nonchalantly returns to the painting. “I’m really not, though.”

You narrow your eyes. Reassess. “You were right about the ceiling.”

“Yeah?” He looks up.

You snatch the paintbrush. “Ha!”

He blinks blankly at you and your eagerly-clutched trophy, unfazed by the moment of triumph. “Cute trick,” he shrugs. He runs a finger across the palette and applies the new colour to the painting with a quick sweep. “What’s next, Miss Bodyguard? You gonna cut off my ha— ow, ow, ow! Hey! Take it easy!”

You’re pinching his ear, dragging him wordlessly to the kitchen, because you're out of things to say.

“Fine. Fine!” he groans as he tries to keep up with you. You release him and he straightens, his face pink, but not as pink as his ear. “You win! Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

You stop dead in your tracks, then turn with a look so cold he couldn’t melt it with all of his fire.

“I mean— ahaha,” he laughs nervously, rubbing his neck. “It smells amazing, cutie. You’re amazing. I can’t wait.”

…

Rafayel sits back on his stool, still staring at his painting. The mood is different from earlier. There’s no more restlessness or impatience; he isn’t in a rush. He’s humming a soft song you’re almost certain you’ve heard before, but you can’t quite place the melody. It’s pretty, though: the sort of tune one might recall from a childhood music box, or maybe even a dream.

There’s a clink as you stack two finished plates. Then another. And another.

“Don’t,” Rafayel says quietly, catching your hand before you can collect the plate nearest to him. “I’ll do it later— promise. Sit with me?”

You were never going to say no, but his hands are on your hips before you can say yes, and he’s turning you gently— pulling you up onto his lap. You smile as his arms wrap around you, keeping you from slipping, and he’s warm as you relax back against him.

“What do you think?” he asks, staring out over your shoulder.

Your gaze follows his to the painting, still waiting for him. “It’s okay.”

“Oh yeah?” You can feel him chuckle before it reaches your ears.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a smile, shifting to face him as much as you can. “Kinda pales in comparison to my favourite masterpiece. This one,” you poke two fingers to his chest. “Right… about—” they walk higher, “—here!”

You boop his nose and he immediately scoffs, his face going red. “Sheesh,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eyes. “That was lame.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not!”

He squirms as you laugh and try to touch his cheeks; they’re going to feel hot, and he’s a sore loser. His hands don’t manage to capture yours, so they settle for finding your hips again, swivelling you around until you’re trapped by his embrace. You’re both one misjudged move away from toppling to the floor, so you let him keep his victory. What’s left of his dignity, too.

Your laughter rescinds like a tide, but the quiet is far from empty.

“C’mon,” Rafayel tries again. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, nudging your head, urging you to look forward. His hair is feather-soft on your skin, and he peppers chaste kisses along the line of your jaw. “Tell me. What do you see?”

You hum contentedly. “A painting.” You’re not thinking about it at all; your eyes are closed.

“And?”

“A plant. A sofa. Some curtains,” you recall.

“You know what I meant,” he grins against you.

You lean back with a sigh, no longer supporting your own weight, but sinking into him with trust and begrudging compliance. It’s not bad, as surrenders go. He gives you a squeeze of encouragement and your head rolls back, stopping at his shoulder. His breath is skirting over your cheek, just barely.

You open your eyes and really look at the painting.

“It’s beautiful, Raf,” you murmur. It is; it was always going to be. “Everything you do is beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, “I know.” But he wants more. “Does it make you think of something, maybe? Anything?”

There’s no right or specific answer. This isn’t remotely your field of expertise, and you’re oceans apart sometimes, so he has to outstretch a hand. Two viewpoints. Two sides of a coin; you never should have seen each-other.

Your life is hunting monsters, and his is finding beauty in a world where they exist. It’s not what you see, it’s how you see it. Crimson to him is a sunset; to you it’s blood.

Something in you aches as your eyes roam over his latest work. He won’t tell you what it’s meant to be, not really: that’s a private understanding between him and the canvas, his heart and every stroke of paint. Does it make you think of something? Though the marks are fixed, they’re somehow fluid. The emerald tones are marred by shadows, as though something’s lurking beneath the surface, but there are traces of white, too. Light: shimmering.

“Reflections,” you finally answer. “Scattered to anonymity by a now turbulent lake. They belonged to something else, once, but they’ve taken a new shape— a restless and ever-changing identity— and no-one knows what it is, let alone what it was.”

With a satisfied smile, you close your eyes. That ought to keep him quiet for a minute.

Sure enough, Rafayel is silent. You don’t have to see his crystalline eyes to know they’re set on the painting, soaking it in with a new perspective. His favourite perspective: yours.

You have never been strangers to each-other. Two sides of a coin are still the same coin.

With a light laugh of surprise, he plants a kiss on your shoulder. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.” He’s nuzzling into you again. “I know I can be—”

“A pain in the ass?”

He laughs louder. “I was gonna say eccentric.”

“Oh…” You draw air through your teeth. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Your voice is humourless, your face plain. It lasts all of two seconds, and then the charade is falling to pieces; he’s nibbling at your ear, your neck, and it tickles mercilessly. You giggle, but you don’t try to escape. The punishment fits the crime, and who are you to deny him his justice?

You’re quickly running out of breath, so Rafayel ceases his assault, letting you get it back. “Can I look at you now?” you ask.

He clicks his tongue. “I’ll allow it.”

You shift and he lifts you a little— helping you twist around to face him. He smiles fondly as he links his hands behind you, stopping you from falling as you lean back to enjoy the view. It’s the best kind of smile: one that reaches his eyes and makes them sparkle, like the water in the painting, but infinitely more pretty.

You want to feel that smile on your lips, so you lean in and kiss him.

It’s tender and perfect and when you’re done, you snuggle closer, wrapping your arms around him and nestling like you’ll be staying there for a while. You can hear his heart, and though a part of it is in his painting, the rest is with you. Always with you.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your work?” you ask as you think of it, smiling into his shirt. He won’t— not tonight.

“Nah,” he says, running his fingers through your hair. “It can wait.”

#🖋rach is actually writing #rafayel x reader #rafayel #love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #l&ds rafayel #qi yu #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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harmonictechnicality · 2 years ago

Text

Robin drags Steve to a local art exhibit on a goddamn weeknight. This is not his scene at all.

Pretentious douchebags in scarves discussing if that splatter of paint represents socioeconomic downfall? Nah, this shit is not for him.

Robin ditches him halfway through the exhibit to talk to some sculptor that she’s got a thing for. Honestly, Steve would’ve done the same thing if it were him. But still, Steve is five minutes away from leaving her ass and taking a cab home.

He’s sitting on metal bench, centered a few feet away from the oversized canvas of scattered colors.

It looks like such a mess. Scribbled strokes of paint and lines that bump into curves. Everything intersecting. Someone would probably try to convince him that it represents the artist’s troubled past or fucked up childhood.

To Steve, it’s just a mess.

“What do you think?” A voice asks, joining Steve on the bench.

He looks to be about Steve’s age. Bold features, bolder hairstyle. All black clothes with chunky red combat boots. Elaborate tattoos creeping over the collar of his shirt.

Steve shrugs. “Truthfully? I don’t get it.”

“It’s art. What don’t you get about it?” The guy looks stunned.

Is Steve really about to argue with a complete stranger over lines and colors?

“There’s nothing but lost movements.”

Guess he is.

Steve observes the nameplate next to the canvas and goes off.

“Like this Eddie Munson guy held up a paintbrush and went, ‘fuck it, they’ll never know this is bullshit.’ Honestly, this whole place is a facade for people to masquerade around, pretending to be in tune to artistic expression, but they’re not.”

“They’re not?”

“No.” Steve answers immediately, a little defensive. “Nobody here gives a shit about what the artist is trying to convey, and this artist…”

Steve points at the artwork.

“This Munson guy knew that. Knew he could fool every rich asshole in this place.”

The guy looks at the painting and laughs. He’s got a nice smile, Steve thinks. Wide and genuine. Not too perfect. Not overly rehearsed. Like he doesn’t give out smiles to just anyone.

“Eddie Munson couldn’t fool you though, could he?” He finally says, looking directly at Steve.

The intense eye contact makes Steve a bit fidgety. Nervous. “I guess not, no.”

“I like that.”

“Like what?”

“That you refuse to see what everyone else sees.” The guy turns away, releasing Steve from the gaze. “Even if that would be easier.”

It almost sounded like he was trying to say he likes Steve. Not that Steve would complain if that were true. This guy is not his type, but that doesn’t mean he’s unwilling to expand his definition of type for someone that’s interested in him.

“What do you think about it?” Steve tilts his head towards the canvas.

The guy twists the ring on his thumb, processing an answer. He crosses his legs, then un-crosses them. Twists the ring counterclockwise now.

“I think the painter abandoned their originality to meet their growing audience’s expectations of them as an artist.” He finally says.

Steve scoffs. “How did you draw up a conclusion like that?”

The guy hums and abruptly changes the topic. “What did you say your name was?”

“Steve Harrington.”

“Right.” He gets up and gestures toward a ‘staff only’ door. “Up for a little field trip, Steve Harrington?”

This is dumb. Breaking laws is something Steve left behind in his angst-filled teen years.

But this guy is bad-boy hot and Steve is painfully bored, so he follows the stranger despite his better judgement.

They enter the door and are instantly greeted by a trail of empty paint buckets. There’s dirty tarps covering the floors and countless canvases laid out across the wide room.

Right away, Steve can tell this is what art is all about. The chaos. The urgency to create as soon inspiration strikes.

And these paintings look nothing like the one hanging in the gallery. These paintings are full narratives told through shapes and pigments.

These paintings could be an autobiography on the topic of someone who experiences life deeply. Passionately.

These are the untold masterpieces.

“Wow.” Is all Steve finally comes up with.

“To answer your question,” the stranger gestures grandly to the entirety of the room. “This is how I drew up that conclusion.”

“This was the originality. It’s stuck behind these four walls, but it’s where everything started. It’s where everything should have stayed.”

Steve carefully watches the man explore all the different works of art. Bending down to touch some. Smiling playfully at others. Steve is stupidly captivated by his ability to shine amongst literal art.

“What did you say your name was?”

The guy chuckles and walks back over to Steve. “I didn’t.”

“Right. Are you gonna tell me?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Depends on if you’ll still kiss me after I tell you.”

They’re standing close, Steve hadn’t realized it until now. Maybe it was him closing the distance. Maybe it was the stranger. Maybe it was gravity growing tired of their mediocre foreplay.

But they’re close now. So close that Steve can see the lightening bolt tattoo below the stranger’s left ear. A thought runs rampant in Steve’s slutty mind that he could see every single neck tattoo if he were to start unbuttoning this guy’s shirt.

He’s close enough to do it.

“I’ll still kiss you afterwards,” Steve agrees dreamily. Getting high off of paint fumes and close proximity.

The stranger lets his hand wander up the back of Steve’s neck, breaths getting caught in Steve’s throat at the contact.

“I’m that Eddie Munson guy.” He says in a low whisper. “The same one who held up a paintbrush and went, ‘fuck it, they’ll never know this is bullshit.’”

Every word he utters is cautious now. Like Steve might change his mind about kissing him.

Steve doesn’t change his mind.

He pulls hard at Eddie’s collar, lets their lips collide dizzily fast. Eddie’s mouth pushes against his to lead the kiss, Steve is more than happy to let him do so.

It’s a noisy kiss. Sounds escaping out of the corners of their mouths. Airy gasps and rustling clothes filling the open space.

Steve breaks the kiss to speak, inhaling as much oxygen as he can get. “I’m guessing you bring lots of guys back here and woo them with your secretly amazing art.”

Eddie had transitioned to kissing Steve’s neck while he was talking, but stops as soon as Steve says that.

“You’ve got it all wrong, sweetheart.” Eddie cradles Steve’s flushed cheeks with both hands. “I only bring pretty boys who refuse to see what everyone else sees back here.”

Steve moves Eddie’s hands and wraps them around his own neck. “Even if that would be easier.”

Eddie smiles. “Exactly.”

He goes back to sucking on Steve’s neck, like he was rudely interrupted before, and Steve starts to feel as chaotic as the art surrounding them. Eddie marks him with a fresh bruise, just below his right ear. Mirroring the exact spot where Eddie’s lightening tattoo is located.

Eddie licks over it. Swirling his tongue in sweltering circles, making Steve pant wow as he finishes the creation he was designing solely with his mouth.

He exhales a single laugh into their kiss.

“Why are you laughing?” Steve asks.

Eddie shakes his head.

“I really like doing things that make you say wow like that, Steve Harrington.”

Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek. “I really like that too.”

Eddie kisses him thoroughly slow once more, then nibbles over Steve’s ear as he whispers:

“Kinda curious to find out what else I can make you say.”

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #art gallery meetcute #it gets a little smooch heavy at the end there #I’m physically incapable of writing Eddie not giving lovebites #it’s probably a disease i should get my head checked out

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machveil · 1 month ago

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Trying not to think about Simon 'Always Doing Acts of Service and Caring for Others Silently' Ghost Riley forgetting to care for himself as much, and how it would probably touch a part of his heart he thought wasn't there anymore if someone did the same for him. Something simple, like just a new jacket after his old one got wrecked from wear and tear, that's thick and durable but soft and comfortable, a nice weight on his shoulders but doesn't make him sweat, resting over his chair. Or after a long day of work where he's dragging himself along, finding a meal already made for him sitting in the fridge, something actually cooked and seasoned the way he likes so he doesn't have to think about cooking or go to bed on an empty stomach. Idk, this has been rattling around in my brain all day and I needed to get it out, sorry if this is weird! Also really like your art and writing, congrats on the 1k, you deserve it and so much more!

anon I’m smooching your big, beautiful brain (I wrote this in one sitting, hope it’s not terrible lol)

Simon Riley is a man of action - Ghost, the most literal manifestation of serving. Ghost follows and gives orders to assure his team, his friends, make it home safe at the end of a deployment. as a Lieutenant, Simon wouldn’t say it out loud, but he cares so deeply for his team. Task Force 141 is a second home to him, more so the people, and thus makes it his job to protect them

but Simon Riley is also a man of action off duty - a civilian who’s heart rests in your hands. loyal as a dog, Simon would do anything for you. a man of action, he’ll insist you relax, you shouldn’t lift a finger for something small. anything Simon can do in your stead he will. because, while his team is a second home, his true home is you

but Simon, stubborn and strong as he is, gets tired. front door clicking shut, mask already being tugged off, his muscles are tense and sore after a long day. dirty blond hair messy and eyes half lidded with exhaustion, he’s still only got one thing on his mind - to serve you and make you happy. he already planned on trudging into the kitchen to make dinner, something simple but filling. he pauses when he smells food already though

kicking his boots off, worn and dirty, he makes his way to the little kitchen around the corner. cracking a small, barely there smile at the sight in front of him. you, moving about the kitchen. the lights a little dim - he’d change the lightbulb later, and there you are, cooking a meal. one step ahead of him, and he soaks in the domestic scene. a part of him wants to step in, tell you you’ve done enough and he’ll finish everything off… but he doesn’t have the heart to disrupt this cozy, intimate moment

it’s only when you see him does he approach, hands a touch too rough and calloused - he’s sure you’ll make him moisturize later. “Smells nice, lovie.”, he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hairline. eyes fluttering shut as he holds your hands, a small grin tugs at his lips, “S‘pose the food smells good too.”. he relishes in the laugh that leaves you, the way you squeeze his hands. he moves to press a kiss to your jaw, slightly crooked nose nudging against you as his hands wander to your hips - touch featherlight, as if handling you any rougher might shatter you

there’s a reluctance in his heart as he lets go of you, scoffing when you tell him to go sit down. “Bossy little thing.”, he mumbles, voice lighthearted as he leans back against a counter. he stays there for just a moment, one last glance at you happily cooking - cooking for him. it melts his heart knowing that you’re just a loyal as him, that you’d both run to the ends of the Earth for each other

he’s content to finally relax, leaving the kitchen to slump against a chair in the small dining room. head tilted back a little as he rolls his shoulders, his hands move to idly take his belt off - he’d change later, a hot shower after dinner always made him feel better. maybe he’d convince you to join him, better yet— maybe he’d convince himself to indulge in a hot bath instead. and when you join him at the table, sitting down next to him with a full plate for him, Simon feels butterflies in his stomach

he loves eating with you, sharing a meal and letting his guard down. gaze smitten as he listens to you recount your day, breathing steady as he hums. and when everything is done, stubborn man, he’ll take the dishes to the kitchen. as much as he’d like to wash them straight away, he settles for leaving them in the sink tonight. soon enough he’s sweeping you up in his arms - no matter how roughed up and sore he is, he always finds the strength to carry you. he’ll ignore any protest that, “Simon! I can walk—“, a gruff chuckle rumbling in his chest, “Know that, love, but I can carry you just fine.”

and from then on, Simon feels like he’s floating. in a dreamlike state, he sets you down on the cool bathroom floor, feet making contact with tile. gently thumbing at your hips, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, “Thank you.”. soft spoken words contrasting his gravely voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek - lips a little chapped, but he’s never heard you complain about them

and when you help each other slowly strip, the bathroom filling with mist like steam, he feels the tension in his muscles give. he puts up a little fight, grumbled words, when you insist on sudsing him up. he’s all bark though, when he feels you rub his aching shoulders he feels like he could never muster up any bite ever agiain. comfortable and turning to putty in your hands, he’ll happily let you mould him into a soft, gentle man

he’ll lazily return the favor, rough hands lathered in your body wash. content. feeling you under his palms, warm skin dotted with beads of water and bubbles, Simon’s content. a warmth in his chest that he’s still not used to. the simple intimacy of washing away the sweat and filth from the day, it makes Simon feel like a new man - and to wash you? he’s happy you feel safe enough, that you trust him, to handle you so carefully

and at the end of the night, cleaned from the dirt of his daily life, Simon settles in bed with you. all gentle touches and soft, murmured praise - you did so good for him today. he fights the back of his mind off, you’ve taught him better than to believe those gnawing words. Simon Riley deserves this. a phrase you carved into his heart, long since settled at the forefront of his mind. and as he holds you to his chest, warm hand on the small of your back, he sighs deeply…

a man of action deserves rest

#I hope this is good lol #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod #cod thoughts #call of duty #ghost headcanons #hit post

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soulessjourney · 9 months ago

Text

Sick

Paring: Astarion x fem!DurgTavReader

Word count: 766

Summary: The moment you let out a cough in camp Astarion turns to his necormancy book for answers.

Warnings: OOC Astarion, Humor, Astarion doesn't know how to comfort sick Tav, Astarion believes Tav is dying, fluff

A/N: This one is just a tiny little humorus work that I had sitting here in my drafts, I thought the idea was cute as we apprach out spring months.

The changing of seasons was the one time you dreaded being alive. Transitioning from winter to spring meant a massive shift in temperature, often resulting in catching a cold due to the sudden change. Seated on the ground between Shadowheart and Halsin, you observed as he taught you the art of carving a small wooden duck. A few feet away, Astarion was engaged in a lively argument with Gale about who knows what, while Lae’zel tirelessly sharpened her sword against the stone wheel for the fifth time that day.

“Gently slide the dagger over this portion of the wood; the trick here is to apply pressure and scrape for a smooth outcome. Now, give it a try,” he instructed, handing the small wooden figure to Shadowheart.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you watched her work, following Halsin's guidance. Her tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth, a sign of her focused concentration. An itch filled your throat, and you cleared it a few times to relieve the sensation. A cough escaped you, catching Astarion's attention as he turned to look at you. “What was that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Raising a brow in confusion, you glanced at the others, only to receive shrugs in response. “What was what?” you asked, shifting on the ground. Another cough slipped past you, and Astarion quickly approached, shoving his finger in your face.

“That! You never cough, Darling. Are you dying?” A laugh sounded from Shadowheart, and Halsin shot Astarion a confused glance before looking at you. A fit of coughs overtook you, causing you to lean over in an attempt to stop them. “You are dying. Out of everything we have been through, I cannot let this be the one thing to take you out,” Astarion declared, rushing towards his tent.

Once your coughing fit ceased, you followed his movements, watching as he tore apart his tent in search of something. Shadowheart leaned over and nudged you gently. “Who's going to tell him that you simply have a cold?” she whispered, keeping her eyes focused on him. Halsin, from the other side, laughed and took the dagger and wooden duck from Shadowheart.

“I've never seen Astarion care so much. What is he looking for, anyway? If you were dying, I could've simply helped you,” Halsin remarked, shrugging. Everyone turned their attention to Halsin, nodding in agreement.

Just a few moments later, a loud ‘Ahah!’ echoed through the camp, and everyone's heads snapped towards Astarion, their eyes widening. Gale stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Now, why did you pull that out? She's not dead, Astarion. There is no need to bring out the necromancy book,” Gale said, eyeing the book in Astarion's hands as the stone placed in the center of the cover glowed brightly.

Astarion scoffed as Gale continued trying to convince him to hand over the book. “I know she’s not dead, but if by chance she does die, I can simply bring her back,” he stated, flashing Gale a confident smile before shifting his gaze to you. “Don’t worry, my sweet. I would love you even if you were undead.” Your jaw dropped open as you shot to your feet, placing your hands on your hips.

“My gods, Astarion, I’m not dying. Put the damn book down; I just have a cold,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes as you met his stare. “If I were dying, I don’t think I would be standing right now.” Shadowheart stood, sensing a shift within you. Whether it was from standing too quickly, being sick, or both, black dots filled your vision, and you felt yourself collapse to the ground. Shadowheart dove to catch you, breaking your fall.

Astarion looked between the group of your friends before flipping to a page in the book and beginning to read a spell from its contents. A chorus of “No” echoed from the group as everyone lunged to tackle Astarion, preventing him from reading any further.

Karlach walked up to the camp, a deer hanging over her shoulder, observing her groupmates tackling Astarion, Gale prying the book away from him, and you lying on the ground a few feet away from everyone. Dropping the deer to the ground beside her, she caught the group’s attention. “What in the nine hells is going on?” she shouted, her eyes staying trained on you. “Well, don’t stand there; bring her back!”

The group groaned as they scrambled to keep Astarion from grabbing the book again. “She’s not dead!” they simultaneously yelled, the sound of their voices bouncing off the rocks around them.

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thecoppercompendium · 21 days ago

Text

So, you want to make a TTRPG…

Image from Pexels.

I made a post a long while back about what advice you would give to new designers. My opinions have changed somewhat on what I think beginners should start with (I originally talked about probability) but I thought it might be useful to provide some resources for designers, new and established, that I've come across or been told about. Any additions to these in reblogs are much appreciated!

This is going to be a long post, so I'll continue beneath the cut.

SRDs

So, you have an idea for a type of game you want to play, and you've decided you want to make it yourself. Fantastic! The problem is, you're not sure where to start. That's where System Reference Documents (SRDs) can come in handy. There are a lot of games out there, and a lot of mechanical systems designed for those games. Using one of these as a basis can massively accelerate and smooth the process of designing your game. I came across a database of a bunch of SRDs (including the licenses you should adhere to when using them) a while back, I think from someone mentioning it on Tumblr or Discord.

SRDs Database

Probability

So, you have a basic system but want to tweak it to work better with the vision you have for the game. If you're using dice, this is where you might want to consider probability. Not every game needs this step, but it's worth checking that the numbers tell the story you're trying to tell with your game. For this, I'll link the site I did in that first post, AnyDice. It allows you to do a lot of mathematical calculations using dice, and see the probability distribution that results for each. There's documentation that explains how to use it, though it does take practice.

AnyDice

Playtesting

So you've written the rules of your game and want to playtest it but can't convince any of your friends to give it a try. Enter Quest Check. Quest Check is a website created by Trekiros for connecting potential playtesters to designers. I can't speak to how effective it is (I've yet to use it myself) but it's great that a resource like it exists. There's a video he made about the site, and the site can be found here:

Quest Check

Graphic Design and Art

Game is written and tested? You can publish it as-is, or you can make it look cool with graphics and design. This is by no means an essential step, but is useful if you want to get eyes on it. I've got a few links for this. First off, design principles:

Design Cheatsheet

Secondly, art. I would encourage budding designers to avoid AI imagery. You'll be surprised how good you can make your game look with only shapes and lines, even if you aren't confident in your own artistic ability. As another option, public domain art is plentiful, and is fairly easy to find! I've compiled a few links to compilations of public domain art sources here (be sure to check the filters to ensure it's public domain):

Public Domain Sources 1

Public Domain Sources 2

You can also make use of free stock image sites like Pexels or Pixabay (Pixabay can filter by vector graphics, but has recently become much more clogged with AI imagery, though you can filter out most of it, providing it's tagged correctly).

Pexels

Pixabay

Fonts

Turns out I've collected a lot of resources. When publishing, it's important to bear in mind what you use has to be licensed for commercial use if you plan to sell your game. One place this can slip through is fonts. Enter, my saviour (and eternal time sink), Google Fonts. The Open Font License (OFL) has minimal restrictions for what you can do with it, and most fonts here are available under it:

Google Fonts

Publishing

So, game is designed, written, and formatted. Publishing time! There are two places that I go to to publish my work: itch.io and DriveThruRPG. For beginners I would recommend itch - there's less hoops to jump through and you take a much better cut of what you sell your games for, but DriveThruRPG has its own merits (@theresattrpgforthat made great posts here and here for discovering games on each). Itch in particular has regular game jams to take part in to inspire new games. I'll link both sites:

itch.io

DriveThruRPG

Finally, a bunch of other links I wasn't sure where to put, along with a very brief summary of what they are.

Affinity Suite, the programs I use for all my layout and designing. Has an up-front cost to buy but no subscriptions, and has a month-long free trial for each.

Affinity Suite

A database of designers to be inspired by or work with. Bear in mind that people should be paid for their work and their time should be respected.

Designer Directory

An absolute behemoth list of resources for TTRPG creators:

Massive Resources List

A site to make mockups of products, should you decide to go that route:

Mockup Selection

A guide to making published documents accessible to those with visual impairments:

Visual Impairment Guidelines

A post from @theresattrpgforthat about newsletters:

Newsletter Post

Rascal News, a great place to hear about what's going on in the wider TTRPG world:

Rascal News

Lastly, two UK-specific links for those based here, like me:

A list of conventions in the UK & Ireland:

Convention List

A link to the UK Tabletop Industry Network (@uktabletopindustrynetwork) Discord where you can chat with fellow UK-based designers:

TIN Discord

That's all I've got! Feel free to reblog if you have more stuff people might find useful (I almost certainly will be)!

#thecoppercompendium discussion #ttrpg community #indie ttrpgs #ttrpg #ttrpg design

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fangirlingpuggle · 2 months ago

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so since ford is like, CONVINCED dips and mabel are his kids in this au he is obviously not going to avoid them no matter what stan says about it (yet another point of tension between them...) so any thoughts on how he trys to bond with them? dd&md perhaps? children like that game right? maybe when it becomes clear mabel doesn't like the actual gameplay aspects he and mabel draw art to replace the official stuff and thats how he bonds with her? weapons also. he also trys to bond by giving them weapons ( i mean its ford cmon now)

Oh he totally disregards Stan warning him off

Ford: These are my children Stanley

Stan: No sixer, no they are not, they are your grandniece and nephew you were in another dimension when they were born

Ford: Oh please Stanley time is easy to mess that proves nothing

Stan:Ford your being stupid, when did I become the smart twin?

I think he's very unsure how to bond with them at first. Dipper is easier though Dipper wants to know all about the journals and Ford is more than happy to tell him everything (His son is so much like him) He also may be asking questions while talking to Dipper about any unusual powers he may have, or if they may manifest later in life. (He is sure all the strange things Dipper has found so easily are him unconsciously using his powers)

Stan: Sixer it's not hard to weird stuff, you found it

Ford: Yes Stanly but I was a genius looking for all of it the twins stumbled into it

Stan:I CAN'T WALK OUTSIDE WITHOUT TRIPPING OVER A GNOME FORD IT'S NOT HARD

With Mabel Ford can see she takes after Bill more with her chaotic nature, but he also see her empathy (And she reminds him of the version of Bill he thought he knew and cared) He encourages her creativity and listens to her talk about ideas and 'I'm sure I can invent that' he makes her insane creations, and doesn't bat an eye at the insane weapons she wants.Stan is close to having as heart attack.

He also gets them to come on explorations with him showing them places in gravity falls and explaining about science and how theoretically certain powers would work. (And if they had certain powers how this would work)

he would totally share his D&D interest and DM for their adventures, Dipper would love it and I think think Mabel who love the RPing and would making the most insane mix of classes Bard, Druid, Ranger with unicorn pig animal companion or something similar. She'd also totally draw characters and maps.

#gravity falls #gf #au #fic prompt #billford #stanford pines #ford pines #bill cipher #stanley pines #stan pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #pine twins #bill x stanford #bill x ford #humor #gaslit falls

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yunwangja · 1 month ago

Text

undercurrents | signal no. 18

masterlist | secret signal

"this was such a good idea,"

alisa sighs contentedly, setting down her fork with a satisfied smile. kuroo mirrors her expression, nodding in agreement, though his mind drifts elsewhere.

inside, a war is raging. everything about this feels wrong, but it's the right thing to do. at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

he tries to maintain his composure, to focus on the woman in front of him, but beneath the surface, he’s being torn apart. it’s maddening - the frustration, confusion, and anger building up inside. emotions he knows he shouldn’t be feeling, not now, not here.

kuroo was brought up to be a "good" guy. make the people around you comfortable, give them a hand when they need to, and help bring out the best in them. he lived his whole life being the reliable, friendly guy that is ready to give you a push whenever you need him.

in his mind, it means he can’t afford to be selfish. it’s simple: if it makes others happy, it should make him happy too. and when he wants something for himself? well, he should bury that desire, deny it for the greater good. because that's his "role".

that's how he mastered the art of masking his own feelings, hiding behind a smile, always keeping things light and fun. anything to avoid ruining the peace, to avoid letting people see how conflicted he truly is. if he messes up, in his eyes, he’ll have failed. the tetsuro kuroo everyone knows and relies on would be gone.

he knows kenma can see through it. kenma’s always been his voice of reason, telling him it’s okay to be honest, to not always put himself last. but it’s no use. kuroo can’t afford to believe that - not when the cost of expressing his true feelings seems so high.

so, he convinces himself that this is for the best, even though he knows deep down that if he could, he’d treat you so much better. he’d hold you close, knowing you belonged there. just seeing you smile could melt all his troubles away, and even the slightest brush of your hand would send his heart racing.

to him, you are everything. beautiful, kind, funny, and passionate. but it’s more than that. something about you makes him weak in a way no one else ever has. you make him want to be selfish, to want you all for himself, no matter the consequences.

he’ll do anything for you - even if it means forgetting you. because that’s what he thinks you want. you don’t need him complicating things with his feelings, not when you like someone else, even if you call it a harmless crush. it’s ruining whatever you already have. so, he’ll keep this up.

alisa and kuroo continued to talk, and he tried his best to get to know more about alisa, outside being his project partner and classmate. all he knew about her was that she had a little brother who was also into volleyball, which sparked most of their conversations before. besides, he needed to distract himself from thinking about you.

honestly, he feels bad. this date is probably something you both just wanted to try out, but he can't help but feel like he's forcing himself to be here when alisa is genuinely great.

as they finish their dessert and wrap up the conversation, kuroo can’t help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment. he’s managed to put up the front, to act like everything’s fine. maybe if he does this enough, he’ll actually start to believe it. maybe, eventually, he’ll forget about you.

“i had a great time, alisa,” he says, turning to her with a small smile.

“this was a really nice date. i felt comfortable.” the lie slips out effortlessly, though he did genuinely enjoy getting to know her better.

alisa raises an eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of amused confusion. “wait, what?” she lets out a small laugh, “a date?”

kuroo tilts his head slightly, caught off guard. “yeah?”

she shakes her head, still smiling. “this wasn’t a date, kuroo.”

for a second, the words don’t register. then, when they do, he feels his stomach drop. holy shit. embarrassment rushes over him as he quickly tries to backtrack.

“oh god,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “i’m sorry.”

alisa’s expression softens, and she waves it off casually. “no, no. did i lead you on? i didn’t mean to. i’m sorry if i made it seem that way.”

kuroo shakes his head quickly. “no, it’s not your fault. i just misunderstood. honestly, at first, i didn’t think of you like that, but when you asked me out for coffee, i thought - well, maybe.”

alisa nods slowly, her expression apologetic. “i’m still sorry, though. i guess i should’ve been clearer when i asked.”

he shrugs it off, offering a weak smile. “it’s fine. really. i hope this doesn’t make things awkward.”

alisa shakes her head this time, "don't worry, as long as we're on the same page. you're a great guy yourself, kuroo." she smiles at him.

he returns the smile, but inside, his mind is racing. despite the embarrassment, a strange relief settles over him, washing away the tension he’s been carrying all evening. it feels wrong to be this relieved, almost like he’s betraying the plan he’d set for himself, but the truth is undeniable.

why is he relieved? all of a sudden, although he feels emotionally tired from all the torture he gave himself throughout today, it's like his inner self was screaming, thank God.

a wave of emotions crashes over him, sudden and overwhelming, as if the universe is trying to tell him something. like, this was a sign.

he freezes, the thought hitting him hard. it's absurd, reckless even. after everything he’s put himself through today, after all the mental battles and efforts to push you away, this would undo it all. it goes against every rational argument he’s made for why he should forget you.

but the relief flooding his chest is undeniable, drowning out the logic he’s clung to. it’s like a voice, quiet at first but growing louder, insistent, cutting through his doubt until it’s the only thing he can hear:

he loves you, and it's you who he wants to be with.

without another thought, kuroo stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

“thank you, alisa. i’m sorry again. but i have to go.”

"i want you, y/n."

his words echo in the quiet room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, frozen in place. the intensity in kuroo’s eyes sends a shiver down your spine, and you’re not sure whether it’s the surprise or the weight of his confession that makes your heart race.

kuroo lets out a shaky breath, his voice raw. “i know you like tooru. and i know you’ve explained to me how you feel about him, how it’s always been. but even knowing all of that, i couldn’t stop wanting you.”

his gaze drops to the floor, as if he’s ashamed to admit it. “i kept telling myself that i didn’t have the right. that i shouldn’t want you. but no matter how hard i tried, i couldn’t help it. i just do.”

there’s a vulnerability in his tone that you’ve never heard before. kuroo, who’s always so composed, so confident, now stands in front of you, his emotions laid bare.

“i don’t know if you’ll hate me for this or if this will ruin everything between us, but i... i can’t stand on the sidelines anymore.”

his fists clench slightly at his sides, his voice almost breaking. “i’m tired of pretending i’m okay with it. tired of forcing a smile when all i want is something i convinced myself i couldn’t have.”

he steps closer to you, his eyes lifting to meet yours again, filled with something that leaves you breathless.

“from the day i saw you smile... i wanted you. even if that smile wasn’t for me.”

the room feels smaller, the air heavier, as you try to process everything he’s saying. a part of you wants to speak, to say something, but nothing comes out. instead, you find yourself moving without thinking - your arms wrapping around him, pulling him close.

kuroo stiffens for just a second, caught off guard by your hug. he doesn’t know what this meant, but in the midst of his confusion, his arms come around you slowly, holding you close, his fingers curling gently into the fabric of your shirt.

maybe she just missed me, he thinks. or maybe you felt touched by his confession. he tries to make sense of it by thinking that you were too happy to see him that you just weren’t able to control it. he’s been avoiding you lately, after all.

you glance over his shoulder, and there were your friends, peeking around the corner, smirking like they’ve been waiting for this moment all along. you pull back slightly from kuroo, cheeks burning, and clear your throat.

“come on,” you whisper, guiding him toward your room to escape their prying eyes. once inside, you close the door behind you, trying to ignore the heat that’s rising to your face.

the two of you sit on the edge of your bed, but there’s still a careful distance between you, an unspoken barrier that neither of you know how to cross just yet.

kuroo breaks the silence first, his voice hesitant. “so...”

you glance at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. you know you need to say something, but finding the right words feels impossible. after a moment, you take a deep breath and decide to start with the truth.

“you know about my last relationship, right?”

he nods silently, his eyes softening as he waits for you to continue.

“well… it scarred me. i decided after that… i didn’t want to fall in love again. i didn’t think i could be a good girlfriend, so i chose to just admire from afar instead.” you pause.

as you start to explain, kuroo starts to decipher what you’re trying to say. immediately, he thinks this would end up in a rejection. why would you say these things to him anyway?

despite this, he wants to listen to what you have to say. it’s not like he’s expecting you to like him back. you feel his gaze on you, unwavering, and it makes it both easier and harder to keep going.

“i told myself i didn’t deserve anyone. even more guys that i thought was out of my league. that was the case too when i liked tooru. it was safe... i knew nothing would come of it - the reason why i used to say i just wanted to be an ‘observer’.”

kuroo stays quiet, letting your words sink in. there’s no judgment in his eyes, just understanding.

“i did my best to run away from romantic feelings,” you admit quietly. “because i didn’t think i deserve to be in love anyway.”

there’s a pause, a heavy silence that settles between you. then kuroo speaks, his voice gentle but firm. “we both know that’s not true.”

“is it, though?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

kuroo shifts closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “do you really think i would’ve fallen in love with you if that was true?”

the question takes you by surprise, and you don’t know how to respond. “i... i don’t know,” you stammer, unsure.

he shakes his head slightly, his expression softening. “you didn’t need to be my girlfriend for me to see that you’re more than capable of being loved. you didn’t have to prove anything to me. i’ve always seen it. you’re perfect the way you are, y/n.”

his voice drops lower, filled with emotion, looking down. “i would’ve done anything just to call you mine.”

his words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. you can see the sincerity in his eyes, feel the truth behind every word he’s just said.

“kuroo,” you begin, your voice shaky. “i don’t like tooru anymore. i haven’t for a while now.”

his brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face. “but... i thought you guys were getting closer?”

you nod, a small, rueful smile on your lips. “we were, but only as friends, nothing more.”

kuroo’s eyes widen as realization dawns on him. tooru had been trying to push him toward you this whole time.

“kuroo,” you say again, gently pulling him out of his thoughts.

“yeah?” he replies, his voice a little unsteady.

“i know you just said you’re in love with me... but do you think i can?”

he tilts his head, eyes searching yours. “can you what?”

you hesitate for a moment, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

“can i fall in love with you too?”

kuroo’s eyes widen in shock, his body going rigid as he processes your words. for a moment, he’s completely still, his mouth opening slightly as if he’s searching for the right response. the room feels charged with the weight of your confession.

you watch as he takes a moment to absorb what you’ve just said. when he finally speaks, his voice is a whisper, filled with disbelief. “w-what?”

you give him a small, rueful smile, and continue, “you know, getting closer to tooru was because of you. he was also helping me figure things out.”

kuroo’s eyes widen further, a flicker of realization crossing his face. “because of me?”

you nod, your gaze steady. “yeah,"

the pieces start to fall into place for kuroo, and you can see the understanding dawn in his eyes. he takes a deep breath, his expression a mix of relief and intense emotion.

and then, in a swift, almost desperate movement, he reaches for you, pulling you close. his lips find yours with a kind of urgency that takes your breath away, the kiss filled with all the emotions he’s been holding back.

his hands frame your face gently, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. you can feel the tension melt away, replaced by something warm and undeniable.

when you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. kuroo lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

“of course,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“please do.”

and then, without missing a beat, he kisses you again.

notes

kuroo borrowed yn's phone and tweeted (and not because i didnt realize the plot hole immediately)

yn and kuroo sitting in a tree : D

this ends undercurrents OMGG UGHHKFSDHFKSDFS

i hope this was a good ending !!!!!

dw because a special chapter is coming !!! bc ik i'll miss this plus i want u guys to see sum yn and kuroo moments as a couple because WHY NOT

i'll properly conclude everything there !!

so technically its not officially done???

taglist: @lvtilzs @rarararararq @iamfontenlos @kurooswifeyy @secretsunsetsociety @kagsnumnine @yumiecheesecrackers @tojirin @jaynawayna @noxva08 @zahrawr-writes-fanfics @mawenskiblue @smellysluna @cccccccccccleo @winniethepooh-lover @akirqx @cupidsblonde @kukkurookkoo@emotiandon @urslytherin @mochroialainn @avis-writeshq @sorrynotsorrh @walllflowerrrsss @viva-vxgue @chifuzzy @mikaela26sstuff

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bots-and-cons · 2 months ago

Note

I saw that your requests are open, can I ask How would decepticons react when they capture a human that was an artist. Precisely painter with brushes, canvases and everything.

A/N: I’ve got some previous HCs related to something like this which can be found here and here. As usual I didn’t do all the cons, just the ones I had ideas for when I started writing this

•You’ve brought a lot of your art stuff to the Nemesis, since you spend so much time there and surprisingly, it’s a pretty calm place most days

•Or at least the empty habsuite where you’ve set up is

•When Knockout found out you were a painter, he immediately offered to pose for you

•If he’s not in his alt-mode he’s a bit bad at staying still though, so he doesn’t make for the best model

•Also he can never seem to settle on a pose, and when he does, it’s something very dramatic

•And god forbid you get any paint on him, he will screech in terror, because his paint job is now ruined

•You just wipe the paint off with a rag and tell him it doesn’t dry instantly and that his paint job is fine

•Knockout is like “I definitely knew that” when he in fact did not

•He also wants you to teach him how to draw and paint

•So you go to the web and buy the biggest canvas you can find, Soundwaves makes sure it’s paid for, but you’re still not really sure how he pays for all these things when you ask him to buy you something

•He’s probably stolen a dozen people’s credit card information or something, you’re not really bothered by it though

•Anyway, Soundwave is a big fan of your paintings, and he thinks they’re quite interesting, especially the more abstract ones

•He likes to interpret things in his own way and the abstract ones give him a chance to do that

•Megatron wasn’t really a fan of you dragging all your art stuff into the Nemesis, and he definitely made that known, but he stopped complaining eventually and sometimes even comes to check on you when you paint

•Starscream is also an enthusiastic model, though he wasn’t at first

•It took some convincing, but he will model for you now, and in a very Starscream fashion, he’s talking the whole time and you have to tell him to stop moving constantly because he talks with his whole body

•You got an idea one day and asked Soundwave to buy you some metal paints

•He had an inkling on why you might have wanted them, but he didn’t say anything

•Breakdown ended up being your first victim, because he’s probably the one who cares the least about how he looks

•So he agreed that you could pain his driver’s side door, however you wanted

•You made a really cool decepticon-ish insignia design on it, and he actually really liked it

•You couldn’t convince anyone else to let you try it out on them, but oh well, at least you got to test that whole thing out

•Shockwave isn’t really interested in art, surprise surprise, but some of your paintings do catch his optic, even if only for a moment

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #decepticons #knockout #breakdown #starscream #soundwave #megatron #shockwave #tfp headcanons #reader insert #platonic transformers x reader

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itsdrawingmen · 2 months ago

Text

We need to talk about Zen.

Every character in Mystic Messenger is a tragic one, and the Casual Story trio is often disregarded in that respect. But there is one character for whom I’ve hardly seen it explored at all. Maybe it’s because his route sucks such major ass, or because he’s honestly a bit of an asshole, misogynistic, homophobic, and ableist; or maybe it’s because his trauma is only briefly, fleetingly mentioned, as he and his friends refer to it, and then quickly brush it aside.

Zen Ryu, beautiful, stupid, and self-absorbed, is, on the surface, a perfect comic relief character, a beloved himbo, brash but well-intentioned. And I think this wonderful actor has been playing that role so well that he has fooled everyone, including the fandom.

Some character exploration and the uncropped art under the cut.

It’s no secret that Zen’s selfishness is nothing but a coping mechanism, masking a deep-set fear of inadequacy and paralysing self-doubt. It’s stated explicitly by Ray in Another Story, and it’s pretty evident from the way Zen is quick to worry there’s nothing more to him than his looks.

It’s obvious where he got it, considering how his mother treated him and his passions, and how his brother turned his back on him when he needed him the most. But there are more things I haven’t seen discussed anywhere, and I have a lot of thoughts and headcanons, and simply questions, so let’s start from the very beginning.

It’s made very clear in Zen’s route that his early life was… well, horrible. As early as kindergarten, he started getting singled out for his looks. Strangers kept staring at him and wanting to touch him, which bothered his mother.

Instead of getting on their child’s side, little Hyun’s parents tried to convince him he was ugly, to ‘humble’ him. It’s said that they just wanted him to be successful and to have a stable, secure life. Well, good intentions pave the road to hell, as it’s said. What they got as a result was a child who was harassed and stalked at school and in the streets with no one to confide in but his brother, who didn’t explicitly dismiss it, but still made light of it.

A little interesting point:

Make a note here of the ‘protection’ line, because I will get back to it later.

Anyway, whatever small support and understanding little Hyun’s brother provided him with, it wasn’t meant to last. Zen states that their parents treated them so differently they effectively separated them.

When he entered middle school and found passion for music, what his mother saw was her son turning to a precarious road and basically undermining his future. When she tried to convince him his dreams were stupid, Hyun’s brother took her side, leaving Hyun without the last person in his family who supported him. So little Hyun ran away from home, and thus began the story of Zen.

And here is where things get interesting. Zen left home when he was in middle school. A middle schooler in South Korea is anywhere between 12 and 15 years old. And a person living on their own must eat something and sleep somewhere. But here’s the catch: you can only rent if you are at least 19 (I’m assuming, Korean-19, so 18), and you can technically work part-time jobs starting at 13, but you need parental permission for that. And for any full-time job you must be 18. And this is the first big question with no easy answer: how did little Hyun survive after he left home? Where did he live, and what did he eat?

We can assume that for a while, he stayed with his friends, whom he for some reason tried to hide from his parents.

However, it would have been problematic for him to make it a long-term arrangement. If his friends were teenagers like him, their parents would be likely to tell his family where he was so that they would come collect their son. And if the friends were older and employed, it’s doubtful they would be well off enough to host a dependent long-term, unless there was something sinister going on. So the question remains: where did he live and what did he eat?

He mentions part-time jobs and extortion as sources of income, he worked night shifts to make ends meet, and there are also the mysterious 'bad things' that we will get back to later. But there are more variables here than just money.

Well, as far as I can tell, the answer to that is right here:

And now, I want you to stop for a moment and think about what this implies.

A child in his early teens (I like to assume 13-14), and a very pretty child at that, with a history of harassment that was never addressed, let alone stopped, finds himself on the street (at this point, we can presume: homeless and hungry). And he catches the eye of gangsters. Perhaps it’s my fresh experience watching ‘Banana Fish’ speaking (definitely not, I've had this conviction basically since I saw 'bad things' mentioned), but I want to really ask you: what do you think gangsters are likely to do with a beautiful and vulnerable young boy, besides use him for petty crimes Zen admits on the screens above? What 'bad things' could he have been forced to do to survive?

This admission by Zen himself doesn’t help my train of thoughts at all:

Of course, this is said in the context of exploitation at work, but given the gangs and the ‘bad things’, one can’t help but draw a connection.

Besides, this is where that screen I told you to take note of comes into play. Zen says that after middle school, he understood what his parents were trying to protect him from, essentially what dangers being pretty entailed. It couldn’t have been the usual harassment that he had been facing since kindergarten, he would have understood that by then. Another interesting point is that for someone with a gangster past, Zen is suspiciously gender nonconforming in his looks, and mellow in general demeanour. Yes, he’s rough around the edges, he’s homophobic, misogynistic, and foul-mouthed, but he isn’t really violent. Someone who used to fit in with gangs, especially as a youth, I would think, looks and acts differently. And this all takes me to a very grim conclusion: I firmly don’t believe that a good-looking and vulnerable child with no support network and with a history of harassment survived in gangs without being molested or sexually exploited once.

But let’s not delve into my headcanons and continue with the facts we have. These bits and pieces that come together to form a picture of Zen’s teenage years already paint a pretty morbid picture. But he made it big, became an actor, and left it all behind, and he’s happy in the canon timeline, right? Right?!

Wrong.

The most obvious thing is the contents of Zen’s fridge, which Jaehee points out when she goes to see him.

It’s referenced many times in the game, Zen lightheartedly says he often skips meals and in general eats pretty badly, and I think even V refers to it. And it’s easy to chalk it up to his insane diets and the expectations of his body and looks that he has to maintain to stay in the industry. Or, if you are a little like me and like to assume the worst, you can also attribute it to Zen’s borderline self-harming workaholism. But I think there’s a little bit more to it, and the key to it is actually where Zen lives.

I remember being a little confused as to why everyone was surprised that Zen lived in a semi-basement.

But I didn’t give it much thought, after all, semi-basements seem to be cheaper here as well, and Zen’s flat looked pretty nice on CGs (if extremely beige). And it wasn’t until recently when I was talking to a colleague about his friend sharing her experience in Korea that I learned that semi-basements were actually a signature dwelling of the poorest, and seemingly a clearly understandable trope for a Korean. Those semi-basement apartments are often at risk of flooding, which is apparently a well-known fact, and also why they’re supposed to be banned as residential quarters. And, of course, Zen is quick to tell everyone he likes that place with poor ventilation and little sunlight, because it’s Zen, after all. He has that working class mentality because he’s cool, and he likes underground apartments and old tech.

But it seems that the picture of his present life is also pretty grim. Now, I’m not in South Korea, and I know little about how theatre actors are paid there, but I can tell you what I know from several actor/actress friends here in Ukraine: theatre actors aren’t, unfortunately, paid shit. Even the ones you recognise and talk about, working in cool popular theatres, drop over half of their salary to rent a shitty apartment, and are left wondering what they’re going to eat. So it seems pretty likely to me that Zen’s empty fridge, old computer and mp3 player, daily subway commute, and semi-basement apartment all point to one simple fact: he’s simply poor.

And to make it worse, he seems to be extremely lonely.

I’m pretty sure he also mentions isolating himself when he’s feeling bad, but I can’t seem to find screenshots for that anywhere.

All that said, when the fandom looks at Zen, they see a self-absorbed himbo, the ‘don’t kill yourself you so sexy aha’ type of guy. And he is, and I think he’s hilarious, and I’m the first one to laugh at him tbh. But when I look at him for a little longer than a second, I see a young man who has been harassed to hell and back starting as early as kindergarten, who never graduated from school, who ran away from home in his early teens, worked multiple jobs, and still had to resort to crime to make ends meet. I see a young man who was once a vulnerable teen at the mercy of gangsters, who had to learn that all help comes with strings attached. And I see a young man struggling silently with poverty while maintaining a facade of a glamorous and charming actor.

And I think the charming actor has fooled everyone.

#god he breaks my heart #i have extensive headcanons about his teenage life in gangs #and i will talk about them to whoever asks #zen mysme #zen mystic messenger #mysme zen #mystic messenger zen #hyun ryu #ryu hyun #mysme #mystic messenger #mysmes

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