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jaycewrites-192000 · 8 months ago

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In Every Timeline [Chapter One]

Taglist- @ameliabs-world

(If anyone else wants to be tagged, just let me know ^w^)

A young girl at the age of ten, makes her way home from school. She didn’t live too far away from her school, so she didn’t mind the walk to and back. In fact, she found herself enjoying the walks. It gave her some alone time, some time to herself, some time to think.

It was nice.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t last long. Today, some middle schoolers decided to give her a hard time. She was stopped by two older boys, each of them trying to come off as intimidating.

“You lost little girl?”

“Where’s your little friends? Or, maybe…Don’t tell me you’re one of those friendless geeks!”

“I bet! Just look at her!”

She inwardly sighs at their attempts at scaring her and hurting her feelings. Though, what they said wasn’t entirely wrong. She really didn’t have any friends. It was hard to make friends at her school. Or rather, it was hard for her to make friends. She just gave up after a while.

She wasn’t sad about it or anything. She was doing just fine.

“Can you please get out of my way?” She finally speaks.

“Huh? Trying to order us around pipsqueak!?”

“Annoying little brat! We outta reach you a lesson!”

The two took a step closer to her. This time the sigh left her. She wasn’t a great fighter. She was only ten after all. But she did deal with her fair share of bullies, and she was able to take care of them on her own.

This was no different. Just two dumb bullies in her way.

The first one raised his fist and aimed it towards her face. She quickly dodged before deliver a punch of her own to his stomach. She wasn’t sure if he was actually hurt from it, or if it was just shock that made him stumble back. But she didn’t waste time as she did the same to the other, this time, kicking him in the gut as hard as she could.

“Damn you!”

The girl quickly tried running past them, but was grabbed by the arm and yanked back.

“Hold her still.”

One of the boys cracked his knuckles as he spoke. “We were just gonna let you go with a light slap on the wrist. But now you’re gonna get it! How would you like a few broken bones!?”

Just as he said this, fast approaching footsteps could be heard. And before she knew it, the one threatening to harm her was being kicked in the head. He was sent to the ground roughly, unconscious.

Standing above him, was a boy around her age. With a bored expression, he turned to the one holding her. “How lame. Picking on a little girl.” He muttered before rushing towards him. He jumped up into the air, and delivered the same devastating kick he dealt the first one.

He landed with ease, and turned to face the girl. “You alright?” He asks. The girl blinks before nodding her head. “Ok. See ya.” The boy says before starting to walk off.

“Wait a second!”

The boy stopped when she called for him. “What?” He asks. “How…How did you do that?” She asks him. “Do what?” The boy tilts his head. “The flying kick you just did!” The girl says, pointing back to the still unconscious middle schoolers.

“Oh that.” The boy says, placing his hands in his pockets. “I take martial arts classes with my grandpa.” He explains. “Can I do it too?” Her question confused him.

“Where is your grandpa’s dojo? I wanna take lessons too.”

“What? No way, you totally suck at fighting. It’d be a waste of time.” He says with a frown. The girl furrows her brows. “I do not!” She argues.

“I saw you trying to fight back against those guys. You barely left a mark on them. Then you tried to run away like a coward.”

“But there were two of them!”

“Which is why you shouldn’t have tried fighting them. Especially if you don’t know how to fight in the first place.”

“Then isn’t that even more of a reason to let me practice at the dojo? Then I can do those cool kicks like you do and I won’t have to worry about guys like that again.”

The boy sighs and starts walking away again. “No way. It would take you forever to get on my level.” The girl followed after him. “Like I said! That’s more of a reason why I should take lessons!”

“I already said no. And stop following me!”

“Not until you tell me where the dojo is!”

“No!”

This kind of back and forth between the two would go on for at least a week after that. It was by some stroke of luck that the boy went to the same school as her. So, she’d make sure to follow after him and try her best to convince him to let her take lessons with him.

But every time, he turned her down.

One day, she decided to follow him without him knowing. Sure it was creepy, but she was only doing it to find out where he was taking martial arts classes. After that, and after applying to join, she’d leave him alone. By then, she would have done what she had sought out to accomplish.

Her plan had proved to be successful, as she trailed him to the dojo. She waited for the boy to go inside before waiting outside. She didn’t mind the wait. It would be worth it if she could learn how to fight like him.

“What are you doing out here?”

The girl looks to her left, there stood a young man with jet black hair. A cigarette hung loose from his lips, and even from where she stood, she could smell a hint of motor oil off his clothes.

“I’m waiting.” She answers simply, causing the man to raise an eyebrow. “Waiting for…?”

The girl looks up at the dojo. “I wanna learn how to fight. But that dummy won’t let me!” She pouts. “What dummy?” Asked the man. The girl opened her mouth, only for it to fall close again. What…was that boy’s name?

“Uh. He’s short, and has blonde hair. And he does really cool kicks.”

“Oh, Manjiro?” The man asks. “You friends with him?” The girl shakes her head with a frown. “I don’t like him! He’s a jerk! He said it would be a waste of time for me to learn how to fight. I’m not good at it, sure, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn!”

The man nods. “I agree.” He says before taking one last puff of his cigarette, then tossing on the ground and stepping on it. “I’m sorry about my little brother. He can be a pain sometimes.” Brother? This guy is that jerk’s brother? But he seems really nice.

“My name is Shinichiro Sano. Who are you?”

“Y/n L/n.”

The two talked for a while before the doors of the dojo opened, letting some kids out. Among them, was Manjiro and some other boy he was talking to. Manjiro seemed to have noticed Y/n, as an annoyed look crossed his face. “You again.”

“Who’s that?” Asked the taller boy with him. “Some brat.” Manjiro answers. “Hey!” Y/n scowls. “Manjiro, why don’t you think Y/n can take lessons here?” Asked Shinichiro. “Cause she sucks.” Manjiro says, as if Shinichiro should already know. “She’ll just get herself hurt.”

“Hm. I think that’s a great reason to let her try.” Said Shinichiro. “What do you think Baji?” The other boy hummed. “I guess? I mean, couldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll talk to Gramps about letting you take lessons.” Shinichiro tells Y/n, making her grin. “Thank you!” She beams.

Manjiro rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He says as he walks ahead. Baji gives Y/n a small wave before hurrying after him. “Hmph. Jerk.” Y/n mutters, watching Manjiro leave. “Don’t worry.” Shinichiro starts.

“He’ll get use to you soon.”

Luck must have been on Y/n’a side. Shinichiro’s grandfather accepted her into the dojo, and lessons began right away. And just as Shinichiro said, Manjiro, or “Mikey” as he liked to be referred to, slowly got use to her being around.

But he was still a bit of a jerk.

As for Shinichiro, he couldn’t be sweeter. Y/n really grew attached to him, she would go as far to say he was like an older brother to her. That gave her even more of a reason to show up for lessons.

Y/n became friends with Emma as well, she was really nice to her when they met. Y/n was hesitant at first, but slowly opened up to her. Whenever Y/n wasn’t taking lessons, she was hanging out with Emma.

As for Mikey, he too eventually grew more comfortable with Y/n. Turns out she wasn’t completely hopeless after all. At some point, those two set aside their little dislike of each other, and became pretty good friends.

Y/n would get to hang out with him and his friends, in time, becoming friends with them as well. And being the only girl in a group of boys, their behavior and mannerisms rubbed off on Y/n. Among the group she had to admit, Ken, or Draken, was her favorite.

He was surprisingly mature for his age, only being beat by Mitsuya. And that was only by a little. As for the others though, they were just a bunch of boys. But back to Draken-

There was a point where Y/n had grown to see him as an older brother. He was nice but could get stern if he needed to. And he was a great protector. Y/n could understand why Emma liked him so much.

Y/n would have saved that big brother title for Shinichiro, as he was a great brother to the Sano kids. But honestly, she saw him as more than that. She'd go as far to say, he was almost like a father figure to her.

It was just Y/n and her mom back home, as she and her husband divorced a couple years ago.

Shinichiro kind of filled that emptiness that Y/n's dad left her with. He was always so caring, always looked out for her, always wanted to know how she was doing. He’d even let her hang out at the shop while he worked. It was quite the sight. He was so focused, and he did his job well.

He was just the coolest.

Y/n really cared about each and every single one of them. Which is why, it was all the more difficult when she had to say goodbye.

Mikey had noticed Y/n's behavior had changed lately. Y/n was less talkative, less active. She didn’t want to do much of anything with anyone. It was weird. So of course, he decided to confront her about it.

He caught Y/n on the way to Shinichiro’s shop.

“You’re acting weird. More than usual. What’s going on?” He asks. Y/n shrugged. “It’s nothing.” Mikey rolled his eyes. “You expect me to believe that? Tell me.” Y/n suddenly stop walking, Mikey did as well. “Well?” He pries.

Y/n's shoulders began to tremble, soft sniffles came from her as tears filled her eyes. Mikey was slightly surprised by this. She never cried in front of him, or anyone, before. “Y/n?”

“I’m moving away.”

“What?”

Y/n wipe away her tears, sniffling before repeating herself. “I said, I’m moving away. Away from Tokyo, away from Japan all together.”

“Why?” Mikey asks, trying to ignore that funny feeling in his chest. “It’s because of my mom’s work. We’re leaving in a week.” Y/n tells him. Mikey fell silent, the only thing that could be heard was her sniffles and soft cries.

Everyone found out eventually, and they were just as upset as Y/n was. But there wasn’t anything anyone could do. She was leaving, and she didn’t know when, or if, she'd be back.

Ok! First chapter done! Chapter two is already in the works as this is being published, so hopefully you guys will get to read chapter two soon.

I hope you all enjoy this series!

#tokyo revengers #sano mikey manjiro #tokyo revengers mikey #mikey x reader #majiro sano x reader #sano manjiro x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #spoilers

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yukidragon · 5 months ago

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Sunshine in Hell Height Headcanons

It's June 15, which as many of you know from this official profile, that it's Sunny Day Jack's birthday today!

You might also know that it's [Redacted]'s birthday thanks to this ominous picture Sauce shared last year on this day. Funny how these two totally distinct characters share a birthday isn't it? 🤔

Anyway, I was hoping to have written something for this year to celebrate, but like last year my spoons are way too few and far between. I was also hoping to do something self-indulgent for my own birthday, but same lack of spoons halted me there too.

So, until I can stock up on more metaphorical utensils to help me do the stuff I feel like doing, I'm going to celebrate by rambling a little bit about some headcanon details.

Sunshine in Hell differs from the game demos in a number of ways, and one of them is Jack's height. As you might've seen from the profile link, Jack is canonically 6'2", but in my personal headcanon continuity, I decided to make the gentle giant quite a bit taller than that. Because it amuses me, and I struggle with imagining Jack as shorter than Cove Holden.

When deciding how tall to make Jack in my stories, I also decided to do a height chart for him and a few other characters as well. It helps to better imagine characters interacting when you can see how tall they are compared to others.

Yes, I threw in a few extra love interests to the mix, as well as a couple other MCs. I was curious to see how tall Alice would be compared to her sisters, and I had to throw in their love interests as well.

As an aside, it tickles me that even after I made Jack significantly taller, he's shorter than Bo's horny "Feed Me" form.

For those of you that need the conversion from centimeters to feet and inches, or have trouble reading the image, I'll write them down for easy reference.

Alice: 162 cm / 5'4"

Jack: 198 cm / 6'6"

Shaun: 178 cm / 5'10"

Nick: 173 cm / 5'8"

Ian: 170 cm / 5'7"

Bo: 180 cm / 5'11"

Barbie: 184 cm / 6'0"

Bo "Feed Me" form: 216 cm / 7'1"

Elias: 185 cm / 6'1"

Coraline: 172 cm / 5'8"

As you can see, Shaun, Nick, and Ian stuck with the canon heights in their profiles. It's just Jack who got a height increase because it's what I imagined his height to be from the start, and Sunshine in Hell is basically my headcanons that diverge from the game's canon, so I do what I want. It's also fun to imagine scary yandere Jack towering over every single one of the love interests. It adds to the intimidation factor too despite his gentle giant persona.

Bo and Elias don't have canon heights like the SDJ love interests, so I mostly just did whatever felt right to me for them. Bo's regular height was influenced by the mafia AU picture Sauce drew. It served as a very good height comparison chart all on its own. As you can see, Bo is just tall enough to reach Jack's smile if you don't count the ears and poofy hair.

All credit to the awesome Sauce for their lovely art of course and for feeding my headcanons. As always, I want to link to the SnaccPop Patreon as gratitude for being cool with me using their art in my posts. If you're a a free or paying member, consider checking out an important survey that went up to help guide the team in their future endeavors.

Bo looks so short compared to Jack, doesn't he? In my headcanon land, it's just a matter of perspective, and next to other people Bo is pretty darn tall. Though he's just one teeny tiny inch shorter than his puppy.

You bet your sweet bippy Barbie takes smug satisfaction in that one inch height superiority. Bo talks so big as a big bad alpha dog, but the puppy he's trying to dominate is just a bit bigger and badder than he ever expected.

Of course, Bo gets to turn it right back around on Barbie with his monster sized "Feed Me" form. Like werewolves that become huge compared to their human selves, when Bo's inner beast comes out to play, he adds on quite a lot of height and muscle. He towers over even Jack! Still, even when super sized, he's no match for Barbie.

As you can see, despite being the eldest child, Alice is shorter than her two younger sisters, especially Barbie! They got more of their dad's height genes, while Alice took more after their mom in that department. Barbie and Coraline are quite a bit taller than average, a fact that Barbie revels in, and Coraline can find a little awkward sometimes, especially during moments of weakness. It can be hard to help someone stand back up and walk when they're much taller than you are after all. It leads to some embarrassing moments for poor Coraline.

On that same note of surprisingly tall people with chronic illnesses, I thought it would be interesting if Elias would have been a very tall man if not for his illness. There's no canon height for him and he's floating with Jack and Bo in the Christmas picture, so it's hard to go with a comparative height. So, I went with what felt narratively interesting to me. With his legs being twisted, and him being hunched over with a cane, he probably appeared shorter than he actually was. It's hard to see his exact height with his lower half ghostly and indistinct as well. It's only when he actually bothers to give himself legs and stand with both feet planted firmly on the ground that he can show off just how tall he really is.

While I'm on the topic of height, I wonder if one of Ian's insecurities was his height. Some men have issues if they're shorter than their peers, and Ian is the shortest of the love interests. I can imagine it certainly didn't help if he was bullied for being short along with his general "nerdy" appearance back in school.

Still, Ian has nothing to complain about at the height he's at as a fully grown adult. Even if the other love interests are taller than he is, Ian is still above average for men in the US. He's just got the misfortune of being the shortest guy in a group of very tall people. At least he doesn't have to worry about taking the bottom spot in the height chart like Alice.

Yes, Alice is a bit self-conscious about being so short compared to her peers, even if technically she's also above average height for a woman in the US. She feels especially tiny when standing next to Jack.

Though, admittedly, Alice does find it very nice to feel tiny and delicate when Jack sweeps her up into his arms. It makes her feel less self-conscious about how chubby she is when her big strong giant of a boyfriend can carry her around so easily. Once she gets over the initial fear that he might drop her, she'll soon look forward to being whisked away by her silly clown.

Oh, and if you're wondering about Mary's height... I'm still debating if I want her to be around Alice's height or a little taller. She had the same eye color in both lives due to the eyes being windows to the soul, but there were other physical differences due to different parents introducing different genetics. I need to ruminate on that fine of detail more and see what feels more interesting to me narratively.

Though even if Mary was as tall as Barbie, she'll still be short enough for Joseph to sweep into her arms since he's just as much of a giant now as he was then. Not that it would stop him from trying even if his sunshine was bigger than him. Nothing will stop Joseph/Jack from showing his love for his sunshine!

I think I'll wrap things up on that fluffy note. I hope y'all enjoyed me going off on a headcanon ramble after such a long time. With any luck, I'll be able to get to answering some asks soon. Thanks for reading!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #The Groom of Gallagher Mansion #Elias Gallagher #DachaBo #SnaccPop Studios #Headcanon Ramblings #Sauce-y Art

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baiyubai · 1 year ago

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weilan university students!au anyone? I almost dumped this on the WIP stage but then @the-marron bribed me into finishing

the bribe is under the cut

Zhao Yunlan is barely awake this morning, which means that his awareness of anything leaves a lot to be desired. The fact that he managed to stumble into the right train with only minimal amounts of bumping into people is already far above Zhao Yunlan’s own expectations for today, so he feels excused that it took him an embarrassingly long while to notice he is being watched.

It's not exactly a new feeling, truth be told - Zhao Yunlan does attract attention, absolutely willingly and with intent, but he is fairly sure that his awake self is much more interesting than the zombie chewing on the lollipop in his mouth that he sees instead of his own reflection in the train’s window.

And yet. Someone is looking.

Subtlety is an art available only after noon in his experience, and so Zhao Yunlan looks around in a way that is as covert as he can make it - with dead stare and absolute lack of any finer thought marring his forehead, when he sees him - the Pretty One.

Zhao Yunlan has been aware of the Pretty One for a while now. He’s noticed him a few weeks ago when he was getting on the train with his eyes glued to a book in his hand. Zhao Yunlan's first thought was ‘oh, a nerd’. The second one was just ‘oh’, because the man raised his eyes to search for some space where he and his book would not be a bother, letting Zhao Yunlan see his face clearly.

And what a face it was.

Classic poets didn't know shit when they described otherworldly beauties because this guy is just perfect.

And now he is staring at Zhao Yunlan.

He is seated a bit away, by the window, staring at Yunlan rather unashamedly. Maybe he truly believes in the zombie impression and doesn't think he’s been noticed.

Maybe he is simply judging Zhao Yunlan's clothes - he is pretty sure he wore the same hoodie yesterday, and since apparently he and the Pretty One share their everyday commute to the university, he had to notice.

Well, it is the only one not stained with coffee, so the Pretty One would have to deal.

Trying to make this a bit less awkward, Zhao Yunlan looks down at the book in the guy's hand and almost jolts. Biology?

Shit. This one is smart.

Pretty, but out of Yunlan's league and most probably an asshole - all the sciency types were either assholes, or insane or both.

Well, better to check than regret, Zhao Yunlan thinks.

Even if he decides that Zhao Yunlan looks like an idiot.

***

Zhao Yunlan looks as great as usual, Shen Wei decides, feeling heat in his cheeks and his neck.

Of course, he looks his best when he is animated and talking to his friends, surrounded by people who adore him, smiling and sharing his knowledge with a smile and a joke - Shen Wei sees him often on his way back from the tutoring sessions, after Zhao Yunlan leaves his own club. He’s never managed to come closer, intimidated by Zhao Yunlan's usual circle, and besides, in the evenings Shen Wei only shares a two stations-long ride with Zhao Yunlan, because of his job.

That's why Shen Wei prefers the mornings.

The mornings are just for them - they get on the same station and leave at the one closest to the university, parting ways when the crowd of other students swallows them and carries them towards the gates.

But before that, Zhao Yunlan is more often than not just within the reach. Today, he looks tired - there are shadows underneath his eyes and his gaze seems a bit unseeing: it’s stopped on Shen Wei, but there is no light of recognition, no surprise at some random guy watching him like he is the best part of his day, and so Shen Wei allows himself to look some more.

He cannot help but feel a bit worried - is it lack of sleep? Illness? He doesn't know.

He doesn't even know what Zhao Yunlan studies really, he didn't catch that when listening to the conversations for such a short time. All he knows is the other man’s name, his route, and the fact that the mere sight of him makes Shen Wei’s heart do stupid things.

It's plenty enough.

Shen Wei should look back to his book - the discussion will most likely rest on his shoulders again and he should be better prepared for Professor Ouyang’s questions, but his eyes refuse to move.

There is something thrilling in having Zhao Yunlan's attention, as illusory as it is. Shen Wei is not fooling himself here, he knows that Yunlan is looking past him, just letting his unfocused gaze rest on something, but even so, Shen Wei is glad to have this semblance of a contact.

With his coursework loaded as it is, with the tutoring sessions and the part-time job at the museum, Shen Wei doesn't have time to make friends.

All he has is this train ride and Zhao Yunlan's handsome profile.

He wonders what would happen if they talked. He probably wouldn't like Shen Wei much, losing interest after a few sentences, realising that Shen Wei is just as boring as he looks, but maybe he would smile before that? He would offer his name, a handshake maybe?

Something changes in Zhao Yunlan's eyes suddenly, and Shen Wei looks down onto his book immediately, feeling caught.

He feels Zhao Yunlan's gaze on himself for a long time, staring at the words without comprehension, but it's better than seeing accusation or disgust in Zhao Yunlan's eyes.

For the first time in forever, Shen Wei is glad that the train reaches the destination. He packs his book and adjusts his glasses, heading straight towards the door. He will not check if Zhao Yunlan is here.

Once outside, Shen Wei breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn't know where Zhao Yunlan is, but it's fine. He can observe him again in the evening after all, even if for a short while.

“Hello there,” someone behind his back says, making Shen Wei’s heart leap like a rabbit. He knows that voice. “Want to go together?”

When Shen Wei turns, he is faced with Zhao Yunlan's bright, friendly smile, the lollipop stick still in his mouth.

“Go?” He repeats dumbly.

The answer makes Zhao Yunlan chuckle.

“To the uni. I am conducting an experiment!”

Shen Wei blinks. People are milling around them in haste and some small part of his brain insists that they should move too, or they would be late, but that part seems not to be aware that Zhao Yunlan. Is. Talking. To Shen Wei.

“Ah. What is it?” He manages heroically, not stumbling on his words even once.

Zhao Yunlan grins.

“The ‘how many eye contact until date’ experiment.”

Shen Wei’s mind comes to a very violent halt.

#I invested all of my skill points into making a white line around characters and none into backgrounds #guardian #镇魂 guardian #weilan #shen wei #zhao yunlan #fic rec #my art

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mya-valentine · 1 month ago

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Dances of Intrigue

Synopsis: In Sumeru, a spunky dancer, friends with Nilou, clashes with the serious scholar Alhaithim. After Kaveh challenges them to a dance-off, they unexpectedly bond on stage, breaking down their barriers and sparking a connection that hints at a deeper relationship.

The sun began to set over the radiant city of Sumeru, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple. In the heart of the city, the Grand Theatre bustled with energy as dancers prepared for an evening performance. Among them was you, a talented dancer with a spunky attitude that often drew attention—both positive and negative.

You had a close friendship with Nilou, the star dancer of Sumeru, who was always supportive of your dreams and ambitions. While you both shared a passion for dance, your personalities contrasted sharply. Nilou radiated kindness and grace, while you were more spontaneous and fiery, often unafraid to challenge the status quo.

As you stretched in the backstage area, Kaveh, the charming and somewhat reckless architect, appeared, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re looking fierce today! What’s on your mind, my spirited dancer?” he teased, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“Just thinking about how I’m going to blow everyone away tonight,” you replied, a smirk on your face. “Especially that stiff Alhaithim. He thinks he knows everything about the world of art and culture.”

Kaveh chuckled. “Ah, Alhaithim! The esteemed scholar who thinks he’s the ultimate authority on everything. You’ll have to give him a run for his money then.”

“Or maybe I’ll just give him a reason to loosen up a little,” you retorted, a glimmer of mischief in your eyes.

“Why don’t you give it a shot?” Kaveh encouraged, clearly enjoying the idea. “I’d love to see his reaction when he realizes that not everything can be explained through theory.”

Before you could respond, Nilou floated in, her presence a calming balm amidst the chaos. “What are you two plotting now?” she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

“Just some friendly banter about Alhaithim,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I don’t get why he has to be so… well, serious all the time.”

Nilou smiled knowingly. “He does have his reasons. But maybe you could find common ground. He’s not as unapproachable as he seems.”

“Not to me, he isn’t,” you muttered, brushing your hair behind your ear.

Kaveh leaned closer, his voice conspiratorial. “Why don’t you challenge him? Show him the world of art isn’t just about theory—it’s about feeling.”

“I like the sound of that,” you said, a playful grin spreading across your face.

As the performance approached, the atmosphere grew tenser with anticipation. You could see Alhaithim across the stage, deep in conversation with a few audience members, his posture composed, his expression unreadable. He radiated an aura of confidence, yet there was a hint of detachment that intrigued you.

Just as you were about to make your way toward him, Nilou placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe take a deep breath first? He can be a bit intimidating.”

“Intimidating? Please,” you replied with a dramatic flair, though you felt a flutter of nerves. “I’ve danced in front of crowds. This will be easy.”

As the performance began, you watched the audience's reactions, the rhythm of the music pulsing through your veins. When it was finally your turn to perform, you stepped onto the stage with grace, your heart pounding in your chest. Every movement you made was filled with passion and fire, captivating the audience, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Alhaithim’s eyes were fixated on you.

Once your performance concluded, the crowd erupted in applause. You bowed gracefully, searching for Alhaithim in the audience. His expression was neutral, but you could tell he was analyzing every aspect of your dance.

“You did well,” Kaveh said, clapping you on the back as you stepped off the stage. “Alhaithim actually looked impressed.”

“Or just confused,” you retorted, catching sight of Alhaithim approaching.

“Ah, the illustrious dancer,” he said, his tone cool and measured. “Your performance was… unique.”

“Unique? Is that your way of saying you didn’t like it?” you challenged, crossing your arms.

Alhaithim raised an eyebrow. “I find uniqueness intriguing. It presents an opportunity for analysis.”

“See? Always with the theories,” you said, shaking your head. “Can’t you just enjoy it for what it is?”

“I can, but enjoying art without understanding it is like trying to dance without knowing the steps,” he countered, his voice steady.

“Maybe you should loosen up a little,” you shot back. “You might find you enjoy things more without all the rules.”

Kaveh and Nilou exchanged amused glances, sensing the tension between you two.

“Maybe a dance-off would help,” Kaveh suggested, a smirk on his face. “Let’s see if Alhaithim can keep up with you!”

“Absolutely not,” Alhaithim replied, clearly unamused. But the slight twitch of his lips suggested he was more intrigued than he let on.

“Oh, come on! Just one dance,” you encouraged, stepping closer, your confidence bubbling. “I promise I won’t step on your toes—unless you’re really bad.”

“Or unless you want to show off,” Kaveh teased, nudging you.

Alhaithim regarded you with a steady gaze, his demeanor unyielding. “I have no intention of making a fool of myself.”

“Then what’s the harm in trying?” you persisted, undeterred. “Just a little fun, Alhaithim. Dance like no one is watching.”

“You are persistent,” he noted, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice. “Fine, but I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”

“Deal!” you declared, grinning widely.

As the music began again, you took Alhaithim's hand and led him to the makeshift dance floor. The other performers gathered around, eager to witness the spectacle. You could feel the energy in the air, a mix of excitement and anticipation.

Alhaithim’s movements were stiff at first, but you guided him, demonstrating a few simple steps. The crowd cheered, and you couldn’t help but feel exhilarated as you twirled and swayed, your spirit infectious.

“Loosen your shoulders!” you called out, laughing. “Let the music guide you!”

To your surprise, Alhaithim began to relax, his steps becoming more fluid. There was a spark in his eyes, a flicker of joy that made your heart race. As you danced, the tension between you softened, giving way to an unexpected camaraderie.

“You see?” you said breathlessly, your voice laced with excitement. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, a small smile breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

As the song reached its crescendo, you spun and leaped, inviting Alhaithim to join you in a more elaborate routine. He hesitated at first, but then followed your lead, the crowd erupting into applause at the sight of the esteemed scholar dancing.

When the music finally stopped, you both stood there, panting and laughing, the earlier animosity forgotten.

“Maybe you’re not as insufferable as I thought,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

Alhaithim met your gaze, his expression softening. “And perhaps you’re not as reckless as I assumed.”

“See? We can find common ground,” you said, your heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the dance.

“Perhaps we can,” he replied, his voice low, a hint of warmth in his eyes.

As the night continued and the atmosphere filled with laughter and camaraderie, you found yourself drawn to Alhaithim in a way you hadn’t expected. The dance had broken down barriers, revealing a connection that hinted at something more.

Kaveh and Nilou watched from the sidelines, satisfied smiles on their faces. Kaveh nudged Nilou playfully. “Looks like we have a budding romance on our hands.”

“Or at least a friendship that could lead somewhere,” Nilou replied, her eyes twinkling with delight. “I knew they would find common ground.”

With the stars twinkling above and the city of Sumeru alive with celebration, you realized that sometimes, the most unexpected connections could blossom in the unlikeliest of places. As you shared laughter and stories with Alhaithim, you couldn’t help but wonder what the future held for both of you—a dance of intrigue that had only just begun.

Masterlist

#genshin alhaitham #al haitham #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact alhaitham #genshin impact x reader #al haitam x reader

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if-lost-please-return-to-maliksi · 11 months ago

Note

Hi pooo, NSFW/SMUT Maliksi x Reader inspired by the song I See Red TwT

((Anon, same ba tayo ng pinapakinggan na I See Red? xDD di ba parang murder song yun? char. Direct to the point ang request natin haaa, I like it! xD))

Disclaimer: I do not own Maliksi. Full Credit goes to HC - @ask-emilz-de-philz. Please check out their blog for amazing art and the wonderful world of Planet Puto. All involved characters are adults.

Genre: Smut

TW: NSFW, Explicit, mentions of a gun, sprinkle of violence, blood, dirty talk, masturbation, oral, konting ka toxican, p*rn without plot, sobrang konti if meron man, bad writing sorry 2017 pa last time na gumawa ako ng smut. Umm.. Read at your own risk, I guess? I don't want to traumatize peeps hehe~ Minors, please don't interact. 18+++ ONLY

NON- #PhilMytCrea related AU. Reader (Y/n) has a marriage of convenience with Maliksi. OOC coz he's not a tamawo in this fic guys, just a normal guy with no sad backstory. Don't come for me, this is how 'I See Red' plays along my mind.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

You tossed your bag into the floor the moment you saw a pair of red stilettos which are not yours, laying on the frontdoor.

You knew Maliksi was seeing other people behind your back and it's fine, totally. You two were not wed out of love. Hell, you two only met each other a week before that damned wedding. It was a wedding made for the official partnership of your parents' companies, that's all.

What irks you the most is that Maliksi had the nerve to bring another woman under the roof of your house, knowing that you'll be home today after a week of insufferable business trips- you were exhausted and your 'husband' was banging some other chick on your bed.

You have always been labeled as 'intimidating' and 'bossy' by people around your- too many names and terms however it just leads to one point: you don't tolerate any disrespect and any bullshit from anyone.

"Get out or get shot." You coldly said as you entered your shared bedroom with Maliksi. The man is currently laying on his back on just his boxers while the girl he's with is on top of him, fully naked and giving him a good show. You went straight to your dresser and started rummaging for the hand gun your father gifted you before.

Upon realizing that you are not bluffing, the girl quickly got off on top of Maliksi, grabbing her clothes and making a run for it.

"Goddamn it! You are no fun!" Maliksi muttered underneath his breath but before he knows it, you were the one straddling him, landing a hard slap on his pretty face using the back of your hand that's now holding your glock.

You watched as single trail of blood slowly trickle down his nose.

"Fuckin' bastard! I only made you promise one thing after that hell of a wedding. You are not making a mess on my house, and especially not on my bed! Is that too much to ask for, you man-whore?!"

Maliksi's eyes widen at your sudden outburst. Who would've known that his wife is hiding some feisty personality underneath that stern and work addicted facade Your dad wasn't lying when he told him that you are a handful and that attitude will be a pain in the ass.

He lets out a deep chuckle as he wipes the blood off of his nose. "Look at you. All this time I thought I was married to a cold, emotionless robot. You should talk to me like this more often. God, it makes me hard." His voice resonated throughout the room as he took the gun out of your hands and placed it at the bedside table.

Sure enough, you can feel his growing bulge under those boxers. You two never had that kind of relationship despite being legally married. It's always just you sharing a bed at night like a pair of college roommates- maybe even less than that coz college roommates can sometimes cuddle. But you two- sleep like a pair of logs, away from each other in that king size bed as if you'll burn if your toes even touch accidentally.

You were about to get off of him but Maliksi wraps his arms around your hips, holding you in place. "You're not going anywhere." He smirks, licking the blood that got on his lips.

In a single breath, Maliksi was able to flip you over- switching your positions so that you're the one under him. "In case you can't read the room, I'm currently feeling hot n' bothered because of you. Kinda glad you arrived since the other girl can't get me hard."

"Then go jerk off somewhere, you idiot!" You tried pushing him off but he caught your hands and pinned it at the top of your head.

"Damn. Y'look so hot swearin' at me like that." He softly chuckled before undoing the necktie you are currently wearing and using it to restrain both of your hands. "Maliksi! W- what are you doing?!"

"We've been married for like two months now, Y/n. Can't a man see his own wife?" He said as he started undoing the buttons of your top, whistling at the sight of the red fabric of your lingerie peeking through.

"Didn't know you wear such things coming home to me, wifey." His voice sounded so seductively sweet that you have to do a double take if this is really the annoying guy you were unfortunately married to. Your face was red hot in embarrassment that you just wanted the ground to swallow you.

He smirks as he pulls out his hard cock, tip glistening with precum. He can't help but grin as he watch your eyes widen at the sight of him, not able to say a word.

"Didn't know my wife is this adorable. I like seeing you angry and shy. Tell me, will you let me see other expressions tonight, pretty?" He said not louder than a whisper as he slowly wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, giving it a light squeeze to feel just how hard he is from watching his wife stare from under him.

"Like what you're seeing, Y/N?" He teasingly asked as he started to stroking himself while you watch.

You felt your own breath get stuck on your throat as he asks you because you are indeed enjoying the little show he's putting up. For the first time, Maliksi is not a random guy you are married to. As much as you won't admit it, he's always been attractive, and hot. The air feels electric as room filled with the sounds of his panting and ragged breaths. You wouldn't tell him, but hearing him call you 'wifey' does things to you.

He reached up his free hand, tracing his thumb along your lower lips. "Open up for me, pretty girl." And for the first time in your life, you were obedient, opening up those pretty lips of yours and letting him use your mouth. You looked up at him, locking those pretty eyes into his as you take him deeply, feeling his tip brush into the back of your throat.

"I've got such a good wife here all this time. Y' should've let me know sooner." He said, grabbing handfuls of your hair to push himself deeper, making your eyes water.

"..fuck. you're such a dirty slut sucking me so good like that." he cursed, throwing his head back. You let out a moan, sending tremors and vibrations around his cock which made him buck his hips.

It didn't took long before he's got you completely naked on top of the sheets, his head buried between your thighs while his tongue works wonders on your sensitive clit. You were a moaning and trembling mess under his mercy which made him softly giggle on how his supposedly 'stuck up' wife turned out to be like this from his touch.

"Maliksi...please~ 'm so close."

He quickly pulled away, making you whimper in frustration from being denied of that sweet release.

"The only thing you're cumming on tonight is my cock, wifey."

He lined his twitching length along your dripping cunt, pushing in slowly, letting you adjust and get used to him before bottoming up and just stuffing you full of him.

He's been dreaming of this day when you two got married. Who would even be opposed of marrying you with that pretty face and killer body. He doesn't care if you two didn't marry for love. That body kept him awake at night, and he's definitely going all out now that he's got the chance to fuck you.

His pace is erratic, pulling out completely before slamming himself back completely, making your toes curl and your vision fill with stars as he fucks you senseless that all you can manage are moans and incoherent babbles.

He groans when he felt your cunt tightening around his cock, making him fuck you a tad bit harder. "You're so close now huh? My wifey seems to be enjoying my cock way too much." He chuckles before reaching into your clit, slowly circling his finger making you tremble in pleasure. "Maliksi....pleasee.."

"I know, pretty. I know."

You can feel your eyes rolling back and your body arching as you reach that sweet sweet release, with just a few more thrusts Maliksi follows, shooting ropes of thick hot cum inside you, telling you how pretty you are like that.

You two may not have started on good terms, but you both know this night is definitely a start of something.

#philmytcrea #planet puto #planetputo #rp tamawo #maliksithetamawo #rp maliksi #writers on tumblr #UMM MAGSOSORRY NA BA AKOO? Q^Q

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seoulmatez · 1 year ago

Text

୨♡୧ NABI (나비) — a caterpillar leaves the protection of its cocoon and blossoms into a butterfly.

pairing. tsukishima kei x reader.

info & warnings. 6.3k wc, art students tsukki & reader, fluff, mutual pining, self-doubt on reader’s end (regarding skill).

note. inspired by the kdrama nevertheless! i also have a playlist if you'd like to listen while or after reading :) enjoy~

you blink at the sculpture situated in your workspace. unsurprisingly, its cold, inanimate eyes only stare back at you. the lack of response, though anticipated, draws a bitter laugh from your lungs. other than the fact that it’s unfinished, there’s something wrong with the piece in front of you. you’ve known it and your professor made that much clear during her class evaluations today.

what are you trying to convey? it feels empty. you aren’t showcasing your true potential.

by the time she had moved on to check the progress of the next student’s work, you felt as empty as she claimed your piece was. and, even though you didn’t have high expectations, the criticism hurt. your classmates must have been able to tell, too, because as soon as class was dismissed, they crowded around you with apologies for the harshness you faced and extended words of encouragement to help get you through the upcoming stages of the project. you thanked them, of course, but none of their words truly got through to you. you wouldn’t be standing here trying to figure out what had gone wrong or what was missing if they had.

“hey.” you jump at the sound of a voice several feet away. for the first time since class ended, you tear your eyes away from the source of your sorrows. it’s strange—you don’t think it shouldn’t be possible for your mood to shift so quickly, but the sight of a certain someone always seems to lift your spirits.

“hey yourself,” you greet tsukishima with a smile. it graces your lips naturally—isn’t strained or forced like it would be for anyone else in this moment.

heavy footsteps echo throughout the large studio as the man makes his way toward you. instinctively, his gaze falls to the idle figure before you. he inspects the sculpted model while speaking. “still working? i can get lunch alone if you’re busy.”

you shake your head and quickly snatch up the clear trash bag that you use to store your work. it’s transparent, sure, but you don’t want tsukki of all people scrutinizing your work. the bag crinkles loudly as you carefully place it over the sculpture in a poor attempt to keep it hidden from your companion.

“nope! i’m done for the day,” you assure him. your spectacle of storing the sculpture has the opposite of your intended effect, as tsukki’s golden eyes slowly pass between you and it. eventually, his stare lands and stays on you. it’s intense and you almost cower under it but you’ve known him long enough to know that, despite it looking like it, there’s no intimidation behind his eyes. you clear your throat, wiping your sweaty, clay-stained palms on the pants of your coveralls.

“where should we eat?”

after a lunch consisting of pre-packaged sandwiches and bottled water, the two of you decide that since you both have time before your next classes, you can spend it at the campus arboretum. you don’t find yourself here often, but tsukki leads you to a bench he frequents whenever he has downtime. you drop your bag on the edge of the seat before plopping down yourself. your companion joins you, albeit, a lot more gracefully.

it’s nice here, you decide, peaceful even. the scent of freshly mowed grass wafts through the air. it’s dewy, too—the sprinklers must have been at work earlier, sometime in the morning. if you looked hard enough at the patches of sunlight, you might have been able to see the little droplets of moisture sticking to the tips of the individual blades.

“how’d your evaluation go?” tsukki’s voice cuts through the silence.

damn it. you were hoping that minuscule detail you had shared would slip the blonde’s mind but that might as well have been an impossible ask of tsukishima. every piece of information he comes across is stored away in the neatly organized archive that is his brain. it can be useful at times; like when you seek him out to help you study or when you’re having trouble trying to remember the name of the ice cream shop you want to drag him to. other times, though, you consider it a curse; like when you attempt to cheat at board games or when you take a crack at convincing him that it’s his turn to pay even though it’s definitely yours. now, in this moment, his incredible memory has come back to bite you.

you exhale a breath that’s meant to be a soft sigh but comes out as more of a burdened huff. you don’t want to lie to him, but even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to. you’re as much as a glass wall to tsukki—he can see right through you without even trying. you keep your reply short and leave out the humiliating scene your professor put you through. “could have been better. i’ll figure everything out soon enough.”

“do you need help?” he asks, staring at the ground.

the laugh you let out causes tsukishima’s head to turn in your direction. his brows are knit together in confusion. another huff of laughter passes your lips before you wave your hand in dismissal. it’s not that you’re above his help, rather, it’s the fact that he even offered. you don’t put kind gestures past him—he can be nice when he wants to—but his concern catches you off guard. “thanks, but no thanks. i don’t want to distract you from your own projects. besides, i have it covered.”

“if you say so.” he doesn’t press because it’s clear you don’t want him to. though, a small part of him can’t help but feel that something is bothering you more than you’re letting on.

a comfortable silence blankets the two of you as you sit and enjoy the scenery. you hold your arm up to check the time on the watch strapped around your wrist. there’s half an hour until you need to get to your last class of the day. usually, you’d be itching to find something to do, something to keep you busy. sitting around and doing nothing isn’t productive and you find it to be quite boring. but this leisure time today doesn’t feel like that. it’s welcome and you’re truly enjoying it.

just as you’re about to lower your arm back to its place at your side, a set of deep-colored wings—maybe blue or purple—catches your eye. the wings flutter towards you, slowing with their approach to your hand. there are a few more languid flaps as the butterfly comes to rest on your finger. unconsciously, a smile pulls at the corners of your lips.

tsukki watches you watch the butterfly. the smile you’re wearing now is different than the ones he’s become familiar with. this one is more relaxed; your lips don’t expose your teeth like they would if you were posing for a picture. this one is calm; he can’t see the inside of your mouth like he’d be able to if you were laughing over something you found funny—funnier than it actually was. but this particular smile does share something with the others; it makes his heart feel weightless in his chest.

he clears his throat and asks, “do you like them?”

you cast him a curious glance before turning back to the insect perched on your finger. that alone, he thinks, is enough to consider an answer. still, he elaborates. “butterflies. do you like them?”

you hum in both understanding and confirmation, nodding your head to tell him yes.

“why?” he follows up.

“i guess i’ve never really thought about it,” you softly laugh. your exhale must have disturbed the butterfly because its wings pick up that rapid flutter, carrying it away into the air. you watch it go, fly with the wind, until it’s out of your sight. tsukki’s question resurfaces as you tuck your hands under your thighs. you ponder over it for a moment while you stare up at the sky. as far as you can see, it’s boundless. the butterfly that had just left you could be anywhere in the vastness of the cloudy blue canvas by now. “i like them because they’re pretty… and free.”

there’s a strange expression on your face when tsukishima looks back over at you, one that doesn’t match the lightheartedness of your words.

you look envious.

• • •

these days, it’s rare for you to be the first to the destination when you plan to meet with tsukishima. it’s become a habit for you to show up after him and on the occasion that you’re taking too long for his liking, he’ll come and get you from the studio himself. you’ve broken the trend today, though, choosing to drop the extra work you assigned yourself in favor of grabbing coffee with tsukki. you were sure that your brain would explode and leak out of your ears if you spent even a second longer analyzing the cursed sculpture.

“is it rude to start my drink if he isn’t here yet?” you mumble to yourself, chin resting on your crossed arms that lay on the table. the cup dripping with condensation on top of the white square napkin has monopolized your attention since you had set it down. on the other side of the surface sits tsukki’s usual iced americano. it’s the only thing keeping you from taking a sip of the beverage in front of you. you’ve come to notice that whenever tsukki is in situations like these, ones where he’s left waiting for you, he orders for you both and doesn’t lay a finger on his meal or snack or drink until you arrive.

it’s those consistent gestures that push you toward your decision; as long as his is untouched, yours will be, too.

you want to give yourself a pat on the back for resisting temptation and choosing to be considerate but the scraping that accompanies the drag of a chair stops you from doing so. you squeeze your eyes shut and shiver at the unpleasant noise. a chuckle sounds from across the table, leading you to open your eyes. there’s an amused grin on tsukki’s face that brings a frown to yours.

“that’s the thanks i get for treating you?” you mumble, aimlessly swirling the ice cubes of your drink around with your straw.

he raises his cup with his words, “thank you.” soft pink lips wrap around the clear plastic straw and you watch as the dark liquid travels up the cylinder. it draws your eye to the rest of his face—his honey eyes occupied with the passing pedestrians outside the shop, his buttery blonde hair tickling the top of his black and gold browline style glasses, the speck of dried green paint staining his otherwise unblemished skin.

your lips wobble in an effort to hold back your laugh but a short giggle makes it past despite your struggle to hold it in. tsukki’s eyes fall on you. a grin he knows all too well, one that means nothing but trouble, plays at your lips. “what?”

you tap your cheek, the same spot where the paint was splattered on his. “you have a bit of paint on your face.”

the man clicks his tongue in annoyance—at himself, not you. he’s normally better about making sure he’s cleaned up after class but today some of the paint he was working with must have splashed up while he was washing his palette. he sets his drink down before bringing his thumb up to wipe the dot away. it swipes over his cheek but the green doesn’t disappear.

“here,” you speak up upon seeing that his motion was unsuccessful in removing the blotch. you lean across the table so that you’re closer to him, within arms reach. your index finger pokes out to gently scratch off the fleck of paint. it lingers for a moment—your finger that now has a green spot under the nail—as you scan the rest of tsukki’s face. a close look that you’ve never been warranted before reveals a sprinkle of light freckles that dot his nose and sparsely spread to his cheeks. you’re not sure why, but your eyes flit up to his. and he’s looking right back at you. in this proximity, you can pick out flakes of gold like crushed foil sheets floating in the pools of honey.

you snatch your hand back when you realize you’ve been staring. with a fist over your mouth, you clear your throat in hopes that the tension you’ve created will dissolve with whatever’s stuck in your pharynx. what on earth possessed me to do that? you berate yourself, choosing to look at your drink instead of tsukki. if you kept your eyes on him, you would have seen that he was feeling just as bashful as you. the tips of his ears burn a blistering red and he’s also avoiding your gaze.

you discreetly shake your head in an attempt to physically rid your brain of any thoughts that have to do with being so close to tsukishima. they aren’t unpleasant but they are the last thing you should be concerned with considering how badly your sculpture is progressing. you sit up at the reminder. it’s a perfect excuse to move on from the awkwardness between you. “i guess that means your painting is going well.”

tsukki nods. “i finished it today.”

“really?” your voice squeaks and you pat your chest to regain your composure. while both of you are art students, you specialize in different mediums. despite this, you’ve always made an effort to keep up with tsukki’s assignments and the schedule he’s given. “don’t you still have a week until it’s due?”

“yeah. i didn’t need all the time allotted.”

you’re torn. on one hand, you’re amazed by tsukishima’s efficiency—you have been since the two of you were first introduced to each other. despite how fast he works, he consistently produces exceptional pieces. he’s a skilled artist who will have no trouble finding success after graduation. though, as proud as you are of him, you can never seem to bury the part of you that craves what he has—his competence, his speed, his talent. you don’t want to doubt and reconsider each move your hands make. you don’t want to constantly feel the weight of a deadline on your shoulders. you don’t want to question whether or not you’re cut out for this field.

your sudden silence doesn’t go unnoticed by the blonde but he has no intention of pressuring you into telling him what you’re thinking about. though, he has an inkling that it might be about the sculpture that’s been giving you trouble. all the conversations you have with him are normal until any mention of your project comes up. tsukishima isn’t one to pry and the last thing he wants is to agitate you by bringing it up, but he’s at war with himself. could he call himself a good friend if he were to stand idly by when you needed him?

before he has the chance to ask if something’s wrong, a soft smile makes its way to your face. it’s almost as though the bout of quiet was nothing more than tsukki’s imagination. he knows that isn’t the case, but maybe this is your way of telling him that you aren’t quite ready to disclose what’s bothering you. so, he licks his lips and bites his tongue.

it’s difficult, but you force yourself to set all of your coveting feelings aside. there’s something else you’re curious about, anyway. “since you wrapped that up early, what are you going to do with your free time in class?”

“i think i’m going to start a personal project,” tsukki replies, mindlessly tapping at the cup in front of him with his finger.

“oh yeah? what is it? another painting?”

“it’s a secret.” the words alone are enough to make your lips part in surprise; tsukki always tells you what he’s working on. even more surprising is what he does next. across from you, tsukki gestures locking his lips and tossing the key over his shoulder, all while sporting a smile.

you laugh. it’s breathy and laced with disbelief but the humor is still there. in the two years you’ve known tsukki, he’s never proven to be someone who jokes. he’s sarcastic, that’s for sure, but rarely a guy who goes out of his way to make others laugh. it’s new and it’s different but in this moment, his jesting is refreshing.

tsukki’s just happy to have cheered you up, even if it’s only a little bit.

• • •

another crumpled paper misses the waste bin next to your workstation. the sound of it hitting the floor seems to echo throughout the empty, silent studio. class ended hours ago and all of your peers had filed out then but you’ve been anchored to your seat since dismissal. the sun is setting now, dipping below the horizon. its dimming rays flood the room with a warm yellow. the quiet and setting sun should make for the perfect working environment but they don’t. the silence is suffocating and despite the patches of golden sunlight peeking in through the windows, you’re cold.

the stool you’re sitting on creaks as you swivel to face your creation. time has passed since your first evaluation and you’ve made additions and alterations to your sculpture but every time you look at it for a second too long, you’re filled with distaste. it’s clear that you’ve made visible progress on the piece but you have yet to figure out what more you can pour into it—yet to answer your professor’s question. the missing piece is beginning to piss you off.

your lips quiver and tears prick at your eyes. how pathetic, you think, crying over something like this. but the tears trickling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin aren’t ones brought on by sadness. they’re a byproduct of your frustration. you’re frustrated because something you’re supposed to love doing is giving you so much hardship, causing you so much stress that you’d rather destroy it than continue wasting time trying to find out what’s wrong with it. you want to scream at the top of your lungs. you want to shove this poor excuse of a sculpture over and watch it shatter into little pieces, listen to it crack and break.

maybe that would give you some peace of mind.

the buzzing of your phone against the desk it’s resting on distracts you from your destructive thoughts. you consider leaving it alone and letting it ring but the rational side of you is shouting to answer it. who knows what you’ll get up to if you ignore it.

the vibrations continue as you wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. your vision is still bleary but you can make out tsukishima’s contact name and photo. you don’t want him to hear that you’ve been crying but you know he’ll go out of his way to come here and check on you if you don’t pick up. it’s easier to hide your emotions over than phone than it is in person. so, with a resolute sniffle, you swipe the green phone icon to the right.

“hello?” your voice comes out more steady than you thought it would.

“hey.” tsukki doesn’t seem to notice the slight falter in your tone. you close your eyes in relief. “are you on your way?”

your eyebrows furrow at his question. were you supposed to be meeting him somewhere? “on my way where?”

“the movie theater.” his words take a moment to register but as soon as they do, you gasp.

“oh my god, i completely forgot.” you slap a hand to your cheek. you were the one who suggested going to see a movie tonight and you unintentionally stood tsukki up. you wonder how you’re capable of forgetting the plans you made but the answer is obvious and it’s right behind you. that damned sculpture. “i’m so sorry, tsukki. i’ll pay you back for the tickets.”

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” his response leaves no room for argument. you’ve come to learn that fighting over matters like these with him is useless; he’ll always win. so, instead, you sigh in defeat.

“are you still on campus?” he asks. you almost laugh. are you really that predictable?

you hum, spinning around to look at your piece. your head tilts to the right as your eyes follow the figure up from its head and down to its feet. you thoughtfully chew your lower lip. seeking out help has never been a strong suit of yours but the fact that tsukki called in the middle of your mini freak-out must have been the universe’s way of telling you to swallow your pride. maybe a fresh perspective would help get you through this slump. “actually, can i ask you for a favor?”

“ask away.”

“can you help me refresh on dynamic anatomy? something’s off with my sculpture and i think it might be the proportions.”

“sure,” his answer comes a lot quicker than you expect it to, especially considering how easily you forgot about the movie you had planned this evening. though, it shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise. tsukki doesn’t hold grudges—not with you, at least—and he even offered his help after hearing about your nightmare of an evaluation. “when should we meet?”

you’re inclined to say right now but you stop yourself. it would be rude to take the time that was once set aside for a fun outing and use it to research instead. “tomorrow night if you’re free. we can study at mine.”

“i’ll be there.”

• • •

the scratch of your pencil against the white sheet of paper along with the continuous hum of your air conditioner are the only noises that fill your room. tsukishima isn’t one for meaningless chatter and usually you wouldn’t mind but right now his silence makes you feel as though he’s staring you down like a hawk. you can’t be sure of how long it’s been since you started but you do know that it has felt like an eternity. your hand is beginning to cramp and the dull throb in your skull is a warning of an oncoming headache. you toss the pad of paper onto the empty spot of your mattress between you and tsukki. your head meets your pillow with a groan as you squeeze your eyes shut.

tsukki looks up from his textbook to inspect your work. the stretched arm sketched out on the page of your notebook is perfect, practiced, and the opposite of what he’d expect of someone who needed his guidance. he has a sneaking suspicion that the so-called “something wrong” with your project is nothing more than a product of your overthinking. still, he doesn’t enjoy seeing you this stressed.

“do you want to take a break?” tsukki suggests. his book closes with a thump. he peers down at you, patiently waiting for your reply.

you nod, eyes still shut. with your thumb and index finger, you create the smallest gap that you can without looking. “just a short one.”

the stillness that characterized the room a few minutes ago returns. tsukki glances over your figure; you’re resting comfortably, head denting your fluffy pillow, hands joined on your tummy. it’s nice to see you in such a pleasant state. the blonde was beginning the think he’d have to get used to seeing you with a crease between your eyebrows and a frown on your face. he knows the contentment you’re feeling now won’t last forever, but he can at least try to prolong it. he rakes a hand through his hair and shakes it as though the action will dispel the unusual jitters coursing through him. “would you like to see what i’ve been working on?”

you shoot up so quickly that your visions spots. a few rapid blinks are enough to solve your problem. with a turn of your head, tsukki appears before you. “you have it with you? it’s done?”

he simply nods.

“yes, i wanna see it!” you practically shout at him as though your answer should be obvious. and, to you, it should be. there’s never been a time when you weren’t bursting at the seams with excitement to see one of tsukki’s pieces. you reach out and grab his arm, squeezing his bicep eagerly. “show me.”

after prying your fingers off from around his arm, tsukki’s hand disappears into the side of his backpack. whatever he’s looking for doesn’t evade him for long because it only takes him a couple seconds to straighten back up with the item in his hold. he sets something in front of you, something you can’t say you were expecting. it’s a box—a small, white, plain box.

you eye the container suspiciously before facing your friend. “this… doesn’t look like a painting to me. or a drawing, at that.”

“just open it,” he urges you with a light nudge to your shoulder. you don’t miss the way the corners of his lips twitch into a smile.

you snicker at his veiled annoyance while picking up the thin, rectangular box. the lid is snug and you have to shimmy it a bit to remove it from the rest of the case. your labor reveals a piece of jewelry. hanging from a dainty chain is a butterfly charm. its wings up top are blue and the set on the bottom are purple. they’re similar to those of the butterfly you saw in the arboretum but the colors are lighter and more translucent—much softer.

“a necklace?” you question, carefully taking the adornment out of its box. the pendant sways like a pendulum with your movement and your gaze follows it back and forth. “who’s it for?”

the gentle swinging stops when tsukki’s hand stretches out to take the necklace from you. you’re taken aback and the tiniest bit wounded by his indirect answer. he doesn’t give you any time to dwell on the matter because it only takes a second for him to unclasp the metal fastener and bring the necklace around your throat. the pendant sits cozily against your jugular notch as tsukki clips the latch back in place. a set of large hands come to rest on your shoulders and they gingerly turn you towards the mirror in front of your bed.

“it’s for you,” tsukki speaks, letting his hands fall back to his sides. he observes your countenance in the reflection of the mirror in hopes of reading your reaction, though, you’re too occupied staring at the necklace. the expression you wear is calm, but tsukishima can pick up on that same sparkle in your eyes—the one from the day when he decided to make the piece of jewelry for you, the envious one.

“pretty,” you whisper.

you said that then, too, that they were pretty. that wasn’t the only thing he recalled you saying you liked about butterflies. “you should take notes from them.”

without looking up, you huff out a laugh. “are you saying i’m ugly?”

“no, you’re plenty pretty,” tsukki clears up his previous statement. you were joking with him but his clarification leads you to meet his eye in the mirror. as easily as his statement was delivered, there’s a troubled line between his brows. “i just mean… can i offer you some advice?”

others might view tsukki as a serious person, but you rarely see that side of him. his hardened, golden eyes harbor a sense of urgency behind them. you hold his stare and curtly nod in a gesture for him to continue.

“about your sculpture,” he starts, a hand reaching back to scratch his neck. he knows his words are necessary, knows that you need to hear them, but he finds that there’s something strange about him giving you guidance. he isn’t one to instruct or give his opinion in most situations but yours is a special case. you’re special. “you’re thinking too technically about things. nothing’s wrong with it; you just haven’t found a piece of you to put into it yet. free yourself from the confines of expectation and start to think about what you want to express through your sculpture.”

tsukki left you with his input at least a couple hours ago but as you lay in bed, it still feels like he’s beside you. his cologne lingers on your sheets—cedar and grapefruit; the one you got him for his birthday last year. you close your eyes and inhale deeply. a wave of serenity washes over you as you take in the fragrance.

your pointer finger traces the shape of the butterfly pendant resting between the dip in your collarbone. tsukki’s words echo in your head. you haven’t found a piece of you to put into it yet. is that really the solution to your problem? would that satisfy your professor? will it satisfy you?

there’s no way of knowing unless you try. and, luckily for you, your new necklace has given you the perfect idea of what to express through your piece.

• • •

for the first time since you’ve started working on your sculpture, you’re happy, excited even. the sense of dread that used to suffocate you whenever you looked at your project disappeared the day after your chat with tsukki. you spent the entire night thinking about what you could do to give the cold, bare figure some character in your likeness. it came easier than you ever thought it would and that’s all thanks to tsukishima. without him and his help, you were on track to turn in an assignment you absolutely hated and was sure to earn a mediocre grade at best.

for the past week and a half, you’ve devoted just as much time to the sculpture as you did when it was nothing more than an ugly reminder of your shortcomings—but this time around, you aren’t searching for something to fix. you’re adapting it—changing its expression, adjusting its pose, adding elements you wouldn’t have even considered without tsukki giving you a helping hand. you don’t end up scrapping anything but by the time you’ve put on the finishing touches, it feels like a completely new piece—one that you’re proud of.

you can’t wait to show tsukki.

it’s the day before your project is due and, surprisingly, you leave class on time. now that your sculpture is finished entirely, there’s no reason for you to stick around in the building until the sky is dark and the moon and stars start their shift. you do have one more order of business in the studio before you call it a day, though, and he should be departing from his own class right about now.

right on cue, a crowd of students pushes past the doors to the lecture hall you’re waiting outside of. tsukki is easy to pick out amongst the rest and you wave him over as soon as he catches sight of you.

“hey! ready to see it?” you ask as your companion approaches.

he can practically see the excitement radiating off of you. you’re beaming and bouncing on the balls of your feet. the show of enthusiasm brings a smile to tsukki’s face. he jerks his head in the direction of your building, “lead the way.”

you turn on your heel to begin your journey and tsukki follows. the weather is nice today—the sun is out but it’s not too hot and there’s a cool breeze in the air. you’re already in a good mood but the environment seems to elevate it even more. so much so that you almost forget something you planned this morning.

“oh!” you stop in your tracks. tsukki almost bumps into you but catches himself before he does. luckily you’re just outside your destination so it’s not too late to go through with your little arrangement. you sling your bag to the side and dig around it until you find the object you hurriedly stuffed in it hours earlier. tsukki’s beside you now and you can feel him staring down at you. you spin to look at him and hold out the item. “here. put this on.”

he eyes your outstretched hand with a humored snort. “you brought your sleep mask from home?”

“just put it on or you’ll ruin the big reveal.” you shove the koala bear eye mask into his chest, holding it there until his hand comes up to take it. tsukki has always had a hard time saying no to you and now is no different—especially with how happy you are. how could he deny you of this? with that thought, tsukki takes the fluffy grey eye cover and situates it on the upper half of his face. a few pieces of his sandy blonde hair stick up haphazardly due to the elastic band. you giggle at the sight.

“i’ll guide you, give me your hand,” you instruct him, wiggling your fingers despite the fact that he can’t see you. he holds his palm up and you take it, intertwining your fingers with his and tugging him behind you. his hand is warm and a lot softer than you expected it would be. holding it with yours feels normal… and right. you struggle to fight the growing smile on your face as you lead tsukki through your building.

there are a few turns and a flight of stairs but, thankfully, you’re able to get him to the studio without much trouble. when you pass the threshold that is the door, you swear you can feel your heart rate pick up. the organ threatens to jump into your throat with each step you take towards your sculpture. once there’s a considerable gap between you and your piece, you pull on tsukki’s hand to stop him.

“are we here?” he asks.

“yeah.” at your word, he moves to take the animal-themed cover off his face. the movement makes you panic.

“wait!” you yell, snatching his hands away and holding them in yours. tsukki’s eyes aren’t visible but you’re sure they would have widened in surprise at your abrupt outburst. hell, you’re even caught off guard by the turn of events. less than five minutes ago you were about ready to explode with excitement at the mere thought of finally showing tsukki your project. you aren’t sure where this sudden bout of fear came from.

you look over your shoulder to the fruits of your labor. just seeing it swells you with a sense of pride. it reminds you of how far you’ve come and tsukki’s the one who helped get you to this point. there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. taking a deep breath, you release tsukki’s hands and step to the side. “okay,” you nod, “you can look.”

slowly, tsukki reaches up to remove his blindfold.

it’s much different than the little peek he got of it before you hid it from him that handful of weeks ago. he expected as much but it’s more than clear that you took his advice to heart. it takes as little as a quick glance to tell that you found exactly what you thought was worth expressing in it. and tsukki thinks that the message you chose to share is fitting.

the expression on the face of your statue conveys a mixture of emotions. the furrow in its brows isn’t one of confusion or anger, it’s one of strain and trouble. the lips are parted, not in surprise or shock, but in struggle. its countenance is apprehensive yet hopeful. further down the body, the sculpture isn’t as bare. there’s foliage—lianas—at its feet that travel up its legs, roping them in and rooting them to the ground—trapping them where they stand. the right one is positioned mid-step and beginning to break free from the vines wrapped around it. the arm on the same side is stretched out in reach of something and its fingers are bent—almost as if the figure is attempting to grasp whatever it’s chasing.

a look to the left reveals what the sculpture is after—a swarm of colorful butterflies.

your eyes flit over to tsukki who hasn’t spoken a word. his amber irises are honed in on your project and you can’t tell what’s swimming behind them. his quiet plants a seed of uncertainty within you but you don’t give it a chance to sprout, don’t allow it any sunlight or water to blossom. you’re tired of questioning yourself and your abilities. this project is physical proof that you’ve grown—enough so that you know your worth as an artist isn’t dependent on anyone else’s opinion. still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about what tsukki thought. he was more helpful than anyone throughout this entire process.

“so…” your voice slices through the silence. “what do you think?”

for the first time since taking off the silly sleep mask you had given him to put on, tsukki looks at you. and this time around, his face shows exactly what he’s thinking. the corners of his eyes crinkle with the smile he wears. it’s a rare one—not sarcastic or half-hearted or the mere upward tug of his lips. “i think it’s amazing. good job, you.”

his empty hand comes up to ruffle the hair atop your head. any other time you’d playfully scold him for so carelessly ruining your appearance but all you can do in this moment is smile in return. there’s a different kind of affection behind his familiar action—one that tells you he’s proud of you. with his hand still resting on your head, tsukki asks, “how do you feel now that it’s done?”

you look to your sculpture. instinctively, your hand reaches up to the butterfly hanging from your neck. upon touching it, your answer comes instantly.

“free.”

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: haikyuu #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #tsukishima x you #haikyuu x you #tsukishima fluff #haikyuu fluff #tsukishima drabbles #haikyuu drabbles #tsukishima imagine #haikyuu imagines #tsukishima scenarios #haikyuu scenarios

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lucky-punk-lemonade · 4 months ago

Text

Picture You

| You visit a local art show in Hobie's universe, not knowing he contributed. Not knowing you contributed; [Webhead reader; Friends to ??; Feelings realization] Hobie Brown

This work belongs to me, lucky-punk-lemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

Hobie’s house always smelled vaguely different. For a few weeks there, it smelled of incense. Incense he had stolen, of course. When he ran out of that, it smelled like cigarette smoke because he’d let his friend crash there, trying to break the habit and get back on his feet. Various good and bad smells. Cookies after a baking hyper-fixation. Detergent from a “freak laundry accident” that Hobie swore was the downstairs neighbors conspiring against him. All of these mixed with a lethargic scent of cologne which seemed to blend well with everything. Once, it had even smelled like citrus and lavender. It didn't take long for me to squeeze out the fact Hobie had developed a crush, and he had deep cleaned his apartment to impress her.

Today, though, it smelled like coffee. Hobie didn’t drink coffee, though. I drink coffee. I show up at his door with those little cups to put in the busted up Keurig his temporary roommate left behind. Everything in Hobie’s house was stolen, discovered, or borrowed. The coffee table (that he calls “Just Table” because he doesn’t drink coffee). The armchair he got from a friend’s sister’s ex boyfriend. His shitty vintage boombox and the tapes he plays.

It was often I showed up outside of his window, backpack full of treats or gifts in tow. I sit on his couch and drink from a chipped mug with “World’s Best Grandpa” painted on the side in colorful letters. He walks behind me, pacing and scrolling through his phone. I ignore the slow, inconsistent footsteps behind me and click through the various shows I've had in rotation.

“Have you ever seen The Princess Bride ?”

I don’t really expect an answer, and I don't get one. He’s busy, he usually is. Not usually on his phone, though, but who am I to step between a guy and his Candy Crush addiction? I sigh and put the remote down, deciding to head back to my universe for the night.

Hobie was part of the group that took interest in me via the Spider Society. I didn’t go to HQ very often, no reason to. Until I had a run-in with a multi-dimensional creature that I had to report to Miguel. That’s when I met Pavitr. He was an incredibly bright force that inevitably offered an invitation to lunch with his friends. His friends I came to know well. Gwen was, by definition, a rebel. She did everything on purpose, usually with the intent to piss off her dad. Gwen was the epitome of teenage rebellion that was most times ill-advised. Miles was talented, he was always wondering. He was constantly thinking and creating new ideas. It was inspiring to hear his thoughts. Pavitr was a soothing presence, not audibly but he had the perfect vibes. A chance to listen to him was a chance to tune everything out because Pav’s existence required the utmost attention.

Hobie, when first approached, was intimidating. His demeanor remains nonchalant and tuned-out. He was covered in spikes and leather and patterns. He looked incredibly threatening, too cool. When he spoke, it almost sounded out of character. He was kind and welcoming, funny. All traits many Spider-Men had. This was the justification I had for how interested I was in him, his energy. He was just as attractive and charming as Pav or that one guy who I always saw in the lobby.

I’ve been to their houses, I crash often. Gwen let me stay with her for almost a month once. In return, I help with Spider work and house chores to show my gratitude. I know what everyone’s room looks like, a main theme of band posters and scattered clothing. I don't visit Miles too often, he's got a lot of stress already. I stay above a convenient store owned by a family friend of Pav’s when I go to see him. Hobie has always let me stay at his place, though. I have made myself particularly comfortable in his shared flat that his roommate never seems to be in. I don’t ask questions, I just sleep on his couch.

I reflect on everything as I fold his blanket and set it on his couch. I pick up my bag and stuff my jacket into it. It’s warm enough , I think. I sit on the floor to lace up my shoes. Hobie acknowledges me before walking into his room, I nod back and finish tying my shoes. I walk to the sink with my cup of water to wash it. Sitting on the counter, slightly ripped and damp, is a flier.

A seemingly homemade advertisement for a local art showing, raising money for the food bank. The food bank I remember Hobie telling me about. He had been protective of it ever since he discovered there was a prominent political figure who was more than adamant to take down the business. I remember Hobie being mad. I remember bringing him brownies and stopping by with a hefty donation to the food bank without Hobie knowing. I remember doing this often. I remember how kind the owners were, how I developed the same protective nature towards them.

I read the flier more closely. An art show with an admission fee, local artists, local music, good cause. I was immediately interested. I walk to Hobie’s room, leaving the flier behind on the counter.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out.”

“Yeah, be safe.” He smiles and nods. “If you need anything, call.”

I smile back and wave goodbye, exiting the room and grabbing my belongings. I tuck myself out of the window and swing through the city. Food bank. I think to myself. I eventually found it. A brick building with a single, cramped entrance. I enter and inquire about the art show. It’s supposed to be held at a church nearby. Should’ve read the rest of the flier . I note the time and address, thanking them for their help.

★★★

The church was made up entirely of coarse, yellowed brick. Everything was incredibly old and classy. The windows were stained glass, geometric shapes lined with brassy gold. Cars lined up in the parking lot of the church. I walk to the broken-up sidewalk and feel how warm the evening is in the direct line of the sunset. The event was set to begin at six-thirty. People were scattered outside, talking in groups. The environment was friendly, warm. I walk up the seven steps that lead to the two glass doors. Once inside, I smell old paper and floral perfume. A classic church smell , I think to myself with a smirk.

The church foyer was wide and open, a few tables set out in front with a donation jar, papers, and chairs holding people with large smiles and kind eyes. I can tell this church has been made into a sort of community center, the people needing somewhere to gather. I approach the table, becoming aware of the makeshift stage boosting up a band. The music had already begun, soft yet upbeat, setting a chill tone. I greet the older woman sitting at the table, recognizing her from the food bank. I smile and make the admission fee, and then some. These people have created a more meaningful community with their own presence than a local politician ever could with bulldozers and contractors. The idea that they had to hold fundraisers in local churches because they only have personal connections to work with made me strongly displeased.

After being told to enjoy myself, I walk through one of the doors. From what I could tell, all the extra furniture had been moved into closed off rooms to clear space for the “galleries.” Completely barren rooms are now decorated with various artwork. I take my time and shove my hands into my pockets, wandering around the first room. The first few rooms have impressive work. From notebook paper sketches to large canvases painted with bright colors. About a minute into browsing the second room, a woman walks past me.

“Hello.” Her voice is upbeat, breathy.

I raise my eyebrows, “Oh- Hi.” I smile.

She stares at me, studies me. I furrow my brows as she watches my every move. After a few more awkward seconds, she smiles widely and walks out. Okay? I brush it off.

A few more rooms in, I see a canvas about the size of a piece of printer paper. It’s labeled “Black Treacle” by a bo y younger than me. I study the details. A can of black treacle is painted, highlighted and shapely. A few more paintings.

A dark, swirling painting depicting earthly objects drawn toward the center: “Supermassive Black Hole.”

An orange, fiery background contrasting four black silhouettes: “Daphne Blue”

Label after label, my head tilts and my eyes study. I smile in confusion and inspiration.

“Purple haze”, a portrait of Jimi Hendrix.

“Holy Calamity”, a charcoal sketch inspired by the war on drugs, tacked with a lengthy and tragic origin.

After stepping back from the wall, I notice two people staring at me. I subtly look over myself. I don’t have anything on my shirt. I touch my face. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing on my face… I quickly walk to the next room.

While overthinking the stares, my train of thought is derailed when I see a canvas, just a little bigger than the rest. It shows a sunset with a city skyline. The angles and edges were lined with gold foil, white highlights darting the painting. The image looks so familiar. I walk towards it, getting closer than I should’ve. The card below makes me grin. “2/14” by H. Brown. I knew he was creative, but wow.

I remember the setting. It was Valentine’s Day, the friend group had planned a big day together so none of us would be alone. Movies, chocolate, soda, friends. A result of Gwen’s chronic loneliness. Pav couldn’t come as he had already planned an extravagant date for Gayatri. Miles was grounded indefinitely. Gwen canceled at the last minute, never telling us why. I stared at the group chat message, standing in line to buy chocolates. I texted the group, a little pissed and put the chocolates back. Hobie had messaged me separately.

“i guess we’re both free then?”

“Looks like.”

“I wish she wouldn’t plan stuff if she's always this uncertain.”

“thats what I like about her”

“shes inconsistent.”

“Yeah, well now I have to return a shit ton of candy. “

“bring it by my place.”

“we can still hang out”

“right?"

“Okay.”“Give me twenty.”

I knocked on his window 30 minutes later, apologizing for the time. He grabbed the bags of candy and led me right back out the window. I followed him, down the rickety stairs and to the sidewalk. I asked him why we weren’t swinging. He told me to just look around, enjoy the noise. When we got deeper into the city, we climbed our way up to the roof of a building. Not the tallest building, one of regular size. We situated ourselves next to the edge, resting our elbows on the ledge. I had realized why he picked this site as we got up there. It faced a wide expanse of clear land. It faced the sunset. It wasn't as pink as it usually is, something I took as a direct middle finger to Valentine’s stereotypes. It was orange and purple. I told Hobie how the sky is probably the only thing that can blend those colors as beautifully without making a gross, muddy brown. I opened the bag of chocolates, said the sunset and sunrise were like crazy, natural RGBs, and adjusted the earbuds that fit loosely in my ears. He scoffed and we talked. We talked about how much Pav talks about Gayatri, about how moody it makes Gwen. How much Miles is going through. How nice it is to have other ‘webheads’ to confide in. We watched the sunset in silence, the window of time we devoted to staring at the colors darken.

This was that sunset. And I was wrong. The colors were strikingly accurate to my memory. A stylistic choice of gold foil and white highlights were so Hobie. It always seemed he added a little extra to everything in his mind. I grinned and took out my phone to take a picture. Once I was finished, I moved a bit quicker while browsing. I was hunting for something else Hobie had created. Something I could find about him that he hadn’t told me himself.

★★★

“Hobie, man! Amazing job!”

I felt a pair of hands clamp onto my back. I shook my head and smiled. I’ve been thanking a lot of people today. This has been something I signed up for to help out a friend. The food bank has done incredible things for this community, I’d do anything to keep the family upright. Seeing all these people show up and donate to the cause is reassuring. I took a tour myself after I helped set up. We hold a lot of potential here.

“They’re gonna love this, D.”

I tell Diana, the co-owner of the food bank as I stare around one of the rooms. She smiles, lines forming around her eyes. D is an older woman that had always checked in on me. She has patched up countless cuts on my face, made me innumerable bowls of soup, given me way too many pep talks and even more reprimands. She walks up to me and hugs me, wordlessly.

Now, as I stand in the lobby once I’ve checked in with everyone out back, I stay behind Diana, sitting in her chair and greeting more visitors. I keep to myself and hover to the side. A few people came by to exit, they had finished the walkthrough. They smiled at me.

“You made that sunset painting, right?” I cringe. D had been very liberal bragging about my art. I had been staring at my shoes for at least 20 minutes while she talked about how she’s known me since I was “a little monster.” Now, people recognized my name to my face.

“Yeah.” I answer shortly.

“It’s amazing. I love the story you tell. Good job.” The man says.

I smile, “Hey, thanks, man.” And wave goodbye as they walk through the door.

“Hobie!” D’s voice calls from a few meters away.

I turn towards her. She was now alone at the table. I walk over to her, “What’s up?”

“That painting. The one you insisted I hide in the back room. I still don’t know why you’d hide the most beautiful work you’ve-”

“What about it, D?” I roll my eyes.

“The person from the painting, I saw 'em.” Diana smiles. I furrow my brows and tilt my head.

“Huh?” Diana’s voice reverberates through my ribcage.

“They're here .” She grins, softly. If it were anyone else, it'd sound mocking. “They're a kind soul, I approve.”

My eyes slightly widen and my chest heaves in sudden panic.

“ What ? ”

★★★

I stare at the second Hobie painting I’ve found.

A box of chocolates is spilled out onto a concrete ledge.

“Bad Habit” by H. Brown.

A pocket knife sits next to a few crumbs of a chocolate bar, coated in caramel. The knife assumedly had cut the candy bar in half. Not in half, in like three quarters. That was my pocket knife and I remember everything. That night, I had opened the bag as we talked constantly, back and forth. I had opened a Twix and set it on the ledge.

“We go half?” He looked at me, reaching for the candy. I pulled out my pocket knife and flicked it open.

“Jesus, dude. You can have it. ”

I laughed loudly, I covered my mouth. “No! I’m gonna cut it in half. Sorry, I should stop pulling knives on people.”

He laughed, “That’s a habit of yours?”

I sighed dramatically, “A bad one.” Before cutting the Twix, it was completely disproportionate.

Remembering this made me smirk. I wondered why these moments had been memorialized. I continue looking back, wondering what else could be so special. I felt too bad to skip every other piece. I could tell time had been dedicated to the abstract oil pastel labeled “Tio.” I felt connected to the color pencil drawing of the Iris flowers. I couldn’t just walk past them selfishly. My eyes quickly scanned them, hastily coming up with my opinions on them and shuffling to the next. I read the labels and artists’ names and ages. I wander the rooms, they are small and large and the paint on the walls are all different colors of neutral. I admire the windows in the short hallways between rooms. The stained glass being a fitting, constant palette cleanser. I walk through what I believe to be the last room. This room stands surrounded by two other rooms to the left and right. The room is dimmer, I see a brighter light within.

When I walk into the room, the majority of the paintings are lit dimly by the main light at the opposite of the room. I stare at the canvas. It was a sizable canvas compared to every other that had been displayed. Slightly bigger. The one light used in this room was shined directly onto it. I walk towards it.

The painting was me. Literally, I was in the painting . It was a view of me from the side, my head only slightly turned towards the point of view. The darkening sunset before me, casting an orange glow on my face. The art style was choppy, no straight lines, everything lightly blended together. My face was clear, though. It was obviously me. I had cheap earbuds in, listening to music I refused to show him in fear of getting made fun of. The sunset had almost changed my eye color, it emphasized my eyelashes, highlighted my arms as they pushed my body up from the ledge. I was looking out past the roof and towards the sky. People below were blurred squares, a hundred feet below us. So ignorant, yet so important in this painting. I remember this. My breath was audible in the dead silent room. I breathed in and out, the exhale interrupted by a quick “Heh.” I looked at the card underneath.

“Dayplayer” by Hobie Brown

It was impossible to stop thinking about how this painting struck me. I saw how I was seen at that moment, watching the sunset with him. This was how he saw me on a random Valentine’s Day, on a random rooftop, with random street lights in the background. I hadn’t even noticed where his attention was, I was focused on the sky, on how my music would fit the moment. I was feeling the warm, humid air and was pissed that it wasn’t getting cooler faster.

I had no idea .

I couldn’t bring myself to see the other paintings until I could feel my fingers again. They were cold and almost numb, I had no idea how long I’d been sitting there staring. I turned to face the adjacent walls to find that every painting in this room was made by Hobie.

A painting of a mug of coffee on an unidentified table sitting next to a remote was labeled “Peak.”

A messy charcoal sketch of a pair of shoes: “Great Race.”

A pencil drawing of several objects, practice maybe. “Goodie bag.”

I go from paper to canvas, reviewing the details, recognizing themes. I am getting to understand how he sees the world. As vivid colors intrude black and white backgrounds, I hear a word behind me.

“ Hi .”

★★★

#wrote this a while ago #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #atsv #spiderman atsv #spider punk #atsv hobie #hobie x reader #gn reader #fanfic #across the spiderverse #✰my writing #x reader #hobie spiderverse #astv hobie #✰H writes

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holy-puckslibrary · 11 months ago

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━ 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦

˗ˏˋ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — teacher!jeff skinner x teacher!reader 𝐰�� — 2.4k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — their students decide to play matchmaker before a school dance; will their scheming pay off?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — written to fill a short n sweet request last year for my patreon fic-mas <3 and if you catch the lil nod to two of our favs, you're a real one

“I know we’ve been having a hard time concentrating this week, which is understandable with all the excitement surrounding the Snowball Dance, but you do have one more day of work before you can totally kick back and check out,” Jeff Skinner, a high school social studies teacher, says after the tardy bell chimes.

The students are settling into their seats but listen intently.

He continues, “That being said, I will still be collecting your annotations for chapters eighteen through twenty that we started during Monday’s class. While I’m doing that, a sign-up sheet for the Unit 5 case study presentations will be floating around the room. If I were you, I’d grab the earliest slot available to get it over with and be done for the semester. But, hey, that’s just me!”

His twelfth-grade AP Government class meets this with a chorus of groans. A subset of students lightheartedly boo him from the back row. Oddly, though, the ruckus pleases him.

Mr. Skinner strives to create a classroom environment where the teens feel comfortable sharing their honest feelings and have the space to do so if they choose. Their vocal push-back signifies their trust in him. He also appreciates their mutinous spirit because it arose after their deep dive into the Declaration of Independence and its twenty-seven grievances; they were combative but in the name of freedom for the cohort and the individual. Jeff saw that as a Teacher Win.

“I know, I know. I’m a tyrant, and you hate me. But unlike this country, this classroom is a monarchy, not a democracy,” he returns the teasing. “And if you looked at our agenda when you walked in this morning, you would’ve seen that—because I am obviously the nicest person ever—I have allocated today’s class period to independent work time. So, you can complete whatever you may need. That means putting any final touches on this week’s chapters, polishing up your Supreme Court case PowerPoints with your partner or group, or finishing any outstanding assignments.

And if you recall, I give full credit for late work, so long as it's on my desk before the cut-off tomorrow at noon. You’re welcome." Sarcasm is his favorite—and most effective—bonding strategy. "If you're squared away, you know where the board games and art supplies are. Just no more explicit drawings. I don’t care, but Mrs. Benson next door does.”

The class laughs, fondly recalling the fiasco the day before Homecoming.

A couple of students decided to use their free time to create a few political illustrations. While they were historically accurate and objectively hilarious, they were not “school appropriate,” according to the 9th-grade Geography teacher who glimpsed the comic strips as she passed the open door.

She demanded Jeff punish the perpetrators for their vulgarity, but instead, he had the drawings laminated and bound into a resource book. Said book has since found a home on a bookshelf, wedged comfortably between Howard Zinn’s A Power Governments Cannot Suppress and The Words We Live By: Your Annotated Guide to the Constitution by Linda Monk.

In his peripheral vision, Jeff sees a student waiting by the door and invites them in. He segues, “Before I leave you to your own devices, it looks like we have a visitor from ASB. So, please be nice, give them your full attention, and don’t embarrass me. Capiche?”

The class agrees to comply, and the boy, an underclassman if he had to guess, hesitantly walks to the front of the room.

Jeff remembers how intimidating seniors felt when he was that age, so he gives his students a pointed warning over the kid’s shoulder. A few of them perk up, noticeably straightening in their seats.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Leo, and I will be filling in for Gabby today.” He looks down at the printout of the day’s announcements and clears his throat. Then, Leo begins reading them aloud:

“Feeling stressed this finals season? Stop by the quad next week during both A and B lunch blocks to decompress with some therapy dogs. If you need further or individualized support, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson will be opening up their schedules for one-on-one sessions. Appointments can be made using the yellow slips in the main office.

Work permits are available in the career counseling hub. If you plan on getting a job or need to renew, please submit an application as soon as possible. No permits will be issued during Winter Break.

Remember that your final exam period is not the same as your regular meeting time or day, so be sure to check your portals this weekend for the updated schedule.

Still need a ticket for the Snowball Dance tomorrow night? Please stop by the ASB room or contact Owen Power, the senior class president, before sixth period today. They’re $15 with an ASB card and $20 without one. Trust me; you don’t want to miss out!"

The audience of seniors cheers, hooting and hollering out their delight. The underclassman beams, confidence swelling, and tucks the script away. His smile grows. “And now…drum roll, please!”

As the students bang their desks with open palms, textbooks, and stray pencils, the ASB student angles a pair of jazz hands towards the open door.

“Santa Claus!”

Peyton, the current school mascot—in an ill-fitting costume that's certainly older than he is—materializes in the empty space. He hauls a lumpy velvet bag over his shoulder as he saunters across the room. The tiny gold bells affixed to the sack twinkle with every step.

“Ho, ho, ho! Candy Cane Gram delivery!” Peyton bellows.

His impression is unexpectedly convincing, in Jeff's humble opinion.

“Santa” roots around in the bag and pulls the first set out. They’re paper-clipped together, indicating both were for the same person. “Taylor Zimmerman? Two for you!”

He passes the slips of paper back to the student who raised her hand.

The distribution of festive notes, an annual fundraiser put on by the junior and senior class councils to bankroll the dance itself, fades into background noise as Mr. Skinner begins looking over the pile of essays he collected last period from his squirrelly 10th-grade World History class.

The prompt had been to explore the impact of globalization in the post-Cold War era, and they’re off to a great start. The first essay's author touches on “transnational actors” and their impact on overall global wealth—in the introductory paragraph. Pride blooms in his chest. Maybe someone had been paying attention after all.

Jeff gets through three and a half papers—all 95% and above, but who’s counting?—before he feels someone standing over him.

“Uh, Mr. Skinner?” Peyton whispers in his civilian voice.

“Yes?” Jeff replies.

To mark his spot, Mr. Skinner sets his pen below a particularly eloquent paragraph highlighting how American consumer culture polluted local ecosystems abroad.

The sophomore nervously looks around the room. After deciding his peers were too engrossed in the social politics of sending and receiving Candy Cane Grams and Ice Court nomination speculation to hear, Peyton pulls a slip of paper out from inside the thick, red coat and sets it on Jeff’s desk. It’s crumpled, and the miniature candy cane is barely hanging on.

“This last one’s for you.”

“Oh, thank you very much,” Jeff smiles. The polite expression is meant to relieve the student from his classroom, but Peyton remains glued to his spot. Gently, he asks, “Is there something else I can do for you, Mr. Krebs?”

“Aren’t you going to see who sent it?” the boy asks, all toothy grin and twinkling eyes.

Well, that’s not at all suspicious, Mr. Skinner thinks as he slides the slip closer.

He scans the generic template, reading his name and room number scrawled beside washed-out festive clipart, but doesn’t understand the fuss... until his eyes drift down to the section for an optional message.

Mr. Skinner,

Just like a snowflake, you’re one of a kind. Be my date to the dance tomorrow night? It would make me SNOW happy!

Jeff almost believes it’s from you. Had he not been familiar with your handwriting, it would have been an excellent forgery. But, he knew your penmanship. Maybe a little too well.

His anchor charts were all in your hand; he could see at least three from where he was sitting. Jeff can’t recall the last time he attempted one on his own.

In exchange for mercifully sparing him from teenage ridicule due to his poor penmanship, he handled the construction and refurbishment of the props and sets necessary for the Winter Showcase and spring musical every year. Whatever you, the brilliant and beloved drama teacher, dreamed up, Jeff dutifully built.

Including, but not limited to, an impressive Audrey II, the iconic Venus flytrap from “Little Shop of Horrors,” a life-size bubble for their Glinda to float around in during performances of “Wicked,” and the massive tire that anchors the dilapidated junkyard set for “Cats.”

He was ambivalent about musical theater when he bartered the informal contractor role, but Jeff grew to love it after a few years. Due in large part to your infectious passion.

He gives the mastermind—or masterminds, props for trying, though.

“Oh, wow!” Jeff exclaims, deciding to play along. Peyton's face brightens; there’s no way he’s not involved. “Out of respect, let’s keep this between you and me for now, okay?”

“O-of course, Mr. Skinner,” Peyton sputters, as though he’s shocked Jeff didn’t notice anything amiss or ask any follow-up questions. “That’s why I waited to give it to you. It felt too personal to announce in front of your entire class. Especially after the whole Homecoming thing.”

“Thing” wasn’t what he’d call it, but this kind of dramatic exaggeration was one of the many reasons he loved working with teenagers.

During a pep rally in October, the student body president crowned the two of you the faculty Homecoming King and Queen. Jeff wasn't even aware that was a thing he could win, and neither had you, but you bashfully accepted the titles and accompanying crowns in front of a thousand rowdy high schoolers anyway.

Later that night, you slow-danced to Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect” under a sky of twinkling stars—clear fairy lights repurposed from the previous year’s "Camelot" canopy—black glitter tulle, and a plywood crescent moon.

The students lost their minds then and were yet to get over it. Obviously.

“I appreciate that,” Jeff says, biting back his amusement.

Peyton salutes him and hoists the sack over his shoulder again. He and Leo say their goodbyes and move on to the next classroom on their route.

The remainder of the school day was agonizingly hectic. So much so that it meddled with his plan to swing by the auditorium where you held classes.

His projector kicked the bucket in the middle of his lecture on the two-way exchanges collectively known as the Columbian Exchange; Jeff couldn’t get it back into commission until his prep period, so he would have to explain how the triangular trade route emerged from colonial mercantilism policies in the new year. His 9th-grade World Geography class refused to participate in the activity he organized to mimic the Arctic landscape and harsh climate, so, somewhat reluctantly, he cut his losses and threw on an episode of Where On Earth Is Carmen Sandiego? And right before his sixth period, some bored senior pulled the fire alarm, forcing the entire school to spend the glacial afternoon lined up in the parking lot.

All that said, it was safe to say Mr. Skinner had never been happier to see his driveway and his dog than he was this evening. The border collie shepherd mix, Chips—affectionately named as a tribute to the trained sentry dog who became the most decorated canine in the Second World War—is waiting on the porch. Joyously, he howls when Jeff gets out of his car.

“Hey, buddy,” he says as he reaches down to scratch between the pup’s ears. Chips jumps up, his muddy paws landing on Jeff’s coat. He begins licking his owner’s cheeks with reckless abandon. “Okay, come on, crazy dog. Let’s get you back inside.”

Immediately after Jeff opens the front door, Chips darts down the hallway. He chuckles, shaking his head as he sheds his coat and tosses his keys into the bowl by the door.

Jeff rescued his dog as he was wrapping up his undergraduate degree at NC State, and the two were as thick as thieves up until a few years ago.

That’s not to say anything happened or there’s bad blood; Chips simply found a new favorite person.

Jeff trails after Chips, following the furry tail and the delicious scent wafting from the kitchen. He makes a pit stop at the fridge to grab a beer before turning to address his successor to the rescue's heart, standing at the stove stirring a giant pot of soup.

“You won’t believe what happened in my second period today, babe. Every day, I’m surprised by how bold teenagers are. Hell, when I was their age, I was petrified to sharpen a pencil without asking. Their latest scheme wouldn’t have even crossed my mind. Seriously, I don’t think you could guess what shenanigans they got up to if you tried.”

He's met with melodic laughter, a sparkly sound that still makes his heart skip a beat.

“Maybe not, but I don’t need to.”

Jeff’s brows knit together, confused. Then his eyes zero in on the slip of paper identical to the one in his back pocket.

If it were possible, his jaw could sweep the tile floor.

“Guess we aren’t as sly as we think,” you smirk, waving a counterfeit Candy Cane Gram of your own in the air like a white flag.

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