#had to really think for the one of the tiny sketch

[bettelaboure]

i'm on vacation, so here is second part to glitter revenge

The next morning, you woke up with a headache.

Not a normal headache. A glitter headache. There was glitter on your pillow, glitter in your hair, glitter stuck to your toothbrush. It was like you’d accidentally swallowed a disco ball in your sleep and were now slowly becoming one with it.

Minji, of course, texted you first thing:

Minji: Good morning, my tiny chaos goblin. Ji-yong hasn’t posted anything yet. Should we escalate? You: It’s 9 a.m. I haven’t even had coffee. Escalate what? Minji: Everything.

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again. A new message. This time, from him.

Ji-yong: I see you and your little army left a trail of glitter down my street. Should I send the cleaning bill or… just assume you’ll break into my apartment again tonight?

Your chest tightened. Not because you missed him. Definitely not because a small, traitorous part of you thought about how his texts used to make you smile. No, you told yourself, it was because he was smug. Smug and infuriating and the human embodiment of every rom-com “bad boy” trope you swore you didn’t fall for anymore.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you tossed the phone on your couch and stormed over to Minji’s place, where she and Hyunjin were already at the kitchen table, plotting like two Disney villains who had Netflix subscriptions and no adult supervision.

“Phase two,” Minji announced, shoving a notebook across the table toward you. It was covered in doodles of balloons, angry faces, and—disturbingly—a sketch of Ji-yong’s car with devil horns.

You rubbed your temples. “Do I even want to know what phase two is?”

“Of course you do. We’re renting a projector.”

“…For what?”

“To beam a giant slideshow of your cutest couple photos on the side of his building. Captioned: ‘GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN (UNLIKE HIS ABILITY TO COMMUNICATE)’.”

Hyunjin nodded solemnly. “I already contacted a guy with a projector van. We’re calling it ‘Project Petty.’”

You buried your face in your hands. “Why are you both like this?”

“Because,” Minji said, leaning forward, “revenge is healing. Plus, deep down, you want to see him squirm.”

And, embarrassingly, she wasn’t wrong.

By the time night fell and the projector was humming to life outside Ji-yong’s building, you were standing there in the shadows, arms crossed, trying to convince yourself this wasn’t insane.

The slideshow flickered on. There you were, smiling on a beach. Laughing in a photo booth. Wearing his hoodie in a blurry mirror selfie. Each one flashed with captions Minji had written, ranging from:

“He dumped her via TEXT, folks!”

“This man thinks emojis are emotional depth!”

“Available now: A heart, slightly used, handle with care.”

You should have felt vindicated. Instead, when Ji-yong stepped out of the building and spotted the glowing montage plastered across his home, his expression wasn’t anger. Or amusement. It was… complicated.

He spotted you instantly, even in the shadows.

“Really?” he said, walking toward you, hands shoved in his pockets. “A public slideshow? What’s next? Hiring a skywriter?”

Your throat tightened. “Maybe. Depends how irritating you are.”

He stopped a few feet from you, his eyes softer than you wanted them to be. “You really hate me that much, huh?”

You blinked. You expected anger. Sarcasm. Not… whatever this was.

“I don’t hate you,” you said finally. “I just… don’t understand how someone can love me one day and walk away the next. With a text. Like I was nothing.”

For a moment, Ji-yong said nothing. The projector hummed behind you, throwing embarrassing photos across the building like neon ghosts.

“I panicked,” he said finally, his voice low. “Things were moving fast. I felt… overwhelmed. I thought if I had space, I’d figure myself out. But I handled it like an idiot. And now you’re… staging a glitter-based coup against my entire life.”

“Correct,” Minji’s voice chimed in from somewhere behind you, because of course she was eavesdropping.

Ji-yong ignored her. His eyes stayed on you. “If I said I was sorry—really sorry—would you stop? Or do I need to keep a hazmat team on standby for the rest of the month?”

Your heart thudded, messy and unsure. Part of you wanted to forgive him. Another part wanted to shove him into the nearest balloon pit and walk away forever.

So you said the only thing you could think of: “Depends. Are you willing to scrub your own car?”

For the first time all night, he smiled. Not a smirk. Not a smug grin. A real smile. “Deal. But only if you help.”

Minji groaned loudly. “Ugh, am I watching you two fall in love again? Because if so, I’m ordering another glitter bomb just in case.”

Two days after the projector incident, you were convinced of two things:

Minji was completely incapable of letting things calm down.

Kwon Ji-yong was completely incapable of staying out of your head.

Not because you wanted him there. No, definitely not. It was just… every time you closed your eyes, you saw his expression that night. The softness when he said he panicked. The faint curve of his real smile. The way he looked at you like you weren’t just the girl spray-painting his car last week but the one he used to tuck into his side on lazy Sunday mornings.

You hated it. Which is probably why, when Minji suggested Phase Three: The Inflatable Swan Offensive, you didn’t argue as much as you should have.

“It’s elegant. It’s bold. It’s mildly unhinged,” Minji said, pacing her living room as Hyunjin inflated a seven-foot-tall swan with a tiny hand pump. “We fill his rooftop pool with thirty of these and leave a note that says, ‘From your favorite flight risk.’ He’ll either laugh… or spiral into a crisis. Win-win.”

Hyunjin looked up, cheeks puffed from blowing into the pump. “Do we even know if he uses that pool?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Minji said. “The point is psychological warfare.”

You rubbed your temples. “At this point, I think we’re the ones spiraling into a crisis.”

But that night, you still found yourself lugging armfuls of inflatable swans up the emergency stairwell of Ji-yong’s building, muttering under your breath about how you clearly needed new friends.

What you didn’t expect was for Ji-yong to already be there.

He was sitting on the pool deck, hoodie pulled over his head, scrolling through his phone, when you emerged from the stairwell like a burglar carrying two inflatable waterfowl. His eyes flicked up, caught you, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Then, deadpan: “You’re diversifying your arsenal now?”

You froze. “These aren’t for you.”

“Oh? You’re staging aquatic terrorism for someone else?” He stood, walking toward you. “Should I be jealous?”

Your pulse jumped. “You—You’re supposed to be asleep!”

“Hard to sleep when you suspect your ex-girlfriend might be plotting another international incident in your building,” he said, stopping just a foot away. The smell of his cologne—clean, familiar, infuriating—hit you like a memory you didn’t ask for.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The swan in your hands deflated slightly, making a sad squeaking noise that somehow made the tension worse.

“Why are you really doing this?” Ji-yong asked softly, his voice losing its teasing edge.

You stared at him, searching for a smart retort, but the words caught. “Because… you hurt me. And I don’t know how else to make you feel even a fraction of that without… I don’t know… turning your car into a glitter bomb or filling your pool with swans.”

His jaw tightened. Then, slowly, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the gentlest touch, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to anymore. “I’m sorry. For all of it. For panicking. For texting like a coward. For making you feel like you weren’t… enough.”

The air between you felt electric—thick, charged, like one wrong word could send it sparking into something dangerous. His thumb lingered just under your jaw, and you felt yourself leaning in before you even realized it.

And then—

“Okay, lovebirds, we’ve got twenty-eight more swans to inflate!” Minji’s voice shattered the moment like a gunshot. She popped up from the stairwell, Hyunjin behind her, holding a giant mesh bag of pool floats.

You jerked back so fast you almost fell into the pool. Ji-yong shoved his hands into his pockets, muttering something under his breath.

Minji froze, narrowing her eyes as she looked between the two of you. “…Wait. Did I just interrupt a moment? Are we doing that now? Is this a rom-com pivot? Because if so, I need to order sparklers or something.”

You glared at her. “Inflate your stupid swans, Minji.”

Ji-yong’s lips twitched like he was holding back a smile. “Yeah, Minji. Inflate your swans.”

And as you turned away, heart hammering and cheeks burning, you realized you weren’t sure if you wanted Minji’s chaos to stop… or if you wanted it to keep giving you excuses to keep seeing him.

dedicated to: @jiryuunosnacku @szonyix6277 @belleilichil @clauds7-p @gdragonsversion

[voxofthevoid]

@olasketches Answering in a reblog because it'd be all scattered otherwise <3

Here's hoping none of the formatting got fucked!

“There’s so much potential for a very specific flavor of creepiness—as this chapter will show.” god. YESS!! the older one watching and seeing how the younger one grows up in their eyes. both witnessing and denying how much of themselves they see in the other, while simultaneously realising how this kid is a whole other person, completely different from them. simply witnessing how much agency and personhood the younger one gains, as time passes, and how that affects the older one. the one who moulded or helped them grow, consciously or not, into the person they are now. seeing all those parts of themselves in the other that suddenly look so different. almost like looking at a very distorted reflection of oneself. the realisation, the horror of it all, the sickening attraction that follows OH OHHHAJAKLAKK

Yesss, all of this! There’s inevitable history packed into it, and there’s no way to divorce it all from what the once-platonic relationship twists into. In this fic, given that Sukuna is who he is, we’re not looking at much horror about his own attraction, let alone Yuuji’s attraction, for all that Sukuna plays at being disgusted. But that aspect of watching Yuuji change and grow with the stark aware that Sukuna’s had a significant hand in shaping the emerging monster? That is very, very much there. Plus, all the garden-variety creepiness of Sukuna thinking about literal infant Yuuji while the 16-years-later version of said infant gropes his tiddies 🤣

“Sukuna should be too old and too good to be caught in those teeth, and he is, usually, but the kid’s stubborn to a fault and shockingly canny when he needs to be. The few times his teeth found purchase, they left a mark.” like a claim *grins deviously* and the best part is that he just let him. yuuji did get stronger, but sukuna’s guard didn’t - it got weaker.

YEP. And you’re spot on about it being a claim! There’s a hint about it in an earlier chapter, but it’ll be made explicit in…chapter 6, iirc.

“His stomach throbs along the shape of a well-healed scar.” OH GOD YOU DONT UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS IS DOING TO MEEEEE

Very, very fun things, I’m sure 💗

“Sukuna draws the line at letting his chest be used as this nasty little pervert’s pillow.

The brat sucks in a harsh breath, like he wasn’t even breathing down there.” genuinely can’t stop laughing at them both. sukuna believies he’s above letting his nephew use him, however his teenage, horny brain pleases…. yknow like he didn’t just let him grope his tits. and yuuji my love… he’s so, so eager and so so horny 🥰 I find it so endearing and amusing.

they’re both idiots in their own right and I can’t help but love them all the more for it.

You know how, in canon, Sukuna hisses and bitches about Yuuji being useless and boring and all that while his actions show that very much considers Yuuji a threat to his soul and body both? I was hoping to mirror that, just in an incestuous sex pest-y way.

“He turns his head, those gleaming eyes returning faithfully to Sukuna.” HOWLING. this boy is going to eat him alive and sukuna

It’s okay; there’s so much of him to eat!

“He’s not, usually. That body runs cold. Sukuna noticed it for the first time when the kid was tiny, barely the length of his forearm. A frail mass of fabric and fluff nestled against his chest, leeching off his body heat. Not that it took much to warm that tiny thing.” I can’t even tell you how much this part made me melt. Sukuna canonically said how people get cold around him, metaphorically ofc, but still!! AND YET here he is, with this not so tiny kid anymore, who’s borrowing (sharing) some of sukuna’s body heat once again.

Tbh the Sukuna with baby!Yuuji memories in the fic kind of evolved naturally while writing—and thus prompted my author’s note that you quoted above—but it really was fun to sketch out Sukuna holding a swaddled baby, complaining about it all the while but holding him all the same. Yuuji’s memories only cover how Sukuna treated him once he was grown enough to have actual memories and shit, but Sukuna’s known him and held him since he was damn near fresh out of the womb—and we know normal Sukuna is about that.

also baby yuuji sucking on his uncle’s nipple!!?!?!?¥\>>\¥\^? Vox, I’m stashing this image (this idea) in my pocket. this needs to become reality someday.

God, if you draw something like that, I will turn into the human embodiment of heart eyes! They’ll hear me cheering from SPACE.

“It’s different when he’s asleep. The baby soaking in his warmth. The toddler sprawled on his chest. The boy curled up on his lap.

Small and weak and utterly unbothered about it.

How the fuck do you live like that, trust like that?”OHAGAJAKAK MY FEELSS MY HEARTTT HELLO?!? there’s something so so soooooo bitterSWEET about it, because ofc I think it is. I’m like the worst type of sukuna stan, cause you see… this fucker makes me sad.

I admit that this does not surprise me 👁

I get it though! Even with what little we know of Sukuna’s backstory, it’s clear that he lived a fairly cursed life. Transplanting him into a no-powers modern setting may mitigate some aspects of it, but I doubt that his perception of himself/others and human bonds will change all that much. Nature and nurture both play a part.

“If someone held Sukuna at gunpoint and forced him to confess the one thing he has in common with his brother’s spawn, it wouldn’t be the hair or the blood or the killing rage—it’d be this, the hunger.” mmmmm teeth and flesh. the unstoppable force and unmovable object yearning for a collision (fusion). yuuji being canonically destined to eat what remains of sukuna. something he was never told to do, something he just did. sukuna canonically feeling hollowing hunger, the empty gnawing sensation that he could never quite fill. his mouth kept chewing, but his stomach never filled.

Ngl, themes of hunger and consumption are tailor-made to make me insane, and wind them together the way JJK has around Yuuji and Sukuna? Catnip. Voidnip. They both give so much food (heh) for thought regarding those themes.

“Sukuna slits his eyes open, careful not to let his breathing falter. In the time it takes for his vision to adjust to the darkness, the brat’s made good progress—impatient, finally. Not that it counts for much. It’s planted on a tit, the fingers spread as wide as they can to touch as much skin as possible.” yuuji may be a pervert, but sukuna’s an even bigger slut. he just called his pec… a.. tit…

“Better than the first time he tried this.” this ain’t even the first time!?! Sukuna, you’re fucking FOOL.

Sukuna is the 👏 biggest slut 👏

Yuuji’s only taking after his uncle, really!

“He’s not even any good at it. Eager, sure. But there’s too much caution. Selfish in all the wrong ways.

Boring—a cardinal sin.” I wish I could just copy-paste the face I’m making right now cause holy fuck… THESE GUYSSS!? 🫠sukuna has even the audacity to say “boring”, when so far yuuji is the only one selfish here, while sukuna’s busy acting like he’s some prudish nun all of a sudden.

Sukuna the prudish nun is one hell of an image 👀

I’m already insane about priest!Sukuna. Let’s add nun!Sukuna to the list.

“Sukuna would understand if he were just taking the edge off—a little appetizer before the main course. But this is, what, the fifth or seventh time? It always ends the same.” …….the silence that followed and the snorts I let out after I read this. It’s like… he’s not even hearing himself.

I was tempted to add “yes, you are hearing Sukuna complain that Yuuji isn’t trying to harder to rape him” as an end note, and you can see why! Man truly is disappointed that Yuuji’s not doing more than feeling him up a little.

“The kid should either man up and take what he wants or wait to be eaten like good prey.” you know, one of my fav things about sukuna’s character is that whatever he says about yuuji can be easily applied to him, since the context rarely ever holds up to what he’s saying about the other and only reflects his own character. what I’m trying to say is *ahemmm* MAN!?!!! TF!?!? UP SUKUNA!?!! or be eaten like a prey, same thing at this point.

You might just see both in the next chapter 😈

“The brat’s not going anywhere; he’s been Sukuna’s from the womb.” aww how cute *smiles like he doesn’t know something* (and well apart from gojo showing up and then stating this after letting all of us know, how he let his teenage nephew grope him and molest him in his sleep for god knows how long, bite him till it leaves an actual mark, and constantly undermine any authority and power sukuna might have had… he really doesn’t) he’s hopeless.

Vox this was delicious! I love pathetic old man sukuna as much as I love unrepentant pervert yuuji. it’s really one of the best combo on this planet and I’m so glad you gave us a chance to see it and fully delectate in it ❤️❤️

Thank youuu 🥰

Yuuji perving on his big, mean uncle was the spark of this whole fic tbh, but I wasn’t expecting how much fun I’d have writing grumpy asshole Sukuna who wants to eat his nephew alive and even more for his nephew to eat him alive and won’t admit outright to either, and it’s a delight to see you enjoying both those aspects 💗

Chapters: 3/7 Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Itadori Yuuji/Sukuna | Ryoumen Sukuna, Gojo Satoru/Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi & Itadori Yuuji & Kugisaki Nobara Characters: Itadori Yuuji, Gojo Satoru, Sukuna | Ryoumen Sukuna, Fushiguro Megumi, Kugisaki Nobara Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gojo Satoru is His Own Warning, Sukuna | Ryoumen Sukuna is His Own Warning, Itadori Yuuji Is Also His Own Warning, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Teacher-Student Relationship, Age Difference, Familial Abuse, Abuse of Authority, Cavalier Perceptions of Abuse, Inappropriate Behavior, Shifting Power Dynamics, Hinge Polyamory, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Horrendous Metamour Gojo Satoru, Horrendous Metamour Ryoumen Sukuna, Pseudo Somnophilia, Rough Sex, Violence During Sex, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Rimming, Face-Sitting, Riding, Accidental Voyeurism

Summary:

Yuuji has a type. Unfortunately, his uncle and his teacher embody that type.

Chapter 3:

If someone held Sukuna at gunpoint and forced him to confess the one thing he has in common with his brother’s spawn, it wouldn’t be the hair or the blood or the killing rage—it’d be this, the hunger.

[flaneditz]

nvm here’s more transparents yaaaaya ^_^ love this beastie

[golbiey]

team rose pencil case design that im nearly done and will be ordering before the end of the year!! ❤️

[ourtalechara]

Envy Baby? More like Edgy Baby, amarait?

I was going to make them into an OC or something, (named Shade) but now I'm not quite sure what I'm doing. I'm. Tired, okay?

I was going to make them the best friend and/or sibling of Blaise, but now that I think about it, I might actually make them the same person, Blaise just being aged up Shade, in which case it might be better to just use the same name for both

Here's a Blaise, btw

[mrnnki-img]

goodbye

[gyuuberryy]

no doubt !

loser!enhypen's reaction to your confession + their down bad behaviour

genre: completely fluff, slight crack

warnings: self doubt, very little stuttering

note: live, laugh, love hot loser men

word count: 2.3k

i love reading your comments and reblogs, so please do so if you liked reading this<3

HEESEUNG

heeseung was the guy who always sat in the back of the library, oversized hoodie pulled up and earbuds blasting lo-fi playlists. not because he was trying to look cool and aloof—he just didn’t know how to talk to people. heeseung’s whole vibe screamed ‘leave me alone’, and yet, you were drawn to him. maybe it was the way his big glasses always slid down his nose or how he’d stammer when the librarian asked if he needed help. there was a sweetness to his awkwardness, a genuine quality that made him stand out(not to mention how devastatingly handsome he was).

you started leaving him little sticky notes on the library desk when he wasn’t looking, simple messages like “nice doodles!” or “your handwriting is cute<3” the day he caught you in the act, his face turned the color of a ripe tomato.

“you think my handwriting’s c-cute?” he stuttered, practically vibrating with nervous energy.

a bit nervous, you laughed and nodded. “yeah, i do. and i think you’re cute too.”

heeseung froze, his pen dropping to the table. “wait, you… you think i’m cute?” he sounded so disbelieving it was almost funny.

when you confessed that you liked him, he spent two weeks in disbelief, constantly asking if you were joking. but after you assured him that no, you weren’t pulling some cruel prank, he became utterly devoted. he’d text you good morning every day, walk you to your classes while carrying your books (even when you insisted you could manage), and write you poetry—the kind of cringe, over-the-top poetry that made your heart melt anyway.

heeseung was the kind of boyfriend who’d get embarrassingly jealous but try to hide it. if someone so much as glanced at you for too long, he’d fidget nervously and mumble something about how they were probably just admiring how amazing you were. and if you hugged him in public? forget it. he’d be grinning like an idiot for the rest of the day.

when he wasn’t nervously doting on you, he was daydreaming about your future together. he’d scribble little sketches of the two of you in his notebook, complete with hearts and statements like “me + you = forever.” if you teased him about it, he’d turn beet red and try to deny it, but you could see the tiny smile playing on his lips.

rest is under the cut!

JAY

jay was the guy in your science class who thought he could blend in by keeping his head down. what he didn’t realize was that his nervous habits were endearing: the way he’d mumble answers to himself during group work or adjust his glasses every 30 seconds. he was always sketching random diagrams in his notebook—half for class, half because he was too awkward to make conversation.

you had a crush on him because, despite his shyness, there was something magnetic about the way he focused—his brows furrowing as he sketched diagrams in his notebook, the faintest pout forming on his lips when he was deep in concentration. one time, you caught him organizing the classroom supplies, his long fingers deftly sorting through tape dispensers and markers while muttering something about order.

when you mentioned you liked him, jay blinked at you like he couldn’t comprehend the words. “me? like me, me?” he asked, pointing to himself.

you nodded, trying not to giggle at how wide his eyes had gotten. “yes, you. i think you’re really sweet.”

jay’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he immediately started rambling. “i mean, i… uh, wow, okay, i didn’t expect this. are you sure? like, really sure? because i’m kind of a mess, and—”

once it clicked, though, he was all in. he’d send you paragraphs of text apologizing if he thought he said something wrong, shower you with small, thoughtful gifts (like your favorite snacks or a plant he’d researched how to care for), and eventually worked up the courage to hold your hand—though he’d sweat buckets the entire time.

jay would also start making lists—actual, physical lists—of things he could do to make you happy. “compliment her at least once a day,” “remember her favorite coffee order!,” and “learn how to not be a complete dork >:(” were scrawled on a sticky note tucked into his notebook. and when he wasn’t nervously doting on you, he was daydreaming about you, doodling your initials in the margins of his notes.

very soon, he was down-bad for you, which was evident through his real life and his social media activities. he’d post the cheesiest captions about you, like “can’t believe i’m dating the most amazing person in the world” with a blurry photo of the two of you. his friends teased him mercilessly, but he didn’t care. to him, you were worth every bit of embarrassment. late at night, he’d re-read your old texts and smile like an idiot, convinced he was the luckiest person alive.

JAKE

jake was a lovable mess. he wore mismatched socks, always seemed to forget his pencil, and somehow managed to trip over air at least once a day. his “plan” to talk to you involved him awkwardly hovering near your desk and pretending to need help with math problems he already knew how to solve. you knew from the start he was a bit of a loser—but that’s exactly why you liked him along with you finding everything he did adorable.

“wait, wait,” he said when you told him you were into him. “you like me? like, romantically? or is this a ‘pity me’ situation?”

after realizing you genuinely liked him, jake became a golden retriever in human form. he’d facetime you at random hours just to say hi, take you on chaotic “dates” that involved him occasionally tripping over things in public, nervously ordering food for you both and all silly fun activities like arcade games and amusement parks. it was never a dull day with him! after your first kiss, he couldn’t stop grinning for hours, texting his friends in all caps: “GUYS I JUST KISSED THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AAHJKHSSSK”

jake’s down-bad behavior reached new levels when he started making playlists for every possible mood you might have: “songs to cheer you up,” “songs that remind me of you<3,” and even “songs to study to (but only if you want to study with me):3” he’d even text you mid-class to tell you he missed you, even if you’d just seen each other that morning.

jake was also the kind of boyfriend who’d insist on carrying your bag even when it was clear it was too heavy for him. “i’ve got this!” he’d say, wincing slightly but refusing to let you take it back. and if you ever mentioned feeling sad or stressed, he’d immediately panic, asking, “what can i do? tell me, and i’ll do it!” he’d even write you little notes with nerdy jokes or doodles to make you smile, slipping them into your locker or bag for you to find later.

SUNGHOON

sunghoon thought he was slick, but his ‘cool guy’ act was so transparent it was almost cute. he’d lean against the lockers during breaks, pretending not to notice you, but the way his ears turned red every time you walked by gave him away. despite his awkward attempts at being aloof, you found his loser tendencies adorable: like how he’d secretly google pickup lines but chicken out before using them.

when you confessed your feelings, he genuinely choked. “wait, you like me? oh wow… you have bad- I MEAN great taste ahem.” he spent a solid week trying to act nonchalant, but once you started dating, his loser side came out full force. he’d ask you to “rate his outfits” before dates, send you selfies captioned “just thinking about you bbg,” and blush furiously every time you complimented him. sunghoon may have tried to act smooth, but deep down, he was utterly whipped.

sunghoon would also start practicing ways to compliment you in the mirror—only to mess it up completely when the time came. “y-you look… uh, very… beautiful? no, wait, gorgeous! that’s the word i meant!” and everytime you smiled at him, he’d be texting his friends, “she smiled at me again!!!!! i’m gonna pass out.”

his devotion extended to doing the smallest things for you, like bringing you your favorite drink or snacks without you asking. he’d even memorise your schedule so he could “accidentally” bump into you between classes, claiming it was coincidence even though the timing was suspiciously perfect. at night, he’d lay awake replaying your conversations, smiling at the ceiling like the lovesick fool he was.

SUNOO

you had noticed sunoo always sitting at the edge of friend groups, laughing along but never quite joining in. he was bubbly and fun but had an air of self-doubt that made him endearing. you started noticing how he’d always bring extra snacks to share with classmates or go out of his way to compliment people—little acts of kindness that made your heart flutter. not to mention his angelic beauty, that had you look twice the first time you had seen him standing near the water cooler awkwardly.

it was hard not to develop a crush and when you told sunoo you liked him, he’d blink in disbelief. “no way. you’re joking, right?” but after realising you were serious, he’d giggle nervously and hide his face in his hands. once you started dating, he became the most attentive boyfriend ever, remembering every small detail about you and hyping you up like you were the main character. he’d also send you cheesy tiktoks at 2 a.m. with captions like, “this is so us babe ><”

sunoo was head over heels for you, the literal epitome of “she fell first but he fell harder”. he did adorable things like creating a secret pinterest board filled with date ideas and texting you pictures of cute animals with captions like, “look, it’s us in 50 years!” he also started learning how to bake just so he could surprise you with your favorite treats—though most of his attempts ended in chaotic, flour-covered disasters.

if you ever seemed upset, sunoo would go into full panic mode, showering you with compliments and doing everything in his power to cheer you up. “you’re the most amazing person i’ve ever met,” he’d say earnestly, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. he even kept a list on his phone of all the things you’d mentioned liking, just so he could surprise you when you least expected it.

JUNGWON

jungwon was the class president who seemed to have it all together—but his close friends knew better. he was the guy who’d trip over his words during speeches, carry five planners because he kept losing them, and stress over things like forgetting to bring tape for a poster project. you liked him because, despite his loser-ish tendencies, he had a heart of gold and worked hard to make everyone feel included.

when you told him you had a crush on him, jungwon’s first reaction was to nervously laugh. “wait, me? are you sure? why would you do that to yourself!?” once he accepted that you really liked him, he became the sweetest boyfriend imaginable. he’d plan thoughtful dates (that inevitably went slightly wrong but ended up being more fun because of it), leave you encouraging notes in your locker, and get adorably flustered every time you kissed him.

jungwon also started creating “motivational speeches” for you, writing them out on notecards and practicing in the mirror before giving them. “i believe in you,” he’d say earnestly, fumbling to hand you a little note that said, “you’re amazing, and don’t you forget it.” if you teased him about it, he’d bury his face in his hands and mumble, “stop, you’re embarrassing me…”

his love didn’t stop there. he’d stay up late researching ways to make your life easier, like creating color-coded study guides or finding fun new spots to take you on dates. and if anyone dared to speak poorly of you, jungwon would step up, surprising everyone with his sudden fierceness. “they don’t know what they’re talking about,” he’d say, his tone protective and unwavering.

NI-KI

ni-ki was the quiet gamer boy who’d rather blend into the background than be noticed. he wore the same hoodie every other day and constantly had earbuds in, even when they weren’t playing anything. you liked him because of how unpretentious he was—and how his eyes lit up whenever he talked about something he loved, like a new game or a random meme he found hilarious.

when you told him you were into him, ni-ki almost dropped his controller. his eyes narrowed into a glare, “are you sure you’re not messing with me? did jake tell you about my crush?” after he realised what he had said, he immediately scampered away leaving you standing there confused. once he got over his initial shock, he became your biggest simp. he’d send you memes that reminded him of you, let you beat him at games (even though he’d deny it), and randomly text you “you’re so pretty” at the most unexpected times. around his friends, he’d brag about you non-stop, showing off pictures of you with a proud grin.

once he was down bad for you, he became hell bent on learning how to cook your favorite meals—even though he’d never cooked before in his life. “how hard can it be?” he’d say, only to panic five minutes in and call you for help. he also started staying up late to design matching gamer tags for the two of you, insisting that everyone online needed to know you were his.

in quiet moments, ni-ki would open up about how much you meant to him, his voice soft and a little shaky. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but i’m not letting go.” and if you ever showed up to surprise him during his gaming sessions, he’d immediately log off, saying, “sorry, guys, my priority is here,” as he turned his full attention to you.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @soobnuuy @senascoooop @moafloribunda @lunalovesstories

@firstclassjaylee @levandright @fancypeacepersona @mirouie

@gaonashi @firstclassjaylee @kkamismom12 @evandsolo

[jungwnies]

blueprints | lando norris

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris x architect!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : being the architect behind the vision of your future home with lando, the process is filled with chaotic debates, quiet love, and a surprisingly emotional struggle over how to fit nearly a decade’s worth of racing memories. it’s not just a house; it’s their forever.

୨ৎ : genre : fluff / domestic romance ୨ৎ : word count : 894

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was such a lovely request, love architects and everything domestic

the blueprint was supposed to be simple. at least, that's what you told yourself when you first opened your sketchbook and started drafting the layout of your and lando's dream home. clean lines, open concept, lots of natural light. nothing too complicated.

until your very passionate, very attached-to-his-legacy boyfriend leaned over your shoulder and said—

"where’s the trophy room?"

you blinked. “the what?”

“the room,” he said, like it was obvious. “for all my trophies. and helmets. and my suit from silverstone. and—oh! the first wheel i ever used in karting. it still has bite marks from when i used to get mad.”

you turned around, pencil still poised above the floor plan. “you want a whole room?”

“well,” he grinned, leaning in, “you said this was our dream house. and in my dreams, there’s a shelf that lights up for each p1 trophy.”

“lando—”

“and maybe a little podium area with led lighting.”

you stared at him.

he kissed your cheek.

you sighed.

it was day two of planning, and already the project had morphed from a minimal modern build to what was starting to resemble a motorsport museum.

despite that, you couldn’t help but smile as you adjusted your sketches to fit in what you labeled, in tiny handwriting, lando’s legacy shrine. he peeked over your shoulder again, proudly pointing to it.

“see? we make such a good team.”

you rolled your eyes. “you just like bossing me around.”

“i like watching you pretend i’m not charming,” he said, nudging your leg with his knee.

the days passed like that—debating window placements, arguing over whether the kitchen island needed to be ‘chef’s kitchen’ big (he insisted, even though he could barely boil pasta), and haggling over the practicality of an indoor karting simulator room.

one afternoon, as sunlight spilled across the dining table-turned-sketching-station, you were fine-tuning a cross-section when you noticed lando unusually quiet. he was perched across from you, scrolling through photos on his phone.

“whatcha looking at?” you asked, not looking up.

he tilted the screen to show a blurry shot of the two of you at the austrian grand prix—his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, your face tucked into his chest, grinning like a fool.

“i want this on the wall,” he said softly. “somewhere near the front door.”

you finally glanced up. “why?”

“so i remember why i’m coming home.”

your chest tightened. “that’s really corny.”

he shrugged. “you dated me anyway.”

the blueprint slowly became more than just lines and labels. it was stories. a skylight above your reading nook because he said you looked peaceful in natural light. a bathroom mirror perfectly positioned so you could do your skincare while he stood behind you brushing his teeth. a patio with a grill and enough space for summer parties, because “we’re gonna be the fun couple, right?”

it was all soft compromises and quiet affection—until the great helmet wall debate.

you were seated on the floor, surrounded by floor plan drafts and elevation sketches, when lando dropped onto the couch behind you.

“so…” he began casually, “do you think the helmet wall could be bigger?”

you turned slowly. “bigger than an entire feature wall?”

“well, yeah, because i thought about it and i want to include the karting ones too. and maybe my racing gloves. maybe hang them on hooks, all organized by year.”

you stared at him. “do you hear yourself?”

he grinned. “yes. i sound passionate.”

you threw a pillow at him.

“oi! violence against the visionary.”

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, grabbing another piece of paper. “fine. you get the helmet wall.”

“and the podium?”

“lando.”

“okay, okay,” he laughed, hands raised. “half-podium. just a little platform. for the vibes.”

you paused. then scribbled down the dimensions.

he crawled over to sit beside you, watching as you drew in the extra square footage.

“you know,” he murmured, nudging your shoulder, “i don’t actually care if we make it perfect.”

you looked up. “what do you mean?”

“i mean… it doesn’t matter how many rooms we fit or how big the kitchen is or if there’s a race sim. what matters is that it’s ours.”

your pencil froze mid-line.

“i just want to wake up next to you in it,” he added, softer now. “that’s the dream part for me.”

you stared at him for a long second. he wasn’t smiling this time, no teasing in his eyes. just something sincere. something a little shy.

“you’re gonna make me cry,” you said.

“i’m trying to be romantic,” he shrugged.

you leaned in and kissed him.

later that night, you sat together in front of the fireplace you’d designed on a whim, tangled up on the rug with the plans spread out in front of you. lando reached for your sketchbook and added a new label in sloppy handwriting near the kitchen.

“what’s that?” you asked.

“our corner.”

“our… what?”

he grinned. “that’s where we’ll dance when we’re too lazy to go out. or argue about who left the fridge open. or just exist.”

you looked at the little corner he'd circled, and somehow, it felt more permanent than the blueprint itself.

he pulled you into his lap. “can’t wait to build it with you.”

“build what?”

he looked around the room. at the scattered pencils. at your rolled-up plans. then back at you.

“a life.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[dark-l-angel]

Omg love you know what I have been thinking of? You know that trend on TikTok of filling a t-shirt with painted missed on some type of symbol ?

A while ago I saw a girl putting her paint kisses on a Batman symbol shape, and I just thought of dick grayson’s reaction.

I’m not one for cheesy things, but I just imagine doing that shirt for him (with a nightwing symbol ofc) and I just know he would be over the moon 😭

A/N : the Batboys getting gifted a shirt with a symbol kissed all over by you? Awww 💕🥰

Batfam x Reader - making them a kiss-painted shirts

You didn’t mean to start a war. Really.

It began as a silly idea, something you saw on TikTok: paint your lips, kiss a symbol onto a shirt, and gift it to someone you love.

So naturally… you made five.

Five shirts. Five symbols. Five completely different reactions.

Dick Grayson :

You saved his for last. Blue paint, the Nightwing symbol sketched lovingly across the chest. Every inch of it smudged with perfect, pouty kisses.

You don’t even get a full sentence out before he scoops you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

"You kissed the bird?"

"I kissed it a lot."

"You kissed the bird."

He’s spinning you in the kitchen, laughing like a man who just got proposed to.

"I’m never washing this shirt. I’m wearing it to bed. I'm wearing it to my funeral. Babe, you just made me a relic."

He takes a photo of it next to his abs. Posts it. Captions it: "She kissed me. On the bird. I win."

Jason Todd

You’re not sure how he’ll react, so you play it cool. His shirt is black, the bat symbol in red, your kisses in blood-red paint like lipstick stains on a crime scene.

He stares.

Long.

Silent.

Then:

"You do realize I’m gonna wreck this shirt jerking off to the idea of you doing it, right?"

You smack his arm. He grins like the menace he is and tosses it over his shoulder.

"Make me one with your real lipstick next time. And wear nothing but heels and a red lingerie while doing it."

Tim Drake

You hand him his shirt during one of his 3 a.m. caffeine binges, expecting a distracted glance.

Nope.

His tired eyes snap wide the second he registers the symbol… covered in crimson lip prints.

"Wait. Wait. You did this? With your mouth?"

He holds it like it’s a sacred text.

"This is… statistically speaking, the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. Do you have any idea what this’ll do to my oxytocin levels?".

You shrug. He immediately pulls you into his lap, shirt in one hand, your waist in the other.

"New rule. You don’t do arts and crafts for anyone but me."

Damian Wayne

You had to custom-print a tiny “R” logo for his, but it’s the only one with perfectly centered, crimson kisses all around it.

When you give it to him, he squints. Tilts his head.

"Did you damage your lips during this process?"

"No?"

"Hmm. Then I suppose I have no objection."

He immediately puts it on.

And doesn’t take it off.

For like, two days.

You catch him in the mirror, touching one of the kiss marks with the barest hint of a smirk.

"You have excellent aim, Beloved."

Bruce Wayne

Now this one? You expected confusion. Embarrassment. A gruff "thank you."

What you didn’t expect was the silence.

He stares at the bat symbol covered in red lips. Your lips.

He touches one with his gloved fingers like it's sacred.

"…You kissed every inch of it."

"Yeah."

"On purpose."

"Yeah, Bruce, that was kind of the point."

He sets the shirt down. Walks to you. Cups your face like you’re the only thing in the world not made of shadows.

"Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

Needless to say… he doesn’t wear it in public.

But he keeps it in the Batcave.

Right next to his suit.

Framed.

The conclusion my lovely lil kitten is:

no. You didn’t mean to start a war.

But now they’re all in quiet competition, seeing who gets the most kisses next time. Jason’s trying to make you paint his helmet. Tim’s trying to code a program that lets him detect how many lip marks are truly present. Dick’s commissioning a second shirt. Damian’s been spotted sketching his own designs for "future projects with your mouth" and Bruce? Bruce just added a lock to the Batcave display case.

You win, baby.

You always do.

[vxnillabxn]

Hello, my angel! I really really really love your writing!!! Can i request all the LIs having cuteness agresivess with Mc/reader??? But, of course, only if you fell confortable with, so fell free to ignore me <3 Sorry for any mistakes english is no my first language

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ grrrr, fluff! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚hello, baby pumpkin! thank you so, so much for this adorable request (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ and don't worry, love! i gotchu ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ this was soooo fun to write, i need them to bite my cheeks tbh. ENJOYYYY! ⋆˚꩜*.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

he got himself yet another building model airplane kit, and he was ecstatic.

it was an antique, or so the website sold it as one.

he sat down on the floor and started building, his large hands remaining precise when adding tiny pieces very, very carefully.

he was like a toddler trapped in a huge man's body.

adorkable.

when he heard your footsteps growing closer, he turned his head and smiled up at you.

“hey, pipsqueak. wanna give me a hand?”

you thought it might be fun, so you agreed and sat by his side.

“sure, lebbie!”

at first, you were a bit lost looking at the instructions for each piece…

but eventually, you got the hang of it, and you started helping him assemble different parts to attach later on.

however, you didn't even notice how focused you actually were.

brows furrowed, eyes locked on your movements, jaw clenched…

you looked so, so cute, so dedicated to doing things right: or rather, doing something for him right, as this was a hobby of his.

naturally, he had this sudden urge… this urge to take your cheeks and just squish them.

a lot.

so he does exactly that.

he leans in and looks down at you, before cupping your face.

you blink in confusion, but then again, you think he might say something important.

wrong.

he stretches and squishes your cheeks until your lips are pouty.

it is a bit gentle at first, until he notices your confused gaze.

he grins and kisses your puckered lips over and over, before growling playfully.

“look at ya', all focused and cute…”

he pecks your lips even more, and then he ruffles your hair and pulls you in for a breathtaking bear-hug, rocking you from side to side.

you can barely breathe, and his lips are all over your forehead, your head, your cheeks…

and to top it off, you're holding the model plane's parts so tightly so they don't fall with how much he's moving you around.

eventually, he stops and grins at you, noticing how disheveled you look from all the rough affection he just gave you.

he caresses your hair back into place, before pecking your lips and setting you back in place.

as if nothing had happened.

so…

should you go back to building or does that involve another sudden attack?

should you stop… focusing? or maybe you do want this outburst to happen again?

should you cry because the parts you were holding so tightly disassembled on your lap a couple seconds ago?

you guess you'll have the following hours to find out.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

you were sitting for an eternity.

what started as you only asking him to keep you company while you read, turned into him sketching you.

and he asked for you to keep reading, or to at least stay put, because he wanted to capture every line accurately.

obviously, you were already bored, and you wanted to close the book and go to bed…

but he wouldn't let you.

“ah, ah, ah! where are you going, cutie? i'm in the middle of drawing your hair!”

sigh.

you stay where you are, frowning slightly and trying to read…

but you had to read the same lines over and over again, since your brain wasn't cooperating anymore.

it became too much, so you looked up at him, trying your best to convince him.

“raf, please… i'm tired. can't you sketch me while i sleep?”

he furrowed his eyebrows slightly.

“that's even worse! you'll shift like a worm before falling asleep.”

this little—

alright then, time for drastic measures.

you took a deep breath before gently tugging on his sleeve, making sure his eyes were on yours this time.

“raffy, i promise i'll stay put in bed… please?”

he didn't know if it was your sleepy tone, your pleading eyes, or the way you said it…

but he put the pencil down, stood up, and walked towards you.

finally!

he was finally going to let you—

smooch.

then another smooch.

both of them on your lips.

and after those two, he started pecking and attacking your lips with so many kisses, your body started to fall back.

he held you and pulled you closer to his chest, before roughly kissing your cheeks and forehead.

when you tried to stop him by pushing his head away, he nuzzled against your palm and bit your fingers.

one by one.

“ngh~… so… cute…”

he mumbled, and then he kissed every single mark he left.

he was frantic, truly.

until he stopped and looked into your eyes.

his gaze was intense, almost darkened.

“you really promise?”

you nodded almost immediately, though still fazed by his outburst.

he smiled and picked up his pencils and sketchbook, walking towards the bedroom hurriedly.

completely different from his attitude a few seconds ago.

“come on, my pearl!”

and all that's left to do is pick up your book and your dignity, as you follow him to your shared room with sleepy footsteps.

you sure hope he lets you at least change your clothes first, but based on his eagerness…

you are certain he'll pin you down on the bed as soon as you step by his side.

and you better keep your promise.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

you were trying out a new recipe you saw online.

to be fair… sylus' kitchen has all the expensive ingredients those recipe pages claim as “things you have at home!”

like, saffron, edible… gold and caviar?

yeah, you can casually open the pantry and there they are.

so, as you moved around and gathered up the things you needed, you accidentally dropped a 100% extra virgin olive oil glass bottle.

crap.

the noise was loud enough for mephisto to peek in before soon flying away, presumably to alert sylus.

you frantically started to clean up, making sure to remove the glass shards before using a cloth to absorb the oil.

gosh, was it expensive?

it surely had to be.

the bottle was quite big, and it was barely used.

was it new?

oh gosh…

as you were scrubbing the floor, a set of leather black boots appeared in front of you.

you looked up and found sylus, his eyes focused on you.

then on your hands…

and finally, on the glass shards.

he didn't see any blood, and his face relaxed visibly.

“sy… it was an accident, i swear. i was just trying to cook and then i knocked the bottle off the counter and…”

first of all, you were apologizing instinctively, because sylus had told you he doesn't care in the slightest about objects, let alone their price.

he's only concerned about you and if you had hurt yourself, which didn't happen.

“...so just tell me how much it was and i'll buy another one!”

you looked up at him apologetically, and he couldn't help but finally smirk.

your eyes, the way you truly felt sorry for something so small…

it was endearing.

he couldn't help but crouch down and kiss you deeply, before his lips suddenly went everywhere in your face.

your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose…

and then you felt something slightly sharp.

he was now nibbling your ears, your lips…

and then one of your cheeks.

he bit it and shook his head slightly, like a dog rough-playing with a plushie.

when he pulled back, he stood up with you in his arms, guiding you away from the mess.

“sylus, i haven't—”

he kisses your lips firmly, not letting you speak.

“i'm not done with you, sweetie.”

done?

what does that mean?

where are you go—?

nom.

he bites your cheek again, this time hugging you from behind as you finally reach the room.

and he closes the door with his foot, preventing intruders as he shows you how cute you are…

nibble by nibble.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

you two were cuddling on a makeshift tent xavier put up on the roof.

he wanted to stargaze, you wanted to be cozy and lovey-dovey with your boyfriend…

it was the perfect plan.

you two were drinking hot chocolate in matching mugs, wrapped up with a fuzzy blanket, and staring at the gorgeous night sky.

and everything was going smoothly, until he dropped some hot chocolate in his lap.

he was so focused rambling about the stars that he didn't notice…

until it fell on some exposed skin.

he jumped and quickly stood up, putting the mug away with the frowniest frown to ever frown.

you were laughing until your tummy started to ache, because how can someone be so unaware?

when he sat down again, you happened to sip a bit out of your chocolate, when his elbow accidentally pushed your arm, and the mug dug into your nose.

when you put the mug away, you had a brown, milky stain on the tip of your nose, as well as a mustache on your upper lips.

this was definitely his revenge; you were sure of it.

he chuckled and tried to help you, but you declared war right there.

and as you were about to hit him with one of the cushions, he stopped you.

then, he looked into your eyes, and his thumb itched closer to your nose…

but he stopped.

now, his gaze shifted ever so slightly, and he tilted his head when leaning in to lick the chocolate off your nose, and then off your lips.

and as if the chocolate had some sort of trigger, he started nibbling on your lips too, before he got more and more bold.

he left so many kisses in such a short period of time you lost track.

he cupped your cheeks and pressed them so hard his fingers were imprinted.

you looked adorable, all stained in sweet chocolate, grumpy, ready to fight him…

he just… he needed a taste.

he needed to hug you, and nibble you, and squeeze you in his arms until—

“xav… shtop…”

he doesn't, though.

he pushes you down carefully and uses his body weight to keep you in place.

“sorry, i must squeeze you.”

he says, matter-of-factly.

and there is a lot of squeezing, certainly, as his lips leave a trail of quick, short yet open-mouthed kisses that fill up the small tent.

was it because of the chocolate?

or was it because he wanted to get back at you?

you'll never know.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

you thought it'd be funny to steal his glasses.

and his white coat…

and his stethoscope…

and his badge.

better said, you thought it'd be funny to dress up as him, since he brought everything from work, and he folded everything very neatly by the end of your side of the bed.

it was basically an invitation, right?

so, you put on everything, you relish on how his coat smells clean and like his scent…

even when his glasses are a bit uncomfortable to wear.

when he steps out of the bathroom, wearing comfy lounge wear, he stops in his tracks.

what on earth?

you muffle a laugh before putting on your best poker face.

“you are late for your appointment, mr. li”

he just raises an eyebrow, before his lips curl up ever so slightly.

“based on your results, i have a couple diagnoses for you, mister…”

you walk around, before pointing at him.

“a sugar-free diet… for life!"

he tilts his head, clearly amused.

“and you know what i found out? yeah, carrot deficiency. mhm, trust me.”

he sighs and steps closer, finally speaking.

“do i talk like that, or is that your poor interpretation?”

you gasp, clutching the lanyard attached to his badge.

“how dare you! i'm very clearly dr. zayne.”

you push the glasses up your nose, acting confident.

“should you fail to follow your amazing doctor's orders, you are to be… uh, punished! yes, punished,” you circle him, before stepping behind him. “your punishment will be to take a… break!”

he knows he isn't exactly beating up the workaholic allegations, but this is ridiculous.

he's about to end your little display with a sarcastic remark, but he notices how the coat suits you.

and how his glasses frame your pretty face.

and how you carry his badge so proudly, as if you were his…

which you are.

his heart thumps fast.

he steps closer and reaches out, and when you dodge him, thinking he'll take his things away from you, he just leans down, cups one of your cheeks as the other one caresses your hair.

and then, his jaw clenches.

he nuzzles his cheek against your head… slowly… slow… oh, a bit faster… and then a bit more roughly…

his hands are now on your waist, holding you in place.

he rubs his cheek on your head, against your face, your neck, and then against your own cheek.

your chest is tightly pressed with his, and when he pulls back, he hesitates.

gosh, he needs to calm down.

he pulls the stethoscope close to his heart, and he looks at you with a slightly ragged breath.

“what is your diagnosis now, doctor?”

it leaves you speechless.

you regret taking his stuff in the first place…

or, do you?

[gothamite-rambler]

Little Damian, 5 years old, walked quietly over to his grandfather, Ra's al Ghul. His tiny feet made soft thuds on the floor as he reluctantly approached the old assassin. Jason followed behind him as his bodyguard.

Ra’s eyed the child suspiciously. Damian avoided eye contact, clutching a piece of paper in his small hands. He hesitated before holding it out to his grandfather.

Damian: Grandfather, I drew this for you.

Damian handed the drawing to Ra’s. The man took it, glaring at the paper. Damian kept staring at his feet, worried about the reaction.

Jason: He’s been into drawing animals lately. I think this is his best one yet. And Ra’s, you probably agree.

Jason gripped a folding hunting knife in his hand, casually pretending to swipe it across his throat, an ominous gesture meant to simulate where he’d start if Ra’s caused Damian to cry again. Last time that happened, Ra’s had ended up sewing up a hand wound after Jason stabbed him with a carving fork.

Jason: What do you think, Ra’s? Great? Tell him it’s great.

Ra’s looked at the drawing, then at Damian, who was nervously avoiding his gaze.

Ra’s: …I do not feel like fighting with you today. Damian, it’s adequate. I will file this away with some other sketches of yours I didn’t hate.

Damian looked from his grandfather to the side, a small smile forming.

Damian: Really? Oh… Thank you, grandfather. I appreciate the kind words.

Jason carefully folded the knife and slid it into his pocket. Damian turned to him, holding out his hand.

Jason: Here ya go.

Jason handed Damian a yellow fruit chew, which the boy ate happily.

Damian (chewing): It’s sour… I like it. Thank you for being here while I showed grandfather my picture.

Jason: No problem, kid.

Ra’s silently covered his eyes, fuming at the sight of candy being given for what he considered an adequate—if uninspired—art piece.

Jason (whispering): That pencil can go up your urethra, don’t test me.

Ra’s pointed to the door.

Ra’s: Get out of my office.

Jason and Damian left, chatting about a show Jason had been watching with Damian. Ra’s groaned, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at the drawing, a surprisingly decent depiction of a bunny, his usual stern expression softened.

Ra’s: He’s not that bad an artist. This actually looks like a bunny… I will keep this one.

[sunny-knight]

THIS IS HOME

@forgettable-au Fan-Animatic ⭐️

The stars welcome him with open arms…

Work and Progress + Analysis below!

You can find the work in progress things here! because I wanna show the sketch animatic and you can only upload one video…

The entire idea was inspired off of THIS lovely little qna written a bit ago! havnt forgotten about it since! Despite what the AU might have you believe And recently I decided I could just draw out the fun part instead of go through the pain of storyboarding and cleaning up a nearly 4 minute long song 👍👍👍

Thats the idea though, theres no real plot, so no real context I can give other than the things the comic itself already provides. “This Is Home” just works incredibly well for this poor childs trauma, and it was a great opportunity to practice my composition and storytelling!!

Onto the deep analysis of every frame individually!!! (this is normal. this happens every time.)

The idea that Wingdings just eventually- gave up. Trying to connect with anyone. HURTS ME DEEPLY. I’m not sure if thats specifically because he just couldn’t get the font thing down, but I imagine that was a big contributing factor. But thats what specifically stops him here. He eventually slams his keys down on the board and says “IM DONE” and throws himself into a thing he can purely enjoy on his own- science. Even at a young age, I feel he only had 2 lives. One with Sans, and one with science. Then when those worlds combined when he became the royal scientist uhhh- I imagine it got worse.

Speaking of his young age, In these shots he’s also notably a tad older than the later depictions of his younger self with the scarf. Less full of joy and whimsy

“His mind is in a different place” is taken a tad more negatively than in the context of the song I feel, as he’s more or less isolated himself from everyone (but Sans) now in this “giving up” phase of his childhood. I wonder how Sans noticed/took that and if he tried to convince him otherwise, but in this case he just thinks he needs some time to himself.

Also let it be known that the words being crammed in at the “Give him a little bit of space” bit is on PURPOSE and a SILLY LITTLE JOKE/VISUAL GAG GIVEN THE LINE. I AM SO FUNNY.

The colors are also notably dark blues, that get greyer when Wingdings has given up. The light that Sans lets in ((looks into the camera, tearing up)) is still pretty cold despite it being brighter.

The berating is also in uppercase to show most of this is from Wingdings’ pov- I know he speaks in proper casing at this time, but I NEED SOME SORT OF INDICATOR, WORK WITH ME HERE. His main issue was his own self consciousness and desire to communicate properly, since it was said before on the blog that no one really picked on him for his inability to talk to them.

Then we have Papyrus!! The colors are similarly blue, but a lot brighter and a touch purpler and greener. Its from the same world, but not the same person. Also he’s wearing a yellow vest which is the complimentary color to blue ☝️

Papyrus is more heavily associated with warm colors in contrast to Wingdings, but this takes place very early on when he was very confused where his place was (or at least I assume thats what happened). He’s associating with warm colors (yellow) but is somewhat weary about it and still subconsciously clutching onto the comfort in familiarity.

The scene ofc depicts Papyrus being incredibly uncomfortable about any photos of himself as a child. It still definitely…looooks… like him. it just feels really wrong.

Similar thing to last time with the fonts as well, uppercase, Papyrus’ pov, he just wants to know who/WHAT he is.

I enjoy the colors in the photo and how they reallly stand out from the rest of the shot, just another emphasis that the photo feels otherworldly to Papyrus.

This is the part where I start weeping pitifully. The tiny Wingdings to Gaster comparison- it’s just so upsetting, I want to know what this poor child would think if he saw what he ends up as 😭

Wingdings enjoyed dreaming about the real stars he MIGHT get to see one day with Sans. The scene is dark, as it still hasnt happened yet, but still bright and hopeful as he stares up at the light! Its always a possibility. But then we have Gaster, who finally did it. He reached the stars, he gets to look up and say “wow…. I really did it”. Staring up at the void before him. Without Sans…I feel he wouldn’t ponder on it much, and consciously he doesn’t see anything bad about his circumstances, but the crack going down his eye that elludes to a tear says otherwise in the suppressed emotions.

The world Wingdings lived in when he was small, seemed so endless…Despite the underground being small compared to the real world, his imagination was endless. He could dream, he could imagine, and create things, get and give new ideas! But now as an adult that just so happens to be a lovecraftian entity, everything is much more simple and straightforward. At least from his perspective…Gaster may be able to DO way more than he ever could as a small child, but his mind is pretty one track at this point.

I wonder how Gaster feels…Now that they’ve gotten to the surface. without him

Im not sure how Papyrus in the game or even in the comic feels about stars, but Sans for one doesnt have to daydream anymore. They’ve also “done it” just like Gaster, but the hug insinuates less of that and more a “we WON”. They share in this moment together more emotionally than anything.

Again, compared to Gaster and them, they enjoy the moment in their own ways- Gaster just the action of seeing the stars, and Papyrus in what the moment itself means. I feel those are the 2 wants Wingdings had and thats a lot of what Papyrus and Gaster are. 2 halfs of Wingdings’…whole…thing

Also the stars welcoming him with open arms is both in reference to Sans but also Papyrus welcoming/accepting/loving himself…

IN CONCLUSION:

…yknow ive never asked before, but if anyone has any questions or needs clarification im happy to-

[yuujispunches]

The sorcerer, the kid and the one who stayed. ~ S.G.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader.

Summary: Satoru Gojo had always been a handful but when he suddenly appeared on your doorstep with a fed-up eight ear old it’s the final straw.

CW (content warning): Gojo and little Megumi bickering, little Megumi being an absolute menace, reader and Gojo being painfully obvious, mutual pinning, found family trope, nothing else really this is teeth rotting fluff.

AN (author’s note): As always a reminder that English is not my first language and I’m typing this on my phone so I’m sorry if there are any typos/mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send them! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

Your peaceful life ended with a knock on your door. Not the hurried kind of someone in danger, nor the loud kind of someone bringing news. It was the knock of a man who didn’t know how to ask for help without pretending it was no big deal.

When you opened the door, Gojo stood there, hair wet from rain, blindfold askew, and holding a small, scowling child by the hood like a misbehaving cat.

“Hey.” He said, sheepishly. “You busy?”

That was the beginning of everything.

You had been friends with Gojo since the first week at Jujutsu Tech. Both teenagers with too much power and too many expectations, you clung to each other like lifelines. You laughed through injuries, cried after missions, and held each other together when everything fell apart. Riko, Suguru, everything. You loved him, even then, but never dared say it. And Gojo, ever the coward in his own way, never said it either. Both of you too afraid that saying those words out loud would make the only person who had been constant in your lives disappear as well.

But then he brought you Megumi Fushiguro, and that changed everything.

“You kidnapped a child.” You deadpanned looking between Gojo and the small kid.

“I didn’t kidnap him I rescued him!” Satoru retorted as if he was offended.

“You appeared, told me you knew my father and dragged me to Tokyo” Megumi said looking absolutely done with the white-haired manchild that stood beside him.

“Please get in before the police comes” You sighed, opening your door for them. From that moment on Megumi had decided that he liked you.

——————————————————————————

“Y/N,” Gojo whined from the couch, flopped dramatically across the cushions like a Victorian widow. “He’s ignoring me again.”

You were at the kitchen counter, stirring rice and not even trying to hide your smirk. “He’s eight, Satoru. That’s what kids do when they have taste.”

Megumi, seated at the table and drawing a surprisingly accurate picture of Gojo being hit with a frying pan, didn’t look up. “She’s right.”

“See?!” Gojo sat up, pointing at the boy. “He’s turning you against me. This is mutiny.”

You turned around and gave Megumi a conspiratorial wink. “You say ‘mutiny,’ I say ‘good parenting.’”

Megumi nodded solemnly and went back to sketching Gojo with an increasingly ridiculous mustache. “I made you a new face.” He informed the man in question, holding up the drawing.

Gojo squinted. “Is that… is that me wearing clown makeup?”

“Yup.” Megumi said, clearly pleased with himself as he looked at his creation. “It’s realistic.”

Gojo slumped further into the couch, moaning. “He’s been here for three weeks and already he’s roasting me like I’m a side of beef.”

You walked over, setting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And yet you keep coming back for more.”

Megumi beamed up at you, completely ignoring Gojo’s exaggerated gasps of betrayal. He leaned against your side, hugging your waist like he’d done it a hundred times.

“Do I have to eat vegetables tonight?” He asked sweetly.

You brushed his hair back. “Just a few, okay?”

“Okay.” He said, because you asked.

Gojo muttered under his breath “Unbelievable. You’re like a tiny, grouchy cat that only loves one person. And that person’s not me.”

Megumi stuck out his tongue as you found yourself thinking that maybe this whole mess wasn’t half as bad as you thought it would be.

——————————————————————————

At first, Gojo had been reluctant to admit he needed help. When he took in Megumi, he thought he could manage it, like everything else, through sheer force of will. But parenting wasn’t a cursed technique, and the boy was grieving, prickly, and deeply guarded.

Gojo could handle curses. Emotional vulnerability? Not so much. That’s where you came in.

You made routines. You learned which snacks Megumi liked dango, not mochi, when to give him space, when to gently press, and how to coax laughter from him with the smallest things. Gojo watched it all in stunned silence, like someone witnessing a miracle. And somewhere along the line, “helping out” turned into “coming over every day,” and “sleeping on the couch sometimes” became “you basically live here now.”

Gojo never said a word about it. He just set out a mug for you in the mornings next to his own, which made your heart melt the first time you found it.

——————————————————————————

One rainy afternoon, Gojo burst into the kitchen dramatically. “He insulted my sunglasses.”

Megumi, sitting on the floor doing homework, didn’t even look up. “They’re stupid.”

“They’re iconic.” Gojo corrected, clutching his chest. “The height of sorcerer fashion.”

“They make you look like a bug.” Megumi replied. You tried very hard not to snort tea up your nose.

Gojo turned to you for backup. “Y/N. My emotional support. My confidante. Tell the child he’s wrong.”

You took one good look at him, pretending to pause and analyse his appearance before saying “You do kind of look like a cicada.”

Megumi shot a fist into the air in triumph.

Gojo stared at you both in betrayal, then sighed like a man aged by war. “This is what I get for raising the next generation. Ingrates and traitors.”

Megumi leaned against your side again, his voice soft. “Can you stay tonight?”

Gojo froze mid-rant. His eyes darted to yours.

You smiled down at the boy, brushing his hair away from his face. “Of course I can.”

Gojo cleared his throat. “You know, technically I live here, but sure, make yourself at home.”

“You sleep like a starfish.” Megumi muttered. “You don’t count.”

Gojo pointed a dramatic finger. “That’s it. You’re going to boarding school.”

Satoru pretended to be offended but when he saw you sitting by Megumi’s bed reading him a bedtime story he wished that was what the rest of his life would look like.

——————————————————————————

That night, after Megumi had gone to bed, only after you read him two whole chapters of a book about a dragon who only wanted to nap giving the characters dramatic voices and everything, Gojo hovered in the hallway, quiet in a way that never sat right on him.

You were cleaning up the kitchen when he finally spoke.

“You’re really good with him.” He said. “Better than me.”

You turned, drying your hands on a towel. “You’re doing fine, Satoru. He’s just… still figuring out who he can trust.”

“I’ve lost so many people.” Gojo said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared I’ll mess this up too.”

You crossed the room and took his hand. “You’re not alone this time.”

He looked at you really looked at you and something in his posture softened. “I don’t think I’d be standing without you.”

You smiled. “Then don’t try standing without me.”

He blinked at you, and for once, had no comeback. Just a quiet “Okay.” It was easy really, he had already made himself that promise years ago.

——————————————————————————

A week later, everything came to a head over a bowl of miso soup.

Gojo had made dinner. That was mistake number one.

Megumi stared at the bowl with deep suspicion. “What is that?”

“It’s food.” Gojo said proudly. “Made by yours truly. You should feel blessed.”

Megumi poked the surface with his chopsticks. “It looks like a curse.”

“Eat it or starve,” Gojo replied cheerfully.

Megumi turned to you. “Please help.” A pleasing look on his face.

You sighed, crouching beside him. “Megumi, just one bite, and then you can have a cookie.”

He perked up. “Two cookies.”

“One and a half.” You countered.

“Deal.” He beamed at you as he shook your hand.

Gojo watched the exchange with mounting horror. “How come you can negotiate with him and I can’t?”

“Because she doesn’t threaten to feed me expired pudding.” Megumi replied dryly.

Gojo turned to you. “You’re raising a smartass.”

You kissed Megumi’s head. “I’m very proud of that fact.”

——————————————————————————

That night, as you tucked Megumi into bed, he held onto your hand tightly.

“I don’t want you to go.” He whispered.

Your heart squeezed. “I’ll be here tomorrow. Like always.”

“No.” he said. “I mean I want you to stay. Forever. Like… with us.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. “Megumi…”

“I like you better than Gojo.” He added, completely serious.

A laugh burst from your chest. “That’s not hard.”

“But he likes you.” Megumi went on. “A lot. He looks at you the same way he looks at sweets.”

You froze.

“He’s too dumb to say it, but I can tell.” The boy continued, burying his face in your arm. “So… if you like him too, maybe tell him? So you don’t end up being dumb together.”

You smiled into his hair. “You’re very wise for someone who just tried to flush broccoli down the sink.”

“I panicked.” He shrugged.

——————————————————————————

You found Gojo sitting on the back porch, eyes lifted to the stars. You stood behind him a moment, then walked over and sat down beside him.

“He told me to tell you.” you said quietly.

Gojo glanced at you, confused. “Tell me what?” Your expression was serious and his heart pounded harder in his chest.

“Megumi. He said you’re dumb and that I should tell you.” You joked, trying to ease the tension a bit.

He snorted. “That little gremlin.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “He also said you like me.”

Gojo’s mouth opened. Closed. “Well. That’s… obvious, I thought.”

You blinked, absolutely astounded at the fact that he admitted it so easily. “Excuse me?”

He looked over at you, blue eyes serious under the moonlight. “I’ve been in love with you since year one. I just… never thought I was allowed to have something like that.”

You exhaled slowly, heartbeat rattling. “Me too.”

He reached over, brushing your cheek with one hand. “Then let’s not be dumb anymore.”

You kissed him.

It was soft and slow and full of every quiet moment that had passed between you over the years. When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“So…” He whispered, grinning. “Are we like… Mom and Dad now?”

“Only if we’re the kind of parents who let their kid roast them to oblivion.”

He laughed. “That’s parenting, babe.”

——————————————————————————

The next morning, Megumi walked into the kitchen, took one look at the two of you Gojo making pancakes, you perched on the counter wearing his hoodie.

“Took you long enough.” He said, rubbing the sleep off his eyes.

Then he slid onto a stool and asked. “Can I have extra syrup, Mom?”

Gojo promptly choked on his coffee.

You just smiled, leaned down, and ruffled the boy’s hair.

“Of course, sweetie.” You answered, trying to keep tears at bay.

Gojo groaned. “This house is rigged against me.”

Megumi smirked. “Deal with it, old man.”

Gojo sighed. “I’m going to live with you for the next ten years, aren’t I?”

“Yup.” You and Megumi, in perfect unison.

And honestly? Gojo wouldn’t have had it any other way.

tags: @chocalycake

taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[natalianovnas]

𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐓 & 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐒

꩜ ۫ . SUMMARY :: you’re a baker who specializes in enchanted pastries. wanda visits your shop every morning and slowly begins leaving tiny, enchanted runes for you to find. when you finally notice, she asks you out with a cupcake she made herself.

꩜ ۫ . GENRE :: cozy, magical slow-burn with romantic tension and enchanted pastries.

꩜ ۫ . WARNINGS :: none, just very fluffy.

꩜ ۫ . WORDS COUNT :: 0.8k || masterlist

Red Velvet & Runes.

Your bakery wasn’t the biggest in Westview, but it had the best scent on the street—warm sugar, cinnamon, and something faintly floral from the lavender you always added to the morning loaves.

But what really made Moonrise Bakery special were the little spells you worked into your treats.

A lemon tart for focus. A cinnamon roll for courage. A red velvet cupcake for love—not a love potion, of course, just a gentle encouragement to open one’s heart.

You noticed her the third time she came in.

Wanda Maximoff. Always in the early morning, always dressed in soft layers, always ordering the same thing: red velvet, black coffee—with a small smile. She had this way of looking at things—like the world hurt to touch.

You weren’t sure what kept bringing her back: the cupcake, or you.

She never stayed long. Just a quiet thank you, a brush of fingers when she took the bag, and then she’d disappear back into the waking world, leaving you wondering if you'd imagined her entirely.

Until the seventh visit.

She picked up the cupcake box, turned it over, then paused. “What’s this?” she asked, tapping the small sigil you’d sketched in gold ink on the underside of the box.

You blinked. “Oh—uh, just a rune. For… comfort. I write them on certain orders.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “Only certain ones?”

You flushed. “Ones that feel like they need it.”

She looked at you for a long moment. Then, to your surprise, her lips quirked into a smirk. “And you think I need comfort?”

“Maybe,” You said, meeting her gaze. “Or maybe I just want to see you come back.”

She didn’t respond right away, but when she did, her voice was quieter. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to a witch.”

You blinked. “You're a—?”

Wanda smiled. “Don’t worry. I don’t curse people who feed me sugar.”

The door chimed as she left.

The next morning, when you opened the shop, a folded note sat on the front counter. No signature—just a rune you didn’t recognize, drawn in red ink, and a message in careful handwriting:

"Your magic tastes like hope. Don’t stop."

You kept the note behind the register, folded neatly and tucked inside the recipe book you never used anymore. Her rune, that unfamiliar mark in deep red, still glowed faintly on some nights when the kitchen was quiet and you felt lonelier than you’d admit.

Wanda came every evening now.

Sometimes with stories, sometimes in silence. You’d close early for her, pretending you needed time to restock, but really, you just liked the way she leaned against the counter, or how her eyes followed your hands as you worked.

“I want to learn,” She said one night, sitting on the stool near the prep table.

You looked up from your mixing bowl. “Learn what?”

Wanda dipped a finger into a bowl of sugar, then made a rune with the crystals on the counter. It shimmered, pulsed faintly, before vanishing. “Your kind of magic. The edible kind.”

“You’re a chaos witch,” you said, laughing softly. “You bend reality. I just bake.”

She tilted her head. “But your magic heals people in quiet ways. I want that.”

You hesitated—then nodded.

Teaching Wanda was like trying to bottle sunlight.

She didn’t follow recipes; she felt them. She always cracked the eggs too fast, swirled the batter counterclockwise because “it feels right,” and once, she accidentally enchanted a tray of muffins to sing lullabies when bitten.

You teased her for days.

But then she asked you to stand behind her as she piped frosting on a red velvet cupcake, her fingers trembling slightly. You guided her hands, your breath brushing the shell of her ear. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just leaned back into you for a second too long.

And you knew.

She wasn’t just learning for fun.

She was learning you.

Later that week, you found a cupcake on your counter—perfectly frosted, topped with a rune you’d never seen before. When you bit into it, the world around you softened. Your chest lightened. The weight you’d been carrying for weeks melted away, like snow in the sun.

The rune was Wanda’s.

And it was made just for you.

That night, she returned after closing, no excuse or pretense this time.

“I think I’m falling for you,” she said.

You looked up from your dough-covered hands, stunned. “You put a rune in the cupcake.”

She shrugged. “I was nervous. I’m not good at talking about my feelings.”

You wiped your hands on your apron and crossed the kitchen slowly.

“You don’t need a spell to tell me how you feel, Wanda.”

Your hand brushed her cheek.

She leaned in.

And this time, neither of you pulled away.

💌 don't hesitate to share your thoughts on this !

[rhyrhy]

Thinking about loser! Barista Abby! And the girl who works in the bookstore across the street…

[Contains]: cutesy headcannons!

Barista Abby! Who works Sunday to Wednesday, carefully balancing the rest of her week.

Sure, she gets hit on—at the gym, sometimes even at work. And while it’s flattering, she always turns them down. Why? Because lately, she’s found herself watching the clock, waiting for 10 a.m.

A different cozy outfit every time, a tote bag always slung over your shoulder, a pencil tucked behind your ear. Such a sweet sight. Yeah. She was a goner.

Barista Abby! Who told her coworker (and dearest friend) that she’d say something… eventually. But she never quite works up the nerve. She hates when it rains—raindrops littering the windows, ruining her perfect view of you across the street.

Barista Abby! Who wanted to duck behind the counter the first time you walked in. Crushes weren’t something she developed often, but you? The pretty girl balancing more books than you could carry, nudging the door open with your foot. The girl who always checked on the flowers outside the store, The girl who sat in her car for a few moments before heading home, deep in thought.

Barista Abby! Whose face burned when you made a flirty comment in passing, suddenly hyper-aware of herself in ways she never had been before.

“Are you on the menu?” You leaned in across the counter, eyes slowly scanning over her.

“Uh, no, but—but I could be? Like, theoretically?” she stammered.

Barista Abby! Who was a bookworm herself but couldn’t find the nerve to bring it up—until the day she saw you holding City of Thieves by David Benioff, a book she’d read a million times.

“Wait—you’re reading that? Like, actually reading it? Not just holding it for aesthetic purposes?” she blurted, pointing at the book tucked in the crook of your arm.

“You have to tell me what you think. Like, every thought. Immediately.”

And when you said you liked it? She practically beamed with excitement. “Okay, if you liked that one—please, please read The Nightingale and All the Light We Cannot See. Thank me later.”

Barista Abby! Who, over time, grew more comfortable flirting back. Who lived for the giggles she earned, for the way your smile lingered all the way until the red neon CLOSED sign flickered on.

Who perfected her coffee art—so of course, she started drawing tiny hearts and silly faces in your drinks. Who started leaving little notes on your cups. Sometimes a simple have a good day, sometimes a quick sketch of the way your hair looked that morning. Who gushed to her coworker about the spark she swore she felt when your fingers brushed against hers that morning. Who spent the whole day thinking about it—until she finally worked up the nerve to ask you out.

The sun was out, she was off for the rest of the week, and she knew you were too. So she said it. Do you want to go out with me? And when you didn’t even hesitate before saying yes? She let out a tiny scream of excitement in her car—only to immediately stop, remembering her windows weren’t that tinted.

Barista Abby! Who melted the first time you kissed her cheek after your second date.

Who finally stepped foot into the bookstore where you worked, taking in the scent of paper and vanilla—the same scent that always lingered on your clothes. And as she watched you move between the shelves, smiling at customers, in your element, she thought—

Yeah, im really, really gone.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

MY BIG SISTER GLOWS!!!

How Damians obsession with Weird neglected black!Reader started

To the average untrained eye, you look regular—nothing too special about your looks or facial features. But to the eye of an artist like Damian, you seem unearthly, and to Damian, you glow like the North Star. Your light could dim any constellation and put them to shame. But you’re not the only one in the house that glows; to Damian, Dick's glow is aqua green—it's cool and calm, and it fills the whole room, drowning out anybody else's glow. Jason's glow is bright red; people may think it's because of his anger, but it’s more about his passion and how it fills anything he touches. Tim's glow is a cool cerulean blue—calm and calculated—but it can shine brightly but also remain subtle. However, Damian hadn’t seen your glow for quite some time. He had seen Bruce's and Alfred's, heck, even Steph's, but he had just never managed to see you glow. Your light was never seen in the manor, but outside the manor was a whole other can of worms. As the little weasel walked to his next class, he heard giggling from a group of girls. He ignored it at first; still, he heard a small snort.

"[Name], was that a snort?" a girl said, her mouth wide open like an alligator. Damian's ears perked up at your name; he swiftly turned around to a bright light, so bright it rivaled the sun. It was your light; it was a soft yellow and sparkled as if tiny little stars surrounded you. Damian never knew you could glow, especially in that color, and he never knew you could laugh like that. Your laughs were always small giggles or snickers that lasted a second or more, but this laugh was coming from your very soul, and it lasted much longer.

"Shut up, Zuri, it's not a snort." You denied it quickly, but your snort still came out, and you covered your mouth while laughing. Your glow outshined all the girls, and it seemed to fill the room. He had never seen you like this—never. You were always so brash or closed off, and your glow was usually dim. But at school, it was a whole other thing. Now that Damian saw you like this, he began to sketch every moment you glowed, and sketch he did. There would be pages upon pages dedicated to you and your star-like glow. He committed to memory the way your nose scrunched up, how your eyes squinted, and how your full lips parted into the biggest smile. You would throw your head back making your dreads fall over your shoulders. He knew it by heart; he could close his eyes and paint a picture just with the memory of your smile. But these brief moments of laughter at school weren't enough; he needed to see up close and personal. Deep down, he wanted to be the one who made you glow, but you wouldn't let him. It was like forcing a bird to sing; it only happened naturally. Your glow around him was dim and dark, reminding him of his old glow before even going to the manor. But the young prince felt entitled to your glow, to your shine. He was the grandson of the demon head and the blood son of the bat. How dare you deny him something he so deserved! Sure, he could be cruel at times and rude; sure, his words could break you into a thousand pieces, but he's sorry—he really is. So let him see you shine. Let him paint you and make that glow immortal. Let him see it, after all, you both come from the same blood. It's only fair you let those peasants see your glow, but not him, there beneath you! You know that, right!? So why let these fools see your glow when he is so much more worthy?!