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hongcherry · 4 months

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you're my tomorrow | j.ww

At first, you didn't think anything of it. Jeon Wonwoo was just a customer. However, his daily visits to your bookstore café started to become the highlight of your days. The little conversations here and there made you happy. It's because of him that you always look forward to tomorrow.

☕️ Pairing: customer!Wonwoo x cafeOwner!Reader

☕️ Rating/Genres/AUs: PG; Fluff with a sprinkle of angst, slice of life; Strangers to lovers, cafe au, non!idol au

☕️ Warnings: Reader is smaller than Wonu, ultra soft boi and supportive wonu *swoons*... can't think of anything else but ofc lmk otherwise

☕️ Word Count: 5k

☕️ Author's Note: Thank you to @justsomekpopstuff for giving me this plot idea! I def got carried away and wrote way more than I thought I would lol. I hope you enjoy it! Everyone thank JJ for the storyline ✨ Also, thank you Jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) for beta'ing and giving me amazing suggestions for some edits! 💗

Happy holidays to all (if you celebrate)! Stay safe and have a nice time 💖

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

Monday

When the door chimes a little after eight at night, you know it’s him.

He strolls in, usual glasses perched on his nose and jacket layered with a few specks of snow. His hair isn’t styled, soft waves adorning his head. He looks like the average person who’s winding down from a long day at work. From the two and a half months you’ve known him, this is his usual state on Monday nights.

Wonwoo entered your cozy bookstore café nearly three months ago. His order rarely varies, and sometimes he orders a drink he could get anywhere else. Yet, for some reason, he always comes here.

And throughout those months, you’ve realized you always look forward to his presence.

“Busy evening?” he asks while stepping up to the counter.

You’re in the middle of packing a pastry for another customer and quickly hand off the bag to your coworker.

“More so than usual; it’s finals week,” you reply with a small smile.

Wonwoo glances around, nodding as he takes in the sight of many tables occupied by people with textbooks, laptops, and notes scattered around them.

“I don’t miss those days,” he chuckles.

“I don’t either,” you agree. “So, what can I get you today?”

Wonwoo peers up at the menu behind you. You wonder why he does so since he usually rotates between three drinks.

“A hot chocolate,” he replies.

“Oh?” You can’t hide your surprise.

He grins, tilting his head slightly. “Should I have ordered something else?”

“No!” you hastily say. “You can order whatever you want.”

He pulls out a bill that exceeds the cost of the order and slides it to your side of the counter.

“Just thought I’d try something new for the holidays,” he explains, then leaves to find a seat.

“Wait!” you call out, bill in your hand. “You paid too much!”

If Wonwoo can hear you, he pretends he doesn’t. He continues his journey and ends up in the corner next to a window by the bookshelves. He retrieves a book from his bag, opening it where his bookmark rests.

Your hand falls to the counter with a heavy sigh. You guess you’ll give him his change when you give him his order. Normally, you’d call customer’s names or numbers for pick-up. But Wonwoo is different.

Wonwoo’s one of the rare customers who gets his order hand-delivered.

After completing the transaction in the system and making his drink, you grab his change from the register and walk to his table.

“One hot chocolate,” you announce and set the cup down along with his change.

“I’ll take the drink,” he says and brings it closer, blatantly ignoring the cash next to it.

“Wonwoo,” you say.

“Yn,” he answers, eyes flickering up.

There’s a small smirk on his lips that makes your insides churn.

“You overpaid,” you simply state.

“So?”

You move his money closer. “So, take it back.”

Wonwoo slides the money back to you. “Consider it a tip.”

“You know we don’t take tips here,” you say, moving it again.

“You should. You all work hard.”

“People are already struggling as is. If they can find solace in a little place like this, that’s all that matters.”

Wonwoo rests his hands on top of yours, which is still on the money, and slides it back to you.

“Then consider it a holiday present. From me to you,” he smiles.

His hand feels warm on yours. Your eyes move down, but you wish you hadn’t.

His large hand nearly covers yours, making you feel small yet protected. You can tell from his build that he’s strong and fit. You wonder what it’d be like to get a hug from him.

“I—” you struggle to speak.

“It’d make me happy.”

You sigh, nodding hesitantly.

He slowly removes his hand. “Thank you.”

“N-No problem,” you say, gathering the change and pocketing it. “Enjoy your book and drink.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo replies and picks up his book. He holds it up with one hand and uses the other to sip his hot chocolate.

You make your way back to the front, trying to ignore the lingering warmth on your hand and the feeling in your chest.

Tuesday

Wonwoo shows up at the same time but orders one of his usual drinks. It's a different book than yesterday and judging by the similar cover, it's probably the next one in the series.

Ever since Wonwoo “gifted” you money, you’ve been trying to think of something to get him. It’s a little tough considering you don’t actually know him. You know he works a duty-heavy job and that he lives nearby. You know he has a lot of friends despite him being so quiet. Although you’ve never seen Wonwoo and his friends in the same room, they often come with him to the café in duos or trios.

You also learned he’s an avid cat and gaming lover.

You were surprised about the latter.

“Is he also a student?” one of your new coworkers, Sebastian, asks thirty minutes after Wonwoo’s arrival.

You wipe off the cup in your hand and set it on the counter, calling the number associated with it.

“No, he graduated already,” you reply and watch him practice making a drink.

“You seem to know him. Are you two friends?” he wonders.

You lean against the counter. “I don’t think so. He’s just a regular here, so I’ve learned a few things here and there.”

“Ah,” he replies and hands you the finished drink.

You take the drink and start taking a sip to see how well he did.

“You should ask him out.”

You choke on the drink, eyes wide as you reach for a napkin to wipe your chin.

“T-That wouldn’t be appropriate,” you stammer.

He laughs and takes the drink from you. “He’s not working here, and it’s not like you’re paying for him to come by. I don’t see how it’s inappropriate.”

You sigh, knowing he has a point. It’s not that you’re not attracted to Wonwoo, but it feels almost out of line. Plus, you’re not sure if you like Wonwoo, or just like the thought of him. You haven’t been in a relationship in years and would be lying to say you don’t miss having a partner.

You miss being able to share life memories with someone.

Wonwoo’s handsome. He’s kind, funny, caring, and fit—not that that’s a big deciding factor, but it sure is a bonus. Though, do you just want someone with those attributes, or do you want him?

“Just think about it,” Sebastian suggests and greets a new customer.

Your eyes drop to your feet in thought.

Part of you worries you’d make it awkward if he says no. It’s not like you are friends, so you won’t be ruining a friendship, but you enjoy seeing his face every day. His simple presence is one of the highlights of your days.

Plus, you don’t even know if he has a partner already!

You groan, putting a hand over your forehead as you try to organize your thoughts.

“Bad night?” a familiar voice asks from over the counter.

You drop your hand to see who it is.

Wonwoo stands with his empty cup and saucer, book tucked under his arm.

“Ah, uh, not really,” you reply sheepishly. You can’t disclose the true reason for your state; you’ve never been the best liar either.

“Well, I hope whatever is troubling you passes soon,” he says and holds out his dirty dishes.

“You could’ve left them on the table,” you say, grabbing them from his grasp. Your fingers touch his, and it’s difficult not to feel like a silly teenager in the movies, especially with your current predicament.

“I know,” he smiles, “but I wanted to tell you bye, and you seem busy.”

You set the items in the sink before addressing him again. “Still… But thank you anyway.”

“The drink was great, as always.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says, slowly stepping away from the counter.

You smile, nodding. “See you.”

His eyes linger on you before he turns and exits your café.

Wednesday

Wonwoo comes and goes as usual. It’s a busy night and you’re unable to speak to him much. It’s not the first time that has happened, so he doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of interaction. Regardless, you wish you could’ve spoken to him more.

That night was spent browsing the internet for the perfect gift for Wonwoo.

From gaming headsets to the top-rated books on Goodreads, you felt like you scoured every possible present for him. But none of them satisfied you.

It wasn’t until you came across bookmarks in your recommended section that you decided what to get him.

Maybe a bookmark was too boring, but you figured it was the safer option.

You spend over an hour searching for the right bookmark, but again, you come up short. They’re either too flowery, too plain, or too cliché.

In the end, you opt for making your own.

You find some DIY bookmark kits online and place an order. Trying not to second guess your decision, you call it a night—going to sleep as you brainstorm what to put on the item.

Thursday

“Do people actually read these books?” Wonwoo asks during your break, which you decided to spend with him.

Your gaze follows his to the wall lined with several bookshelves.

You chuckle, “Sometimes.”

“You said you got these books donated?” he asks, recalling an earlier conversation you had when he was a newcomer.

“Most of them,” you hum.

“Does your offer still stand?” he asks.

You turn to him with puzzlement.

He smiles. “You said I could take a book if I left one.”

“Oh,” you laugh out of embarrassment for forgetting. “Of course.”

Wonwoo nods and then stands up. He takes two steps to his right, then carefully plucks a book from a high shelf. He replaces the empty space with his own book.

Something about the simple act has your heartwarming. Or maybe it’s the way he’s so gentle with the books as if they’ll cry if moved too aggressively. You wonder if he’d touch you as carefully, if given the chance. Would you find comfort in his caresses the way you think the books would if they were personified?

Wonwoo sits in his seat again, perching his glasses higher after they slide down.

“Have you read this?” he asks, twisting the book so the cover faces you.

You analyze it for a moment, but the title doesn’t ring a bell.

Shaking your head, “Unfortunately not. I haven’t had the chance to read in a long while.”

“I guess running a business is time-consuming,” he teases lightly.

“How do you find the time? Didn’t you say your work is hard, too?” you ask.

He leans back in his seat, book resting in his lap.

“I make time,” he simply says. “I found it’s important to make time for things I care about.”

He’s staring at you in a way that makes you think there’s more to his words than he lets on.

“T-That’s a good habit, I suppose,” you say.

“When was the last time you did something for yourself, and not the café?” he questions.

Your brows furrow in deep thought. You thought the answer would come easily, but it doesn’t.

“I—I can’t remember,” you answer with your gaze down, a little dejected at the self-reflection.

Wonwoo sits up and leans toward you. He lowers himself until he can snag eye contact.

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself,” he reassures. “I know what it’s like to bury myself in my work.”

“You probably think I’m pathetic, huh?” you laugh awkwardly.

Wonwoo shakes his head.

“It’s good to be dedicated to something. Your efforts are clearly visible,” he gestures to your crowded café. “But at the same time, it’s also good to not burn yourself out.”

You nod in agreement. “I’ll try to be better.”

“Not for me though. For you,” he says.

You offer him a kind smile that he returns. “For me.”

Friday

Wonwoo doesn’t come at his usual time.

You finally finished his gift last night and are eager to show it to him. You try to suppress your excitement, but it’s difficult to calm your mix of emotions.

As you made it, you realized it was the first time doing something non-work related. Usually, you’d be researching new recipes, doing finances, or simply sleeping. Last night, however, you were doing something personal.

Wonwoo’s words from yesterday ring loudly in your ears.

It felt good to take a break from work.

It felt good to feel like an actual person and not some workaholic machine.

Some say people come into your life for a reason. Maybe you’d still be stuck in your cycle, if not for him.

You wish he were here.

Wonwoo’s usually a punctual man, so being this late sends uneasy nerves coursing through you. But, the idea of him not showing up at all is even more worrisome.

Perhaps he’s working overtime and will be here soon. He’s never missed a day.

Yet, as minutes turn into hours, you begin losing hope.

Excitement transitions into worry. This isn’t his typical behavior. You don’t have a way to contact him either.

Is he hurt? Does he need help? Did you say something wrong yesterday? Did he finally decide he doesn’t like your café anymore?

Perhaps you’re too caught up with giving him your gift that you’re overreacting. It could simply be a late, late night at work for him.

He’ll be here.

Even if he just grabs his drink to go, which he’s done in the past, he’ll be here.

The bell chimes as your last coworker leaves for the night.

Wonwoo’s present sat abandoned in your locker throughout your shift. There’s an odd discomfort in your chest as you stare at it now.

You’re not sure if it originates from being unable to gift it and see Wonwoo’s reaction, or if it’s because he never showed up.

Probably a combination of both, but more so the latter.

It’s uncanny to not see Wonwoo every day.

You had never thought about how you’d feel if you didn’t see him constantly. He was just always there. Always so reliable that you didn’t feel the need to consider what if.

What if he stopped showing up? What if you never saw him again? What if he no longer was a constant in your life?

You swallow the lump forming in your throat.

It’s a harsh reality to know he’s not required to visit. He can leave any time he wants. He can stop visiting your bookstore café at any moment.

There’s a strange thought about you not being good enough for him. Though, you’re not sure what that has anything to do with his absence.

Why would it matter if you weren’t good enough for him? He didn’t come to the café for you.

Did he?

If it was you he wanted, couldn’t he ask you out? Perhaps not as a romantic date, but as friends?

He never has, so he must not want to know you beyond the café. Meaning, he doesn’t come to it solely for you.

But, what changed for him not to show up tonight?

Unsettled with your thoughts, you decide to distract yourself with the final tasks you have to do before you leave.

However, the ride home is filled with more endless thoughts about Wonwoo.

Saturday

You come to work with less bounce in your step than usual.

The world outside seems dimmer. It feels as if the skies are going to be consumed with clouds and rain is going to fall. However, a storm was not in the weather’s forecast.

“Are you getting sick?” Sebastian asks.

You force a smile onto your face for the customer in front of you, handing them their order before looking at your coworker.

“No, why?” you wonder.

“You don’t seem well. Did you not sleep well last night?”

You wish you had, but you tossed and turned constantly. You didn’t think Wonwoo’s absence would affect you so much, but your mind kept wandering to every possibility for his no-show. In the end, you just gave yourself a headache.

“No,” you sigh, “but don’t worry about me.”

You try to smile again, but you’re sure Sebastian can see through it.

“Want me to close up tonight?” he offers.

“Don’t you have a big essay due tomorrow?” you question, remembering how stressed he sounded a few days ago.

“Yeah, but—”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist.

Huffing, he nods and grabs the cup from your hand. “Then go rest for a bit while I finish these orders.”

You purse your lips, contemplating arguing. In the end, you relent, moving to the backroom’s couch and plopping down.

You’ve been scrolling through your phone for ten minutes when you hear a familiar voice.

“Is Yn not here today?”

“Oh, she’s not feeling well, so she’s taking a break. Is there something wrong with our service?” Sebastian answers politely.

You shove your phone in your pocket and head to the door. There’s a small window that you peep out of.

You catch a glimpse of Wonwoo’s frown before he speaks again.

“No, everything’s fine. Will you tell her I hope she feels better?” he asks.

Sebastian nods slowly. Although you can’t see his face, you can see the cogs turn in his head.

“Oh! Ooh! You’re that guy.”

Wonwoo looks confused.

“I’m sorry?” Wonwoo replies.

“The guy that always comes in—”

Not trusting Sebastian to keep his matchmaking attempts at bay, you push through the door.

“Wonwoo,” you greet, trying not to seem too eager that he's here today even though you are.

Wonwoo’s eyes drift past Sebastian to see you. Instantly, his mouth begins to lift.

“Hey, you,” he says lightly, sweetly. “I heard you’re not feeling well.”

“Ah, I’m fine. Seb’s just overreacting.”

Sebastian narrows his eyes at you in a glare.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he scolds.

“I’ve rested enough,” you shoo with a hand.

“Ten minutes isn’t long enou—”

“Seb, do you mind attending to the customers behind Wonwoo?” you interject.

Sebastian eyes you before grumbling under his breath—something about you being stubborn—then greets the next customer.

You move down the counter to an empty space.

“What can I get you?” you ask Wonwoo.

He shakes his head. “Actually, I just wanted to talk today, if that’s okay. I won’t be long.”

You want to say he can take as much time as he wants, but you hold back.

Concern creeps from the shadows around you.

Is he going to tell you he’s leaving forever? Does he not like your drinks anymore? Did he find somewhere better? Someone better?

“O-Oh, yeah, okay,” you mumble and maneuver around the counter.

You lead Wonwoo to his usual corner, next to the window and the bookshelves. It’s a little quieter here.

You both take a seat from across each other.

You fidget in your seat, nerves making you angsty.

“Are you sure you feel okay?” he asks.

“Just tired, nothing to be worried about,” you smile.

Something in your chest warms at knowing he cares about your well-being.

“Hm. Alright,” he replies a little skeptically.

“Is everything okay with you?” You try to change the subject. “You didn’t come in yesterday.”

Your voice trails off, not wanting to show how concerned you were about his absence. However, Wonwoo can sense it regardless.

He smiles, though the small lift at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s amused with your attempt to hide your worry.

“Did you miss me?” he wonders.

Your eyes widen a bit. “I—Well. I just noticed you didn’t come because you always come, you know?”

He nods with a subtle smirk still on his lips, yet it fades after a few seconds.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come,” he apologizes sincerely. “One of my friends was in the hospital.”

Your heart drops and guilt kicks in. It’s not that you didn’t consider the possibility, but you had been more focused on him not liking you or the café.

“Goodness, I’m sorry to hear that. Are they okay?” you ask, frowning.

“He had to get surgery, but he’s fine. Just a little grumpy and whiny,” he chuckles.

You feel better hearing his small laughter.

“That’s better than being in pain, I guess,” you reply.

“Yes,” he concurs. He waits for a beat then continues, “I wanted to ask you a question.”

You tilt your head.

A question. That sounds better than some statement about not seeing you again.

“Okay,” you say.

“When we last spoke, it was about you not having enough time for stuff outside of work,” he begins.

You nod to show you’re following but don’t cut in.

“Well, there’s this small event tomorrow. It’s nothing fancy, just some walking around. I wanted to know if you’d like to go with me?”

Your heart races as he speaks. You’re stumped for words. It’s as if you’ve subconsciously been waiting for this, but now that the time has come, you’re too nervous to answer.

“You can decline,” Wonwoo assures.

Although you’re anxious about the idea of meeting outside of the café, you don’t want to miss the opportunity.

“N-No! I mean, no, I don’t want to decline. What time? Where?” you hurriedly say before he can take back his offer.

He grins and holds out a small piece of paper.

You take it, turning it over to see scribbled numbers. You guess it’s his phone number.

“I can pick you up after work. You close early tomorrow, right?” he asks.

You nod, trying to hide your smile at him remembering your café hours. Though, since he visits frequently, you guess it shouldn’t be that surprising.

“Dress warm, okay?” he adds.

“Okay.”

Wonwoo stands from his seat, and you follow.

“Get some more rest tonight, Yn,” he says softly.

“Y-Yeah. I will,” you reply.

Although you’re no longer fretting over reasons for his no-show yesterday, you’ll be worrying about tomorrow now. Still, you’ll try to sleep—maybe even drink some tea or warm milk. You’ll try for him.

Sunday

Wonwoo comes to the café a few minutes before you close. He’s dressed in a fluffy hoodie layered with a light brown trench coat. He looks so…soft and warm.

Before you depart, you make a drink for each of you. He tries to pay but you profusely veto his offer.

The ride to the event is quiet except for the random music being played from his stereo. You’re unsure how long the ride is, but you don’t care. Even if you’re not speaking, it’s nice being with him in a new environment. It’s nice to see a different side of Wonwoo. And part of you hopes he likes seeing a different side of you too.

The event is free, but since donations are strongly encouraged, you and Wonwoo slip a few bills into the plastic reindeer before stepping onto the lit-up walkway.

People of all ages are enjoying the event. The walkway is wide enough to accommodate a couple of people at a time, but it’s still crowded. It forces you and Wonwoo to bump shoulders several times, and each time, you both apologize.

You notice a few minutes into the walk that he seems tenser than usual. You’re not sure of the reason, and he doesn’t seem inclined to disclose the answer.

You try to distract him by pointing out different features—from big blown-up Santas to mechanical reindeer moving up and down. However, it doesn’t seem too effective.

Wonwoo’s steps eventually begin to slow. He never comes to a complete stop, but with his slow speed, a lot of people pass by. Eventually, there’s a gap in the crowd and his body relaxes.

He must not be a fan of crowds.

“Can we sit for a bit?” you ask, not really needing to rest but there are picnic tables with fake candles on them nearby that are less crowded.

“Sure,” he says.

You guide him to an empty table and sit across from each other.

“Thank you for taking me here,” you smile while glancing around. “It’s so pretty.”

The area is filled with multitudes of holiday decor. There are so many lights strung that you don’t need streetlamps to see. It’s rather magical to see it all. It’s a shame you can’t see this all year round. But then again, it might lose its effect if you see it constantly.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replies.

His eyes drop to your hands clasped on the table. There’s a slight shiver in them.

Suddenly, his hands are covering yours—warmth instantly shooting up your arms from his touch. He says nothing as he rubs his thumbs along your cool skin.

You want to say something; however, it doesn’t feel like you have to, so you just stare at him, a small smile on your face while you bask in the warmth he’s providing.

“How does it feel?” he questions after a few minutes.

You open your mouth to say “good” and to thank him for taking away your coldness, but before you can, he speaks again.

“Getting out, I mean. How does it feel to get out of the café?”

“Oh.” Your face heats rapidly. Thank goodness for your slow reaction. “It’s refreshing.”

Wonwoo hums, nodding.

“Should we walk around again, or should we go? I don’t want you catching a cold,” he says.

“I’d like to see more if that’s okay,” you admit.

“It’s more than okay,” he reassures.

He starts to stand, but you grip his hands to stop him. He stares down at you bemused.

“I have something for you,” you explain.

He sits back down, hands leaving yours when you pull away to retrieve something from your bag.

It’s a small black box with a purple bow on it, albeit the decor is a little squished from being confined to your small bag.

“What’s this?” he asks and carefully brings the box nearby.

“Since you gave me a gift this week,” you say, referring to his tip on Monday, “I got you one as well.”

“You didn’t—”

“Need to? I know. But, I wanted to. And I worked hard on it, so accept it, please?” you say lightly so as to not sound too serious.

He smiles and nods, lifting the lid.

Inside is the bookmark you made him. On the bookmark’s center is a cat with a game controller. It’s simple, but that’s the best you could do with your lack of drawing skills. Attached to the bookmark is a purple tassel.

“You made this?” Wonwoo asks in amazement.

“I’ll only admit to that if you like it,” you say out of nervousness.

Wonwoo laughs and glances at you. “I like it a lot.”

“Then yes, I made it.”

His gaze shifts to the item again, examining it closely for a bit. Then, he sets it back carefully in the box and puts it in his pocket.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly.

“Of course,” you smile.

You and Wonwoo walk around for twenty more minutes before you call it a night. Throughout the entire walk, he held your hand in his free pocket. The warmth from his body combined with his sheltered pocket made your hand clammy. You felt embarrassed at the fact, but Wonwoo refused to release his hold. Truthfully, you didn’t want to let go, but you also didn’t want him to be disgusted at the feeling.

Wonwoo drove you back to your café where your car was.

You tried to demand he stay in your car since he parked next to yours, but he still climbed out.

You stare at his eyes which are framed by his glasses; his cheeks are slightly rosy from the temperature. His dark hair dances softly in the wind. He looks so handsome.

Wonwoo leans forward and connects his lips ever so softly against your cheek. You have the urge to turn your face and capture his lips with yours, but you don’t.

There’s something romantic about going slow.

Wonwoo pulls back with a kind smile.

“You look beautiful tonight, Yn,” he whispers, breath ghosting your face.

You can’t stop the smile forming on your face even if you tried.

“And you look handsome,” you reply.

Wonwoo mirrors your grin.

“Get home safely, alright?” he instructs.

You nod. “You too.”

You unlock your car and climb inside.

Wonwoo lingers outside, watching with his hands in his pockets.

After starting your car and rolling down your window, you lean out and prop your head on your arm that’s resting on the edge.

He bends slightly to see you better, a small grin on his mouth. His face isn’t too close, but it’s closer than it should be for an average person. But, Wonwoo isn’t average.

He’s quiet for a while, and you take the time to observe his features again. Your heart is thumping loudly in your ears. The desire to kiss him resurfaces.

Maybe you’re starting to like Wonwoo. Not just because he’s attractive, kind, funny, and caring, but because he’s Wonwoo.

Wonwoo, who’s been a frequent customer at your café for months.

Wonwoo, who’s always been supportive and kind.

Wonwoo, who’s slowly capturing your heart.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks with a smile still on his face.

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Because of Wonwoo, you’re always looking forward to the next day.

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alessiathepirate · 3 months

Text

Sherlock (BBC)

CROWN JEWELS: Jim Moriarty x fem!reader

Summary: Be careful what you say - especially around a man like Jim Moriarty.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

I have been working on this since summer and now that it's finally done I think I'm ready to share it with you guys. I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you'll enjoy reading it.

Also a silent thank you for my friend who told me to keep going even after writer's block hit me hard. <3

Warnings: swearing

•••

Jim Moriarty likes to leave a lasting impression.

That was her first thought about him ever since she first met him - ever since she first heard him talk and saw his body language. The man talks with his whole body - especially when he's in an angry or mischievious mood -, expresses himself with his arms' and shoulders' movements and with his many different gestures. The words he uses and the way he builds up sentence after sentence makes one to stop and listen. And he can make all of that look elegant and strangely enough, gentleman-like.

No matter what he does or talks about, how many times you have already met him, he's someone who you can never get fully used to and that alone always burries that lasting impression. It causes many different feelings and thoughts about the man, making the brain work and think about him and his every little gesture and word long after he's left.

But how long can that impression last?

Long enough for her to remember their first meeting weeks after it had occurred. Long enough for her to build up a whole complicated characterization and profile of him. Long enough for her to be able to quote his words exactly as he had said them.

As she sat in her own armchair in 221B Baker Street, watching the news on the telly about Jim Moriarty himself; the remains of that well known charm of his being slowly built up the memories of their first meeting.

She was in the exact same position, sitting in her own armchair - what Sherlock and John thought she finally deserved, so she won't have to sit on the chouch or on the 'chair of shame' (as she liked to call that) when they have a case to solve -; but instead of watching the telly, she was reading, falling head first into the world of the book, enjoying the peace and quiet which occurred pretty rarely in 221B. But despite the fact that she was way too interested in whatever she was reading, she still noticed the noise of a door opening downstairs, followed by the noise of someone coming up the stairs.

She looked up from the book, picking up her bookmark as she listened to the quiet tapping as someone's shoes met with the steps. She has spent enough time in 221B to be able to differ everyone's steps: Sherlock's, John's, Mrs. Hudson's, even Lestrade's and potential clients' - but these steps didn't sound like any of those.

Sherlock was always quick as he came up, too excited about the cases he had to solve and way too happy to be free from boredom. John was either slow when he came up, looking through the letters they've got or quick and angry, done with Sherlock's new case or with the certain experiments he was doing in the flat. Mrs. Hudson's were always high pitched, Lestrade's quick and heavy as he ran upstairs and the clients' were slow, reluctant and quiet.

These steps were slow, that was true, but there was something unusual about them, about the sound when they met with the wooden staircase. These were slow and quiet, but confident and elegant - these were something new and not usual and boring.

She put her book down and looked at the door what was wide open - because no matter how many times either she or John closed it, Sherlock always left it open. They gave up pretty soon, accepting the fact that their only protection against a robbery is Mrs. Hudson and the door downstairs.

The stranger was soon standing in the doorway, looking around the flat so calmly it looked like he owned the place and he most definitely didn't even think about knocking.

He didn't look like a client. He was way too calm and confident, way too elegant to be one. No, he was something new and unique, someone who you immediately notice even in a room full of people because of the lingering elegance and confidence - because even the air changes when he steps in the room.

After looking around the flat his gaze stopped and he looked directly at her for the very first time. She held his gaze, not giving in on the sudden game, but her stomach tightened in fear, a fear she only felt when she was in a room with Sherlock Holmes, knowing he'll deduce her and know about the things she doesn't want him to know.

"Hi..." The greeting was so short and simple for a person like him, that she tilted her head a little in confusion. His voice was also slightly high pitched when he pronounced the 'I', but she quickly realized it was intentional.

"Sherlock isn't home... if he is who you are looking for." she said to him, thinking there was no way this man didn't come here to see Sherlock Holmes.

"I know. That's why I'm here."

For a moment she thought about telling him that John isn't home either, but then decided against it. He clearly isn't here to talk to John Watson. He's here to talk to her...

"I see." she looked away for a moment to think about what to do with him, but no idea came to mind. "Well then please have a seat. Although I wasn't expecting guests."

He accepted the invitation, taking a seat in Sherlock's armchair, while she tried to figure out who he was and what he wanted. Meanwhile the stranger leaned back and made himself comfortable, enjoying the situation and the fact that he is sitting in Sherlock's armchair.

He knows whose armchair he's sitting in - the realization hit her, only making the 'who is he' more interesting.

"Yes, you were." he spoke up so suddenly she had to shake her head a little.

"Excuse me?"

"You were expecting one guest or you were counting on one specific guest at least."

She looked at him again, pressuring her mind to think. He is someone important and he knows that as well. That was obvious. But important for who? Not for John. John wouldn't tolerate him at all - but Sherlock would. Sherlock would even appreciate all this act.

She tilted her head a little in realization.

"Moriarty? Good to know that now that name has a face." she noticed how his expression didn't change, even if he smiled at her realization - he was expecting it, for her to realize who he is. "May I know why you wanted to see me?"

"Just wanted to meet the ordinary people Sherlock keeps around."

"Ordinary?" she laughed. "You think ordinary people could live with Sherlock Holmes?"

"That doesn't make you less boring."

"Nor does it make you less annoying." she quickly answered, leaving the annoyance out of her voice. "Playing around with Sherlock, coming here uninvited. Next time send a message at least so I can prepare some tea."

His eyes shined up for a second as if for a short amount of time he was looking at something more interesting.

"Doesn't he annoy you? Keeping you from living on your boring, ordinary little life."

"Not really. I'm never bored at least. He keeps the boredom away."

"So loyal. Ordinary people can be so amusing, I should get myself one."

She just smiled at that.

"You really like to get under people's skin, don't you?"

"Of course I do, I mean that's the funniest part, isn't it?"

That's when she first noticed how he uses his body language when he's having fun - how his arms and shoulders are moving with him.

"I guess you're right. That can be funny, you should try it out more with Sherlock. It's enough if you play one note wrong on the violin."

But that wasn't his only memorable visit. No, all of his visits were more than memorable if she wanted to be honest. She could tell all of them apart, she could tell in which month they had accured...

He visited her many times, but he always sent her a message beforehand. A short one. Something like: 'I'm a street away dear.' or 'I hope the tea is ready.' But later on they became something more: 'I'd like to see you today.', 'I have a gift for you.' or 'You'll be out tonight.' She didn't dare to ask how he knows her number, how he knows so much about her - where she'll be, what she likes. It would've been unnecessary words and she wouldn't have gotten an answer.

So she kept her questions to herself - and she also kept their meetings for themselves. Even if Sherlock noticed the change in her behaviour and happily pointed it out, causing John to ask who she's meeting up with. Even if Mycroft pointed out that she had been out at night. Even if Mrs. Hudson nearly jumped out of her skin in happiness when both brothers accused her of dating someone.

But the most interesting one--

... the most interesting conversion they've ever had was special. Oh so very special.

He came without telling her about it beforehand, just like the first time they'd met. She was sitting in her armchair with her laptop in her lap, going through a victim's personal data to make a profile while Sherlock was too busy working on a much more interesting case. Apparently a triple suicide in one place isn't that interesting, at all.

She didn't hear him come in, but she noticed him standing in the doorway - because the door was once again, wide open. He just stood there in his Westwood suit, gloating in the fact that he had the element of surprise.

She looked up at him as she raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't call this time."

"I had business around here. I just decided to come in."

"Liar." she accused as she put the laptop aside and offered him Sherlock's armchair. "You knew they went out on a case, otherwise you wouldn't have come here. You enjoy working behind his back too much."

He took the offered seat and after he leaned back, he started to talk:

"Remember what I told you when we first met? About the loyal ordinary people?"

"Of course I do." she answered, half-offended that he thought so little of her. "You wanted to get yourself one."

"Yes, well you see dear, I changed my mind." once again, his body moved with his mood. "Maybe I shouldn't get myself an ordinary one, I mean they would bore me so easily. I think I'd be perfectly fine with a not so ordinary one."

She looked at him, trying to read him like she did so many times before that, but this time other than that smirk, she couldn't find out anything else. So she turned to examine his words, that's what was also interesting about Jim Moriarty, what he said and how he said it.

A not so ordinary one. How on Earth will he get one?

And then she realized that for Jim Moriarty, the hierarchy of the world is about ordinary and extraordinary people - and in that momemt he added the not so ordinary ones to the mix too. Even if he didn't like Sherlock, he accepted that he was like him - too clever, extraordinary. John was only, simply ordinary. Nothing more, maybe less. But he talked to her a lot. A whole lot without getting bored, without thinking about speaking to Sherlock directly so he could annoy him instead of her. He didn't gloat that he knew her and talked to her daily. For him she was middle class, she was that not so ordinary person.

She chuckled and stood up, deciding that she couldn't sit that through without moving.

"Oh no, you can't possibly think that I'd leave Sherlock for you." she shook her head in disbelief. "I mean I wouldn't be loyal, would I? What happened with loyality?"

"Ordinary people are loyal and loyality is boring." he leaned forward to pour some tea for himself, not really caring that Mrs. Hudson prepared that for John and Sherlock, and most definitely not him.

"Well then I must be really boring, because I won't just leave Baker Street."

"You don't have to leave to show you aren't loyal, darling, we've been talking for months without you telling about it to them." he leaned back again and took a sip from the tea.

"Yeah, well it's still a no thank you very much." she said as her chest rose and fell rapidly, her brain working as she thought about what he just said.

"No?"

"No. I mean why would I?" the question was left unanswered. "I'd only consider it if I'd-- own the fucking Crown Jewels."

She tried to think about something unrealistic to say, to show that her decision is unbreakable. But looking at him, she clearly chose the wrong thing.

Moriarty looked pleased instead of angry - and that grounded her into reality. She said something wrong. She could basically hear the cogs turn in his head.

"Well, in that case," he said as he got ready to leave. "I'll see you around, darling."

She was left there angry and sad, but the thing she didn't think about?

That a few days later she'd get a letter.

•••

"Goddamn it Sherlock, I told you to put the microscope away! I almost knocked it down and that's the only one we own!" she shouted as she put the said thing aside, saving it from a disaster.

"He's not home!" came the answer from John, who was sitting in his armchair watching the telly - or rather trying to find a channel worth watching.

"He's not?" she asked in disbelief. "And he went without either of us?"

"You know him. Once he wants to go somewhere he goes there with or without us."

She opened one of the cupboards to find two clean cups - the kind which hadn't met with blood, eyeballs or some kind of acid beforehand - and once she found some, she began to make some tea.

"Is the forest fruit one okay? We ran out of black tea."

"Yes, thank you."

"You owe me." she threatened jokingly. "Anything worth watching? We could watch some crime show now that Sherlock isn't here to spoil it." she offered.

"Good idea." came John's answer - she enjoyed watching shows and movies with him since he was the only normal person in the flat - him and maybe Mrs. Hudson, but even Mrs. Hudson's life was extraordinary. "One'll begin after the news."

"Fantastic." she said as she finished preparing the tea and walked into the living room with a silver tray.

And then John turned the news on - and she almost dropped the tray.

There he was. On the screen, in handcuffs as the officers took him away and he was smiling - more like grinning. It only took her a second to realize where he was - the Tower of London, where the damn Crown Jewels were kept.

God damn him. Both of them. Both Moriarty and Sherlock -- even John and Mycroft. All of them had to mess up her life and make it more exciting and interesting instead of boring. God damn her that she liked it.

The Crown Jewels. What did she say to him the last time they met? 'I'd only consider it if I'd own the fucking Crown Jewels.'

John looked surprised too. Not as much as she was, he didn't know she had been talking with the enemy. He didn't notice her shock thankfully and even if he did he must've thought it was a normal reaction.

"Moriarty-- that's Moriarty." he explained.

"I know." she said without thinking.

Before John could ask her how, she heard Mrs. Hudson call out her name from downstairs. She put the tray down quicker than usual, some tea was even spilt, and she was out of the flat in a heartbeat. She ran down the stairs, her heart beating fast.

"What is it, Mrs. Hudson? Did something happen?" she asked.

"Oh, not at all dear, it's just my hips. John was kind enough to give me some painkillers, but I couldn't really walk up the stairs right now." the woman explained with the usual enthusiasm. "But a letter arrived for you a few seconds ago. The postman must've forgotten about it in the morning."

And there it was, in Mrs. Hudson's hand. An envelope, a beige coloured one - the very elegant kind.

She took it from her quickly and just by the envelope itself she knew who sent it. The penmanship was perfect. Her name was written on it in black ink, the letters were slim and long.

"Who is it from dear?"

She tore it open, her fingers ripping the paper and she took the folded letter out. With uneven heartbeat, she began to read it:

'My dear,

I hope you'll enjoy the show I put on in the Tower, I know I'll most certainly do.

The diamonds in the envelope are from the Crown Jewels, forgive for not being able to give you the whole thing, but otherwise the police would be knocking on your door. Still, now you own parts of them. Nine diamonds to be exact, I sincerly hope all of them are in the envelope - otherwise I'll have to skin someone after my trial.

A promise is a promise. Now consider my offer. I'll pick you up at 7 p.m. as soon as I'm out.

- J. M.

P.S.: I hope I'll see you in court.'

John shouted her name from upstairs, wondering why she ran. She ignored him and looked inside the envelope.

Nine diamonds. Nine of them, some bigger than the others, were shining in it.

Mrs. Hudson saw them too and she gasped in surprise.

"Oh my, you didn't tell me you had found yourself a man dear."

"I didn't know it up until now either, Mrs. Hudson."

"What is it?" John was standing on top of the staircase, looking at them with confusion.

"She has a boyfriend." Mrs. Hudson said happily, clapping her hands together.

"She has a what?"

"I don't have a boyfriend." she argued, her eyes still on the diamonds.

"What is it then?"

She didn't know how to feel or what to feel.

Deep down she felt like a real woman. A woman someone, a very special someone, wants to court. A woman who's looked at as someone interesting, important and worth stealing for. She was flattered. Truly.

On the other hand she felt scared and confused. Jim Moriarty was still Jim Moriarty, and she was still the girl from Baker Street. With him she'll never feel completely at ease or safe, there'll always be a wall standing between them what they'll never be able to cross.

But still...

He was so interesting.

She looked up at John as she put the envelope in her pocket.

"I have a date."

Mrs. Hudson laughed in happiness.

She turned towards the stairs, her brain completely blocking John's voice out as it worked and worked, trying to figure Jim out.

Jim. He was already Jim in her head.

Then a strange question appeared in big letters in her mind like a neon sign:

Why nine?

#bbc sherlock #jim moriarty x reader #jim moriarty x fem!reader #jim moriarty #sherlock x reader

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vmpiires · 2 months

Text

﹆₊ 画家‧₊˚ THE BLOOD PAINTER, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ art; the painter‘s hidden identity is made known. wc, 3.42K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. i’m back with this storyyyy. getting near the good part which also means the end but not just yet sooo just keep reading. hope ya enjoyyyy and reblog to support meee.

␥ tags. artist!choso, college AU, possible nsfw, female anatomy, smoking, etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3 PART THREE

the art class was bustling with students, the scent of paint and clay wafting through the air. choso sat at his usual spot stealing glances from you. the professor announced a small project; drawing and painting your partners. but there was a twist—only two colors could be used.

choso’s heart raced as ideas began to flood his mind. everyone scattered around to their new seats and the male instantly scooted next to you. he smiled at you. it was something about that shy smile he gave you before he quietly asking if he could draw you.

“let me draw you first,” you smiled. “i don’t want you getting caught up with me and i completely forget to draw you.”

“oh, i don’t know…i’m not really good with posing or anything. and i’m not able to sit still for very long.” choso warned but you only smacked your lips as if the boy was spewing nonsense right out of his teeth.

“quit doubting yourself. you got nice style and your face would literally be perfect on a magazine cover maybe even in the art show that’s coming up.”

“art show?” choso raised a brow. for someone that loved art contests and taking trips to museums just to stare at the portrait hanging on the white walls encased in an embezzled gold frame, he seemed surprised about this information.

“yeah. don’t know how you haven’t heard about it but i was thinking of putting my painting of you in once it was finished.” you looked down at your blank canvas that was resting flat on the table just as it did when you first arrived to class.

“oh, no, you shouldn’t—i mean..you can if you want to it’s your painting but…i really don’t like being the center of attention. i don’t really like being stared at.” choso explained. he bit down on his lower lip and he sighed.

“come on, it’ll be a powerful piece.” you beamed. “i feel like it’ll really make an impact on the audience. and i promise i won’t use your name if you don’t want me to.”

choso hummed, his lips pursed before speaking again. “um…well if you think so highly of the piece then i guess i can’t say no. just promise you won’t tell anybody it’s me.”

“sure. now just hold still for me.” you say with a smile.

classes finally end for the day and the two of you made progress on your art pieces. you decided to ask choso to spend the rest of the day together, to which he agreed to without hesitation.

you both gathered your items and headed out into the bustling city of tokyo. the sun is setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. you and choso arrive at a cozy cafe and settled into a booth by a large window, surrounded by the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

the two of you had been there for a good thirty minutes talking about whatever came to mind, bouncing from topic to topic and bookmarking whatever part of the conversation you thought was interesting for another time.

“so, choso, you’ve always been into art?”

“yeah, well, i’ve always had a creative side, but i never really pursued it until recently. art helps me express things that are hard to put into words, you know?”

you nod. you never seen his art before and you just wondered how he had done things. your eyes travel over to the tote bag that was sitting flatly beside choso’s thigh. you fixed your lips to speak but a camera flash went off. you were pretty used to his off guard photos ever since the two of you started to hang out more often.

“can i see?” you leaned your body over the polished wood table before choso lowered his camera.

“not yet.” he answered. “mmm…i’ll show you when the project is complete. until then, i’ll have to hold off on showing you.”

you pout but you could understand why choso was being a bit selfish with his crafts. instead of begging to see a photo of yourself, which you prayed you didn’t blink in, you pointed to his bag.

“why don’t you finish your sketch? i mean, we have a lot of privacy right now and we don’t have any classes tomorrow. i also wanna watch you paint. its something about watching an artist in action is just so satisfying.” you say.

choso, lost in the depths of his own world, takes a sip of his green tea when he hears your unexpected statement. he recently started drinking it a bit more since that was the only thing he actually liked besides ice water.

feeling a surge of nervousness and excitement, choso shifts in his seat. painting in front of someone, especially you, made him feel vulnerable in a way he isn’t used to.

“i’m not sure…” choso looks down at his cup half filled with tea, which still had smoke billowing from it because of how hot it was. “i’ve never painted with someone else in the room before. it’s a pretty personal process for me.”

“c’mon, please? just for a minute.” you pleaded, clasping your hands and intertwining your fingers to be dramatic. choso chuckled at your silly behavior and simply sighed.

“let’s head back to the school and you can watch me work in my room, fair?” choso looks at you, awaiting an answer. of course, you agree.

back at jujutsu tech, you and choso were settling in, slipping your shoes off once you entered the room and placing your bags together against the wall.

you were amazed at how much space he had and how organized he was. the books on the bookshelves were all in size and color order and so were the cute little jars of paint that were on another shelf but you noticed that there was no red paint.

the desk was neatly organized also with choso’s laptop and ipad with its stylus side by side, charging. there was a mug with a bunch of pencils and pens and another cylinder item that looked handmade and painted with brushes in them. you assumed choso made it.

there was an easel in the corner of the room by the large windows that had blinds that would be shortly opened to let in some of the remaining light as the sun set. choso grabbed a few brushes and the rolling chair that sat at his desk and pulled it over in front of the easel and sat down. the male then reached for the canvas that had the drawing of you from his bag and placed it onto the easel. he looked pretty prepared now.

“you mind filling me a cup of clean water from the faucet?”

the question snaps you out of your awe-stricken mind and you nod. you went to the kitchen area and grabbed a cup that didn’t look like it would be used any time soon and filled it with water then brought it back to choso. he directs you to place the cup on the desk before thanking you for the simple gesture.

you noticed choso had his eyes closed now, taking a few breaths before removing the bandage on his nose and trashing it. you saw how blood shot from the black mark running over the bridge of his nose and onto the palette that was in his lap.

choso picks up one of the brushes and dipped it into the crimson liquid that had also been running down his face and began to paint. once the brush hits the canvas, all his nerves seem to dissipate, replaced by the familiar focus that comes with creating.

as choso dips his brush into the blood-infused paint, the room falls silent. the only sounds are the soft scrapes of the brush against the canvas and the occasional drips of paint.

you watched as colors of red and black filled the canvas. you weren’t familiar with the meanings of specific colors but the way you were drawn on his canvas as royalty, you could see sophistication and passion. choso put the brush down and rolled up his sleeves and began to use his fingers to paint. smearing the colors together with his knuckles.

your eyes sparkled, entranced, as choso’s knuckles danced across the canvas, blending the deep reds into the black that was present. the male was aware that he was in need of a palette knife but he’s never gotten the time to buy any.

“the way you use blood for your art is actually unique.” you spoke, breaking the silence. “i guess it adds depth and richness that’s hard to describe. it looks like the painting is alive almost.”

you were seeing it with your own eyes, his art style was hauntingly beautiful. you never seen anything like it. this whole scenario made you wonder if blood was often used when he painted or was this just a perfect coincidence. you slouch in your chair, in thought once again.

“blood has always been a part of me. a part of everyone, i should say. but mine is a curse and a blessing. incorporating it into my art feels natural to me. it’s like i’m putting a part of myself into each piece.” choso murmured.

“um…you know, i never heard you talk about your parents much, only your brothers. they must be really proud of you…you being all smart and artistic and such.” you say softly.

choso’s hand freezes mid stroke, his expression darkening. he sets down his brush and turns to face you. you see how that empty expression of his appeared onto his face again.

“my parents…they’re not in the picture. my mom isn’t alive and my dad was never proud of me. he only saw me as a tool, a weapon to be wielded. i’m happy he left me behind…”

your expression softens. on the outside, choso looked like he had it all. he was attractive, smart, talented, hell if he wasn’t the smartest guy around he probably would’ve gotten in just for being attractive and talented. he seemed perfect. but in reality, he was living in a fucked up world holding on to his creations for comfort.

“i’m so sorry, choso. i probably shouldn’t have brought that up and make you relive painful memories. but despite your past, you managed to create something beautiful out of the darkness. that takes a lot of courage and strength.”

choso nods, his gaze returning to the painting. he picks up his brush once again, lost in thought. he exhaled from his nose. though the topic did hit a nerve, he felt like he could trust you.

“it’s…fine i guess. it was a while ago. my brothers were the ones who helped me escape that life. we all live for each other and nothing can make me change that narrative. they’re my family and we’ve been through a lot together.”

“they must be really important to you, huh? you see them often?” you query. choso nodded again.

“as much as i can. i don’t really have the funds to constantly take train rides back and forth from my house to here and vice versa. we try to stay in touch, the most i can do is call them each night. yuji and eso are busy with their own business and you know they have to keep kechizu close because he’s pretty childlike and clings to eso like he’s his savior.”

you noticed the small smile on his face as he spoke of his brothers. him being the eldest, you would’ve expected him to severely despise his brothers but it seemed like he couldn’t even say the word ‘hate’ when talking about them. it was actually pretty sweet.

as the evening comes to an end, you find yourself standing outside of choso’s room and he’s leaning against the doorframe, his sleeves still rolled up, revealing thin strips of stitches along his forearm.

“what happened to your arm?” you point, making choso break his gaze and follow your finger to where you had been pointing. he only shrugged.

“a stupid accident. nothing too much to worry about.” he answered, rubbing the brand new bandage he had over his nose. his cheeks were still a little red from the blood that had been running down his face earlier.

“you should keep your bandage off. that mark is a part of who you are, and you know i accept that.” you say. choso is taken aback by your words, his hand instinctively touching the bandage again.

“it’s…not easy. people have always been afraid of me because of what what i am. it’s just easier to keep it hidden.”

“but you don’t have to hide from me. i see you, choso, for who you are, not what you are. you’re a human just like any other person here. and i think your mark is pretty cool, actually.”

choso couldn’t help but smile at your words. maybe—just maybe you had a point. maybe it was time for him to change his ways. get out of his comfort zone a little.

“um…yeah, thanks. i’ll think about it. goodnight.”

“goodnight, choso.”

“and this one would be called ‘the blood painter’.” the announcer spoke as the crowd followed around. it was perfect. better than anything else being displayed. choso stood in front of the painted canvas, staring at his own face looking down at his own partially painted portrait with a crimson liquid dripping from his nose and onto the canvas. there was a white cup filled with tea, which had been leaking from the sides as if it were overfilled.

his hair flopped down into his face before lifting a hand to brush it back with his fingers. he was awestruck. how could you have painted something like this with almost no experience. he could’ve sworn you said you were horrible at this kind of thing…maybe his memory was faulty.

“it’s perfect….” you hear him mumble as he stepped closer to the portrait. he was so tempted to touch it but he abided by the rules of not touching or taking any photos of the paintings being displayed. “how did you do this? you couldn’t have—no, you did…but this is so different from your drawing.”

“it was only a sketch. a way to get your features and everything properly. but a few days ago when we hung out, i thought i’d make something more expressive.” you grinned.

“i’m impressed.” choso’s eyes sparkled. “it’s like you captured my soul onto the canvas. i mean, i’ve seen art that expresses the soul of another person but this one is—wow.”

the male looked at you and his cheeks flushed a little. “maybe i got a little too excited. you did a nice job on your painting. hopefully you got a passing grade on it.”

you smiled at choso’s excitement and love for the art you made of him. you both knew it was simply for an assignment that would be graded then tucked away forever or thrown into a nearby dumpster but this was a sentimental thing. it was like a piece that needed to be preserved.

as you both stood in the middle of the large crowds, you two could hear people praising the painting for its raw emotion and style. one patron mentioned that it gave off a bit of a edgy feeling despite the cozy looking background.

choso was a bit surprised and delighted by the positive reactions, he felt a sense of pride in his portrait and the artist that created it—you. he turned to you with a smile on his face.

“i never thought my own portrait would have an impact like this.” choso said shifting his weight onto one leg. “see, now i kinda regret not letting you reveal my name.”

“you’re okay. it’ll make you a mystery man like the mona lisa…well she’s a real person but you get it, don’t you?” you chuckle lightly and choso does just that right along with you.

“i get it. but i’ll never be as known as she is. i’ll only be a mystery man that’s occasionally seen in shibuya.” he said. you threw your arm over choso’s shoulder and waved your hand dismissively.

“sure you will. one thing will lead to another. when you start seriously pursuing art and get your name out there, people will realize that you’re this man in the picture.” you pointed to the portrait, lightly tapping your nail against it as it created a hollow sound. you knew that you weren’t supposed to touch anything but you didn’t seem to care that much. you even went out your way to take a quick picture of it—it was surprisingly clear.

“they’ll call you signore kamo.” you added.

“you know italian?” choso raised a brow, a bit surprised by your pronunciation and how casually you said that word.

“nope, i googled it.” you smile innocently. choso released a breath as if he had been holding it for a while and returned a soft smile to you.

the art show ends and you and choso found yourselves walking close by each other on the sidewalk. the streetlights and neon lights from buildings illuminating your way as you walked back to the university. choso saw that you were on the left of him, closer to the street so he stoped to trade places with you.

“what was that for?” you ask as you put your hands down into your pocket. you had a feeling on exactly why choso did what he did but you just wanted to hear it from his mouth.

“well, just in case something happens, i’ll be hit first and you won’t have to worry about getting hurt.” choso stated, glancing at the street littered with parked cars. your instincts seemed to be correct but your lips involuntarily stretched into a smile anyway and you felt your face heat up a bit.

upon arriving back to the dorms, the two of you stood in the commons, your shadows stretching long in the dim light. since quiet hours were approaching, it was about time the two of you part ways once again until tomorrow. you turn to face each other, a mixture of contentment and longing in your eyes.

“i guess this is where we call it a day. thank you again for everything.” choso says and you nod.

“of course.” you beamed. “i had a really nice time with you today. and don’t forget that you don’t have to hide who you are around me. your true self is beautiful.”

“i’ll remember it.” choso replied before being caught off guard by your sudden hug. you flung your body into him and squeezed his sides a bit. his violet eyes widened as he contemplated on leaving you to cling onto him or hug you back. no one besides his brothers had ever given him a hug.

slowly and awkwardly his arms snaked around your body, finally returning a hug back to you. you both lingered there for a moment, holding on to each other before breaking away.

“hey, dinner on friday?” you ask.

“it’s a date.” choso replied, only making your smile grow. you both say your goodbyes and wave to each other before walking off in the opposite direction to head off to your rooms for the night.

but then another guy came along.

“hey, you got a second?” kashimo whispered. choso never interacted with the guy much but they’ve spoken enough to know how one another looked and each other’s names. sighing, choso obliged.

“i noticed the way you talked to that girl over there just a few seconds ago. you seriously scored.” the cyan haired male smirked at choso. “obviously, there’s something special between you two. maybe i could offer you some advice on that front?”

choso’s eyes narrowed, and as usual, his defensive walls go back up. he was never really comfortable with talking about his personal life, especially with someone he didn’t know all that well.

“i don’t need help with my love life, kashimo. i’m handling it perfectly fine.” choso crossed his arms. kashimo would put his hands up in a placating gesture.

“no pressure. i’m just saying that sometimes it’s easier to open up to someone who isn’t directly involved, you know? sit with me at lunch tomorrow. we can discuss this later.” the other lightly punches choso’s shoulder before heading out of the entrance doors.

“he’s weird.” choso muttered.

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

#𝐾𝑂𝑇𝐴 𝑊𝑅𝐼𝑇𝐸𝑆 書く #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #anime #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk x reader #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso x black!reader #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #art #hajime kashimo #jjk kashimo

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

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fic rec friday 3

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

Memories Made by zjass06

"Hi! I'm Will! You're my new neighbour!" the blonde boy beams; Nico frowns in turn, peering curiously at this Will. "My ma' says not to talk to strangers," Nico replies as he sits himself upon the grass. Will plops himself down next to the dark haired boy, who giggles so purely it makes his smile contagious. "I'm not a stranger, I'm your neighbour! You live next to me now and we can be friends!" Or A few snippets of Nico’s life and how his friendship develops with Will, all within a much treasured treehouse.

childhood friends to lovers will ALWAYS be elite. to me. and the centrality of this treehouse in this fic is so fucking cute bc they absolutely are the type of nerds to have a treehouse they use well into their late teens lol

2. Mafia by @buoyantsaturn

Nico is the most terrifying mob boss in New York, and Will is his live-in doctor. A Mafia Au

MY FAVE SOLANGELO SERIES TBH. like is it toxic a little bit? yeah. did the second one make me squeamish? yeah. in the 6/7 years since its been posted, have i read it literally DOZENS of times?? you betcha. idk man theres something about the danger of it all. the insane mob boss and the doctor hes whipped for. SO SO much fun and so so so romantic

3. you stormed into the battlefield (of my heart) by fedyaism

“Doctor Solace,” he says, “would you be willing to tend to a foe?” Will blinks. (He had practically expected everything but this.) “I’m sorry?” “I need you to heal an enemy for me. Can you do that?” Grace asks in a tone that lets Will know that he wasn’t really asking. “An… an enemy, sir?” “Yes. I will send him to you.” “Of course, General.” (What else could he say?)

this ends ambiguously but i am Choosing to believe they find each other again and live happily ever after for ever and ever bc im a weenie. its just...man fuck the military and i got no fondness for war BUT this isnt real and ergo i can sigh dreamily at love that is inherently kind of tragic and all the more desperately beautiful for you, yknow??

4. It's a Process by @oh-hush-its-perfect

When Nico comes out to Hazel, she really isn't sure how to react. Of course, she loves her brother to pieces, but something is holding her back. It takes a while to get over old beliefs. It takes a while to become accepting. It takes Hazel a while indeed. A.K.A. Nico is gay and Hazel can't wrap her head around it.

contrary to what the summary may lead you to believe, hazel is NOT at all homophobic in this fic. in fact her number one goal at all times is to be supportive, even as she struggles, and you know what? thats more important i think. her love for her brother is so transparently obvious in this one, she spends like 8k words doing everything she can to make SURE she is loving and accepting!!! hazel i love you. also the campfire scene had me giggling fr

5. three times everyone thought they hated each other by lizamarri

and the one time everyone realized they didn't ~ ft. capture the flag, big three kids sparring, will healing nico and being sassy about it, and more. enjoy!

NOTHING hits as hard as flirt fighting. truly nothing. also 3+1s are my weakness i stg, theres just something about outside pov and the sheer clarity of how much they love each other and love driving each other up the wall lmfao

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 months

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Five Fics Friday: January 12/24

Happy Friday everyone!! I hope you had a wonderful week, and are ready to enjoy some more fic recs to get you started on the weekend! Enjoy!!

RECENTLY BOOKMARKED

Spare Parts by Raina_at (E, 63,497 w., 10 Ch. || 24th Century / Futurism AU || Post TRF, Pre-TRF Relationship, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Science Fiction, Reunion, Nightmares, Angry John, Cybernetic John, Emotional Discussions / Heart to Heart, POV John, Scars, Past Drug Use, Forehead Touching, Emotional Lovemaking, Kissing, Apologies, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission, BAMF John, Bed Sharing, Top Sherlock) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them. Part 1 of Realigning Gravity

Fade To Black by twistedthicket1 (M, 93,389 w., 29 Ch. || Split Personality Disorder / DID, Action, Romance, Violence, Implied Rape/Non-Con, BAMF John, Fluff and Angst, Baskerville, Human Experimentation, PTSD, Implied Self Harm, Trauma Amnesia, Past Child Sexual Abuse, Protective Sherlock, Smoking, Meddling Mycroft, Past Victor/Sherlock, Gay Sherlock, Sherlock’s Past, First Kiss/Time) – John Watson believes one day he'll just fade. That he'll drown in the black spaces of his mind, and that one day he will no longer exist. It's always been like this, the dark spots marking out moments in his life he can't remember. Where for just a moment he's someone else. Having a Dissociative identity disorder, he can't even be entirely sure he's really who he says he is. Then he meets Sherlock Holmes. A brilliant detective who when he looks at you can read your entire life story. John is immediately fascinated and afraid, half-wondering if maybe Sherlock can see the other personalities in him and half terrified of the thought of him finding out. Becoming his flatmate seems at once to be a wonderful and horrible idea. Yet as John's Blackouts become more and more severe and his other personalities begin to truly awaken and show themselves with Sherlock's help, the two soon discover that sometimes even the kindest person can harbour a demon best left untouched inside of them. Because not all of John's other personalities play nicely and some may be hiding secrets best left undisturbed...

MARKED FOR LATER

Hand Me the Salt, Love? by topsyturvy_turtely (G, 554 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Pet Names, Flustered Sherlock, Cooking, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff Without Plot) – John is cooking. Sherlock is not helping. Until...

Locked Room by Calais_Reno (T, 8,346 w., 2 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting AU || Pool Scene, Mystery, Near Death Experience, Drug Addiction, Serious Injuries, Temporary Amnesia, POV Alternating, Love Confessions, Happy Ending) – John wakes up in a locked room, unable to remember how he got here. The last thing he remembers is his hands covered in blood, trying to keep a soldier from dying. His roommate also seems to be suffering from amnesia, and has decided that John is a delusion. Part 33 of Just Johnlock

Walk of Shame by 72reasons (E, 14,355+ w., 9/? Ch. || WiP || Alternate First Meeting AU || Meet-Ugly, Bisexual John, Gay Sherlock, Alternating POV, Sad John, Suicidal Thoughts, Casual Sex, Strangers to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Threesome, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex) – John is just back from the war and wanders the city wondering what he’s going to do. One of his distractions is having casual sex with a beautiful, but annoying, woman. Sherlock usually refrains from sex, but in trying to stay sober he indulges in it now and again. Sherlock meets John on the street and sparks fly. Casual sex is one thing, but what about something more?

#five fics friday #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs

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kale-theteaqueen · 5 months

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The Humble Art of Gift Giving

SO Thrilled to participate in my first ACOTAR Secret Santa with @acotargiftexchange! I absolutely loved writing this piece for @danikamariewrites. Everyone check out her work if you haven't already, it's amazing! I hope you enjoy this piece of Nessian Christmas Fluff! Merry Christmas, TTQ <3

Summary: Nesta loves giving gifts. Takes pride in it, actually. Especially at Christmas. She's had her list of potential options for her family ready for months now, and all that she needs to do now is actually buy them. And therein lies the problem. What if they aren't good enough? What if they're cheesy or off the mark? Nesta's gifts are always perfect, and this year will be no exception. Cassian knows this, and loves her for it. But her biggest challenge this year isn't shopping for family. It's getting a gift for him. Especially when she makes it her personal mission to top the previous year's presence. Luckily, all it takes is a quick trip to the local Christmas Market to give her the inspiration she needs.

Read Below or on A03!

Feyre.

Elain.

Cassian.

Gwyn.

Emerie.

Azriel.

Rhysand.

Lucien.

Amren

Morrigan??

Nesta scowled at the Excel sheet in front of her, at the blank squares that needed filling. It was December 16th, and there were still too many open-ended questions. Feyre was getting new paints, ones she specifically asked for, and were linked accordingly in her designated row, highlighted in a soft green to indicate she’d purchased them. Elain was receiving a set of earrings and a necklace made of pressed flowers, also highlighted in green.

And Cassian, well…

There were many, many links in his row. Options upon options. But nothing felt good enough.

Nothing felt good enough for Gwyn either, nor Emerie or Azriel. Links to Etsy shops, indie bookstores, and, regrettably, even Amazon filled the sheet, but they were all white, the category marked ‘Purchased?” painfully blank. And she hadn’t even begun to consider what she should purchase her extended family of sorts.

They always did this holiday together, making a big bash out of it, and every year since Feyre and Rhysand got married, and especially since she and Cassian had gotten engaged, she was presented with the same dilemma.

What did she get them? Would they even bother to get her anything?

Apparently, they were, or at least that’s what Feyre had claimed, when she asked. Her sister jumped on any chance to have a big happy family, and though it took significant effort and trial and error, she more or less had it. Nesta just didn’t know quite where she fit in.

“Sweetheart, your food is going to get cold.”

Nesta raised her eyes from her laptop, frowning at her fiancé, who was smiling knowingly at her from the other end of the couch, a bowl of pasta in his hand. She should have been working on the next book in her series, the manuscript open in a separate tab. Her last book may have only been out for about a week, but even still, deadlines were deadlines. If only Nesta had actually written anything in the past two hours.

“I gave you twenty more minutes, as promised.”

With a sigh, Nesta sat up straight, closing her laptop and evaluating his latest creation in front of her. Pesto, with fresh pine nuts and fusilli pasta. Gods, she didn’t deserve him when he made dishes like this. Especially when he had to pry her away from her writing. Or at least, what was supposed to be writing.

“How’s the Christmas list coming?”

Ah, he knew her too well.

“I just don’t know what to do,” She said, taking her first bite and practically melting at the taste in her mouth.

Cassian hummed knowingly, more than aware of how meticulously she planned Christmas presents. She collected links for months, bookmarking random Instagram ads or TikTok promos. But when it came to actually purchasing them, to deciding on what was good enough, she often lamented for weeks.

“We’re going to the market tomorrow, right?” He asked. “I’m sure we’ll turn a few more of those lines green.”

“I suppose,” Nesta said quietly, lifting a hand to push her glasses farther up her nose. A new development, one she still wasn’t quite happy about. But spending time reading in the dark had its consequences, apparently.

“We won’t leave until we’ve got at least the rest of the family knocked off.”

“Maybe it’s stupid, and I should just get them all gift cards or something.”

“You hate giving people gift cards, Nes.”

Nesta sighed, leaning back against the cushions. “But if they don’t even like me, then why would they want a gift from me?”

Cassian stretched out his leg so his foot could nudge her calf affectionately. “They like you, sweetheart. All that tension has been resolved, yeah? Mor was just telling me that she was excited to see you and hear about your latest book.”

Nesta frowned, stirring her fork around her bowl of pasta. It was true, the animosity that defined a lot of her relationship with Feyre’s found family was largely gone after months of working out past traumas or grief. Now, a year and a half later, Nesta was three books into a successful series, and happily engaged to the man beside her, who continued to look at her with nothing short of affection in his eyes, despite her anxiety.

“You’re right,” She replied. “I just…”

“Want it to be good enough?” Cassian supplied, scooting closer.

She nodded as his arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her comfortably against his chest.

“Your gifts are always so thoughtful, you know,” He replied. “Mor wears that charm bracelet you got her, with all of our initials, almost every day. I think the only competition you have is yourself, baby.”

Nesta huffed out a soft laugh, nestling into his shoulder. “I just want everything to be right.”

Cassian tipped her head up, kissing her softly. “I know. Tomorrow, Nes. We’ll get it all wrapped up, tomorrow.”

---

The Christmas Market was crowded, families and individuals alike scouring the stalls for the perfect, unique gift for their loved ones. Nesta watched them from her spot near the entrance, a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a map in the other. In her pocket, her phone sat ready with her meticulous list of gift recipients.

“Alright,” Cassian said, looking over the page listing all the vendors. “Should we start from the right and snake our way through?”

Nesta nodded, her eyes scanning intently over the seemingly endless number of shops. There were at least twenty candlemakers, local artists, even a bonsai tree shop. The wheels in her head began turning, and she began making mental notes of who would be most interested in which items.

But before she could delve too deeply into her analysis, Cassian slid his arm around her waist, squeezing just enough that she looked up at him.

“Try not to look so serious, sweetheart. We’re supposed to be merry.”

Nesta huffed, but took a step forward towards the shops, holding out a hand for him to take. “I am perfectly merry.”

Cassian laughed, a bright and melodic sound that often was the only thing to pull her out of dreary moods. “Of course. The most festive woman I know.”

Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged on her lips. Pulling him forward, she entered the first aisle, taking in the first few shops. On careful steps, she approached a woodworking tent, eyeing the various cutting boards, cheese platters, and handcrafted pens. They were all beautiful, but nothing caught her interest or fulfilled the basic requirement of what she considered to be a perfectly tailored gift.

That is, until her eyes caught on the end of the table, at the line of puzzle boxes. She smiled, running her fingers over a medium sized one, assessing the various cogs and gears within.

Amren did mention needing something new to fidget with.

Pulling out her phone, Nesta filled in the tiny woman’s row, and flagged down the shop owner.

With one gift down, her confidence boosted, and she strode down the path towards the next few stalls with a small smile, eyes scanning over the various handmade jewelry, knitwear, and blown glass. Cassian wasn’t too far behind, though his attention was typically scattered in these kinds of environments. More often than not, she’d turn and find him gone entirely, entranced by a tent in a different aisle.

He grinned at her when she caught his eye, holding up a knitted flower hat, small and definitely intended for a pet. Immediately, her mind drifted to Azriel’s beloved twin black cats. And, more acutely, how horrified they’d be at the prospect of being dressed. Rolling her eyes, she smiled amusedly at him and shook her head before continuing on her way, knowing full well her fiancé would try and convince his brother to put them on anyway.

As she looked through each row, the time seemed to fly by, with her list slowly but surely getting smaller and smaller. As she reached the center of the market, she finally looked down at her phone to take stock of what she’d thus far acquired:

A set of blown glass flowerpots for Elain.

A cocktail smoker set for Azriel, paired with a bottle of locally distilled whiskey.

An old map of the city for Rhysand.

A set of handmade wooden ballpoint pens for Lucien.

Which left Gwyn, Emerie, Morrigan, and, of course, Cassian.

She hadn’t found anything remotely good enough for him. Everything was either something she’d already done, or found too tacky, or cliché. It had to be personal, thoughtful. Something no one else would think of.

The closer she got to reaching the end of the market, the more anxious she became about the prospect.

Luckily, all it took was a brilliant antique book stand to occupy her thoughts.

It was by far her favorite tent so far, with shelves lined with antique copies of some of her favorites, of bags made from the bindings of repurposed books, prints and posters, and everything a bookworm could dream of. Smiling at the shop owner as she entered, Nesta made her way to the collection of old novels, perusing the selections.

There was nothing particularly rare or beautiful, but as Nesta scanned her eyes over the titles, there were at least several options to satisfy Gwyn, who loved collecting old and special edition copies of her favorites. But, to her surprise, it wasn’t her lovely friend she had in mind when she found the final book in the row, larger than the others. Taking care to pull it free gently, she observed the title.

Landscape Painting Through the Ages: A Definitive Guide

Flipping through, she smiled at the depictions of various flora and fauna, of the various instructions on perspective and shading. It was old, perhaps 40 or 50 years, but it was perfect for her youngest sister, who was always looking for new references to paint from.

Even better, as she turned around to approach the counter, she spotted a gorgeous Pride and Prejudice handbag made of a re-purposed binding. Gwyn would be head over heels. The shopkeeper smiled broadly at her as she approached, and said, with a thick accent,

“That one’s been sitting on the shelf for ages. I’m glad she’s found a home.”

Nesta smiled at the kind man.

“It will be well loved.”

Arms full, she stepped back out into the path, scanning for Cassian who was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found. She’d thought he’d have been easier to spot, with his height. But it seemed everyone had their own tall significant other to drag around.

Retracing her steps, she scanned through the rows, tent after tent. Rounding the corner, she contemplated texting him, telling him to meet her at the entrance to save her the anxiety, but then she caught sight of his curls, the red scarf around his neck, and her tension eased.

He stood at what was unmistakably a jewelry stand, and Nesta quirked a brow as she approached. The old woman behind the counter spoke animatedly to him, and in his hands was a tiny box, wrapped simply with a satin bow. Her interest piqued, she tried to assess what it was, listening for any clues. But just as she approached his side, he spun on his heel, grinning down at her, the box disappearing into his pocket.

“There she is,” He said. “How are we doing, sweetheart?”

Nesta looked up at him quizzically, and the amusement in his eyes told her he already knew what she wanted to know. But he didn’t budge, even after several seconds of staring him down. So, she relented,

“Fairly well. Just Emerie and Morrigan left.”

And him, of course, but that was for her knowledge only.

“See, I told you this market would be a good one.”

“What about you?” Nesta asked, shifting her arms as he reached to take some of her bags from her.

“A master of gift giving never tells his secrets, Nes.”

Nesta scoffed, even as she looped her arm through his and they meandered down to the remaining tents.

“How many of those ridiculous cat hats did you buy?”

“They had powdered wigs. Do you know how amazing Shadow and Smokey will look in those?”

Nesta shook her head, unable to hide her grin. “Azriel will kill you.”

Cassian shrugged, unbothered by the prospect. “I just want one picture of my nephews. Then they can rip them up for all I care.”

“I still don’t know what to get Morrigan. I have no idea what she likes other than wine.”

Cassian tilted his head in contemplation. “There’s that distillery that makes social justice themed alcohol, their booth is back towards the front. That would be right up her alley.”

Nesta’s brows rose, the idea scratching her itch for something unique yet appropriate for the still superficial friendship they had.

“That’s perfect,” She said quietly, pulling out her phone, anxious to fill in her spreadsheet. “Let me just-”

“Take your time, baby. We’ve got plenty of it.”

Nesta stared down at the screen, satisfied by the solid block green rows. Just two left now, which seemed so much more manageable than this morning when they started. A weight lifted off her shoulders, and she let out a long, satisfied breath.

“Just Emerie then.”

Cassian hummed in acknowledgement, offering his arm to her again.

They made it to the front of the market, and Nesta turned to assess the stands again, deciding on where to look again for her friend. Slowly, she wandered to one of the first jewelry booths, assessing the various bracelets. It was intricate metalwork on gorgeous cuffs. Cuffs that would make incredible friendship bracelets.

“Your ring is gorgeous.”

Nesta lifted her eyes, meeting the soft brown ones of the girl behind the counter. Looking back down at her hand, she assessed her engagement ring, the ruby set among tiny white diamonds. Cassian was by no means a poor man, but still, she’d protested that she didn’t need something so exquisite. He disagreed.

“Thank you,” she replied. “My fiancé has good taste, or so I think.”

“Excellent taste,” the girl replied. “The gold band will match those cuffs nicely.”

A smile tugged on her lips as she ran her fingers over the metal. “I think you’re right,” she said. “I’ll take three.”

The girl grinned at her, moving away to wrap them. All the while, Nesta continued to try and come up with various ideas for Cassian. But still, nothing seemed like enough. He had an engraved watch, one she’d gotten him for their first Christmas, and he had plenty of other sentimental gifts, ones she’d all but planned out years in advance.

And now, it seemed like nothing could top it. Except perhaps his wedding band, which they’d just selected only a few weeks ago.

“Wait, are you Nesta Archeron?”

Nesta returned her attention to the girl, who had her bag of goods in her hands. Her brows were in her hairline, her mouth dropped open.

“I… Yes, I am.” Nesta replied, still unaccustomed to being recognized in public.

“I thought you looked familiar. You’re my favorite author!” The girl gushed, her entire face brightening. “Would you… Would you sign my book? I got the last copy on release day. I absolutely adore the love interest. How he accepts Aurelia even with all her quirks and dark days? To die for! Did you base him off your fiancé?”

Nesta couldn’t hide her smile this time, knowing full well that most of his description did indeed from the man waiting just a few feet behind her. And with that thought came a new idea, one that seemed so simple, yet hadn’t before crossed her mind.

“Perhaps. And I’d love to,” She replied, reaching out to accept the copy and a pen. It was still so surreal, even after all this time, to see her own work in person.

Quickly, she signed her name, wishing the girl a happy holiday season, before shutting the book and handing it back.

“Thank you so much!” The girl said, looking so unequivocally happy it made Nesta’s throat tight. It was remarkable that someone was this happy about her writing.

“And…I’m really glad you found your person. I hope one day I find mine.”

“You will,” Nesta said, accepting her jewelry with a larger smile. “I know it.”

---

Over the course of the next week, Nesta’s nerves about what to buy eased.

Only to be immediately replaced by her nerves about if each recipient would like the gifts she got them.

It was December 23, less than a day remaining before the entire family would gather for Christmas Eve dinner. Nesta was always nervous to meet with them all at once, it was a feeling that would likely never quite go away. But now, at least, it was more anticipatory. Would Elain and Feyre like their gifts? Would Mor and Amren? Rhysand and Azriel?

As she looked down at the wrapping paper in her lap, the boxes strewn out in front of her in the living room, she ran through her gift checklist one more time. A warm glow was cast over the living room, the Christmas tree lights twinkling. Cassian had lit a fire a few minutes ago, and the heat of it soothed something deep in her soul.

It would be fine. These were good gifts. She’d wrap them, and everything would be perfect.

“Nes, sweetheart, I found the rest of the scotch tape.”

Nesta lifted her eyes, smiling gratefully at Cassian as he padded back into the living room, settling down on the floor, his back against the couch. Nesta shifted down to join him, reaching for Azriel’s gifts to place into a box. With meticulous precision, she taped it up, wrapping it in navy-blue paper with silver stripes.

“You’re so good at this,” Cassian murmured. “You should make it a paid service.”

Huffing a laugh, Nesta reached for his finger, using it to hold a satin ribbon in place as she tied it off.

“I don’t think my skill is quite that impressive. Gwyn’s, perhaps. Or Elain’s. They'd probably make thousands.”

Cassian hummed, leaning forward to press a kiss to her head.

“Feeling better now that you got Emerie a slot in that coveted yoga class she’s been trying so desperately to get into?”

“Much,” Nesta replied. “Though, you know how nervous I’ll be tomorrow, anyway.”

His laugh was soft, and he shifted, his arm sliding behind her, pulling her close once she set Azriel’s wrapped package aside.

“Nervous about whether they will like your gifts or nervous about having attention on you while you open yours?”

Nesta swatted him lightheartedly, hating and loving how well he knew her.

“They’re good gifts, right?”

“Amazing gifts, sweetheart. You put Santa Claus out of business every year, and we all know it.”

“I do, don’t I?”

There was one thing, at least, she wasn’t nervous about anymore. And it was his own gift, which she’d finished only a few days ago. The idea had struck that moment at the jewelry stand, and every day since she’d worked to put it together.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, a proper smile on his face. “Does that make me Mrs. Claus?”

Nesta lifted her head, assessing with a raised brow. “I’m not sure. You can’t exactly bake cookies very well.”

Cassian reared back in mock offense. “That was one time, Nes. I could make a successful batch of cookies right this minute if you wished.”

Nesta shook her head, shifting to settle more comfortably against his chest. “I think I prefer you staying right here.”

His chest vibrated in contentment, almost a purr. His arm was a comforting weight around her, and not for the first time did she marvel at how her life had turned out. How she was spending her evenings with this man, in their house. It was all pretty perfect, if you had to ask her. And Nesta had been raised never to believe in perfect things.

“But yes, you know I love attention.” Nesta said with a sigh. “It’s always fine, I know. I’m not sure why I always get nervous.”

“You want everything to be perfect, my love. And it always is.”

Nesta hummed, though couldn’t say she was convinced. Still, she adored him for how soothed he could make her with just a few words.

“You know, I was thinking,” He added after a moment. “I know you don’t like all the attention on you when you get gifts. So, what if we start our own tradition of exchanging the night before? Just us?”

Nesta’s lips parted, and she sat up, assessing him. Her gift to him was wrapped delicately, sitting under the tree next to the one he’d placed for her, just hours ago.

“You want to?” She asked, something within her very much approving of the idea.

“Well, you’ve been very secretive about my gift. Maybe I can’t wait anymore.”

Nesta couldn’t help the smile that tugged on her lips.

“Alright.”

Before he could smile back at her, she was moving, pushing out of his arms, and crawling the few feet over to the base of the tree. Reaching, she grabbed her own package, turning back to face him.

“You sure? You like being the center of attention when there are gifts involved.”

Cassian smirked. “Because I always get the best ones from my lovely fiancé. I can brag about it all night tomorrow.”

Her cheeks heated, despite herself, but she smiled back, shifting back over to him. Holding out the package, she said,

“Well then, be my guest.”

“You’re excited,” Cassian replied, intrigue in his voice. Lifting the gift, he shook it lightly by his ear. “Should I be worried?”

“Just open it, you brute.”

His smirk softened into a gentle smile. With deft fingers, he untied the ribbon around the box and undid the paper along the taped points, not tearing. He truly knew her too well. She sat back on her haunches, watching closely, wondering only at the last minute if it was too stupid, too cheesy.

Cassian’s brows rose as he unveiled his gift, the title of her latest book staring up at him.

“This is… your book.”

Nesta bit her cheek, controlling her nerves. “Open it.”

His interest was clear in the focus that settled over his face, and he opened the cover. His eyes scanned over the note she’d penned there, an extra dedication to him and him only. Carefully, his fingers brushed over the various tabs throughout the pages.

“What is this?” He asked softly, opening up to the first one.

“We weren’t together when my first book came out,” Nesta explained. “And we were just getting started when the second came out. In this one, the main character, Aurelia, she-”

“Leaves the first love interest for the one she ends up with, I know,” He said softly, flipping to the next tab.

Nesta nodded, folding her hands in her lap. He had read the entire thing before publication, after all.

“This is…Sweetheart.”

Nesta shifted closer, evaluating which line he was looking at.

“Aurelia scowled as Ramin brushed a bead of sweat off his brow, the jagged mountain path looking nothing short of ominous. “I thought you said you liked the outdoors,” He said. “This is the outdoors.”

“I like sitting outdoors. Not hiking for thirteen miles.”

“We have to get up this hill, sweetheart. We need to get a better sense of our position.”

There, in the margins, was her script, slightly messy yet coherent to those who knew her best.

“October 4th, 2019. We went camping as a family, to Rhysand’s cabin. We got lost trying to find the campground’s maintenance buildings. We hiked six miles, because you wanted to get to higher ground, to ‘evaluate our position.’”

Each tab had a memory associated. Something Cassian did or said that Nesta had taken and put into this character, the manifestation of what love meant to her. From their petty arguments to the ways in which he understood her unlike anyone else. To how she knew it was him, from the moment they met, and no one else.

“Nesta, this is incredible.”

“I know it’s not much,” She said. “But I couldn’t figure out what to get you that you didn’t already have.”

“Sweetheart, it’s everything.”

Cassian looked up at her with genuine tears in his eyes, an expression that was almost reverence on his face. It filled Nesta with intense warmth, with love.

“You like it?” She asked, her voice a soft whisper.

He moved, quickly, closing the book with care and setting it aside, before he was crowding into her space, pressing kisses all over her face until he caught her lips, where he stayed for one, two, three, four more, until she was practically breathless.

Nesta’s hands rested against his own, which cupped her face, and laughed, just a little.

“I love it, Nesta,” He replied. “I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I will treasure this always.”

She pressed her forehead against his, relishing the affection she felt from him.

“I wanted the world to have a piece of how wonderful you are,” She murmured. “But the specific reasons as to why can be just for us.”

“What did I tell you,” He replied, dipping her head to press another kiss to her lips. “The best gift giver.”

Pulling back, he stroked his thumb over her cheek affectionately before moving towards the tree.

“I’m afraid mine may look quite small in comparison.”

Nesta shook her head, watching as he pulled the tiny box from its place atop the tree skirt. The man could bring her a rock, and she'd likely cherish it until she died.

“You know I don’t need anything special.”

“So you tell me every time I get you a gift, baby.”

He approached her again, settling down beside her and placing the box in her hands. It was the one she’d seen briefly at the Market, the one he’d hidden from her.

“I know you got me something that’s not sentimental, and I got you a gift like that too, for tomorrow night. But these, I think, can stay between us.”

Nesta couldn’t shake the smile from her face as she nodded her agreement. For several seconds, she stared down at the box, the gold foil of it glinting in the light. Cassian nudged her with his nose, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Open it, Nes.”

“Be patient.”

But even as she said the words, she was pulling the ribbon free and lifting the cover off. Her eyes roved over the necklace that sat nestled on a pillow of velvet, and she went still, her throat tightening.

“Cass…”

It was a simple pendant, one that held two stones – their birthstones, to be exact, bound together by metal that had been shaped to look like a single golden thread. Lifting it out of the box, she assessed it closer, lips parted in shock.

“Turn it over.”

She obeyed him, surprised at the small engraving that had somehow fit on the back. Their initials were there, with a year. Next year, the one they were getting married in.

“It’s beautiful,” She said quietly, running her finger over the gems. "Where did you-?"

“I had it custom made from the woman you saw me speaking to. I was picking it up when you so sneakily almost caught me.”

Huffing a laugh, she smiled down at the piece. Simple, yet elegant. Exactly her taste.

“Put it on me?” She asked.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

His hands were soft. They always were, when he touched her. In one gentle movement, he swept her hair over her shoulder, and in the next, he brought the necklace around her throat, the pendant resting perfectly between her collarbones. He clasped it easily, letting his hands slide over her shoulders, his head dipping to kiss her neck.

“I knew it would look beautiful on you,” He murmured. “But I still wasn’t prepared. You’re so stunning, Nes.”

Nesta leaned back into his arms, which wrapped tightly around her, the warm spices and cedar she associated with his scent enveloping her senses. Tilting her head up, she caught his jaw in a kiss, grinning as he dipped his chin to meet her lips properly.

“Merry Christmas,” She whispered, lacing their fingers together where they rested on her stomach. "I love you."

Cassian all but melted at the words, squeezing her tight and settling back against the couch, just holding her.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I love you too.”

---

The next evening, when Nesta and Cassian arrived at Feyre and Rhysand’s house to celebrate, arms full of gifts, her family’s eyes caught immediately on the gold pendant around her neck. Mor and Feyre pestered Cassian for hours, wanting to know where, exactly, it had come from. Azriel had kissed her on the cheek, complimenting her politely as he always did, warm and protective of her as he was. Elain gushed, and Amren smiled approvingly, always appreciative of fine taste. Even Rhysand complimented it, clapping Cassian on the shoulder.

It was a soothing experience, a welcoming one. It filled her with the confidence she didn’t know she needed, to say without hesitation that she belonged here.

And as the family settled around the tree, anxious to pass out gifts, any lingering anxieties faded away to nothing. Nesta couldn’t deny it to herself any longer, nor to those around her. In that moment, she felt entirely complete, entirely content. Entirely sure that this was the life she was meant to live, here with these people.

Just as Cassian had promised, everything was entirely perfect.

--- End ---

#nessian #acotar fanfiction #acotar #nesta archeron #cassian #archive of our own #acotargiftexchange2023 #acotarsecretsanta2023 #nesta x cassian #Modern AU #Writer!Nesta

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venusianelf · 2 years

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Gotham’s Angel

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Genre: Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, A bit of Found Family too

Summary: You and Jay have been friends forever and you two have both been secretly pining for each other for years. Who knew that all it took to get you two together was a meddling brother?

Warnings: Some swearing, Awkwardness?, One use of Y/n, Reader is gender-neutral

Word Count: ~1,100

A/N: This fic is based on The Wayne Family Adventures webtoon but should also be (mostly) accurate to comic book Jason. Let me know if you have any request ideas for Jason bc I am thoroughly obsessed with him right now lol. Anyways I hope you enjoy the fic!

You and Jason had been friends since childhood. You remembered his much younger face covered in dirt and scrapes as he stole food for you two. When Bruce adopted him they made sure to make it clear you were always welcome at the manor. It quickly became home to you as well. Since then many things have changed but Wayne Manor was still your home. Well secondarily to your own apartment.

“Mm, why’d you stop?” A grumpy Jason asked as you were brought back to reality. Looking down at Jason in your lap you realized you had stopped playing with his hair when you got caught up in your memories. “I was just reminiscing,” You chuckled as he hummed when you continued carding your fingers through his hair. “Oh, on what?” He inquired as you blushed a little and looked away. “Just on how good of a friend you’ve been over the years,” You replied as you felt his arms wrap around your waist and he buried his head in your stomach.

“Nah, I think you’re the good friend here. But you won’t be if you stop playing with my hair again,” He huffed in mock annoyance as you chuckled. ‘Click’ you both heard as you looked over towards the door to see Dick holding up his phone obviously taking a picture. “Heh, the group chat is gonna love this,” He laughed as Jason quickly got off of you and tried to snatch Dick’s phone from him. “Nope, you’re gonna delete that right now or I swear I will-” He threatened before getting interrupted. “You’ll what?” Dick laughed as he dodged Jason’s attempts.

You laughed to yourself as you watched them before going to check your phone. Seeing new messages in the Batfam group chat you realized Jason’s effort is useless as Dick already sent the picture. You feel your cheeks heat up as you read all the Aww’s and How cute’s from everyone. Although you began chuckling as you read Damian’s message, “What is he doing? Is this some sort of training exercise?”

Later in the evening, you had curled yourself up in the library as you read your favorite book. Looking up when you hear a knock on the wall you see Dick again. “Hey there,” You call out with a smile as he smiles playfully at you. “Hey there yourself,” He responds as he takes a seat near you. “Soo, how come you didn’t join Jason’s cause earlier?” He teases as you huff at him before slipping your bookmark into the book, giving up on reading for now. “You know why goof,” You reply as he chuckles. “Do I now?” He asks with faux innocence. “I wanted to save the picture for myself, happy?” You answer as you feel your cheeks heat up once again.

“Oh? And why did you want to save the picture? It’s not like you don’t already have plenty of pictures of you two together,” He says as he continues his act. “Ugh, are you really going to make me say it?” You huff as you sink into your chair. “Yes, yes I am,” He chuckles as you groan and shove your face in your hands. “Because I have feelings for him and most of my pictures of us together aren’t as casual and intimate as that one,” You rush out quickly before hearing a thud. Looking over your shoulder your gaze lands on Jason in the doorway and then the book he dropped on the floor.

“Shit, um I should probably-” He mumbles as he tries to excuse himself before Dick starts laughing. “Ah, even I couldn’t have planned something so perfect,” He says amusedly as your face heats up from realizing what Jason must have heard. “Well this is my cue to leave, good luck you two,” Dick laughs as he pats Jason on the back before heading out. After Dick leaves you both stay in silence before he speaks up again, “I should go-” “Don’t,” You responded before cursing under your breath. ‘Now or never,’ you think to yourself before gesturing for him to come sit. He complies after picking up his book and setting it on one of the nearby tables.

You both sit in silence for a moment before you look up and catch his gaze. He looks at you with an unreadable emotion as you steel yourself for the incoming rejection. “Did you mean it?” He asks as you tilt your head in confusion. “Yeah, of course. I- I’ve had feelings for you since we were kids living on the street,” You reply as his eyes widen. “That long?” He inquires as you shyly nod your head. “Wow, and here I thought I had no chance with you,” He laughs humourlessly as it’s your turn to be shocked. “What?” You ask as he looks back at you. “Y/n, I’ve loved you since we were kids too. I guess we were both just idiots who couldn’t tell we liked each other,” He chuckles as you smile. “I guess so,” You respond light-heartedly before he walks over to you. He offers you his hand and you take it a bit confused as he leads you over to the window.

“Gotham, the city of many tragedies but also our home. Who knew such a horrible city could bring me someone so angelic?” He laughs as you blush. “I am not angelic,” You huff and look away from him out the window. “Well you’re my angel,” He replies lovingly as you feel his fingers brush under your chin before he gently turns your gaze back towards him. “I guess I won’t fight you on that,” You say as your gaze flickers from his eyes down to his lips. “I’m glad,” He responds as you both lean in and you can feel his warm breath on your face.

Closing your eyes, you lean in further before your lips meet. The kiss is gentle and sweet but also impatient as you both makeup for lost time. Jason’s hand on your chin slides down to the back of your neck as he pulls you closer. Your hand lands on his chest as he deepens the kiss. Your hands begin to roam his body before you hear a familiar click. Pulling apart and looking towards the library’s entrance you see a smug dick holding his phone again. “Grayson!” You yell as Jason laughs.

“You’re fucked bro,” He comments as you storm toward Dick as he gulps. Unlike earlier, you very easily grab his phone and delete the picture. Double checking you go to his text messages and see he already sent the picture to the group chat. “Oh you’re in for it now,” You chuckle gravely as you look up at Dick. “Uh oh,” He laughs nervously as you smile darkly at him. “Yeah, uh oh,” You respond as Jason leans against the window and smiles fondly at you. “That’s my angel,” He praises as you turn and wink at him before chasing Dick down the manor’s halls.

#jason todd x reader #jason x reader #jason todd x you #jason x you #jason todd x y/n #jason x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #batfam x reader #jason todd imagine #jason imagine #red hood imagine #batfam imagine #jason todd fanfic #jason fanfic #red hood fanfic #batfam fanfic #dc fanfic

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cameronspecial · 9 months

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Hello! If it’s not too much to request, could you please write an Anthony x Reader piece wherein the reader (she/her or she/they) is rather motherly and bubbly; who’s his childhood friend and has a (requited, but not yet admitted) crush on him? The reader often stays home because of a sickly disposition and so has taken to lightening up the place for the others (i.e. helping George with research by going on errands for him, cleaning when they’re gone, organizing their equipment, bookmarking books they leave open when they fall asleep, comforting Lucy on the days she gets overwhelmed, leaving encouraging notes where they might need it, etc.)

The Mother of 35 Portland Row (Anthony Lockwood x Reader)

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Pronouns: She/Her

Y/N Y/L/N has always been motherly, even from the ripe age of 5. But instead of tending to fake babies, she was taking care of baby Lockwood. Even though she was a year younger than him, she could still be seen running after him to get him to put on his jumper or scolding him when he tried a reckless stunt. As they grew, multiple things grew with them. Their family, their skills and their romantic feelings. Lockwood always thought that Y/N had a crush on him as he does for her because of how she takes care of him, but when she started to care for George in the same way, it caused him to question himself. However, he couldn’t be more wrong.

———

George had been at the kitchen table all day doing research for their latest case. Y/N knew he had not eaten all day because when she came back from her errands, the table was covered in books and not a single used plate could be seen on the surface. She also knew he must have stayed up late: he had fallen asleep with his head on a book. Y/N flicks in the kettle on and starts to assemble George’s favourite sandwich. Once the water finishes, she pours water into George’s mug with a tea bag. She places both dishes in front of the boy before taking the book gently out from under him and placing a bookmark on the open page. She gently shakes the boy awake and points towards the food. “Please eat. You need the nutrients,” she urges in a whisper. He gently stirs and obeys her order.

———

Lucy bursts through the front door, in a hurry to get to the art class she volunteers to teach. She had forgotten to get her stuff ready and knowing herself, it would take her forever to find everything. Her movement towards the stairs is paused by Y/N walking out of the family room with Lucy’s art bag in hand. “I also put some snacks in there in case you get hungry. And I already sent the cassette for Norrie through the post,” she informs the overwhelmed girl. Lucy’s shoulders drop in relief and goes to give the other girl a hug. “Thank you tons! You are a lifesaver, Y/N/N,” Lucy praises before giving Y/N a quick kiss on the cheek and leaving.

———

Y/N noticed Lockwood’s sour mood the past few days. She knew he had been stressed about the paperwork he needed to do for the business. Lockwood sits down to start his work when he notices most of it was done already and it was just waiting for his signature. He gets to the last page and notices a sticky note that says ‘Thought I would help you out a little. Now, go read one of the new magazines I got for you, Handsome.’ Lockwood cheeks redden at the nickname.

Y/N sits in her favourite armchair in the library, reading a book. She looks up at him and smiles. “Y/N/N, thank you. But why do you always help us out?” Lockwood questions as he sits down. “I like being helpful and I guess I just got used to it since we were little,” she responds. Lockwood smiles at the memory of that, “Yeah, I always thought that you liked me because of that.” “Are you kidding? Lockwood, I love you. Why do you think I’d chase after you with your jumper? My mom was always doing that for my dad and I thought that’s what you do for the people you love,” Y/N confesses, bookmarking her book. Lockwood couldn’t believe his ears. He is overjoyed by the news. He approaches the girl and sits beside the girl. He cups her cheek and looks into Y/N’s eyes. She nods her head, understanding what he is asking. He leans in and their lips meet in the middle. The kissing last for a few seconds until Lockwood pulls away. The two stare into each other’s eyes with grins on their faces.

“I love you.”

“I love you too."

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood oneshot #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood netflix #renew lockwood and co #lockwood

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todayisafridaynight · 9 months

Note

YIPPEEEEEE I'M SOSOSOSO EXCITED FOR THE FIC I'm glad it sounds like you've had a pretty good day, it's well-deserved! :] I love Barbie aesthetically... I love Meta Knight...

OH BUT YEAH this was actually my third time watching The Deer King but it is JUST as good as the first... As I've Said I really love Tsutsumi's character and his little daughter and how their relationship progresses [Top Ten Most Doting Fathers Every Other Scene Makes Me Violently Clutch Whatever I Can Get My Hands On], BUT ASIDE FROM THAT the cast as a whole is very enjoyable!

Although it's a novel adaptation, it's also really intuitive to understand the setting and lore thanks to its decision to put personal conflicts in the foreground while the politics and major themes develop in the background, on top of some pretty well-utilized exposition and the movie's strong visual storytelling/direction/editing.

Visually It's Stunning, there isn't a single frame that's not SEAMLESS, but what stands out to me consistently throughout every scene is definitely how much weight there is to every movement [like The Physics Are Off The Charts, but it's also exaggerated to emphasize things in the way only animation can], and how strong the character "acting" is.

OVERALL. MAGNIFIQUE. I do Highly Recommend checking it out if you were interested :] Tsutsumi's character isn't the type to talk much but y'know... proud of him...

DON'T BE EXCITED YOU'RE SETTING YOURSELF UP FOR DISAPPOINTMENT but if i release it any time soon.. i hope you find some enjoyment from it.. but omg meta knight :)

THREE TIMES WATCHING well now i have to watch it if you've watched it three times: it MUST be worth its salt then.. 👁️👁️

#snap chats #i made him small so he couldnt take up The Whole Page... i coulda just posted my whole B&N haul but thats not the point of the ask ANYWAY #will have to give Deer King a watch when i get the time.. and after WMA2... turns out all my writing time took up all my B&N time..#oh but speaking of :) yeah i had a good day all things considered #i love the aesthetic of barbie too so im glad the movie was good.... def a fun watch even if it felt very In Your Face sometimes #but i mean it's for kids and if you wanna get a message across You Better Get It Across yk.#also sometimes you just gotta grab people by the shoulders and shake them with your message. i mean.#they basically did that in the movie too to resolve their conflict LMAO BUT YEAH OVERALL FUN MOVIE ENJOYED IT PLENTY #META KNIGHT SO SILLAY THO when i was growing up my sis and i LOVED kirby air ride and i remember in free-trial you could play as him #im p sure you could also play as him in Races but cmon... city trial was the selling point of that game... love him 5ever..#but nooo while i was at B&N i accidentally bought a new manga and a new bookmark 😷#i did try looking for After The Rain since i know THAT one has an english translation but alas... i just saw After The Bitch ☠️☠️#i forget the whole title dont even ask me i just saw After The Bitch and snorted and continued looking down the aisle for anythin else #the manga i did get's called Our Dining Table. i didnt MEAN to buy it #i dont usually read manga that star young adults I Like That Middle-Aged Flavor. like Dont Call Me Daddy but yk #i was just skimming it and by the time store was about to close i ended up on chapter 2 so i figured Might As Well #it was cute SOOOO why not. i could always learn a thing or two from manga and how they panel/pace things anyhow #i also got a new bookmark since i always like to get bookmarks when i get a new book :) cause IDK its the hoarder genes in me ig #the bookmark i got this time was this like. purple string charm with a butterfly pendant Very Pretty #almost as pretty as this other butterfly bookmark i have of a purple emperor #THAT one has a gold bar- thought one of the panels on its wings is missing.... still a good bookmark tho ive had it forever LMAO #butterflies always make me think of my sister- i feel like i mentioned that before but i also cant remember doing so..#fucked up that butterflies were for my sis and bees were for me The Fuck You Tryna Say Dad 😭 IM NOT A BEE 😭😭#bees are cooler than me... but they also die really easily so.... I Repeat Fuck You Mean Old Man...#jk i know what he means.. he means i was an asshole ☠️ weird-naming-conventions-aside NO WAIT I REMEMBERED A STUPID THING #i saw this weird-as-hell bee i saw on my walk yesterday.... tried looking up what it was but couldnt find anything..#in any case. its funny i think of my sis with butterflies since owls Also remind me of her since she LOVED owls growing up #i DEF know i mentioned that when i was talking about rings i owned... WHICH ALSO REMINDS ME #for the longest time i had this old-as-hell butterfly ring with like. Movable Wings since the wings were attached with springs #but one of the springs disconnected years ago so it's just kinda had one and a half wings BUT I FIXED IT RECENTLY

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twilghtkoo · 1 year

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hiiiiii <33

hehe im here sending you a love letter cuz i right away think of you when this tiktok passed my tl since you always do bf!hyuck based on tiktok vid sometimes yes. so i dont want to be crazy alone while imagining that hyuck definitely do that to his gf 🥺🥺🥺

pairings. haechan x reader (f)

genre. fluff :'), established relationship

warnings. haechan is just the sweetest and most loving boyfriend

notes. thank u for the love letter ilysm :( <333 and it's ok bc every couple shit i see on tiktok my brain routes to being delusional @.@ ALSO i had a draft for this?? i was almost done w it but then tumblr deleted it????? or made it disappear???? 😭😭 like that shit was so well written i was up til 4 writing this shit and i had to rewrite this so i’m sorry if it’s kinda :/

—

spring is here, the days are getting longer and the nights are getting shorter, temperature is getting warmer, and flowers are beginning to bloom. a season you always despised because you hate how the sun’s beams get stronger and hotter, and you’re not much of a morning bird but a night owl. your sleep patterns have always been inconsistent but you always got a sudden burst of motivation to do random things late at night.

you remember a metaphor about spring your teacher had told you when you were younger; spring is a breath of fresh air. spring is an opportunity to turn over a new leaf. all the springs you’ve spent living in a continuous cycle, and suffering the loss of the cold spell of autumn and winter.

changes have always been hard for you to accept and hard to come to face with. so why was it so different with him? why were you easily soaking in his sunshine and warmth?

you can call haechan a book worm when it comes to you. you are his favorite book on his shelf and the only one. he memorizes every little detail about you, bookmarking a certain page of you to go back and relive the memory in his sleep. easily reading you by how you act and behave.

he would love to spend every spring the universe brings, if you allow him.

a funky, red, plaid pattern blanket you had bought recently specifically for this picnic date lies neatly under a huge, green sapling, hiding from the sun's rays.

you are going off about a certain topic you had learned in your psych class and how you were a little scared to do an experimental test with your class, but it was interesting to see the psychological tests can be used to improve your understanding of certain behaviors. he loves hearing you talk about your classes, as if with his difficult career, he can be a student with you.

an hour or two passes and the sun moved, the rays of sunlight seeping through the branches of the tree above you is hitting your skin and your bare legs that are uncovered from your short floral dress. you looked beautiful under the spring's sunlight. he makes sure to tell you every day, even if he doesn't see you in person. a simple text sent to you around the early afternoon, saying 'you are looking so pretty today sunshine'.

he wouldn't mind if each spring was like this. he'd wait til the next spring to be able to taste your sweet lips, the delightful smell of fruit, being strawberry. your favorite lip balm (and fruit) that you have expressed to him before and being shy after. he likes strawberries too, but he has a theory they would taste better from you. nonetheless, he'll wait. and when the time comes he'll bookmark that chapter from his favorite book and adding his thoughts and emotions from the events with you into a piece of text.

and if you both end up spending one hundred springs together, at the last spring you two share, he hopes to gift you the sincerity of his love with the thousands of pages written and printed about you.

he hopes spring has another meaning for you with him in it.

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moonschocolate · 4 months

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Tom Riddle headcanons!!

because lately i've been thinking about this tragic little human <3

tw: mention of torture as a topic

first of all I wanted to clarify that in this there's no Voldemort, no interest in practicing dark magic, just a teen who goes to Hogwarts soo... :)

proud slytherin. no matter how much other people can say 'slytherin = bad' he just doesn't care, he will not argue with you if you think or say that cause he will find it pointless

I don't now where I read this, but if I'll find it I will tag the person who said this before me: he has autism!!

which means he is not a very social person, and he has little/no friends

and he is deeply attached to an object/topic

the topic in question is dark magic

he doesnt want to practice it, he just finds the whole thing interesting

which deeply concerns professors

he knows everything. about horcruxes, the three unforgivable curses, origin and all

he simply thinks that knowledge is knowledge

IF HE READS?!?! OH DAMN

i strongly believe he has one hell of a library in his dorm

the most dramatic myths ever? knows them

he's just a nerd

read books about t0rture, c0mmunism, n@zism, because knowledge is knowledge

also reads light books of course i dont want to scare you

maths is not his thing

like yes he's good at it but he doesnt really care

did i say hes dramatic?

and an absolute pessimist

since i do not believe that his hair is like that just because it is, he HAS to have a hair routine (DROP IT TOM)

has an infinite collection of bookmarks

no person is allowed to touch his books

doesnt write on books even with pencils

listens to DRAMATIC classical music

EXAMPLE

(also y'all have to teach me how to put spotify songs with the blue rectangle cuz i dont have a clue on how)

JUST THE START

Idk it reminds me of him (and regulus but this is not about him)

this goes against the fact that he's dramatic, but i think that in a relationship he would be a good-old fashioned lover boy

flowers, love letters, POEMS, kissing in the rain, handing you his jacket when you're cold

and of course he wears suits

NOT a sports kid

mf doesn't know a single sport

he just learned how to swim

that's it

is defo the kind of person who is SOSOSOSOSO SKINNY

He's skeptical af on food

like i believe he's a picky eater

and i dont think he eats a lot

like he will go through the day with some coffees, some water, breakfast and a snack in the afternoon

is always gentle doing anything

when he's mad he's even more mad that he can't throw anything because then he would be even more angry that it got broken

has NO PHYSICAL FORCE AT ALL

Like his arms are spaghetti

im sorry but imo he's short

like 1.70 cm (5'5''-5'6'')

which is not really short

I CANT SEE HIM AS A TALL BEING

will not admit it but hates the sea

like as long as he can reach with his feet the "land" below then it's no problem

if he can't he'll try to act cool and say he's tired and immediately get out of the sea

it gives him a sense of pure confusion because he doesnt know what he could run into

which annoys him

because when he cant know something it hurts him physically emotionally psychologically

he knows plenty of languages

english, french, latin, russian and german

why?

because it's cool

also knows how to play the piano and the flute and the viola

"never judge a book by its cover" he does exactly the opposite

especially with books he judges the book by the cover, if he likes the cover he'll like the book too

and people can gain his interest only at first sight

he hates how lots of people can easily change their opinions as long as their group/loved ones have a different opinion

or how people always follow the crowd

people who judge mudbloods just because they're mudbloods are too stupid for him

i think we all know that he is THE teachers' pet

he's the Hermione of his generation

which means that while there are plenty of people with their hands raised the only one who will be listened to is tom

is a MANIAC in cleaning

his bed and his overall room is always tidy af

he hates getting his uniform dirty

he has plenty of nightmares about his past

which he never talks about with anyone

is the kind of person to have 4 or 5 cats

he is absolutely quiet

i got a strong feeling that this man was bullied before hogwarts at the orphanage

he has a cute little stuffed animal in really bad shape which he has from his years at the orphanage and it's hidden at the end of his wardrobe

he strongly despises children because he doesn't have a clue how to deal with them

acts like he has patience

lacks patience

in a modern au, the only thing he'd have going to school would be a black pen

not because he didnt care or was too lazy to get other things but because he didnt find having 3985729947 pens and highliters necessary

dada would be boring for him because out of curiosity he would've already learned most of the spells or wtv

i dont remember if i said it but quidditch is NOT something he likes

or just flying on a broom in general

(remus lupin behavior)

(I had to say it)

studying consists in him burying his face in the books for like 4 or 5 hours straight (my man has some serious issues)

you could tell im completely delusional because he became a killer and nothing's good-old fashioned lover boy about canon him but oh well🥰

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strangermarvelss · 2 years

Text

the pain of letting you go- e.m (pt 4)

Pairing: Ex!Eddie Munson x Ex!AFAB!Reader

Summary: eddie’s jealous gets the best of him and you’ve had enough

Warnings: angst, fighting, arguing, reader being a bad ass, confrontation, slight eddie pov

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: part four of the series is here! i was so excited to write this part and i hope it helps move things along in the best way possible. thank you to everyone for the continued support! reminder: if the topic is sensitive for you, please do not read. enjoy! :) -sava

series masterlist

You bask in the soft flicker of the candlelight you’d set up for the night, lounging in the chair in the corner of the living room with a fuzzy blanket and a new book you picked up at the store. You always found comfort in a good book, letting your mind take you to places you’d never been before and put yourself into stories that were beyond your control.

Since the drama that occurred at Christopher’s birthday, you used the weekend to yourself to relax and take some time to settle down. No thinking about Shirley, Eddie, or even the strange feeling you’d recently discovered when Steve popped into your head. You went shopping, drank some wine, and used the weekend to unwind without crying your eyes out, which was a first for you since the separation.

During your alone time, you also went around researching about how things can get better between your family. The last thing you wanted was for everyone to be fighting and putting your son’s emotions on the line. You knew he wasn’t stupid and knew what was going on, and the way some of his expressions and mannerisms have changed within the last few months didn’t go unnoticed by you.

So you decided that family therapy was the best option, that way everyone would be able to hash out any grievances they had and everyone could better understand one another on a new level, with an impartial bluffer to help guide the conversation back if things went sideways. You were curious to find out why Eddie was acting the way he was, and also curious to know what was going on in Christopher’s head. You definitely didn’t want him bottling anything up that could easily be talked about and worked out.

Sinking into the plush of the chair’s cushion, you grab the book and turn to the page you left off on the previous day, channeling your attention into the world the author carefully built. Before you’re able to settle in too deep, a knock on the door pulls you out of your semi-blissful state. You close the book with your bookmark hardly inside, tossing it on the chair as you get up and creep over to the door.

Adjusting your robe over yourself and fixing your hair briefly in the mirror by the door, you open it to find Eddie and Christopher standing bundled up, your son’s face beaming as he runs up to you. You decide to not make a comment on the lack of Shirley’s presence, silently thanking whatever god that might be out there that it was just Eddie and your son.

“Hey buddy! How was your weekend at Daddy’s apartment?” You ask him, wrapping your arms around his small body.

“It was fun! Dad took me to get a couple games for my new Gameboy and let me play his guitar! And then we went to the park today and got some hot chocolate!” He exclaims, his smile stretching from ear to ear. You give him a smile before looking up at Eddie with a surprised face. For someone so upset about the Gameboy just days ago, he sure was quick to give into the idea.

“That sounds like a fun time buddy, I’m glad you two enjoyed yourselves,” you respond back, rubbing his back.

There's a thick silence in the air for a moment, exchanging brief glances with Eddie and turning back to your son who was pretty confused as well. You pull him in for another hug and Chris lets out a giggle as you do.

“Hey bud, why don’t you go upstairs for a few? I want to talk with Mommy alone before I head out,” Eddie suggests, putting his hand on your son’s head and messing up the little curls he got from his father. He nods and takes his bags upstairs, trotting along until you hear the door close.

You would be lying if you said that Eddie wanting to talk with you didn’t make you a little anxious. Given how happy your son was walking through the door, surely it couldn’t be anything bad right? Maybe this would be the right moment to bring up the research you’d done over the weekend and suggestion family counseling.

“I’m glad you wanted to talk, Eddie. I’ve actually been thinking a lot over the weekend-“

“Is Harrington here?” Eddie questions, looking around for a moment before directing his attention back towards you, his face emotionless and his tone firm, but even.

“Uh, no. Believe it or not he’s not here all the time,” you chuckle out, crossing your arms and leaning against the end of the banister.

“I mean he’s been here almost every single time I drop Chris off, so yeah, I do find that hard to believe actually,” he grumbles out. You shoot him a confused look, not knowing where this jealousy is coming from. It was obvious at the party and it’s stinking up the room now.

“What is your problem with Steve? You know the two of us are friends. Hell, you two are even friends! At least you used to be. Did something happen between you two?” You question him.

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose and starts pacing in place. You can tell whatever is bothering him is big, with his free hand balled into a fist and resting at his side and his eye sort of twitching a little, all signs you’ve picked up on over the years as classic Eddie Munson rage.

“The two of you just seem wayy closer than usual. I know what Harrington is like and it just seems like he’s trying to get in your pants!”

“I’m sorry, are you on a bad trip right now? I mean, I sure hope not since you were driving our son around, but regardless, do you hear yourself? Steve is just a friend who has been helping me with the shit that YOU left me to deal with Eddie! And you out of all people, have no room to be fucking jealous right now,” you bite back, pointing a finger into his chest. He lets out a huff and stares daggers in your eyes, which you don’t waste a second matching his energy.

“Me? You’re blaming this shit on me? You really think this whole thing is my fault?” He questions dramatically, hands moving to his chest as he speaks. You roll your eyes at the idiotic question.

“Because it is your fault! You’re the one who wanted to separate in the first fucking place! And you’re the one who started dating immediately after, so don't talk to me about moving on!” You nearly scream, trying to be a bit quieter than you want to be for Christopher’s sake.

“Hurry up and get to your point then, Y/N,” he tells you, throwing his arms in your direction as if giving you the floor to speak.

“So don’t you find it just a little hypocritical? The fact that YOU are able to break up our family and go date some random girl, but if I show any sort of interest in Steve romantically, it’s a crime against humanity? I mean, c’mon Eddie, it’s ridiculous,” you explain before stalking off into the kitchen with a scoff.

The rage inside you from the months of sadness and torture was bubbling to the surface, annoyance oozing out of your pores at his blatant disrespect for you during your difficult time. You throw the fridge door open and grab a bottle of water, needed some kind of drink to help you cool down, and now with Christopher home, you knew it wasn’t going to be a glass of red.

Closing the fridge, you open the bottle and turn to see Eddie standing at the kitchen entrance with his arms crossed and weight shifted all on one hip. You scoff and all but slam the bottle on the counter.

“What now?” You ask, matching his stance and raising a brow.

“Are you and Steve together? Can you at least stop dodging around the question and answer me that?” He questions. You let out a laugh, complete disbelief taking over you. You match his stance and quirk a brow, waiting from to just say he was pulling your leg, only for his face to remain the same. There is no way he was being serious.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We’re not,” you tell him, shaking your head.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

That tipped you over the edge. The persistence of his questions, pestering you about the issue like a stubborn child, knocked you of the rageful rope you had been teetering on and down to the pit of violence.

“God Eddie, what is with you lately? It’s okay for you to move on but heaven forbid I start talking with someone, it’s wrong, Edward? Why is it okay for you to break up our family, tear my heart to shreds, and behave so recklessly towards our son’s and my emotions? What gives you the fucking right?” You ask, stepping closer with every word you spoke, your hand coming into contact with his cheek with a loud smack once you finish.

You watch his warm brown eyes twist into disbelief for a moment, before softening at your expression. You didn’t realize you were beginning to cry until you felt a tear slip past your cheek, standing up straight and wiping it away quickly. You look at him for a moment, studying his frozen figure as he holds his ring clad hand to his cheek, the soft pale flesh quickly turning pink.

“You can let yourself out,” you tell him, brushing by and exiting the kitchen. You turn the corner and fling yourself up the stairs and into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. You felt your body sliding down your bedroom door, just as you did the day you found out he was seeing Shirley. The day you found out this separation wasn’t some cruel joke, but the harsh reality coming to tell you that your once happy marriage was officially over, and that the love Eddie once had for you was gone.

Eddie’s back straightens as his brain tries to catch up with everything that just happened, now left alone in the kitchen. He looks around for a moment to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and that his wife-ex, just slapped him. His cheek stung, the prickling feeling taking over his face. You had never called him Edward before, it was always Eddie, Eds, or some sweet pet name before the separation. You also have never resulted into any kind of physical violence before when you two would fight, and neither did Eddie. He didn’t want to be like his father.

Opening the freezer door, Eddie grabs a few ice cubes and a paper towel, tossing them in and twisting it into a ball. He winces as the cold hits his face, but is quick to relax and take in the soothing comfort of the dampening sheet. He exits the kitchen in no hurry, his feet dragging along with the rest of his body.

He pauses for a moment when he reaches the door, his hand hanging loosely on the handle. Had he really been so blind during the entire thing to see how upset you were? He knew he could be a bit clueless at times, but it never happened in regards to your actions or feelings, he made sure to always be attentive towards you. At least, he used to be.

Eddie’s head turns towards the stairs, contemplating whether he should go up and apologize for his actions, for acting like a child. You were right, he didn’t get the right to ask you if Steve was dating you, not after he started dating Shirley and initially broke things off. He watches as Christopher’s head slowly appears from behind the wall, a frown resting upon his lips as he sees his father with the paper towel resting on his cheek. Eddie’s eyes go wide at seeing his son, before his own mouth twists into a frown of its own.

He knew Christopher was a curious child, so there was no denying he heard the entire thing play out. How upset his mother was, how much of a dickhead his father was being. The poor boy was too young for any of the shit he was currently going through, which just started reminding Eddie of his own upbringing. How he’d catch his parents going at it in the kitchen of their trailer, with Eddie’s head popping out to see the carnage in real time. Eddie was slowly starting to realize that he was doing the one thing he promised himself he wouldn’t.

The vow he made the day Christopher came into the world, the vow to be the best father to his beautiful baby boy, whose eyes shined bright like his own chocolate orbs. That he wouldn’t be a deadbeat like his own father and would do anything to protect Chris from the harsh realities of the world, and make his childhood a happy one he could look back on and smile about. That vow was bending more and more each passing day as the two of you fought and grew further apart. If he didn’t do something about his actions soon, that vow would snap in half, and no amount of repairs would mend it back together.

Shooting his son a sympathetic smile, he turns his head back towards the door as his hand twists the knob, retreating to Wayne's truck with the heavy sound of the door closing behind him. He knew he fucked up, there was no denying that. Twisting the key in the ignition, the engine roars to life and he slowly backs out of the driveway, taking the drive back to his apartment to think about everything he’s done to you in the past few months.

And how he can make it up to you.

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