Oh oh oh!!! Prompt! !!! Victor and Yuuri celebrateing their cat sons birthday!!! Happy Birthday Yurio!
((I’m kinda late with this, but oh well.))
“What are you doing.” Yuri deadpanned as Victor steered him by the shoulders from the doorway into the apartment when he arrived at noon. He barely had time to kick off his black boots before he was forced onto the couch by a rather large, exuberant poodle.
“Nothing, nothing,” Victor dismissed, grinning widely at both Yuri and Makkachin.
He dug his fingers into the poodles fur, giving him a bit of affection. “I don’t believe you,” Yuri said slowly as he looked between Victor and where Yuuri was standing in the kitchen. He turned his head to hide the flush that appeared when Yuuri caught his eyes and flashed him a smile.
“Don’t worry, Yurio,” the Japanese man said as he poked at something cooking on the stove. “We just wanted you over to have katusdon with us. Our little birthday present to you.”
Yuri perked up at that. Real katsudon made by Yuuri sounded fantastic. It was months since he’d had any. “Well…” he said, pretending as if he was being put-upon (it was better for his image if he resisted a little), “I guess that’s okay.” He paused. “But you two better not be fucking lovey-dovey around me. I don’t want to see that shit on my birthday,” he made sure to add with a glare directed at Victor.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Yuuri said as he sauntered over. He rested one hand on the back of the couch, the other on Yuri’s arm. “Happy birthday, Yurio.”
“Tch. Whatever.” He pulled Makkachin closer and buried his face in his soft curls so he didn’t have to look at the gentle expressions the other two men gave him.
“I’m almost finished cooking,” Yuuri said as he leaned over and laid a small kiss on Victor’s lips. “Why don’t you get Yurio his real present. There’s no point in keeping him waiting.”
“Wait. What. You said it was just katusdon,” Yuuri complained. He didn’t like being surprised. Not by Yuuri at least.
“I suppose,” Victor sighed and stood up, but there was a glint of something either excited or mischievous is his eyes. Now Yuri was worried. “Close your eyes, Yurio.”
“I’m not closing my fucking eyes,” he said defiantly and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Just do it,” Yuuri laughed as he walked back into the kitchen. “The sooner you do it, the sooner it’s over.”
“It better not be something stupid like a fruit basket,” Yuuri mumbled, but closed his eyes anyway.
There were some hushed whispers from behind him and he desperately wanted to open his eyes.
“I’m not going to do this forever,” he said with a frown.
“Patience,” Yuuri called.
Yuri huffed as Makkachin left his lap. He felt like an idiot sitting on the couch with his eyes closed. But, as strange as it was, he trusted Katsudon enough to do it.
“Okay,” Yuuri’s voice came from beside him, startling him a little, “open them.”
He opened his eyes slowly almost expecting to see some kind of stupid gift like a giant stuffed poodle (although giant stuffed tiger might be okay). But he was not expecting THAT.
“….Otabek?” Yuri said, mouth falling open. It was like a mirage - his friend was standing right in front of him. “What?” He blinked as his brain tried to catch up. Otabek shouldn’t be here right now. He was supposed to be at home in Almaty. That’s where he was last night when they had their Skype call.
“Happy birthday, Yura,” Otabek said, holding his arms out.
Yuri got up off the couch immediately and took the one step forward to throw himself in a hug. “Oh my god,” he said in shock. He was vaguely aware that Victor was recording everything. “How did you-” He tried to ask.
“Yuuri and Victor bought me a plane ticket,” Otabek said as he hugged Yuri tightly.
Yuri refused to let go, but he turned his head to look at Victor. “Really?” He didn’t want to say it was too big of a gift because he was actually so happy, but he knew how much the tickets cost. He had been looking at them for months now.
Victor shrugged. “What’s money to me if I can’t make my family happy,”
“We’re not fucking family,” Yuri protested, but it was half-hearted. He finally pulled away from the hug to smile at Otabek.
“I hope this was okay,” Otabek said with a quirk of his lips.
“Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. It’s fine.” Yuri nodded. “Wait. THAT’s why you didn’t text me today?!” he realized and slapped Otabek’s bicep playfully.
“I was on a plane all morning. Seemed a waste to text ‘happy birthday’ when I could do it in person.”
Yuri bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to stop himself from smiling too much. It wouldn’t do to give away how pleased he was.
“Ah,” Yuuri distracted him, “lunch is ready.” He placed a couple bowls of steaming katsudon on the coffee table by the couch.
Before he could chicken out, Yuri stepped around Otabek and pulled Yuuri into a hug. “You’re a liar,” Yuri hissed when they hugged.
“Mmnn,” Yuuri agreed, slow to return the hug, but responding with a tight squeeze.
“I never though you’d be able to lie convincingly. ‘Just katsudon’ my ass,” Yuri grouched.
Yuuri smiled, but didn’t say anything as they pulled apart. Victor’s love of surprising people must have rubbed off on Katsudon at some point. But if all of his surprises were like this one, then maybe Yuri shouldn’t complain too much.
He grabbed a bowl for both him and Otabek and found a spot on the couch between Victor and his friend. This gift was so much better than a stuffed tiger.
((Happy belated birthday, Yurio. 🎉 (Also, they can be any ages you want, but I was thinking this was a couple years down the road.)))
ITS NOYAS BIRTHDAY B!!!!!!! honestly its so FITTING that noyas bday is 10/10 because he is a solid 10/10 amirite, 10/10 would definitely recommend (ahhaha im rambling BUT IM JUST SO HAPPY!!! I LOVE NOYA!!!!!!)
YOU’RE TOTALLY RIGHT!!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVORITE SON!!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH !!!!
If you are still doing prompts, could you please write something where it is Jily's first time (Lily virgin, James not)? Or an embarrassing morning after story where James snuck into Lily's house, and her parents/Petunia are like why do you have a naked boy in your bed Lily? Thanks
it all starts with a bottle of cream soda (lily’s favourite drink, which she liked to bring up in almost every single conversation with anyone who was ever willing to listen) on lily’s birthday
the scene starts with james, who has been staring at his table for over two hours, tapping his quill in an obnoxious manner that eventually drives sirius crazy
“can you please stop that?” is the first thing sirius asks, glaring over at james who only sighs back in a dramatic response
after another fifty taps sirius throws a cushion, hitting james square in the face and making his glasses slide over his ears
a body wrestle later (which ends in sirius yelling mercy! as his face gets shoved into a frilly pillow) james is finally explaining his dilemma to sirius. the two hover over steaming mugs of tea, james swirling his spoon so dejectedly that sirius wants to immediately call jeremy kyle and book him onto the show
“let me get this straight… it’s lily birthday and you don’t know what to give her? That’s the reason why you’ve been so annoying?”
“What do girls even like?” James complains. “I mean, she likes cream soda. should i just buy her a bunch?”
“you are kidding right?”
“what did you get mary for her birthday?”
the question both amuses and surprises sirius. the boy shuffles a few of euphemia potter’s magazines in faux interest, his fingers dancing on the bright covers. it’s only when james gives him a nudge, followed by a ‘…well?’ that sirius finally relents
“well… i mean. i got her a watch. which she loved and a photo of us… but um the main present… wasn’t exactly a present you could um… yknow.”
james just stares at him, blank
“i err… i gave her the best gift anyone can have.” he tries again. james still just looks confused.
“i wrapped myself in wrapping paper and gave myself to her.”
“jeez james, i mean, god how are you even headboy?… i mean in a metaphorical way.”
that’s how james ends up putting on a muggle suit (it’s technically fleamont’s, but sirius manages to shrink it to fit james’ smaller frame), buying seven bottles of cream soda (to which the cashier gets extremely annoyed that james cannot differentiate a 50p from a 20p, he only ever uses muggle money whenever lily’s with him) and walking to lily’s house as soon as the sun sets.
he knows her house off by heart, which window is hers and which floorboard on the stairs creaks. he grabs a stone and throws it gently at her window, waiting to see if she’s there.
she opens her curtains with a look of confusion, but when she notices who it is she’s smiling, completely elated.
“you could use the front door, you know.”
“my parents and tuney aren’t here.”
lily disappears back into her room and james has to breathe calmly in and out as he waits by the front door.
let’s just say: the cream soda remains in the bags, completely forgotten as dusk becomes night
its james who wakes up first and god, she’s such a sight to behold with her red hair flowing onto her bare shoulders and caressing his nose. he can’t help but smile and when she stirs up slowly he’s embracing her, kissing her all over and serenading her with birthday songs
that is, until there’s a knock at her door, followed by said door opening with a very loud bang!
it’s like the entire neighbourhood has come over. there’s dorcas, mary and marlene, their faces going from YAY to oh in 0.5 seconds, there’s Mrs Murn (resident old, cat lady) who holds a birthday cake in her arms and luckily doesn’t drop it in surprise and Mr and Mrs Evans at the front, wearing ‘birthday girl’ pink sparkly party hats.
james falls off the bed in shock, showing the entire crowd his rather pleasant looking backside before lily throws her entire duvet over him. he’s swearing and apologising profusely as he struggles with the duvet, finally wrapping it over him fully so only his face is on show.
mary’s the only one who doesn’t seem entirely gobsmacked. she grins. “how about we, err, bring the party downstairs and have a nice cup of tea first before the birthday girl can blow out her candles and open her presents?”
james and lily are frozen as the people leave (james avoids mr evan’s eyes and lily in, horror and humiliation, notices how Mrs Murn’s gaze lingers on James for a few heavy seconds)
it’s only when mary gives them both a wink and says ‘i don’t think any present can top this’ and ‘be presentable and come down before mr evans has a heart attack!’ before shutting the door that it finally sinks in
they’re both laughing and crying at the same time, their faces completely heated and on fire that it takes them about fifteen minutes to actually get dressed
mr evans is surprisingly okay about the whole ordeal and gives james a rather big slice of birthday cake before patting his shoulder and giving him the ‘if-you-hurt-my-daughter-i-will-skin-you-alive’ glare, followed by the ‘im-glad-we-had-this-chat’ smile
after this james never takes sirius’ advice ever again
It wasn’t the physical
therapy that was the most frustrating.
(Not that it wasn’t at all. Steve
could do it. He could do those things they were asking him to
do. His brain knew them and his body
knew them but it was like running through waist-high water to relay the
messages: slow and heavy and exhausting
and Steve could do it).
It wasn’t the physical
therapy that was the most frustrating. It
was the other things. The things he woke in the night in a cold sweat over:
shivering and nauseous and heart sick.
The things he didn’t remember that plagued him anyway.
It was Bucky’s birthday
today and Steve was nearly six months out of the hospital and onto his long
road to what his doctors were calling his New Normal (Steve hated the
implications. He nodded and smiled every
time they said it anyway.)
So he got up extra early
and made his way to the kitchen. It only
took him ten minutes to get from the bedroom, down the stairs (using the
railing) and into the kitchen. He was
going to make Bucky breakfast. Bucky,
who’d been by his side the whole time, as his cheerleader and shoulder to cry
on and (more than a couple times, Steve was ashamed to say) the outlet for the
frustrations Steve couldn’t keep locked behind his teeth.
He was going to make Bucky
breakfast for his birthday.
Bucky woke to an empty
bed. That wasn’t unusual. Steve –he didn’t remember. He’d lost a month, maybe two, of memory in
the Incident (Bucky couldn’t bring himself to call it anything else. It made his stomach twist to think of those
weeks, when he first learned Steve was MIA and then all the time in the
hospital. He felt cowardly for it,
sometimes, to feel so nauseous about it when Steve had had to live it).
It didn’t seem to matter
that Steve couldn’t remember what happened, or even the time leading up to
it. He had night terrors and vague
flashbacks of something he couldn’t name that sent him into a panic attack
The difference this time
was that Bucky smelled coffee. Swinging
himself up out of bed, he pulled on a sweatshirt (one of Steve’s) and trudged
downstairs with his nose shoved under the neckline (it always smelled like
Steve no matter how many times Bucky washed it).
Coming around the corner
into the kitchen, Bucky stopped short.
Because there was Steve, seated at the table, with a whole breakfast
laid out in front of him – eggs and coffee and bacon and a stack of
“Happy Birthday.” Steve beamed.
Bucky swallowed hard and
made his way over to Steve with tears in his eyes. “You made me breakfast.”
Steve stretched up to
return Bucky’s hug as best he could. “I
thought it would be a nice surprise. I
mean, I have a gift, too,” he gestured towards a small package on the counter,
“but I wanted to make you breakfast, too.”
Bucky leaned in to give
Steve a lingering kiss, morning breath be damned. “Thank you.
This is amazing. You’re amazing.”
Steve tugged Bucky down
into the empty chair next to him. “So’re
you, you know. You haven’t – all this
time, everything that’s changed, and you’re right there no matter what. You deserve this – more than this.”
Bucky tilted his head to
wipe an eye (he was only crying a little)
and he saw- “Are those blueberry chocolate chip pancakes?”
“Like I said, you deserve
Bucky reeled Steve in for
another kiss. “I’ve got you. That’s more than enough for me.”
Steve could barely kiss him back, through his smile. “Happy Birthday, Bucky.”
It's nearly Bucky's 100th birthday! Tell me Sam's going to be all over that (...hard mythical) dick? ;)
“Nearly your birthday,” Sam says one morning, mostly murmuring it into the tangle of Bucky’s hair. Bucky groans. Pushes his face into the pillow as if he’s still half-asleep and trying to ignore Sam. Sam ignores the hint. “What, you don’t wanna remember your birthday? Gonna hit a hundred, kid, that’s worth something.”
“Oh my god,” Bucky groans. “Do you gotta?”
“If you were in England, you’d get a card from the Queen,” Sam continues, cheerfully relentless. “You want a cake? I’ll bake you a cake.”
“I met the Queen, once,” Bucky says, rolling over like he’s giving up on getting any more sleep this morning. Sam’d feel bad, if it weren’t already at least nine; as it is he just drapes one arm over Bucky’s hip, lets himself stroke his fingers down the muscle of Bucky’s thigh.
“You did not,” he says, and Bucky shrugs.
“I fuckin’ did, okay, just ask Steve. I mean, ‘s not like I knew she was the Queen at the time, right. She was nice, though. Real straightforward, you wouldn’t have picked it.”
“So maybe she will send you a birthday card,” Sam teases. Feels Bucky nip at the column of his throat, just the quickest graze of teeth. “I’m serious, baby, what do you want? Cake? A party hat? We could ask SHIELD if they can brew you some kind of super-proof liquor, set you on your ass.”
“Nah,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m good.”
“Aw, come on,” Sam wheedles. “You know my mom’ll want to cook you dinner at least, right?”
“I do love your mama’s cooking,” Bucky admits. Kisses Sam’s throat again, lips soft against Sam’s skin. “It’s just. I dunno. I’m not actually a hundred years old, you know that, right? The last birthday I remember I was all of 27. It just, it feels like-”
“Like what?” Sam asks, when Bucky goes silent and still. Bucky hums under his breath like he’s thinking.
“Feels like I got cheated out of time. Or maybe I cheated, I dunno. Both.”
“Oh,” Sam says. Thinks about it for a few minutes, brushing kisses absently along Bucky’s hairline. “Well, you don’t have to be a hundred, right? How old you want to be, huh? Twenty eight? Thirty? You look like you’re all of thirty, you little shit.”
“Thirty seems reasonable,” Bucky agrees. “Fuck it, why not. A hundred, shit, I don’t even have any gray hairs yet.”
“Well,” Sam says, “I got news for you on that front, Barnes,” and feels Bucky freeze up as if he’s shocked. “Yeah, you haven’t noticed? A streak of them, right here. You’re gonna look older than me in no time, that’s just how it goes.”
“Goddamn,” Bucky laughs. “Well, you better get on with fucking me before I wither up, sweetheart.”
“Oh,” Sam growls, “I better, huh?” and pushes Bucky flat on his back, watches him go sweet and breathless and beautiful. It’s like I got cheated out of time, he thinks again of Bucky saying, and thinks, yeah, maybe he did, maybe he got years and years stolen from him, but this future, it’s theirs for the having.
Here’s to new friendships, new promises, new beginnings. Here’s to college life and living away from home for the first time. Here’s to new subjects and new challenges. Here’s to another heartbreak and another one after that. Here’s to drunk nights spent in the club and the nights spent playing card games with tea to keep you warm. Here’s to that one person who has stayed by you all this while, and here’s to that one person who still crosses your mind everyday. Here’s to first jobs and first paychecks. Here’s to horrible bosses we love to curse. Here’s to road trips and shopping sprees; here’s to expensive wines, cheap beer and street foods. Here’s to new relationships and relationships that couldn’t last. Here’s to first apartments and mounds of bills to pay. Here’s to leaving some dreams behind and here’s to finding new ones. Here’s to exploring new places and here’s to living life like we’ve never known before.
This time, it will be about celebrating ourselves, about embracing our beauty, accepting ourselves as flawed as we are because we’ll never be as young as we are now.
Whenever I see a selfie of you your eyebrows are the first thing that catch my attention and it's stunning, I love it and I'm glad you draw characters with big eyebrows too
(I was about to sketch myself in a yearly age crisis, but this is an perfect excuse to skip that and post selfies)
Let’s celebrate my brows today, which I once shaved off from my life. I think our relationship is somewhat okay now.
But omg, thank you. I should probably research how to actually make those caterpillars look better, but I’m glad you find them interesting as they are..!
As for art, I usually admire well stylized eyebrows and noses. Eyebrows are so expressive, so I try to have my character have different kind of ones despite my own personal preferences (thick and angular).
With the new game just around the corner, I’m sure people will agree that the first 3 games will always have a special place in their hearts. I’m one of those types will likely replay/revisit them when the mood strikes. So lets always remember them as we ready ourselves for a new adventure.
(you’re going to get more presents, babe, I just need to get out of this writing funk I’ve been in lately)
Post ACOWAR; established nessian. It’s Nesta’s birthday and Cassian has been strangely MIA.
It’s been 12 hours since Cassian locked himself in their bedroom and Nesta still has no idea why.
It’s bugging her to not know. Especially since she was unceremoniously kicked out of their bed last night and had to resign herself to sleeping on the settee for no apparent reason other than Cassian possibly losing his mind.
While her knowledge of Fae traditions might still be a tad vague, Nesta’s pretty sure it’s no way to treat a lady on the eve of her birthday. By now, Cassian has learned not to make a fuss out of any special occasions - spotlight is not something she feels comfortable under. She did expect to be treated to a birthday breakfast though - Cassian’s pancakes taste like no one else’s, with fluffy texture melting on her tongue in an explosion of flavours.
And it has become somewhat of a birthday tradition - one that, Nesta feels, should not be abandoned under any circumstances.
But as her stubborn bat insisted on staying locked in the bedroom and tightlipped about his reasons for the duration of the morning, with Nesta growing more hungry and even more grumpy, she knew some tough choices needed to be made.
She’s decided to cook the breakfast herself.
After all, she’s watched Cassian making pancakes many times.
How hard can it be?
Half an hour later, Cassian emerges from the bedroom.
Nesta’s not sure whether he finally finished whatever he was doing there or if it’s the smoke and smell of burned batter spreading through the house that lured him out.
“Sweetheart!” There’s a slight quiver in Cassian’s voice as he blasts through the kitchen door and stops in his tracks, curiously taking in the state of the room. “Did you try cooking again? It smells funny in here.”
“I - “
“Never mind,” he cuts in before she has a chance to respond, “would you kindly accompany me to our bedroom?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes as he bows before her, extending his hand for her.
For a second, Nesta ponders whether she should just go with it or push for an explanation. In the end, curiosity wins and she takes Cassian’s hand, twining her fingers with his. “I hope it’s not some cheap shot at seduction. Sweetheart.” Her dry tone only makes his smile wider.
“Come on, Nes, we both know you like all my cheap tricks.”
“I do not - “ The words get stuck in her throat as they reach the bedroom.
She almost doesn’t recognize the room. All her books are neatly stacked in the middle, instead of being piling up on whatever flat surface is available. And the walls -
The whole two walls are covered in beautifully carved shelves made of dark crimson wood. They look amazing - arranged with precision and visible but not overwhelming.
Well…overwhelming but in the best way. Nesta imagines them filled with books and the image is breathtaking.
“Do you like it?” Cassian’s whisper brushes her ear.
As she turns to him, she’s surprised to see a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes. The urge to soothe his doubt is like a burning need inside of her.
She has never received a more considerate gift.
Standing on her tiptoes, she leans into her crook of his neck and whispers back, “I love it.”
As Cassian lets out a small sigh of relief, she seals her mouth over his. Dragging her hands down the path of his spine, she reaches the hem of his shirt and slips them underneath, desperate to feel more of his skin. Her lips brush against his, exploring, searching, caressing; bit by little bit. Nesta sets a leisurely pace, with her tongue slowly slipping inside Cassian’s mouth while her hands draw tender circles on his lower back.
It feels like her body swells with emotion and she trying to put as much of it as she can into the kiss. To convey with action what she could never possibly tell Cassian with her words.
I love it.
You make me smile even when it’s not easy.
You know me.
I. Love. You.
It’s getting breathless and frantic, the way their lips move, while Nesta’s hands trail over Cassian’s skin. Rubbing and stroking, she relishes in the feel of his warm skin beneath her fingertips.
Cassian molds his body closer against her, his scent that invades her nostrils making her dizzy with need. Her touch becomes more firm as she presses her fingers into that one soft spot on his lower back, which makes him moan into her mouth.
Hungry for more, she does it again and this time, Cassian groans out loud, breaking the kiss.
Their breath mingles as they stand flash against one another. A smile spreads over Nesta’s face when Cassian playfully nudges her nose with his.
Who knew - this birthday might turn out amazing after all.
She’s still going to make Cassian cook her those pancakes though.