#April writes

[drmellking]

more than everything in-between

buck/eddie | teen and up | 2.7k words

“Buck told you we were divorced?” Eddie practically spits out, his lips doing a weird thing as if he doesn't know if he should laugh, cry, or curse her out. “No! Well— I kinda assumed? I mean— It was implicit?” She tries to defend herself. “I didn't mean to sleep with your husband! I swear! I would never— That's just not the kind of person I am, y’know?” Eddie, for the first time since Jules’ met him five minutes ago, seems flustered and at a loss for words. Jules, like the coward she is, takes that as her cue to get the hell out of there, slamming the door behind her and just starting to walk until she's far away from that house. or: Buck's one night stand is a genius, actually, and she has no idea what she just unleashed.

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[kentocalls]

gojo satoru | from a dream pg13, sad (angst lite) fluff, 2.6k summary: gojo satoru isekai’d into your satoru

It’s warm, his senses inform him. Warmer than usual for his afternoon solo nap on his luxury sofa. He twists, a heavy weight moves with him, on his chest.  Alarm doesn’t course through him, knowing his Infinity wouldn’t allow a harmful presence to get this close to him.  His hands have fallen victim to this presence, barely trapped underneath – whatever – it is. There’s a shuffling, a…humanoid shape on top of him? This person, he realizes, is snuggling closer, a cheek and nose nuzzles into his collarbones, a soft hum of “Satoru, cold.”   His fingers twitch, some part of his brain supplying blankets within reach, he pulls the  fabric around you, unclear what is happening. You  lay in dreamland, sleeping so soundly on his chest.  Not a threat, it would seem. He takes the moment to back track because what is this? What kind of illusion? It’s impossible for him to be trapped in a Domain like this?  But why would a curse want to���snuggle him? It’s odd. He can’t even sense cursed energy from you, from the immediate space, from anything really.  His hands tentatively fall to your form, fingers brushing fabric and exposed skin and you offer up even more softness. There doesn’t seem to be a talisman or spell on you, hiding your energy, keeping him plastered into this sofa. He pauses when you shuffle, pushing yourself further into him. Legs happily tangled, and even there, he notes, there’s warmth.  How does he disarm a Domain like this? There’s a ding! He tenses. As if summoned, your head pops up, eyes big, bright, meeting his baby blues with a smile, “They’re ready!”  He feels his hands clench, is it now? Whatever this sinister plan of yours is, hidden in the scent of chocolate and butter? It’s frustrating how the cold invades the space that was occupied by your form, it’s all adding up now, you’re going to do it. Use your energy and attack. He waits and waits, but it never comes. Confused as he sits up, uncharacteristically silent, the floor feels real. The sofa feels too sunken in to be false, a curse can’t create this as imitation. There’s a tv playing a show or movie, he can’t tell, soft trinkets scattering the console it’s perched on. And photos .  Homely, cozy, s…safe?  Where the hell is he? “Satoru, where’d you put the oven mit?” Using his first name, talking like you know him, what a minx of a curse you are. Drawers are being open and closed, he waits for a sinister fog to overtake him, instead the melody of your humming, as you explore the kitchen. The timer gets another ding! He stands, his body feels softer, hands going to his abs, he has them but also, insulation? His arms aren’t as defined, and what is he wearing?

An off brand tshirt and grey sweatpants? What the hell are these Cinnamoroll socks? And bangs in his eyes? His hair is soft and down?  Wasn’t he in his uniform, where’s his bandana, his eyes can’t be exposed to light like this for too long least he get a migraine–you, you’ve done something.  Pads into the kitchen cautiously, catches you removing the tray of cookies and placing them on top of the stove. “Soon as the timer goes off we can have one…although the chocolate looks so melty…” your hand reaches for one, Satoru knows it’s terribly hot and not a good idea, but what’s a curse coming up with such a domestic scene? Why with Satoru? He was at the high school right? Napping on his sofa– A gentle touch and tug at the top of his head, his eyes find you close. Too close, closer than Infinity should ever allow. His hands come to your hips, wanting to put distance between you two, instead steadying your form as you whisk away the cowlick’s in his hair,  moving long bangs away from his eyes. “There you are.” No. He’s not…there’s no reason for you to be looking at him with such soft eyes. This has to be a Domain, you have to be a curse. Why is your skin so human? Half a very warm, perfectly melted chocolate chip cookie is brought to his lips, “I won’t tell anyone.”  The gleam in your eyes a tad mischievous, a bit secretive, all too adoring. He takes a bite, too real to be fake, but what? Did you put poison in this? It’s all too real to be just a dream. Maybe his unconscious has finally caught up to him, maybe sleeping only four hours a day has backfired, maybe – “Satoru?” How do you say his name with such fondness? Like a delicacy. "You feeling okay?” "I’m…confused."  Honest, transparent, hopeful.  It’s stupid, to think a curse would be this docile and kind towards him, and yet, he doesn’t wager his skepticism as reason enough to lie to you. "Naps do that Satoru, I told you.” You’re pouting, putting your arms around his waist, pulling him in. Like a wave crashing to shore, his form greets your warmth again.  His hands around you, bodies sinking towards another, tender, natural. “It’s Saturday, we’re baking for Yuji’s recital, please tell me you charged the camcorder?” Camcorder? Aren’t smartphones enough? How old are you?  “ Kento insisted on it. You told me you kept one from your college days.” College?  “You’re gonna show me your rugby games later, remember?”  “Rugby?”  He sees you narrow your eyes, this is it, he expects the Domain to show it’s real form now, shift into darkness and danger instead, you pull his cheek. You pull his cheek. Gojo Satoru, The Strongest, getting his cheek pulled by someone…shorter than him. “Mr. Strongest Rugby Star, are you a liar Gojo Satoru?” Probably, maybe, but, why is he finding himself blushing? Grinning? “The Strongest doesn’t need to lie.” It’s playful, that eye roll and huff, the crossing of your arms. He doesn’t want to leave the feeling of your arms around him, pulls your hands back on his waist, hold him for a second closer.  So that he’s close enough to disarm your Domain, afterall. Not like he’s succumbed to whatever this Domain is? Whatever, it feels good, domestic, nice.  “Well The Strongest needs to find the camcorder so we can record our god-son Yuji in his first play.” Our? God-Son? Yuji?  Was Satoru fighting a curse with Yuji? Wasn’t he napping in his office? His brows furrow, he notes your head tilt, “Satoru? Baby are you feeling okay?”  

Your hand in his hair might certainly cure anything, wait, wait. That’s not true, you don’t even have RCT!  You don’t have cursed energy, what the hell?! Satoru snaps away, taking in the rest of the apartment. There has to be a loophole, an opening, a miss, no curse can be that human. There has to be a way out of this Domain. "Ry��iki Tenkai–” "What?” Nothing happens. Satoru looks at his fingers, he doesn’t have cursed energy either? He pulls your hands into an odd symbol, your hands lost in the cave he makes for a second before your middle finger is wrapped behind your index finger, “Say Ryōiki Tenkai.” “Satoru?....Ryōiki Tenkai?” He shakes his head, “No, with more confidence.” “Ryōiki Tenkai.”  You shake your hand a little, smiling up at him, it’s…cute. “Of course if this is already your Domain…and it depletes my cursed energy, there must be a seal I need to break…” mumbling to himself, you do that head tilt again, biting your lip, hand easily finding his cheek. “You okay Satoru?”

At his grin your frown only deepens.  He’s off. Maybe he got lost in one of his documentaries about physics and space, maybe it was something he read, you’re not too sure. Your Satoru tends to go all in once his attention is turned on.  You sigh. “Mmm… I don’t buy it but we need to get going. Where’d you put Yuji’s gift?” He makes a face, “Why would Yuji need a gift?” You shake your head, “I think it was in the closet right?  You hid it when you babysat him last time.” “I don’t babysit anymore…” Perhaps he can irritate you into loosening up your Domain.  You’re an odd curse, all life-like, all human.  It’s an interesting form you’ve taken on, someone cute, someone Satoru would chicken out of talking to. He can’t involve others in the life he leads.  Is that your Domain? Showing him something he’s stuffed away into the bottom of his heart? Meanwhile you’re taking his eccentricity for a conversation later. Lack of sleep? Lack of food? Lack of light, you turn on your heels that pauses his movements, he seems to brace himself – still with that odd grin. “When was the last time you showered?” Satoru lifts his arm to smell himself, “I smell clean.”   It’s not his usual cologne or deodorant combination but it’s nice, softer.  You lean in to smell him too, “You used my perfume again.” He? Again?  No, this is the first time he’s been trapped into your Domain– he’s not your partner, boyfriend, anything–stop! He’s getting pulled further and further into this story.  Damn, you’re a tricky curse aren’t you? All that gentleness is a facade to hide the disdain and violence, “I…can…” He looks up to find you dangerously tip-toeing on top of a very, very, not made to be stood on like that office chair, you’re gonna–shit!  Falling right into his arms, a carefully wrapped gift lands on your chest. “My hero!” Don’t…don’t …he wants to tell himself, but a part of him does give into that expansion in the middle of his chest, spreading a soft hue of pink across his face. “I told you, I’m The Strongest.”   Faster than he can plan for, your lips brush his cheek, “Why thank you Mr. Strongest Satoru, can you please use this strength to pack up the cookies for Yuji? I gotta change.”  He places you back onto the floor, you turn around quickly again, he tenses a little less this time, “ You have to change too.”

“Alright, alright.”  This feels nice.  He’s not sure what the motive of your Domain is but regardless, it feels nice. Maybe if he plays along it’ll end. Whatever this…perfect life seems to be.  Your Domain is so good though, his eyes trace the photos framed on the walls. Moments of a…fake life? Between you and Satoru. A graduation, a birthday, a trip to a lake…baby Yuji? Nanami’s a dad ?   There’s even a photo of this baby Yuji with a baby Megumi and Nobara too. How intricate is this Domain? What kind of curse knows his students and Nanami? His eyes search for more photos of you, only painting a picture of a totally normal human. Not a sorcerer, not a window, not…anything Jujutsu related. And his photos too, why’s he wearing hoodies in all of these? Why’s his hair soft and down, how is he smiling so brightly?  Why the fuck is Suguru alive? “He’s coming too, he’s bringing the companion gift to go with ours. Hurry, go change.”  You again, this can’t be…this can’t be. Don’t look at him like that, don’t bring him a change of clothing, don’t. He starts walking backwards, searching, trying to source where the fuck your cursed energy is but there’s nothing for miles and miles just the sound of traffic and an ambulance. “Where the fuck am I?” “Home…Satoru?”  Your voice quiet, smaller, your eyes showing very human emotion, face riddled with concern. This can’t be real, this can’t be real. Gojo Satoru is The Strongest, he’s a sorcerer, he needs to be out exorcising curses not here in some domestic bliss watching television and baking cookies.

He’s not some physics professor.  He flinches away from your touch, your vixen softness, get away from him. “You’re not…Satoru this joke isn’t funny please stop now.” He walks backwards, and backwards, until he trips on a leftover lego car and lands with the biggest thud.  His head feels heavy, he feels your soft hands on his face again, nails accidentally scratching his chin, voice full of emotion, concern, love? Why would a curse love him? “Baby, Satoru are you okay?” Don’t call him that. Don’t make his heart feel like that. As his eyes close, “Satoru?” “Satoru? “Satoru?”

💎

Gojo Satoru wakes up in his office, the luxury sofa stiff under him.  He sits up, eyes immediately searching for any curse energy, anything reminiscent of your shape, your form, your gentle smile.  “Finally, you back to reality now?” Principal Yaga, “I don’t know what kind of joke that was, don’t do it again.” He sits awake, the air lacking any scent of joy.  “We got a lead on the cursed object…” What the hell was that? 💎

He startles awake, hands over his head, pleading, “No, no, stop coming near me!”  Tumbles through the hodge podge of blankets toppled on top of him, bangs his knee into the coffee table, knocking his lesson notes and laptop to the ground.  “I’m….I’m back…?” A ding sounds through the apartment, he hears footsteps, knows those footsteps, blocks your path to the oven as he encases you in a koala grip hug. “Oh my god, you’re…you…” Kisses the top of your head, fighting all your protests to push away from him and get to the chocolate chip cookies, “Satoru, we are not eating burnt cookies. Move.” “No!” “Gojo Satoru off!”  He only tightens his hold. “No, no, no!” He just woke up from a terrible dream, a ridiculous no good, no happy ending, lonely dream.  He looked hot though. But when is he not hot? “Okay, okay, Gojo Satoru The Strongest, please, let me get to the cookies?” Your hands on his waist as you squeeze his hips. The Strongest? How do you know about that? He pulls you back, hands on your shoulders, leaning down,  those beautiful baby blues searching your eyes, you’re really, you right? You’re really his–”Baby, are you sure your head is okay?”  That soft hand to his cheek, that familiar scent. "I woke up from a bad dream.”  You squeeze his cheek, “Let’s talk about it okay? But the cookies..”  He narrates it, waking up in an empty office, a man, Principal Yana or something, forcing him into a car with a nervous businessman. Then a volcano head attacked him, “Like straight up, Mt. Fuji and all the fire just, fwoosh.”  His fingers make waves above the tuft of his soft platinum locks. "I called your number over and over and it didn’t work.”  That…warms your heart. “You woke up in a dream and looked for me?” He looks at you funny, like you’ve stated the sky is purple, that he stayed in the band with Suguru and they’re touring Australia right now –”Why wouldn’t I look for you?” 

Satoru, pulling you into his lap, pushes his face into the crook of your neck, “They wanted me to fight monsters and I wanted to be here with you. I had abs though.” "You still have abs, Satoru.” Your hand pulls a cookie from the plate, bringing it to his lips, “you know what I mean.” He mumbles while taking a bite. “I was like jacked. I wore this thing on my eyes but I could see everything, I could see like – like –  energy particles, shit I should’ve researched if–”  you grin. He’s falling into his usual auditory processing habit. Enthusiastic about anything physics, the universe, energy particles and atoms and just that look he gets. When he talks about his passions, the way his eyes light up, the way his mind is catching up to his speech, his whole body getting involved in the monologue, pulling you up, “Wait, I gotta write this down.” Refuses to put you down, takes you into the makeshift office and pulls out a dry erase, “They kept calling it Infinity? The force field around me, and then there was this…Ryo…bankai, thing–but babe, it doesn’t make sense, how could one human concentrate–” There he is. Your Satoru.

[aprillikesthings]

in the beds room. straight up "wroting it". and by "it", haha, well. let's just say. My fanfics.

[drjemmanugent]

NEW FIC ALERT: i'll see your true colors

author: drjemmanugent (april) platform: ao3 posted on: 13 september 2024 fandom: bridgerton pairing: penelope/colin (polin) rating: E status: completed chapters: 3/3 summary: “Why did you not tell me?”   Penelope’s heart tenses in quick defense but she promptly realizes his tone isn’t accusatory or pointed, but rather even toned. It’s a vague question, one she wasn’t expecting out of his mouth tonight, but one she had expected to receive again for some time, at least since the night before their wedding.  – or, the one which, in the aftermath of the Season’s events, Colin and Penelope have a long overdue conversation about their past.

STORY PREVIEW UNDER THE BREAK

" Even though her cousin’s husband is a gentleman stepping up in his brother’s stead, Penelope knew Marina’s true heart was too traipsed on after the loss of her true love and Whistledown’s —Penelope’s— denouncement unto the Ton to find love again so soon. Penelope had often hoped there would ever be room in her relationship with Sir Philip for the love Marina deserved, admittedly in a selfishly feeble attempt to assuage her own part in Marina’s outcome.    Such admittance is what drove Penelope, when she revealed herself as Whistledown in her letters to the Queen and Lady Bridgerton, to also send a letter to Marina explaining everything she could, expecting Whistledown’s imminent demise. She had to explain her part in the mess, at least for some sense of resolution, should everything fall to ruin.     Penelope hasn’t received her reply, and by this point, she isn’t sure she ever will. Not that she blames her cousin; Penelope had caused her unpardonable harm, no matter how well intentioned she wished the outcome to have been, for her andfor Colin.     She had planned to tell Colin of her letter, but after the flurry of events at the end of the season, she realizes now she never in fact did. Once again, her intentions did not come to fruition as they should. Now that she’s recalled her letter to her cousin, she decides to bare out her actions.    “So, you have been in communication recently?” Penelope asks, glancing down at her fingers, trying to piece his words together.    “No, I have not written to the Crane residence since….” Colin reviewed the postmark on one of Sir Philip’s notes, “late last summer, before my trip.”   “I have.” Penelope says quietly.   

[aprilslippedaway]

why is my brain trauma dumping on me as I’m seconds away from falling asleep. now I’m suddenly very awake, and also Not Happy.

[labelleizzy]

[mournfulroses]

Anne Truitt, from a diary entry featured in Daybook: The Journal of an Artist

[aprillikesthings]

Me: would a teenager in the suburban midwest use the word "mod" to describe something fashionable in uhhhh late August of 1965

Seventeen magazine: yes

August 1965. 'It all started in London... and now White Stag's brought it home! It's saucy modness, perfect in crispy corduroy shifts, jackets, skirts and pants.'

[drmellking]

gonna save me, call me baby

buck/eddie | explicit | one shot | 14.5k words |

“Sorry again, uh, Doctor Diaz.” He says and reaches a hand out to shake it with the man's. “I'm Buck. Evan Buckley, but everyone calls me Buck.” “Eddie. And oh, I thought—” The doctor raises his eyebrows so high that they almost reach his hairline, gaze flicking to Maddie and then back to Buck. “Sorry. You must be the husband.” “God, no!” “Gross.” Both Maddie and Buck say at the same time, making identical, disgusted faces. or; Eddie is Maddie's OB. And Buck is smitten.

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[kentocalls]

miya osamu | simple, honest 3.5k of second chance romance, chef!osamu, written for the hq x reader secret santa event hosted by the lovely @lale-txt. and written for lale ♡ divider by the lovely @nectardaddy

The second time you fall in love with Miya Osamu. And third.

Osamu can remember the moment he fell in love and his feelings shifted. Not love at first sight, like in the movies, but there were plenty of firsts to make up for that after.

Even after all these years he can remember the exact second you had turned around in class,  something you had done many times, nothing out of the ordinary.   A last minute study group, a collection of stressed minds, Osamu’s body tired after practice, Atsumu complaining next to him, the endless drawl of equations and numbers. Useless, pointless things.

And it was your voice, eyes meeting his,  “Osamu, can I borrow a pencil?”

Not pausing to assess which twin he was, not darting your eyes up to look at his hair, none of that.

The confidence in which you knew it was him.

That moment.

Lit a flame and launched fireworks in his heart. What followed is a collection of moments he remembered with you by his side. And suddenly, that collection stopped.  Why’d it stop?

When he sees you across the street, he wonders, did he ever stop feeling that way?  Because if feelings can be turned off like that, Osamu is sure he’s broken.  Not that he’d fix it, not that he’d change the way his heart eases a bit seeing you.

And when your eyes meet his, that same confidence all those years ago, causes your hand to wave at him.

Before you even realize it, before you even register what you’re doing. Osamu had lifted his hand back, praying you take his smile is as soft, disarming. That you haven’t done anything wrong, it’s been months since you’ve last crossed paths. It’s genuine, that excitement you have to see him, and he’s pleased to see you too.

A man that blocks you from his path, Osamu’s eyes filter to the group around you.

Ages mixed, state of dress a bit formal, a work dinner, he assesses.  He feels his chest fill with pride, you’re being social. These things stress you out, but there you are. You even arrived early it seems; as more and more people join and suddenly you’re tucked into the restaurant.  That smile doesn’t fade from Osamu, delighted to know, you keep trying, challenging yourself.

✦

It can’t be him.

As much as you plead with your mind, your colleagues start up about the menu, about holiday plans. Easy banter, you’ve practice a few non-answers to reply with.  This isn’t a comfortable setting, perhaps it’s okay that you saw Osamu outside.  Your mind is more occupied with him than overthinking social interactions with people who seem to like you.

You’re seated next to a …group date?  It seems like it, the girl seated next to you gives a soft smile seems when she slides in. Maybe a bit nervous, the way she’s adjusting her bangs, checking her reflection in a handheld mirror.   Your eyes looks at her dainty nails, her pretty dress shirt, back at your own attire. And your colleagues. It seems they dressed up too and your apparel is a bit plain in comparison. 

Well, that started early. The comparison gremlin.

Drown it.

You sip a glass of water, the empty seat in front of being taken by handsome, tall—Osamu!?  You choke and the water you’re drinking exits your nose, it gets everywhere. 

It burns. 

✦

He didn’t mean to, he assumed the table reserved for his staff would take up the whole row.  So lost in thoughts of you, he hadn’t bothered to look where he was sitting. Missed his own table by one seat; had you coughing and spitting and spiraling towards something he knows you don’t want anyone to see.  “Excuse us.”

Hands on your shoulders, lifting you up, steering you steady and strong.

Ushers you into the single bathroom, harsh paper towels in his hands that dab gently at your face, “Hey, you’re okay. No one saw that.”

“Every…” a cough, “saw that.”  What a terrible liar he’s always been.

He bites his tongue, “I know, but it wasn’t that…hey, eyes on me please, keep breathing, in an out, good.”  You mimic his breathing pattern. If you close your eyes and focus on his voice, it’d feel like old times, the multiple occasions Osamu has walked you through a frenzy.  “Easy, there you are…”

He wipes at your nose, it’s embarrassing, it should be, but he doesn’t bat an eye.  “I’m okay you can…go back.”

“My staff seen my mug ‘nough.”

So not a group date. Small talk. Come on. You have it in you, say something to him, anything, get him to stop looking at you with those eyes,  “Oh.”

He grins anyways, “We hit 200k ticket this year.”

“Osamu that’s amazing.”

He shrugs, you weren’t there for 75,000 of them.

“Stop, it’s amazing and you know that.”  There he goes again, acting mature and responsible, warding off the praise for long nights and early mornings. You still remember his furrowed gaze, no one has looked at rice with such scrutiny at four in the morning. But, no.

Abort that thought.

You go to wash your hands because you’re in a bathroom.

Osamu watches, he has so many questions.

Are you sleeping better?   He still has that pillow you had ordered, you never came to grab it. Are you eating enough these days?  He has so many reels to send to you, so many recipes he wants to feed you. Are you happy?

He catches you scrunch your nose in the mirror, knows the unconscious gesture, that water must’ve gotten deep, you’re gonna get sick. Or at least, irritated nasal passages leading to congestion and given that winter has come, chances of an illness are high. But he doesn’t say anything, lets you leave the bathroom first, follows after five minutes.

His staff doesn’t ask him about you, and your colleagues look at him but don’t ask you a thing. He feels himself exhale in relief. When colleagues go outside to wait for your ride home with you. That when they return, your incident never crosses their lips. Good, this is a better work place for you. Even if they made you socialize on a Friday night.

✦

There’s a box with soup outside your door the following morning. A text message from a number your new phone hasn’t ported over but it’s hard to erase those digits from memory.

🍙: Your food has been delivered. For the best experience, we recommend eating immediately.

We? You think to yourself, curious if this is a new service Osamu has started.  You should say thanks, text him back like a normal person.  But a sneeze has you dropping your phone. After, you bargain, you’ll text him back after.

The next Saturday, it’s a box of your favorite noodles and experimental onigiri, his hand writing is as messy as ever, you give up trying to figure out what ingredient it is. The text also comes in.

🍙: Your food has been delivered. For the best experience, we recommend eating immediately. Rate our new Onigiri flavor on a scale of Delicious to Scrumptious.

That boy…

🌼: Where does delectable fall on this scale?

✦

It feels easy, texting Osamu again.  You were friends before your gaze had lingered a bit too long on his lips and turned your relationship sweeter.  You were friends before he became the person you’d turn to first person, you were friends. You were friends.

You were friends and then you were more.

You were more and then you weren’t.

And now, where does this fall?

✦

🍙: Your food has been delivered, if you like please thumbs up, comment, and subscribe. 🌼: 👍🏼

✦

🍙: Your food has been delivered, we recommend placing in the freezer asap.  Like yesterday. 🌼: There are ants everywhere Osamu.

✦

🍙: We’re running a contest for the best meal. Vote here. 🍙: If you vote for option B, I’ll name it after you. 🌼: None of these are desserts.

✦

🌼: I will need to pause my food delivery, I will be out of town this weekend. 🍙: Your food go unfulfilled, left to waste on forgotten countertops. 🌼: I’ll stop by when I get back, still open til 7? 🍙: Yup, see you then.

He wanted to say, “For you, always.” But Osamu’s happy to be allowed into your world again, even if it’s just about the meals he’s been sending or what the restaurant is up to.  He’ll take anything you feel safe giving him. Even it’s more than acquaintances and less then friends. Even if it means dancing around everything he’s been feeling.

Why did it stop?

When he scrolls up the message history he doesn’t see a clear reason. His messages became less and less frequent, then yours, and then things faded.   A plethora of good memories and Osamu can’t find where things got to the point where you not being in his life felt like a sane and rational decision.

What kind of idiot was the him months ago?  Well, he isn’t going to be that same kind of idiot now.   Despite knowing better, he risks sending another message.

🍙: Good luck on your trip, and I still remember snickerdoodle, so any time, okay? 🌼: Thanks, Osamu.

Snickerdoodle was your shared code word with Osamu for ‘everything is overwhelming please come find me.’  You’re not surprised he remembered. You were friends with Osamu before the relationship started, whether you wanted to or not, you’ve shared your ugly sides with each other, that included knowing when the other was overwhelmed. 

Osamu was always a little better at reading you than you could read him though.   Ah, whatever right? He’s always been a stand up kind of guy. This is…part of the course for being friends with him.

✦

🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: Thanks again, I will protect this charm with my life. 🌼: It’s supposed to protect you, ward off the negative vibes

✦

🍙: Don’t forget an umbrella, its supposed to rain. 🌼: Thanks, Osamu.

✦

🍙: Hypothetically, if we added a dessert to our menu, what would complement our offerings. There is 1 wrong answer here. 🌼: Hypothetically 🌼: Cinnamon rolls

✦

🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: Dine-in Special, if you snag this seat, the Chef will dance for you. 🌼: How’s Friday? 🍙: The Chef will use all week to practice.

✦

🍙: [Link Sent] 🍙: Is this the cinnamon roll recipe of your dreams? 🌼: It uses Stevia? Osamu, this cannot…be anybodies dream 🌼: Don’t you dare put this in my box

✦

🍙: On a scale from scrumptious to sensational, ‘never bake again’ is not a valid response. 🌼: Send me something with Stevia again and see what happens 🌼: Don’t you dare say ‘bet’

✦

🌼: Hypothetically, if I promised you a crepe, and if you were on the corner of 3rd and 8th, your arms free, would you carry a really heavy box for me? 🍙: Hypothetically 🌼: Hypothetically 🍙: Do I get to pick the flavor? 🌼: Maybe

He smiles at everyone he texts, you tell yourself as you watch him read your message.

Osamu looks up from where he was had stopped at the corner, eyes darting around, that relaxed look on his face when his eyes finally land on you? That look isn’t for everyone, that’s just for you.

Your hand going up automatically, a soft wave, the smile accompanying it makes sense.   

He doesn’t look winded at all, lifting the extra large, extra heavy, flour bags on his shoulders. “Where to?” He doesn’t look winded taking them up four flights of stairs either. 

✦

🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: hey, where’s my batch? 🍙: unfair ‘samu get’s all the goods 🍙: i was ur friend first 🍙: he ate all of them

✦

🍙: ‘samu said he wants chocolate chip cookies 🌼: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: 😱 🌼: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: think ya broke my brother 🍙: his face is stuck like that

✦

🌼: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: Oh my god. 🌼: You have a minute to tell me which one you want. 🍙: Pistachio, no, almond. Wait, Cherry? 🍙: Any. 🍙: You pick.

And he’s only slightly baffled that you show up at Onigiri Miya, uninvited, unannounced but equally greeted with roaring cheer. Two lovely boxes in your hands, “I got all of them.”  His staff secretly rejoicing at the less intense version of their boss and additional treat, when said boss shares.

✦

This soup…does not taste right.  Scratch that, it tastes outright bad.  There’s tangy and there’s whatever this salty mishap is. There’s no text asking you to rate the delivery, you debate sending him a message first but opt to ignore it.

It’s Sunday and there’s another box of food.   This …is odd. You pull out the container, cautiously taking a bite of the interestingly shaped onigiri  and…okay, something is wrong.

🌼: The scrumpt factor is missing. 🌼: I’d like to speak to the manager.

But you get nothing, not after the usual lunch rush, not after the last dinner ticket should be filled.

🌼: Checking in, busy? 🌼: Are you okay? 🌼: Osamu?

You figure you’d go into the restaurant, remind Osamu to charge his damn phone, and walk back to the office. It should all be possible in the hour-ish window you have.  However, it’s like they were expecting you, his staff is busy with the lunch rush and instantly you’re ushered upstairs, “We finally got him to leave the kitchen but…”

“I’m fine.” The door opens, Osamu appears with a mask and unfocused eyes.  “You look terrible.”  His staff watches as you get no glare, no retort, just a mild shrug. “This is my face.” His voice sounds so congested.

Stubborn as ever. You turn to his staff, “I got this.”

He’s only wobbly because he hasn’t had water. He hasn’t had water because he forgot to fill the cup. He didn’t fill the cup because his arms felt heavy. “And you’re arms feel heavy because you’ve got a fever. Osamu you’re sick.”

“Shh, I’m not.” An ill timed sniffle, “just a cold.”

They’re the same thing but you bite your tongue,  continue chopping carrots, it’s a stew you’ve made with Osamu many times before, somehow his fridge is always stocked with exactly the right ingredients for this recipe.  “The pots in—“

Third cabinet next to the sink, the one without shelves because neither one of you got around to adding them. “Sit down.”  You threaten him with a laddle, his laughter turns into a coughing fit and your glare deepens.   That tiny voice that tells you, this is overstepping, this isn’t normal for friends, gets louder and louder as the meal progresses. 

You’ll leave once he’s fed and back in bed.

If you stay to make him supper, it’s only because Osamu had the good onions and you can’t have those going bad.

If you go back the next day, it’s only because Osamu finished everything you made, you couldn’t let your fever-ish friend cook for themselves.

If you go back the day after that, well, it’s simply to make sure Osamu doesn’t over do it.

That’s all.

✦

“Is this seat taken?”  Osamu has just put down an order when he turns to find a teenager and their friend trying to sit in your seat. He looks at his watch, you’re coming in for lunch today, stepping through the restaurant doors any minute, “Yes, it is.”  Osamu puts down an Onigiri Miya hat to keep your seat safe.

It gets harder and harder as the lunch rush picks up but he successfully glares everyone away.

“Osamu!” Your voice breaks through all the chaos, his eyes find yours. You’re walking into the restaurant, rushing past all the noise and people and finding your usual seat. He walks over holding two bowls of food that you haven’t ordered and need to be delivered to table 9.  You’re giving him an update about a colleague when you pause to take in the scene. It’s packed, and Osamu’s missing a staff member.

“Just a sec’ okay?”  He goes to drop off food, a mere thirty seconds and that darn teenager and their friend sit down at your seat. Osamu clicks his tongue, ready to remind these patrons the seat they so comfortable have sat down on, is in fact, taken.

Except it’s you, in an Onigiri Miya hat and apron, taking down their order and writing up a ticket to hand off.

You’ve done this before, in the early days, when it wasn’t as busy. You’re not the best with the hectic rush hour pace, but you’re effective. You’re helping move food along, taking down orders, refilling cups, getting utensils. Mostly, mostly that look is gone from Osamu’s face. His shoulders are relaxed, his voice is back to it’s usual tone, not rushed.

Towards the end of the rush, you’re pulled into his office, a plate of your usual on the desk as he stuffs a spoon into your mouth. Any chance you try to protest, that you need to get back to your own job, he silences with food. You hate how delicious things taste, you’d be here all the time if you could.   He goes out to make some extra boxes for you, “As thanks for today, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

Simple, honest.

✦

“Hmm….is it a little…”

“Too sweet?”

Osamu and you nod. This is your third batch of triple berry cinnamon rolls.  There’s flour and batter and frosting everywhere. Your tiny kitchen has seen worse. (Specifically, that time MSYB decided to build gingerbread houses. They all but popped into your place the second you told them they needed royal icing to make the walls stick together.)

It feels nice.  Having Osamu in your space.

His movements compliment yours, he’s already brewed a lovely, warm, complimentary drink to ease away the sugar you’ve consumed.  “Oh, you didn’t go?”

Two entry tickets to the museum you wanted to take Osamu to, a get away to celebrate the start of your new job. You two hadn’t finalized the date and…stopped talking before you could.

He watches your eyes fall to the fridge handle, to the kitchen counter top and around the room. Lips taking a downward turn, hands fidgeting.  “I can remember the day you told me about this museum.”

Osamu takes an experimental step toward you, cautious but secure. Places his mug on the counter beside him, “You were wearing….that hoodie, the soft one with that character you like.  You were in that lottery queue for hours and scared the crap outta me—“

“I couldn’t believe I got in.” He nods, a soft smile remembering your disbelief, “You got in, told me about all the things you wanted to eat and…I remember all of that. But I don’t remember why we didn’t go.”

Your eyes meet his, you take a deep in hale, are you really going to…do this? Now?

“Osamu it…”

He shakes his head, “That’s the thing, I keep replaying the past few months over and over, and it doesn’t make sense to me. Why aren’t I in your life? Why are you not next to me?”

You open and close your mouth.  Wanting to choose your words carefully.

if you self depreciate, he’ll switch into caretaker Osamu and not really hear you. If you give into emotions, you’ll switch into a nasty version of yourself and push Osamu away.  You don’t want that.  Of all the options, you don’t want a life where he is a stranger to you.

“I don’t think…there's a big dramatic bad thing here. You were there one day and then you weren’t. I don’t know really how it happened either.”  The loneliness had come after.  When suddenly texting Osamu turned into mental gymnastics because the two swipes it takes to open the messaging app and find his name.

He’s close now, steps soft and slow, his fingers trace down your arm before settling into your hand. You intertwine the fingers, give his hand a squeeze, dare to look at his face because even now you think of him as extra special. The ease his lazy but always soft smile provides you.

“I’m really sorry…I don’t know how I let go of us…” Closer still, leaning to have his forehead touch yours, a pause from all the noise in both of your heads.  You missed him, miss him.  Having him this close just proves part of you will never get over him. Part of him will never fill that ache for you either.

“Would it be okay, if we, could try again?”

“Osamu…”

The oven timer beeps, startling you out of his orbit, his hand clings to yours before urging an oven mit onto it. This is the forth and final batch, now or never.  You let the rolls cool before plucking and plopping one onto the new bowl Osamu has waiting, two forks in hand. The frosting already remixed and he adds a fat dollop on top.

You take a bite and your eyes meet his and it’s the simplest moment.

And maybe, years later, you’ll tell him.  The second time you fell in love with him was when his face crinkled into disbelief and blossomed into the biggest grin. “We…did it? We did it!”

You watched him take another forkful, “Aww, let’s gooooo! We did it.”  He’s whipping out his phone to take photos, ready to make this everyone’s business.

All you can do, is watch this tall guy brag about your baking skills.  It doesn’t even take a few months, the third moment happens right there, Osamu leaning on the countertop, perched on his elbows as he steals more and more of the triple berry cinnamon roll, “You might not get rid of me now.”

And you let the words fill the air,  “I wouldn’t want to.”

Simple, honest.

[aprillikesthings]

Me watching the show: ha ha yesss the girls are fighting 😏

Me reading fic: aaaaaugh noooo the girls are fighting 😩

Me writing fic: I don’t want to make them fight I want to make them kiss 😭

[drjemmanugent]

NEW FIC ALERT: whatever may come (your heart I will choose) 

author: drjemmanugent (april) platform: ao3 posted on: 13 february 2025 fandom: bridgerton pairing: penelope/colin (polin) rating: T status: completed summary:  “But what if I want to spend more time with two of my most favorite gentlemen?”   “Most favorite?” Colin whips back to see her in exaggerated disbelief. “Pray tell, are there others who rejoice in your favoritism?”   None. Not now, not ever, she thinks. Only the two boys in front of her are most favored in her heart’s mind.   Still, she cannot help her deviousness peeking through when she nonchalantly replies— “A woman has her secrets.”   Turns out, Penelope can also be humorous and cheeky in the small hours of the night.  “Well played, Mrs. Bridgerton. I will never be able to say no to you, will I?”  “Thought you’d be used to that by now.” She retorts with a grin, unabashedly self-satisfied with her win.   – or, the one which, on the eve of baby Polin’s christening, we see Colin and Penelope as a united parental front and completely adorable.

STORY PREVIEW UNDER THE BREAK

“Are you nervous?” Colin speaks up after a few repetitions.  

She was so fixed on his movements with the baby that when she glances up at Colin, his fixed gaze quells the swirling emotions in her chest.  

“Yes, and you?” she replies sincerely. 

“Absolutely.” He voices out with a nod, and his resounding admission makes her laugh slightly, cutting through the wearied tension. 

It’s comforting to know she is not the only one feeling the impending weight of the next day.  

The christening had felt so far away once.  

Being that their child turned out to be a boy and as thus, inherited the Featherington barony by right, the very next day after his birth, the christening date was fixed with the parish for in six weeks. Now at the end of her confinement almost to the day, Penelope and Elliot will face the outside world.  

And, funnily enough, life seems to have a wicked sense of humor.  

Tomorrow, Colin’s manuscript officially turns into his first published book, set to hit the shelves by noon, and the first issue of her newly pardoned column publishes too, both just in time with the start of the Season.  

And Elliot’s christening... 

Now, the timing of such events is not a work of fate—no, in truth, it is a premeditated action-plan.  

A united front of sorts.  

[fics-by-kentocalls]

masterlist ✩

hi, hello. my name is april. this is a side blog that contains all writings from my main blog --> KENTOCALLS . minors do not interact please as stories can be +18. mostly focused on jujutsu kaisen fics at the moment ♡ just recently writing. requests are open, i do not write gore / cannibalism. expect delays. all dividers belong to saradika-graphics

📝 | all fics tag | read on ao3

Jujutsu Kaisen

❤️ nanami kento ❤️

gojo's fiancé | bodyguard!au, no cheating

tummyaches | singleparents!au

playing house | singleparents!au

affection | regency!au

🩵 gojo satoru 🩵

crazy meets crazy | mercenaries!au

mine | regency!au (bridgerton)

we can't be friends | college!au athletes

supernatural | alien!au

number one | college!au (friends to lovers)

from a dream | isekai fic

💙 geto suguru 💙

motivation | athletes!au, fencer suguru x runner reader. its just spice tho

licentious | just spice

you don't remember me | coworkers!au

someone better |

🖤 ryomen sukuna 🖤

how it started + the morning after + where it goes | failed one night stand!au (complete)

soulless + part 2 + | redstringoffate!au but you & sukuna are not tied together

🤍 kamo choso 🤍

show me | rocker!au its just spice tho

💚 fushiguro toji 💚

love you a latte | sfw. etablished relationship

Kusakabe Atusya

gentleman | regency!au

fiend | draken!au

// NARUTO

📚 Jiraiya

breadcrumbs | nsfw, situationship?

// DUNGEON MESHI

🍳Laios Touden

seven | laios touden, established relationship!, sfw

// WIND BREAKR

🍜 Togame Jo

telegraph | established relationship, sfw, sleepy cuddles

🌿 Umemiya Hajime

captain | military!au, sfw, messy confession

❌ Endo Yamato

slipping under | nsfw, toxic "ex"

(poison) paradise | part two of toxic "ex"

📚hiragi toma

sentimental pt 1. pt 2 | corporate!au

// MY HERO ACADEMY

👍🏼 All Might / Yagi Toshinori

emarald | mafia!au, arranged marraige!au side slice from To Have & To Hold

sparkling | mafia!au, holiday slice from To Have & To Hold

To Have & To Hold | mafia!au

Haikyuu

🍙 Osamu Miya

simple, honest | second chance romance

🦉 Bokuto Kōtarō

always | established relationship comfort

[aprilslippedaway]

something about spring feels like finally taking a deep breath after removing a really tight shirt that you didn't know you were wearing.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have tips on how to make a good dialogue?

Writing Tips & References: Dialogue

How to Write Dialogue ⚜ Tips for Better Dialogue

Funny Dialogue ⚜ Speech Acts ⚜ Dialogue Tags

Children's Dialogue ⚜ Examples of Children's Dialogue

Components of Effective Dialogue ⚜ Dialogue in Novels

Formatting Dialogue ⚜ Tips on Dialogue (by Rick Riordan)

Functions of Intonation ⚜ Paralinguistic Features

Writing Arguments ⚜ Insults ⚜ Character Accents

What Good Dialogue ISN'T ⚜ Ways of Saying No

Nonsense Words ⚜ Swearing & Taboo Expressions

Compliments ⚜ "Sophisticated" Compliments

Happy Expressions ⚜ Oaths & Exclamations

Editing Dialogue ⚜ Too Much Dialogue

Writing Resources PDFs

[satoblue]

“A FOOL” — gojo satoru

prank gone… right? | wc: 0.8k

f!reader, established relationship (you are dating), a little angsty but there’s a happy ending i swear, satoru needs to find better jokes, may or may not be your not so typical proposal, he has the worst comedic timing (or timing in general) | dividers made by me

“i think we should break up.”

you turn your head to face him so fast that satoru could almost feel the whiplash you got from the action himself.

“what?”, you ask, genuine confusion written over your features.

he has to stifle a laugh.

this was always the fun part — the confusion. and little did you know what he had up his sleeve. he’s never made a joke to this extent before, but knowing what he has planned, he’s sure you’d have mercy on him this time.

folding his arms over his chest, he leans back on the couch. satoru shuts his eyes, tilting his head with a smirk. “you heard me. i think we should stop dating.”

this is the part where he should’ve stopped right away, noting how quiet it is — too quiet for comfort. as if the warmth within you was snuffed out.

when you speak up with a low “why..?”, so soft like a mouse that satoru could not pick up on the shakiness of your breath, he turns to you, leaning in with a close eyed smile.

“because… we should get married! april fools!”

his voice echoes throughout the room until it falls into dead silence. lips stuck in a grin, he waits for a reaction.

. . . nothing. eh?

when his eyes flutter open, it doesn’t take long for his smile to falter.

there you were, sitting in front of him with a frown, brows knit together and glassy eyed, a tear about to shed any second and run down your cheek.

not on his watch.

“oh, baby. no no no, d-don’t cry! it was just a prank.”

“that’s not funny…”, you sniffle, rubbing at your face and sockets with your fists to fight the onslaught of tears.

his eyes soften, lips downturned, the amusement of the situation gone. he forgets about the somewhat proposal entirely, only focused on you and your disheartened eyes as you cry.

“i know… and please don’t rub your face like that.” he whispers, as if to afraid to speak higher lest you shatter like delicate glass. “you’ll hurt yourself, my love.”

gently pulling your hands away by your wrists, both of his go to cup your wet cheeks, his touch warm and comforting as he wipes away the result of his foolishness.

how could he fix this? he almost broke your heart entirely, even though a small part of him is delighted at how much love you hold for him that you’d have a reaction like this instantaneously — now is not the time to gloat.

“i am a fool…”

“you are.” you pout up at him.

the clenching of his heart releases at the sight of you acting so cute, and he feels something inside his chest flutter. with a small smile, he apologizes.

“i’m sorry...”

he is a fool. a complete and utter fool — your fool. and you were stuck with him and his stupid pranks for infinity because it is ridiculous to think he’d ever leave you. never has the thought crossed his mind — and you weren’t allowed to walk out on him either. like he said, it will always be him in your life.

the both of you sit like that for a few more seconds, staring into each other’s eyes, enjoying the shared company and fleeting touches as satoru tucks your hair behind you ears after the tense moment.

“can i just say something..?”, you speak up.

with furrowed brows, he gives a concerned nod. “yes, of course.”

you grin, the picture perfect definition of the devil incarnate.

“april fools, satoru...”, and your boyfriend feels shivers run down his spine.

silence.

and then another beat of silence.

it takes a while to register in his head. but then, with a hand over his heart, a sound rings out from his mouth, a squawk — one of absolute betrayal and disbelief.

he stares down at your evil smirk with wide, blue eyes as you clean off the residual salty tears with the back of your hand.

the tables have turned, and you have bested him at his own game. but he expects nothing less from the (maybe — if you are not mad at him) future mrs. gojo.

extra:

“you’re so cruel! what happened to my sweet and innocent angel?”

“what can i say? i was tired of being pranked all the time that i turned evil.”

satoru pouts.

“i hope this is a lesson learned to not mess with your queen, joker.”

he sighs, “yeah, you’re right.”

“i know.” you huff proudly. “also, baby, april fools day isn’t today — it was yesterday.”

“…”

“might want to buy a calendar before a ring so you don’t mix up our wedding date too.”

he blinks, suddenly remembering his semi-proposal. “wait, so is that a yes?!”

p.s. — last minute, you thought to say april fools to make it seem like you had the upper hand the whole time because there is no way you’ll ever let satoru know you genuinely cried over this. oh, to be gullible… but now, satoru will never mess with the true master of him, his home, and this day ever again. you won.