#im a bit over halfway finished with this fic now

[infinitelycynical]

a couple of excerpts to celebrate reaching exactly 60000 words on the aizamatsu wip that I still do not have a title for:

Everything is bleak, and love cannot save us. When the morning comes, we will all be miserable and hasty and resigned. And the morning after, we will leave for America. There is much to do, and no rewards will be given. But in the lone, silent hours, I can find solace until the aching morning.

and

"I think I understand why you're dating now."

Ide's interjection forces us to silence our banter, as our curiosity is now focused onto him.

"Why?" Touta asks.

"Because you're both fucking insufferable."

Touta shouts in protest, and my eyes roll as they always do. I would argue that we are not perfect for each other, we just happen to be together anyway. There are many ways in which we do not fit, yet we actively choose to be together rather than apart in spite of that.

[revasserium]

hiii i'm a new follower and i love your writing so much

ik u said no requests in ur bio but i just finished reading ur sanji fic.. so even if ur still not taking requests i'd just like to throw in an idea that u may or may not feel like using in the future, up to you (i'm requesting this with opla sanji in mind but if u wanna use it for zoro that's cool too)

k so imagine reader being invited to a friend's wedding, & being excited to go until they find out their ex is coming too (with their partner of some amt of yrs). so now reader is pressured to bring someone w/ them & ends up asking their best friend sanji bc they don't want others thinking they're still hung up on the past.

wedding dress

opla!sanji; 6,544 words, pining with a happy ending, fluff and a tad of angst, flirting, lovesick!sanji, whipped!!!!sanji, no "y/n", zeff is a whole mood, confessions, sanji-appropriate nickname usage, modern!au?

summary: you invite sanji to be your plus 1 at a wedding

a/n: im so sorry this took so long. but. better late than? never? also, there is a tiny bit of rehashing for ep 6 of the live action for sanji and zeff's relationship so... spoilers?

It’s a chilly, overcast kind of day when the call comes in. And in retrospect, Sanji thinks he should’ve known better when he’d seen your name on the caller ID. He’d hesitated, because by god if it wasn’t his New Year's Resolution to get the hell over you this year, but it’s almost December again and he still can’t help the way his heart races at the sound of your voice.

“Hey sweetheart — long time no talk!” he answers after a brief moment of contemplating his entire life, dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“Hey! Sorry for calling so… out of the blue…” your voice is still as sweet as ever, and the way his stomach twists at the tinkle of your nervous laughter makes him want to kick himself. Still, he forces himself to stay calm, clearing his throat as he checks the oven — it’s almost done pre-heating.

“Now you know what I said about actin’ a stranger — just because you moved halfway across the entire world doesn’t mean we ain’t best friends anymore, right?”

It’s what you’d said when he’d been standing at the airport, three seconds from dropping to his knees and begging you not to go. But he hadn’t, because he knew how hard you’d worked for this — for this opportunity abroad, to study art in the birthplace of the Renaissance itself, in the heart of Italy.

“And… you might be able to come visit me, right?” you’d said, rocking on the balls of your feet, your eyes full of what Sanji could only call false hope — which is always, always the worst and most painful kind.

Sanji had swallowed and nodded and said something or other about Europe and fine dining, but there’s a terrible, prickling heat eating up the back of his neck and a voice that’s screaming at him to pull you to him and kiss you. He doesn’t. And he regrets it to this day.

“Ah — right… I’m actually calling because… I’ll be in the area in about a week and…”

Your voice pulls him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, hitches a smile to his face that he knows you can’t see but he’s sure you can hear.

“Oh! That’s great, darling! You’ve gotta come for a drink, I’ll whip up all your favorites — we can make a night —”

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

There are a few moments in everyone’s lives when they learn the true meaning of a thing for the very first time — elation, pride, stomach-twisting guilt, and… fear. True fear, the kind of fear that shakes the muscle from your bones and sends them tingling, threatens to overwhelm you with numbness. Fear, that pushes adrenaline through you like a drug, forces the world into a terrifying, all-consuming focus.

Sanji feels the fear coursing through him, wild and contentious at your words.

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

He can’t bear to think of it; he’s so terrified he can barely breathe.

Then comes the moment after, the wave of everything else that the fear had washed away — confusion, anger, guilt (always guilt, for some reason), because isn’t he supposed to be happy for you? For you, the person he loves most in this entire world, to find love, to know happiness. He should. He should.

“Oh.”

Sanji sags back against the hard, metal counter. Almost mindlessly, he reaches into his pockets with shaking hands, digging around for a smoke.

Your breath is soft in his ear, too far across the phone line and a thousand miles of ocean.

“I originally wasn’t even planning on going — she’s not a very close friend — we had like one class together but —”

And within the span of a minute, Sanji also learns relief. The kind that melts the world around you into sizzling butter and champagne bubbles. The kind that makes you want to lie down on the ground and scream.

“— it was so close to your restaurant so I said yes but I didn’t know he was gonna be there and —”

You’re still talking, rambling like you do. And it takes nearly everything inside Sanji to pull himself back to the conversation.

“Sorry, love, who did you say was gonna be there?”

“My ex — you know the one —”

Sanji grimaces, flicking on his lighter with still-shaking fingers.

“Mm, yeah I do. The tall, dark-haired bastard who —”

“Yeah well — he’s gonna be there too and I just —” he hears you swallow hard and take a long, steadying breath. An unnameable something is calcifying in the depths of his stomach as he waits for you to collect yourself.

Curiosity? Why had you called like this, so suddenly, about a wedding where your ex was going to be? Concern? Were you thinking of going back to him?

But slowly, as you stutter through your next few words, the unnameable thing obtains a name — dread.

“— I just don’t think I could do it myself, y’know? And — and you were the one who got me out of it wh-when I decided to break it off with him so…”

Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and casts his eyes up at the high, white-slabbed ceiling of the kitchen, scored with long strips of bright, fluorescent lighting that floods the entire room in a direct, unforgiving glow.

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

“Course I’ll come with you, darlin’. It —” he wets his lips, taps off a bit of ash from his cigarette, and sucks in through his nose, clearing his throat of the words still lodged there, “— it’d be my honor.”

Relief — he hears it in your voice, and by gods he can almost see it — the way your whole face would light up, washed as if by the setting sun, your eyes wide and dark, your cheeks flushing his favorite fucking shade of pink and —

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really owe you for this one —”

Sanji makes a valiant effort at a nonchalant chuckle; it comes out sounding like a dog with a bit of bone stuck in its throat instead.

“Nonsense — what are best friends for, anyway?”

There’s a tiny pause where Sanji can feel the words best friend scraping along the insides of his mouth, barbed and harsh, leaving his tongue feeling raw and metallic.

“You really are the best friend anyone could ask for,” your voice is soft and honest and Sanji wants nothing more than to chuck his phone into the industrial blender.

You tell him that you’ll send him the details, that you can’t wait to see him soon, that you’ve got a world and a half of catching up to do, that you’ll buy him so, so many drinks, and that you’ll come bearing presents. He laughs at the right times, makes soft noises of consent and agreement, and when finally, finally you tell him goodbye, he clicks off the phone and takes another long drag of his smoke.

And then, he whips his hand back and throws the cigarette butt into the large sink, where it tinks against the metal and sizzles sadly in the murky dishwater.

“Real sucker for punishment, aren’tcha, lil’ eggplant?”

Sanji groans, turning around to find Zeff with his arms folded, the hip to his bad leg propped against a counter.

“Will you fuck kindly off — can’t you see I’m going through a thing here?”

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

“You been going through that thing for the last year and a half since you chickened outta askin’ her to stay so —”

“I didn’t chicken out — I — it was her dream to go to Florence and study —”

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

Sanji bangs his palm against the counter and sighs, “It’s not like I could leave you here with —”

“With what? A thriving restaurant business that I started? A guest list out the door and round the corner —”

“I — I helped!”

Zeff rolls his eyes, “Ah sure ya did, but I never asked you to, did I?”

Sanji huffs, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the torrent of horrible, sad, acrid things he could say and could never mean, so he swallows them back down. When he looks up next, Zeff is still standing there, but there’s a softness around his eyes.

He opens his mouth a few times, but eventually, all he says is, “The oven’s over heatin’.”

Sanji swears and jumps up to tug open the oven door. A wave of hot air whooshes out and nearly catches him in the face. Behind him, he can hear Zeff’s dark, gravelly chuckle, and the dull clunk of his wooden leg.

“You burn the kitchen down, you pay for it.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door swinging behind him, and Sanji very much alone with the too-hot oven and a counter full of things he can’t really remember the recipes for anymore.

Nearly a week later, Sanji finds himself standing at the airport, rocking on the balls of his feet, nearly in the exact same place as he’d been a year and a half prior. Except this time, you’re not walking away from him. You’re walking back towards him. He wonders if there’s a name for deja-vu in reverse and comes to the realization that that’s just called… a memory.

And memory seems to work in strange ways now, images superimposing themselves on top of one another — the flicker of a film lens, the bat of an eyelash, the shadow of a smile crimping the corner of your lips. All of this, he sees in the here and now, but he sees it in the air around you too, shimmering and mirage-like — all his memories and dreams of you layered over the shape of you. Your memory like a ghost of itself, trailing behind you as you walk towards him, a shy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed from travel and the cold and —

He doesn’t let himself hope. Not this time.

“Hey!” your voice is just as bell-like as he remembers it, pitched a little higher than it usually is, probably out of nervousness. But it still feels like a kick to the guts. Sanji forces himself to smile.

“Hi, love,” he says, leaning down as you reach him, but the motion aborts halfway because — is it still appropriate to hug you like he’d always done? To press his lips to your cheek or your hairline and revel in the bright citrus of your shampoo, to soak in the butter and cream of your skin like he used to?

There’s an awkward half-second pause before you’re standing up on tip-toe and Sanji’s heart nearly drops out of his ass as you lean in. But then — your lips skim by his cheek and your arms are around him, and stupid, stupid, stupid heart — thundering in his chest like horses or hooves or fists or thumping rabbit’s feet — leaping into his throat and pattering against the base of his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. But it’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

He breathes and distantly, a part of him notes that you still use the same shampoo.

“Hi…” your voice is warm by his ear, a bit muffled, but he can’t help the way it makes him shiver, “It’s… so good to see you.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice to do the normal thing and, oh, you know — work.

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough as he nods again. He feels your arms slackening around him and a fierce, terrifying thing is flapping its wings in his stomach, screeching at him not to let you go. But he does — like he did before.

“I — I missed you too,” he says, though his voice sounds flat and scratchy and he clears his throat again.

A dozen different expressions flicker across the lovely planes of your face and finally, it settles on endeared exasperation.

“Please don’t tell me you still work through like three packs of smokes a day.”

Sanji laughs then, shaking his head as he reaches over for your luggage, “Nah — well, maybe not three but —”

You whack him softly on the arm.

“I actually tried to quit right after you left.”

“You did?”

Sanji shrugs as the pair of you start to make for the exit. He feels your gaze go slanted and shrewd.

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

You whack him again and this time, he dodges out of the way just to bask in the bright spark of your laughter as you chase after him.

“Seriously though, you know how terrible they are for you!”

“Sure do,” he says, tugging one out of his pocket as soon as he clears the airport doors, pivoting left towards the parking garage. You have to jog to keep up with his longer strides, your breaths misting the air between you in silvery puffs.

He makes no move to light it as he helps toss your luggage into the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You huff as you wiggle into the passenger’s side.

“Then why —”

Sanji waits patiently for you to buckle your seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting soft against the middle console. He slates you a glance.

“Cause,” he says, fixing his eyes back on the road, an easy smirk twisting his lips, “it’s a metaphor.”

You groan, sinking into the seat, “Just because you read John Green one time —”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I read his entire bibliography after you showed him to me.”

“Ugh, whatever you manic-pixie-dreamgirl-loving ass.”

“Yeah, whatever — you actual manic pixie dreamgirl.”

You smile and Sanji allows himself the brief and aching delusion that the past year and a half didn’t happen, that you never left, and that you’d never leave. That you’d always be here, warm and laughing and just within reach.

The rest of the car ride is spent in mundane conversation, in how was your flight and tell me about Florence and how’s Zeff doing these days and I wanna know about your latest dish. It’s light and easy, and Sanji lets it warm the air around him. By the time he pulls into the front of your hotel, all the unsaid words from the past year and a half have soaked through his socks and into his shoes. It sloshes out onto the pale pavement as he opens the car door.

He helps you roll your luggage up into the lobby and tells you he’ll be here at 3PM to pick you up tomorrow. The venue’s just three blocks away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you say, pursing your lips, waving as he backpedals towards the automatic doors.

“You’ve still gotta send me pictures of the dress you’re wearing — I gotta find a matching tie.”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed, “Right — and here I thought I might surprise you.”

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

“O-oh! Er — well, you can just — just tell me what color or —” he waves vaguely, “send a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against —”

You nod, eyes glittering, eager once more, “Oh! That’s a good idea — I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Sanji says.

“Great!” you echo, perhaps a bit too chipper.

He gives you one last smile before turning and striding from the hotel, firing up the engine as calmly as he can, forcing himself not to turn and check if you’re still watching him through the brightly lit, sliding glass doors. He allows himself a glance through the rear-view mirror as he pulls away from the drive and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re still standing there, right in the middle of the lobby, fingers wrapped around the handle of your suitcase, your eyes fixed on the shadow of his retreating car.

He lights the smoke the second he turns the corner, your shadow no longer in his rear-view mirror.

That night, Sanji dreams in fits and leaps, flashing images and long, sticky streams of could-have-beens —

He dreams of your laughter in a white-tiled kitchen, of powdered sugar and eggshells cracked and leaking on an exposed wood counter, chopsticks clinking against a thick glass mixing bowl. He dreams of your voice echoing off the shower tiles as you sing off-key, the way you used to when you’d sneak into his college dorm for movie night and a midnight snack. He dreams of coffee mugs and errant rose petals and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He dreams of dancing with you in his arms in a darkened dorm room that morphs into a bigger room with a softer carpet, one that he’d never seen before but he knows implicitly (like bodies know) is his home — it has pictures on the walls, trinkets lining the far bookshelf, your favorite scarf draped over the back of the well-worn sofa.

In the dream, you pull your head back from where it's pillowed against his shoulder and smile up at him. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hovering half an inch from yours.

Sanji jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, fingers fumbling for his phone, groaning as he smashes the orange snooze button and flips over to bury his face back into his lumpy pillow.

“Ah… fuck.”

It’s not the first time he’s had that dream, and he knows it won’t be the last. But it’d been so real that night, real enough to make him wonder if it just might come true.

He rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes and peers blearily at all the notifications on his screen. There’s a text from you with a picture attached. He clicks it open to find a short message attached to the picture — I really did want to surprise you…

He blinks for three seconds at what looks like a blurry picture of studded black silk before he remembers —

“Send me a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against.”

He allows himself a laugh, swinging his feet out of bed even as he types back — you coulda just told me it was black…

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, before the text appears — well there are different shades of black, right???

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

A string of tongue-out emojis, followed by an equally long string of middle-finger emojis.

He spends the rest of the morning fussing over which specific black tie to wear before settling on one that he’s quite sure is the exact same shade of black as your dress (and yes, he does have quite the collection of black ties), before tugging his best suit out to press.

It shouldn’t feel so easy, slipping back into the rhythm of things, of texting and smiling and hearing your voice in his head when he reads your texts. It shouldn’t feel so easy to forget the months of radio silence and guilt, the oppressive, resonant weight of what might have been if either of you had done a single thing different that day at the airport — he wonders if he should’ve reached for your hand, he wonders if you’d ever looked back.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

He is waiting for you in the lobby at 2:45, wearing a hole into the plush Persian carpet, collecting strained looks from the concierge who had assured him three times in the last four minutes that he’d already rung up to your room and that you’d said you were on your way.

“Wow, you’re early — sorry I took a while — I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair and —“

Sanji lifts his head and thinks distantly that all those rom-com cliches of a guy looking up, time itself slackening, the room smearing sideways around him, the music going slow, the lighting soft — all of it is painfully, startlingly true after all.

Because there you are, walking towards him, still saying something, but he can’t make out the words anymore because time isn’t really a thing anymore, is it? He can’t focus on that and also the dark glimmer of your dress, the way the neckline skates just beneath your collarbones, barely skimming the skin there before it slips down along the slope of your shoulders in a way that makes his breath unspool inside his chest like loose threads.

And in the slanted, ethereal light of the winter afternoon, your dress looks like it’s cut from a swath of darkest midnight, moonless and scattered with stars.

You blush as Sanji attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor and hitch his lips into something resembling a smile.

“W-wow… you look…”

Your smile is shy as you press your palms against the dress, looking down, “Thanks… you don’t think it’s… too much?”

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

“No! I mean — it’s —“ his mouth is dry, drier than he ever remembers it being, and suddenly it’s very hard to swallow and Sanji isn’t even sure the muscles in his neck know how to perform the action, let alone force words out alongside it. He struggles for another few seconds, his jaw working furiously as his eyes skitter down and back up the shape of you.

“You look… perfect,” he says, finally, because the word has been ricocheting around his chest like a stray bullet and he had to let it out somehow.

“Thanks — you don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, your voice breathy in a way that makes Sanji’s stomach squeeze.

He offers you his arm, and you glide forward to take it.

He drives the three blocks to the wedding venue in a daze, his mind spinning slow and off-axis, tilted so by the gentle waft of your perfume, the lullaby of your voice as you chatter nervously about this and that and the weather, I mean, can you believe it’s gonna be an outdoor wedding in the winter? He wonders briefly why you’re so nervous, and then he’s reminded of the reason he’s even here at all — your ex will be here. Ah. Right.

“Ready?” he asks, offering you his arm again as the both of you follow the meandering stream of arriving guests toward the paved outdoor garden area where the ceremony is due to take place.

“No, but… you’re here so…” you let out a breath and for a second, Sanji almost thinks he hears the hint of an ache in your voice. An ache like an old scab picked at too many times, like unrequited love, perhaps. It’s an ache with which Sanji is so intimately familiar that he immediately tamps it down and vows not to think about it again for the rest of the night.

There are stiff-backed waiters wandering around with plates of hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of bubbling pink champagne.

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

“Bottoms up,” you say, tossing back the entire flute in one.

Sanji cocks his eyebrows, grinning as he follows suit, smacking his lips.

“Alright then, I guess if that’s how you’re playin’ —”

Your laughter is light, if a little strained, but he remembers how quickly bubbly drinks tend to go to your head and makes a concerted effort to slow down. You make it all the way through the actual ceremony without bumping into your ex, though you do lean over and grab Sanji’s hand as the bride and groom exchange vows — something about love being a choice, one that they promise to make every morning of every day for the rest of their lives — and he looks over to find you misty-eyed, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sap,” he whispers, leaning over. It earns him a choked laugh and a half-hearted elbow in the ribs, but it’s worth it to see the tension melt from your shoulders.

Sanji turns back towards the bride and groom, exchanging rings now, and unbidden comes the images of you and him standing where they are — you in a dazzling white gown, him still in a dark suit, but one perhaps of more expensive material and much better tailoring. He thinks about all the things he might promise you, wonders at what you might promise him in return —

“I promise to love and cherish you —” you might say.

“I promise to make all your favorite foods,” he might say.

“I promise not to touch your emotional support le creuset pans.”

“I promise not to make you taste all my experimental dishes —”

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

He imagines the way the crowd would titter, how the officiator would affectionately clear his throat. He imagines Zeff’s warm, well-worn laughter, rough and a little torn at the edges because he’s just as sentimental as the next guy behind all the beard and gruffness. He imagines the crowd smiling up at the pair of you, the way you’d squeeze his hands to get the both of you back on track —

He jerks out of his reverie as you tug your hand away from his to clap, and it takes him a beat to realize that everyone else is clapping and cheering too. He blinks — the bride and groom are kissing, pulling apart as the music swells around them and they link hands to walk back down the aisle.

Sanji clears his throat and hurriedly gets up to clap as well, his eyes trailing the radiant smiles on both the newlyweds’ faces. Another sharp ache sings through him but he feels your hand in his again and he can’t tell if he wants to grip you tighter or pull away. They’d both hurt just as much, wouldn’t they?

“C’mon, let’s get inside — I wanna judge the catering with you,” you whisper, your breath tickling his cheek, and he knows without having to look that you’re standing on your tiptoes, your chin almost propped on his shoulder.

He fights down a bout of shivers and smiles, “My favorite part of any formal event, honestly.”

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

So you spend the entire dinner service whispering to each other about the food —

“God, this steak is so well done I think it just might dislocate my jaw —”

“What’s in this sauce?”

Sanji chews thoughtfully before making a face, “Dunno, but it’s got oregano.”

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

“Yeah, but we both know how much sugar and butter goes into that right?”

You nudge him with an elbow, “Weird, cause I’m pretty sure happiness is also made of sugar and butter.”

“Well for me, it’s always been…” but Sanji trails off, biting his tongue. No. He can’t say that — not now. Not here.

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

So instead, he swallows passed his own mouthful of regrets and attempts a lopsided grin. And thankfully, your attention is drawn elsewhere by a loud peal of laughter before he has to make a shitty joke about happiness being a well-lit kitchen and a gas-lit stove.

You’re both at least a bottle of champagne deep when it finally happens, inevitable as a summer storm — your ex saunters up to you on the dance floor, sporting a grease-slick grin, eyeing you up and down like a piece of well-cut meat. Sanji is at the bar, grabbing more drinks and you’re catching a breath of fresh air just outside the dance hall.

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

Sanji turns sharply at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing — Asshat. Fantastic. The bartender is putting the finishing touches on two custom cocktails but blinks, confused, as Sanji swipes both drinks out from the bar and casts him a hurried grin.

“Thanks mate, these look great,” Sanji raises the cocktail glasses at the bewildered bartender before hurrying off, slowing ever so slightly as he reaches you, straightening his spine and smoothing out his shoulders.

“Here, got them special-made for you,” he says, pressing the cocktail into your hand, cutting into something that Asshat is saying.

“Oh! Thanks — oh wow, this looks so good!” you beam up at him, taking a sip.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you were still hangin’ out with this guy,” Asshat says, hooking his thumbs into his belt-hoops and jutting out his chin.

You frown, pressing your lips, “Excuse me?”

Asshat scoffs, posturing, “I mean, when we broke up, it was cause o’him right? So I just thought you might’ve realized what a mistake that was and —”

Sanji barely has the time to feel offended before Asshat is gasping and stumbling back. You’d tossed the remainder of your drink straight into his face.

“What the —” Asshat sputters, his fists clenching, but quick as anything, Sanji swipes out a leg that catches him right in the shins and makes him stumble. In one fluid movement, Sanji pushes his own drink into your hand before reaching out the other arm to steady the now flailing Asshat, catching him around the shoulders.

“Whoa there! Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend!” he says, loud enough for the people around you to hear. He thumps Asshat on the back in a would-be kind gesture before tugging him close, still coughing, and hissing in his ear —

“Listen here, you asswipe — you’re gonna turn around and walk away and stay the fuck away from us for the rest of this wedding, you understand? I’ve got plenty more o’this for ya if you don’t, got it?”

Sanji scuffs his foot along the gravel-covered ground in a motion that could easily be mistaken as fidgeting, but you know better. And so, it seems, does Asshat, who scoffs and shoves Sanji off him with a glare, but after another second, straightens his drink-soaked jacket, turns, and stalks away.

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

“Hey darlin’… you alright?” Sanji turns and bends down to level his eyes with yours.

“Y-yeah — thanks — you didn’t need to —”

“Nah. Course I did — it’s why you invited me, right?” he allows himself a lopsided grin that borders on self-deprecating and you look up, eyes wide.

“No! I — that’s not —”

“It’s okay, love — I promise I’m not offended —” Sanji’s babbling, he knows he is — but he has to, because the alternative of letting you speak, of letting you confirm what he already knows to be true (that you’ve only ever seen him as a best friend, that you love him in all the ways except for the one way he wants you to, in the one way he loves you) is too much. He tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs up his shoulders, pulling them up towards his ears like armor.

And then you lean in and kiss him, and every single word he’s ever thought of saying just to fill the silence turns to mist and mornings on his tongue. His mind turns blissfully blank and when he regains consciousness (or has he? Because isn’t this the dream he’s dreamt every waking moment of his life for the past… however many years?), he thanks every god he can name that he feels his fingers in your hair, his other hand cupping the soft curve of your jaw. He tastes your uncertainty against his lips and presses in, hoping, praying that if he just kissed you hard enough you might understand.

When you pull away, he can’t help the satisfied purr that curls up his chest at the pinkness in your cheeks and the slightly glazed-over look in your eyes.

“O-oh — sorry I —”

Sanji shakes his head, leaning in to push his forehead against yours.

“Nah, nah, nah — if you tell me that was a mistake now I might just turn around and never speak to you ever again — because don’t you dare —”

You let out a helpless laugh, shaking your head as you reach up to cover his hands with yours. It’s only then that he realizes they’d been shaking. He swallows and he thinks he can taste every single morning after for the rest of his goddamn life in the whisper of your breath.

“It — it’s not, I wasn’t —” you close your eyes and Sanji holds you still, foreheads still pressed. Distantly, Sanji is aware that people are cheering, that more drinks are being poured, that the dance floor is probably a mess. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything else ever again — why would he? Now that he’s got you.

“Shh… take your time, love… we’ve got all the time in the world.”

He feels the relief take you, and then you’re falling into him, burying your face in the lapel of his suit jacket, probably smearing it with your foundation. Vaguely, Sanji considers framing it when he gets home.

“I’m… I’m sorry it took so long — I’m sorry I didn’t — that I wasn’t…” you curl your fist into the material of his shirt and thump him lightly on the chest, even as he laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“I know, darlin’… I know.” Sanji presses his lips into your hair and can’t help a smile.

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

“I thought about you every single day,” you admit, your voice small when you finally pull back to look at him again. He thinks there might be tears in your eyes, or maybe it’s just the starlight caught in the thick night sky of your lashes.

“Did you now?” he asks, fumbling for some semblance of normalcy amidst this night of revelations.

You nod, fervently, and god he wants to kiss you again. Briefly, he wonders if he should, if he’s allowed to now. Instead, he smiles and cocks his head.

“So? What changed?” and he can’t help the tiny note of hurt out of his voice, the slightest shiver of disbelief. After all, cynicism is a hard habit to break.

Especially after so many years of practice.

You shrug, sighing, “Nothing — everything. I mean — I’d always… but then I thought — you had your career as a chef and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. But it —” you lick your lips, and Sanji nearly breaks when you tear your eyes away from his. He wants to force you back, to soak in the dark and bright of your gaze till he can see the world exactly as you see it.

“It’s always been you…” you say.

At this, Sanji does break. He tips your face towards him with a thumb and a forefinger and leans in, waiting for you to pull back, bracing for it. But you don’t — instead, you press in and close the space between you again, and again, and then again.

He wants to tell you — he needs to tell you that it’s always been you too, that there’s never been anyone else. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he’s known, even though both of you were children back then, and neither of you had any idea what “love” actually meant. He knew then, too.

“Love…” his voice trails off, but you smile, and he knows you know, knows that you can hear it in the rawness behind his voice, in the softness of his breath, in the way it shakes.

You make to kiss him again. But your lips hover half an inch from his and you stop. Sanji sighs.

“What — why’d you stop?”

Your smile is sweet and sharp, honey glinting on a razor’s edge, and he knows that he has you. And maybe that he’s always had you and was just too blind, too terrified, to see it.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

You bat your lashes, pulling an expression of mock affront onto your face.

“Well at least wine me and dine me first —”

Sanji licks his lips, “What’dyou think I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Sanji smirks and kisses you again, slowly this time, languid and deep. Unhurried. He luxuriates in the way you go soft in his arms, in the way he can feel the gentle hitch of your breath as he runs his tongue along the edges of your teeth, coaxing you towards him, closer and closer and closer.

The hardest, angriest part of him wants to swallow you whole, bite down just to hear you hiss, to taste your blood on his tongue. To make you feel even a sliver of the pain he’d felt. He tamps it back down — there’s time for that later.

Instead, he forces himself to pull back and allows himself the satisfaction of watching you chase him, pursing your own lips with a bashful look away, your cheeks dark.

“So,” Sanji takes half a step back, puffing out his chest in the best imitation of a fuckboy at a wedding party, “wanna get outta here?”

You let out a helpless laugh, falling into his side. He lets the sound ring through him like so many silver bells.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He chuckles, looping an arm around your middle and leaning towards your ear.

“Your place, or mine?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure I still have a toothbrush at your place.”

Sanji hums, “You still have a whole drawer at my place.”

You smile up at him, open and happy and sincere, “Then… I guess that’s your answer then.”

[beat-the-morning]

Car rapids || Hozier x reader

Kinktober: Day 3 - Quickie

prompt list

Tags: quickie, car sex, semi-public sex i guess, dom/sub undertones kinda

Summary: Things get hot while on the car with Andrew on the way to his parent’s house for dinner, unfortunately you can’t be late, so it’s time to be quick

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: idk if i did yesterday’s since im scheduling these as i finish them but i probably didn’t because i don’t like writing it. So sorry for that. Anyway hope you like this one that i wrote between 11pm and 5am but i did like it so make of that what you will. Tomorrow’s prompt is facesitting I’ll see you all there

|| 💙FULL FIC UNDER CUT💙 ||

Your hands were on the wheel, eyes focused on the road as you drove across the Irish countryside. Your boyfriend, Andrew, sat next to you, looking out the window while he hummed along to a song playing from the car speakers. You and Andrew had decided to go on a little weekend getaway to Galway, just the tiniest change of scenery since leaving Ireland was out of the question, given the dinner with his parents on Sunday, which you were driving to right now, being a bit over halfway there. For once and by powers unknown to you, you were on time, early even, maybe because you told Andrew that you were already running late when you told him to finish getting ready when you were actually not, something that, once he found out about when you were already in the car and moving, he had (jokingly) complained endlessly about for the first fifteen minutes of the journey before apologising with a kiss to your cheek and putting on some music.

As you continued to drive, Andrew’s eyes wandered from the passing views over to you, a tiny smile forming in his face as he looked you up and down, his hand moved to your thigh, squeezing it ever so slightly. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, trying your best to suppress a smile. “Andrew.” You warned him.

“Hm?” He hummed in question, fake innocence in his voice as he spoke. “What is it, baby?”

“Hands off,” you gently scolded him, “can’t focus on the road if you’re all over me.”

“It’s just a hand on your thigh, love, nothing more.” He smiled, his grip tightening a little.

“Last time you said that we ended up having a pregnancy scare.” You reminded him.

“You’re the one that told me to finish inside when I wasn’t wearing a condom,” he teased back, chuckling softly, “and you’re on birth control now, anyway.”

“Not my point.”

“Then what was it?”

“That it’s never ‘nothing’ with you, or with me.” You said, the last words coming out in a flustered whisper.

“So I should take my hand off your thigh?” He smirked, knowing he was slowly winning you over.

“Maybe…” you mumbled, “you can keep it there, if you want, but no higher.”

“As you wish, baby.” He nodded, leaving his hand on your thigh, his fingers drawing small circles on it. He went back to looking out the window as you drove, a comfortable silence falling over the both of you again, only disturbed by the soft music.

°*°*°

“I was thinking,” Andrew said, breaking the silence that had fallen over you both a little over an hour ago, his hand still on your thigh, “you practically never drive, you’re always my passenger princess, especially in longer drives.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “why do you say that?”

“Because you’re driving right now, why?” His grip tightened on your thigh again.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “you drove us on the way there and then drove everywhere while we were in Galway, thought I’d let you rest from the wheel for a bit.”

“That’s sweet of you,” he smiled, “so it’s not because you don’t like my reckless driving?”

“No, I actually really like it, it’s fun when you drive like a maniac.” You chuckled, “ and I like the things we do while you’re driving, too.” You added, a cheeky smile on your face as you felt your cheeks heat up.

Andrew smiled too, a clear idea in his eyes now that you had brought up the subject. “Yeah? You like it when I finger you while we drive through the middle of nowhere, baby?” He teased, you nodded, biting your lip as you felt his grip tightening again. “Use your words.”

“Y-yeah,” you whined softly, suppressing a moan.

“D’you want me to do it while you drive, baby?”

“Can’t.” You answered, “I get distracted easily, I could crash your car.”

“Stop the car, then,” he suggested, his voice smooth and sultry as he leaned slightly closer to you. “Let me make you feel good, pet, it won’t take long.”

“You always say that,” a whine escaped you as you feigned resistance to his advances, in reality, your eyes were already looking for a good place to stop the car. “To you ‘not taking long’ means at least forty five minutes.”

“Won’t take more than ten, fifteen at most.” He whispered, “just stop the car and get on my lap, let me feel you around me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds you make, sweetness.”

You found a spot to stop at right as he stopped speaking, and thank God you did because you had seriously considered stopping the car in the middle of the road and fucking him right then and there. You slowed down, driving to the side of the road and stopping the car as Andrew’s smile widened, he leaned closer to you as he clicked his seatbelt open, his lips finding your jaw and planting soft kisses as you clicked your own seatbelt open. You turned your head towards him, your lips finding his and immediately latching on, passionately kissing him as you moved from the driver’s seat and onto his lap, straddling him as best you could. His hands moved to your skirt, pulling it up as fast as he could, a couple curses escaped him between kisses as he struggled to get the maxi skirt out of the way. You giggled softly at every curse of his, your hands working fast on his belt and jeans, quickly undoing them and pulling them down along with his boxers just enough so his cock, already hard and with a flushed tip, could spring free from its confines, slapping against his clothed stomach and making him whine lightly.

You spat on your hand and started to gently jerk him off while he struggled with your skirt and your hips gently grinded on him, you core desperate for some attention. “I’m going to rip this thing off you, I swear to God.” He muttered under his breath in frustration, moaning softly as you moved your hand. You giggled softly. “Not funny, baby.” He scolded you.

“You know you can just lift it up, right? You don’t need to take it off completely.” You reminded him, your lips finding his neck, peppering soft kisses along it.

“But then how will I see what pretty panties you’re wearing today?” He complained, still fighting the skirt.

“You do that and we’ll be late to dinner with your parents, and I’m not going to explain to them why we're late.”

“Fine,” he conceded, lifting your skirt and caressing your ass for a couple seconds before smacking it sharply, making you whine, “and don’t bring up my parents while I’m trying to fuck you again, yeah?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled softly. Andrew moved your underwear to the side, pulling you closer and blindly positioning you above his cock. You slowly sat down on it, making both of you gasp at the feeling. You moved your hips up and down on his cock, bouncing on it as he held onto you, planting warm kisses on your neck.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re perfect, so fucking perfect.” He moaned onto your neck, starting to thrust up, meeting you halfway. His hand moved from your side to your pussy, his thumb finding your clit and flicking it quickly, pressing on it every so often, making you whine softly. Your hands moved to his hair, gripping his long curls while pure white pleasure ran through your veins like the most potent drug. You felt that all-familiar coil form in your lower abdomen, your breathing becoming ragged and whiny. “Almost there, baby? Already? You’re really sensitive today, you never get like this so fast.” He teased, each sentence finishing with a kiss to your neck.

You wanted to argue back, but when you opened your mouth to do so all that came out was a loud moan, your face heating up from slight embarrassment as Andrew chuckled. The coil in your stomach became stronger and stronger with each passing second, your legs shaking slightly, bouncing up and down on his cock was becoming increasingly difficult as you felt your orgasm coming, “Fuck! Andy!” You moaned loudly, stopping your movements out of sheer ecstasy, your legs shaking with pleasure, Andrew continued to fuck you, thrusting up into your pussy as he played with your clit. “Please! Oh my god! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease” you begged in a desperate moan, you weren’t even sure what it was you were begging for, Andrew did though, he kissed from your neck to your ear, whispering softly as he fucked you mercilessly.

“It’s okay, darling, come for me, let me feel you, baby.” He lightly bit your earlobe as you found your release, the coil in your core snapping as you moaned loudly, your hips shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. His hand moved away from your clit and to your hips as he lifted them up and down to fuck you better, overstimulating you as he chased his own release. He came not long after, his hips snapping up to yours as he filled you with his cum, soft groans escaping him while you whined from the overstimulation.

He came down from his peak, kissing your neck and face as you still tried to ground yourself. “Fifteen minutes,” he said with a smug tone.

“What?” You asked softly, still a bit out of it.

“We took fifteen minutes, told you I could be quick,” he chuckled.

“How the hell do you know that?” You mumbled into his shoulder, your post-orgasmic tiredness catching up to you.

“Car clock,” he said smugly, “it was 2:07pm when you got on my lap, and now it's 2:22pm.”

“You’re impossible,” you giggled, thinking it funny how he had made a mental note of the time just to prove he was right.

“You love it,” he smiled into your hair. “I think I’ll drive the rest of the way, you look exhausted, love.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nodded, getting off his lap and settling onto the passenger's seat, after fixing your underwear and skirt. Andrew fixed his own clothes, adjusted the driver’s seat to accommodate his height, and began driving to his parents’ house, still on time for dinner.

[purinfelix]

hi!! I really love your work! I was wondering if you could do one where Gavi and the reader hate each other, but one day the reader had nobody to turn to so for some reason she found comfort with Gavi if that makes sense

i don't want to talk about anything ₊˚⊹ - pablo gavi

pairing: (academic rival) gavi x reader w/c: 1.5k a/n: ANON i love this idea and im sorry its been sitting in my inbox for so long - i decided to sort of involve it with the academic rivals fic i wrote, since it made sense to me, hope u don't mind! <3

No matter how many times you blinked, the words of your essay refused to stay still on the laptop in front of you, the feeling of your eyes growing tired only adding to your frustration. According to the irritatingly loud clock on the wall, you had been at the university library for almost five hours now, on top of an entire day of lectures and tutorials. Your head ached, and your mouth was dry ever since you had run out of water an hour ago but had been too engrossed in studying to go get more, and every time you closed your eyes you considered falling asleep right there and then. You hadn't even gone insane before, but you were pretty sure this was as close as you were going to get.

Forcing yourself to stand up you tried your best not to dwell on how unprepared you felt for your upcoming finals, or how many assignments you still had to finish. Even with how tired you were, your brain still managed enough energy to stress you out, even as you definitively shut the textbooks you had brought with you. You were more than aware of how childish this was, having thought you'd outgrown your ridiculous study methods years ago. But something about your recent dip in grade, how frustrated and helpless it made you feel, had spurred you into a frenzy you were too far into to stop. You couldn't recall the last spare hour you hadn't spent studying or the last conversation you had that hadn't been about exams.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder you reluctantly left the desk that had been your home for the majority of the evening. After a struggle, you managed to get the library doors open and were immediately. met with the miserably biting cold of the late winter night - the thought of the long trek back to your dorm room acting as salt in the wound. Your hands are already freezing as they dart into your jacket pocket in search of your phone, and you flick it on to check for any response to the many, many texts you had sent to your friends. Most of them were invited to study with you or questions about lectures, but all you were met with was a pathetically empty inbox, the reflection of your own tired face once it switched off, and the stinging realisation of just how isolated you had become, and how lonely you felt. Perhaps it was this, or the howling wind whipping around you, that caused tears to prick up in your eyes as you bit your lip painfully hard to stop them from falling.

You're overcome with a sudden desperation to get back to your dorm as quickly as possible before anyone can see you crying like an idiot. The added barrier of your own fatigue makes this difficult though, and the immense cold doesn't help. Before you know it though you're already halfway there, passing by the campus football court which is still brightly lit and lively despite how late it's getting - a fact you curse as you make out a familiar figure, and the single last person you want to see right now.

Gavi seems to spot you too and even though you hand your head to prevent any more tears, you can hear his loud footsteps as he leaves his friends and game to jog up to you. He calls out your name and the smug tone in his voice is enough for you to will your legs to move faster. When you don't stop, you hear him pause before running up to match your pace.

"Long day at the library, huh?" he jeers, walking beside you and clearly not taking any notice to the fact that you're not in the mood to entertain his ego. Usually, you would've jumped at the opportunity to flex your work ethic in his lazy face but not now, not with how you're feeling. All you wish is for him to leave you alone before he sees you crying and it gives him another thing to make fun of you for - but just as this entire day has turned out, your wishes are far from granted.

"You know, I did notice you've been slacking a little lately. Even I found the last quiz pretty easy and I could tell you struggled with it."

You scoff loudly at his words but don't offer a response in fear of him being able to tell something's off from the quiver you're bound to have. A small part of you does question why he's been paying so much attention to you lately but has little time to when you feel him reach out to grab your hand, suddenly jerking you back and stopping you in your tracks.

Finally, you crane your neck up without thinking and lock eyes with his, and you hear the next comment he was preparing catch in his throat. It happens so quickly that you almost don't notice it, but his smug expression softens immediately and you can almost make out the concern in his eyes once he sees your tear-stricken face. The contrast from the teasing way he normally looks at you is so stark it almost stops the flow of tears from your eyes, and you almost wish it had because now you're standing here sniffling like an idiot, and he's standing there watching you.

"Hey…" he mumbles, and the pity in his voice is enough to make you want to run away, even as he drops your hand. Still, you can tell he's not enjoying the awkward situation any more than you are but is trying his best.

"I'm fine," you blurt out instinctively, messily wiping the stream of tears from your cheeks before laughing - at what you're not entirely sure, but you're desperate for an opportunity to lighten the mood.

"You don't look it," he sounds so mature that it almost takes you aback.

You hang your head, half in shame and half so that you don't have to look into his eyes when you lie. "I'm just really tired."

It's almost irritating how sudden his movements can be and how easily they can catch you off guard, but his athleticism has never blended itself to subtlety. Still, it's hard not to be shocked when he pulls you once more and before you realise it you're enveloped in his arms, pulled flush against his chest. His body still radiates heat from the exercise he was just doing, a fact that you find comfort in. Before you can stop yourself, you're already sinking into his touch, its catharsis being exactly what you needed, but hadn't realised. You wrap your arms back around him and close your eyes as you rest your head against his chest. The rhythm of his heart is bold and quick as you listen to it, and you chalk this up to the exercise as well - an excuse you're not lucky enough to have for your own quickening heart.

He's the first to break the silence. "You're the smartest person I know, you know." He says it barely above a whisper, and he seems to be confessing more to the night sky than to you.

If you had just a little more pride in yourself, you might've met this with one of your usual jabs. Strangely enough though, all signs of the competitive nature you reserve for him have gone missing. Maybe it's because of your surprise that he seems to know exactly what you need to hear, but you're sure it's more because of how tired you are.

"Thank you," is all you can quietly muster up, but given how earnestly it comes out, you hope it'll be enough.

"I don't mean to stress you out, not just now but all the time. I'm sorry for that," he sighs, and you can tell without seeing his face that he really means it.

"It's alright, I appreciate it," you laugh softly, before adding, "sometimes."

He squeezes you a little harder and standing there in his arms, despite how mind-numbingly strange the situation is, you allow yourself to forget about some things for a bit. Forget about how late it is, about all the work you still have to do, about how you're not meant to like him at all, how you're hoping no one you know sees the two of you right now. For just a minute, the two of you share a world you had only gotten teasing glimpses of during your heated conversations in hallways, your quick comparisons after grades get released or quippy comebacks. Only now, not a single word needs to pass between you two - the sound of his beating heart and the strange sense of comfort that falls over you being all you need.

[woodle-isbae]

Could you please do anything that's male reader X Joost? There are almost no fics with male reader I'm dying out here 😭

One night only

Fratboy!Joost klein x fratboy!reader

Warnings: Frat boys! , drinking , smoking , smut , PiA , unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it) , joost is a jock and reader is a theater kid , bottom!Joost , Top reader

Drunken bodies all over eachother , music blasting from the speakers and people basically black out drunk outside

You and a few friends hosted one of the craziest parties of the semester , free entry and plus ones allowed. You even had three? Four? Of your teachers there aswell , to "chaperone"

"You all enjoying the party!!?"

The DJ you hired hyping up everyone , including you , who was equally drunk as everyone else on the property

Heading to the kitchen to get another drink , moving past the drunk girls and horny couples grinding against eachother , slightly cringing at them

"They're fucking disgusting-"

You whipped your head around at the sudden voice behind you , it was a blue eyed blond man , not much taller than you but had some height.

He had to be a jock

"Oh..uh, yeah..but im not shocked , kinda expected it"

"Still disgusting."

There was an awkward silence between you two before he gulped down his drink and introduced himself as 'Joost'.

Joost Klein , played rugby - star captain- he's well known amongst the people in your year. An icon and playboy , usually hopping from girl to girl .

Unlike you , a total theatere kid , even for your little hobby you were very well known , basically on the same level as Joost in popularity

It was rare that you guys were near eachother , and even more rare for you guys to be talking

An hour passed of you guys talking and playing beer games , eventually settling down in your bedroom balcony, sharing a joint and taking in the cool summer air , the muffled sounds of music and cheers comming from downstairs

"Have you ever...nevermin-"

"C'mon Joostie , don't be shy"

Your interjection catching him off guard as he stared at you for a moment , huffing to himself as he turned a faint shade of pink , taking a gulp of his drink before he looked you in the eye , taking in a breath

"Have you ever had sex. . .with a guy?"

There was a silence between you two , his pink face turning red , embarrassed by his question , biting on his lip.

"I'm sorry it was a du-"

"Yeah , I have"

The silence returning before he continued his questioning

"How was it-? , like did you take it or-"

"I'm more of a giver , it's a fun experience tho"

"Ah..I see.."

You finally turned over to look at him , head resting on your hand , which was on the mini table , scanning his face for a bit.

"You wanna try it out?"

° ☆ °

"Okay..take a breath in , it's gonna hurt a bit"

"Y-yeah okay-"

You currently had him face down into the pillow , fully exposed and your finger lubed up.You gave him a blow job prior , just to relax his nerves a bit

You slowly prodded your finger inside him , pausing halfway to give him time to adjust before you put your finger in fully , giving him a few minutes to get used to the feeling

"Y'ready?"

He mumbled a shaky yes , nodding his heads aswell. His body jerking as you began to move your finger inside him , searching for that spongey spot.

"W-wait..ah-!"

He choked out a moan ,his body trembled and legs shook as he came.

There is it

"Haven't even finished stretching you out yet."

"What just happened-?"

He turned over to look at you , still catching his breath. . .only to be met with a sly smirk from you

"Don't stress it , just have fun"

He was slightly weirded out by how quick he came , allowing himself to relax once more and turn over , stuffing his face in the pillow as you continued stretching him out to your liking

"Okay. . .I'm gonna enter now..take a breath in"

Lining yourself up and slowly entering , his breath hitched as his body trembled

"You'll tell me when I can start moving."

Bottoming out in him , steading his hips against yours as you caught your breath , waiting for him to adjust

"You can-. . .you can move"

"I'll be slow"

You began moving your hips at a steady and slow rhythm , trying your best to make him comfortable.

After a while your movements became more erratic, your grip on his hips nearly bruising as your thrusts were animalistic , knocking a yelp and whine out of the larger man bellow you

"I-ah!-I'm gonna c..Um!"

The way he was barely coherent and rambling out profanities and pleading for more had you at your edge , his back resting against your chest while your hips continued their movement which was becoming unstable

"C'mon Joostie , let it out-shit.-y'can do it"

Your words of praise was just enough to get him to his breaking point , he shuddered and tightened against you , spilling all om the sheets underneath him before his body gave out and fell limp from overstimulation

You pulled out quickly and came on his lower back , catching your breath as you layed next to him.

The world comming back to the both of you , the cheering and music that was erupting from the party still going on downstairs

You went to go get a warm cloth and a bottle of water from your mini fridge, cleaning him up and helping him get his boxers back on , along with your own

"Y'have fun?"

"I'd do it again..definitely"

[sparxyv]

WIP tag game!

(again muahahaha 😈 thank you for the tag @heylorrain!)

i love these little threads because i always have SO many WIPs that i get impatient to share ..

MILENAAA MY GIRLL i love you forever muah muah

no idea if i'm ever going to finish these but.. we'll see

yule ball nonsense ^^ i feel like im spoiling my own posts with this.. pls guys you don't know all the context stick with me !!! (+bonus points if you can guess who the characters in the third one are)

SUPER BLURRED BECAUSE ITS A SURPRISE .. 🙌🙌

+ little snippet to a three part pre-HL mousey fic?? 👀

----------------

Athol was absolutely certain he was the most miserable soul to ever set foot in Hogwarts.

     The rain drummed against the window, as if trying to mock him with its relentless rhythm. He flopped back onto his bunk with a theatrical sigh, arm draped across his face. “I don’t get it,” he muttered to himself for probably the fifteenth time that morning. He peeked out from under his arm to glance at the little collection of odds and ends on his windowsill—a bracelet, a scraggly flower, and a wooden snake that still had a chip in its tail from a very unintentional duel. His first few years at Hogwarts had felt like it was packed with endless laughter and ridiculous adventures. Now? It was like staring into the soggy bottom of a cauldron someone forgot to clean. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the kind of dramatic punctuation that perfectly matched his mood. If life were fair, it would strike right outside his window to really drive the point home. Instead, the storm just kept drizzling on, indifferent to his misery.

It wasn’t like he was entirely friendless. There was his bunkmate, sweet Duncan Hobhouse, who always had a kind word and a dozen excuses to avoid trying anything remotely exciting. But Duncan didn’t fill the gap left by Sebastian, Anne, and Ominis.

The fight—the great betrayal as Athol had taken to calling it (in his head, anyway)—had turned his fourth year into a gray slog. He had hoped, maybe foolishly, that things would blow over. Instead, Sebastian seemed determined to act like Athol was a ghost haunting the Hogwarts castle.

At first, he’d been immensely angry with Sebastian. How dare he blow up after one small comment, then completely ice Athol out of his life? As if he were nothing? And now, although the anger at Sebastian’s dramatics still remained, he just missed his friends.

They hadn’t even talked since the second week of the school year - it’d now been 37 days. 

Athol groaned, throwing his head back. What could he even do about the whole situation? He couldn’t apologize, no. His pride wouldn’t let him, and he didn’t even believe Sebastian deserved an apology in the first place.

----------------

(I HOPE THIS MAKES AT LEAST A BIT OF SENSE LOL.. i feel halfway illiterate when writing 💀💀)

no pressure tags! : @myokk @choccy-milky @syaolaurant @traceyc-uk @diana-bluewolf @dwightschrute11 @rypnami @iatnen @lycowarrior @dom1re @siboom777 (ANDD anyone who wants to join!)

[overnowsfcb]

worth it for once; pedri

summary: sometimes the show must not go on. what happens when the curtains fall?

warnings: angst, smut (dom!pedri, pool sex, hickey, blow job (v), masturbation and self-masturbation (p), pet names) mature language, abuse of alcohol, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional distress. if any of these topics makes you uncomfortable, i advise against reading this story.

word count: 5.9k

note: hi! first of all i wanted to thank everyone who interacted with 'halfway out the door', you don't even know how much it means to me that people can read my stories. i knew i said i would do some fluff, but i feel like im not good at it. i cant seem to let the reader be happy can i? (this fic is so long i feel like i got a bit carried away)

p.s.: this is my first time ever writing smut, im sorry if its too bad. also! 'halfway out the door' has ninety percent of possibility to have a second part.

p.s. 2: the party ended an hour ago and he still there. another thing that i wanted to say is that FOR ME 'slut!' is not a love song so that is my reason for this, i take my interpretation of the song and write it down — venus 🫂💐🫧

The sun's rays slipped through the white curtain covering the partially open window, letting in the morning breeze. You nestled in the sheets, still drowsy, but as you did, you snapped wide awake, realizing once again that Pedri wasn't by your side.

You turned over, hoping it was a dream, but the only remnants of him in the room were his lingering scent and memories of the night before, replaying in your mind.

The way he touched you, tracing each of the invisible scars left by your previous lovers who sought only their own pleasure, using you to their liking without paying attention to your desires.

He was different. His kisses felt like a religious experience, filling you with an ever-growing sense of fulfillment. Nothing wrapped around you more securely than the feeling of having him inside of you, merging under the lustful gaze of the moon that welcomed you on a tailor-made altar, adorned with soft sheets and sensations that turned into a celestial orchestra.

And although the next day, perhaps his flaws became evident, your infatuation took you beyond, closing the curtain of the stage within your mind; you didn't have to be displeased or critical when admiring a work of art, right?

When the strength left from the previous night was regained under pressure, and your mind returned to the frosty present, you sat up in bed, feeling your head heavy, needing to blink several times to clear the blurriness that clouded your eyes due to sleep.

Your feet rested on the wooden floor. You didn’t want to face another day with the pain of the mandatory conviction your heart held towards your mind, aiming it with a gun if it tried to move from there.

You sighed with closed eyes and gathered your clothes scattered around the room. When you finished dressing, you approached the window and inhaled a breath of air to refresh your thoughts.

You left your room; the squeak of the door echoed through the house, signaling to Elena that you had already woken up. You couldn't lie; you were afraid to face her.

She, your best friend since you desperately looked for someone to share an apartment with after the owners of your previous apartment unjustly left you out in the cold.

She, who warmly welcomed you full of empathy and commiseration, helped you deal with the storm by receiving you in a studio apartment with an air mattress. She became the person you adored most in the whole world and never lacked frankness in her words.

Both of you moved forward together; now, you succeeded in modeling, and you could search for something much more comfortable living now in a pent-house, but always side by side.

You arrived at the spacious kitchen connected to the dining room and were met with an exquisite aroma, akin to the dishes she professionally prepared. You tied your hair in a ponytail and moved the chair to sit facing the counter.

Crossed fingers and your chin resting on your hands, you noticed she expected your presence when she twisted her torso, leaving a plate with toast and homemade raspberry jam on the marble counter in front of you.

You waited a moment to grab one of the perfectly made toasts and spread the jam in the toast; you felt the tension in the air. You knew of her disapproving stance regarding your situation with Pedri, and you knew she was preparing the usual sermon.

"Want to say something about it?" It was as if she had read your mind; turning her back, you sat up straighter on the stool, your distressed chest making your heart pump more blood than usual.

"No," you replied dryly, as you took a bite of toast.

"Alright, then it'll be up to me." You felt fear travel up your spine to the buzzing in your head and a high-pitched tone ringing in your ears.

You tried to breathe normally, but it was impossible. Her actions guided your eyes; she put the angel food cake in the oven and turned around, sitting on the stool in front of you, looking at you incredulously.

"He left at seven in the morning. When was the last time he stayed the following morning with you? I know you don't want to hear this, and I understand that you're into him. But don't let that blind you from what's really happening here. You're too intelligent for this, too good for someone who treats you like an option." Her words were always harsh, and she never hesitated to tell you the bleak truth without flinching. But it wasn't what you needed now, and her words were insignificant in front of the formidable figure that Pedri occupied in your mind.

There were very few people who dared to challenge your perspective, and Elena was brave enough to do it, even though her attempts always ended in defeats.

And defeats consisted in your denial, where you decided to take off your glasses after seeing what was there. You knew it existed and acknowledged it deep down, but hearing someone throw out statements so lightly without knowing him in the homely intimacy where he could unfold without prejudices, was something only you could discover.

The 'Open Sesame' didn't work with all tones, and not everyone acquired the privilege of opening such a treasure. So, you assumed it was envy.

"Maybe it’s a mess, maybe it’s complicated, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth a damn!" Your voice began to rise in volume the more anger you vented at her, who was innocent of it all. You noticed her furrowed brow, her attempts to help, every time she threw you a lifeline, you chose to ignore it, believing you could swim the remaining yards to shore alone.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to find a balance, but your aggressiveness seemed to have reached its peak.

"I’ll sort it out myself, alright?" You exhaled, continuing your defense. "So just back off, Ele. I’m sick of needing your approval for everything. I’ll make my choices, even if they’re not in your rulebook." You spoke with a passive-aggressive tone. "You think you know him? You have no clue, none whatsoever." You got up from your seat, giving the countertop a light tap, and shook your head indignantly.

"I just want what's best for you, y/n," She whispered, looking you in the eyes with honesty. You headed towards the door disappearing from her sight.

You knew that she wanted to protect you like she did from the very first moment.

Despite being your age, she showed herself to be more mature than you. You were like her baby chick, and she had the instinct to keep you under her wings, but she had to admit that you had to learn defense by yourself.

And sometimes you need to fail to build your path.

There was no better remedy in your routine than drowning yourself in work to stop thinking about all the dilemmas surrounding your life. At least for a few hours.

Growing within the fashion industry was difficult without contacts; if you wanted to achieve something, you had to consider the hurdles you might carry in your backpack. But your resilience and pride prevented anyone else, terrified of having a future of subordination, from winning.

Today's meetings were about agreements for your brand, a dream that grew with you from your mom reading you bedtime stories to the present day.

You had put so much effort and creativity into your project that, regardless of what happened externally, your priority would always be there. No affair or argument could steer you away from that.

All your distractions due to logical thoughts vanished upon arriving at your apartment. You turned on the lights; Elena had left you a message informing you that she would stay at her boyfriend's house for the night.

Your home felt empty without her blasting music through the speakers and constant movements around the house. You cracked your neck, leaving your faux leather coat on the entryway rack. You lazily tossed your bag onto the couch, sitting beside it. You unbuckled your heels, freeing your feet.

A contained sigh escaped your nostrils, easing your chest a bit. You heard thousands of notifications coming from your bag. Worried, you unzipped it and searched for the phone, unsure of what was happening.

You glanced at the news headlines and the numerous social media posts where you were being tagged. You thought you had successfully escaped last time. The carefully revised alibi by both managers to divert media attention from your relationship had been futile.

But it seemed not entirely effective; without any evidence or concrete proof, just a blurry and deficient photo was enough for them to create a compelling scene for the public.

You clicked on a specific article; its name caught your attention, "The New Target of Love: The Boy in Her Chaos - Will He Survive?" You knew it wasn't the smartest decision you could make; the echoes of the voices of the people closest to you resonated in your ears. But you were alone and had nothing better to do at that moment.

The devil on your right shoulder encouraged and forced you to keep reading; with each sentence and word, your tear ducts were ready to expel the salty drops from your eyes.

You couldn't understand why journalists consistently targeted your romantic relationships instead of focusing on your professional endeavors, where you worked, and strived every day to show the world that you were more than just a pretty face. But in a sexist world, you had to accept without a murmur the things they wrote without any pity, driven by money and interactions.

Had you signed up for this life, or was it something gradually inserted into your brain about what it had to be?

You found yourself seated at your computer with a bottle of wine by your side, seemingly engrossed in reading each of the articles criticizing you and perpetuating a negative reputation of yourself.

You had poured a small amount of the burgundy liquid into your glass. Some sort of masochism consumed you, and without noticing, you began to pour more and more wine into the glass, your heart filling with misery, pausing at every clever word that defined your identity on the internet. Because all of the words seemed monotone.

Until the glass was no longer enough to swallow the bitter pill, you stared at the bottle, contemplating your next move. You shrugged and reached for the bottle with difficulty, your vision truly distorted, no longer having a sense of space.

You leaned back in the couch and took a long swig that burned your throat, feeling your heart rate rise.

You decided you had gone too far, abruptly leaving the computer on the table in front of you. When you tried to get up, you fell backward by inertia, unbalanced. That's when you realized you weren't even paying attention to the news but mindlessly scrolling your mouse.

The tears you had been holding back for over an hour and a half streamed down your cheeks immediately. Now, you couldn't turn back and felt trapped within your own uncontrollable body.

Gut-wrenching sobs made your body tremble, and at that moment, all you could think of was his touch, how every time you cried, he carefully wiped your cheeks and assured you that this too shall pass.

With tears and alcohol blurring your vision, it wasn't hard to find his number as you had it pinned in your messaging app. You opened his chat and immediately tapped the call icon.

You placed your phone to your ear, hearing the beeps from the other end, while your body, consumed by sorrow, couldn't help but continue shedding tears.

You perceived a noticeable change from silence to a clear indication that the call had been answered. You tried to stifle your crying by biting your lip, but it seemed this battle wouldn't let you emerge victorious.

"Love, are you crying?" You wanted to respond, but his voice only intensified your desire to cry; you longed to feel his warmth. You still didn't understand why you decided to go this far. "y/n, I'm worried. Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?" You tried to take a deep breath to provide an answer.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and then placed it on your chest, trying to assist in the calming process. "It's so exhausting." These were the words that came out of your mouth as you exhaled.

He still didn't understand exactly what you were talking about, but you kept talking. "I think I can't be with you anymore." Your voice came out strained; you truly didn't want to say those words. You clung to the arm of the chair with one hand, squeezing it, waiting to hear the response on the other side.

"What?" He couldn't comprehend how he had woken up at two in the morning, and you were talking about cutting ties. "Love, listen to me. Why don't you go to sleep, and tomorrow, we spend the day at the country house?" On the other end of the line, he easily realized the moment he picked up that you were drunk.

"Okay." You affirmed with a nod, resting your head on the armrest, and lifting your feet to stretch out on the sofa. "I love you a lot." Your face contracted again, a sign that tears would return.

"You too." He replied, and you were the one who ended the call, slightly calmer about the reflections the articles had left and the incoherent thoughts that had arisen from them.

You left the phone by your side and curled up, hugging yourself, seeking warmth without the help of a blanket. You closed your eyes, praying that the world would change radically tomorrow, although you knew it was an unlikely hope. You never wished more than for whoever was in the sky to give you a new chance to love in the right way.

You needed to believe in someone; you needed assistance from the universe to not lose the hope that once brought you immense joy. But perhaps genuine love was like Santa Claus, and sooner or later, it would crumble like any other ingenious belief.

And like a shrewd child who receives his Christmas gifts with the same enthusiasm even after learning the hidden truth, you dipped your feet into the transparent chlorinated water.

He watched each of your movements attentively, leaning on one of the pool edges. You plunged, soaking your entire body, and swam towards his direction, resurfacing enveloped in laughter with him.

He embraced you, sharing some of his warmth to your cold body due to the sudden change in the water, and you placed your hands around his waist, looking up at him from his chest.

"I love you so much." You bit your lip, seeking an outlet for your love. He rested his hands on your cheeks and began planting short kisses that spread across your entire face.

"I love you more." He reciprocated, giving two gentle taps on your legs. You jumped, and he took you into his arms grabbing your ass.

Quickly, he changed his position, leaving your back resting on the cold pool wall. The chills went up through your spinal cord, fusing the temperature of the edge and its expression, which never went out of style to make you think that everything you needed was there, with him.

You ran his sculpted shoulders with your palms open, feeling his muscles and intertwined your fingers behind his neck, brushing his hair.

Your lips brushed, and you could feel the electricity that could arise from a simple and minimal contact.

He brought his face to you, holding you tight against the concrete.

It was undeniable the indissoluble bond tied by the threads that led you each time to the same situation, and the core of your life was nourished by its bond.

As your lips collided with fervor, eager to quell the fervent passion, you pulled him closer with your legs still entwined around his waist. Feeling his hardness against your core ignited arousal as he pressed himself firmly, and both of you gasped in the midst of the kiss at the electrifying contact.

Your lips didn't want to part, too hungry for each other's sweet taste. You caught his lower lip between your teeth, pulling it gently to invite your tongue into his mouth. It had become sloppy as you lightly tugged his hair, eliciting a groan.

His hand stealthily ascended, never parting from your lips, traveling from your ass to the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

His tender lips traced a pattern from your cheeks to your neck. You tilted your head back, offering more of your skin for his exploration.

Expertly, his fingers unraveled the straps of your bikini with a single pull, still nestled in your neck. As the air grazed your tightened nipples, your breath hitched when he took one between his fingers, fidgeting and further intensifying the sensation.

Your sensitive boobs elicited desperate whimpers as he continued grinding against you, creating a symphony of pleasure. The air thickened, and your bodies radiated heat.

His lips passionately suctioned a spot, causing your eyes to roll. You were well aware that he would leave a hickey there.

Moving from your neck, his lips trailed down to your collarbone. Frustration built as he skillfully teased the sides of your breasts, deliberately avoiding the attention where you craved it most.

"Pedri, please..." You gently tugged his strands, prompting him to lift his head. Counterfeit innocence gleamed in his pupils.

"What do you need, amor? Tell me, is there something I can do for you?" His gentle caress graced your cheek, and you melted into his simmering touch.

"Please..." He ceased grinding, his hand swiftly traversing to your neck, as your hand descended, grazing his abs.

"If only you could see this beautiful hickey right now," He whispered, tracing the mark and toying with you, his actions inviting your response as he often did.

It was exasperating; no matter how frequently you found yourself in such moments with him, articulating your desires remained a challenge.

"Just do something," you uttered, a touch of despondency in your voice, pouting with pleading eyes. Yet, he remained resolute.

"I just don't know what you want." He shook his head, gently placing a strand of hair behind your ear, mimicking your pout with a teasing tone.

"Alright... just please, babe, suck my tits," you replied with a hint of frustration. His corners lifted, forming a smile, having successfully achieved his goal.

"There she is, that's my good girl, aren't you?" You couldn't help but nod several times steadfastily, just wanting him to stop playing.

His face vanished from your sight as he covered one of your breasts with his mouth. A loud moan escaped your throat, a sound of satisfaction for him as he moved his tongue, savoring your skin. "Was it that difficult?" He gazed at you once more, and you sighed in irritation, prompting him to raise his eyebrows, questioning your actions.

"No." Your fingers traced his chest as he continued sucking with determination.

Moving lower, you reached the edge of the swim trunks' fabric. However, as you did, he pulled away with a frown. "Who said you could touch?" You mirrored his expression confused.

"Last night, you scared me a lot. Do you think it was funny for me? No, so you can't decide who's having fun, okay?" Your chest felt heavy, yet you found a strange allure in his dominant low voice, even though you wanted to object.

"I thought..." He wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you back and shutting your mouth with his thumb. He watched as you sucked it, humming and biting his plump lips.

"You didn't think shit. Now, jump." He firmly gripped your hips, lifting you effortlessly to the pool's edge. Seated, you patiently awaited his guidance, uncertainty accelerating your heartbeat.

Intense eye contact heightened the tension. His fingers delicately traced over your thighs, starting from the outer part, then gently grazing your clothed intimacy. He devoured you with his gaze.

"Lean back for me, baby." You did as he pleased leaning in your elbows.

He tapped on your thighs, a signal to lift your hips, and he removed the sole fabric covering your body and throwing it to your side. He took your legs and placing them over his shoulders. Spreading you open. A groan escaped him at the sight, reveling in your arousal.

"So wet, just for me," he murmured, running his fingers through your folds, collecting your juices and parting your lips to spread the liquids.

You pressed closer, yearning for more. "Just for you." Suddenly, a firm spank on your sensitive area made you shudder, and you gasped. "Behave," he commanded, throwing you a dominant look.

Circling your clit, he gradually increased the pace. Tilted back, moans escaped uncontrollably. Another spank followed, and you met his gaze. "Keep your eyes on me, princess. Watch as I pleasure you like no one else could."

His words wielded a powerful influence in every scenario. Returning to your pussy, he made his way to slip two fingers inside you easily as you were soaked by now. The reflex to close your eyes surfaced, but his commanding words echoed in your mind.

He initiated a rhythmic motion, penetrating and withdrawing, targeting your most sensitive depths, obscene wet sounds, thumb still teasing your bud. Overwhelmed by the intensity, you sought stability, bringing your index finger to your mouth, biting down to anchor yourself. "You can grab my hair, baby," he suggested, prompting a satisfying sigh as you obediently followed his directive.

As the synchronization of your movements intensified, he decided to elevate the pleasure further. His mouth joined the sensual dance, lasciviously spitting your core, eliciting a contented hum from you.

As his mouth drew near your clit, enveloping it ably, a scream escaped your lips, worthy of a scene of a pornographic film. His name slipped through your mouth, an inadvertent encouragement that fueled his tenacity to excel, delve deeper, move faster, and render you numb in ecstasy.

In the intimacy, he displayed a reflection of his approach on the field, always seeking ways to enhance and achieve peak performance, a relentless pursuit of reaching his full potential at what he knew he was one of the bests, even when he didn't want to admit it.

There was no sweeter melody than your filthy moans. His crotch throbbed aching, aware that just a few pumps would make him reach his climax. But he needed to focus on you first, even though he rolled his hips against the concrete, trying to calm down his needs.

He groaned, shutting his eyes and digging his tongue into your hole. Your legs entwined around his neck, the tight knot of pleasure building as you moved your hips in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue.

"Pedri, I'm..." You shouted, the words hanging in the air unfinished, as he entered both, fingers with tongue, increasing the pace with each successive motion.

He opened his eyes again, locking onto yours, brimming with passion beneath the sun. His nose brushing against your clit, combined with his bambi-like eyes in contrast to the authority he held over you, escalate the moment as you tightly grasped his hair, evoking the release of your juices.

He couldn't help but stop pressing against the wall and squeeze his shaft inescapably, captivated by the way you adhered to what he said, even if it meant he had to assert control with a firm hand, correcting your inclination to lean back a few times.

He loved how obedient you were and how your body reacted.

Your high-pitched sounds spurred him to slip his hand inside his swim trunks, almost moaning at the sensations created by his own touch and the enticing arch of your back. He found himself immersed in the sweet taste and intoxicating fragrance that surrounded him.

He went up and down with his hand on his dick fervently, trembling in sync with you. "Are you going to come, my love? Do it for me," his deep voice making you feel so close. You played with one of your hardened nipples between your fingers. You affirmed with the other hand on his hair, and he hummed against you in response. "Oh, my god." you mumbled.

His vibrations heightened your euphoria, and the combination of his tongue and fingers left you feeling overstimulated. As you screamed arching your back, you became undone, laying flat, straightening your arms at your side and shuddering as you felt him persisting in his ministrations.

Too blind to reach his own pleasure to think about anything else, he continued pounding his dick, gripping his tip as he parted his lips, releasing ecstatic sounds and feeling the reverberations across his body. Leaning against your abdomen, he sensed his shots filling his shorts as he lowered his pace.

You tenderly ran your fingers through his sweaty hair, both basking in the tranquility of the moment as his chest rose and fell. Minds empty.

"Come here, baby," you whispered. He propelled himself up from the water and leaned flat at your side.

As you lay down on the cold poolside with him, he placed his hand on your waist, burying his head in your neck. He rubbed his nose, sensing how your perfume delicately mixed with expelled pheromones, obtaining a small giggle from you.

You swung your leg over his waist, leaning your chest towards him, and stroked his wet hair.

"Thank you," you smiled with closed eyes, sighing. "It's just what I needed."

"I like hearing that," he said, pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes. You looked like a fallen angel with your smudged mascara, swollen lips, tired eyes, and blush spreading across your cheeks.

His gaze instinctively dropped to your neck, observing the love mark on your skin. Though in his mind, he still questioned if this was truly love.

Without delving too much into his thoughts, he gently pecked your lips.

"Pedri..." you sighed, coming down from the adrenaline rush. Sitting up, you supported yourself with your hands and looked at him, recalling internet articles and Elena's words.

"Already want to talk about that?" he asked, huddled up, absorbing the remaining sunlight.

"I'm going to shower," you said, rising from the ground, creating a space for anticipation, allowing him to process and reflect. You knew the house perfectly, having visited many times with the understanding that no one could see you and spend the entire day together.

But meaningful memories were scarce, and you clung to them, hoping that someday it could be more than the fear of being seen together, unable to go to a restaurant or travel together.

You entered the shower, letting the cold water make you reconsider your beliefs. You trusted that, for the first time, you had found something real, a gentleman who stood out in the world of ordinary men, wanting to keep you safe.

You also trusted that you would walk on nails and endure all the thorns of a rose just to be with him. But genuinely, love should be about facing painful situations to prove love for a person, or love should feel welcoming, a place where you would stay for eternity if it had to be so?

You analyzed it, the rain falling on you as you cleaned your body. You wouldn't stay with Pedri; he never felt like a place where you could unload all your baggage without fear.

After all, coming from past relationships, he was your sanctuary at first, stemming from more deficient and unstable experiences. You couldn't stop the solitary tear that escaped your eye.

Since the night you met, you should have realized that nothing good could come from something that was supposed to be just for a night. But you didn't want to listen.

You left the shower, unable to continue ruminating in your head without fainting in the attempt. The drops that weren't allowed to fall from your tear ducts were released by your hair.

You grabbed your clothes, still absorbed in your thoughts. When you finished dressing, you placed your hand on the doorknob. Behind it lay the definition of the future of this strange relationship, and the confrontation was something that terrified you.

You walked into the living room to find him seated, wrestling with his thoughts, head bowed, facing away. Approaching him, you crossed your arms in front of his neck and hugged him, taking in his freshly scented and the slight dampness of his hair. He looked at you wearily, unsure of what would happen, and you gave him a kiss on the cheek before sitting next to him on the gray sofa.

You took his hand with love; you couldn't deny that, despite everything, he had been the source of most of your joys in the last four months. You took a deep breath before letting it out and started speaking.

"Are you mine?" His hand tensed, and his brow furrowed. He didn't understand where such a sudden question came from.

"What?" He responded confused, almost pulling away from you.

"Are you mine or not?" You still hoped for a more certain answer.

"I don't understand where your question is coming from." His expression showed he had never really thought about something like that. At least, was there some kind of feeling for you in his heart? You wondered which person you had been with all this time.

"Just answer it." You let go of his hand; your voice carried a tone of desperation and anguish. You knew you wouldn't get anywhere, but you still needed to cling to the few hopes that remained.

"I don't understand what you mean by 'yours'; we never talked about..." He tried to make another excuse in front of your eyes. It felt as if he were treating you like a little girl, who would eventually leave the question unanswered once she got tired.

"I need to know where we stand! Do you want to be with me or not?" You no longer knew why you kept trying about something that wouldn't change. You stood up from the sofa, and he avoided looking at you.

"Why do you have to make it so complicated? We're just having fun." He shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. That response could have been worse than a straightforward no.

"Having fun? Do you think I'm with you to have fun with how the media calls me a slut, Pedro?" You shook your head in disbelief, letting out a bitter, pained laugh. "Four months enduring your ambiguities while defending you in front of my friends, saying you needed time." Your voice faltered, recalling all the arguments you had faced, thinking that at some point, everything would change.

"I didn't think you felt that way." He detached himself from his actions, as if it were so simple. Still avoiding eye contact.

"You said you loved me! Did you ever feel genuine love for me?" Your heart tightened; all this couldn't be a big lie where you were the only one playing a game that was already resolved.

"I don't know." He whispered, unsure of how you would react to such an unsure yet determinant answer. Your eyes blurred with contained tears; you couldn't cry like this in front of him.

"You knew everything you were doing; you knew that I was yours, and you didn't care." You screamed, desperate for him to show some emotion, to show that something of everything you had experienced had a hint of reality.

"It wasn't like that." He replied in the same flat tone, this time looking at you and realizing the tears that were falling, while you were motionless, feeling the room spin around you, and your ears ringing again.

"It was exactly like that." You had been sincere from your first conversation, under that neon light on a private yacht. A party where you didn't want to be, he approached you for that simple reason; you were the only girl who hadn't looked at him.

And you had found someone whom you thought had the will and power to heal all your wounds. But you ended up dancing with shadows in glass, with something ephemeral that you thought could be eternal. While you ended up being one of the many prey in his history.

"I gave you everything, I told you about my past and how I needed someone to trust, and you ended up being like everyone else." You released a silent sob and headed towards the room, where you had left your backpack. You were supposed to spend a weekend together, and now everything was withered. Your feigned acts of believing that magic still existed were in vain.

"Where are you going?" You gasped, bumping into him in the door frame; he placed his hands on your shoulders, concerned.

"I called Elena; she'll come to pick me up." You hadn't even talked to your best friend when you sneaked away with Pedri at noon; she would do everything to stop you from leaving, and you preferred not to tell her. But she, without hesitation, as soon as you asked, was already on her way.

"We can try to fix it." You knew he was only offering the response your ears craved. But you weren't going to fall for his spells. This time, his method of still having your strings to manipulate you like a puppet wouldn't work.

"I won't be with someone who never cared about me." You walked to the door, lowering the latch, and turned around once more; he looked at you from a considerable distance. He wasn't going to try to stop you, and that was what hurt the most. "Good luck, Pedro."

You left the house, and the evening air enveloped you. You walked along the walkway made of rocks, each step feeling heavier than the last. Another relationship failing, another person disappointing and discarding you like a crumpled note, forgotten in the margins of a story that never reached its intended conclusion.

Your tears flowed freely down your cheeks now that you weren't facing him. You stood on the street, waiting for Elena to arrive. She had every right to tell you 'I told you so,' and she would be justified.

You saw her black car approaching from the end of the street, parking right in front of you. You hesitated for a moment to get in, embarrassed to ignore someone who only sought your happiness.

She rolled down the window, and your eyes locked inviting you in. Opening the door, she extended her arms, offering solace. Tears streamed down your face as you looked for refuge on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Ele." You lifted your head, and she gently wiped away your tears. Shaking her head, she dismissed your apologies.

"I'll always be here by your side. You're the one who needs to learn, but I'll never leave you adrift, okay?" You pouted, and your tears continued to flow.

You both settled back into your seats, stealing glances at the house. A part of you lingered there, and a lump formed in your throat. You sensed that distancing yourself was the only thing that could save you from descending into delirium. Now, you must gather the fragments of your heart once more and rebuild it on your own.

Your eyes went directly to the hickey he had left. You wanted to rip that skin off, not wanting to have him in your memories in any way.

Leaning your head against the window, you wondered what could have been if fame hadn't been the haunting specter in your life. You guessed that you will never actually know.

[rynli]

Hi, can I just say I'm in love with your fic? Cause I'm in love with your fucking fic. Did I finish binge reading it just five minutes ago? Yes. Yes I did. But it makes the brain worms fresh, so.

1. IM IN LOVE WITH YOUR CHARACTERISATION. Harry is enough of a sopping sack of old man sadness coupled with incompetence of a guy who forgor everything about the current reality - even down to the simplicity of 'wait, where do you buy ingredients?' and needing someone to explain how to do his own goddamn paperwork. And of COURSE Pryce needs him back on his old caseload - which would just kill him. Again. AND BY GOD, MAN.... The way that breakdown/relapse chapter went down? God. He really did just try to go on a run. At least he got a bowl out of it, though. Absolutely love the way you write the skills and all the failed checks, too, cause man is Harry struggling. Absolutely delightful. (Also this is small, but electrochemistry being more than the 'take drugs!!' guy is. Actually refreshing which is unfortunate. He's the HAPPY CHEMICAL GUY!! THE THINGS YOU ENJOY DOING!! SEEKING SEROTONIN AND DOPAMINE! He's gonna be excited over a new fuckin thing that makes you happy!)

2. KIM. THE MAN HIMSELF. I love that you're making him act appropriately silly actually. He's not serious all the time. Yes he's a killjoy but he'll also call you a schoolboy. The banter??? God I love the banter. The bit with 'papa' at the lake actually killed me and I almost whipped out a whole essay right there. GOD he plays off of Harry so well. ALSO!!! ACTUALLY VALIDATING HIS FEELINGS IN THAT SCENE!! MEETING HIM HALFWAY, NOT TAKING A STEP BACK. HARRY IS MENTALLY ILL, AND YOU DON'T TELL THOSE PEOPLE THEIR DELUSIONS/BELIEFS/IN THIS CASE BRAIN VOICES ARE NOT REAL OR THAT THEY DON'T MATTER!!! GOD. The talk of Kim being actively curious about Harry's voices, too? The 'Dreamer' bit? Oh my godddd. I hope we see Harry introduce more of the skills to Kim, I'd love for that to be an ongoing literary thread of Harry giving bits of his heart on a silver platter. Man.

Okay I'm rambling but the last thing I'll mention is the actual MYSTERY!! It being mostly kids/teenagers??? KNOWING AND ACKNOWLEDGING HARRY USED TO BE A GYM TEACHER AND USED TO INTERACT AND TEACH KIDS? That has to be devastating, right?? You could have known them. In another life. One was LITERALLY coming back from soccer practice. It could have been you, losing one of your students. Whos to say be didn't lose them before? God. Just- god. He joined the cops for the city, for the people- and they keep dying anyway.

(I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT YOUR FIC!!! SO NORMAL RIGHT NOW!!! I PROMISE. IT'S VERY LOVELY.)

Holy shit thank you for the fresh brainworms!! Eating them like a bird.

Poor Harry is sopping wet and going through it. He's exactly the mix of pathetic + weird + potentially scary that I love to read and write about, and I am throwing him against the wall to see how he splats. Kim is less intuitive, especially when it comes to things like Harry's voices (the game text is very clear that he doesn't believe things talk to Harry, but also he cares a lot for him at this point and he knows that this is important to him!!) so I'm very happy to hear that that hit the mark.

Fun fact! I almost didn't even start this fic because I didn't think I could come up with skill dialogue! Thankfully they flow surprisingly easily. Echem 👏redemption 👏 arc! Give the guy some natural dopamine!

Oh god... Harry would have known so many of the district's youth... he absolutely had to take cases with kids he used to know. screaming and crying. I'm always thinking about how he's a cop to try to help people, but as a homicide detective he can only ever show up after it's too late. I'm hoping to find a place where he can help people (and the city) preventatively, rather than posthumously! I've found several lines in the game that point in a certain direction; hoping I can get there.

I'm glad we can all be so normal together :)

[evelili]

okay I’ve been reading your magnum opus fic and I’m at the chapter with fluttershy and the manticore and GOOD GOD this fic is amazing. Your writing of twilight is stunning. Her steadfast belief in science at the start seemed odd but now that her past bullying has been revealed it feels like she was just clutching to the one thing that couldn’t hurt her. God sunset getting possessed is so cool and I am TERRIFIED of when twilights going to be forced to see her like that. Your characterization of Celestia blows me away, she’s this perfect mix of a loving mentor and a woman who would do ANYTHING to keep her demons locked away. I really like how you write that there’s this shift between her when she is talking to twilight normally vs when she’s talking about magic. She goes from loving to almost cold, it’s brilliant! I’m halfway through fluttershy’s chapter and good god. Applejack’s speech about it not being Twilights fault she got bullied and having to trust her in spite of all that has happened nearly brought me to tears but GOD. Twilight being a bit possessed by the manticore is such a cool shift from the original episode it makes it all so much more intense. Fluttershy and twilight talking about how twilight didn’t deserve to be bullied and it’s alright that she didn’t get over it!!

“Something’s wrong with me,” she whispered back, her mouth dry with guilt. Fluttershy nodded carefully, the stinger still inches away from her throat. Twilight didn’t trust herself to move, and instead added, “I don’t mean just right now. There’s still—” She choked on her words. “I didn’t get over it,” she said instead. “I couldn’t. Not like you.”

Like!!! This bit right here fucked me UP. Your descriptions of the emotions she’s feeling and how she’s expressing it physically between her mouth and her voice and how the wings and scorpion tail are reacting are BRILLIANT!!

Twilight didn’t try to move away. “But I’m not better,” she admitted. Fluttershy’s hand brushed against her cheek, gently tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “And I don’t know why.”

This line is the one that broke me and made me write this. GOD. I don’t have words besides just. oh my god. Fluttershys gentleness is so good and so heartbreaking and I love it

I’ll be honest I’m not yet sure how to write long comments on fimfiction, but when I finish this fic you’re eithering getting a long ass ask in your inbox or a comment on there if I figure it out. Love this fic so far!!! Ah!!!!

AHHHHHH tysm for taking the time to write such a lovely comment!!! like holy shit you have just given me enough serotonin for WEEKS omg, it makes me so happy to know that you're enjoying the story!!

celestia is a rlly interesting chara to me, and im super happy w how the version of her in the fic turned out! actually, most of the reason for the 30k epilogue jumpscare is that i really needed to properly resolve her "arc" with twilight, so if you are a fan of this version of her please look forward to that! and, sunset as a "villain" was something we only saw briefly in eqg1 (and for my tastes, i wasnt a huge fan of how it was done) but there's so much POTENTIAL there i couldnt help myself in exploring it :)

chapter 5->act 2 is the real "turning point" i guess of the fic in terms of tone, and even tho it was a struggle to write shy's chapter i think over time i've rlly come around to liking how it turned out :D in the fic i ended up writing fluttershy as more of a later season version of herself (less cowardly maybe?), but the essence of her chara to me is someone who can be kind even in situations when she is receiving unkindness in return. and sometimes, this "fighting fire with kindness" is actually the only solution, and one that only shy can find.

wahhh i never know how to properly express how much i love and appreciate these sort of detailed responses, so please also accept a little doodle of the scene you mentioned liking as part of my thanks!

[animelover20]

Y'all my motivation to finish my Christmas fic has come at the possibly best time. And I'm not refering to it being 4 days till Christmas.

I am currently sitting down with a glass of wine cause I felt a bit inclined to drink. Which is not often for me. And now im working on my Christmas fic.. slightly drunk off red wine.

Fitting isn't it. Within the series of one piece we do see a lot of people drink alcohol but very few actually drink wine.(going off the top of my head i really only remember Mihawk lmao)

Ya know the one person we see drink wine and infact fucking down it. My boy doffy. So here I am, tipsy and feeling like a posh cunt sipping on my wine while I make edits to my Christmas fic.(god I need him to spoil me so bad, please become real to come save me you rich bastard)

The whole first half is done just needs to be imporved a bit and I estimate I'm a little over halfway done but who knows how much I'm gonna add or edit.

So far going pretty good but I might have to fix the typos in the morning(seriously autocorrect is saving me throughout this post) but aside from that it's coming along nicely.

[lowkeiloki]

hi :)

this is kind of random, but i recently got into the tpom fandom and i loved your fanfiction “the hoboken playdate” and i wanted to know if you planned on finishing it! keep up the good work :)!

oh my god thank you!!! that fic is on my mind a lot and how i have to finish it. the second 0art is about halfway done, but i ran into a bit of a roadblock in the story, the writing dragged out and long story-short the college started and i had no time for writing anymore. the semester is over in a month and i got whole february free so i should get it down then.

again, thank you, im even more excited to continue it now that i know there are others that want to see it finished :D

[royaltrios]

2024 writing retrospective

i wrote some fics this year, as i always do. i want to talk about it for entirely self-absorbed naval-gazing reasons

this year, unlike last's which was a lot of dgs, was 90% genshin impact fanfiction. this is slightly embarrassing to look back on as i dont fuck with genshin (or gacha) anymore. despite that, the characters stayed with me (and maybe still do a bit, in my own way) for the better part of 3 years, so i felt like they were the only thing i could write as nothing else i partook in this year ever really got to the "i can and want to write gay fanfiction for this" territory.

so genshin. or; three characters from genshin. ive always liked genshins world despite stopping playing it for good halfway through this year. i liked the chiscara i wrote for it, i think just by blind passion and confidence that comes from spending time with the characters alone the fics ive done for it are some of the best and most fun ive written. photosynethesia, my nahida+scara retrospective that i finally finished in summer of this year (after starting last april!) is my favorite fic ive ever done. i keep going back to it (despite my ever-present battle with past and present tense) and going, yeah, this was really good. i find whenever i focus and write stuff with no sex to lead up to, i feel good about it. probably because im doing something different than what i always do.

i started this year with a fic about being cold, which i wrote whilst visiting my very good friend up in minnesota. one night we walked from their apartment to a gay bar in minus eleven farenheight wind chill. i wrote a lot of that fic in little cafes and sitting on their sofa bed. i loved their warm apartment (they've since moved), talking about storytelling with them over borscht (i miss borscht so bad, i keep telling myself im going to finally learn how to make it, but i dont totally know where to find beets here, and japanese sour cream sucks)

i didnt write for all of my spring semester. i graduated, finally. i took a ferry an hour to meet my internet friends and live in a house with them for a few days. i felt out of place for about 24 hours and then i didnt anymore. i love being around people who are all unhealthily into the same fictional people. the friend who picked me up and drove me talked about my fanfiction and how much they liked it to my face. like quoted instances from it. that was something completely new to me, and im still shocked that people out there read and think about my stuff at all, despite my daily ao3 email telling me that they do. everyday.

after photosynesthesia, my favorite is probably the aforementioned last year's snow. the good memories of writing it, and i honestly think it turned out pretty well. im a fan of their characterization there. then i had a lot of fun with bloodflow, as i allowed myself to be looser and funnier with some of childe's narration, because, well, hes childe. i liked all the chiscara i wrote this year, as most of it was written in a like frantic obsession driven one and a half month spiral before i moved.

there was a final chiscara fic i wanted to complete to round off my series, but ive marked the ao3 collection as complete for now. i dont want to really think about genshin anymore, and id much rather put it as a whole, behind me. still, i wrote good for it. im glad about that. maybe one day ill write that last fic, but probably not.

recently i read a manga that rewired my brain chemistry, as things are known to do to me from time to time, and so ive been writing for that. it feels really fun to get out of genshin fantasy world and write things i know, like being in undergrad, and modern day tokyo. plus theres age gap and guilt, two of my favorite things to talk about ever!

i started on some dgs fics this year, which id like to go back to eventually when this onslaught of wayama yama manga lets me go (im considering writing fic for two characters in a 30ish page oneshot, how crazy is that? they dont even have character tags on ao3). and regardless i miss writing about barok pining, asoryuu doing nothing and saying nothing and it meaning everything. i miss being able to write in my bastardized victorian fiction style!

though i got close to writing rgg fic this year, i didnt ever get there (i dont like writing before i know the full story, and rgg is, unfortunately (?), almost ten games long. i did, however, discover bible's rgg/judgment fics while on vacation in california in may, and theyre some of the hottest porn ive ever read. really, theyre great. i love how detailed they are. i think about them practically every day. they judgment ones are literally like, tied to the actual game to me.

other than really good yakuza porn (i still think about the keihin-tohoku line every time i pass the keihin-tohoku line in tokyo station-- ive even ridden on it a couple times!), ive also been revisiting the canon series by endles and miko, which still staggers me with its length and attention to detail. goals, honestly. gtsk's insane nahida+scara stuff is some of the best poetry ive read period. i can't believe how good it is. i wish all of genshin was just their fics. mango's fics i still read every single time i get the notification in my email, and even if i know basically nothing about honkai star rail, singularity is one of the fics that gives me a feeling most like 'home' that ive ever read.

ive been more into the idea of getting into a characters viewpoint when im writing them, even though i write 3rd person exclusively. i feel like the words they use and observations they have, even the tone and length of sentences should be filtered through that character's viewpoint before anything else. if a character is simple and quick, then their pov even in third person should reflect that: shorter sentences, slightly simpler turns of phrase. the same goes for the opposite. id like to keep that in mind going forward.

i moved across the world earlier this year. it snows a lot here, more than where i was before. im still writing. ive even started reading again, which i didnt do much of in my final semester. the first month in my hot, empty apartment i finally finished all of svsss, a series that is extraordinarily dear to me for how goofy it is. i think its by far mxtx's best and most earnest. nowadays, im riding out the end of the year by mostly sitting at my kotatsu and writing, or laying under my kotatsu and reading. god i love books, indie publishing, kinky weird fanfiction. i love words. ive been reading words in other languages and i love those, too!

i mentioned i started the year writing about being cold. the fic ive got going now is also about being (slightly less, but still) cold. maybe im just a cold guy. but its nice to write while the snow falls out my balcony window, in a place i only recently began calling home.

here's to more words in 2025, and more ill-advised fanfiction too.

[supernatural-bias]

my hyperfixations — the year in review

january: gotham [ 6 / 10 ]

this was a pretty minor one, but i still had fun. began phasing out of the dc craze from the end of last year with this show, but that doesn't mean i still didn't enjoy it

february: gorillaz [ 9 / 10 ]

the beginning of the end,,, pretty much listened to nothing but them for two months straight after really doing a deep dive into the lore. pucks birthday month!!! created a six hour long playlist i still listen to today. wonderful

march: gorillaz [ 8 / 10 ]

the strong feelings for gorillaz continued. this interest goes dormant for a bit, even if i continue to listen to the music, but never completely goes away

april: the outsiders / umbrella academy [ 7 / 10 ]

a combination of these two. reread the outsiders about ten times, and watched the movie even more. also started a rewatch of tua in preparation for the new season that would come out later. cru's birthday month!

may: xmen / umbrella academy [ 7 / 10 ]

i remember going on a long camping trip and just spending the nights on the forest floor thinking about these two media's. plagued me constantly and at the same time. quinn's birth month

june: supernatural [ 10 / 10 ]

ohhhhh i did not know what i was getting myself into. no words to describe it other than fast, intense, and ever lasting. i especially appreciate this month more looking back at my first time watching. went on a class trip to europe and watched it non stop with friends. super fond memories involving this month and spn together. ezras birth month

july: supernatural [ 10 / 10]

wheeee the pattern continues!!! basically all i did this month was work and travel, so plenty of downtime to binge like. eight fucking seasons and rave about it on the internet of all places. constantly bombarded my friends with live reactions rip. very busy month with no time to think about anything but supernatural

august: supernatural [ 8 / 10 ]

this was when i finally finished the last few seasons, and started to attempt my rewatch. only got two seasons into the rewatch before peetering out of it due to school (urgh) but i talked about it non stop pretty much the entirety of the month. fun stuffs!

september: gorillaz [ 10 / 10 ]

drew murdoc for no reason one day, listened to one of the albums in full again just because, and then bam. i got stuck. this sort of starts up the pattern of no longer getting into new stuffs, but rather cycling through old ones

october: gorillaz / dsmp [ 8 / 10 ]

kept blasting gorillaz this month while trying to push down the fact that i was getting back into my oldest fandom ever. didn't want to admit to myself i was into mcyt at the time, but eventually gave up and just went for it. ten out of ten do recommend being cringe. it's very fun

november: dsmp [ 10 / 10 ]

full on minecraft brain. watching old lore. listening to old fan music. drawing block men. the works. not ré's birth month, but rather his resurgance and rebuild. poured way too much time into this old storyline. siiiiighs.

december: dsmp / supernatural [ 10 / 10]

decembers not completely over right now, but im halfway through, and it's been great. started up my spn rewatch again after visiting a con where i met actors, and still haven't been free'd of the minecraft youtuber grip. my yt watch time is so fucked

overall review: three completely new interests discovered this entire year, four characters created, fifteen new playlists made, a lot of time spent watching shows, and too many fics written

[starlazergazer]

Hii!! I’m the anon who asked if u had an ao3, and I’m sooo glad I can have all your fics in one PDF thank u so much 🙏 I can quickly pressed the download button so fast. youre genuinely one of my fav anakin fic writers in the entire galaxy (far far away). Your writing is so so gorgeous and complex, and it just feels soooo real—how each person has their own depth—so much thought is put into every word and how it’s framed.

I just read your latest fic, Separated, and my god I SOBBED. It was SO good. I was listening to sad songs too, to get more into the mood, and it made me cry even harder. My heart just dropped out of my body when Reader and Anakin were saying their last words towards each other through the call: they were so emotionally close but so physically far from each other. How they were imagining a different life where everything was more softer and happier, that living handle their souls more gently, when in reality one was killing her, and the other was walking towards a path of destruction? AARAAGGH IM GOING CRAZY WITH YOUR WRITING (COMPLIMENT). I can’t wait to see the second part and how you plan to execute the follow up.

Btw. Do you have any tips on how you can finish writing stories? You write so much and it’s all such high quality. How do you do it? I have so many ideas but I never actually commit to it. I have this idea where Reader is also on par with Anakin’s skills as a mechanic except she gets extreme motion sickness, which I think would be so funny considering she’s good at building ships but not flying them.

(I really hope you’re okay with me posting this I know your first message was sent anonymously so I wasn’t sure but if you’re not definitely just let me know and I’ll get rid of it) but Oh my god I sobbed reading this 😭. Genuinely this is the biggest compliment I’ve ever received and it means so much to me I’m positively overflowing right now and a little upset I cannot find the words to properly express how much this means to me. I already go back through some of the messages Ive received periodically as a little pick-me-up but I already know this one will be revisited weekly it just means so much to me the way you’ve picked up on everything I’ve tried so hard to do well in my writing making the dialog and situations and characters feel real and complex and messy ugghhhhh I love you so much this means the world 🫶🏻

As far as writing tips for finishing stories I have many cause it’s definitely something I struggle with all the time lol! I’d say the biggest thing for me is to focus on just getting something down rather than finishing a certain work. At any one time I have four or five word documents open on my computer because I’m regularly only writing a scene or a piece of dialog or literally just an idea. A lot of the time I get halfway through something and decide I hate it but keep it there anyways. What usually ends up happening though is I take ideas or scenes from all the different pieces and drop them into my “main story” if I think they fit well so it all works out in the end but just writing (even if it’s not related even remotely to what you feel like you “should” write) is ultimately what’s important.

I also regularly skip around when I’m writing. I find I like writing the big plot points or bits of dialogue the most so a lot of the time I write those first then fill in the gaps later. Finishing a story is a lot less daunting when you already have all of the big pieces in place and just need a few tiny bridges to bring everything together.

Lastly I would say again just get something down on the paper. I’ve written a lot of really bad stuff lol and sometimes I can feel it while I’m writing it and there’s a part of me that wants to just delete it and start over but having the ideas down on the page is always 100% better than having nothing and editing the crap out of what you already have is way easier than starting over from scratch.

Anyways that’s probably way more than what you wanted lol but I really hope it helps! I think just remember this is supposed to be fun, if you’re getting frustration or exasperation out of it more than anything totally feel free to take a step back. I’m known to go MIA for months at a time cause I have periods where I just am not feeling it and forcing myself through it does nothing for anyone.

Seriously though thank you thank you thank you I’m so absolutely overjoyed that you like my writing enough to want to keep it in any form it means the absolute world to me! Also good luck with your potential fic! Tag me if/when you finish it! I’ve been wanting to do a mechanic reader fic forever but never gotten far enough into actually planning it out to start writing anything so I’d love to see your take on it

[eomma-jpeg]

for the ask game, sorry if these have already been asked!

8, 10, 14, 17, 25, 27+28 :)

8. if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

i already answered this, but what a shame! it is my college au and this first "book" is gonna be about the vashmeryl relationship coming to fruition, and the sequel will be them working through some loooong time trauma and issues, but together !

10. what is the longest amount of time you’ve let a draft rest before you finished it?

oh months, certainly. i have wips and drafts rn that are just sitting.... waiting for me to return LOL

i try to go back and finish the chunks i have and not leave them like,,, halfway done, but i do have a vashmeryl wip i started.... over a year ago? and still have not finished it lol

14. where do you get your inspiration?

honestly from other media i watch. i'm currently planning out a trigun dancer au and i was motivated because of Strictly Ballroom, a silly Baz Lurhman movie (please watch it the romance is so cute and it takes itself so seriously)

also from my friends !!! @squid789 is such a good person to bounce ideas off of and has inspired (i stole her ideas) a few aus

17. talk about your writing and editing process

so... ideally i do what i did for in the meadow where I wrote and wrote and wrote,,, and then just constantly went over chapters with edits and rewrites until it was time to post.

with itm i was always at least 3 chapters ahead and had the time to go back and check through chapters, make sure everything flowed well, ensure continuity... but with my newer works it hasn't been like that.

I have good grammar and spelling in general and i also use The Internet to write on so it gets spell checked, but i don't take nearly as much time to edit my work as i'd like to anymore

im a sleepy teacher who just wants to post her fanfiction T-T

25. besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

alright!

so i love doing embroidery. im currently working on a cross stitch project that has been very relaxing

i love to sing. i cannot express to yall how much i love singing. it is seriously my favorite thing to do. i love music and expressing my feelings through song. i lovvvvvvvvvvve to sing (im pretty good too hehe)

i sew and draw (SOMETIMES) and i cook. i do a lot of things! i love to explore just various arts and crafts

27. your favorite part of the writing process

i just love creating. i love putting ideas on the page and getting the content that i want... because i love the writing of others (and i do apologize) but there is always something that isn't for me

but thats because it wasn't written for me!! it was written for the author

and thats why i write,,,, because i want something specific

and i love romance and it gives me the power to make my blorbos kiss >:)

28. your least favorite part of the writing process

putting the ideas on the page T-T

im a bit stuck right now with what a shame mostly because i keep doubting myself WHOOPS

but its so hard when i cant decide with idea will be best

IMPORTANT LACE ADVICE: it doesn't matter what idea you get down, just get something down. once you have something down, you can change it or decide if you even still want it. the hurdle is getting the idea down!

thanks goo !!!!

[cinhomi]

NAHHH CAUSE IM THE SAME. I started like 100 series and I have so many ideas but then I'm super bad at following through. I have this one fic that was due in May and I STILL haven't finished it (it's halfway done) because I thought the pacing seemed weird and some parts seemed forced, etc etc and then I lost track of the plot and couldn't think of a good way to tie up loose ends. please remember that you're not obligated to post things, you're doing this for free, and you're doing it for whatever reason that inspired you to write 🥺 so don't put too much pressure on yourself!

it's Christmas day today now, (just past midnight) so an early merry Christmas to you if you celebrate it <3 take it easy and don't stress over the Christmas fic, just enjoy yourself heheh :D

- titracha nonnie ✨️

yeah, it's always because of insecurities that I tend to hold back and re-write the same bit over and over again... I want to make certain things but in the end it's never how I wanted it and I end up posting something I'm not 100% happy with because I don't want my blog to die (I'm not having as many notes these past weeks and they're almost only likes and it's a bit discouraging)

I mean my fics aren't that long or memorable but I want them to be... I just... I don't know why I hold back... I shouldn't. it's one of my healing methods but I'm not using it the right way...

just finished preparing sushi (yeah I know how to make sushi hahaha) since here it's tradition to eat fish during Christmas Eve! thank you for the early wishes, merry Christmas to you too lovely! (it'll be in like four hours here but still-)