#it's all low-ish stakes and fluff

[confused-stars]

i just had the possibly best MP100 au idea

Ageswap Owl House au

because like. a human kid ending up in a realm of magic on accident and being taken in by an adult whose magic is a little whacky and who doesn’t really fit in with everyone else. and said adult has an overachiever sibling

do you see the vision??

[letternotekisses]

HIII May I request some Reaper headcanons pls? Idc if it's fluff or nsfw headcanons, or even both idc, choose whatever you're in the mood to write! I just need content about that man and as I love how you writee, then ....<3

i wanna fuck that old man so bad....<3 nsfw under da cut and also cw 4 stalking, kidnapping mention, free use & size kink and general yandere-ish behaviour

Reaper is all sharp edges, and its no different when he's dragging a clawed gauntlet down your cheek - reddening the soft flesh when he squeezes you harshly enough to make your lips pout. He's all growls, but for you? It's different, it's still a low, timbering rumble in his chest - but he's not trying to intimidate you, no - he's just staking his claim, you see. Once he's decided that you belong to him, there's nothing stopping him from getting what he wants.

Overwhelmingly possessive - if you work alongside him in Talon, Reaper makes it a hobby to follow you all over base, leering from a shadowed corner if you spend a little too much time talking to one of Talon's many replaceable grunts. You don't see them again, and Gabe seems a little too pleased with himself as of late. If you're a civilian, he's also not above following you home - shadow-stepping into your room to steal a few pairs of underwear souvenirs to keep him company before he decides on the right time to snatch you away.

He expects you to be ready for him at all times, materialising behind your back in a cloud of wispy smoke - his clawed gauntlets prying your soft thighs apart and tearing at the fabric covering what he wants. Gabriel will part your folds and bury his fat cock inside in one smooth motion, holding you upright by grabbing the soft fat of your hip. He's thick, pulsing hotly between your legs in a way that warms you up and makes you melt like putty against his chest. He loves to fuck you silly - wrapping an elbow around your neck so he can keep you in place as he bullies your poor hole to the point where you're begging and whimpering at him for mercy.

He seems rather harsh, but it's easy to psyche him out through his jealousy - wear a shorter skirt, or maybe even a tighter top - give Akande a good eyeful while you converse and Gabe just so happens to be in the room. Although, I must point out that when teasing the Reaper, you must be prepared for the consequences. This includes having your hair fisted in his grip as he shoves his meaty cock down your throat, tears fluttering on the ends of your lashes as you choke around him, spit dribbling down your chin messily. And he won't let you off easy, pulling you back so you can whine at him to fuck you, grinding against his boot like a needy whore.

Despite his rough and tumble demeanour - Reaper does treasure you. I like to think there is still a hint of the old Gabriel Reyes in the midst of all that hot topic clothing. When the sun goes down, he holds you like glass, as if you might melt away like sand through his fingertips. It's sweet and fleeting, but as long as he's still standing, you'll be safe under him.

Even before Moira's experiments, the SEP programme had bulked Gabe up quite a bit. As Reaper - he's a beast, all broad and bulky muscle clad in dark robes. He loves being able to overpower you a little bit too much, he loves how his hand covers the expanse of your hip almost entirely, how he can hold you up with one hand as he ploughs you into the floor...he's obsessed. He uses it to his advantage, manhandling you so he can press himself deeper into your sweet cunt, hitting that spot that makes you squeal and squeeze down on him tighter than he could ever curl his own fist. God, you're so sweet and soft under him - he'd keep you warming his cock forever, if he could.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

ⱧɆ₳Ɽ₮ ₴Ⱨ₳₱ɆĐ ฿ØӾ

��� Pairing ☾ warlock!christian yu x witch!chubby!fem!reader

☽ Genre ☾ supernatural au , fluff, smut

☽ Summary ☾ When his first attempt at a spell ends in him being chased out of town, Christian stumbles through the woods and stumbles upon your cottage. Unwelcoming to visitors, you attempt to chase him off but there's just something about this stranger that makes it impossible to turn him away.

☽ Word Count ☾ 2.7k-ish

☽ Warnings ☾ mentions of death/funerals (it's handled comedically so nothing gruesome), witchcraft obviously, unprotected sex, nibbling, a lil bit of rough sex, soft dom christian vibes, overstimulation, creampie, pet names (darling, love), & that's all babes.

☽ A/N ☾ I wrote this as a request for @magoapple who loves Christian Yu as much as I do. Thank you for trusting me to write up your idea and I hope that it came out the way you wanted. Love you 💜

It was supposed to be a simple sleep spell. A few sprigs of dried mugwort, ground lepidolite, the toe of a dead man, a splash of moon water, two creams, three sugars. Or was it three creams, two sugars? Racing through the trees, bare branches grasping at his limbs like the claws of the damned, Christian knows he made a mistake somewhere.

His grandmother’s spells, written on tea stained scraps of paper, provided clear instructions. Naturally a few words here and there had faded over time but how important could they have truly been?Important enough that they might've kept him from cooking up the nauseating potion that made him pass for a corpse.

The days of grieving that preceded his funeral service were hell for everyone but him. While dozens wept he snoozed peacefully. Arrangements were made. His pinstripe white suit was tailored. An oak wood casket was measured to suit his height. The only thing missing, the very thing that saved him, was that the mortician skipped the embalming process.

In a small middle of nowhere town like this, people are prone to superstition. When the mortician placed his scalpel to Christian’s throat, prepared to make his first incision, he could’ve sworn he heard a low humming noise. A death rattle is what they call it. Unremarkable when heard coming from the dying but when it’s coming from the dead? Cut into them and the sound will haunt you for the rest of your days.

And so he quietly left him intact. Something he’d come to regret when his wife rushed into the funeral home screaming in terror that the boy had risen from the dead at his own funeral. The townspeople were unhappy to say the least. Glancing over his shoulder, Christian can still see raging globes of orange looming between the trees. The flames of torches meant to burn him to ash.

There’s chatter amongst the small group of men tasked with capturing him. Their voices aren't distinctive in the slightest but their anger—their fear—seeps into their surroundings. One of the men managed to cut his arm before he escaped. His hand clings to the wound, gathering the fabric of his tattered suit to soak up the blood that drips from it.

He’s out of breath, lungs burning with every step he takes. He doesn’t know how much longer he can run or even where he’s running to. Only that he has to keep going or he’ll be burned at the stake. He knows he’s been running in a straight line but suddenly the trees seem to bend as if he’s made a right turn. The change is dizzying, causing him to stumble but he has to keep running. Straight? No, left. No, right. No.

Thud! His body collides with something unseen, knocking him to the ground. “What the hell!” you shout, bracing yourself for the fall. You land hard on your bottom, the basket of herbs on your arm spilling out into the grass. Scrambling to your feet, you spot the beast that slammed into you though he’s no beast at all. Despite his disheveled appearance, the dark haired man has a gentleness to him that makes you want to rush to his aid.

Watching him dust himself off, you see that he’s injured...and handsome. Incredibly handsome. But how did he get here? How? “Oh my goodness, I’m so happy I found you. You have to help me!” he pleads, grasping at your arm to pull himself up. You back away, sensing the impending presence of even more unwanted company. “You led them here? To my home! Who sent you?” Eyeing the cozy cottage behind you, Christian questions if he’s alive after all.

Everything from the chestnut shingles on the roof to the cobblestone path with flowers springing out from between the cracks reminds him of the story books he read as a child. Vines of wisteria climb the walls, bundles of lavender adorning the arches of the windows and doors. A place like this—it shouldn’t be here. 

“You shouldn’t be here! Whoever sent you—” you say, lowering your voice to a hush. “No one sent me. I’ve just, I’ve had a day, alright? If you don’t help me they’ll kill me so please, please help me.” You want to turn him away, send him right back in whatever direction he came from, but you can’t. The sincerity of his pleas tug at your heartstrings, playing them like a violin.

Behind him you spot the lights of the torches, bringing back dark memories of what lead to your life of solitude to begin with. Shaking away the ghosts of your past, you rush to pull his jacket off. “Take your clothes off!” “Hey!” he squeals, twisting free, “What are you doing?” “You stink of graveyard dirt. It’s interfering with my spell. Take your clothes off, anything the dirt touched, and dispose of them!”

Christian hesitates, unsure he wants to trust a strange woman’s demands to strip down, no matter how beautiful she is. “Just do it before you get us both killed!” “So feisty! Fine, I’ll do it!” Finally getting his jacket off, you toss it into the trees. Christian follows your lead, hurriedly stripping down to his underwear and disposing of the clothes in a small scattered area just beyond your grass. 

You’re ashamed of yourself. Staying focused has always been your strength and men, unfortunately, have always been your weakness. His muscled body is covered in inked markings, mesmerizing you to the point of total distraction. Christian catches you staring and winks, “Like something you see, darling?” “Ugh, you’re already unbearable!” you huff, marching towards your home. “Come inside, we need to handle that wound.” “What about them?”

Pushing your front door open, you turn around and begin counting backwards from 10. Gradually, the torches snuff out and the voices fade into the night. “We’re invisible to them now. They won’t find us. They won’t find anything. The trees will twist until they can’t even find each other.” You say this with a coldness that betrays your sweet exterior and fuels his curiosity.

“You’re magnificent” he muses, making you crack something too fleeting to register as a smile though it’s something resembling one. Lowering your head to hide your amusement, you step inside and he trails behind you, a lost puppy in search of a home. “Whoa” he gasps, marveling at the decor. It’s rustic and simple yet everything in it seems priceless. Even the picture frames appear ornate, the paintings within their boundaries thriving with life.

If he stands still long enough he could swear the paintings move. “Do you plan to bleed out on my carpet?” you tease, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a blanket and a small basket holding your own special first aid supplies.

“When did you get those?”

“Get what?”

“The blanket and the…they just…”

“Appeared?” you laugh, handing him the blanket, “Things tend to do that around here. Come sit.” 

Wrapping himself in the blanket, Christian makes his way into the kitchen. “Might you have a name, stranger?” you ask, setting up your own makeshift medical station at the table. “Christian. And yours?” Unraveling a roll of gauze, you glance up to find him staring at you with a longing in his eyes that even he may not be aware of. It makes your heart skip a beat, your pulse racing as you catch yourself slipping under his spell once more.

The sound of a pot boiling over on the stove reels you back in. You clear your throat, hurrying to tend to the dinner you’d so quickly forgotten about. Jumping into action, Christian grabs an oven mitt and is right at your side helping to put out a small fire before it catches. “Goodness, look at me. I’m such a mess. Forgive me, I just—this is a lot and I—” you ramble, flustered by the culmination of events.

You stop to catch your breath, a hand clutched to your chest. This is far more excitement than you were prepared for. “Would you like something to eat, Christian?” Your question makes him suddenly aware of how long it’s been since he last had a bite to eat or even a sip of water. The aroma rising from the pots is mouthwatering, only making matters worse. If he had enough moisture in his body to drool he would.

“I would love that, thank you.” You take him by the hand, leading him back to his chair to properly examine his wound. “I’ll feed you and fix you up then off you go. Understood?” He nods obediently, praying that mind reading isn’t among your abilities. As annoyed as you may be at his arrival, there’s still something so inviting about you. You handle him with such warmth. The very warmth that was so cruelly stripped from his life without warning. What intention could he possibly have of letting you rush him off?

But he lies anyway, settling into the comfort of your touch. “Understood.” 

Chirp! Chirp! The baby bird cupped in Christian’s hands flutters its wings. A thorn peeks from between its feathers, preventing it from taking flight. “Poor thing” you pout, pinching the thron and plucking it free, “There you go. All better, aren’t we?” Christian looks to you with the same admiration that he has everyday since he stumbled upon your cottage, injured and alone like this sweet little bird.

Weeks have passed since then, both of you finding excuses for him to stay before ultimately doing away with the notion altogether. Before his arrival you’d never spent mornings like this sitting barefoot in the grass enjoying the utopia your magic had created. Now every morning begins this way with him, hours spent opening up to him in ways you never thought you would with anyone.

You shudder to think of how long you spent locked up in that house, hidden from everything bad in the world and consequently everything, at least one thing, good. Christian sets the bird down in the grass, watching it hop off into the distance and disappear beyond the invisible veil that surrounds your home. “Darling,” he says, a sweet nickname he’s come to call you, “Have you ever thought about leaving?” You laugh at the obscenity of such a question, “Leaving? Wh-why would I do that?”

Sensing the anxiousness in your voice, he intertwines his fingers with yours, brushing his thumb along the back of your trembling hand. “There’s a big, wide world out there, darling. You can’t hide here forever.” It’s a knife through your heart to hear him say that word. Hide. “I’m not hiding here. This place keeps me safe. It keeps us safe.” You move to snatch your hand away but he only holds it tighter, bringing you closer to him.

“But it keeps us still. Something as beautiful as you are shouldn’t be kept. Beautiful things should be free, shouldn’t they?” “And who’ll protect me?” Christian smiles, deep brown eyes refelcting the morning sun, “I will.” Instinctively you want to make a mad dash for the front door, slam it behind you and shut everything out. But with it would go your new companion, the light at the end of a tunnel of seemingly eternal loneliness.

His other hand finds your waist, bringing you onto his lap. “I owe you everything” he whispers against your lips, “Won’t you let me give it to you?” He wraps his arms around you, kissing you with all the passion his words can’t communicate. It steals your breath away, killing that urge to run away. Your fingertips trace his jawline as you tilt forward to deepen the kiss. His tongue ventures further into your mouth, his hands finding their way under your flowy black dress.

Your skin’s softer than the most expensive silk. He can’t get enough of touching you, caressing you. Light sparks of what feels like electricity give you goosebumps as he trails up your spine. “Come with me” he begs, kissing his way down your collarbone. His tongue teases your cleavage, rounding what lush flesh of you breasts overflows from your lowcut neckline.

Christian tugs the front of your dress down, groaning in pleasure as your breasts fall free of the material. Taking your nipple between his lips, he eagerly buries his face into your chest, suckling at the bud. You throw your head back, eyes falling closed, and profess to the skies that you’ll do it. “Yes” you moan, grinding down to feel him hard against your core, “I’ll do it.”

Christian hums happily, nibbling at your stiffened bud as he reaches between your legs to stroke your slit through your panties. Only there are none. They’ve disappeared. He looks up at you, perplexed. He knows you were wearing them. “Where—” “Did you forget?” you giggle, watching the awe on his face as he feels his cock spring from his pants, “I’m magic.” “Yes, you are.”

Magic in every sense of the word. Not only in the intoxicating kiss you pull him into. Not only in the way that you sink down onto him, swallowing every throbbing inch of him into you. You’re magic in the strands of hair that fall between his fingers and in the voice that cries out his name. “Christian!” you moan, tearing his shirt away to reveal the tattooed form you’ve lusted for from the start. He bounces you in his lap, bottoming out with each thrust of his hips. It sends shockwaves through you, your juices pooling at the base of his cock.

Your toes curl, back arching as the blood rushing up his shaft has his veins pulsing while you clench around him. “I’ve wanted you for so long” he confesses, gripping the plush of your ass. “Oh god, me too. So badly.” As if you needed to say it. You’re so wet that he can feel you juices splashing on his fingers each time your bodies meet. That says everything. But he loves to hear your voice. Hear you say that you’ve wanted him as much as he wants you. “Darling” he coos, his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, “You’re shaking.”

You are. It started when he first took your hand and it hasn’t stopped since. One especially rough thrust makes you cry out, your pussy beyond overstimulated by the return of sensations you haven’t felt in years. Your eyes sparkle with tears, a tightness gripping your chest, “Too much! Ah, can’t…” In one graceful motion he has you on your back, your trembling knees pressed back to spread you wider. “Ssh, you can. You can take it for me. My brave girl, hmm?”

You squirm beneath him, this new angle perfect for slamming into your sweet spot. “You...are...the...devil” you gasp, legs wrapping around his waist. “Not the first time I’ve heard that, love” he chuckles, taking that as a challenge. Pinning your hands above your head, he picks up speed, claiming every part of you in every way he can until you’re—

“Christian—I—I’m—oh my goddesses.” 

“That’s it my lovely. Wanna feel you—”

Your orgasm washes over you, the waves powerful enough to pull you under. You’re drowning and you bring him right along with you. You're overcome with every emotion all at once as you hold each other tight, flowing into each other, sticky and sweet.

The sky darkens. The air is still. For a moment you hear nothing and then your body relaxes. The sun returns, the sky somehow prettier than it was before. Christian collapses on top of you, his face disappearing beneath a mess of dark hair as he lays his head on your chest. He squints his eyes, noticing that, beyond his curtain of hair, he can spot parts of the forest he hadn’t seen before.

In the distance, the little wounded bird hops around with his friends. Not too far away he spots remnants of the clothing he tossed away when he found you. He can see everything now and that means everything can see him. It can see you. “So, where to first?” you beam, admiring the view with him.

“Anywhere you want, darling, as long as I’m with you.”

[queerfanfiction]

Could you write a fluffy smut where reader has mummy issues who cancelled on her for taking her bra shopping and Larissa offered to go with her and helps her pick out the perfect set but then it ends with smut idk you chose :)

Mummy Issues

Prompt is shown above. :)

word count: 3.6k includes: mommy issues, public-ish sex, discussion of trauma, fingering, fluff, mommy kink, praise kink

Your therapist is actually the one who suggested you ask your mom to go shopping with you to find a bra set for an upcoming performance. You’re not saying this specific reparenting technique doesn’t work, but there was no way in hell your mother was going to follow through. Still, you tried anyway. You were vulnerable anyway.

You’re exhausted from parenting your own parent, always considering other’s needs before your own. Fresh out of university and you still have never had anyone else take care of you for a change. The shopping idea was intended to be a low-stakes role reversal where your mom would step up to the task at hand.

Earlier that morning you texted your mom to confirm the meet up in Burlington. You never heard back, which wasn’t uncommon. Since you were coming all the way from Montreal, though, you expected some sort of acknowledgement. You even texted her as you were driving over to no avail. Downtown Burlington was not where you would have picked to shop if your mother was not involved. It was close to where she lived, and she loved the hustle and bustle of Church Street. To you it always seemed like a hot mess. Now you were in the middle of that mess alone.

After waiting in your car for 15 minutes, it doesn’t take a genius to know you got stood up once again. You contemplated just driving back right then and there. This wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do alone, yet none of your friends are in the area any longer. They all had moved away. Overwhelmed by the sheer fuckery of nothing ever working out, you were frustrated and tired. You consider breaking down into tears over the wasted trip and the years of parental neglect represented by this one instance.

The only person who you can think of still in the area is Ms. Weems. You suppose it’s Principal Weems now (thank you social media for that one). Is it weird to invite a former teacher you once had a massive crush on to go shopping? It’s been so long that it would be nice to catch up. You’re not going to lie, you were yearning to see the older woman. Impulsively, you dial the number she gave you for emergencies back when you attended Nevermore. To your surprise, a firm but sweet voice answers—the same voice that you’d fantasize about in your dorm when your roommate was out. You try to control your voice, but too many conflicting emotions make you croak and sniffle a bit when identifying yourself.

“My dear, is everything alright? And, please, it’s Larissa.” A tone of worry was inflected back to you by the other woman.

In an attempt to dodge the question about your wellbeing, you respond, “I’m actually back in Burlington, trying to find an outfit for an upcoming performance. Any chance you’re free?” You tried to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Larissa returned with, “Oh, I don’t wish to intrude, but it was very kind of you to think of me.” Shit, apparently too nonchalant…

You reflect on all the times Larissa had comforted you back at Nevermore. She was protective of all her students, but it truly meant the world to you. You had always thought it was just another day, another student problem for her. There were many times you were neglected or mistreated by your mother that Larissa was privy to back then. Knowing this, as a Hail Mary, you softly let slip out, “I was supposed to meet my mom…”

Without missing a beat, Larissa’s voice turned tight, “Where are you?” You glance at the cross streets, give her your location, and let her know the specific store you’re at. She concludes, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes, love.”

Your heart flutters at the familiar pet name.

—

You’re already occupying the changing room when Larissa arrives. She calls out for you, and you crack open the door to let her into the small fitting area.

You are met with the most comforting hug. Larissa stroked your hair and squeezed you tightly. The last time an embrace has felt so all-encompassing was also from Larissa, which is a bit embarrassing. You guess you just don’t have a lot of good huggers in your life, and it felt so nice to be held close by someone. You breathe out a long sigh, as if all your troubles are muted by the closeness of the woman in front of you. Her scent replaces the air in your lungs, and you consider how nice it would be to never end this embrace.

When she pulls back and sees that your eyes are slightly red and puffy, she bends down towards you to cup your face with both of her hands. All that comes out of her mouth is “Oh, sweetie.” You give her a half-hearted smile in response. Her hands immediately begin stroking your face, brushing hair from your eyes, and occasionally resting her thumb and index finger at your chin. This. This is what being cared for is; the realization hits you and radiates out through your body.

“I’m here for whatever you need. Would you like to debrief about your mother? Or carry on with what’s needed here?” Larissa gestures to the garments in the fitting room without taking her eyes off of you.

Noticing how close she still is to your face makes your head dizzy, and you stutter, “I-I need s-something to wear under a strapless dress that won’t show during a piano performance.”

Reassuringly, Larissa states, “We can do that. You know I have an eye for those sorts of things. We’ll have you sorted in no time.” She then moves her hands to your upper arms and rubs them before turning to examine the items already set out.

“Piano? It’s no wonder. You always played brilliantly at Nevermore,” Larissa continued elatedly, brandishing a supportive smile. You think back to times when you’d be practicing in Nevermore’s music auditorium alone and feel a comforting presence at the back of the concert hall near the doors. You always assumed it was your imagination, not daring to get your hopes up that someone cared enough to support you or cheer you on. Your mother made sure of that…

You feel so much more at ease with Larissa here. Now that you think about it, she has always provided stability and nurtured you. You remember that she would sometimes give you rides to Jericho when the only Nevermore vehicle at the time was in use. You credit a lot of your success with the piano to her too, because she would encourage you to do open mics at the Weathervane and signed you up to play at a parade that Jericho had every couple of years. 

Yes, you felt indebted to the tall, gorgeous woman before you. The years since you’ve seen her have only emphasized her beauty. Her demeanor is both commanding and protective. It’s as if she is more comfortable in her skin than before; there is a sureness in her stance that is nice to see and that you wish you had. Even though you always considered her fashionable, her clothes now exude a kind of pride and carefully crafted style. Larissa’s perfectly-coiffed updo accentuates the smooth, supple skin of her neck before disappearing beneath her expertly tailored dress.

These thoughts invoke a light blush from your cheeks, and you know you can’t speak about your crush on her in the past tense. Your immediate dry mouth while watching her is proof that it never went away. Now you’re wondering if you shouldn’t have sought her out to assist in purchasing the perfect underwear, especially because you see her turn towards the garments and an emotion flashes across her face when she realizes the kinds of items you’ve picked out and need assistance with.

You’ve always liked the idea of dressing up underneath your formal outfit. To you, it made it feel more special, gave you extra confidence. For instance, knowing a sexy lace set was underneath your clothes made you feel as if you had a fun secret. Though, you realize it’s probably inappropriate to expect Larissa to help with this. If she felt uncomfortable, she was hiding it well. You tried to continue on as if everything was normal, even though doing so felt impossible.

When Larissa sits on the small ledge provided in the dressing room, you emphasize, “Thank you again for coming. I just drove from where I am now in Montreal.”

Realizing you should continue trying items on, you reach to unbutton your shirt when you hear, “You poor thing! Have you eaten?”

At this, you scrunch your face and shake off your blouse. “I’ll get something after this.” So many conflicting emotions swirl inside of you. You’re conflicted at whether to relish in the desperately needed maternal care or to shrug it off as a defense mechanism.

You begin to unhook a bra from its hanger and feel like you should ask, “Do you mind?” Larissa interprets that you’d like to change from your bra into the new one, waving her hand dismissively and saying, “Go ahead” in a delicate manner.

Without looking too awkward and challenged, you attempt to put on the new bra while taking  your current bra off in quick succession. It would have worked if the one you were trying on actually fit you. You had a hard time getting it on, and once you did, your breasts spill out of the top half, giving you the illusion of having four boobs. With you panting from the endeavor, you and Larissa begin to laugh at how silly it looks. You’re surprised that you’re not mortified, but instead having fun.

With some of your own tension released, you turn away from Larissa and towards the mirror to decide if you like the bra enough to go up a cup size. As you do this, what you don’t see is Larissa’s curious gaze, as if she is wishing she could reach out and touch the pillowy softness of your breasts.

“So, this one is NOT it.” Your playful declaration pulls Larissa from her lustful thoughts. It’s short-lived, though, since you immediately begin to try on more items. This time you choose a deep maroon matching set, and you turn slightly away from Larissa in order to pull up the bottoms over your current underwear. Because of the limited space in the room, your ass accidentally winds up in Larissa’s face. As if it is all in your head, you pretend the enclosed space is not rife with sexual tension.

“That’s gorgeous,” Larissa coos moments later with her hand reaching out. With both hands, she rubs along the intricate lace detail at your hip bones, and it feels as if your skin is set ablaze. You fight the urge for your breath to turn heavy and wanting.

Even if all of the tension is in your head and one-sided, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll need to stop trying things on soon. Well, at least stop trying on bottoms, because you can feel yourself getting wet under Larissa’s stares and encouragement.

“That fits you so very well.” “I love this on you.” “It looks absolutely spectacular.” “You look stunning.”

Not to mention Larissa has taken a hands-on approach to her support. After briefly touching your hips, she began dragging her long fingers along bits of your exposed skin when she was discussing an area. There’s no way she doesn’t notice the goosebumps that arise each time her touch lingers. At least being half naked in the chilly changing room is an excuse for the tight buds of your nipples. 

The juxtaposition between this experience and what your mother would have had in store for you is dizzying. No doubt she would have critiqued your strong shoulders or the cellulite on your thighs. It would have ended in a fight, you just know it. However, everything out of Larissa’s mouth was refreshing and electrifying. Maybe even healing at times?

The final set you had picked out was a delicate mesh thong bodysuit that was almost entirely see-through. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should you stop trying things on. Larissa must have noticed, because she uncrossed and crossed her legs a few times before voicing, “Go on, honey.”

Embracing the process sheepishly, you slip into the item and turn away from Larissa to look at yourself. You study the outline of your breasts in the mirror, trying to determine if the subtle texture of the mesh would be noticeable under your dress. Or would the distance between the stage and the seats obscure the texture?

You then see that Larissa seems to be studying them too, except her eyelids are hooded and her pupils are dilated. Almost in slow motion you watch her involuntarily lick her lips. Your heart beats quicker, a flash of heat moves through your body, and you suppress a low moan.

Your eyes meet Larissa’s in the mirror.

You couldn’t say who initiated what next. Only that you were on Larissa’s lap, straddling her, while her hands were on you, roaming over your body and settling on your hips. Your mouths are working in tandem with each other, and you welcome her red lipstick staining your lips and neck. Your hands go to Larissa’s face—one cupping it possessively and the other slinking back to grip the nape of her neck. You want desperately to wreck her perfect hair, turning it into physical evidence of your connection and closeness.

Both you and Larissa can feel the heated energy building between you as you frantically attempt to take off the mesh bodysuit. Before you can, though, Larissa steadies your hands and inquires breathlessly, “Is this okay, darling?” Her eyes search your own, and you can make out desire and worry in her eyes.

You have to take a moment to let what she is asking sink in. This feels like such a natural (if not slightly expedited) progression of your feelings for Larissa. You wonder if there is more underlying her question. You know you two will have to debrief your feelings but right now the hormones raging through your body make it hard to focus too much on the worry or questions around if this should be happening. Instead, your body wiggles on top of hers, begging to continue the friction of your hips against her. You involuntarily whine and nod. “I want this, Larissa.”

Seeing your need and the sureness in your gaze, Larissa regains her composure and utters, “Shh, let me take care of you.”

—

Larissa rivals your intensity with her own fierce need. Her kisses are passionate yet soft. Her hands are gentle but unyielding in how they explore your body once the mesh bodysuit is off. With her every caress and tender nip over your skin, you feel so wholly wanted, cared for, and desired. A fire underlies Larissa’s behavior, as if each touch begets more longing and thirst for you. At the same time, you couldn’t have anticipated the fervent need you had to be validated and devoured by this woman.

Once she has marked your neck with her lipstick and teeth, Larissa moves downward to take one of your fleshy, beaded nipples in her mouth. Barely audible to you, she breathes out, “Absolutely beautiful” before flicking it with her tongue and causing you to arch your back.

One of Larissa’s hands runs over your thighs, teasing you and drawing circles and zigzags on your delicate skin. You can’t help but whimper in need every single time her fingers get closer to where your thighs meet. After almost resigning to her pace and authority, she trails up to cup your arousal. Your legs twitch with the sudden contact, and you emit a gasp.

“You’re so wet for me.” Pleased, Larissa enunciates every word, drawing the words out and reveling in how at her mercy you are. “It’s intoxicating.”

Unable to withstand not taking action, you press your lips against hers roughly, trying to close any distance between your bodies. Breathless after many kisses, you move to suck on her neck and whisper, “Larissa.”

“Please.”

Only after this plea does Larissa finally dip a finger into you. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough. You would usually appreciate a sexual partner pacing themselves, but the need for her to fill you is overpowering. You wriggle your hips back and forth impatiently and breathlessly request, “More.”

Larissa delighted in your clear hunger for her, fully intending to give you everything you want. She eases in another finger past her second knuckle before adding a third finger once she realizes how slick and open you are for her. You unintentionally bite down on her shoulder, not expecting to get what you want without more begging.

 You couldn’t have imagined how good her fingers feel inside you. And you absolutely had imagined it. You remember pretending your fingers were hers after late nights riding back with her from Jericho. Or the time she gave you her coat on a chilly night and forgot to get it back, so you ended up masterbating to her scent surrounding you. Okay, you’re not super proud of that one, but at the time it felt world-changing the desire you had. Her fingers working inside of you now are of a different caliber. In fact, you never understood the metaphor of sex as worship or religion, but being on top of Larissa with her half-lidded eyes roaming your body changes things. You want to make her feel a sliver of how good you do right now.

Your hands begin to grab at the fabric of her top, desperate to remove her clothing and pleasure her as she is inside of you. Larissa lets out a low, throaty chuckle before asserting, “Ah, ah, ah. I want to focus on you, love. Let me please you.”

Her interjection just makes your heart swell more for her, and noticeably your noise level swells, as well. You’re not used to undivided attention and care—someone wanting your happiness above all else. It’s more erotic than you could have ever anticipated. At the increase in breathiness and moans, one of Larissa’s hands clamps over your mouth while the other continues to pump in and out of you. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the reflection in the dressing room mirror of you riding her long fingers completely nude while she is fully clothed. The sight makes your knees weaker, and you groan, “Oh, fuck.”

Larissa’s whispers and affirmations throughout only brought you closer and closer to release. She has to know how her words are affecting you. Her hot breath over and over in your ear, inching you towards the edge.

“I’ve got you, sweetie.” “I’ll give you anything you want.” “Shh, stay quiet for me.” “That’s a good girl.”

You feel yourself tighten around Larissa’s fingers, becoming more breathless and spacey as she presses the pads of her curled fingers inside you toward your pelvic bone, urging you to come undone. So, you do. Your entire body tenses, and you feel as if you will crumble under the anticipation and pressure. Tingles shoot down your arms and legs in waves, threatening overstimulation.

Larissa’s fingers still, and she presses you close to her, clutching you tightly. After a moment of your eyes being closed and your breathing slowly relaxing, Larissa asks you to bear down with your pelvic floor muscles. Confused, you obey. She gingerly removes her fingers from inside you, and your body aches at the loss. She proceeds to lean forward with you still on her lap, wrapping her arms around you and begins to rock you.

“You did so well, my love,” Larissa murmurs while stroking your hair away from your damp forehead. “You were so good for me.”

You can’t remember the last time someone was so attentive and sweet with you after sex—if ever. You also have never felt like an exposed live wire due to euphoria either, so… Her thoughtfulness makes your heart swell, and you’re hoping it’s not just due to the hormones flooding your body right now. As if you can’t contain the disbelief and gratefulness, you blurt in awe, “How are you real?”

Larissa pulls away from the embrace, searching your eyes for understanding. “I ask myself the same question about you.” At that, you rest your forehead against Larissa’s, exhausted and happy.

After sensing your heart rate has stabilized, wanting to make sure you go to the bathroom and hydrate becomes Larissa’s next priority. Her voice breaks the comfortable silence. “Let’s get you some food now. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite.”

You two pick up the items in the messy dressing room and sheepishly leave the clothes on the courtesy rack outside. A grin blooms over your features as you think about how being stood up by your mom feels like such a nonissue now. Even the dilemma of what underwear to wear for your upcoming performance seems trivial. Walking out of the store with Larissa’s lipstick all over you, you decide that you won’t wear anything under your dress, especially not if Larissa is in the audience.

—

@sapphicbeloved Remember when you sent this request literal months ago????? Oops. Apologies, and please enjoy!

[selarina]

Behind Closed Masks

→ Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Amidst a looming threat to Yuuji’s life, you're all holed up at Shoko's house for safety. It's the practical choice for him, to be surrounded by Jujutsu Society's strongest. Alternatives are in the works, but for now, as you’re all holed up in Shoko's place, events begin to unfurl with Gojo Satoru in the centre of it all.

Content Warnings: friends with benefits, fluff, angst, unrequited feelings, canon divergence because getou is here and mentally well, mention of smoking, mention of violence, mention of harassment, exhibitionism-ish, oral sex (f!receiving) MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.8k words

Author's Note: Ngl I kinda hate this but enjoy :) Might be kinda ooc

Read on AO3

Satoru Gojo, the receiver of one too many love letters, the rejector of one too many confessions was obviously coined to be every girl’s boy, and inadvertently, as the lady's man.

But truth be laid bare, Satoru never truly had the time, not for women or men. He only truly had time for his intimate circle of friends who luckily had managed to penetrate through all of the layers of façade.

But it's off season, he’s on a low stakes mission and there’s not many curses to kill and he's bored. He’s been bored for a while now and since Yujji had been buzzing at his ear like a mosquito, he decides that maybe he should undertake the mantle he had been anointed with for years.

So, he downloads tinder, albeit his reluctance. Because surely, there were more dignified avenues into hookup culture? But who was he to argue with Suguru, a man who actually lives up to the reputation expectation — hailed as everyone's resident fuckboy.

It's not surprising by any means at all, but there's swell of pride that blooms in him with each illuminating "It's a Match!" notification on his screen. He's not expecting to do much from here, at least — not today. He only downloaded this app to appease Yujji after all.

However, at your entrance into the living room, with your barrage of bags upon bags, he finds himself hastily pocketing his phone — a bit too swiftly than he should have. 

He notices Suguru's discerning eyes staring at him, at his move, but Satoru, ever the consummate performer, simply offers him a genial smile and redirects his gaze back at you — this very angry version of you. 

You're staring at the lot of them — dead in their faces, almost like you're planning to squint your way through to a create a hole in their faces.

"What's with the frown? It doesn't suit you, pretty." He rose from his seat, a beat behind the swift advances of Suguru and Yujji, both of whom had promptly positioned themselves at your side. 

Yuuji relieved you of your bags as he took half the weight off, while Suguru merely extended his help in the form of a box of raspberry juice.

"What's with the frown?!" Yuuji asks.

You stop, taking a long sip of the juice, before you start talking again, "I told you guys to come with me. You didn't want to. The least you could do was pick me up when you agreed to. But no! I was out there, in the middle of no where, trying to get a fucking Uber. And then the Uber driver started hitting on me. And he was so creepy about it too. This is why I hate ubering by the w—"

"Is he still outside?" Satoru's voice cuts through, abruptly altering into a tone of sobriety.

"I don't know. But I want to punch something, maybe we should practice today, Suguru."

You looked up to see him, wanting to see if he agreed with you. But Suguru had disappeared. You turned around, searching the room with your eyes, but there was no sign of him. He wasn't there anymore. The room remained still with only four of you giving it company.

Then, a distant sound, the rumble of an argument spewing its way from outside, reached your ears inside the living room. The four of you are quick to move, swivelling your way through to the point of discord. 

Yet, upon arrival, you only catch the diminishing silhouette of the Uber vehicle taking its departure from Shoko's compound. And then, your eyes catch Suguru, arms akimbo, as he looked down at the concrete, uttering an expletive.

"Aww, now I feel better already," you quipped, making your way to hug an annoyed-looking Suguru.

He melted, as one naturally does at the touch of another. Albeit, it may be through reluctance, but his hands don't show it as they come up to gently pull you closer into his chest. He knows you need this more than he does. 

"Sorry for not picking you up," he murmurs.

Drawing back slightly, you said, "Well, you going up to fight him makes up for it, I guess."

"Wow," Shoko interjected with an incredulous laugh. "You want us to resort to violence?" 

"Well, obviously not. But you would if I asked you, right?" you contended with a smile, fixing your gaze on Suguru.

"Absolutely not," Shoko voice comes out swift and emphatic, a declaration that's seconded by Suguru's shrug of indifference.

Satoru, however, interposed with a grin, speaks up, "I would fight anyone for you." 

You look at him, your eyes assessing him from hair to shoes. "Really?" you said, your tone clearly coloured by amusement.

At that, Satoru's eyes squint in annoyance, "I would, and in case you've forgotten, I am the strongest one here?"

"I mean, sure when we were teenagers. That's different, you're kinda wimpy looking now."

You don't actually believe that, you'd be a fool to believe that. Truth be told, he's likely the first person you would instinctively turn towards if you found yourself in any trouble. You're just teasing because you find his attempts at acting annoyed and angry all too endearing, and it's nice — the way he's fighting to fight for you.

Satoru feigns a dramatic sigh, hand pressed against his heart. "Wow," he remarks. "Here I was, prepared to face dragons in your honour, and all I get is this indignation."

"Alright, both of you drama queens can continue you the play for us," Shoko's hands come up to push the two of you inside the house. "As we make dinner," she continues. "I'm fucking starving."

—

Dinner unfolded in its familiar routine. Suguru's standing behind the counter, his hands moving with a practiced grace as his swished through the vegetables. You make your way from sitting on one counter to the other, munching on cut vegetables and cheese alike. 

Satoru flitted between scenes, briefly checking on the TV and Yuuji in the living room and then joining you and Suguru in the kitchen. Shoko, on the other hand, was for a smoke as she often is — you wonder if that's just her way of taking the time she needs away from the group. 

And as the night deepens, you all sit down to eat together beneath the glow of Shoko's yellow lights — you savour each bit as you try to extend the night, not wanting it to end yet. But eventually, the plates were clear, and all of you share the task of washing and cleaning up into the night.

When it came time to rest, sleeping arrangements fell into its usual place. Satoru found his place on the couch, while Suguru occupied the other one. Yuuji chose the floor, favouring it over the couch or the bed. And Shoko's retired to the comforts of her own familiar bed. She deserved as much for tolerating the lot of you, she said.

You, on the other hand, spoiled as you often are, you sleep in the guest room, all alone. 

But on a night like this you know you're not going to be alone, not when all the warning signs were laid out — the incessant touches on your waist as he moved, the soft smile, the stares — it was all a bit too apparent than usual. 

So, when you hear the door creak open gently you're not surprised, and when Satoru patters in with softly laid footsteps you're not surprised. "Hey," his voice whispered its way to you.

In response to his whispered greeting, you softly murmur, "Hey."

Satoru settled onto the bed beside you, making himself comfortable as he placed his phone on the table beside the bed. 

A knowing smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you reach out to him, draping your arms gently around his neck. With a deliberate and unhurried motion, you shift your position, sitting up and moving to straddle him, your legs finding their place on either side of his hips.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his thumb coming up to graze the edge of your lip. His tone was neutral, but his eyes they peer into your eyes, so intently, it almost makes you feel bare. 

Your fingers play at the short hair that remains at the nape of his neck, a feather-light touch eliciting a faint shiver from him, but he maintains his gaze at you.

"I'm okay?" you respond, a hint of confusion in your voice.

"The Uber guy—"

Recognition dawns upon you, and you chuckle softly "Ah, that. Yeah," you pause, considering your response after. "That's normal. I mean, it's not but yeah, I'm okay don't worry. Used to this really."

His gaze softens, "I can find him right now, teach him a lesson if you want," his thumb continuing its absentminded caress along your lip.

You give him a small, appreciative smile, your fingers continuing their gentle dance on his nape. "No need for all that, stupid," you reply, "It's really fine. I didn't think twice about it." You let out a chuckle. "Well, maybe twice but not more than that."

"How long are you staying for?" Satoru's question shifts the mood.

"I'm leaving in two weeks, around the same time as now," you finally share. 

His gaze flickers, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "You?" you inquire, but you don't truly want to know, you'd rather you just all stay here for a month, or two.

He hesitates for a moment, his fingers tracing patterns on your waist. "Not sure yet," he admits. "Could be around a month. Haven't finalised the details."

"That's good to hear," you murmur softly. "I mean, you've been up to a lot lately. Must be nice to be back home."

"Yeah, I miss food," he frowns.

A few beats pass, as you sit there in silence.

"Wish you could stay longer," he says, his voice coming out a bit too vulnerable than you're usually used to because it's jarring, it's starting to sound like a confession you know you'll never get. 

"Yeah?" you ask, swallowing. "Why?"

He stares and you stare back, there's a moment, for a silly little moment during the fragile second suspended between you two, you think he's going to say something real. But then, with a shift, his hands reposition their grip around your legs that are wrapped around his hips, and he pulls, guiding you to fall back onto the softness of your pillow.

Your heart pounds, the abrupt change of position leaving you two separated before on top of you, as he moves his face to your neck.

"To do this,” he speaks, and his words are ticklish against the side of your neck. His knee quickly moves to lodge itself between your legs, hovering but not fully pushing. 

"Satoru—"

He continues to map his way down to your neck as his hand slid along your thigh. Your legs come to wrap around his waist, as it usually does and his hips pressing firmly into yours to pin you into the bed.

Your fingers come up to his hair, tugging on his roots as he continued his ministrations around around your neck, as he continued leaving a hickey. “Aw! I’ve missed you too—” Your breathy confession ends up in a gasp, as he bites particularly too hard.

"Sorry," he says but he doesn't really look sorry.

You know he's not sorry because he moves almost immediately to yank his shirt from over his head. 

"Maybe we shouldn't," you voice as he lays his palms on your knees, smirking in satisfaction at the way you were already spreading your legs for him to settle in between, even as your words professed otherwise.

"Why not?" He asks, as he bends down to tug on your shorts as you help me by shimming your way out.

"Well, Yuuji and Suguru are literally a door away and well, we're at Iwa's place—"

Pushing the hem of your t-shirt up to your stomach, he brought his head between your legs. “Is it because you like him, you—“

“What?” He pauses, and you couldn’t help but sound a little annoyed, because this is odd. In all your times together, he never brought this up. In all your many years of friendship, he never brought this up. "What?" your tone softening as you repeat.

A palpable beat of silence lingers between you two.

Satoru lets out a sigh, the tension in his voice giving way to weariness. "I don't know, I was just wondering."

"About what, exactly?" you inquire.

"I don't know," he responds, a touch of frustration tinging his tone. "Do you like him? Suguru?"

"Like Suguru...?" you spoke, baffled. "Of course, I don't. You'd be the first to know if I did."

"Why's that?" His question hangs in the air.

A soft, incredulous chuckle escapes your lips. "Well, you're kind of my best friend, aren't you?"

He doesn't speak up, merely nodding before you push his head down between you thighs. He complies, his mouth moving to suck bruises on the inner part of your thigh as he hooks his fingers around the side of your underwear.

He pushes your underwear down your legs and you help him by kicking it off. His hands then movie to push down your thighs to the bed, leaving you bare in a way that leaves you abashed. 

He runs his tongue across his lower lip, Satoru didn’t start slow and he was nowhere near as gentle as he usually is, but you figure the aspect of your friends right outside your door might have spurred him on to go quicker. 

He didn't leave a little kiss as he usually did, nor were there any tentative licks, he just straight up latched his mouth against your cunt, spreading your legs apart until you were as exposed as you could be so his tongue could reach deep inside you.

“Fuck—” Your hand immediately went back to his head, curling your fingers around his soft locks. You aren't sure if you were pushing him closer, or pushing him away.

You moaned softly, still concious of your precarious state in a friend's house as a guest. You bucked against him as his tongue flicked over you. 

“Oh, God—” His slick muscle pressed flat against your folds, drawing designs across your sensitive skin. He went up and down, up and down, again and again, and again — he only momentarily stopped to pay attention to your clit, sucking until your thighs began to slowly tremble. 

“Satoru, Satoru, fuck wait—” Your breathing hitches.

Satoru had always been good with his hands but that was nothing compared to what his mouth and tongue could do. He was so good at this that you could barely form any other reactions and you were getting progressively scared as you started to get louder and less in control of yourself.

His gaze, hooded and fixed on your face, holds a glimmer of need as he spoke, "What's wrong?"

"They'll hear us," you murmur softly, a hint of caution in your voice.

"It's fine," he responded, with a smile, as he dove back in.

"What— No, it's not okay," you protested.

But he didn't relent, he continued on and on and on until your legs began to tremble. He savoured your taste and you felt the vibration of his muffled voice reverberates directly against your skin. “You’re gonna come for me, baby?"

And at the sound of that, you do. 

"Fuck— You're so annoying sometimes," you exclaim, sitting up from where you had been lounging against your pillow, your breath slightly uneven.

Seated now, you deliver a playful slap to his shoulder. "Ow— Is that any way to treat the man who just gave you an orgasm?" he quipped as he rubbed his shoulders to soothe your assault.

Your initial impulse is to give him a mock scowl, maybe even playfully shove him down to show him what you would do to a man who just made you come. But then, his phone buzzes.

Your eyes instinctively dart to the side, and just as swiftly, Satoru moves to turn off the glowing screen. However, his speed isn't enough to prevent you from catching a glimpse of the display, not enough to discern the specifics, but enough to stir, well... something.

"You're on Tinder?" The question slips from your lips before you can catch it.

"Uh—" Satoru's expression shifts, a mix of embarrassment and guilt colouring his features. "Yeah, Yuuji kinda forced me to do it."

"Forced you into it?" Your curiosity deepens, your voice coming out incredulous.

"Yeah," he says, plainly.

"How does someone force you into downloading and signing up for a whole app?"

He wants to explain, but really he's not sure what he can or should say, so he merely asks what lingers in his mind. "What's the big deal?"

"Nothing," you concede. It's true, it's nothing. Plus, you've been part of the club after all. You know how this goes.

You repeat the mantra in your mind—it's all just nothing. Meaningless and not real. But despite your efforts to convince yourself, a twinge of unease stirs within you. Sensing the potential weight of those unspoken thoughts, you quickly shift your focus, grabbing your underwear as a way to distract yourself from the festering emotions that boil right below the surface.

"What? Wow — No head?" he muses.

"I'm just too tired today," you reply, the weariness in your voice matching the fatigue that weighs you down - as though your words have spoken your exhaustion into fruition.

As the night stretches on, you lie in the dimness of the guest room, ensnared in a ceaseless loop of replaying the day's events. It's as though you're stuck with a malfunctioning record that refuses to stop. So, you shift and you shift in your bed, and you're suddenly overcome by an uncomfortable heat.

Truth be told, your heart ached not just from the events of this day, but from years and years of unspoken words.

Your closeness to Satoru, a social man who's cautious about who he allows into his life, can be traced back to a confession you made. 

Dumb and in love, back when you were 17, you mustered the courage to reveal your feelings for him. Naturally, he turned you down. You were expecting it, of course and were hoping that wish away the feeling you had for him. There's a strange solace in embracing the stages of heartbreak - your friends telling you stories about how a "Fuck him, I'm sad" phase quickly turns into a "Fuck him, I'm hot" phase.

But alas, fate had other plans. A friendship sprouted instead.

You presented yourself as having moved beyond your emotions, and at times, it felt real. But then he would do small and ostensibly insignificant acts, as one does for a friend – brushing a speck of grass from your hair, surprising you with your favourite beverage, reminding you to carry an umbrella – and they just made fall deeper into the well.

That wretched well.

After a while, of jostling in bed, you couldn't stand the heat and the suffocating weight of all these thoughts. Quietly, you slipped out of the bed, carefully making your way out of the room. The living room was dimly lit, but you could still see where Satoru lay sprawled awkwardly, half on the couch, half on the floor. While Yujji and Suguru slumbered soundly, the former clutching a throw pillow.

The soft glow of a lamp casting your shadow across the room as you opened the balcony door and settled onto the swing outside.

A floorboard's creak drew your attention, your gaze turning to the living room. And that's when saw Shoko standing there, her figure outlined by the soft light. He seemed surprised to find you awake, her expression a mix of concern and contemplation.

"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked, as she made her way next to you, shutting the balcony door. Her voice carrying a hint of weariness. Perhaps, he was asleep.

You shook your head, not trusting your voice to respond. There was a heaviness in your chest that you couldn't put into words.

She settled beside you in silence, letting moments pass before he spoke. A sigh escaped her, "I'm sorry for not picking you up earlier. It might not seem like a big deal, but I should have showed."

You looked at her, her profile illuminated by the soft light from the moon. "It's really not a big deal." Your hand found its way to her arm, a gesture of reassurance.

You think about how kind Shoko really is as a person. It's not often you find someone like her. I mean, sure Satoru is nice to you but he can often be petty, arrogant and hurtful, even if he may not want to be these things, Shoko, on the other hand, was deliberate with her words, at least around you. It makes you feel loved in a way you have always needed.

Your mind drifted to a specific memory – the last prom. You were clad in a soft shade of purple, and you felt hopeful. Despite going with Shoko, the presence of Satoru, now a friend, lent a certain optimism. Yet, she had snapped at you, in hushed tone though as she did not want his date hearing him, she wanted you to give him and his date space. 

It wasn't his fault really, you were lingering in their space after all but you made your way through, seeming as normal as you could, taking some punch in a cup, finding your seat almost working in auto-pilot mode, and after awhile you felt her come sit beside you. Shoko. 

She sat beside you in silence for a bit and then she spoke, standing up and offering her hand up for you to take. 

"May I have this dance?" she asked.

"I'm tired, Shoko," you responded, dejectedly.

"Come on," she implored, meeting your eyes. "Let me have the honor of sharing your very last prom dance."

With a sigh, you accepted her hand, rising from your seat. Turning away from the amorous couple, you focused on Shoko as she led you into a waltz. 

In that moment, you thought you couldn't have asked for a better date.

Soon, you noticed Shoko gradually dozing off beside you. It didn't take long, and with a gentle nudge, you roused her from her slumber.

"You should get some rest," you suggested, your voice a soothing caress.

"Alright," she agreed, a plain weariness in her tone. Rising, she paused before leaving. You think maybe today's the day she would finally ask you about it.

"You know," she began. "You can always talk to me, right?"

A nod was your response. 

She leaned in to press a kiss on your forehead. With that, she turned and made her way to her room.

A sense of lightness enveloped you, the fatigue gradually returning to your bones. Retracing your steps to the guest room, you knew sleep would find you.

[etherrreal]

“creep(er) into my heart”

Pairing: kenma x gn!reader Genre: fluff, friends to lovers Summary: two gamers walk into a fancy restaurant and it goes as well as you’d think. WC: 4,220 Warnings: N/A A/N: This is part 2 of “would you be mine(craft)?” with an even cornier title. You can probably read this without reading the first, but maybe read it for context? (also, i joke that applebee’s sucks but their “bourbon street chicken and shrimp” lives rent free in my head everyday) -Luna

Dates are meant to be anxiety-inducing, whether it’s a stomach full of butterflies or ruthless tornadoes.

So, it’s an odd feeling to be so calm and collected during the days leading up to a big date, especially one with Kenma. You assume it’s because the stakes are so low, knowing that if the spark isn’t there, you’ll still see him on Minecraft, probably that same night, to help with his iron golem farming idea like nothing ever happened. 

What’s even weirder is that both of you have continued to not discuss the date at all since he asked you the weekend before. You don’t know if it’s because it’ll be awkward to break the ice of the discussion or if he’s procrastinating figuring out the plans for that night, but you both continue to play games and watch anime together during the week without even grazing the topic.

If it wasn't for the Google Calendar invite reminding you 48 hours before Saturday that your date was in fact coming up, you would still believe that him asking you out was something you happened to imagine during your post-date funk.

Thankfully, come Thursday evening, not long after you get the notification, he sends you a text letting you know that he’ll be taking you to a restaurant in the city. It’s one you’ve passed several times before, which is how you know, without having to check their Instagram tags, that it’s a semi-formal, if not fully formal, dress code and dining experience. It’s an abnormal choice for Kenma to willingly select a place where he’d have to wear anything that buttons, let alone a full suit, so you have to imagine that the place must have glowing reviews for him to settle on it.

Now all you have to do is find a whole entire formal outfit with only two days’ notice and minimal time after work to shop. No biggie.

But you manage to do it in time—although barely since you had to rally together the group chat to help—and by the time Saturday comes, you’re actually feeling a bit of nerves start to pool in your stomach as you’re getting ready for the night. Although it all dissipates when you get a series of texts from Kenma, minutes apart, realizing that he may be experiencing the same kind of jitters that you’re feeling. 

‘I dont know how to tie a fucking tie, time to cancel the date’ ‘This is harder than finishing Dark Souls’ ‘I got it, but Kuroo made fun of me and is a terrible teacher and now my feelings are hurt’

You zoom through getting ready, and with about 30-ish minutes until your 7PM reservation, the 25-minute Uber ride leaves you with just enough time to be early. And you’re given quite the shock when you step out of the car and you already see Kenma in front of the restaurant, head hung low as he scrolls through his phone. As you get closer, you notice he cleans up nicely in his smart black suit with his hair pulled back into a bun except for a few face-framing pieces. You make sure to call his name to get his attention, his head snapping up when he hears your voice.

“Wooow, look at you, Mr. Snazzy,” you comment, reaching up to straighten his tie. “I’ve never seen you so gussied up before. Must be quite the date for you to dust off your one and only suit.”

“I have a second suit,” he says defensively. “It’s gray because Kuroo says that’s a better color to wear for the daytime.”

“When did Kuroo become your fashion stylist?”

“When my publicist politely said that I looked like a scrub in all my other clothes during meetings.”

“...She never said anything about your hair, though?”

Kenma glares at you, definitely offended by the implication that his excessively grown out roots are unprofessional, to which you offer a small smile, hoping that he knows you meant it with love. 

“Let’s just go inside before I get insulted again tonight.” 

He pulls the door open for you—like the gentleman that he pretends to be—and steps up to greet the host before you can say anything.

“Hello, I have a reservation for 7PM. Kozume.”

Normally, you’d joke about him finally being able to speak to a server by himself, seeing as he still has to hype himself up sometimes before asking for extra ketchup when you’re eating out. You remember there being a time when he ordered marinara sauce with his cheesy bread from Domino’s and when it wasn’t included, he was fully prepared to leave and eat his bread dry to avoid talking to anyone. You ended up having to take the receipt up to the cashier and fixing the mistake so you didn’t have to see him somberly eating his sauceless bread.

The jokes slip your mind, however, as you take in the decor of the place. A few chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, sparkling under the low light from the sconces on the wall. Each table is decorated with a crisp white tablecloth and set with dark green trimmed plates, long-stem wine glasses, and folded cloth napkins around a simple floral centerpiece.

You’re observing the attire of the guests, feeling a bit underdressed, but also overdressed considering how effortless and chic most of the outfits are. The meals they’re eating look especially small, probably only a few bites on the giant plates. It’s a place definitely out of your comfort zone, one that you’d think would be nice to attend, but probably never would because it’s so bougie and you’d feel out of place.

Kenma’s hand on your lower back startles you out of your thoughts, and suddenly, you’re being guided toward the middle of the restaurant, a server in front of you to lead the way.

The server pulls out your chairs, providing menus and telling you that he’ll be back when you’re ready to order. Polite smiles and thanks are given as you settle in, draping your coats over the backs of your chairs and picking up the menus.

If you thought you felt out of place when you walked in, you’re definitely feeling it now. You scan the menu, trying not to look too stressed when you see the prices and can’t recognize or even read the foreign names of certain dishes, but from what you can read, nothing is sparking joy. You’re trying to get a read on Kenma, glancing up to see if he’s also having trouble picking something from the menu or if he’s confident about what to order, but his stoic face gives nothing away.

In an attempt to put out some feelers, you clear your throat before saying, “I’m not really sure what to pick. How about you? See anything you like?”

“I’m still looking, but nothing so far,” he responds, trailing off at the end as he watches a server bring some morsels of food plated on a bowl of rocks to the table next to you. It’s only then that can catch his eye and in them, you’re seeing the same feeling of bewilderment and unease from being in this setting. But it’s gone in a second, back to his normal flat expression.

But you definitely saw it, so now that you know the feeling’s mutual, you feel less bad about feeling it yourself. You let a few moments pass, with the menu held in front of your face, high enough that only your eyes peek out from over the top before you let out a suggestion.

“....You know we passed by a Domino’s on the way here, and now all I can think about are their wings.”

Kenma nearly slams the menu onto the table, eyes wide and ravenous for some food. “I want some of their cheesy bread so bad.”

“Wanna make a run for it?” You’re trying to be low-key when looking around for anyone that could be watching, gently setting the menu down and grabbing the collar of your coat, looking back to Kenma for confirmation. He’s already shoved one arm into the sleeve of his blazer and is scooting back his chair to stand, making sure to give you a nod so you know that it’s go time.

You’re not as graceful as Kenma is in your escape, nearly spilling someone’s drink while putting on your coat on the way out. You pick up your pace, ignoring Kenma’s glance and snickers. He reaches the door first, holding it open for you while you finally get your coat on. There’s a beat while you stand there before you both burst into giggles, nearly keeling over with laughter and tears in your eyes.

Finally, standing up straight after a few minutes, you gesture behind you. “Ready to go get a gourmet meal?” 

With an excited nod from Kenma, you walk side by side down the streets. You use the time to clown him for not knowing how to tie a tie, even suggesting that you’ll gift him a clip-on for future uses so he doesn’t hurt his little gamer hands trying to tie a knot. 

To which he responds with, “And I’ll light your Minecraft house on fire using my little gamer hands if you don’t shut up.”

Suddenly, you’re silent.

The Domino’s is a bit farther than it seemed while in the car, but eventually, you see the glowing blue and red symbol high up on the square building, rushing ahead to rip open the door so you can quickly usher Kenma inside and order as soon as possible.

Too much money later, you’re skipping out of Domino’s, wings and cheesy bread secured along with other impromptu boxes of goodies to take home. You’re both waiting at the corner while you pull open the Google Maps app to figure out the best place to catch a cab when you notice a spot nearby that piques your interest. 

“Did you know there’s an arcade around the corner?!” you nearly scream, shoving your phone in his face to show him Google Maps. 

“No, I didn’t know that,” he says, moving your phone at least a few inches away from his face. “Want to go there?”

“Won’t our food get cold though?”

“That’s what microwaves are for. Duh,” he jokes, grabbing your hand to guide you down the block to the illuminated storefront. You run in like children, making a beeline to the token machine. You begin reaching for your wallet when Kenma lets go of your hand, shoving your wallet away and aggressively pulling out money from his own.

You stare down at your palm in the meantime, feeling little tingles spread throughout it, flexing your fingers and no doubt looking like a weirdo.

Kenma has done his fair share of dragging you away from places, usually when you're glued to the glass window of a store that has anime knick-knacks you want but have absolutely no damn space for, but usually he just grabs your elbow or wrist. You could be overthinking it, but he must've grabbed your hand on purpose. Or you're just that desperate for physical affection. 

He shoves a handful of tokens into your open palm, putting his own into his pockets. The arcade suddenly feels so overwhelming, with lights and noises all around you. Should you try the crane games first? Or maybe some skee-ball? You could probably dominate him in that…

“Want to start with some air hockey?” Kenma suggests, pointing over to a free table in the corner. 

Yes. Air hockey. An easy win start. “Oh hell yeah, let’s do that.”

You shouldn’t have been so confident. It’s not turning out in your favor, not in the slightest, and you should’ve guessed that, going up against a guy who was the brain of his volleyball team. In your defense, you did win the first game, rubbing it in Kenma’s face and doing a dance like a sore winner. Then he absolutely demolished you for the next three rounds and had the gall to be humble about it like he didn’t just embarrass you in front of the many elementary school kids around you.

You would’ve kept going, being stubborn as hell and telling Kenma, “Best 5 out of 6?” until you got into double digits. But suddenly he has to “go use the bathroom,” which sounds like an excuse to you.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go too far,” he warns you.

And, to be fair, you don’t go too far. You only walk about twenty feet away to the anime crane game that’s hiding behind a row of other crane games that would be blocking Kenma’s view to you if he comes back the same way he left. He has a phone that he could use to text you if he really can’t find you. 

It’ll be fiiiine, you think as you slide in a token and get ready to win the anime figure. 

The time passes quickly, not that you notice it. All you know is that you’ve gone through maybe half of your tokens while trying to get the figure to fall between the two bars, only asking the staff to help you reposition once because you managed to mess it up that bad. 

It’s funny to think that you were more worried about sticking out like a sore thumb at the fancy restaurant than you are now at the arcade, surrounded by people of all ages in sneakers and jeans while you stand there at the claw machine in dress clothes with your nose nearly against the glass. Maybe they’ll think you’re an important business person coming by to decompress after a very long, busy day at work. 

Then you squawk when you finally score the prize after only several more dollars worth of coins, and the facade promptly sails out the window.

It’s only after you have the box in your arms that you decide to check the time, realizing you’ve spent at least ten minutes straight playing. What’s weirder is that Kenma still hasn’t returned yet, and you have no messages or missed calls from him asking where you’re at, which means he's either still in the bathroom–and if that’s the case, you’re deeply worried for his bowels–or he got distracted on his way back from it. 

You’re almost at the bathrooms when you see Kenma walking towards you from the corner of your eye, definitely not coming from the bathroom as you’d expect. 

“Where were you? I thought you said you had to go to the bathroom.” You notice he’s holding an overstuffed plastic bag. “What did you get? When the hell did you even have time? Or are you just that lucky?”

“Oh. This is, uh..” Suddenly, he’s sheepish, opening the plastic bag where you can see something fuzzy and pink in it. “I didn’t actually need to go to the bathroom. I saw a Kirby plush in a crane machine when we walked in and knew I had to get it for you.” 

Before you could even say anything, he’s pulling out the plush and you notice it’s not just a regular Kirby, but one with a chef hat and pan. You make grabby hands at it until he hands it over, trying to hold it just with one hand and squishing it against your chest and face. 

“I love him so much! Thank you, Kenma.” 

Like a lot of things tonight, it’s different from your normal friendly interactions. Instead of your usual hugs where you go in at a diagonal or the lazier times when it’s just a side hug, your arms are now wrapped around his neck with his around your waist. It feels weird. A good weird. Like you’re feeling the subtle change from friendship to something a little more. It’s hard not to get your hopes up because although you’ve told yourself that you’ll be good with being ‘just friends,’ throughout the night, you find yourself quite hopeful for the chance to explore something romantic with Kenma. 

You part slowly, him shoving Kirby back into the bag and insisting on holding it for you after you reach for it, which you suppose you could allow since he’s been such a gentleman tonight. 

“Great minds think alike because I got you a gift, too,” you announce, handing over the box you worked so hard for. “I don’t remember her name, but I know you have a few that look like her in your room, so what’s one more to add to your waifu collection.”

“Thanks for the gift, and also, for saying that so loud. I’m sure the whole arcade liked hearing about how much of a weeb I am.” He gives you a smile, somehow managing to stuff the box into the already full bag. “Want to spend the rest of our tokens then head to mine? I only have a few more.”

You pull your sad six out of your pocket. “Yeah, me too. That crane game wasn’t kind to me.”

You have a blast with the remaining tokens, staying away from crane games and sticking more to the classics. You learn that Kenma’s strategic thinking in volleyball does not translate over to basketball when you watch him miss every single basket of the game except for his last one in which he threw the ball against the back wall in frustration and landed right in the net.

Even when ordering the Uber minutes later, he still has a frown etched on his face from losing, and as much as you want to rub it in his face that now he’s feeling like you were after air hockey, you leave him to sit in his feelings. 

It’s a silent ride, at least on the outside. Internally, you’re an anxious, overthinking mess with your inner thoughts going a mile a minute. You spend the whole ride back to his place wondering if it’d be too forward of you to hold his hand that’s sitting on the seat between you two. It’s not like he didn’t hold your hand earlier tonight, even if it was only to drag you toward the arcade. Once you finally convince yourself that it’d be okay to try, the ride is over and his hand slips away to open the car door and you sigh as you lose your chance to be brave. 

When you’re home, Kenma’s tie and shirt undone and your dress shoes thrown haphazardly by the door, you finally get to discuss your thoughts on the restaurant. About how stuffy it felt in your formal clothes and how ridiculous the plating looked for the meals because you didn’t know what they’d even be able to taste with a portion size that small. Kenma even thanks you for breaking the ice by bringing up Domino’s because if you never did it “you’d still be in that restaurant having your 12th course of the meal.”

You swallow your bite and take a quick sip of your drink. “Why did you even choose that restaurant in the first place? Doesn’t feel like a place you’d be at.”

Kenma shrugs, brushing off the crumbs from his hands. “I don’t know… I guess I didn’t want our first date to be just like any other night we’d had. I wanted it to stand out from the rest so you can know that I’m serious about you.”

Your heart just about bursts hearing his gentle voice say that. “That’s… So sweet. I don’t know what to say to that besides thank you. Never knew you could be so charming.”

“Don’t expect it too often,” he jokes, to which you respond with an elbow to his ribs. “I know today didn’t go as expected, so maybe we can try again with a different restaurant.” 

“Maybe—and this is me just spitballing here—we should work our way up to the formal dress restaurants by starting with something simple like… Applebee’s.”

“I feel like Applebee’s is somehow a worse starting point than a place like McDonald’s.”

“Fiiiine. Since you have so much to say, then you pick where we’re eating for our next date. Just make sure I can get away with wearing sneakers and jeans, is all I’m saying.”

“Who said we were actually going on a second date? I don’t know if I want to date someone who eats wings like a toddler.” He reaches over with a napkin to wipe the corners of your mouth which you begrudgingly allow.

“Well, I don’t know if I want to date someone who waits until 48 fucking hours before the date to tell me that I have to put together a whole formal outfit for a restaurant.” Kenma looks away abruptly, but not before you see his shameless smirk. “Why the hell did you even take so long?” 

“I had to use some connections to get a reservation there within the week, and they didn’t get back to me until Thursday, so you knew when I knew!” 

“Hm… okay. I’ll let that one slide then. For now.” 

“So, I can get a second date?” 

“If you insist.”

Kenma puts what’s left of your food in his fridge with the promise of leftovers tomorrow. You help him tidy up a bit, taking your sweet time because it’s finally dawned on you that the date will be ending soon. You’re hit with a wave of disappointment, realizing just how much you enjoyed his company all day. And maybe it’s silly, but you don’t want it to end just yet.

When you’ve thrown away the last napkin, you slide in next to him in the kitchen, bumping shoulders with him before hooking your arm with his. “Wanna finish watching that anime you showed me? The one with the long title?”

He lets out an amused chuckle. “Glad you enjoyed it so much that you remember the name, but sure.”

He lets you guide him to the couch by his arm, plopping yourselves down on it while he grabs his remote to pick the show from his ‘continue watching’ section.

Halfway through the episode, you scooch even closer to Kenma so you can lean on him, your head gently resting on his shoulder to test the waters. He lifts his arm up to grasp you tighter, fingers trailing up and down your upper arm without looking away from the screen. You peer up at him to see a little smile on his face—hoping it’s because of your current position and not because of the atrocities happening on the screen. You’re rarely this close to Kenma. The closest you get to him on the daily is him leaning over you to fix some computer issues or you peering over his shoulder to watch him play on his Switch. 

You’ve never paid attention to his warm amber scent mixed with something floral, probably from his conditioner he told you he overpaid for because he thought it was on sale. How plush his hoodie is and how you’re definitely going to be “borrowing” it as a partner tax in the future. Or how the ends of his hair that’s tickling your face are really soft, no doubt because of that expensive conditioner, and you fight the urge to play with a few pieces. You could get used to being with him if this is what you’d be getting every day.

You manage to last another episode and a half before his soft touch lulls you to sleep, a smile mirroring his on your face.

You have a funny dream that night; you and Kenma are at an Applebee’s, both dressed in your grubbiest hoodies and sweats, while the subpar food sits untouched in front of you. He’s holding one of your hands on the table, stroking his thumb back and forth on the back of yours, the other hand keeping his head propped. You’re telling a story, laughing and waving your free hand around as you delve deep into it. To everybody else, you’re sure Kenma looks bored out of his mind, probably waiting for you to stop talking or at least get to the good part. But you know him better than that.

You can see the affection in his eyes as he doesn’t break eye contact with you, humming in acknowledgment wherever necessary so you know he’s actually listening. He’s squeezing your hand every now and again just because he can. His phone is face down on the far end of the table, most likely on ‘Do Not Disturb’ because you don’t hear a single vibration against the table. 

You’ve got his complete and undivided attention until he decides to get off his seat to lean over the table. You quiet down immediately, unsure of what the hell he’s going to do until he tilts his head and gently kisses you on your lips, lasting only a second before promptly sitting down and telling you to continue your story as if nothing happened. 

Non-dream Kenma would never do something so bold in public. At least, you don’t think so. 

But, goddammit, even if it means writing a script and playing director, you’re going to try your fucking hardest to make sure it happens exactly like your dream during your second date.

Written by: Luna

we’ve got a taglist if you’re interested 👀

[daisies-and-one-lullaby]

Fingers crossed that it'll actually be the shopping trip chapter in that episode 🤞🤞 I'm a huge intermission chapter fan, couldn't resist hopping on this post :3

Seeing this chapter on screen would be a HUGE first for all the kuro anime adaptations imo. There isn't a single intermission chapter that's animated. Not one and it's awful. It's probably difficult to include one in a season (and even more so in the runtime of a movie), since putting it in the first ep could break the flow of the anime, and putting it last is 'unnecassary' effort when they don't even know if the next arc will ever get animated... maybe this could mean there's hope for an emerald witch season?

Even if there's no deep meaning behind a studio finally adapting an intermission chapter, it does wonders for the characters. Some of them (like this one) are great moments for us to see how they act during "downtime" when they aren't in the middle of an arc and there's no attack on the manor/they aren't working in the panels we see them in. The anime adaptations already tend to leave out some small moments that aren't essential and it usually results in less fluffy animated Agni Soma and Lizzy moments. And we missed sooo many of these in the anime already. Aaaall those low-stakes sweet moments and gag.

- After the Red Butler arc, there's the hunting chapter. We missed Francis' introduction, the first look at what her character is like, Ciel acting selfless/having no regard for his life when it comes to Lizzy, Sebastian knocking Ciel's "i-cant-lose" attitude down a peg (makes it funnier when Ciel says he would enjoy seeing Sebastian lose in the curry arc), and it's actually important-ish to the Campania arc that Ciel already gains Francis' respect here.

- After the Indian Butler arc, we have lots of Agni-Sebastian gag moments, when Agni tries to turn himself in to the visiting police, which would incriminate the Phantomhive household in the process. We see Agni share some kind moments with the servants, a sweet interaction with Bard, some hints about Finny's past, and how Mey-Rin treasures the glasses she received from her young master.

- After the Circus arc, we (again) miss some Phantomhive servants moments, then I think it's Nina' first(?) appearance. Lots of gag centered around preventing Lizzy from seeing the mark on Ciel's back, her first meeting with Soma and Agni. Ciel completely spaced out for most of this chapter, this isn't even irrelevant to the main story, since this is right after the circus arc ... and some fluff when he falls asleep with his three guests there.

- No whole intermission chapter between the Murder arc and the Campania arc, but Snake's introduction to the household is completely left out, his nervousness (and some Snake moments in the Campania movie too), small Ciel-Lizzy interaction, and Ciel looking out the window at iirc Finny and Snake running outside which is a bit similar to his childhood flashbacks and he's thinking of reviving the dead in that scene.

- After the Campania arc. THE EASTER CHAPTER. Soo many panels with all those recurring characters and we miss all of them in the anime. That chapter is one of my personal favorites (mostly cuz I think if Grey won he finally coulda dueled Lizzy). The origin of the chicken, more Nina, more Edward, more Phantomhive fam, more double Charles. And ofc big weighty Lizzy stuff and more sweet Soma and Agni moments, not deeming those important enough and leaving them out is just par for the course with the anime. Those two were sooo relieved right after Ciel pulled that nasty prank, they care for his health so much. Lizzy Soma and Agni are such sources of pure sunshine in some of the older chapters that it's going to feel a lot less jarring in the anime when they aren't that anymore.

All that to say that it's big if we finally get an animated intermission chapter! Fingers crossed for clown Seb next week :))

(might edit this later with some manga pics from pc)

Damn the new episode was great. I can’t believe the arc is over!!

I love how they did the part where Seb realizes he has to protect Ciel or UT may snatch him

And seeing Bard (even just for a moment) was nice…!

I’m pretty sure the last episode will be the shopping trip!!!

It means we may see Agni again!

and Bard, ofc!

[thepuckishrogue]

So my girl @scarlettriot’s doing a sort of retrospective creator’s tag game, and has decided to call me tf out lmao graciously decided to include me.

The rules are as follows:

1. Link three of your favorite things you’ve created this year (of any medium) and tell us why you like them as much as you do. 2. Make a goal for yourself in the upcoming year. Said goal can be anything you like. 3. Share and/or tag people to do the same.

If you don’t create your own content but would still like to play, maybe link pieces that you particularly liked and share why, just make sure you tag the original creator.

So without further ado, let’s get into it, shall we?

1.  Asahi Azumane || Kiss Kiss, Fall in Love 🍃

Fandom: Haikyuu!

Rating: SFW Fluff, with a sprinkle of a lil H/C at the beginning, emphasis on the ‘C’; but really it’s all about dorks in love

Reader Gender: Neutral

WC: 4k~

Links: tumblr | ao3

Summary: A love story as told through a series of kisses.

If you stuck with me through the summer then you were there when my love for this sweet, giant teddy bear of a man first cropped up lol. He is prime comfort character material, imo, and I’m so, SO sawft for him ngl.

As to why I like this piece in particular, well... Idk, it’s just sweet. The whole of the series is meant to give off a kind of warm, cozy, loving vibe. I kinda wanted to take that feeling of being wrapped up in the arms of the person you love—of feeling completely safe, totally accepted, and unconditionally loved—and put it into fic form. Idk if I actually managed that, but I like to think that I got pretty darned close lol.

2. Maybe (Love, Once Lost) || Tim Drake x Reader

Fandom: Batman

Rating: SFW H/C, with heavy emphasis on the ‘H’ bit lol

Reader Gender: Neutral

WC: 3.6k~

Remember to peep the CWs before reading.

Links: tumblr | ao3

Summary: Your relationship with Tim has been in free fall for awhile now, all there is left to do is to pick up the pieces when your landing inevitably leaves you shattered and scattered.

And then at the other end of the spectrum we have this lmao.

I like angst far more than I should, but my god is writing it so much harder than reading it. Writing this thing was one continuous feels-punch, but I’m super happy with the final result!

3. Shouta Aizawa || Loving You Always

Fandom: MHA

Rating: SFW Fluff

Reader Gender: Neutral

WC: 1k~

Links: tumblr | ao3

Summary: Just a cute lil(ish) V-Day letter from your tired hero boyfie.

Fact: I am a huge simp for sleepy cat dad.

Tbh he’s the entire reason I even started watching the show lmao. This perpetually sleepy, mildly destitute looking, and absolutely Done™ mf kept popping up on my dash and I was intrigued to say the least.

Anyways a little bit after that Valentines Day rolled around and I wanted to try my hand at writing for the fandom, and something as low stakes as a love letter seemed like a good place to start. Aizawa’s entry is definitely among my favorites from the whole of the series, definitely at the top of the heap of the ones written for MHA. I still don’t feel like I have a good enough grasp on his character to write a full fic, sadly, but this piece is pretty darn good, if I do say so myself.

|| Honorable Mentions

From my With Love series I really liked the way Grimshaw, Strauss, and Swanson’s turned out. Unfortunately with their being some of the less popular characters those letters didn’t get much love. The funny thing is, I KNOW that if I swapped out any of their names for, say, Arthur or Sadie, that they would’ve gotten way more notes, but whatever. I’ve long since accepted that fandom’s fickle that way lol.

As for my goal... I guess I just want to be able to get stuff done in a timely manner lmao. Dk if that’s possible as my muse is a fickle thing, and I’m a perfectionist besides, but it doesn’t hurt to try, yeah?

|| Super low pressure tags

(Like so, SO low you guys lol. I tagged every creator that I either know or see bopping around my blog/dash--so sorry to any I missed!!)

@screamin-abt-haikyuu | @shotomyheart | @ofmermaidstories | @cat-slippered @sheetghost-posts​ | @therescrackinmytea​

And also anyone else who wants to join in the fun.

[mooshys]

take-out menus aren’t meant for ordering

genre: fluff

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: a slight character study for miya atsumu between a conversation with his brother and the writing of his vows. the word “slight” being underlined, highlighted, and circled multiple times.

There is a take-out menu laying on the empty counter of Onigiri Miya, spread out completely flat so that it is no longer in its trifold state. The paper has a nice gloss to it, giving an even sheen when underneath the low lights. Its pages are filled with professional pictures of the food offered, appetizing from a single glance and even more-so with the descriptions added underneath them.

But, sitting at the counter and staring at the empty spaces on the page, Atsumu isn’t looking to order. At this point in time, he’s too frustrated to even think about eating. He makes sure his struggle is known, groaning just loud enough so that his brother can hear him.

And, by the fifth prolonged sigh, his brother notices.

Osamu thinks it’s annoying. Really annoying. He wonders why his brother always decides to settle all his baggage into his restaurant instead of actually finding guidance from a trained professional.

(Free therapy, he thinks. He should give himself a raise for having to deal with his brother when he’s working behind the counter.)

“What’s the matter, ‘Tsumu?” Osamu finally asks in an attempt to get his brother to stop making his restaurant feel so gloomy. He’s glad it’s only the two of them during the odd hour because he’s sure Atsumu would have driven people out with his attitude.

Atsumu exhales, so deep and long that one might think he has some sort of pre-existing health condition. His pause before speaking makes Osamu think he’s preparing a soliloquy. 

“I can’t think of anything to write.”

Osamu raises a brow. Then he chuckles. “Can’t do much of that if you don’t have a brain to start with.”

He quickly dodges a pair of wooden chopsticks thrown in his direction and laughs as his brother seethes in his seat. Predictable as always. He didn’t even need to rely on his twin telepathy to know Atsumu’s next move.

“This is serious!” Atsumu yells out. His voice echoes and Osamu puts on his Totally Serious Face to show his brother that he does cares (at least a smidgeon). “The vows. I can’t think of anything to write for ‘em.”

Now, Osamu stares at him with more interest, a twinkle in his eyes that gleams only for a second before he throws his head back to give out a hearty laugh. It’s the kind of laugh Osamu does when he’s really, really happy. Like when the entire Inarizaki crew surprised him for his birthday by buying him out for the night, or when he won two thousand yen from the lottery. While Atsumu sits in disbelief (because was his suffering truly that hilarious?), Osamu shakes his head to compose himself again.

“C’mon, it shouldn’t be too hard to come up with something,” Osamu says. He points to a blank space on the first page. “Start it off right next to the tuna onigiri, that’s real romantic when you say your vows with our number one seller in mind.”

Atsumu groans again. How can he be joking at a time like this? When it feels like his life (his love life, that is) is at stake? He was about to yell out a slew of vulgar words, but his stomach interrupted him, choosing to speak up with a loud grumble. Red in the face, Atsumu shuts up, shrinking in his seat under the gaze of his brother.

“No wonder your brain capacity’s lower than usual,” Osamu teases. “You’re hungry.”

“Whatever.”

“The usual?”

“...Whatever.”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Quit actin’ like a baby.”

“I’m not actin’ like a baby!” Atsumu cries out in a manner that reminds Osamu of a baby. “I can’t keep puttin’ this off! In a week, I’ll have to say this in front of everyone and they’re gonna think I’m an idiot because I can’t come up with anything good!”

“Trust me, nobody’s gonna think you’re an idiot at your wedding because of your vows,” he replies and bites his tongue to suppress the insult following. “If you write it too deep and poetic and pretty, then everyone’s gonna think you hired someone or that you copied it off the internet.”

“But—”

“Trust me,” Osamu repeats. He doesn’t look up as he molds the rice in his hands, creating a triangular shape. Years of practice have allowed him to do it so easily, so perfectly that Atsumu can’t help but stare. “Say the things that come easy for you. The things you’ve said before and the things you’ve been meaning to say. That’s what you should write.”

With the exception of the sound of tuna searing in the back and the occasional drip from the faucet nearby, there is a serene quietness shared between the two. Atsumu mulls over his brother’s words, thinking that it honestly sounds like advice that you would have given him, but he brushes it off and then looks back at the blank spaces in the take-out menu. The empty spots are almost inviting him to scribble all over.

“Alright,” Atsumu says as he clicks the pen in his hand and starts jotting any and all thoughts. “Think she’ll be mad I wrote my vows on a menu?”

Osamu chuckles as he places the plate of onigiri in front of his brother.

“Absolutely not.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

There are two take-out menus stored in a little box hidden in the bottom drawer of your dresser. The paper for both of them are wrinkled and yellowing, a clear testament of the time that has passed since first exchanging them. Scribbles of ink take up the empty spaces, the words uneven and crossed out and misspelled after multiple attempts to write from the heart.

At times, you find them in the midst of cleaning or a sudden remembrance whilst watching a film. The box is dug out from the neatly folded shirts and shorts meant to be worn in the upcoming summer season, and, upon lifting the lid in one gracious motion, the vows are always there, waiting to be read again and again. Each time, something new pops up, strikes you with a “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that!” moment as your fingers gently trace over his words.

Sometimes it’s the slight change in ink color when it comes to your name, an indication of the writing becoming lighter. (A pause in thought? Whenever you asked him, he would scratch the back of his head and shrug his shoulders.) Others, it’s the way entire lines are crossed out because he kept misspelling the same word multiple times.

Very Atsumu-ish, you muse with a silent chuckle. 

Atsumu-ish. Because the words erratic and unorthodox and lively and everything in-between just aren’t enough to describe his entire being, so Atsumu-ish became the one true representative of whatever he had up his sleeve.

(It started as a joke between you and Osamu wanting to tease Atsumu when he was being outlandish, but then it spread to the rest of the circle and was kept as Official Inarizaki Alumni Vocabulary when Kita mumbled “Atsumu-ish” without a hint of jest in his voice, completely serious about its usage.

“Atsumu-ish,” he pondered loud enough so that the rest of the guys could hear him. “I’ve never thought about it like that, but I guess you’re right.”

And it stuck with everyone else, causing Atsumu to sulk about it for five whole minutes as he whined and groaned about “Osamu-ish” and “Suna-ish” not being a thing to which Kita gave a straight answer: they’re not you. His truthfulness made Atsumu slump in his seat until you squeezed his hand from under the table and whispered that his name just rang in a special way.

He liked the sound of that and straightened his back when you teased him about it again.)

Atsumu-ish, Atsumu-ish, Atsumu-ish.

At this point, you had repeated it in your mind so many times that it started to sound a bit weird. His name echoes once more, making you pause as you stare at the old take-out menus. It did start to sound a bit strange now, but you most certainly aren’t sick of it.

(You don’t think his name would ever tire you out. Decades, centuries, millenniums, and through whatever multitude of lifetimes the universe has to offer, you think that you’ll always hold the way his name sounds close for comfort, like a seashell pressed against your ear.)

When you read through his words, you can tell he put a lot of time into writing what really matters to him. He’s always been one to say the first thing that pops in his mind (brash and honest to a fault), but seeing that struggle for the right string of words, for the right day, and for the right moment in time just reminds you that he’s always been the kind of person who says the things he does because he cares. 

His words are a little blunt, almost unrefined, but it’s so easy to see how he wanted his vows to be perfect. Perfect in the Miya Atsumu kind of way. 

And only Miya Atsumu would write his vows on the take-out menu of his brother’s restaurant.

Atsumu-ish, you think again with a chuckle as you admire the two take-out menus—from the same place, a coincidence that makes you laugh at the thought of his brother dealing with you two separately. Both are a little bit worn, but the words are easy to read. 

Easy to love.

Much like himself.

[littletoska]

Favorite Dramas of 2020

As 2020 comes to a close (thank God), I thought I'd make a masterlist of all my favorite dramas I've watched this year. Side note: not all dramas on this list were released in 2020. I just happened to watch them this fine Hell Year. But most of them are 2020 dramas.

1. Go Ahead

A heartfelt drama about a found family. Absolutely phenomenal. The characters, chemistry, and plotline completely pulled at my heartstrings and made me tear up too many times. It honestly has the best EVERYTHING. Would 10/10 recommend.

2. Love and Redemption

An epic fantasy with a star-crossed-lover-esque dynamic between the protagonists, lots of angst, and one tragically beautiful, self-sacrificing ML. I absolutely loved how completely chaotic yet perfect L&R was. It checked all my trope-loving boxes and then some. Would again, 10/10 recommend.

3. Battle of Changsha

Follows the story of a family as they live through the Sino-Japanese War. An absolutely devastating watch but it's beautifully told, has well-written characters, and a main couple you will root for with all your heart. Would recommend if you need a solid, ingenious historical watch in your life.

4. The Rise of Phoenixes

Has a dialogue-heavy, court warfare centered plot. Yet it's gorgeous. The characters are intricate and complex, their relationships with each other the core of the story -making for a riveting and high-stakes watch. Would recommend if you like smart female leads, anti-hero's with gorgeous hair and sharp witt, and plots that require adult-level-comprehension.

5. Tientsin Mystic

Set during the Republican Era in China but with a supernatural, folk-ish twist to it. I absolutely adored this drama. It reminded me of Pirates of the Caribbean somewhat - they have the same ambience - as well as fantastic characters. Would recommend if you want a fast-paced, spooky, adventure watch with heavy themes on the Power of Friendship.

6. Ancient Detective

Lord of The Rings if it was Wuxia . Objectively, it shouldn't be as good as it is -it being a low-budget production and all - yet it's one of the best fantasy dramas to come out of 2020. The characters are all pretty clever and likeable, the overall plot cohesive, and the cinematography has a certain flare even some big-budget dramas can't achieve. Would recommend if you like friendships, Hidden Past(s), and sleuthing, easy-on-the-eyes protagonists.

7. It's Okay Not to Be Okay

A whimsically lush, modern-day fairytale. It's a drama that has a lot going for it in terms of quality production. A-lister cast. Stunning cinematography. Multidimensional characters. A sizzling, heartwrenching romance, and a plotline so perfect, it almost makes you wanna spend your life writing meta about it. Would recommend if anything above tickles your fancy.

8. Watashitachi wa Douka Shiteiru

Is a story about two Confectionery makers that have an enemies-to-lovers dynamic going on bc of Plot-Reasons and end up in a marriage-of-convenience. Would recommend if you like the above tropes, Damaged Characters, and a soap opera worthy romance.

9. Perfect and Casual

Super cute watch about two individuals that end up in a marriage-of-convenience and SHOCKER end up falling in love for real. I absolutely adored how down to earth the characters were and how lovely their chemistry with each other was. Would recommend if you like pure fluff, essentric- low-EQ, nerdy MLs, and healthy, realistic depictions of romantic relationships.

10. Lovely Us

Cute coming of age story about a group of friends. A.K.A Reply series if it was Chinese. Adored the characters, the romance aspect of it, and the overall warm, fuzzy feeling I got while watching it. Would recommend if you like to smile, the feeling of nostalgia, and slow-burn romances.

[brythebibliophile]

dance with me--a spencer reid x reader

a/n: hi everyone! sorry I haven’t posted that much, my life has been kind of hectic. this idea just kind of came to me so I hope you enjoy it!

warnings: none! just fluff :)

word count: 1570

-

“Jeez,” you said as you shut your book and grabbed the closest thing to you(your arm rest). There was turbulence on your way home from a case in Colorado, and while you weren’t a nervous flier, you would still prefer for the rides to be smooth and calm.

“I really do not appreciate that turbulence,” Rossi stated from his position across from you. It wasn’t a secret that Rossi liked his plane rides smooth as well. 

“Relax, guys. Did you know that the actual chances of a fatal injury from a plane crash are 5% or less? Also it would be kind of difficult for the plane to actually crash. Most things have a low risk of happening but the stakes are high if said event actually happens--like in rock climbing. The chances of the climber slipping are slim, but if they do fall the injuries could be fatal. Anyways, as I was saying, lots of activities are like that, but plane crashes are at low risk in both areas. So hopefully that can help to...calm you down,” Dr. Spencer Reid said in an attempt to help.

Spencer and you always had a weird relationship dynamic. When you guys actually interacted you two always had a good time, and when you got put together on cases things normally went more smooth than usual, but something had just never clicked with you two. The rest of the team didn’t know it, but you knew that the reason(at least on your part) was that you had a crush on Spencer. Big time. So, the only way to ensure that you didn’t accidentally slip your feelings or make a complete fool of yourself in front of Spencer was to...avoid him, mostly. 

“Thanks, Reid,” you said. “You know, I’m not that nervous of a flier, I just prefer a smooth ride. Helps to ease the anxiety more than your statistics, that’s for sure.” That earned a chuckle from Rossi.

“Yeah, yeah. Excuse me for trying,” Spencer said with mock hurt, but the smirk he offered you let you know that he was kidding. “We should be landing soon, anyways. I estimated our landing time and we should be down in eight-ish minutes.”

“Wonderful. I honestly cannot wait to get this paperwork done and go home because I have been craving thai food since we left for this case!” You said, your mouth watering with just the thought of red curry, pad thai, basically everything on the menu.

“Woah, did someone say thai food??” Derek’s head popped up over the other side of Rossi’s chair.

“Yes! I’m planning on grabbing some on my way home. Do you guys want to come over actually? Anyone who wants to come can!”

Everyone on the jet agreed to coming except for JJ, who wanted to get home to Will and Henry, and Spencer. 

“Reid?? You in?” You nudged him a little bit with your foot underneath the chess table. 

“Ummm, maybe? We’ll see how I feel after paper work because I’m a little tired.” You frowned a little bit. That wasn’t the answer you had wanted.

“Okay! Just whatever works for you.” Soon after that conversation, the jet landed and the team went in to finish up the paperwork for the case and meet up at your apartment. You always dreaded this part of the case. Normally the jet gave you time to cool down and try to forget about the awful things you had to face at work, but paperwork always managed to open up the wounds while they were still fresh. The amount of paperwork you had to do normally depended on your role in the case, but since you had been the one to type up a working profile for Hotch before you all delivered it, and you were the one who arrested the unsub, you had to do quite a bit. 

Spencer had been watching you. From his desk a little ways away from yours, he had seen you filling out the papers you were required to and turn them into Hotch. Reid didn’t really have to do much paperwork, but he was waiting for you to be done because there was no way he was going to miss this thai food despite what he eluded to on the jet. The young doctor noted the ways your body language changed as you recounted the events of the case. He saw how you bit your lip either out of frustration or to keep your tears from falling. He saw how your brow furrowed as you looked over the case file one more time. He saw how your hands shook as you passed of the papers to Hotch and walked back to your desk.

“Okay, everyone, I’m gonna go back to my place and shower but everyone meet up at my place in like an hour? Will that work for everyone?” The rest of the team nodded and grunted out agreements as you turned and walked to the elevator. Spencer jumped in with you. Just as the elevator started to descend, an extremely loud jolt of thunder erupted from the heavens. You jumped a little bit, then blushed because you were embarrassed. 

“I’m not scared of thunder, you know,” you smiled and relayed this news to Spencer after hearing him softly chuckle at you. “I’m just a little jumpy after relaying the details of our case, that’s all.”

“No, I get it. It’s just that I’m normally the one jumping for weird reasons.” Spencer returned your smile, and the elevator opened for the ground floor. You two started to walk out together.

“Sometimes I just wish it would all stop. I mean, I’m here for a reason and I love that I’m helping people! It’s just, I dunno, people are really messed up sometimes. The world can be really sucky,” you admitted to Spencer as you walked across the lobby of the Bureau.

“Agreed,” Spencer breathed out as he grunted when he saw that it was absolutely pouring outside. “Great. I don’t have an umbrella. Do you?”

You shook your head. “Well, this will be interesting. Are you coming by the way?? To dinner?” Spencer nodded. “Great. You heard my announcement about time, right?”

“Right. Well, let’s brave the rain!” You and Spencer nodded to each other as if you were going into a battlefield and stepped outside of the main set of doors.

“So apparently, not only do the people of the world suck, but the world itself does too! Blasted rain,” you joked. Something shifted in Spencer’s face. 

“Do you trust me?” He asked. You nodded, a bit skeptical. “Come here.”

He led you to his car, then took his messenger bag and your briefcase and shoved them in the back seat. He locked the car again.

“Spencer! What in the world do you think you’re doing?” You inquired, a little frustrated but mostly curious.

“Come here!” Spencer responded. He grabbed your hand, which took you by surprise because he was normally such a germ freak. He dragged you out to a portion of the parking lot that was normally deserted. “Dance with me!”

“Spence! What? You aren’t making sense. What are you talking about?!”

“Your hands have been shaking ever since you handed Hotch the case papers and you’re being more talkative than normal! Those are both indicators of stress and you don’t deserve that. So, I’m asking you to just forget about it. Dance with me.”

“Spencer, I have places to be! I need to pick up dinner and no matter how hard you try to make me forget about it the world is a crappy pla-”

“Dance with me and pretend the world doesn’t exist,” he pleaded, cutting you off. “Please.”

You gave in. He smiled. You started out doing a goofy dancing thing, the kind of things they showcase in cheesy teen sitcoms when they say a character is bad at dancing, but you slowly morphed to dancing with each other. At one point, Spencer span you out, and you came spinning back in to him. You breathed him in, and even though he smelled mostly like the rain that soaked his clothes, you could pick up traces of coffee and books, both trademark Spencer scents. You looked up at him and your eyes met. Then neither of you could take it any longer. You kissed. It was spontaneous and desperate and beautiful. You both smiled softly at each other when you pulled away.

“I need to go home and take a shower,” you said slowly, easing your way out of Spencer’s arms. “But I’ll see you soon, okay?” Spencer nodded. “Walk me to my car?”

You held hands all the way over to Spencer’s car, where you picked up your things, and then over to your car. You weren’t sure if that kiss was like a one-time thing but you really hoped it wasn’t. Too late to turn back now, you thought as you pressed a kiss to Spencer’s cheek before turning around and opening your car door. 

“Thank you. For making me forget about the world, I mean. Even if it was just for a little bit. Hopefully you can do it again sometime, Doctor.” Spencer smiled and nodded. You drove off with a sense of satisfaction, and a new optimism that maybe the world was not, in fact, as bad as it seemed.

[whoisbxcky]

Soldat Ex Machina

request: Hi lovey! I have a request for a Bucky imagine if you want to write it: on a mission Bucky gets turned back into the winter soldier and is super protective of the reader and he’s like you are my mission and won’t let anyone near her until he’s back and then he admits he loves you?

pairing: Bucky x Reader

word count: 4500 +/-

warnings: angst, descriptive violence, mild language warning, fluff as heck at the end, teeeeeniest tiniest bit of nsfw if you squint

author’s note: Now, I know what you’re thinking. 

“Toria, why has your one-shot request turned into 4500 words?”

And all I can say, is I’m weak for Bucky Barnes and natural selection is coming for me.

I loved this fic request. I didn’t know I needed soft(ish?) Winter Soldier until now. I hope I did it justice. Thank you so much to anon for excellent prompting. Peace and love. ~ Toria <3

“Alright, south-west corridor is clear, Buck. How’s the auditorium looking?”

You glanced behind you to do your fifth head count of the minute, confirming once again that all seven of the captive scientists were with you. The poor guys had been Hydra’s prisoners for weeks now, and your intel suggested they’d been forced to work on a new version of the super soldier serum during their time here.

Obviously, since two super soldiers were more than enough for you to deal with on a day to day basis, you’d been the first to volunteer to shut the operation down and rescue the hostages. As expected, Bucky was hot on your heels with an offer to assist, not solely for the opportunity to screw with Hydra, but also because together, you were a force to be reckoned with.

With a self-assured nod and a quick, reassuring smile at the weary men behind you, you turned your head once more, awaiting Bucky’s response.

“Auditorium’s clear.”

Bucky’s voice did not reach you over the coms, but instead, you found his head rather comically poking out from between the double doors leading to the room in question, a roguish grin plastered on his face on seeing your expression.

“Dumbass.” You muttered quiet enough that you were sure only Bucky could catch it.

You flashed him a grin as he winked at you, while the two of you guided the scientists into the room, scanning the perimeter for hostiles.

Satisfied the coast was clear, you let yourself drop rather dramatically onto a nearby table, checking the magazine of your Beretta nonchalantly as you called out to the scientists, who were huddled in the centre of the room, Bucky at their side.

“The medevac will be wheels down in two minutes, once on board it’ll take you fellas to our… Base of operations, if you will, for a once over. You’ll be back with your families before you know it.”

You glanced up, offering them yet another reassuring smile and meeting Bucky’s gaze, when suddenly, a loud crackle echoed around you in the vacant hall. You were on your feet again in seconds, eyes scanning around for the source of the noise.

“I wouldn’t count on that, Miss Y/L/N.”

A thick German accent came over the intercom system in each corner of the room, the voice practically reverberating in your skull it was so loud. You grimaced, stepping towards Bucky and the now even more terrified hostages as you responded in a bored tone.

“I find it exceptionally hard to take threats from a hunk of plastic. Why don’t you come on down here, and we can talk about it.”

You smirked then, cocking your pistol and spinning it thrice in hand. You glanced across to see Bucky staring incredulously at you, and you shrugged. A wheezing cackle followed over the speakers.

“I admire your spirit, Miss Y/L/N, and you and Mr. Barnes have performed, exceptionally, so far. But I think now it is time to… Raise the stakes… A little bit.”

You could hear the cockiness in his tone, too self-assured for a man armed with a karaoke kit.

“We’re leaving. Now.” You murmured to Bucky.

He gave you a subtle nod in agreement as you both turned on your heels, guiding the scientists hastily towards the exit.

Suddenly, the way was blocked by a team of nine men all in black, armed to the teeth with automatics. No sooner had you turned to tell Bucky to cover you while you went on the offensive, than a loud crack resonated around the room, and before you could react, a small metal dart had lodged itself in Bucky’s neck.

He let out a grunt of discontent, yanking the syringe out and staring at it, dumbfounded for a moment, before it fell from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

“Bucky!”

You cried out, running towards him just in time to catch his weight as he lurched forward, eyes glassy and dazed expression fixed on your face. You gave a start of despair, rounding on your assailants with a snarl.

“What the hell is this? What have you done to him?”

A grating chuckle came over the speaker once more, and the voice from earlier was all around you, mocking, inescapable.

“Allow me to demonstrate… Žilánie.”

You stared at Bucky incredulously for a beat. This wouldn’t work, all the training Bucky had done in Wakanda had given him control over his Winter Soldier state.

“Ržávyj.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in horror and he pushed you away with a cry, hands gripping his head furiously. You could only watch in sheer terror as the unknown assailant continued to list off his trigger words, and Bucky, despite his best efforts, seemed to be submitting to their effect.

The dart.

Somewhere in the back of your panic-stricken mind, clarity rung through the chaos like the chime of a bell. Whatever concoction that dart contained, must have done something to his mind, made it… Accessible.

You fought back a retch, staring at Bucky with a look that was as much an apology as it was fear. Even on your best day you couldn’t beat Bucky. You were good, but you weren’t a super soldier. Right now, all you could do was get the seven men under your care to safety, and hope Barnes wouldn’t kill you in the process.

As the final words of the cycle were upon you, you looked around the room desperately for an escape. In the panic of watching the Winter Soldier reanimate before your eyes, you’d failed to notice the arrival of three more agents, blocking the door you had entered from. There was no way out.

You moved closer to the now-despairing hostages, muttering to them in a low tone, as calmly as you could muster.

“When I give the signal, you guys take cover. If I d-… If something happens, the medevac will be on the East side of the building-”

“Gruzavój vagón”

Your eyes snapped up in horror, fixating on the man who stood where your partner had once been. Cold, unfeeling eyes stared back, and for a moment, you dared not breath.

Bucky…

Settling your resolve, you gripped your Beretta. You may not make it out of here, but you still might get these men home to their families, at the very least. You’d barely uttered the word “go” to the men behind you before you were taking a shot at the nearest Hydra agent on your right, getting off as many rounds as you could before gunfire rained down on you like a hailstorm. You ducked for cover under a metal table, wincing as shots flew just centimetres from your head.

“Get the scientists, I want each of them brought back ALIVE.”

That damn voice again. You cursed, peaking around from your hiding spot to see a few of the armed men abandon their post by the door to surround the scientists, who had only made it as far as an overturned table, some ten metres away from you, in the ensuing chaos.

Crap.

You made a break for it, taking out a two more assailants with some strategically placed gunfire as you went. You were almost upon the five that were closing in on your targets, when suddenly you were thrown to the floor with a rather undignified clatter. Rolling into a crouch, you looked up to find a man the size of a bear towering over you, a gleeful yet sinister smirk on his face.

“Going somewhere, little mouse?”

You snarled, launching yourself to your feet and aiming a jab at his solar plexus. The man chuckled as your fist connected, apparently not at all phased by the assault, and proceeded to headbutt you, sending you flying back to the ground.

You groaned, gripping your head as you scrambled to get back on your feet. Before you were up however, terrifyingly strong hands gripped your throat, pulling you up off the group and hanging you there like a rag-doll.

You let out a strangled cry, frantically scratching and kicking to find some reprieve from the man’s monstrous grip on you, but every time you landed a punch, he’d simply smirk, obviously enjoying your struggle.

Prick.

Just as you thought your number may be up, you were forced to stifle a scream and a knife whizzed past your skull, embedding itself deep into your attacker’s eye socket. As the man dropped to the ground, his hold on you going entirely limp, you gasped, spinning on one heel in search of your saviour, and almost passed out yourself when your eyes connected with Bucky’s.

Except, that wasn’t Bucky. That was the Winter Solider. So, what in the hell was he doing taking out Hydra agents and saving your life?

Holding your gaze in those steel blue eyes for only a second longer, the Soldier turned, taking out two approaching opponents with unnerving precision and efficiency. You were vaguely aware of shouting off to your left, and you turned just in time to see one of the scientists you were supposed to be rescuing get taken down, the other six trying, but failing, to make a stand behind him.

You shot a last, weary glance towards the Soldier, who was currently in the process of disarming and… Oh… Dismembering… The three agents who had been guarding the entrance to the back corridor.

With a grimace, you took off running. Realising in dismay that your pistol had been lost in your earlier struggle, you grabbed a nearby stool, bringing it down with all your might on the head of the agent closest to you. As their comrade went down, in unison, the four others turned to you, eyes gleaming with furious blood lust.

“My bad.” You muttered.

You shot them a smirk, your eyes twinkling with malice as you prepared yourself. However, just as the man furthest to your left moved to shoot, a knife lodged itself into he back of his hand with a dull thump. Before anyone could react, including the man himself, the Winter Soldier was upon him, metal arm lashing out to strike him in the jugular, causing the man fall uselessly to the ground.

You scowled, as the other three sprung into action, and you moved to take on the assailant directly in front of you. But before you could get within striking distance, the Soldiers grip was on your arm, tossing you backwards. You rolled over your shoulder, landing in a crouched position just behind him, shooting him an affronted glare. However, he was not looking back at you, and had already resumed his one man-wrecking crew assault on the Hydra agents that remained.

Uttering a few, choice expletives under your breath, you glanced around, gaze coming to rest on the seven terrified men huddled behind an overturned table to your right.

Oh, yeah. Your mission.

You took the opportunity to close the distance between you and your targets finally, dragging each of the men to their feet and guiding them towards the now-unoccupied exit.

“Alright, fellas. This party’s getting a little boring. What’d’ya say we blow this joint?”

The captive scientists nodded fervently in unison, helping each other to their feet as you ushered the towards the exit. As you swung the door open, you came face to face with one of the S.H.I.E.L.D agents in charge of the medevac team, staring dumbly at him for a second.

“Uh… We just thought… You guys were taking a while.” He glanced down at you warily as you raised a brow.

“Ran into some trouble, better later than never, hey?” You murmured in a honeyed tone.

The agent nodded curtly, and cleared his throat, nodding towards the men huddled behind you.

“If you’re ready, ma’am.” He muttered, turning on his heel and gesturing towards the helo, freezing as you caught his wrists in your steely grip.

“I’m not finished here. Take the hostages back to Fury, we’ll find our own way home.”

And with that, before the S.H.I.E.L.D agent could object, you gestured for the exhausted group behind you to follow him, sprinting back into the building without a moment’s hesitation.

Once inside, you surveyed the scene in front of you, tallying the bodies that littered the floor.

You counted all twelve hostiles, noting with mild apprehension that some had bullet wounds in their foreheads where none had been before.

It was at that moment that movement in the shadowy corner of the hall caught your attention, and you froze, body trembling with both adrenaline and exhaustion. You took an instinctual step back as the Winter Soldier materialised out of the darkness, his merciless gaze fixated on you.

“We should leave. More will come.” He spoke in a tone entirely void of emotion, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge.

“Why should I go anywhere with you, soldat?” You challenged; arms crossed as you narrowed your eyes at the man.

Yes, he had just saved your life. But this was still the Winter Soldier, and you were anything but an optimist.

The Soldier didn’t reply. Instead, he closed the space between you so rapidly that you barely had time to flinch as he took your arm in his cold, metal grasp, dragging you after him as he moved towards the exit.

You struggled against him, frantically trying to tug your arm free, but to no avail.

“What the hell are you doing?”

No response.

“Bucky.”

Nothing.

With a growl of discontent, you opted for a new tactic.

“Zachem ty eto delayesh'?” (“Why are you doing this?”) You snarled at him venomously, causing the Soldier to stop dead in his tracks.

When he said nothing, you tried once more, your voice softening substantially on seeing the confusion in his face. It almost looked like your Bucky when you hit him with a pop culture reference.

“Kto ya dlya tebya?” (“Who am I to you?”) You whispered.

You fixed him with a pleading stare, finally ceasing your incessant attempts at escaping his grasp. The Soldier turned to face you completely, his flesh hand coming up to grip your free arm as he looked you dead in the eyes. You swore you saw a flicker of something in their inky depths.

“Vy moya missiya seychas.” (“You are my mission now.”)

His voice was still entirely expressionless, and yet his words hit you so hard you might have stumbled backwards had he not had a vice-like grip on you.

There was a moments silence as you found yourself trapped in the Soldier’s gaze. Your mind whirled to make sense of his words, and your mouth hung open uselessly, unable to muster a response.

With a sigh, your companion muttered something about finding shelter, dragging you once more behind him.

However, despite his brutish mannerisms and the fact he was still, in fact, the Winter Soldier, this time, you found yourself complying.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Forty-five minutes and a lot of awkward silence later, the two of you were held up in a small, abandoned barn on the outskirts of the next town over. Bucky, or rather, the Soldier, stood in the doorway, lifeless eyes scanning the horizon relentlessly. You, on the other hand, were sat a healthy distance away, lent up against a metal trough, your whole-body trembling from a combination of the dropping temperature and furious trepidation.

What in the hell were you supposed to do with this situation?

Obviously, something had gone wrong with the Soldier’s programming, and as far as you could tell, he didn’t want to kill you. Which was good. However, he was still the Winter Soldier. That was less good. The real question, was how on earth were you going to get Bucky back in the driver’s seat?

You were brought out of your heavy thoughts by black-clad legs entering your line of sight, and your eyes snapped up in shock, your body instinctively tensing.

“You’re cold.”

The Soldier’s voice held no warmth as he made his observation, his vacant eyes fixated on you. You cleared your throat, running a hand casually through your hair as you shrugged.

“I didn’t plan on making this a two-day trip, if I’d known we were camping out I’d have brought my sweats.”

His expression did not falter for even a second, and you frowned. Not that you’d expected him to break into a fit of giggles, but, geez. Tough crowd.

Instead, you watched attentively he pulled his leather jacket off, carefully ignoring the way his muscles rippled under his shirt as he did so. Without a word, he dropped the jacket over your knees, which were currently curled up to your chest. You practically purred as you tugged the jacket tighter around you, the ghost of his body heat still present on the material.

“Thanks, comrade.” You murmured, eyeing him tentatively.

He turned on his heel to return to his post but stopped short when you cleared your throat once more. By the time he turned back to face you, your arm was extended, offering him a bottle of water you had stashed in your tactical gear.

“Consider it a peace offering.” You said matter of factly.

He gave you a dubious look, the most expression you’d seen on his face all night, you noted, as you settled down against the wall to rest. Nevertheless, he took the bottle with a curt nod of appreciation, before making his way back to the doorway, taking a drink of the water as he went.

Ten seconds later, and you found yourself wincing as the Soldier’s body dropped like a sack of potatoes to the ground, water bottle discarded at his side.

You didn’t feel great about using the sedatives you kept in your medical kit on the guy. Really, you didn’t, but…

You shakily got to your feet, draping Bucky’s jacket back over him as you gave him a once over for injuries. When you were satisfied that he was unharmed from the fall, you moved a little way off, leaning against a hay-bale as you watched him through bleary, sleep-addled eyes.

“Sorry, Buck. But I can’t risk losing you.” You whispered into the darkness, shuddering as the howling wind sent a chill through your bones.

This was going to be a long night.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next morning, you woke from a sleep you’d never meant to have. You’d been dutifully watching over Bucky’s body all night; in case he woke from his drug-induced slumber. However, it was becoming increasingly apparent as consciousness returned to you, that at some point, you yourself had passed out.

Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze slid over to the pile of hay on which you’d left your teammates unconscious form. A pile of hay that was now unquestionably vacant.

Crap.

Within seconds, you were sprinting out of the barn, rounding off a list of expletives so colourful it’d make Cap’ blush.

Please don’t be gone, please don’t be gone, please don’t be-

You skidded to a halt as you approached the brow of the hill on which the barn was stationed, stifling a sob of relief as your eyes homed in on a familiar form sitting on the grass, his body silhouetted by the rising sun.

“Bucky?” You uttered in a breathy gasp.

His head snapped around to face you then, and as you tentatively made your way towards him, you could just about make out the tension in his shoulders, the crease in his forehead. That was Bucky alright.

“Y/N…” He murmured as you came to rest, knelt by his side.

You could see the confusion in his eyes, the worry in his clenched jaw. How long had he been out here, torturing himself over the blank pages in his memory?

“You’re awake…” You spoke slowly, almost as if in a dream. “How much do you remember…?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his gaze shifting from you to focus on the ever-rising sun, far off in the distance.

“I remember the words. Then… Nothing. What did I do?” His woeful tone made your heart ache.

You sucked in air, rubbing the back of your neck as you offered him a cautious explanation.

“Uh… Well… You kind of sort of, took out the entirety of the Hydra forces and saved my life…?”

Bucky’s head snapped back around, wide, curious eyes practically burning through your own as he processed your words.

“I… Didn’t hurt you?” He whispered, so low you had to strain to hear it.

You smiled, unable to mask the light pink hue in your cheeks at the memory. At the time, you’d almost crapped your pants. But now, after the fact, the realisation that Bucky, even under the control of Hydra, had chosen to protect you, made your chest stutter uncomfortably.

“Ah… No. The opposite in fact.”

Bucky’s face cracked with relieved, a soft smile playing on his lips, and you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his profile looked, highlighted by the first rays of morning light. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, in which you both lost yourselves in your respective musings, you broke the stillness with a shy cough.

“Hey… Buck? When I asked you if you knew me, while you were… You know… You told me that I was your mission, what do you think you meant by that?”

Even in the blinding light of the sun’s rays, you noticed Bucky going an unmistakably bright shade of red, unable to meet your gaze. He turned his head away from you, studiously focusing on the scenery in front of him in mutinous silence. You let out a breath of dismay, scooting your body around his tensed form to kneel in from of him, crouching on the balls of your feet and forcing him to look at you.

“Bucky?” You called to him in a gentle, yet insistent tone.

You’re not shutting me out, Mr. Barnes. Not today.

He grunted in response, still unable to meet your incessant stare, but you noticed his features soften as he let out a sigh of defeat.

“I… Guess I wanted to protect you. Even then.” He confessed in a barely-there whisper.

You swallowed. Hard.

“But how? Why? With your mind under their control-”

“There’s forces stronger than Hydra’s science in this world, Y/N.” The uncertainty in his voice had all but vanished as he cut you off, replaced by candour that made your heart do that strange, fluttery thing again.

He finally brought his eyes away from the view behind you to meet your gaze with such sincerity, such intensity, that you found yourself unable to move, unable to speak, or even think. In that moment, there was only Bucky.

When you finally forced your mouth to summon an admittedly limited choice in words, your voice was distinctly horse.

“Like… What?”

Bucky held your gaze, his metal hand tenderly moving to grasp your flesh one, his cheeks flushed crimson. Despite his obvious reticence, there was no hesitation in his eyes as he spoke in a low, gravelly tone.

“Like being madly in love with the best person you know.”

After a beat, your mouth dropped open, eyes wide. All you could do was gawk at him then, totally floored by the declaration.

Surely, he didn’t mean you?

Surely Steve was more qualified for the moniker of ‘best person Bucky knows’?

Surely-

“I’m talking about you, dumbass.”

Bucky flashed you a wry smile, apparently reading your thoughts. You remained stock-still, your mind struggling so hard to process what you were being told, you could have sworn you heard the dial-up internet noise from within its depths.

Bucky Barnes was in love with you. Bucky. Your mission partner. Your best friend. Your… Your…

Almost as if under a spell, you found your body lurching forward of its own accord, your lips crushing against Bucky’s so hard you were sure you’d bruise. It would not have surprised you if fireworks had appeared on the horizon in that moment, for the joy, passion and sheer bliss that exploded in your core at the sensation of Bucky’s lips against yours.

After a moment of stunned pause, Bucky’s senses seemed to return to him, as he eagerly caught your waist in his sturdy grasp, pulling you weightlessly into his lap so that your legs straddled him. The hand that had been holding your own trailed up your arm, coming to rest tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer into his embrace, and you responded by snaking your arms around his shoulders, nails digging lightly into his back as lips gave way to tongues, and you and Bucky lost yourselves in each other.

When you were finally forced to pull apart for need of oxygen, you were both lightly panting, lips swollen and bruised and eyes heavy-lidded with passion. You rested your forehead against his own as Bucky rubbed light circles into your back, a warm smile crossing his lips.

“What was that for?” He whispered to you, his voice thick with desire.

You grinned, pulling away ever-so-slightly to meet his tender gaze.

“Well, I could have just told you I love you, too. But you know, actions speak louder and all that…”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, leaning up to press a light kiss to your forehead, making you grin as your cheeks reddened. This was crazy, to be sitting like this, doing this, with Bucky. And yet, nothing had ever felt more natural to you.

You gave a reluctant sigh, clearing your throat as you murmured to him.

“You know we should probably start heading back-…”

You trailed off, losing your sentence in confusion as Bucky slid one hand easily under your thigh, holding you against him as he stood and began to make his way back towards the barn.

“Uh… Bucky… What are you doing?”

He smiled then, the way Lucifer might have smiled before being cast out of heaven, before he playfully landed a kiss on your jaw, making your stomach flutter deliciously.

“If actions speak louder, then let me show you just how much I love you, every inch of you, inside and out, in fact.” He murmured against your ear, the warm tickle of his breath making your spine tingle.

You bit your lip, tangling your hands in his hair as Bucky’s teasing lips trailed from your jaw to your neck, and back up. After a moment of divine torture, storm blue eyes found yours, and you and Bucky gazed adoringly at one another. A silent promise was uttered between you, as the dimness of the barn consumed you both, that this marked the first day of a new beginning.

[lorei-writes]

Void

Masamune  Gen Fic Angst, pre-canon This work includes suggestive content.

Ahh, I’m so sorry, but this idea was stuck in my mind and just. ;-; Next will come fluff(ish) stuff. 

Content Warnings: war (mentions)

It was no different this time around. She was pretty and had a cute smile, some of her stories were fun – not that it mattered in the moment, the chances of them ever meeting again being fairly low. She’d probably forget about him in a week, at worst she’d keep the memory as a treasured dream. Only a dream. 

“Future” was never his in terms of possession. Masamune did know it would happen, that each second that was to come was a part of it, yet… He never quite dared to reach for it. It could unravel by itself, he reckoned, occupying himself with matters important at hand. There was nothing there to look forward to, no desires or hope that was purely his. After all, how could there be any if his life could be over in an instant? There was no point to being tied down by feelings – love, friendship, trust – if those would have to be dissolved the very moment the good of his clan was at stake. Alliances, marriages, treaties, it was all temporary… So why couldn’t he have some fun? Even if it would disappear with flutter of butterfly wings, it would satiate him, at least for a moment in which he currently lived.

It was no different this time around. She was pretty and had a cute smile, some of her stories were fun – not that it mattered in the moment, the chances of them ever meeting again being fairly low. She’d probably forget about him in a week, at worst she’d keep the memory as a treasured dream. Only a dream. He never promised anything, quite the opposite. The terms were clear. It had only been a kiss, no declarations of love or devotion.

As if he could give any of that…

Masamune wanted just her touch – or much rather, any touch. For all he knew, this town could not be in place the next time he rode down that path… He scolded his mind: her hands were warm. It was enough, more than enough to keep him believing he was alive. He swept her, akin to a strong current – and she only followed him out into the sea, her body reacting accordingly to anything he did. She gasped and she moaned, and he’d swear she’d let him take control. Could there be anything else to crave?

She grasped at the futon, her head falling back.

“My Lord…” she groaned, mist overtaking her eyes. Lord. Indeed, he was nobody else to her. It was just a single night – perhaps they’d make it two… Yet nothing more, it would never stretch past that. She would go back, lead a happy life, start a family, who knows. He, on the other hand? He’d rule the land, go into battles, maybe he’d die in one. For all he cared, there was no reason to hold back, not then and not there. There could be no second time.

He hurried after that high, wishing to feel it, although also hoping the moment could last. He extended it, true, but he could do it by only so much – and then it was over, never to return the same way it was. And she? She got up, picked up her clothes and put them back on. She fixed her hair, corrected her make-up.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she said and bowed – and the doors closed behind her. It was over. Masamune rolled onto his back.

He woke up in the morning. The air was clean, devoid of her smell. Her touch didn’t linger, her voice had already died, eaten by the silence. He stared at the ceiling, his hand travelling up to his missing eye, his fingers brushing against the worn-out leather. Had he forgotten to take off his eyepatch? He must have… It wasn’t a pretty sight regardless of that.

His bed was cold.

Tag list: @datenoriko​, @nad-zeta​, @tsubaki3192, @jiyuu-chan, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth​, @plumpblueberry, @i-sleep-like-napoleon, @nimeryaa, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, if you have some preferences (for example: you’d rather not be tagged under some series, etc.), please, tell me.  If you don’t want to be tagged anymore - please, do not feel bad about it, just say so :)

[muffinlance]

I am in awe. You have three WIPs that you update on a regular basis AND each of them is just as engaging as the next AND you manage to keep everyone in-character, if not better (I will never be unable to unhear Engineer Hanako or unsee Flying Lemur Squad’s plausible deniability). How do you do it??

Real talk time!

I have no idea.

For real, this is significantly faster than I have ever written in my life. Like. By a considerable margin. And I'm going to just go ahead and attribute it to,

(wait for it)

~The Marvelous Power of Procrastination~

Because I am currently making the move from kind-of-amateur writer to serious-face-writer. And I should be editing up that short story I'm sitting on, 'cause I'd really like to get another mag credit before I send out the next round of queries on Novel J (which has gotten full requests, but no bites yet). And I have two other novels lined up to query if that one flops, pending fairly minor edits that I should really be doing. And I've got the outline for my next one all prettified, and that one's middle grade so it's super short, and I really need to work it into my writing rotation.

'Cause.

'Cause I've mentioned this to a few people, but I rationalized starting each of these fanfics as craft practice.

Little Zuko: full novel outline practice. Holy shit outlining is so much better than pantsing for me. But I need to level up my thinking-at-the-novel-level game.

Towards the Sun: series level outlining combined with freeform scenes. 'Cause I'm actually getting pretty confident at the novel-level thing, so this is the next logical step, and 350k-ish is a nice reasonable word count to sandbox in. (And can I just take a moment to scream internally that I feel confident in committing to that kind of word count? 'Cause like, two or three years ago, I'd have been hyperventilating even contemplating that.)

Cheating at Pai Sho: completely winging it. 'Cause I am a pantser at heart, and fanfic is delightfully low stress. I just have a checklist of things I want to do, like 'pick up Toph', but I'm not actively making an attempt to outline the steps in-between. Just seeing where the pai sho tiles fall (I did figure out the Toph thing while writing that last chapter, and will start the groundwork in chapter 5. Go me!) But yeah, this is why you got 10k of adorable Lovecraftian cats and Zuko-Katara semi-shirtless bonding. I make niether excuses nor apologies, shameless fluff is shameless. This story is hella relaxing to write, and I'm getting the impression it's also relaxing to read, and you all deserve some me-time after making it through the Towards the Sun prologue.

Most importantly, these are all daily writing practice. They're fun and low-stress and if I'm not feeling one, I can bounce to another for awhile. I always knew I was physically capable of writing this fast, 'cause my typing speed is ridiculous, but I'd hit a creative limit where I'd feel drained and have to walk away for an-hour-a-day and those kinds of breaks are dangerous, that's when you lose your writing momentum and a day turns into a week turns into six months and what are you even doing with your life you failure you said you wanted to be a writer. And that is not a good headspace, as I think pretty much every creative person ever is cripplingly familiar with.

So these fics are my no-pressure no-stakes daily writing exercises.

And I accidentally proved to myself that I am capable of so much more than I thought.

And I am feeling real good about it, thanks to the wonderfully supportive feedback from all you FF reviewers and AO3 commenters and Tumblr fan arters and those amazing human beings writing ficlets for my stories. Like. Real good, is how I'm feeling. Like I can do this, is how I'm feeling. Like maybe I'm ready to stop hiding from my serious-face writing, and I can write so damn fast now I-know-I-can, so. So even if I work my serious projects back into the writing rotation, y'all should barely notice a dip in my fanfic posting speed. 'Cause I can do this. I really can. <3

In conclusion I love you all, thank you so much for the overwhelming support as I continue catopus-paddling through figuring out this writing thing.

This got long and rambly and didn't even answer the original question. To which the answer would be: practice your craft intentfully. You want to write engaging stories? Study the stories that captivate you and tease out what elements are pulling you in. There's a fuckton of nitty-gritty technical details that go into making things dynamic and engaging at the level of a sentence, a paragraph, a scene, a chapter, an arc, a novel, a series (I consider myself fairly solid up until those last two--hence why I'm using these fics to actively work on them). Characterizations and how to write voices that sounds distinct from each other but unique to themselves, likewise. When you read, don't just read--tease apart the material. Why do you like what you like, why is something not working for you, what would have improved this, what would you have done differently if you were writing it.

Also, take the idea of a muse and shove it. Daily practice, or as near as you can make it. Runners have to build their stamina over time; same thing with writers. Just 'cause it's a mental stamina doesn't make the fatigue any less real. Build it up over time, celebrate your victories, try not to backslide with the mental equivalent of laying on the couch eating potato chips and letting your writing-brain get flabby again. Get out for a writing-walk, everyday, even if it's only a little.

[snarky-badger]

Hiya! Love your works!! I'm not sure about asking but if you're still taking requests *slips paper across table* I work in retail and some of our christmas stock has arrived and the fluffies caught me on Venom experiencing snow or christmas in general for the first time.. Can be x reader fluff you want (yeah.. it's too early to be thinking of christmas and I'm not ready) sorry it's long winded.. thankyou!! xx

Christmas/The Holidays are three weeks (ish) away and I’m starting to get nervous. Anywho! I tried to fit Christmas into this, and I had fun with the snow. Don’t think it snows in San Francisco, but it does in this prompt, so there =P hehehe. Enjoy the fluff!

“EDDIE!”

The loud, booming, yell started both you and the one intended, and you watched with wide eyes as Venom’s head materialized on Eddie’s shoulders, the symbiote’s attention locked onto the apartment’s nearest window.

Eddie, who was apparently more used to the sudden appearance and yelling of said symbiote, didn’t even look up from his laptop. “What?”

“LOOK!”

You got to witness an unusual sight. Venom’s manifested head on a noodle-stalk lurched towards the window, dragging Eddie along. The poor man yelped, was pulled into a backflip over the back of the couch, and landed perfectly. He had enough sense to take a pose before the symbiote bodily yanked him over to the window.

The black and white face smooshed itself up against the glass, deep voice laced with panic. “ASHES ARE FALLING FROM THE SKY! THERE’S A FIRE! WE HAVE TO GO! FIRE WILL KILL US! WE HAVE TO RUN!”

“Ashes?” Eddie pressed his face against the glass next to Venom and peered up at the sky. “Huh. Lookit that.”

“HOW CAN YOU BE CALM?!” Venom obviously thought his host was a few tater tots shy of a full bag.

Shaking your head at the weirdness of it all, you set your book aside and rose to walk over to them, joining your boys. You reached past Eddie and shoved the window up, letting cold air and flakes of snow whoosh into the apartment.

Venom made an ungodly noise of terror as the symbiote reared back, away from the flakes, nearly toppling Eddie as he did so. “DON’T LET IT INTO THE NEST!”

“Venom.” You did your best not to laugh. You really did. You’d never seen Venom afraid before, or known that his usually deep voice could gain such a high pitch. “Venom, look. It’s snow.”

Eddie was snickering to himself. “Snow. Frozen water. Doesn’t usually snow in San Fran, but the weather’s been bonkers lately.”

You stretched a hand out and scooped a bit of accumulated snow off the windowsill. “Look.”

Venom eyed your extended hand as if you were offering him his most hated white chocolate. Slowly, as the bit of snow in your palm melted, he snaked his head closer, pale eyes narrowing a little as he stared, then tentatively licked at the bundled flakes in your hand.

Pale eyes widened seconds later. “IT’S WATER.”

“Yup. Frozen water. Perfectly safe, unless it snows ten feet, which we won’t get here,” you chuckled, smiling as you flicked your now wet fingers at Eddie, who yelped and wiped at his face.

“Guess we’ll have a white Christmas,” the man muttered as he shook droplets of water from his tee shirt.

“CHRISTMAS?” You and Eddie had tried to explain the holiday to Venom. He’d been less than enthused about the story of Santa ‘breaking in’ and leaving gifts. You were certain the alien was low-key planning on staking out the apartment in an attempt to catch Ol’ Saint Nick.

There had been endless questions. If you hadn’t been an adult and known that Santa wasn’t real before, having the symbiote poke holes in all the Christmas Stories would have done it. Most of the questions about the religious aspects went unanswered since neither you or Eddie were particularly religious to begin with.

Venom had finally been mollified with a final exasperated answer that it was a holiday meant to celebrate friends and family. The promise of a huge meal had also helped.

So Venom hadn’t made any overly snarky comments about the Christmas Tree that you and Eddie had put up. The artificial thing was now laden with ornaments and lights, and while it wasn’t anything like the perfectly manicured ‘classic’ trees, like in the magazines, it was perfect for the three of you.

But snow. Actual snow. A white Christmas. You hadn’t had one of those in… years. Not since you’d moved to San Francisco for work, anyway.

“Let’s go for a walk,” you grinned, turning away from watching the snow fall to look at Eddie.

He arched a doubtful eyebrow at you. “In the snow?”

“Yeah, ‘in the snow’! It’ll melt soon enough, and I haven’t seen snow in years!” You gave him your best kicked-puppy look. “Please?”

“WE WANT TO SEE MORE TOO,” Venom rumbled, his gaze still glued to the falling snow.

“We could go to the Park! They put up a bunch of lights and decorations! It’ll be fun!” When Eddie still looked doubtful, you performed a finishing move. “And we can stop by that coffee shop you love. Get one of their specialty hot chocolates.”

His lips quirked, even as Venom perked up at the word ‘chocolate’. “We’re not sure we’re comfortable with the way you’ve learned to manipulate us,” he drawled, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“SAYS YOU,” Venom smirked, taking control of Eddie’s body again and lurching him towards the apartment door. “LET’S GO.”

Twenty minutes later found the two (three?) of you at the Golden Gate Park, walking along a pathway with Christmas lights draped over every tree and light post. It was an event done every year, and with the snow falling, the lights glowing in the early dusk, it seemed almost magical.

“You can’t tell me this wasn’t worth coming out here,” you smiled as you cozy’d up to Eddie, who had his left arm around you, his right hand stuffed into his jacket pocket. Venom was coiled around his neck in the guise of a black scarf, pale ‘eyes’ visible as the symbiote took in everything around.

“It is pretty,” Eddie admitted, tucking you closer when you wound your right arm around his back. “Haven’t seen it snow like this in.... ever, actually. Not since I moved here from New York.”

“I miss snow,” you murmured, tilting your head back to stare up at the sky, smiling when a few flakes landed on your face. “I mean, not the shoveling of it, because that sucks. But seeing it, having snowball fights and building forts and stupid little things like that.”

“It’s not stupid,” he chided you gently, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek before returning his attention to the pathway, his boots crunching on the new fallen snow. “I kinda miss the Rockefeller Center and the massive tree they put up every year. I think one year they got a tree that was ninety five feet tall.”

You leaned into him a little, the warmth of him chasing the unusual chill from you. “I’ve only seen pictures, to be honest.”

“You’d love it. There’s a skating rink just below it - not that I could skate to save my life.” Eddie paused for a moment, then grinned at you. “Maybe, one year, we’ll take you there. As a Christmas present.”

“I* thought Venom hated planes.”

“The engine noise yeah.” There came a grumble from his ‘scarf’ and Eddie nudged at the blackness with his chin. “But that time was from the outside. It’s quieter when you’re actually in the place.”

“True.” A group of children, followed by their exasperated parents, ran past, heading for a small playground that had been set up - huge piles of snow had been made into small toboggan hills and slides.

“C’mon.” Eddie tugged you away from the noisy mass of people and children, taking a pathway away from the lights. Quietness, broken only by the sounds of your footsteps in the snow and the light breeze, settled over the two of you. “Thought you and I could introduce Vee to something fun.”

You blinked as Eddie pulled away, the loss of his warmth making you tuck your jacket closer. “Oh?”

“Yup.” A grin, best described as a ‘shit-eating grin’, spread across his face as he bent to retrieve a handful of snow.

Too late, you realized his intention.

You gave a little yelp as the ball of snow hit you square in the chest, some of it falling into your open collar and instantly melting against your skin. “Oh, you did not just do that. You are in for it now buster!”

He threw a second ball, and you dodged, scooping up a fistful and lobbing it at him blindly. Managed a hit on his neck and heard Venom’s low hiss of surprise and shock before you made a run for a tree, intending to use it as a shield. “Running away already?”

“I’m not running away I’m regrouping!” You grabbed another handful of snow and patted it into a sphere before peeking out, yelping when you jerked back into cover in time for a snowball to impact against the tree’s trunk.

Eyes narrowing in indignation, you threw yourself out of cover, running for another tree. Saw an opening and took it, laughing when you manage to hit Eddie right in the face.

He sputtered, spitting out snow, and wiped the melting slush from his face. “Oh, you’re in for it now,” he laughed, grinning a little. “Mask!”

“Well shit,” left you in a mutter as Venom took the cue and materialized around Eddie, taking over. You gave a shriek as a symbiotic tendril lobbed some snow at you and ran for it, hearing Venom’s delighted chortle as he gave chase.

He chased you through the secluded part of the Park you were in, the two of you darting in between trees and using them and whatever else was available for cover as you traded ammunition. It really wasn’t a fair fight, not when he could use tendrils and hands to lob snow balls at you, but you actually took time to aim, cackling when you nailed him in the butt.

You laughed like a loon at the indignant sound he loosed, then ran for it when Venom smirked and launched himself at you. Made it, maybe, five feet before he tackled you from behind, twisting to take the brunt of the landing before he grabbed a handful of snow and tried to shove it down the front of your jacket.

Where upon you raised your last sphere of snow and smashed it, point black, into his face.

“ACK! PHFT!” Shaking his head, Venom spat out a mouthful of snow, then narrowed his eyes at you. “YOU PLAY DIRTY MORSEL.”

“You put snow in my bra,” you shot back as you dug slush out from under your jacket. “There are bits of me that aren’t meant to be that cold!”

He snickered and pushed your onto your back, looming over you. “WE LIKE THIS. THIS ‘SNOW’ STUFF. IT’S FUN.” Venom leaned down, nuzzling chilled fangs against your neck, tongue laving at the spot to sooth the feeling of sharp teeth. One taloned hand rose to tug at your jacket a little before he started to unzip it. “MM. YOU KNOW, WE DON’T SENSE ANYONE ELSE NEARBY...”

“Ohhh, no,” you laughed, gently pushing him back. “We are not having sex in the snow. Ask Eddie about ‘frostbite’, and then think about how mad I’ll be if I get that anywhere near anything sensitive.”

“WOULDN’T LET THAT HAPPEN,” he grumbled after a brief moment where you knew he’d rifled through Eddie’s memories, curling his arms around you and tugging you close, tendrils lashing around to wrap you up in warmth. “BETTER?”

Smiling, you hugged him back, the chill of lying in the snow fading as he cocooned you in his mass. “Mm. Yes. Thank you. Still, I think it’s time we go home, hm?”

Venom made the rumbling noise he only made for you and nuzzled into you again, licking at the shell of your right ear. “PROMISED US HOT CHOCOLATE.”

A laugh left you. “That I did. Almost forgot about that. Okay, hot chocolate, then home.”

“AND THE NEST IS NICE AND WARM, SO NO FROSTBITE,” he purred, sliding a hand down to grab your hip and pull you close to meet the slow roll of his hips.

Your lips curved into a smile as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “My thoughts exactly.”

[casseythebee]

“You look so sexy when you’re ignoring me.”  Destiel one shot

Prompt: “You look so sexy when you’re ignoring me.” Summary: After Castiel catches Dean flirting with a, quite frankly gorgeous, girl at a bar he tries to give him the silent treatment, for the first time. Pairing: Dean x Castiel (Destiel) Words: 1.2k-ish Warning: language, mostly fluff, and my shitty writing like usual A/N: I kind of added myself into the story, but with a bit of a name change, whoops. This is a prompt for “Elliana’s 400 Followers Fanciful Fluff Challenge” @thehoneybeecastielfollows hope I win *crosses fingers* 

(this is not my gif) 

Dean whistles walking up to a gorgeous brunette. “Somebody call the cops because it’s got to be illegal to look that good!” he proclaims. 

She lets out an adorable giggle. “Dude this must suck for you!” 

Dean leans onto the bar lifting an eyebrow. “What?” 

“Because if I were looking for someone tonight, that totally would have worked!” 

Dean drops his head so it hangs low in defeat and lets out an overdramatic, yet pretty funny, sigh. “Well, I guess tonight isn’t my lucky night, huh?” He looks up his eyes lighten up. “Can I at least buy you a drink?” 

“Oh, I don’t drink.” She holds up her glass of water. “Designated driver and all.” She shrugs happiness twinkling in her large, blue eyes.

“What’s wrong Cas?” Sam asks. He had just gotten back from the bathroom, Dean was gone, and Castiel was staring daggers at the bar. 

All Sam got as an answer from Cas is a grunt. So Sam tries to investigate by following his line of vision. He is staring at Dean and girl. She is totally Dean’s type, she had long brown hair, large blue eyes, a pair ripped black jeans, and- if he could see right from here- a form-flattering Black Sabbath shirt. “Just go up there, plant a big kiss on his cheek, and put an arm around his shoulders. Stake a claim. Make sure she knows that ‘This is my man and you need to step the fuck off.’” 

Cas goes over there with the intentions to be subtle about ‘staking a claim’ but when he sees her touching his arm, Dean subtly moving in closer, them laughing it up over some private joke, it doesn't really work out the way he wants it to. He lets those blasted human emotions get the best of him. 

“Dean? What are you doing? I thought you were going to get the drinks and come right back,” Castiel demanded, a little more aggressive then he intended it to be. 

Dean looks up not noticing the pure rage in his Angel’s eyes. “Just talking to Athena over here. She is really nice. I think-” 

He was cut off by Castiel throws Dean’s drink in his face. 

“I hope you two are fucking happy together!” Cas exploded before stomping off toward Sam sitting at a table gawking at the whole ordeal. 

“Come on he can get a cab home,” Cas fumed grabbing Baby’s keys and stomping out the door - Sam following close behind not sparing a glance for his brother - and leaving Dean sitting drenched in beer with a dumbfounded look on his face. 

“I uh don’t really know what in the hell that was about,” Dean sputters trying to dry himself off.  

“Hey it’s okay, I overstepped my bounds. It’s clear he likes you, you should go after him,” Athena adds insightfully.  

“I… I guess so. He did take away my only way home though.” Dean chuckles under his breath imagining Sam driving them home with a grumpy little Cas sulking next to him. “I’m just going to call a cab.”

“Son of a bitch!” Cas exploded slamming the passenger seat door. “Just go straight home, no stops!” 

Sam got into the 1967 Chevy Impala and started it without a word to the fuming angel sitting next to him. As soon as the car started Castiel turned the music up as loud as he dared without breaking the speakers. Once again, though Sam hated having loud music playing, he knew how angry Castiel was.

After a few minutes of no talking just blaring music and Cas staring out the window, Castiel finally turned down the music and said, “Look I know I’m overreacting, but I’m just pissed. Your brother is a jackass who makes me melt every time I look at him. And… I just don’t want to have to share him with anyone else. Do you know what I mean?” 

“Yeah, when it came to… to Jess, I could get a little paranoid that she was trying to leave me for other people.” There was a pause as Sam remembered Jess and all the heartbreak that came with it. “I guess growing up in the situation I did, Dean was the only person who would love me no matter what, so when Jess showed me love from a person who wasn’t part of my family it was new. I wasn’t used to it, Dean and I were always together so I had no one else to compare our relationship too. So if we weren’t together thing just felt… odd, I guess.”  

Cas took a few moments to contemplate this before answering, “Yeah, I guess I have no other romantic relationship to compare this to as well. Not many relationships to period. ” 

They spent the rest of the car ride listening to the music in a much quieter manner, each lost in thought about the roller coaster that is their pasts.

Cas’s stomps echoed off of the bunker's walls as he stormed to his room. 

Sighing, Sam realized that he hadn’t eaten anything at the bar and he was quite hungry. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet in the kitchen he pours himself some water and takes a leftover slice of pizza from the fridge, not bothering to heat it up. As he climbs up on the counter he sees Dean rush by holding something brightly colored. 

“Cas! Come on, my Angel Love. Let me in,”  Dean begs rapid-fire banging his fists on their bedroom door. 

Without an answer, Dean defeatedly trudges to the kitchen. “You’ve been in a semi-healthy relationship, right? Tell me what to do, please, Sammy I need you.” 

It’s not every day that you see the Dean Winchester begging for help. It’s also not very common that you see Dean with a sad look on his face holding the most colorful bouquet of flowers in one hand and a Kit Kat, Reese’s, and a Snickers in the other. 

“I don’t know man. I’ve never been in a situation like this. Just try him one more time, and if he still won’t budge just go to bed and hope for the best in the morning,” Sam offered. “Sorry man.” Sam halfheartedly pats Dean’s shoulder on the way out. 

The sound of Dean rummaging through the kitchen drawer is the only thing to be heard in the giant lonely bunker. Dean scribbles out a note to put next to the flowers and candy so Cas would see it in the morning. Dean decides to sleep on the couch tonight, despite the fact that there are so many other bedrooms he could have fallen asleep in.

“Pancakes, Sam?” Cas asks a groggy Sam with messy bedhead. 

“Sure,” Sam runs a hand through his hair, instantly smoothing it out, “what about Dean?” 

“I guess I forgot to make him some, oh well. There’s always next time,” Castiel deadpans with an unamused shrug. 

“Ooo! Cas are those your pancakes I smell?” Dean asks with a twinkle. 

“No,” Cas snarled bumping Dean’s shoulder on his way out of the kitchen.

“By the way,” Dean calls out, “You look so sexy when you’re ignoring me.”

With a sigh, Dean looks over to see that the chocolates are moved and the flowers are in a more interactive vase than what Dean chose last night. 

Dean walks into the library of the bunker to see Cas curled up in one of Dean’s flannels reading a book Charlie had recommended, it was Fault In Our Stars. 

Without another word Dean turns on one of the old twenties records turns it down low sits down in the chair opposite of the couch Castiel is sitting at and picks up where he left off in the third Divergent book, also courtesy of Charlie.  

Every few minutes Dean looks up from his book - checking to see if Castiel is still okay with him being there - only see the angel engrossed in his own book.

Eventually, on the next check, Castiel is crying softly.

Padding over Dean asks, “May I sit?” 

With only a sniffle in response, Dean takes it as a yes and plops down, wrapping his arms around his angel. Castiel is now sobbing into the crook of the hunter’s neck. 

“Cancer! Really? Of all things! Look at all he accomplished! Oh, Augustus!” Castiel wails. 

“Shhh, it will be okay.” Dean is stroking the angel’s tousled hair. “It will end soon, my Angel Love.” 

“I love you, Mr. Cutiepie.”

Edited by @justluciferr