#my head popping up as I hear a snippet of conversation

[loudlittleecho]

When I think I hear someone talking about one of my interests

[cherryredstars]

Hi!! This is my first time requesting so I’m a bit nervous but can you write where Miguel gets Jealous when He sees reader talking to other spider people? Like he isn’t insecure he knows reader won’t cheat but he can’t help but feel jealous. fluff and maybe some smut??

Sorry if it’s confusing but have a good day or night!

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fluff, Sexual Touching, Marking

Summary: Jealousy, Jealousy 

A/N: So sorry your first request took so long :((

Word Count: 725 (Not Edited)

He knows it’s irrational.

There isn’t really a threat, not to him. He knows you’re loyal and has seen it every time you stood by him. He knows he treats you well and that you absolutely adore him. But he can’t help that ugly ball from burning in his stomach. It burns bright and hot, warming his skin and causing his muscles to vibrate. His hands clenched shut, no matter how many times he flexes them. To hide them and to keep the unease still in his body, he crosses his arms over his chest.

With his advanced hearing, he can catch snippets of the conversation despite being at the entrance of the cafeteria. It made his skin twitch, and he huffed as he straightened himself from his leaning position. The spider was droning on and on, catching words like gorgeous, deserves the best, date, fancy, breathtaking. Miguel had to roll his shoulders back from the hunched position they were starting to take. 

After your order was placed on the counter- the only reason he left his office in the first place was because you were starting to get hungry-  you had waved goodbye to the Spider, making your merry way back to him. The jealousy in his stomach started to die down as you approached, a wide smile on your face. You stopped right in front of him, proudly showing off the two pastry bags in your hand and the cup in the other. 

“Look! I got you an empanada!” The way your chest had puffed out like a proud puppy expecting praise was endearing, and he smiled the tiniest bit. 

After mumbling out a quiet thank you, he placed a hand to the small of your back, guiding you out of the cafeteria. You had begun to mumble as you walked with him, occasionally cutting off to say hi to a few people who passed. Miguel listened absentmindedly, nodding along to what you would say. You had begun to quiet down when the two of you reached his office, walking onto his platform. His hands hovered around your body, prepared to catch you if you were to fall while getting up. 

As the platform began to rise you perked up again. “Oh, I was talking to Peter earlier an-”

You yelped as Miguel grabbed you, pulling you in front of him. Your breath faltered as he buried his face into your neck. His teeth scraped against the tender skin, making you feel slightly dizzy. Your hands tightened around the things in your hand, the lid of your cup making a soft pop as it detached from the cup’s rim. A small whine left your mouth as Miguel teeth slightly punctured your skin, and tilted your head so he could have more room. 

He hummed as his teeth left your skin, putting his head in place. He lapped against the mark, making your body shiver. “Don’t like when y’talk about other men.”

The words were a mumble, and you couldn’t fully process them as Miguel’s hand traveled down and cupped your clothed sex. You let out a sharp gasp as he began to grind his palm over you. You can feel your arousal dripping from your body, and you slouched into Miguel’s shoulder to muffle your noises. Miguel cooed down at you softly, smelling the sexual pleasure escaping your skin. He continued to like the bite mark, adding hickeys to accompany it. 

You couldn't help yourself from grinding into his hand, whining into his neck as your body softened into him. It didn’t take long for your release to build up in your stomach, and you panted heavily against his skin as you began to lose yourself. You let out a dragged mewl as you came, a flush covering your cheeks. Miguel pulled away from you slightly, just enough to see the dazed look in your eyes. 

He chuckled, massaging your cheek to try to coax you out of your haze. You blinked a few times before the glaze in your eyes cleared, looking up at him. There’s his baby. You cleared your throat, looking down at the things in your hands and surprised to find that they’re still in tact. You looked back up at Miguel, mouth dry and forcing yourself to take a sip of your drink. 

“Um, anyways… Peter-671 proposed to MJ.”

Join Cherry’s Discord Server

[sinsandsweetness]

hi my love <3

do you think you could do a rick grimes fluff where it’s an established relationship where he’s got a short fuse for everyone else but her and he’s super soft and gentle to her

or rick with a sleepy reader who he just lets fall asleep on his lap as he strokes her hair when he’s in the middle of discussing something important with someone else

ok I'm currently painting my toenails baby pink and got me thinking about rickyl with hyperfeminine!reader. (I know u said rick but this is what my brain said so...enjoy?)

It’s way too late but you can’t really help that you’re a night owl. And besides, the boys are still up, lights on in the living room, the two of them talking strategy for some hoard the group has been tracking for a few weeks. The conversation seems really important so you don’t want to interrupt but you also can’t see all that well since your glasses broke on that run last week and you’ve yet to find any new ones… so you were really hoping someone would help you out.

With your bottle of nail polish in hand, you stand in the doorway, fighting an internal battle of if you should go in or not. So in doubt, you hover, putting a few dishes away in the kitchen. Grabbing some water. Checking the fridge. All while the glass bottle of pink polish becomes warm in your hand. Bare feet padding against the cool hardwood as you finally decide to just go back to bed. The safety of the community is undoubtably more important than your damn toes.

“You alright, angel?” Ricks voice is soft as it travels to your spot on the stairs, swiveling around to see both men eyeing you down. Gaze travveling up your bare legs to your tiny little boy shorts and the oversized sweater with a stretched out collar and way too many holes in it.

“Mhm.” You quip, flashing a candy sweet smile.

“You’re pacin’. What’s up?” Daryl isn’t convinced as he looks you in the eyes, elbows leaned onto his knees. Still in his work clothes. Jacket, vest and jeans. Even his boots are still laced up.

“I just-" you look down at your bare toes. All prepped for paint, cut and filed and screaming at you to give them some colour. “Can one of you help me paint my toes?”

The way both of their faces soften at your answer gives you butterflies. They’re always way too worried. Too on edge. Especially when it comes to you. Wanting to protect you. Keep you safe and healthy and happy. So that’s why when they notice you pacing in the kitchen at half past midnight, they jump to their own little conclusions about what might be wrong. About what could possibly be going on in that beautiful mind of yours.

“C’mhere.” Rick pats a hand on the couch cushion next to him which you happily take. Practically skipping over and plopping down, ass on the cushion and feet in his lap.

He takes the bottle and gives it a little shake before continuing his conversation with Daryl, who doesn’t seem to be listening as attentively as he was before. With you laying on the couch, long legs sprawled out and a sleepy smile on your pretty face, you’ve become quite the distraction.

Ricks hands are warm as he holds your feet, carefully painting each nail, all while he stays talking. You hear snippets like, “- well if we do that, then they’ll just be headed for Oceanside. We need to find a route that makes sense for everyone, even if it means-” but you aren’t really listening. You’re more focused on making heart eyes with Daryl and playing with a loose string on the hem of your sweater. Eyes growing heavy with each coat of paint. The intoxicating, chemical smell that you've weirdly enough grown to love, fills the room and your feet tickle when rick blows cool air on them. Closing the bottle and popping it back into your hand while he leans back and asks Daryl something off topic about a run with Aaron. thumb running over your foot, hand traveling up your calf and gently massaging the muscle there. You sink even further into the couch, all warm and tired and cozier then ever. The combination of Ricks touch sending tingles up your spine, and the drawl of both their voices, act in accordance to lull you right to sleep.

You know that even if you do fall asleep here on the couch, it's no big deal. They'd carry you to bed in a heartbeat. They have before. So you let your eyes flutter shut under the comforting fact that you’re sure to wake up in clean, warm covers with a man on either side of you and two big arms wrapped around your waist.

[creadigol]

Hey y’all! Here’s a little snippet of something that was rattling in my mind. Hope y’all like!

It can be complicated to make sense of family. Hero knew this. Hero had always known this. With how their life was growing up Hero doubted there were many who could understand this concept as well as they did.

But this was just ridiculous.

“The answer is still no,” Hero tried very hard to keep their voice level and calm.

“Seriously? I don’t understand what your problem is!”

The voice over the phone held the tone of one who had already decided they were right and there was no chance of changing.

“It’s not that I have a problem…which I don’t,” Hero ground out. “It’s that I just don’t feel like inviting him.”

“And why not?”

Hero resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of their nose. One, it was a bad habit which showed how frustrated they were; and two, it would loosen their mask. God, couldn’t their sibling have called earlier? Hero really didn’t feel like having this conversation on the roof of a bank at 11pm.

“I don’t need a reason. It’s my call and I don’t want him there. End of story.”

“No, not end of story! This is completely unfair! Why am I always the one trying to hold this family together? You think it’s easy being the responsible one when…”

Hero let the rant commence as they held the phone a few inches from their ear, Sibling gradually getting louder and more hurtful with each word. They looked up at the star bedazzled sky and tried to tune them out until they could jump back in again.

It’s not that Sibling was wrong, it’s just that Hero could only take being called absent and holier than thou so many times. It was the same speech every time a major event happened in Hero’s life. And at the end of every speech, Hero always caved and let Sibling invite the whole family…well not this time.

‘...and out of everyone, you of all people should take the high road on this…”

That did it.

“Me of all people? Why? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Dammit, I’m tired of being the one to take the high road! For once would it kill him to apologize? Or better yet, clean up his fucking act?!”

Sibling was making sputtering noises on the line when another voice joined Hero on the roof.

“Well, I must say I’ve never heard words like this before coming from our fair Hero.”

Hero froze, their sibling yelling into the receiver, and turned.

Villain stood, arms folded, looking incredibly smug.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” Hero said softly. They hung up before Sibling could protest.

Shit, they would hear about that later.

Villain sauntered closer, “Having a little domestic are we? I’ve never seen you that agitated before.”

Hero glared, “Coming to rob the bank?”

Villain chuckled.

“I was, but this is so much more interesting. Come on, what’s happening in the world of the Golden Hero?”

“None of your business,” Hero stood tall. “Now are you breaking the law or not? I have a long patrol tonight.”

“Oh yes, I heard you were taking the long shift tonight. Something about needing time off…wait…that couldn’t be what you were arguing about on the phone was it? Vacation plans gone wrong?”

Hero felt a vein popping in their forehead.

“Why must you alway insist on being a prick? And why do you know my shift schedule?”

Villain shrugged noncommittally, “I have people.”

They walked right into Hero’s space, doing their best to intimidate with their towering stature. Hero refused to move and met their gaze head on.

“You’ve never taken a break before.” Villain stated.

“Never needed to until now,” Hero responded as if Villain had asked a question.

Villain gave them a once over.

“What’s the need?”

God, was Villain always this infuriating?

“Like I said, none of your business. I’m sure you’ll survive a substitute hero for the next few weeks.”

Villain frowned, “Few weeks? That’s a lengthy time.”

Hero rolled their eyes and nodded. They weren’t falling for Villain’s way of fishing for information by not actually asking a question.

“A few weeks and a family member who’s not welcome…if I’m to interpret that phone call correctly. My, my, what do you have planned?” Villain finally took a few paces back to lean on the wall, “Can’t say I’m too thrilled. Other Hero’s are such tight-asses.”

“If you mean that I’m lenient then, yes, they’re not as nice as I am,” Hero smirked.

Villain outright laughed.

“I would describe you as many things Hero, but straight up nice has never been one of them. Seriously, why the vacation? Family reunion or something?”

If Hero’s Sibling had anything to say on the matter it would be.

“Not as such,” Hero relaxed their stance now that Villain was a few paces away. That and it seemed Villain was more in a talking mood tonight. It was rare that they just talked rather than taking on their usual ‘Hero vs Villain’ roles. Rare, but it had happened a handful of times over the course of the last four years. Whether this was professional or not, Hero chose not to think about.

Villain folded their arms in thought, “Birthday? No, yours is in March…A celebration for another medal from the Mayor? No, he’s out of town until next month…” Hero tried hard not to smile as Villain ticked each possibility off their fingers, “Oh I know! You’ve finally graduated high school!”

Now Hero did laugh. It was a running joke with them and Villain’s Henchman that Hero must be younger than they seemed due to their young sound voice. Of course there was no way to tell due to the mask, but Hero estimated they were about the same age as Villain. Something they were sure Villain had put together as well seeing as the Hero Agency didn’t employ anyone under the age of 21.

It didn’t stop the quips though.

“Afraid I did that long ago,” Hero supplied.

“Well then I’m at a loss,” Villain got up and leaned into Hero’s space once more. “Other than medical leave I can’t think of anything else. And I assume you wouldn’t be fighting about invitees if convalescence was your goal.”

“Guess you’ll just have to live with uncertainty,” Hero shrugged and turned to leave the roof. Before they could take a couple of steps a hand was on their arm.

“You really not going to tell?” Villain asked softly. “You seemed upset and not the kind of upset like when you're on the job.”

Hero felt their heart rate increase and their cheeks warm. Why did Villain have to go and ask like that? How could they go from the city’s terror to a caring person with humanity and feelings? Perhaps Hero could tell them…the event was happening down in the Bahamas anyway. Not like Villain could figure it out…

It would be nice to talk to someone not expecting anything from them.

“I have a celebration happening and I don’t want my father to be there…it’s caused rather a ruckus in my family.”

Villain’s hand remained on Hero’s arm. “Well, if it’s your celebration it’s your choice. I don’t see why anyone else should be involved.”

Hero laughed and patted their hand. “And you’ve just summarized the entire argument I’ve been having for the past month.”

Villain released their arm. “I’m smart like that.”

Hero nodded with a warm smile. They turned towards the fire escape.

“Seeing as how you don’t seem to be robbing the bank, I have places to be,” They turned so they were facing Villain while standing on the ladder. “Thanks Villain. I’ll see you in a few weeks if you manage to keep yourself alive.”

“Say that to your replacement hero.” Villain hesitated, “Hero?”

Hero popped their head up from their descent, “Yeah?”

“What is the celebration?”

Hero smiled softly at them.

“I’m getting married,” they whispered.

And then they were gone. Down the fire escape and into the night.

Villain stood stunned, not knowing why the words made their heart freeze and their eyes water.

[wordywarriorwrites]

Life's a Dance

Title: LIfe's a Dance | AO3 | Rating: T Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x You Summary: Jack finds a second chance at love. Will he take it? Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Swearing. Mentions of grief/death. A/N: This fic is for @burntheedges "Roll a Trope" challenge (sorry I'm a day late!) and is an AU (obvs). Tagging @jolapeno, who gave me an inspirational and dare I say it, MOTIVATIONAL, "ooo," when I shared a snippet on a WIP Wednesday post.

My trope. Songs referenced in the fic: 1, 2

Jack watches – wide-eyed, with his heart in his throat – as you complete the clover pattern, quicker than lightning, bolder than brass. Fearless, you and that horse of yours, maneuvering around the barrels at an almost impossible-to-follow speed.

Now, he’s gnawing on his nails, knee bouncing, waiting for the results as the digital scoreboard goes blank. A hush has fallen over the crowd of some 19,000 spectators; they’re right there with him, with you, as the camera pans in close to your face, capturing your anxious expression in the moments before the announcement.

Eyes flickering back and forth between you and the screen, waiting, watching as your name ticks to the top of the leaderboard. The announcer barely says it’s ‘a record-breaking run’ before the crowd goes wild. And Jack is swept up in it – on his feet, bursting with pride, whistling and clapping and sharing in your career-defining achievement.

Thunderbolt is just as triumphant, receiving pets and kisses from you as he excitedly prances around the sand during the victory lap. The rodeo may be over, but the night has just begun; there will be press, a fan meet-and-greet, and then, an afterparty. Jack knows you’ll be busy for several hours, but that’s okay.

He can wait.

“So,” Tequila drawls, shuffling out of the stands and towards the stairs leading up to the exit. “How long you two been datin’?”

Jack nearly trips over his own boots, hand shooting out to grab the rail for balance, “Datin’? No, we aren’t datin’. We’re just friends.”

A quirked brow is all the response he gets – for now. Jack knows the meddlesome man is just biding his time. In fact, it’s nearly midnight at the honkytonk when he brings it up again.

“You may be retired, but your name still gets flagged when you travel,” Tequila points out, all casual as he drops truth bombs while sipping his beer. “You’ve been following the circuit. And for a man who didn’t even know what the hell barrel racing was a year ago… Well, I find that real interesting.”

Jack sighs and signals the bartender for another drink, “Look, I invited you here to help me spread the message about my distillery – not to comment on my friendship with--”

“You know, I see her picture pop up when you two text,” he interjects. “And I can hear you talking to her on the phone late at night. I mean, have you really watched all 17 seasons of Heartland?”

Jack grunts. Rolls a mouthful of Johnnie Walker across his tongue before swallowing hard and muttering that Tequila is one nosy motherfucker, who has absolutely no business listening in on his private conversations through the damn hotel room wall. But arguing is pointless – especially since saying anything otherwise would just result in him pushing the issue even more.

The purpose of the trip to Cheyenne was two-fold. First, Jack wanted to see you. Second, the biggest rodeo event on the circuit drew a lot of sponsors (aka: potential investors) known for putting their money in a variety of different cookie jars, and he hoped they’d want to partner with him on a whiskey distillery. Tequila, still in the game, knew all the players and was exceptionally good at schmoozing. It seemed like a win-win, but now, he can’t help but regret asking his too-observant friend for help.

“And the first thing you did when she walked in?” he carries on, all ‘ah-ha, got you now’ in tone. “You put your stinky Stetson on her pretty, little head. And if that’s not stakin’ a claim…” 

It’s the verbal equivalent of a knockout punch, causing Jack to pause mid-sip, but before he can counter, you sidle up between him and his buddy, effectively disrupting the sparring match.

You’re an all-Western cowgirl; from the boot heel to the ten-gallon he’d plopped over your brow after hugging you tight in congratulations. Long-sleeved shirt tucked into jeans. Winners buckle the size of his fist just below your navel. Shiny eyes and a toothy grin. You’re in high spirits, clapping Tequila’s shoulder in greeting before propping an elbow up on the bar and jutting your chin toward the teeming dance floor.

“How ‘bout it, cowboy?” you quip.

Jack should’ve known Tequila, the jabber-jaw, wouldn’t allow him to get a word out in acceptance or refusal. Like a dog with a bone, he buts right on in – says Jack doesn’t dance (at least, not very well). And he grins while he says it - as if pointing something like that out when a woman is asking you to bootscoot for the first time is somehow helpful.

Head tilted slightly, you look at him from beneath the brim of his Stetson, “Can’t? Or won’t?”

Tequila strikes again, this time, with something pithy Jack doesn’t entirely catch, but his ears pick up every, single detail of the asshole offering to take you for a spin. And it’s fine. Jack is completely prepared to let it go, to be the well-mannered man his mamma raised, but Tequila does the one thing guaranteed to illicit a baser response.

“Won’t be needin’ this,” he states, plucking the hat from your head and discarding it down on the bar top. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s boogie.”

Jack’s not sure how much time passes. Ten, maybe fifteen seconds? Like stones skipping along a pond, those seconds come and go so quickly, but they ripple and expand. He recalls his dead wife and son, and how he would be the man he is without having had and lost them. Then, the job, and the purpose it had given him until he’d nearly lost himself in it. Then, meeting you. If someone had told him he'd find a second chance at love at a random truck stop in Kentucky, he'd have laughed in their face.

But that's exactly what happened.

That syrup-sticky counter. The scent of cheap coffee and overcooked bacon. Clanking silverware and Coal Miner's Daughter playing over the speakers. You'd been watching barrel racing on your phone and taking notes on an egg-yolk-and-strawberry-jam-stained paper napkin when he’d asked if the stool next to yours was free.

A simple question. A polite answer. A shared glance that lingered a bit longer than was strictly polite. Chit-chat that somehow morphed into you showing him how to download Instagram so he could follow you – which had seemed a bit untoward of him, doing such a thing, but you’d laughed in that bright, sunny way of yours and assured him was normal. Ten minutes spent showing him how to scroll, and then, you’d dropped cash on the counter and tipped your hat. Bid him farewell. Headed out the door.

But you hadn’t left his mind.

Calls and texts and video chats. Red-eye flights and sunrise breakfasts. Lunches at small-town fairs and dinners at dive bars. Exchanging birthday and Christmas gifts. A year had come and gone, and in that time, Jack had gotten to know you. Knew what channels you’d be on. That your horse loved organic carrots. That you sometimes slept in the barn when your nerves wouldn’t allow you to rest in a hotel bed or even your trailer. You told him things – painful, private things – and in return, he shared feelings and thoughts with you that he hadn’t expressed to anyone else in nearly two decades.

You’d opened his eyes to a different way of existing; proved to him that life could be balanced between wildness and safety, excitement and the every day, and sorrow and joy. You showed him moments were to be cherished, and losses weren’t supposed to keep him locked in a perpetual state of grief until he either got taken out by an enemy or found a grave to lay down and die in.

Of course, there was something there. A flame, unfanned. A torch carried, but unacknowledged. You’d be going into the off-season, soon; still working and training, teaching breakaway roping lessons and riding classes and such, but not traveling. And God knows he’s got the freedom and capital to do what he wants and go where he pleases…

But it’s Tequila’s hand on your shoulder that brings all that chaos, all those ‘what if’ thoughts in his head, to a resounding halt. The seemingly innocuous touch of another man shouldn’t bother him, but it does because he knows it’s a challenge, and his own hand reacts – goes right to his hip on pure instinct – and if he’d been carrying openly, his palm would’ve been atop of one of his revolvers.

Tequila clocks it, but doesn’t back off; in fact, it emboldens him and prompts him to move his hand to your waist. A friendly smile. A guiding touch. A few words to encourage you to head toward the dancefloor and a narrow-eyed glare for Jack to either take a stand or stand down.

Jack is no coward, but he’s also no fool. And he’s not willing to risk losing your friendship over a pissing contest, so, he backs off. Inclines his head. Plasters a smile on his face that’s faker than a buckle bunny’s spray tan.

“Whatever the lady wants,” he says.

Whether the flash of disappointment in your eyes is real or imagined doesn’t matter because Jack ignores it all the same. Just as he ignores Tequila’s muttering fucking idiot as he passes.

The opening chords of Life’s a Dance ring through the air, and he manages to make it to the chorus before deciding he’s taken enough of a beating for the night. He doesn’t say goodbye – just shoots off a lame excuse text to you about an early morning meeting that doesn’t exist, followed up by one to Tequila, telling him to find his own way back to the hotel.

By the time he gets to his pickup, he’s spitting mad. Mad at Tequila. At himself. At you, for making him feel things he hasn’t felt in such a long, long time. For making him feel both safe and afraid to take that leap again. For making him realize wanting you didn’t mean he was being disloyal…

Keys rattling, he jabs the unlock button with his thumb and jerks the door open. Habit has him reaching for his hat, which is no longer there. His Custom Stetson. The one he’s had for ages. The one he spent an obscene amount of money on to have made just right. The one that fits his big ol’ dome so perfectly that there’s no way in hell he could ever hope to replace it.

Jack slams the door so hard, it rocks the frame. Then, uncaring of the fact that it’s a rental, he kicks the front tire with his boot, and that scuffs the rim up pretty good. That old, familiar darkness rears up, and his chest goes tight with it, but expletives and fists are literally reined in by a rope suddenly winding around his shoulders.

Arms pinned to his sides, he whirls, and spots you. A stationary target may be easier to rope, but the distance is impressive. So is the strength you display when you cinch him tight and give a forceful tug to his tether. Passerby-turned-on-lookers think so, too because they clap at your display. Some even whistle as he’s forced to walk toward you or else be dragged.

“You done, cowboy?” you ask, toes nearly touching his as he stands before you. “Or am I gonna have to put my spurs on?”

The glint in your eye is one he’s come to know quite well, and when he doesn’t answer, the rope goes tighter. It doesn’t hurt, but it gets his full attention – takes his mind off his anger, makes him focus, and has him realizing that you’ve not only roped him in, but you’ve got his Stetson on, too.

“S’my hat,” Jack blurts.

You grin. Cup his cheek in a leather-worn palm. Jack meets you in the middle, and it’s like slipping into a hot bath after a long, hard day. A first-time, we-waited-too-long-to-do-this kiss that carries on just long enough for it to mean something.

A slow parting. Your thumb ghosting along his lower lip. Lips curving into a smile, you say, “Hat’s mine now, cowboy.”

And he laughs.

And kisses you again.

[whatevertheweather]

Hellooooo on this somewhat dreary Sunday. I have been almost completely incapable of writing lately, but this day is more than half over and I'd like to manage at least one (1) thing, so I'm going to throw together a few snippets from the backburner projects that I don't usually share things from. I have a notion that switching it up this way will...realign my brain. Or something.

So here we go, each from a different WIP, in order of how much they've pulled me away from the things I should actually be working on. You'll get three that are reasonably comparable moods and then we're going to switch the tone in rather a jarring way.

Under the cut because not a one of them will be under six sentences.

ONE

“Don’t give me that,” Baz tosses his head. “We talk about this at least weekly.” “We actually talk very deliberately around it,” Agatha corrects with a smirk. “Yes, well, we both know what it is we’re not talking about,” he snaps. It goes very loudly unspoken. No one named, just a tacit understanding that Baz is gone for someone, casual mention of highly specific hypotheticals, and an uptick in the conversation about it when Simon leaves the room. “I’m obsessed with your ex-boyfriend, are you happy? Does it bring you joy to hear me say it?” Agatha heaves a long sigh, her mouth pursed in thought. “It’s actually not as fulfilling as I thought it would be,” she muses, stopping once more while her dog pretends it has any pee left to gift to the local shrubbery. “I’m kind of underwhelmed.” Baz looks up to the sky. “Ever so sorry my problems don’t entertain.” “What problems?” she says. “My ex-boyfriend just sent you a musical love confession. I will bet actual money that you’ve had dreams like this.” “I don’t know what he meant by sending it!”

TWO

As Simon is returning from loitering in the copy room for a change of scenery, he sees on Penny's screen that she's in the middle of responding to an email from Baz.  Simon flips her paper tray off the desk. “Oh, rotten luck!” “Simon!” Penny yelps as she futilely lurches to catch her scattered papers. “Why would you do that?” “Me? I’m over here,” Simon says from her other side, reaching across her station and deleting the drafted email. Penny’s head pops up with another indignant sound for the click of her mouse, but Simon is dropping into his own chair while she’s still bent at the waist in hers, apparently unable to decide whether to figure out what he’s done on her computer or to collect her paperwork. Simon leaves her to it and opens Baz’s email at his station.

THREE

“Snow—” “It’s not—look, it’s not a big deal, we can just ignore it—” “Ignore—?” “It doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t even mean anything, it’s fine, like, what’s it even matter, really?” Simon made the mistake of glancing up at Baz again after finally pulling his eyes away. He looked like someone had smacked him in the face with a fly swatter. Or a bolt of lightning. “Nothing has to change.” Baz’s mouth pulled into a snarl as he charged forward a step, but he stopped. His back snapped into position, spine straight and rigid. Simon could see it play out on his face as he drew a line between them, pulled himself back in. “Are you messing with me?” he whispered. “What?” “If you’re messing with me, I will disembowel you.” “Jesus Christ, Baz—” “I will eviscerate you,” he hissed. “Are you messing with me?” Maybe he should say yes.

FOUR

Baz didn’t open his eyes. He kept his hand over his mouth and turned his face into his pillow, tried to choke down the sound building in his chest as Snow knelt beside his bed. Snow’s heart had kicked up to a quicker beat, but his breath was steady. The weight of his hand settled on the blanket, just shy of Baz’s elbow. “What can I do?” he asked. It knocked into something already crooked in Baz’s chest. “You’re—you’re shivering, are you cold?” Baz screwed his eyes up tighter and nodded. “Okay, okay, here—” Simon stood, stepped away, stepped again, shifted beside the bed with a heavy rustle of fabric. “Here.” Baz opened his eyes and shook his head, a breath stuck in his throat as he jerked back from Simon’s blanket, pushed it away. “Okay, hey, okay,” Simon said softly, twisting the blanket around his hand and throwing it to the floor. “There, okay? Okay. Do you—can I—hey, okay, can I just—?” Simon did it slowly, leaning over Baz’s bed with a hand poised between them like he was ready for Baz to lash out, ready to retreat. Baz didn’t, and Simon kept going. Baz didn’t lift his eyes past Simon’s chin when Simon laid down beside him.

That last one is the last one because we're ranking by things that have taken up time recently. If we're going all-time, it should be number one. It is in fact in a WIP sub-folder called "the labyrinth is growing," where it lives in perpetual limbo with five other documents.

Now tags <3

@monbons @forabeatofadrum @artsyunderstudy thank you for the tags today!

@fatalfangirl @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @moodandmist @mooncello @whogaveyoupermission

@cutestkilla @run-for-chamo-miles @iamamythologicalcreature @thewholelemon @rimeswithpurple

@alexalexinii @martsonmars @facewithoutheart @aristocratic-otter @youarenevertooold

@bookish-bogwitch @noblecorgi @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ileadacharmedlife

[heich0e]

tags: yakuza!suna/escort!reader the prequel(ish), icymi here's PART 1 + PART 2 series masterlist

The car pulls up along the back of the club just past ten o’clock.

It had rained earlier in the evening, though you'd fortunately missed most of the shower. The world passing outside the windows of the car is still soaked with it, and puddles pool in the divots of the road as the water trickles slowly towards the storm drains that line the street.

“Thank you, Toma,” you say to your driver as you reach for the handle to let yourself out, and in the front seat the kindly man dips his head in response.

“Would you like me to wait to drop you home?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror positioned along the highest centre point of the windshield. “I haven’t got another ride for a half an hour.”

“I have to drop my take-home off to the office and get my payout, and the trains are still running, but thank you,” you assure him with a shake of your head. You smile at him in the rearview mirror as you pop the door open. You hesitate just before you slip out, leaning up towards the front seat. “Drive safe tonight.”

You have to step around puddles as you approach the staff entrance to the club, the water collecting every few steps along the craggy surface of the alley. You hear a voice filtering down the dingy alleyway from up ahead, and it makes you slow ever so slightly. It’s familiar, and as you round the corner to the door, you recognize why.

Kaito stands just beside the metal door with ‘STAFF ENTRANCE ONLY’ emblazoned across it peeling white paint. He’s ditched the suit jacket you’d seen him wearing earlier in the evening, left in his black dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The flickering light above the door catches on the garish chain he wears around his neck, glinting at you as Kaito holds his cellphone up to his ear, lost in his conversation.

“Of course, sir. I understand,” he says, and though his voice is as insincerely pleasant as ever, his face is contrastingly grim—the affectation of charm extending only to that which the caller on the other line is able to witness. You watch as Kaito pushes a hand through his carefully-styled hair in frustration, tousling the dark strands, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s not last minute at all, I’ll make sure our very best girls are available once he arrives.”

You pause upon overhearing that particular snippet of his phone call, your heels clicking to a stop on the unevenly cobbled path, and Kaito’s eyes crack open once he senses your approach.

“Very well, I’ll be sure to be at the entrance to greet him myself. Have a good evening, sir.”

Kaito ends the call, his eyes still on you.

“You’re back,” he remarks, acknowledging you once he tucks his phone into the pocket of his dress pants—his voice is so different now to what it had been only seconds prior that he may as well be a different person entirely. He plucks out the cigarette tucked behind his ear and holds it to his lips, fishing a lighter out from his pocket. “Early, isn’t it?” 

“Right on schedule, actually,” you reply, snapping out of your momentary stupor and approaching the door as the lighter clicks to life. “I was meeting with Suzuki-san this evening.”

Suzuki is one of your longest-standing regulars: a successful businessman in his mid-60s whose wife passed away a few years prior, and whose children have all grown and moved away. He takes you to dinner once a week, and your appointments are never anything more than that. He’s lonely, you realized quickly after meeting him, and the way his face lights up when you arrive at whatever restaurant he’s reserved for the evening makes your stomach ache a little too much to ever really enjoy the food.

“That old sucker?” Kaito’s eyes widen, the corner of his mouth twisting upward in an almost cruel way. “Still paying you to play footsie with him at dinner after all this time.”

You frown, shooting Kaito a withering look as you reach for the staff door to step inside. He ignores your glare, and you watch with a feeling of abject dread as an idea comes to him.

“Hey,” he says, his hand suddenly coming to rest against the peeling paint and forcing the door closed before you can properly open it. The acrid smell of his cigarette smoke is overwhelming with him this close to you, and it makes your nose scrunch up. “You should stay late tonight.”

“Can’t,” you reply flatly, angling your body away from his. “I’m just here for payout.”

Kaito huffs at your immediate refusal. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he tries again.

“I can’t,” you repeat yourself, holding firm.

He narrows his eyes, and you watch as he considers how he should reply. He rolls his eyes a bit and eventually backs off, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Whatever.”

You open the door and step inside without any further words passing between you.

In the main office, you hand in the envelope of cash Suzuki-san had pressed into your palm after walking you back to Toma and the waiting car outside the restaurant. The disinterested man in the office—you never manage to keep track of who’s who with how frequently the faces change around here—takes the cash and counts it in another room, even though you'd already triple checked for yourself on the drive back to the club. You wait there with your arms crossed over your chest for him to bring you back a slip of paper that would outline how much you’d earned that week and what was deposited directly into your bank account, and your heel taps against the dingy tile as the minutes tick past.

The back office of the club is far less flashy than the interiors of the lounge a few hundred metres and some staircases away. In fact, the interiors tend to deteriorate in luxury the further outwards you move from the epicentre of activity—the club and the private rooms that are attached to it are the height of luxury, the suites that line the south end of the building slightly less impressive in their quality, and finally the administrative rooms and various other spaces that only the staff ever visit like this one are completely unremarkable. Looking around the shabby, disorganized office you wouldn’t even know the kind of business it’s running.

Maybe that’s the point, you can’t help but think.

As you wait for the nameless man to return with your pay stub, you hear a sound from the hallway outside the open office door. It’s slight, but familiar—the sound of a sniffle. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

It’s not unusual to hear a woman crying around here.

You quickly turn your back to the door, trying your very best to ignore it. That’s what you’ve learned to do over the years, after all. But the sobbing becomes less ignorable, more noticeable, and before you can think better of it you’re stepping out of the office towards the sound.

Around the corner from the office, next to a supply closet, you find a small girl hunched in on herself in a sparkling pink cocktail dress.

It’s Mini—at least, that’s the name she goes by around here since the girls rarely use their real names in this place, for good reason.

She’s young, maybe 20 if you had to guess generously, and had only been working at the club for a few week as a server mostly: circling the busy floor of the bar area and bringing patrons their drinks. She’s a bright, bubbly girl, and she’s taken a shine to you for whatever reason after only a few shifts where your paths have crossed. 

“Hey,” you call to her, and it seems to startle her a bit, jolting when she hears the sound of your voice.

Her mascara is running down her cheeks as she lifts her face to look up at you, and her nose has gone bright pink even underneath the layer of makeup she wears. At the sight of you, she starts to cry harder, crushing herself unexpectedly against your chest. You’re not sure what to do, so you pat a little awkwardly along her back in a vague attempt to comfort her.

“What’s wrong?” you ask her, hoping your voice isn’t quite as stiff as the rest of your body is.

“K-k-kaito just pulled m-me off the f-f-f-floor,” she wails, the final word drawing out in a warbling little cry.

Your jaw sets as she struggles to compose herself, pulling herself away from you after another moment of tears.

"Why?"

“He told me”—Mini swipes at her running nose with the back of her hand, sniffling wetly—“told me there’s a private party coming in. He’s rounding up as many girls as he can for it and sending them into one of the private lounges.”

Mini hasn’t been at the club long, and has never worked a private party. You both realize what it means for her, without it needing to explicitly be said. Evidently the premise has her frightened.

You really have no right to be as angry as you are, but that doesn't change the fury you feel rolling in the pit of your stomach.

Or stop you from doing what you do next.

You find Kaito in his office on the other side of the building.

“Who’s this private party?” you ask him once he answers the sharp rap you land against his door and he calls you in.

Kaito glances up from his desk. He’s got his suit jacket on again, and he’s fixed his hair—back to his usual self. He looks a little surprised to see you standing in his office doorway, especially as pissed off as you are.

He quirks a brow. “What’s it to you?”

You bite the tip of your tongue in an attempt to temper the flare of irritation searing through you. 

“I don’t think Mini’s ready to work a private party.”

“Who?” he asks, and the worst part is you know he means it, leaning back in his chair. His brow furrows as you stare at him.

 Your lips part to explain, but he cuts you off before any words come out.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,”—he waves his hand disinterestedly—“I need girls and she’s on shift. We’ve got a very important patron coming in who needs a selection to choose from, and half our best girls are already booked out tonight—or refuse to stay late.”

He tacks on that last part just for your sake.

Your teeth clench.

“So you’re just gonna send a bunch of rookies in there?” you ask him. “What kind of impression is that supposed to make to this very important patron?” 

He shrugs. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

You’re not sure who the beggar in this situation is supposed to be.

You grind your heel into the tile of his office floor as you sift through your thoughts.

“How many girls do you need?” you finally ask him, the question hissing out through gritted teeth.

He grins, seeing the cracks forming in your armour even from the other side of the room. 

“Depends,” he replies flippantly.

“On what?” you ask him flatly.

He leans forward across his desk with a sharp smile pulling at his lips. 

“On if I’m going for quantity or quality.”

In the end, Kaito agrees not to send any of the inexperienced girls into the private room. Instead, there will only be five girls, all relatively experienced, who this unexpected guest that Kaito seems so insistent on catering to will get to choose from. 

You agree to be one of them.

You touch up your makeup in one of the dressing rooms before heading towards the designated lounge. It’s one of the nicest private rooms in the building: large, quiet, and with it’s own small mini-bar that’s kept well stocked to minimize any interruptions—another testament to just how keen Kaito is to pull out all the stops for this mystery patron.

You’re not dressed how you usually would be a lounge shift like this—much less a private booking. The dress you’d worn to dinner with Suzuki-san is a little too tasteful for the role you’re about to assume. Mini had kindly offered to let you borrow one of the spares she’d brought to work with her after she found you freshening yourself up (and conveyed her relief at being spared the private party,) but you declined—not least of all because of your very different body types. Your quiet hope was that you’d get there, pale in comparison to one of the other girls who were better suited for the occasion, and ultimately be able to continue home like you ought to have already been by now, this whole situation an unfortunate—but only momentary—road block.

The other girls are already gathered in the room when you arrive, with drinks in their hands and glossy lips and beautiful, skin-tight dresses on their frames. You greet them quietly, accepting a glass of champagne that’s placed into your hands by one of the girls you’re closest to—a tall, stunning woman who goes by the name of Yuki.

“Any idea who this high roller is that Kaito’s kissing ass for tonight?” she asks you as you take a sip from your drink. Yuki had cut the drink with soda water, you realize it right away as the muted taste of effervescent wine reaches your tongue. It’s a welcomed trick that you yourself have been known to employ of many occasions, a tactic used to keep your wits about you without seeming like you’re turning down a drink while you work a long shift.

You can’t help but lament the fact that you really could use a proper drink right about now.

“No,” you tell her quietly, fiddling with the thin stem of the champagne flute between your fingers. “He didn’t say.”

“Must be someone good,” Sakura, another working girl whose long hair is tinted a pretty shade of pink that suits her name, chimes in from the other side of the room where she’s draped across the tufted sofa. 

You wonder if she’s right about that, because an unpleasant feeling creeping over you is telling you the opposite.

The girls chat quietly amongst themselves as you all wait for the arrival of the much-anticipated guest, and you continue sipping your watered down champagne as you rest perched on the arm of a chair along one side of the room.

You should already be home by now. Should already have scrubbed the day from your skin and slipped into a pair of soft cotton pyjamas. You should be sitting on your sofa watching a movie, or reading the last chapter of the book you’d had to tear yourself away from to come to work that afternoon, or even be curled up in your bed asleep. You’re bitter to still be within the walls of the club, to still be maintaining the character you’re paid to play, and you chew the inside of your cheek as you stew in this resentment—so much so that you almost miss the door to the lounge swing open.

Your eyes flicker up as the rest of the girls stand in greeting.

You’re the last to rise from your seat.

Behind Kaito is a man you’ve never seen before, his apathetic stare sweeping lazily around the room as Kaito rambles on about something you don’t care to listen to. The guest doesn’t seem to either.

He has dark hair that reaches a little longer than the top of his ears, and an expression on his face that doesn’t seem to imply that he’s any happier to be here than you are. He has a bandage on his cheek, the skin around it still red enough to imply the injury is fresh, and a cut on his lip that looks like it could bleed again at any moment. He’s dressed in black—a turtleneck, under a long coat, over a pair of trousers, all in the same shade. His hands are shoved into his pockets to complete his general air of indifference.

His eyes land on you just as you make it up to your feet, and the way his attention lingers on you for a moment longer than it had the rest of the girls makes you want to curse under your breath. Your attempt to go unnoticed has already started off on the wrong foot, and the man isn’t even fully across the threshold yet. 

Your eyes meet—properly meet—and for a moment you hold your breath.

“Ladies,” Kaito says, that saccharine, ingratiating tone you hate so much the thickest you’ve ever heard it in his voice. “This is Suna Rintarou”

The man’s eyes are still on you.

“I’m sure you’ll see to it that he has a very memorable evening.”

[viburnt]

Midoriya I.|| Childhood promises

Type: Headcanons+Snippet

Genre: Fluff

Characters involved: Midoriya Izuku (main)/Uraraka Ochaco (secondary on the reading bite)

Prompt: As kids, Izuku gifted you a plastic ring and told you he'd marry you in the future. Now it's a recurrent joke to call each other fiancé.

• It happened when Izuku was 7; the street fair was nearby and his mom had given him some money to spend with you on treats and games. He was so excited, his hand timidly holding yours as the hanging lights guided your way

• One of the stands had caught his attention: it was a lucky duck pond, one of those games where you need to catch two different rubber duckies with the same number to win. 3 chances, no skills involved.

• “Do you think if we get our lucky charms together, we could win a prize?” The lucky charms in question were an All Might collectible card and a snail shell you found at the park.

• The freckled boy was enthusiastic about it, confidently paying the old man running the game a couple of silver coins to play. His hands gently lowered the small fishnet provided to play. First number: 3.

• Izuku could hear you rooting for him by his side. All he had to do was get another one like that. Sticking his tongue out, praying to his All Might card, he sank the net once more. Second number: 9.

• He felt like crying.

• You patted his hand in a comforting way, threatening the nearby kids who mocked him. “Hey, let me try!”

• The result was the same, sadly. However, the old man was touched by you two that he gave out a consolation prize to lift your spirits. It was a plastic jewelry set: a silver crown, a magic wand and a couple of rings.

• The path back home didn't feel so bad after that.

• “At least the rings are pretty, do you think we could wear them at school?” You said, making Midoriya think. “But aren't matching rings for marriage? My mom says so.”

• After a brief silence, Izuku's green eyes lit up, feeling a slight wave of nervousness as the words rolled out of his mouth. “Then I'll marry you! W-we can wear them until we grow up and then get m-married!”

• Your face felt warm as you heard him speak, feeling his hand eagerly placing the silver ring on your left hand.

• Ever since, neither of you take the plastic piece off, even if it's old and the colors washed out. Not to mention that the whenever you see each other, the word “Fiancé/Fiancée” rolls out of your mouths.

—Hi! If you have a moment, I'm looking for a person. Do you think you can help me?

Ochako heard with attention as you spoke, tilting his head at the style you sported. Compared to the gray uniform and green tie U.A students wore, your clothes were more of an Eastern streetwear.

—Uh, sure thing! Who are you looking for?— The brunette said with a sympathetic smile. —Are they from 1st year or 2nd?

—Izuku Midoriya, 1st year!— The name popped out of your mouth, catching Uraraka's interest.

—Really? He is from my class! I'll take you there.— She offered, making you feel relieved. —Are you from his family or something? I don't think he mentioned any siblings or cousins.

You snorted a little, deciding to play a little with the round-faced girl.

—He is my fiancé! I came to visit him.

The way Ochako's jaw dropped almost had you rolling on the floor laughing, but for the sake of your little joke, you kept a straight face.

—Fiancé?— Her voice stuttered. You nodded, showing off the little plastic ring you always carried. —Since when? How did that happen?

You tapped on your chin as if thinking.

—Since kids, we promised each other. We'll be hitting it off as soon as he graduates.

Uraraka couldn't hide her shock.

—Oh, there you are! I see you've met one of my classmates already.— Izuku's voice popped in, joining the conversation as he walked towards you. —Did you have trouble finding the classroom building?

Ochako's finger pointed at him and then to you. It didn't take much for Midoriya to connect the dots.

—You just had to tell her, didn't you?— He muttered, eyeing you with an embarrassed face. — Uraraka, let me explain…

—Wanna come to the wedding?

Like my content? Comment and follow! The feedback encourages me.

[sincerelylancelot]

6. things you said under the stars and in the grass - strollstappen

snippets from the if you could see 'em now verse

“Your dad’s gonna be pissed if he finds you up here.”

Lance just shrugs, the sound of Max’s familiar footfalls and slight foreign lisp giving him away before his face even pops into view.

“Mom says he needs to start walking more anyway, so if he can’t make it up here, it’s not my fault,” Lance replies nonchalantly, staring up at the sky but losing count of the stars. 

He’s lying back on the grassy hill overlooking the bustling chaos of the Cowtown Coliseum, the air buzzing with excitement as the Bull Riders World Finals approach their climax. Max stands there for a moment, arms crossed, before plonking himself down in the grass beside Lance. His hands instantly go to the laces of his shoes. 

They’re scuffed, stained, and falling apart; the kind of thing Lance knows Michael would hate. Remnants of a past life Max can’t let go of. 

“You always do this,” Max accuses, yanking at a loose thread on his shoe. “And then Michael has a go at me because Lawrence is pissed at you.”

Lance huffs, pushing himself up on his elbows to meet Max’s gaze. “Then don’t come up here, genius. Go play with Mick or something.”

“Mick’s a baby,” Max snaps, wrinkling his nose. “He cries about the bulls too much. Michael says he’s too soft. You know how he gets when someone says that.”

Mick didn’t like the idea of hurting the bulls. Lance remembers hearing their dads complain about Mick months ago, saying he didn’t have a stomach for the sport.

Lance had bitten his tongue back then, knowing his opinion wouldn’t matter. Max doesn’t bother hiding his own disgust, though—his face twisted with all the righteous indignation an eleven-year-old could muster.

It doesn’t last long. Max’s chest puffs out suddenly, pride lighting up his face. “Michael says I’d make a better bull rider anyway. They’re gonna get me lessons when I turn twelve.”

Lance’s frown deepens, an odd chill prickling down his spine like the winter winds back home in Montreal.

“Yeah, well, good for you,” he mutters, lying back down and staring at the sky again, his jaw tight.

Max continues to chatter, but Lance tunes it out into white noise. It feels like an assault, the press of Max’s ambitions sitting squarely on Lance’s chest and suffocating him.

That strange feeling lingers long after Max climbs back down the hill. It sticks with Lance for years, settling on him like frost on a January morning. Persisting through every whispered conversation about Max’s natural talent, every wide-eyed story of another milestone he’s crushed. 

He struggles to name it but it grows, twisting in his chest like a bull knot pulled too tight. 

It’s not until almost a decade later, when he’s staring into Max’s sharp blue eyes across the bullpen, that Lance finally recognises it for what it always was: resentment.

—

“I thought I’d find you up here.”

The lisp is still there, though the tone is deeper now. It holds a fondness that Lance thought he’d long lost. He turns his head slightly, enough to glance at Max standing a few feet away.

“Needed some space to think,” Lance mutters.

The hill hasn’t changed much over the years. It’s the same patch of grass overlooking the chaos of the coliseum below.

It’s not the first time he’s retreated here to sit in the dark, nurturing the ghost of Max by his side; speaking words that met nothing but the cool Texan night. Now, with Max beside him in the flesh, it feels both grounding and unsettling, like a ship finally docking after years adrift.

But loneliness has carved itself into him and Lance feels the edge of instinct itching for him to push Max away again. Urging him to keep the hillside and all its countless stars to himself, the same way Max had forced him to exist for over a decade.

He doesn’t give in to his wants. Instead, he pats the grass by his hip, his hand so much more encompassing in the space than when they were children.

Max hesitates for only a moment before sitting down, close enough that their shoulders almost brush. “What’s so important that you had to leave Liam to fend for himself with the other wives?” he asks, trying for mirth

It works, just enough to quirk up Lance’s smile for a moment before the storm clouds win out and coat his tongue.

“I’m… I’m thinking of telling Dad,” he admits.

Max doesn’t react immediately but Lance hears the sharp intake of breath. It’s tiny, barely audible, but then Max’s hand is there, covering Lance’s where it’s tearing grass out of the ground.

“He wants us over for the holidays this year,” Lance continues, voice quieter now. “Hanukkah falls on the same day as Christmas. And he, uh… He knows we’re friends again, at least he thinks he does. He invited Michael and Mick, too.”

Max shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against Lance’s arm, the warmth of him tangible. “Are you worried he won’t take it well?”

Lance hesitates, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “I don’t know. I mean… part of me thinks it will all be fine, but another part of me…” He trails off, his voice cracking. “What if it changes everything? What if—”

“Lance,” Max interrupts gently, his tone steady. “Whatever happens, I’m here. We’re here. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

Lance swallows hard, the words he wants to say getting caught somewhere between his thoughts and his throat. 

Down the hill, he hears a familiar voice calling, and both men turn to see Liam, red-faced, half-stumbling to make his way up the incline, his face lit with determination.

“Anyway, Liam can charm anyone, even ol’ Lawrence Stroll,” Max adds with a small smile.

[veephoenix]

writing updates ✨

I'm aware I haven't posted anything besides a short one shot in the last few weeks. I've been busy writing my MA's thesis which is due in a couple of weeks, and trying to cope with the chaos that is summer.

I'm just popping by to leave unedited short snippets for both The Unmaking of a Warrior, and the next chapter of Zutto 😇

The Unmaking of a Warrior — Epilogue Pt. 1

I couldn't stop thinking about it since that moment. The realization lingered in my mind, and throughout the day, it haunted me like a secret I was too embarrassed to admit—even to myself.

I wanted to be a mother. I wanted Noah and I to become parents, to bring a life into this world that was a part of both of us. I imagined a little one, a perfect blend of Noah and me, running through the gardens, learning to wield a bow or defend himself with a sword, just like his father.

At lunch, a swarm of butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach, their wings beating in rhythm with the thought of Noah getting me pregnant. My hands trembled slightly as I held my chopsticks, moving them aimlessly across my plate.

"You’re very quiet today," Noah observed, his voice soft yet curious.

I glanced up at him, caught off guard. His eyes, filled with a mix of curiosity and amusement, met mine. The faintest smile played at the corner of his lips, as if he knew I was hiding something.

"What’s going on in that little head of yours?" he teased gently.

"Nothing special," I replied quickly, lowering my gaze to my plate.

"Nothing special?" he repeated, not convinced by my response.

"No, nothing," I insisted, shaking my head, hoping to divert the conversation. But Noah wasn’t so easily deterred.

"This wouldn’t have anything to do with your reaction when you saw Lila in my arms, would it?" he asked, his voice laced with a knowing tone.

I felt my cheeks flush. "What? No, of course not."

"Are you sure you’re not having any thoughts about… us?" He leaned across the table, lowering his voice to a whisper, "About me… emptying myself inside of you?"

"Noah!" I hissed, glancing around quickly to ensure no one could hear. My face grew even warmer, and I looked away, mortified.

Zutto — Chapter Six

Lia brushed aside a lock of Noah's hair that threatened to fall over his eyes, and a memory from her teenage years suddenly flooded back. It was one of those weekends when Cristina had abandoned her, leaving her to spend the night at Noah's house. Back then, Noah slept like a log. At seventeen, his passion for music already coursed through his veins relentlessly, and many nights were spent working until he realized he should probably get some sleep and try to be a normal person. The nights he spent with Lia were no different—they would stay up late watching movies or talking. That particular night, she had fallen asleep before him but woke up earlier, giving her the chance to touch his hair while he slept, lightly snoring.

It felt surreal that, eleven years later, the same scene was playing out. Lia was certain he had the same expression, the same features. He still looked like a child, lost in his dreams. She was determined to protect him at all costs, just as he had done for her. It was the least she could do, beyond giving him her love.

Now, as adults, naked, their bodies were pressed together. Noah's chest rose as Lia made a futile attempt to tuck the lock of hair behind his ear. He stirred on the bed, and two more strands of hair joined the one Lia had tried to brush off his forehead, falling over his eyes and causing him to blink.

As soon as he saw Lia's wide eyes looking up at him and that smile that always cured his every ill, he couldn't help but smile back. He was fucking happy to wake up next to the girl he loved, especially with her naked under the sheets.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Morning," she replied, trying to ignore the tingling sensation at the tips of her toes and the warmth spreading between her legs at the sound of Noah's sleepy, gravelly voice. His eyes, with their distinctly Asian features, looked beautiful in the morning—smaller, like two thin slits.

"You look wide awake. How long have you been staring at me?" he asked. His playful arrogance hinted at a self-assuredness that Lia was all too familiar with.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You've got some nerve," she shot back, equally accustomed to his confident, slightly egotistical humor.

With a burst of energy, he grabbed Lia by the waist and tried to tickle her. She rolled onto her side, giggling, until they were chest to chest, both lying sideways on the bed.

"No more than ten minutes," Lia replied, calming herself as she saw his brown eyes twinkle. "How did you sleep?"

[crzyimp]

Cannonball!

Lego Monkie Kid

Arthur's note: Short drabble or snippet for the journey to the west discord summer event, almost 600 words and humor. Like before inbox is open for ideas or suggestions for Jttw/and adjacent (like lmk) for me to potentially write. Enjoy the story and tell me what you think. :3

Edit: My partner in crime for the event @breadnabreadd made this lovely art work here

Laughter,chatter, and all joyful sounds felt music to his old ears. He really need to thank Mei for inviting him and the others to her family’s home for a pool party. The heat and humidity were becoming unbearable, and he felt tempted to ‘ask’ Princess Iron Fan for her magical fan again. Thank goodness for that he got the invite first, or it would’ve been awkward with Red Son during the party; he certainly doesn’t want to repeat some chapters from a certain book or call Guanyin again (he’s still trying to repay them for all they have done for him).

Wukong let out a content sigh as his body slumped further into his inner tube, all four hairy limbs dipped into the refreshing cool water as the fiery sun beat down on him. The lounge chair was preferred if it wasn’t for all the racket around it; Pigsy tongue lashing at Tang while he cooks everyone’s lunch, Sandy in lifeguard mode with Mo as his furry whistle, and-

“Pool noodle?! Did you just call me a pool noodle?!” Golden eyes lazily turn their gaze to the owner of the voice, Mei in her swimwear and expatriate with closed fists at her sides.

“It’s only fitting,” Red Son exclaimed, pushing up his glasses as if the answer was obvious.“I don’t think I need to explain it.”

“Well, can you?!” Mei takes a step forward with her teeth bare at him.

“Learned it from my friend,” Red Son explains with arms crossed.

“Wait, you have a friend? Since when?” She asks curiously with squinted eyes.

“I talk to other people, you know.” in a matter of fact tone, his nose up in the air.

Tuning out that conversation, Wukong closes his eyes as he basks in the sun and the water below. No fights, no world ending events, no demons attacking, and certainly no Six Ear Macaque to ruin such a relaxing day. There is even a shade in the middle of the pool! Such a relaxing day it is. Wait, there shouldn’t be a shade here-

~~~

Sandy couldn’t believe his eyes. Mk full sprint to, clearly broken a rule, and jumped into the pool to do a cannonball only for a shadowy portal to swallow him up and spit him out higher than he should be, dead center to where Wukong is at. Neither of the two even notice it!? And shouldn’t the great sage hear Mk’s shout or was the old celestial monkey tuning everyone out?! Why wasn’t anyone following the rules!? It doesn’t matter now, as Sandy watched all of this in slow motion before his very eyes.

Mk landed on Wukong’s torso; before the two sank to the bottom of the pool, the splash created went everywhere. No one was safe; Pigsy and Tang toppled over each other like their college days at the beach, Mei and Red Son in the goofiest pose Sandy ever saw and not even Macaque. When the bastard popped his head in to make a snarky comment, the splash got him too and made him look like a soggy pathetic rat. The sole dry survivor was none ever than Mo, with claws deep into Sandy’s head as the cat clinged on with dear life; the water only got up to Sandy’s neck thankfully, and he was ready for it, but it really hurt and he wished Mo retracts his claws.

Finally, there at the center with a nearly empty pool was the shellshocked duo with Mk still in Wukong’s lap.

So much for a relaxing day.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

WIP Weekend

Weekly WIP upate:

Currently working on ch 4 of The King's Gift. This is where the plot will slowly start to pick up, and I'm looking forward to getting some action and drama in.

@cuips-not-cute has already gotten started on some first sketches for Updraft, and let me tell you, I am in LOVE! Planning on getting chapter 4 done by the end of this month.

18 out of 29 celebration requests are done, with more coming early next week, once I finish my ficlet for this month's pop-up round of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Send me an emoji and I'll write and share three sentences from that project.

🏰The King's Gift

⚙️Updraft (my @steddiebang2024 fic with art by @cuips-not-cute)

🥳Celebration ficlets/holiday drabble

Snippet from 🏰

Speaking of Max, she’s already in the yard when he arrives. She's holding two horses by the bridles - a large and imposing-looking black one and a slightly smaller one with a beautiful, light tan coat - and deep in conversation with a scowling Eddie.

“I don’t care about your excuses,” he hears her say as he approaches. Since she has her hands full with the horses, she can’t poke a finger at Eddie’s chest, but Steve has an inkling that she absolutely would if she could. “I want you to return them in top condition. Not a hair out of place, you hear me?” 

“You wound me, Red,” Eddie slaps a hand to his chest, all dramatic affront. “When have I ever handled your precious animals with anything but the utmost care?” 

She measures him with a withering look, jerking her head at the black horse, which moves its ears nervously, almost like it’s sensing they’re talking about it. 

“Yeah? Was or wasn’t he practically caked in mud the last time you brought him back?” 

Eddie scowls, suddenly very interested in the tips of his boots. 

“‘s not my fault he likes rolling in it.” 

“Oh, so it’s mine? Is that what you’re saying?” 

“What? No,” Eddie groans, raking a frustrated hand through his mop of curls - sloppily tied back with a string of leather today. “C’mon, Max, you know that’s not what-” 

She talks over him. 

“You know what, I don’t care. But if you bring him back looking like a pig, you can clean him up yourself. No running off on important king business, no urgent matters suddenly demanding your attention. You take care of your own messes, do you-” 

“Steve,” blurts Eddie, who has finally spotted him standing a few feet off, following the argument with wide eyes. “You made it! Robin found you then!” 

He flounces over, leaving Max to glare daggers into his back, smile wide and overjoyed as every time they see each other. 

“Yeah, obviously,” Steve retorts. He shakes his head exasperatedly, but can’t quite help the fond little smile that tugs on his lips. When Eddie entwintes their fingers to pull him over to where Max is still waiting with the horses, he doesn’t flinch or pull back his hand. He’s slowly starting to get used to Eddie’s very physical ways of showing affection. “What is this about? She said you had some sort of surprise for me?” 

“Couldn’t keep her mouth shut if she tried, that one, huh?” Eddie huffs good-naturedly, and Steve resists the urge to point out that he can’t talk, exactly - not with the way his own mouth tends to go a mile a minute when he gets into a topic he’s really excited about. “As a matter of fact, I do. C’mon, let me introduce you.” 

“Can I go then?” Max asks as they approach. Her face is set into her usual, annoyed frown, but when Steve smiles at her in greeting, she cracks a toothy grin in reply. “I have better things to do than watching you two being all lovey dovey.” 

“Hey, we’re not-” Steve starts to say, but Eddie pushes past him, taking the bridles out of her hands and shooing her off. 

“You go ahead, I’ve got it.” 

Max flashes Steve an obnoxiously smug grin as she skips off into the stable buildings. 

“Have fun,” she says. “Don’t let him roll in the mud.” 

“For fuck’s sake, that was one time,” Eddie groans. 

“I was talking to Steve,” Max calls over her shoulder, and then she’s gone, the stable door slamming behind her.

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY

In a completely unsurprising turn of events, my rewrite of tbbw's chapter 5 had to be split into 2 chapters because I've added so much. So the old chapter 5's contents are now chapter 5 and 6. Here's a snippet from the new chapter 6:

“Oh my god, she’s inviting him to the Ball,” Caroline exclaimed, eyes popping between Rebekah and Matt, watching as the former smiled demurely, placing a hand on Matt’s arm and swear-to-God giggling at something he said. That snake. She spun to Elena, outraged. “Why is she inviting him?”

Elena glared at Rebekah from her seat, the anger in her eyes fading a little to make way for resignation. “Probably to get this reaction from us.”

“Urgh!” Caroline huffed, leaning back with a scowl on her face, folding her arms over her chest. “What day is this stupid dance again?”

Elena turned towards her, eyes hopeful. “You’ll come?”

Caroline rolled her eyes, still glaring at where Rebekah stood. “I’m not leaving you and Matt to those vipers.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Caroline,” Elena said softly, looking worried. “I mean, if Klaus invited you…won’t he expect you to dance with him?”

“It’s like you said, he’s following his mum’s rules right? I should be fine. ” 

“Still, I get it if you want to bow out.”

“Not a chance,” Caroline declared firmly, offering Elena her first smile of the afternoon. “Besides, do you know how jealous Courtney will be if I go to this Ball while she’s not even invited?”

Elena’s face broke open in a grin, laughing a little. “Is she the one that-”

“That saw Klaus pick up Rebekah from school that one time and has been thirsting after him ever since? Yep,” Caroline finished for her, eyes widening to show how truly ridiculous she thought her classmate’s crush was. “I mean, objectively, I get it-” Who didn’t? Even Caroline could admit Klaus was hot. Just more in the I-kill-people-and-I-look-good-doing-it kinda way. “-but has she never heard of the phrase don’t judge a book by its cover? Or stranger danger?” 

“Clearly not,” Elena mused with a smile, picking up her menu again.

Caroline huffed, leaning down to take another sip of her coke. “And what’s worse,” she continued, talking around her straw, “she said she met one of the other brothers yesterday morning in the town square and will not stop TALKING about it.”

Elena’s brows flickered with confusion. “Elijah?”

Caroline shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. She said he looked our age, maybe a little older. Apparently she-” hear Caroline held up her fingers to make air quotes, “-‘accidentally’ bumped into him and he was totally flirting with her, and then they shared this ‘moment’-” Elena opened her mouth, no doubt to ask what Courtney meant by ‘moment’ but Caroline had already lived through Courtney’s nauseating retelling of their make out session against the wall of the Grill and she was not repeating it. “-don’t even ask - where she pointed out he had a bit of ketchup smeared on the edge of his mouth.” 

When Caroline stopped talking, staring at Elena, clearly waiting for a reaction, her friend blinked, looking lost.

“So?”

“So?” Caroline echoed, throwing her hands out in frustration. “Elena, it clearly wasn’t ketchup.”

Elena’s eyes widened in realisation. “You think it was blood.”

“That family? With their record?” Caroline scoffed, leaning back with her head held high. “I know it was blood.”

“Kol’s not one for table manners, I’m afraid,” Rebekah announced, joining their conversation. Caroline flinched a little at her sudden appearance behind her - why was it, she could be so loud in those heels when she walked away but so silent when sneaking up behind them? Dramatic bitch.

“Were you listening in?” she asked to hide her unease. “Creeper.”

Rebekah shot her a smile that was all fake pleasantries and masked murderous intent. “Only when you started gossiping about the bachelorhood of my brothers.” She tilted her head, eyes raking over Caroline, silently judging her. “To think I once respected your taste in men.”

“Hey,” Caroline spat, jabbing a finger in the Original vampire’s direction, “Courtney is the one gossiping, not me.”

Rebekah’s nose scrunched up with disgust, familiar with their dark-haired classmate who was a particular breed of rich who thought every new trend was the height of social status. At the moment, the girl was on some vegan diet she’d found on a guy’s blog and bragging about the advantages of goat yoga.

“Kol was flirting with Courtney? I very much doubt that.”

Caroline sent her most saccharine smile back, the one that was all politeness but said in my head, I’m stabbing you in the eye with a hot poker. “Maybe your brother’s just shallow, like you.”

Rebekah’s face dropped, lips twisting into a sneer.

Elena awkwardly cleared her throat, shooting Caroline a warning glare. “Kol? That’s his name, then? Your brother?” she asked Rebekah, diverting her deadly attention from Caroline. 

When Caroline didn’t back down, merely raising her chin higher in challenge, something relented in Rebekah’s eyes and slowly, she turned to Elena, even though she glanced back at Caroline with a contemplative look on her face from time to time.

“Finn’s the eldest. Kol though, he’s younger than Klaus. Older than me. I’m sure you’ll meet them both soon, or Kol will eat you,” she said with a smile at Elena, turning to walk away, this time to leave the Grill, heels clicking behind her. “Whichever comes first, he’s not one to play by my mother’s rules.”

“Elijah won’t stand for it!” Elena shouted after her, as determined as Caroline to get in the last word.

Neither saw Rebekah’s smirk.

“As long as Kol isn’t setting the house fire,” she called back over her shoulder, “I doubt my dear older brother will care.”

[vendetta-if]

Snippets and Sneak Peek (Chapter 6) Pt. 2

Hey guys 👋 Time for the second and last sneak peek at Chapter 6 Part 1 before the update. And just as a reminder, the Chapter 6 Part 1 update will drop on 22nd of April (GMT +8), which is around 22 hours or so from now (the time I posted this) 😁

So, I kinda mentioned how MC will hear again about what they did when they helped the mother and the kid in the alleyway. I'll show the news segment here and it'll vary in parts based on the options you chose.

For the sake of this sneak peek, we're going to assume that MC killed the guy with gravikinesis and that MC wears their mask but tells the kid their code name 😄 Oh, and also that MC is interested in becoming Vigilante first or only interested in becoming Vigilante.

Chapter 6 Part 1 Early Access demo is now up on both Patreon and Ko-fi!

* * * * *

The conversation tapers off and you reach forward to turn up the radio a bit to fill in the silence, just in time to catch the tail-end of the song that has been playing. A news jingle immediately follows it.

"Good afternoon, citizens of Elysium City! I hope all of you are having a wonderful day because today, we have some news fresh from the oven and no, it's not about the Superheroes or the Nemesis Project this time.

"Last night, the ECPD was met with another gruesome crime scene in the Lower South Acheron District after what seems to be an act of vigilante-ism was taken too far. The criminal killed was suspected to be the same one who had been terrorizing the area for months now.

"Right now in the studio, we have two direct eyewitnesses—well, no, they actually almost became the victims of this criminal last night. May I present to you, Miranda Martínez, a staff here in the Voice of Elysians radio station, and her ${mc_son}, Jules Martínez."

"Hey, Camille."

"So, Miranda, can you tell us a bit about what happened last night?"

"Uh, yeah. So, it was pretty late last night, and we were walking home. I was starting to regret my decision to not take a taxi instead, but we were getting pretty close to our apartment by that time, so I took ${mc_his} hand in mine and we basically power-walked to try to get home as fast as possible.

"But when we were only two blocks away, a man stopped us and pulled us into one of the alleyways. I was so scared, but I tried talking to him, to negotiate. He said he wanted everything I owned, so I handed him my purse; I didn't want to risk both Jules' life and mine. But still, he won't let us go. I'm still not sure what else he could've wanted—"

"And then I tried attacking the man so he would let go of Mama! But I was too small and he easily beat me… He threatened to burn my face, but I was not scared!"

It was undoubtedly the little kid you saved last night and they still sound as excitable as they were last night.

They continue, "It was then, ${mc_he} came to save us! $!{mc_he} came out of the darkness and then—and then, I don't know how, but ${mc_he} threw the bad guy to a wall without even touching him and then, a few seconds later, the bad guy's head popped like a balloon!"

"Jules—!" $!{mc_his} mother tries to scold ${mc_him} but is cut off by the host.

"Oh! Can you tell us more about this mysterious vigilante? Do you see what ${mc_he} looks like?"

"Yeah! $!{mc_he} told me ${mc_he} goes by the codename "$!{codename}"! Which is really cool!"

"How about ${mc_his} appearance? Did you catch anything?"

"No… $!{mc_he} was wearing a mask so we couldn't see ${mc_his} face at all. But the mask was very cool! It was like, pure black and it looked kinda alive!"

"Aww, that's too bad, but at least we know what to call our vigilante: "$!{codename}", which I'm pretty sure I haven't heard before, so watch out criminals and villains, because there is a new vigilante on the block and ${mc_he} @{mc_plural don't|doesn't} seem to be the type to play around. How about you, Miranda? Do you have anything else to add?"

"Nothing, really. Like Jules said, the vigilante was wearing a mask and we couldn't discern anything about ${mc_his} physical appearance. But, from what I've seen of the ability ${mc_he} used, ${mc_he} is probably a really powerful telekinetic."

"Really interesting… Well, how do you feel about ${mc_him} killing someone in front of you and your ${mc_son}? It must've been a traumatizing experience."

"Oh, yeah, yeah… It was really gruesome and I was just frozen in place in fear. I thought ${mc_he} was going to hurt me and Jules next, but ${mc_he} didn't. $!{mc_he} handed me my purse back and even gave us four hundred bucks to treat Jules' wounds…

"I wouldn't lie, I probably won't be able to scrub the image from my mind for the rest of my life, but in the end, I am really grateful to ${mc_him} for saving me and my ${mc_son}. Who knows what would've happened if ${mc_he} wasn't there to intervene. And the money ${mc_he} gave… It was such a blessing. It really covered the bill to get Jules treated."

"Yeah!" Little Jules chirps in again. "Thank you so much, $!{title} $!{codename}! You're my true hero and I wanna be like you when I grow up!"

You really try to keep your face straight, but a slight smile still tugs on your lips against your will after listening to the interview and the adorable thank you from Little Jules. To know that you have saved people from what could've been a disastrous life-changing event and helped them directly… It surprises you a bit on how good it feels.

You're really lucky to be able to catch a glimpse of what your future as a vigilante would be like and how it would make you feel, and you know you're making the right choice. This experience just makes you even more determined to become a vigilante, spending the nights patrolling the streets, saving innocent civilians, and protecting them from the criminals and villains infesting the city.

[nani-nonny]

Direct Follow-up for this snippet for WDS hehe might want to check it out before you read this :) (I found the source hidden in my files yippee!!! :D)

Agent Bishop finally cracks, a nervous swallow of anxiety trails down his throat. He slowly releases the key and backs up. His hand reaches behind himself, blindly searching for the backrest of his chair before sitting down. He fixes his tie and swallows again, clears his throat to collect himself before smoothing back his gelled hair.

“You’re aware I have to report this to the higher ups,” Agent Bishop warns to save face.

“Leo! Stop this!”

With an utmost confidence, Leonardo leans back in his chair and tucks away the key. He got the exact response he expected, he can't trust the EPF in the present or the future. He shrugs with an air of nonchalance and replies, “Report to them. Send them the audio files and the recording of our session.” He smirks and adds in a cocky tone, “Tell them you failed to find out anything about me, especially whether I am a friend or not.”

“No, that’s not what we want, Leo…”

Agent Bishop’s forces his trembling jaw to flatten his lips in a thin line. He breathes in to calm his nerves before giving another warning, “I'm sure you don't want to start anything as much as we don't.”

The warning washes over Leonardo like the smallest of waves, he remains unbothered still. He balances on the hind legs of his chair as he casually responds, “I won't start anything, but I won't stand aside and watch anything you fail to begin.”

“Isn’t he threatening to start a war…?”

“I understand. Thank you for this uplifting conversation,” Agent Bishop fixes his tie again and bows his head to dismiss himself as he rises from his seat.

But before Agent Bishop can step out of the door, Leonardo calls after the agent.

“The key will remain safe with me, and if any of your little friends dare threaten me in any way, I won't hesitate to repay in kind.”

Agent Bishop's hand lingers on the doorknob, a stiffness to his shoulders at Leonardo’s warning. He doesn’t turn to face Leonardo, but it’s easy to tell the warning is taken to heart. His fingers squeeze around the handle before he asks, “Will settling as acquaintances sit well with you?”

Leonardo smirks as his chair drops from its tilted stance which makes a sound that reverberates through the small room like a miniature explosion, making Agent Bishop flinch at the door. His prosthetic finger taps on the table, clack clack clack. “Is that what you want?”

Agent Bishop is silent for a second. He seems to be weighing the possibilities and thinking about what he should say.

Leonardo sighs, loud and obnoxious. “I’m not a patient guy,” he says aloud to no one in particular.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Leonardo can practically hear Agent Bishop swallow nervously in his ear.

Finally, Agent Bishop breathes in again before responding, “It isn’t for me to say.”

Leonardo clicks his tongue in mock disappointment, “Damn, what a shame. Those bosses of yours are really messing things up for you, aren’t they?”

Leonardo rolls his neck, massaging a loud pop out of his bones to unnerve Agent Bishop. It works. “You really wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of things,” he warns nonchalantly. “Wouldn’t it be better to have all the power? To do what you want, instead of being told what to do?”

The bait has been cast. And Leonardo watches any sign of movement from Agent Bishop, whose hand still holds the door handle.

There’s a clear second that Agent Bishop hesitates to respond. A little nibble.

But Agent Bishop is loyal as he responds, “If that were possible, not just to me but to everyone on this planet, there would be chaos.”

Leonardo nods in approval. A warning for both of them. “Right… the cameras. I’ll ask another time then,” he responds.

It’s a clear dismissal from Leonardo’s tone, but Agent Bishop still hasn’t moved.

The agent asks again, cautiously this time, “Am I wrong to assume we may settle this matter as one amongst acquaintances?”

Leonardo shrugs. “Depends.”

Agent Bishop’s head cocks back slightly, a hint of disbelief in his tone as he repeats, “Depends?”

Leonardo almost laughs as Agent Bishop clears his throat. The agent was too stunned by his response to reply properly to him. “Depends on a certain… matter.”

“What’s the ‘matter’?”

“Oh, come on, don’t do it.”

Leonardo stifles a laugh that escapes as a snort. “Nothing, why do you ask?”

Agent Bishop sighs.

Leonardo waves his hand dismissively even though Agent Bishop still hasn’t turned around from the door. “Sorry, you set yourself up for that one. But on a serious note, the matter of my recorded appearances.”

[drabblesandimagines]

Milkshake

Lil' follow-up to Syrup that I couldn't get outta my head after seeing the finale! Rei x reader, fluffy fluff

-

You blink – not quite believing your eyes when the grey dot has changed to green next to his name. You haven’t seen that in weeks. You’d spent literal hours on voice chat together, sometimes playing a multiplayer game, sometimes doing your own thing, sometimes just chatting and nothing else, right up until a couple of weeks before Christmas when things went radio silent. At first you shrugged it off, thinking that it was the run up to the holidays, things maybe just got busy, or maybe his internet was out, or maybe he’d even gone out of town and just hadn’t mentioned it… But then, when the Morio Kart DLC expansion came out – one that you knew both Rei and Miri had been so excited to play – you began to feel a little hurt. Your mind would often try and dissect the snippets of your last conversation, trying to work out if you’d offended him somehow, said something weird?

There’s another beep and a notification pops up. ReiSuwa1 is inviting you to voice chat. Your disbelief turns to annoyance – he’s ghosted you for so long, this better be one hell of an explanation.

You lean back in your gaming chair, kicking your feet up on the TV console as you hit accept. “Hello, stranger.” Your tone is tense.

“What?!” A voice cries out – it’s too far from wherever the microphone is but it doesn’t sound like Rei. There’s a lot of racket – like someone’s scrambling around, looking for something, then it stops.

“Hello?” You try again.

“Who’s this?” Definitely not Rei. Had his account been hacked?

“Er, you called me.”

“I did?” They sound puzzled. “I was just trying to switch the damn thing off and then your voice started coming out the headset. Rei’s shown me but I can never remember the right buttons…”, the mysterious voice rambles on before stopping. There’s a twinge in your stomach at the mention of Rei’s name. “Oh… Are you that girl he was speaking to, from the video games shop?”

You try your best to sound casual. “Well, that depends on how many girls from video games shops he talks to.”

“You’ve met Rei, right? I don’t think you’ll be surprised to hear the amount is incredibly low, single digit low. One and under.”

“Ah, you must be Kazuki.”

“Huh, he mentioned me?” You hear him sit down on something with a loud exhale – must be getting comfortable.

“Yeah, loads of times.” He had – funny stories, usually.

“Well, I’m honoured.” He chuckles.

“Hey, just whilst I’ve got you on the line and all,” you pause and wonder if you’re going to regret this, but press on regardless, “Is Rei okay?”

“Yeah.” There’s a beat. “Why? Has he said something?”

“See, that’s the thing – he hasn’t said anything. I haven’t spoken to him since, like, mid-December. I was really surprised to see him calling, to be honest…” You trail off.

“Oh!” Kazuki sounds genuinely surprised, or is an incredible actor on his roommate’s behalf. “I mean, he’s been on here with Miri recently, but when I properly think about, I haven’t seen him play anything solo in a while.”

“Sorry, this is probably the worst conversation to have got yourself into. I think I misread things – I shouldn’t drag you into my woes.”

“No, he…” He sighs. “How do I say this? There was… There was an accident about two months ago. Rei really injured his right arm. He’s a lost a lot of the mobility in it, including his hand. He’s doing physio, but…”

“Oh, jeez.” You exhale.

“He’s okay now. Well, okay-ish. They don’t think he’s really going to get a lot of movement back in it. Shit.” He mutters, as if he’s had a realization. “I kinda forgot that means video games are off the table. I thought he wasn’t playing with Miri because he says she’s a bad loser, but I guess he can’t use the controller thing as well as he used to?”

“Mm, a lot of them do just work off the premise that everyone’s got two functioning hands. You can do some tactical button mapping on some, I think. Gotta admit I haven’t looked into it much.” You bite your lip in thought. “Poor Rei. That must be a big adjustment.”

“Yeah. I mean, he’s taking it really well. Never complains.” Another pause. “I mean, you haven’t even seen him by the shop? He took Miri a couple of weekends ago to get some new figure to unlock something.”

“Oh. No, I don’t work weekends. He… He knows that.” Your stomach is twisting in knots. There were a few times him and Miri would pop in when he picked her up from daycare to say hello and on a rare occasion, he would show up online on the weekend saying Kazuki was out somewhere with Miri, so he knew your rota.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds genuine, at least.

“No, I’m sorry – I just feel a bit of an idiot.” You don’t know what it is, but Kazuki is surprisingly easy to talk to and you need to get it off your chest. “Like, I was trying to build up the courage to ask if we could go for a real date instead of all these virtual ones we seemed to be having. Probably for the best he ghosted me, huh?”

“No, I think he would’ve liked that. Honestly, this…” he pauses, as if he’s choosing his words carefully, “accident has been a lot. Rei’s surprisingly sensitive, he’s probably worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with you. Did you guys do quests or some shit?”

“You do know video games!”

“I may have overheard some key terms, that’s it. And, er, don’t ignore the question.”

“Yeah, we did. He’s a much better player than me, though. He was dragging my stats up.” You sigh. It’s not what you wanted at all, but maybe it’s a sense of closure. “Well, I’m glad he’s okay-ish. I don’t know if you want to tell him you accidentally called the video games store girl, but if you do, tell him… Tell him I’m thinking of him, yeah?”

“Sure will. Erm, whilst I’ve got an expert on the line – A, how do I hang up and B, how do I turn this machine off?”

You laugh. “I’ll hang up so that’ll take care of that. Do you see the really big rectangular button in the middle of the controller?”

“Mm.”

“If you hold that down it’ll bring up a start up menu, kinda like a laptop? Then you can select power off and that’s you.”

“Thank you. And, hey, I will speak to Rei, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks. Bye, Kazuki.”

You press the end call button, as promised, and a few seconds later you see Rei’s icon change to offline so it looks like Kazuki at least managed to turn off the machine. You fling off your headset, spin your chair around to face your bed and collapse down onto it face-first, letting out an exhale. Poor Rei…

--

You’re so tired. You tossed and turned all night with an idea swirling around your head. You got up, wrote it down, and got back under the sheets but your brain still wouldn’t shut up about it. You’d spent until the really early hours conducting research and now, you’re on your third cup of coffee due to an early delivery you need to sign for at the shop, annoyed at yourself but you wouldn’t say you were full of regret what you’d discovered.

You’d been thinking about Rei and that, if he did want to play video games, there must be something out there to help. Whilst you found there were some consoles with “official” adaptive controllers in a way – and, ouch, eye-wateringly expensive, much? - your research also led you to a bunch of online videos where people shared their modded designs - even the schematics or a print bundle for you to 3D print your own to adapt the controller yourself for numerous different machines. The reviews are sometimes so-so, things are a work in progress, but you wonder if you could take parts of one and parts of another and try and make something workable.

As you watch the boxes get unloaded and put into the store room, you wonder if whether you’re getting way ahead of yourself. Sure, you could make the adaptor for the controller but if you did, how do you know he even wants such a thing, plus how would you even get it to him? You didn’t have his number – it was the shop policy to shred anything with customer’s details on right after the repair had been complete and you’d rang off the store’s phone those few months ago.

You sigh, before taking another deep sip of coffee. The problem is, you know you, and once you set your mind to a project you’re going to see it to the bitter end.

“Sign here, please.” The delivery driver pulls you out of your thoughts as he taps on the clipboard, after stacking up the last of the boxes.

Right – work first.

--

A week later, you’re sat at your desk fiddling with various parts. You’d found a place that offered 3D printing facilities, so you’d printed out a bunch of stuff on your day off that you’d bookmarked for possibilities and you’ve spent your evenings since placing bits and pieces together to try and make something workable. Luckily from your shared game play and access to his gaming history via his profile, you know what games Rei likes so you can begin to test your configurations a little, noting down what is and isn’t working to try and tweak things further.

Your console chimes – you’d turned it on when you got home to download an update. Looking at the screen, you see a notification. ReiSuwa1 is inviting you to voice chat.

You grab your headset and slip it on before picking up your own controller and hesitating. The conversation with Kazuki had popped up in your mind since you’d spoken and as you reflected, you’d begun to wonder if you’d just sounded so utterly sad and desperate.

You press accept and brace yourself. “Hello?”

“Hey!” It’s Kazuki again. “I deliberately called this time – I promise.”

“You’re learning.” You smile, rolling your seat back over to your desk. “What can I help you with?”

“I spoke to Rei.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t say it like that – I was covert.”

“Yeah?”

“I just said I noticed that I hadn’t seen him playing on here recently alone, or speaking to you… He admitted it’s difficult with the controller. He didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?”

“Yeah. I didn’t quite get it either. I pressed him on it a bit – said something about holding you back in gameplay, that maybe you wouldn’t want to speak to him anymore.”

“What? No, that’s not right – we spoke loads of times when neither of us were even playing.”

“I know! I suggested he called you, I said you were probably worried about him since from what he and Miri had told me about you, you seemed a nice girl, but he shrugged it off in his usual Rei way.”

“It’s okay, you can’t force him.”

“Oh, I can. As his roommate and friend, it’s important that I aid him in his recovery, and that is reconnecting with his friends, if not more.” Is it possible to hear someone wink through a call? Cos you feel he definitely just did. “So, I was wondering, whatcha doing Saturday?”

“Huh?”

“Miri’s desperate for a new kart thing? We’ve got a chore chart, she gets a gold star every time she does her tasks and I said when she’s earned enough, Rei will get it for her. So, I thought, maybe, if you happened to be in a certain video games store on your day off and I sent a certain man to go in…”

“Ah, I don’t know.”

“Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could think I’m stalking him.”

“Uh-uh, you’ll be in the store first.”

You look at the controller in your hand. “I’ve been working on something dumb.”

“Are you changing the subject?”

“No, it’s related. You know I repair controllers, right? Well, after our conversation, I’ve been fiddling around with some adaptors - you kinda clip them on the controller and then you can use it with one hand. I thought it might be something Rei would want to try, I mean, he might want to try…”

There’s silence from Kazuki’s end of the line.

“I’m sorry, is that creepy I’ve done that? It’s probably creepy.”

There’s a loud sniff.

“Are you…? Are you crying?”

“No! It’s just allergies.” There’s another loud sniff. “That settles it - we’re doing this. Give me your number.”

--

When Saturday rolls around, you’ve got the controller adapters into decent shape and they’ve passed all your self-created one hand tests. Kazuki and you have been texting off and on the last few days and he’s bringing both Rei and Miri to the mall – there’s some live performance of those dancing vegetables from the TV that kids seem to like so much. Whilst Kazuki takes Miri to that, he’s going to get Rei to head to the Joypad and pick up Miri’s figure as a surprise. You’d taken your spare controller with the adaptors in place to work yesterday and left your bag in the back office – more so as an excuse to your colleagues as to why you’re there on your day off. You don’t know how to explain that your crush’s roommate has set an elaborate meet-cute for you both, so with Kazuki’s detailed updates and ETAs, you time it perfectly to pop in the store, greeting Mr Kyoto himself before slipping into the back office to pick up your backpack. You got in the back office as Kazuki texted to say that he could see Rei entering the store now – oh, jeez, is this the creepiest thing you’ve ever done? – and you wait about a minute before exiting. The timing is almost too perfect - you’re walking down the aisle towards the exit as Rei’s walking up, looking for the figurine.

His right arm is strapped up in some sort of black immobilization aid, keeping it close to his chest, but he looks as good as ever and you suddenly feel queasy. This was a terrible idea, you’re considering spinning on your heels and diving back into the office until he leaves but it’s too late as the two of you make eye contact.

Rei looks almost embarrassed to see you, and there’s an awkward staring competition before you realise you’re the one that needs to break the ice.

“Hi, stranger,” you smile, casually.

“Hi.” His cheeks are tinged red and he looks down at the floor for a moment. “Er… I’m sorry that I haven’t been online, or in here for a while…”

“That’s okay, it seems a lot has happened since we last spoke.” A not so veiled reference to his arm. “Are you doing all right?”

“It is what it is.” He shrugs. “I’m… adjusting. How are you?”

“I’m okay.” A pause. “I… I’ve missed talking to you, though.”

“Me too.”

You swallow, “What brings you here today, then?”

“Oh, Miri wants another one of these.” He casts his eyes to the display and grabs the character she’s after. You’re not sure which one, you’re too busy staring at his face.

“Oh, er, cool.” There’s another awkward pause and you lose all confidence. “Erm, well, I should let you get on. It was nice to see you, though…”

“Yeah,” he nods. This was such a stupid idea, you berate yourself, as you go to walk past him. He suddenly steps in front of you. “Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you busy right now?”

“Erm, no…”

“Can I buy you a milkshake?”

You smile. “A milkshake?”

“I seem to remember you like them,” there’s a smirk on his face. There was one evening when you enthusiastically described an incredible milkshake that one of the kiosks in the mall made for probably a solid five minutes.

“That is true. Okay, then.” You nod. “You can buy me a milkshake.”

“Cool. I’ll just go buy this…” He nods to the figurine in his head and heads up to the counter, where Mr Kyoto is beaming at you, giving you two thumbs up and you avoid eye contact, pretending you don’t see your boss’ celebration. Rei retrieves his phone from his pocket as Mr Kyoto is scanning the figurine through the register and about 45 seconds later, your own phone buzzes.

Kazuki has sent you a text message comprising entirely of emojis – a winking face and love hearts.

--

You’re sat at one of the tables in the food court, sipping on milkshakes and chatting away like no time has passed. Rei’s slowly been opening up about his online absence.

“I just… I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to hang out if I can’t play.”

“Rei, I wasn’t just talking to you because I wanted to game with you, I was talking to you because I like talking to you.” You take another slurp of milkshake for a shot of sugar rush courage. “And, just to make this absolutely clear because I don’t think I was in all of our previous conversations, I quite like you, actually.”

“You do?” He smirks.

“Mm. I was going to ask you on a date.”

“You were going to?”

“Yeah, but then you went offline. You’re a hard guy to track down.”

“Ah.” He nods, taking a sip of his own drink.

“And I need to be completely honest because I feel creepy - Kazuki accidentally called me from your profile a week or so ago.”

“Is that why he and Miri are hiding behind that plant?” He gestures lazily to the corner and you see a flash of blonde duck behind the greenery and hear the little girl giggle.

“Most likely, yes.” You sigh. “He’s a sweet guy.”

“He is.”

“Sorry, I think he just felt bad for me and my sob story. And, well, he kinda told me about your arm too…” You pick up your backpack and place it on the table. “And it got me thinking – you know how I like messing around with controllers anyway?”

He nods.

“Well, it turns out there’s some really clever people out there making devices to ensure people with limited hand movement can enjoy video games, so, I kinda got a little too into researching it and mixed and matched and came up with this,” you dig into your bag and remove the controller - it's got the plastic adaptors clipped over it - placing it onto the table.

“So, you can use all the joysticks and triggers across the whole thing with your left hand.” You demonstrate, taking him through what controls what. “You’ll need to do some button configuration still on start menus, but I tried it out on my console on a few things I know you’ve played and it’s super easy.” You look up and he’s just staring at you, almost in disbelief and you panic.

“I mean, I’m not expecting you to use it or even take it home with you because I know this whole thing has been super creepy and I’ve overstepped so many boundaries and, like, talking behind your back with Kazuki, but I…” Without any indication, he leans forward and kisses you on the lips, gently, cutting off your ramble. He tastes like his strawberry milkshake.

He has a dreamy smile on his face as he pulls back and you’re sure you look like a total idiot, your mouth open in disbelief at the turn of events.

“Huh.” You find your voice. “I take that means you like it?”

“Mm, and I like you.” He gets to his feet and holds out his left hand to you. “Kazuki and Miri are going to get kicked out if they continue to hide in the shrubbery any longer. Come back to ours, you can show me how this thing works again.”

You nod, stuffing the controller back into your backpack and taking his outstretched hand. He doesn’t let go as he leads you over to Miri and Kazuki. The little girl greets you eagerly, crashing into your legs.

You don’t even need to hear Kazuki to put a face to a voice – his loud sniff as he wipes away his tears is enough to give it away.

--

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