#shamelessly self-indulgent fluff. what can I say

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Akai is going to be the death of him.

This has been a long-time conviction of Rei's, and yet of all the ways that could go, this really is not how he pictured it.

Leading contender for cause of death: irregular blood flow, leaving him without the oxygen necessary for higher brain functions.

Where has it gone? Mostly to his cheeks. And the tips of his ears. They're burning.

(And some of it may have gone further south, pooling warmly in his stomach).

Akai's wearing the sweater Rei made and it's so oversized he's got cute little sweater paws covering his hands. Rei would like to faint now, please. Please. Please?

He closes his eyes in hopes this is all just a hallucination caused by lack of sleep (ignoring the fact Akai just woke him up, actually feeling well-rested for once). But when he opens them again, Akai's still there, eyebrow raised. Lit in the warm colours of a new dawn, and covered in a sweater Rei knows is incredibly soft, because he picked the wool himself. Holding a steaming cup of something.

Hm. It smells like sencha.

Temptation itself, in the morning cool.

Rei curses, resigns himself to the new reality he gets to enjoy now. Okiya Subaru is one thing, the identity deliberately crafted to be harmless and cozy, but Akai Shuichi should not be looking this adorable. Maybe Rei did suffer that concussion, after all.

.

There's some overlap in their watch cycle, so Rei busies himself trying to get the excess energy out and make breakfast. He's definitely not ignoring Akai. Which would be difficult anyways in the one room apartment they're using to lay low.

It's going to be bland, even with his best efforts. There's barely any spices in stock, just lots and lots of dried and pickled foods, stuff that keeps. Not that Rei's expected anything more from Akai - okay, maybe a little, considering he's trying (and failing) to learn how to cook. Then again, he probably didn't figure he'd actually have to use the safehouse, and they've had worse. That weekend in Rikubetsu comes to mind. It still sends shivers down his spine.

Besides, the food isn't actually the problem - though they'll need to be conservative with it. No, the real issue is the shitty insulation. And terrible heating. Rei shivers in his sweater and huddles closer to the stove. It's not like they can call a HVAC repairman without drawing attention to themselves. Who thought it was a good idea to do this sting in the winter?

Whatever. They'll only need to stay here for a couple of days, until their allies have finished the witch-hunt, and then they can leave this safehouse behind them.

.

An uneventful breakfast and several hours later it's Akai's turn to sleep. He's mostly been sitting quiet and unobtrusive in the corner chair, keeping an eye on the street below. Rei knows the look, has seen it many times. Mostly on Rye, back in Osaka. Perching on the place with the best view, making as little noise and movement as possible. Coiled up and ready to bolt. The apartment isn't safe, and the mission isn't over. Akai won't rest, not really, until the all-clear. Idiot. As if he's not injured, doesn't need to recover.

"Akai. Your turn." He tries, and is roundly ignored. Akai must've heard him - there's nothing to listen to, in here. If he's somewhere else, mentally, well. Rei's never been good at quitting. Or alright with being denied attention.

"Akai." When the sniper still doesn't react, Rei walks up to him. Grabs a hold of his chin, tipping it up, forcing the other to look up at him. There's no resistance; either Akai is too tired to object, or he actively allows the touch. Rei's not sure which is worse. He feels Akai flinch as he straightens - must be the strain on his injured ribs. The sniper stares up at him, jade eyes dull and lifeless. The shadows under his eyes are deep enough to blot out the sun. Where's his stupid mirth, the barely concealed amusement? This won't do.

"Go lie down. Even if you can't sleep, your body still needs the rest. You're useless like this." How long has it been since he last slept?

"I can still-" Akai starts to object, eyes flicking to the window, to the street below.

"No. I've got this." Akai's so close, and so painfully tense, and Rei really doesn't know how to get his message through Akai's thick skull. So he tries for the closest approximation. He leans down that last little bit, until their noses touch, their foreheads rest together. Akai's skin burns against his own. "Rest." A single word, too gentle to be a command, but Akai still obeys. Long, soft lashes flutter against Rei's cheek, feather-light, as green eyes slip shut. The ghost of a sigh brushes against his lips. The pressure against him increases as Shuichi loosens into his touch.

Rei allows himself to indulge in the warmth of their shared space for a few shared breaths. It shouldn't be this hard to pull away. "Not here, idiot. The bed."

It's unclear whether Akai actually needs the help, or if he just likes to force Rei to do extra work, but he finds himself supporting the sniper to the bed. Helps lower Akai to the mattress as he settles in, careful not to aggravate his wounds. Cocoons him in the blanket. And if he's being a little too considerate, well, Akai looks about ready to pass out, so it's likely he won't notice or remember.

.

Rei finds himself checking in every once in a while, making sure Akai's still breathing. The man can be eerily quiet when he wants, and in slumber he almost seems dead. The first couple of times Rei saw him asleep, he found it disconcerting. By now, he knows how to spot Akai's signs of life, the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Of all the things that happened in the last 48 hours, Rei's mind returns to the most harmless offense - Akai in a too-large sweater.

How could that happen? He knows Akai's features by heart, by touch and measurement, and he's pretty sure he's counted out the rows and numbers correctly. Okay, fine, he might have picked out the design and worked on it in a hazy fugue state, but that is only slightly worse than his usual operating conditions. The result shouldn't be such a disaster. Maybe elder Tsuruyama will know where he went wrong.

(Because he did go wrong. No amount of stupid, heady pride at seeing Akai wear what Rei made for him with his own two hands can dissuade him from that. Rei tries to shove down the satisfaction spreading warmth throughout his body, right down to his toes. But the feeling has been building for weeks now, and is getting harder to ignore each day. Rei pretends he doesn't see the signs, doesn't know what they mean. They can't afford the distraction.)

Thankfully, his musings are interrupted by a sharp intake of breath, followed by a series of shallow gasps. He scans the room, wondering if Akai's noticed something he missed, when, with a quiet thud, the thick blanket slides to the floor. Akai's twisting and turning on the bed. Oh, great, the genius wants to agitate his wounds and freeze in one go.

Rei abandons his watch uneasily. But it's the middle of the day, and anyone coming after them right now would have to be stupidly brazen. Besides, he'd probably not notice attackers anyways. Akai's panting and thrashing is way too distracting.

Night (well, day in this case) terrors are not unusual for people in their profession, and if they are a regular issue for Akai, that might explain his general reluctance to get to bed, as well as the permanent bags under his eyes. But at this rate, Rei will need to intervene, or Akai will further injure himself.

"Don't go inside-" Akai's words, low and sharp, stop Rei dead in his tracks. Oh. They should've done a debrief before heading to bed. He's willing to bet he can guess pretty accurately what holds Akai in its grasp. It takes him a deep breath and a conscious effort of will to shake off the image of the abandoned factory, the smell of dust and mildew. The echo of a gunshot.

"Akai?" Rei continues his slow approach, gentle, non-threatening. Though Akai's eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling, Rei doubts he can see him.

"At least wait for backup-", Akai pleads, unsteady. He's reaching out, grabbing at empty air. Grinding his teeth in agitation.

Alright. What did Hiro say? Considering Akai's taller, and loathe as Rei is to admit it, a better fighter, trying to wake him is most certainly a bad idea. Even if he weren't stronger, there's a gun on the bedside table, and Rei's not keen to learn what Akai's instincts look like if he wakes up disoriented and with too much adrenaline in his system.

So. Soothing might or might not be possible, but he has to try. "Akai. Shhh, it's all right. You got to me in time. We made it out. I'm here. I'm safe."

'Because you took a bullet for me', he doesn't say. Bulletproof vest or not, Akai's carrying the reminder of his actions on his chest, in cracked ribs, tender skin, and colourful bruises. It's grating to be in his debt, yet again. The first time might have been accidental, more about Scotch than Bourbon, but there's no doubt that this time, it was all about Rei. Who has the sickening suspicion Akai would've acted no differently, had he not been wearing body armour.

It makes no sense why he would go this far. There's people waiting for him - his siblings, his coworkers, the Kudos. Besides, he's the Silver Bullet, meant to take down the organisation. And here he is, throwing it all away for nothing. Who really cares whether Rei survives? He's long resigned himself to the fact he might not.

Hiro comes to mind, and Rei immediately rejects the notion. Maybe it's uncharitable. Things surely were difficult for Hiro, but the longer Rei has to think about it, the less he can forgive him. If he truly had cared about Rei, he would've found a way to let him know he made it. It's been three years, after all, easily enough time to settle into his cover. It shouldn't have fallen to Akai, perceived threat and even enemy at the time, to bring this revelation.

Rei's glad Hiro is safe, make no mistake. But there's years of grief and guilt between them, the loneliness growing roots so deep it's isolated him from the one person that mattered the most. The betrayal of the trust he thought they shared stings every time he thinks about his best friend. If he can even be called that, these days.

Akai thrashes, and Rei barely manages to grab a hold of his arm before he's decked in the face. Stupid. Here he is, getting lost in his own issues, while the other agent needs his support. He owes him that much, if not more.

Making sure he keeps Akai's arms in view, Rei puts the gun into the bedside table's drawer to avoid any accidents. He sits himself down at the corner of the bed, next to the agent's head. The stupid knit cap has slid off, revealing sweat-slick curls of dark hair. Rye's hair used to be so fine, smoothed out by its length, obviously well taken care of. The texture now, as Rei cards his fingers through steadily, is wet and oily - Akai should wash it tomorrow. With all that sweat, he'll need to shower anyways, though the motion might be straining his injuries. It might be good to offer to help - with the hair, that is.

"Not you too, not so soon-" Akai still seems agitated, but the repetitive stroking of his hair grounds them both, little by little. At least he's not kicking out anymore. "Akai, listen. You're not getting rid of me that easily, all right? And they're not getting you, either. You're here, with me, safe and sound. We're both here." And freezing, he notices. Akai's shivering beneath him, seeking his touch, his warmth. Rei feels like an idiot. He really should've grabbed the blanket first. Then again, Akai probably would've just shaken it off again. He'll fetch it when Akai's calmed down a bit more.

He scooches closer. Rubs circles into Akai's shoulder and upper arm, trying to create warmth through friction. Running his hand along, he's glad to feel the mohair he picked is as soft as he had hoped.

"No, please, Rei-" A stupid slip-up, inappropriate not just because it happened in front of the enemy. And yet the PSB agent can't bring himself to be too mad about it. It's not like Aperol lived to tell the tale. Rei had taken the shot in the window of opportunity Akai had bought him, and, well. He might have cared more about dispatching Aperol quickly so he could focus on a downed Akai. He's already mourned Akai once before; he'd rather not do so again, in the foreseeable future.

"Shhh. I'm with you." He squeezes Akai's shoulders, trying to make sure the other knows. He shouldn't indulge like this. Can't encourage Akai's behaviour. But duty demanded he go into that warehouse, and he's really not sure he would've walked back out without Akai.

Either Bourbon's cover is blown, or Rum has decided it's time to clean house and deal with loose ends. Whatever the case may be, killing Aperol will have burnt any goodwill he might have had, if it existed at all. He can't go back.

Except, it hits him: it doesn't matter. If the Kudos' plan worked, there's no place to go back to. He's survived Gin's distrust and Vermouth's games. Rum's relentless chase. He's still standing. Because of skill and luck and the allies Edogawa Conan has collected. Five long years undercover. They're finally over. He doesn't believe in miracles, but this comes pretty damn close.

Of course the job is not over, not by a long shot. There's stragglers to round up, witnesses to interrogate, statements to give. Evidence to submit and analyse. Going up against the Karasuma corporation means their case needs to be airtight, or they'll wiggle out of it with good attorneys. In all likelihood, everyone involved in this operation will need to sleep with one eye open for the rest of their lives.

But the fact remains that it looks like there will be a future, after all.

And it doesn't look terribly bleak.

Three years ago, he'd thought his world had ended. But he'd kept going, hanging on for duty - and the need to corner Akai for answers.

It just might have been worth it.

For late-night talks, shared cigarettes and stolen sweaters. For this beautiful, brave, reckless idiot, lost in fitful sleep beside him. For the hope of a better future, forgotten and rekindled.

He can't bring himself to say it, not even when Akai's asleep in his arms, unpleasant memories barely kept. But he knows it all the same.

'Thank you for keeping me alive to see this day.'

.

Sweater weather AU masterpost

[bbydeathclaw]

Petulance

pairing: silco x fem!reader (nsfw)

AO3

summary: Silco sends you away to try to get some work done and you decide to be a horrendous little shit about it.

tags: fluff, smut, established relationship, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), good ol' mating press, teasing, bratty reader, simp silco

word count: 5.4k

adorably aesthetic mdni banner by @cafekitsune

a/n: hello! this is my first time writing in a looong while almost 10 years to be exact please don't look at me. but I had to get back into it with this shamelessly self indulgent fic of my favorite brooding king pin. I hope you enjoy!

Silco had thought it a bit odd at first, the ease with which you’d taken your leave from his office tonight. Ordinarily when he’d attempt to send you away in favor of getting his paperwork done in a more timely manner, you’d put up some form of sulky little protest.

An overemphasized pout coupled with a look of feigned sadness, eyebrows furrowed together when you’d offer to assist him with said work. Your reason being that it would ‘probably get done faster’ between the two of you. 

A lie, and a blatant one at that. You were, on all counts, absolutely shit at keeping your focus on any tasks he’d try to give you. You knew it. He most certainly knew it. Truly he’d wonder why you’d even bother offering at all if you just spent most of the time trying to distract him anyway. 

Still, he can’t say he isn’t amused by your actions. He finds these juvenile acts of yours terribly endearing for the most part, and even starts to look forward to them, knowing full well that he'll give in to just about anything if you’d simply ask it of him. 

Which is why he can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed when you don’t do any of this at all, and Silco starts to regret his idiotic suggestion entirely until you throw a cheeky smirk his way instead. 

“Alright, I think I’ll go bug Sevika for a bit.”

A single eyebrow quirk, followed by a low hum of approval. 

“I’m sure she’ll be positively thrilled by that,” he replies, suppressing a smirk of his own at the thought of his second in command being pestered by someone almost half her size. 

He’s still disheartened by your willingness to leave, but ultimately makes peace with it knowing that you’d more than likely return at some point. You give him a small wave with your fingers followed by a wink over your shoulder, and Silco doesn't hesitate to drag his gaze over your body shamelessly as it saunters out of his office.

About an hour passes, and the music coming from downstairs is just starting to pick up for the evening. You enter the room with a fluid sidestep, leaning back against the door once it closes behind you. His good brow raises slightly. “Back so soon?”

You don’t answer at first, instead making your way over to one of the tables in his office, like a cat quietly stalking about until something catches its interest. He watches you methodically as you settle for one of Jinx’s old trinkets that had been long discarded, carefully turning it over in your hand. “Sevika called me a menace.”

This time he makes no attempt to hide the subtle upturn from the corner of his lips. “I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree with her, my dear.”

“She seems pretty cranky tonight.” 

“Hm, surely through absolutely no fault of your own.”

You bite the inside of your cheek in what he can only assume is an attempt to stifle a giggle before turning to face him with an adorably giddy expression that makes his chest tighten. 

“Whatcha doin’?” 

So innocent, as if you were completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Silco doesn’t answer you verbally, merely bringing his forehead to rest against his hand and lifting the piece of paper he’s holding in the air with the other. The sullen face you make doesn’t go unnoticed by him as you turn to put the gadget back down with an airy sigh.

“Well,” you drag the word out. “I guess I’d better let you get back to it.”  

“Yes, that would be nice,” he says in turn, though it comes off more teasing rather than the displeasure he’s trying to convey. 

You study his face for another beat or two before you finally respond. “Okay, if that’s really what you want.” It’s not. Not even in the slightest. “I’ll go see if Thieram needs any help at the bar.”

“My love, Theiram is more than capable of handling his responsibilities as a bartender alone. It’s why I hired him, in fact.” He pauses. “Have you perhaps considered staying up here and behaving yourself, rather than looking for more ways to wreak havoc amongst my employees?” 

For a moment Silco thinks that he may be tipping his hand too soon, fearing that you’ve caught on to the fact that he’s basically been doing fuck all except sitting here and waiting for you to come back to his office. His suspicion only rises with the way you’re tilting your head and downright beaming at him with ill-disguised glee, like you’d been reading his every thought. 

“If I stayed up here it certainly wouldn’t be to behave myself.”

The paper he’s holding makes an audible crunch sound, his hand crumpling the edge of it faintly in response to your suggestive remark. 

Before he has the chance to reply with some snarky comment, you’re already heading towards the door, making a show of swaying your hips and giving him another view of the delicious swell of your backside before you take your leave again. His chair makes an audible groan as he leans back against it and lets out a lengthy sigh, running a hand through his hair and glancing down into his lap at the result of your seemingly endless torment.

Intolerable minx.

By the third time you make your way back up, only about half an hour has passed, and Silco’s all but given up on the prospects of getting any semblance of work done tonight. His thoughts being entirely permeated by you and the state you’d left him in. 

The Last Drop is in full swing now, and the liveliness of everything going on downstairs comes through the open door as you re-enter his office. However this time, he makes no effort to acknowledge your arrival, his chair now facing away from his desk, turned instead towards the large stained glass window that bathes him in a sickly, pale green light. All the noise from the club gets muffled when the door shuts once again, followed by the sound of purposeful footsteps making their way over to him.

“Welcome back,” he states flatly, trying to sound as disinterested as he can manage in his current predicament while he looks over his clipboard in a vain attempt at trying to salvage what was supposed to be a productive evening.

“Hello there, almighty Eye of Zaun,” you chime back with a playful lilt in your voice. “Did you miss me?”

Silco’s eyes tick upwards and stare blankly at the window straight ahead, actively suppressing the urge to let out another heavy sigh. You were going to be the death of him at this rate, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. How you managed to be both so insufferable and still so unbelievably charming he’ll never quite understand. Before he has the chance to turn his chair with an already fixed scowl, he hears a faint thud behind him, the distinct sound of glass meeting wood only slightly muted by a soft shuffling of papers. 

A few seconds pass before Silco finally spins around to face you, seeing that a tumbler has been set down right on top of the paperwork he had been ruminating over all night. He’s also greeted by the sight of you already sitting in a chair directly in front of his desk, grinning from ear to ear. His heart swells at the sight and his scowl gradually melts away, only to be replaced by something more along the lines of skepticism when he takes in your expression fully. 

Your smile is accompanied by what appears to be a look of pure satisfaction, though he has no clue as to why. His non-discolored eye narrows at you, like a parent trying to figure out what misdeed their child has committed behind their back. 

Silco regards you warily for another moment, taking in every minute detail of your face in hopes of detecting something that might give you away while he reaches for the glass set in front of him. Ice clinks against the sides as he swirls it around before bringing it to his lips, taking a long sip followed by a hum of appreciation. His eyes shoot back up to meet yours, and finds you now biting your lip while trying, and failing, to suppress a huge grin. 

You’re definitely up to something, that much he’s certain of now, and the fact that he still can’t figure out what it is causes his previously feigned discontent to turn into more of a bubbling frustration, having just about enough of whatever game you’re playing. A fleeting thought crosses his mind as he glances down at the drink now dangling from his fingertips, then back up to you. 

Silco knows you’ve taken in the brief look of suspicion on his face when you let out a laugh that, despite the visible displeasure he's exuding towards you, is still one of the sweetest sounds he's ever heard.

“I didn’t poison you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you quip, clearly amused at the implication.

“At this point I would be grateful if you did.”

You laugh again, but it comes out more like a short exhale through your nose along with a relaxed grin, taking a sip of your own beverage, and Silco’s good eye narrows at you once again. 

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No.”

Silence.

“Then what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He practically glares at you for what feels like a considerable amount of time before it finally dawns on him that you haven’t left yet. 

“Did you need something darling? Or have you just come to find more ways to elicit whatever reaction you’ve been hoping for this evening?” Silco brings the tumbler to his mouth once more, letting it hover there momentarily in order to get the rest of his words out. “Because if the intended reaction was to see how far you can test my patience I can assure you-” 

Words die on his lips immediately when you make a move to stand, mismatched eyes shooting down to your waist to see what appears to be quite possibly the shortest skirt he’s ever seen you in, leaving so very little to the imagination.

He’s still holding the glass right up to his face while he watches you make your way around the only obstacle that separates the two of you before hopping onto one of the corners, your butt and thighs jiggling faintly when they make contact with the solid piece of furniture. “I just figured you could use a drink after such a long night of hard work. Is that so wrong?”

Silco tracks your movements with an almost predatory fixation, watching you lean back slightly to rest against your arms, crossing one leg over the other and he has to actively resist the urge to scoff. This thing is hardly covering anything, you’re essentially sitting there with your bare ass on his desk. The realization of that along with the sight of everything you’re showing has his cock hardening at an alarming rate.

You don’t seem to notice, or if you do you don’t say anything, eyebrows knitting together in a poorly disguised attempt at looking genuinely worried. “What’s wrong? You don’t look very happy to see me.” 

Silco sets the glass down onto his desk with a bit more force than intended, turning his chair to face all the way forward and bringing his mouth to rest against interlocked fingers. Any moment now he’s expecting you to hop right off that corner and make your way back downstairs, back to a place filled with depraved and perverted onlookers. 

Realistically he knows no harm would ever befall you while you were down in the Last Drop. All of his subordinates had been given clear instruction to keep a watchful eye on you at all times, and after a while a lot of them had started to do it less out of obligation and more so out of genuine care, especially Jinx and Sevika. 

Plus, he knows you can hold your own in a fight. Growing up in the undercity had hardened you just enough to make you a scrappy but formidable opponent. So logically speaking, Silco knows there's no safer place for you to be, but the thought of anyone other than himself seeing you in that, especially the less than respectable patrons that frequent his establishment nearly every night, makes his blood boil.

“Of course I'm happy to see you, my dear,” he retorts, turning his head to look over at you once more, eyes darting downwards to that indecent piece of fabric wrapped around your waist then back up to meet your gaze. “It's just that I'm seeing quite a lot of you at the moment, and if you go back downstairs, so will everyone else.” His last words come out strained as he shifts in his chair in a poor attempt to alleviate his growing erection.

“Oh, you mean my skirt? Is there…something wrong with it?” You lift your hips to take the tiniest of scoots towards him, and Silco’s eyes immediately hone in on the action. 

“Don’t be cheeky.”

Another scoot. “I’m afraid that can’t be helped, especially in this.”

At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if you really are trying to kill him, taking controlled and steady breaths while he attempts to suppress his growing ire in response to such a ridiculous question. Of course there’s something wrong with it. Silco’s sure he’d nearly be able to see the soft outline of your mound if you were to spread your legs, even in the slightest.

He lets out another deep breath before picking up his pen and casually scribbling his signature on one of the invoices strewn about in front of him. “You will not be going back down there like that.”

He’s not looking at you, but Silco can see the movements of you moving closer out of the corner of his unmarred eye.

“Are you..asking me to stay?” 

He doesn’t respond, instead electing to take another piece of paper to scrawl his name at the bottom offhandedly. He knows what you’re playing at, the fact that it took him so long to realize it irks him to no end. He wouldn’t mind answering honestly and just telling you that yes, he does want you to stay, but the thought of giving into your bratty little antics this evening doesn’t sit quite right with him. 

Which is why he makes the conscious decision to ignore you as you move close enough to where your upper leg is now narrowly brushing his elbow, the shift causing him to mess up the tail end of another signature. Silco chances a glance towards the movement and regrets it almost immediately when he takes in the soft curve of your thigh, his cock twitching painfully at the sight.

He makes his second mistake when he follows the tantalizing trail of your body upwards and is met with the most unabashed, shit eating grin plastered across your face. He has to force himself to look away, the hand not holding his pen coming up to drag his long fingers back and forth across his mouth as he contemplates the idea of sending you away all together, leaving you pouty and disappointed. And for a moment he comes close to doing just that, until he makes the grave error of risking a glance up at your face again.

You’re not smiling anymore, expression replaced by something far more lustful and serious. Silco simply stares as your tongue slides out to pull your bottom lip in between your teeth before gently nudging his elbow with your knee. He doesn’t hesitate in dropping his arm to offer you the space in front of him, and you slide over gracefully. He stays perfectly still while you plant a foot atop each of the armrests of his ornate chair, knees pressed tightly together.

He finally responds to your earlier question with one of his own. 

“What would possibly give you that idea?” His voice is light and teasing, all traces of anger gone. “You’ve been nothing short of a nightmare all evening, love. And now this?” Fingertips come up to stroke the side of your calf, humming appreciatively.  “What am I going to do with you?”

This earns Silco a wide, toothy grin as you scoot forward. “Whatever do you mean? I’m just sitting here.”

“Don't be coy with me, sweetheart.” He leans forward, breath fanning over your knees as he speaks. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” knees parting just barely, “to answer my question.”

Silco pushes his tongue against his cheek in minor annoyance before sliding both hands up your legs and over your knees, then back down until he reaches your hips. He grips firmly at the supple flesh and yanks you closer towards him, eliciting a sharp squeak followed by a string of giggles.

“I think you might be the most aggravating creature I’ve ever had the displeasure of courting.”

Your face adorns a look of mock appreciation. “Awe, thank you!”

Slender hands travel back up to your knees. “Truly just a tantalizing little menace.” He waits for you to part them further, granting him the access he’s so desperately craving. “One that I’m both drawn to and irritated by all at once.”

Your smile is nothing short of haughty, as if you’re truly taking everything he’s telling you as a compliment. “Well now you’ve really got me hot and bothered,” you shoot back, knees moving further away from each other until you’re spread all the way open for him.

Although spoken in a sarcastic tone, Silco sees that your words are in fact true, his eyes taking in the sight of your already dripping cunt.

“Indulge me, sweetheart,” he says, one hand coming up to trace the backs of your thighs with his knuckles, causing goosebumps to decorate your soft skin. “Why the need to be so difficult tonight?” 

You shiver at the touch, bottom lip still tucked between your teeth as he brings a thumb up to stroke lazily over your pussy. 

“J-just for fun,” you retort, but your voice doesn’t hold the same conviction. “Wanted to see..how long it would take.”

“How long what would take?”

The laugh you let out is shaky at best, but there’s still a bit of confidence left when you answer. “For you to ask me to stay.”

It only takes about half a second before Silco’s thumb pushes into your core and his tongue cards a long, hot stripe along your folds. The noise you make spurring him on further as his mouth envelopes your clit, giving it a harsh suck before pulling away with a satisfying wet plop sound.

“I don’t recall asking anything of the sort,” he chides, sliding his thumb back out. “If memory serves me correctly, you came into my office several times practically demanding my attention.”

Silco punctuates his last few words by pushing two fingers into you, pulling another sharp inhale from your lips as he turns his palm to face upward and curls them inside of you.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” he starts, bringing his thumb to circle against your now swollen clit, drawing a long whine out of you as you work your hips against him. “..that perhaps I attempt to send you away in order to finish with my tasks quickly, just so I can get back to doting on you with said attention? Selfish little creature.”

Your eyebrows pinch together, speaking between shallow breaths. “You.. could have just.. said that.. you know.”

Silco smirks, watching you look back at him with a pair of pleading eyes. “And deny myself the pleasure of seeing your lovely pouts and open displays of petulance?” He adds a third finger. “I think not.” 

“Silco,” you whine, “please.”

His cock twitches in response, and he doesn’t waste any time bringing his mouth back down to your bud and swirling his tongue around it lavishly while his fingers twist and turn inside of you. He watches you throw your head back, one of your hands snaking upwards to grip the edge of the desk above your head, the other coming to latch onto the top of his head hard as you roll your hips against him. 

“There, that’s it,” he coos, “show me how eager you are. Use me.” 

This draws another string of small gasps and moans from you, coupled with lewd, wet, slurping sounds as Silco continues to lap and suck at your clit, bringing his free hand to grip your thigh and anchor you to him. The strain in his pants grows increasingly more painful when you sigh his name affectionately, followed by a noise of protest when he removes his fingers from you all together in an effort to tug at intricate buttons of his trousers, freeing his aching cock and palming himself to the sight of your ruined state. 

Your arousal coating his fingers serves as a welcome lubricant for him to stroke himself languidly, relishing in the feeling of you bucking up into him, using him to chase your own end. His licks are hot and thorough, leaving no part of your heat untouched.

“Yes,” Silco groans into you, “just like that.”  

Your other hand comes down to unbutton your top, cupping and squeezing at one of your breasts, and he knows you’re close by the way you’re begging and pleading above him. The sound of your voice feeds into his determination, letting go of his cock in order to wrap both arms around your thighs, securing you in place and devouring you like a starved man.

The way you cry out his name while your walls flutter around his tongue has him reeling, mismatched eyes boring into you, watching your orgasm in complete reverence as your fluids run down his chin.

“Good girl,” Silco sighs, his movements slowing down to let you ride out your climax. “You always make such sweet sounds for me.” 

Your legs tremble and the vicelike grasp you have on his hair loosens before you slump back down onto his desk, words barely managing to come through your short and labored breaths.

“Could've been making them a lot earlier if you’d…stop trying to kick me out.”

A hint of a smile creeps up on his face as he presses small, feather light kisses up the backs of your thighs, leaving glistening spots of your slick behind in their wake. “You know, it is possible to keep your unsolicited remarks to yourself every once in a while.”

Yours breaks into a devious grin that tugs at his heart without mercy. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” 

“Mmm, point taken.” 

Silco stands to turn your body so that you’re taking up the full length of his desk before climbing up onto it and bracing himself with a hand on either side of your head. His length bobs thick and heavy with need, bringing it to rest against your slit.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You roll your hips against him needily, coating his cock with your arousal. “Maybe.”

“You drive me absolutely mad,” he growls, voice dripping with carnal hunger as he pushes your legs up against your chest once again, lining himself up with your entrance. And it’s the way you're looking up at him with your lip tucked in between your teeth in anticipation, the slight inward curl of your eyebrows in an almost pleading expression that has him pushing into you in one, smooth buck forward, making you gasp as he bottoms out inside of you.

Silco sees your eyes roll back, and he has to physically stop himself from doing the same. He wants to see it all, wants to see your blissed out expression while he fucks you, wants to see all the different ways he can make you come undone beneath him.

You make a pitiful attempt at stifling a moan, one that ultimately fails when Silco starts to rock his hips against yours, pulling them back slowly and savoring the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls before driving them forward with a sharp, pointed thrust. But he’s right there with you, exhaling a throaty groan at the feeling of your walls engulfing him so deliciously, the sensation being nothing short of divine.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he whispers, lowering his head and tilting it to place gentle kisses along your jawline before nipping at your earlobe. “Like we were made for each other.”

The breathy whine this elicits causes him to straighten himself upright again, picking up his pace steadily, and soon the room is filled with the obscene, wet smacking of skin against skin as Silco begins to pump into you with feral-like need. He readjusts your legs so that your calves are hooked over his shoulders, letting him fuck you so much deeper. 

You’re a mess of broken pleas beneath him, and he clings to every single one, a symphony meant solely for him and him alone. Silco watches you with wholly, unabashed devotion as your face twists and contorts in pleasure, pleasure that only he can bring you. And though he wants to feel like he’s still in control, he knows deep down he’s equally ruined by what you do to him, maybe even more so. His seafoam eye glazes over, and strands of hair fall loosely around his face as he ruts into you. 

You reach up and try to put your arms around his neck, but the position your legs are in only allow you to claw at his shoulders helplessly. “S-silco, please..”

“Oh? I see someone’s finally learned some manners,” he taunts.

The huff of annoyance you let out amuses him more than he’d care to admit, “For fuck’s sake, Sil. Let me hold you.”

“Demanding thing,” he scolds, but gives into your ‘request’ regardless, lowering your legs just enough so that your knees fall to the side and hook over his forearms, letting you wrap your arms around his neck with open urgency. And now you’re pulling him down and holding him there, like the waters he'd nearly drowned in.

Silco’s jaw goes slack as he turns his head and pants in your ear like some wild beast, whose sole purpose is to bring you to your end. Like it was all he was ever made for. Your head turns to meet his lips with your own, and he tries to keep some semblance of restraint while he kisses you, but he can’t, not with you. It’s hungry and sloppy, full of exceeding desperation. 

He breaks the kiss reluctantly to make his way down to your neck, lips and tongue moving against the delicate flesh and littering your throat with marks of all kinds, leaving no room for anyone to question who you belong to. “Mine,” Silco snarls possessively in between sucks and bites.

He's about to pull away when one of your hands slides up to the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and locking him in place, begging for more, more, more, and Silco’s more than happy to oblige. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger so tightly, and this realization both excites and ruins him as he begins to ram everything he has into you with new purpose.

“Oh fuck, Silco. Right there,” you cry out, voice becoming raspy and hoarse from your continuous gasps in between moans. 

"Yes, that's it. Show me how much you want this, how much you need this," he huffs out through gritted teeth, trying to establish some form of dominance once again, but it's no use when he realizes his words are just as applicable to him as they are to you.

He forgoes his hold on your legs, letting them fall to your sides briefly before wrapping them around his waist. Your eyes flutter shut and your head starts to loll to the side, but Silco grabs your jaw quickly and forces you to look directly at him.

“None of that, darling. I want you to look at me when you come undone,”  His breath comes out ragged and primal. “You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

You nod frantically in response, eyes drifting downward to stare at his mouth, like a silent plea. He takes the hint without delay, squishing your cheeks together until your lips form a small pout before leaning down to kiss you fervently. His tongue swirls around yours, hot and wanting, before he pulls away just enough for him to pant into your open mouth, his connecting to yours by the thinnest string of saliva. 

Silco can sense your second orgasm approaching rapidly, and he brings his fingers towards your lips. You take the hint right away, wrapping them around his digits and sucking on them lavishly. Once he’s satisfied enough, he removes them and snakes his hand down through your intertwined bodies, settling for the bundle of nerves located between your legs.

Your moans increase in pitch, arms and legs squeezing even tighter around him as he works you with skilled flicks of his wrist.

“You’ve endured this so well, my love,” he whispers against your ear, voice laced with unrestrained hedonism and resolve. “Let’s reward all that effort of yours tonight, shall we?”

His question is rhetorical, but you nod so eagerly for him nonetheless as your walls begin to pulsate, clenching so unbelievably tight around him you’re practically pushing his cock out, nearly sending him over the edge himself.  

“That’s my girl,” he sighs with heavy grit and worship. “You feel incredible.”  

Silco’s face comes back up to hover over yours, looking directly into your eyes while he fucks you through your climax, his own looming closer and closer. He leans down to kiss you, swallowing your labored breaths greedily as his thrusts begin to stagger before coming to a complete halt, his pelvis flush against yours as his cock twitches obscenely within your heat. He lets out a harsh, guttural moan right into your mouth as he spills into you, your walls continuing to milk him with stuttered squeezes, and he has to pull away sharply to exhale a series of delirious gasps. 

Your chests heave against one another, waves of pleasure slowly dissipating as your sweat soaked bodies stay interlocked. Silco shifts slightly, bringing his hands to stroke the top of your head lazily with his fingertips. His forehead comes to rest against yours as he places soft, tender kisses along your cheeks, your eyes, your lips, anything within reach.

He’s rewarded with a giggle, followed by a dopey little grin.

“You know,” you say as your breaths finally return to normal. “I just remembered the other reason you try to send me away while you work.”

Silco already knows the answer, but you punctuate your words anyway by wiggling your ass, causing the sound of his paperwork shuffling beneath you, followed by a light yelp as he smacks your bottom lightly. 

“Impossible little wench,” he chastises, lifting himself off of you and being greeted once again by the sight of the thing you keep referring to as a ‘skirt’. He grabs the edge of it with his fingertips, holding it up like it was a cursed object. “Where in Janna’s name did you even get this from?”

You bark out a laugh before propping yourself up hastily to look down at it with pride. “Ran let me borrow it.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Borrow it,” he repeats, “as in you have every intention of giving it back to them?”

You stare at him for a moment, no doubt mulling over your answer.

“...No?”

Silco smirks at your response before leaning in. “Good girl. Besides, I think we may find many more uses for it still.”

Your eyes widen with child-like wonder, but for the entirely wrong reason. “Oh, so you’ll wear it for me, too?”

He stares back at you blankly, blinking several times before rolling his eyes almost theatrically, earning him another small fit of laughter as he finally graces you with a response.

“Whatever pleases you, I suppose.” 

[theclaravoyant]

boyfriend material ~ a 7x06 bucktommy coda (T)

AN ~ inspired by this post ... ~1200 words of shamelessly self indulgent domestic bucktommy fluff

-

“I'm sorry we couldn't stay,” Tommy says again, as Evan helps him through the door. Going on hour thirty-something awake – and a pretty strenuous thirty something at that - is taking its toll, but his heart still flutters when Evan laughs.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Evan promises. “All the reception stuff's been pushed anyways. Tonight, I'm all yours.”

A smile lifts Tommy's weary lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Evan pauses a moment, hooked under his arm, to gaze admiringly with his beautiful blues. He likes the sound of that too, and he leans up on his toes to press a tantalising a kiss to Tommy's lips – a promise to pick up where they had left off earlier, but not right now.

“You want to shower first or eat first?”

“Uh...” What he wants is to collapse into a heap in the entry way and sleep like a log for the next several days. But Evan is right: if he doesn't eat something (other than that beautiful, light, fluffy, sugary cake), he'll be sick, and it's not like he can sleep in his turnouts anyway (although his heavy eyelids beg him to make an attempt).

“How about this,” Evan proposes. “You shower. I'll make us something to eat. Where's your bathroom?”

The words on the tip of his tongue are, you don't have to stay, but Evan is already leading him through the living area and toward the hall. His shoulders are steady bearing Tommy's weight. It's been a long time since he let himself lean on somebody like this.

“Second on the left.”

Evan steers them in and still doesn't leave. He helps Tommy shrug off his jacket and turnout pants, and heave off the boots Tommy's tired feet have swollen into. He turns the tap onto a hot, steamy setting and blasts it, then presses a drink bottle into Tommy's hands. “Get some electrolytes in you, too,” he insists. “When did you...” You know what, never mind. Tommy unscrews the lid and all but swallows the bottle in one go. It sends a tingle through him – he did not realise how dehydrated he was. It's also a little lemony, which is a nice touch. The lemon ones are his favourite.

“Take your time,” Evan instructs. “Dinner will be waiting when you get out. I'm right here if you need me.”

Only then does he finally peel away, leaving Tommy to extricate himself from his remaining sweat-slicked inner layers of clothing and stumble into the sweet beckoning call of the shower. With the help of the steam and citrus scrub he begins to wash the day – days? - off himself. It's a familiar ritual as the sirens and screaming and falling trees and the stench of melting asphalt fall away and leech out of his pores and wash down the drain. Even his head feels a little clearer, his limbs a little lighter by the time he's done and ready for the less familiar part... an enticing smell from the kitchen, something involving garlic, lime and chilli? His mouth waters.

-

Buck beams as a soft, clean Tommy pads back out into the kitchen in the soft, clean pyjamas he'd laid out for him. His soft, clean curls are even starting to puff back up already, and the promise of a meal has put a bit of pep back in his step.

“Feel better?” Buck asks. “You have no idea.” Tommy hums in satisfaction, deep and rumbling in his chest as he pulls Buck in for another kiss. Buck takes a deep breath and the musky deodorant that's meant to smell like some kind of forest – one that isn't on fire – makes his head spin. He very much does have an idea of Tommy's relief, is the thing, and the bone-tiring, soot-drenching work and the power of good old citrus scrub is something nobody he's ever dated can really understand. If Tommy's knees weren't about to drop out from under him, Buck thinks, he might just climb the man like a tree. But not tonight.

“You like stir fry?”

“God, yes.” Tommy all but snatches the proffered bowl. He moans as the first delicious mouthful forces him to savour it. It's positively indecent, but he's so hungry he's going to puke, so he continues between enthusiastically shovelled mouthfuls - “This. Is incredible. Where'd you learn to cook like this?”

Buck can feel himself blushing and puffing his chest up with pride at the same time. He humble-brags the best he can about how Bobby's taught him everything he knows. And about that one time he worked a kitchen in Phuket and learnt this killer Thai chilli sauce recipe. Tommy likes spicy food too apparently and jumps in with a story about how he, Chim and the other 118 crew back in the day had once challenged each other to eat prik kee noo and ended up with all of them (or as Hen would later correct it, all of them stupid enough to try) weeping over various sinks. It's easy, regaling each other back and forth and laughing until both of them are fed and blood sugar stabilised and Tommy's had as much water as he dares force through his poor kidneys. Still, the day they've had bleeds back through eventually – not least because Tommy sways dangerously with exhaustion on his way back from the bathroom, and Buck takes this as his cue to make his exit. He offers for Tommy to text when he's up, for a lift to Harbor for his truck, to do the dishes sometime the next day, but Tommy counter-offers;

“Stay.”

Yes. Buck's already thinking about what to make for breakfast tomorrow. Or today. Or whatever it is. But he manages -

“Are you... sure?”

“Evan,” Tommy scolds, with a fond, fatigue-addled smile on his face. “You've been up over a day and a half too, you know. And no, passing out in Chim's hotel room doesn't count. Frankly, it would be counter to my sworn oath to let you drive home. Please. Come to bed.”

“Oh, well, if it's for the greater good...”

They didn't get a wedding dance, but there's something of a whisper of it in the way Tommy reaches his hand out to lace his fingers through Buck's and draw him into the bedroom. It's so pleasantly dark in here on burning eyes, and the pillow is so blissfully cool on Tommy's face, that by the time Buck has kicked off his shoes and pulled his belt from its loops the time for any more flirting or kissing or talking has well and truly passed. Nevertheless, he smiles to himself, and settles in beside Tommy, and finally falls asleep to the sound of gentle snoring.

[thelittlestoflives]

The Cook and the Chronicler

just another lil instalment in my sanji x chronicler!reader series!! in which the rest of the crew finds out about the two of them hehe

tell me what you guys think!! the love you've shown for my other two silly fics has brought me more joy than you know

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

sanji x strawhat!reader

no warnings unless you don't like swearing lolll, couple uses of YN, just self indulgent fluff

wc: 2k

“I don’t get it,” the swordsman grunted as the two of you sparred on deck. 

“You’re gonna have to narrow that down for me,” you say through panting breaths, Zoro never was one for taking it easy on you. “I’m sure there’s lots you don’t get.”

He barked out a laugh, narrowing his eyes and sweeping your feet out from under you. You landed with a soft oof. 

“You and that damn chef. That’s what I don’t get.” 

You lay on your back trying to catch your breath. “What’s to get?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. He’s just so annoying I don’t know how you can stand to spend time with him.”

You sat up with a small groan and looked at your crewmate with a frown. “Who says I spend time with him?”

Zoro rolled his eyes but held out his hand to help you, which you gratefully accepted, taking a sip of water once you were standing. 

“Oh, come off it, Chronicler. Do you think I’m stupid?” And upon seeing the smirk on your face followed up with: “Don’t answer that, you little shit.” 

You crossed your arms and looked up at him. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

At this stage, you and Sanji didn’t exactly have a label for what you were. Sure, you spent most (all) of your nights curled up beside him and sure, your eyes always looked for him no matter the situation you and your crew found yourselves in, but like… It wasn’t anything of concern for anyone else.

“It’s not like I care or anything,” Zoro countered, copying your stance. “But we’ve all noticed that curly brows is less…” 

“Flamboyantly flirty?” You offer.

“Irritating, annoying, insufferable, enough that I could gouge my other eye out. But not by much.”

It was true that Sanji had become a more subdued version of himself. No longer did he feel any desire to flirt shamelessly with Robin, Nami, or any beautiful women they came across on various islands. That’s because he had you. Why on earth would his attentions divert anywhere else?

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “For someone who never shuts up, you’ve gone very quiet.” 

“Well, ever thought maybe you’ve just gone soft and you actually might like the guy?”

He snorted. “No.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. Don’t see what business of yours it is anyway.”

He had a complete shit-eating grin on his face. “Struck a nerve, have I?”

“Shut up!”

“You’re in love with the waiter!”

You glare at him, but all witty comebacks die on your tongue. After all, he wasn’t wrong. You stuck your tongue out at him and flipped him off which he scoffed at, and made your way to the bathroom to wash your sweaty, post-training body. 

Before you could step out of the bathroom, however, your way was blocked by an arm. “So, were you ever gonna tell me or did I have to find out from Usopp?!” Nami looked at you half-glaring, half-smirking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you feign innocence, drying your hair with your towel.

“Hey! I thought we were friends!” She actually looked kind of hurt, and a pang of guilt jolted you. “I wish you came to me at the start!”

“Nami, you know I adore you, right?” 

She nods.

“And if I had come to you and said I was seeing Sanji, would you or would you not have tried to talk me out of it?”

She paused, thinking. “Okay, yeah. I probably would’ve. So?!”

“What do you mean ‘so’?!” 

Nami sighed. “Fair enough, I guess. But… Urgh, why him? Of all people! I love him like I love all of the crew but… Him? And besides, I thought you said you had sworn off of romance!”

You at least had the decency to look bashful. “Yeah, I did say that. Trust me, I didn’t plan for this. We just... I dunno, we see each other. Like, really see each other.”

“Ugh.” She pinched her nose and sighed. “Well, if nothing else, you both do seem happier. And he’s not as… Sanji-esque anymore, so I suppose that’s something.”

“See!” You said brightly, hugging her despite her protests that your hair was too wet. “Only good things can come of this, right? Now, if you excuse me, I think I need to have a little word with Usopp…”

“He’s up on deck with Chopper. Don’t go easy on him,” she grins, everything forgiven. “He’s telling everyone.”

Hair still wet, you march above deck to have a word with Mr Shit-Stirrer himself.

“Usopp!” You yell. There’s the sound of feet scrambling. “You can’t hide, you know.”

He steps out looking shameful. “Oh, hi YN. I wasn’t hiding at all, I promise! If I wanted to hide you’d never find me.”

Chopper came out behind him, looking confused. “Then why did you say ‘quick, I gotta hide’?”

Usopp laughed nervously. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”

“But, you did! Is it because you’re telling everyone you saw Sanji and-” 

Usopp swiftly pushes Chopper away, much to the little reindeer’s dismay.

You groan and cross your arms. “What are you telling everyone?”

He crossed his arms defiantly too. “Nothing.”

“Usopp…” You warn.

“I’m not telling anyone anything that isn’t true!”

Chopper came back over and hid behind your legs. “He says he saw you two kissing in the kitchen last night,” he giggled. 

Your face flushed red. “Did he now? Thank you, Chopper.” You pat his head and he looks gleefully at Usopp who is glaring daggers at him.

He probably did see you kissing in the kitchen last night. It had been a few months since the two of you had started having your little midnight rendezvous, and you were definitely being less careful. It was kind of impressive how the others had only now started to notice.

“Well, I did!” Usopp protests.

“And you had to tell everyone?!” You hiss.

He cowers at your tone, beginning to look guilty. “I’m sorry YN! Forgive me!” 

“We’ll see,” you say before heading back to the girls’ quarters. You can hear Chopper and Usopp bickering behind you.

You enter the room with a sigh, leaning against the door. Robin sits on her bed reading a book.

“YN?” She asks with concern. “What’s wrong? Is it because Usopp is telling everyone about you and Sanji?” 

You bang your head against the door. “So he told you too then?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’ve known for a while.”

You gape at her. “Uh… What?”

“I heard you creeping out at night and saw Sanji bringing you back to bed one morning. Plus, he’s been slightly, hmm, less…”

“Less Sanji, so I’ve heard,” you sigh again. 

“Why does it matter if everyone knows?” she asks as she closes her book.

You sit down on your bed and face her. “It doesn’t. I don’t know. It just felt very… Special. Secret. It only belonged to us, and now it belongs to everyone.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I see. So it feels less sacred now? Like you’re sharing it with everyone else?”

“I guess so.” 

“Have you spoken to him about it?”

You shake your head.

“Well, I suggest you go to the kitchen and talk about it with him. He might make you feel better.” 

“You’re right, as usual,” you stand up and check yourself in the mirror. “I can’t believe you’ve known this whole time and didn’t say a word.” 

She smiles slyly. “You’d be amazed at the things I know and don’t tell.” 

“You’re scary, I love that.” 

For whatever reason, you were nervous on that walk to the kitchen. You could hear the sound of knives chopping and Sanji humming to himself as you stood at the door, trying to build the courage to enter. With a breath, you push the door open.

The blonde chef turned around, ready to yell at Luffy for trying to come in before dinner was ready, his face softening exponentially as he saw it was you.

“Mon amour!” he said in a hushed voice, moving towards you to press a kiss to your head. His sleeves were rolled up at the elbow and he looked the way he did when he got lost in his cooking. 

“Hey, Sanj,” you greet him, nerves dissipating as you look up into his face.

“Come, you have to try this!” He grabbed your hand and pulled you to the stove, lifting a spoon up to your mouth. As always, it was delicious and you made sure he knew.

His face brightened so much you thought he might burst. “So, sweetheart, what’s on your mind?” He asks, brushing your hair off your face. He could read you so well now.

“Well… Usopp saw us in the kitchen last night and told everyone so now they all know about us,” you say, inwardly cringing. “And I don’t know how I feel about it.”

Sanji’s face fell slightly. “I see. Are you…” He cleared his throat. “Embarrassed? Of… Me?” 

Your face twisted into one of horror. “Oh god, no! No! Not at all!” You reach up to hold his face, looking into his eyes. “I could never be embarrassed of you. Don’t be silly, Sanj!” 

You could’ve cried at the look of relief on his face.

“I don’t know how I feel about it because it was so special and uniquely ours, and now it’s some bit of gossip. I just feel like… What we have is so… It transcends anything, and it feels a disservice for it to be spoken about by anyone else.” You’re still holding his face gently, rubbing small circles with your thumb, his hands settled on your waist.

His face blossomed into a lovesick expression, and he looked like he might swoon. “I never tire of hearing how you feel about me,” he murmurs. “It blows me away every time.” His hands creep from your waist to your back as he peppers your face with kisses. “You really feel so strongly for me that the thought of others knowing hurts you. Mon cherie, I will never understand why you chose me, but will forever be grateful.” 

All your concerns floated away like dandelions in the wind. Why would you ever be worried that others knowing would take away from what you had with this man? 

“Let them know,” he proclaimed softly into your hair as he pressed another kiss. “Let them all know! Let every damn pirate crew know of the Strawhat Cook and Chronicler. Let them sing songs about our love for generations to come. In fact, I want everyone in this shitty world to know!” He picked you up and twirled you around as you laughed. He raised his voice. “Hear that, everyone? Me and YN are together!”

He put you down and put his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“My darling YN… No one else matters to me, but you. That said,” he kissed your nose softly. “God, I’m glad everyone knows you’re mine.”

His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss, hot and desperate. His mouth was greedy, time slowed down around you both, as it always did. Your hands tangled in his hair and he groaned into your mouth,

“Sanjiiii, I’m hungry!” Came a whine behind the two of you as you both whipped around. “Oh, hey YN. Anyway, when’s dinner? I think I’m going to die of hunger.”

“GET OUT!” Sanji yelled, reaching behind him and throwing an empty pot in Luffy’s direction. “It’s ready when it’s ready!” 

Luffy pouts and leaves the room. You and Sanji turn to look at each other, faces flushed both from the kiss and being caught. Then you both burst into laughter, and once again he pulled you to him.

“I love you, Sanj,” you whisper.

His eyes well with tears of joy, your sweet, lovesick cook.

“I love you more, darling YN.”

[realisticjupiter]

Can I request Arisu with a super clingy/perhaps touch starved s/o? (This is shamelessly self indulgent of me, I want to hold the fluffy-haired gamer boy).

you're real for this one anon

Summary: Teasing Arisu while he's on the game.

Genre: Pure fluff !

Pairing: pre-borderlands Arisu x gn!touch-starved!reader

Warnings: Lap sitting, idk that's kinda it....

Word count: 578

You and Arisu had been living together after the first time his dad kicked him out. He didn't bother trying to win him back, he just wandered off while trying to find someone close to take him in.

Karube was the one that informed you of his situation, you had a decent sized apartment so you didn't see why Arisu couldn't live with you.

It's been a few months since then. You've grown closer. Sorta dating, but just to 'try it out'. You're not sure what it is though, you've grown to really like him. All you want to do is touch him, please him; anything to make him happy.

You were lying on his bed while watching him play like every other day after work. It was relaxing and quite funny to see him pissed off after he dies.

You couldn't help but let your thoughts race, wanting to just ease his tensed up muscles and replace them with something, anything else.

Lying on his bed, was a choice. Watching him play, was a choice.

A choice you chose to be closer to him. In your head, when you think about him, he's yours and someone you've become dependent on to help you relax.

You slid off of his bed and stood behind him as he played. Your hands fell onto his shoulders, causing him to jump a little but quickly going back to focus.

You lightly squeezed his shoulders, pushing on all the knots he may have made throughout the day.

"I--Mm.. What--what are you doing?" Arisu asked, his body almost melting to your touch.

"I don't know." You admitted, sliding your hands down his body to his chest, resting your head on his shoulders.

His body shivered to your touch, not knowing how to focus when you're constantly touching him.

"You missed a guy." You stated, your eyes on his game.

"No I didn't." He shook his head, trying to sound confident but his voice was betraying him with a voice crack.

"Did to. You need to learn how to focus better, Arisu. He was right in front of you." You began in a short whisper, your mouth right next to his ear.

"I can't focus when you're..." He mumbled with a soft groan.

"When I'm what?" You smiled, watching his eyes fight everything to not look at you.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, but no answer.

"I like touching you, Arisu. Is that such a crime?" You mumbled, almost in defeat when you watched his features; studying them.

He stayed silent again, instead he just turned his head to finally look you in the eyes. The same eyes that were filled with either innocence or mischief; it was hard to tell with you.

You smiled at him, lifting your head and walking around his chair to be in front of him. Before he could protest, and complain you were blocking his view. You got into his lap, nuzzling your face into his neck and wrapping your arms around his torso.

"Where did you say the other guy was?" He mumbled quietly, trying to adjust himself to be more comfortable.

"In the subway." You replied, taking in his scent and smiling against his skin.

He smiled too, he had been wanting you to do this. To sit on his lap as he played to be closer, but was far too afraid. He loved you, even if he didn't know it yet.

reposts and comments are appreciated<3

[n3ptoonz]

Idk man, I think I’m gonna need to see you write how Raiden, Kenshi, Syzoth, Tomas, and Liu Kang behave when giving and receiving body worship 😏

oh...oh 😏

first half is bullet points and the second is blurbs bc my brain likes to stop working for some reason

suggestive, fluff elements under the cut, THIS WAS SO HARD TO FORMAT HOLY i'm sorry for taking so long!1!1?3? i hope this isn't ass🗿

When giving body worship:

Raiden

is nervous at first. so many things he wants to say, so many things he wants to do. you'd have to guide him at first but he quickly takes over as he gets the hang of it

he'd have you facing him because he wants to start from head to toe, taking extra time inspecting your face and kissing all over it

i can see him going as far as kneeling to get into what he likes about your lower body starting at your torso. if you have some type of tummy going on he's gonna sit there and knead at you like a cat (totally not self indulgent 😹)

Kenshi

makes it his mission. i'm referring back to my kenshi fic with this cause there's body worship in it

it don't matter what you look like or how secure/insecure you are in regards to your body, he's having you stand in front of a mirror and will shamelessly glide his soft tatted hands over the exact parts he adores

he praises you the entire time. physicality, personality, the things you do for him, how you've personally helped him and didn't realize, every. single. thing.

Syzoth

gets lost in the moment. i feel like he's a very emotional guy and lover to the point where he would prob almost cry (yall saw how fast he fell to his knees in the story) talking about the things he adores about you

don't even get him started on your body. he doesn't really understand the concept of body image, but he got the idea to worship yours because he found it so unique. like he's genuinely intrigued

expect him to leave bite barks on the places he likes the most, it's how his folks show love. his eyes would be sparkling and everything

Tomas

whispers sweet nothings. he LOVES giving body worship. he was always the kind of person who admired others quickly, and that especially included you

he's whispering/murmuring all types of cute things in your ear as you rock back in forth in his strong arms (lord god help me) whether you're facing him or not. "...to your lips, oh how i love your lips..." is definitely the cadence he's going for

it's actually pretty funny to think about him innocently talking about your body and innocently touching/grabbing at certain parts and then gets to like your ass and he's like "and this ass of yours...i could never grow tired of it." like 😭 what happened to pretty eyes mister?! (kidding you can say that again 😝)

Liu Kang

knows exactly what to do. If you're lying down, there's no part of your body that goes without a kiss. i mean literally no part of your body

he loves every single part of it, and he makes sure you understand that without a doubt. he'll make comments about almost everything

it surprises you sometimes how he's able to come up with such sentiments for something as simple as a knee or elbow, but it surely gets the job done

When receiving body worship:

Raiden is super shy. Whether you copy what he did or if it was for the first time and you gave him praise the whole time, he's a nervous wreck. It happened while you were straddling him and telling him how impressed you were with the work he put into his body, running your hands down his bare chest and peppering kisses all over him. The deep blush on his cheeks weren't nearly enough to tell you how much he appreciated you and your kind words.

Kenshi went from shy to letting his ego get fed a little bit. He values physical touch and quality time so much, and this was the perfect combination. He obviously wasn't expecting this, so at first he playfully brushed it off. Then once you started to really show and tell what you liked about him, you could see his eyebrow raise and the smirk on his face grow. He'd hold your face or hips while you did it, just to keep himself grounded and in the moment.

Syzoth didn't know what to do. He just...stood there. You could see the visible shock on his face, but clearly this was only because things like this didn't happen in the Zaterran world. Especially when you'd worship literally both forms, this is a newfound concept to him. Normally people are afraid of his natural form. But no, you showing love to all of him brought happy tears to his eyes.

Tomas was also very shy. He's confident in his abilities and clearly took the time to perfectly sculpt his own body for combat, but he never really thought about his own looks. So your intense focus and worship towards his physical appearance had him in awe. To the point of littering hickeys on the parts of his body nobody would be able to see but him made him all giddy and excited in and outside. In fact, he'd ask you to do this more often!

Liu Kang didn't really know how to respond at first. He appreciated your efforts, really. You decided to surprise him after you hadn't seen him in a while. He'd smile down at you using some of his techniques and kissing down his body starting from his forehead. Eventually he gets used to your way of showing affection and you'll physically see him melt under your touch.

[hetaherr]

scent of tomorrow

: childe, thoma, wriothesley, kazuha, wanderer

: fluff, a little angst if u squint, all about smells

super self indulgent, literally thought of this in the shower lmao okay bye happy reading and reblog to win your 5050s <3

childe

scent is one of the senses you should put to use when childe is around. it is known to see and to feel is a privilege given that the man is often travelling in his line of work. but i implore you to not take smell for granted, for in his abscence all that shall be left in your home is the scent of his presence. you find yourself sinking into the cold and empty bed, the smell of him freshly out the shower will waft through the room, eventually dissipating in the following days. you remember his muscular arms wrapping around you shamelessly, a cheeky smile adorning his tired face as he begins to tickle you. take a whiff and it smells of water, clean and refreshing, it's slightly minty and it feels pristine. there are floral notes like the orange blossom, you can make out the innocence and playfulness- much like the purity that is his love for you. it's weird how the first time you met childe, the air was grim and smelled strongly of metal. it isn't hard to guess why, he looked intimidating and seemed far away. but now he was yours, all you can think about is how much you miss his joyful and refreshing antics- much like the aroma he brings and makes any space immediately feel like home.

thoma

though far away, you often find yourself transported into the charming yet quaint town of mondstadt. or at least what you pressume to be mondstadt. thoma smells like a freshly baked apple pie, vanilla and apple- and a little cinnamony as you've mentioned before. "my cinnamon boy" you will say while snugging into him on a cold rainy inazuma day, he feels warm and the smell of vanilla feels oddly comforting and relaxing. if you think about it he smells like walking into a kitchen with the oven on during christmas. he smells like the feeling of running fingers through your hair, cozy as you listen to him ramble about his day with the kamisato clan. it is the perfect feeling of nostalgia and pure comfort, the embodiment of fall. there is something so homely about his scent that makes you want to call your family or childhood friends again, he reminds you of the innocence of youth that is forever unattainable. he smells like the remembrance of the past and the security of the future that lies in his warm embrace.

wriothesley

there is something so on brand as you see those 3 in one soaps sitting so awkwardly in your shower, squeezed inbetween your fancy bottles of shower gels and all kinds of face and hair masks, body scrubs to keep yourself feeling clean. i suppose to this man, one bottle will do, and being clean is a 2 step process. however it's funny, he'll come home and a teasing grin will fall apon his face while chasing you around the living room- despite being exhausted from work- for a hug. "no hugs until you take a shower!" you can try shouting, squirming as he catches you. but trying is really all you can do. you can smell the musk that is his sweat, it's a little woody yet it makes you feel so very secure and safe- similar to the fortress he runs. a true sign of his hardwork, it may be a little gross as you return his hug- groaning as usual. but as he relishes in your touch, you can smell the lingering scent of that ridiculous soap he insists on using, it smells like jasmine. so pure and weirdly sensual as he tells you yet again that "i've missed you". its fascinating how his scent does such an accurate job at reminding you of his honesty in his work and in loving you. you may complain about his sweaty hugs and his odd taste in soaps but you do hope that the both of you stay in each other's embrace for just a little longer, before it's all washed away down the pipes.

kazuha

an honest laugh sounds across the beach, kazuha's hand unconsciously moving a piece of your hair away from your face as he listens to you speak. "you just smell different from how i imagined..." the sheepish remark sparks the feeling of surprise within his chest. when you first set eyes on the wandering samurai, the image of autumn and beautiful maple leaves falling from trees appears within your mind- a reasonable thought. but it couldn't be further from the truth. kazuha smells like summer, he smells like white musk and coconut. it's a little woody, fruity and floral at the same time, similar to his calm yet charming nature. it reminds you of the way he is able to remain so composed like the tranquil ocean while he manages to fluster you with his flowery words. at times you can faintly smell the sea breeze, salty and citrusy- but the scent comes and goes as does he, never staying in one spot for too long. under the sun as you lay with him atop a warm rock feeling the breeze, his scent is vast. one moment it feels like splashing in the ocean under the sun and the next it feels like watching the waves crash against the shore under the moonlight. he smells like the way you romanticise being at the beach, whether you are playing with your friends or sitting in a hammock, just watching and existing. be glad that everytime he is away, the beach will always feel like home.

wanderer

there is something so peaceful about waking up in the early mornings of spring, the crisp air and morning dew is something so miniscule yet so easy to love. but all you chose to look at is how his mouth is agape, brows slightly scrunched together, the motion of his chest falling and rising is the only thing moving in the still environment that surrounds you. at this moment as he wakes, you are greeted with the delightful aroma of lavender. unlike his usual stubborn and harsh behaviour, the scent of lavender only enhances how calm and tranquil it feels. it makes you laugh at how different his personalities seem throughout the day. his eyes narrow at you as his arm that drapes lazily across your waist pulls you closer. you can smell the aroma, surprised at how long it has lasted, you like how it reminds you of his devotion to you. there are times he smells like bergamot too. it smells like the sun, citrusy and a little playful. it dispells the shadows of despondency and anxiety, he smells like breathing the fresh air of morning walks. he smells like hanging the fresh laundry in the afternoon on a sunny yet windy day. the mixture of scents remind you of the elegance and purity that he is. a man capable of change and love, after being brought his sun.

[definitelynotshouting]

fic writer interview!

shamelessly yoinking from @karliahs bc this looks fun as hell to do :]

How many works do you have on AO3?

32 fics total, between my main and rough draft pseud!! which feels like a really small amount, honestly-- i think my private WIPs list is MUCH higher 😂😂😂😂 if we're counting my very first (and very abandoned) ao3 acct too, then that number is bumped up to 35!!

What's your total AO3 word count?

163,211, and a good 65k of that was written this year somehow??? according to my statistics ._. lowkey crazy to think about

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

paid for it with all of my blood (BNHA | 8,452)

at times so self destructive (BNHA | 4,554)

lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart) (HC/LIFE | 3,618)

or we can just have conversation (MSA | 1,834)

the art of rawgabbitry (BNHA | 1,609)

if youve been following me since my bnha fics in 2018 you deserve a veteran's discount

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i used to answer every single comment i got, honestly, unless it came by years after i posted it-- the only reason i dont as much anymore is because it gets REALLY overwhelming for me to respond to everyone after the initial barrage 😅😅 the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak etc etc. but i do read every comment and appreciate them SO SO MUCH, and whenever i find one particularly moving or want to just reassure people im still working on something i'll respond to those :]

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

not counting the wips that just never got finished and left off before their main shit could resolve, id say at times so self destructive (BNHA)-- i mean i LITERALLY ended it with izuku potentially dying 😭😭😭😭

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

tbh i dont think i write happy endings so much as i write hopeful, bittersweet, or open-ended ones-- i tend to like catharsis more than fluff when it comes down to it. but out of my fluff fics i think honey it's starting to storm (HC) is one of the genuinely sweetest ive written. my runner-ups on that would probably be when the smoke does finally pass (TMA) and or we could just have conversation (MSA) :]

Do you write crossovers?

not typically, and ive never published any, but i am definitely not immune to them 😂😂😂😂 i think my most niche crossover ive actually written (never to see the light of day) was a Nine Lives of Chloe King and Supernatural fic that was the definition of self-indulgent rot. only a little less niche than that was a Mortal Instruments and Supernatural crossover (theres a running theme here lol) lying in snippets on an ancient google doc in my oldest gmail acct. reread that one recently and its shockingly coherent for being written in like. 2016. id even call it decent (though theres a lot id change up if i were writing it now)

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

idk if it'd be considered hate but once i wrote a fic inspired by someone else's when i was very new to ao3, let them know (i didnt know about the "inspired by" option back then), and they got mad at me in my comments section because in their words, "its better than mine" 😭😭😭😭💥💥💥💥💥💥

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

YOU COULD SAY THAT

as for what kind, honestly whatever strikes my fancy-- usually character/relationship studies, or just a fun focus on character intimacy. love 2 be asexual<3 love 2 write asexual sex<3

i had a discussion with my qpp recently about how in all honesty the smut i write is pretty tame, its just the character emotions written behind it that makes it feel a bit deranged. smth smth scarian is a chemical explosion. u understand

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge!!!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yeppers!! the art of rawgabbitry (BNHA) received a translation to Russian, which i always found a bit funny because rawgabbitry is. one of my least favorite works ive ever written, if only for the type of comments it tended to receive back in the day 😭😭😭😭

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

ive never managed it honestly-- i get a bit precious about my process, which can make it hard to collaborate on that level. but its something ive always wanted to grow enough as a writer to try :]

What's your all-time favorite ship?

not so much of a singular OTP type of guy as i have favorite pairings per fandom im in-- that being said rn its scarian :P

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

pretty much all of my dsmp wips honestly. i may surprise myself someday, but for now i just have zero urge to actually finish any of them

What are your writing strengths?

like my pal karliahs im gonna rip these from the comments ive received 😅😅😅 but id definitely say imagery is my strongest skill!! i have a very strong imagination, and tend to see fic scenes as movie scenes in my head which i then transcribe into written format. id like to say im also really skilled at characterization and realistic dialogue that captures character voices very well!! and frankly i just love emotional realism so much i cant NOT write it, its always leaking into everything i do

What are your writing weaknesses?

i tend to get a little too funky and abstract with my descriptions sometimes-- that can work for some scenes, but grounding everything so that it feels more real and makes actual sense to the reader is something i often have to do on the second, third, and final passes

also to every person who has to crack open a thesaurus to understand what i write, i am so fucking sorry😭💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

no thoughts beyond if its not a language you're proficient in you should probably get that checked over by a native speaker, just in case :P

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

fairy tail..... ff.net was a dark place

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

crying sobbing wailing as i desperately beg my brain to start writing that post-canon siffrin and odile relationship study. unfortunately i dont think i can have more than one longfic on my docket at a time so it shrimply must wait

What's your favorite fic you've written?

to the surprise of absolutely nobody, i'd have say lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart) (HC/LIFE) :]

No obligation, but im tagging: @raichett, @kayawolfhorse, @boonbeenblade, @sillyfairygarden, and @grimfey !!! And anyone else who wants to do this ofc :]]]❤️❤️❤️❤️

[brighteststar707]

Daydreams

I’ve been trying to get used to writing again, so I thought I’d be self-indulgent and write about kissing my number one boy.

✦ Saeyoung x Reader (set during his route)

✦ Words: 1607

✦  Genre: Fluff

Here’s the thing: Seven really wants to kiss you.

Here’s the problem: he’s stuck in his dungeon of an office, a safe (but frustrating) distance away. Here’s another problem: he isn’t supposed to be kissing anyone, or even thinking about kissing anyone. As Vanderwood has reminded him several times, attachments are dangerous.

Even so, he wants to kiss you when you shamelessly flirt with him in the chatrooms and join in on his ridiculous pranks. He wonders what your smile would feel like pressed against his lips. It’s a good thing you can’t see how hard you make him blush.

Once or twice, you’ve called him up late at night and, in a tone more serious than he’s ever heard from you, told him that you hoped he was taking care of himself. How was he supposed to say that you’re in more danger than you think (thanks to him) and that he’d work himself to the point of exhaustion rather than see you get hurt?

He doesn’t. He does tell you a joke about how he’s the invincible God Seven, but even over the phone he can tell that you’re not convinced. When he hangs up, he rubs his aching eyes and wonders if you’d hold him if he asked nicely. If you’d kiss his temples and tell him that this headache, this stress, this exhaustion will pass.

It gets worse once he starts obsessively watching the cameras. He stares at his screen so intensely that he starts to see it behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. It’s all worth it, though, for the glimpses he catches of you when you leave the apartment. Surely, you must know that he’s always watching for you, because you often take the time to wave at the camera before you go. A little sign, just for him. It gives him butterflies every time you do it.

It’s a problem. He is supposed to be focusing on protecting you, and instead he’s fantasizing about what it would be like to be in that apartment with you. No hacking, no bomb, no threats. He’d be the Seven you like, not the liar Luciel who keeps nasty secrets. You’d still talk to him the way you do now, maybe with more cheeky flirting and less concern. 

Instead of obsessively watching the camera footage for the off chance that he’d get to see you for a second, he’d be there, sharing space with you. Maybe you’d mention that you’re out of groceries, that you needed to go out for more. And instead of staring at the screen intensely like he does, he’d walk you to the door.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d kiss you goodbye. He’d cup your face between his hands (you wouldn’t mind that the skin on his palms was callused), and gently bring you close to him. You’d smile at him, that smile he has only managed to see once or twice so far but has imprinted in his memory. And then, he’d kiss you.

It’s all very distracting. And embarrassing when Vanderwood comes back into his study and asks him why he’s so red.

Hey, even agents can dream. 

✦✧✦✧ 

  It’s not like he has never kissed anybody before. From the beginning the agency had made it pretty clear that he was to use all the tools at his disposal in order to achieve his goals. It didn’t take him long to realize they meant his body, too.

He could probably count all the kisses he has had, if he tried. But those kisses were different from what he pictures when he thinks of you. They were stolen in dark, hazy rooms, his mind was always elsewhere, trying to get to the next step of the plan. Most of those memories don’t feel like they belong to him at all, that’s how far he has dissociated himself from them.

So, really, it doesn’t matter how many people he has kissed. Nothing has ever felt like this before. His fantasies about kissing you leave him feeling hot and fuzzy. He fixates on every detail, lingers in the moment and wonders if you feel the same way. He isn’t sure what he wants the answer to be. 

  ✦✧✦✧

It’s funny how quickly things can change.

A week ago, Seven was sitting in the safe solitude of his office. He was in his element, protecting you the best way he knew how, and fully in denial of how quickly his feelings for you were growing.

It was easy, back then, to dream up fairy tales, knowing full well just how ridiculous they were. The thought of sharing the apartment with you was outlandish enough, let alone the idea of the two of you kissing. It was all just harmless daydreaming.

Turns out, those feelings were a lot more real than he had let himself believe. You were no longer an image on a screen, a voice through a phone, but a living, breathing person. You had cute little habits he never could have guessed at before, and you were frustratingly fixated on getting close to him.

Oh, and now you’re close. So impossibly close. With your arms resting on his shoulders, hands fiddling with the hair at the base of his neck, looking at him with such certainty in your eyes.

And oh, he really wants to kiss you.  

The strange sequence of events that led up to this point is one he still can’t piece together fully. Despite everything he said and did over the past few days, you still treated him with the same kindness you had always shown him. You somehow still want him, somehow seem to like him as much as he likes you.

His own hands rest uselessly by his sides, caught somewhere between the overwhelming need for you and the fear of what will happen if he gives in.

In all his fantasies, he was perfectly in control. His head was clear, his every movement intentional. He was the one holding you close, giving you that look you’re giving him now. However, he had failed to consider the overwhelming sensations that would cloud his head in the moment itself. The scent of you surrounding him completely, the intensity of your eyes studying his face, the burning in his cheeks.

The world is shifting on its axis, and it’s a wonder he’s still standing upright. And he hasn’t even kissed you yet.

It’s in the way you play with his hair, so at ease, even in a moment like this. He isn’t sure if anyone has ever touched him like this. It’s making his stomach do somersaults and his thoughts run wild. He can’t focus on everything at once, and his gaze drops to your lips.

You smile.

That’s what does it. That smile, the one he has only seen a few times, and seen only directed at him over a pixelated CCTV feed. It breaks through the buzzing in his head and the pounding of his heart and gives him the push he has been looking for.

He cups your face in his hands (you don’t seem to mind the roughness of his palms) and pulls your face towards his. The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is your smile.

The first kiss is something soft, experimental, your lips just moulded together. A taste.

Against his lips, he feels you hum softly. That’s all it takes for his remaining hesitancy to melt away.

Instead, it is replaced with a sense of urgency so intense that he can feel it in the back of his throat. All the fear, the loneliness, the desperation of the past few days catches up to him and he needs to make up for all the time he has lost, right now.

His hands move to the back of your head, and he pulls your face back towards him. You crash together again, this time all notions of gentleness forgotten. He kisses you hard and you nip at his lower lip until he opens for you. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if you haven’t been harbouring any fantasies of your own. Then, he feels you tug at his hair and he doesn’t think anything at all.

Where the first kiss was soft, this one is hungry. He cannot have you close enough, cannot catch his breath, cannot think about anything but you you you. His hands drop down to your waist to pull your bodies flush together. After enduring several days of self-imposed distance from each other, he relishes the feeling of you under his hands.  

When you break apart, you keep your arms around him. He’s glad. He isn’t sure what will happen if you let go of him now. You smooth out his hair where you tugged at it before, and he shivers. His hands linger on your hips, fingertips still buzzing with the thrill of touching you. Nothing feels quite real, like the colours are too bright and his skin is too sensitive to your touch.

It must show on his face, because your expression goes from giddy to concerned. “Are you alright, Seven? Was that okay?”

“Okay… Hah…” He has apparently also forgotten how to speak. There is a piece of hair that he must have messed up earlier, and he reaches out to fix it. His brain usually doesn’t have any trouble keeping up, but today it feels like he is wading through deep water, like everything takes more effort than it should. He takes a breath, allows his heart a moment to slow down.

“It’s like... I’m dreaming.”

[the-butch-of-blaviken]

Aiden/Lambert/Keira, modern au, pure fluff, sharing food (890 words)

something silly and self-indulgent written for a discord server prompt

It’s a hot summer day and they’d thought going to the beach on their day off was a good idea – and it would have been, had not about a billion other people had the same idea.

Lambert has not been to the beach since he was eleven years old and Vesemir took him and his brothers to the beach on one of those rare, blessed week-ends where he didn’t work. Lambert remembers splashing around in the water and daring his brothers to see who could hold his breath the longest underwater. The ice cream cart had wobbled over to their spot and the three of them had turned to Vesemir with eyes like war orphans’. “Absolutely not,” Vesemir had said without looking up from his crosswords. 

Turns out splashing around in the water all day was good enough for eleven-year-olds but he feels a little self-conscious about it now, and besides, kids and middle-aged dads in khaki bathing shorts standing perfectly still knee-deep in water with their hands on their hips are already taking up all the space.

Aiden does manage to lure him to deeper waters and for a moment they’re busy racing each other, shamelessly cheating by catching the other’s foot and tickling him or grabbing each other by the leg and dragging him underwater, but it rapidly gets old and after an hour and a half, they’re back on dry land. Keira complains that they’re kicking up sand and dripping all over her like dogs after a bath, but she still makes room for them under her parasol. After that, it gets rather dull and Lambert starts feeling like seasoned meat on a barbecue grill. As a matter of fact, all three of them are sweating profusely, even Keira, who somehow still manages to look like a Barbie straight out of the box.

When the ice cream cart wheels past their spot, they all share a look.

“Let’s share an ice cream,” Aiden suggests.

“They only come in cones.”

“Yeah, and? It’s romantic,” he replies, grinning.

Keira scoffs. “It’s disgusting and unsanitary is what it is.”

“We’ve done more unsanitary stuff than this.”

“What kind of argument is that?” She turns to Lambert, looking for support.

He just shrugs. “I don’t feel like getting ice cream just for me.” He still kind of wants the ice cream, though.

She stares at him over the brim of her thick-rimmed sunglasses for a moment before capitulating, sighing. She fishes a ten-florin bill out of her wallet and holds it out between her index and middle fingers for Aiden to take. He snatches it and gives her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, mom.”

She slaps his ass on his way up. Lambert hides his smile behind a hand when Aiden yelps. He probably would have done the same.

They each choose a perfume: strawberry for Keira, chocolate mint for Lambert and peanut butter for Aiden. The ice cream starts melting before they’ve even sat back down on their towel, running down the cone in a glorious pink, green and brown mess.

Keira gets the first taste. After that, they pass the cone around in turns: Aiden makes a point of taking comically long licks whenever he can. It takes Keira and Lambert a while to notice, but when they do, Aiden has to sit out two of his turns to compensate. He looks at them like a kicked puppy while they enjoy their ice cream with overzealous noises of enjoyment until the mother of a nearby family glares at them.

Ice cream is running down their fingers in creamy, sticky streaks and it tastes everything Lambert thought ice cream from the ice cream cart would taste: cheap, too sugary and delicious.

In the end, Aiden sinks his teeth into the ice cream, raising exclamations of protest and indignation.

“Oh, Aiden, no!”

“You’re really bad at sharing,” Lambert says and he and Keira laugh when Aiden winces like someone who’s got a bad case of brain freeze.

“You guys just needed to eat faster,” Aiden replies when he’s recovered. “It’s survival of the fittest out here.” He holds out the remains of the ice cream to Keira.

“Oh no, you can keep it now. And don’t look so proud of yourself. You’re doing the dishes tonight.”

Aiden smiles, baring his teeth. “Worth it.”

“Terrible man.” She doesn’t bother keeping the fondness from her voice.

Later, Lambert takes Keira’s hand in his as they walk back to the car and Aiden slings an arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t touch me, I’m all gross and sweaty,” she warns him and he presses himself against her side, squishing his cheek against hers. She groans. “Dishes duty today and tomorrow.”

He laughs. Nothing gets to him.

They hiss as they settle into their seats, fake leather burning every inch of exposed skin.

“Am I the only one thinking the beach is kind of overrated?” Lambert says, brushing sand from between his toes. Keira smiles at him in the rearview mirror.

“Too many kids, man,” Aiden complains as he adjusts his hair with his fingers in the little mirror inside the sun visor.

“Let’s stay home next time.”

Keira drives them away and Lambert rests his head against the car door, swearing he can still feel the waves as he drifts to sleep.

[thebroccolination]

TEN OPENING LINES FROM MY TEN MOST RECENT FICS AND WHAT THEY HAVE IN COMMON

Rules: List the first line of the last ten (10) stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any.

The only thing I knew going in is that they’d all start kind of in medias res because that’s what I like reading. But I noticed something else after I compiled them all! Something really interesting that I’ll have to play with from now on.

Heart Like Gold [Be My Favorite, SOTUS, Between Us] Kawi x Pisaeng, Kongphob x Arthit, Win x Team

Kawi and Arthit are twins! WinTeam stalk a guy and fall in love about it!

Kawi’s theatrics would affect the weather.

Behold! The shortest! Followed immediately by:

quietly uncovering everything [SOTUS] Kongphob x Arthit

Anxiety and rope bondage and KongArt!

It’s fair to say that Kongphob might’ve lived his entire life under certain assumptions about sex and mental health that he passively absorbed from media or word-of-mouth if it hadn’t been for one conversation with a classmate while he studied abroad in Beijing.

The longest by far.

Gatekeeping Kawi [Be My Favorite] Kawi x Pisaeng

Pisaeng goalie-blocks Kawi’s terrible mother from contacting her son!

If Pisaeng has any major flaw he’s not working to improve, it’s that he takes full advantage of the nepotism that got him his job in order to leave work on time every day.

I just really wanted to establish immediately that this fic is about Pisaeng being both shamelessly petty and wildly protective.

Fireproof [Between Us] Win x Team

Exes-to-lovers with totally appropriate amounts of suffering!

Win ignores the sleeping couple on the chairs across from him.

He is also ignoring his Problems. (Also the couple is KawiPi. Li’l Easter egg.)

surprise me [Between Us] Win x Team

Team tries to throw Win a surprise party in another country!

It’s number forty-three on the list of facts about Win that Team keeps on his phone: Win’s never had a surprise birthday party.

I love that Team canonically has a list of things he wants to memorize about Win. Baby simp.

Sorry Meal [Be My Favorite] Kawi x Pisaeng

Kawi gets through life’s challenges by being adorable with food!

The shouting stops around noon, and they refuse to speak to each other at all for the rest of the day.

In which I celebrate that KawiPi can both be stubborn assholes and their arguments are enormous fun for me personally.

somewhere to begin [Be My Favorite] Kawi x Pisaeng

Self-indulgent post-series fluff!

Twenty minutes after arriving home to find his little family waiting for him, Kawi lets his draining body list against Pisaeng.

Because I believe down to my core that Kawi is a snuggly needy simp deep down. (He literally imagined Pisaeng model-walking toward him and said, “Please believe me that I hate this man.”)

through casual mistakes of fate [Be My Favorite] Kawi x Pisaeng

Self-indulgent ep-11 angst fluff! (It’s real, I checked!)

Pisaeng wakes up to his alarm, swipes the button on his phone screen to shut it off, and rolls out of bed—all within a few seconds.

This is the line that made me realize the thing!!!

keep me here, i'm right where i belong [Be My Favorite] Max x Queer Rights, Kawi x Pisaeng

Self-indulgent marriage equality fluff!

When true marriage equality is won, Max is the first one to deliver the news to most of his friends.

Sooort of this one?

We Must Lead by Example [Naughty Babe] Lian x Kuea

LianKuea being smug about their sex-successful marriage!

When your best friend asks you not to tell your husband something, common courtesy dictates that you honor all those days and nights of laughter and tears by keeping the secret not just in this life but in the next and whatever’s in the interim.

And this is a return to form. INTERESTING.

——————

So here’s the thing: most of my opening lines are, like. Observations. Team keeps a list. Pisaeng and Kawi are fighting. Pisaeng has a flaw. Kongphob learned about bondage.

Very few are action-based. Pisaeng jumping out of bed, Kawi leaning on Pisaeng, Max telling his friends that marriage equality has passed.

I’ll have to go through more of my fics to know if this is a common thing, but it feels like it! I think most of my fics begin with observations rather than actions, and maybe I’ll try it the other way for a while and see what changes!

What a fun li’l exercise. \:D/

If you noticed anything different, definitely tell me! This is fun~

[hellsgreatestperformance]

「🕸️ Something he discovered when arriving in Hell was the debauchery. Various beings indulged in their wildest fantasies with those of the opposite and even same sex. It was scandalous, practically forbidden above the ground. Despite the tsks from his grandfather when the don witnessed those, so called, taboo acts among the same sex, Angel felt like actually had a chance to explore himself.

As a human he had snuck off to speakeasy’s to feel like his actual, genuine self, but never had participated in anything truly kinky until death.He indulged when he could, despite the harsh retorts from his grandfather. His mother and brother merely stayed silent. And even though he was sent with the objective to acquire information, pursuing the Radio Demon sexually was his own choice. Because that’s what this was , right? Merely a carnal encounter? It had to be, given most of the men he met didn’t here only wanted to get him beneath the sheets. 

He was drawn from his thoughts when a shiver ran along his spine, forcing him to slightly tremble from an unexpected sensation. Fuck, this guy had caught him off guard. And even though he softly huffed, he tilted his head a little to give more room. This was hardly his first hickey, yet something felt more personal about this one. He couldn’t fathom why. Cause it was an overlord? Someone highly attractive? Or something dwelling silently, incomplete in his chest?

Best to disregard that train of thought and focus. The soft whimper, assuming rejection as the cradling hand slipped cruelly away was an indicator the demon had his attention. And, fuck, he wanted more of it. But he couldn’t help observing as he stripped the remaining articles to expose what lay beneath. He wasn’t as fluffy as he expected, though that hardly mattered. He had enough fluff for the both of them. Even though his eyes noticed the scarring, he was too distracted by another detail: the cock itself. Did the guy realize how difficult it was not to immediately pounce?

❝ Yuh ‘no, it ain’t fair how hot ya are. ❞ Angel considers himself hot, sexy and adorable. He adores his white fur, the pink stripes along his arms. His chest was his personal favorite with the heart dead center to really adorn his chest fluff. And the end of the heart had a line leading directly to the engorged length exposed between his legs. He bit his lip, shamelessly staring. But his cheeks flushed red as their bodies connected. This contact felt nice despite being so simplistic.

But his eyes widened as the guy became to speak, vulgar words so easily flowing outward as if they were rehearsed dozens of times. A tramp? He had heard that one before but it was different being spouted from those lips. It didn’t feel derogatory in an undesirable way. Everything he says only helped fuel the heat growing between his legs, forcing the sensitive flesh to twitch with further, impatient anticipation.

❝ Fuck yuh, I ‘no I can handle it. Prove ya ain’t all talk. I ain’t gonna be happy if I ain’t walkin’ funny tamorrow, Smiles. If yer lucky, I’ll show ya why all the daddies love this mouth~ ❞ But not here. His index finger playfully bopped the demon’s nose before he created distance between them. He made sure to wiggle what was he had whilst strutting to the bathroom. Once inside, the water was turned on past the middle, but not yet on scalding. Without waiting, he got into the tub and moved so he could place his fingers on the very edge towards the door.

❝ Ya comin’? ❞ 」

「🕸️The spider chuckles, amused by his reaction. He had realized how attractive the overlord was from afar but never imagined how adorable he could be. He was hardly complaining if this was something secret, only to be witnessed in a private setting. This trait wasn't information his grandfather would be receiving, even if it was valuable to keeping the overlord at bay. Or possibly removing him from existence. Angel hardly desired that ( not that his grandfather knew how to tear apart a soul ). And if this evening went smoothly, their encounters could become repetitive. And no excuses would be necessary, since, if needed,d he could simply say he was continuing his surveillance.

❝ Still strugglin', Smiles? Who knew a skirt was an overlord's weakness. ❞ He teased. A heat radiating off of his partner’s rain soaked body made him feel desperate. His lower hand reached around, aiming to squeeze one of the sheathed mounds as the distance further closed between them. Yet when the gap widened once more, he assumed their little teasing session was coming to a close. He supposed he could take this as an opportunity to start the bath. However, his legs nearly gave at the sudden contact from the buck’s hand. A soft groan mixed with a surprised gasp. Yet, the spider wouldn’t complain given how eager he was.

❝ Fuck, Smiles... ❞ It was an instinctive reaction when his hips jerked, trying to press further into the hand that held his attention. His breath hitched, followed by an unsubtle twitch between his legs. His upper hands immediately rested on the other’s shoulders. His fingers curled slightly, digging gingerly into the fabric he wanted to tear away and discard on the floor. He realized like this he would be at the overlord’s mercy, and not a care was given. ❝ Carino, Smiles, but I ain't the one yuh should be worryin' 'bout. ❞ This type of relationship, or just encounter, was never one he intended to happen ( even if he had found the demon incredibly attractive ), but his eagerness to get fucked by the guy rose the moment his ass was squeezed.

The demon was talking like he had a lot of game. If he truly intended to give him a night to remember, then he would have to prove his worth. The Radio Demon was a lot of talk, right? But could he back it up with actions? For a split second, he felt his nerves building up. Wait? He knew?! Ok, call down, of course, he did. They often ran into each other on these hellish streets, but it didn't mean he figured out the actual reason behind the stalking surveillance. And he was relieved when something dirty fell from those tempting lips. ❝ Uh, oh. Looks like ya caught me, Smiles. But I can't help myself. I want ya really fuckin' bad, baby. ❞ The grinding against his hand should be enough proof.

❝ Ya wanna 'no wha' I really want? ❞ He asked, before shifting his body to bend close to his adorable, fluffy ears. ❝ Yuh ta quick fuckin' 'round wit' me out here an' fuck me in that tub. It ain't fair if I can't see ya naked too. ❞ As long as Alastor assumed this was the reason for tailing him, then he'd let him believe it. This was just a bonus. 」

[withloveajaxx]

kiss me through the phone

𓂅 genre: modern au! diluc x gn! reader fluff

𓂅 warnings: description of diluc's attractive body???

𓂅 summary: this is how your usual mornings go with diluc unable to physically be by your side (or its just you watching him change for work in the morning)

𓂅 note: i remember this one time a very good friend of mine and i were screaming over having an ldr vc with diluc while he changes and does his shit. so i just transformed these thoughts into an actual fic LMAOOO. not the best fic bc it's self indulgent asf BUT OH WELL <33 HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY <33

sometimes, the hardest thing about having a long distance relationship with diluc is not the thousands of miles that kept you apart. it wasn't the god awful time difference between the places you both lived in either. sometimes, the hardest part was trying to listen to him tell you about his previous day whilst you watched him get ready for his work in the morning. 

of course you want to listen to your boyfriend tell you about his day. you'd never want to miss a single detail from his small yet cute little rambles or stories. however, it was proving to be very difficult to focus on barely anything as diluc's toned back faces you and projects onto your screen.

at the time you called, he had just started getting dressed for his routine work day. finding it rather challenging to change while holding the phone in his hand, diluc decided to place his phone upright, against one of the many books laid out across his desk nearby. coincidentally, this gave you what you could only call the perfect view of him. 

(more utc!)

the bright rays of the sun were beginning to slip through the curtains of diluc's room, generously highlighting the built muscles of the latter's upper half as he continued chatting about what happened yesterday. you could only hum absentmindedly to whatever he was saying as he started tying his crimson locks into a high ponytail. 

at the point when diluc slips into a crisp white button up, you couldn't even catch a word he was saying. you admire the way your significant other looks absolutely stunning as he turns to a mirror to button up the piece of clothing accordingly, giving you mere moments to peek at his firm abdomen before tucking the remnants of the shirt into his buckled pants. 

"are you still there, my love?" diluc asks, a hint of worry in his soothing voice as he turns to the camera to check up on you, effectively snapping you out of your trance. 

your cheeks turn red at the horrifying realization that diluc's just caught you staring at him with the biggest heart eyes. you hope the light from your phone isn't bright enough to reveal the blush on your cheeks as you chuckle in embarrassment. 

"yeah, yeah. sorry about that, i spaced out a little," you admit sheepishly. thankfully, diluc made no further comment. you wanted anything else but to explain how you were shamelessly staring and awing at his figure. 

you swear you tried your hardest this time to listen to diluc, even commenting and joking about some of the things he was saying. but alas, both your eyes and mind were distracted yet again at the sight of diluc leaning closely into his mirror, tying a necktie around the collar of his shirt. 

he's still saying something as he tilts his jaw to examine himself further, but again, his words go through one ear and immediately out the other. he's making sure he looked the best he could for his work and all you can focus on is the sharp line of his jaw, the slight hollowness of his cheek bones, and all the little things that seemingly make you fall all over for him again. 

"(y/n)? are you sure you're okay, love? you seem to be spacing out a lot." diluc's caught you staring yet again, and yet he's oblivious. concern weighs heavy in his tone, clearly worried about you. "did something unfortunate happen today?" 

"nothing's wrong diluc, don't worry," you smile. his sweet nature causes your heart to thunder loudly against your chest in fondness. however, you still haven't answered him. so, you fumble with your phone, attempting to explain yourself in a less humiliating way. "it's just that… i can't help but admire how handsome you look sometimes." 

now it's diluc's turn to blush. his cheeks quickly turn into a deep shade of crimson, almost similar to the color of his hair. he clears his throat and picks his phone up from its makeshift stand, eyes avoiding the camera as to shy himself away from your gaze. 

despite still being embarrassed about your actions and your explanation, you chuckle in entertainment. your significant other still looked charming, even with a deep blush painting his cheeks red. 

"well, i'm glad you find me... handsome." you don't miss the small smile that creeps onto his lips before he finally turn to look at you through the screen. his features soften when you yawn and look back at him with slightly teary eyes that scream nothing but adoration and love. "but you need your sleep and i still have to drive myself to work, so we should hang up." 

"mhm, alright. talk to you later. love you, luc," you hum, rubbing your eyes with your free hand before waving at the camera. diluc takes his own time, a few precious seconds to stare at you with a lovesick look in his eyes and a gentle smile on his lips as he raises his hand to politely wave back at you.  

"mhm, i'll call you later and i love you too, darling." with that, you kiss him through the phone. you cheesily peck the front camera and smile at the sight of him chuckling in amusement before ending the call and drifting off to a content and dreamless sleep.

taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @dawndelion-winery @tiredsleep @codename-hiraeth @mari-san-cant @mininji @artificial-heartache

© withloveajaxx 2022. please do not copy, plagarize, or translate in any way.

[snzunii]

OMG YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN ASDFGHJK can I pls get a domesticity (?) with sanzu? I've just been wanting sanzu fluff tbh I love that man too much thank you <33

NIGHTS LIKE THIS.

+ pairings. sanzu haruchiyo x f!reader.

+ tags. fluff, fluff and fluff <333 + spanking (like once gajsgah)

+ word count. 1.1k

+ note. so hi anon! here's ur requeeest aaaaa im sorry if this took so long i swear im just busy af, idk if this is any good cos i feel like my writing's off today. anyways i still enjoyed writing this cos i've been craving some sanzu fluff too, ify i love that man sm too akshsdhaj anw, this is kinda self-indulgent— i'm sorry jskaglsdh 😭 u'll see, anyways i hope u enjoy!! feedbacks are always appreciated <3

It's three in the morning.

Your boyfriend expects that you're already tucked in on your comfortable sheets; in that soft mattress, that you’re already far off to dreamland but it was kind of a surprise to him that you’re still wide awake— no, scratch that.

Your eyes are hardly wide, they’re holding on as you take in all the information in the transes that your blockmates made. It shouldn’t be a surprise to Sanzu that you’re still awake, considering your program. He knows that there would be long nights with you like this.

He stared at you for a while and there’s a brief smile when he saw you wearing his shirt. There’s a loving look in his eyes as he examine you; your hair’s in all places, there’s heavy bags under your eyes, you look like you just finished breaking down cause he can see the dried up tears in your cheeks.

He sighed, it’s a good thing that he isn’t high tonight because he’ll take good care of you.

When you see yourself in the mirror, you’ll think that you probably look like shit but not to him, even though you look like what you are right now, you’re still the prettiest for him.

“Hey, angel.” he said softly, “You’re still awake.”

You pulled your head up, smiling to your boyfriend. “Hey, Haru. You’re home. I was waiting for you and you know, studying. How was your day?”

You know what amazes Sanzu? You’re tired yourself, he bet you’re studying for hours now but you still check on him. Sometimes he’s just wondering, how in the hell did he get someone as you to fall in love with him? He doesn’t even know. You’re a complete angel and him— he sure isn’t.

He pulled the chair beside you and sat there himself, “You know, nothing special. Just killing some guys. How about you, how’s your day?”

You snickered, putting the thick binder down. You moved to sit on your boyfriend’s lap in a sideways manner, you buried your face on his neck as you close your eyes. “I’m tired, Haru.”

Sanzu wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your temple, “Hm? Then let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

“But I need to study.”

“You don’t need to. I make lots of-“

You tutted him before he could even finish what he was saying, you rolled your eyes. He’s always suggesting this whenever he sees you like this, “Stop suggesting that, you know I don’t want to rely on you for everything. I need to have my own career. I don’t want to be just Bonten’s number two’s girlfriend- “

“Wife.” he corrected you. “You’re my wife.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling. Just the thought of marrying this man just makes your heart feel like it was about to explode. You don’t even know how you to ended up here, you, a graduating college student getting involved with someone like him.

You were always thankful for that one night that your friends dragged you out in a nightclub in Roppongi, if they didn't then you would have never met him. You would have never meet that high as fuck + wasted pink haired motherfucker who shamelessly flirted with you the moment you entered that club.

And now, you’re here— planning your future with him. Before, you were planning for yourself. It was always just for you but now, it never feels right without Sanzu. It’s really amazing how life plays out sometimes, one minute he’s just a stranger and the next he’s the love of your life.

“Not yet.” you said, fingers playing with his tie. “I need to graduate first then earn some money and then I’ll marry you, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds good. Now, let’s get you to bed.” you squealed a bit when he stood up, carrying you in his arms in bridal style. “But, take a bath with me first. You stink.”

“Uh—” you scoffed, you looked at him with disbelief. “Excuse me? Don’t you think that maybe it was you? Look at your suit, you still have dried up blood in it.”

“Eh. It’s you.” he said, leaning his face close to your hair to sniff it. “See? When was the last the time you washed your hair? You stink, baby.”

“Well, if I’m stinky then why are you with me? You hate stinky stuff.”

“You’re the only one I can tolerate.”

You rolled your eyes jokingly, he gave you his signature smile, the one that makes his eyes disappear and make your heart flutter inside your chest because of how cute and handsome he is at the same time. You just smiled as you lean your head on his shoulder while he carries you up to the bathroom. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Huh?”

“You cried.”

“Ah.” you sighed, “You’re at work. I don’t want to be a bother. Plus, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a good old breakdown, you know.”

Sanzu just clicked his tongue as he puts you down once you reach the bathroom. You slipped into the shower first and he followed you once he removed his clothes. You turned around and wrapped your arms around his nape.

You smiled at him while you let the warm water fall onto your bodies. He leaned down on your face, his forehead resting onto yours while his arms snaked around your bare waist. He whispered, “You’re never a bother.”

“Hm. I know.”

“Okay, then. Next time call me.” he said, you chuckled. Sanzu combs your wet hair with his fingers and tucks some of it behind your ear.

“Alright, sir. I’ll call you next time.”

“Stop. Don’t call me that right now.”

“Oh. But why sir Haruchiyo-“ you shrieked when he smacked your ass and squeezed it a bit. “Okay, okay. I won’t.”

You laughed and leaned forward to give him a peck on the lips. After you bathe each other, and a very long session of him brushing your teeth because he insisted to— you know how that went, you two laughing and making stupid jokes that’s why it took so long.

You’re now laying on top of him, butt naked. The only thing that’s covering your bodies was the soft comforter. You both do this often, just lay on your bed naked, sometimes it’s because you’re too lazy to dress up but most of the time, you just want to feel each other.

You don’t know, moments like this with him always warms your heart. It’s just you two, enjoying each other’s company silently. You feel him and only him.

Sanzu was combing your hair with his fingers until you feel the familiar feeling taking over you, your eyes were getting heavier as time goes by.

“Getting sleepy, Haru.” you murmured.

“Sleep tight, angel.” he whispered, you smiled faintly until you drift off to a deep and comfortable slumber on top of your lover, “I love you.”

+ taglist. @cosmiclvsh @tojisqueen @joranhaitani @r-xochitl @bekky06 @toshiswifey @Michelle_simps @ninetyeightrins @t4keomi @litle-crow @n-nara @hollowpurpl @iiclal @miyuuuuuposts @haitanilove @aclairysm @awkcasted @yukie35 @Prettylily @chronic-claire-universe @inupiko @chosoisbaby @marixxi @spaceemeeat @shizukuusagii @amaejiki @parca-de-destinos @kuraries @missysimpy @a-astxr @mui_xd @fr00g1es @gwynsapphire

if you want to join the taglist, please answer the form here! 🤍

[flower-gothic]

she wears short skirts, i wear t-shirts (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: you've been best friends (and secretly in love) with eddie for years, but when he gets a date with one of the cheerleaders, you find yourself doing everything you can to win his attention.

a/n: yes, the title and premise of this story is loosely based on "you belong with me" by taylor swift...this story is pretty self-indulgent, slightly angsty fluff. the descriptions of the reader are pretty closely based on myself, but feel free to imagine them however you like! please enjoy this little (okay, not so little) piece that would not get outta my head.

By all accounts, it was a typical Tuesday night–it started out like that, anyway. You were sat at your desk doing homework, the latest Iron Maiden record blaring through your headphones at a volume that was certain to damage your hearing. You knew Eddie, your oldest and closest friend, would most likely climb through your bedroom window any minute, despite the fact that your parents had no problem with him coming over; they, and everyone else, knew that nothing was going on between the two of you. Eddie just liked the dramatics of climbing up the side of your house to get inside, even though he waved at your mother through the window on his way up.

Like clockwork, right at 8:30, Eddie came pounding at the window loudly enough to cut through the sound of the music in your ears. Though he knew this was always necessary to get your attention, there was a certain urgency in his knocking on this particular evening. You pushed the window up for him, singing the chorus of “Wasted Years” to him with a cheesy grin as the music continued to pour through your headphones. You saw Eddie roll his eyes and smile at you, ever-amused by your shamelessly off-key singing. He pulled the headphones from your ears, bringing them to his own for a quick listen.

“Ah, the new Maiden album! This is a good one,” he observed loudly, unaware of his yelling over the music only he could hear.

You snatched the headphones back before hitting pause on the cassette. “Well, duh. Couldn’t you tell that from me singing to you?” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up underneath his curly mess of bangs. “Actually, I couldn’t. As much as I adore you, sweetheart, you’re no Bruce Dickinson,” he teased. You shoved him playfully, scoffing at the comment.

“Cruel, Eddie! I’d put myself right on par with the greatest of metal vocalists.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” he said. “Enough about the legitimacy of your singing talents, though. I have something important to tell you.” 

You could feel the excitement buzzing off of your friend, now that he mentioned it. He was bouncing around happily, making you wonder what had him so worked up. “What’s up, Eds?” you asked. 

Eddie’s signature toothy grin spread across his lovely face, reaching his chocolate-colored eyes; you could’ve sworn his cheeks blushed red. He flopped down onto your bed before he started to recount his tale. “Well, you know how I’ve always had a little bit of a crush on Megan, right? I accidentally ran into her at the store after school, like physically ran into her with a bunch of snacks in my arms–you know how I crave Yoohoo after I smoke–and we both dropped everything. Anyways, we helped each other pick up our stuff, got to talking, and we actually hit it off. And get this, Y/N. I’m taking her out on a date this Friday night!” Eddie beamed at you, clearly both exhilarated and proud of his story. 

For you, however, it felt as though someone had just landed a hard punch to your gut. Because little did Eddie, or your parents, or your friends know, you had had a crush on Eddie for quite some time. Finally, you worked up a response. “Megan M., you mean? Cheerleader, class president Megan?” you asked, slightly disbelieving. 

“Well, yeah. You knew that’s the Megan I’ve always had a thing for,” Eddie replied, seeming a little let down by your reaction. 

You let out a little puff of air, then turned back to your desk. “Oh,” was all you could muster. Tears were prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you would rather die than let Eddie see them. 

“That’s all you have to say? Oh? I thought you’d be a little more excited for me,” Eddie said, clearly downtrodden. 

You shook your head, gathering all the composure you could find within yourself and turning to face him. “No, Eds, it’s not that. I’m happy for you, really. I just have a bit of a headache and I have some homework to finish up, so I’m not feeling the greatest. I think I need to be by myself,” you lied, giving him a halfhearted smile.

Eddie frowned. “Really? We were supposed to watch a movie tonight. Robin gave me a couple good scary options for free,” he complained. Eddie could tell something was going on with you; even when you did have homework, you were usually happy to let him occupy himself with the books and magazines and tapes in your room, simply content to have some company. 

“Yes, Eddie, really. I just remembered I have an essay due in the morning, so I really need peace and quiet. You could go over to Gareth’s if you don’t feel like being alone, I know he’s been dying to see the new Friday the 13th movie,” you suggested. Then, as petty jealousy lanced through you, you added, “Or maybe you could go watch it with Megan.” You spat her name out like it tasted bitter. 

Standing from your bed, Eddie gave you a puzzled, slightly hurt look. “Fine, I guess I’ll just go, then. See you tomorrow, I guess.” Eddie slipped out your window as easily as he had entered, and when you heard his filthy white high-tops hit solid ground, you walked to the window and watched him jog to his van. As soon as the tires screeched away, the tears that had been threatening to fall for Eddie’s entire visit began spilling over.

Of all the girls Eddie could go out with, why did it have to be Megan? She was sweet, popular, and smart, not to mention absolutely gorgeous–the polar opposite of you. You looked in the mirror at yourself: curly, wild hair, big, chunky glasses, and your body draped in one of Eddie’s old Corroded Coffin t-shirts, making you look totally shapeless. You didn’t stand a chance against Megan and her perfect high ponytails and sinfully short skirts. Though you’d had your suspicions about the sorts of girls Eddie liked based on the magazines that were sometimes lying around his bedroom, this was your final, heartbreaking confirmation that you weren’t Eddie’s type–that he would never be attracted to you. 

You slept fitfully that night. Frustration plagued your mind, and you found yourself, in your sleeplessness, hatching a plan. Though it wasn’t likely to work, you came up with one final, last-ditch effort to get Eddie’s attention for yourself, to get him to see you. You set your alarm extra-early, knowing you’d have to get to work before the sun rose in order to make this happen.

At 5:45am the next morning, the obnoxious ringing of your alarm awoke you;  you had apparently drifted off at some point late in the night. You dragged yourself reluctantly out of bed. The gray morning light of autumn was just beginning to peek through your curtains, and you found yourself questioning if Eddie’s attention was truly worth waking up an hour earlier than normal. The thought of Eddie on a date with Megan M. helped you decide that it certainly was.

Thus began a painstaking morning routine: you took a long, hot shower, shaving your legs baby-smooth and scrubbing down with the floral body wash that your mother usually used. You blow-dried your hair smooth before tying it up into a ponytail that made your scalp ache. Then came the part which you found yourself most daunted by: makeup. You had a few products for special occasions, but they were rarely used otherwise. You had seen Nancy do her makeup a few times, though, and tried to remember her steps: light concealer to cover the tired circles under your eyes, rosy pink blush, mascara, and lip gloss that made your lips look full and shiny. Finally, you sneaked into your older sister’s room to raid her closet for something more feminine, apprehensive despite the fact that she was a few hundred miles away at college. It felt like she would know you were about to steal her clothes despite that fact.

In the end, you found yourself slipping into a short, pink skirt and white sweater that she had left behind, along with a pair of your own white sneakers. You tied a blush-pink satin ribbon into your hair as the finishing touch, then placed your thick glasses on your dresser, brushing off the slight blurriness in the name of looking more fashionable. Gazing in the mirror, you felt nothing like yourself: the only remnant of the real you left behind was the faded little stick-and-poke tattoo of a bat on your thigh that Eddie had put there while you were both drunk one night; he had one to match in the same spot. 

You grabbed your schoolbag and awaited Eddie’s appearance in front of your house; he took you to school every morning. As the minutes ticked by, you became worried that the previous night’s awkwardness was going to prevent him from showing up, but as you heard the van’s tires screech to a stop, you realized it was only Eddie’s habitual lateness. Eddie was drumming distractedly on the steering wheel when you opened the door and hopped inside. He turned to you with a smile. “Morning, sunshine. You feeling–” he stopped abruptly as he looked you up and down, jaw almost dropping. “You feeling better?” he managed after gawking at you for a few seconds. 

You smiled lightly at Eddie, trying to emulate the pleasant prettiness of the popular girls that Eddie was apparently interested in. “Much better today, thanks, Eds. Sorry I kicked you out last night,” you replied politely. 

Eddie continued staring you down as he pulled off towards Hawkins High. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled. Quietly, secretly, he wondered if you had actually hit your head, for he had only seen you dress this way for the family photos you so hated taking last year. 

You arrived at school and walked in together, as you always did. Before you could take your usual morning spot in the cafeteria, however, Megan was walking up, waving sweetly to Eddie. Immediately, your conversation about the upcoming Hellfire campaign was discarded. 

“Hey, Eddie!” she greeted the metalhead eagerly. “Hi,Y/N,” she added, smiling kindly at you, and dammit, you couldn’t even hate her because she truly was sweet.

“Good morning, m’lady,” Eddie replied, dropping to a knee and kissing her hand, and she giggled at him.

 Jealousy bubbled up in your chest: that stupid, cheesy routine was typically reserved for you. As the pair started a conversation, you broke away, quietly saying, “I gotta get to class,” but you didn’t think anyone was listening. 

In Mrs. O’Donnell’s Eddie took his usual spot next to you. “Hey, why’d you ditch me this morning?” he whispered. 

Looking straight ahead, you replied, “Dunno. Didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with Megan.”

“Aw, come on, Y/N. You’re never interrupting, and besides–” 

Eddie was abruptly cut off by Mrs. O’Donnell’s sharp voice. “Mr. Munson, would you like to share something with the class?” she asked. 

Eddie sighed, sinking down in his seat and facing forward. “No, ma’am.” 

At lunch, Megan was already sitting in your usual seat at the table, laughing away with Eddie and the rest of Hellfire. You approached awkwardly with your tray in hand, trying to turn the other direction before anyone noticed you when you realized there were no open chairs. Eddie spotted you before you could get away, though. “Oh, shoot, Y/N, I’m sorry. I can pull up a chair from one of the other tables,” he offered.

You felt your cheeks burning, wishing for a less embarrassing way out of this. “Oh, um, don’t worry about it! I told Nancy I’d help her out with something today anyway,” you said, ducking away from the table before Eddie could get another word in. 

That was how you ended up eating lunch all alone in the library. So much for capturing Eddie’s attention. 

You were nearly late to your afternoon classes due to the long walk back to the cafeteria to return your tray. Eddie and Megan were nowhere to be seen, but you bumped into Dustin as you rushed to chemistry. “Sorry,” you muttered. You didn’t even realize it was him at first.

“Hey, Y/N,” Dustin said, getting you to look up from your feet. “Sorry about lunch, I don’t know what Eddie was thinking, giving your seat away.” 

You just shrugged. “It’s fine. I just ate in the library, caught up on studying.” 

“Well I know this doesn’t make up for it, but she’s pretty cool, actually. Megan, I mean,” he explained.

Without meaning to, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, Megan’s so cool and great and pretty. May as well have my seat at the table and my best friend.” 

Dustin’s brow knit together. “Are you upset about her going out with Eddie?” he asked. You didn’t respond for a moment, and realization soon dawned on his face. “You’re upset about her going out with Eddie,” he breathed, eyes wide. “Do you like him?” 

“I dunno. Maybe,” you answered hesitantly.

Dustin nodded. “You’re mad at Eddie, you’re dressed all weird, it all makes sense now!” Dustin said triumphantly. When you glared, he gave a sheepish chuckle. “Uh, sorry. This situation really is shit.”

The bell rang again before you could respond with any substance. “Yeah. Gotta go,” you said, rushing off to class and hoping that chemical formulas would take your mind off of all this, if only for the next 50 minutes.

After school, you were met by the not-so-shocking sight of Megan and Eddie leant up against his beat-up van and chatting. When he caught sight of you, Eddie smiled, and your anger melted away for a split-second. “Hey, you ready to go?” he asked. “I’m gonna give Megan a ride too, if you don’t mind giving up shotgun.” His eyes pleaded with you to go along with it, and with a forced smile, you did.

“No problem,” you said through gritted teeth. From the backseat you watched the two flirt; Eddie was nauseatingly sweet, playing some obnoxiously poppy Madonna tape through the speakers and driving like your grandmother would. He dropped you off first, much to your confusion. “Um, it’s pasta night, you know. Are you coming back after?” you asked. On Wednesday nights, Eddie usually joined your family for dinner. He hated being alone at the trailer and you knew that if he was home alone, he’d probably be eating a bowl of cereal for every meal. 

Eddie balked slightly. “Uh, probably not tonight. I’m kinda busy, got some homework to take care of. Tell your mom and dad I said hi, though,” he said. 

“Will do,” you replied tightly, hopping out of the backseat without saying goodbye.

So this was how it started. First, he put you in the backseat, now he wasn’t hanging out alone with you anymore, either–probably in order to prevent Megan’s jealousy and quell her doubts about the nature of your friendship. You knew that Eddie’s pet names and his cuddles were long gone, too. You headed directly to your bedroom and tore out of the stupid, pretty outfit and the ponytail you wore before scrubbing wildly at the makeup on your face. You then threw yourself on your bed and laid there until your mother called you for supper, but you barely ate; all you could do was stare at Eddie’s empty seat at your dining room table.

Despite the futility of it, you continued to wear the same outfits on the following days, feigning indifference to the newly-formed rift between Eddie and yourself. He brought you to school in the backseat and took you home the same way. You sat in a pulled-up extra seat at lunch while Eddie fawned over the object of his affections. 

On Friday, after school, you knew your time had run out. You couldn’t wait to get home, take off the fake outfit once and for all, and mourn what your friendship with Eddie used to be; after tonight, you were sure that the relationship you once shared would be a shadow of its former self. As you trudged out to meet Hawkins’ future hottest couple, you noticed Megan gesture to you. You frowned curiously as you approached.

“Hey, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the tattoo on your leg. Where’d you get it? It’s kinda cool,” she said.

Before you could open your mouth to tell her that it was kind of a long story (a special and secret one at that), Eddie was answering for you. “I did it, actually. Y/N and I got super wasted and we were playing truth or dare, and she dared me to give her the tattoo. If you really like it, I could give you one too. Maybe tonight,” he suggested with a raise of his eyebrows. 

Before you could see her reaction, you were storming off in the other direction. Anger rose in your throat: giving away your seat was one thing, ditching you was another, but throwing away the sentimentality of the tattoo he gave you as though it was nothing? That was the last straw. “Y/N, where are you going?” Eddie called after you. 

You whipped your head around quickly. “Don’t fucking worry about it,” you said, venom lacing your voice. You turned back around, making a beeline for the big yellow school bus you hadn’t had to take since Eddie got his driver’s license. You heard him trotting up behind you, but you didn’t dare turn around.

“Hey! Don’t just walk away from me. What the fuck, Y/N? We aren’t like this. What’s going on with you? First you start dressing all crazy, now this,” he said as he sidled up to you.

Abruptly you stopped walking, fully turning to face him. “You just don’t get it, do you? God, I’m so stupid. I try acting different, I try dressing different, I even put on this damn mascara to try to get you to notice me! But it was never about the clothes and the makeup, was it? It’s just me you can’t see.” By this point, your lip was quivering and your voice shook, and you could feel a fat tear rolling down your cheek. You knew your dignity was gone at this point. You tore yourself away from Eddie’s big brown puppy eyes before he could stop you, before he could hurt you even more by confirming all of this, and made your way to the bus. 

The ride home was loud and bumpy. Eddie’s van was, too, but in the fun sort of way where the two of you blasted vulgar music and hit the bumps in the road at high speed just for the thrill of it. This was just grating on your frayed nerves. 

You spent the remainder of the afternoon in your room, sprawled across your bed while your music played. You’d ditched the high ponytail and the skirt for your usual look: wild hair and ripped jeans. You were wearing Eddie’s Corroded Coffin shirt again if only just for the futile comfort of being surrounded by something of his. You had put your glasses back on, too, because three days without them had left you with a relentless headache. 

You stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, only getting up to switch out your tapes every so often. Your parents had gone out for the night, so no one was home to tell you to get rid of the ear-shattering music. You barely noticed when the sun set and the light of day faded into night.

The sound of knuckles rapping against your window startled you from your stupor. You shot up in your bed, glancing at the clock first. 8:37, it said. So when you saw Eddie’s face peering through the window, things didn’t add up.

Your brows furrowed as you reluctantly opened the window. “I thought you had your date with Megan tonight,” you said. Eddie tumbled through the window and shook his head.

“I canceled,” he explained, standing before you with an expectant look on his face, but you only shrugged. 

“Okay? Why? You were like, so excited. Fuckin’ over the moon about her,” you muttered, walking away from the window and the chill of the fall evening. Eddie closed it behind him. 

“Well, my girl seemed like she needed me, and that’s more important than any old date.” 

You sighed. “Eddie, cut the bullshit, I know you’d rather be with–”

“Megan? No, Y/N, I’d rather figure out what’s been going on with you all week,” Eddie said. He gave you a stern sort of look that told you he was serious. 

You sighed in defeat; the truth was going to come out eventually, and you figured you may as well tell it yourself. “Fine. You really wanna know? I’m jealous. So there. I’m jealous that I’ve been here with you for all this time, and then at the drop of a hat you wanted to go date one of the pretty, popular girls. So I thought maybe you’d be into me, too, if I wore what they wear and acted how they act, b-but it didn’t change anything.” You looked at him tearfully and shrugged.

Eddie's eyes filled up with compassion. “I was wondering why you were dressing that way. Not that you didn’t look fuckin’ incredible in a skirt, but I missed seein’ you in my old t-shirts and these big dorky glasses,” he said fondly, stepping closer to you.

You shook your head. “Just stop, okay? I know I already fucked everything up, and I know it was stupid for me to try to make you like me with clothes and a new hairstyle. You don’t have to say things like that.” 

“But I’m not just saying it, sweet thing. You don’t have to change your clothes or your hair to make me like you. You are perfect exactly the way you are. You’re beautiful,” Eddie told you with a soft smile. He was standing right in front of you now, just inches away. When you looked up to meet his eyes, the love you felt for him stabbed painfully through your chest. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean exactly what I’m saying. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner, because obviously I’ve wasted a lot of time. I always thought you’d never be into me like that, so I tried to get over you and date other people. And Megan, she’s pretty and all, but you? I’m pretty sure you’re my soulmate, Y/N. Not to mention the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever met.” 

You felt your cheeks turn bright red. “Eddie, c’mon…” you mumbled, still not believing him. 

Eddie took your hands in his. “I’m not just messing around or joking, doll. You’ve been with me for years, put up with all my quirks and been there when things are bad. I can be with you for hours, days even, and still miss you the second I have to leave. I feel like myself when I’m with you. You never make me feel like the freak everyone says I am,” he said sincerely. 

“But-but what about the girls you usually like? I’m nothing like them.” 

Eddie grinned at you then, that smile that was just as bright as sunshine. He reached out, twirling one of your curls around his finger. “I prefer you like this. You look like yourself. Not to mention, I’ve always found you adorable in my shirts.” He paused for a moment, seeming to work himself up to say something bigger. “I never cared about the clothes and the makeup and all that. I want you just the way you are, not pretending to be something you’re not. Because honestly, Y/N, I love you for you.” 

You smiled back at Eddie then, finally starting to believe that this was real. Before you could speak again, Eddie took your face gently in his hands and pressed his lips against your own in a chaste kiss. When the shock of it wore off, you kissed him back; you savored the soft feeling of his lips against yours, the taste of spearmint gum and tobacco in his mouth, the smell of his cologne and the hint of weed that always lingered around him. It was a smell so distinctly and perfectly Eddie that you could just drown in it. 

Eddie smiled and licked his lips when you finally parted. “I think you forgot to take off that lipgloss you were wearing earlier, you taste like strawberries. Not that I’m complaining,” he said with a chuckle. 

You blushed and gave him a soft shove, which quickly turned into a warm embrace. “Shut up, Munson,” you said softly into his chest. He ghosted a hand over your hair. 

“I brought Friday the 13th Part VI and a couple beers if you’re free for the evening,” Eddie offered. “I know it’s not a very exciting first date, but…” 

“There’s no way I’d rather spend my evening.” You grabbed his hand, leading him to the family room with a grin. 

Plopping down on the couch, safely in Eddie’s arms, you watched the cheesy movie. Right before you could drift off, you heard Eddie’s mischievous voice one more time: “So, about these outfits you were wearing the past couple days, baby. What would it take to get you back into one of those skirts? Maybe just for a private viewing.” 

With a soft punch in the thigh, you replied, “Maybe you’ll just have to take me upstairs and find out.”

Eddie gave you a wicked grin, something hungry like you’d never seen before. It made your stomach flip-flop in anticipation. “Deal.” 

Maybe the skirts you’d worn weren’t completely useless, after all.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***