#so when the sunlight comes through the window at sunset

[silverskye13]

Ah, finally closed on the house this week.

I'm going to paint the dining room sunflower themed tomorrow.

[thevillainswhore]

A Balm To The Heart

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: After a long day at the woodyard, Bucky finds peace in his best girl’s arms.

Warnings: Pure unfiltered fluff, like the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed, Bucky’s POV, driving while sleepy (don’t do it!!), pet names, established relationship, oh and did I mention fluff?

Author’s Note: Divider by @saradika-graphics. Proofread by @buckys-wintersoldier thank you so much my darling, you’re my rock 🧡 This is part of @elixirfromthestars cafe writing challenge!! Using the prompt 🍞 “I like hearing your heart beating when I put my head on your chest.” My first ever challenge I’ve been apart of and I had the most fun with it!! Thank you, my sweet Mel! 🥰

The Love In The Woods Collection ❄️

The sun began to lay on the precipice of the day, the light slowly fading out to make way for the dark of the night. Bucky fought the tiredness claiming his eyes, tempting him to fall asleep at the wheel. If you knew he was driving in his state, you’d throw a fit. 

But he had to make it home to his baby. 

Exhaustion weighed Bucky down from a long day at the woodyard. Hauling timber all day to prepare the town for the harsh winter coming up was enough to make his old joints ache with pain. However, with the lack of staff due to the storm blocking most of the roads, he had to do it all himself. 

Bucky just wanted to sink into you. 

All day, he was tormented by the prettiest image of you snuggled into your shared bed, pouty lips and pleading eyes begging him to call in sick, to stay home with you. 

And even though his sanity was tested, Bucky regretfully declined. All the old folks needed wood to keep their homes heated in the cold season and his mind wouldn’t have settled knowing a full day would be lost to his own selfishness. 

Though as he drove back to his cabin, rivers of golden beams shining into his truck, Bucky wished he had taken your offer.  

Although, his sourness sweetened into a warm affection as he caught the glint of his wedding ring in the dying sunlight. 

You love sunsets, Bucky smiled to himself. He had to take you to the top of the mountains to watch another one soon.

He could imagine you at home, watching the remnants of the day with its beautiful colours reflecting into your eyes. 

Sunsets mean the end of the day, fresh starts and hope that tomorrow will bring us more peace than today. Remember that, Bear. 

Your voice instantly calmed the mess in his mind, the stress that had wound his muscles tight. With a heavy sigh, Bucky let go of the toll the day had taken on him and instead focused on where the path ahead would lead him — you. 

The truck grumbled to a stop in the driveway and Bucky didn’t bother stopping to grab his tools or his bags. The pink painted door called to him, called your name, his home. 

Throwing the door open, Bucky quickly shook off his coat and boots. His steps didn’t falter as he made his way to the bedroom. Not when he began peeling his clothes off one by one on the way. Not when emotion clogged up his eyes at the smell of your sweet scent lingering around the house. 

And there you were as he entered his bedroom. Once crafted by his bare hands as part of his first home after he left college, now his safe space in which he was lucky enough to share with his wife. His haven. 

It looked like you hadn’t moved from the morning. Still tangled in the sheets, your hair was messy from your tossing and turning, though your skin glowed beautifully in the golden sunlight that shimmered through the window. The orange tones that tattooed your body almost gave you a vintage look and the sight was enough to render Bucky speechless. 

Just like the day you showed up on his doorstep after years apart. 

Your smile was blinding as you looked up at him, tearing yourself away from your fantasy book he knew you loved so much and placing it on the nightstand. “Hey, baby. I missed you.” 

If that didn’t do things to Bucky’s heart. 

“Dolly,” he gasped, a slight whine to his voice. 

Instantly, because you’re so well in tune with him, your arms opened wide — an invitation to join you. “Come here, you big lug.” 

Bucky didn't waste another second. Clad in only his underwear, he all but jumped onto the bed, the pristinely crafted wood of the frame creaking from old age. 

You shifted the duvet to swaddle around his frame once he reached you, cocooning him in your accumulated warmth over the day. Feeling your bare skin against his after hours away from you was liberating, like he had ascended to heaven. Even after years of wedded bliss, Bucky still got tingles whenever the two of you touched. 

You were pure magic wrapped in a bottle. 

“Can I lay my head on you?” Bucky asked quietly, relishing in the serenity you so easily provided him. 

You laughed, the sound mesmerising to his ears. “Like you even have to ask. Tell me about your day, Bear.” 

Needing no other permission, Bucky laid in your arms. Positioning his head on your chest, his arms wrapped around your stomach and his legs intertwined with yours. He was so much bigger than you, comically so. But Bucky needed to lose himself in your softness from time to time. 

He groaned as the muscles in his joints finally had a chance to relax. “I would much rather hear about your day, sweetheart. Lemme hear your voice for a while, will ya?” 

Bucky looked up to find your cheeks tightened from the large, bashful smile on your face, one that he knew you had tried to smother but failed to do so. They were his favourite. 

You shook your head fondly and squeezed him before beginning to recall your day. It wasn’t filled with much — mostly with bathroom breaks when you could rip yourself out of bed, a trip to the home library down the hall to pick the next book of your series, and lastly an hour of baking. Even so, Bucky listened to you intently, his soul replenishing more with each activity you listed off. 

Because that was his goal in life. His vow to you in marriage. To make your life as easy and simple as possible. To bring you peace when the world threatened to dull your sparkle. 

And boy was he satisfied to know he had achieved that. 

Bucky’s eyes began to grow heavy, the kind that he couldn’t fight any longer. You must have noticed from the loosening of his limbs and the sudden lightness to his body. “Are you sleepy, baby?” 

The rhythm of your heart soothed him as he murmured a lazy hum of agreement. 

“You can rest now, Bear.” Your soft voice sounded further away as sleep started to overtake him, like the prettiest lullaby he’d ever heard. “I’ve got you.” 

Before the whispers of slumber could steal him, though, Bucky smiled — drunken and free. “I like hearing your heart beating when I put my head on your chest.”

The giggle that vibrated from your body to his only made him fall even more in love with you. Bucky purred like a cat as you ran your nails through his hair and finally let himself go. 

The last sensation that registered in his mind was the feeling of your lips pressed against his head and a last declaration of love. “Thank you for being the reason it does.” 

[gxr25256]

The Ruins of Earth - Seekers x reader

🌵 Tranformers (Post-Apocalyptic AU).

🌵 The Decepticons have conquered Earth, leaving humanity in ruins.

🌵I'll try this for a bit. Remember: I'm not very good at it 👀.

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

The sky was a smudged gray, casting a cold, washed-out light over what remained of the city. Buildings stood like jagged tombstones, their edges crumbling, splintered, and silent. Some days, the wind would send a loose piece of metal skittering down the cracked roads or rattle the empty cars left to rust. Otherwise, everything was still.

Below the surface, in the belly of a half-fallen office building, you crouched among scattered papers, their edges yellowed, flaked, and cracked from dust. The basement was littered with remnants of a world you barely recognized anymore. You had been lucky enough to find this hideout after wandering the ruined streets, and here you had managed to carve out some semblance of a life.

The ceiling is cracked, tangled with exposed electrical wires, and the single window on the far wall had long since shattered. Every now and then, a patch of sunlight filtered through, glinting off dust motes that swirled lazily in the stale air. It reminded you of better times—a stark, painful reminder of a past life that felt both close and impossibly far away.

You settled down on the cold concrete, setting your pack beside you. Inside were your treasures: a faded family photograph, a pocket watch, and a collection of scraps—small things you’d managed to scavenge that had kept you going. Some days, you’d sift through these items, each one tugging you back to memories that hurt as much as they comforted.

You stared down at the photo, feeling a pang in your chest. It was taken on a summer evening just a few months before they had come, when you and your family had still gathered in the garden to laugh and share stories under the stars. You remembered the warmth of your father’s arm around you, the way your mother had laughed, and how the smallest things—a shared meal, a joke, a sunset—had seemed so ordinary back then. Now, those were the moments you clung to like lifelines.

But here, in the darkened shell of a building, they were ghosts that haunted you. The faces stared up at you from the photo, as if asking, How much longer?

You didn’t know how to answer. Each day felt like a small miracle that you were still alive. They had laid waste to everything, turning cities into rubble, hunting down humans with a relentless efficiency. Survival required caution, silence, and instinct. Your hideout, tucked in a labyrinthine part of the city, had been a haven so far. But each passing day felt like playing a game of Russian roulette, and you knew that eventually, luck would run out.

The floor creaked—a sound you’d grown used to, but still one that made your muscles tense instinctively. Any sound outside the room was dangerous. You rose, carefully checking the faint tripwire traps you’d set by the entrances, crude but effective. Your heart thudded faster at the thought of one snapping. If it did, it would mean they were close.

They. The Decepticons. Machines built for one purpose: total, merciless domination. You shuddered as your mind dredged up flashes of their patrols: enormous metal bodies moving with purpose through the streets, the deadly glow of their optics as they scanned the ruins for any sign of life. You’d watched from hiding as they tore through buildings, shredding walls like paper. They were ruthless in their search for survivors, sparing nothing and no one.

They didn’t just kill; they hunted. The knowledge of that, of being part of a vanishing species in the face of such a brutal enemy, wrapped around you like a cold, crushing weight.

The wind howled outside, sending a shiver through you. You’d learned to navigate the city’s ruinous maze, moving with the shadows, slipping through alleyways, always watching your back. But every day, the Decepticons seemed to draw closer, tightening the noose with their relentless patrols.

The last human you’d spoken to was a scavenger named Mira. She’d been tough, gritty, with a quiet intensity that had made you think she could survive anything. She’d warned you about the Decepticons’ latest tactics, their setting traps to lure out survivors, their growing patrols in this area of the city. But that had been weeks ago. You hadn’t seen her since. Her face lingered in your mind as yet another ghost.

The hum of an airplane engine broke the silence, sending a jolt of adrenaline through you. You froze, every sense heightened, listening intently. It was distant—likely a patrol passing through the streets above—but even so, the familiarity of it triggered an instinctive wave of fear. You’d heard that sound too many times. Each instance had ended with a building being leveled or a life snuffed out.

Your heart pounded as you crouched low, moving silently through the office wall to peek through the cracked window. Outside, the city lay in shattered silence, but a faint glimmer of metal caught your eye, just visible through the haze. A Decepticon, its massive form standing out from anything else around the ruins. It moved methodically, its gaze sweeping the rubble as if it could sniff out human life in the air itself.

You crawled away from the window, slipping back into the shadows of the room, praying that the dim light and debris would keep you hidden. Your heartbeat roared in your ears as you crouched, body tense, waiting. Minutes stretched on, stretching into an eternity as you listened for any hint that the Decepticon had moved on.

But the silence persisted, thick and oppressive. Part of you wanted to risk a glance, but your instincts screamed otherwise. That was the problem now; you’d lived in silence for so long that sometimes, even the slightest noise felt like a gunshot. Every step, every creak, every breath seemed like it could betray you.

As you tried to steady your breathing, your gaze drifted to a pile of old papers strewn across the floor. One caught your eye—a page from an old newspaper, yellowed and faded. The headline read, Hope for Tomorrow: Humanity’s Technological Golden Age. You almost laughed at the bitter irony. The hope they’d once touted had been torn away, replaced by cold metal giants who knew nothing of mercy or compassion.

A loud clang from outside startled you, pulling you back to the present with a fearful jolt. You remained still, barely daring to breathe. The footsteps outside were getting louder, a heavy, ominous rhythm. You recognized the sound: The unmistakable footsteps of the Decepticons, its weight causing the building to shudder faintly. They were close—too close.

The footsteps paused, and your heart seemed to stop with them. The faint hum of machinery echoed down, accompanied by the cold, mechanical sound of a voice you couldn’t quite make out. Your mind raced, considering your options. Running wasn’t possible; any movement risked drawing their attention. And yet, staying still felt like sitting in a cage, waiting for the predator to find you.

The Decepticon’s steps resumed, slower this time, each one punctuated by a metallic creak that reverberated through the building.

And the footsteps halted again, this time right on the other side of the wall you're leaning against, and you froze, body taut with fear. The building groaned under the heavy weight of machinery, dust drifting down in fine particles that tickled your face.The walls around you seemed to close in, your hiding place shrinking as the footsteps grew louder, closer. As if the Decepticon was zeroing in on your location, as if it were playing with your fears.

Then, with a metallic clang, you heard the Decepticon move again. Just when you thought the danger had passed, a deafening explosion ripped through the building, and the entire roof blew off with a force that sent you sprawling. A cry escaped your lips as you hit the ground, pain radiating through you.

Gasping, you struggled to your feet, but as you looked up, a chill gripped your heart. Through the swirling dust and debris, a pair of red optics glowed, locked directly onto you. Fear surged through your veins, and before you could even think, a scream tore from your throat.

Maybe your luck has run out.

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

[synthetickitsune]

Seungkwan (SVT) | Golden hour fluff | 0.8k | gn!reader

”You look like the sun,” you chuckle when you see your boyfriend kneeling on the sofa. He’s taking pictures of the sunset through the open window, but the golden rays make it seem like his hair is glowing. Like he is glowing. A star fallen into your living room. He turns towards you with a playful pout but soon returns to his task, set on taking the perfect picture.

You cross the room, a little quicker now. The perspiration on the cool glass is starting to slide down the glasses of lemonade and you make it a game for yourself of not getting the floors wet. You make it. Taking out the lemon-themed coasters, you think it’d be nice to have more variants of different fruits to match your drinks. 

You voice the thought aloud to Seungkwan, making him smile and turn towards you.

“We can find some. There will be plenty online,” he says while he sits down next to you. He shows you the picture he took. It’s perfect and you tell him so, earning a grateful kiss to your cheek.

The room is bathed in a warm glow. The walls look like they’re dripping gold, oozing honey. You lean back into the pillows and take it all in. The breeze blows in gently and carries the voices of people on the street and the rustling of leaves in the wind. Seungkwan, having already diligently documented the scene outside, watches you instead. Then he pulls up his phone again to take a picture of you too.

“That’s not gonna be much of a masterpiece,” you hum, turning your face towards him.

“Wrong,” he smirks and proudly turns his phone towards you. He already changed his lockscreen to the picture he just took. You laugh. It could be worse. “See?”

“All I see is that my boyfriend has a talent for photography,” you lean closer to him and kiss him. 

“You’re my muse,” he whispers against your lips before pulling away and taking his glass of the cool drink. He praises the taste like it’s not the easiest drink to make. 

“Oranges would be better. They’d match the color more,” he ruins it right after and points to deeper shade on the walls.

“Sure, maybe tomorrow. If the nice weather lasts, we can have a whole photoshoot here,” you tease only a little, you really mean it for the most part.

Seungkwan’s eyes twinkle either way as he immediately leans against you and starts motioning around the room, telling you all about his vision. Somehow you think it’s been on his mind for a while. You wonder if he’d ever suggest it himself.

You listen to him, and you must admit his ideas sound wonderful. At some point, however, all you register is his voice and the light. Sunlight paints him to be a statue with golden cracks where the rays filter into the room. He really might as well be a fallen star that found its home in your apartment. It could be him that illuminates the entire room. His voice only helps the daydream develop. No mere human could sound so nice. 

You barely, no - you simply don’t realize that your body starts slumping against your boyfriend's. He's quite comfortable, and comforting even more so. Your body fits so nice against his, so naturally like it’s meant to be. You bask in his glow. He must be a guardian angel sent to you.

But while you don't realize, Seungkwan has noticed your absent-minded gaze quite some time ago. He knows you tend to get lost in your own head sometimes and doesn't get concerned anymore. Although he is curious what you're thinking about when you lean against him. Slowly he stretches his arm and lets it rest around your shoulders. You don't startle, you don't even notice. He continues speaking without giving into the temptation to call you cute and squish your cheeks. He gets the same reaction - or lack of - when he begins playing with your hair.

Eventually though, you come to. With a cute confused hum and loving smile.

“Where did you go?” Seungkwan coos at you.

“I just thought about how happy you make me,” you snuggle closer to him, hugging his waist. Your head fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. He stutters a little.

“Bet you weren’t even listening to me,” he mumbles under his breath and you know he’s just trying to hide that even after all this time you still make him shy. So you repeat his words to him, at least what you did catch, and it’s enough to drive him into a corner. “Not fair.”

You laugh, pecking his neck and rubbing your nose on the skin of his throat. He wonders aloud why you are so affectionate suddenly, but you stay quiet - you already told him anyway.

“I’m really happy with you too,” he whispers after a beat of silence, hugging you closer, “Very happy.”

And so you sip your lemonades and watch the sunset together. It might not seem like much, but you like this little life.

[cr4yolaas]

blue spring — something sweet

prev: monkey tie at the exhibit | masterlist | next: coping mechanism

"what prompted this?" she asks while taking a sip of the coffee he got her. it's filled to the brim with ice, much to her dismay, but the hints of lavender and cinnamon make up for the inconvenience. she's still dressed in her pajamas, lace-lined and adorned with ribbons, but she's wide awake.

"as thanks," he claims, but truthfully, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. "for inviting me the other night. and for returning my jacket." she shakes her head at his reasoning. her hand motions to their spot on the floor, signaling him to situate himself while she prepares her materials, and as she does so, kageyama soaks in her room again, this time with more intent. the papers that were on her desk a few days prior have been neatly stacked up and stored in a container beneath her desk, and the clothes that once piled up on the floor are nowhere to be seen. most importantly, though, the canvas isn't bland anymore. there's a sketch of a girl with her arms wrapped around an unintelligible creature in the center, and the face vaguely reminds him of her. this time, he questions it. "what is that?"

her movements come to a swift halt, and her eyes dart towards the easel. he can see the tension settle in her bones at the realization that the unfinished piece is on full display. "it's nothing," she replies, and instead of leaving it alone, she moves quickly to hide it in her closet.

his head tilts at her actions. "it looks great, though."

"thank you, but-"

the call of her name from the living room cuts her short, and she's escaping through the door before he can say another word. his fist curls in on itself subconsciously while he waits, the hushed talks on the other side of the wall failing to reach his ears.

when she returns, the air around her is heavier. a soft sigh leaves her lips before she settles herself on the ground and delves into the lesson for today. he doesn’t fail to notice the slight stiffness about her.

the time slips through kageyama's hands, and unbeknownst to him, wisps of warm golden sunlight are peering through her window. his legs have fallen asleep a long time ago, and his posture is unsalvageable. regardless, he listens. he listens to the soft timber of her voice as she explains each diagram, and he listens to the enunciation of each syllable that falls from her tongue. he's entranced, to say the least, but he doesn't realize it. all he can feel is the thump, thump, thump of his heart against his chest and the airiness in his stomach.

his notes have grown cleaner, compared to the last session. she compliments his organization, and embarrassingly, a barrage of heat hits his face. the change in dynamic shakes his awareness back into place, and he realizes the sun is already disappearing into the horizon, the hue of the sunset long gone. seemingly, his awakening draws her attention to the time, and she breathes out a small apology for dragging on for too long.

he's rushing to pack his things, realizing he'd overstayed his welcome. he can't read her expression -- it's an amalgamation of emotions he can't put a name to, and it bothers him slightly. nevertheless, she bids him farewell, this time following out to the front door.

"thank you," she whispers, her arms crossed against her chest to fight against the breeze. "for the coffee and sweets. i'll have to pay you back sometime soon." the small smile on her lips almost makes him forget to respond.

"you don't have to," he replies hastily, his words tumbling out all too fast. "you're already doing me a huge favor. y'know, by tutoring me."

she shifts her weight to a different leg, her gaze attached to his face. "okay. just get home safe, alright?"

he nods, pivoting around to walk down the hallway, to the street, and back home. the trip is quiet, save for the whirring of cars on his right and the hum of evening owls on his left. when he returns, the thumping of his heart dissolves into a softer noise, and the airiness in his stomach disappears.

𝜗𝜚 incoming family trauma :3

𝜗𝜚 tsukki is very caring behind the scenes as u can see (he wants to look nonchalant and cool for his bf but i didnt tell u that)

𝜗𝜚 yachi may or may not have eaten half of the pastry box

𝜗𝜚 yn orders the same noodles every time tsukishima says he's getting takeout and he uses the add-ons as a mood indicator. no add-ons means she's doing fine, the more add-ons equate to how badly she's doing

𝜗𝜚 kageyama is like a cat exploring a new area every time he enters yn's room LOL she's noticed it she just hasn't cared enough to mention it

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

So long, farewell; until we meet again.

This is the concluding story to the corresponding blog event, A Fellow in Need is a Friend Indeed. ahyduaysovfva SORRY IF THIS IS SHORT, I wanted to wrap it up quickly so I can scream more about Halloween--

Please note, I was not able to respond to all interaction requests, as many were sent after the submission period, disregarded rules, or simply did not catch my interest 💦 Apologies!

Be Honest with Me.

Strange posters had started to crop up all over NRC. Few at first, but they became more numerous over the week, culminating in clusters of them stamped in the cafeteria and rows lining every hallway.

They were colorful and glittery, proclaiming of a great, once-in-a-lifetime show coming to campus. The stars, a traveling fox and cat duo. Immediately, the culprits were clear.

“You used the library printers for THIS?!” Raven demanded of them, thrusting a flyer she had torn down in Fellow’s face.

“It was free!”

“Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should!” She slapped a hand over the words plastered on the page. “kume c the greatist sho? You can’t make these claims—they haven’t been reviewed and approved by the proper authorities! And there's spelling errors all over!"

“Oh, calm down!” He poked her square in the forehead. “See, this is why you should come to our show. It’ll really teach ya how to live a little, laugh a little.”

"Wh-What...!!" Raven collected herself, then shot Fellow her fiercest glare. “Do you even have a venue or a stage crew secured for your performance…? How do you intend on putting on a show when there's been no planning put into this event?"

He held up a finger, shushing her. "You ever heard of a diversion, kid? You don’t need fancy stuff to have fun.”

"What is that supposed to mean?"

His grim was a wolfish invitation. "Come on to the theater and you'll see for yourself."

... I came.

Raven scanned the courtyard. Several students had gathered, spanning all seven dormitories. A few had posters in hand, and some of the Ignihyde boys had even come prepared with light sticks.

No stage was set, no decorations set up.

No fanfare at all.

I wonder what this grand show is going to be.

Raven folded her arms and leaned back against the trunk of an apple tree. Peering through the leaves, she could make out the final blips of sunlight. Golden, touched with pinks, oranges, and reds.

5 minutes.

10 minutes.

20.

40.

An hour and a half.

Mob students fidgeted, double checking the time on their phones, on the flyers. The sunset bobbed, then drowned in darkness. Warm colors bled into black, the stars popping into view.

Raven frowned.

No show.

Had Fellow written the time down incorrectly? Was he running late, perhaps too caught up in his own preparations? Did something happen to postpone...

“You ever heard of a diversion, kid?“

A diversion. An activity that keeps the mind from being too serious. Recreation, pastime. Neither of those definitions.

A distraction. Divert attention to one thing. and you won’t be paying attention to another.

Raven's thoughts skidded to a halt.

Wait a minute.

"If we're all here..." she said out loud, "then who's back at the dorms watching our things?"

All heads in the courtyard snapped to her. Realization and horror were etched into the students' expressions. They tore off for the Hall of Mirrors, pushing and shoving each other to be first through the doors.

Raven raced for her own abode.

The highest room in the tallest tower. Up a long flight of stairs, two steps at a time. Behind the ancient wooden door, in that dusty attic was--

She barreled inside, panting heavily. Her lungs burned, as if lit on fire. Left, right--her eyes darted around the room, searching for signs of disruption.

Paper, ink smears books puled high. The usual clutter, nothing missing from its place.

But the windows were open, and a brisk breeze weaving itself through her curtains, setting them fluttering. She rushed over, leaning out and staring down. The branches of a nearby tree opened to the window, and the angle at which the roof was slanted would allow for an easy slide if one was daring enough to try.

Did he and Gidel-san really just…?!

Raven pinched the bridge of her nose.

Why the distraction if they haven’t taken anything while everyone was away?

She paced her room, reexamined everything. Counted the books, checked the corner where Fellow and Gidel had holed up.

Nothing.

Raven shuffled to her writing desk, a finger taped to her chin.

What happened here…?

Then she saw it.

A book, sticking out from under her chair.

Raven crouched down and retrieved it. The cover, dented. The story, about a boy who never wanted to grow up.

Second star to the right and straight on till morning…

What she had been reading the day she had bumped into the two.

Raven flipped through the novel, stopping on a page flagged by a neon sticky note. Scrawled in messy handwriting was a short message.

Thanks for having us, kid.

Back on the road.

Talk soon, stay safe.

- Fellow

(What she assumed was Gidel’s signature followed, though it resembled scribbles more than letters.)

Raven held the note to her chest. Her ribcage constricted, squeezing her heart. They’re out there. Back on the run from their pursuers.

The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Mental gates swung open, as if finally unlocked by a skeleton key.

The diversion. It was to keep people anyone from knowing where and when they’d gone. No witnesses, no information to be leaked, no one put in danger if the wrong crowd comes along sniffing for them.

Raven chuckled, laying her arms on her windowsill as she looked out at the campus. The moon was high up, casting a silvery veil over the shadows that slithered in the dark. Almost protective, in a way.

“… Well, what do you know? I guess he still has it in him to be honest every once in a while.”

[ichore]

WASTED SUMMERS | UTAHIME IORI

synopsis: it's common knowledge utahime hates gojo satoru, but its true reason has always been up for debate - perhaps it was you all along.

warnings, tags: afab!reader x utahime iori, reader is satoru's girlfriend since high-school, utahime is a closet case, stalker utahime, angst, sapphic yearning, reader's actions are questionable at best after satoru's death

wc: 1.3k

Utahime Iori has always reminded you of a fawn when she's around you; the way she treats you with the utmost genteel, the soft knocks of her geta against the wooden floor being the only thing that gives away she is walking behind you. When you turn around, her brown, kind eyes widen for a second before you say hello and give her a smile as you enter the classroom together. Yet, she doesn't have the opportunity to greet you as you already have a tall, snowy figure towering right next to you before his arm pulls you against his chest. She watches as you wrap your arm around Satoru's waist while he spits out his daily dose of teasing towards Utahime - rage engulfs her at the sight of you cuddling him while he's making fun of her, and before she knows it, she's screaming at Satoru Gojo at the top of her lungs.

You must assume that she's a lunatic, she thinks to herself while sitting at her table as the warmth of the afternoon light shines through the windows. She unwraps a menthol candy and begins to suck on it to soothe the ache in her throat. Another ache that has been merely growing stronger because of Satoru.

"Why are you here all by yourself, Hime?" she jolts at the sound of your voice before she looks at you standing at the door in your neatly ironed uniform, its collar barely hiding the lilac hickey your boyfriend left on your precious skin, your thighs glowing in the orange hue of the sunlight under your skirt. Fuck Satoru for daring to mark such a gorgeous being like you, she thinks, her fist clench around the plastic candy wrapper.

"Satoru barely comes here, unless necessary." she answers, forcing her gaze towards the sunset once again when she realizes you already have a nickname for her. The prettiest name she's ever been called, or did it only make her heart flutter because it rolled so sweetly off your tongue? The heat of sunrays bite at her cheek, pale red spreads across her skin by the time you take the seat ahead of her. You put your elbow on her table, resting your jaw in the cradle of your palm as you peer at her homework before looking eyes with her once more.

"The ink is already dry." you say, and she immediately knows you're questioning why she's sitting in a classroom all by herself despite her homework being done a long time ago. "You're so pretty, Hime. It'd be a shame to waste that away here all by yourself. Actually, you should wear your hair in a half up-half down style. That'd look cute. But I bet you already have many boys asking you out."

Utahime's eyes widen as you reach out your hand to run it across her bangs, following the line of her temple and along her pigtail. You hear the plastic crumble in her fist, see the redness spread further above to her forehead as you lean closer, stopping when your lips are only inches away from hers. "Or do you like girls?"

"What? No!" her laughter trembles with embarrassment as she jumps up from her seat, and grabs her bag to hold it ahead of her chest as tightly as possible before bowing a goodbye ahead of you. "Apologies, I have to go."

The hatred towards Satoru Gojo in Utahime's chest has been only growing ever since that afternoon; she's changed her hairstyle like you suggested, and you even bought her a snow white colored bow as a gift which she wears every day. Yet, the fact that the bow was your gift remains a secret, or rather a meaningless detail you don't have time to share with anyone because your time is mostly spent with Satoru.

Her stomach twists in disgust whenever your lips meet with his shit eating grin. She scoffs whenever he's praised for being the strongest, for having six eyes that sense everything in the universe. Yet, she's the only one who sees that he doesn't care about you. Not truly. Not like she does. She knows this ever since she overheard you talking about shopping at the mall on a friday afternoon, and she could not fight the urge to follow you although Satoru was holding your hand during the spree. As she was walking behind you both, she was already thinking about all the lies she would have told if Satoru caught her. It infuriated her that he never did - does he even care about you? What if someone else was following you and not her? Her nails were digging into her palms, leaving marks akin to a crescent moon when he left your side to look for clothes of his own while you were in the fitting room.

Anybody could've peaked through the cloth that served as a pathetic door between your nearly naked body and a freak. As if to prove her point, her feet silently carried her to were she saw your shadow moving. Her gaze zigzagged through the store to check no one saw her before her shaky hand rose to gently pull away the cloth to be able to see your figure in the mirror. Only one of her darkened eyes watched you; she could nearly taste your skin on her tongue, your exposed bosom inviting her lips so hard that it made her chest ache, how the lace of your lingerie hugged your curves so perfectly that she wished it were her hands that stripped them off you.

Her point was made; anybody could've seen you and Satoru can count himself lucky it was only Utahime. She swallowed hard as she stepped away from your fitting room when Satoru's annoying laughter appeared to be coming closer. Tears began to roll down on her cheeks as she was slowly walking home, realizing that whereas seeing you dressed like that changed something in her, but that gift was really meant for the man she hated the most.

Oh, but how much loathe she feels for him now that he's dead. You're standing next to his body, a used tissue in your fist as your tears constantly hit his pale chest. She watches your entire body tremble as you weep, and somehow it turns her heartache into wrath. How many years she's wanted you to leave him? How many years she's thought to tell you you will never be first for this man? How many times have you begged for him to not go? All those summers waisted for a man who prioritized the World over you - meanwhile Utahime was growing sick from the yearning for you and you only.

But you have always known this. She knows you have as your wits is one thing she loves you for. Yet, when your wet cheek find her shoulder, her arms wrap around you in a tight, warm embrace. Her parfume smells like the one you wore as a student, her lips shine in a familiar gloss as she kisses your forehead. She holds you for long minutes, her brown eyes looking at Satoru with spite and disgust until you let go of her.

Her heart ruts in her chest when she realizes you kiss her; your palms embracing her face ever so softly, yet still holding her in place. Your lips and tongue feel desperate, overwhelming enough that she has to hold into you or otherwise her knees will give in. Shoko's equipments chaotically cling as your back meets the metalic table, making you both jolt back into reality. Disheveled and out of breath, you stare at each other before your eyes find Satoru again.

"You should leave" you sob, fixing your hair and wiping her lipgloss off your lips with the back of your hand while turning your back on her. Her lips tremble as she storms out of the building, tearing the white bow out of her hair before stomping it and grinding it into the ground with her heel.

All those years, she's waited for you to become hers and even in death, your heart still belongs to Saturo Gojo.

[lewmagoo]

Celebrating Older!Bob's 50th birthday, and you ABSOLUTELY slut it tf up for him 👅👅

“happy birthday, mr. floyd.” your soft voice alerted bob to your presence. he lifted his head, only to find you standing in the doorway of his home office. you were dressed in a silk robe. deep blue, his favorite color, with feathers lining the cuffs. he could tell you weren’t wearing anything beneath it, from the way your nipples were peaked beneath the smooth fabric. he leaned back in his chair, mouth turning up into a curious smile. “why, look at you. dressed up so pretty for me,” he mused. it was sunset, and the final rays of sun were glimmering through the window, their light catching on the silver of his hair. god, he was regal. even dressed down in a pair of slacks and a cable knit sweater.

"wanted to give you one last gift," you replied, pushing off the doorway and sauntering toward him. eyes remaining on your approaching figure, he pushed his chair back from the desk, giving you space for whatever you were about to do. you perched on the edge of the desk, situated directly in front of him. "oh really? and what is this gift, exactly?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes. he didn't miss your mischievous smile. "i have something to show you." you rose to your feet again, stepping forward and reaching for his hands, beckoning him to untie your robe. he did so, skilled fingers easing the tie open with ease.

then you stepped back and let the silk fall to the floor in a soft heap. bob watched you through hooded eyes, biting his lip in anticipation. you turned, sliding open the top drawer of his desk and retrieving a velvet pouch. he'd never seen it before. sneaky. you untied the pouch, and then reached for his hand. you turned the pouch over, and into his palm fell a small bottle. he turned it over, reading the label, and his eyes widened. "what..." but before he could finish his question, you turned, slowly bending forward over the desk. that was when he saw it. a glimmer of blue in the waning sunlight. a jeweled plug.

you couldn't help but smile at his low groan. "honey, you're serious?" he asked incredulously. you looked at him over your shoulder, a knowing smile on your face. "i've been working on getting ready to take you. got a dildo that's close to your size. i practiced riding it whenever you were at work. been wearing plugs a lot too. i think i'm finally ready for your cock, daddy." bob was certain he'd spontaneously combust right then and there. he rose from his chair, stepping toward you, large hand coming up to part the skin of your bottom so he could admire the plug fully. "look at you. spent all this time working so hard so you'd be ready to take daddy. i'm so proud of you, angel," he praised, leaning down to kiss between your shoulder blades. "you have no idea how happy this makes me."

you smiled again. "i think i have a small idea," you said. then, you pushed your ass back against him. "i'm all yours, sir. fuck me however you like." you felt his fingers prodding at the glimmering plug. "oh, i will, darling. i will. just want to savor this for a few more moments. your sweet little ass looks so pretty with a plug inside it."

[winwintea]

the last hope - lee mark

PAIRING ▸ soldier!lee mark x fem!reader 

GENRES ▸ romance, fluff, angst, lots of angst, supernatural, wayyy too much angst

WARNINGS ▸ angst. and character death

SUMMARY ▸ [part of the last love series!] you've fallen in love with the mark, the soldier who wishes to protect the country. His life is a brilliantly burning flame, whereas yours is nearly completely, gone. no matter how much pain it causes, you'll never love another like him. even as he walks away to his main purpose in life.

WORD COUNT ▸2.8k (not proofread 😭)

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ suffer pt 2

PROLOGUE | MASTERLIST

Recently, your mornings-or more so, your afternoons had become quite a little circus. You hoped he might have woken himself up today, but he’s deep asleep, yet again.

Mark lay in his bed. Blankets upon him like snow drifts, burying him completely. “...Mark? Mark, it is afternoon. You must wake up.” There was no response from the pile to indicate anything was even alive under there. That’s fair. You’d learned by now that just calling his name wasn’t enough to wake him. You sighed in preparation for this trial, gripped his blankets, and yanked them up off him.

“Mmm? Oh… it’s you. Hi.” Mark just yawned, stretched, and grinned at you with an effortlessly charming smile.

“I swear I will send Ricky in to wake you up! He doesn’t seem to mind it.” “...I prefer you.” “What did you just say?” “I prefer when you wake me up. No matter how I slept, I always feel better when I wake up and see your face.”

“Is that so..?” “Yeah.” When he smiled, Mark was the sunlight filtering through a canopy of trees. There was an honesty to him that made you trust him. Which was how you knew he had somehow come to enjoy himself here. For he certainly didn’t smile at the beginning of his stay.

It was a surprise to yourself as well when Ricky lured Mark and the other humans here, hoping you might turn one of them. Out of all of our human “guests,” Mark was the most adamant about leaving. When you explained about the magic of this mansion and offered your sincerest apologies for Ricky’s actions- Mark accepted them. He began to let down his guard around you and gradually came to treat you as a dear companion. You hadn’t spoken so freely to anyone since you lost your family. With Mark, you felt closer to the self you lost so long ago. When Mark laughed and what a laugh it was- laughter crept out of yourself as well. His love of life illuminated the centuries old ennui that had wrapped itself around your heart. “Y/N? You’ve gone quiet.” “I’m sorry. My mind was wandering” You knew there could be no one in the world like Mark, just as he knew there was no one in the world left like me. “I believe I hear Ricky calling, I must go…”

“Wait!” Mark touched your wrist. “Will I see you tonight at our usual place?”

At your acknowledgement, he smiled. You left Mark’s room, touched your wrist where he’d touched you, and sighed. Humans are so warm. Or perhaps this is just Mark’s warmth you feel? You hadn’t expected it to happen, but it appears that after all this time, you’d fallen in love. You thought you knew better than to pine after mortals. And with no one else like yourself in the world, you sealed yourself off from ALL love. But love found it’s way to you. And it was both wonderful and confusing.

—

When the moon had risen in the sky, you headed towards “your usual place” to see Mark. “There you are, Y/N. I was wondering when you’d show up.” “I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” “Only by about two hours”

"Two hours?! I did not! It's just barely sunset!"

"I'm teasing you! Let's sit down.” Mark was laughing at his joke; you looked at him wryly before sitting next to him by the window, here in your "usual place." While you couldn't provide Mark an exit, You’d given him full use of this garret. It had the view farthest outside the mansion… “What would you like to hear today?"

"I always enjoy your stories of the city."

"You're not tired of listening to me ramble on about it? ...Very well. It's your choice.” you watched the light in his eyes as he spoke animatedly about his home and life there. 

And you remembered your first conversation here..

"...You're still searching for an exit, I see. Why have you been in such a hurry to leave?"

"You ask me that, after trapping me here?!"

"I apologize again. But there's truly nothing I can do to release you until the month is up."

"…..But I must return. Somehow. There's something important I have to protect...My people. I am a soldier. I don't know how much news you get here, but the fighting continues to grow worse every day. ..The people live in terror. I have to protect them; to restore peace to this country. I know this country and her people will see the sun rise again. I believe in that. But I've also heard the whispers. I fear something horrible will sweep across the country before that happens. That is why I cannot remain stuck here while more innocents fall!” 

You felt the truth of his words; when he spoke, it was like you beheld that glorious sunrise in him. “Mark, I know this cannot atone for your entrapment, but I assure you, in a month, when the full moon comes- ...I will do nothing to impede your exit from this mansion; I will do all in my power to see you back safely to your home.”

“...Do you promise that?"

“I promise.” you were sure he would save his people-Mark, who burned bright as a flame. Your own flame was dying. To keep it going by feeding off of his-to take him away from where he needed to be-was wrong.

...It's funny to think back and realize. I'd fallen in love with him that very night.

"And as for the flowers, the old woman said-" You gazed at him, wondering how peaceful it would be if you could spend my last moments in his arms, listening to his voice…

“Y/N?”

“Hmm. Yes?” 

Mark’s hand came to rest upon your cheek. "Is something the matter?" As he touched your cheek, his pearl brown eyes gazed into yours.

"...No. Why do you ask?"

"You looked very sad for a moment.”

"You must have been imagining it." His hand drifted away. The more time you spend together, the more your feelings grow beyond your control. But it could not-should not be. You pushed your love for him down where you’d kept all the other precious memories from your life.

"The full moon is coming."

"..That's right. In just four days. "You don't need to worry, Mark. I haven't forgotten my promise. You'll go free and return to the city where-"

"What will happen to you?"

"...What do you mean?"

"What will happen to you once I and the others leave this place?" If you fail to turn a human by the full moon, your body will fail and you will die.

The knowledge of your fate would not change your decision. No. More than your decision and your beliefs, it was your love for Mark that rendered it impossible for you to turn him. You would want to uplift him, if it were possible. Not to expose him to the worst experiences of your own life.

"Why, nothing will happen." You waited a moment to see if the lie worked. "It will just go back to being Ricky and I, living here as we have for centuries. Oh, but I must make sure he doesn't get it in his head to lure anyone else here!” you cut yourself off there; anymore and it would feel like guilty rambling.

To your relief, Mark smiled. "...Nothing will change for you, then? If that's the case, then I will fight hard so that you, too, may continue to live in peace.”

"You'll fight...for me?"

"You might not be aware of the fighting going on right now, but that doesn't mean you'll be safe in this forest forever. But I will make sure that you and this mansion are protected, for as long as I am alive.” He carries so much already, yet he would add you to the things he wishes to protect? What a beautiful gift. 

"...Thank you, Mark..."

“You are welcome.”

—

Mark talked to you of his life in the world beyond this forest, until he felt your head touch his shoulder “..Y/N? Are you asleep?"

All he heard in response was your soft breathing. Mark touched a kiss to your brow. You continued to sleep peacefully, and he smiled gently at you. 

“...I had not imagined I would fall so deeply in love with you." His quiet voice melted into the night…

—

You had fallen asleep sometime during

Mark’s story. He woke you when the night turned cold. We bid each other adieu and you returned to your room, only to be greeted by Ricky.

"Madam, I did not expect to find you up and about so late”

"Do not fret. I'm on my way to bed. I fell asleep while talking with Mark."

"…..You fell asleep in front of him? How curious. You always shoo me off long before you're ready to sleep.”

"Yes. And I would do so to any other. You're right, it is strange that I slept in his presence.”

"...Or fortuitous. Madam, once more I implore you. With what little time you have left-!"

"Ricky, I cannot turn him. No matter how much I've opened my heart to him. No matter if I love him.”

“Then what is so wrong with extending his lifespan? I don't regret being turned. Except that I might live to see your end..” The ever stoic Ricky now pleaded with you.

 "I know you would rather see me live. …..That is how I feel about Mark. I would not force the sun to stay in the sky, day and night, until it burns itself cold. I wouldn't simply be ending his existence as a mortal, Ricky. Mark treasures his life. I would be destroying him!"

“My lady…”

"..Now it is late and we both should rest. Good night, Ricky.” It hurt to refuse Ricky, who had cared for you for so long. And it hurt to lie to Mark, whom you would soon say goodbye to forever… You hadn't expected after so many decades of sorrow you could still feel a pain this sharp..

—

Finally, the night came. The others had left as soon as the gates had opened… but you held Mark up for only a minute, so that you could give him a proper goodbye.

"The stables?"

"Yes, there's something I'd like to give you. A parting gift of sorts." You released your beloved steed, Suzanne, already saddled for a long ride, from her paddock. “I… want you to take Suzanne with you when you leave. She is yours now, Mark."

"Take Suzanne? I...cannot accept. She is too precious of a gift."

"That is exactly why I want you to have her."

"You have a long road ahead of you, Mark. Longer than the path out of these woods, and more treacherous." His eyes spoke his understanding "I fear for the injuries you may take; both the physical wounds, and the ones to your heart. I have seen many wars before retreating here. I know what they cost those who fight. And those who defend." He had told you much of his life; was he surprised to know we shared this? "Suzanne-she will protect you from all that would seek to harm you."

"...Thank you. I will take good care of her." You handed him the bridle. His hand stopped to rest on yours before the exchange. 

…That will be the last time we touch. This is the last time we’ll see each other.

Over a hundred thousand days accrued in your memory. You begged this moment to become one. "...You must get going. The magic of this place is fickle. You wouldn't want to be trapped here for another month, would you?"

"Yes, I understand." Mark looked at you, his pearl eyes catching the light of the last full moon. "…Will I be able to return here at some other point? To see you?"

"What?"

“...I can't imagine sleeping as well without you to wake me up. And Suzanne will miss you...No, that's not at all what I mean to say-" Mark seemed bashful. “Y/N.” Finding himself, he met your eyes. "I do not fear the battles that await me when I think you might be here waiting for me at the end. I want to see you again. I want you to promise that we'll see each other again."

I am afraid...I cannot make that promise without tears in my eyes…

Your eyes stung with heat. You fought back the drops that threated to spill. You really should tell him to forget this place and never come back. But if you want him to be safe against all the dangers he will face, then perhaps this promise is the best way to ensure that? 

"...Unless, you do not wish-"

"I promise! I promise I'll see you again." 

Mark smiled in relief and took your hand. "Just don't break your side of the promise. All right?"

"And incur the wrath of this city’s greatest soldier? I didn't get to be the last eterni by being a fool, you know!"

"Is that so? I figured you were the last because you were so much scarier than the rest!"

I love you so much, my clever soldier.

Of all the years you’d lived, these few minutes on the last night of your life were the happiest. If you turned to dust now, you would not regret it. But for one thing “...I'd like you to promise me one last thing."

"Anything.”

“..Live. Outlive everything that would try to harm you or put out your fire. Live as long as you possibly can!"

"I promise. I will live until I am old and tired and gray, and then I will live some more." We smiled at that. And then it was time to let go. We released each other's hands. "I will see you again, Y/N. Goodbye.”

“Yes. Goodbye…” Mark mounted up and gave you a last smile before riding off into the forest.

Your life was over. But you want all the happiness that you might have enjoyed, had you lived, to go to him. You watched until Mark was a distant shadow amidst the trees. Then you fell to the ground, your body collapsing as you did.

 ..This is...the end…

Weakly, you lifted your hand, thinking of Mark’s hand touching it as you did.

I wish...I could have…..kept…..our...promise…

—

..Many, many years passed. Mark, mighty soldier of the Regiment had become something of a legend among the people of the City. His success helped him rise through the ranks, and that, in turn, helped him to protect more people…

"I heard you'd barely said a word to your staff officers before running off. Did you go to your mansion in the woods again?"

"I might have.”

"And? Was she there this time?"

"…..No. It was empty as it's ever been. Like any old house that's been abandoned. I still don't know what could have happened..." 

Lee Donghyuck looked at his commanding officer and good friend and sighed. "Why do you still keep going, time and time again, year after year? Most men take their leave to find their reason to live. You come back from yours like you've just died.”

"Always so critical of me, Donghyuck."

Mark laughed a bright but somewhat tired laugh and looked up at the sky. "…..Honestly, it feels that way. That I'm being torn apart, piece by piece. But until the last piece of me is gone, I will keep our promise. I will see her again."

"What if she's truly gone?"

"…..Not while I remember her. Not while I believe. And not while I wait. I've never loved another like I loved her.. So I will keep searching. Until I am old and tired and gray. And then I will search some more.”

"I've seen you win fights with the worst odds, scraping together every ounce of life you could. You don't know how to waste” The two men exchanged a look of understanding. Just then, Suzanne raised her head and whinnied. Mark looked curiously at his horse, who seemed desperate to chase after something, though neither man could see what.

"...Donghyuck, I think Suzanne wants me to take her out for a little ride. I'II be back!" Mark let Suzanne guide the way. Running. Running toward some unknown destination… 

— 

She stopped at a hillside. Flowers covered the grass like a carpet. Standing in the center of it all like the jewel on a crown was a lone girl. She had her back turned to Mark, not having noticed his arrival. Even from this distance, she looked so familiar. 

"...Pardon, miss.”

Slowly, the young woman turned around. 

But it wasn’t you. 

perm taglist -> @lyvhie

[the-ellia-west]

The Porcelain Girl

(My Symbolism-infused School assignment Short Story)

It's about failure, success, isolation, and the torture of artists, failure, and imitation

Gold Represents Success, Silver Represents failure, yada yada

(Tis very long, read at your own risk)

PLEASE COMMENT OR RB WITH YOUR OPINION, I NEED TO TURN THIS IN ON MONDAY

The first thing I knew was the golden sunlight filtering in through the keyhole. When I stepped out of my small cabinet, my new world seemed a wonder beyond comprehension. Within walls too big for my eyes and voices through the halls I had to run to reach the end of. It took me days to explore the castle. I could sit on window sills and hide from the metallic footsteps of the Courtiers. I didn’t know how I knew their titles, but I did know I had to be careful. The Castle paved in stone, the courtiers plated in shining metal, they were glorious sights to behold. 

I was different.

Days and days passed, turning over to weeks, then months, and I began to know my castle and its contents. Men reveled in gold, where trash became the only home for silver. I would spend my days sitting in the window, looking out at the world beyond my gilded walls. But I loved one thing most of all. The king, the one who owned the palace, the only one entirely of gold, with no silver spots about him. He would speak to his servants as if they were free, and the Courtiers would imitate him down to his very smile. 

But I was no different in that regard. I longed to be like him, looked up to instead of crushed underfoot. But he was made of gold, and I was nothing more than mud. I had beauty, true, but I was still only clay with a painted face.

However, one day, while I was gazing from the window, pondering everything but my purpose, I spotted something. A crown, upon a scarlet pillow, displayed on a marble pedestal at the right hand of the King, gleaming in the summer sunset. The same color as the dandelions plucked from the gardens or the reflection of lanterns in a Courtier’s eyes. It called the name I didn’t have. 

I needed to see it up close. So against my better judgement, I lowered myself from the window and rushed to the ballroom to catch a glimpse of it. But as I reached the room, its sheer size made me forget where I stood.

Courtiers and servants at the left and right, carrying bronze platters and golden flowers, a room so bright it hurt my eyes. Beautiful to the point of gaudiness. Feet moved to the rhythm of something the King later called music, and fabric danced around the ankles of golden women. I stumbled away and scampered through the squirming crowd, avoiding being crushed beneath shoes or knocked over by flailing limbs. Because even then. I somehow knew I was in danger of being broken.

I was jostled, belittled, and ignored. Until I saw it again. The Crown stood above my head so far I was almost sure it brushed the clouds’ silver lining. But its beauty entranced me, making me forget for a moment the scratches in my paint from the violent thoughtlessness of the Courtiers. I wanted to touch it, just to know if it was real. So I stepped up onto the carved stone, hooking my smooth glass fingers into the dents and chipped columns. 

“Girl.” 

I stopped at once. I knew it was the King without turning. My grip on the stone loosened and I answered, “Yes, your Majesty?”

“What are you doing?” his voice was gentle but firm.

“I wished to see the crown.”

“Why? You are made of clay and glass. You are safer on the ground. You know that. You will never reach the top. It is better for you to stay away from danger.” 

I knew he was right, and even though I desperately wanted to reach the crown, I didn’t know if I could. 

“Please come down.”

But I didn’t. I gripped the stone and tried to pull myself up. But with his words in my head, my hold faltered, I felt a brief rush of air and the sensation of falling, before I hit the ground with a shatter. I only remember fragments. 

The King ordered me taken to the forges to be repaired. One of the Courtiers, shoulder plates of gleaming silver volunteered to collect my pieces and carry me. I was stitched back together in blue fire and the same silver of the Courtier, marking the cracks in my perfection. 

I stayed in my cabinet, tracing the cracks in my body with my fingers, too ashamed by my failure to allow myself to be seen. Until with the setting sun and the pearlecant shine of the moon, a voice whispered to me on the wind.

“What are you waiting for, girl? Why the tears?”

I looked for it’s source, but when I found nothing, I simply whispered back, “I failed.”

“You can’t hide forever just because of one failure. You are a treasure. If anything, your new metal shine makes you more beautiful.”

“But I am imperfect.”

“And so is even the most beautiful of flowers. Don’t let it keep you down, love.”

I tried to ask the voice what that meant, but it refused to answer. Eventually, I took it’s strange words and returned to the halls. For days, I followed the King’s advice, for I had come to fear the Courtiers and Servants once more. But at same time, they drew my eye. Every time I thought to speak to them, I remembered my imperfection, and I was afraid. But my fear could not keep me from the crown forever. The next time I saw it, the King had shed it from his head, and again, it stole my breath with it’s beauty. Silver cracks across my hands the color of the tools used by the Courtiers I feared, could not deter me any longer and I set out for the room. Their golden visage seemed taller as their glinting eyes watched my quiet steps. I shrank in on myself, saying nothing and hoping they would just forget I existed.

“The girl made of glass.”

“But she’s covered in Silver.”

“Why is she here?”

Silver. What I was and what they saw. I was a walking second place medal. I started to wonder if I should have just stayed in my cabinet. But a small whisper in the distance startled my attention away from the Courtier’s rumors. 

“You can do this.”

I stopped, catching my breath as I spotted the man who had brought me to the forge. Shackles of pearly silver weighing him down. But he managed a smile when he saw me. And that gave me hope. I could do this. I would climb up there, touch that crown, and I would prove to the king that I was something he could be proud of. 

So I gritted my teeth, and began my climb. The voices cut into the cracks in my clay flesh, as they whispered and muttered. But once more, the King saw me. He warned me to descend. But I refused. Until a Servant nudged the pedestal with his arm and I lost my grip.

I reawoke in my Cabinet once again.

“Wake up. Do not give in to fear. When you are ready, you can do this.” 

I ventured into the hallway to see myself in the curved glass of the clock. More silver filled the places where I had broken. But the whisper brought a warm breeze to comfort me.

“You are resilient. That is commendable. You are worth so much more than you know. Nobody is perfect on the first try.”

Though my failure discouraged me, I wanted to see the crown more than ever. And so I waited until the news of the next Ball.

When the doors opened, I wove between the feet of the golden Courtiers, glittering like the sun in the flicker of the evening lanterns. Without hesitation, I began to climb. 

This time, I would reach the crown. I knew it. The Courtiers noticed me halfway. They began their whispers, but I held on tight. It was a long, difficult task, but I kept going. Until he saw me. 

“Foolish girl!” His voice thundered across the room, shaking me as I reached for the top. “It is worthless to try getting you to see sense! You are made of clay and silver, you were not made for this! You are brittle and broken. This is the last time you will disobey me!”

With those words, the king plucked me from the pedestal. I lost my grip, and I fell. This time I hadn’t shattered. But I had still broken. He told the Servants to repair me and then lock me away. 

“This is for your good, Porcelain Girl. You discard your fragility too often. You will not break again.”

In a blur of hours and days, I was repaired, and locked in the dark of the castle’s dungeons. The Silver ran through my eyes and darkened my hair. Shackles the color of moonlight weighed my hands and feet. Though they were too loose to restrain me, I leaned against the bars, and waited to die. If I could not please him, I had no purpose. The Courtier with the silver shoulders came to visit me once. But I ignored him. He returned the next day and played me a song.

I told him to leave.

But one day, the Spirit returned, “You have given up. Why?”

“I have failed too many times.” I said, hoping he would go.

“A failure is not a curse.”

“But I am broken.” I told him. “And I cannot be fixed.”

“Even your king and his brilliant crown have a blemish or two. Gold is a soft metal.”

“Nevertheless. I am worthless. Even if you are right, they will never want me. I will fail again and again. I will never please them. I am only made of clay.”

“You are so much more than that crown or that king, or those courtiers. You are something new, and no one is ever used to something new. You have one person, don’t you? That Courtier still believes in you.”

I hesitated, considering his words. He was right, annoyingly enough. That Courtier did care about me. For some reason. And The Spirit himself seemed to as well. 

But as I looked down at my chains, I noticed something. Little silver flakes and wires. I slipped out of them easily, for they were too large for my hands, scooping the little scraps into my arms. I left the cell, and went to the courtyard, where the Silver-shouldered Courtier watched the sunrise. 

And as the golden rays lit up the castle, I saw myself in a small puddle, and for a moment, my Silver seemed the very same color as the light itself. 

Then I got an idea. I began to weave the wires into a small circlet, just large enough for my head. The Courtier spotted me, and he smiled, offering me a small golden ring. I accepted, and he helped me to weave my masterpiece. And for the first time, I loved that I was made of Clay. Knowing we were perfect just the way we were, our failures making us better for the future.

“I like it. Reminds me of you.” He smiled, and I smiled back as we faced the glory of the sun. The Spirit brushed my hair with a warm breeze and I held the circlet up to the light. 

It wasn’t the crown of a king, and it was far from perfect, but it was mine.

@supercimi @nczaversnick @homelessnerd @i-do-anything-but-write @sunflowerrosy

@artsandstoriesandstuff @soggt-frn

[yenonnoff]

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! 16. me, you, and a beautiful sunset

note: the word count is 5.7k LMAO

while you paid for your albums, atsumu waited outside the record store. his gaze promptly shifted from the bag resting at his side to his co-star through the large vibrant windows. he caught sight of you giggling with the cashier, a soft smile adorning your features. 

as you left, your unoccupied hand rose up to shield your eyes from the gleaming sun. the array of radiant colors ranging from red to pink was breathtaking, even more so if you could get a better view.

glancing to your right, you were immediately stunned by the way sunlight painted atsumu’s clothes a yellowish, orange hue. you hesitantly traced along the outline of his sharp nose, along his delicate lips that had curled into a loose smile. you couldn’t help but stare, drawn to the way his eyes looked so serene.

breaking from your short trance, you spoke, “have you been here a lot?” 

you hoped he didn’t notice how silly your question was. of course he’s visited this place numerous times before. he’d managed to babble about his favorite albums and records for two hours straight. and when you asked about a specific artist, he had dragged you to the precise location with seamless familiarity that had you questioning if he’s lived there before.

it was a futile question but one you needed to ask. if you didn’t, you feared you would’ve been lost in the blond’s dark brown eyes. 

atsumu tilted his head toward you and spoke in a casual manner, “more than a lot. at this point, i’m probably their favorite customer.” a joke probably, but one you smiled at. 

“you’re the second person i’ve come here with," he said. "the first was—” atsumu paused abruptly.

you stared at him, waiting for him to continue. “the first person?” 

“no one important,” he affirmed, frowning. 

his response was quick and brief, almost as if he had a defense mechanism installed to combat this exact topic. your lips formed a tight line, you were feeling a sense of deja vu.

if there was a reason behind his dismissal, then you wouldn’t pry. though the urge to get on his nerves was irresistibly strong. 

still, the curiosity didn’t fade. considering how he’d only brought along two people so far, the first person must've been important. you paused abruptly. could the person have been his ex-girlfriend?

lost in your thoughts, you attempted to remember the conversation you had with kenma the day before. he’d mention the possibility of atsumu’s ex-girlfriend being the root of his detest towards you. if that were really the case, then this was wrong. 

extremely wrong. 

accompanied by sweaty palms was an uncomfortable sensation. you felt a thick knot form in your throat, the lunch you had earlier swirling in your stomach. you hardly registered atsumu speaking to you. when he started walking ahead, you followed absentmindedly behind until you felt a tug on your wrist. 

gazing upwards, you met atsumu’s piercing eyes and his usual unfazed expression. 

“you shouldn’t walk while looking down. we’re about to cross the street,” was the only thing he said before releasing his grip. 

afterwards, he stole a quick glance at his watch and continued to walk towards the crosswalk. he didn’t even let you register the moment. you stood there dumbfounded and reeling at his unexpected gesture. you could still feel it: the place where his palm had rested and the warmth that accompanied it.

quickening your pace until you was walking behind him, you asked, “where are we going?” 

“to get a better view of the sunset. you wanted to see it, right?” 

you stared at him, perplexed.

sensing your burning stare, atsumu explained, “you kept looking outside while we were in the store. you kept checking the time on your phone as well.” 

you remained silent as he spoke, attempting to recount your behavior from a couple hours ago. 

when the two of you reached the crosswalk, he turned to face you, smirking lazily as he took in your confusion. 

“don’t tell me you were just eager to leave?” he questioned blithely. 

you peered at him, unamused but slightly surprised. the unsettling sensation from before resurfaced and you felt yourself reaching for the place where he had grabbed your arm. 

“not earlier, but now i kind of do.” 

you'd said it in a meek whisper, yet you saw atsumu’s jaw clench, his shoulders tensing. you cursed silently to yourself.

this was unprofessional. while your co-star may struggle to leave his personal feelings out of his work life, you were different. the world would have to end before you allowed them to interfere. it was a vehement promise you'd made to yourself a long time ago and you weren't planning on breaking it any time soon. 

they were only coworkers—nothing more, nothing less. 

atsumu scoffed, a deft hand running through his blond hair. you had braced for his usual taunting replies but they never came. though his vexation was excruciatingly clear.

you attempted to change the subject. “you knew i wanted to see the sunset based on just that?” 

“don’t think too much about it, i just thought you’d like to see the sunset better.” he crossed his arms and continued, “you took lots of pictures of the sunset while we were at the amusement park that one time.” 

“oh, i see.” 

it was all you could say in response. when did he notice all those things about you?

a painful silence shifted between the two of you. you quickly grew grateful for the many cars that passed by. if it weren’t for the sound of pleasant gaiety that could be heard on the beach, the unbearable awkwardness would’ve suffocated you. 

after you finally crossed the street, the reminder of what your relationship was became more apparent. walking ahead was atsumu miya—your famous and successful co-star—and strolling six steps behind was you—his co-star, and the one he finds patently insufferable. 

“it’s beautiful," you whispered. 

the sight in front of you was one to die for. red and pink hues blended together in the sky, swirling around as if they were locked in an entrancing dance. they set the perfect stage for the shimmering sun to lower itself in preparation for the dusky night sky. to say that you were mesmerized would be an understatement; the lulling sound of waves washing onto the shore and the lively chatter of those relaxing on the beach drew you in, taking your breath away. 

had you not been so enthralled, you would’ve caught atsumu smiling knowingly at you. 

“it’s amazing, isn’t it?” he asked. “it’s the reason why i come here on my days off. it’s quiet and the people here mind their own business.”

drawing away from the sunset, you felt an ache in your arm from holding your album-filled bag for so long. you hadn't expected to buy so much, at least not a bag full of them.

you sighed with relief upon switching it to your other hand. “i didn’t know you liked listening to music so much. you gave me more than a couple recommendations.”

atsumu smiled, “you say that, but you still bought all of them.” 

you briefly stared at him before glancing at the bag he held comfortably by his side. you could’ve said the same for him too. atsumu had bought all of your favorite albums in a heartbeat and he appeared extremely pleased with himself while doing so. it was unusual—during the entire time there, he’d looked as happy as an excited child buying candy. 

after all the time you've spent together on your spontaneous meetups, you thought you'd gotten used to his many dynamic demeanors. who knew he was hiding such an exuberant and lighthearted smile among his usual distasteful ones? 

no, that wasn’t right. he just never revealed it to you before. however, today was different—he was different. 

when you'd witnessed his blissful expression, you could hardly recognize your usually insouciant co-star. though it was frustrating, you couldn’t deny that his elation wasn’t contagious. his wide grins had encouraged your lips to move upwards, a faint blush reluctantly creeping onto your cheeks. 

snapping out of your thoughts, you asked, “how did you find this place?” 

atsumu tucked a hand into his pocket, his head lowering in contemplation. “when i moved to tokyo for university. guess it was just luck, i’ve been coming back here ever since.” 

when he finished, he smiled softly, his eyes full of nostalgia. 

he’d looked so serene that you couldn’t help yourself. for a moment, you'd felt special that he brought you to a place of such importance—a place where he’d spent most of his university days gazing at music. you could imagine it: atsumu miya strolling along the shore with his feet covered in sand after spending the afternoon at his favorite record store. at the thought of that, you felt a warm sensation swirling in your stomach. 

but how could you have forgotten? 

they were standing exactly like this on that day as well, on the day when he’d raised his voice at you, spitting venom in your face so viciously—so seamlessly—as if it were a hidden talent of his. 

you wouldn’t get your hopes up, not when he has yet to give you a proper apology. you pondered for a moment, questioning if now was the right time to bring it up. after nightfall, you two will go your separate ways and forget about everything that’s transpired. then you'll see one another again at the scheduled script read-through, the same invisible wall tainted with your unsightly first impression of each other, still separating you.

if now wasn’t a good time to confront him, then when was? 

swallowing hard, you peered at him with parted lips. the words were on the tip of your tongue, but could you bring yourself to say it? was it worth it to shatter his placidity in an attempt to rebuild yours? 

yes.

yes, it was.

“miya, why did you take me here?” you asked without breaking eye contact. 

he raised a puzzled brow at your sudden question. “i guess i just wanted to. why? don't like it here?” 

“no, i do… but you’re confusing me. you 're showing me such a special place even though you hate me.” 

silence cut through the thick atmosphere as your words hung loosely in the air. atsumu’s eyes wandered aimlessly as he shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other. 

with knitted brows, you tightened your hold on the bag’s handle. you pushed further. “i never asked you, did i? this whole time you’ve had me running in circles with the way you’ve been acting, but i should’ve just asked you directly.” 

you waited to see if he would react. when he didn’t, your frown deepened and your heart sank unexpectedly. not a single word or sound left his lips—he didn’t even spare you a glance. 

“why do you hate me?” you urged. “you grimace at thought of spending time together, you act like i’m an insect walking on two legs.” 

your voice was heavy and dry. the dam that was suppressing your anger had shattered and what came was a wave of unswerving rancor. you concluded that your benignity's had enough. despite the relief you felt, it was far too soon to celebrate. 

swiftly turning to face you, atsumu—with an irked gaze and tensed shoulders—said sternly, “it’s not like that.”

“what is it then?”

your eyes pleaded for him to respond, but atsumu remained silent. he was in deep contemplation, his mind racing with a million thoughts. he needed to present his truth—whatever it might be—in the right way, lest allow the gravity of the situation (and your hatred toward him) to drastically worsen.  

while he pondered, you had already come to your conclusion. you stared at him incredulously and inquired, “don’t tell me it's because of what happened at the photoshoot?” you scoffed. “is this ridiculous situation all because of my poor performance that one time?” 

atsumu was too slow to respond and the thing he feared most had already happened. he ran a hand across his face, his winced expression telling you everything. 

“wow,” you snide. “you really are amazing. so amazing that you should win an award for most stubborn man ever. if what i said is true then you’re just another asshole, atsumu.” 

it was your first time referring to him as just “atsumu.” and unexpectedly, you preferred it better. before, you'd always addressed him with his last name, a gesture of respect for his status and accomplishments in the industry. but now, the admiration was gone and replaced with overt disdain.

screw professionalism. how could anyone remain formal during such extreme circumstances? 

atsumu’s lips thinned and he glowered. “don’t jump to conclusions.”

“so it was because of it.”

“no, it wasn’t,” he countered. 

“don’t deny it, atsumu. it’s written all over your face. you look fucking guilty.” 

you took a staggering step back in disbelief. why were you still standing here in the presence of such an irritating man? the whole situation was pointless, completely unbelievable. you'd already apologized for that day—hell you even redeemed yourself on the second photoshoot—yet he was still stuck on it. 

atsumu reached for your wrist, pulling you slightly toward him. this time, his grasp was forceful and harsh. you missed his tender gazes and warm gestures; you wondered if you'll ever see them again. 

“listen to me, would ya? i’m not completely stupid. i didn’t act the way i did just because of what happened at the photoshoot.” 

you retorted quietly, “liar. there’s another part to this isn’t there?” 

“you’re not listening to me, y/n.” 

“something else played a role in this, am i right?” 

atsumu hesitated, his eyes furrowed in thought. for such a highly rated actor, he was awful at concealing his body language. 

“it’s not important,” he finally said, loosening his grip on your wrist. “i’ll apologize for how i acted and what i said to you the other day.” 

he looked at you with limpid eyes, his lips curling upwards in a persuasive way. you weren't going to fall for it. he apologized but you still felt empty and unfulfilled. more than anything, you wanted to wipe off the complacent gaze behind his eyes—the look that conveyed the message “are you happy now?”

“i don’t want it,” you stated. 

“what?” 

“i said i don’t want your apology. how can i forgive you when i don’t even know why you acted the way you did. i deserve to know.” 

atsumu froze, thin lines forming between his eyebrows. his erratic attitudes and sudden friendliness had produced a mountain of questions that he swept under the rug. it's become a big messy pile and the two of you could no longer ignore the issue that’s been created. 

rubbing his temples squarely, he confessed, “you just reminded me of someone. but like i’ve said, it’s unimportant.” 

you felt your fingernails dig vengefully into your palm. how could he say that? it was important to you. for the past couple weeks, you've wasted hours recalling your moments together, attempting to piece a solution that’ll hopefully salvage your strained relationship. you pondered endlessly, only to find out that you weren't the direct cause—that someone else was. 

someone “unimportant.” 

you already knew who it was but his willingness to tell you along with a thorough explanation would’ve been greatly appreciated. he was making a fool of you, and you wouldn’t stand for it. you really were just fighting a pointless battle. and worst of all, your opponent appeared to be an uncooperative and insensitive brick wall.

“atsumu, i don’t know you, and you certainly don’t know me. this person and i are not similar. you have no right to treat me that way.” 

you attempted to retract away from his grasp but he was determined not to let go. his hand slid downwards until he was gently holding onto your fingers.  

“i know that,” he said. “i confirmed it today. you aren’t like her, you never were.” 

you couldn’t face him. memories of your previous encounters flooded your mind and the inside of your mouth turned bitterly sour. 

“listen, i’m sorry, y/n.” 

you didn’t need to hear his words to know of his quilt, there were other evident indicators of it. for example, the way his hand ran across his face or the featheriness in his grip on your hand. even without those subtle signs, a single look into his eyes was more than enough to tell. 

“you should be,” you muttered. 

atsumu squeezed your hand. “how i acted towards you was wrong and you were hurt. i'm sorry, i went too far. i’ll go along with any decisions you want to make in regards to the film.” 

the sounds of crashing waves rang louder and the people’s laughter on the beach lacked its pleasant charm from before. 

his words were soothing to your ears. in front of you no longer stood the imperious man that had insulted you; he was replaced by someone warm, someone who traced circles on your hand with his thumb. 

atsumu released your hand and checked his watch. the sun had already disappeared, and the sky transitioned from vibrant hues to somber shades of dark blue. you watched the lamp posts along the sidewalk light up enthusiastically as hoards of people started leaving the beach. 

you trailed the way the lamp posts, with its golden glow, dissolved into tiny blinding dots of light off into the distance. the waves had calmed, and the rhythmic sound of it against the shore mesmerized you like a sailor to a siren’s song. 

your co-star turned to face you. “should we get going? i can call an uber for you.” 

you shook your head, “i want to stay a bit longer. the night view's beautiful.” 

as an ocean breeze caressed you, you stared delightfully at the dark waves. your fingers were stiff from the cold air and you pulled your jacket closer to your body. 

atsumu had no interest in the waves, setting his gaze fixed on you. 

“y’know i meant it when i said you weren’t anything like her.” 

his voice was deep as if he was buried in a chamber of thoughts. his hands were burrowed in his pockets and he leaned nervously against the railing. he scrutinized you for any reaction but you only hummed in response. 

continuing to watch the tides move frantically back and forth, a smile hung loosely on your face. for a moment atsumu wondered what was so amazing about them that had you completely bewitched. 

you did know that atsumu's feelings were genuine. still, you appreciated the validation. maybe that was what atsumu needed too: clarification that they were okay. was this your cue to go back to your professional self again? back to being coworkers who walk six steps behind one another?

the fleeting moment of the heated confrontation had ended as quickly as it began. but before that, you needed to clear a plaguing thought in your mind. you needed one more confirmation. 

you turned to face him, disregarding the frenzied wind and chilly atmosphere.

“can i ask you something, atsumu?” he nodded and you continued, “during our time together—at the amusement park and earlier today at the record store—you looked like you were enjoying yourself. was it all an act?” 

“no, it wasn’t,” he answered firmly.

if he had to choose, it was probably the easiest thing he had said all day. atsumu thought you had discerned his sincerity, but when he glanced at you, you were quiet and unreadable. 

atsumu, suddenly conscious of your burning gaze on him, absentmindedly adjusted the zipper of his turtleneck. he felt an explanation was needed judging by your silence. 

“i wouldn’t have spent the whole day with you at an amusement park if i wasn’t having fun,” he assured. “you might find it hard to believe, but i do find your presence enjoyable.” 

at his words, a scroll of laughter unfolded from your lips. he had looked so different while explaining himself. the previous atsumu, the one you knew as shameless and bilious, was long gone. now standing in his place was just atsumu. 

crossing his arms across his chest, his signature lazy smirk reappeared on his face. “what’s so funny?” 

“nothing,” you chuckled. “it’s just nice what you said.” 

“see? i guess i’m not so bad after all.” 

you matched his laid-back smile. “not at all.” 

a few feet behind atsumu, you caught a glimpse of a couple surfacing from the beach. in their hands, they held a volleyball and a tied up net. 

atsumu followed your line of sight, glancing over his shoulder to see the couple walking away with their equipment. 

the sight triggered a set of forgotten memories. before becoming a successful actor, atsumu already had other incredible feats. in high school, he was a highly praised volleyball player who earned numerous remarkable titles. he was beyond talented, but perhaps that contributed to his expansive ego and unyielding arrogance. 

“do you play volleyball?” he asked, turning his attention back to her.

“oh, i definitely do not,” you smiled. “but i managed a volleyball club in high school before.” 

his eyes widened with curiosity. “for which school?” 

“karasuno. some of my closest friends were in that club.” 

atsumu felt the corners of lips quirk upwards and his hand came up to rest on his chin. “then you were there when we played against them at nationals.” 

“was i?” 

his hand fell and he raised a brow in bemusement. mischief shone pleasantly in your eyes. “wait, i remember now. i was there.” 

“oh good,” he remarked sarcastically. “i was going to ask if you needed help jogging your memories.”

“can you blame me? didn’t you guys lose to us when you were a second year?” 

he sneered, straightening his back. you continued to beam mirthfully at him but he remained silent. this was new to him—he wasn’t aware you had such an impish side to you. 

“instead of who won or lost, we should focus on how well i played,” he responded.

“‘well’?” you repeated with feigned surprise. “i don’t recall anything like that. were you really skilled?” 

if it were anyone else, atsumu was sure a throbbing vein would’ve surfaced by now on his forehead. but he was amused by you. when were you such a teaser? you were beating him at his own game, yet he didn’t mind it. 

“you’re such a liar,” he said quietly. “did no one tell you that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?”

you crossed her arms. “you’re the biggest hypocrite ever.”

“at least i’m a smart hypocrite. you’re a terrible liar.” 

“you’re contradicting yourself by saying you’re clever at being hypocritical!” you huffed. 

he matched your volume, dismissing the fact that the two of you were drawing attention to yourselves. 

“what does that even mean? and stop using such big words!” he exclaimed. 

you raised an accusative finger, nudging his shoulder with it. “maybe if you didn’t spend all your time at the record store you would’ve paid attention to your professors’ lessons.” 

“hey!” he retorted. “i did pay attention.” 

you rolled your eyes and stared at him, unimpressed. his gaze narrowed and he said, “you don’t seem convinced.” 

“of course not.” 

when atsumu rubbed the bridge of his nose in an exasperated manner, you only smiled. you were enjoying yourself—maybe a bit more than you should be. it wasn’t everyday that you get to tease the atsumu miya. 

stuffing your hands into your pockets, you mused, “does that mean i win?” 

“this was a competition the whole time?” 

“it always was.” 

atsumu raked a hand through his blond hair. he motioned it backwards with charm and you cringed out of habit. 

“what—do i owe you a drink now?” 

your face brightened and you hummed in consideration. 

your co-star smirked mischievously. “how about an iced coffee in this forty degree weather? it’s the perfect time of the day to have one.” 

“you’re ridiculous,” you smiled. “but i’ll take you up on your offer the next time we see each other.” 

you spun on your heel, cautious not to touch the cold railing. you looked at the lambent moon in the sky before glancing to the sand on the shore. the beach was vast, perhaps trailing on for miles on end. it was the perfect spot for a relaxing excursion. few cars drove by and for the most part the area was clean and tidy. the water was crystal clear and the sunset was breathtakingly beautiful. no wonder atsumu liked this place so much. 

but more importantly, the sand was powdery and flat. you were confident it would feel as if you were walking on clouds. your friends would love this place, you thought. perhaps they could play beach volleyball or even stroll along the shore. 

you glanced at atsumu over your shoulder. “does the beach get crowded often? i want to play volleyball with my friends here.” 

his eyes darted to the beach. “it does. i come here with my friends to play volleyball too, but it’s always packed with people.” 

he watched as you frowned, whispering a disappointed “oh.” atsumu cleared his throat harshly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“you could always go early in the morning,” he said suddenly. “there are some areas that people tend to gravitate to”—he took a step forward until he was right next to you; with an extended arm, he pointed to the distance on your left—“like over there for example.” 

you nodded attentively, insisting he continued with a single glance. 

“on the other hand, people don’t crowd here by the record store as much,” he concluded with a faint smile. 

“thank you, atsumu,” you peered upwards with gleeful sparks in your eyes. for the most part you were surprised at his willingness to give you such sacred advice. you wondered how many he had to visit this place to gather such information. his words ignited a warm, tingling sensation in your stomach—enough to keep you distracted from the cold. 

“i’ll make sure to remember it the next time i come here.” 

“oh, looks like i have more competition,” he groaned, concealing his face with a palm. whether he was cursing you under his breath or hiding a smile, only atsumu would know. 

you closed the gap between one another, stepping until your shoulders were touching. you felt the warmth of his body seep through the fabric of your clothes, easing your body as you sighed with relief. 

atsumu leaned into learned comfort without an ounce of hesitation. of course these sort of things came natural to him. he wasn’t surprised at the act of intimacy, but more at who had initiated it. 

“what’s wrong?” he asked teasingly, a jocular smile displayed on his face. 

“the weather,” you replied plainly. “it’s freezing cold out here.” 

“you hated me a couple moments ago but now you’re using me as a heat pad? you’re very funny, y/n.” 

you nudged him slightly with your elbow. “stop exaggerating, our shoulders are just touching.”

“if you say so,” he hummed. 

for a moment, a silence passed between them as the moon continued to slumber soundlessly. 

the night had deepened greatly until the sky lost any trace of color, turning a bewitching dark black. 

your eyes grew distant as you stared straight ahead into the sea. “you should teach me volleyball sometimes,” you said absently. 

you'd only half meant what you said, after all, you weren't even sure what time it was—the two had lost track of it completely. when did a simple rendezvous turn into stargazing and pleasant banter? 

atsumu tilted his head at your remark. “and this is coming from the person that insulted my volleyball skills?” 

“forget about what i said then. please teach me, mr. formerly-known-as-japan’s-best-high-school-setter.” you clapped your hands together with a persuasive smile. 

he placed a hand on his hip, smiling at the current situation. “i’ll think about it.” 

“i said all that only for you to keep it in the back of your mind and forget about it?” 

“good things take time,” he merely said. “but i’m picky, so are you sure you can live up to my expectations?” you raised a brow as if he’d just replied in a different language. “of course i can. i’ll be the best student you ever had.” 

“so i won’t have to worry about you complaining that it’s too hard?” 

“not really, unless—“ as you said that, the phone in your pocket lit up distractingly. you heard a buzz and swiftly reached inside to retrieve the device. the bright glow illuminated your facial features as you swiped through the many forgotten notifications on your screen. 

there were phone calls from kuroo and kenma respectively, but the most recent one had been a text message from the latter. they were here, and patiently waiting for you nearby. you glanced around the area until you spotted a black car stationed underneath a lamppost—kenma’s black car. it was resting just across the street by the record store… looking extremely conspicuous. 

“is something wrong?” 

atsumu’s voice broke through you thoughts and you attempted a smile. “it’s nothing, my friends are just here to pick me up.” 

when you finished typing a quick reply, you peered upwards, catching a glimpse of atsumu’s eyes narrowing in disappointment. 

“is that so?” he said, reaching for his phone. “i should probably call an uber then.” 

you waited in the chilly silence for him to finish his phone call. the meetup was finally coming to an end. how long have the two stayed in each other’s presence anyway? regardless of how many hours, to you, it had felt undeniably short. 

atsumu glanced away from his phone, saying, “you should head to the car, aren’t you freezing cold?” 

you shook your head momentarily. you'd forgotten about the cold a long time ago. 

“it’s tolerable. are you?” 

“i’m dying out here,” he replied dramatically. 

“well, let’s hope your ride gets here quickly. we wouldn’t want you to die from hypothermia, would we?” 

atsumu hummed in agreement. he turned to gaze at something but you weren't paying attention to what it was. you were occupied in your own thoughts, and for a moment, you felt silly wondering how they would act when they saw each other again. would today be the last time they met up outside of filming? 

a wave of uncertainty washed over you and you called out hastily, “atsumu, listen.” 

he tilted his head, his brown eyes staring into yours. his gaze was soft and unreadable, prompting you to ponder what kind of thoughts were circling inside in his mind right now. you couldn’t believe that he was the same man that berated you yet willingly spent an entire evening riding roller coasters with you. 

you didn’t want your time together to end just yet. there were so many things left to say, but they twisted and turned inside your throat until a stubborn knot had formed. 

“it’s nothing,” you said with a whisper. 

as if on cue, an uber stopped in front of them and you cursed quietly to yourself. you had lost your chance. 

“looks like my ride’s here,” atsumu commented dismissively. when you didn’t react, he frowned and gave your shoulder an impatient tap. “y/n i should get going now.” 

your head instantly shot up as if someone had stepped on your tail. whether it was the cold that restrained you from speaking or your conscience, you weren't sure. 

when atsumu turned to reach for the car handle, you abruptly grabbed hold of his sleeve. he peered over his shoulder and raised a befuddled brow. 

“what is it?” 

fuck. you wasn’t thinking! well, whatever it was now or never, right? this mindset was going to land you in a sticky situation one day. scratch that—it already did. 

“atsumu, wait—listen. let me repay you for today,” you said urgently. “you showed me such a nice place, it wouldn’t be fair if i didn’t take you somewhere too.” 

he twisted his body to fully face you. “you don’t have to. I did this because i wanted to.” 

“i insist. i want to take you somewhere.” 

atsumu rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to respond. 

“then i‘ll think about it.” when he said that, he received a disapproving frown from y/n and quickly reiterated, “i’ll look at my schedule and message you. don’t worry, i won’t forget.” 

you hated the way a smile briskly shone on your face. his words weren’t even a direct confirmation, yet you still felt jittery. an unexplainable tingling sensation ran through your fingertips and you let his sleeve go. 

“then thank you for today,” was all you said and the two of you went your separate ways.

as you walked to the lone black car under the lamppost, you wondered if your action had been reckless and unprofessional. you'd poured your feelings out to him and he gave you a sincere response. it was over: the strife that had lasted longer than it should’ve. your impulsive suggestion to spend time with one another was no longer necessary, yet here they were promising one another an indefinite rendezvous. 

but maybe this was a good thing. if the two of you could establish a space of gaiety and escape from your confiding image as actors, why wouldn’t you? 

sitting in the backseat of your friend’s car, the last thing atsumu said to you replayed in your mind: “see you later, y/n.”

masterlist ⌒☆ previous ⌒☆ next

fun facts:

atsumu has a picture of the beach at night set as his lockscreen. (reference chapter 7).

whenever atsumu and the others go to play beach volleyball, they have a competition to decide who pays for lunch. oftentimes they'll just end up deciding through rock paper scissors, and somehow, atsumu always manages to lose.

when y/n got into the car, kuroo was sulking because atsumu's uber had blocked their view. they were trying to use their iphone camera to zoom onto the conversation. (it failed miserably).

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! ｡ｏ♡ an atsumu miya smau

synopsis: when y/n l/n, a rising actress, decides to star in a romance film that could make or break her career, she’s unable to showcase her skills, revealing her inexperience within the romance department instead. worst of all, atsumu miya, her co-star and the main lead’s love interest, seems to hate her guts! with absolutely, unbearably zero chemistry between the two, an idea was proposed: spend time with one another in the upcoming weeks. will y/n be able to ignore her professionalism and listen to her heart? and will she, a clueless romantic, be able to pick up on the signs her co-star is sending her?

a/n: can u guys see why it took me a month to write this thing? i hope u guys enjoyed it bc i poured my blood sweat and tears into this thing 5.7k word is actually crazy but thank u if u made it to the end !! i feel like in a month ill look back on this and regret everything

taglist is open! dm or ask to be a part of it! (those bolded were unable to be tagged)

⌒☆ @kqbukimono @empathum @clyver @chosoluv @oceansfloor @sunarots @marga-j @rukia-uchiha-98 @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @rintarousgirl @ast4rg1rl @seiamor @saiewithakatana @usermins @literally-a-ferret @terrarain @iuspired @haruskatana @wolffmaiden @ris-krispie @vellichxrr6782 @animenaces-world @reignsaway @emii4evr @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @yuminako @tojirin @v3nusplanetofluv @vyvixen @secondary-character-25 @tenjikusstuff4 @444sunarin

[zijiaye]

Remember that scene where Kakashi catches Obito on the verge of smooching the class photo?

My HC is that Kakashi accidentally on purpose passes by Obito's place often. Usually he never reveals himself, but when he sees Obito about to make out with Rin in the class photo (why not the Rin's other photos where she's alone btw hmm Obito???), he just cannot stand idly by and watch the embarrassing scene so he descends onto Obito's window to mock him.

Also this scene from a Chinese fic lives in my head rent-free. (The narrator here is Obito). "I'd been sick before when I was young. My classmates would often use illness as an excuse to skip classes and training, or as an opportunity to get attention from their parents. But I always hated being sick, because there wasn't anyone I could seek comfort from. During the worst times, I could only lie in bed alone and endure it. While at the Academy, being surrounded by peers was fine, but times like these only emphasized how alone I truly was. Life is just cruel like that, always reminding me of what I've lost just when I'm about to forget.

Fortunately, I've been relatively healthy, rarely getting sick since I was seven. The only time I really fell ill was the day before my second Chunin Exam.

It was my own carelessness, really. It was already during the seasonal change, and I'd been training from dawn till dusk for the exam. I didn't even care when my clothes were soaked with sweat, and as a result, my fever shot up to 39°C the next day.

I curled up in my blankets, shivering despite having several layers covering me. My mind kept urging me to get up and take medicine, but I couldn't even open my eyes.

Am I going to die? I promised I'd become Hokage, dying like this would be so uncool… I haven't even passed the Chunin Exam yet, and Kakashi will mock me again…

As my mind wandered with these delirious thoughts, I thought I heard knocking at the door, but I couldn't muster the strength to answer it. I closed my eyes and passed out.

In my feverish sleep, my body alternated between hot and cold, and my dreams were bizarre. One moment I dreamed of failing the Chunin Exam again and being stripped of my ninja status; then I dreamed of trying to confess to Rin, but panicked when I couldn't find my love letter; and then I dreamed of Kakashi… he was taking care of me while I was sick, helping me sit up to take medicine, wiping my sweat with a cool cloth, placing his hand on my forehead to check my temperature.

In my daze, I remember thinking how the elderly always say dreams are opposite to reality, and how wise those words were – the real Kakashi could never be this gentle.

When I finally opened my eyes again, it was sunset. The warm-colored sunlight streamed through the window, falling on the corner of my bed, into my eyes, and onto the hair of the person by the window, coating his silver hair with a honey-colored glow.

I stared at Kakashi blankly, thinking I was still dreaming.

There were faint dark circles under his eye, as if he hadn't slept well. Seeing me awake, he looked at me with his droopy eye and said, "Why do you look so stupid the moment you wake up?"

"Wha— no, why are you here?"

"If I hadn't happened to pass by, you would've died from fever in your house."

"…What are you talking about? You're exaggerating! I'm perfectly healthy, the fever would've gone down after half a day of sleep!"

"It's already the second day."

"…"

I was speechless, partly because Kakashi had shut me down, and partly because I felt inexplicably shy, to the point where I could barely meet his eyes.

"Kakashi… did you take care of me for a whole day?"

Now it was his turn to feel awkward. Kakashi lowered his gaze, his voice slightly hoarse: "I couldn't just let you die, could I? Especially when a certain dead-last was crying in his sleep."

My face instantly turned red: "Who was crying! That was—that was sweat!"

"Sweat coming from your eyes?"

"Yeah! Got a problem with that?!"

I glared at him, ready for our usual verbal sparring. But instead, Kakashi turned his head away, and in the backlight, I saw the corner of his mouth curve slightly upward, almost like a smile.

"Whatever, I won't argue with a sick person. If you say so, then so be it."

While I was still stunned, Kakashi had already walked over to take the cloth from my forehead, softly saying as he re-wet it: "You usually act so carefree, like nothing bothers you, but you'll still hide under your blanket and cry alone. What were you dreaming about?"

By now I'd completely forgotten about arguing that those weren't tears, feeling only awkwardness. I'd always considered him my rival, always wanting to compete with him in everything, and there was no way I could admit my vulnerability in front of him, so I stubbornly said: "I wasn't crying from sadness, I… right, I dreamed about marrying Rin, those were tears of joy."

Kakashi's movements suddenly stopped. After a few seconds, he said casually: "Dreams are opposite to reality, you should give up while you can."

"No way! Once I pass the Chunin Exam, I'm going to confess to Rin, just you watch!"

"As if you could pass the exam in your current state. You'll probably be a Genin forever."

"Ahhhhhhh, you're so annoying!""

[staarboyyy]

supernova

depowered!homelander x reader | no pronouns

18+ characters / scenarios - minors dni

tags / warnings ; homelander reffered to as john, angst with a fluffy ending, domestic sweetness, anxiety attack, eating difficulties

summary ; john feels lost after losing his powers despite settling into a "normal" life with you.

word count ; 1k

a/n ; i posted this a while back to my old ao3 and wanted to put it here, please enjoy !

‘ When a massive star runs out of fuel, the force of gravity causes it to collapse on itself and explode. The stars' remains are fired across the galaxy at a speed of forty thousand kilometers per second. Entire galaxies are outshined by the death of one star - A supernova.’

    “Do you think I’m still - Me?”

   

    “What do you mean?”

John fell silent to this question, his eyes cascading slowly over the small apartment before him. It was nothing at all like his room in the tower. Empty, walls barren and painfully dull, the windows only give way to the falling sunset's leaking sunlight, furniture worn in and bought second hand. You pursed your lips as you watched him take in the room for the hundredth time today, his eyes tired and lost, heavy bags underneath the once glittering blue gaze you found yourself swimming in. With a sigh, you bring yourself closer to him on the couch, causing him to give a quick glance to you - John is still himself. Painfully so. Your hands were hesitant for a moment, raising to gently comb through his now fading hair, the dark brown blooming at the roots; Yet his tired eyes suddenly widening at your movement stopped you. He was defenseless, not having left the apartment you bought together for quite some time, losing the muscle mass he once flaunted with shameless pride. His posture had even changed, instead now slumping forward with his elbows resting on his knees, wearing loose pajamas you had brought him home. 

    “It’s all I ever was. So what am I now,”

    John began in a soft voice, his eyes faltering as they drew away from you, to your hands. In his mind, your hands looked different. Everything about you did. He took a slow inhale, the breath swelling in his chest in the same unfamiliar fashion it did since he lost his powers - Everything had become so much more delicate in his eyes; The first time he had helped bring in the couch, you two now sat on, he couldn’t bring it in on his own, and found himself soon weeping on the ground before you, hardly able to explain with words how pathetic he felt he had become. Useless in more ways than he could ever think. Even the small things, having to keep up with eating and drinking water, had become more of a challenge than he had anticipated, and it showed in how his fingers trembled. He so desperately wanted to be grateful when you reminded him, but he still seemed to have a glint of fierceness in his eyes when you did - How dare you assume you knew better than him? But now you had. You had come to know him more than anybody else in the world.

    “You’re here. With me. In a shitty one-bedroom apartment with terrible plumbing, and a t.v on the ground. But, you’re here still. If that was all you were, you wouldn’t still be here, you know?”

    Your words made his breathing hitch slightly, head falling to avoid your gaze - This was something he did far too often these days. Choosing to let the words fester angrily in his mind, the feeling of his lashes becoming wet from the absurd uncontrollable urge to cry, making his stomach turn nauseatingly. John hated crying more than any of the other traits that came with losing his sense of self. How the unbridled heat gathered tightly in his throat, unable to breathe through it how he normally would have. It’s suffocating how his breathing shakes, his hands clenching in feebly weak fists, nails digging hard into his palms. It hurts. Searing hot, the bubbling need to let a sob break from his chest seems to take over all other rational senses. A strangled gasp escaped him, your arms coming quickly to wrap over him as he shakes his head - He wants to pull away, to scream, to collapse to the floor and beg for whatever God there might be to take him back. To pull him back to the subconscious torture of being the face of America. 

    “I can’t protect you - I can’t even protect myself.”

    You held onto him still, your grasp firm in an attempt to ground him. The feeling of his panic rising made him feel absolutely sick. To experience adrenaline in a way he’s never felt or seen before, to feel the fear he once drank down in careless gasps - It made him feel glued to the spot, a deer in the headlights. Your arms felt strong, felt stable, and hard around him as you pulled him closer to your chest. For so long, John had been able to hear your heart from standing yards away, and now the rarity of it became one of a cherishable sound. His ear pressed against your chest, his breathing still faltering as he listened quietly, foreign tears lacing down his cheeks in slow streams, his eyes wrenched shut in an expression of agony. 

    “You’ve always protected me; You never needed powers to do that. You make me feel safer than anyone, even now. Especially now.”

    John’s eyes slowly opened at this, the sound of your steady heart filling his head, silencing his own thundering one. To him, protection had always been dependent on his strength over others, mind, and body. How he was so easily able to twist words, make others blood run cold with just the sound of his voice or a squeeze of his gloved fist. His eyebrow twitched, lips moving briefly to form words that refused to leave his now swimming mind. He looked nearly confused at how you could so easily speak to him despite your shifting expression of furrowed brows, eyes warm and sympathetic. Normally, John would have jumped at this type of rumbling fear, using it to fuel the continuing power he bathed in - But instead, he slowly raised his hand to meet your cheek. It used to feel so malleable underneath his fingers, yet the warmth spread over his palm now, gently moving across the soft skin with a soft rumbled exhale from his lips. 

    “You promise?”

    “I promise.”

    And then for just a fleeting moment, his breathing calmed. Everything felt safe in this moment, his hand on your face, gently clutching you in hopes of not losing you. Never losing you.

[bakedbakermom]

Good Morning

Rated X // 2300 words // Read on A03

tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

Summary:

He loves her first thing in the morning.

Notes:

A little smutbiscuit for Kinktober 2023. Prompts: morning sex, frottage, (light) somno. I was 3 or 4 days into writing this fic when the painfully talented @msrafterdark posted this piece and it was like fate and the universe had come together.

He loves her first thing in the morning.

Well, he loves her all the time—volleying theories back and forth across the office over burnt coffee and crappy photocopies, singing along off-key to whatever radio station comes through the static three hours into a road trip from one corner of nowhere to another, lounging on a tiny motel bed with sharp springs and a pile of reports spread out like snow across scratchy blankets. He loves her on his couch sharing a beer after a long day, in her kitchen as they dole out boxes of takeaway (broccoli beef extra spicy for him, kung pao tofu for her, and she always nabs the carrots from his shrimp fried rice), nestled against him with her tiny feet propped up on the coffee table and a bad movie on TV. He loves her when she presses her sweet lips to his and breathes hot into his mouth, when she wraps her smooth white legs around his waist and whimpers “more,” when she clenches around him in the dark as she shatters on a gasp of his name. Oh yes, he definitely loves her then.

But he especially loves her first thing in the morning.

It’s something about how soft she is. Agent Scully is all crisp lines and barbed tongue, the creases of her suits pressed sharp enough to kill a man as she slices through the hallways of the Hoover Building like a red-headed sword of justice, eyes flashing blue steel. Agent Scully can unman the most cantankerous and blustering small-town sheriff with the twitch of one razored brow, can force Death itself at scalpel-point to surrender the most intimate secrets of the grave.

Agent Scully flashes through her days like a machete, too sharp to touch and so blindingly bright it hurts him to look at her sometimes. But Morning Scully. Oh Morning Scully…

Her edges blur in the evening, melting under his words and his mouth and his hands, but it takes until morning for her to grow butter-soft and creamy between the rumpled sheets of their bed—her bed or his, both are theirs, though this particular morning they’re secure behind door 42, the honeyed sunlight of a rare empty Sunday drizzling through the blinds and illuminating the intricate dance of the little dust motes that hang in the air. She sleeps on her side with her back to the window, the light catching her crimson hair in a nimbus that he thinks would inspire a better man to painting or poetry, but reduces him to gibbering wonderment.

He watches her sleep with something like awe. Her lips slack and slightly parted, still plump and red from kissing. Freckles sprinkled like cinnamon across her sleep-pinked cheeks, hair in a delightfully tousled disarray that makes him think of sunset clouds and cotton candy. There’s a little crease between her eyebrows as if she’s dreaming of something unpleasant, and he smoothes it oh so gently with his thumb. He doesn’t want to wake her; he’s not done looking yet. 

The sheets have shifted as they slept, revealing the hourglass curve of her side, the mole cradled just inside the firm crest of her hip. She had whimpered last night as he tongued it, a long detour on his slow journey to the oasis between her thighs. Her body is ripe with secrets to explore, his mental map of her slowly filling in as he traverses every hill and valley. He writes “here be monsters” beneath her ribs where she is too ticklish to touch, “here be angels” on the curve of her breast where the gentle scrape of his teeth makes her breath hitch. He finds heaven in the cradle of her hips, nirvana in the fragrant skin of her neck, paradise in the lush press of her lips.

Morning Scully may be soft, but Morning Mulder is getting decidedly less so by the minute.

She stirs slightly and rolls onto her back, the sheet slipping down the slope of her breast. One rosey nipple emerges into the cool morning air, pebbling quickly into a tantalizing peak, and he can’t resist anymore. He leans over her and circles it gently with his tongue, then pulls it into his mouth. He licks and sucks, feeling her flesh tighten even more, and when he scrapes his teeth against it, her chest jumps beneath him. She sucks in a breath, and her hands come up to card slowly through his hair. “Morning, Mulder,” she murmurs, her words still slurred with sleep.

“Good morning, Scully,” he answers as his mouth slides wetly to her other breast, on which he lavishes the same attention as the first, the slow and thorough consideration of his lips and teeth and tongue. Her breathing quickens, her pulse jumping visibly beneath the soft skin of her throat, and she moans low and long. He runs one hand up her leg, and her thighs part with a contented sigh; his fingers move higher until they brush against the curls of her sex, parting them to reach the hot, slick slit beneath. Morning Scully is always putty in his hands, her limbs loose and heavy, making love to him like something from a dream. “Sleep well?”

“Mmmhmm.” Her hips move in small circles as he plays between her legs, right on the line between soothing and arousing, and a blush blooms across her chest. “Wh-what time’s it?”

“Late.” He kisses his way up her neck, suckles on her earlobe until she whimpers softly. She still hasn’t opened her eyes. “I let you sleep in as long as I could stand it. Sorry.”

“S’okay.” His fingers skim her entrance and she twitches beneath him. “This is a nice way to wake up.”

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Her face scrunches adorably, and she makes a grumpy whining sound in her throat. “Maybe?”

He smiles into her skin, presses his fingers just barely inside her. “Do you want me to stop while you figure it out?”

Eyes still closed, lower lip between her teeth, she smiles and shakes her head. 

Her body is sleep-warm and limp as he drags her thigh over his hip, opening her to him. His erection presses into the firm flesh of her ass as he strokes her, coaxing her arousal slowly to life. He slides his fingers through the slick folds of her sex, coating them in her wetness; some of it must be from last night, when he had pressed her into the cushions of the creaking leather couch and come inside her with a cry that made the upstairs neighbor bang on the ceiling—and then again, in this bed, as she rode him like a prize pony until they both came apart at the seams. She clenched around him like a vise as they came together, and the way he spasmed inside her only set her off again, until their orgasms seemed to feed off each other in an ouroboros of pleasure that felt endless and left them both gasping, shaking, too exhausted to even roll off the wet spot, let alone clean up properly.

She’s slick halfway down her thighs.

“Fuck, Scully, you’re so wet. You feel so good.” He slides his tongue into her ear and one finger into her slippery, aching heat, and her neck arches off the bed. “You felt good last night, too, especially the second time”—and now he scrapes his teeth along the shell of her ear, slides a second finger alongside the first—“when your pussy was already full of my cum, when I could feel it leaking out of you as I fucked you.”

“Jesus, Mulder,” she gasps, and spreads herself open even more, hooking her leg behind him and shifting a little onto her side. He holds her across her stomach and gathers her partly on top of him; her head falls back on his shoulder so he can tongue the soft column of her throat, nibble the sweet ridge along her collarbone. He ruts against her as his fingers pump slowly in and out, her clit hardening beneath his thumb. One arm is still trapped against the mattress, and he wriggles it free as best he can to fondle her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

She moans, squirming against him and pushing her ass deliciously against his hard length, begging for more. A quick shift of her hips, an awkward moment of fumbling, and then his cock is no longer trapped between their bodies but gliding between her slickened labia, and she brings a hand down to press him more tightly against her. He thrusts languidly, trapped between her hot little fingers and her even hotter cunt; he skims across her entrance with each stroke, rubs the head of his cock against her clit, her hips rolling in counterpoint to his sweet, unhurried rhythm. She reaches backward to grab his hair, whimpering, and his newly unoccupied hand busies itself at her other breast, groping and tweaking them in tandem.

“I love making you feel good, Scully.” His voice is velvet and gravel, his cock almost painfully hard against her molten core, and he talks to keep from embarrassing himself by coming before he’s even gotten inside her. “I love making you wet, feeling your clit pulse under my fingers, my tongue.” He licks her from shoulder to ear, leaving a glistening line of saliva along her skin, then sucks on the sensitive little spot where her jaw meets her throat. Soft little oh s spill from her lips as she grinds harder against his cock, and stars crowd his vision. “I love making you come, over and over. The sounds that you make, the way you smell, the way you squeeze me with your tight, wet cunt. ”

“Oh God.” Her whole body shudders and he feels a warm trickle of arousal coat his cock. Her face turns into the pillow, muffling the increasing volume of her moans. Greedy for the sound of her, he cups her jaw to pull her into a long, sloppy kiss, swallowing each whimper as she writhes against him with growing desperation.

“Are you awake yet, Scully?”

“Yes,” she pants helplessly against his mouth, his cock gliding between her soaked folds with almost no resistance. Soft, wet sounds fill the room, broken only by her breathy moans, his desperate panting. “More,” she manages to gasp. “God, more.”

His arm tightens around her stomach, and in one smooth move he drags her fully on top of him and scoots until his back is against the headboard. Her thighs fall to either side of his and he spreads her wide, his thick cock still thrusting along her slickened sex. She drops her head back against his shoulder and he growls, “Touch yourself,” into her ear.

A moment of hesitation, a deepening blush in her cheeks, and then she obeys. He watches her hand moving in quick tight circles over her clit, brushing the head of his cock as he slides it up and down the length of her. He slips just barely inside and she cries out, chasing him with her body when he withdraws, teasing her again and again. She gasps his name between casual blasphemies, notes in a symphony of moans and whimpers. “I want you inside me,” she finally begs. Her hand is slick with her own arousal as she wraps it around his cock, pumping him slowly, holding him against her entrance. She arches back to kiss him, plunges her tongue into his mouth, unable to stop the embarrassingly high-pitched whines coming from her throat. “Fuck, Mulder, I need you inside me when I come.”

“I live to serve,” he purrs against her mouth, and thrusts firmly upward, impaling her in one smooth motion. A loud cry pours from her throat—the neighbors are definitely going to complain again—and then she’s riding him for all she’s worth, her hips rolling and the muscles in her thighs clenching as she gallops toward release.

“Yes, oh God, Mulder, yes,” she gasps again and again, breathless and wanton, her tits bouncing in his hands as he pinches her nipples and her fingers making ever-more-frantic circles over her clit. “Close, so close, harder—”

Her words melt into a loud moan as he begins to plunge into her from below, his feet braced against the bed for leverage and his cock bumping against her cervix with every stroke. “Yes, Scully,” he hisses into her ear. “I want to feel it. Fuck me until you come.”

She’s tight and clenching around him, hotter than hell and slicker than sin, and his hand leaves her breast to join her fingers, stroking her clit together. He bites her nape, hard, and with a startled “ Oh! ” she shatters, her inner walls squeezing his cock in strong, rhythmic flutters as she gushes around him.

“Christ, Scully, did you just–?! Oh my god–!” Before she has a chance to answer or even catch her breath, he squeezes her tightly against his body and thrusts hard and fast, unable to hold back any longer. His ass lifts off the bed as he pistons in and out of her, desperate for release, and when she tightens around him again he comes with a roar—someone next door bangs on the wall—spurting hot inside her until his eyes roll back in his head and his vision goes red at the edges.

He comes down to find himself spooned against her, her ass cradled in the bowl of his hips as he softens inside her. They’ve made quite a mess, but his legs are burning like he’s been running for miles, and she’s gone completely limp against him; the last thing he can imagine is getting out of bed.

Still, he tries to be a gentleman.

“Want me to make some coffee? Then maybe a shower?”

She shakes her head against the pillow and pulls his arm tighter around her body. “I think I might be falling back asleep.”

He smiles into her hair. “Want me to wake you up a little later?”

“Absolutely.”

Hope you enjoyed! As always, comments will be printed and pasted into my little self-esteem scrapbook <3

[saturdaysky]

First Lines

I was tagged by @mithrilwren to post the first lines of my last ten fics! What a fun trip down memory lane this was.

1) fray (Ludinus/Essek; feelbad manipulation + an intentional gap between wants and needs)

"Such a fanciful tradition," he chides, watching the light play on Thelyss' bright braids. The candlelight of his bedchambers paints them fetchingly gold. Thelyss sits with a prim tiredness on the bed, holding still while Ludinus slips the buttons of his high collar back into place. They have begun to take all of their meetings here, in recent months.

2) discretion, written with @mllekurtz (Caleb/Essek; power dynamics and clothing)

“You wore this to the court today.” The words do not feel quite real coming out of his mouth.

3) growing sunlight (Caleb/Essek; a post-canon homecoming)

Caleb shuts the door against the afternoon sun, sealing them into comfortable privacy. The curtains on his windows are likewise shut, but light seeps through them anyway, casting the room in a warm, muted glow. Dimmed daylight will gather here for hours; like a little bubble of sunset just for us, supplies his mind. He is too glad to resist whimsy. Essek's visits always make him so.

4) if only for a moment (Caleb/Essek; time travel, grief, love, a leave-taking)

It was supposed to be five minutes into the future, but Caleb is pretty sure he fucked that one up. The lurch in his stomach tells him so, as does the treacle-like quality of his perception, and the way the spell writhes in his mind.

5) the end; to hold the sun (Caleb/Essek; a Calamity AU set minutes before the city falls from the sky)

It is done. It is done.

6) brothers (Beau & Essek talk about their estranged brothers; canon-with-a-twist AU)

Essek's shoulders are tense in a way that's gonna ache later, his frame drawn tight against the endless blue sky above the bay. He leans on the salt-crusted railing and stares out at the armada gathered for the peace talks. "I am still a Thelyss," he whispers in Undercommon. "They cannot take that from us." To Beau's ears, it sounds like a prayer.

7) sanctuary, a claiming (Caleb/Essek; werewolf/witch dark fairytale AU)

The night is red. Above the Wildwood, Catha’s gentle silver eye has waned into sleep at the end of its long cycle, leaving only the ruddy gaze of its sister to light the forest. Tomorrow, Catha will wax anew into wakefulness, but tonight, when magic is strong and bloody in the air, Ruidus’ dark creatures come out to play.

8) a shape made by our hands (Caleb/Essek; in a decaying timeline, Caleb meets Essek as a child.)

The spell is almost up. He’s gotten what he came to this timeline for, and when he returns to his own, this reality will decay into nothingness like an echo. The clock ticks unrelentingly in Caleb’s head; he estimates he has at least an hour. Maybe two, maybe less; time magic is an inexact science, as it turns out.

9) fulcrum (Caleb & Trent review proper torture techniques)

He is deep in the bowels of the sanatorium and has been for three days. Caleb is doing his best not to let that fact peel him out of his head.

10) poisoning the well (Caleb character study, ft. Trent's incessant, inescapable praises)

There is the splish-splash-splash as the Nein travel through the drenched Aeorian tunnel, and then Ikithon’s voice slithers into his head, parting the layers of Caleb's privacy with ease and blotting out all other sound.

I tag @mllekurtz @ariadne-mouse @chronurgy @burningdarkfire @annundriel and anyone else who wants to do it! Tag me in, I'd love to see your first lines.

[xikoatl]

Quick drabble about what I think they talked about during that scene, to make up for the delay of the long fanfic:

"You know-" Gwen began, looking at the sunset before them "I've seen my universe's sunset a million times..."

Miles turned towards her, her lips curled into a small smile, her shoulders back and relaxed. Her blue eyes shone like diamonds against the bright sunrays.

She looked ethereal, and Miles tried to store her image in his memory forever. After two years of longing; after two years of endless nights looking at the window, hoping she would come through it, she was finally here. Beside him.

He wanted to pinch himself, though he was afraid if he did it it would actually be a dream.

When she spoke up again his eyes trailed up, and he realize he'd been watching her new suit. The changes were subtle, but they were there.

"...but I don't think I've ever seen one as beautiful as this one" she turned to him and Miles swore his heart skipped a beat. The warmth colors contrasted with her pale skin, and the pink at the ends of her hair looked too vivid, rather than the washed out pink it looked like when she arrived to his room.

He was sure this was what Gwen was made for. To be adored, to be admired. To be basking in the sunlight and warmth of his New York. He doubted anyone else's universe (or anyone else, for that matter) could appreciate her the way she was intended to.

"I don't think I've ever seen any as beautiful as this one either" he mumbled, getting lost in the deep blue of the ocean that her eyes held. He was sure that if he could, he would've drowned in them a long, long time ago.

Gwen laughed confused, before realizing what he meant "Oh" a shy chuckle escaped her lips and she looked away of what she told herself was embarrassment. Though, between me and you, it was more because she did not trust her voice to not croak if she told him he looked very handsome too.

And while words may have not escaped her lips to show her gratitude, her hand trailed just a bit closer to Miles. As if to say "It's okay, I'm never leaving you".

She knew that was a lie, but she let herself daydream and enjoy the last bit of sunlight covering the rooftops of New York. So she hid the pang she felt in her heart and instead relished on the quiet breath of Miles next to her and the sound of her heartbeat, and how it beat for the guy she loves.