#trying to gather the courage to share a wip

[shiawasekai]

One arm remaining.......

[thesadadventurersgame]

The sad adventurers

Play as sadness incarnated, being revered as a deity and condemned to cry for the rest of eternity. Join an thrilling adventure with mortals you just met and, for the first time in your life, make real friends! (and try not to make them cry while they're around you and your contagious sadness). Will you help you new friends get what they want or will you get in their way?

The story will have two main points of view: Mc's and Antara Al-Amin's, other characters will also have their own POVs, but they will be shorter and won’t allow you to make choices.

(This is a wip that, unfortunately, will take time to be completed. English is not my first language and I do this just for fun, if you see any typo, please tell me!)

“In the beginning, there was only happiness. The first goddess was born from all the laughs in the world. A woman who shines every time someone laughs or smiles, never sad or angry. Love came soon after, from the desire to share this happiness, from the desire to care and be cared for. They loved and love everything they see. But, when mortal men were expelled from paradise, when they first began to feel pain and cried, from their tears emerged sadness. A deity who cried, cries and will cry forever and ever, cradling all the sadness in the world in their arms. They did not come alone though. Anger, their brother, came from the blood that men have shed and will be strengthened by it in the future. He can never be satisfied and will never be satiated, nothing makes him smile more than pure hatred. and, finally, came Fear. Born from the fear of feeling sadness, pain, fear of losing control of your own feelings, your own body, fear from being hurt and hurting. that’s where he came from.

But, before all of them, we, mortals, were born. The many fruits of the immense tree the love between life and death is. Unlike the Gods, we can feel all types of emotions proportionally and unproportionally. Only we can feel everything and feel nothing at the same time, Without us, the Gods would be nothing. But we are never satisfied, are we? we want everything until there is nothing left and will do everything, everything we can to have it. Everything to have at least one wish, any wish, fulfilled.

In ancient books it is said that if you can gather: hapinness tears, sadness laughter, the blood of love boiling with hate, a little ounce of love from hate and a demonstration of courage from fear, life itself will grant you one wish, ANY wish! That's why I brought you all together here. Together we can make history!” the man closes the book in front of him, smiling from ear to ear. “So? What do you guys say?”

𖦹 Customizable MC

ꕀ Name, personality, species, gender, sexuality, pronouns, appearence, level of naivety, hobbies, your control over your own powers and more

𖦹 Romance 1 (or more) of 6 romanceable love interests

𖦹 Choose between helping the adventurers achieve their goals or completely hindering them

𖦹 Define how you fell and interact with the other gods, as well with your own divinity

Ro’s:

Antara Al-Amin (27) | The leader | (he/him)

An adventurous and brave man. He was the one who brought your group together and is also, the leader. He makes you curious, no one has ever tried such a thing before, no one has ever been foolish enough, and yet there he is, sure that everything will work out.

Everything you do seems to mesmerize Antara, and he seems to do everything just to see your smile, failing miserably most of the times, but never giving up.

You do not know what his wish is going to be, but you know he won't give up on it, no matter what.

Species: Human

Apparence and personality: Antara is a slender but strong tall man, measuring approximately 1.80m. His umber skin is covered in scars from past adventures, which he brags about endlessly. His midnight black hair is styled in long dreadlocks and his amber eyes sparkle with a mischief that he doesn't care to hide. According to him, his stubble is his charm. He prefers masculine clothes, but likes to dress feminine in formal occasions. Antara has a flirtatious and outgoing personality, throwing himself into the arms of anyone willing to hold him for the night. it's clear to you that he cares about everyone in the group, including you, which is silly, but you don’t dislike it.

Rajinder Khan (28) | A good friend | (He/Him or She/Her)

Rajinder at first only joined the group because of Antara, their childhood friend, as they thought that Antara was going completly insane, fearing for his friends life. However, the promise that their greatest wish could be granted was also a factor, who would deny such oportunity after all?

Rajinder was the first to protest when Antara allowed you to join the group. They seem to have a great aversion to showing emotions, especially sadness, maybe that’s why they ignores you everytime they can.

Species: Human

Apparence and personality: Rajinder is a tall (2.00,m 1.98,f) heavy built person. Their golden skin is covered in freckles from head to toe. Male Rajinder keeps his hair in a military cut, female Rajinder wears short braids, both have black hair and almond eyes. They prefer more gender neutral clothing. Rajinder has a distant and cold personality, speaking only when needed.

Yueling Bai (25) | The liar | (She/Her, They/Them or He/Him)

The first thing you learned when joining the group was that you cannot trust a single word that comes out of Yueling’s mouth, for every ten words they say, nine are lies. The only thing they don’t seem to lie about is about how they feel about you and the others.

Yueling is a notorious liar and a extremely famous mercenary, that’s why Antara invited them in the first place, They have many skills that can be extremely useful. Every time the groups wishes are mentioned, Yueling is the first to try to change the subject, or they come up with a new wish. You are not going to lie, this worrys you, but there’s nothing you can do, for all you know, they can't even have a wish yet. They're neutral towards you joining in the group, and find the way you affect their emotions annoying, but despite that, they still treat you with polite deference (sometimes)

Bonus: They grew up within one of the kingdoms in your territory, which is embarrassing since you don't remember most of them.

Species: Half-elf

Apparence and personality: Yueling has a lanky body and is avarage in height (1.64), with olive colored skin, covered in tattos. Their straight short hair flows freely below their jaw, a small red clip pinning their bangs to the top of their head. They wear scarlet-red paint around their eyes which perfectly harmonizes with their jet black iris. Female and male Yueling prefer clothes generally assigned to the gender they identify with, however non-binary Yueling will prefer more masculine clothes. Yueling is a born liar, their playful personality, for all you know, could be another one of their various lies, but you like it.

Felix/Felicia Bellerose (22) | The runaway princet | (He/Him or She/Her)

F comes from the second most powerful empire in the world, Tartarus, a troubled place led by a tyrannical and sadistic Queen, their mother, Hild Bellerose, more know as the “Red Queen”. F's dream has always been to free his empire from Hild’s clutches, but they never had the courage to do so, being raised to be complient and obedient, going against their mother was like a fever dream. Luckily, they know the right people. They joined the group with the help of their royal guard, who helped them escape from the palace during the night. They don't seem prepared to fight, at all, good thing they have their charisma.

They're easily impressed by you and your powerss, treating you with deference.

Species: Vampire

Bonus: Tartarus is one of the kingdoms under Gunnar's territory, you can choose how to feel about it.

Apparence and personality: F is an tall (1.85m 1.82f) skinny person, with pale ivory skin and red eyes. Their curly, sunset-blonde hair is tied in a low ponytail with a crimson red ribbon if male and falls on their shoulders freely if female. They use a big black umbrella during the day and round sunglasses, if female, F will prefer feminine clothes, but doesn’t have a preference if male. F is a shy, air-headed person and a huge people pleaser, but, when needed, they are extremely charismatic and flirtatious. They will do everything to please their companions. They have a really hard time making choices by themselves.

Aza Bonheur (24) | The (un)lucky one | (She/Her)

Aza is F's royal guard and their biggest co-conspirator against Hild, she’s the one who convinced the princet to join the group and is one, if not the only, of their closest friends. She can easily be considered one of the strongest person of the group and strangely, she doesn't seem to have a wish to make.

Aza has an supernatural level of luck (good and bad), which is defined by a magical coin that she carries with her everywhere. She also appears to be able to steal other people's good luck and can transfer good or bad luck to others. She never mentions how she gained these “powers”, avoiding the subject as much as she possible can.

She treats you with deference but has her suspicions about you.

Species: Human

Apparence and personality: Aza is a strong women of avarege height (1,72), with green eyes and rose beige skin, covered from head to toe in scars. Her almond-colored hair is short and gelled back, showing the scar that runs from one side of her face to the other. Aza has a tough but kind personality. She is a serious woman who doesn't fool around but has a passion for drinking games. She doesn't have a preference for clothes, when she is not wearing her armour, she likes to wear anything as long as it is practical.

Douglas, Fear itself | The one who vanished | (He/They)

Douglas is the only God to not have an counterpart. When you were younger, Douglas was a shy and fearful boy, always in the most darkest of the corners, watching everyone cautiously. Neither you nor the other gods remember a thing about Douglas, because, when you separated, all the memories you had of him disappeard...but they seem to be coming back.

You don't know how, but you will find him.

Species: Vampire

Apparence and personality: You remember Douglas as a tall and slim boy, his tanned skin was always sickly pale and he had huge, dark circles under his eyes. Deep crimson red eyes that were always wide open. His hair was dark and oily, going down his back. All you can remember is how he trembled looking at you and the others.

Non ro’s:

Gunnar, Hatred itself | your brother | (he/him)

Gunnar, your dearest brother and the most hot-headed person you've ever met. You are the only person and thing that makes him smile other than hatred and violence. You spent a good part of your life clinging to him. In times of war, where your sadness was so deep that you couldn't stop sobbing and screaming, even if his blood was so hot to the point of melting his skin, he never stopped taking care of you, staying by your side all the time.

You do know where he is.

Species: Demon

Appearance and personality: Gunnar is a very tall man (2.00) with muscular build, and appears to be approximately 30 years old. His white hair falls over his shoulders like waterfalls and his porcelain skin is often red and burnt because of his blood, which boils at the slightest provocation. He has red eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He does not prefer a specific type of clothing, but generally wears more androgynous clothing. Gunnar hot-headed, mean and sadistic

Bonus: Gunnar is aromantic

Ahladita, Hapinness itself | your counterpart | (She/Her)

You and Ahladita were always fighting in your youth. For being counterparts, the mere presence of each other could ruin the other's work in mere seconds. While she was trying to make something happy, you soon came to make the same thing sad and vice versa. If she tried to make a place sunny, you came to make it rainy, but she always had extra advantage, she was older and trained her powers much more than you did. You can choose whethever this rivalry has passed into adulthood or not

If you are not rivals in adulthood, you will know where she is ;if you are rivals, then you won't.

Species: Fairy

Appearance and personality: Ahladita takes the shape of a woman in her early 20s, who has a curvy body of average height (1.70). Her skin has a golden bronze hue and is soft and shiny. Her curly, black hair is inches from dragging on the floor and contrasts perfectly with her golden eyes. She prefers more feminine clothes. She is extremely extroverted and bubbly.

Itoko, Love itself | Someone interested | (They/Them)

Itoko has always had a peculiar interest in all the other gods except happiness, perhaps due to the fact that you are all mostly negative emotions. Itoko were always very observant and had an unhealthy obsession with your brother, but well, counterparts. You both were relatively close in your youth, and you can choose if this continued in your adulthood. They love you, for they love everything they see and feel, but is not romantic and maybe, it's not even platonic, for all you know, it can be more as if you were a... a story, an subject, an object that they are deeply invested in. After a long time, their curiosity turned to you once again, their attention is completely yours now.

You don't know where they are, but it wouldn't be hard to find out.

Species: merfolk

Appearance and personality: Itoko takes an androgynous appearance in their mid-20s. Their curvy, chubby bodie are a creamy shade and their skin is smooth with a heart-shaped scar in the middle of their chest. They are short in height (1.55) and have midnight black hair, which reaches the middle of their back, styled in a hime cut. They prefer feminine clothing, but are usually naked, with just a cloth to cover their genitals. They are calm and observant and love to flirt.

Bonus: they can shapeshift

Dunia, Life, the beginning of everything. | The creator | (She/Her)

Everything came from Dunia and Orpheus, everything belongs to them. She has looked after you and the other Gods since the moment you were born. You never had the best relationship with her, but she was always there.

You know where she is

Appearance and personality: Dunia takes on the appearance of a woman on her mid 40s with a robust and tall build (1,95), with dull brown skin. Her long, wavy hair is tied into a high ponytail and she wears silver armor, which you've only seen her without once in your life. She is a serious and cold woman.

Orpheus, Death, the end of everything | The beginning and the end | (He/Him)

Everything came from Dunia and Orpheus, everything belongs to them. Mortals fear his judgment. Creator of the 7 layers of hell and a father to you, Orpheus, unlike Dunia, has always been very close to you, taking care of you as if you were his own child.

You know where he is

Appearance and personality: Orpheus takes the form of a man in his early 50s, of average height (1,70), with a slim, frail build and a pale skin full of scars. his wavy blonde hair is cut below his ears and is always messy. He is a calm man and is terrible at giving advice.

Demo tba | Pinterest | Playlists

[neonshrike]

✍️ WIP WEDNESDAY ✍️

Tagging @lilywatt @imogenkol @captastra @aeterna-auroral-avenger @shellibisshe @chadillacboseman @truly-very-british @tommyarashikage @carlosoliveiraa and anyone else who wants to share a WIP!

Some writing based on an older concept, where a girl from a completely ordinary universe gets teleported to the world of the Avengers. It’s on the more self-indulgent side of things, but I decided to share a couple of moments.

-

Steve looked out the window and studied her for a moment. She sat there motionless and looked like she hadn’t slept in days with her tired eyes and unkempt appearance.

He knew nothing about the world Andi came from and her life, but he recognized that tired, lost feeling anywhere. If anyone understood being a fish out of water, it was him.

He got used to the modern world for the most part, but there were still days where it felt overwhelming. Steve knocked on the interrogation cell door, then walked in with a sympathetic smile.

Andi flinched as soon as the door opened, but then calmed down as soon as she saw who it was. “Captain,” she quietly acknowledged as he sat down in front of her, trying to treat her as an equal rather than a prisoner.

-

As she stepped out of the elevator, she was still amazed at how advanced everything was. Andi stopped in front of the sliding doors of Dr. Banner’s lab, gathering some last-minute courage for the tests, then walked through.

Andi immediately stopped, in front of her was a giant green man typing on a screen. She sharply gasped at the sight and the moment he looked up, she felt herself teleport again. She reappeared across the lab, slamming against a counter before landing on the floor.

Just as she was coming to, all of the test tubes on the counter fell and shattered around her, including a large one filled with cold water that spilled all over her.

[always-andromeda]

Anyone who knows me knows I am very perfectionistic about the art I create. I think it’s one of my greatest fatal flaws. And it’s the thing that’s deterred me from posting much of my writing in the last year. So much so that whenever I even think about writing now there’s this little voice in my head that says, “It’ll suck anyways so why bother??”

And it kills me. It actually makes me really sad if I think about it for too long. Because I have so many ideas and I want to share them and be part of the communities I love so badly. The sheer number of WIPs that lay floundering in my docs is depressing. I want to change that.

This isn’t a pity-party post. I’m putting these thoughts out into the void that is currently my blog with the hopes that it’ll help me gather the courage to start anew. I miss the person who said “fuck it” in May of 2022 and posted their first fanfic without a care on the world. I miss who I was when I didn’t hyper-fixate on whether or not people liked me or my writing.

I’m going to work on reclaiming those parts of me. I’m going to try and let myself actually create some things. So if you catch me posting stuff that’s not necessarily the best…give me a tiny break lol. God knows I’m finally going to try and give myself one.

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (10/4 good buddy)

I wasn't going to share this week, because I feel like people are tired of Miranja - and me. But I can't help myself. I just hope that @thequeenofthewinter will forgive me for this snippet. This is a different Ulfric in a different reality. ;-) And yes, @dirty-bosmer, there's your favorite line again, haha!

Just got home from work and haven't checked my notifications yet, so I don't know who, if anyone, has tagged me yet. I'm just tagging everyone. :-D

@guarmommy @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness

For Chapter 19 of The Best-Laid Plans Oft Go Awry

When Miranja entered the Palace of the Kings, Ulfric and Galmar were heading into the war room. She followed, waiting for a break in their conversation so she could address Ulfric. To her surprise, he spoke to her first this time, a brief but unmistakable glint of lust in his eyes. “If it isn’t my ‘friend’ from Helgen again. You just can’t stay away from here, can you?” His curious gaze traveled down her body and back up again, surely wondering what she was wearing beneath her long wool cloak. “So, have you finally decided to join me in the fight against the Imperial dogs who nearly put you to death?”

“I’ve come hoping to join you, yes, but not in the war.” Miranja swallowed, feeling a little ridiculous now that she was here facing him. Hopefully, the worst he’d do was tell her no and laugh her out of the place.

Ulfric became irritated. “If you’re not for me, you’re against me. What are you talking about?”

Miranja glanced self-consciously at Galmar. “Could I maybe talk to you in private, please?”

Ulfric, too, glanced at Galmar for a moment, then turned back to her with a puzzled, expectant look. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of Galmar.”

Oh, that wasn’t what she wanted. For a moment, she considered just leaving. Maybe she could try again some other time, when he and Galmar were not together. But when had she ever seen them apart? And she was wearing her most attractive dress and a little makeup… She gathered her courage, took a deep breath, and forged ahead, removing her cloak as she spoke, revealing her tavern dress and a large portion of her rosy flesh.

“I’m just going to come right out and say it. I’m sure you have dozens of women who throw themselves at you already, but I just want to tell you that I find you outrageously attractive and I’d just like to sleep with you if you’ll have me. Selfish, yes. But there has to be a little pleasure to break up the monotony of misery and death.”

Ulfric looked surprised and actually laughed, and she prepared to be ordered out.

“You’re absolutely right.” Ulfric smiled, and Miranja was gratified to see that lustful twinkle back in his eyes. “You have more stones than Galmar over there. And you’re a lot better looking, too.”

Galmar grumbled and voiced his misgivings. “Ulfric, this Imperial harlot may be a spy, sent to get close to you to assassinate you. Don’t let your little head think for your big one.”

Ulfric had started reaching out to touch Miranja’s hair, but he stopped at Galmar’s words and dropped his arm. “Would you like to search her first, Galmar?”

“She’s the Dragonborn,” Galmar pointed out. “She doesn’t need a weapon to kill you. You, of all people, should recognize that.”

“Ah, Galmar,” Ulfric sighed. “That is why you are my right-hand man. I bow to your counsel. But there is more than one way to have a woman. Bind her and gag her.”

Miranja had figured that going alone and without armor would make her appear less threatening, but she obviously hadn’t thought this through as well as she should have. She honestly had no intention of assassinating Ulfric – yet – but of course, they wouldn’t know that. And she’d left Erik back at the Candlehearth to wait for her, so she was on her own here.

Ulfric stepped close and held the back of her head while stuffing his handkerchief into her mouth with his other hand. Galmar roughly grabbed her arms, and a Stormcloak commander she hadn’t even noticed was in the room tied her wrists snugly with a sturdy leather strap and a clever knot. Having her arms tied behind her back forced her chest out, and Ulfric’s eyes shifted downward, but he continued to hold her still while Galmar went on to secure the handkerchief in her mouth with another leather strap stretched across her mouth and tied behind her head. He wasn’t at all careful about it; her hair was caught uncomfortably in the knot and pulled when she moved.

Now Ulfric took hold of the lock of hair he’d been reaching for, lifting it to his nostrils and smelling the lavender she always used. He leaned in closer and nuzzled her ear, sucking on the flesh of her neck. Her heartbeat quickened at his closeness, his warmth, his lips on her skin, the scent of him, masculine but not sweaty or rank.

“I prefer my women to be blonde Nords, but you’re still a comely lass,” he murmured throatily, pulling her against him so that she could feel his erection. “And just the very idea of the future High King and the Dragonborn… mmm… This will be a very pleasant diversion, even if the bards can never compose a song about it.”

[shrinkthisviolet]

Daddy Issues AU intro fic for the wip game!

So I've talked about this AU here, and this is the first fic of that AU, the "Barry is raised by Eowells as Morgan's big brother" one! Foster siblings, since Barry refuses to give up his surname, but they consider themselves siblings nonetheless.

This first fic is Barry's POV and covers Eowells getting custody of him and taking him home. It'll probably also cover a little while after that—exact timeline still unclear, this is in the early stages still 😅 though something I didn't get to mention in the original post about this AU is the major divergence when it comes to Iris.

For one thing, the Flashpoint timeline (happy/original timeline) shows that Barry and Iris never share a class past elementary school if Barry didn't go to live with Iris and Joe. And I think that would definitely still be the case here, because Joe already tried to get custody of Barry once, and Eowells would be keen to keep him from trying again. So after elementary school, Barry and Iris drift apart...and they won't meet again until during s1 (which won't be covered in this fic, that'll be a later fic).

This fic is also gonna explore a little how Barry gets parentified very early, becoming more of a parent to Morgan than Eowells (a trend that continues and will have some fun ripple effects during s1 onwards). It sorta builds slowly and really hits when he’s 15 (and Morgan’s 5-6), as mentioned in the original post.

And really, it happens because unlike the main AU, Eowells doesn't have anyone to fall back on during those first few years—he has Tina, but Tina's not loyal/indebted to him the same way Barry is. She's a wild card and, to Eowells's mind, might turn Morgan against her (in the main AU, he already laments that this happened when Morgan was 7-13, when he got complacent and let Tina "corrupt" his daughter...but I digress 😅).

Barry's indebted to him and wouldn't dare try that—but unfortunately for Eowells, that was never the issue in the first place. He was! If Morgan comes to see someone else as a parental figure, that's his own fault.

So yeah! That's where things are so far, and I'll have more to say about the exact timeline and more specific details once the plotting is more nailed down and I write more of this. But for now...a snippet:

But she...she was a baby. A year old, according to Dr. Wells. A whole 10 years younger than him.

He tried to deny how his heart swelled three sizes, how his immediate instinct upon hearing her cry was to ask her what was wrong.

It took a few days for him to settle in, for him to gather the courage to ask to hold her.

"Hi," he cooed. "Hi, Morgan. I'm Barry, I'm your new brother."

Morgan peered up at him with wide eyes. "Bo-ther?"

He laughed. "Well, I guess in a way. But...no. Br-o-ther."

(He hadn't laughed, or even smiled, since...since that night.)

Morgan being the first one to make Barry smile and laugh since Nora’s death and Henry’s arrest is something that can be so personal actually 🥺💞

wip title tag game!

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @raith-way @vexic929 @ironverseocs

@thechaoticfanartist @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @negative-speedforce @starstruckpurpledragon @angst-is-love-angst-is-life

[gayautisticraccoon]

ao3 wrapped [writers edition]

from this game

thank you for the tag @clawbehavior <3

Since I haven't written anything besides my chapter in the TDJ Collab Fic I'm only gonna answer the few questions that make sense to me xD

1. Biggest surprise while writing this year? I was so nervous about writing for the first time but once I started I kept getting more ideas and had to stop myself from trying to incorporate too much into the chapter xD

2. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? Only one so far and I don't know if I will actually write it but it's just this idea I got while listening to music. A Gahan fic based on 'Sailor Song' by Gigi Perez, some of the lyrics are just very Yohan coded to me

3. Your favorite character to write this year? Mr Kang Yohan, I love him dearly and I'm glad I finally mustered up the courage to write him

4. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? I didn't exactly struggle but there was a lot of going back and forth in my head when it came to Lawyer Ko. We don't get to see that much of him in the show so I wasn't entirely sure if what I was writing was in character but it ended up working out I think ^^

5. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? I really want to write more Gahan, I have so many thoughts and ideas about them that I just never share/write down so maybe it's time I finally do that

6. Did you receive any gifts this year? Yes! And each one absolutely melted my heart. I can't believe that I stumbled into this fandom a little over a year ago and managed to make some amazing friends who are great writers at that! All of the gifts I received were by @gaylilsherlock and I love each and every one

7. Did you do any collaborative works this year? Kinda self explanatory after my intro to this but yea, the TDJ Collab Fic I guess ^

8. What do you listen to while writing? My Gahan inspired Spotify Playlist! Most of the songs hold a special place in my heart and give me new ideas sometimes

9. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? I'm really happy with how the first few lines to my chapter turned out! and the way the emotions of all 3 characters come across through their action: The smile quickly fades from his face as Ko Inguk glares at him with eyes that look like they could kill. He quickly steps through the door, pushing past a stunned Gaon and launching himself at Yohan with a raised fist. The man who was usually so calm and collected in any situation was now charging at Yohan, ready to punch him straight in the face. Yohan just stands there, unable to react or move. He understood why Gaon was angry but this caught him off guard.

Gaon's brain quickly catches up to what is happening, grabbing Ko Inguk by the arm and stopping him dead in his tracks. The man slowly lowers his fist, tension fleeting from his body as Gaon's trembling hand on his arm grounds him. He hears Gaon whisper “Please, don’t hurt him…” and sighs heavily in defeat as Gaon slowly releases his hold of him.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Ko Inguk's voice echoes through the awkwardly silent apartment. Gaon, who was now standing off to the side, turned his head to look away and downcast his eyes, avoiding Yohan's searching gaze. His eyes flick back to the man in front of him who was still staring at him, a dark storm raging in his eyes. Yohan opens his mouth but shuts it again almost instantly as he struggles to find something to say.

Thank you again for the tag! Although I couldn't answer most of the questions I still had fun and I hope that I finally gather the courage and more importantly the energy/motivation to actually write next year ^^ tagging @gaylilsherlock (I think most others I know well already got tagged xD) and anyone who wants to participate

[maximotts]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ꮇꭺꮪꭲꭼꭱꮮꮖꮪꭲ

updated: Oct. 01, 2023 || * - indicates 18+ content

──────────── ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐴𝑈 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑠.

➳ Private Hire //Mob Bosses!WandaNat x bartender!r ➳ Say You Love Me // CW WandaNat x avenger!r ➳ Desires Unspoken // 1860s!Wanda x apothecarist!r ➳ Sorority!Wanda AU- post WIP ➳ Doll House // dark!mommy!Wanda x doll!r ➳ My Soul to Keep // angel!Wanda x demon!r ➳ Confessions of Wanda Maximoff// priest's daughter!Wanda x college student!r ➳ Country Bunny // farmgirl!Wanda X new in town!r

➳ 2021 Kinktober Masterlist ➳ 2022 Kinktober Masterlist ➳ 2023 Kinktober Masterlist

➳ delirious summary: you have the flu, caring gf Wanda to the rescue

➳ focus on me* summary: Wanda tries to pull you and Natasha from work because she’s bored

➳ kept and wanted* summary: kinktober fic— possessive sorority!Wanda decides to keep new pledge!reader

➳ sorority!Wanda + lap riding* ➳ sorority!Wanda + spanking* ➳ sorority!Wanda + slumber party*

➳ good pet* summary: Wanda needs you to be good while she's on a call

➳ just one you summary: as it was AU— 616 SW Wanda finally finds you, a variant of you who'd lost your Wanda. You're the perfect one for her, even if you don't see it yet.

➳ routine* summary: as it was AU— as you warm up to Wanda being back in your life, you test how you feel about doing some of your favorite things again

➳ essential training skills summary: After the Ultron incident, you grow closer to Wanda and help her through new experiences— like pillow fort construction

➳ reasonable summary: jealousy prompts— Wanda catches you with some flirty girls at one of Tony's parties and she can't just not do anything about it

➳ girls just want to have fun summary: 80s milf!Wanda AU— Wanda discovers you've never been properly kissed and decides to fix it

➳ don't you want me* summary: 80s milf!Wanda AU— When your new lover senses you holding back, she decides being direct is the next best course of action

➳ I'm out of sympathy (for you)* summary: possessive Natasha shows you how much of hers you truly are

➳ fight, flight, freeze summary: you've been dealing with growing anxiety, but Natasha thinks you're playing a game

➳ protection* summary: {Kinktober fic} CEO!Natasha saves reader from a pushy man at a Halloween cocktail party

➳ anything for you * summary: needy top beefy!Nat needs reader to help her with a problem

➳ firsts* summary: sorority!Nat takes reader's virginity

➳ post-workout cooldown* summary: the sweet, sweet return of needy beefy!Nat

➳ caught inbetween* summary: Natasha discovers a secret both you and Wanda share

➳ I was good at feeling nothing || pt. ii || pt. iii* [complete] summary: Natasha blows up at Wanda after a day of trying to help her feel better, unspoken emotions rise to the surface and the two are left to pick up the pieces

➳ dear wretched weakness summary: journalists!WandaNat series- coming soon

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

𝐶𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑙 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠.

➳ ask and you shall receive summary: you ask Carol over for a movie day

➳ you only get to be mine* summary: possessive!Taylor Sloane gets jealous when she sees reader talking to someone else at an influencer event

➳ don't be a brat* summary: bratty bottom!Taylor drabble

➳ it wouldn't bother me* summary: the Taylor Sloane Piss Kink Fic ➳ listen for a second summary: it's not that you don't want to hook up with Taylor, it's that you want so much more than just one night

➳ pretty girl * summary: Leigh tries to be a tease

➳ close enough to kisssummary: fitzgerald prompts— when Leigh's dating life looks bleak and she starts to doubt herself, you gather the courage to tell her your feelings

➳ show me how to love you* summary: fitzgerald prompts— you tell Leigh you love her for the first time

➳ hide and seek* summary: on an afternoon nature walk, Leigh leads you away from the path for a fun game of hide and seek

➳ NSFW Alphabet*

➳ discreet service* summary: reader and Zooey spend a night out, but R is much more interested in Zooey than anything else

➳ priorities summary: Jane's been neglecting her home time and her wife has finally had enough

➳ daddy!jane*

[gamerbot-22]

Feel like we need to ramp up the angst so when you can piggybacking off of my last request, M6 when MC has a horrible flare up ft. a lengthy bout of high fever + memories/hallucinations of being burned at the Lazaret. For a lil fluff the first thing they do when the fever breaks is call for the M6.

Tumblr user dameschnee123 your thirst for angst has been feeding the little Angst Beast that lives in my soul and for that I thank you

I also decided to go the mini-fic route this time instead of a list of hcs and since that’s kind of long I’m gonna do this in batches! The tracks I listened to while writing each story is linked beside the names.

Arcana LIs Tending to Red Plague Trauma Flashbacks (Part 1: Asra & Nadia)

DNI

C & TWs include:

All: Angst, sad/bittersweet endings at best, discussion of trauma/traumatic events. Asra: minor su*c*dal ideation, unreality, implied mass death by burning. Nadia: needles/injection, poor bedside manner, trauma-induced panic attack.

Part 2 | Part 3 (WIP)

🔮 Asra (x)

He hears the screams from all the way down the street. Without a moment's hesitation they duck out of the conversation he had been having with the baker and makes a mad dash for the shop you share.

A few people have already gathered outside of the house, their faces all plastered with fear as they mutter amongst themselves. Asra doesn't care about their muttering as he barrels into the shop.

As they run upstairs to the apartment he reaches into his bag, letting Faust slither up their arm and rest over their shoulders. "I'm coming, MC!" He yells once they reach the top. Grabbing the wall, he swings around the corner and into your room and their stomach drops.

When he left earlier, they had just brought you to bed for a rest. You had a flare-up that morning at breakfast and he had to basically beg you to stay behind while they did the shopping for the week. Last he'd seen you, you were all tucked up and getting ready for a nap.

Now, the sheet was completely off the bed, scattered across the floor. The pillow under your head is drenched with sweat, and your hair tangled from tossing and turning. One of your hands clutches at the mattress beneath you with a grip so tight Asra is surprised the sheet hasn't ripped yet. Your other hand is wrapped around your throat, grasping as if you're suffocating.

Asra steels himself, rushing to your bedside and taking the hand on your neck in theirs and bringing it to his chest. "MC! MC, it's alright, I'm right here!" they try to make himself heard over your agonizing screams, but it's a useless effort.

They press his free hand to your forehead and recoils near instantly. You're hot as a stove to the touch, and instantly everything falls into place in Asra's mind. You're hallucinating, and you're hallucinating bad.

Asra wracks his brain for something to do to help. They could go downstairs and get water to try and wake you up but the shock might just make it worse and even then he didn't want to leave you alone again like this. They try desperately to think of some kind of solution but he can barely hear their own thoughts over your cries of anguish. It feels as though your cries could split his head in two.

That's when the idea hits them. Quickly, he lets Faust slither off of their shoulder and onto the headboard behind you. Faust curls over herself tightly, tucking her head between the loops of her lavender body and letting only her nose stick out for air.

"Stay there, Faust, I'll be right back." Asra assures her before mustering up all the courage and magic he can get a hold of and pressing his forehead against yours.

Instantly Asra's consciousness is thrown into your own. The energy around him is frantic and red with stress, zipping every which way, trying desperately to form some sort of image to go with the pain searing through your body. Asra steps and turns from side to side, trying to avoid getting hit by the fragments of memory flitting about him like a swarm of flies. An especially large fragment manages to clip Asra at the hip, sending him ass-over-teakettle backwards.

When they land, he’s greeted with the familiar texture of sand, but the sand isn’t still like it should be. As they brush the sand off his face they notice how the sand seems to jitter in place, like each individual grain is a wild animal tied down with some invisible chain. He raises their head and looks around to try and make sense of where he’s landed.

The entire world is trembling like the sand beneath their feet. He can make out vague outlines of Vesuvia in the distance, across a sea of tempestuous dark water. They would recognize the view from anywhere, once he turns around, it confirms it. This is your final memory before you died. When you were sick on the Lazaret in quarantine.

Asra sets to patrolling the beach. Their feet keep slipping in the sand, threatening to give out, but his sheer determination to find you keeps them from falling. A few meters from where he started, Asra sees the outline of the hospital building past the line of dark trees and brambles, and their heart starts to pound in his ears. You must be back there, inside the building.

They push through the trembling black brush of the Lazaret, following the pull of your energy further into the island. As he approaches the old hospital the world around them becomes more and more abstract. Trees become gnarled black shapes reaching towards the blood red sunset and the ground beneath his feet feels like it could give out at any second. A primal terror creeps at the edge of Asra’s senses, but they force himself right to the front steps of the building.

Asra scrambles up the stairs and throws themself against the heavy door, nearly landing face-first inside. Instantly he’s overwhelmed with the feeling of fear. The pressure of it alone brings them to his knees in the entry way, their heart pounding even harder in his chest now, almost like it’s preparing to tear itself out and save itself from the horrors that lie inside the hospital.

“M…MC…” he wheezes, any courage in their body completely drained from his spirit. The logical part of their brain is begging Asra to turn around. To leave your mind and save himself before they dies here, too, but the other part of him knows that they can’t leave you here alone. Not again. Trembling, Asra brings a hand forward, clutching at the floor and dragging themself further inside. His chest feels like it’s going to collapse into dust as they slowly creep along the floor. Tears of pain blur his vision and pour down their cheeks, and the muscles in his arms sting with effort despite not moving that far.

Asra begins to feel his consciousness slipping as they desperately crawl towards the dark doorway at the back of the room. Voices from nowhere in particular begin to ring in his ears as they gaze at the void on the other side of the doorframe. The only words they can make out in the babbling are “sick,” “others,” and “downstairs.”

Vibrations travel through the floor closer to Asra’s weakened body, and before he can turn to see what’s approaching, they’re suddenly grabbed by the ribs and thrown over someone’s shoulder. The shock of the movement temporarily shocks lucidity back into his body. Immediately they meet the eyes of a tall, humanoid figure in front of his face. They see that the figure is dressed completely in white and through the blur of the world, Asra can distinguish that they have their hair covered and tied up in two cones like the horns of The Devil itself.

“Quickly now, quickly!” The figure tuts, steepling their fingers and following close behind as Asra is carried straight to the dark doorway. “There might still be time to toss this one in with the others.”

“V…Valdemar..?” Asra nearly chokes on the Quaestor’s name as recognition seeps into his head.

The figure is too blurry to make out an expression, but Asra can feel the wicked smile coming from them beneath the growing layer of static.

“Hang on!” A deep voice rings out from behind Asra’s head. It must be the voice of the person carrying him; it echoes and rattles inside the magician’s skull taking up space he doesn’t have. “We have one more!”

“Bring them down!” A higher voice responds from past the dark doorway.

Asra clutches at the doctor’s uniform, their fingers barely able to close all the way around the scratchy white fabric. “Please… just… MC…” he sobs, “I need… home…”

The doctor carrying him ignores the pitiful cries of the magician, crossing the threshold of the doorway and starting down a steep staircase. Valdemar only watches with growing gleeful malice from the top of the stairs, absentmindedly tapping the handle of one of the surgical tools on their belt.

The scattered voices from before grow louder the deeper down Asra is taken and the darkness overtakes his vision completely until they make it to the basement. A menacing red light casts long shadows against the wall. Asra can see the shaky outlines of people swaddled in cloth holding tightly onto each other or themselves. He scans each shadow, looking desperately for your silhouette against the stone walls.

Their search is interrupted as he’s thrown to the ground near the source of the red light. The wind is forced out of their lungs on impact and his vision goes blurry as the crushing fear threatens to overtake them completely. The scattered questions and quiet panic of the figures around him pierce through their heart and he can’t even find the strength to call for you once more. They came all this way to find you, to soothe whatever terror had come back to haunt you, but it was all too much to get through. Tears grow once more in his eyes as they curl up on the stone floor, surrendering completely to the hopelessness of the Lazaret. If he couldn’t even protect you from a memory, how could Asra ever keep you safe from anything else?

“…ra? …sra?”

Suddenly the darkness seems to wash away. The heat of the red light cools into an autumn breeze, and the only pressure Asra can feel is a hand in his. Slowly, they open his eyes.

“Master.”

They’re back home. He’s in your room, sitting beside you on the bed, clutching your hand tightly in theirs. Air fills his lungs once more as they meet your eyes. You’re still covered in sweat, your hair sticking to your forehead and neck, and your voice is hoarse when you speak.

“Master, what happened?”

Asra blinks for the first time in what feels like ages, and he feels two large tears run down their face. “N-Nothing, MC,” he lies through their teeth, “You were having a nightmare., that's all.”

You don’t seem to completely buy it, but you don’t say anything. “My head’s killing me…”

“I’ll get you some water.” He shakily rises from the bed, but stumbles once they try to put weight on his legs.

“Master!” You cry, sitting up straight now.

“Fine! I’m fine.” They quickly reassure you, thudding back onto the mattress. “Sorry, just a little light-headed.” For a moment he considers correcting you, but you've been through enough already without them getting annoyed at the title.

He tries to remember all of what they saw in your head, but the memories all twist and turn in his psyche and won’t give a clear picture. The only thing they can remember is that overwhelming sense of fear that overtook him at the end.

Asra’s brought out of their thoughts when he feels your head against their shoulder. Faust follows suit, slithering down from her perch on the headboard and up Asra’s arm to rest her cool scales against his neck. Carefully, Asra runs their fingers through your hair, carefully detangling any knots that snag on his fingertips.

The three of you sit in silence together for hours, not moving an inch or speaking a word. Eventually sleep works it’s magic and settles you all into it’s comforting embrace, and you’re blessed with dreamless rest for the rest of the night.

👑 Nadia (x)

The two of you are out on the veranda together, enjoying the cool but sunny Spring weather. Normally on rough days like this, you're inside in bed, but Nadia thought it would be nice for you to get some fresh air to help calm your nerves. You both sit on the most comfortable lounge chairs in the palace, with a soothing local tea well within arm's reach.

Nadia has been regaling you with stories from the court, the current tale being a recount of an incident involving the Praetor, Vlastomil. “…and of course we couldn’t proceed another moment with the meeting until he finished dumping his worms back into their bowl. I’m well aware that those creatures have their place in nature but I’m quite sure that place isn’t on my carpet.” The Countess sips her tea as you chuckle to yourself from across the table.

She smiles proudly to herself as she drinks. A part of her is glad she can still make you laugh even if you aren’t feeling your best.

“Nadia, do you feel hot at all?”

The Countess sets her teacup carefully on its saucer as she turns her head to look at you. “Not particularly, no.” A small twinge of panic strikes her heart. “Do you?”

“A little, yeah.” You brace an arm against the table and lift yourself from the couch. The tabletop rattles slightly with the pressure and sends a painful bolt through your skull. Instantly, you cradle your head with your free hand, groaning in response to the pain and rising heat.

Nadia quickly rises from her seat, gathering her skirt in one hand as she rounds the table to your side. “Come, along, MC, let’s get you inside,” she speaks softly, remembering how the doctor told her to remain calm during flare-ups, no matter how frightened she might be.

The Countess reaches to take your arm but her fingertips barely touch you before you retreat. “Don’t touch me!” You raise your voice, the sudden shift in tone taking Nadia aback. Your retreat from her causes you to loose balance and send you to the floor of the veranda in a heap, your hand knocking your teacup down with you as it slides across the tabletop.

Nadia’s heart lodges in her throat. You’ve never raised your voice to her before, and it was filled with a frightened venom she had never heard come from anyone in her life. “D… DOCTOR!” She cries over her shoulder as she kneels beside you, hurriedly swiping the shattered teacup away with a hand before you roll onto any of the broken pieces.

“I-It’s alright, MC, I won’t leave you here by yourself.” The Countess’s voice trembles despite her efforts to sound calm. “T-Try to breathe, now.”

“Don’t… no..! Let me go, no!” You struggle on the floor, too weak to stand and run away when Nadia tries to cradle your head off of the floor.

“Please, gods— DOCTOR, HELP!” Nadia cries again into the palace, not moving from your side. “Someone will come, I promise.”

Nadia sits beside you, helpless as you cry and scream with a pain that cuts through the Countess like a knife. Tears begin to well up in her own eyes before she hears the sound of footsteps on the tile behind her.

“You called?” chimes a raspy voice from behind the Countess. Quickly, Nadia wipes away the welling tears and looks back over her shoulder. By the table stands the Quaestor Valdemar, an amused expression spread across their face like a mask.

The Countess’s heart sinks at the sight of the courtier. “Where’s Doctor De Luca?” She had hired him specifically to avoid whatever Valdemar called “treatment," he was supposed to be available at any time for this.

“Pre-occupied in town.”

“No, no..! Stay away, no!” You shriek upon hearing the Quaestor’s voice, “don’t… not again!” Desperate, you cling to Nadia’s arm and shake, continuing to yell and plead to be left where you were despite the throbbing pain in your head.

“Seems someone has a rather awful fever, don’t they?” Valdemar’s head cocks mechanically to one side, as they approach you and the Countess on the ground. They bend forward at the hip, their face only a foot or so from yours.

You cower against Nadia, clutching onto her sleeve to try and pull yourself up and away from the menacing gaze of the Quaestor. Nadia quickly wraps her arms around you, holding you against her chest. “You will step away this instant!” Nadia orders, her courage returning.

Valdemar flashes a frown before returning to a stock stiff upright position. “I apologize, Countess, I thought my abilities would be quite useful here. After all, fevers like this don't just go away on their own."

Nadia's stomach drops. They're right, of course, but the intense reaction you have to the Quaestor's presence isn't exactly comforting. Then of course, you didn't want her to touch you either but that changed the moment Valdemar appeared and goodness how long has you voice been hoarse from the screaming now?

"I'm sorry, my love," Nadia relents, holding your head against hers. She fights back more tears as she shifts her sharp gaze to the councilor. "Do as you must, Quaestor Valdemar."

"With pleasure." They grin. Valdemar stiffly reaches into the pocket of their apron, instantly producing a large brass needle with a glass window on the side. Valdemar flicks the side of the syringe and pushes the plunger forward a notch or two, letting the gaudy red medicine inside spurt a few viscous drops onto the tile of the veranda.

Nadia holds you tightly by the shoulders, watching Valdemar intently as they grab the arm you raised to strike them away with. "And three, two!" on the implied "one" they jab the needle into the vein running from your wrist up your arm. You squirm and beg against Valdemar's grasp but they hold your arm tight and still as they inject the medicine into your vein. "Just a sedative, nothing to worry about."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Nadia mutters against your hair, trying to keep you from rolling out of her arms and onto the floor. "It's over now, it's over." Her tone is soft but her red eyes burn like fire, never leaving Valdemar as they withdraw the needle from your arm and tuck it back into their apron.

The Quaestor's spine cracks as they stand up and step away from you and Nadia. With a content roll of their shoulders and neck, they steeple their fingers and smile to themself. "They should be fine now, but bring them back inside. Who knows what else the cold air could do to them."

The Countess watches Valdemar leave until they're completely out of sight, then her attention is completely back on you. You're still trying to struggle against her, but whatever was in that sedative was working fast and you're unconscious in Nadia's arms in less than a minute.

She sits with you for while, maybe an hour or so, before calling for Portia.

"M-Milady! What happened?"

"A fainting spell, nothing to worry about," The Countess reassures her handmaiden a little too quickly. "Please call for someone to bring MC back to their chambers and wait with them until assistance arrives."

"Yes, Milady, right away." Portia nods, rushing back into the palace. After a few minutes she returns to take Nadia's place as your guard while the Countess marches inside, her skirt gathered in her left fist to keep from tripping.

She doesn't bother to change out of her lounge wear as she makes her way to the Quaestor's office. Nadia stops outside the door, pausing for a moment to listen for any signs of life on the other side of the carved mahogany. A soft humming on the other side confirms that Valdemar is indeed working, and without so much as a knock the Countess enters.

Valdemar is standing behind a worn-out desk, bent at the hip over an armful of old looking scrolls. The desk's accompanying chair is propped up in the corner with a stack of papers on top of the seat. Their vacant red eyes instantly meet the Countess', and she notices a small glint in their pupils. Of pride, possibly?

"Hello again, Countess." Valdemar hums, signing one of the scrolls without looking. "Is something the matter with our patient?"

"They're resting in their chambers. I myself saw to it."

"Good, good..."

"MC is not your patient."

Valdemar stifles an even wider smile, but their eyes don't wrinkle up like they're supposed to when someone smiles that big. "I would have to disagree, Countess, considering I just eased a rather nasty fever that Doctor De Luca wasn't present for."

The Countess narrows her eyes, leering down her strong nose at Valdemar. "Your assistance was a single instance in an emergency, and for that I thank you, but do not think that you will be privy to MC's health going forward."

The corner of Valdemar's lip twitches, but the smile remains. "If you so insist, Countess Nadia."

She nods her head firmly before turning on her heel and exiting the office back into the hallway. She pretends not to hear the Quaestor's muttering.

Nadia sighs as the door shuts behind her, letting her shoulders relax and her jaw unclench. She was unsure of why she felt so strongly about Valdemar tending to you, but she knew first hand it was best to trust her instincts on these things.

Slowly, she makes her way back to your room. You're still unconscious, but Portia is standing by your headboard, watching diligently for you to come to.

Nadia rests her hand on Portia's shoulder, startling her slightly. "Did I frighten you?"

"Oh, not at all, Milady," Portia sighs, letting her head tilt back behind her shoulders as she recovers, "I just didn't hear you come in. Would you like a chair brought in for you?"

"I'm alright, thank you." Nadia pars her handmaiden's shoulder before gently waving towards the door. "Leave us now, if you would. I'll watch MC while you rest."

"Yes, Milady," Portia nods. She looks down at you one last time before leaving, the light from the window reflecting off a dried tear track that runs from her eye to her chin. Carefully she steps around Nadia and slips out of your room into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind her.

Nadia braces her right arm against the bedframe, reaching with her left to remove her sandals. She's halfway through the laces on her second shoe when she hears you stirring under the covers. "MC?"

"Nadia? What happened..?" Your voice is groggy and your eyes stare vacantly at the ceiling having not found the energy to focus on anything in particular yet. "Did I pass out?"

Nadia bites her tongue, trying to decide if she should tell you the details of your panic attack. It feels awful leaving you in the dark, but she decides against it. For now at least. Once you're doing better she'll tell you everything. "Yes, I had you brought in to rest."

"I see..." You shift under the covers, bracing yourself and sitting upright. Your posture slouches forward and you prop your head in your hands. "I promise your story wasn't that boring."

Nadia snorts. It's relieving to know you feel well enough to joke after that whole experience. "If ever a tale is that boring, please just say so."

She sits on the mattress beside you, brushing your hair out of your face. "I promise," you smile, leaning into her touch. "Sorry if I made you worry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for!" Nadia assures you, a little scandalized at the idea, "it's not something you have control over. Now... if you would move over a little, I would like to lay beside you a while."

You wordlessly oblige, smiling as Nadia takes off her untied sandals and settles in over the covers beside you. Once she's comfortable you lie down and lean against her. You can feel the Countess' heart beating next to your ear, gently lulling you back to sleep as she holds you safely in her arms.

[whats-her-quirk]

dutch courage

jean kirstein x fem!reader 18+ (minors do not interact) warnings: angst with a happy ending, insecurity, alcohol, mild blood, wall sex, biting, light exhibitionism, praise kink, possessiveness, cum marking, the cheesiest ending wc: 7.5k a/n: this fic was inspired by the song of the same name by The Spill Canvas and is part of the pseudo-songfic-collab that I’m doing with @titan-fodder. Thanks mel and @karikarasuno​ for proofreading and providing moral support. This fic has been sitting in my wips for months and I’m so happy to finally share it. It means a lot to me ok bye.

playlist:  dutch courage by the spill canvas do it again by steely dan a case of you by joni mitchell

Jean squeezes the steering wheel, jaw set tight as he watches the road ahead. You’re only a few exits away from his hometown, familiar sights passing by on either side of the highway. It’s not the first time he’s brought you to visit, but he’s as tense as he was the first time he introduced you to his mom, who still lives here in the house he grew up in.

You lean forward and turn down the radio, sighing before you break the lull in conversation. “Getting excited yet?” You tuck your hands between your thighs, no doubt trying to hide your own excitement.

Jean sighs. “Not really.” He doesn’t mean to sound like such a downer, but he can’t help it. His stomach turns at the thought of all the people he’s going to have to face.

You reach across the center console to rub his shoulder and play with a piece of hair behind his ear, and he feels some momentary comfort at your touch. “Aw, come on. You only get one ten-year high school reunion.”

The corner of Jean’s mouth twitches and he huffs. “Right, I graduated ten years ago, so I thought all the high school bullshit was behind me.” One more exit to go. He moves over into the right lane.

You cock your head. “Was it that bad? You never really talk about it, even when Marco’s around.”

Jean rolls his neck and takes the exit. Honestly, he’s not sure he wants to get into it right now, not minutes before you arrive at the event he’s already dreading. He only agreed to go because Marco was going, and then Marco had to cancel at the last minute. Now it’s just the two of you, and Jean wouldn’t have even bothered coming if your dinner and hotel room weren’t already paid for.

“Well, I’m looking forward to finally meeting some of the guys from your baseball team. Armin and Connie and Er—”

“We’re here.”

The hotel is near the exit, and Jean pulls into a parking spot not far from the door. He’s antsy, needs to get out of the car and stretch his legs. He hops out and walks around to the passenger’s side, waiting for you to crack your door open. “Can you carry your stuff or do you want me to go get a luggage cart?”

You smile, unbuckling your seatbelt and patting him on the cheek. “I only have my dress and an overnight bag. I think I can handle it if you can.”

Jean can’t help but smirk, as charmed by your sarcasm as he was when he met you back in college. You’ve changed in some ways—you look more mature but still just as beautiful, and you’ve seen the best and worst of him since then—but in other ways, you’re exactly the same person who turned his and Marco’s best friend duo into a trio. He leans in to peck you on the lips before you slide out of his car, and you both gather your bags and head inside to check in.

Jean’s on edge the entire way from the front desk to your room on the second floor, eyes darting over his shoulder at every sound until the door is latched behind him. It takes a lot of willpower for him to resist staring out the peephole, wondering who else is already here. You have about thirty minutes to get changed and ready before the event officially starts, and Jean intends to use every single one of them. No way is he going to be the loser that shows up early to his high school reunion.

You hang your dress in the little closet before flopping down dramatically on the bed. Jean slots in next to you, pressing his face into the side of your neck. He inhales the scent of your light perfume before rubbing his chin against you to tickle you with his stubble. You giggle and push him away, but he pins you down and peppers your face in kisses before you can escape. “So, is this why you didn’t want to stay over at your mom’s house? Because you want to ravage me?”

Jean rolls onto his side, propping up his head on his elbow. “Well, yeah. But also, I cannot deal with my old classmates and my mom on the same night. I wouldn’t survive it.”

You shove at his shoulder. “Your mom is nothing but sweet.”

“Please.” Jean rolls his eyes. “She’d have asked you four times by now when you’re going to give her a grandkid.” His mother means well; Jean knows that. But she still butts into his business, just like she always has, nagging him about putting a ring on your finger and starting a family every time he speaks to her.

“You know we’re still going to her house for brunch tomorrow, right?”

“I know. But until then, I don’t want to think about her.” He drops his hand and faceplants into the starchy hotel bedspread. Only when you ruffle the back of his hair does he move again.

“We should probably start getting ready.” He feels you slide off the bed, your clothes rustling as you strip out of them to put on the simple, slinky dress you brought to wear. Pushing himself off the bed, he watches you inspect yourself in the mirror before helping you with your zipper. Jean’s hands linger on your hips before you shoo him away to change his clothes. If nothing else, he thinks, people will be jealous when he walks in with you on his arm. He checks his pockets twice to make sure he has everything, and the two of you head downstairs.

The reunion, for no discernible reason, is Vegas-themed. An archway of balloons and oversized dice mark the entrance to the hotel ballroom, which has been draped in tacky silver streamers. Someone he vaguely remembers from Geometry class hands him two place cards, which he gives to you; they’re shaped like poker chips and have your names on them, so you can claim seats at one of the round dining tables, which are decorated in alternating red and black place settings to look like roulette wheels.

He bites the inside of his lip, elbow pasted to his side with your hand under his bicep. The lighting is dim, sparing everyone from the truths of aging revealed under fluorescent bulbs. It’s a blessing and a curse; maybe people can’t see him, but he can’t make out many faces either, not from far away. He’s jittery, sweating into the black turtleneck under his maroon jacket, and desperate for a drink. Thankfully, there’s a construction paper marquee sign to point him in the right direction for one.

Heads turn when Jean steps into the light with you at the little counter under the sign for drinks, but he tries to ignore them. No doubt people wonder who you are—clearly, they can tell you’re not from this podunk town where everybody knows everybody.

“Beer or wine?” the caterer on the other side of the counter asks.

Jean rubs the back of his neck before smoothing his hair back down. “Do you have anything stronger?”

The caterer nods at a door to the side. “In the hotel bar, but you can’t bring it in here. Liquor license says.”

“Fine, a beer please. What do you want?”

Once you and Jean both have a drink in hand, he catches you looking down at the poker chips. Maybe you’re admiring how your names look written side by side, he muses, before you nudge him with your arm. “So where are your friends?”

“Uhh—“

“Hey, Jean!”

Jean stumbles into you as something—someone—plows into him from the side. There’s no doubt in his mind who it is while he steadies you, making sure you didn’t spill anything on your dress. “Connie, good to see you, man.”

His old teammate beams at him, taller perhaps than the last time Jean saw him but with the same buzzed haircut. “Yeah, dude. It’s been forever. Hey, is Marco with you?”

Jean clears his throat. “No, he couldn’t get off work. But uh.” Jean takes a step to the side and gently pulls you in front of him. He introduces you, and Connie shakes your hand.

“Out of your league with this one, huh Jeany-boy?” Connie teases as you laugh and wave him off. Jean wishes he could crawl under a rock and die. How many times tonight is it going to be the same song and dance?

Connie, over-friendly as ever, loops an arm around your shoulders. “You should come meet everyone. Come on, there’s space at our table.” Jean follows behind, taking long sips of his beer, preparing to get this over with. At least he can rip the band aid off all at once if everyone is sitting together. He can’t hear what Connie is mumbling to you about; probably the embarrassing story about the pitch he took to the foot sophomore year that broke his pinkie toe.

The table you arrive at is set for eight people, and by Jean’s count, that leaves just enough space for the two of you. On one side, Armin and Sasha are looking at an old yearbook someone brought and laughing. Opposite them are Bertholdt, Annie, and Reiner, who are chatting amongst themselves—inseparable as always.

“Look who I found!” Connie practically has you in a headlock as he pulls up to the table. You don’t seem bothered, but Jean peels Connie’s arm off of you anyway. He needs something to hold onto right now, something to keep his free hand occupied so he doesn’t start fidgeting, so he wraps it around your waist.

Armin and Sasha greet you warmly when he introduces you as his girlfriend, his tongue tripping awkwardly as ever over the juvenile word. The others nod in your direction, noncommittal. Jean clears his throat but he can’t think of anything else to say. What do you even talk about with people you haven’t seen since your last college summer?

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Armin says with a smile. “I was starting to wonder if you even existed.”

Jean scoffs. “I can assure you, I’m very real,” you reply, playing along. You were always better with people than him.

“Where’s Marco?” Question of the night. It was Sasha's turn to ask this time, apparently.

“He couldn’t make it. Working,” Jean mumbles.

“Oh, he’s doing his residency now, isn’t he? I heard that’s pretty intense.”

Jean doesn’t say anything, leaving it to you to pick up the slack. “Yeah. He works really hard. Long hours, too. But we still see him a few times a month. Right, Jean?”

Jean crosses his arms. “Yup.” He smacks his lips on the p. You shoot him a look, and he grimaces. He’s being kind of a dick, he knows that, but for some reason, he can’t help it.

Connie circles the table and spots place cards at the open chairs that aren’t his. “Oh shit, were we supposed to save these for—“

Armin reaches for the poker chips and slides them under his napkin. “They might not make it anyway. I just got a text.”

If they’re talking about who Jean thinks they’re talking about, that’s a relief.

Dinner is a ‘Vegas buffet’ sans the king crab legs and brisket. Once your plates are filled and Jean has another beer in front of him, conversation starts to flow around the table again.

“So how did you two meet?” Sasha asks you, impolitely with her mouth full of french fries, no less. Jean’s stomach is doing backflips, but you float a hand over to rub his knee, and he feels like he can breathe again.

“Well.” There’s a fondness in your voice that melts Jean’s insides, makes him feel like a pile of sludge. “I met this guy and Marco at a party.” You look up at him with wide eyes, the memory practically sparkling in them, and he breaks into a grin he wasn’t sure he could muster until it was happening.

“We were on a 4-game winning streak at beer pong.” Jean says softly.

“So I grabbed some random girl, and we kicked their asses.” Your hand tightens around his knee.

“Yeah, and as a forfeit, she made us roll down the hill outside while the sprinklers were going off.” Jean had forgotten a long time ago whether his annoyance about that was mock or real. But one thing he knows for sure. “That’s when we knew she was one to keep around.”

“We had a lot of good times, the three of us.” When you smile and lean your head against his arm, Jean instinctively places a hand on the back of your neck and kisses your head. What he’s not expecting is the chorus of awws from around the table. Even Reiner, who has barely said a word, chimes in a little too patronizingly. Jean can’t help but narrow his eyes; he basically got along with Reiner and Bert, but there was something odd about the two of them—something Jean didn’t trust. When Reiner teased him, on and off the field, it never fully felt like a joke. Jean drops his hand from your neck and straightens in his chair.

Armin, who has been scrolling on his phone, suddenly looks up from the screen. “But you two haven’t been dating since undergrad, right?” Apparently Armin’s been stalking his Facebook page.

When Jean doesn’t answer, you shake your head. “Nope, we were just friends until about six months after graduation. Or, well. That’s when it became official anyway.”

Connie elbows Jean a little too hard. “So what took you so long?” If Jean didn’t know exactly how stupid Connie could be, he would start to think Connie was hitting on you.

Jean sighs. The innuendo was getting tiresome. “I mean, I’d thought about it a little. But we just hadn’t spent a lot of time actually alone together until…”

You pat Jean’s hand. “Until Marco started med school.”

He remembers it well, how awkward it was at first when suddenly it was just the two of you most nights, hanging out in his apartment. You had a steady job, and he wasn’t traveling nearly as often four years ago as he did now. Meanwhile, Marco was living forty-five minutes away and tied up studying. Without a third person there to hide behind, Jean fell fast for you, and by some stroke of stupid luck, you fell for him too.

When Connie teases, “You’re lucky Bott didn’t swoop in first,” Jean wishes he could hit him. Instead, he sets his jaw and downs the rest of his beer.

Then he stands up, straightens his collar, and asks, “I’m gonna get another drink. Anybody want anything?”

When he returns with three beers and a glass of moscato for the table, the conversation has shifted to work. Sasha’s in catering, Armin’s in IT, and Connie’s in barber school now, of all things. Reiner is in construction while Annie and Bert are both realtors.

Jean sweats when all eyes land on him. He tries to wash down the weird lump in his throat with his beer, but it doesn’t help. He rubs at his neck over his collar as your hand strokes between his shoulder blades. “Um. I’m in Pharmaceuticals.” It’s true and vague, purposefully.

Your hand slides up, twisting in the ends of his hair against the back of his neck. “He’s modest, but he’s the top sales rep in his region.” Jean’s stomach drops.

Annie snorts, chin resting on fingers that are laced together over the wine glass Jean brought back for her. “Weren’t you supposed to go to med school with Marco?”

Jean almost bites through the inside of his lip, but he doesn’t want her to know that, so he just shrugs. “Change of plans. You know how it is.”

She hums back, rolls her head to her shoulder to look at Bert even though she’s not talking to him, and smirks. “You always were good at wining and dining ‘em, Jean. No wonder you ended up in sales.”

Suck a dick, Annie. If memory serves, you’re pretty good at it. In his head, he spits it back at her, but he knows it would mean a swift punch to his jaw, if not from her then from one of her two boyfriends or whatever arrangement the three of them have going on. So he keeps his mouth shut.

The conversation lulls after that, breaking into smaller groups around the table. Jean turns his attention to you, taking your hands in his to play with them; you’re the only person here he really enjoys talking to anyway. He asks if you want anything else to drink, but you decline. He’s about to finish his next beer, knows he should probably slow down or have a bottle of water, but just because he should doesn’t mean he wants to.

He’s about to make the walk of shame back to the drink window again when Historia, the class president, steps up to a microphone and announces that the DJ is done setting up and the music’s about to start. She’s wearing her fucking prom queen crown, as if anyone needed reminding that she won everything because she was too cute not to vote for. The DJ, who probably played top 40 hits at the wedding of every married couple in the room, starts playing a pop song from the same year Jean graduated, and people shuffle toward the open space in the ballroom left for dancing.

Jean’s already on his feet. Since it seems less depressing than just sitting here, he holds out his hand to you. “Wanna go dance?”

You slip your hand into his, and it takes everything in him not to gasp when you stand up from the table because god, you just look so stunning tonight. “Yeah, at least until they start cutting that giant cake at the end of the buffet.”

Jean can’t help but chuckle as he leads you away to the dance floor. No one at the table even seems to notice. Good, he thinks.

He settles for a spot on the edge of the dance floor before wrapping his arms around your waist. You curl into him easily, bodies slotting together without a second thought, your wrists loosely crossed behind his neck. The song is mid-tempo at best, not really meant for slow dancing, but he falls into an easy rhythm, leading you in a lazy circle. For a few moments, with your body against him, he almost forgets about everything else.

He can feel your breath on his neck as you sway together. “So that tiny blonde chick.” Jean gulps. “What did she mean by wining and dining?” He feels you make air quotes behind his back. “Were you secretly a player in high school and I never knew about it?”

Jean bites his cheek. You’re teasing, he knows it, but it feels shady not to tell you the truth. “No, I didn’t date much until after high school. But the summer after our freshman year at college, I asked her out.”

“So wait, she’s your ex?”

“No, no. We went on one date to the drive-in movies. She sucked my dick in the car, then never talked to me again.” In hindsight, it was stupid that they went out at all. He only asked her out because no one else was in town and he was bored; she probably only said yes and sucked him off so she could laugh about it with her friends afterwards.

Jean imagines that other people he could be with would be jealous, upset even, to hear he had a past, however short-lived, with someone else in the room. Someone else might blow up on him for not telling this story before, knowing there was a chance he’d run into Annie tonight. But you’re too good for that, too good for him. You simply push back from his chest so you can give him a teasing look. “Well, it can’t be because the blow job wasn’t good. Because I’ve seen your dick and—”

“Jean, hi.”

Whatever innuendo you were about to make is interrupted by the tap on Jean’s shoulder. He turns around with you still in his arms, and it takes him a full ten seconds to figure out who’s talking to him. Finally, it comes to him: Marlowe, another old teammate. He’s hardly recognizable without his signature bowl cut, but he’s holding hands with Hitch, and Jean remembers seeing their wedding pictures on his timeline a couple years ago.

Because both of them are just smiling at him, Jean can’t just say nothing. “Hey, how’s it going?” His hands drop loosely from the middle of your back down to your hips, but you keep yourself pressed to his chest. He kind of loves it.

“Great, just great. I was really glad to see you made it.” Jean nods, his smile tight. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop—for the question about Marco—but miraculously, it doesn’t come. After Jean introduces you, Marlowe turns to you and keeps talking.

“This guy was the best outfielder we had on the team, you know. He could practically climb the back wall. Stopped a lot of would-be home runs that way. Hey, you still play in any rec leagues or anything?”

“Nah, not anymore.” Jean doesn’t know why Marlowe is being so nice to him, distinctly remembers slamming him up against the back wall of the dugout at least once, but he stands there smiling at Jean like they’re old friends, and Jean must have some crossed wires in his head because he can’t stand it. “Just too busy anymore.”

“Figures, that’s life though, I guess. ” He glances at Hitch in a weird, knowing way that Jean can’t decipher. “Anyway, it’s really good to see you, and nice to meet your wife.”

It’s like a punch to the gut when you both respond at the same time.

“We’re just—”

“We’re actually not—”

Malowe’s face goes pale in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed…”

Jean feels like he’s going to throw up. “Don’t worry about it,” he answers too quickly. He looks down at you, still pressed against him but blushing furiously now. “We’ll catch you later though, ok?”

“Yeah, definitely. See ya.”

Marlowe and Hitch retreat, and though it should be funny to watch Hitch scold Marlowe for putting his foot in his mouth, it’s not enough to stop the waves of Jean’s anxiety from dragging him under like a rip current. He needs to get away; he needs a second before he completely freaks out and does something stupid.

Jean squeezes your shoulders and pulls you into a soft kiss right there on the dance floor. He doesn’t give a fuck who’s watching, he just needs a quick taste of you before he runs off to self-medicate. You’re definitely starting to pick up on his nerves though. You always do. “You ok?”

“Uh, kind of. I think I’m gonna go get a drink from the actual bar. Do you want to come?”

You shake your head. “No thanks. They’re actually cutting the cake over there. Maybe I’ll see if Sasha wants to get a piece together; she seems super sweet.”

Jean pecks the top of your head. How you can read everyone you meet like a book, he’ll never know. “I think she’d be up for that. I’ll be back in a little bit, ok?”

The two of you separate, and Jean finds his way to the empty hotel bar. The walls in here are wood-paneled and dark, the room mostly illuminated by the neon beer signs hanging over the back counter. The bartender, a short guy with black K-pop hair and an incredibly bored look on his face, is cleaning already-spotless wine glasses when Jean takes a seat at a barstool. The bartender looks up but doesn’t stop drying the wine glass over his hand.

“You gonna order something?”

Jean hands over his credit card. “Can I get a whiskey, neat? Whatever you got that’s strong.”

The bartender looks him up and down, doesn’t even try to hide it. “You look like shit. I’ll make it a double.” Jean doesn’t argue as the bartender drags over a stepladder and grabs a bottle from the top shelf. He pours heavy; Jean throws the dark, honeyed liquor back much quicker than he probably should. The bartender doesn’t even bother getting more ice, just pours him another before going to wipe down the other end of the bar. Jean can take the hint; he’ll slow down a little.

While the barkeep busies himself, Jean checks behind him, then reaches inside his jacket. He pats the inside pocket, subconsciously checking if everything is still there, but before he really realizes it, he’s pulling out the little black velvet box hidden inside. He holds it down low, near his lap so the bartender doesn’t see. Easy as a flick of his thumb, it's open, and the diamond ring inside is staring back at him.

It’s been a while since he’s actually looked at it, even though he’s been carrying it around for the better part of a year. It’s big, a large center stone set in smaller chips, and flashier than what you’d probably pick out for yourself. The simpler designs just didn’t seem like enough when he went out to buy it.

The lights above the bar reflect back at him in the stone. He was stupid to think he could do it tonight, that he wouldn’t chicken out. Part of him wanted you to be wearing it when you walked into the ballroom, excited to show it off to everyone you met. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to give it to you, to ask you the big question you were no doubt waiting on, patiently as a saint. But he wanted it to be perfect when he did.

“Bet you ten bucks you’ll pussy out.”

Jean snaps the ring box shut and shoves it back in his jacket, his blood running cold. Of course Jaeger had to show up. Fucking of course.

Jean refuses to acknowledge him, concentrating on his whiskey instead, but the bastard drops onto a barstool, leaving one buffer seat between them, and orders a gin and tonic. When the bartender brings it to him, Jean gets his attention. “Hey, can I close my tab please?” The bartender raises an eyebrow but rings him out.

“Aw, leaving so soon?” Jean tries to ignore him, to just sign the receipt the bartender brings him and leave a nice tip, but Eren’s so fucking smug right now, it makes Jean’s ears ring. So he sits back down, thumbing at the edge of his glass.

“Why’d you bother coming so late?” Jean deflects the question with his own.

“Babysitter bailed on us, so we had to get the kids ready and drop them off at my parents’ first.” Eren takes a long drink. “They’re always excited to see the grandkids, anyway. You know how parents get.”

No, Jean thinks. He doesn’t know, but it’s easy to imagine. He swallows the last of his whiskey, feeling it burn all the way down. When he spins around and rests his elbows on the bar behind him, his arms feel heavy. The liquor is starting to hit him on top of the beers he drank earlier. Everything feels fuzzy when he asks, “Where’s Mikasa? Doesn’t she want a drink too?”

Eren finishes his gin and smirks. “She stopped to talk to everybody. And she’s not drinking anyway. It’s early on, but between you and me, she’s pregnant again.”

Jean scoffs. “So that’s what, baby number five?”

“Three, asshole.” Jaeger’s trying to make him jealous, Jean knows that. Mikasa and Eren got married right out of high school, stayed right here in town, and started having kids as soon as Eren got the gym teacher job at their old high school. And for half a second, he feels bad that Eren thinks that’s a life he would be jealous of, but there’s a little pang of truth there too.

“Met your girl out there. She seems nice. Where’s Bott, though?” Rage boils behind Jean’s eyes. He wants to tell Eren to keep your name and Marco’s out of his mouth, but for some reason, maybe the alcohol, he can’t. None of his thoughts come to him straight, and the words aren’t leaving his lips like he wants them to.

“Working. And to think he’s missing all the fun.” Sarcasm drips off his silver tongue.

Eren sets down his empty glass a little too heavy on the bar. All pretense drops from his tone. “Why’d you even come, then? You think you’re so much better than all of us, so why even show up?”

“I do not—” Jean is standing now too, ignoring the bartender, who plants himself between the two men on the other side of the bar. There’s no need; he has no intention of starting a fight.

“Bullshit,” Eren spits like venom. “You just wanted to shit on the rest of us to make yourself feel better. You’re such a fucking prick, you know that?”

“Shut up.” Jean’s fist clenches at his side, but he releases it, setting his palm on top of his empty whiskey glass instead. “At least I don’t want to spend the rest of my life hanging around my old high school, trying to relive the non-existent glory days. I’m past that.”

Eren laughs humorlessly. “Please. You’re still hung up on Mikasa, I know you are.”

“Whatever, man.” He may have been pining over her through all of high school, but that's one thing he’s sure he’s over. He has you now, and he’s done with this stupid conversation. Jean’s about to turn and leave, to find you again and humor you for one more dance before he takes you back to the hotel room.

“Have fun thinking about my wife when you fuck your whore tonight, Kirstein.”

Something snaps, and there’s the sound of breaking glass. Jean’s mind goes blank, his vision practically whiting out as he smashes the heavy tumbler into pieces against the wood. In two long strides, he has Eren’s collar in his hand. The other man lifts his hands but he’s not quick enough. Jean feels possessed, head swimming with rage and alcohol, as he winds up and punches Eren in the jaw.

It’s a solid hit, making a disgusting crack under Jean’s knuckles, which immediately burn as he recoils. He hisses and shakes his hand out. It’s been a while since he actually hit someone. Jean looks up; Eren is lunging for him, fist curled. He’s aiming for Jean’s nose, but the bartender appears in a flash, pushing Jean away before tackling Eren and pinning him to the floor.

Jean stumbles over his own feet, glass crunching under his shoes. The room is spinning and suddenly loud. Bodies rush in. He can only identify two: Mikasa and you. The look on Mikasa’s face makes Jean’s stomach lurch, a mixture of rage and hurt and confusion before she kneels over Eren and tries to calm him down.

You shout his name. Jean looks at you blankly. He can’t move. You grab his hand, and he notices now that he’s bleeding, the diagonal cut across his palm shallow but gushing. He holds his wrist while you dive behind the bar and come back with a folded rag.

The bartender looks back over his shoulder. He has Eren’s wrists pinned down despite how he’s struggling, obviously strong despite his size. “Don’t use that, it’s dirty. Get a clean one from under the register.”

Jean lets you wrap up his hand when you return with a thin, flour sack bar rag. Eren is just getting to his feet, both Mikasa and the bartender standing between him and Jean to hold him back. Jean’s feet feel glued to the floor. He stands there stupidly, left hand throbbing, until you take him by his other wrist and drag him out of the bar.

He’s not drunk enough to black out, but Jean barely registers getting into the elevator. The next thing he knows, he’s inside the dark hotel room, his back against the wall, and he’s crying. Your hands cup his face, and you murmur to him while he sobs. “What happened? What’s wrong? Why did you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracks. “I’m sorry, I fucked up.” It hurts, everything hurts, and he might be dying from the inside out. He tries to crumple to the floor, to curl himself into a ball until you go away and he doesn’t exist anymore, but you press him to the wall, your hands on his shoulders.

“I know you wouldn’t hit someone for no reason. What happened?”

He can’t look at you, just sniffles and shakes his head. But you don’t let go, don’t release him from the wall. Even when he stops crying, Jean’s chest is tight under the clawing pain of his conscience. “I can’t do anything right. Anything I try to do, anything I want, I always ruin it.”

Your brows crease, and when you touch his face again, Jean almost breaks and cries again. “What did he say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He’s not repeating it. Instead, Jean pulls your hands away. “Why are you even with me? You deserve so much better.”

Your face falls, and somehow, that’s almost worse than anything else right now. “Jean. I love you. You’re such a good person.”

He shakes his head again. “I didn’t get into med school. I travel so much, and you’re alone all the time. I was an asshole for most of my life. I drink too much.” He feels himself snowballing, but he can’t stop. “You should have been with Marco.”

He startles when you grab him by the chin. “Stop that. He’s our best friend, but I’ve never loved him the way I love you. You know that.”

Jean’s hands fall to your lower back and fist in the silky material of your dress. “There’s a reason everyone has always liked him better than me. Why they wanted him to be here tonight. I’m just a fuckup.” He sighs heavily and leans his forehead against yours. You’re so perfect, so beautiful. You should leave him.

But you don’t. You take a step closer, pressing yourself against him, and pull on the back of his neck until he leans down far enough for you to kiss him. Jean squeezes your hips as your tongue pokes into his mouth and he sucks you in. His brow creases when your nails find their way into his hair. The longer he holds you against him, the less crushing guilt he feels.

When you finally break away, panting, he can’t do anything but stare. With every stroke of your hand, pushing his hair back behind his ear, Jean’s heart twists a little less. Or at least a little differently. He loves you so much it hurts.

“I love you. Only you. Always,” you promise, and he shivers when your fingertips run down the back of his neck. Instinctively, his hand finds the back of your knee, guiding it up to his hip.

“I want you so bad,” Jean breathes. He’s half hard in his dress pants already, and he’s sure you can feel it where your stomach is pressed against him.

“Show me. I’m yours.”

At once, Jean’s throat rumbles, and he finds the groove between your neck and your shoulder with his teeth. His. Even if he doesn’t understand why. If this is how you give yourself to him, he’ll take it.

“Mine,” he whispers before laving his tongue over the teeth marks on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “That’s it. Take me. Use me, Jean.”

With every heavy breath, your breasts drag against his chest. His veins buzz with liquor, but your kiss makes him feel drunker. You feel so good, your body so hot and familiar as he grinds your hips against his. He wants to rip your clothes off. He needs to feel his cock against you, inside you. It’s driving him crazy.

When you throw your arms around his shoulders, Jean grabs your ass with both hands and squeezes. He loves the pretty little sounds you make, how you shift against him and rub down against his pelvis. Desperately, he pulls up your dress in handfuls until the entire skirt is up over your hips. You take over, then, grabbing the fabric and pulling upwards. Holding you at arm’s length, Jean’s eyes rake hungrily over your body, breasts bare and cunt covered only by a skimpy thong.

“God,” he breathes before sealing his lips to yours. While he reaches for your ass again, you work on his belt. Everything blurs when you finally get his zipper down and palm his cock over his underwear. He can’t help but moan into your mouth, and you just keep rubbing him harder.

It’s hard to pull away from you, but he has to get his shirt off. He slides out of his jacket, folding it carefully over the top of the dresser next to him, but as soon as his sweater is off, it’s kicked aside on the floor with his pants and boxer briefs. You spit in your hand and reach immediately for his cock, hard against his stomach. When your naked body presses against his, the rational part of Jean’s brain switches off. All he knows is that he wants to claim you.

You’re pliant in his hands, bending and arching when he lifts you and presses your back against the wall he’s been glued to. Your thighs squeeze around his waist, giving him the leverage he needs to swipe two fingers through your folds, gathering your slick. When you throw your head back and whine, he knows you’re ready for him. Those same two fingers circle your entrance once more before plunging inside and setting up an almost cruel pace.

Between the squelching wetness and your breathy moans, Jean’s head is spinning. “Yeah, baby,” he praises when you clench around his digits. He wants to hear you say it. “Who does this pretty pussy belong to?”

“You.” It makes him shiver, his cock twitching up under your ass. Fuck, he needs you. He can’t wait any longer.

You whimper when he pulls his fingers out. “Shh baby, gonna take care of you,” he grits out, stroking himself to spread your slick over the head of his cock. He hisses at his own touch, throbbing and needy for you, before pulling your panties to the side and guiding his tip to your dripping hole. He swears he’s never seen anything as beautiful as the way your mouth drops open and your eyes screw shut when he pushes the first few inches inside.

His body screams for you. It’s no use to try and hold back. As you flutter around his length, Jean pulls his lip between his teeth and thrusts until he’s nestled deep inside. Fuck, it’s so cute how you squirm against the wall, how you cling to his shoulders to hold yourself up, how you squeeze and pant and whine until he starts to slide in and out of you.

That animal part of his brain rears up again as he pounds into you. His body and yours are quickly coated in a mist of sweat, your legs slipping uncrossed periodically behind his back as he holds you hard against the wall. Knowing you’re close turns him on, makes him moan out loud as you claw at his shoulder blades and squeak out his name.

“Loud,” he grunts before sucking a dark hickey over your collarbone.

“Let ‘em hear,” you gasp. “Only you… fuck me so good.”

He moans at the thought, the mere possibility that anyone—Eren, Reiner, Annie, any of them—could walk by and hear you screaming his name as your back arches sharply off the wall and you come, coating his cock in your cream.

Your legs tremble as you come down, but Jean stays inside you, walking carefully over to the still-made bed. You cling to him as he lays you back and crawls over you. He slips out only for a moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of your milky release dripping down his shaft. A wave of heat flashes over him, and he’s back inside you in a second.

He can see your face so much better from this angle, the way your mouth is open in a pretty O just for him. Your legs stretch wide as he settles in between your hips. Your wet skin slaps against him with every thrust, the fluid mixture of sweat and slick making it so easy, too easy to slam into you over and over and over.

Heat twists in Jean’s balls, so full and heavy for you. With every motion of his hips, the bed creaks under you. He feels a sick sense of pride when you cry out for him, broken pleas of his name reverberating off the paper-thin hotel walls. You’re so beautiful and wrecked underneath him, Jean can’t help but moan for you too.

“Make me cum again, please.”

“Fuck, y’sound so pretty begging for me, baby.” Jean slides his hand down your stomach until he finds your clit. He rubs back and forth, frantic little motions that make your tight little cunt squeeze even tighter until you shatter with a scream. He fucks you through it, letting you thrash against him until he can’t take it anymore.

Pulling out all at once, Jean revels in your sobs and the few stray tears that trickle out. You’re his, he remembers again. Just like you said, you’re all his.

Bracing his wrapped hand on the bed beside your head, Jean fists his cock in the other. He’s still covered in your release, so his hand slides easily as he squeezes, pushing himself toward completion. He eyes your chest, your stomach, your pussy: he wants to leave his mark all over you. When your hands thread into his long hair and pull, he growls into his release. The decision is a last-minute one as he spills over your lower stomach and the outside of your pussy until he’s finally spent.

Jean stares longer than he should. His seed runs down your body, dripping over your hips onto the comforter, pooling in the folds of your pussy, thick and white. You’re covered, sticky and wet, in him. It’s so disgustingly beautiful he can’t help but drop onto his hip beside you, pull you flush against him for a deep kiss, and ruin it completely between his body and yours.

Even with the mess between you, you smile at him as the two of you come down together. “I love you.”

He brushes your face with the back of his hand. “I love you so goddamn much it scares me.”

Maybe he doesn’t deserve you. Maybe he’ll always feel that way. But you’re his, he has to know that now, has to commit it to memory. He remembers it as you kiss on the soiled bedspread. He remembers it as you shower off together, kissing some more. He remembers it as he falls asleep with you in his arms.

He’s still remembering as he watches TV while you’re getting ready in the morning.

Jean has a vague feeling that you’re not done talking, about the night before and the bigger issues it dredged up. And while he’s thinking about it, he probably needs therapy to work through it all, because it’s not fair to put all that on you, even when you always seem to know what he needs even before he does. It’s a vulnerable feeling, to be so seen by another person, flaws and all, and even scarier to still be loved by you even when you do see those dark parts.

It’s terrifying, and he never wants it to end.

So when you call from the bathroom, “I can’t decide what I should wear to your mom’s for brunch. Will you help me?” Jean makes a decision. He reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket.

He kneels down in the doorway of the bathroom and waits for you to turn around before he says, “I think I have something you can wear.” And he watches your eyes joyfully tear up as he opens the little black box. “I know I’m kind of a train wreck. But I love you, and I want to be there for you too. Will you marry me?”

Tearfully, you smile and nod your head. “Yes. Yes yes yes.” He lets you gather him up in your arms, planting kisses on his lips and his face, before he slides the ring on your finger.

It’s not perfect, but maybe in a way, it is at the same time.

[espithewarlock]

Happy WIP Wednesday Everyone!

Espi it's Tuesday...

HAPPY WIP WEDNESDAY EVERYONE!!!

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

As much as Charles tried to refrain from going to the bakery on every trip to the town, he simply couldn’t help himself. He would try to pass by the street and not turn, but the smells were too enticing.

The man behind the counter was also very enticing.

Charles waited a full week after his first trip to return to the town. He was a little nervous that Pierre wouldn’t remember him, but really should not have worried.

“Ah, the trendsetter returns. Welcome back, Your Highness,” Pierre gave him a teasing grin and a clearly mocking bow, “did the castle run out of bread again?”

It seemed like a blush was going to be permanently fixed to his face inside this bakery. Charles usually hated it when people called him Your Highness, but from Pierre it was completely endearing.

Clearly Pierre had no idea who he actually was, and that was the whole point of these town visits. It was dangerous to become a regular anywhere. Being a regular meant becoming known, and that would lead to discovery.

He would be found out sooner or later if he stuck around one place too often. One passing comment could be excused or waved away. If he slipped up too many times around one person, they would get suspicious and he would be exposed.

But he simply couldn’t stay away from Gasly’s Baked Goods.

Over time, he became more familiar with the various products that were on offer. Pierre introduced him to delicious treats every time he visited, but Charles’ favorites were always the croissants.

Well, the croissants and the flirting. 

Pierre was relentless with Charles, like he had a mission to try and make him blush every time he came in. It usually worked and Charles very clumsily tried to flirt back. That usually made the blush worse.

(But it always made Pierre laugh and smile so it was worth it every time.)

Sometimes Charles would come in when there were other customers. Pierre was friendly with them, smiles and kind words, remembering the names and orders of his regulars, but there was never anything more with them.

With Charles, it was constant teasing over his first visit or his most recent slip of the tongue. It was winks and sly grins as he passed over Charles’ latest treat. It was calling him Your Highness in a way that made his insides flutter instead of recoil.

After too many visits to count, Charles gathered his courage and stumbled his way through asking Pierre on a date, red as a tomato the entire time. 

Fortunately, Pierre agreed with only a minimum of teasing. 

Charles was able to convince the castle cook, who adored him, to put together a simple picnic basket with enough fruits, meats, cheeses, and a bottle of wine to share between two people.

(He didn’t bother trying to explain that he didn’t need any bread.)

It was a little clumsy for him to sneak out the back gate carrying the bulky basket, but Charles managed well enough.

Pierre was waiting for him outside the bakery, holding a fresh loaf of bread per Charles’ request. He added the bread to the basket and then protested as Pierre took the basket right out of his arms.

His protests died down quickly when Pierre kissed his cheek and told him not to worry about it, tacking on a Your Highness just to see Charles blush.

Charles ducked his head and tucked his hand into the crook of Pierre’s offered elbow as he led them down to the riverbank.

It was a lovely day, sunny enough to chase away the lingering coolness in the air and a light breeze swirling over the water.

He spread out the blanket for them and unsuccessfully tried not to blush more when Pierre sat close enough for Charles to feel the heat of his body through his clothing.

Or maybe it was just all the heat pooling in his face.

Regardless of the reason, Charles was comfortable out here with Pierre. He felt like he could talk about anything, minus the truth about his royal status. Pierre was a fantastic listener and an even better storyteller.

He often had Charles in stitches from laughing so much. 

When their bottle of wine was empty, Pierre tossed their goblets aside, put his hand around the back of Charles’ neck, and kissed him with exactly zero hesitation. Charles sank into the blanket and pulled Pierre on top of him.

Kissing Pierre was incredible. His lips consumed Charles while his body covered him. It was warm and passionate, soft and sweet, absolutely perfectly breathtaking.

He wrapped his arms around Pierre and felt the strong muscles close around him. Holding him secure and letting him revel in the sensations.

Charles wanted nothing more than to linger in that moment for the rest of his life.

All thoughts of royalty, of responsibility, vanished from his thoughts. There was only Pierre, the taste of wine on his tongue as he claimed Charles' mouth, his hands touching everywhere he could reach without abandon.

It was perfection.

When they finally separated, Charles was dazed, his limbs heavy and thoughts hazy. He had lost all track of time and knew he must be late to something, but for the life of him couldn't remember what.

Pierre smiled down at him and cradled his face gently to give him one, remarkably chaste, kiss before getting up.

"Come on, Your Highness," Pierre said in that soft way that was teasing instead of formal, "it's time we were getting back."

Charles groaned in displeasure. He didn't want to leave. Pierre laughed and kissed him again and laughed some more when Charles tried to pull him back down.

It took them far too long to pack up with Charles trying to distract Pierre with brushing kisses at every opportunity.

Eventually, they made it back to the bakery and Pierre relinquished the much lighter picnic basket with a fond smile. Charles kissed him one last time in the relative privacy of the bakery and rushed back to the castle.

He hoped the excited flush to his face died down before he got back inside.

Wrote this today instead of working. Probably going to add more & edit before it goes to AO3.

Enjoy!

— — —

It was absurdly easy to slip out of the castle unnoticed. The guards didn't even look in his direction before he slipped out of the back gate.

Charles would be concerned if it wasn't massively to his benefit.

He enjoyed the fact that the Crown Prince's chambers overlooked the back garden. It was his favorite place in the whole castle and nobody questioned it when he said he wanted to go out there for some fresh air.

Luckily, nobody also questioned why his clothing looked a little bulky.

Once he got to the garden he stashed his fine silk outer layer and exited the castle grounds wearing more common, if nice, linen.

(He was very lucky that his chief of staff, Andrea, was used to his odd requests and procured the common clothing without question.)

(Honestly, people should start asking questions more often.)

The castle was stifling. The demands were endless and boring. Charles needed to escape, just for a little bit, for the sake of his sanity.

He'd probably be back before anybody even noticed he was missing.

So, for the first time in memory over the 22 years of his life, Charles was alone. No guards, staff, minders, teachers, companions, or anyone with him.

It was a liberating feeling. He could just go where he wanted, and he wanted to go to town.

As the Crown Prince, he was supposed to be preparing to rule for the benefit of his people. Unfortunately, he didn't know his people.

They all bowed and kept a respectful distance when Charles appeared with his father in their finery and crowns. They would downplay their needs or troubles and express their unending gratitude to the Crown.

Charles hated it. He wanted to know them, to hear their woes and do what he can with the resources of the Crown to help them. Improve their lives all across the kingdom.

So he had resolved to meet them. Little excursions where nobody would recognize him were perfectly safe. All he wanted to do was talk, browse the market, maybe have a drink in a tavern. Listen to the local gossip and see if there was anything he could do to subtly help.

As he slipped into the bustling town square, Charles felt alive. All around him were people, his people, going about their business without giving him a second glance.

Anyone who bumped or jostled him gave a quick "pardon me," instead of prostrating themselves in apology. It was wonderful.

Charles meandered through the streets with no goal in mind. He listened to the town criers and vendors hawking their wares, occasionally stopping to admire a simple piece of jewelry or purchase an apple to snack on as he walked.

He absolutely loved this. Being part of the people and exchanging pleasantries when they didn't know that he was a prince was lovely.

They treated him like an equal. Well, he was more than their equal. His job was going to be to work for them, after all. He just had to wear a grossly expensive crown when he did so.

Thinking about that crown reminded him that he probably needed to head back to the castle, but a delightful scent distracted him. He followed his nose just off the main thoroughfare to a bakery emitting the most delicious smells.

The sign out in front said Gasly's Baked Goods and Charles did not even hesitate before pushing the door open.

A small chime signaled his entrance and was instantly followed by a friendly shout, "One moment, please," from the man behind the counter.

Charles watched the man expertly lift the heavy looking large wooden spatula...thingy, shove it into the brick oven, and pull it out with freshly steaming loaves of bread on top.

The man quickly deposited the loaves on a cooling rack at his side and grabbed the bottom of his apron to wipe his hands while he turned around.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get for you?" The man asked with a genial smile.

Now that he had a better look, Charles realized this man was much younger than he expected. He was probably only a year or two older than Charles, if he had to guess, and had the most stunningly blue eyes.

On top of that, his muscles made Charles feel weak in the knees. They were impressive and bulging out of the simple shirt and apron the man was wearing.

"Are you Gasly?" Charles blurted out, then covered his mouth in embarrassment as his face heated up.

The man's smile grew wider in amusement. "One of them, yes," he said, giving a little bow, "Pierre Gasly, at your service."

Charles was worried for a brief moment that the bow meant that the man…Pierre…knew who he was. When he raised his head, Charles saw no flash of recognition and that teasing grin would never be present on anyone that was actually bowing to him. That was definitely a relief.

“I’m Charles,” he started to introduce himself, and then panicked because he had not been intending on using his real name, and definitely couldn’t use his real last name, “uh…Norris. Charles Norris.”

It was the last name of one of his childhood friends, someone that he hadn’t seen in years and he hoped that it wasn’t recognizable.

There was a slight smirk on Pierre’s face when Charles gave his name. “Your parents followed the trend after the prince was born, Charles uh Norris?”

Charles felt his face heat up even more. That was an unfortunate side-effect of royalty. A good third of the males born in the year or so following Charles’ birth were also named Charles. 

“I blame my maman,” Charles tried to come up with a cover story on the spot, “she…um…works in the castle. We do, I mean. My whole family. My father is a…military advisor. I study history and strategy. My younger brother wants to be a captain someday.”

That wasn’t technically false, but it was definitely stretching the truth.

“Very interesting,” Pierre looked at him as if he could see right through him and Charles wanted to die. This guy was turning his brain into mush and he felt like sinking straight into the floor.

“So, Charles uh Norris,” Pierre continued, his amusement physically palpable, “did you come here to regale me with your family history or can I help you with something?”

This was mortifying. Charles was actually going to crawl out of his skin and the red of his face was going to become his new skin tone.

“Yes, of course,” he said, probably a bit too loudly, “I need…bread.”

Pierre looked like he was about two seconds away from bursting into incredulous laughter. “Well, you have come to the right place. We have” he paused, gesturing broadly around the shop, “bread. Though I am a bit surprised. I thought the castle kitchens make their own bread, no?”

“They were…out,” Charles gave the world’s lamest explanation and had half a mind to just walk back out the door and never show his face in town ever again.

“Out,” Pierre repeated, raising one eyebrow skeptically.

Charles groaned in frustration and Pierre actually started laughing at him. He ran one hand through his hair sheepishly and offered a placating grin. “I’m sorry,” he said after the laughter died down, “I just…it smelled so good and I…I don’t…”

“–do this very often?” Pierre finished his thought for him and Charles gave a small, embarrassed nod.

The smile he received in return was much more understanding, much less teasing, and Charles felt a sliver of relief wash over his body. Pierre probably thought he was an ignorant rich kid that grew up in the castle.

He wouldn’t be very far off, in that regard.

“Well, what you were probably smelling were the loaves that just came out of the oven,” Pierre explained, “but we offer a variety of products that might fit your tastes. Do you prefer something savory or sweet?”

“Sweet,” Charles responded instantly. He always had a bit of a sweet tooth, much to his mother’s dismay, and enjoyed indulging whenever he got the chance.

Pierre gestured and walked over to another stand behind his counter that held a large tray, maybe half filled with croissants.

“These were made by yours truly this very morning,” Pierre seemed particularly proud of himself as he showed them off, “we have plain for two coppers each or six for a silver. We also have chocolate-filled and raspberry-filled, three coppers each or four for a silver. Over here–”

“I’ll take two chocolate and two raspberry,” Charles interrupted, not needing to see anything else. The croissants looked decadent and his mouth was watering just thinking about them.

A smile lit up Pierre’s face as he carefully selected four croissants and placed them into a nearby cloth bag. “Do you need anything else today?” Pierre asked as he handed the bag over the counter.

Charles shook his head and gratefully accepted the bag. He placed a single silver piece into Pierre’s outstretched palm and watched the strong fingers curl around it.

“Well, I appreciate your business, Charles uh Norris,” the teasing grin was back and Charles felt a faint blush return to his cheeks, “and I sure hope the castle runs out of bread again soon.” Pierre followed his statement with a wink that only served to make Charles’ heart stutter.

“Thank you,” Charles mumbled, too embarrassed to say anything else. He knew his face was red again as he turned to make the quickest reasonable exit out of the store.

It might have been his imagination, but he thought he heard strong peals of laughter start up just before the door closed behind him.

Once he was back on the main thoroughfare, Charles pulled one of the croissants out of the bag and gave it a quick sniff. It smelled lovely, warm and inviting, just like the inside of the bakery, and he sank his teeth into the pastry.

Instant perfection hit his taste buds. The pastry itself was light and flaky, the chocolate rich and sweet, and Charles devoured it before he could restrain himself.

The raspberry one was just as excellent, the slight tartness creating a balance with the sweetness that was simply delightful. He did not care that he was ruining his dinner as he ate the other two on the short walk back to the castle.

It was stupidly simple to slip back into the garden unseen and he hid the bag where he had stashed his nicer clothes earlier. 

Charles realized that it was much later than expected and rushed back to his rooms to change. He was only five minutes late to his afternoon tutor and he hoped that he didn’t have any chocolate or raspberry smeared on his face.

He was definitely going back to Pierre’s Bakery.

[alonelyturtle]

Ten Random Lines Tag

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

Thanks for the tag @radiowrites!

I don’t have ten posted fics, so a few of these are from some WIPs:

The Inescapable Inevitability of Another Life:

“T–thank you, Vader.” Padme omitted the more formal title of his rank, a sign that they were back to their more private selves. Two people using one another for a sense of relief and to keep the bed warm at night.

Two Truths, But An All-Consuming Lie:

Anakin Skywalker drifted off to sleep again with the woman he loved tucked within his embrace. His steady heartbeat lulled her to sleep, while her even breathing calmed his thoughts.

Trying Times to Tie Up Loose Ends:

“It’s okay, momma. We’ll be okay,” Luke told her from his place in Obi-Wan’s arms. Ever her sensitive child. Padme leaned over to place a kiss against his hair.

A Ray of Sunshine in a Cloudy Universe:

“Do you think they’ve left us enough time?” She asked her rescuer.

He turned toward her. “I’m sure they did. My f—Lord Vader enjoys being thorough though.”

Padme snorted. “That’s something I’m quite well versed in, Luke.”

A Different New Idea to [End] The Empire:

The inquisitor rolled his eyes. “Lieutenant Ozzel, that’s enough. They’re to be left alone with Re–CT-7567. We’re not here to criticize.”

When You Aren’t Looking:

But...if she stayed here she could keep talking to the handsome man standing behind her.

Shoot your shot!

All At Once But Not In The Right Order:

“I was in the neighborhood,” the newcomer commented quickly. “And my wife said you needed some help.”

Ben Kenboi glanced down at Padme’s injured hand, before looking back at her face in confusion. She shrugged.

[A Prequel Rewrite in the Drafts]:

Anakin chews on his lip, almost as if he were considering her words. “I don’t think the sand here is like that at all.” Gathering his courage, he reaches for her hand still on his shoulder. His blue eyes suddenly became more intense. “Everything is soft...and smooth,” he runs his fingers along the small hand in his grasp.

[A Jedi!Padme AU in the Works]:

“Ahsoka, actually. But I’m sure my other padawan has a hand in this as well?”

[A Modern AU Sitting in the Drive]:

It only took a grand total of five days for the woman to eat her words. She did in fact grow curioser and curioser as the notifications continued to buzz on her phone.

Tagging: @cheesybadgers, @kayedium-writes, @writingpotato07, @late-to-the-fandom, @perasperaadastrawriting, @mrsmungus, @velvethopewrites, and open for whoever wants to join in!

[hoe-doroki]

ana’s bnha x reader masterlist

first updated 11.17.20 last updated 07.13.21 desktop version found here bkdk masterlist: desktop | mobile

fics [38] drabbles [13]

Thanks for dropping by! I want to note that I no longer write x reader and instead am writing bakudeku shipfic. So! By all means, read, like, comment on my fics here! But I can't recommend that you follow me unless you like bakudeku. Hope you enjoy your time here regardless! <3

legend:

character x character

Title w/ link | [rating] | word count | genre

Synopsis

ratings are bracketed: e.g. [g], [t], [m], [e]

[g] - appropriate for general audiences [t] - appropriate for audiences 13+ [m] - contains non-graphic adult themes [e] - explicit, 18+ readers only

🌸 = personal faves

characters x reader: no ship (1), aizawa (2), bakugou (12), endeavor (1), iida (2), kaminari (1), kirishima (4), midoriya (7), shinsou (2), todoroki (19)

Everything is in alphabetical order <3

no ship

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.6k | hurt/comfort

The results are in and your class is all with you as you process the results

aizawa x reader

Stress Relief | [e] | 3k | smut

There's a new regulation that forces you to take an extra class before you can graduate college. When you learn that Eraserhead is teaching the class, you’re a little more interested.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.6k | hurt/comfort 

Aizawa reminds that you were prepared for this and, together, you can handle it.

bakugou x reader

Can’t Find My Breath | [e] | 4.2k | smut 🌸

At the beginning of the day, Ground Zero was just another hero you wrote articles about. Now it’s nighttime and you’ve just left a bar together. Companion to The Rest with No Sound

Christmas Cold | [g] | 1k | fluff

You and Katsuki manage to make it to your parents' house for the holidays, but you've come down with a little cold.

Doing Something Right | [e] | 1.8k | smut

You’re pregnant and happily enjoying domestic bliss when Katsuki comes in, unable to resist you.

Frustration | [e] | 3.1k | smut

request. After a long day of work, Katsuki comes home frustrated and you, suffering from a different kind of frustration yourself, know exactly what will help you both.

Gorgeous | [e] | 1.5k | smut, hurt/comfort

ask. When you have a negative response to Katsuki touching you in a moment of insecurity, he intends to do whatever he can to alleviate your fears.

version 1: petite reader

version 2: curvy reader

Magic | [e] | 2.2k | smut

request. Katsuki comes home early and catches you...taking care of yourself.

Miniskirts | [e] | 0.8k | smut 🌸

After a long day, Katsuki takes a shower and his thoughts turn to you.

On the Job | [e] | 4.5k | smut 🌸

Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just of porn and fantasy--they’re common and too often fall into the wrong hands. When heroes get hit, someone has to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be?

You.

The Rest with No Sound | [t] | 8.5k | slow burn, fluff 🌸

Bakugou thinks that people who wake up not remembering where they are are idiots. This is confirmed when it happens to him, head aching from a night of drinking. Idiot. But when he looks over, and sees you there, he realizes he doesn’t remember anything. So he has to gather the scattered pieces from the day before to figure out exactly how he ended up with you. Companion to Can’t Find My Breath

Stay | [g] | 2.2k | hurt/comfort 🌸

ask. The last thing you want to do on a rough day is worry Bakugou with your problems. So you try to hide it. You should have known better.

Steamy | [e] | 2.7k | smut

request. You're a pro hero, rising in the ranks and, happy though he is for you, Katsuki's old jealousy begins to roil. After you've been paraded around all evening as one of Japan's finest, Katsuki finds himself feeling more than a little possessive, and can't help himself from taking you as his.

Steel and Lace | [e] | 3.8k | smut

The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

endeavor x reader

When the Smoke Clears | [e] | 17.4k | slow burn, smut

Soulmate AU. After his battle with Hawks against Hood, Endeavor wakes up in the hospital to find that a young doctor saved his life, their quirk being able to counteract the negative effects of his own. His first thought is that he has to talk to you–you might be able to fix the drawbacks of his quirk. His second thought is oh no, not again.

iida x reader

Broken Glass | [g] | 1.8k | fluff, mild comfort

request. In a quirk-related accident you find yourself surrounded by shattered glass. Worst of all, most of that glass is from every single pair of your boyfriend’s glasses.

Flotsam, Jetsam, Lagan, and Derelict | [g] | 1.5k | hurt/comfort

ask. Trying to hide a panic attack from your boyfriend isn’t easy when he’s right next to you. But you’re determined to suffer alone.

kaminari x reader

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

You share your unsteady hope with Kaminari.

kirishima x reader

Silhouette | [e] | 1.8k | smut, hurt/comfort

ask.  Before a gala, you’re stuck in the mirror, caught on all your old body insecurities. Kiri comes in and loves you regardless.

version 1: petite reader

version 2: curvy reader

We’ll See | [g] | 6.3k | gen, light romance 🌸

demisexual!Reader. After a fateful meeting, you and Kirishima keep running into each other. And although he’s so nice, you fear the fact that he might be interested in you. Even though all you want is, for once, to let yourself be happy and maybe fall in love, you can’t seem to be able to.

What We Look For | [t] | 15.5 | slow burn

Last time, you and Kirishima became friends—nothing more, nothing less. The idea of being something more sounds nice. But you can’t. You just can’t. So you won’t. Whatever happens will be on your own terms. Sequel to We'll See

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

Kirishima freaks out while you experience a numb calm. You meet in the middle.

midoriya x reader

Bad Days | [g] | 1.4k | hurt/comfort

Izuku helps you get out of bed.

Sunlight | [e] | 2.1k | smut 🌸

request. An early afternoon in bed with your husband, Izuku.

Surprised, Just Once | [e] | 5k | smut

request. You were planning on just another predictable night out with the girls. What you got was much, much more.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.3k | hurt/comfort

Izuku holds you close while you watch the results.

Multiple unrelated oneshots with Deku with an s/o with an eating disorder | ask

Gratitude | [t] | 1.4k | hurt/comfort

After having been with Izuku a while, you’re suffering a relapse and he helps you through with some gratitude practices on date night.

Picnic | [t] | 1.8k | hurt/comfort

Izuku surprises you with a picnic on your second date, much to your horror.

A Start | [t] | 1.2k | hurt/comfort 🌸

You ask Izuku for help when you realize you need it.

Trust Yourself | [t] | 2.3k | hurt/comfort

Shortly after moving in together, Izuku learns of your struggles and tries his best to comfort and encourage you.

shinsou x reader

Passing the Night Stars | [g] | 3.2k | hurt/comfort

The party was neon and you needed darkness.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

Shinsou helps you prioritize yourself.

todoroki x reader

All Dressed Up | [e] | 4.6k | smut 🌸

quarantine fic. It’s been months since you’ve dressed up, felt pretty, and felt seen by anyone. Your husband’s birthday is a perfect excuse to get all dressed up. And then take it right off.

All the Wasted Time | [e] | 3.2k | smut, fluff

Three months ago, you’d been ripped from Shouto’s side with something less than a love confession, something more than a show of feelings. Now that you’re back, you’re eager to make up for lost time. Siberia sequel, First Snow prequel

Bad Days | [g] | 0.9k | hurt/comfort 🌸

Shouto comforts you when your demons arrive unexpectedly.

First Snow | [g] | 2.2k | fluff

A year after the events in Siberia, you and Shouto are happily together, and it’s the first snow of the year. Siberia and All the Wasted Time sequel

On the Job | [e] | 3.4k | smut 🌸

Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just of porn and fantasy--they’re common and too often fall into the wrong hands. When heroes get hit, someone has to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be?

You. Sequel to On the Job (Bakugou); can be read alone

Siberia | [e] | 13.8k | pining/angst, smut, fluff 🌸

On the field, you and Todoroki are rising stars amongst hero pairings. Off the field…you’re kind of in love with him. After a successful capture, you’re boss brings you in to let you know you’re being sent on assignment in foreign country…alone. Before you leave, you have to act. You’re not partners anymore, after all. And with a little liquid courage you do. Then, the next morning, you still have to leave. All the Wasted Time and First Snow prequel.

Worth it | [t] | 0.3k | gen

The morning after with your boyfriend, Shouto.

2021 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.5k | hurt/comfort

The stress of election day comes back swiftly during the Georgia runoff and Todoroki’s quick to notice.

all works below are within the world of the a spare heart series:

A series about a fem, American reader who had to transfer to U.A. partway through second year. You’re there to become a hero, that much is obvious, but why else did you come? And, more importantly, what—or who—makes you stay?

timeline

may, year two:

- reader finishes junior year of American high school early

- reader transfers to u.a. from the united states

The Meeting | [g] | 0.1k | gen

Reader meets Tokoyami for the first time. Sequel to first impressions from my wip list

Hollow Victory | [g] | 9.6k | gen, action

chapter 1 | chapter 2

You transferred to U.A. from America two weeks ago. No one has found out your quirk yet. Today, they’re going be meeting it head on and you have the advantage: surprise.

june, year two:

Illiterate | [g] | 2.1k | fluff, comfort

Being unable to read Japanese makes you feel so stupid. And who comes into the common room after midnight just as you’re about to cry? The boy who hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks.

sequels

The Offering | [g] | 0.4k | fluff, gen.

The Mission (Shouto POV) | [g] | 0.3k | fluff, gen., silly

september, year two:

Impetus | [g] | 2.1k | friendship

Ever since Shinsou found out what your quirk was, the two of you have been each other’s best friends and confidantes. But when he turns a casual training session into a tease over your supposed crush on someone in your class, that trust might just break.

january, year two:

This Clock Never Seemed So Alive | [g] | 1.2k | fluff, comfort

You and your boyfriend, Shouto, always walk to class together, but today you haven’t yet left your dorm. When he checks on you, he finds you awake, but curled on your side, suffering from period cramps.

sequels

The Questions (drabble) | [g] | 0.1k | gen.

The Sweetness (double drabble) | [g] | 0.2k | fluff, comfort

february, year three:

Between Fear and Guilt | [t] | 2.5k | light angst, comfort

You and Shouto only started being intimate a couple months back, but you’re already experiencing a dry spell. Today you’re going to figure out what’s up with your boyfriend once and for all.

fifteen years after graduation

Something Perfect | [e] | 3.7k | smut, fluff

After years of questioning if Shouto would ever want children, he’s finally decided that he really does. Overjoyed, the two of you decide to get started.

[prismatales]

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing: Mirio Togata x Reader

Tags/Warnings: Fluff fluff and more fluff, Mirio being a nervous wreck, little pinch of insecurities.

Hello there! It’s been a while but I’m back with some BNHA Fluff starring the sunshine boy himself! This is my entry for Anilysium’s sfw Collab. This month the prompt was “Accidental Kiss”, you can find the masterlist with everyone’s works here! 

This idea has been sitting in my wips since September and it was the perfect opportunity to work on it! Hope you guys enjoy it! Special thanks to @vivianvampyric for beta reading, I loved all of your suggestions, baby!

No matter how many times you thought about it, every single time was just as hilarious.

How can somebody as brave, cheerful and fearless as Mirio Togata be as nervous as his childhood friend, Tamaki Amajiki, at the idea of a confession? The same guy who faced the head of the Yakuza without hesitation is currently sitting beside you with rosy cheeks, looking around the park nervously while one hand brushes the back of his neck.

“So, you wanted to talk about something, right?”

When he asked you to meet him in the park during the weekend, you never expected this outcome. It’s almost like you’re standing before a completely different person as he continues to look away.

“Ahaha… it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” He asks.

“Ah, yes it is.”

The way Mirio avoids the question confuses you, but it’s the way his hand clutches his knee anxiously, the way he coughs lightly, and the way his eyes avoid you to watch  the children playing nearby,  that makes your eyes widen slightly.

Could it really be what you think it is?

The more you look at him, it becomes more obvious that he’s having a hard time expressing his thoughts.

“We’ve known each other for a while now, haven’t we?” He stated simply as you nodded in response. 

“Yeah, remember the first time we met?” He groans as you giggle at the memory. During your U.A. entrance exam you ended up in the same testing area as Mirio. He could almost hear your shrill cries of embarrassment after he used his quirk in front of you for the first time. “Talk about first impressions, huh?”

Neither of you can stop laughing at the memory, thinking of all the good times from high school as well as the bad, which only helped you grow stronger.

You both went through hardships, providing each other a shoulder to lean on. But maybe you could be more than that one day…?

“You’re sweating a lot. Mirio, are you sure you’re okay?” He just nods quickly, pulling at the collar of his shirt that suddenly feels awfully suffocating. Despite all the emotions running wild through his head, he never stops smiling,  which is something you will never stop admiring, no matter what. It’s exactly that optimism that made you develop feelings for him in the first place.

“I’m fine, I'm fine! I just… There’s something I’ve wanted to ask for a long time.” He stays quiet for a short period. Once he takes a long, deep breath that soothes his nerves, his whole attitude shifts instantly.

With the confidence of a thousand men, Mirio rises from his seat on the bench to stand before you with a determined look on his face. It’s a simple gesture, but it’s more than enough to make the heat in your face grow within a matter of seconds, paralyzing you in place as you stare back at him with the fabric of your sundress clutched tightly between your fists.

After taking another breath, Mirio finally gathers the courage he needed to speak.

“We’ve known each other for a while now, and you’re also one of my closest friends.” Did he just friendzone you? “You’ve always been there for me, from the moment we walked into the same classroom, to all those times we needed help watching Eri. And we never stopped talking even after graduating, and I love having you around.”

What is this weird aching inside your chest? It’s almost like there’s something crawling its way through your ribcage, slowly approaching your heart to crush it in a deathly grip.

“Ahaha… yeah, it’s unbelievable, isn’t it?” You almost want to whimper on the spot, feeling like a small child after being scolded by their parents: Small, sad and vulnerable. It’s too good to be true, isn’t it? That the guy you’ve had a crush on for years feels the same way about you? 

You snap out of those negative thoughts when he takes your hands in his own. They’re much bigger than yours and covered in scars; you can feel the texture of each and every single one, all proof of all his hard work and dedication.

“The thing is,” his thumb traces small circles on top of your hand, making your heart beat faster against your chest. “I want to be more than friends with you!”

It’s incredible how a couple of words have such strength, enough to make the hammering in your chest intensify at a deafening pace that you swear even Mirio can hear. The words stay jammed in your throat, unable to come out through your trembling lips, which you lick nervously.

You’re so nervous that all of your senses feel like they’ve been amplified. Everything sounds so far and so close at the same time. The pounding in your chest, the lively chirping of the birds, the children playing behind Mirio: they sound closer than before, the noises blurring together into an incoherent mess.

“I love how you help everyone around you. How brave and fearless you are. That little scrunch of your nose whenever you’re deep in thought. That cute laughter of yours. I want to—!”

The sound of a loud smack can be heard in the distance, followed by a surprised shout from Mirio. All of sudden, you feel a blunt pain on your forehead as Mirio is suddenly pushed forwards and his face smashes painfully against yours. At the same time, a soft pair of lips come crashing down upon yours and his blue eyes are wide open as they stare into yours. There’s a shrill ringing in your ears as you’re trying to process everything going on.

Mirio’s body is draped over yours, one of his hands pressed firmly against the back of the bench to stop the fall. Neither of you move from the shock, caught off guard by the sudden change of events. Your mind is a cloudy mess when Mirio’s lips finally part from your own, leaving you both in a daze.

“I’m sorry sir!” A small voice snaps you out of it as Mirio turns around in surprise. One of the children from before is standing nearby, holding a red ball with an embarrassed smile. Are they sorry because they hit Mirio with the ball or because they interrupted?

You don’t know, but keep staring silently at their small frame as they run away with that ball clutched in their tiny hands.

“Hahaha...Talk about unexpected.” Once again, Mirio’s scratching the back of his head, chuckling as he looks away in embarrassment. But hearing those familiar giggles of yours makes him look back at you. “Everything okay?”

“You know, people usually start dating first before sharing their first kiss. But that was nice too.”

Mirio blinks repeatedly, processing your words over and over as you stand up from your seat, trying to smooth the wrinkles in your dress after clutching the fabric so hard.

“Does that mean... what do I think it means?” 

“...Yeah, it does.” Your head is tilted gently to the side. “I like you too, Mirio. And I feel the same way.” 

“Good,” He grabs your hands again, slowly lacing your fingers together. “Good. Can I… kiss you again?”

“Mhmm, just be careful of flying balls this time.”

Taglist (If your name is in bold I couldn't tag you.)

@bnha-ra @godtieruwu @hanniejji @mysticalite @savagetrickster @shoobirino @songsforbnha @sugacookiies @unbreakableeiji @pixxiesdust @hawks-senseis @yikerb @definitely-yours @khemz1312 @sadskater25 @ruinedbyatrashcan @lemonadencran @honeytama

[oh-three]

2,4,5, and 9 for the fic writer ask :)

2) Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Enemies to lovers would be fun, but by god I have no idea how to make such a thing happen.

4) How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Way too many. If you include the whole Guard series, there's seriously like fifty or something. But, since I've not actually talked about my Werewolf By Night fic much, here's the summary:

Once he gathers the courage to send the first letter, they begin to come in after each full moon, telling of tales no one would believe had they not seen the impossible with their own eyes. (Five letters that Jack Russell sends to his sister, and one time he gets a reply.)

5) Share one of your strengths.

This one still surprises me, but I'm pretty good with characterization!

9) Which fic has been the hardest to write?

The current Cobb Vanth WIP for sure. The main problem being that I have so many blorbos and my self control over new projects is spiraling. Oops? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also, I may or may not be more interested in the sequel than the current installment in that series, and that makes it so difficult.

[barnesandco]

AYESHA!! Can I request, "their entire body freezing for a second when their love kisses them?" For any character you feel inspired to write for!

The Pay Off

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: brief mention of therapy and allusions to Bucky’s recovery after Hydra.

A/N: This.. got wildly out of hand.... and really, really wordy. I love these prompts and I want to write all of them while my WIPs stare at me feeling betrayed.

Like sunshine honey, the woman who has been sitting two seats down from Bucky at the library for the past four months, with a smile the ambience of New York dawn aimed unguarded at the book in your lap. He’s spoken a grand total of 37 sentences to you in that time, each one laden with the weight of this new existence he is carving out for himself, softly, a breakfast knife through butter. Every interaction with you -- every stolen glimpse up from his own space magazine -- leaves his throat parched but prickling with that sensitive heat that makes him want to thirst more. Like the tingle of salt after ocean water. 

Wetting his lips, he tries to refocus on the page in front of him. It details the scientific contributions of the Hubble Space Telescope, with a colorful side-box about the Nancy Grace Roman, who pioneered the notions of sending telescopes into space to unearth its secrets. The magazine is one from a neat stack to his right, a treasure of information he gathered to go through when he arrived today, but he isn’t making the amount of progress to finish reading by closing time.

Every Avenger has made a comment on getting a library card, to no avail. Sam’s information, Steve’s offer to do it in Bucky’s stead, Natasha’s suggestions of giving a fake name, and Wanda’s kind offer to come with him if he doesn’t want to do it alone, along with Tony’s centenarian-themed jokes and Shuri’s gift of a Kindle containing every book she could buy, have all been politely refused and tolerated in turn. Initially, it was because he likes it at the library. It’s the quietest place he has, and is coming to claim as another safe space. An escape. Now, however, there is a new variable he does not want to introduce to the team.

The woman who sits two seats down from him. You come her every afternoon, a book bag in one hand and a gigantic tote full of Lord-knows-what in the other, both dumped on the table before you go to find a book. He’s close enough to smell watermelons and strawberries, pink, sweet-summer things, reminders of a blueberry sky and sugary lemonade, memories he doesn’t remember having but can taste in the heavy air between them. It had taken him two weeks to discover that the scents were coming from the markers that he saw peeking out from the tote, stationary behaving the same way certain books do, enabling him to live a life he has never had.

Your life is a mystery to him, but he guesses at it, reading you. A rainbow of stray marker lines litters your hands almost perpetually, coming alive when they move rapidly as you check books, sometimes chuckling softly at a particular sentence. Once, he caught a Cheese Whiz stain on your cable-knit cuff, and at another occasion, saw you. Bucky is often overcome by the feeling of sonder at the realization that the clues he is gluing together make for a complex life, a marvel of an individual. There is guilt too, for his curiosity. But your eyes, even looking down, are captivating, and he is too far gone to stop. 

The idea of asking you out, of engaging in conversation beyond the moments of stranger familiarity, scares him still. Last time you spoke was when you laughed aloud at the set of examples one particular student had given for an assignment on sensory details. Zachary, age 11, had written that cow poop was a smell he did not like, sending his library companion into brilliant, bubbling laughs that you cut off too soon when you remembered where you were. At that point, you had looked around to see if anyone noticed, and spotting him, offered an apology he had rejected, on the condition that you share the joke. And you did.

But initiating the moment takes something more than what he has right now. His hands, mismatched and cold from the table, empty and longing, shut the magazine.

-----

The courage arrives on a Thursday. An ordinary day, by all accounts, only Bucky is on his fourth week of actual therapy, and got to the library through the subway, instead of Steve’s motorbike. Small victories fill his chest.

Only, you aren’t there when he gets in, and he panics. Fear and disappointment wrestle for a spot in his belly, claiming a tie in knots and weights, as he paces through the aisles of shelves in what he hopes is an unsuspicious speed. Giving up hope, he’s returning to his seat, head bowed, dismayed, when something collides against his side.

It’s you. A hurricane of movement with a slushie in one hand, your eyes also on the floor, and you crash against him with a shriek too late to save either of you. The slushie, cold and blue, spills out and lands on both of you, as you tumble, hands on Bucky’s elbows while his are on yours as he pulls you down, and you land in a heap of ice-water and sticky saccharine snow, a warm weight on top of him.

The library goes silent, for a breath, and then, when the shock lifts, two librarians come rushing from around some hidden corners, by which time you and Bucky have composed yourselves enough to stand and start to apologize profusely in cut-off sentences and shaky stutters. The slush is sinking through his clothes but there is a flush in his cheeks, and somehow, looking at your beautiful face, he has never been warmer.

When the slushie has been cleaned up with rags -- his hand is starting to shiver -- he stands with more sorry on his tongue, but you say, with a grin, “I guess you really fell for me, huh?”

The quip is surprising, but he laughs. Looks between your now-blue blouse and his inky t-shirt, and makes the leap. “Maybe I can get you another drink to make up for it.” And the pleased shock on your mouth, lips parted slightly and breath still recovering, is worth every step and fall it took to get to that one line.

-----

It goes well. He won’t call it a date, in spite of everyone else’s juvenile cooing and teasing when he leaves the Compound on a Saturday evening in his car. It’s a 70s Mustang, body the color of his old Commandos coat, and the interior a shiny black lined with golden stitching and accents. Royal and his very own. Turning towards the neighborhood you live in, he recalls the months it took to restore the damn thing, the last weeks of which were spent practically living in the garage, breathing on the anticipation of this monstrous achievement.

Queens is neon lights and family-owned delis, the scent of tacos mingling with that of curries, and there’s a different language in each window front. You said you lived in an apartment a couple of stories above a Vietnamese bar. 

You’re exiting just as he gets out of the car, and it takes a moment to catch his breath. In jeans and a silk shirt, you are the sun, and he cannot wait to get to revel in your warmth for at least one evening. 

-----

It goes well. With the exception of nerves he can’t rid himself of but rather ignores, everything is perfect. You had enjoyed his handmade picnic in Central Park, and his disgruntled commentary on how things used to be when you got stuck in traffic on the way back. His imitations of Steve and Tony had you in stitches, after which you had fed him Doritos from a packet he did not know was in the glove-box. 

Smooth sailing, soft as cream and just as gentle, the night, until you get back. It is late, and the lights are starting to flicker out of shop windows, and you go a little bit quiet, discontinuing the steady stream of chatter you have been maintaining with him. 

Something is in the air. Something sparking with promise. It hushes your voices and tightens his throat and has his hand trembling when he opens his door and then yours to let you own. You stand in the pale glow of the corner streetlamp, and his hands are in his pockets like he’s sixteen again, wanting to kiss a girl but unsure how to go about it.

Fortunately for him, you’re not a girl. You’re a woman. Made from electric fire and whatever strength that holds the cotton clouds in the sky, luminous and wondrous. 

“I know that was a bit more than a drink, so thank you for agreeing to this,” he says, meeting your eyes.

Your finger is tracing the face of your watch absently as you smile at him. “I had a great time.”

“Really?” Bucky blurts out, and then hurries to suspend the disbelief.

The answer you give him has his heart doing somersaults. “Yeah. I’d actually love to do this again if you feel the same.”

“Of course. Yes, obviously.” He puts a brake on his train of speech, explains as he walks a little closer to you, close enough to count your eyelashes. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been on a date in 80 years, and I’m a little rusty, but--”

Like the event that started it all, your first kiss is a crash. You lean up slowly and he has time to stop you but he doesn’t. He lets you kiss him and freezes, from head to toe, upon the feeling of your soft lips. Stopping within seconds, you lean back, sheepish, ready to back away and run, he’s certain. His head clears, he thinks a little straighter. 

“Sorry, will you let me try that again?” He asks, clearing his throat, and you lift your hand to hold his. 

The warmth of your hold envelopes the back of his human hand, and twists your grip so your fingers are intertwined, so much more surface area to gain heat and the motivation to seek further touch from. “If you stop saying sorry, sure.”

He closes his eyes before you do, and this time, the meeting of your lips is soft. A kiss, not a crash, an elegant collision of mouths and shared wants. In a few breaths of movement, as your other hand rises to his hair and his holds your waist, you come closer, and Bucky grows breathless. The kiss lasts for what feels like minutes too long and hours too short at the same exact time, as you break away with a gasp for air that has pride blooming under his sternum. 

Eyes shining, he hopes he’ll get to do that again. As you kiss his cheek and turn to your door, he looks forward to sitting two seats closer to you on Monday.