#unestablished

[sundaysconsort]

Since your reqs are open hehe 🤭

I would like to make a request for a blue birdie 💙 and domestic fluff 🤭 (i have nothing specific in mind, so I'll leave it to your beautiful creative imagination!! 💖🤭 Take your time with this req, hehe!)

Also, my first time making a req- 🧍‍♀️

Entry: " Recipe to Reminisce "

Pairing: HSR! Sunday | Reader

Information: After the incident in Penacony, it would take time for everyone to settle back into life on the Express. However, some crew members find adjusting harder than others, particularly their new addition, Sunday. Wanting to make him feel welcome, you research how to make one of his favorite dishes that you overheard him longing for. | 4.6k word count.

Tags: Domestic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Light Teasing, Tenderness, Pinning, Admiration, Hurt/Comfort, Longing, Appreciation, Subtle Flirting, Praise, Unestablished, Misuse of ingredients.

Though you had never mastered the delicate craft of baking, the absence of time spent in the pursuit had never bothered you. Life among the stars kept you perpetually on the move, grappling with the cosmic currents of your adventures on the Astral Express. After your long and exhaustive trek from Penacony, your intrepid crew found a moment's reprieve, a rare stillness in the ceaseless tide of your travels as plans for the next voyage to the enchanting land of Amphoreus began to take shape. This lull in activity stretched over the span of a week, and amidst the maps and charts spread out like a celestial tapestry, you recognized a golden opportunity. It was the perfect chance to warmly welcome the newest addition to your diverse crew, ensuring he felt at home among the swirling constellations and the unfamiliar chaos of life on the express.

You find yourself in the dimly lit confines of the Trailblazer's room, surrounded by the tantalizing scents of fresh ingredients as you prepare a heartfelt welcome gift for Sunday. A deep sense of apprehension fills the air, as you worry about the possibility of him wandering in and catching you off guard during your clandestine preparations. The thought of March discovering your secret and spreading the word sends a chill through you—this moment is meant to be a tranquil escape, a chance not only to prove your baking skills but also to convey to Sunday that he is no longer alone in this journey.

As you glance downstairs, the vibrant camaraderie of your friends echoes in the background, their laughter and chitchat filling the atmosphere with warmth. Himiko is lost in her world, savoring the rich aroma of her coffee, while March and Stelle are caught up in animated conversation over their sugary drinks. Despite their delight, you can’t shake the longing that gnaws at you—a yearning for the comfort of fresh meals, something sorely missed during your travels with the express, where dining means waiting until you reach the next destination.

Determined to turn your cravings into something special, you made the journey back to Penacony three system hours prior, gathering the necessary materials to craft the perfect sweet dessert. The excitement of creating something from scratch fills you with purpose, especially after having asked Pom-Pom to install a kitchen ahead of time. Thankfully, the kitchen arrived just in time for this culinary adventure, providing you with the perfect space to channel your creativity and affection into a dish that will surely bring joy to Sunday’s heart.

Tonight's mission was set in your mind: bake a delicious tray of Pudding Tarts to brighten up Sunday! You pictured the silky custard filling nestled in crisp, golden pastry, and the thought made you smile warmly to yourself, filled with anticipation for the delightful treat you'd create.

As the night wore on, the vibrant sounds of laughter and chatter from your comrades began to ebb away, leaving the bar enveloped in a tranquil hush. The lively atmosphere faded, replaced by the soft hum of the fridge, a soothing backdrop to the stillness that settled in. In the quiet, you found solace, relishing the companionship of Shush, who stood silently by, patiently awaiting the moment to craft a drink.

Seizing this opportunity to take the lead, you crept down the staircase with the stealth of a cat, your heart racing with excitement. Balancing a precarious stack of ingredients, you maneuvered carefully, each step a delicate challenge as you fought to keep everything in your grasp. At last, with a triumphant lift, you placed the colorful array of bottles and mixers onto the bar, a small victory that made you beam with pride.

As you scroll through the contents on your phone, a familiar recipe catches your eye—it’s the one you saved for Tarts. A sudden realization washes over you: you mistakenly prepared for Cream Tarts instead of Pudding Tarts. Surely there can't be much of a difference, right? You murmur this to yourself as you tidy your workspace, surrounded by all the ingredients you’ve assembled.

You take a moment to check your supplies: the refrigerated pie crust dough looks perfectly chilled and ready to work with, check. The instant chocolate pudding mix sits in its packaging, promising a rich indulgence, check. Milk, creamy and cold, is prepped next to the dry ingredients, check. You have the whipping cream, fresh and inviting, check. The powdered sugar, nestled snugly beside it, will add the perfect sweetness, check. Finally, you eye the grated chocolate, a decadent touch for garnish, check.

With everything in place, it's time to dive into the baking process.

You follow step one by preheating the oven to an appropriate temperature. Taking the chilled pie dough you prepared in advance, you began rolling it out on the surface you lightly floured, cutting out twelve 3-inch circles.

"Keep an eye on the dough scraps,” you remind yourself, knowing they will come in handy later for re-rolling to create the final circles. You think aloud, clapping your hands together, and watching as a delicate cloud of flour billows and settles softly over the dough. “Seems simple enough!” you muse, encouraged by the process.

Moving on to the next step, you carefully press each dough circle into a mini tart pan, ensuring they fit snugly against the sides, creating a perfect little vessel for the filling to come. The cool, smooth texture of the dough molds easily beneath your fingers. With a fork in hand, you proceed to poke small holes in the base of each tart shell, a crucial task to allow steam to escape during baking, preventing any error during bake. The rhythmic tapping of the fork against the dough fills the kitchen, a satisfying sound that echoes your anticipation for the delicious tarts to come.

Unbeknownst to you, a solitary figure had remained hidden within the confines of the room. As the soft sounds of your baking filled the air, he lifted his head, sharp golden eyes fixated on your delicate movements. He watched intently, every detail of your actions captured in his gaze, as he remained cloaked in silence to ensure he did not disrupt the rhythm of your culinary endeavor.

As moments passed, it became increasingly apparent to him that you were blissfully unaware of his presence. With each step he took, his feet barely whispered against the floor, a ghost gliding nearer to you from behind.

Suddenly, his voice broke the quiet, smooth yet edged with authority: "Hm. And what do we have over here?" The sound sent a shiver down your spine, for it belonged to none other than the last person you had hoped to encounter at this moment—drawing you from your creative sanctuary into the light of scrutiny.

His first reaction is one of surprise and curiosity, the corners of his brows lifting as he takes in the sight before him. You attempt to mask your baking efforts, going to great lengths to hide the evidence without making your fabrications too glaringly apparent. A flush of embarrassment creeps over you at the thought of being discovered by Sunday, your heart racing as you navigate the tension between your secret and the other person's inquisitive gaze.

You keenly attempt to spin a complex web of deception, artfully dodging the conversation’s focal point. Yet, your evasive tactics only serve to heighten his curiosity, drawing him deeper into a labyrinth of intrigue over your peculiar unease about the possibility of him uncovering your creation. After all, if your carefully crafted work were truly meant for the rest of the express members, he muses, there would surely be no reason for you to obscure it from him. He is not the type to divulge secrets about your playful mischief, especially if you wish to keep this particular matter under wraps.

As he begins to connect the seemingly disparate dots, a flicker of comprehension dances in his eyes; he starts to assemble the fragments of your intentions, gradually deducing the true identity of the intended recipient of your work.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” he says, his voice calm and sincere, each word carefully chosen. The seriousness of his expression reveals a deep understanding of the situation at hand, you didn't enjoy it despite his polite mannerisms. “I mean no harm. Would it be better if I step aside?” His gaze is piercing, filled with an awareness that suggests he has already unraveled your intentions, leaving you feeling exposed under the weight of his judgment, or perhaps, it's your mind raising the intensity on its own.

"I would appreciate that, though I—never mind." You shook your head, a sigh escaping your lips as your gaze fell away from his piercing eyes. Instead, you focused on the delicate pastry resting on the counter, its surface glistening under the warm kitchen lights as you awaited the oven’s familiar melody signaling that it was ready. A rush of conflicting thoughts swirled in your mind. Would it be more suspicious to ask him to leave, to disrupt the uneasy tension that thrummed between you? Or if you invited him to stay, would he see through your facade and guess that it was merely an attempt to quell his rising suspicion? It felt like a mental chess game, and with this man, there seemed to be no winning move.

Choosing to remain silent, you relinquish control and let him proceed as he wishes. As you turn your attention back to your work, an unsettling awareness creeps in, sharpening your senses to the weight of his gaze fixed intently on your creation. A flurry of questions swirls in your mind—had you inadvertently erred in some way? Does your work meet his expectations? You had felt confident in the process up until now, the steps seeming straightforward and manageable… but now, doubt tugs at you—what if you overlooked an important detail?

♫♪♪~ ♫♪♪~ ♫♪♪~

Placing the tart shells in the oven upon its chime, you'd crouch to the ground and eye your pastries closely through the tinted glass. It is recommended to bake for about five minutes or until they turn golden brown.

At last, your gaze drifts back to Sunday, where you find him deeply immersed in the well-worn pages of the book he carries everywhere. With a hint of curiosity, you step away from the warmth of the oven, your attention drawn to him. Despite the tumultuous events that unfolded in Penacony, a smile spreads across your face. Sunday appears remarkably transformed, his previous burdens all but lifted. No longer confined by the weight of his family legacy, he has shed the label of "Bronze Melodia." Instead, he stands before you as Sunday of the Astral Express, exuding a newfound sense of ease and self-assurance, while still carrying internal troubles which leech off of him. His ideology captured your interest when you first stepped foot in his dream, and you recall your initial instinct being that he couldn't possibly be a villain. Perhaps misguided, yes—most certainly—but not inherently bad.

"Sunday? I hope this doesn’t come across as insensitive, but I’ve been pondering something for quite a while now…" Your voice finally cut through the hush of the bar, like a soft breeze on a still evening, as you summoned the courage to speak.

"Hm?" he responded, the sound a gentle hum, his gaze lifting from the pages of the book he had been lost in. The warm light that filled the room caught the edges of his halo, causing it to shimmer ethereally, casting a golden glow that framed his features in an otherworldly light.

"What exactly is the burden that comes with being Bronze Melodia?" you asked, your curiosity intertwining with a hint of hesitation. It felt like a delicate subject to bring up—like disturbing the surface of a still pond, unsure if it would ripple out with unintended consequences.

"Ah, it is to bear the weight of listening to the myriad problems and vexations of the Dreamscape’s residents, offering them the guidance they seek. That was my solemn duty as Bronze Melodia," he answered, his voice steady and calm, yet a veil of unresolved emotion lingered in the air. It was challenging to decipher the depth of his feelings—he often cloaked himself in silence, guarding whatever turmoil may lie beneath that serene facade.

"What about you?" You could feel empathy radiating from you, a warm pulse of connection amidst the flickering shadows of the bar.

"Me?" Sunday questioned, his voice softening into an uncertain whisper. It was as if your inquiry had plucked at an untouched string within him, revealing a vulnerability he rarely displayed. No one had ever ventured to ask him such a straightforward thing; it was a simple question made complex by the weight of expectation. Who, after all, saves the savior? Who brings comfort to the strong? Destined to fend for themselves, he ponders your implication.

♫♪♪~ ♫♪♪~ ♫♪♪~

"You need not carry the weight of others any longer, Sunday," you urged softly, your voice a gentle reminder amidst the bustling kitchen. "Take care of yourself for the time being; you truly deserve it, no matter what doubts you harbor." As you finished speaking, you sensed his intense gaze lingering on you, a mix of contemplation and vulnerability reflected in his eyes. With a heavy heart, you turned away, the aroma of baked goods wafting from the oven guiding your steps, feeling the warmth of his gaze on your back as you walked away, leaving him to ponder your words in the stillness that followed.

As you open the oven door, a rush of warm air escapes, carrying the enticing fragrance of freshly baked pastry that dances around the kitchen. You carefully extract the delicate tart shells, their golden edges glistening under the soft light, and gently place them onto the wire rack you’ve prepared, allowing them to cool and crisp. The sweet and buttery scent envelops you, a tantalizing promise of the delicious creation that awaits.

Suddenly, Sunday’s voice cuts through your reverie, warm and inviting. You glance over at him, noticing the subtle change in his expression—now softer, almost tender. A flutter of warmth fills your heart, stirring emotions you hadn’t anticipated. Yet, despite this newfound gentleness, a hint of hesitation lingers within you. Your gaze flits between him and the bustling preparations surrounding you; uncertainty clings to your tongue.

Before you can gather your thoughts, he speaks again, his tone earnest and encouraging. “It would be an utmost pleasure to help. You’re making tarts, aren’t you? I have experience with this process if you’d allow me.” His offer hangs in the air, filled with an unexpected promise of collaboration, leaving you to ponder the implications of letting him in.

"Sunday, I genuinely appreciate your eagerness to lend a hand, but… I want to handle this myself. Is that alright with you?" You feel a surge of determination as you envision impressing him with your baking skills, knowing that every detail is crafted with him in mind. Moreover, you smile softly, adding, "Didn’t I mention you should look after your own needs? I promise I’m perfectly fine on my own." The warmth of his thoughtful gesture touches you deeply.

With a nod, Sunday recognizes your longing for independence and hesitates momentarily before stepping back, allowing you the space to carry on. Yet, you notice a flicker of conflict in his eyes, as he tussles with your desire to prioritize his own needs while he is left wanting to ensure you’re truly okay.

You let out a relieved smile, the tension in your shoulders easing as you grab a large mixing bowl. With determination, you begin whisking together the rich, velvety chocolate pudding and cold milk, your hands moving in stirring circles. However, the absence of an electric mixer quickly becomes apparent; the task proves to be far more laborious than you anticipated. Within minutes, your arm begins to ache, the constant motion wearying and unyielding. You can only imagine how effortlessly the mixture would have transformed into a thick, luscious consistency had you only plugged in the machine.

Frustration wells up, and you set the bowl down with a soft thud, letting out a groan that echoes in the quiet kitchen. It doesn't go unnoticed—Sunday, with his unwavering attention, shifts his focus toward you. You take a moment to rub your tired face, finding solace in the brief respite. When you open your eyes again, you’re met with a sight that leaves you momentarily speechless. He quietly steps in to continue the task, his movements determined and graceful, a stark contrast to your earlier struggle.

His gaze finds yours, conveying an unspoken message full of insistence, urging you to take a break. Somehow, it makes you realize that both of you deserve a moment of pause—even as you remind him that he should do the same.

Once you feel prepared, you gently lift yourself, ready to tackle the task once more. With a playful nudge, you encourage Sunday to shift aside. Though he hesitates for a moment, a subtle smile dances across his face as he shakes his head in mock reluctance, ultimately giving way. With a sense of accomplishment, you carefully pop the now perfectly whisked chocolate pudding into the cool embrace of the refrigerator, the two of you working in delightful harmony.

After allowing the rich pudding to chill for a tantalizing ten minutes, anticipation bubbles within you as you dash to the fridge. Once back at your workstation, you dive in with enthusiasm, scooping a generous spoonful of the creamy filling into each delicate tart shell. As you work, you catch sight of Sunday thoughtfully tidying up the supplies you’ve set aside, effortlessly managing the clutter without any prompting. You can’t help but appreciate his consideration; perhaps his arrival in your kitchen wasn’t an obstacle but rather a serendipitous opportunity to deepen your connection in this serene moment.

In a separate, spacious bowl, you pour in the glistening whipping cream, its surface shimmering in the light. Gradually, you add a dusting of powdered sugar, the fine granules drifting like soft snowflakes into the bowl. Sunday takes charge of the electric mixer, the rhythmic whirring filling the air as he beats the mixture. You watch with a mix of pride and longing as it transforms into a thick, airy concoction, soft peaks forming elegantly. Yet, a frown tugs at your lips, a small shadow crossing your heart. Sunday catches the shift in your expression and looks momentarily puzzled, though his expression is somewhat hard to distinguish due to its subtlety.

With a pastry bag graced with a star-shaped tip in hand, you take a moment to admire the cloud-like whipped cream before you begin piping it atop the chocolate pudding. Each swirl is an artistic flourish, an invitation to indulge. Finally, with a flourish of your wrist, you sprinkle finely grated chocolate over each tart, letting the shards fall like dark confetti, completing the dessert with a touch of opulence. The tarts shimmer under the kitchen lights, each one a masterpiece waiting to be savored.

“What exactly is it that’s left you feeling dissatisfied?” Sunday’s voice is gentle, almost coaxing, as it weaves its way through the heavy air of disappointment that briefly clouds your expression. You take a moment, inhaling deeply, as though the breath might help you gather your thoughts and ease the sting of regret that’s been lingering ever since the mishap.

“I accidentally made the wrong pastry,” you confess with a hint of sorrow threading through your words. The realization washes over you like a cold wave, and you feel a mix of frustration and regret bubbling just beneath the surface. “Pudding tarts should have that perfect, rich custardy filling—something dense, comforting, and evocative of home,” you explain, your voice trailing off as the weight of your disappointment seeps into the atmosphere around you. Despite the undeniable beauty of the creation before you, it feels tarnished by the expectations you had set in your mind.

The tart glistens under the soft, warm light, the delicate surface boasting intricate patterns and hues that speak volumes of your skill and dedication. Yet, instead of pride, you find yourself marred by the haunting presence of your error. “But instead, I ended up with a lighter, smoother pastry cream…” Your voice falters, “I—I wanted to present you with a pudding, not this…” The words escape your lips softer than intended, almost like a whispered secret, and you feel a pang of anxiety rip through you, praying he hadn’t caught the slip of your tongue—the inadvertent mention of 'pudding' that hangs in the air, uninvited and heavy with unfulfilled intent.

The tension in your chest tightens painfully as you await his response, your heart racing. You wish more than anything you could snatch back the moment, rewind time, and recapture the perfect sentiment you had hoped to convey. Each passing second feels stretched, laden with anticipation, leaving you to grapple not only with the pastry but the delicate thread of expectation that now hangs between you.

“Haha—” Sunday chuckled softly, the familiar sound wrapping around you like a warm blanket. His tone, soothing and free from mockery, eased the tension in your chest. “It seems the use of coercion is unnecessary; you’ve openly admitted that your actions were motivated for me. Though, I wouldn't consider myself somebody worth this effort,” You felt your cheeks flush as you lowered your head, a mixture of embarrassment and defiance flooding through you. With a sigh, you crossed your arms tightly, trying to adopt a façade of nonchalance, though inside, you were anything but calm. ", I appreciate this, and while I may have my perceptions of who I am and how to make amends for my past, I'll make an effort to be open towards your guidance and support."

Even amidst the uncertainty of his potential error, he showered you with praise, his voice rich with warmth and encouragement. As his gaze lingered on you, a gentle glow sparkled in his eyes, illuminating the kindness within. Yet, there was also a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, a mischievous glint that ignited something within you. With a swift and daring sense of rebellion, you lifted your head, your hands dusted with flour from your latest baking adventure. In a moment of light-hearted defiance, you playfully swiped the white powder across his cheek, leaving behind a mark of your shared joy.

Sunday's expression transformed into a mask of confusion, his wings twitching in response and his eyebrows arched high as he sensed the powder settling onto his skin like fine dust. The Halovian slowly raised a gloved hand, fingertips brushing against his cheek, and stared at the pale residue now clinging to them, bewilderment etched across his features, as if he were piecing together a puzzle that made no sense. “That’s for laughing at me.” you declared, attempting to veil your embarrassment.

You quickly shifted your stance, the flour dusting your hands as you brushed them on the kitchen towel that hung over the oven, accompanied by a pair of well-worn mittens. A soft huff escaped your lips as you turned to look at him, unable to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Here,” you said, your voice laced with a hint of embarrassment. “I... I’m sorry for, um, this.” With that, you handed him the towel, offering him a chance to clean himself up from the minor chaos that had erupted in the kitchen.

As he took the towel from you, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach. A foreign affection blossomed within his proximity. You turned your attention to the nearby counter, reaching for a plate that gleamed under the warm light. Carefully, you arranged a couple of freshly baked tarts atop the plate, their golden crusts glistening invitingly. You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the moment making your heart race. “Welcome to the Astral Express, Sunday,” you finally said, your voice steadier now, filled with a mixture of excitement and a touch of apprehension about sharing this special place with him.

The weary man stood with his wings, once a proud emblem of paradise and hope, now curling protectively toward his lips, as if concealing a smile that flickered with the subtle brightness of a distant star, shimmering deep within the hazel depths of his eyes. Each gesture you made seemed to awaken a long-buried emotion within him, one he had long since surrendered in his ascent to the formidable role of family patriarch.

The crushing weight of responsibility had created an immense chasm between him and the warmth of joy he had once embraced so freely, a chasm that had only widened with the recent separation from his beloved sister. Memories of their laughter and shared dreams haunted him, leaving a palpable void that echoed with the yearning for those lighter, cherished moments of their youth. The gleam of hope he had once held dimmed, overshadowed by the ache of loss and the burdens of duty, yet as he looked at you, an ember of that joy flickered, igniting the faintest hint of a smile.

Sunday chuckled softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “You know, I appreciate this more than you realize. But there is no need to go through all this effort just to make me feel welcome,” he said, the warmth in his voice evident.

“I think you're worth it,” you replied with a smile, your eyes sparkling as you lifted the tart to your lips. The rich, chocolate flavor enveloped your senses, sending a wave of sweetness through you. As you savored the moment, you caught a glimpse of nostalgia flickering in Sunday’s eyes.

He stared into the distance, lost in thought. “This reminds me of my sister and those afternoons in the kitchen,” he began, his voice low and distant. “We’d whip up all sorts of things, but I always went straight for the pudding. I remember getting scolded for sneaking too much—” He chuckled at the memory, a light blush creeping across his cheeks. “I just couldn’t help myself. The way it melted in my mouth…”

You leaned closer, intrigued. “What did she say when she caught you?”

“She would get this stern look on her face, arms crossed. ‘Sunday, save some for everyone else!’” He recited her words, and the image was vivid; a younger version of him with a cheeky grin, caught in the act. "It had a considerable impact on my singing voice," he explained, his tone relaxed as he recounted the experience. "Because of this, my instructor urged me to avoid certain habits and practices, emphasizing the importance of preserving my vocal quality so that I could perform at my absolute best." He chuckled softly as he continued, "Our teacher referred to me as a duckling, a nickname that stuck with me throughout my lessons."

You both smile, the moment stretching comfortably as you take another bite of the tart, the chocolate-rich and decadent. The room felt warmer, filled with the echoes of shared memories and the sweet taste of connection. “Here’s to the pudding bandit,” you teased, raising your tart in a mock toast.

Sunday couldn't help but shake his head at the fond absurdity you displayed before playing along. "To the pudding bandit," he echoed, clinking his tart against yours, his eyes twinkling with delight. You both took a bite simultaneously, savoring not only the sweetness of the dessert but also the deeper bond forming between you—one chocolatey bite at a time.

Fin.

A/N | I pray I wrote Sunday accurately... I made it long to make up for my lack of Sunday content. I was afraid I'd write him poorly, and even now, I try my best to stick to what I know and describe more than include dialog. I fear writing them ooc. Sobs.

[luvlucia]

just a dream - yjw

summary: jungwon realizes him finally getting you was all just a dream || warnings: dom!jungwon x sub!reader, brothersbestfriend!jungwon, jake is your older brother lol, missionary, against the wall lol, unprotected sex, mentions of jungwon jerking off || genre: smut, fluff, unestablished relationship || word count: approximately 315 || a/n: see the request here!

Jungwon and you kiss as you walk into the room, neither of you pulling away as Jungwon shuts and locks the door behind the two of you. Everything felt so desperate and rushed, well, because it was. The both of you had been yearning for this moment for ages though you both knew your brother, Jungwon's best friend, Jake, was bound to be back home any minute now.

Jungwon had originally come to your house to see your brother but open you telling him your brother was out, he was going to leave. You stopped him, inviting him in to wait for Jake since he wouldn't be long. One thing led to another and here you were.

It didn't take long for your pajama shorts and undies to be on the floor, Jungwon's pants and underwear pulled down his legs as he was fucking into you. It wasn't anything gentle, to say the least. You were both needy for the release you craved from the other.

You continued like that before you could feel yourself growing close. Jungwon was growing closer as well. Just as the both of you were about to come, you were stopped by the sound of Jake calling for Jungwon's name.

"Jungwon.. Jungwon, wake up, bro." Jake says as he lightly shakes Jungwon awake, causing Jungwon to shoot up from his sleep, wide awake now. So, all of that was a dream? He should've known it was too good to be true. It wasn't even a surprise to him that Jake managed to cockblock him in a dream as well.

When Jungwon walked down the stairs after having excused himself to go "pee", which really meant wanking one out, he was met with the sight of you sitting on the couch, obviously just having gotten up, looking pretty as ever to him, wearing those same pajama shorts you'd worn in his dream.

ᥫ᭡ link to my masterlist

[thisisxli]

◭𝑳𝒊𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔◮

༻༺

Rs: Tomura Shigiraki(Tenko) x GN!reader (afab/amab)

Warnings:

Major character death, sexual depiction, NSFW,

unrequited love?, blood,

betrayal, avoidant attachment

Summary: You, number three hero encounters Shigiraki on multiple occasions. Sometimes the people around you aren't always what they seem.

wc: 1.9k

A/N: justice for Tenko! :(

༻༺

When Shigiraki saw you for the first time, he wanted to kill you almost immediately.

You were a pro-hero, a strong one to be in-fact. You were there at the USJ when it attacked, protecting the students. Your sense of reassurance kept the students calm and he didn't like that. He wanted everyone to be in fear, even you.

When he wasn't watching Eraserhead get obliterated by Nomu, he would glance at you just to see your reaction. Your face had drained of color and it had a sickening wrinkle to it, it made him smile.

Those stupid students just had to get in the way, along with All Might. He swore he felt his face get hot when he saw you cradling Eraserhead. That longing look on your face told him everything.

And when everything at the USJ didn't go according to plan, he swore one day, just one day, he'd get you when he came back.

Unfortunately, you weren't at the training camp. But he managed to capture one of UA's first years, one who achieved top high score and stood out from the rest because of his power. Katsuki Bakugou.

The capture of a student had you enraged, you being one of the many heroes who came to their hideout. It seemed not only Eraserhead was important to you, but this student too? Maybe he was a pupil.

He was grinning ear to ear when he saw your face that was twisted in anger, but you were composed. His stomach made five backflips when you had pinned him against the counter while he was caged by Kamui's wooden chain prison. He nearly started laughing when he saw a Nomu throw you to the ground, breaking maybe two or three ribs?

Later then, when All for One lost a fight with All Might, he took a stroll through Deika City with a black hoodie to cover his face. He's thought of killing the civilians around him. To create massacre. But he honestly didn't expect you to exit through a bakery store, bumping into him.

"Ah... My apologies." You bow respectfully towards him, a weak smile displayed on your face. Your breath hitches when you see his face. He would've thought you'd recognize him but oddly enough, you didn't. You just kept staring at him and it made him uncomfortable. "It's fine," he waves towards you, shoving a hand back in his pocket.

He watches the way you scratch your cheek as your face turns pink. "So... what's your name?" He just stares at you. Are you really trying to get to know him? "Tenko. Tenko Shimura," he dryly says. His real name leaves a sour taste in his mouth. "My name is (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N)." You hold your hand out towards him.

He doesn't return it.

You awkwardly laugh, quickly taking the hand back to rub the back of your head. "Well! Uh.. I'll see you around? Wait- uh.. maybe exchange numbers..? Or socials! Either one!"

He chuckles at the way you get flustered before giving you his number. Why did he do it? His encounter with you was all he could think about. Maybe getting to know you was good. Maybe it could help the league and give them the upper hand. His thoughts are put to a quick stop when he hears a 'ding' from his phone.

Weird pro ଓ!

hi! It's (Y/N) from earlier. :)

Do you remember me? Pro-hero from the bakery?

ヾ(＾-＾)ノ

He snorts at your message before typing.

Tenko ঞ

Yeah. I remember you.

He stares at his text message, debating on whether he should send another. When he starts to type, your message pops up again.

Weird pro ଓ!

I was wondering if you wanted to grab some coffee in the morning? ٩( ᐛ )و

He cocks an eyebrow at your text. He starts to debate again. Should he? Maybe he should. Just for the sake of the league, right?

Tenko ঞ

Yeah. Sure.

Don't you have to do your pro-hero stuff?

Weird Pro ଓ!

Well.. Yeah! But I'm pretty sure I have time in the morning. Is 9:10 okay? At the coffee shop by the bakery.

If not, we could just do 10 or 11 :)

Tenko ঞ

Yeah, no. It's fine at 9:10.

Weird pro ଓ!

Okay! Goodnight, Tenko.

Tenko ঞ

👍🏻.

You sigh when you see his 'thumbs up' text, pouting. What a bummer. A cute guy like him seemed like he didn't want your company. But hey, at least he's going? You just hope he was going because he wanted to, not reluctantly.

You arrive at the exact time, checking your phone. Your eyes lit up when his message pops up.

Tenko ঞ

Look to your right.

As you did so, you meet his eyes. He was sitting at a booth with tiramisu sitting in the middle of the table, wearing the same black hoodie as the day before. "Hey! What's this?" You sit down in front of him, licking your lips. He notices. "It's tiramisu. Italian desert," he mutters. "Can.. Can I have a bite?" Your cheeks slightly turn pink, eyeing the dish below. He starts to think you're cute. "Yeah, go ahead. I bought it for us to eat anyway."

You dig out a spoon from the folded napkin, quickly scooping out a piece, hesitant to envelop it in your mouth. He's just watching you eat. It was kind of embarrassing to be honest. You take it in your mouth anyway, eyes lighting up the room. "Wow, I- it's so delicious!" You quickly scoop another, shoving it in your mouth. You do another until both of your cheeks were perfectly round, resembling a squirrel.

Your eyes glitter in excitement. "Ith sho goof!"

His lips twitches upward, almost snickering. He fiddles with the lint in his pocket before putting it upon himself to grab a utensil, putting a spoonful of the desert in his mouth. He nearly perks up. You weren't lying when you said it was good.

Blood rushes to his ears when you swallow, licking off the remaining whip cream around your lips.

"So.. Shimura."

He freezes when he hears his surname roll out of your mouth, looking up at you when you smile sweetly at him.

"What are your hobbies? Do you have a quirk?"

He hears a few bystanders in the café comment about you, pro hero (Y/N) being on a date. His ears turn hot at that but he pays no mind. "Uh.. I play games.."

He pauses, hanging his head low before giving you a grim look. "I can tell you about my quirk another time.

You slightly flinch when he stares at you with his red eyes in some certain way which had you grow a small uneasy feeling. He sort of looked familiar. It was off-putting. "I see. Well.. As you know me, I'm pro-hero #3! I like to draw on my free time sometimes. Or just go out shopping." You awkwardly chuckle, looking away to pretend that small weird moment ever happened. Shigiraki sits up straight, slightly scratching his wrist. "Is that so? How much do you like your hero job?"

"Well... Not a lot, but I do like it.

Don't tell anybody this but.."

You lean in over the table, a finger over your mouth with a hushed voice.

"Sometimes I wish I didn't join the hero's side." Shigiraki's eyes go wide at your statement, nails halting to a quick-stop.

You blink before quickly sitting back, waving your hands around defensively. "Not that I'm saying I would join the villain side! But.. Just to live a normal life.. y'know? The burden of being a hero.. It's a lot. Of course I love saving lives but.. Should I have to risk my own? I want to live my life too.."

You mutter under your breath, laying your head to the side on your arm, playing with the spoon. "I just want to live a normal life. Get married, have kids, and grow old. I can't help but be selfish." His breath hitches when you look up at him with a hopeful expression before sighing, sitting up straight again, stretching. "But a person can dream, am I right?" You wink at him, your usual smile spreading on your face.

Shigiraki stares at you, completely surprised. He had absolutely no idea on what to say. You? Number three hero wants to quit hero life? He doesn't know if he wants to do this anymore. "Yeah..." Time passes as you two continue to talk. He doesn't share a lot of information about his life.

He checks his phone. 10:14 AM.

"I think.. we should go. It's 10:14."

You blink at him in surprise before chuckling, rubbing your head. "Wow.. Is it really? I gotta get to work soon anyways before the media starts talking about me stalling on some hero duty bullshit.." You mutter, yawning. His lips twitches upwards again when he hears you curse.

Next thing he knew, the both of you started to go out more often, starting to call them dates. And after that, he would end up in your bed.

"T-Tenko!" You whimper, clutching onto his back. You drag your nails down his back, leaving red marks behind. Shigiraki huffs, slamming into you at a constant brutal pace.

"ffuckk.." Shigiraki's lips meets yours, muffling your whines and moans, balling his fists tightly at the sides of your head. He disconnects his lips from yours before thrusting in you one last final time, grinding his hips deeply before completely bottoming out. Your thighs shake from the high, shudders escaping you when his his lips ghosts over your throat.

"Tenko.. I.." You choke out, pulling him closer.

"I love you, Tenko." You whisper against his shoulder, closing your eyes. You both lay there for a few minutes. And when he doesn't respond, you slowly start getting anxious. "Tenko..?" You gasp when he pulls out with a 'pop', getting off the bed to put his clothes on. You watch him in awe as he pulls up his pants, saying nothing at all. Of course he didn't have to say anything back but could you really help it after all this time of spending time together? You thought he would've at least felt something as you did.

Your eyes follow him when he goes to the door. "Tenko?"

You're met with silence when he looks back at you one more time, his face turned into a solemn expression. When he leaves, he quietly shuts the door; leaving you alone.

You felt so naked. You felt stupid. How could you possibly think a guy like him would've actually feel for you that way? He was childish. Rude. Ignorant. Irrational. How could you even fall for him? You sob, throwing punches at your head. Why did you ever even try?

Your heart literally breaks into two when you found out Tenko Shimura was Shigiraki this whole time. Your head went into spirals, his whole being breaking your soul.

So when you went on the battlefield, you both fought. But of course, you lost. Was it all on vain? To die in his arms?

He stares blankly into yours with wide eyes, a few hair strands falling past his cheek. You were slowly dying, parts of your body decaying away by the touch of his fingers. He was holding you in his arms, cradling you close. "Tenko..

I love you." Words he was most afraid of escape past your lips. His hand that was coated in your blood reaches up to your cheek, that part decaying too. He squeezes his eyes shut. He wish he could cry. He really does, but he can't.

"I love you too."

༻༺

A/N:

EDIT: man I really gotta stop making the tragic loved ones stop saying I love you in the end.

[thehotpilot]

i mean if there is indeed a love confession coming in the next episode i would say 911 did the damn work to make it seem plausible at this moment in their relationship..especially after no tommy for three episodes i think they laid it on thick in the best way

[homestuckreplay]

Average Rose Lalonde Behavior

(page 862-870)

I’m not saying I like Rose better than John, but Rose definitely has the cooler story right now, so I’m glad to be hanging out with her in this super cool lab which may or may not be part of her house. I thought she picked up Jaspers’ corpse because she wanted to prototype her sprite with him – the ‘dark twisting path to necromancy’ she mentions on p.440. But she doesn’t seem upset when she accidentally throws him onto the transportalizer. ‘Oh well. Ashes to ashes you guess.’ (p.863) is reminiscent of ‘I would describe my feelings toward the animal as lukewarm’ (p.442), but could also be more of a ‘I don’t have time to deal with this on top of the other 413 things I’m dealing with’.

But hey. Where did that cat go?? Is Jade going to go outside and there’s just a transportalizer there with a dead cat? Will there be a twist where it’s Jade who prototypes Jaspers, not Rose? The similar technology makes me suspect their locations are linked, as does the ‘UNESTABLISHED IN’ countdown timer. Jade growing up with this timer would explain how she knows today is ‘the big day’ (p.838).

Rose of course enters the lab 4:13 minutes before Skaianet Laboratory is unestablished, which could mean ‘destroyed’ (by a meteor, perhaps) or could mean ‘shut down, power turned off’ and either way, Rose doesn’t have much time. It feels soon to see this timer and could mean this is a short act, or could mean there will be a lot of cutting back and forth between characters. But either way I think Rose getting into the Medium in three minutes having not even connected with a server player yet is a tall order. She might end up just moving to increasingly strange locations while she waits.

It’s very funny that Rose ‘I think trees are elegant’ Lalonde has been using trees wrong for the entirety of her fetch modus career. ‘Root’ even being an option is like sorting price from high to low, it’s a totally unnecessary function that makes everything worse. I love on page 868 where Rose captchalogues the hub while still holding her laptop, and there’s a cable leading into her sylladex – I am contorting my understanding of 3D space to process this but it’s a cool moment, I really like the reminder that this compression of space is normal for these kids, and it’s a cool visual when the connected cards shuffle around each other.

The hub also has a very pleasing design. It’s green and square and has lights and buttons. Undeniably a piece of science technology.

PM was an absolute beast with that sword and beheaded that giant mailbox eating worm like it was NOTHING. They’re also far more adept with the bunker terminal controls than WV. From a story perspective, it works that the bunker’s countdown and >HOME command were a big deal and a story-expanding moment in act 2, but now those mechanisms are established, it’s all pushed into simpler images in an external page that indicate ‘the same thing happens’. That’s helpful if a story is going to use a lot of patterns and repetition.

Mailboxes are not cans but I think there could be a place for them in Can Town, when WV and PM presumably meet up on Jade’s island. PM’s sword could probably open a can and the two of them can share in BEETS and MAYO. PM will love WV’s trusty knife. And maybe they can look at that mysterious undelivered letter that’s visible in one of PM’s mailboxes….

> Rose: Check out John's work on the GameFAQs.

[seraphdreams]

toji with a bubbly princess who talks his ear off but he doesn’t mind because she’s so small and soft and warm on his lap. and she smells good and her voice makes him calm. she doesn’t mind when he plays with the hem of her skirt. or when he wants to grip and squish her thighs. or when he wants to cup her breasts and hold them to bask in her warmth and softness. or when he bites her ear when she tries to tease him. or when he wraps his big, sturdy, muscular forearms around her waist to keep her there. maybe he likes the way she’s always pushing her lips out for him to kiss in between her stories………..but i’m just saying.

enough of you, and enough of you NOW! because, i seen a clip of toji’s voice actor and yuuji’s and they were talking about what toji’s/yuuji’s relationship would be like if they were friends (had he not bit the dust) — and they came to the conclusion that toji would be very annoyed by yuuji since he’s so bubbly but would miss him if he wasn’t around anymore.

now twisting that and making it our own… toji’s initial thought of his bubbly princess… thinking she’s talkative, annoying, and an overall brat. but he finds himself missing your unsolicited touch, the way you’d wrap an arm around his when you’d walk together (to which he begrudgingly shrugs you off), or when you talk his ear off about the thoughts, or lack thereof, floating in your mind :(

he especially misses how you coo so softly when he’s got his large arms wrapped around you from behind…. his lips against your ear so you can hear all the deep grunts n groans he lets out as he takes you from behind, just over your kitchen counter >:( you couldn’t even finish baking him cookies!! meanie!!

[idontplaytrack]

Capri x reader

Reader is the “water boy”/manager of the football team, Capri does cheer

It’s senior year, Capri and reader have been dating in secret…what happens when a football boy tries to make a move on Capri?

Don’t talk to me

Capri Donahue x fem! reader

Warnings: coarse language, mentions of periods, a bit of quarrelling

“Why are you even talking to me? Didn’t you see me with her?”

Capri Donahue, Frederick Douglass High’s lovely, lovely queen bee. She’d be the death of you, in good ways and bad. Beneath that bubbly and sometimes snarky, facade, Capri was a big ‘ol softie. The sweetest partner one could ask for. Anyone would be lucky to call Capri theirs. Well, you would. You were the lucky one to be dating the Capricorn Donahue.

“Hey, baby.” Capri says, “Where the heck are you? I’ve been waiting here for like, five minutes. You’re usually waiting right outside for me to pick you up. Are you alright?”

“I’m coming down the stairs now, sorry.”

You hung up, quickly made your way downstairs and out the front door. You sat in the front with Capri, like always. “Is everything okay?” Capri asked cautiously, you seemed a little tense.

“Everything is perfect.” You replied, each word laced with sarcasm.

“Babe.” She sighs, starting to drive away.

“It’s stupid.” You revealed to her, “I got my period.”

“Oh.” Capri says, relieved. “Then are you sure you wanna go—”

“The school will call my mom if I just don’t show up, Capri. It’s fine, it sucks— but I’ll be fine.”

“Do you need anything?”

You shook your head, “Already took a painkiller. That should hold me over till school’s done. Thanks, though.”

She keeps her hand on your thigh for the whole drive, as she always does. You especially appreciated this little gesture today. It comforted you. Capri stops the car right near the school, knowing that you’d get off here and walk the short distance to school on your own, rather than together with her. You appreciated your anonymity and would rather have it for as long as you could, Capri didn’t mind that and just went along with what you wanted immediately.

You two were in homeroom then trig class together, after that she went off to home ec while you were in social studies. Anyway, you tended to see her a few times throughout the day in classes. But that depended on schedule so some days, you saw her more often, other days…not so much.

Today was one of those days where you ran into her more often. Not because of classes but because at lunch, while the cheer squad was practicing, the football team was also practicing in the field right near them. You walked onto the field with the team, settling down on the bleacher. The team gathered in front of you, awaiting your instructions.

“Okay, guys— since coach will only be here in the afternoon, y’all are stuck with me.” You started, “Line up. Start with: Calf stretch, walking lunges, side steps. Stay hydrated! Let’s go, let’s go!” There was some chatter, but the team got right to it. You didn’t care if they chatted while doing warmups or not. At least they were still doing what you said. You watched them in the meantime, making sure they weren’t completely goofing off or if someone were to get injured. Your eyes wandered a little bit, landing on the cheer squad. Capri spots you, her face lit up just a tad, a small smile on it. You smiled back, quickly resuming your task on hand.

Lunch was forty minutes, and when the sports teams had games or tournaments coming up, they’d spend about twenty minutes of their break practicing. Everything was going well until right at the end, the team lost focus because a guy told two of his buddies to check out that cheerleader’. You bit back a scoff, it was typical of them sometimes to ogle at the cheerleaders. You couldn’t care less. Because you’d tried telling them to stop, but they never listen.

“Dude! You should totally ask her out, Brett!”

“Totally, you’re a football player, Capri’s a cheerleader. You guys would be perfect together.”

Wait— Capri? Your Capri? Your eyes darted to Capri’s direction and saw the trio of boys jogging up to her. Capri didn’t seem to really react. You blew your whistle, screaming, “Brett, Marcus, Ray! Five minutes to go— what the hell?!”

“Yo, chill out, y/n. We were just gonna be gone for a minute.” Brett laughs, throwing his hands up in mock defeat.

You rolled your eyes at them, glancing at Capri again. She didn’t even pay any attention to you, already tumbling across the grass. You sigh, plopping back down on the bleacher, recounting the number of water bottles in the crates.

For the rest of the day, the image of Capri being hit on by Brett and buds kept running through your head. It annoyed you to no end, more so right now as you were on your period. Capri knew you saw her, she didn’t even acknowledge you in the slightest. Heck, she didn’t even acknowledge that that’d happened. You didn’t even get a text from her to assure you that it didn’t mean anything to her. Not that you didn’t trust her, you did. Your mind was just racing right now and you hated it.

Staring at the whiteboard in your American History class, you started seeing double. Then, your hearing gets muffled and the volume amplifies. You hear laughter, snickering…you clasped your hands together, fingers intertwined as you pulled at them irritatedly. When your breathing got heavy and laboured, that’s when you couldn’t take it anymore and bolted out of the classroom and to the bathroom. A hand was on your wrist as you pulled it away with your movement of standing up from your desk— Capri’s.

————

You stayed in a stall until you calmed down, well, you stayed in there until you heard footsteps outside the stall.

“y/n?”

“Uh— Darby…?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” She says back, “Are you…alright?”

“I guess?” You sniffed, standing up and unlocking the stall door.

“Are you sure? Do you need anything?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I uh— my mind just drifted and I started thinking about just…everything and got really not good. But thanks for checking on me.”

She walked back to class with you, without saying another word, but you could feel her gaze on you constantly. She was worried, and so was Capri. You could feel her staring too, but you didn’t want to look at her.

When school was over, you didn’t have a ride home and walking home would take you truthfully an hour. So, you had no choice but to go with Capri. You waited near her car since her last class for that day wasn’t with you. Once she got in, you quickly did so as well and she started to drive in silence.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“We both know something happened.”

“So then why do you have to ask?” You snarled, looking out the window while your head leaned against it.

“Fine, don’t talk to me then. Just keep everything to yourself.”

Shit, that hurt. The cramps, and what she had just said to you. You didn’t mean to snap at her, you were just feeling irritated by the cramps that were returning now that the pain meds have been wearing off, and whatever happened at lunch.

You notice her driving right by your house, but you couldn’t be bothered. When her car stops in the familiar garage, you got out right when she did. “I don’t know what you want from me.” You grumbled, side stepping her to enter the house via the garage door.

Capri takes in a deep breath, chewing on her bottom lip to stop herself from scoffing. Or screaming. Or both. You ran up to her room, and she catches up so quickly. “What’s with this whole thing going on right now, y/n?” She asks after closing the door behind herself.

Your eyes flicked up to meet hers. Her tone was harsh but her gaze was soft. “What’d I do? Did something happen in the classes I’m not in?”

You wanted to tell her, you wanted to so badly. But instead, what happened first was you bursting into tears. With the pain and the hormones in a rage, you couldn’t control your emotions too well. “Shit.” Capri mutters, sitting down beside you. You fell against her, head on her chest as she held it. And you, close. “It’s okay.” She hushed, “You can tell me anything, baby.”

“I saw you— at the lunch practice. Brett asked you out and you didn’t even react. You acted like it was the most normal thing, not even acknowledging that I was there. I definitely overreacted because I was the one who asked you if we could not go public—”

“y/n, I didn’t react so he couldn’t react. He wouldn’t have anything else to say to me. I didn’t look at you, because if I did, that would be giving them hints to who I was seeing. And that I was seeing someone. Which isn’t something you wanted. But maybe now you do.”

You sigh shakily, “I’m sorry, I’m just in a terrible mood and I can’t control it.” You cried quietly, “And it hurts— so I just blew up. I’m sorry, I should’ve just talked to you when I got to instead of keeping things to myself. You’re right.”

“No, I also shouldn’t have been so snarky. You didn’t need that, any of that tone. It was wrong of me, I need to remember that I’m talking to my girl and some musty ass boy that only wants to see me naked.”

“I’m sorry— I—”

“y/n, please. Stop that, I get it.” She presses a kiss to your head, “Don’t keep saying sorry. You don’t need to apologise over and over again. I hear you, it’s okay. We’re good.”

“I love you.” You told her, eyes meeting hers once again.

“I love you too, baby.” She says, stroking your hair, “Your painkiller must’ve wore off. I’ll go get you another. Okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, she carefully manoeuvres herself to get out from behind you and then off the bed.

She comes back a minute or so later with the pill and a glass, well a mug— your favourite mug, of water. You took it without hesitation and set the mug down on her nightstand. Curling up comfortably under her covers. She was still standing, and watching you. “Want me to cuddle with you?” She asks cheekily. You nod, face pressed against the pillow, “Yes please.”

“Could you make me pasta for dinner?” You asked meekly as her arms wrapped around you.

“Mhm.” She agrees in a heartbeat, “Of course.”

“Yay.” You let a chuckle slip. She plants a kiss on your shoulder, “I know you’re sleepy so just rest for a while, alright?”

You nod, she was fully pressed up against you as you shut your eyes.

————

You’d spent the night at Capri’s, and once you two got to school, you and Capri walked into the building together— hand in hand. And you, were even wearing her clothes. Clothes that she’s worn before, and recognisably hers. Not comfy loungewear that she’d only be donning at home.

“Capri!” Brett exclaimed, happily running over. She intentionally swung your intertwined hands a little bit exaggeratedly.

“Yesterday at practice I asked if you’d like to go out with me Saturday? But you didn’t say anyth—”

“Exactly.” Capri smiled sweetly.

“Oh, who’s this?” He asks.

“Oh, her? I dunno. Who do you think she is, Brett?” Capri chuckles, fingers still linked with yours. She raises that up briefly then put it down, letting your hand go. Smoothly, she cups your cheek and gave you a kiss. Right in the middle of the hallway. “Thought I’d show you since you guys seem to be such visual learners, hm? Her telling you all to stay focused on warmups wasn’t clear enough? Want her to show you guys how to do them? Even though she’d already done that months ago?”

“I— I— uh…”

“Stop it. Don’t look at her. Look at me. I’m gonna say this once and if you forget it, that’s not my problem. Don’t you ever look at her, don’t look at me, most importantly, don’t talk to me. And definitely not her. Stay away from us.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭A/N:

Thank you sm for the request! I had fun writing this one heheh

[djunk411]

The funny thing with Britomart is that she's actually setup as a halfway interesting character in the beginning of this event...but it's the fall lotto event, meaning it has next to no actual plot beyond setup and conclusion. Double whammy of having a really generic feeling design and given no opportunity to invest players in her character/story lol

[leonkennedygvrl]

thinking about you being shrunken by some mysterious formula and having lara and leon take care of you! ;3

oh noes! during a mission in spain with your dear partners (crushes/established throuple) you were injected with some sort formula whilst unconscious when you were seperated from lara and leon, and now you were small! tiny!

when they found you, leon was first to notice since lara was busy talking to ingrid on the walkie talkie - saying some blah blah blah about condor one.

“the fuck?” leon muttered under his breath, picking you up by the scruff of your shirt. you literally could fit in his palm, and whilst he hadn’t smiled the entire trip here, he was feeling a slight grin form on his face at your clearly pissed and disoriented demeanour.

your hands were crossed over your chest, small face contorted in annoyance. “don’t laugh!” you squeaked, voice high-pitched like you had inhaled a balloon of helium. “i don’t know what happened, okay?”

leon scoffed playfully, raising an eyebrow as he dangled you around a bit, making you groan. it felt like the entire earth shook, was this alice in fucking wonderland? “stop!”

leon looked over his shoulder at lara, who was observing a photo of a tied up baby eagle. “lara, check this out.”

lara’s blank expression met leon’s amused one, but when she saw you, plush-sized and all - she immediately came over, her eyebrows creasing. “oh my god,” her british accent smooth like butter, her gloved hand coming to stifle her giggle. “you’re adorable!”

leon laughed, booping your head with his large finger had you wheezing for air, squirming like an ant that had been sprayed with chemicals. “hey, you’re going to crush her!” lara said, nudging leon’s head and gently grabbing you.

leon rolled his eyes, rubbing the bit of his head lara touched. were her hands made of fucking metal? that’s hot.

“on the bright side, you’re a cutie.” leon smirked, seeing you huff. he really had a soft spot for you. (:D)

“am not!” you argued, your voice taking lara by surprise as her pink lips parted.

“are too.” lara teased, wiggling you a bit now as well. you looked up her in disbelief, this was like… like betrayal!

“you’re meant to be on my side, lara!” you wailed, sitting on your knees in her soft palm as she chuckled.

when the cure was later found, leon was sad to see you back to your normal state. he brushed your hair out of your eyes, soft lips in an unenthusiastic pout. “damn, i really liked mini-you.”

you slapped his hand away, despite the butterflies in your belly. “oh, quit it, leon.” and your voice was normal again!

yays! :3 you were glad to be back to normal, although you didn’t exactly mind having the pair fawn over you like you were a new-born puppy.

[amaranthdahlia]

i wonder what wouldve happened to kazumas wellbeing if ryuunosuke was the one to die in the ship instead of him ?? like its very much obvious ryuunosuke means ALOT to kazuma, to the point he told him things even susato was surprised of not knowing, did things for him that wouldve costed him his life mission, trusted him more than anyone else

would his world just turn upside down again but this time possibly permanent? would his mental state just plummet? be a hollow of himself ? hed still be driven by his mission, just moreso with the lack of care of his own life ? would living just. not matter to him anymore ?

[waffles-for-brunch]

I’m writing a fic that entirely takes place in Sioux Falls so I mapped out Jody’s whole house based off of what we could see in established shots and also what I had to fill in for some gaps.

(Like Jody and Alex’s bedrooms and the back porch and the basement)

[antis-eye-chotic]

It's so upsetting that if you search for clips of Amanda and Adam on youtube, the first result you get is that meetcute deleted scene of him taking her picture and then directly underneath it is the flashback of her suffocating him to death :|

[toobattojokes]

People, please tell me if I’m the only one who enjoys YEARNING way more than the actual pay-off in a romantic story. One or both parties longing for each other? Love it. The desperate crying because they feel they can never be with the one they love ? Amazing. Bonus points if it’s tragic yearning aka the person yearning for the other cannot possibly obtain them in any shape or form because of sexuality or other obstacles.

I’ll be sitting there with my tea, sipping all so delightfully, whispering in-between sips ‘good soup’

[merlinsbbeard]

Ain't No Rest for the Sloshed @jilymicrofics Prongs Party 2023. Prompts: party and alcohol, words: 547. Gifted to @uncertainwallflower.

If nothing else, Gryffindor knew how to throw a party. 

The twenty-seventh of March brought platters of ham, cheese, and pickle relish sandwiches, an enchanted record player, and clinks of Witch’s Brew bottles to the common room.

Remus had set an informal—yet persuasive—early curfew for the younger students. He chased the last of them out before the hands on the mantle touched eight; the party was at full bore by nine, and by ten James was firmly on his way to sloshed. 

“Hab birthday, mate.” A drunk hand clapped him on the shoulder. It belonged to Julius Burton in the year above him. James hadn’t had much interaction with him beyond these types of gatherings, where Julius usually ended up asleep under the coffee table. 

“Thanks,” James said, and he was offered another drink. 

He took it. Swigged it. Shuddered. The alcohol set his throat aglow and spun the room—alive with bodies and music. 

“Oi, Prongsy-poo.” Sirius appeared at his shoulder. 

“Pads! I was about to send a search party,” James jibed. Swig.

“Just had to take Wormy up for a spew; those stairs are a mare.” 

They both regarded Peter for a moment. He was teetering on the back of an armchair, his father’s blue tie—‘borrowed’ three years ago and never returned—up around his forehead. Remus, whose feet were on the floor, was failing to talk him out of crowd surfing. 

Sirius sent Peter two thumbs up. James took a swig. 

On the makeshift dance floor, a crowd was dancing and singing along badly to the Seven Sons of Zeus LP. Lily hovered at the frayed edges of the mob, left hand clutching her goblet. 

Swig. “Be right back, Pads.” 

James made his way towards her, dodging the odd flailing limb. 

Her eyes caught sight of him and she smiled hello. “Potter. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hi—er—Evans. You think?”

The engorged painting of James’ face stared at them from the ceiling ironically. 

She laughed. “Good party.” 

“Thank you, I mean the boys pretty much organised it, so…” he trailed off. 

Lily smiled, lifting her goblet a little closer to her painted lips, eyeing the crowd in front. 

Swig. 

“Happy birthday, by the way.” She broke the stalemate. 

James had felt like a broken record stuck in a loop all day. Thank you, thank you, thank you. His furry mind couldn’t think of anything better to say. “Thank you.” 

“Yooou’re welcome.”

James now noticed her slurred speech and slow-blinking eyes. Her rosy complexion, and her goblet that would spill any second, staining the carpet with purple. 

She was standing quite close to him. Closer than normal; close enough for his heart to flutter, his cheeks to rouge, and—

“Lily.” Mary popped up in front of them. “Hi—Potter, happy birthday—Lily, I need you this instant.” 

“MacDonald.” James tipped his goblet at her in acknowledgement. “See you ‘round,” he said to Lily.

“See you—” she managed to get out before she disappeared into the crowd, Mary dragging her by her elbow. 

“Now that—” Remus, who had shown up Merlin-knows-when, made his presence known, “—was a spectacular fail to watch.” 

“Glad you enjoyed the show,” James drawled. He took another swig, and the pair surrendered themselves to the party once more.

read on AO3

[cherriontop]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Prewar Stucky, preserum steve, PreSerum Bucky, Living Together, Poor, Sick Steve, Caretaker Bucky, Artist Steve, Artist Bucky, Dock Worker Bucky, unestablished stucky Series: Part 2 of Never Alone Summary:

While Steve is ill in bed, Bucky indulges himself in an activity he's never shared with anyone.

Can be read as a standalone

Written for @buckybarnesbingo Y3: Artist Bucky

@badthingshappenbingo B4: Financial Problems

@stuckybingo O1: Selfless

[hermithomebase]

If George getting 2.4 mill views is him flopping, what is Dream getting 5 mill views?

top of the main trending page for 2 days and top of minecraft content on the whole website as well