#anyway pls enjoy the snippet

[euripidestrousers]

The Bridget Jones Wolfstar AU that No One Asked For

Dear Diary, 

Even writing those words makes me physically ill so I’d like to start this off by disclosing that getting a diary was not my idea. 

You see, my best friend, James - excellent, wonderful best friend who has recently become a family man by choice, and has therefore become one of the most insufferable people on earth - gave me this diary and said it’s either this or he’s buying me therapy because one more rubbish one-week relationship of mine is going to kill him.

And I don’t need a fucking therapist, so here you are, and here I am. I feel better already.

(haha)

Dear Diary, 

James might be onto something. Today I found myself smoking my third morning cigarette while drinking my coffee and muttering that the drive to work is going to be hell because of the rain. 

I’ve become my father. 

Of course, I asked James if he ever looks in the mirror and sees Monty staring back and if it makes him want to buy a motorbike and he replied, ‘Uh, I’m literally his son, we look alike. Are you okay?’

My thirty third birthday is coming up. 

Please don’t let this be a mid-life crisis. I’m not in a relationship because I don’t want one, and haven’t had one in over ten years because the men in London either want to meet you in the park or meet your parents. It’s the last hour of the buffet and all that’s left is the salad. And I don’t need a relationship either. James and Lily are a match made in heaven since the first time he told her ugly friend he was ugly (rightfully so, the man is still hideous and a complete prick), and she told him to watch his fucking mouth. Made for each other.

But the last time I met a guy that made me laugh and was any sort of attractive and not a complete knob about being attractive, was over three years ago. 

Ie, it’s not for me. End of story.

I bought a motorbike

Dear Diary, 

I’m going to do away with the whole ‘dear diary’ thing, it makes me feel like a schoolgirl and if James ever finds you when we’re drunk he’s going to read out at least one embarrassing entry at me. They’re all embarrassing. 

I went on a blind date today.

“Long black for… Sirish?”

What? Oh. That vague jumble of mush must have been his name. Sirius grabs the takeaway cup and makes for the door briskly. He has the Binkley case to catch up on and write a piece on by the end of the week and he’s still not clear who the man is. A football star perhaps? He’s still being sidelined into the sports area of the paper because he did football for a year. Nevermind that he has an interest in politics and would very much like to report on where the country will be in ten years if it keeps going-

J: You busy after work?

Sirius grins, flopping his jacket over one arm to type back to James Potter, best friend and inarguably lesser half of Lily Potter. 

S: drinks?

J: I have a one year old

S: too early for him to start?

S: kidding. Don’t tell Lily. She’s already started making him take his helmet every time I take him for a day. 

J: It’s not for drinks. Lily has a friend who’s just come to town. I thought maybe you could show him around.

S: Worst lie ever. 

J: I haven’t had coffee yet.

J: It’s actually true though. He just came to town and doesn’t know anyone other than Lily, and Harry has a cold so we’re both staying home.

J: He’s quite attractive I’m told. Lily told me to say ‘tall Martin Freeman’, and that you’d know what it means

S: Potter, if I was so desperate that I would open to a blind date, I definitely wouldn’t start with any of Lily’s friends, they’re all college professors and about 50 years old. 

J: He’s 37

S: He has elbow patches. Guaranteed. Bet he says ‘but the Torries are actually not as conservative as they’re made out to be.’

S: Bet he has a mahogany desk and wanks to Aristotle

J: Jesus christ

J: Photo sent

Sirius glances down uninterestedly and sees a photo of a man. But instead of the expected stuffy looking balding man with a sour face, as most of Lily’s fellow professors are to be fair, instead he’s looking at a tall, brown haired man with flecks of grey at the temples and smiling softly at the camera, and he’s well, he’s not not handsome. Tall Martin Freeman is actually quite right. Hello.

He brings the phone closer to examine the photo as he blindly barges into the office building with the large Get Up, Britain sign gaudy and bright above him. 

The man is younger on second glance, although he is wearing a suit jacket with elbow patches (told you, Jamie), and standing a little awkwardly, like he’s not used to photos being taken of him, and it’s entirely likely that he’s more accustomed to being nose deep in a book ninety percent of the time. 

He’s shagged worse. 

S: I was right about the elbow patches

J: I really tried to find one without them too

J: But he sounds nice. Funny. Lily likes him, she talks about him all the time. They were prefects together in school and used to bunk off and smoke behind the bins

One the one hand: prefect. Disgusting. Hall monitors. Pigs-to-be, snooty, law-abiding to the most irritating degree (Lily being the exception, of course). On the other hand: smoking behind the bins is more his style. Speaking of, he’d love one right now-

J: I really think you’d like him. Even just friends. Moving cities is lonely and he sounds alright. He likes Manchester U?

S: Fine, I’m free after 6

S: Don’t yell at me if I shag him, work has been shit.

So that’s how Sirius finds himself, half past six, swearing up a storm and running with his tote bag over his head in the pouring rain, late for his blind date (or something).

He slams into the restaurant door, shaking himself off like a wet dog, his casual Friday jeans and black t-shirt soaking wet, his shoulder length, black hair is dripping around his face, hoping his laptop has survived, and shivering like a chihuahua at a children’s party. 

“Uh, I’m here for uh-” he consults his phone again and reads the name to the maitre d, “Reh-mus?”

“It’s Remus, actually”, comes a soft voice from his left. 

Sirius turns quickly and immediately drenches the man standing at his elbow in droplets of water from his hair and coat. Tall Martin Freeman indeed - he has one of those faces that’s even better in person, where the way he stoops his shoulders and holds himself makes him look soft and welcoming, and the warm lighting gives him that attractive, cozy professor look, rather than an uptight old man.

“Oh”, Sirius grins quickly, hoping his dazzling smile will make up for their flimsy introduction, “Right, Sirius. Are you still waiting for a table-?”

“I er, well, I was about to leave actually”, Remus says, glancing at the maitre d awkwardly, “You’re quite late.”

Sirius’ smile freezes. Well, then. 

“Got caught up at work”, he replies stiffly, brushing his hair back and letting his eyes go cold, “If you’d prefer we don’t-”

“No, no, of course not”, Remus appears to snap back, as if remembering his manners and seeming oddly distracted, “Please, let’s sit. You look like you could use a drink.”

Sirius runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he follows Remus to the table and wonders if that was a slight about him looking like a drowned rat. He notices the man has worn an absolutely hideous brown jumper that wouldn’t be out of place in an aged care home, so he doesn’t really have the right to judge Sirius’ appearance. 

“Wine?” The waiter offers politely. It’s a nice place - James said Lily had picked it because she thought Remus would like it. It is a little stuffy, honestly. Something his parents might have stopped by and deemed adequate, which is to say, the beer is fucking overpriced, Jesus-

“I’ll have the Stout again, please”, Remus answers briskly, nodding at Sirius to order his.

“Uh, yeah, Stout. Cheers”, Sirius adds, dumping his bag beneath the table and trying to surreptitiously dry his hair in the napkin. Remus looks away as if embarrassed by him. Swot.

“So, you know Lily through school?” Sirius starts, unable to keep the boredom completely out of his voice. 

“Yes. I take it you know James through yours”, Remus answers, very politely but also sounding just as bored. 

“Yeah, grew up together”, Sirius nods. 

Remus doesn’t say anything to that, just hums and sips some water. 

It’s fucking awkward. Normally, Sirius would give him an ultimatum - ‘look, do you want to liven it up a bit and turn this into a fun one-night thing? Because otherwise, I’m not feeling it and I’ve got work to do.’

But Lily knows this guy, they have mutual friends, and if this isn’t what makes blind dates the most excruciating, hellish thing on earth, worse than job interviews, worse than-

“I don’t really do blind dates”, Remus says suddenly, and then blinks as if he hadn’t meant to say anything at all.

“Right”, Sirius says, bewildered. 

“I, er, the dating scene. Not really my thing”, he says quietly, still not looking Sirius in the eye, “But I just moved here from Wales and I don’t know anyone, so this doesn’t have to be… anything. Just-”

“Oh- oh yeah. Fine with me”, Sirius finds himself swallowing down a touch of regret, offended really, because he’s not used to someone not immediately being ready to come home with him. “I’m not really looking for anything and blind dates are, well - eugh, you know? Like, thanks, my friends think I can’t get laid on my own or something so they set me up with whoever they think isn’t a serial killer, like any gay dude will do-”

“Yes, well”, Remus says tightly, taking another sip, “I rather thought Lily knew me better than that.”

His tone is rather pointed and Sirius realises he’s let his mouth run. Well… to be fair, the guy is kind of a snob. What was Lily thinking anyway?

“Yeah”, he agrees through his teeth, crossing his arms and legs and sitting back in his chair to wait for his beer. Maybe he can make an excuse after one drink. He can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t have a sense of humour and if this bloke doesn’t want to be a one-night stand, then he’d much rather be home. Alone.

“Is there anything around here you’d recommend?” Remus tries, voice clipped and still sounding slightly offended, “Restaurants? More importantly, ones you don’t recommend?”

“There’s a place that does turkey curry. It’s awful.”

“What? What curry?” The tightness in Remus’ face slips momentarily and he looks genuinely bewildered. He’s actually not a bad looker when he’s not frowning. 

“Turkey. It’s as bad as it sounds. Actually it’s worse, like eating a lamb burrito, it’s just not right. Shittest fucking curry and it’s as bad going in as it is bad going ou-”

“Two Stouts.”

The waiter delivers their beers and they fade off into silence as they drink. 

Remus sips delicately, in a way that’s completely inappropriate for a beer, and says awkwardly, “Yes well, thank you for the tip. I’ll rest easy never knowing what turkey curry tastes like.”

“Yeah, I mean, if you can avoid it then I guess this date wasn’t a waste after all.”

Remus blinks, expression dropping. 

Oh. Oh fuck. Double fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom”, Remus says abruptly and stands. He stalks away quickly and leaves Sirius gnawing at his lip and furious at both himself and this infuriating man who seems to loathe him, minutes after meeting him and who Lily apparently thinks is nice. 

He’s got other shit to be getting on with, he decides. And this bloke probably shags like a limp fish anyway, an Oxford type that thinks poetry is foreplay and once a month sex is scandalously frequent.

He drains his beer and half of Remus’ for good measure, and heads to the bathroom so he can catch Remus on his way out, only to hear his own name hissed furiously. He sees Remus standing out the front of the restaurant, shoulders raised against the cold and holding the phone to his ear. He steps closer and half opens the door to tell him he’s going to head off when he hears the conversation.

“... how did you think someone like Sirius would be good for me? After the hell I’ve had in the last year? Going on a date with someone like him? He showed up thirty minutes late, dressed like he’s going to a bar playing exclusively Metallica, and insulted me immediately. I told you, I don’t mind being alone for a while, especially after the divorce. I certainly don’t want to be shown around London by a rude, arrogant berk who dresses like a teenager and doesn’t seem to have a filter between his brain and his mouth. He probably thinks the bar scene is-oh”

Remus catches sight of him out of the corner of his eye and he spins. They stare at each other for a few excruciation moments, Remus still holding the phone to his ear. 

Sirius breaks the tension with a forced laugh, “Right. I’m definitely going home.”

“Wait, shit, I’ll call you back”, Remus mutters into the phone and hangs up, stepping forward but Sirius pushes past him, temper steadily rising into a roaring bonfire within his chest.

“Sirius, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You’re absolutely right, I wouldn’t know the first thing about showing a bloke like you around London”, he turns and says loudly so it carries over the sounds of the cars driving by on the busy street, “You’d be more comfortable in a fucking graveyard, honestly. There’s one ten minutes that way-” he turns his back and points over to the left, calling back over his shoulder, “You’ll find someone much more your speed there, Remus.”

Blind date disastrous as expected. 

Remus fucking Lupin, a professor extraordinaire who wouldn’t be able to find his funny bone if it conked him on the fucking head, is not an exception to the blind date rule, even though he’s easy on the eyes at first glance. At second glance, he is a miserable, dried up academic whose own self-importance has completely consumed him despite dressing like his grandfather for Halloween. 

If this is what my friends think of me, I need to sort my fucking shit out. 

I should have asked him to shag before he opened his stupid fucking mouth. 

[cubedmango]

「安達が魔法使いにならなかった世界線の話」 + 「もしもの話」 — english translation

[hourcat]

I have been thirsting over mechanic pierre lately. Do you have any more of that universe coming up?

god bestie this is SO REAL. mechanic pierre...the hottest pierre ive ever written i fear ://

anyway, yes! i still have plenty of deleted scenes to write, don't you worry <33 ngl i have been procrastinating them a little, but to make up for that, here's a sneak peek of the next scene in chassisverse :)

“Charles!”

Charles flinches. He’d forgotten Carlos mentioned he was planning to attend tonight, and apparently it’d been too much to hope for that Charles would be able to bring Pierre to his workplace without running into him.

He doesn’t even turn around fully before Carlos is standing before the two of them, grin plastered wide across his face. He’d gone for the classic suit-and-tie look tonight, apparently—it must be his go-to, although Charles thinks it’s a rather boring choice considering their surroundings. “Carlos,” he greets, attempting to keep his voice from wavering as he shakes his colleague’s hand in greeting. “It’s good to see you.” A lie, of course: one that makes Pierre stiffen ever-so-slightly beside him. “I don’t know if I’ve introduced you to my boyfriend—Carlos, this is Pierre.”

Pierre sneaks an arm around Charles’ waist before he shakes the Spaniard’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. It’s an impressive acting job, for sure: his fingers are digging into the fabric of Charles’ suit jacket, the heat of his palm burning a brand into his side. “I’ve heard much about you.”

Carlos doesn’t have a clue. “All good, I hope,” he laughs, shaking Pierre’s hand once more before releasing it. “Your boyfriend here is quite the teacher, I’ll be the first to say.”

Charles opens his mouth to deflect politely—we’ve had a lucky class this semester or I’m learning from all the best in the department—but Pierre seemingly has decided to cut in. “You wouldn’t be the first,” he answers, not quite sharp but bordering on arguing-with-a-car-guy-customer in tone. “I’ve seen how much his students love him firsthand.”

Carlos looks…a little startled at the bluntness, although he continues to barrel through the conversation with ignorance. “It’s been great working with him this year for sure. Some of the office hours stints we’ve pulled have been for the history books, eh, Charles?” He elbows Charles’ shoulder amusedly, and Charles can hear the gears in Pierre’s head turning, processing. They really haven’t done anything worth a historical mention together, certainly not in either of their offices, but Charles can’t just refute him. It would be rude.

“It’s been a wild semester so far,” he offers instead, turning towards Pierre. “I’ve told you about some of them, P—”

“Yes,” he says shortly, the grip on Charles’ waist getting tighter. “Charles was going to show me around his office, so I am sure I will hear more about your shenanigans there.” Pierre’s smile is tight, strained. “It was good to meet you, Carlos, but there is much art to look at and so little time.” Charles doesn’t even have a second to say any kind of goodbye before the Frenchman is now in control, leading them back to the now-open doors of the studio space, grip now vice-like at Charles’ waist.

It's…well, it’s hot.

[softservesoymilk]

Rocky road, cotton candy, and sweet cream~ 🍬🍭🍰🥰

[throughtrialbyfire]

also my to-read list is a mile long but i AM getting to it!! life is just very busy 💞 ily guys, thank u for all of the support on the things ive posted here, it truly means the world to me I Cannot Emphasize That Enough, and i am giving all of u warm tea/coffee and Wip Motivation Vibes rn

[hamilando]

ੈ✩‧ war time leclerc (smau) ੈ✩‧

pairing : charles leclerc x fem reader

summary : snippets of the priavte relationship of Lord Perceval

a/n : LEO’S DAD - anyways enjoy ! also feel free to drop in a request or a qestion !

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by ynbff, lordperceval, jrchilli, and 89 others

y/n.jpg Mornings when mr. Leclerc is sleeping 💪🏻

view comments

lando.jpg YOU COPIED MY USERNAME

y/n.jpg SO DID DANIEL daniel.jpg SO DID LANDO y/n.jpg mate… lando.jpg mate ….

pierreneedsgas which book are you reading ?

y/n.jpg 69 ways to steal kika 🪽 frankika baby i am already yours ~🫶🏻 pierreneedsgas babe, you coffee is ready ☕️

mercedesgeorge who clicked the first pic if charles is sleeping 👀

y/n.jpg my side chick

lordperceval MON AMOUR ❤️

lordperceval L’ AMOUR DE MA VIE 💙

lordperceval ELLE EST JOLIE 🩷

lordperceval ELLE EST A MOI 💛

albono pls calm him @ y/n.jpg

lilyhye let him do the bf spam ! ITS CUTE ! y/n.jpg @ albono start taking some tips

liked by ynbff, lordperceval, jrchilli, and 72 others

y/n.jpg first pic is solely for scientific purpose, second pic is couple goals and third pic is for communtiy goals

view comments

lordperceval SHE SLIPPED IN THE SECOND PIC 🪽🪽

y/n.jpg this means war you little monagasque

lordperceval i certainly am not little from any side my love ❤️

lando.jpg should we just let them be -

daniel.jpg yes 🙌🏻 maximillian yes 🙌🏻 frankika yes 🙌🏻 pierreneedsgas yes 🙌🏻 albono yes 🙌🏻 lilyhye yes 🙌🏻 mercedesgeorge yes 🙌🏻

y/n.jpg can yall comment normally for once

daniel.jpg couple goals 🙌🏻

maximillian tons of love 🤍

pierreneedsgas GORG!!!

albono MAN IS 🔥

mercedesgeorge 🔥🔥

frankika Skinacre tips charles !!

lilyhye OMG GOALS 💛

jrchilli best partner.

y/n.jpg way better 😀

liked by ynbff, lordperceval, lando.jpg and 76 others

y/n.jpg BBQ night sixth wheeling 🐒

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maximilian how is six wheeling possible !?

mercedesgeorge even i am wondering maximilian werent you present there !? y/n.jpg carmen and george 🙈 and two dudes fighting for carlos

jrchilli me!?

lando.jpg yes 🫷🏻 lordperceval yes 🫷🏻

y/n.jpg also @ lord perceval you are sleeping on the couch, the war is still on

pierreneedsgas taking out the car 🚗

frankika preparing the knife 🗡️

albono buying bullets 🔫

lilyhye buying gun 🔫

mercedesgeorge buying cleaning detergent 🧴

oscar buying cleaning cloth 🧽

maximilian buying garbage bag 🪣

lordperceval what’s all this shopping ?

hamsandwich for your death and burial

y/n.jpg MR HAMILTON YOU USE INSTAGRAM ?

[morteisshipping]

Haven't titled this yet (if anyone has a good idea, pls let me know)

Hi. This is the S-Class Spy X Family AU idea that has been brewing in my head being turned into a something of a first chapter. Not a whole chapter ofc, I'm still confused whether I should use Yerim or Gyeol as their child (them being Hyunjae and Yoojin ofc).

So anyways, enjoy this snippet of the first chapter. I want to know if it's good before I post them to AO3.

Enjoy!

It’s been a bad day for Han Yoojin.

First, last night, his “clients” didn’t want to stay dead so Yoojin needs to make sure they did. Unfortunately, that makes the crime scene too bloody that Yoojin needs to spent some extra time to be meticulous on his “cleaning”. After all, cleaning up blood splatters on carpets and ceiling is a full-on laborious job. Because of that, Yoojin had to come home at early hours in the morning and only gotten three hours of sleep before he had to get up and get to his “real” job.

Second, his alarm’s battery was dead so he got up late. He works in the City Hall as an admin staff and he wasn’t supposed to be late, but luckily, his supervisor, Song Taewon, just sighed and let it go on the grounds that Yoojin had only been late this once. Third, his coworkers kept messing up their works and piled them on Yoojin.

And the final straw on the camel’s back, just before he can clock out, his boss, Woo Dongwon, asked Yoojin specifically to send a package to Foreign Ministry’s secretary, Suk Shimyoung—who is also working for his younger brother, Han Yoohyun.

“But sir,” Yoojin grits out desperately. “My brother and I don’t get along. Please get somebody else to do it.”

Woo Dongwon sighs, “I would if there’s anyone else to do it, Han Yoojin-ssi. As you can see, everyone else has already clocked out.” He says. “Besides, you don’t have to directly give it to your brother. Just give it to his secretary—what’s his name, Suk Shimyoung?”

“But Song Taewon-ssi is still here,” Yoojin points out. “And I don’t want to get involved Suk Shimyoung—he can be a real asshole if he wants to be.”

“I will need Song Taewon to run a different errand later,” Woo Dongwon says. “Anyways, you can just clock out now, deliver the package on your way home, and then went home afterwards. Just leave the package to the receptionist or something if you don’t want to see anyone. Besides, even though you and your brother don’t get along, surely, he wouldn’t be so unprofessional as to not accepting an important package from the City Hall.”

You don’t know him like I do, Han Yoojin thought bitterly as Woo Dongwon dismisses him. Yoojin stares at the innocent brown package that had been shoved into his arms by his boos. There is really no way out of this, isn’t it? After everything that had happened today, he is not sure he has the energy to explain to Kim Sunghan and Suk Shimyoung again that he is not here to see Han Yoohyun.

But then again, if they refuse to accept the package, Yoojin could’ve thrown them into their gate and run before they can accuse him of being a terrorist or something. It’s not his fault if the Foreign Ministry refuses an important package from the City Hall.

The way to the Foreign Ministry was uneventful, but it filled Yoojin with anxiety nonetheless.

Yoojin stares at the window on his way to the ministry on the cable car. He knew this road by heart. When Han Yoohyun had insisted he moved out of their childhood home three years ago, he drafted himself into the military against Yoojin’s wishes, and then he was recruited into the Foreign Ministry.

Yoojin supposed, he should be glad that his brother had become independent and found a good job that pays well. But the fact remains that they both had fallen out when Yoohyun drafted himself into the military against his wishes.

Han Yoohyun spent six months in the military without a single letter coming Yoojin’s way. If Yoojin hadn’t been friends with Yoo Myeongwoo—a talented informant and inventor—he wouldn’t have known that Yoohyun had finished his military obligation and was recruited into the Foreign Ministry.

Han Yoojin used to walk through this road, going to the Foreign Ministry building, day after day, week after week, month after month, just trying to meet with Yoohyun. And day after day, week after week, month after month, he was rejected.

Han Yoohyun doesn’t want to see him. He doesn’t even have the gall to say it to his face but always had Suk Shimyoung or Kim Sunghan deliver the message to him. But Yoojin was nothing if not persistent.

Day after day, week after week, month after month—he keeps coming and he keeps getting kicked out. Until finally Suk Shimyoung and Kim Sunghan got tired of him and let him in, just for the sake of not having Yoojin keep coming back like a persistent blight in their eyes.

“You’re in the way, hyung,” Han Yoohyun had said when Yoojin finally got permission to meet him to ask for explanation. “You should know your place and just stay at home.”

Han Yoojin understood. That’s why they both had went their separate ways. He hadn’t thrown a tantrum. He hadn’t gotten angry. He hadn’t cried. All he felt that day was just a bone-crushing exhaustion.

“I understand,” Han Yoojin had said that day. “Then let’s annul our family register, Yoohyun-ah.”

He had hoped—a teeny-tiny spark of damned hope—that Han Yoohyun would take it all back, to beg Yoojin to stay with him, to let them both stay a family. After all, after the early death of their parents, they were all what they have of each other. They had been brothers like no other.

But that didn’t happen.

Yoojin had raised Yoohyun like his own son. Yoojin dropped out of the school to work to support Yoohyun’s studies. Yoojin took up the mantle as both mother and father. Yoojin had recruited himself into an underground group of assassins, risking his life every night, just to make sure Yoohyun has everything he needed—all of it was for Yoohyun.

And what did he get in return? Yoohyun willingly abandoned him.

As per his request, Yoohyun wordlessly annulled their family register, separating them both as two separate entities and no longer one family. He made a copy for each of them and wordlessly handed Yoojin his own separate family register. Yoojin had stared at the lone name on the Han family register—his own name—and wordlessly left.

If Han Yoohyun had cried after his departure, Yoojin hadn’t hear it.

After that, Han Yoojin had sold their childhood home. Using that money, he rented a dingy apartment in the centre of the city, near the City Hall where he works, and invited Yoo Myeongwoo to stay with him to split the bill (and maybe to make sure he’s not alone in a large space—it would’ve driven him crazy).

That had been two years since then. Life has treated him fine. It was lonely without his brother, but with Yoo Myeongwoo and his night job, Yoojin kept busy. He hasn’t had much time to dwell on the silence of his apartment. Besides, Yoo Myeongwoo is a good friend. When Yoojin came home all bloody and injured from a particularly bad “client”, Yoojin had no choice but to reveal his true “job” to Myeongwoo.

Yoo Myeongwoo is not only accepting—he’s also very accommodating. Ever since he knew of Yoojin’s secret job, Myeongwoo had been inventing new gadgets, new tools, brewing new batches of poisons, and repairing his weapons—all for free—to help Yoojin on his night job. Yoojin is forever grateful that he has a friend like Yoo Myeongwoo, who not only help him, but also keep his sanity at bay.

Yoojin has never have any reason to come back to the Foreign Ministry again.

At least until now.

Yoojin’s reveries is broken when the cable car slows to a stop. From where he sits, Yoojin can already see the top roof of the Foreign Ministry building peeking out from the windows directly opposite him. His view is soon obstructed by some crowds getting up from their seats to get off.

Yoojin sighs and stretches—trying to stall. But if he stalls longer than this, the cable car might run again and he had to take the longer route and he’ll be home late again. All he wants to do now is go home and have dinner with Myeongwoo, so…

“Let’s get this over with.”

-

Yoojin hasn’t even stepped foot at the front of the gate of the Foreign Ministry building when his dark eyes meet with Kim Sunghan’s. They both make a face when they recognize each other from afar.

“Han Yoojin-ssi,” Kim Sunghan greets—not amicably, mind you. His face is still folded in the mix of disgust, dismay, and exasperation.

“Kim Sunghan-ssi,” Yoojin returns the greetings back to the guard—his face a mixed of dismay and irritation as it wordlessly screams ‘I don’t want to be here’. He’s been hoping that it won’t be Sunghan’s guarding shift when he arrived, but it seems he’s just hoping for too much.

“Long time no see,” Kim Sunghan says dryly—making sure that Han Yoojin knows that he is not missed during the long while that he didn’t visit the Foreign Ministry. “What is it that you want this time?” He asks warily. “Your brother is out on an errand and won’t be back until nightfall.”

Hearing that, Yoojin lets out a relieved sigh. At least, if Yoohyun is out for an errand until nightfall, there is no chance of Yoojin running into him. Honestly, Yoojin doesn’t know what he’ll say or do if he were to run into Yoohyun at this time. He is not sure he could keep it together then.

Yoojin clears his throat, making sure that his disdain also shows. “It’s a business visit this time,” he says.

Kim Sunghan raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Oh?”

Yoojin pulls out the brown package from his bag. “My boss wanted me to drop this off here,” he says as he walks closer to give the package to Sunghan. “Don’t ask what it is or why I’m the one being sent—I have no idea.”

Kim Sunghan received the package with a hum as he carefully inspects it. He might be Yoojin’s source of irritation, since he’s the one who usually booted him out of the building, but he is also a competent guard for Foreign Ministry. “Does he say who it’s addressed to?”

Yoojin shrugs. “No. He just says generally that it’s addressed for Suk Shimyoung or Yoohyun-ah. But he also says I can just leave it at the receptionist so it mustn’t have been too important.”

“I see,” Sunghan hums as he keeps his eyes on the brown package. “Well, thank you for dropping this off. I’ll send a word to Suk Shimyoung when he arrives—”

He is cut off by the arrival of a black government car. They both froze when the car pulls over at the front of the gate. It’s like a slow-motion video for Yoojin. All car doors open simultaneously and everyone comes out at the same time. The two people that Yoojin recognize reveal themselves. Suk Shimyoung—who frowns in disdain seeing Yoojin’s presence—and Han Yoohyun.

The boy whom Yoojin had raised looks up at him—his face betraying nothing but dismay at his presence.

What are the chances? Yoojin trembles. What are the chances that Han Yoohyun finishing his errand early and arrives exactly at the same time that Yoojin dropped by to leave a package that has nothing to do with them both?

“Hyung,” Yoojin gulps at the familiar calling. “What are you doing here?”

Yoojin opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Suk Shimyoung sighs and Yoojin reflexively flinches. “I thought you made it clear that you both are no longer family, Han Yoojin-ssi? Why is it that you have to burden your brother with your presence all over again?” Suk Shimyoung says with no small amount of disdain on his face, like usual. “I thought we have clearly established this boundary that you are not to visit the Foreign Ministry again.”

It’s not that, Yoojin wants to explain; he is just here to run an errand, it has nothing to do with both of them. Yoojin opens and closes his mouth like a fish but the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat.

“Hyung,” Yoohyun calls and Yoojin fights his own instinct to prevent himself to do something stupid, like hugging him or crying openly in public. “I thought I told you not to come here again.”

Their dark eyes met. Han Yoohyun’s cold eyes stared down at him. Yoojin’s breath caught in his throat and he feels like he couldn’t breathe. They hadn’t met in two years that Yoojin had forgotten what it was like to be hated by someone whom he’s loved so deeply.

“You’re not wanted here.” Han Yoohyun’s last words is the last straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Han Yoojin turns and runs. He doesn’t know to where—all he knows is that he needs to go away. Far away from there. Anywhere but there.

He keeps running until his lungs demand oxygen again and at that point Han Yoojin can’t help but inhale with a sob. He doesn’t know what his face look like—he just knows that he is a mess. Tears already running down his face as he sobs openly, running to who knows where. He turns into a corner and into the open road—he hopes that a cable car would run into him.

Instead, his tearful eyes meet a pool of gold.

-

“It’s been three weeks!”

“And I’ll have them by the end of this week. Be patient.”

“You can’t just say ‘be patient’! Do you think the higher ups will be happy with this?!”

Sung Hyeonje pulls the handheld phone away from his ears as Evelyn yells through the gadget. “I don’t know what else you want me to say, Evelyn. You know I can’t just pick up any strangers from the streets to be the mother of my child—”

“Well, at least you can pretend to look for candidates!” Evelyn nags. “At this point, the higher ups are questioning your loyalty to the cause!”

“If it’s too much for you, you can direct them to me,” Hyeonje sighs. “Like I said, if they want this to work well, I can’t just pick up any stragglers from the streets—” He cuts off as someone bumps him from the corner of a building. The other person who bumps into him loses their balance and gasps in surprise as they started to fall. Out of reflex, Hyeonje puts an arm out to rebalance the person back to their feet.

Hyeonje blinks. Where did this person come from? He hadn’t sense him at all. The fact that someone is able to bump into him is amazing in itself. He has an amazing sense of presence—he should’ve been able to pick up their presence before this person can bump into him.

The shorter person with dark hair whom he had caught looks up with an apologetic look. His breath is ragged, his face and neck flushes with rosy hue, his youthful face wet with tears running down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, trying to pull away and rubbing at his face in an attempt to gather himself together. It was obvious he has just cried. “I was in a hurry.”

The man has a soft figure, rounded face, soft jawline, wide black eyes (like a doe), rosy cheeks (probably due to his crying earlier), pink supple lips, and a slender body. All in all, the man in his arms is definitely alluring enough even without the traces of tears on his face that makes him looks especially vulnerable that it makes Hyeonje wants to do nothing but devour him.

However, Hyeonje can’t be fooled. Though his overall figure is slender and soft, the skin underneath his jacket hides firm muscles; the hand he holds has calluses—specifically from knives—more specifically, from daggers. The way people hold kitchen knives and daggers are different, after all. This person in his arms is an assassin in disguise.

Hyeonje smiles. He has found his spouse.

“Not at all, it was my fault,” he says lightly. Evelyn is still shouting in his phone, but Hyeonje ignores her and clicks his phone off before putting them away in his pocket and instead pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully, he offered the handkerchief to the shorter man before him.

“Are you okay?” He asked instead. “Let me help you.”

The shorter man blinks before stepping back and shaking his head to gather himself together. “No, no, really. It’s really nothing you should worry yourself with—” He hurriedly rubbed his red-rimmed eyes with his cuff-sleeve before Hyeonje cuts him off by taking one of his hands and puts his handkerchief in them.

“Please,” he says with as much charm as he can, caressing the calluses on his finger. The hand of an assassin. “I insist.”

The shorter man sniffles and looks away as he timidly accepts his handkerchief and uses them to pat his red face and eyes dry.  

Hyeonje’s smile sharpens dangerously. There is no doubt about it now. This man in front of him right now is secretly an assassin. He remembers what Evelyn had said to him during briefing the last time they met to talk about Operation Strix:

“Listen to me, Hyeonje,” Evelyn had said. “There is a group of underground assassins that operates in Ostania called The Immorals.”

Hyeonje’s amused smile hadn’t fade, “What a cliché name.”

“It is an unofficial paramilitary organization and its purpose is to purge all the traitors of the country under orders from shadow government.” Evelyn had said to him. “Be careful, Hyeonje. They are known to be powerful. There are numerous assassins working under the Immorals, but they usually work alone. There are rumours that one of their soldiers can wipe out an entire troop of military.”

“I only believe what my eyes has seen,” Hyeonje said with a carefree smile. “But thank you, Evelyn. I’ll keep that in mind.” Evelyn just rolled her eyes.

After that, Evelyn had given him some information that she could gather about the assassins under The Immorals. To his dismay, the group is so tightly controlled that Evelyn couldn’t get any mugshots—only codenames, their status, their modus operandi, and their specialty weapons. However, that is already plenty for Hyeonje.

According to the list Evelyn had given him, there are only a few of the assassins under The Immorals are still currently active nowadays.

“Let me take you to dinner, at least.” Hyeonje says, taking the man’s hand that is still clutching his handkerchief and lifting it to his lips. The only active assassin in Ostania who is known to only wield knives as their favourite weapon would be only one person:

“Dear Honey.”

As Hyeonje enunciates that infamous codename, he watches as the man’s expression turns from embarrassment to horrified understanding. The man’s red face quickly pales in fear and Hyeonje can feel his breath sharpens and his body trembles.

The infamous assassin, Honey; no one in the underworld who doesn’t tremble upon the name. Honey is infamous in the underworld as a professional assassin who takes care of corrupt politicians and any illegal trafficking. He is famous for his favourite weapon—poison-laced daggers. The name maybe sweet, but it was in total 180 degrees with his choice of weapon. Despite his job, Honey is very efficient and effective in cleaning up bodies—he never leaves a speck of blood on the crime scene. It was as if it never happens.

This is the kind of person Sung Hyeonje wants. Someone competent and experienced. Able to protect himself and support him if needed. But also…

“What do you want?” the smaller man finally grits out after a pregnant pause.

Hyeonje hums slowly, deliberately messing with him, “Nothing much.” He says. “Just your small cooperation.” This man has a family.

According to the documents he’d been reading, Honey first enters the shady assassin business when he was as young as 13 years old—and he did it to raise and support his only family. His brother. Sung Hyeonje doesn’t know who his brother is yet—if Honey can give him his own name, he can look it up later. It’ll be easier to manipulate him if Hyeonje has a leverage against him.

Plus, if he has experience in raising someone, surely, he’d be a useful resource to help him raise his own family later.

Hyeonje watches as his adam’s apple bobs in nervousness and the way his expression turns from fear to a cautious apprehension. “And if I say no?” He asks with no small amount of trepidation.

Hyeonje’s smile sharpens. “Then I will have no choice but to find you myself,” he says. “But I make no promises that you will be intact when I do find you in different circumstances.”

The man grits his teeth. His hand in Hyeonje’s tightens. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning,” Hyeonje says, smile still in place. “Unless you give me what I ask.”

“And what is that?”

“A name,” Hyeonje answers easily. “And dinner.”

The man frowns sharply at him—obviously considering his options. “You know, I could always rat you off myself,” he says. “If I give you what you want, what’s in it for me?”

“Well, first off, you get to keep your life,” Hyeonje says, leaning further into the man’s personal space. They are so close now that Hyeonje can smell the man’s shampoo as he teases the shell of his ear with his breath. “But if you want more incentive, I can always spare your family’s.”

The man bares his teeth—in contrast to his soft features. “Do not touch my family.”

“I won’t,” Hyeonje says. “If you would give me your name and promise me dinner.”

The man stares at him with hatred—Hyeonje bets he wishes he has his knives right now. But even if he had, this man is no match with him. And Hyeonje knew this smaller man had considered it an option before knowing that it doesn’t worth the fight.

Knowing the man needs to push than that, Hyeonje slowly releases his hand and, with deliberate slowness as to not spook him, he unclasps the WISE brooch from the lapel of his red coat. Still with deliberate slowness, he pulls a handkerchief from his inner pocket of his coat and neatly folded the brooch before giving it towards the smaller man.

With confusion, the man accepts it, knowing he had no choice. Hyeonje smiles at the confusion in the man’s dark eyes. “Consider this a token of trust,” he says. “I will be waiting for you at Royal Hotel restaurant tonight 7 P.M. sharp.” Then as fast as lightning, he takes the man’s waist and whispers at his ears, “If you fail to show up, I’ll come find you myself. I’ll give you a day head start.”

It’s as good as a threat as it is a warning. Hyeonje felt the man shudder in his arms but the man grins, welcoming it with challenge in his eyes. “You’re welcome to try,” he grits out between his teeth, clutching his brooch in his hand.

With that, Hyeonje steps back and takes his unoccupied hand to his lips. “Then I will see you again tonight, dear…?”

The man clearly considering his options, whether or not to give out his name, but finally with a click of his tongue and an expression of annoyance, he says, “Yoojin.”

Hyeonje smiles, more friendly. “Then, my dear Yoojin, I will see you tonight.” He says before giving another kiss to his knuckles.

It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t give him his family name. A personal name and a short background history check is all he needed to know.

[]

That's all for now. If you're curious about this, you can check me out later in AO3, my username is morte_is_writing and I wrote other fandoms other than S-Classes too.

Thanks for reading and if you have ideas on title, plot, settings, or anything, drop them in the notes. Thank you so much!

me to my followers:

[astarionfreak]

#13 Astarion being a needy sub x f!reader pls 😅

Status: I haven't forgotten about anyone's asks, I'm just working very slow! 🦥

Anyway, here's a #13! Enjoy!

13. "Please, please let me come."

Snippet for the smut ask game. | Previous answers here.

You grip the top of the headstone to steady yourself as you desperately rut against Astarion's face. His tongue moves in ways that makes you think even now, without the tadpole connection, that he can still read your mind.

You understand the truth though. There's no mind reading. He just knows you, he knows your body -- maybe even better than you do. He is able to anticipate your every move, bringing you to climax with precision.

Even over this grave -- which, to be clear -- is not his grave. You're actually not sure who's grave you're fucking on top of. You don't care. You were here. Astarion had been teasing you all day. You're both naked now.

You stifle a moan that threatens to wake the very dead you're disrespecting. Pleasure pulses in your core, a heat in your low belly continues to build. You're so fucking close.

And Astarion knows it. His fingers knead into the meat of your ass. He squeezes and spreads your cheeks as his tongue flicks expertly at that little bundle of nerves between your legs.

You grip the headstone with one hand and run your fingers through his hair with the other. When he's like this, focused only on your pleasure, he doesn't notice that you're messing up his curls. He doesn't care.

You roll your hips, grinding down against his face. "You're just so fucking perfect, aren't you?"

He moans in agreement, still completely focused on you. Only you. Gods. You love the bastard.

You raise your hips, lifting off his face and he whines softly. His pupils are blown wide with lust as he stares up at you, almost pleading with you to sit back down.

"You were close. Why stop? Was it something I did?" he asks, breathless.

"No, your mouth is wonderful. But I want more." You glance over your shoulder at his cock. Hard and already leaking pre-cum.

"Gods, yes, please," Astarion whimpers.

You consider turning around, licking a long strip up his length and then taking him into your mouth -- but you don't. Instead, you move slowly, carefully, and scoot down. You press your cunt against his length, spreading your slick all over him.

"I want you to come inside me," you whisper, slowly dragging your cunt along his length. "I do have one rule though."

Astarion bucks his hips up and whines. His hands find your hips and his fingers dig into your flesh. "Anything."

"You have to beg me," you say.

He grips your hips a little tighter. "Please let me fuck you."

"You can do better than that," you whisper.

Astarion pouts, head falling back against the dirt with a moan as you grind along his length. "Please, please, ride me. Gods. I want you. I need you. Please."

"Good boy," you tease. "I think you've earned a reward."

He licks his lips and nods.

You move carefully, shifting to position his cock at your entrance and then you oh, so, slowly sink down onto him. A delicious stretch. Familiar.

How did you get so lucky?

You swallow back a moan, fingernails dragging lightly across his firm chest as you ride him. His hips rise to meet yours, matching your rhythm thrust for thrust. And you're close again -- right at the edge. But you still need to hear him beg.

So you bend down and press your breasts against his bare chest. He meets your eyes with nothing but pure need.

"Beg," you whisper, still moving your hips.

"Gods, love -- fuck," he whimpers.

He's close. When you ride him like this, it ruins him. He's all yours. And he knows it. "Tell me how good I feel. Beg me to let you come."

"Darling, fuck." His eyes flutter shut and he moans softly. He won't last long now.

You grab his chin and keep the pace with your hips. "Beg."

He meets your eyes. Lips softly parted as he gasps for air. Finally, he manages to say, "You feel amazing. Please, please let me come."

"Good boy. Come for me. Fill me, Astarion," you say.

He comes with a moan, spilling himself deep inside you. You're not far behind. Your own orgasm leaves you breathless, lying limp on his chest.

You stay there for a while, just enjoying each other's company. Eventually you'll move, you'll clean up, get dressed, and go home. Then you'll do it all over again.

[meowzfordayz]

"fake" date — mitsuri, kyojuro, sanemi, giyuu

Author’s Note: initially planned to write a Giyuu x Reader one shot for this trope, but enough ppl voted for Hashira preferences that my plans changed. 😉 Pls and ty enjoy ~shorter snippets for Mitsuri, Kyojuro, and Sanemi + something a lil more fleshed out for Giyuu. 🤗 Varying degrees of angst ahead!

“fake” date — mitsuri, kyojuro, sanemi, giyuu

Kanroji Mitsuri x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~1,900

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content

~faqs~

“You look amazing!” Mitsuri gushes, eyes wide with their usual shimmer.

You step sheepishly through your bedroom doorway into the hall where she waits, stare fixed firmly on your sock clad feet.

“Aren’t you going to be cold though?” her voice dips with concern, “I’m sure they’d understand if you wore thicker socks. They’ll be covered by your shoes anyway.”

“I mean,” you shrug, finally glancing up at the warmth in her face that you’ve felt since the day you met, “The ceremony and reception are inside. I can survive in these from the Uber to the entrance.”

Grinning teasingly, she strides over to you, tugging on your overcoat with familiar care, “I don’t know, someone’s feet are always freezing when we watch movies together.”

“And someone else is a blanket hog,” you huff, mesmerized by the delicate imprint of her fingertips — that you know are just as capable of grabbing and tossing you over her shoulder.

Well I like when you snuggle closer to me she almost declares, cheeks reddening as she ducks her head aside, feigning an itchy nose.

“You’re sure it’s okay for me to come?”

The quiver of fear restricting her words coaxes you in, hand mindlessly grabbing hers as you nod reassuringly.

“Of course! They gave me a plus one. I guarantee I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I showed up alone.”

“So I’m doing you a favor?”

Her question tremors with the faintest of insincerity. You ignore it. It’s understandable, after all. Weddings are cumbersome and awkward and often far too fanciful.

“Absolutely, Mitsuri! I owe you one. And you look beautiful too!”

You’re still holding her hand, clammy and comforting as ever.

—

Her heart aches as she watches you stand in line, tiny buffet plate balanced lazily on your palm, overhead lights bathing you in a soft, unbearable glow.

And you look beautiful too!

She licks her lips, wishing she could ask you to dance.

I owe you one.

Wishing she could ask you to dance, and that you would finally realize what she was really promising.

“So… you’re asking me to go to your family’s Thanksgiving as your date, but not actually your date?”

Kyojuro hopes he doesn’t sound too disappointed, well acquainted with masking his simmering feelings beneath an exterior of exuberance and forwardness.

“Mhm,” you nod, resisting the urge to bite down on your tongue.

You’d love if not-actually-your-date was actually-your-date, but you’d hate even more to ruin your years of ease and friendship.

“But they know we’re friends?”

His head cocks with faux confusion, and you nearly coo at his cuteness. To you, his confusion isn’t pretend — you yourself aren’t entirely sure how you’re going to convince your nosy family members.

“Friends can get close,” you wink playfully, nudging his bicep as if to prove your point.

“How close are we talking?” Kyojuro quips, nudging you back harder.

He relishes in getting to steady you, warm hands wrapping large and protective around your shoulders, righting you before you keel too far off balance.

“Are you going to help your friend out or what?” you scowl jokingly, dramatically brushing your shoulders, knowing you’re going to feel the heat and strength of his touch for hours.

“Of course I’m going to help you! I just-”

His eyes widen involuntarily, and you notice that they stir a peaceful longing in you more deeply than any sunset ever has.

“You just?” you prod, pulse quickening at the prospect of something else.

What else, you have no idea. But sunlight slips through the crack nonetheless.

“Nothing,” Kyojuro grunts, “I forgot!”

You exhale slowly, emotions unfurling as you return to your soft, sunsetless reality.

“Alrighty then.”

“We’re not gonna fool anyone into thinking we’re dating,” Sanemi grimaces, brow furrowed as you take in his reaction.

“And why not?” you retort, arms crossed as you glare back, “The only person who knows you better than me is Genya. Maybe.”

And nobody knows me better than you.

Eyes darting from your lips to your glare, he sighs, jaw tight as he mutters, “Because we’ve never even kissed. What kind of couple, what kind of chemistry, would we have?”

You’re grateful he rambles on, because you almost quip So let’s kiss dumbass.

“Terrible chemistry,” he answers himself, “We would have terrible chemistry. If you really need a date to that holiday party, then you should ask Obanai.”

“OBANAI?!” you screech, too fixated on his horrible plan B to notice his pre emptive wince, a beat before you’d actually processed his suggestion, “You mean a man who’s already in a relationship?!!!”

“Yeah,” Sanemi deadpans, “Low risk.”

He hopes you can’t see how deeply his foot is inserted into his mouth.

“What the hell does that mean?” you hiss, “I sure as fuck haven’t kissed him!”

“Mitsuri would probably be amendable.”

He hopes you can’t hear him choking on his foot, gasping for air.

“To me kissing her boyfriend?!”

Ah shit.

“I’ll do it!”

That shuts you up. You blink, mind blank as you stare at him staring at you staring at him. His hair looks nicer than usual, fluffy with a light scent of dampness as though he’d showered prior to coming over. And his gaze, so strikingly mellow — drenched in lavender and longing. No you correct yourself, the longing is in your own unwavering expression, reflected in the glassiness of his pupils, mirroring the tension in your shoulders.

“Do what?” you murmur Kiss me?

And he nearly does, feet planted firmly on the worn tile of your kitchen, chest heaving as the weight of your question clings to his lungs. He nearly does. Nearly kisses your sarcastic tongue, the hazy drop of your eyelids, the way your body seems to lean toward him as he teeters toward you. Nearly.

“I’ll be your stupid date,” he mumbles.

“You are stupid,” you smile weakly, abruptly shifting your attention to your now lukewarm mug of tea Takes one to know one.

“I don’t understand,” Giyuu says, spine stiffening as he sits on your couch, “You want us to… fake, date?”

Of all the favors you could ask him for, why did it have to be a fake date? He would happily give you a real date, thank you very much.

“Not like! More than once! Just once! For my family reunion! They’re awful and boring and everyone older than like, fifty, asks me if I’m seeing anyone. My answer is always no and their response is always harassment and I…” you trail off, suddenly conscious of your rambling, cheeks hot as you mumble, “I care about my family and I want to attend, but I don’t want to be alone.”

I don’t want to be lonely.

“Have you ever thought that you could be the problem?”

You gape at your best friend, well accustomed to his poorly worded concern, but flabbergasted by his lack of tact regardless.

“GIYUU!”

He winces at your exclamation, quickly backtracking when he notices just how shiny your eyes are getting.

“I’m sorry, I know, that’s not what I meant,” he swallows thickly, fingers in knots in his lap as his mouth twists, “Will we need a backstory? A photo album of our entanglement thus far? Or will it be our first date?”

“Well,” you chew on your bottom lip, struck by his thoughtfulness, clammy at the realization that you wouldn’t need to create a fake photo album because your camera roll is mostly you and him anyway, “Most people don’t take their partner to a family reunion as their first date.”

“Unless they don’t like them and are trying to scare them away,’ Giyuu deadpans, wry glint in his gaze.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just not date them?” you drawl, apprehension subsiding as amusement bubbles.

“Are you trying to scare me away?” he quips, legs crossing and then uncrossing as his posture slowly relaxes, “Because I’ll play the part,” gut roiling even as his heart urges him forward, “In the name of our friendship, I shall gladly date you,” releasing the tip of his tongue from the clench of his teeth, “Just once.”

You cheer exaggeratedly, hands clapping together loudly, foot bumping against his thigh from your end of the couch. He doesn’t seem to register your touch, distracted by your palpable relief, the disappearance of the stress crinkles at your temples, drowning in the sensation of What have I done?

—

If there’s one thing he’s grateful for, it’s the fact that you invited him to an arguably lackadaisical event. Not because Giyuu loathes wearing a suit and tie, but because he’d likely lose the ability to articulate himself reasonably were you to be dressed up. He’s seen you in nice attire, sure, but never as your fake date; never under circumstances so close to the sun — positively burning in its radiance.

“Your parents,” he stops mid stride, front door to your aunt’s house looming despite its normal dimensions, “Won’t they-”

“They know, they know,” you interrupt, practically shushing him, pushing your impending panic to the bottom of your stomach as you nudge him along, “They won’t tell on us.”

Tell on us the wording sits sour in his mouth, eager to lessen your burden and lonesome, yet resentful of its restrictions and underlying truth of the matter.

“Hey,” he murmurs, puffing out a wisp of hesitation before swiveling to face you, “You’re going to be fine, I won’t let you down.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, the gesture more intimate than he intended, your heartbeat bumbling frantic and stunned in your throat.

“O-okay,” you manage to croak, rooted in place until he carefully tugs you back into action  I know that.

Or maybe he meant to steal your breath away?

—

Giyuu is awkward. So awkward that your overwhelming anxiety gradually fades to the background as you watch him interact with your family. You can’t tell whether it’s accidental or on purpose, but he’s doing a great job at simultaneously alarming and charming your aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, once-removed-s, etc. His stubborn decorum and distaste for small talk make for an interesting clash of bound-by-honor and get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here, his introversion rearing its head every time he abruptly walks away mid sentence.

“What are you doing?” you giggle, poking his shoulder with mirthful fondness.

“I got bored, so I moved on,” he shrugs, nagging discomfort spurning him on to clarify, “But I only do that with conversations! Not with relationships!”

Not with you.

You snort, endeared by the flustered pink of his ears, “I know babe, not with relationships.”

He supposes your suggestive eyebrow waggle is meant to be teasing—a playful nod to the fakeness of it all—but he’s stuck on Babe, jaw twitching as you intertwine your fingers with his in an electrifying, wonderful, horribly casual manner.

“How about we check out the charcuterie board?” you grin, pecking his earlobe so softly that he wonders if you’d practiced the night before.

Perhaps on your wrist or your pillow, or the fogginess of your mirror after showering.

—

He follows you to the spread of food and beverages, unable to discern the excited, acheful, longing quiver in your step, too caught up in the same tremor of his own.

—

If the night ends with a bittersweet, we-would-never-dare, okay-well-I-guess-we-dared, This was fun, Fuck I hate this kiss… then that’s nobody’s business.

[diazsdimples]

Several Sentence Sunday

Tagged by my love @hippolotamus who shared a devastating Mirrorball snippet. Go check it out!! On this weeks agenda we (once again) have some Eddietommy Mechanic Fic, which I really need to rename because there's currently 150 words of actual mechanic, and another 6.3k of pure smut (and only one of them has finished 😭 I fear we're in for the long haul here boys). Anyways, pls enjoy.

“Fuck, I’m getting close,” Tommy warns breathily, a barely perceptible break in his voice. He combs his hand through Eddie’s hair, tilting his face up so their eyes meet. His balls slip out of Eddie’s mouth and Eddie whines, mourning the loss. “Where do you want me to come?” The question makes Eddie’s brain come back online, pulling him back to reality rather than the pleasant, buzzy space he’d been in, and he considers, lazily stroking Tommy’s cock as he does so. It’s not something he’s ever had to consider before, with any of his other partners. There’s always been something so satisfying about them coming on his tongue or around his fingers, feeling their rhythmic clenches as they squirm and thrash above him. With a man though, he feels like it’s more. The idea of having Tommy’s come on him - marking him and claiming him – sends a bolt of hot and shivery desire up Eddie’s spine. As much as he’d love to take Tommy into his mouth and milk each and every drop from him, he thinks he might need a little bit more practice before he can pull that off without gagging. On his face, then? As hot as that seems, the practical side of Eddie says that getting come in his eye the first time he sleeps with a man would set a bad precedent, and he doesn’t want the cleanup that would come along with it. Although, the thought of long, thick ropes of come landing on his cheek, dripping down his chin, maybe even in his hair, definitely has an appeal to it. Eddie shivers at the thought, his neglected cock throbbing between his legs. Next time. “Eddie, baby, I’m going to need an answer soon.” Tommy sounds wrecked, like he’s holding himself back, and it’s then that Eddie remembers he’s still playing with Tommy’s cock.

@theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @buckera @bidisasterevankinard

@monsterrae1 @wikiangela @bucksbignaturals @bigfootsmom @slightlyobsessedwitheverything

@tommybuckleykinard @bi-buckrights @actuallyitsellie @perfectlysunny02 @buffaluff

@steadfastsaturnsrings @agenttommykinard @eddiespornstache @eddiestommy @tommykinrd

@superlock-in-the-tardis @evansboyfriend @tommykinkard @cliophilyra @rdng1230

@sleepywinchesters @emilybahu @screaming-universe @teabroomsandbooks @spotsandsocks (lmk if you want adding or removing from this wip's taglist)

[ryusuisloveinterest]

Oooh, I'm so happy how the how you wrote the request! However, if you want angst, then I have some ideas!

Xeno and Stanley partner chose to deflect to go protect the kingdom of science, but they ended up dying protecting them, either by their hands or under their commands. Once they are revived, they feel uneasy around them after the peace treaty.

- 🧨 anon

hi 🧨 anon! I was digging through the depths of my mind for this one so I’m sorry if it’s not that good. I only did Xeno for this one because I found both of the stories to be really similar. Pls enjoy🩷

ANGSTY XENO  SCENARIO ‼️💔

Xeno: North America Arc

You walk through the castle, guards and citizens alike bowing before you. You definitely haven’t gotten used to it, sure you had fans in the past that would try to grab at you or cry when you smiled at them, but they never looked afraid. The new member, Gen, follows you. You were in charge of making sure he wasn’t doing anything suspicious. “Say y/n Chan~ what’s with you and Xeno anyway? He seems cruel to everyone else, even that Stanley fellow, but he seems to be very fond of you.” You can’t help but giggle. His words made you think about the ways Xeno treated you differently from the others. Where as he would much rather work he still sits next to you as the both of you watched some type of romcom or when he thanked you for listening to his long rambles about elegant science while he forces everyone else to suck it up and listen. “He’s my husband. Of course he’s going to be less cruel to me, even though I don’t see his actions as particularly cruel.” Gen’s face visibly changed from curiosity to confusion. That happened a lot. “Quiet now please,” you tell Gen, “Xeno needs to ask you some things.” As soon as you walk into the lab, Xeno asks one strong question to Gen. “Who’s their scientist?” You see Gen freeze for only a moment, then he shouts, “DR. TAIJU OF COURSE!” That’s all Xeno needed to hear. After he calls the “junior scientist” he does something unusual to you, “will you leave for just a moment y/n?” Puzzled is the best way to describe your look, but nevertheless you left them anyway. You werent stupid though, you knew something was up, so you carefully listened in. You could barely hear their faint whispers, only getting snippets of their conversation. Junior. Stanley. Water. Gen. Target. Luna. Nitrogen. Everything else is a mystery. You see Stanley walk out and call for Luna, Carlos, and Max. Xeno slowly comes out and looks at you. “Don’t fret love,” he takes your hand and kisses it, “all will be alright.” “What’s going on Xeno? This isn’t like you.” “I just want to make sure this junior science brigade doesn’t get in the way of our plans.” He kisses your cheek and walks away leaving you more confused than you were before. You feel a tap on your shoulder, you turn to see Gen. he motions for you to get closer to him, which you do. In one small whisper, he says, “they’re going to kill Dr Taiju.” Your breath catches in your throat, but you don’t care. You start to run. You can’t let this happen! You won’t!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You make it to their ship, right as Ryusui yells, “Sniper!” Quick which one is Dr Taiju?? You frantically look, but you notice him. You’ve only met him once, but that one time was enough. Man he’s grown so much, it really felt like yesterday he was in the conference room eating the cookies you made while he waited for his father. The way he spouted about going to space with a goofy grin on his face. Boy did he remind you of Xeno. Xeno? Why was he doing this? Does he really know what he’s doing? Does he know the real scientist is Senku? Stanley’s about to strike and you need to help him! Quickly! You sprint. “Senku!” The boy’s head turned, shocked. You hear the sound of the gun. You push Senku out of the way, then, all you feel is pain. “Y/N!!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Stanley, what happened? Stanley!” All Xeno could hear was Stanley’s heavy breathing. “Stanley! Get ahold of yourself! You act like you’ve never done this before! What’s going on?!” Stanley’s breath is still heavy. “Xeno I… I didn’t mean… where did she come from?” “What the hell are you…” He looks around the room, again, and again, and again. His eyes meet Gen’s “Where’s y/n?” Nervously Gen speaks, “she ran out of the castle… she heard what you were doing and…” “Get. Out.” Gen doesn’t hesitate to leave. Xeno turn back to the mic. “Tell me you didn’t shoot her Stan… please… tell me you killed the scientist…” “I’m sorry Xeno…” is all Stanley could say. All Stanley could hear was Xeno fall to the ground. “Weren’t you the highest rank sniper in the whole military?!! You said you could do it and you failed! How could you hit her?!!!! Damn you! You better hope she’s ok or I’ll make you suffer you asshole!! Damn it damn it damn it!!!!! Y/n please…please survive! I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry….”

~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to Luna sitting by your side. “She’s waking up!” You instantly feel a hand on yours. Your body moves on its own, quickly getting up and grabbing Luna, pushing her behind you. “Luna get out of here! He might hurt you!” Luna looks at the man was just sitting beside you. Xeno’s face looks distraught. The fear in your eyes makes his heart ache. Xeno reaches his hand out to you. The closer his hand gets, the more fear appears on your face. “Luna you need to get out of here!” You say as you try to push her away. “Go hurry!” You hear the door swing open. “What’s all the damn commotion??” You all look to see Senku standing in the doorframe annoyed. Immediately, you run to him holding him in your arms. “Oh thank God you’re alive!” Annoyance radiates off of Senku’s face, but he still allows you to hold him. “Senku! You have to get out of here! He’s gonna try to kill you again!” Xeno reaches out to you once more, only to for you to flinch away from him. “Why’re you so afraid y/n?” Xeno asks, “I’m your husband, I l-“ “No you’re not. You’re not the man I married.” Without hesitation you throw your wedding ring at him, take Senku’s hand, and leave without looking back. He’s lost you.

[glassdollls]

i would drive on (to the end with you) ch 14 update

after way way way too long of no updates, i come bearing gifts!!

(and for those of you that don’t know, i would drive on is my little fake dating wilmon fic that i’ve been writing for a while!!)

ch 14 will be coming very very soon!!! and, there’s gonna be a ch 15! i decided to split what originally was just going to be ch 14 in half, because i think that just makes the most sense for pacing, and it’ll help me get an update out faster after making you guys wait for so long.

so here’s a little ch 14 sneak peek for now, and if you need to reread ch 13 before you read ch 14, id recommend doing so soon! altho i will be making sure to include a little summary of the previous chapter in the a/n when i post ch 14 just in case, for anybody that doesn’t want to.

anyway, so so sorry for the wait, i hope this is good news for everyone and i hope everyone likes it when it comes out!! pls enjoy this little snippet, there’s some more on my twitter too if you’re interested!

They would’ve made the perfect couple, Felice and Wilhelm. Both their mothers gushing about how beautiful young love is when done correctly, at pretentious dinner parties where Wilhelm would flaunt his new girlfriend as she hangs delicately off his arm, a sparkly new dress draped over her shoulders and her hair styled nicely away from her face as people asked how they met and they spare all of the details.

He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to be shown off like a precious antique that only very specific people can touch, can look at. He doesn’t want to be paraded around like some sort of trophy that can be polished and admired but never actually loved, but he doesn’t want to be shunned either. He doesn’t want to be a piece of tangible evidence of the reason many of Wille’s relatives choose not to speak to him at all.

But, more than anything, he wants Wille. Even if the odds are stacked against them, even if he has to endure prolonged stares and backhanded comments for the rest of his life.

read chapter 13

read from the beginning

[foggieststars]

so. third installment u say . can we pls get some deets or a snippet to tide us over until it gets publi... Pretty pls

i think i posted this before but.... enjoy <3

The whole world thinks Oscar belongs to McLaren. Their second driver, rolling over for his teammate when they ask, all for one measly extra point that didn’t even end up mattering, anyway. 

Only Oscar knows the truth. Oscar, who can feel the achingly cool press of silicone between his legs. The slight weight of the lock sitting at his crotch. 

Oscar doesn’t belong to McLaren. Oscar belongs to Lando. 

Lando’s got red eyes when he opens his driver room door. Oscar opens his mouth, wants to say something, anything, but nothing seems good enough. Sorry about the championship, mate. Sucks that the team refused to believe you could do it until it came true. Protein shake? 

Oscar settles for a quiet “hey.” Lando doesn’t want his sympathy. Especially not when he knows Oscar doesn’t really mean it. On some level, the part of him where Lando’s his boyfriend, he does. The part of Oscar that’s a racing driver, hungry and jealous and possessive, that part doesn’t mean it. That part thinks, should’ve been me who got a chance to lose a championship. 

An even tinier, quieter, borderline evil part of Oscar whispers, if they’d picked me, I wouldn’t have lost anything. 

Oscar wonders if that part of him existed before Mark started managing him. 

Lando doesn’t respond, just turns away and keeps packing his bag with ruthless efficiency. His movements are jerky and stilted, and he’s holding himself in a tight line. Oscar’s seen him like this before. In Hungary, after the swap. In Monza, after Oscar’s overtake. 

Lando zips his bag shut, snatches his phone up off the driver room sofa, turns to Oscar with a baleful expression. It’s different from the last few times Lando’s been like this. It’s not Oscar he’s angry at. At least, not him specifically. Oscar wonders if he’s still in the line of fire, though. If anybody in an orange polo is a good enough target. 

“C’mon then,” Lando grunts. “Jon’ll be having kittens if we don’t get a shift on.” 

Oscar huffs slightly. He’s been ready for an hour. Kim’s already put his bags in the car. 

Lando tugs his bag higher up on his shoulder and goes to move past Oscar. 

Oscar stops him with a hand to his chest. Lando looks at him, eyes tight and mouth drawn in a hard line. Like he thinks Oscar’s going to start a fight with him, bracing for something. 

Oscar says nothing, just takes Lando’s larger hand in his own. He prises his fist open, uncurling his fingers until Lando’s palm is outstretched. Then, taking a deep breath, Oscar drops the tiny key into it. 

Lando’s got one of his own, of course. It had been their agreement, when Lando came up with this demented idea. Oscar can’t drive with a fucking cock cage on, so he takes it off before races - when they decide to do it like this. Much as Oscar’s sure Lando would like there to be a whole ceremony about it, Oscar coming to Lando’s driver room before a race to be formally unlocked, it’s impractical. Lando’s usually too busy trying not to be sick with nerves, choking down a chicken wrap, to think about Oscar’s cock, tucked away in the smooth black silicone cage. So Oscar unlocks himself, buries the cage deep in its little velvet bag, hides it underneath a pile of dirty clothes. Prays to god that Kim doesn’t go snooping when Oscar’s out on track.  

It makes Oscar feel better too. He knows Lando would never take advantage of him like that, but he’s prone to messiness. Oscar can’t stand to be in Lando’s driver room during weekends, piles of clothes on every available surface giving him a stress headache. He trusts Lando, but it’s better that they both have a key. Just in case. 

Today, though - well. Oscar doesn’t mind. He’s putting the whole thing squarely in Lando’s hands, for him to decide. Ultimate control. Oscar suspects it might help, after everything. After the last few months, of watching the title fight slip through his hands like sand through an hourglass. Something concrete for Lando to cling to. 

Lando inhales sharply, and looks at Oscar with clear eyes for the first time. 

“You sure?” he asks, straightening up. 

Oscar nods, and watches Lando’s hand curl closed around the small golden key. 

[ninyard]

Yes that one !! I love it and in general I always love your wips

okay awesome so. this is from an ask i have had stored in my drafts and it’s a little ficlet snippet thing about how Kevin and Jeremy hooked up when he was trying to figure himself out (ft the two of them getting a little high and making bad decisions). it’s not finished so like if you want more pls ask but i’m glad to clear it out of my drafts!! enjoy <3

-

I don't know when or where in the timeline this falls, how it'd work with Riko but as an idea, let's imagine there's a point where Kevin was in California. Maybe Riko was there but left Kevin alone, or there was a reason why he was able to be there alone, but somehow it happened. Him and Jeremy weren't as close as they should be, because even though they texted often enough, they rarely got a chance to hang out in person. So when Jeremy invited Kevin out for dinner and a drink after a photoshoot or an interview or something, Kevin agreed.

At this point in his life Kevin was struggling through a bit of an identity crisis in a general sense; he was starting to wonder if Riko was holding him back, starting to wonder if he was missing out on normal teenage experiences because of the Nest and his "fame". He had hardly had a chance to explore his relationship with sex, either, mostly choosing to keep to himself rather than hooking up with his teammates. It's not that he didn't have an interest, it was that he didn't know what he wanted, or who he wanted, or what it meant in the first place. Riko had never treated it as a big deal, unimportant and mediocre, something to get a release or revenge - but some part of Kevin felt like it was more important than Riko lead him to believe. Some part of Kevin felt like he was missing something, like there was just this part of himself that he didn't understand, that he hadn't had a chance to understand. Who was he when he wasn’t with Riko? He wasn't too sure.

But anyway - Kevin finally found this opportunity to hang out with Jeremy. Maybe at that point in their friendship Jeremy hadn't explicitly told Kevin that he was gay yet, and while they were sitting at a table having dinner with a glass of wine each that Kevin hadn't touched, the two of them just caught up with each other. The topic of dating came up in the natural flow of conversation. Jeremy was using a lot of they's and generic non-gendered terms, but Kevin didn't really notice. Jeremy told Kevin that he was gay, surprised that he couldn't tell - Kevin smiled awkwardly through it, but a part of his brain couldn't stop wandering. Couldn't stop wondering.

They enjoyed their dinner, laughing a lot, getting on like a house on fire. They were more like each other than they realised - when they weren't talking about Exy, their conversations just rolled on, one topic into the next, no awkward pauses (save for the long silence that Kevin had accidentally allowed when Jeremy told him about his sexuality).

Jeremy asked him if he wanted company walking back to his hotel, but they found themselves paused in conversation outside of a club. Kevin had never been clubbing before. He pretended that he had been, if the conversation came up, but he'd never been allowed.

"Can we go in?" Kevin asked before he could stop himself.

"In-" Jeremy turned to look at the club. It was quiet - only lights on inside convincing them that it was open. He looked back at Kevin with a mischievous smile. "You want to go to the club?" Kevin shrugged. "Okay, well, it's like 7pm, party animal."

"So?" Jeremy laughed at his question as if it were a joke.

"Why don't we go back to mine? Have a drink or two, and then we'll find somewhere actually good to go to. This place sucks." He winked at Kevin, but Kevin didn't understand the joke. "Maybe I can convince a few of the others to come. It's not every night you get to go clubbing with Kevin Day."

"The others?"

Don't worry, he'd told Kevin. You'll like them.

Kevin tried not to be overwhelmed by the sudden noise and presence of other people around them - Jeremy didn't live with them, and it wasn't actually his place, it was just where he slept for most of the academic year. No, it wasn't the amount of people around him that felt suffocating. That took him a while to admit. Sure, the anxiety that came from new people hanging out around him was huge, but that wasn't it. Laila Dermott and Catalina Alvarez had been dating for a few months. He was... outnumbered. Or was he? If he thought about it too much, he'd-

"Vodka," Laila held two bottles out in front of him as Cat chose an album for them to listen to. "Or tequila?"

"Oh," Kevin said. "I don't drink. I'll just have some water."

"Did I hear that right?" Cat gasped, and the music started. She danced towards the bottles of alcohol as she spoke. "You want to go clubbing, and you don't drink?"

"Who doesn't drink?" Jeremy arrived at the door of the living room, changed into something more casual.

"Kevin." Laila answered, taking a shot from the cap of the bottle of tequila.

"You don't drink?" Jeremy crossed his arms, and looked down at Kevin, who sat on the couch, wondering if he'd made a smart decision.

"No," He shook his head, a lift and a fall in his shoulders, an excuse on his tongue. "Not my thing."

"And you want to go clubbing?"

I've never been, he wanted to say, but instead he said, "Do you think I can't have fun without alcohol?"

Jeremy's mouth opened slightly, and he nodded slowly with a frown as if he was surprised by that answer. As if he’d said something he shouldn’t have, maybe. He wasn’t sure.

"Well, alright then."

It was an hour or two of hanging out before the time was more appropriate. Jeremy had given him a t-shirt that was more comfortable to wear out, and he'd shut his phone off. It wasn't the right thing to do, he knew he'd pay for it afterwards, but something in him needed to be free. Even just for a few hours. Even if he'd regret it in the morning.

They didn't have to queue for long to get into the club itself - the queue for the bar inside was not so kind. It was a club that Jeremy had chosen. Kevin was terrified that someone would recognise him, but if anyone did, they didn't say anything. Jeremy arrived back at the table they'd found with two glasses in both hands, he slid them in front of the girls, and pushed one towards Kevin.

"It's just sprite," Jeremy clarified before he could ask. "Nothing else."

Their glasses were replaced twice over the course of an hour, while Kevin sipped on the drink that he really hadn't wanted in the first place. He couldn't tell them that he also didn't drink soda of any kind, so he pushed through and emptied it slowly. The music was loud, and as more people filled into the club, onto the dancefloor, his anxiety got harder and harder to ignore. Cat and Laila left at one point to dance, and Jeremy slid in closer to him.

"Can I ask you something?" Jeremy finished the end of his drink before slamming it back on the table.

"Only if I can ask one back." Kevin smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

Jeremy thought about it for a moment. He shifted in his seat to sit facing him, and leaned his elbow on the table.

"Fair deal. Kevin Day," He clasped his hands together. "Be honest with me, is this your first time in a club?"

Kevin's smile faltered, but he couldn't help but laugh. "I didn't think it was that obvious."

"Wait," Jeremy’s mouth dropped open. "Wait, wait, wait. You're not kidding." He held out a pinky finger and Kevin laughed again. "Is that the truth?"

Kevin moved in his seat, and hooked his finger around Jeremy's. "100%"

"That's insane," Jeremy shook his head. "I thought..." He tightened his grip around Kevin's finger. Kevin felt the breath hitch in his throat. "You have never once been in a club." He phrased it like a question.

"I swear," Kevin let go of his finger. "Not even once."

Jeremy laughed and clapped his hands together like this was the most amusing thing he'd ever heard. "Well, I'm honoured, Kev. Tell Riko that he needs to have more fun."

Kevin looked at the ground. He couldn’t tell him, of course he couldn’t. He trusted Jeremy, with more than he would ever know, but his offhand joke left an unsavoury taste in Kevin’s mouth, like he was only reminding him what a bad decision he was making.

"So," Jeremy pulled his consciousness back to the table. "What was yours?"

"My what?"

Jeremy smiled wide, his teeth bright and shining. "Your question."

Kevin sighed. "How did you know that you were gay?"

Kevin didn't think it was intentional how quickly Jeremy's smile fell off his face. Jeremy straightened up, took a deep breath, lips pouting as he thought.

"Okay," He considered. His mouth opened once, twice, as he searched for the right words to say. "You... Okay. Why do you ask?" Before he could answer, he waved his hands in front of him. "I'll answer, there's nothing wrong with that question, Kev, but just... Why do you want to know?"

Kevin looked away. He paused before mumbling, "I don't know."

He looked towards the bar and then back to Kevin.

"Can I get a drink first?" Kevin nodded. "And you're sure you don't want one?"

"I'm sure. Thank you." Jeremy slapped the seat between them and pushed himself up, making a beeline towards the bar.

Kevin had too much time to think in the few minutes he was gone. There was no sign of the girls coming back any time soon, either, and he felt like he was going to be sick just picturing how he would figure this out. Some part of it felt like this was his only shot - like he didn't have the space to feel safe enough with anyone else, like a stranger was too dangerous to trust with such a secret. But Jeremy was Kevin's friend, someone who knew who he was. Jean was different; he was still stuck in those four walls, stuck in that inescapable prison. He couldn't explain it - the only other person in the world who knew the side of Kevin that he'd been forced to hide, and he didn't feel like this was... okay. He didn't feel like this was safe in Jean’s hands, no matter how wrong that feeling was. But Jeremy?

He wasn’t sure that there was a point to having this conversation now, having it with Jeremy. But knowing that he was certain, certain in himself, comfortable enough to answer this question in the first place, that was the point.

"Okay," Jeremy said while he sat his glass down and took a sip. "I don't think that I can answer your question."

The disappointment that filled Kevin’s chest was uncomfortable. "That's fine. I didn't mean to-"

"No, wait, let me finish," He interrupted. "I can't answer your question because I didn't... I always knew. I didn't have a lightbulb moment or a gay awakening. But not everybody figures it out like that. Cat dated guys until she was 17, Laila knew when she was 12. There's not just one answer, Kev. Do you..." He let out a short frustrated sigh and lowered his voice. "Do you think-"

"No." Kevin answered before he could ask. He was too quick, he knew that, he knew that Jeremy could see right through him. But he waited for him to continue, and there was nothing he could say.

Jeremy put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Talk to me."

The sigh that left his lips was automatic. "I'm not sure what I want to know."

Jeremy tapped his fingers on the side of his glass. He used his other hand to wave at the girls, who'd caught his attention from the dance floor. He gestured at the table. The girls bounced over, hand-in-hand, and Jeremy said something to Laila that Kevin couldn't quite hear. She frowned slightly but nodded, pulling Cat onto the seats with her, Jeremy squeezing past to stand up.

He gestured for Kevin to follow.

It was hard to navigate through the crowds of people without losing Jeremy, or feeling like he was going to have a heart attack, but he used his shoulders to push his way through. Jeremy took a sharp turn to the left just as the crowd broke, and Kevin had walked through the door to the toilets before he realised where he was. Jeremy looked around just once, and when the single man who stood at the urinals left without washing his hands, he shoved Kevin into one of the stalls and locked the door behind them.

The walls around them felt like they were getting closer and closer together. His heart was pounding so hard he felt like there was no room left in his chest for him to breathe. Kevin looked at Jeremy's lips as he rooted for something in his jeans.

"This isn't-" He started to protest.

Jeremy shushed him with a finger over his lips. "What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know."

"What are you open to?"

"I dont know what that-"

"When do the Ravens test?"

Kevin's mouth fell open. "What?"

Jeremy's shoulders fell as he tilted his head. "You live on campus through the summer, no?" Kevin nodded. "And you still have practice?" He nodded again, but when he tried to ask what was happening, Jeremy continued. "When do you pee in a cup, buddy, when do you guys get tested?"

"August."

"Okay," Jeremy paused to listen, to be sure that nobody had come in. "Is this a conversation you want to have sober?"

"I'm really fucking confused, Jer." Kevin strained.

"I can tell," He put a hand on Kevin's shoulder. "But is this a conversation that you, my brilliant, talented friend, want to have sober?"

"No," He said, but he wasn't sure why he said it. "But I don't drink."

Jeremy looked at him and smiled. Kevin knew that smile was coming, small and kind, reassuring while pitiful.

What Kevin wasn't expecting, was for his fellow striker, deputy captain of the USC Trojans, to take a small plastic bag from his pocket, and hold it out in front of him. Kevin didn't need to know what exactly it was to know that it was illegal, that it was mind altering, and that he should nod politely and say no.

"What is it?" He whispered instead, afraid to get caught.

"Molly," He answered. "You don't have to.”

He looked at Kevin for a moment too long, tilting his head and looking towards the ceiling as if listening to who was walking in and out of the washroom around them. He reached into his pocket again, and tucked the keys to his house in his palm in such a way that they wouldn’t rattle, dipping one of them into the open baggie.

“What is it?” Kevin asked again.

Jeremy finally looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t they have D.A.R.E in West Virginia?”

“I was homeschooled.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy laughed, but not in such a way that felt comforting, or like anything funny had been said. It felt more like pity, like disbelief, like he’d finally realised how sheltered Kevin had been his whole life. “Okay. This is more educational that I’d planned for it to be.”

Before Kevin had noticed it, Jeremy had sniffed in an inhale of powder right in front of him. With the hand that held his keys, he held his septum and sniffed again, wiping any excess away.

“It’s an upper,” When Kevin just looked back at him, he continued, “It’s like… Makes you happy, like you’re on top of the world, Oh, and it’s like you’ve never known what true love is until you try it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, you’ll try it, or okay, you understand?” Jeremy was cautious to be sure he understood.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” He said, out loud, though all he could imagine were the million and one ways this decision could blow up in his face.

[sir-knighteye]

1. Quit Saying He's Dead

(aka the Canon Divergence AU where everything is all a lie)

This is a snippet from the first chapter of an AU I started a WHILE ago. It eventually got derailed by the Kurogiri reveal (which I'm not complaining about. Transformativity is my specialty.) But then life be life-ing. Anyways pls enjoy :D. Maybe I'll drop the entire outline one day.

Sir Nighteye’s life ends with his body in the present but his vision pushed forward into the future. A trembling hand presses against Mirio’s face. Tears run down his wrist. 

He doesn’t see the heart-broken face in front of him. Instead, he sees Lemillion, fully realized in his signature uniform, with a bright smile on his face as he helps someone in need. He may not have inherited One for All, but he never needed it. He became a fine hero and that is the one part of the future that must not be changed. And Nighteye tells him. 

He tells them all, “Keep Smiling.” 

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

Life is short but apparently so is death.

Mirai comes to consciousness slowly. The beeping of the medical equipment softly prods at his ears. He opens his eyes to a dim room. The scene before him is blurry without the aid of his glasses.

He jerks to attention doing a mental check of systems on himself. There’s a weight off his chest. All the life support equipment is gone. Laying a hand on his stomach, the pain isn’t excruciating, but that’s probably because he is on some sort of pain medications. He can move his toes beneath the stiff hospital linens. The rise and fall of his chest aches, but the only breathing support he has is the oxygen tubing placed under his nose and hooked around his ears. 

Eyes roam across the room and the first thing he sees is the Toshinori’s figure slumped in a chair across the hospital room. 

Nearly seven years ago, their roles were reversed. Mirai snorts at the irony. 

Once awake, Yagi Toshinori is a mess. Head bowed as he clutches his right hand repeating over and over again “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

And then Mirai realizes, the feeling in his left arm is a painful echo of what was once there. But that’s not what Toshinori is apologizing for. Not even close. 

The second person to see Mirai is the last person he expects, Watanabe Arisu President of the Hero Public Safety Commission. He still doesn’t have his glasses but he’d know who she was from a mile away. She stands at his bedside poised, hands clasped in front of her. She’s murmuring to the person beside her too low for Mirai to catch. He can’t stay still any longer and shifts in the bed with a groan. She pauses. 

“Ah, you’re awake.”

“I am” he croaks in response. “Where is Toshinori?”

“You weren’t the only casualty in the raid. Besides it's hardly fair to expect that man to spend every waking moment by your side as you recover.”

A familiar feeling washing over Mirai. Of course she would find a reason to chastise him, even while he recovered from grave injuries in a hospital bed. Her voice is clipped and business like usual. 

Watanabe gestures to the person beside her. “This is Dr. Yawata You will be in her exclusive care for an indefinite amount of time.”

“Is this who—” he does his best to turn in the doctor’s direction “Are you the one that healed me?”

“Ah, that was my associate actually” Yawata’s voice is soft in stark contrast to her companion. Or perhaps more cautious. 

“You know Dr. Miyano,” Watanabe comments off hand. She surveys the room and then sits in the visitors chair and crosses her long legs. 

And he did. Dr. Miyano was—is?— All Might’s personal physician for a number of years. The man had a healing quirk that worked on a principle similar to Recovery Girl’s. The difference was that it’s use expended the doctor's energy rather than the person being healed. Toshinori used to refuse his help because it made him feel terribly guilty after being healed. 

“Is he—”

“Oh! Mr. Yagi wanted me to deliver these to you,” Dr. Yawata pipes up. “Your glasses. Here I’ll place them on your face. I know how difficult it can be to do things with your non-dominant hand.”

She gently places the glasses on the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, the world is back in focus.

“That’s what I am here for” she gestures with her left arm, the sleeve of her jacket pulls up to reveal dull polished metal. 

Watanabe cuts in, “But before we get you back on your feet, there’s something that you need to understand.” 

She stands once more, steps over to his bedside, and leans on the rails. 

“Sasaki Mirai is dead. He died two weeks ago during a raid on a Yakuza hideout. The mission was successful, but unfortunately, there were casualties. Sasaki was buried yesterday at a funeral service attended by pro heroes, close friends, and fans from all over the country. He will be remembered in history for his great service to the people of his country.” 

An ice-cold chill rushes down Mirai’s back.

“I don’t...you...my death was falsified?”

“You misunderstand, Sir. Your death was very very real. I brought you back.”

Mirai tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. Suddenly he feels very nauseous. He’d just been presented an incomplete puzzle but the picture was obvious. His left hand clutches the sheets settled around his lap. 

She continues, “I owe Dr. Miyano a great deal of thanks for his efforts on the matter Since he’s otherwise indisposed for the time being Dr. Yawata will be looking after you.” 

So Miyano is in worse shape than Mirai was to begin with. 

“And who am I exactly?” he asks, shaking. 

“Whoever I need you to be.”

[mushgloomz]

WIP Wednesday 🤠

thank u to the ever so lovely @guiltyasdave for the tag!! <3

treating you guys to some snippets from the fics I’ve been adding to this week - i posted Say ‘Ahh’ this week too (it’s lurking on my blog somewhere?? idk how to link things still LOOL)

Electric Ladyland - Javi Gutierrez x Reader

Scriptures - Joel Miller x Reader (pls someone tell me they get the fleabag reference)

Anticipation - Dieter Bravo x Reader

Darling, Dearest, Mine - Harry Castillo x Reader (part of my PPCU Smut Challenge)

anyway hope y’all enjoy!! npt for some of my favs: @ohhoneypascal @itwasntimethatdidit40 @evolnoomym @baronessvonglitter @daryltwdixon @letsgobarbs @missyorkswhore @sp00kymulderr @strang3lov3 @stellamarielu @tateypots @yorksgirl