#but my brain must always pick one to dive deep into

[doki-doki-imagines]

Just read the idea of shower sex with Michael Kaiser and this idea popped up.

Simple smut with feelings, reader has a vagina. I'm no good with smut so have pity of me and my poor writing skills

You didn’t want to give in, but damn Michael knows his way with words. A “darling” his right hand tracing a heart on your hips, a sugar-coated “I promise I won’t do anything, I’m too tired liebling” a tired sigh; all fake, traps tactically set up make you fall for them.

When you finally look up, you just see blue eyes so deep you could dive into them and a tired smile that transpires love, so it wasn’t all your fault if you fell for them; if Michael isn’t so lovestruck for you for sure you wouldn’t have fallen for any of his traps.

But you did, that’s why you find yourself with your back pushed on the cold tiles of Michael’s shower, your hands tugging desperately his hair, Michael’s body impossibly close to yours, his hands gripping hard your face not leaving the both of you any space to breathe and his tongue dancing with yours, wet noises dulled by the rushing hot water.

Michael’s hands began exploring, now tweaking and pulling your nipples, while you can only gasp at the sudden roughness “Too tired my ass” you think annoyed, “hypocrite” it’s another word it comes to your mind but this time for yourself, because no way you’re going to stop his ministration.

A harsh bite takes you to planet Earth again, you didn’t notice how Michael’s lips migrated southward, littering kisses down your jawline towards your neck, ‘till he bit you, pulling at your skin the minimum to know he’s gonna leave a nasty mark to hide the next morning; no way he is gonna regret it when his action pulled out such delicious sigh escape your lips.

Even if the tiles of his shower are so cold, you feel warm all over, even more with his mouth latching onto one of your nipples and fingers caressing your outer lips, with a delicacy you can’t find in the thumb that is now circling your clit or in his greedy mouth. Finally Michael fingers you, his ring and forefinger working wonders, curling and hitting just that right spot that makes you see stars.

“M-Michael” You manage to gasp out “I-I’m—” but a moan you can’t keep interrupt your sentence. Meanwhile, Michael’s eyes are sparkling, the sparkle you usually see when he knows he won and can’t wait to tease his prey endlessly “What? Can’t hear you well” He innocently replied, peering towards you with a Cheshire grin.

Michael deserved a kick, you didn’t even want to find yourself in this situation, it’s all his fault and he must finish what he started. “I need more” You struggled to say, his fingers never losing their rhythm “How exactly?” Michael crooned, the depth of his voice telling you he wasn’t as unaffected as he wants to look like

“Michael, I’m close—” so he stops and lifts himself up, he loves the face you make when he doesn’t let you finish; the spite and the need that swim in your eyes only spur him on.

He gives his member a few pumps, then he picks you up, your legs instinctually wrapping around his narrow waist.

You welp, no way this will end up well, you can play the scene in your head perfectly, he slips, you knock your head against the floor, you cry and whimper, fuck this is going to end so badly. Thank God there is Michael ready to wake up from the nightmare, the pinch on your ass more as a warning than a pleasurable one.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll finally stop thinking with that shit brain of yours”

“As always you are all talk and no action, Michael” Your legs tightened around Michael’s waist, your fingers gripping, almost scratching his biceps, one hand tracing the blue roses you love so much while he slowly sheats himself into you.

You know you hit a weak spot earlier when Michael doesn’t even stop to ask if you are comfortable, his pace is relentless from the start, his hips cushioned by yours make a sinful sound, the wetness making your skin shine and your watery eyes are a delicious sight for the blonde eyes, he just wants to eat you up.

And that’s what he does, his mouth locked with yours, tongue finding yours in a ravenous dance, eating moan after moan, his hands gripping so hard on your legs that you are sure they are leaving indents, but you can’t complain much when you are doing the same on his muscular back, leaving your mark too on him.

Your hips start to thrust downward to meet his, you claw further with each thrust, the pleasure too intense to handle anymore.

“Michael—more please” He quickly obliged, not that far from the apex too.

“You acted all bitchy earlier-“ Michael lets out a groan “but you wanted to do this as much as me, mh?” He grips your ass now, painfully yet blissfully, just perfect.

“Maybe we are just made for each other”

It’s that tinge of sweetness in this animalistic act that makes you crumble, walls clenching impossibly tight on his cock and he follows you after a few thrusts.

Your chests heaved, both dirtier than when you started the shower, the warm water, now way too warm, washing away your sweat. Michael put you down, both your breaths heavy, your lips still centimeters from each other, both looking at each other like pulling off would have killed you both.

You finally lift your head, landing a kind and sweet kiss on the blue rose on his neck, your fave one, Michael leaves one on the crown of your head, a smile full of love on your lips.

Maybe you are really made for each other.

[mushroommanstan]

university!au please!! infamous!shiggy with average s/o 🤼‍♀️ pls i

Oh anon, how did you know I’ve been wanting to write a college au Shig for a while? You must be psychic or something, very impressive!

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

Creepy Tenko Part One:

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

Anyways, I know you want the smut and shit but there’s a few things about Tenko that make him so infamous.

First off, his backstory. Basically, he was kidnapped by AFO as usual, but he was rescued by heroes this time a few months after. Unfortunately, a lot of damage had already been done.

The heroes were embarrassed as hell that they took so long to save him, and as a publicity act, paid to put him through elementary school, middle school, high school and hell even college. The big package.

Because of that, his entry was guaranteed since he was like 6. Obviously, this is gonna turn some heads.

Now this guy was infamous around campus for many reasons. For starters, growing up murdering his family and spending a summer with your local serial killer is gonna be the headline of his life. Everyone knows about that, and he doesn’t even deny it.

Also, because of that experience he has major ptsd and schizophrenia, causing a few tiny violent outbursts throughout his childhood. But it’s fine, he’s medicated now… most of the time.

He’s also very aloof, not talking to anyone if he can help it. He’s used to bullying, and at this point has pretty much given up making any friends. He’s so used to people being scared of him, just like his old master said, that he kind of embraces it, not even trying to hide when he stares at people for hours on end.

Oh yeah, and the stares. This guys got a dark ass aura. His blazing red eyes burn a hole in the back of the women he stares at. He’s a smart guy, he doesn’t need to pay attention to the whole lesson to get the gist. So lucky him, he can spend the rest of the class period staring at some chick while discreetly touching himself under the desk. Make eye contact with him if you dare.

The thing that completely tanked his reputation however, was when one guy got pissed at him for making goo-goo eyes at his girlfriend all day. He stopped him on his way to his dorm, punching him which made him stumble.

Something flew out of his hoodie pocket, and the man picked it up, students gathering around as he faced poor Tenko.

Tenko looked mortified, tears gathering in his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at his attacker. He was looking at his stolen object. The assailant hadn’t gotten a good look at what he was holding, and by the look on the freaks face it meant something to him.

The other students who gathered around screamed, some running to hurl in the nearby trash cans. When he finally looked at what he was holding it took him a good second to figure out what it was.

It was cold and grey. Fleshy with a golden back and… fingernails. Wait… was that… oh my god.

He yelled throwing the detached hand into the air, Tenko diving to catch it. He could feel himself losing control, his old senseis voice overtaking his brain and making his whole body shiver. He-he needed to calm down.

Tenko rose, pressing the cool hand into his face as he took deep breaths. He stopped trembling, and for a second, even with the screaming and yelling and trampling, everything was calm.

Obviously he got in trouble for having a murder scene victim’s body part in his possession, but Tenko knew from experience that no matter whatever bullshit they tried to scare him with, they couldn’t expel him.

He was like a mascot for the heroes’s new scholarship program. No way they would let him get expelled just because he kept a memento of his lost family. So, like always they payed them off. But the students remembered, and the guy who held the disembodied hand needed therapy.

So, not only was he a creep who got off to pictures of feet in the bathroom during homeroom, he also was a creep who kept a souvenir of his first murder victim with him at all times. Weird weird weird.

And then you came along.

He didn’t think much of you, that was, until you decided to sit down in one of multiple empty seats bordering his desk. No one ever sits this close.

Well… he had to admit… you were pretty. With your silky (h/c) hair, and your brilliant eyes, and your juicy, plump…. Eh-hum, personality.

He couldn’t stop himself from staring, not like he tried. You’ll learn soon enough that he’s a creep, and then he’ll be alone again. Yep. All on his own. Terrific.

His eyes bore into you, not just in one place but all over. Scanning over your body and memorizing every detail. From this close he could truly see how smooth and soft your skin was. And he could smell your perfume. What was that, lilac?

“Oh, do you like the perfume? I just got it! It’s lilac!”

Shit. You must have a mind reading quirk. He could feel his face growing bright red at the idea of you seeing the foul things he imagined in the last minute or so.

Truthfully you only knew because you could hear him sniffing the air like a puppy exploring a grassy field for the first time.

As the class went on you looked at him occasionally, not flinching whatsoever at the intense eye contact he returned. You had to admit… he was pretty cute. With eyes like those he should be the center of attention yet here he is sulking in the back of the class. Well, whatever, not your business.

The professor droned on about who knows what, making the both of you slump over your desks with boredom. You were praying for an oasis in the midst of this dry, dull desert of a classroom, when you heard a familiar sound.

Beep-boop, boop bleep!

You could recognize that sound anywhere! That was… that was…

You had to stop yourself from slamming your hands on the table in shock. The cute guy sitting next to you was playing the limited edition “Super Hero Adventure Deluxe” for the gameboy advance. (Not an actual game I think)

Aka, the only game in the Super Hero Adventure franchise you had yet to play. The one you had scoured EBay for forever. Holy shit, marry me!

You couldn’t help yourself, despite not knowing this guy in the slightest you pressed yourself into his shoulder, scaring the shit out of him and causing almost everyone to stop and look at you. You looked down at the pixelated screen, currently being death gripped by gloved hands as your cheek smushed against his fluffy black hair.

Tenko could feel his body shutting down from the inside. The sudden physical contact, the fact it was from a hot girl, and the realization she had an interest in his favorite game was all too much. Everyone watched as he pushed you away, screaming at you to stay away from him with some fairly colorful language.

Your expression darkened, and you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Having used to people tucking in their tail, he had to say he was not at all prepared for this. He didn’t actually want to fight you, he just wanted you to back off! … don’t make him fight you, you’re the first girl to touch him in years.

You both held intense eye contact for what felt like forever, but in reality was for only a second.

“You do not talk to me like that. Understand?”

Oh boy. Oh-ho-ho BOY you were awakening something in him he didn’t know he had. His face turned tomato red and his ire-filled glare turned into a soft gaze filled with child-like wonder. Not being able to speak he shakily nodded, hand raising up to feel along the one gripping his shirt. His fluffy hair bounced a little as he nodded.

You let go, returning to your seat with a huff and turned your head, and you were met with the utterly shocked faces of your classmates. They looked at you like you had just slain a dragon.

Meanwhile Tenko said nothing, face still completely red as his foggy mind spent the rest of class processing these new feelings that came up. The way you touched him, the way you scolded him! It was so… mean. So entitled. So dominant.

He wants more.

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

Believe me, I will be doing a part two! Thanks again for the ask, it finally gave me the kick in the pants I needed to write this!

[liminsendhelp]

The extremity of cruelty

Hannibal is a very clever man. But still a man, much to his regret.

A tale of an orderly beating up a therapist.

First posted on 6 January 2023 with the caption: "The first completed work of mine. It has been lying untouched for a very long time. 2021.09.22"

Hannibal, no fool, was always ready to snap out of his seat, grow a new wall, and slip into the next socially acceptable role. Collected, liberated by years of revealing his essence, confident in the unforeseen, knowing everything ahead of time. But who is ready for that? Being reborn hurt like hell. And there was little to make out in the seething horde of traumatising feelings. Two seconds, moments. Two discernible counts of their's ascent, palpable in the blinding air, embedded in memory.

One. Horns sprawled and stabbed their bodies, smoldering in seconds, moments of one growing into the other, wings tearing their backs, forgotten, moulded to the falling contour. Dust, covering them in an tight cocoon, ingrained, dividing their sin equally on each shoulder.

Two. The cold water burning his breath, the pervasive stupor, the fear of losing the only creature dear to him. All preparedness, forethought, experience, could not keep the fleeting thoughts of Will's death from agony. Without time to catch his breath he dived, counting down the seconds to brain death without oxygen. Three minutes from hitting the water, five, ten. Someone was calling his name, and in the turbulent water, voices distorted multiple times. From the bottom, big bright eyes stared up at him, fragile hands reaching out, not to pick him up, but to push him out.

Hannibal sits on the shore and does not exist. A wreck instead of a man. The shore is empty.

There are no people on it and it is empty.

A scrap of mind torn from the body, that's what it has become. The water seems like ink, and Hannibal thinks that if it were bloody, the light of the moon would take away its colour.

His eyes are dry and his body is cold. There is no warmth in him, the life has held its breath, holding barely. He breathes deeply, allows himself to think. Hannibal has been called mad too many times in his life, but to see this new address is not allowed to anyone. There is only the outgrown hopes, the feelings, the quiet rustling of slick wings, black and tarred. Everything that hasn't left him, hasn't been confused. Even if Will is dead a shell, to carry a part of him to the grave would be an honour. Hannibal senses his capacity for emotion, for interpretation, for imagination. He sees so clearly, let him look nowhere. Hannibal rises only when he hears the crunch of twigs. A deep breath to get used to the fullness of the sensation of space, a long inhale with his nose to sniff. Someone is here, close by, in the blood. Not Will. Hannibal moves quickly, moving further into the woods. Picks up a weighty rock and silently approaches the source of the smell. The woman wheezes, crunching again, no longer from branches, but from her neck snapping. Two seconds, slowing Hannibal down. Two seconds of frame-by-frame footage. Chiyo is dead and he's next. Curls. Light curls sticking to his forehead, frowning eyebrows, gun. Will takes the Walther from Chiyo's weakened fingers, stands up, aims it at Hannibal's head precisely.

"I'm out of here." "Good." Sips Hannibal, releasing the stone to the ground. "You've clearly made your intention clear to me. "You must realise that this bond will eat me up if I stay. Even faster than you will. Will." So ungodly he smiles, curves his lips to the side, sounds even. Making jokes, killing moment by moment. His creation, alive and stabbing. "In three years, I was able to reconstruct a picture of what happened in Florence. I could feel your desire to kill her, the possessiveness hidden behind layers of anger and longing." "Your pain in my hands was art, again not my own." Hannibal nods understandingly. "And I chose to close that need." His voice is flat, but Will is clearly laughing. He lowers the gun. Hannibal hums, running his tongue over his split lip before he speaks: "By fulfilling my purpose." "No. By granting the impossible." They stare at each other, unable to revel in their last encounter. Hannibal walks towards him, and Will stays where he is. A hand rests on his cheek, and he is allowed to do so. Hannibal reaches for Will's free palm, brings it to his mouth. Kisses the inside. Covers his eyes, takes it in, realises he won't let go. The crunch of twigs behind him, the chill at the back of his neck. Hannibal opens his eyes, and sees remorse. Will gives Chiyo. And accepts it. Hannibal, not being a fool, was prepared for anything. But Will always knew how to surprise.

Shot.

…

Matthew runs. He hasn't stopped lately. He reaches out to Mr Graham, pacing the cell during their meetings, bemoaning the failure. The horror, the flaw, the shame. He's failed, lost, failed to be better, and won't be anything. He can't be useful, and it kills. He cannot be forgiven in any way. But Mr Graham forgives and walks away. And there's no colour left.

He doesn't count how much time has passed. It doesn't seem like much, but it's not just another agent who comes to his interrogation cell. The world comes back to life when Matthew notices him, focusing sharply on the man. Air enters with alternating success. Will sits, relaxedly flipping through the case files. Will, with a tragic crease on his forehead, clear eyes and magnificent coils of hair. "Breathe, Mr Brown," he laughs, lowering his head

Matthew explodes in his body, dying at the direct look, the slight smile at the corner of Will's lips. He runs to him. And Will responds in kind.

"I came to apologise, you know." Will declares in one of their meetings. Laughing off the previous conversation, Matthew looks up, slightly surprised at the change in mood. "The first time we met here," Will continues. "I thought I'd see anger. Hoped to feel resentment, for using you. Or at worst, I expected to see a fan." "But you saw me." "Yes. Saw you. I see you, Matthew." They stare at each other, studying each other over and over, grasping for what gives them the opportunity. "Do hawks work in pairs, Mr Graham?" overly pathetic Matthew gives out. "Oh, my God." Will snorts. "You're insufferable." They laugh together. They're side by side.

After Hannibal, before Hannibal, discussing the case, tactics for dealing with him. Jack is under no illusions about what's going on. He needs a working agent, and Matthew gives him that. The discussion is kept from Dr Chilton by the force of Jack's menacing stare. The interrogation room cameras are switched off, but Will still brings the jamming device in Hannibal's case files or in a cup of coffee.

The light in Will's eyes burns brighter at the mention of prisoner Brown. Matthew is uncompromisingly flirtatious, spewing only the truth and living only stories of childhood fears and desires.

"Oh, and, Mr Graham, that shirt suits you. And that smile too." Will habitually snorts and throws a mocking glance as he leaves the interview room. Matthew knows he'll be back soon.

They talk, talk, talk. Over and over they run off to each other.

And then he disappears.

What happened? Yes, of course.

Hannibal.

Fucker. Beast, monster. The mistake. Something Matthew will never forgive himself for.

The knife in his stomach, Abigail's death, reliving it. Matthew absorbs every rumour. He waits. And Hannibal finds himself in the same hospital as him. So close, so accessible.

Thoughts of vengeance are tied to his existence for an unbearably long time. Once he complains of head-splitting pain. Once he almost gets the key from the orderly, but he leans over to Matthew, whispers with a smile that Mr Graham has been brought back into the investigation. The key remains on his belt, plans disintegrate, weak under the weight of happiness.

Three years have passed quickly.

"Good afternoon, Mr Brown."

They are back in the interrogation room. Matthew's handcuffs are removed and he changes into an orderly's uniform. A siren announces an escape attempt, electricity fails throughout the floors. The staff tends to the fugitives' cells, the remaining employees keeping watch over Lecter. Red lights illuminate the corridors, flashing, and Matthew tries not to let the back of his saviour out of his sight. Will is here again. Smart, collected, waiting out the moment. Easily faking an escape, in disguise for the real thing, bribing the orderlies, cracking another pillar of opinion formed about himself. They run and run. To the first car in the car park, to the second at the petrol station, to the motorboat.

In the morning Will wakes to the smells of coffee and scrambled eggs from the kitchen, comes downstairs kissing his wife. In the morning Matthew wakes up free.

No contacts other than handovers in a set place, no names in short correspondence on stolen mobiles. They have a plan. Hinted at, pieced together into a perfect puzzle. Will falls off a cliff and Matthew runs again. Pulls him out, forces him to cough his lungs out of the rough water.

"Hannibal." Will whispers as they weave through the woods towards a new stage, a new escape and life. "Take care of him."

Matthew nods. Runs to the shore, leaning Will against a large tree. There's no one in the water, no one nearby either, and the possibility that nature has taken Hannibal cheerfully envelops Matthew.

Footprints. On the shore, tracks leading to the woods. Fuck. He dismounts, trotting quietly closer to the place where he left his only possession. The gun rests confidently in his hand.

Fear releases as he sees his Will, wounded but strong. Avenged, leading the idiot who thinks he's God by the nose again. Waiting for the signal. One undeath, and Hannibal lets his guard down. Will nods quietly, flashing his eyes in the careless moonbeam. Will gives him redemption.

The rustle of wings behind him, the crunch of a branch.

Shot.

[raayllum]

You’re going to be right about CHET y’know I can feel it

Aw I wouldn't go that far but thank you! I certainly think there's a lot leaning that way even pre-trailer, and then now with Callum finding Rayla's blades (that she's presumably been forcefully parted from if it isn't him having a nightmare or something) has me like 👀 so I could very well be right, but honestly

I'm thrilled it's just gotten to be a fun idea in fanon if nothing else, even if I do still think it would bring a lot of interesting pieces together and opportunities for the future. So much of Arc 1 was "How do we fix our parents' mistakes?" I'm now curious if Arc 2 will be complicating that with "How do we handle / fix our own mistakes?"

I've admittedly scratched my head trying to find some kind of alternative for how Aaravos could get out of his mirror by 4x09 without something along those lines (even if it's Callum being another mage conduit w/ Claudia to get him out or something and not the cube itself). I've also been reflecting on the choice to have it called the Key of Aaravos, specifically, if it's not meant to be 1) a key or 2) mostly related to him. Why not Key of the Great Gates if that's what it unlocks, or Eye of Aaravos to foreshadow his involvement and power of divination?

I'm also curious if there could be something inside the Cube and I could easily see the Cube itself having more than one purpose (something related to all the Nexuses maybe)? Mostly I'm just tickled pink that my little pet theory is getting a last hurrah and that it let me pick up on the game symbolism they were invoking in like, December 2021 and well before we got more confirmation of chess master Aaravos, since seeing that come to fruition was amazing as a big chess nerd

It's also helped me further develop my ideas about Callum/Claudia, Viren/Callum, and Rayla/Aaravos as foils, which has been so much fun and a constant source of discovery and joy during the hiatus, especially the last 6ish months. It also made me do a recent deep dive into Tarot (which I did in like 2016 but it had been a while) and gather more thoughts this weekend, and I just always love learning more. Was pleased to see I remembered correctly that Moon magic and the Moon tarot card completely matched up (I wasn't sure if I was getting stuff mixed up) and excited to discover some new parallels

Honestly idk whether I'm more excited to be completely dead on or 100% wrong. Like, what if Rayla escapes and comes back with a warning that even her "I must protect the boys" instincts can't justify keeping from them? That'd be such a different dynamic shift and interesting exploration that I've loved reading in some fics. If I'm wrong my brain will be racing a million miles an hour at like 5AM on release day trying to figure out where things are going, like S2 and S3 all over again <3 and if I'm right I'll have to have like, two tissue boxes near me the whole time

[bilbobagginshome]

A Deadbeat’s Journal 7

A Jotaro Kujo x blackfemreader fic 

February 20 20XX,

I saw her for the first time in months and my stomach churned. I heard her voice and my eyes welled up. My limbs were heavy. I write this now because I can barely articulate my swirling emotions. I’m just glad this wasn’t a physical meeting but one separated by the screen , only I was aware that I could see her. Maybe she knew I was watching , Is that why she appeared even more carefree than usual? To gloat ? I hated the feeling . I hated the gradual heat enveloping my entire body . I hated how light headed I became just from simply viewing her . I loathed that I was grateful she couldn’t see how pathetic I look as I looked at her , hoping to see something that proved her life wasn’t going splendidly well.

She looked prim and proper , a caramel nude toned suit with an off white blouse . Light makeup that accented her bambi shaped eyes, button bridgeless nose and thick full lips coated with pink gloss. Her long neck adorned with a delicate pearl necklace that contrasted her deep complexion . She looked stunning and my eyes shone green. I don't even know why she was being broadcasted , I couldn’t hear the conversation but my ears perked up every single time she let out a soft giggle.

It wasn’t fair . I should be up there , laughing joyfully at whatever lame joke the anchor said. It's not fair . I hate it . I hate myself. I’m choking up as I write this , my throat feels constricted with pure visceral anguish . How the mighty have fallen . I used to scoff at people who went through panic attacks. At least they found ways to get themselves up. I can’t even find the means to do anything aside from write. My mind is constantly running in one lane of consciousness reminding me that it's not fair , I don’t deserve this . I don’t deserve how my life tumbled to a graveyard in under a year . It wasn’t fair. 

I’m going to nap . Today is  Terrific Tuesday. I’ll send a reminder informing Jotaro that he promised me pizza . He abhors buying pizza on this day as the quality dramatically declines because of the BOGOF offer but I couldn’t care less right now. All I want to do is wallow in self deprecating thoughts and sleep whilst Samosa being my only anchor from not ending it all.

Third person.

Y/n wanted to die . She thought she had lived a far too long life. How on earth she was still alive was a surprise .25 was a long enough life .Her brain was barely keeping up with the mental strain that existence had . 

When Jotaro came home, an hour late because of the pizza order which he had made two hours in advance mind you, he was exhausted . Not only was a greater bulk of his work focused now on daily deep sea diving as opposed to the periodical once a month but he needed to have a first draft on his research paper done and he was nowhere near completing either of the tasks at hand . However , seeing Samosa paddling close to him gave him a warm rush of euphoria and he immediately picked her up after setting the pizza down on the kitchen counter.

“Y/n , come get the pizza while it's hot.” he said aloud . 

No response.

One tap, two taps and a somewhat dishevelled figure with drying spit at the corner of her mouth walked out whilst rubbing their eyes. 

“Thank you.” She hoarsely responded whilst opening the box.

Jotaro noted her mood shift . She always held an unmoving and slightly intimidating face yet this time her eyes gave off a faraway sadness.

“How was your day?” He questioned whilst setting Samosa down.

“I don’t know .” She sadly responded as she bit onto the slightly hot barbeque pizza

Jotaro didn’t want to press the issue further. Moreover he was dealing with his own acute set of problems so he bothered not digging further into it .He noticed how eerily quieter the house currently was and thought that today must not have been anyone’s day .

Third Person Narration

On Saturday , after 3 days of darkness , y/n saw the tunnel’s end by picking up her slack through swimming in the convenient apartment complex pool which was surprisingly cleaned at the appointed schedule . Samosa, who glared at the mere sight of the body of water , was placed underneath a comfy cotton pillow atop the pool seats . She adorned a colourful ,crochet hat that snugly fit her furry face and despite resenting the hat at first , she was well aware that it properly shielded her big blue eyes.

Y/n after doing a few laps ,floated. Mind filled with pure nothingness , she did not notice the gradually heavy steps until a deep, baritone voice said ;

“Oh , you’re swimming.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m joining you.”

“This pool isn't big enough for a giant like yourself .”

Jotaro nose-dived into the pool , deliberately aiming the splash in y/n’s direction to her chargain.She floated up and wide eyed stared at Jotaro’s back. 

“You have a tattoo? And it's big .”

“Go big or go home I suppose .”He sheepishly responded.

The tattoo was an abstractly drawn dolphin which was simple and not very large .Its width spanned not far outside Jotaro’s spinal cord but its design was what intrigued y/n to it the most as it only consisted of long ,thick lines with a circular endings.

“You suddenly have become way cooler than me , when did you get it?” She asked admiration practically dripping from her tone.

‘It was a graduation gift to myself for getting my doctorate . A friend of mine did it for me .” Jotaro responded as he turned around to her.

“You have a tattoo artist as a friend. Now I'm definitely envious . Who knew you were so cool?”

“Everyone knows I’m cool . You’ve never bothered getting to know me.”He said whilst adorning a smirk.

“That’s not true. We’ve known each other since we were kids so I just assumed what you see is what you get.” she softly responded , a slight scorn adorning her face .

“Look I don’t hold it against you , we were never close even when you did your exchange program in Japan so I don't blame you.” he kindly responded.

“Okay then , tell me about yourself .” She responded .

And as the clear blue sky gradually turned into brilliant hues of orange and rain , as their fingers slowly pruned , y/n was able to explore the world Jotaro saw . She cast aside the old notion of a boring, disgruntled friend whose acquaintance  was based on their parents' deep lifelong friendship and through her never - ending questions,  was introduced once more to Kujo Jotaro , who backpacked with his friends through the south east asia and the middle east, who was formerly passionate in fashion to the point of customising his high school uniform . He told her about his plans on rehabilitating the waters of the Indian Ocean , his plans on environmental conservation that seemed far fetched at first but his grant approval showed otherwise.Y/n came to the realisation that she didn’t know Jotaro all that well, and that was okay because she’ll now get to.

As they dried up , y/n suddenly realised ;

“I’ve never had you speak for ten minutes.”

“I was just answering your questions.”

“Thank you for indulging me. I know you aren’t a big fan of talking about yourself.”she responded with a slight smile that made Jotaro’s heart skip a beat.

“No biggie.” He responded whilst wiping his face , hoping the dusty pink hue  adorning his cheek remained unnoticed.

“Hold up , I didn’t cook supper earlier. Wanna order?” She cheekily questioned .

“I knew you'd say that hence the reason I prepared ramen bowls.”he smugly responded.

“Even better.” She responded as she cradled Samosa.

February 25 20XX,

Today is a day before Samosa’s vet visit and tears are welling up at the thought that she might have to sleep there for the night. Jotaro had bought her an adorable sky blue backpack that was littered with cute clouds and it was small enough for her to wear it on her back .

She has practically been my rock for the past two weeks. It's honestly frightening and a bit unhealthy . Jotaro told me that it's just one day but his eyes were dimmer than usual so there’s that . Since it's a Sunday, I told Jotaro we should watch a series together before Samosa goes and he agreed. We ended up watching Garfield and Friends (The superior Garfield series franchise) and Samosa greatly enjoyed it. Even Jotaro let out a few chuckles so I definitely made the right choice.It was bittersweet when we all went to our rooms as we knew that she’ll not be here tomorrow night.Even as I look over her to where she sleeps , in her pillowy bed , with a blanket , I can’t help but want to cry .

                                 prev  masterlist  next

[when-daydreams-collide]

Stardew Valley - Elliott

So recently I fell into playing some Stardew Valley. It had been on steam sale, and I’ve heard a lot about it over the years, so decided to give it a go.

And of course, as with any video game, this meant falling headfirst into playing/modding and just some generally obsessive behavior. As per usual.

My brain always chooses a favorite guy, no matter what the game, and in this case, it was Elliott. So here, we have a post about Elliott and the mods I have created for him, and how I see his character and background.

First, the mods. I have a portrait & sprite mod, a main dialogue mod and a marriage dialogue mod. I’ve been looking into the mail system, and might try my hand at learning SMAPI mods, so that I can make some letters he’ll mail you after events and/or heart levels are reached. I’ve thought slightly about adding an event, also, but that’s still on the back burner for now.

New Handsome Elliott Portrait and Sprite Mods

Elliott Main Dialogue Expansion Mod

Elliott Marriage Dialogue Expansion Mod

Now, a little blurb on how I see his character. I’ve put this under a read more, so if you don’t want to read it or don’t want to be spoiled on some lines in his dialogue, you can skip it :)

(spoilers for his character below, if you haven’t played the game or don’t want an in-depth analysis based on the game/my dialogue mods)

Elliott is a bachelor who has moved to town only a year before you arrive. He’s left his former life, and moved into a small cabin on the beach in order to chase his dream of being an author. The people in his old life thought him silly, and felt this was a foolish idea, but he left all he knew and most likely spent every penny he had to give this a try.

As I was writing Elliott, I thought of him as about 30 plus or minus a couple of years. I feel as if this can go younger or much older depending on personal headcanon, and the dialogue will still work. He’s older than most the bachelors, except for Harvey. They may be of a similar age, or it’s possible Harvey is older, since he’s a doctor. I headcanon each of them to be someplace in the 25-45 year range. Both old enough to have started careers elsewhere before moving to town, and left old lives behind them. It’s a huge, broad range, I know. But as I said, I think of Elliott as roughly around 30. Or 28. Or 32. You know, somewhere in there. A man such as Elliott doesn’t give his age!

He is vain, especially of his long hair. But this isn’t without reason. From the little the game tells us about his background, I think Elliott grew up in a well-off family, or at least a high middle-class. They prized things like a good income, steady job, logic not fanciful ideas, outward appearance not who you were on the inside. His looks and physique are probably one of the ways he could impress his family, since his ideas and dreams were so fanciful. No matter how hard he tries, his head is in the clouds and he can’t be a “normal” person. He admits freely that he’s an oddball -- you know this must be something he’s been called before, and he’s taken it in and made it his own.

As a child, he was drawn to the sea. This wild, untamed ocean touched his soul, and draws him in. I imagine him as a youth, not being quite the same as the other children in his social circle. Feeling the call of the sea and wanting to be outside in nature; feeling the lure of reading, and living in the solitude of his daydreams. An Anne of Green Gables in masculine form, yet never finding the love and acceptance she did with her adoptive family. Thus, instead of being as outgoing as a child as she was, he retreated... until he grew into his looks, and grew his hair long. Then his looks, his hair, his physique became a sort of armor for him. Something to wear to the world, to his family -- something that gave him courage and let him blossom into a more talkative person. Someone who can now chat easily with strangers, and can embrace his romantic, oddball ways without reservation.

His cadence of speaking and word choices are a little different than say someone like Sebastian. Elliott has surrounded himself with books, has made friends of the classics and lives partially in a world gone by. He’s romantic, sometimes a little cheesy, always sincere, and has a deep love in his heart for nature and the world around him. Yet, this affectionate nature and willingness to wear his heart on his sleeve doesn’t mean he’s happy all the time. He fights with self-doubt, with waves of depression, with the fear of not being good enough that comes to most artists. There are times he gets stuck in his head, thinking too much, and makes him think himself a fool and a failure. Yet those days and times pass, because at heart, he truly is a buoyant person.

Since he left his old life behind him, giving up everything and spending all his money to take this chance, to devote himself fully to writing -- he doesn’t have time for many other hobbies. He does, however, play the piano. Whether he came to that cabin because it had a piano, or if the piano is one of the only things he brought from his old life, it is the one true luxury he affords himself. Otherwise his days are spent writing, reading (for research I’d guess), or spending time decompressing in nature. He loves taking walks, and speaks of fishing. Once you progress to romance and he’s finished the book,  he restores the rowboat with his own hands -- so he must also have a little bit of some handyman skills. I imagine once married (if the game would allow for it!!!) he would enjoy doing a little woodwork in his free time, perhaps even learning how to carve toys for the kids from Leah.

It speaks volumes to me that Leah and Willy are his friends in town. The other nature lover/artist, and the sea-loving fisherman. Both reflect elements in Elliott’s personality, and who he meshes with. He is also one that encourages you not to give up on making friends in town, to keep trying with Clint, no matter how discouraging it may seem. Elliott doesn’t give up on people, and gives all people a fair chance. I’d guess he’d also be friends with Linus, and not judge him for his lifestyle.

In love, Elliott is the most romantic of romantics. He will be sweet and maybe even a little cheesy, but he says things with such confidence and such charisma, that no matter how flowery his language, he’s utterly charming. He’ll never seek to hide his true feelings from you, or dissemble the fact he’s falling in love. He’d like nothing so much than to sweep you away, and give you the stars. In this way I see him like the bioware characters of Alistair or Jaal.

And that’s probably why I loved him. Alistair and Jaal with a bit of a masculine Anne of Avonlea... how could I ever resist?

[beyondspaceandstars]

hi dear!! do you think that you could do a loki laufeyson smut oneshot with the prompt “Doing so good for me, honey.” it’s okay if not!! thank you for considering!

Slow and Sweet

Relationship: Loki x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This uses some of my favorite cheesy tropes so I hope that’s okay! thank you so much for requesting, I hope this was alright!

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Loki was unlike any other lover you had had before. A literal god, he exuded a dominance both inside and outside the bedroom that you were very much addicted to. He knew how to take care of you in every way shape and form, having you weak and babbling as he pulled pleasure out of you for hours in bed using ropes, toys, degradation… Anything to get you off in the rawest way possible.

And you very, very much enjoyed it all, obviously. Loki’s style of loving was so fresh and inviting. You had never been with a man that could be so commanding. Heck — you never thought you’d be attracted to any kind of commanding from any man. But while he brought out a secret primal side in you, at heart, you were still a sucker for softer, more loving nighttime activities.

You just… You just didn’t know how to bring it up with him. For as much of a confident man he could be, you knew some insecurities lied beneath that armor. He was always very insistent at the end of your nights that you let him know if you enjoyed yourself. You certainly never lied but you also really, really craved something slow.

Still unsure, you called a friend one night to vent and hope she had some ideas. Really, though, she didn’t understand your dilemma.

"Girl, you’re getting railed by an Asgardian God. I don’t understand the problem."

You sighed into the phone, gripping it between your shoulder and cheek as you began prepping dinner. "I don’t know. I just want him to be a bit softer, I think. Maybe something closer to love-making."

She chuckled. "Do you think he even has that in him?"

"Of course," you said. "He’s more than sweet out in public. There’s no reason that can’t translate into the bedroom."

"Well, then I think you should just tell him."

"I know, but-,"

Your words were cut off suddenly but the sound of something loudly hitting the dinner table behind you. You jumped, turning abruptly to find Loki standing in the kitchen, staring you down. He must’ve thrown his book on the table to get your attention. You looked between the item and him.

All while you’re engaged in a staring contest with your visibly confused boyfriend, your friend is screaming at you on the other end of the line asking what happened.

"I-I’ll call you back," you said quickly into the receiver before ending the call. The vibe in the room had gone cold. You didn’t know how but you knew Loki knew.

Still, you forced a smile, deciding maybe it was best to act like you weren’t discussing such intimacies with a third party. "Hey, babe," you said before turning back to the food you were preparing.

Loki didn’t respond and you were way too nervous to look over your shoulder. You focused on the slicing of vegetables very, very closely…

A hand landed on your hip. He was behind you now. You could practically feel him breathing down your neck. His hard body was pressed to your back. But nothing about him seemed to scream angry or hurt. He was amazingly calm.

"Who was that on the phone?" Loki asked. He was just about whispering in your ear. You gulped, trying to keep your focus on the cutting board in front of you.

"My- My friend," you responded. Another hand was suddenly on your other hip, pulling you into your boyfriend. You sighed at the contact.

"That’s nice," he hummed. "Must be good to catch up with your friend."

"Yeah-,"

"But tell me, dear, do your conversations together always end up with you complaining about our sex life?"

You shook your head. "Loki, I wasn’t complaining-,"

"You want me to be softer," he gritted.

You sighed, placing your kitchen knife back on the counter and pushing away the vegetables. Dinner was definitely on hold now. "That doesn’t mean I’m complaining," you explained. "I love what we do so much, you make me feel incredible, but I also want to slow down sometimes. I’ve loved exploring the rougher side of sex with you, I just… I want the other side of it, too. A balance, maybe."

There was a lull for a moment before Loki hesitantly spoke, "I’m afraid I won’t know how to."

You closed your eyes, absolutely dreading hearing the words you had feared. But you pulled through, slowly nodding your head, trying to accept it. "Alright, I understand—"

"But I want to try."

"Y-You do?"

He nodded as one of his hands slowly began creeping its way up and under your blouse. His hands were so rough compared to your soft skin. As Loki’s hand brushed over your bra-covered breasts, warm lips began decorating your neck with kisses. He nipped and sucked still but it was nothing compared to how he used to do it. It didn’t feel like he was trying to devour but instead savor you.

"Is this close to what you had in mind?" Loki asked, his voice dropping lowly. You moaned in response as his hand began traveling south, fingers light and delicate as they skimmed the top of your shorts.

Your eyes slowly drifted shut in anticipation as you murmured, "Feels good…"

Loki tsked. His hand stopped. "You haven’t felt anything yet."

There was a swooshing sound. You opened your eyes and in your confusion took in the sights of your bedroom. Loki was still pressed behind you. You were facing the bed.

"If my darling wants traditional loving then it needs to happen in a traditional spot, correct?"

You wanted to comment that being transported to the bedroom in such a manner wasn’t traditional by any means but before you could speak, Loki was guiding you to the bed, sitting you at the edge of it.

He dropped to his knees in front of you, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. "Are you…" You began to ask but were cut off by him placing a kiss in your inner thigh.

"Now," he mumbled into your skin, "I prefer to feast rather hungrily but I’m going to try it your way, okay?"

You bit your lip, nodding slowly, completely hypnotized by the sight of Loki kneeling for you. Usually, when he ate you out you were completely lying down in bed. He had never dropped to the floor for you.

"Terrific," he said and with a flick of the wrist, your clothes had vanished.

Again, you wanted to bite back that that certainly wasn’t part of old-fashioned love-making but your protests were silenced by his tongue finding your clit. Gently, he moved in soft, tight circles around your clit before testing your folds. Instinctively, your hands flew to his hair, tangling your fingers in his dark locks as your body arched in pleasure.

Loki let out a low hum at your grip before his tongue slowly maneuvered its way inside you, caressing your folds. You gasped as his tongue worked on you, bringing you closer to an orgasm. He began altering now from your folds to your clit, pulling pleasure in surprising ways. To add to it all, Loki’s hands were running up and down your thighs as he went. You didn’t know what it was about the simple touch but it was driving you crazy.

The longer you stared, the faster the tongue worked, the closer you were getting… Your brain was spinning as you felt your orgasm building.

"I-I’m-," you tried muttering out but Loki seemed to get the memo. Abruptly, he removed all contact. You gasped, a bit surprised, a bit angry. You shot daggers at him.

"Patience, honey," he snickered, "You wanted it slow and sweet, didn’t you?"

"Yes, but…" Your words couldn’t finish, once again, as Loki attached his lips to yours. Slowly, he pushed you back on the bed as your tongues now fought with one another. You were completely encapsulated in tasting remnants of yourself on him and the kind way he was kissing you, you didn’t even realize what was happening until your head hit your pillow.

His lips left yours and began working down to your jaw, your neck, across your breasts… It felt like he was loving every inch of your skin. You felt truly beautiful, admired, at that moment as he practically worshipped you. He placed a quick kiss on your clit and you thought maybe he’d continue his actions down there but then he was back, face level with you.

"Fair warning, darling," Loki whispered, "it’s going to take all the patience I possess to go slow once my cock is buried deep in your soaking core."

His gaze was intense, almost too much, but you just nervously nodded and waited. Loki intertwined one of your hands together while the other one fell to your hip. Typically, at this point he’d just grab your waist and pull you into him, never giving you the chance to breathe or adjust. He’d fuck you a bit wildly, letting bruises from his fingertips litter your skin.

Tonight, though, everything was with a lighter touch. And when he entered you, he stopped halfway, letting you both really feel the moment. You moaned at the fullness as Loki groaned in your ear. When settled, he eased in fully and you were just about done for.

You could see Loki resisting the urge to just take you relentlessly but then he placed a gentle kiss on your lips and pulled out a little, slowly, before diving back in. Your back arched as you felt every inch of him, really felt him. It was so snug but just right. You felt your wetness pooling shamelessly.

"That’s it," Loki groaned as his pace continued at a slightly antagonizing slow rhythm. "Doing so good for me, honey."

"Feels amazing…" You sighed, taking in every time Loki’s cock would nudge the right spot or stretch you just a little bit more. It felt… It felt like a first time. Like you two had been saving this moment.

Loki’s pace picked up just slightly and you knew he was getting close. That was maybe one thing he could never resist — chasing his orgasm with you at all cost. You snaked your free hand down to your clit, working for that extra pleasure but Loki’s hand on your hip quickly pushed it away.

"I’ve got you, darling," he whispered and replaced your fingers with his. He rubbed tight, cautious circles on your clit. You squealed as your orgasm began approaching quicker and quicker.

"Please," you begged, "I need to cum." Loki could never resist your begging and it seemed to drop the facade a bit. The circles and pumping picked up even faster. It hit you at that moment that while you loved the slow foreplay, getting fucked in such unconventional ways was really delightful.

Loki must’ve felt your walls tightening because he mumbled, a bit weakly, "Cum for me, dear. Come on, cum for me."

A few more flicks on your clit and you were there. Your back arched off the bed again as your body shook. Your orgasm filled you just as Loki was now filling you. The warmth of both actions consumed your body, bringing pleasure beyond belief. You twisted and turned on the bed as you two slowly came down from the highs.

Loki gently wrapped his arms around you, still huffing and puffing from his own pleasure. He was still inside you as he laid on the bed. You could feel his release leaking out of you and onto your thighs. You sighed, very content.

"Was… Was that okay?" Loki eventually hesitantly asked. You were watching the ceiling, still trying to get your breathing under control, as he stared at you. He disconnected your hands and began carefully running his fingers through your hair, lovingly.

You nodded. "That was lovely," you smiled. "Thank you."

"I just want to make sure that every time you leave this bed, you’re satisfied."

"I-I didn’t mean to make you think I’m not satisfied," you mumbled. "I’m always pleased when you’re pleasing me."

Loki grinned at the silly phrase. "Good," he said then began moving a sneaky hand down your body. It stopped where you two were still connected. You let out a sharp breath at his touch. "Would a round two be satisfying? You’ve had your love-making. Now I want to fuck you."

You could barely nod your head in response before Loki was pouncing on you.

[tryingmybestpls]

Me and My Husband

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The reader warns herself of her relationship with Steve Rogers.

Rating: R

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Infidelity, miscarriage, depression, suicidal thoughts

No one will tell you what to do when you find out your husband is cheating on you. No one tells you that whether you stay or you leave him, everything you do will be judged ruthlessly. So you just pretend. You will pretend like its not happening, like you haven't seen the text messages on his phone or heard the whispers when you visit the Compound upstate. You'll ignore them the best you can, pray that somehow you got this all wrong. But you can read minds, so you get it straight from him that he's cheating on you.

You'll keep your head held high, ignoring the issue as much as possible. You act like nothing is amiss, even though everyone that you work it-or have worked with-knows the truth. They all know your husband was having an affair and they wonder if you know. You can see their questions as they appear in their heads. You plaster a smile on your face, wishing to be in your bed so you just cry. You'll get bombarded with their thoughts and it'll make you feel like you're drowning.

You'll never bring it up to your husband, but he knows that you know. You've promised that you'd never read his mind, but he knows that you have. You know every gritty little detail of the affair and he knows. He is reminded of it every time he sees you lying in the bed you once shared, your back to him. He's reminded of what he did every time the two of you visit the Compound upstate, when everyone gives her looks of sympathy while he gets glares that bore into his skin. Every time your eyes meet his, he is reminded that he didn't care about the sanctity of marriage and because of that you'll never look at him the same way ever again.

You'll spend moments wondering what you did wrong. Did you not love him enough? Not give him enough attention? Instead of being mad at your husband, you're mad at yourself. Wanting to think about what you could have done instead of thinking that your husband just didn't love you. It'll be easier to blame yourself and you'll live with this bundle of hatred for yourself.

A betrayal by the people closest to you. Your husband and your best friend. Your husband and your maid of honor. The two people you loved most in the world sleeping together and losing your trust, losing you. You wanted it to be anyone but her, anyone else. You prayed and begged that somehow his thoughts betrayed him and he didn't sleep with her, but you know deep down that he did. Her face is all over his memories. She won't meet your eyes and you've stopped taking her calls.  You will want to hurt her, kill her. Want to make her brains spool out from her head because you're so God damned hurt. She isn't friend anymore. Friends don't betray you. Friends don't sleep with your husband. Friends don't make a mockery of your marriage. Friends don't-

Cry.

You'll find yourself crying a lot. It's an endless stream of tears that leave your head pounding and your eyes aching. It's the type of crying that makes your throat and entire chest hurt, the types of crying that leaves you feeling hollow. You must be dehydrated with how much you're crying. Your husband will come home to see your eyes red and watery. He used to be so concerned when he saw you post-crying, but that was before your marriage imploded. He knows he is the reason why you're crying, so he doesn't bother asking anymore. And that only makes you cry even more.

A night of emotions being too high and apologies that he doesn't mean result will in a positive pregnancy test and you're stuck in marriage with three people. You, your husband, and the other woman. It's too cramped and you feel like you can't breathe. It's suffocating.

When you get pregnant, people will whisper it's a save the marriage baby. None of their smiles will meet their eyes and their pity will be written all over their faces. They congratulate you nonetheless, calling you a fool once your back is turned. Having a baby with a man that betrayed her with her best friend.

They'll ask you how he feels about it. Not how you feel because you're not allowed to have feelings anymore. You gave up your feelings when you chose to ignore his infidelity. They'll ask you how he reacted, if he is happy. You don't want to tell them that he just nodded when you told him, his face not giving away way what he felt about the news. You don't to tell them at he left immediately to go see her as soon as you got into the shower.

She will be in the room when you tell the remaining members of your team, both holograms and in person. Hidden in plain sight, she sits among the people you call your friends-at least the ones that remain. His eyes meet hers when the news falls from your lips and you can hear her whisper in her mind "What are we going to do?". As your friends and teammates walk up to congratulate the two of you, she takes her time getting up, takes her time to walk over to you. She looks you in the eye and says that the two of you are going to be great parents. Three of us in this marriage and I can't breathe.

You'll wonder every day as your stomach grows if the man who you married hates you. He's stuck in this house that he had built, with the family he had wanted, in loveless marriage because he messed up and you found out. It doesn't stop him from leaving at night, showering immediately when he comes back. They both know you aren't stupid. You know what they are doing, but your heart can't break anymore. You'll tell yourself that he'll stop when the baby comes, but you know that's a lie, but it's a lie you keep repeating to yourself in hopes of it coming true.

Sometimes, you will dive into his mind when he is asleep next to you. He'll never know that you've snuck inside, but you get to see every moment of their relationship. It's sadistic and all it does is make you more upset, but you can't help yourself. You need to know how far it goes, if they love each other or if it's just a physical thing. She fills up more of his memories than you do. You're being replaced and there isn't a thing you can do about it. You can only watch it happen.

And no one will tell you what to do when you start to bleed. It will seems to pour endlessly from you, staining the cream colored sheets. Your husband won't be beside you, he's off with her. So instead, through the pain, you drive yourself to the hospital, blood covering the seat. Tears streaming down your face as you force yourself to walk into the emergency room, hand on your stomach. You'll lean on the receptionist's desk and calmly tell her "I think I am losing my baby." as blood drips down your legs. No one tells you who to call. Should you interrupt your husband's time with his mistress? Make him hate you more? No. Instead, you call your friend, the one who has always been like a brother to you. The one who lives a few hours away with his wife and their newborn daughter. You'll wait for him, sitting alone in a hospital room as nurses run tests on you.

No one will tellyou how you are supposed to react when they come in and tell you that your baby-a boy, you learn-is gone. Your bump is still there, so how can he be gone? He. A sweet baby boy that you'll never get to meet. When Tony arrives, you can't get the words out. Saying it aloud will mean it's true. But he knows. He knows as soon as he walks through the door that the baby is gone. He doesn't bring it up and instead sits next to you, where your husband should be, and holds your hand. Your hand in his while you other hand cradles your bump. Your husband will return home the next morning to find your car gone with blood smeared everywhere. For the first time in months, he'll call your phone, wondering what was going on.

Tony will be the one who answers the phone when you're in surgery, the doctors wanting to make sure the contents of your womb are completely out. He'll be the one who tells your husband that you lost your baby. Tony will be the one to tell him to stop calling. Before your friend hangs up, Tony will tell your husband that he caused this, that his infidelity direct caused your miscarriage.

In that time, you'll finally lose it. It's like you're finally reacting to everything. You'll be drowning in anger, in sadness, in sorrow. How you managed this far you'll never understand. Tony will bar your husband and his mistress from coming anywhere close to your hospital room. Your life is falling apart at the seams and you're losing control of everything. You're unable to sleep, unable to eat. The last thing you've had was your baby and now that he's gone-Well you don't have anything left. You just want all of the pain to end and you'll tell Tony that. He'll will be worried and he'll ask for you to be put into a seventy-two hour hold. While this is happening, while your brain is being picked in order to see if you're going to harm yourself, Steve will be throwing away the bloody bed and getting rid of the ruined sheets and blankets.

Tony will decide that you can't go back to your home you share with Steve, but you also can't stay with him. He has a baby and you just lost yours. It's not right for you to stay there. So instead he takes you to Asgard's new home. You'll be thousands of miles away from the home you had wanted to raise a family in, away from your husband. Thor and Valkyrie will welcome you with open arms, helping you transition into your new lifestyle as you grieve. Tony will handle the divorce proceedings and Steve will get a new bed. Your things will be packed up and sent to you and you'll be completely removed from your husband.

And when Bruce and Rocket come knocking on your door three years later, begging for your help, you'll be forced to make a choice. And you'll sit there in your tiny cottage next to Thor's, thinking about what to do. And then you'll agree to help because you want to bring back half of the universe. You love saving people and it doesn't matter if you feel uncomfortable, you are going to help bring people back.

So when that beautiful man with the baby blue eyes comes up to you after a mission, a million dollar smile stretched across his nervous face and asks you to go on a date, heed this warning. He'll be amazing at first, but it'll go down hill so fast. Know that you were never his first choice, you were the only available one.

If you don't heed the first warning and you do go on a date with the blonde man, don't marry him. The marriage is a sham, something you'll do a year after half of the universe turns into dust. You'll be excited and it'll seem like he's really happy, but he isn't. He just wants purpose again and he won't get it from the marriage. He'll emotionally leave you and you'll try to stick it out.

Being with Steve Rogers will only end in pain, so save yourself the heartbreak and stay away.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 38

Sorry for the delay. Real life gets out of hand. But here it is! The antepenultimate chapter.

Shout out to @asongeverlasting for beta reading for me and making sure I actually got this out.

Check her writing out on AO3 as Ramblingwren

(Master post)

(Read the fic in a more condensed on Ao3)

(The latest chapter will be up on there once this reaches over 500 notes on tumblr)

Hope you all enjoy

_____________________________________________________________

“I shouldn’t have let her go out there.”

Fu watched the school nurse, Angela, fret as she paced back and forth.

“I understand your concern, but I believe that it will all be alright. Ladybug and Chat Noir haven’t failed in handling an akuma yet,” he explained. “The girl will be okay.”

The nurse stopped pacing.

“I appreciate your optimism but… I am really not used to this,” She said as she gestured to the air.

Fu blinked at the statement.

“Oh?”

“This! This whole thing! Super villains that appear whenever someone gets sad, teenagers with superpowers! This is all new to me! I just moved to Paris a month ago from the countryside. All I wanted was to further my education and get work in the medical field. It… It boggles my mind that everyone in this city is so okay with all of this! Even my new boyfriend Curtis is able to shrug off an akuma attack like a sudden drizzle. This isn’t normal!”

The guardian could tell the young woman was distressed, and he couldn’t blame her. In a way, he envied her. This was all foreign for her, but to him, this was his entire life.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up like that. I've had a lot to deal with, and this whole situation is just so…”

Fu moved to her and helped her sit down.

“It’s alright, this is by no means a good situation. Your concerns are very understandable. I can tell that deep down that your frustration and fear come from compassion and empathy. You will make a wonderful doctor one day.”

She took a deep breath.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I really needed to hear that today.”

“How about I teach you a medication technique that will help you calm down?”

“Meditation? I'm not really one for that kind of stuff.”

“If one wants to be a doctor, being able to calm down and handle an emergency situation is a must.”

The school nurse agreed that he had a good point, and that this may help get her mind off of things.

“Okay, I guess I'll give it a shot.”

Fu smiled.

“Good. Let us start simple. Close your eyes and put your hands together.”

Angela felt the action was a bit odd but complied.

“Now, take a deep breath. Count to 5 in your head and then breathe out.”

She took her breath and followed the order.

“Whenever you feel a thought come to your head, simply picture yourself putting it out of your mind and into a bucket.”

She tried her best to comply.

As she did this, Fu moved behind her and quickly pinched a nerve on her neck, causing the young woman to seize up for a moment before losing consciousness.

“That will help her relax.”

He carefully moved her to the cot and laid a sheet over her like a blanket.

Once it was clear that she was asleep, a turtle kwami flew out of hiding.

“So, what do we do now, Master?”

Fu took a moment to consider.

His plan was already in motion. Ladybug and Chat Noir had plenty of allies to help fight the akuma. All that needed to be done was to sit down and wait.

But as he thought about it more, he couldn’t help but think that he should go in personally. It was what he'd initially planned to do with akuma, after all. Listening to this young woman’s fears made him really see how his inaction has led to such fear and uncertainty.

For once, it was time for him to go on the offensive.

“Now we head out and find this akuma.”

“Master, you already sent out three miraculous. Let the other heroes handle this,” Wayzz insisted.

“The people of Paris should not have to become used to this. I have been far too lax with this situation. Right now, Ladybug and Chat Noir are facing their most dangerous akuma yet. For decades I have always remained passive in order to avoid making another mistake, but I have already made so many with my inaction. It's time I stop letting my actions be dictated by fear.”

“But Master, you can’t transform! Your body is too old to handle it!”

“Fear not, Wayzz. I have been exercising and restoring my vitality with the techniques of the guardians. By my estimation, I should be able to maintain the transformation without too much issue for 10 minutes,” Fu assured.

“That is not a lot of time, Master!” Wayzz pointed out.

“True, but it is better than nothing. We will head out and wait for the moment we need it. Be ready, Wayzz.”

The old guardian started heading to the door.

“But Master, what if you get captured? What if the akuma does succeed and you are unable to step in?”

Fu paused at the door.

“I know you are concerned for me. I appreciate your care. But I need to go out there. I have lived a long life, Wayzz, far longer than most humans. One day I may not be here to be the guardian.”

Wayzz felt a pang of sorrow hearing his Master talk about how he would no longer be around.

“But that’s okay. I know that when that time comes… I have two young heroes that will be ready to stand up and fight. The best thing an old man like me can do is pave the road for them.” The guardian said with certainty. He went to open the door.

“Fu…”

The old man stopped. Turning around, he saw the turtle kwami he had known for most of his life smile at him.

“I know you think of yourself as a failure of a guardian… but Su Han and the others were wrong. You are a great one. You are the most caring guardian that has ever held the title. And I will be by your side to the end.”

The old man felt his eyes well up at the sweet comment.

“Then let’s go, Partner.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The dragon heroine grabbed the confused snake hero and moved him to the closest room before closing the door.

“Okay we should be safe here,” she said as she looked over to her comrade. It was clear that Viperion was still very confused. It did not help that both his and her miraculous were beeping. They didn't have much time.

“Thanks… ummm,” Viperion started as he tried to rack his brain for a name. Part of him felt like he should know her. But his mind is blank.

“Ryuuko. You can call me Ryuuko. And you are Viperion.”

“Okay… weird name for me, but I guess it works.”

Ryuuko realized that the bubble Viperion had been put in wasn’t just to keep him frozen in place. One of the side effects must have been leaving him without any memory of who he was. Had her partner been aware of that risk when he took the bubble for her? She couldn’t know for sure. But right now, she needed to focus on the task at hand. Shehad to take charge since her partner was out of sorts.

“Okay, 'll try to explain this as quickly as possible.”

“Your real name is Luka. But when you are in your hero form, you go by Viperion.”

“Hero form...”

He looked down.

“Well, that does explain the costumes. I thought it was some sort of weird costume party.”

Ryuuko decided to ignore that.

“Okay, so I'm a hero. And you're one too?”

“Yes. We are both heroes picked by Ladybug to help her fight villains. Right now, we're fighting a bunch of them, and you got your memory wiped by one of their attacks. That’s why you are confused. Any questions?”

The boy took a moment to look himself over and then look at her. This was a lot of information to take in. Ryuuko was half expecting him to call her crazy. Which, given how bizarre the circumstances were, she wouldn’t blame him.

“Okay, I think if it was anyone else telling me this, I would have called it a load of bull. But… I don’t know why but I feel like I can trust you. You sound sincere,” Viperion responded.

“Okay great, now let's…”

“I still have a few questions.”

Ryuuko sighs.

“Look, we really don’t have much time. We need to hurry and get out there to help…”

And just before she finished the statement, both of their transformations wore off. Revealing their civilian forms.

“Oh no.” Kagami muttered in horror.

“What happened? Where am I… What am I?” The snake kwami questioned as he looked at himself.

“It appears that Sass was also impacted by the amnesia.” The dragon kwami that popped out of her necklace commented.

Luka stared wide eyed at the creature.

“Are you a snake?”

“A snake? I suppose?”

“A snake with limbs? That is very rock and roll.”

The two fistbumped. Thankfully they seemed to get along.

Longg looked at them.

“This is quite a predicament.”

“We need to hurry back in. Longg! Bring the….”

“Hold on a moment. Both Sass and I will not be able to do that yet.”

Kagami stopped.

“How come?”

“We need to refuel. The energy of transforming AND using our unique powers drains a lot out of us. We need some food to continue.”

“Food… Okay.”

The snake Kwami grabbed his stomach.

“I find myself rather famished,” he commented.

Luka looked at him.

“Let me see if I can help you out.”

The teen took off the backpack he was wearing to go through it. Thankfully there was a bag lunch in there. For some reason he felt that was important. But decided that if it could help the little guy out, he was sure it wouldn’t be a big deal.

He opened the bag lunch and pulled out a bag of apple slices. Opening it to grab a piece.

“I know snakes usually are carnivores, but how about some fruit?”

“Ooo! It smells divine!”

Luka handed the floating kwami a piece of the apple.

He takes a bite.

“Oh! It's delicious! Juicy and sweet!”

The snake quickly devours the apple piece.

As that happens, Kagami looked through her bag.

“I don’t have fruit but I do have some onigiri. It was my afternoon snack… but since this is a dire situation.”

“Rice? Yes please!” Longg exclaimed as he dive bombed right into the delicious rice ball.

“It’s Umeboshi, it’s not to everyone’s taste but It is one of my favorites.”

“It’s the most delicious thing I have ever eaten. The sour plum really brings a new dimension of flavor.”

Kagami smiled a bit at her kwami companion, happy that she could help.

The two Kwami finished their food and were ready for action.

“Okay, Sass. You need to help Luka transform.”

“Sass? Is that my name?” the snake inquired.

“So, he helps me transform into Viperman?”

“Viperion, and yes,” Kagami responded.

“All you need to do is say. Sass, Scales Slither. And to activate your special power just pull your bracelet back and say second chance. Then pull it back when you want to use it. But be sure not to use it right away,” Longg instructed.

“Okay seems easy enough. Are you okay with this?” Luka asked as he turned his attention to his snake pal.

“The floating horn snake seems fine with it so I say let’s give it a try”

Longg decided for the sake of his friendship with Sass to ignore the comment.

“Alright! Let's do this!” Kagami exclaimed as she prepared to transform.

“One last question.”

Kagami was starting to get antsy. She wanted to be back out there fighting. But she held back her annoyance, considering how he sacrificed his memories for her.

“Make it quick, we need to hurry.”

Luka scratches the back of his head.

“Are we a couple?”

If Kagami was drinking water she would have done a massive spit take. Her cheeks turned red.

“What?!”

“You know… together? You seem to know a lot about me, and I just feel this connection... like I can trust you even though I don’t remember anything. I don’t know how or why, but I feel like you matter to me.”

Kagami’s eyes went wide at the comment. It felt surprisingly bold of the musician to say. She had to admit that the statement made her heart skip a beat.

“No, we had just recently become friends.” Kagami responded.

“Oh…” Luka was saddened by the response.

“But, I have thought about the possibility it could be more than that one day," Kagami continued. "But that is something to discuss when you have your memory back. Maybe.”

The fencer felt her mind scream at her.

‘WHY DID YOU SAY THAT! Well, at least he won't remember.’

Luka smiled at that.

“Well, that must mean I must be a good guy, if I could have such a great friend like you.”

The teen prepared himself.

“Alright then! Sass! Scales Slither.”

The musician shifted into his hero form.

“Let’s go save the day.”

Kagami looked at her hero partner and smiled.

“Longg, Bring the storm.

______________________________________________________________________

“Well, that might be a problem.”

Chat Noir and Ladybug looked to see a stone giant guarding the front door of the classroom. The two had hidden just out of the goliath’s view.

“Any ideas on how to take down Mount Akuma?” Chat Noir questioned.

Ladybug looked at the giant from their hiding spot and began formulating a plan.

“Stoneheart grows bigger when he gets mad. These akuma aren’t really able to express their emotions. That means we don’t need to worry about him getting bigger. We just need to find a way to incapacitate him.”

“We could ask Mayura,” Chat Noir pointed out.

“We could ask… wait WHA…”

Chat Noir covered his partner’s mouth and ducked down.

“Shhhh! She’s right there,” Chat Noir hushed.

Ladybug removed the cat’s hand from her mouth and looked from the spot to see that her partner was right. Mayura was in the building!

“She actually showed up?” Oh, this is a lot more serious than we thought. Hawkmoth is really playing it serious with this one.”

“To the butterfly man’s credit, he really has been throwing out some tough ones.”

“I will not give our worst villain credit for anything except this headache,” Ladybug retorted with annoyance.

“So, what do we do? Mayura is in the building and she is talking with the giant.”

Ladybug felt like the situation couldn’t get worse.

“Not so fast, Feather Freak!”

Ladybug recognized that voice.

“Chloé?”

Chat Noir and Ladybug glanced to see a familiar blonde strutting down the hallway. But their expressions of shock shifted to bewilderment when they noticed what she was wearing.

“So are you and that purple fashion blunder here? Or is it just you? I am guessing it's just you. Your boss doesn’t really like to show his face unless he thinks he is sure to win. No wonder Ladybug always kicks his…” The bee themed heroine confidently quipped.

“Queen Bee. Now that is a surprise. I thought Ladybug was done giving you a miraculous.” The peacock villainess commented. She had no interest in dealing with the bee heroine at this time.

“Well, you would be surprised by a lot of things. So how about we settle this. My fist really misses your face.”

Mayura rolled her eyes.

“Fortunately for you, I don’t have the time to deal with you. Stoneheart, I am sure Masquerade would love for you to take care of this pesky bee.”

“Oh don’t think you can walk away! You and that purple cockroach are the same. Both cowards that can’t even face children.” She jeered as she walked forward.

The stone giant moved forward, allowing Mayura to walk to the door and enter.

“Too scared to face me! Typical. I'll beat your pet rock as a warm up and then your butt will meet my foot!” Queen Bee exclaimed with confidence. “Because I am a real heroine!”

Queen Bee got into a stance and prepared to trade blows with the colossus of rock.

Chat Noir looked to Ladybug.

“Did you give her a miraculous?” He whispered in surprise.

“I don’t have any additional miraculous. I thought she had been captured with the rest of the class.”

“Wait… if it wasn’t you… you don’t think…”

“Either Master Fu is in the building and saw how dire the situation was or Chloé snuck away and had a Queen Bee costume stowed away in her locker.”

The two look at each other and immediately come to the same conclusion.

“We need to save her before she gets crushed!”

______________________________________________________________________

Mayura walked into the classroom.

She managed to keep a straight face, but internally she had a lot going through her mind.

What was once a standard classroom now looked like an elaborate throne room. The amazing curtains, the high ceilings. The steps leading up to an elaborate throne. The portraits of Masquerade really brought together the utter decadence and vanity of the akuma persona. It reminds Mayura of Gabriel’s obsession with Emilie in the worst way possible.

Despite finding the décor off-putting, she had to admit it was impressive how Masquerade had been able to change the room into something completely unrecognizable. A testament to her vanity.

She took a moment to see what akuma servants she still had in the room. The Gamer, Reflekta with around 12 copies, Princess Fragrance, Robostus, Zombizou and Horificator. While the white masks obscured their expressions, it was clear that all of them were watching her. It greatly unnerved her.

She kept these thoughts to herself as the masked akuma that was running the school took notice of her.

“Mayura. I've been expecting you.”

Mayura looked up to see Masquerade sitting on the throne.

“Please, come in.”

She approached confidently. Though in the back of her mind something seemed off.

Masquerade stood up from the throne and walked down the steps, a smile of certainty on her face.

“Masquerade. Your Sentimonster gave me the basics of your plan. Securing the school as your base of operations was a good first step. Your plan of creating a video to lower the spirits of those in Paris was also a nice touch,” Mayura praised.

“But of course! My plan is flawless,” Masquerade boasted. “Not even Ladybug and Chat Noir will be able to stop me.”

“Getting ahead of yourself aren’t you?” Mayura cut her ego trip.

Masquerade’s mood soured as her smile faltered.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You have yet to face the two heroes. Not to mention there's a pesky bee flying around.”

“A bee?” Masquerade was very confused by the comment.

“Yes, Chloé Bourgeois, or Queen Bee, to be precise. Seems that Ladybug and Chat Noir went and got back up."

“It doesn’t matter if they have one additional hero or three. This plan won't fail.”

‘Something isn’t right here. I need to leave now!’ Mayura’s mind screamed.

She wasn’t sure why, but something felt incredibly off.

“Speaking of heroes, your plan never really specified how you will deal with them. Care to elaborate?”

Masquerade’s smile grew more sinister.

“I am glad you asked. After Simularé relayed to me that you were here. I finally figured out the perfect way of dealing with those arrogant heroes,” the masked woman stated with certainty, moving forward.

She now stood only a few feet from the peacock villainess.

“Wait a moment, something is wrong here,” Mayura commented as she tried to focus. She couldn’t ignore the warnings in her head.

“What do you mean?” The mask akuma looked with confusion at the blue villainess.

Mayura looked around. Frantically trying to find something but it was fruitless. This distress caused Masquerade to smile.

“I can't sense it,” Mayura spoke with slight worry.

“Sense what?” Masquerade inquired further.

“Where is your amok? It should be on your person but I can't sense it.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes. If you don’t have the amok in your possession then that sentimonster will go out of control!” Mayura explained.

“Can’t you just rip the amok out?”

“If it's nearby and I sense it, yes. But I can’t do that if it’s out of my range.”

“So you’re saying you have no power over me right now.” A devilish grin appeared on Masquerade’s face.

“No, I am saying I don’t have any power over the senti…”

Mayura felt a chill as she realized that the masquerade in front of her was not an akumatized Lila.

“Horrificator, block the door,” the Faux Masquerade commanded.

The pink and purple monster quickly moved to block the door with her large form.

The controlled akuma started circling around her as Simularé undid the illusion and morphed into its true specter form, Simularé.

“You ungrateful little monster. You think your master will be okay with you attacking one of the ones that gave her power?”

“My master doesn’t care about you or Hawkmoth. You are a means to an end. And she gave me special permission to take your miraculous from you.”

“Well if your master isn’t here, then no one is jamming the signal. I can contact Hawkmoth and put this little coup to an end.”

Simularé shifted into Lady Wifi.

“I have access to every power my master does. You are trapped with no options.” The sentimonster mocked.

Mayura looked around as she was circled by the controlled akuma. She needed to get out of there.

She felt a pain rush to her head.

‘F*** not now’ She mentally cursed.

The odds were indeed not in her favor.

______________________________________________________________________________

Stoneheart began charging at the bee themed heroine, and just as Queen Bee was about to move, a yo-yo wrapped around her waist and pulled her away from the monster.

The stone giant had expected his charge to make contact but forced himself to stop when he noticed the bee was gone.

“Sorry tiny, but I’m your playmate now,” called a cat-themed hero.

The mindless akuma didn’t visibly react to the change in foe and simply charged at the cat hero.

Queen Bee found herself near Ladybug.

“Chloé! What are you doing?!”

“Uh… Saving the day? I got the jewelry box that you sent out because you needed my help.”

“Jewelry box… wait a minute that means. You are wearing a miraculous.”

“Yep! Don’t worry LB, I will show you that I am worthy of being Queen Bee. And not to boast, but I totally saved someone. But right now, we gotta go beat that ugly pile of rubble.”

Ladybug looked at Chloé for a moment. With the situation as hectic as it was, Queen Bee has shown some competence when there is real danger. Ladybug knew that right now, all hands that could help would be appreciated, and Queen Bee’s appearance could mean that Fu may be closer than she expected. So maybe there were more reinforcements. So if this was the case. She would trust Fu’s judgement.

“Alright, just be ready to return the bee after all of this is over.”

“Right, right, but just know I will probably change your mind about that after this is over!” the bee exclaimed confidently as she jumped back into the fray.

Ladybug shook her head. Whether she was Queen Bee or Chloé, she was still a handful.

“Are you finished gossiping? Because I could REALLY use a hand!” Chat Noir shouted as he held his staff up to hold back the rock monster’s boulder of a fist.

Queen Bee and Ladybug jumped into view and noticed the situation.

“Don’t worry you stray cat, The Queen Bee will put that rock in his place. Ve…”

Ladybug covered Queen Bee’s mouth before she could.

“Hold it. We might need your power for later.”

“I think it would be useful now!” Chat Noir shouted as he struggled to hold the weight of the giant’s rocky hand.

“Okay if my powers are a no no right now, what is the plan?”

Ladybug looked around. She found her attention drawn to a fire extinguisher, Queen Bee, a rubber band, and a discarded backpack.

“Okay, I have a plan.”

______________________________________________________________________

Gabriel had made a decision.

He hurried out of the lair in his civilian form. He was going to head to the school. Now he would just need to get his chauffeur and go…

Gabriel’s eyes went wide as he saw his son’s bodyguard and chauffeur fall to the floor at the steps of the main entrance, a white mask adorning his face that he was desperately trying to get off.

“What is the meaning of this?” Gabriel asked aloud in shock and anger.

He looked to see the mask akuma he created standing at the door.

“Well, if it isn’t Gabriel Agreste. Fashion mogul, and master manipulator.”

Gabriel’s visible anger faded as he stared at the akuma.

“Lila, is that you?”

“Oh quite astute! An amazing deduction. Was it that observational skill that made you the fashion success you are now?” the akumatized Lila inquired. “Though I go by Masquerade now.”

Gabriel knew very well the girl’s powers. He was the one that gave it to her. She was trying to antagonize him, get him angry. But that would not work.

“Well Masquerade, what brings you to my home at this time?” Gabriel asked calmly. Doing his best to keep his tone and mannerisms calm.

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, finding more people to join my little army and I notice my charm glowing as I was getting near.”

Gabriel’s eyes went wide as he realized something. The charm bracelet was configured to locate anyone that has ever been akumatized. That included him. His ploy to ward suspicion off of himself was now biting him in the butt. And of course, Lila was likely holding a grudge with how he pushed her with his words about his son and his classmate.

“My bodyguard was akumatized. What of it?”

The silent action figure enthusiast stopped resisting and his body began growing. Gabriel noticed the man was transforming into the gorilla akuma. Gorizilla! And he rushed up the steps as the akuma moved and pounded his chest.

“Gorizilla, go gather up anyone who has been akumatized that you know of. I will handle Mr. Agreste myself.”

The giant akuma nodded at its master and headed off, leaving the agreste mansion with a giant hole that was once the front of the mansion.

“Handle me? And what do you plan to do?”

Masquerade’s necklace began to glow.

“Oh! Well that is very interesting,” Masquerade mused aloud as she learned from the glowing charm.

“What do you mean, interesting?” Gabriel asked. He knew that the charm had the bonus effect of pointing out the emotional weak points of those that had been akumatized. But he had PRETENDED to be angry and wasn’t actually emotional when the akuma took over. Did the charm still impact him the same way it did everyone else?

Masquerade started walking up the steps.

“You blame yourself for your wife’s passing.”

The statement was a blade pointed right at his throat. But Gabriel refused to react. He would not let himself be taken advantage of by his own akuma. He has been on the receiving end one too many times and he would be damned if he let that psychopath have control of him.

Masquerade saw that Gabriel was not reacting to the statement.

“I have never seen a man more miserable and pathetic,” Masquerade said. Her words sounded genuine and cutting.

Gabriel tried to turn around and walk away. But Masquerade jumped high with her superhuman agility and landed right in front of him, continuing her tearing down of his emotional state.

“All of this wealth and yet you are obsessed with what you don’t have. You are so blinded by the grief of losing your wife that everything else in your life may as well not exist. You locked yourself away, desperately trying to find something, anything that would bring her back. But now you are finding that color is starting to return in your life. You feel guilt over hiding the truth from your son, you loathe the attraction that you have been developing for another woman. You hate that you can’t dedicate every second to your lost wife and any speck of joy you feel without her here feels like treason since she is not here with you. You are a man so blind with his obsession that you fail to see the world doesn’t revolve around you. It's disgusting.”

“You know nothing of my life,” Gabriel dismissed.

But Masquerade knew he would say that. She only smiled. The truth was right in front of her. And she was ready to bring it home.

“You are actually terrified of facing her again.”

That shook Gabriel.

“What?”

“You are afraid of seeing her again. Whether it’s a year or 10 years, you feel that even if you could bring her back, she would be here and realize how much of a shell you had become without her. You are afraid that your obsession with her will be the very thing that drives her away once you see her again.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Then why haven’t you brought her back yet? Don’t you love her?”

Gabriel felt like his heart was being repeatedly punched.

“How dare you question my love for my wife!”

“Then why isn’t she here? If you loved her she wouldn’t have been taken from you and Adrien. But you were far too pathetic to do it. You failed her, and you are still failing her. You will never be with her again, and deep down. You know it to be true,” Masquerade answered coldly.

Those words were enough to get him down. That is what finally did him in.

Gabriel fell to his knees.

“No…”

Gabriel had broken. Masquerade knew she had him.

He was emotionally devastated, to the point where couldn’t even react to the mask coming his way.

____________________________________________________________

Well now things are now hitting their highest points of drama!

Will Ladybug and other heroes be able to stand up to Masquerade?

Will Mayura fall to Simularé's double cross?

Will I EVER update in time?

Tell me your thoughts on the chapter. Your support keeps it alive

[shoutogepi]

Entertainment

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 5.3k

[ ☁︎, ✘ (nsfw 18+!) ] angst, smut

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : Much to your chagrin, you realize you have feelings for your explosive coworker with benefits... (continuation of FYIJM/Orange Lambo)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : ahaha whaaa i bet you had thought this series was abandoned! well, surprise update. i realized the other day that i hadn’t updated this series in a year oops so... have this haha. for those of you who foresaw the angst... great job hehe. also please beware this is unedited... and for that i apologize~

𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : once again, reader is meant to be a fellow pro hero working at the same agency as Bakugou! so Y/H/N is meant to be read as “your hero name”.

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   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🄳ark shadows stretch along the tiled floor of the office, cast by the bright moon hanging high and proud in the sky. The fumes from the bustling city are strong challengers to the magnificent orb of light, but they only succeed in swallowing the stars twinkling across the planes of the sky— for the moon beams through them and illuminates the tears glittering down your cheeks.

Bakugou’s hand is firm around your throat as he presses your form against the glass of the floor-length window, your nipples dragging along the chilled surface. You sob in pleasure as his hips dig into your ass, his cock plunging into you. As soon as your mouth opens, his palm slides to cup around your cheek, shoving two thick fingers between your teeth and pressing down against the back of your tongue as far as they can reach. His movements are rough and ravenous, and flush with desire.

Just how you like it.

And he knows it.

Your teeth clamp around the digits and Bakugou releases an angry moan, hooking the fingers around your teeth and throwing your head to the side. “Fuckin brat,” he snarls, his other arm tightening around your stomach to press your back snug against his sturdy chest. “You’re gonna pay for bein’ bad, slut.”

His hips begin to slap mercilessly into you, his hard cock smashing deep into your core, again and again. Your disobedience withers as you’re overwhelmed with pleasure, body melting from his touch to curl into the curves of his instruction. Spine arching and feet sliding apart to welcome him even deeper inside, Bakugou grins at how easily you're broken, his hand leaving your waist to clap against your ass.

A moan decorates the glass with frosted white as you shuffle forward from the spank. Somehow his name tumbles from your lips in a winded cry, and his teeth sink into your neck as his growl vibrates across your heated skin. Your pussy clenches down on his thick length, and he moans even louder into your neck. His palm plants tiny explosions onto your ass as he slaps you another time, only prospering further as you clamp onto him again. “Fuck, you’re tight for a slut, y’know that?” He groans, tongue flicking along the fresh indents of his teeth on your throat.

“If anyone’s the slut here—“ you gasp as his fingers finally move out of your mouth to snag around your neck again. He squeezes the sides of your throat, daring you to finish your sentence. But you’ve already started your counter, and you aren’t backing down now. “— it’s you.”

Even if you had managed to snag a final breath as you finish talking, it’s stolen from you when a feral Bakugou roars behind you, ripping you from the glass and pivoting to shove you across the surface of his tidy desk. You whimper as his cock drags along your slick walls, his balls beginning to slap into your clit mercilessly and sending tingles through your skeleton. You swear and he laughs harshly, both hands gripping onto your hips as he hammers you into the desk. “I’m the slut?” He parrots, giving your non-reddened ass cheek a hard blow with his explosive palm. “When you’re the one who’s begging for me to fuck this sloppy little cunt? Look how wet you are,” he comments, a thumb trailing over your ass to touch the excess slick at the base of his cock. “Shit,” he grumbles as he moves the digit over your ass, dipping into your puckered hole easily with plethoric lubrication.

You whine at the stimulation, his thumb diving into you and rubbing inside. “Katsuki, a-ahh,” you gasp as his hips begin to pick up the pace again, an expletive falling from your lips after a moan.

“Y’like that, hah? See, you can’t even prove your case, Princess,” he chuckles, rolling his hips to grind against your sensitive walls. The action makes a purr of pleasure rumble from your throat, back bowing to offer your ass to him even further, meeting his circling hips. Your submission only spurs him on, his hands pushing your hips back into his in perfect synchronization. “Whose pussy is this?”

The question falls from his lips without thought, and his vermillion eyes widen as he realizes his mistake. Yet what horrifies him is that you don’t pause— you don’t even stray from your perfect speed to match his hips, not even a second out of line— you moan, and reply to him eagerly, “Yours, Katsuki— yours!”

And even though terror floods past the dam he’d so carefully constructed around his heart, his body crumbles at your answer, the spring in his stomach compressing as he nearly cums right there and then. He wants to choke out that he’s close, but somehow he croaks out a command instead. “Then cum for me. Cum on my cock— fuck...”

In your haze of lust you don’t notice how soft his voice has become. You let yourself topple over the edge, pussy squeezing him tight as your orgasm washes over your body. It’s sinfully encaptivating; a tiny morsel of what you can only imagine heaven must feel like. Bliss crashes through you like heavy tides on a rocky sea wall, drenching you completely in sweet, refreshing euphoria.

Bakugou’s tempo is swift and hard, but he relents after a few seconds with the way you milk him like a vise. He gasps as he nearly cums inside you, pulling out at the very last second and painting your back white with his load. He groans as his fist jerks around his cock, head thrown back in ecstasy as he empties his balls onto the canvas of your moonlit skin.

It’s quiet, save for the cocktail of ragged breaths huffing from the pair of you— coming down from your highs and minds clearing of the lust that so easily had dominated you just moments ago. Bakugou falls back into his desk chair, free hand opening a drawer to grab a package of wet wipes. He snags a sheet from the container, hissing as the cool wipe slides along his aching cock. A second towelette glides down the expanse of your spine as he cleanses you of his release, and you hum as he drags the other side of the  cloth between your thighs with care.

Cautiously you crawl off his desk, legs twitching as tiny, lingering shocks from your orgasm zip along your limbs. As the lascivious fog begins to clear, the air in the room becoming still and laden with perspiration from your passionate session, your stomach begins to turn. Your brain begins to work again, your heart seizing in your chest as you watch Bakugou tug up his pants. No part of you wants to follow his actions, and yet your body moves on its own, fingertips dragging your leotard up your legs. It’s his office you’re in this time— and he clearly wants you to leave if he’s dressing this quickly.

Bakugou doesn’t say a word, red eyes flicking over your hurried figure. He frowns, though that’s not unusual for him, and swallows back the lump in his throat. Would you stay if he asked you to? The answer surely must be no, and he growls at the thought of fucking this up— whatever this is— by asking stupid questions. What you said was in the heat of the moment, prompted by him himself; certainly you were just desperate to cum, desperate for your high. And yet he can’t stop himself from calling out to you just as you’re about to slip around the corner of his office door.

Bakugou looks just as surprised as you when your name slips from his lips. You stand there in the middle of the doorway, frozen with your doe eyes glued to him expectantly. He doesn’t know what to do— what to say— but somehow he manages to speak. “Grab your stuff and meet me in the garage in five.”

He wants to slap himself. Did he really say that?

You’re stunned, frozen to the spot and blinking at him blankly. Your lips part to respond to him, and yet nothing comes out. All other words failing you, the only thing you can think to say is—

“Okay!”

You blurt out like a buffoon, turning on your heel and making your escape down the hallway, away from the intensity of his gaze. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you try with all your might to squash down the giddy butterflies bursting in your stomach. Logically, it would be sound to assume he’s just taking you to your apartment. It’s late, and the city is dark and filled with all kinds of characters— not like you’re a fellow pro-hero who can protect yourself of anything.

You try your hardest not to let your imagination wander as you’re packing away a few folders from the safety of your office, but you just can’t help the warmth that rises to your cheeks. Perhaps he’s taking you somewhere else? But then again, at this hour, the only other place he could really be taking you is… his place.

No. No way that could be possible. Just— no! You shake your head, smoothing down the skin-tight material of your hero suit before grabbing your bag, jacket thrown over your shoulder as you rush to the elevator.

Bakugou is already in the garage, leaning against his sleek, orange sports-car with something akin to a grimace marring his handsome face. At the sight of you exiting the elevator doors, he pushes himself upright, bulging biceps uncrossing as he makes his way toward the driver’s side of the vehicle. “You sure take your time, Princess,” he comments, vermillion eyes twinkling with snarkiness. “No wonder you’re always playing catch-up on the agency leaderboard.”

Just like that, he’s back to being Bakugou.

“Playing mean to cover up being decent for once?” You retort as you swing the passenger door open, slinging your bag onto the ground before your legs follow, ass meeting the expensive leather seat.

All he gives you is a classic tch, in true Bakugou fashion, before the engine roars to life. You give him your address before he can ask, and he responds with a grunt before he shifts the vehicle into drive. The noise echoes off the cement walls of the garage, and the car’s purring continues as it exits the building. The lacquer shines glossy in the moonlight— the very same moonlight that had kissed your lewd face just ten minutes ago as the man beside you had ravaged you. The recollection makes your eyes move away from the blonde, instead opting to focus on the very interesting interior of the door.

The drive is quick and void of sound, save for the howl of the wind pouring in from the cracked windows. There’s no music, and no conversation, but still, you can’t help the content blooming in your chest. This is the first time that Bakugou has offered to drive you home. Well, besides that one incident that happened a few weeks ago when he took you to that park and… took you for a ride, so to speak. And in this very vehicle. The memory makes your heart race, your teeth taking your bottom lip prisoner.

In no time, you’re pulling up in front of your apartment complex, and your breath hitches as the car comes to a stop. The air is heavy and full of tension, and you can’t help but steal a glance over at Bakugou. The blonde is sitting rigid in his seat, brow furrowed and frown evident on his lips. His hands are wound tight around the steering wheel, and it takes a moment for him to face you directly.

Before you can make a word— a sound, even— Bakugou’s hand cups your face. His touch is gentle, patient as he brings your face to his. When your lips meet, a whimper crawls from your throat. His mouth is warm, movements cautious as his lips brush against yours. The sweet, smoky, caramel-like smell of him twists around your senses, and you lean into his touch, enamored.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced with him...

And it’s over immediately.

Bakugou moves backwards, crimson eyes wide and watchful, wary of your every move. Your lips are still parted, and you blink at him as you take in his retreating face, dazed. There’s a pregnant pause as you take each other in, your fingers going to brush your lips in shock. His eyes trail over your lips before he looks at you again. Maybe you’re just imagining it, but there’s something in his gaze that looks a lot like longing.

“Goodnight, Princess.”

His deep voice rumbles in his throat, and goosebumps rise along your skin as his saccharine choice of words sinks in. Your brow furrows as you soak it in, lips parted but no sound coming out.

The look you give him is inquisitive.

But Bakugou only sees it as accusatory.

His demeanor hardens by the second— the brief softness that had just been exposed fleeting fast as his arms cross over his chest. “You gonna sit there all night, dumbass?” He hisses, beautiful red orbs turning into slits.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, reaching out to him. It’s the only thing that your body allows you to say, shellshocked at the vulnerability you’d just seen from him— a revelation as impressive as if you had discovered a new species.

Bakugou only glares at your outstretched fingers, jamming his finger into the side of the door to unlock your own. “Just get out,” he orders. And somehow seeing you flinch at his words, watching as the hurt flashes on your face for just a moment— it spurs him on. “I got someplace to be already.”

With a tight chest, you push your door open, grabbing your bag and casting one last, furtive glance at the explosive man. But his eyes are only on the steering wheel, so you sigh and pick up your jacket from the seat. “Goodnight, Boom-Boy,” you murmur as you retreat from the vehicle, allowing the door to shut.

Little do you know, his gaze follows you until your figure disappears through the heavy doors of the foyer, leaving him alone to the torments of his self-loathing and frustration.

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

Unsurprisingly, you don’t have a great night of sleep. You toss and turn in your sheets, rewinding and replaying every second of interaction in his outrageously-expensive car. Overthinking every word, every pause, every look. All he had wished you was an honest “goodnight”, so why did it feel like there was so much more?

This had been the first time you’d caught a glimpse of what lies beneath the hard, spiny exterior of the man, and yet, it had been but a speck of dust in the wind. You’d seen it for one second. One exhilarating, butterfly-inducing second, and then— it was gone. Vanished. By the time you’d gotten your bearings, it seemed like the man’s shell was even spikier— more abrasive than even his explosive locks, and far more capable of hurting you.

And perhaps you were a little hurt— you mean to say, you are. But that makes you question if you’re just picking up signals that he’s not even aware he’s sending. You’re second-guessing yourself in every sense at this point. All over one kiss, and one “goodnight”.

But it wasn’t just a “goodnight”. It was a “goodnight, princess”. As if that would make such a difference.

A part of you, probably the majority, to be honest, is being rational about this. The two of you haven’t really spoken much about your… relationship, if you even dare to call it that. One evening it had just sort of… happened, and since then, it’s been happening, without much pause. For months, this has been going on. And it was great, at first. The two of you were in exactly the same boat: pro hero, no time for a committed relationship— nor a want for a committed relationship, pent-up and needing some kind of release… and oh, there’s also that white-hot tension that pulls the two of you together every time you see each other. That intensity, that passion, rivalry, and desire— it’s no wonder the pair of you ended up in this seemingly-eternal rendezvous. It’s clear what you both want, what you need— it’s sex.

It’s just sex.

But of course, there’s this small part of you— well, maybe it’s larger than you’d like to admit— that hopes he feels something… more. That he could possibly want you, for more than your body. When you think about it like that, it sounds stupid, like you’re some lovesick preteen who fantasizes about the captain of the football team of something. Reality isn’t really that far though— instead, you’re a fool of an adult who fantasizes about snuggling with her sworn rival-slash-coworker.

Acknowledging it like that sounds rather pathetic, you know... yet you just don’t have the strength in you to squash that ember of hope burning bright in your heart. You don’t want to watch it extinguish, you don’t want to lose that— lose him.

Yet at the same time, you know you can’t keep doing this. Your despicable feelings for the hero only seem to be growing by the day, and you need to cut this thing off sooner rather than later if he’s not on the same page as you.

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

Somehow you find yourself at the door of his office, the bright sunlight of the early afternoon streaming in through the hallway windows and warming your skin. It’s shut, as usual, and it gives you the opportunity to take a deep breath before your fingers find courage to curl into a fist, and tap against the hardwood.

“Come in.” His tone is gruff and curt as always, and you quickly fix your hair before you turn the handle, slipping inside the room and letting the door shut with a quiet click.

Bakugou is sitting behind his desk, an open bento-box and a half-filled form on his tablet laying before his hulking frame. Slitted vermillion eyes land on you, quickly morphing into a curious, cautious gaze.

“Y/N,” he greets, a blonde brow rising to land higher than usual on the tan skin of his forehead. The mask of his hero suit sits limply in the corner of his desk, his handsome face on display for you to drink in.

Your eyes flicker all over him, gliding along his broad shoulders, tracing the lines of the firm muscles on his chest. You can’t help but check him out, knowing fully well what’s underneath that tight suit of his. Bakugou smirks at you, taking his time to inspect you just the same.

“I need to talk to you,” you say, the words spilling from you without much of a thought.

After a tense pause, the hero stands, capping his lunch and making his way around his desk to sit on the front of it. He motions for you to come to him, and your feet move instinctively forward, following his command as you’d done so many times before.

As soon as you’re within arm’s reach, he pulls you to him, and stands you between his legs. Even sitting perched on his desk, he’s still taller than you, and he leans his nose into your neck as his hands glide along your spine. “Yeah?” he purrs, fingers splaying to drag against your skin through your thin hero suit. “And what do we need to talk about, Princess?” His lips flutter on the flushed skin of your neck, taking the hem between his teeth and pulling it back to reveal the darkened evidence of your latest session. Seeing his mark on you excites him, and the heat from his palms bleeds through your suit into your skin.

You can’t help but lean into his caress. His sharp cologne mixes with the honeyed, sugary scent of his skin and envelops you whole, pulling you in like a riptide lurking beneath an innocuous wave. A fragment of a moan escapes you when his mouth lands on the skin at the base of your neck, sucking gently and laving his tongue along your flesh.

“S’a little early to be foolin’ around,” he admonishes teasingly, voice deep and like thunder in your ears, an omen of the approaching storm. But your body wants it— craves the heavy deluge and the fear of scorching lightning that might just strike along your skin. “You like the thought of gettin’ caught, hah?” Bakugou chuckles lowly, teeth grazing your jaw. “Dirty little girl…”

Your palms glide down his thick arms, lamely stiff as your mind is screaming at you to stop— that this isn’t what you came for. Yet his touch makes you woozy, your judgement clouded as you choke on a wanton moan. “N-No, Katsuki,” you whine, fingers curling into his shirt to steady yourself.

“No?” He moves back, an ash-blonde brow rising in mock. “You’re not a dirty girl? Hmm, my memory’s pretty good, Princess, and I’m recalling some pretty irrefutable evidence that’d suggest otherwise.”

His hands slide down to cup your ass, thick fingers crawling between your thighs and prying at your flesh. He fingers over your covered slit, grin widening as you stiffen in his hold, a moan lingering in your mouth.

“No, I meant… I mean, I actually want to talk,” you sigh as you step backwards, away from his muscular body. You move far back enough for his hands to drop from your figure, your arms crossing over your chest defensively as you look toward the ground.

Bakugou seems confused by your refusal, but he clears his throat and adjusts his pants before he shrugs, attempting to appear nonchalant. “Okay…” he sits up slightly, still half-sitting on the ledge of his desk.

There’s an awkward, heavy silence between the two of you as he waits for you to talk. You know he’s waiting, but with every second that passes, the pressure in the room intensifies and makes it more and more daunting for you to speak.

“Do you like me?”

Bakugou’s expression stays guarded, the only indication that he heard you being a raised, unimpressed brow. “Hah?”

You swallow, even though your throat is drier than ever. He’s really going to make this harder than it has to be, isn’t he? But you’ve already prepared to deal with him, in all respects, here and now. “I mean— what is this to you?”

He seems a little flustered now, his eyes darting away from you as his cheeks pinken just a shade. Letting out a scoff, he growls, “I don’t know what you mean by… this.”

His playing dumb doesn’t appease you— in fact, it infuriates you. How dare he act like there’s nothing to discuss between you two?! You’ve indulged this man with vigorous extra-curricular activities for months at this point, and he has the audacity to think he can give you the go-around?

“Fuck off Bakugou, you know what I mean.”

“Oi oi oi,” he moves his big hands, patting air toward you condescendingly. “Let’s not get all upset in the middle of the day. We can talk about this later.”

Bakugou can see immediately that he’s said the wrong thing. Your face screws up and your inquisitive gaze becomes a glare, squaring your stance and your arms sliding uncrossed so you can park your hands on your hips.

“No, fuck that, we’re talking about this now!”

Seeing you pissed off must’ve pissed him off too, because now he stands upright and his menacing gaze burns down on you. “What’s there to talk about? I thought the whole point of it all was to not have to talk about jack shit.”

“Well this isn’t just jack shit!” you snarl, frustration building at how thick of a skull this man has. God, you admire whatever hell of a woman pushed his fatass head out of the womb. “We need to establish what this thing is so we can act like adults for fucking once in our lives! We work together, for fuck’s sake, we need to be responsible about this!”

“Hah?” Bakugou seems more agitated than before, his lip curling as he brandishes his signature sneer. “We’re fucking around, shitty woman, isn’t that the most adult activity we can do?” As if he hasn’t lit your fuse enough, he throws up some patronizing finger quotes when he emphasizes the word.

“So that’s what we’re doing, Bakugou? For months, we’ve just been,” you squint at him, only serving to amplify your unrelenting glare as you throw some aggressive finger quotes back at the man in front of you, “fucking around? Making eyes at each other across the conference table, and spending our nights together, just ‘cuz?”

Bakugou growls in irritation, swiping a large hand over his face from top to bottom as he hisses out profanities. He mutters something under his breath, clearly not wanting to deal with the conversation you’re forcing on him right now.

After waiting for his response for a moment but only receiving radio silence, you continue. “I’m a person, Bakugou, and in case you haven’t noticed, so are you! You can’t just ignore your feelings and act like no one and nothing matters to you!”

“Feelings?!” he shouts with contempt burning in his scarlet eyes, as if some atrocious, vile flavor gushes onto his tongue merely from uttering the word. “Oi, the fuck do you get off talking about my feelings? You don’t know shit about me, Y/H/N.”

His use of your professional hero name makes you bristle in fury, anger flaring and rationality fleeting. Everything’s escalating too fast— this isn’t the way you wanted this conversation to go. Your heart leaping into your throat, you muster the courage to change the tides, to tell him how much you want him. “Fuck you Katsuki, I know you have feelings for me! Because I—”

“I don’t have fuckin’ feelings for you!”

An arrow to the heart— the first sign of damage appears on the thumping muscle in your chest. But still, you continue, too stubborn to back down at this point. “Oh really, Boom-Boy? Then why the fuck are you still here, stuck in this godforsaken tryst with me? What am I to you, huh?”

Your stupid nickname for him makes his fists clench, steam nearly visibly blowing from his ears. “I’m not fuckin’ stuck! You— You’re just—” he buffers, rage still broiling in his gaze as he tries to come up with the most fitting word. But he doesn’t have much time— you’re glaring him down with your hands on your hips, cornering him against his desk and he yells out the first word that comes to mind.

“— entertainment.”

…

The tension in the air thickens noticeably, and you put all your effort into forcing your face not to reveal the hurt that pours into your bones. So this is what it feels like to put your heart on your sleeve… it fucking sucks.

Bakugou seems just as surprised as you are, maybe even more— his jaw hangs open cartoonishly and those red eyes are fixed on you, no longer harsh slits but wide, round orbs.

No matter how hard you try not to show your true emotions, he can clearly see that his words have stung you. The silence that fills the growing void between you two is deafening, weighing down his body as if he’s drowning in his immediate regret. But he doesn’t say anything, he can’t— you’d poked and prodded the sleeping bear of his ego and what he’d said couldn’t just be brushed under the rug and overlooked.

Entertainment. You’re nothing more than that to him. Why did you ever think you could penetrate through the booby-trapped walls around this man’s heart? Of course he didn’t want you for anything other than your body. Of course he didn’t.

For that one moment, you let him see it. You don’t hide the pain that washes over you, and you look him straight in the eye.

Bakugou stifles, throat tightening as he examines your crushed expression. He feels like he’s trapped, a fly that’s landed on a sticky trap that he can’t escape, a sinking feeling weighing down his chest, screaming at him to do something— say something— anything to mitigate the wound he’d just blasted onto your heart. “Y/N…”

And just like that your defenses come back online. He watches as you square yourself off, the soft vulnerability you’d revealed disappearing as your eyes became vacant of emotion. If anything, it looks like understanding, and it squeezes Bakugou’s chest like you’ve pulled a string tight around his lungs.

“Okay,” you murmur, your voice calm and low.

Bakugou is frozen, body unwilling to suck it up and take back the word even though his heart is so desperately screaming at him to do so. But he just can’t, he can’t take it back because then he’d have to  admit it was a lie he only threw out in an attempt to save his own feelings from getting hurt. If only he knew that causing your pain would hurt a thousand times more.

You clear your throat awkwardly, taking a step back from him. Gaze dropping to the floor, your arms come out to cross atop your chest, a makeshift shield for your battered resolve. “I don’t think we should do this anymore,” you whisper, but Bakugou hears it clear as day. He can’t breathe— he’s stuck to his spot as if that damn Icyhot bastard had frozen him himself. “I just… I've worked too hard for my career to be derailed by... whatever this was…”

Somehow Bakugou nods, even though he doesn’t want to. His body moves on its own, on autopilot, as his own arms cross over his chest, and he sits back down on top of his desk. He’s still looking at you, chest heavy with bated breath.

“If the public were to find out about us fucking around, that would become my reputation as a hero, and… I just— I can’t, Katsuki.”

Your voice trembles as you whisper his name, and Bakugou’s heart feels like it’s being stabbed over and over again.

“From now on, we’re just Ground Zero and Y/H/N, okay? Back to normal…” you smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Not at all.

Bakugou finally gets some control of his body, lips parting as he desperately searches for the right words that could somehow reverse this mess. All that comes out is a rough “Fine.” He cringes, frustration with himself building now more than ever. What’s wrong with him? That’s the opposite of what he wants, why can’t he say anything?!

You avert your eyes once more, turning to leave. Halfway through the door, you look back at him and pause. “See you around, Boom-Boy,” you breathe, the click of the door following, and leaving Bakugou to sink into his own self-loathing and regret.

    ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

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AWAA so reader and blasty have finally realized their feelings for one another... unfortunately this is a bakugou fic so of course he sucks at communication. i’m sorry if he’s ooc, as i said in my notes i havent written for him in a year lmao RIP. anyways i intend to make a fourth and final part with the resolution sooo i hope that i will have enough motivation to make that happen soon! 

as always please let me know if you enjoyed! <3

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[jadequeen88]

Smart Girls Make Fast Learners

NSFW 18+ ONLY. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

My contribution to the BNHarem’s monthly collab. The theme was SEx work. ⛓This piece is a first real deep dive into darker themes and was actually really, really exciting to write. 🖤 A massive thanks to my dear friend @libiraki​ for beta reading this.

TW: yandere behavior, toxic relationship, degradation, non-con, dub-con, degradation/praise kinks, mind break, oral (M and F receiving), over stim, loss of virginity, mentions of physical violence.

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone this type of relationship. This is a work of fiction and if this happens IRL please get out of the relationship!

There is a very specific type of dread that occurs when you discover that the person you built your world around has been lying to you. Tamaki Amajiki was experiencing this brand of betrayal for the first time in his twenty-one years on a rainy Tuesday in October in the dim lighting of your dorm room. His grip tightened around the open laptop as he stared at glimpses of flesh in the thumbnails of the many, many videos posted to the site. Previous live streams with thousands of views. He gulped down the bile in his throat as he scrolled through the videos. His shock and disgust morphed into a pure rage as he counted up the live streams that you’d had since first kissing him. 12. There had been twelve. Three times a week for the past four weeks. 

Those big doe eyes that looked into his eyes as you tentatively licked the tip of his cock for the first time… mere hours later they were rolling in the back of your head as you got off for strangers on the internet. He couldn’t take it. You were his first… everything… he knew that you hadn’t been innocent in your past. The way your tongue expertly wound around his when you first kissed him amongst your plush pillows and goose-down comforter reminded him of the fact. The low violet LED lighting of your bedroom made him feel like the two of you were in your own ethereal world. He could forgive you for not waiting for him as he’d waited for you. 

For the past four years, he kept to the shadows. He was there when the football player from freshman year cheated on you with one of your terrible friends (and when it happened the second, third, fourth time). He was there to binge your favorite shows with you (“*insert current guy you were fucking* just doesn’t get it, he’s not into it. I’m so glad I’ve got you to watch it with!”) He bit back the heartache that would wash over him when you’d pet him and coo over him… you didn’t see him as a man. He wanted to bend you over and prove he could fuck your brains out. He KNOWS he’d be perfect for you. But he never rejected the attention. He smiled and accepted whatever crumbs fell from your table. Whether it be helping you study or letting you complain about your shitty friends or your shitty jock boyfriends or your shitty parents… He gave and gave and gave… until that one day, 35 days ago to be exact, a shift in the tide occurred.

 ⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

“So why don’t you have a girlfriend, Tama-kun?”

“Wh-wha?”

Tamaki dropped the pencil he’d been using and before he could bend to get it himself, your hand was on his thigh and he was putty in your grasp. You giggled and cooed over him like you always did, but this time you did it while assaulting his mouth and neck with your skilled tongue. This time, for the first time, you made Tamaki feel like a man. Like YOUR man.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Over the next few weeks, Tamaki had become quite skilled in pleasing a woman. It only took a little guidance to have him sucking at your clit with just the right amount of pressure. He learned on his own how to couple that with his long, delicate fingers twisting and pumping in and out of your slick hole. You’d cling to his silky hair, pulling him closer as a constant stream of praise tumbled from your lips:

“No one has ever made me feel this good.”

“Your fingers are perfect Tama-kun”.

“I love your mouth on me so much, baby.”

The first time you came on his face, Tamaki knew there was a god because he’d found heaven between your thighs.

But that was gone now… ripped away with one mouse click on the night he was going to finally give you his virginity. He had held on to it like it was a treasure. A treasure he’d present to you one day wrapped up in life-long devotion and worship... But Tamaki wasn’t in heaven anymore. He wasn’t going to worship you tonight. For the first time since laying eyes on you, Tamaki wanted to hurt you.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

You turned the shower off and dried yourself. Wiping the condensation from the mirror, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. You felt like this was going to be the first time giving your body to someone. Tonight was a redo. You were wiping the slate clean. Your first time would no longer be underneath the football captain in the passenger seat of his truck, left feeling sore and unsatisfied. It was going to be with the guy you should have noticed long ago. It would be soft and slow… passionate and filled with sweet words and caresses… limbs tangled in soft sheets that smell like lavender and vanilla. 

You applied your lotion and moisturized your face. The red lace adorning your body was arranged perfectly, accentuating the soft swell of your hips and chest. With one last glance in the mirror and adjustment of your bra, you opened the door to the cool air of your dorm room…

...And saw Tamaki looking murderous. 

His eyes slowly left the screen to meet your gaze. His tear-stained face had never looked this harsh. His normally sweet eyes were narrowed and red from crying. The sweet lips you’d licked and sucked with such tenderness were hard and cold as they pulled upward in a grimace.

The only thing he said before rising from the bed and setting aside your laptop was your camgirl username. Then he was on you before you could draw a breath to explain.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Tamaki always thought he liked you best on top of him showering him with kisses and threading your fingers through his hair, but he had to admit… having your arms tied to a bed frame with the silky sash of your bathrobe cutting into your skin was doing things to him. When you sniffled, face stained with tears and snot, his dick twitched in his boxers. The whines you were choking back behind the silky red panties stuffed down your throat sent chills up his spine. You had to learn the hard way not to spit them out after a harsh slap echoed against your skin when you fought back the first time.

Tamaki stood back to survey the mess of skin, spit, and tears for a moment. You were a blank canvas for him to mark up with his rage and lust. You tried to hide away your bare pussy by clenching your thighs together. It only spurred him on.

“Do you have any clue what you’ve done?” he hovered over you, sleek muscles rippling over your own soft body, “I waited, and waited, and WAITED,” he bit down on the side of your exposed neck and you screamed behind the silky gag, trying your best not to expel it from your mouth and receive more punishment.

“I want to give you everything, Y/N,” he licks over the bite, almost apologetically, “I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want it to happen like this… FUCK, why?! Why did you ruin this?” his long fingers dug into your cheeks as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze. You couldn’t help whimpering and sniffling back more clear runny snot. You were so humiliated at how disheveled and disgusting you must look. His head ducked into the soft spot between your neck and shoulder and you felt him sob. 

Despite the abuse he’d inflicted upon you in the last ten minutes, you nuzzled your cheek into the top of his head in an attempt to comfort him. And he let you… he hated himself for it and he hated you for making this all so hard for him.

“No… no, no, no,” he rose from the bed to set up your ring-light and laptop, ice running through your veins at the sight. Your mind couldn’t accept what was about to happen.

“I’m... I’m not letting you get away with this,” he shook his head and pulled at his hair as he finished setting everything up, “If you’re insisting on being a slut, you’ll be MY slut. And everyone will know…” he jerked your ankle to force you flat on your back.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Maybe if he’d let the gag out of your mouth, you’d be able to tell him this was just a job to you. That it was clinical… that he was the only one who had ever been able to get you off, that his face was the only one you’d come on… that you needed the money since your parents had disowned you…

But you only laid there, accepting whatever he was going to dish out. You knew he was hurt. You weren’t stupid. You overlooked him while knowing how he felt about you. It took years of horrible one-night stands and countless frat parties pretending that whatever guy you’d picked that night was interesting for you to come to your senses. You hated yourself for being so blind for so long… You adored Tamaki, truly. And you hated yourself for all the times you’d hurt him… so you swallowed your fear and tried to prepare yourself for whatever came next.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Any soft parts of Tamaki that you’d grown to love were gone, hardened by heartache and desperation. After angling the laptop to get the perfect shot, he started the live stream countdown. Subscribers started trickling in, commenting on how this was a pleasant surprise since it wasn’t one of your regularly scheduled streams. You shut your eyes to pretend this wasn’t real.

Without fanfare or warning, Tamaki ripped apart your thighs, exposing your bare slit. A raw shrill was pulled from your lungs, your back arching from the sting of an abrupt slap. Neurons fired off in your brain… were you in pain? Was it pleasure?

“Since my girlfriend likes to keep secrets from me, I can’t trust what comes out of her whore mouth,” he emphasized his point by stuffing his fingers past your lips, pushing the soaked silk further into your throat, “So she’s going to keep this gag right here until I can fuck the truth out of her,” he trailed his fingers along your reddened folds. Were you getting wet? Horror and shame blossomed in your chest. The fact that you were growing aroused wasn’t lost on Tamaki. His foreign, sadistic grin was back… aimed directly into your soul.  

“So that’s what you like, huh?” His nails bit into your thighs leaving tiny crescents behind, “I’ve been too nice? Too soft?” He pushed your thighs impossibly wide, the stretch causing you to moan. He hovered over your core, onyx orbs blown wide with a mix of hate and lust. Tamaki looked like the devil himself and you wondered just how fucked up you were for wanting his punishment.

He opened his mouth and lolled out his tongue, never severing the desperate gaze you both shared, his intertwined with hunger, yours with fear. You’d never noticed how long and thick his tongue was and couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel caressing every ridge and crevice of your inner walls. He flattened the warm, wet muscle and pressed it along your slit. As he slowly slid it closer and closer to your burning clit, you whimpered and bucked your hips chasing the pleasure you knew he was capable of giving… but this was not your sweet boy and he wasn’t doing any of this for your pleasure.

He slung his arm over your lower stomach and growled into your drenched lips. You were pinned down, helpless against his torturous tongue. Fresh tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered how he’d let you pet him and buck into his face, how sweetly he’d ease you into a gentle release. Not this time… it was all teeth and sharp sucks, his tongue forcing you open violently. You were being shoved over a cliff and despite the horror and violence of what was happening to you. You were approaching an orgasmic state at record speed. Tamaki caught on and doubled down. The arm that wasn’t pinning you into the mattress pulled your leg down straight, your knee in a death grip. The new angle made the sensations even more intense. His face pressed harder into your core and you noticed that at some point, he’d started weeping, small sobs vibrating against your skin. The overwhelming mix of emotions and the vigor in which he was eating you shoved you over the edge.

He kept going along at the same speed with the same determination through your orgasm until it became painful. You pushed past it as best you could, allowing him to sob into your over-sensitive skin until he had his fill. As the pain started intermingling with pleasure, your legs shook and the gag couldn’t hold your screams back any longer. You released against his tongue once more, both of you sobbing. He laid against your thigh for what felt like an eternity before he lifted himself to lay on top of you, his hip bones digging into your soft thighs. You could feel the bulge through the thin material of his boxer briefs. Your hips rose to meet it, a pleading gesture filled with the desire to comfort and please him. Your eagerness encourages his mercy, there’s a meek cry that leaves your lips when the damp silk slips from between your teeth.

“Please baby… I’m so, so sorry I didn’t tell you…” your voice was as weak as a kitten’s cry and Tamaki couldn’t deny it made his heart (his dick) clench.

“Say it…” his lips were close enough to kiss, but you resisted… fearful of what he’d do if you did.

“Say what, Tama?” your eyes were wide with concern and confusion. You were desperate to please him.

He turned your face to the camera that you’d forgotten was there and the gravity of the situation crashed around you again. New tears leaked from your stinging eyes as Tamaki whispered into your ear.

“Say that you’re a lying whore…”

“I..I’m a lying whore…”

The last syllable broke as your abused throat grew accustomed to speaking again. He rewarded you with a soft kiss to your cheek and your eyes closed at the tender gesture. The familiar pain in your chest welled to the surface causing even more tears to escape.

“And tell everyone that you’re my own personal slut”

You repeated the phrase to the audience behind the screen and he hummed with approval, trailing one finger along your wet cheek. 

“Good girl…” the praise sent shivers through your wrecked body.

“And tell them from now on, your boyfriend will be the only one making you come… that they only get to see you be HIS slut.”

You noticed the chat going absolutely haywire at your announcement. Before Tamaki shut your laptop, you realized you’d made three times as much as you’d ever made before and a twisted sense of accomplishment filled your cloudy mind.

“Please,” your voice came out in a croak, “Please untie me. I wanna make it up to you,” his clothed bulge was burning into your core and you could tell he was close to breaking.

“Please let me make you feel good. I’m so, so sorry,” the clench of your thighs around his waist made him whimper.

He reluctantly pulled away to sit on the foot of the bed. The way he curled in on himself hugging his knees made him appear so small, so fragile… a complete change from the man who’d just manhandled you into restraints.

“You’re a liar…” you almost didn’t hear the whisper, his face buried into his knees.

“Please!” you were losing feeling in your hands and all you wanted was to be free to comfort him.

His eyes met yours and it was your Tamaki again... Your sweet boy… the snarling, green beast that threatened to devour you was sleeping now after it reached its fill of violence. He crawled over your body and released your restraint. Before you even regained feeling in your hands, you wrapped your arms around him. You littered his collarbone with sweet kisses and apologetic sobs. He began to melt into your affectionate gestures and you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him impossibly close. Wet lips met and your tongues fought against each other for dominance. Hips began to roll against each other, increasing pressure until you both gasped. 

The violence was gone, but this was still not a gentle coupling like you’d been planning. Tamaki pulled away and freed his straining cock from his boxers. The skin-to-skin contact made your eyes roll back into your skull. You felt his long fingers grasp your throat, squeezing to remind you just how powerful they were. You shuddered in response, arching upward into his touch, chasing that high his dominance was giving you.

With one swift motion, Tamaki speared you onto his cock. With the minimal prep he’d given you, the stretch was agonizing. This was by far the largest cock you’d ever taken and it stole your breath from your aching lungs. You moaned earning a visceral reaction from the boy on top of you.  

Tamaki stayed as still as he could. He refused to come so soon… not when he’d waited so long for this. He tightened his grip on your throat and tentatively rocked his hips into yours. It didn’t take long for it to progress into the most frantic love-making you’d ever experienced.

There was no other way to describe it, he was hate fucking you… biting and sucking your chest until blood bloomed under your skin… hammering into your sore, sticky cunt with total abandon… he was using you like a toy, taking out all his frustrations on your body.

It was ecstasy.

When his hips stuttered as he met his release, the spasms of his tip against your gummy walls sent you into a painful orgasm. You were spent and it seemed like he was too. Your fingers twitched over the crown of his head, wanting to run your fingers through his hair but too scared to initiate any contact with him. As if he could read your mind, he grabbed your hand and placed it on his head. You sighed and began carding through the tangles, gently undoing them. You felt a stream of tears running down your chest as you worked your fingers through his strands. Lifting his face gently, you met his teary gaze with your own.

“Don’t…” he drew in a shuddering breath, “ever lie to me like that again…” the monster behind his eyes stirred quietly, a malicious glint in his eye, before shifting back into your gentle boyfriend. 

“Never, I swear to you, baby…” he lets you lift his chin gently to meet your lips. His eyes close and he sighs into your kiss. His muscles relax and when his eyes open again, his warm, adoring expression falls over your face. The hand that wanted to choke the life out of your eyes minutes ago now caresses your jaw tenderly,

“I trust you…” his lips turn up into a grin that’s just a little too wide, “Because you’re a smart girl, aren’t you?” his top lip brushed against your still trembling bottom lip…

“Y-yes…”

You were fucked. This whole situation was fucked up and you weren’t blind to the fact. But as Tamaki nuzzled into your neck placing soft kisses and whispering praises into your skin, you let yourself bask in the gentleness of the moment…

Because you were a smart girl and smart girls learn their lessons quickly... 

[snow-in-the-desert]

Dramione Recommendations

Ok so, 2020 has been A LOT but on a personal note one of the most surprising things to happen was me discovering Dramione fanfiction and becoming unashamedly obsessed with it. I really didn’t see that coming but I’m here now and I’m here to stay. 

I think I started reading in the Dramione fandom around mid July last year?? (In all honesty I’ve lost any true sense of time’s progression at this point so I could be well off the mark with that) And I’ve decided to compile a list of all my favourite fics I’ve read so far. Why? I really just want to gush over all the amazing writers I have found through this fandom because y’all deserve it. 

Side note: If any of the authors actually sees this post just dm so I can buy you coffee or post you writing supplies or something idk I feel like that’s the least I can do for all your amazing work x

Remain Nameless by @heyjude19-writing

Ok I have to start with RN because this fic is pretty much the sole reason I decided to create an account with A03 or a tumblr or just decided to get involved with this fandom at all. 

I headcannon this story hard. But I think even if you aren’t a fan of Dramione you should just read this because it is so unbelievably good and well written and poignant and Draco’s sarcastic personality in this is truly a thing of beauty in this - I relate to his inner monologue’s on a deep personal level. 

I could rave about this story any time, any day of the week, just ask me. In fact, maybe I’ll just start a HeyJude19 fan club to fulfill that urge.

There are so many elements that I love but for the sake of brevity, RN is a beautifully told story of Draco and Hermione finding love and healing in a post-war HP setting. Heyjude19 had the very special ability of making me want to simulatenously laugh, cry and swoon with the power of her words. Just stop what you are doing and go read it now if you havent already, ok?  

I also really enjoyed reading Bells on a Hill, Beers, Potions and Unwise Notions and A Shift in Focus, if you are looking for smaller fics, definitely give these a go. They are all funny and heartfelt stoires that will make your tippy toes wriggle with glee. 

The Rights and Wrongs Series by @lovesbitca8

The Right Thing To Do, All The Wrong Things and The Auction are the holy trinity of Dramione writing. I have christened it thus, so mote it be. And frankly I’m not interested in any other opinion than that one, thank you very much!

After reading this series I don’t think I’ll be able to look back on the orginal HP books without thinking of Hermione’s and Draco’s memories of their time at Hogwarts in these fics as anything other than strictly cannon. 

So many things to love about this series but I think one of the major highlights was Hermione and Draco’s use of occlumency. LoveBitca8 created such beautiful visuals with how occlumency works as a magical practice and seeing Draco and Hermione so devoted to eachother to the point of safeguarding their inner most feelings to protect eachother was unbelievably romantic and poetic. 

Also the smut is divine ;)

Manacled by @senlinyu​

My heart will never be the same after reading this story. Like I actually can’t think about this fic without getting a lump at the back of my throat. I have never felt so emotionally ruined after reading anything, compared to the likes of this fic. Just please, please read it. To badly quote HP, reading Manacled will make you suffer but you’re going to be happy about it.

The flashbacks are a rollercoaster in of themselves but the way Hermione inadvertently refers to them when she is still in a state of memory loss was so heartbreaking to read. My heart still aches for them both. Also its a truly satisfying to see Draco and Hermione written in a way were they are both so fiercly protective of one another. They make my insides go soft. 

I also really enjoyed Snow Fall, Now Is A Gift and All You Want by the author but to be honest anything written by Senlinyu is always thoroughly enjoyable and worth a look. 

The Erised Effect by @adaprix​

Ada is QUEEN of dramione smut but ‘The Erised Effect’ is top tier. Its equal parts funny, romantic, sentimental and oh so sexy. Ada really knows how to build and build on sexual tension and doesn’t disappoint on the final delivery. I’m a big admirer of her writing style and just veraciously read whatever she posts but ‘The Erised Effect’ is just golden. A must read. (Also Pansy’s sexual fantasy in this story is a visual I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remove from my brain so thanks for that Ada)

Also quick side note: Adaprix’ stories were the first I read when I was looking into this fandom and it was enough to get me hooked on the pairing from the get go so I have that to thank Ada for too. I remember devouring all the stories she had posted to A03 and when I was done I was like... now what am I supposed to do with my life?? And that’s basically when I began to look deeper into the fandom and thus the course of my life in 2020 changed for the better. 

Some other stories I love by her are Break for Me, All My Sins, The Big 4-0, The Fucklust Series and The Flat in Bath. 

Clean by @olivieblake​

This 6th Year AU where Draco and Hermione work together on a class assignment and end up falling in love had me feeling all kinds of ways when I read it. I almost don’t know where to start but I think one of the stand out things for me was how immersed I felt in reading it. 

Hogwarts is captured really well, you get a good sense of class atmospheres, character nuances and behind the scenes of events that happen in HBP but from a Draco and Hermione’s perspectives. It’s well executed and intricate tapestry of a fic. With an excellent plot twist ending! 

Also Hermione and Draco’s relationship in this is equal parts fluffy and smutty and it just ticks all the right boxes that you want to see for those characters ;)

Breath Mints / Battle Scars by @onyx-and-elm​

The angst in this one is just *chef’s kiss*

God I love this fic. The way Draco is portrayed is very true to his defensive and tetchy character in the original books but he is also given so much more depth. The way his diary entries are written are just so well executed. It’s a true testament to the author’s creative writing skill. And I LOVE how even though Draco is clearly in such a messed up place, he still has a basic level of self respect and dignity that he won’t tolerate being used or undervalued in his relationship with Hermione. 

Yep, I really love Draco’s characterisation in this one if you can’t tell.  But Hermione is also well written too. Her stuggles and trauma of returning to Hogwarts after war is described in a believable and grounded way. And my heart definitely ached for them both. I just wanted to wrap the pair of them in a big fuzzy blanket and tell them that everything will be alright. 

WANDS OUT! by @persephonestone​

This murder mystery / Dramione / Theo x Harry / AU crossover is everything I didn’t know I wanted until I read it. I felt like I was picked up and plonked right into an alternative dimension where all the characters of HP are just living it up in an Agatha Christie novel. 

It’s a funny and clever story that I found refreshing to read amongst all the other fanfics that are usually cemented in the HP timeline or universe. Theodore Nott in this fic is perfection he should be written like this in every fic from now on in my opinion. I couldn’t stop giggling any time he had a scene in the story.

And the ‘only one bed’ trope in this fic is 10/10. I don’t want to give spoilers but ohmygod. It hits all the right notes. 

The One With Technical Difficulties by cassielassie 

Cassielassie has an excellent three part series of Dramone called ‘The One with...” but I have to give special credit to this story in particular for one main reason. ELEVATOR TROPES. I can’t get enough of em. I think I have my early childhood viewings of NCIS to thank for my obsession with elevator tropes they just do something to me that simply cannot be explained with mere words. The palpable sexual tension of being in a broken down elevator with an ‘enemies to lovers’ pairing, a heated arguement breaks out followed by a discovery of mutual feelings and a romantic embrace...

Eugh. It gets me everytime. And this fic is no exception. I loved it for all the reasons I’ve already stated above but also for the attention to detail in Draco and Hermione’s careers makes this one particularly immersive. The dynamics between them established in this one-shot are convincingly portrayed and the chemistry between them is so undeniably hot. 

The Light is No Mystery by @masterofinfinities​

Yooo if you want to read a dramione fic that is a deep dive into Pureblood culture and Post-War recovery but is also a perfect allegory for discrimination and today’s political landscape of moral grandstanding for votes then look no further than this one. 

This story has a bit of everything. Intrigue, mystery, ptsd and recovery, enemies to lovers / secret relationship, government conspiracy and humour, to name a few. I eargerly await every update to this story and am anxious to know how it ends!

The Eagle’s Nest by HeartOfAspen 

Finally! A fic that gives me the Ravenclaw representation I crave. I think I could recommend this fic on the lore depicted of Ravenclaw house alone. ‘The Stacks’ and Rowena Ravenclaw’s own ‘come and go room’ are just such cool details that I could see being real in the HP universe. 

This fic is so cosy and makes me feel like I’m just popping back into Hogwarts for another year. You get to see all the usuals like prof. Mcgongall, Nearly headless Nick, PEEVES, Hagrid, as well as learn more about minor characters from the other school houses. The story follows Hermione going to her day to day classes and there are interesting concepts about magic and alchemy that are explored. 

Draco and Hermione’s relationship in this one is of course very fluffy and heartfelt. But it’s the attention to detail that really makes this fic outstanding and the experience of reading it feels fleshed out and true to HP universe.

A shorter fic by HeartofAspen that I recommend is one called Set in Stone, it has an adventurous, Indianna Jones vibe to it, that I am so down for. 

Teachable Moments by @purplesugarquills

In this fic Hermione is an innocent little virgin determined to learn everything about sex. And Draco Malfoy is her tutor. If that isn’t enough to get you on board then I don’t know what is. Both Heartfelt and Steamy. PurpleSugarQuills writes smut so well but it’s the progression of their growing attachment and the nervous treading of new uncharted waters of romantic relationships for both of them that just adds a whole other level of feels to the story. Also chapter 9 is like reading poetry - its so good. Eugh just give it a read if you haven’t already.

Les Pèlerins by @pacific-rimbaud

This story is high art. It’s transcendent. Reading this story feels like the emotional equivalent of standing around a hundred glowing fairy lights, sipping hot cocoa and being wrapped in the loving embrace of a s/o. I can’t speak my praises highly enough or even become passably coherent in my words when I try to articulate a review. 

From the very first paragraph I felt like I was just whisked away on a Parisian holiday and I’ve never even bloody been to Paris but damn it if this story didn’t make me feel like I was there. The writing style is just so tactile and intense it’s like I could feel the cold winter air brush against me as I read it. Eugh I just completely fell in love with the story and the writer. 

New Year’s resolution. Read everything PacificRimbaud has ever posted online. 

[hotdamnhunnam]

🎰🔪🧨 with Charlie himself. 🤞🏻

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! 💗

..................................................

Slut Machine

Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, Vegas shenanigans Word Count: ~1.5k Emoji Prompt: 🎰🔪🧨 (key words are in bold)

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

… Whose voice is that? Your senses are too hazy yet to process who it was or what he said. You blink your bleary eyes and wake up in an… unfamiliar bed. The sheets are a ridiculous resplendent red—must be a love motel or some shit—there’s a story as to how you ended up here but you find you can’t remember any of it. Sleep was so deep that you feel as if you’re waking from the dead.

When your eyes finally flutter open everything comes flooding back. You’re here in bed with Charlie Motherfucking Hunnam and the sight of his blue gaze and bright white grin gives you a goddamn heart attack.

You cover your face with your hands and groan out loud at just how mortified you are. Recalling how you’d made a clown out of yourself last night when you bumped into this million-dollar movie star. Literally bumped into him—till yesterday you never even knew him—you had just been crushing hard on him for years but he was always a completely unattainable celebrity. A girls’ trip brought you to Sin City; you and your besties were hopping casually from bar to bar, when you had stumbled clumsily straight into Charlie as he stepped out of his car.

You’d simply scurried off in that instant ‘cause he was too damn beautiful in person and your ass was terrified. But then bumped into him again soon after you both got inside. This time you had a full martini glass in hand and spilled its contents all across his shirt and thought you ought to help the man get dried. Decided then you really shouldn’t try to run away and hide.

You’d grabbed a bunch of napkins, dabbing at his chest and abs through the damp fabric as you nervously apologized for what happened. Your spastic wiping motions all across his chiseled muscles weren’t exactly very helpful with the spilled drink situation, as your brain cells were all absent in the face of heaven’s most stunning creation. Charlie said some shit about how bumping into you a second time wasn’t an accident. You were too hypnotized with lust to understand just what he meant.

He joked that you could make it up to him by winning him a jackpot at the slot machines. You told him shyly that the whole gambling thing isn’t quite your scene. Although he didn’t want to pressure you he asked you to indulge him in a night of fun—all kinds of shit you’d never done—let him take you out around Vegas to the wildest places you had never been.

It didn’t make sense that you felt so safe with him but hell you did. You were still sober by the time Charlie was coming onto you and all your girlfriends chanted do it do it do it! And the craziest night of your life began before you even knew it. Took you to his favorite high-stakes casino—then to seats in the front row at a big AEW Dynamite show—and then to some intense axe-throwing place that also offered knives and ninja stars and other shit to throw.

The best part of the night though… was of course when Charlie claimed you as his dirty little ho. The memory of it is vivid as you look up at him now and find that both of you are still stuck in the most mind-blowing afterglow.

***************

“No way that was your first fucking time throwing knives?!” Charlie shakes his blonde head in defeat as he walks you back out to the sweet car he drives. “Bitch I swear you’ve been doing this shit your whole life.”

You slide into the passenger seat while erupting in laughter. He’s so fucking butthurt that your aim was better than his because he’s a competitive smug little bastard. “Well I am an assassin specifically hired to take out insanely attractive actors… but I can assure you that wasn’t a factor.”

He closes the driver’s side door, turns the keys and the engine ignites in a smooth thrumming roar. “And by ‘take out’ you mean…?”

“It’s cute of you to ask but dinner and a movie isn’t really the assassin scene.”

He chuckles playfully as he speeds down the street, the night alive with white hot heat, the lights of Vegas bright as ever as the night deepens. “You gonna kill me in my sleep, then?”

“That’d be making it too easy.”

“Babe, don’t tease me. We both know you make it hard.”

Okay so he just pulled that card.

Fight off the burning urge to stare down at his crotch—no doubt the car would crash then if you saw what you’re imagining and know you’d be unable to resist the urge to touch…

You’ve never wanted anyone or anything in all your life so fucking much.

The sudden tension in the air leads him to smooth back his slicked hair, facing the road with a restrained stare. He’s been picking up on signals all night long but doesn’t dare to just assume you want to go there. Tries to come off calm and cool although there’s nothing he wants more. “So, uh—should I just drive you back to your hotel or…?”

The voice that comes out of your mouth is one you barely even recognize. It takes both you and Charlie by surprise, the way your inner slut replies: “That’d be a fucking bore. You know I’d much rather you take me back to yours… so you can fuck me like a filthy little whore.”

***************

The swanky penthouse suite in the five-star hotel where Charlie came to stay… it’s a ten-minute drive away.

That’s way too far needless to say.

He needs you right this second, after what you’d gone and said—although the backseat of his car is a fine spot for a good wrecking, there are fifty shades of shit he’d rather do with you spread in the comfort of a big sumptuous bed.

Thankfully there is an extremely tacky-looking love motel just down the road. And it’s the perfect place for you two to check in and let your passions for each other just explode.

It turns out this particular motel has a requirement for guests to stay the night that just might pose a bit of trouble: lovebirds have to pass through the adjoining chapel first and be a lawfully wedded couple.

So you stand uncomfortably at the reception desk and bite your tongue. Happen to know that Charlie tied the knot in Vegas once when he was young; you’ve heard about it in some interviews. You’re sure that he’d have no desire to repeat that same mistake tonight with you.

But this has been a night of wild crazy shit and he’s on fire to continue.

Mostly it’s just that he really needs his dick in you… but there’s a spark that he can feel might someday blossom into something more and he just hopes that you can feel it too.

***************

Of course you do. The ceremony is a joke but you’re both giddy as if it’s real by the time you’ve seen it through. There’s just no hope of sanity and self-control between you two.

You’re in a fluffy white confection of a wedding gown that this establishment provided for the night. You look like a big puff of cotton fucking candy and he wants to take a bite. So much about this night seems wrong, but when the heat between the racing of your heartbeats is so strong, it can’t feel anything but right.

Once you’re at last inside your room he throws you down onto the bed and dives headfirst into your gown, and goes to town, taking you high until you die as he goes down.

The dress is so damn big, that you can’t see his flawless face, let alone his glorious dick, and that’s a royal fucking waste. You need to see and touch and taste.

He knows exactly what you need and ravenously rips the poufy fabric off of you. His pearly smile and the bristles of his beard are gleaming with your pussy juices as he climbs on top of you. You long to tell him just how bad you want to blow him—want to tell him that you love him even though you barely know him—it would be fucking insane to say I love you, but of course you can still show him.

Yet he wants to consummate this marriage first, before he lets you satisfy your thirst. You’ll have a lifetime’s worth of days and nights to suck on his big dick if you decide to stay with him and make him yours.

That’s everything you want of course.

This whirlwind of a night that started with a stupid joke about hitting the jackpot at the slot machines… turned into you being his motherfucking wife, after the wildest and best night of your motherfucking life. And now he’s here on top of you about to fuck you and it’s totally outrageously obscene.

You wouldn’t have it any other way ‘cause you know you were put on earth to serve as Charlie Hunnam’s dirty little slut machine.

..................................................

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[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Happy Oct. 1 and the start of Halloween! Please enjoy this spooky inspired Nessian fic! :) 

It had been an accident. A complete and absolute accident. Cassian had agreed to host a mini Halloween party at his loft apartment. They would order food in, play some drinking games, maybe binge some horror movies. It was going to be fun, and Cassian simply wanted his place to look the part. So he had bought those fake spiderwebs and hung them from the lamps and across the curtains. He bought some fake skulls and plastic pumpkins to set about the living room and kitchen. 

And he simply thought it would be funny to draw a pentagram on the floor. It looked just like in those cheesy Halloween movies, and he knew Azriel would get a kick out of it. He even set some candles around it to really make it look the part, and he couldn't help but put on his best 'spooky' voice as he said some words he'd read in one of Rhys' musty books in his library, some language he'd never heard of but sounded cool. He didn't think anything of it. 

And that's how Cassian ends up with a woman standing in the middle of his apartment. 

Cassian has no idea who she is, but he can’t deny that she is breathtakingly gorgeous. Her golden brown hair is braided up into an intricate crown, a few wisps of hair falling against her temples and framing her face. It brings out the cut lines of her cheekbones. She’s wearing a form fitting dress, the black fabric hugging her curves and arms before it flows into a deep blue at her feet. But Cassian’s eyes get stuck on her eyes, as dark as night as they pierce into Cassian’s own. 

"I am the Goddess of Death, Princess of Decay,” the woman says, her voice seeming to boom and echo in Cassian’s apartment. “Who are you who commands me?"

"How did you get in here?"

The question seems to give the woman pause, and she blinks at Cassian for a few seconds. Cassian watches as her head tilts slightly, her eyebrows pinching. 

"Excuse me?" the woman asks. 

"I mean my front door is locked so I'm just confused how you got in here."

"You summoned me."

"I summoned you…?" 

Cassian takes in where the woman is standing, right in the middle of the pentagram, her too dark eyes, and the way power seems to radiate off her in a way that rumbles in his own bones. Finally, his brain catches on. 

"You're a demon." 

The woman crosses her arms, her weight settling on her left leg. She raises her eyebrows at Cassian, her face cold and unimpressed. It pretty clearly reads ‘no shit.’ 

“I summoned a demon?” 

“Are you asking me?” 

“I summoned a demon,” Cassian mutters, mostly to himself. 

“What are you expecting? Congratulations?” the demon-woman quips. “Look, just tell me what you want.” 

“About that…'' Cassian starts, clearing his throat awkwardly and rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “I actually didn’t mean to summon you. It was an accident.” 

“Is this a joke?”

“Unfortunately not. But I don’t need anything from you, so I guess you can just go back to wherever it is demons live.” 

“That’s not how it works. I’m tied to you until you banish me.” 

“And how do I do that?” 

“You don’t know how to banish me?” 

“I just told you I summoned you by accident. I’m not even sure how I did that.” 

The demon-woman closes her eyes and lets out a long sigh through her nose like she’s trying to stay calm. Cassian can’t help but wonder what would happen if she doesn’t stay calm. Would she attack him like demons in movies? Are the representations of demons in movies accurate? Would it be rude to ask her? After a moment, the demon-woman takes a deep breath and smooths back her hair before settling her eyes back on Cassian. 

“So, let me get this straight,” the demon-woman says. “You summoned me by accident, you don’t actually have any biddings for me to do, and you don’t know how to banish me.” 

 “Yes,” Cassian replies, chuckling sheepishly. 

“Great,” the demon-woman mutters. “I was summoned by an idiot.” 

“But I can Google it,” Cassian promises. 

It turns out, Google isn’t that helpful when it comes to actual demons. Cassian tries various different searches, but all that he’s able to come up with is a bunch of television and movie references, a Buzzfeed article comparing different celebs to demons, and a weird article about making deals with the devil. Luckily, he is able to find a local witchy shop that’s only three blocks down from his apartment. Unfortunately, they’re closed and don’t open until the next morning, so he and demon-woman are stuck together for the time being. 

He had moved to the sofa when he started his Google deep dive, and the demon-woman had stepped gracefully out of the pentagram to sit on the opposite end. She hasn’t said anything since their initial talk when she appeared, and Cassian can’t help but steal glances her way out of the corner of his eye. She looks like a queen the way she’s perched on the cream colored sofa cushion. 

“So,” Cassian drawls into the silence. “Do demons eat? I can order pizza.” 

The demon-woman turns to him, one eyebrow poised. The look sends a shiver down his spine. He's not entirely sure it's out of fear. 

As it turns out, demons do in fact eat, as Cassian learns. He also learns that this particular demon prefers her pizza topped with veggies and that her name is Nesta. 

“Have you always been a demon?” Cassian asks, taking a bite of his pizza slice. 

“Seriously?”

“You’re the first demon I’ve ever met. You can’t blame me for being curious, sweetheart.” 

Nesta’s eyes snap to his, a scowl pinched across her lips. The expression pulls a smile across Cassian’s own face, which only makes Nesta’s eyes narrow more. Cassian’s fingers itch to reach out and smooth the lines between her eyebrows. The desire is so sudden that Cassian busies himself with grabbing another slice of pizza out of the box to distract himself. 

“First of all, don’t ever call me sweetheart again,” Nesta starts. “And to answer your question, no. I haven’t always been a demon.” 

“Then how did you become a demon?” 

“I made a deal.” 

“Was it worth it?” 

Something passes over Nesta’s face then, like ghostly fingers leaving a haunting trail against her skin. Her spine straightens like steel, and when her eyes meet Cassian’s again, there’s a guardedness to her expression that speaks volumes yet leaves Cassian with even more questions. 

“Most days,” Nesta replies simply. 

~ * * * ~

The witchy shop is decidedly less spooky than Cassian had envisioned, but perhaps that’s just his biases and what movies taught him coming into play. He expects cobwebs and weird animal parts in slimy jars, and maybe a black cat that screeches at him when he steps inside. Instead, there’s an aisle dedicated to herbs and another dedicated to crystals. He squints at the black scrawled writing of the placards declaring what each crystal is for. He supposes it would be a bit too easy if one just said ‘banishing demons.’ 

Nesta sighs loudly from over his shoulder when he picks up a candle to smell. When he glances her way, her arms are crossed and that scowl from before is back plastered across her face. Slowly, he turns back around and sets the candle back down on the shelf. 

“Do you mind?” Nesta quips. 

“Alright, alright,” Cassian acquiesces, keeping his voice down to avoid attention. Another thing he learnt last night was that only he could see and hear Nesta.

He heads for the counter of the shop where a young woman is arranging jewelry in the display case. As he approaches, the woman looks up and offers him a friendly smile. Cassian tries to offer one back, but he’s sure it must look more like a grimace. Once at the counter, Cassian clears his throat, shoving nervous fingers through his tangle of hair. 

“Hello,” Cassian starts awkwardly. “This is probably a weird question, but you wouldn’t happen to know how to banish a demon, would you?” 

“Do you have a demon problem?” the shop worker asks. 

“Something like that.” 

“Well, is the demon powerful?” 

Cassian looks over his shoulder to Nesta, raising a questioning eyebrow at her. In response, she merely smiles. It’s all teeth and the exact opposite of innocent. It stirs something deep in his gut. 

“Very,” Nesta bites out.

Cassian turns back to the shop worker. “Very.” 

“Wait,” the shop worker replies. “The demon, is he here?” 

“She,” Cassian corrects. “And yes.” 

“But how did she get past my wards?” 

Cassian’s gaze follows the shop worker’s own, to the silver trinkets that twist and clink together softly above the shop’s door. He can hear Nesta’s scoff at the suggestion, and he doesn’t need to be looking at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. 

“It would seem they don’t work,” Cassian offers sheepishly. 

The shop worker gapes for just a moment before she turns on her heel, pushing past the beads hanging over the doorway to the backroom. When she returns, she has a box of crystals that she sets down on the counter, a bundle of herbs labeled ‘sage’ and a folded up piece of paper nestled on top. 

“You’ll need to draw a circle and set these crystals around it,” the shop worker explains. “Make sure you charge the crystals under the full moon and don’t wait. Do it the next day. That’s when they’ll be the most powerful. Burn the sage to cleanse and say this incantation, and you should be free of your demon.” 

“Great,” Cassian exclaims, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “I’ll take it.” 

After paying and gathering his items, they head out of the shop. Cassian feels lighter already. They have a plan. Plus, the fall weather today is gorgeous and that always helps to lift his spirits, the cool breeze and canopy of yellow and reds above their heads. It definitely helps that fall and Nesta look amazing together, the golden rays of the sun bouncing off her hair. Cassian can’t help but offer her an easy grin as they walk side by side. 

“See? That was super easy. We’ll have you banished before you know it.” 

“And when’s the next full moon?” Nesta asks dryly. 

Cassian startles slightly at the question. He shifts the weight of the things he just bought to one arm and digs his phone out of his pocket with the other. A quick Google later, and Cassian takes in the date glaring back at him on the small screen with a frown. When he looks back up at Nesta, she’s staring back at him unimpressed, clearly already knowing the answer. With a roll of her eyes and what sounds to Cassian like a muttered ‘idiot,’ she takes off ahead him back toward his apartment. 

It’s going to be a long two and half weeks. 

-- 

And Cassian simps the whole time for those two and a half weeks. And there’s feelings. And Cassian makes a deal of his own to save Nesta’s soul. And they live happily ever after. 

[perpetual-stories]

How To Fight Writers Block

hello, hello. hope everyone is doing well. as you can all tell, this post will be about how to fight writers block.

it’s really annoying to me when I hear people say “oh you don’t have writers block, you’re just lazy.”

first of all, yes, I am naturally lazy. second of all, how dare you. writing isn’t as easy as many think. granted, all you have to do is write down words on paper, but it’s not always easy to find the right words to express what you are feeling, or what you wish to say.

I have had terrible writer’s block for the last few days and it’s horrible! as a business owner or a small writing store, I have to be ready to write and fulfill my clients’ ideas and orders.

it’s not easy. It takes a heavy toll on my imagination, and digs me a deep pit of blockage, drowning in the lack of originality because of the constant writing and repetition or certain phrases and sentences in different projects.

i am making this post in the hopes to remind myself about over coming the dreaded and sometimes skeptically believed writer’s block.

What is writer’s block?

Yeah, I know. We all know what that is, but let me define it.

is the state of being unable to proceed with writing, and/or the inability to start writing something new

some people believe it to be a real problem, others believe it's “all in your head”

What Causes Writer’s Block?

in the 1970s, clinical psychologists Jerome Singer and Michael Barrios decided to find out

they concluded that there are four broad causes of writer's block:

Excessively harsh self-criticism

Fear of comparison to other writers

Lack of external motivation, like attention and praise

Lack of internal motivation, like the desire to tell one's story

How to overcome writer's block: 20 tips

1. Develop a writing routine:

Author and artist Twyla Tharp once wrote: “Creativity is a habit, and the best creativity is a result of good work habits.”

it might seem counterintuitive

if you only write when you “feel creative,” you're bound to get stuck in a tar pit of writer's block

The only way to push through is by disciplining yourself to write on a regular schedule. It might be every day, every other day, or just on weekends — but whatever it is, stick to it!

2. Use "imperfect" words:

A writer can spend hours looking for the perfect word or phrase to illustrate a concept

You can avoid this fruitless endeavor by putting, “In other words…” and simply writing what you’re thinking, whether it’s eloquent or not

You can then come back and refine it later by doing a CTRL+F search for “in other words.”

3. Do non-writing activities:

one of the best ways to climb out of a writing funk is to take yourself out of your own work and into someone else’s

Go to an exhibition, to the cinema, to a play, a gig, eat a delicious meal

immerse yourself in great STUFF and get your synapses crackling in a different way

Snippets of conversations, sounds, colors, sensations will creep into the space that once felt empty

4. Freewrite through it:

free-writing involves writing for a pre-set amount of time without pause — and without regard for grammar, spelling, or topic. You just write.

The goal of freewriting is to write without second-guessing yourself — free from doubt, apathy, or self-consciousness, all of which contribute to writer's block. Here’s how:

Find the right surroundings. Go somewhere you won't be disturbed.

Pick your writing utensils. Will you type at your computer, or write with pen and paper? (Tip: if you're prone to hitting the backspace button, you should freewrite the old-fashioned way!)

Settle on a time-limit. Your first time around, set your timer for just 10 minutes to get the feel for it. You can gradually increase this interval as you grow more comfortable with freewriting.

5. Relax on your first draft:

Many writers suffer form perfectionism, which is especially debilitating during a first draft

“Blocks often occur because writers put a lot of pressure on themselves to sound ‘right’ the first time. A good way to loosen up and have fun again in a draft is to give yourself permission to write imperfectly.” — editor Lauren Hughes

perfect is the enemy of good,” so don't agonize about getting it exactly right! You can always go back and edit, maybe even get a second pair of eyes on the manuscript

6. Don’t start at the beginning:

the most intimidating part of writing is the start, when you have a whole empty book to fill with coherent words

instead of starting with the chronological beginning of whatever it is you’re trying to write, dive into middle, or wherever you feel confident

7. Take a shower:

Have you ever noticed that the best ideas tend to arrive while in the shower, or while doing other “mindless” tasks?

research shows that when you’re doing something monotonous (such as showering, walking, or cleaning), your brain goes on autopilot, leaving your unconscious free to wander without logic-driven restrictions

showering is my favourite thing to do if I may add

8. Balance your inner critic:

successful writers have in common is the ability to hear their inner critic, respectfully acknowledge its points, and move forward

You don't need to completely ignore that critical voice, nor should you cower before it

you must establish a respectful, balanced relationship, so you can address what's necessary and skip over what's insecure and irrelevant

9. Switch up your tool:

a change of scenery can really help with writer's block. However, that scenery doesn't have to be your physical location — changing up your writing tool can be just as big a help!

if you’ve been typing on your word processor of choice, try switching to pen and paper. Or if you're just sick of Google Docs, consider using specialized novel writing software.

10. Change your POV:

great advice from editor Lauren Hughes: “When blocked, try to see your story from another perspective ‘in the room’ to help yourself move beyond the block. How might a minor character narrate the scene if they were witnessing it? A ‘fly on the wall’ or another inanimate object?

11. Exercise your creative muscles:

Any skill requires practice if you want to improve, and writing is no different! So if you’re feeling stuck, perhaps it’s time for a strengthening scribble-session to bolster your abilities

12. Map out your story:

If your story has stopped chugging along, help it pick up steam by taking a more structured approach — specifically, by writing an outline

13. Write something else:

Though it's important to try and push through writer's block with what you're actually working on, sometimes it's simply impossible

feel free to push your current piece to the side for now and write something new

14. Work on your characters:

It follows that if your characters are not clearly defined, you’re more likely to run into writer’s block

15. Stop writing for readers:

write for yourself, not your potential readers

this will help you reclaim the joy of being creative and get you back in touch with what matters: the story.

this is something I really need to do. because of my etsy business i don't write for fun anymore, but instead as a business and a deadline. i'm going to have to pull out my old crappy wattled fanfics or write some new ones.

16. Try a more visual process:

when words fail you, forget them and get visual. Create mind maps, drawings, Lego structures — ideally related to your story, but whatever unblocks your mind!

17. Look for the root of it:

writer’s block often comes from a problem deeper than simple “lack of inspiration.” So let's dig deep: why are you really blocked? Ask yourself the following questions:

Do I feel pressure to succeed and/or competition with other writers?

Have I lost sight of what my story is about, or interest in where it's going?

Do I lack confidence in my own abilities, even if I've written plenty before?

Have I not written for so long that I feel intimidated by the mere act?

Am I simply feeling tired and run-down?

once you identify what's wrong, it'll be so much easier to fix.

18. Quit the Internet:

If willpower isn’t your strong suit and your biggest challenge is staying focused, try a site blocker like Freedom or an app like Cold Turkey

19. Let the words find you:

meditate, go for a walk, take that shower

Word Palette is a great app that features a keyboard of random words, allowing you to simply click your way to your next masterpiece.

You can also try AI auto-completers like Talk to Transformer, where you can enter a phrase and let the app “guess what comes next.”

even though they often produce nonsense, it's a great way to help that writer's block.

20. Write like Hemingway:

And if your biggest block is your own self-doubt about your prose, Hemingway offers suggestions to improve your writing as you go

it's a pretty cool app if you ask me.

it highlights your sentences (if need be) and makes suggestions on how to improve them!

well, there you have it! a lengthy post on how to fight writer's block. now i just hope i can combat my own soon.

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