#lils writes

[reki-of-the-valley]

You Are in Love

Read it on AO3 here!

1 - You Are in Love

It’s the way Langa is crouched, the way his weight is shifted forward to his toes. It’s the way he smiles, the way his fingers fiddle with the buttons of the little pink coat. It’s the way Chihiro is standing as straight as she can, her chin tilted up. It’s the way the scene plays out, the way Langa, Langa who had always been so wary around the twins, now seems so comfortable. It’s as if he’d always been here, always been in this entrance, always helping around the Kyan household. It’s the way he fits in so well, as if he has always been a part of this family.

“Need help, Reki?”

Reki has to shake himself out of his trance, the rest of the world coming back to him. Chihiro is there, slipping her shoes on while Nanaka is waiting by the door, a grin that matches Reki’s. The sun is high, rays streaming through the glass panels of the door. The weather is perfect for a walk with the girls to the ice cream parlor; not too warm, but still not cool enough to not want ice cream. And the girls can’t wait, Nanaka already rambling away about all the ice cream flavors she wants to try.

“Well?”

A breath catches in Reki’s throat as Langa stands there, his fingers twisting around the strings of his yellow hoodie. His smile is soft, just like when he had been buttoning up Chihiro’s coat. There’s a peek of his teeth, pretty and white, between his ever so slightly parted lips. And the sunshine catches in the blue of his eyes, leaving them with a shimmer Reki’s never seen before. But there’s no time to linger on that, not when Nanaka’s fingers curl around Reki’s.

Everything goes fast from there: a sweater hastily thrown over his hoodie, the back of his shoe squashed under the weight of his heel, a wallet grabbed from the top of the show cabinet. Everything goes so fast: Nanaka and Chihiro running ahead, the path already memorized, the sound of Langa’s laughter filling the autumn air, another joke breaking up his laughter. If this is what it means to have a normal life, Reki’s ready for it. He doesn’t need the uncertainty that the past had handed him. He doesn’t need any of that, not when he can have this.

“Really, Reki, we can stop for a second to let you put your shoes on properly.”

“It’s fine, man. Anyway, the twins would kill me if I made them wait any longer.”

Langa shrugs before turning away from Reki. He looks ahead, hands in his pockets as he kicks a stone along the road. He looks older like that, his eyes riveted on the two girls ahead of them. He looks older like this, reminding them to not run too far head and to stay together. He looks older; his hair has grown a little, almost brushing his shoulders now, and his jaw seems sharper than it had before. His bare arms, they seem stronger, a little more toned. Maybe it’s from all the lifting they’ve been doing at work, from all those boxes that need to be pulled from the back to the front of the shop. Reki isn’t sure why he’s noticing all of this now, noticing the curve of Langa’s nose, the scabs by his ear, the squareness of his shoulders. Reki isn’t sure why he’s noticing any of this, things that have always been there. But these observations weight heavy on Reki’s chest. They weight heavy, but he doesn’t dare say anything. He can’t break the silence, not now.

Langa’s shoulder brushes against Reki’s, drawing his attention to something other than Langa’s build. It brings him to his eyes, always bluer than the ocean on the horizon, to his nose, pointing ahead, to his lips, tugged into a smile. Then, words spill, always in that velvety voice of his.

“Look up.”

And Reki complies; he always does.

It’s there, beautiful as ever. The sun sets, slow and careful. It’s gentle as it finds its way into the water, reds and oranges and purples swirling in the waves that crash over one another. The rays are tentative, as if afraid to break something that’s new yet has always been there. The sun does as it always has; it doesn’t change and it never will, but today, it feels different. It seems slower as it falls, almost as if it were asking for the ocean’s permission, asking the water to catch it. Will the ocean catch the sun? Will it hold on to every ray, cherish the warmth they provide? Reki hopes it will; he hasn’t known a better pair than bright sunshine and gentle waters. 

The ocean is gentle as the waves intertwine with the rays of sunshine. And as Langa looks back at Reki, that smile so soft as his pinkie locks with Reki’s, Reki knows he’ll be caught. He knows this is right; nothing has been broken, not now, not ever. This is the way they were meant to find each other. This is the way the universe had set them up: strangers, friends, this. This is what Reki has always dreamed of; this is what he wants; this is what he needs.

“C’mon,” a little tug from Langa, his fingers shifting to find their home between Reki’s, “we should hurry before the twins order the entire store to go.”

---

2 - He Is in Love

The morning is quiet, rays of sunlight filtered through the crack to the curtains. Still, the room is dark, and it’s colder than what Reki is used to. He has to pull the blanket up to his neck rather than have it bunched up at his ankles like he’s used to. And when he rolls over, he knows why.

The bed isn’t his. The room either, even if bits of him hang on the walls and sit on the shelves. He finds pieces of himself in the space between these four walls, but it’s still not his space, at least not completely his. It’s Langa’s room, so much is obvious as he sits up in the otherwise empty bed. It’s not crowded enough to be his own; the same could be said about the air that hangs in the apartment, nothing but distant chatter ringing in Reki’s ears. It’s missing the chaos of his house, the screaming and the tumbling of siblings first thing in the morning.

It’s almost strange walking through the small apartment. Reki knows the place like the back of his hand, but it’s still so disorienting to wake up in someone else’s bed, even if it’s far from the first time it has happened. It’s like walking through the streets of a new city; it’s so similar to home, and yet, it’s nothing like it. But when he finally steps into the kitchen, when he’s hit with that smell of smoke and the sound of curses, Reki knows he’s home. He’s home, and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

It’s funny to see Langa like this, picking at the toaster. Langa, who’s usually so calm and composed, he’s so far from that perfect image Reki had once had of him. Now, in the morning light of reality, Langa’s just like any other dork who can’t cook to save his life. He’s ridiculous as he curses at the toast, if it can even be called that. It’s so burnt, so scorched, that Reki wonders if there’s any bread left under that crust of char.

One thing’s for certain: he could not be paid enough to eat that monstrosity.

“Stop laughing!”

Blue eyes are wide, staring at Reki as he doubles down laughing. How can he not laugh? How can he stay serious at the face Langa is making at him? How can he ever stop laughing when he’s with Langa, the same Langa so many people misinterpreted? How can Reki ever keep his laughter to himself when he gets this Langa, Langa who isn’t a prince, Langa who isn’t distant and mysterious? How is he to not laugh and grin when he has Langa, his Langa, goofy and dorky and adorable?

“How did you manage to burn your toast in a toaster, dude?”

The bubbling laughter slowly dies down, falling to a giggle, then a chuckle, before ending in a simply grin. It’s hard to stop smiling around Langa, but thankfully, he doesn’t ask Reki to wipe the look off his face. If anything, he joins him despite biting his lip, trying his best to conceal the sheepish smile.

“I… I forgot it.”

“Did’ya space out again?”

Langa huffs, pushing the toast filled plate across the counter. It’s so strange seeing all these emotions play on Langa’s face, emotions Reki didn’t even know him capable of. They play like a movie on Langa’s face, jumping from one scene to another. Frustration, embarrassment, dejection, and something new, something strange as he gets closer to Reki.

There’s a glisten in his eyes, bluer than Reki’s ever seen them. They almost sparkle under the soft lighting of the kitchen. That look, it’s so far from that night, the one Reki wakes up gasping from. They’re so far from that night, the night Reki thought he had lost it all. Now, they have it all. Everything that had haunted Reki for weeks, it has vanished. That night, it was a lifetime ago, an age Reki barely remembers anymore. All that matters is here, it’s now.

“You look cute in that.”

It’s a surprise, the arms around Reki’s waist and the compliment to his ear. It’s not something he’s used to, especially not from Langa. Sure, he’s always been forward, but still, Reki isn’t used to this type of forward. He’s not quite used to the hugs, the flirting, the sappiness. He may get a Langa very few know of, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still retain the old Langa, the public Langa, the Langa that feels so unobtainable.

“Hope you like it, it’s literally your shirt.”

The chuckle is cute as Langa drops his head onto Reki’s shoulder. So, he’s given up on trying to cook; maybe they can go out for breakfast, or better yet, they can order something in. And maybe they should get something for Nanako; she shouldn’t be out for too long, not on a Sunday. But while she’s gone, well…

It’s sweet, the taste of Langa’s lips against Reki’s. Really, there isn’t much that can compare to this, to the way Langa smiles into the kisses, almost laughing into them. And with every kiss, Reki feels the butterflies erupt from their cocoons; he feels the flutter in his lungs and chest. Kisses from Langa wasn’t something Reki had ever expected, but now, he doesn’t think he can go without them.

One leads to another and another after that. They’re dizzying, leaving him lightheaded as he wraps his arms around Langa’s neck to steady himself. The world spins, fades, and leaves nothing but Langa and his sweetness. Maybe it’s the honey on his lips, or the chocolate on his tongue, but Reki’s pretty sure it’s just Langa. That’s just what Langa tastes like; sweet and addictive.

“Reki…”

His voice is low, raspy almost. Maybe he’s also breathless from the kisses, a little too caught up in the moment. Or maybe that’s just the way Langa sounds after he’s been kissed senseless; Reki isn’t proud to admit it, but stopping was a little more difficult than he had anticipated. But when Langa drops his head back into the crook of Reki’s neck, the world returns, colors other than blue reappearing around him.

“Reki, you’re my best friend, you know that, right?”

Such a statement is nothing new to Reki, but hearing it now of all times, it does something to him. He isn’t sure what it is, but he feels the pang in his chest. It’s nothing like the butterflies he had felt. It’s nothing like that. This pang, it means something else. He doesn’t feel lighter from the words, but at the same time, it’s lifts something that he hadn’t known was weighing him down.

This feeling, this reminder, it means everything to Reki. It’s everything to Reki because it means that every ghost that had once haunted him, that every insecurity that had locked into his closet, they fade. They fade because they mean nothing now. No fear can be greater than this statement. Nothing can be greater than knowing that he’s not alone. Because now, from now until the end of forever, Langa will be there. Langa will stand by him, never leaving him to face his demons alone.

The hug is automatic. There is no other possible response to the statement. There’s nothing else he can do besides holding Langa close to his chest, keep him where he wants him. A hug and a nod are all Reki can manage, and it’s enough. It’s enough for Langa to know it too. It’s enough.

---

3 - True Love

The skatepark is empty besides the two boards left unattended by a rail. There’s not a soul other than the two boys, legs dangling off the back of the ramp, a water bottle to their left and a carton of fries between them. They’re silent, each scrolling on their phone as they pick absent-mindedly at their food. Another Friday afternoon, just like so many others.

Or at least, it should be like every other Friday. There’s nothing different, at least, not on the surface. They’re in their spot, far from the rest of the world. It’s just them, as always, but there’s something weighing down on Reki. There’s something that lingers in the air, something that’s been choking him up all day. It’s there, he knows it, he just doesn’t know how to address it. Talking about things that aren’t skating, it’s not easy, not for Reki.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he swipes through his camera roll. Every one of them holds a memory, usually one that has to do with Langa. There’s a selfie, or two, or three, or twelve. There’s a video of Langa skating, or, once again, twelve. And there are pictures of the sunset, of a stray cat, of birds in the sky, yet they still remind him of Langa. He can hear Langa through the pictures, hear his laughter, hear his chatter, hear his breathing. Because Langa is in every one of these pictures, whether he’s visible or not. He’s in every single picture, in every memory Reki holds of the past year or so. Langa, Reki realizes, has become a staple of his life, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Especially not when Langa’s head is dropping onto his shoulder, blue eyes pointed up at him.

“Whatcha looking at?”

“Just going through my pictures, see what I can delete.”

Reki knows he won’t be deleting anything; he doesn’t want to forget any of his moments with Langa. He wants to keep building these moments, not get rid of them. But saying that out loud, who knows what kind of waterfall of words would spill from his mouth afterwards. And he can’t risk that. Not before he’s figured out exactly how he wants to say it. These words, he can’t mess them up. They need to be perfect. So, until then, they will be silent.

The evening goes by as it always does: a few tricks here and there, a lot of laughing, a few scraped knees and palms. It’s another Friday evening, just like so many others. It’s another Friday evening, until they head home, still in silence.

“Reki, is everything alright?”

Reki hums as he readjusts his bag on his shoulders.

“You just…” Langa pauses, stopping under a streetlamp. “You haven’t talked much today. So… is everything alright?”  

Reki wants nothing more than to wipe away the worry that coats the blue of Langa’s eyes. He wants nothing more than to replace it with their usual shine, the one paired with the brightest grin Reki’s ever known. He wants nothing more than Langa’s happiness; if he could go another lifetime without ever having to worry, that would be how Reki would want it. He wants to remember Langa’s smile, memorize the curve of his lips and the creases at the corner of his eyes. None of that worrying that pulls his features in all the wrong ways.

“Don’t worry, dude. Everything’s perfect. Just been a long day, y’know?”

Langa nods, but he shows no sign of continuing his way down the road. He nods, but he expects more. He wants Reki to talk, to release whatever it is he’s holding in his heart. He wants Reki to talk, to spill, to let it all out. And even if it’s ugly, Reki knows Langa will take it. Even if it’s far from perfect, Reki knows Langa will smile, grin even, as he drinks Reki’s every syllable.

“Well, I mean…”

They hear it in the silence, the wait of Reki’s unspoken words. The silent words, they hang heavy in the air. And the more Langa stares, the more Langa waits with that beautiful look upon his face, the more Reki hesitates to say it. It won’t break them, far from that, but being the first to vocalize it, being the first to put it out there, it’s scary. It could ignite a fire, a flame that could leave a trail of beauty for Reki to memorize on Langa’s face and body, but it might also be a flame that burns the whole thing down. If he does this wrong, who knows what the future will look like for them.

Perhaps it would have been better if Reki had been a better liar, better at concealing the feelings fluttering in his heart. If he had been able to pretend there was nothing there, or pretend he didn’t expect the words to come to him first before parroting them back, maybe he wouldn’t have found himself in this situation. But if he had been better at conceal his feelings, at keeping them close to his chest rather than out for the world to see, then maybe he wouldn’t have found himself under the brightest moon, standing in front of the prettiest boy he’d ever seen. If he had been different, then maybe he wouldn’t be here today. He wouldn’t be standing in front of a boy whose eyes are filled with beauty and adoration, lacing their fingers together.

“I guess I just wanted to say…”

It’s now, or it’s never, Reki knows that. He’s started. He can’t stop.

“I’ve actually been thinking so much about this lately. Like, I can’t sleep from how much I think about it. So, like…”

Langa stares in anticipation, his shoulders caving inwards as his fingers tighten around Reki’s. He’s biting back a smile, Reki knows this. Maybe Langa’s just as bad at this as he is.

“Langa.”

He’s shaking. Or maybe it’s Langa who’s shaking. Or maybe they’re both shaking. Reki can’t tell. He doesn’t care.

“Langa, I love you.”

#in celebration of 1989 (TV) coming out #I literally just pumped this shit out while listening to You Are in Love because it was just rattling in my brain the entire time #had to get it out #Also look at that!!! I wrote some Renga!!!!! #ok tagging time it's been a hit minute #kyan reki #reki #reki kyan #sk8 reki #langa #langa hasegawa #sk8 langa #hasegawa langa #renga #snowgear #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #lils writes

[linilou-von-hevring]

Claude groaned as Edelgard threw yet another insult his way. Dealing with his and her royal highnesses the Prince of Faerghus and the Princess of Adrestia was a lot more annoying than Claude had once anticipated. They just didn’t know how to have fun! “If it weren’t for you imbeciles, we wouldn’t have gotten separated from the group!” “C’mon, Edelgard, lighten up! When’s the last time you’ve had enough freedom to not be so uptight?” “Claude, Edelgard, please. This is no time to fight.”

Read it here on ao3!

#It's literally 32k words long #I could not post the entire thing here #but here she is the monster that I have created with my own two hands #claudeleth #claude von riegan #byleth eisner #f!byleth #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #lils writes

[wzrd-wheezes]

your skin against mine,

fingers grazing graciously over parts of my body that i wouldn’t let anyone see before you,

still, i hold my breath when your hands run over my stomach,

tensed thighs as you embrace parts of me i’ve hidden my whole life.

above me, your arms cage either side of my face,

between kisses on my neck, sweet nothings are whispered,

and i wonder how many times we have to do this until i believe them.

-LH

#lils writes #my shitty poetry

[lils-of-the-valley]

Mind and Heart

AO3

The room is silent, almost deadly from its quiet. Three bodies are the only source of heat in the old conference room; the cold of winter is harsh on the walls of the old crumbling monastery. Three bodies heat the room, one on each side of the wooden table, and one to the side, refusing to choose either leader. They’re supposed to be working together, not against each other.

“You’ve grown soft, Claude. So soft that your friends have died. Died from your recklessness and your sentimentality.”

Claude snaps at the woman, his sharp warning reminding her of his place in her, no, their fleet. She needs him, they both know that, but that won’t stop her. It might be their fight, they might rely on each other, but she’s the one with the education, the knowledge, the upbringing. They’re both leaders, but Edelgard is the one who grew up with that expectation; Claude’s leadership is but a happy accident.

“You’re a warrior who’s meant to lead his troupes. Lead them to victory, not to their demise. I taught you to lead with your mind, not your heart, and yet here we are, blood on our hands. Blood that had no business being spilled.”

She’s cold. She’s calculating. She doesn’t want her troupes to die, but not because of the bond she has with her soldiers. She needs them, but she hasn’t brought herself to love them. At least, not the way Claude has. Claude leads with humanity; Edelgard leads with knowledge. They both knew this would end in war between them at some point, but it had worked. They’ve been fighting side-by-side for years now. Their differences caused conflicts in this very conference room, but everything had always been resolved. Every dispute has led to better ideas. Or at least, their differences had never led to significant losses. Not until now.

“You think I wanted this? You think I wanted this bloodshed? You think I wanted to lose my second in command?”

Claude’s fingers dig into the rich wood of the table. Bare nails carve their presence into it, evidence of his frustration that will last forever, evidence that will find itself in the history books that will be written when this war will finally be over.

“Unlike you, I can’t just brush off the feelings when someone dies. Unlike you, I have to not only deal with the pain myself, but I have to cheer the troupes up. Because I’m not the only one who lost someone dear to them. But then again,” his fingers relax, revealing the fresh indentation of the wood, and he cocks his head to the side with a bitter smirk, “what was I expecting from the emperor of the Adrestian Empire? The selfish and prideful and vain emperor. All that matters are your numbers and your advancement.”

Edelgard watches him from a distance, her eyes never leaving his face, not even once. It’s the way she’s been raised to rule: never let your guard down; always show that you’re on top. She doesn’t let anyone see how she’s feeling; her emotions are concealed behind the face of a strong emperor. She almost glows in the dim room, glows against the horrors of war.

But across from her, Claude is tired. He’s frustrated. He’s the opposite of the Adrestian emperor, the leader of the Alliance that wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s a great schemer, everyone knows that, but he’s not the best at putting his feelings aside when it comes to lost lives and war. The dark circles are proof of his sleepless nights spent thinking of ways to avoid death, both for himself and for his troupes. He doesn’t stand as tall as the woman in front of him. If anything, he looks like he’s about to crumble, crumble from sheer exhaustion and exasperation.

“Do you think it does nothing to me when—”

“Hilda is dead!”

Something from that cry strikes Edelgard, but just for a moment. She recomposes herself rather quickly, both hands folded themselves. She speaks once more with that clear and crisp voice of hers, a voice that has left chills in her audiences.

“Claude, this is your sentimentality speaking once more. Please compose yourself. Captain Goneril will be remembered as someone exceptional and you will learn to lead with more of an iron fist next time. You’re still my general and I need you to start being rational. This war won’t be won by matters of the heart, Claude.”

“Captain Goneril…” Claude snorts. He looks even worse than at the beginning of the conversation. He looks like he sees ghosts circling the emperor’s head. “You can’t even say her name, just her rank. But please, please my dearest Emperor,” venom coats the title, the strongest of the Alliance’s leader’s poisons, “tell me, what good is a title given by you if I’m slowly driven to madness from all my sleepless nights? Tell me, what good does a title holds when my friends die in your little game of chess? What good is a damned title when it changes nothing in the way we’re all dropping like flies on the battlefield?”

His words grew louder and harsher, more frantic than ever. Claude was right; he was growing madder as the months of war stretched on and his own nights of sleep became less and less frequent. There was too much going on in that head of his. He had told his friends so much. He had confided in his professor. But with the never-ending war, there was nothing more that he could do except push forth and hope for the end.

Or let himself be consumed by his own delusions and madness.

“That’s right,” another snort, some sort of choked laughter, “you have nothing to say to that, do you? Because you know I’m right. This whole thing is insane and you know that your way of leading isn’t right. You’re too far from your armies; you lead them like they’re pawns on a board. You don’t care for the losses; you just care for an end. Your end.”

“Claude,  please—”

“I saw you as a friend, Edelgard. I thought we could lead Fódlan to a brighter tomorrow, one where the wall would be taken down, one where we could all be united. I thought you were like me on that point; that’s the only reason I agreed to join you. But clearly, I was wrong. I was wrong to think that you cared about my people, about your people, about our friends.”

“Claude, you’re being irrational again.”

She takes a deep breath before she continues. She’s reassessing her words, thinking about them carefully before letting them flutter free for the man to seize. She doesn’t want another outburst from him. She doesn’t want to drive him away more than she already has. More than he’s already driven himself.

“You know as well as I that we’re not here to make friends. This is war. This is bloodshed. This is a massacre. We knew this from the start. We knew there would be blood on our hands, the blood of our enemies and the blood of our allies. We knew we had to lead with an iron fist, not with a heart of gold. Emotions only get in the way of our schemes, of our victory. Just look at you. Look at the condition you’re in.”

There’s a pause in the conversation. Edelgard watches Claude’s chest rise and fall, watching him struggle to breathe. Had he been hit during the previous battle? Is he suffering from something hidden, something he’s disregarded due to his blind fury about Hilda’s passing? Or is it anger choking him?

“I’m not here to make friends, and I don’t think you’re here to learn from me. We misjudged our situations and, perhaps until now, it has worked in our favor, but that time has ended. I mistook you for someone that was ready to be my general, but that was my error.” Violet eyes pierced every heart, sharper than the lances that lined the wall. “Claude von Riegan, I release you from your position as a general of the Adrestian army.”

Silence hangs heavy in the room. Edelgard’s words were clear and precise, as if she had rehearsed them for weeks. There was not a stumble nor a pause, just a flow as smooth as the run of a river. Her heart had no say in what came out of her mouth, a true demonstration of her motto: rule with the mind, not the heart. There is no place for passions in the midst of a war.

“You…”

Claude straightens his back, suddenly looking far taller. He wasn’t the tallest man they had encountered, but in this room, in this old conference room that felt like it was caving in on itself, he seemed taller than even the worst of the demonic beasts they had slain.

“Fine, but hear this before I leave.  You may be releasing me from my position in this army, but that won’t take my convictions away. You won’t take my beliefs away. I will continue to fight for the unification of Fódlan. I will continue to fight for the people. Because at least I know what I’m fighting for. But you, Edelgard, do you know what you’re fighting for?” He cocks his head to the side, that sly smile of his reappearing. “Glory? To be known? To be in the history books? I know what my goal is, but do you?” There’s a taunt in his voice, a dangerously cool taunt that could unleash a brand-new war. “Do you know what you’re fighting for, o wise one? You with all the answers, tell me, what are you fighting for?”

“I’m fighting for the unification of Fódlan as well, and you know that. I want a better place for our people to live.”

“If you’re fighting for the people, then why’s your life spent all alone? Hear me, Edelgard von Hresvelg, you’re—” his hands slam down on the table— “alone!”

The word echoes throughout the room. It rains down like a shower of arrows, sharp and deadly. Alone. Edelgard is alone. She’s alone at the top of her throne, and she knows this. She knows this, she’s always known this, but she’s never let it show. Or at least, she doesn’t let it show that it affects her until now.

There’s a shift in Edelgard’s stance. Her eyes grow wide for a fraction of a second, something that’s rarely ever seen in her. And they drop. Her gaze drops down onto the table, though not for very long. But it’s long enough. It’s long enough for anyone to have noticed the change in the emperor’s posture. She’s just a little bit smaller, just a little bit caught off guard, just a little bit more like a girl. She’s just a little bit more like the girl she had once talked about, ever so briefly, the girl who is deadly afraid of rats and who doesn’t like constrained spaces. It’s a tiny change in her attitude, almost invisible, but as noticeable as the ruins in which Fódlan finds itself.

Eyes meet from across the table, one glare far harder than the other. Emperor versus leader. Mentor versus student. Leicester versus Adrestria. Riegan versus Hresvelg. Claude versus Edelgard. It’s a war with no beginning; it’s a war with no end. It’s a broken pact that never should have happened in the first place.

“One day,” Edelgard’s voice is soft, softer than it’s ever been, “you’ll understand what I’ve been trying to do. One day, you’ll see why I’ve been so hard on you. One day, you’ll finally grasp what comes with being a good leader. But not today. After all,” a smile stretches across her lips, crinkling the corner’s of her eyes, “you’re just another man. Raised so far from the court, so far from war councils, all the way in Almyra, how are you to know what it’s like to rule a country? You’ll never know what I go through!”

Edelgard’s hands on the table don’t echo the way Claude’s did, but the violence is there. It’s there in her eyes. It’s there in her hair that’s slipped out of their neat buns. It’s there in her clenched jaw. Frustration radiates off of her body leaning over the conference table, the only thing keeping her from striking Claude with all her concealed violence. Politics and diplomacy vanish at that moment; her whole façade falls, leaving her baring her true self.  

“I had no childhood! I didn’t get to play with other children! I didn’t get to live as a big happy family! I had to flee my country, flee my family, flee everything I knew! I had to watch my siblings die or go mad from horrific experiments! I was the sole survivor! I was the only one who made it! And my country depended on me to guide it correctly after all of that!

“I was thought to put my emotions aside. I was taught that the ends justify the means. I was taught everything you reproach of me, von Riegan, and I don’t plan on changing the way I view the world. If you decide to go against me, I will not hesitate to take you down. But I promise you this: when I’m done with Fódlan, it will be united like you so want it. I just won’t bring it together with your sentimentality. I won’t let myself lose it because I put my emotions where rationality should have been.

“Now,” Edelgard straightens, taking her air of an emperor once more despite her dishevelled state, “get out. Get out before I kick you out myself!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Claude scoffs, finally turning away from the emperor. He looks a little less blinded by his frustrations, but he still holds his head high. Perhaps watching the stoic woman turn into something so emotional made him understand where she was coming from, but his pride won’t let him admit to such a thing. So he just turns away from her, not letting his eyes linger on her any longer. Instead, green finds green, a spark of hope glistening in Claude’s eyes.

“Well, Teach?” He extends his hand to the one who silently stood to the side, his smile looking soft on his lips. “You coming with?”

“Professor.” Edelgard’s voice is sharp with a warning from her corner of the room. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”

» "Claude, I'm coming."

» "Edelgard, I will not leave."

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fe16 #byleth #byleth eisner #edelgard #edelgard von hresvelg #claude #claude von riegan #lils writes

[ghostbsuter]

"Date? Me?'

Tim nods, milkshake in hand, sitting outside of McDonald's with his study buddy, Danny.

The other teen looked flabbergasted with a firm blush building up.

Tim found him utterly adorable.

"I can't date anyone? I'm property of.the goverment."

Tim Drake-Wayne, aka Red Robin, has various questions to that statement.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #fic prompt #writing prompt #dead tired #dead tired ship #dc x dp prompt #danny is just there man #funfact #this.is happeneing at.3 am after.dannh called tim during rr hours and the. guy.went home so.fast and changed just to have a nice mcdonalds #date with.his lil crush #hes down bad

[appalachianapologies]

There are many new friends on the archive, and many are young and have only known social media, which is why I wanted to say something!

Ao3 does not have an algorithm! It isn't a social media site, it's an archive.

Posting fics on Tumblr isn't the same as posting fics on Ao3

Ao3 is like a giant virtual bookshelf, and everyone is able to add their own stories to the bookshelf, all stored with different tags and different fandoms. Works are automatically sorted by newest to oldest, but filters, looking at bookmarks, and using the search function can change that.

Certain works are not pushed to the top like social media posts. More kudos and reads don't push a single work to more viewers by some algorithm. Unless otherwise filtered, works will be at the top of the page based on how recent it was posted.

Smaller fandoms get less views, less kudos, less bookmarks, and larger fandoms get more simply because of the number of people inside the fandom.

Ao3 is a giant virtual bookshelf- there is no algorithm, and there is no man behind the shelf pushing certain books forward.

Happy reading, and if you'd like to have more people notice a fic, why not share it with them! Send a dm to a fandom friend and it might turn into one of their favorite fics!

#ao3 #archive of our own #organization for transformative works #i have admittedly only been a member of the committee for a couple of years BUT ive been a member on ao3 since i was much younger #and it took me a hot second to understand how ao3 works; so i wanted to write a lil post about it after seeing this comment #no shade or blame to the person who wrote this by the way! #after being on social media so much it's a completely understandable mistake and i totally get it #and in fandoms populated by younger ppl typically it's even more understandable! #so absolutely no hate no shade no passive aggressiveness #but i do think it is important to learn how the archive works #so if you'd like to share this it would be greatly appreciated! <3 #okay have a good day sorry this post/tags became so long haha

[tojisun]

not even lying but i couldn’t stop thinking about biker!simon ever since 😭

just imagine biker!simon at the bar with his friends, lounging, waiting for the time to run because after this little after-work drinks, he’s going to drive home to your place. his attention is split between his phone and the chatter of his friends, laughing in bursts at whatever embarrassing thing mactavish is recounting, before turning back to reading the message you sent.

> wearin ur shirt tonight <33

his lips curl in a smile and his heart flutters at how cute you truly are. he types out a response, licking the back of his teeth at the thought of coming home to see you in his shirt, when the chatter dies down in the group.

he catalogues the change, swiftly shutting his phone off before tipping his head up to assess what caused the shift in the mood, only for his eyes to land on a small group of women hovering by their table.

“uh, how can we help you lasses?” johnny, ever the gentleman, asks.

while one of them does respond to johnny, another slides into the empty space beside simon with a giggle.

“hey,” she trills, batting her lashes at him.

simon’s hand tightens around his bourbon, the quiet satisfaction that filled him up throughout the night dissipating. he nods in acknowledgment before turning back to his phone, seeing that there was no immediate danger for him to focus on.

ignoring his obvious lack of interest, she wraps her hand around his wrist and tugs hard enough that simon has to turn his attention back to her. he does so with a sigh.

“it’s so stuffy here,” she says, fanning herself, her eyes drawn onto the helmet he stupidly brought with him inside the bar. she presses close, rubbing her tits along his inked arm. “wanna take me out for a ride?”

simon snatches his arm from her hold, his face pinching in irate. “no, not interested.”

she pouts, cheeks flushing and simon wonders how much of it was because of the alcohol and how much of it was because of shame. he flicks his eyes up to the rest of the group, narrowing his eyes at the unabashed glee in johnny’s face at seeing simon be cornered by someone who can’t take a fucking clue, before shooting a betrayed glare at price and garrick who are choosing to ignore him.

the girl’s friends are now left sitting awkwardly, watching as their friend flounders for simon’s attention – something he’d never give, anyway.

“c’mon, big boy,” said friend croons, twirling her hair. “don’t wanna take a sweetheart for a drive?”

simon sighs, done for the night. “again, not interested," he replies. "'sides, i’ve got the sweetest darling waiting for me at home. i don’t want you, miss.”

and with that, he stands up, snatching his helmet from the table and nodding his goodbyes to his friends. he doesn’t stay long enough to hear her sputter or watch her storm off because simon’s already out the door and walking to the parking lot.

he wears his helmet and slides his gloves on, before fishing for his phone to finally send you that text that he had been wanting to send.

See you soon, sweetheart. <

pocketing his phone, simon finally hefts himself up onto his bike and kickstarts the engine, the machine purring underneath him. he adjusts his helmet, zips up his jacket, before caressing the embroidered letters on his gloves. he traces the initials of your name, feeling his heart fluttering, and brings his gloved knuckles to brush his lips against them.

snapping the visor down, simon revs up the engine and drives off, his thoughts full of nothing but you.

(ext02.) (ext.03) // mlist!

#suns.f #biker!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #suns #what the fuck i was just tryna write a lil thirst headcanon what is this 😭

[webshood]

Bruce and Talia in their on-off arc, where sometimes Jason would wake up and Talia was at the manor, they would play happy family for a couple of days before things went wrong again, Talia managed to fill up an entire album with pictures of the three of them, valentine's day, Jason's birthday, their skiing trip for the winter holidays – Dick went too, but refused to have a good time, he was just there to make sure Talia wasn't poisoning Jason's mind.

Talia later on re-created these moments with Jason and Damian, he was catatonic for some of the photos, but after she got Jason's stuff figured out it was all smooth sailing. So while on his murder tour, Jason had to go spend a week with his pseudo-mom and a five year old Damian, because she wanted to keep record of her boys growing up.

She has a album full of infant-toddler pictures of Jason and her, "mommy and me" style that he has no idea how she managed to get done.

#dick and talia having beef is one of my fav concepts okay #she deserves to be a lil cryptic with photos of dubious precedence #jason todd #talia al ghul #damian wayne #dc comics #red hood #batfam #bruce wayne #batman #writing prompt

[bonewreath]

in which ellie shows you exactly who you belong to.

18+ minors dni!

You and Ellie aren’t together. 

You’re not a couple. You’d both agreed to keep things casual. You’re just roommates who mess around sometimes; simple as that. 

So why do you feel so guilty for going on a date with someone else?

You’re dressed and ready, adding the final touches to your makeup in the mirror, and you should be feeling excited - your date is a total dreamboat. Perfect on paper and so, so hot. But instead of that giddy, fluttery feeling in your stomach, all you feel is guilt. 

You and Ellie aren’t together, you keep reminding yourself. You repeat it like a mantra in your head. There’s nothing wrong with going on a date, right? Because you’re single… Right?

On your way out, you run into Ellie, because of course you do. She’s sprawled out on the couch, head propped on a pillow, playing her Switch with a determined look on her face. Your stomach clenches when you see her. She looks up when she hears you walk to the front door, her eyes following you as you slip into your shoes. 

“You look nice,” Ellie says from the couch. You look over and see that she’s paused her game; she’s sitting up and drinking in the sight of you, eyes lingering over your frame. You pretend not to notice. 

“Thank you, Ellie.” You grin and look down at your outfit, palms smoothing over the fabric of your skirt. You do look nice. 

“Where are you going?” 

Your cheeks go hot at the question, and your first instinct is to lie - to tell Ellie that you’re going to see a friend. Just catching up with someone from college over dinner. But it’d be stupid to lie - you’re single. You’re allowed to go out.

“I’m, um, going on a date.”

You don’t look at her when you say it - you know you’d feel guilty, even if the two of you are just friends with benefits. Or… Roommates with benefits?

“Oh,” Ellie says, as you busy yourself picking off nonexistent lint from your shirt. Anything to avoid her gaze. “Okay. Have fun, then.”

There’s no bitterness in her voice, which you had expected. You glance at her face, and she’s back to that determined expression, focused on her Switch again. 

You clear your throat. “Thanks. I’ll, um… See you later.” 

Naturally, you spend the entire date thinking about Ellie. Her eyes, green and dotted with flecks of brown. Her hair, which falls in her face just right. Her mouth, and the way it feels against the supple flesh of your throat, Ellie’s lips soft and wet as she trails kisses down your neck. 

And her hands - her strong hands. You can almost feel them on your hips, on your chest, between your legs. 

God, this date was a mistake.  

Still, you have the common decency to see it through. You pretend to be interested in your date’s job, their hobbies, their five year plan. They drone on for hours, only asking you a few pointed questions about yourself, and when the dinner’s finally over and they’ve signed the check, you’re itching to leave.

Not long after you’ve made it back home, you’re face-down on Ellie’s bed, moaning into the mattress as her tongue circles your clit. 

She’d asked you about your date between heated kisses, her lips flushed and swollen. You hadn’t given her much details aside from it was boring and I just wanted to come home and do this. That seemed to give Ellie some sort of complex, because now, as she pumps her fingers into your cunt with one hand and lands a stinging smack on your ass with the other, she pulls back from mouthing at your clit to rasp, “That’s it, moan for me.” 

And she’s always been talkative in bed, all slurred curses and dirty comments, but there’s something different this time. You arch your back deeper, giving her more access to pound her fingers into you, and she groans in approval. 

“Good fucking girl,” she breathes, using her free hand to dig her blunt nails into the flesh of your ass. She gives it another spank for good measure. “Wanna tell me whose pussy this is?”

There it is - something she’s never said before. You can feel yourself getting wetter, tightening around her fingers as your hips involuntarily push backwards against her palm. You forget to respond entirely, every thought in your head smooth and shapeless, disappearing as quickly as it came. But Ellie won’t let you off so easily. 

“Flip over,” she orders, the rasp in her voice sending a thrill up your spine. You obey wordlessly, and when you’re on your back, you see it: a possessive glint in her gaze, a sharp edge to her expression. You gush impossibly wetter, cunt clenching around nothing - the absence of Ellie’s fingers makes you want to sob. 

“Ellie,” you whisper, brows knitting together. Her gaze softens. “Please make me come.”

A smile tugs at her lips and she nods, her palm rubbing over your stomach in soothing circles. 

“I will, princess,” she assures you, “but I need you to tell me who you belong to. Think you might’ve forgotten.”

Guilt twists in your gut. “You, Ellie.” 

“What about me?”

There’s a challenge in the teasing lilt of her voice. You swallow. “I… Belong to you.”

“Mm, that’s right.” Ellie’s hands travel upward from your abdomen to your chest, closing around each of your tits. You suck in a shaky breath when her thumbs stroke over your pert nipples, making them draw even more taut. “These are mine?”

“Yours,” you gasp, chest rising and falling quickly. Ellie’s bangs fall in her eyes as she leans over to suck a nipple into her mouth, tongue swirling over the bud until you go cross-eyed, hips canting upward. She repeats the same torture with your other breast, leaving both of your nipples swollen and sensitive. 

“What about this?” Ellie asks when she pulls back, her hand moving to the heat between your legs. You whine, a desperate, pathetic little sound that makes Ellie want to eat you whole. 

“Yours, Ellie, it’s yours,” you say, voice betraying how needy you are. She dips a finger into your wetness, your folds silky with arousal, and you almost miss the way her eyes flicker back into her skull for a moment. She’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

“This is mine?” She drags her fingers up to your clit, drawing torturously wide circles around it - close, but not close enough. You could start crying right there. You nod, frantic.

Ellie clicks her tongue, tuts in disapproval. “No, baby, I need to hear you say it. Whose pussy is this?”

And it’s not so hard to admit - Ellie’s had you under her spell long before you went on that stupid date tonight. You realize it now, cheeks warming at the obscene sounds of Ellie’s fingers playing in your cunt, unable to look her in the eye without squirming. 

“My pussy’s yours,” you pant, “s’all yours. Nobody fucks me like you, Els.” 

You’re pushing your hips towards her touch, your tits in your own hands now, pulling at your nipples like it’ll relieve the growing need in your belly. Ellie eyes you with half-lidded eyes, lust heavy in her gaze, and it’s like you can see the remnants of her resolve break. She sinks between your legs and finally, finally laps at your desperate cunt, drinking in the taste of you as you whine and writhe above her. 

When you come, it’s with Ellie’s name on your lips. And you know it’s true - you’re entirely hers.

#a lil blurb for yall on this fine friday #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie fic #ellie smut #ellie x reader #ellie x reader smut #my writing #possessive!ellie #kira writes

[reki-of-the-valley]

Through the Seasons

Read it here on ao3!

1 - Spring

Reki chews on the inside of his cheek as he watches Langa. His head is resting against Reki’s shoulder, blue hair tickling Reki’s cheek with every slight movement of his. And with every tickle, Reki finds himself staring, staring longer than what must be considered bro-appropriate. Until now, he’s never stared at one of his friends the way he was staring at Langa. Until now, he had never felt the urge to just stare, take in everything that is Langa, Langa who is prettier than any boy he’s ever seen. Prettier than girls too! Langa who is just… the prettiest.

Reki tears his eyes away, forcing himself to concentrate on the phone that’s propped up in front of him. He forces himself to look at the screen, but he can’t help the flickering of his eyes to the side, the quick glances at this best friend quite literally pressed to his side. Just quick glances; they don’t linger. And it’s only when Langa moves, snuggling closer. It’s only when Langa seems to be demanding his attention. Because there’s no way this isn’t on purpose. There’s no way Langa doesn’t know his every little movement has Reki staring. Or maybe it’s just a Canadian thing, the snuggling. Reki’s heard that they’re very friendly and affectionate there. He’s heard that cuddling is a great way to keep warm during the long and cold Canadian winters.

If someone were to ask Reki what was playing on Langa’s phone, he wouldn’t know what to answer. He’d probably just laugh nervously and answer “skateboarding,” more of a question than an answer. It wouldn’t be that farfetched of an answer, but he hasn’t been paying attention. Even when he forces his eyes away from the boy cuddled up against him in bed, thoughts of him fill Reki. Thoughts that make his heart race, face flushing. Thoughts that are not things one should associate with their best friend. Thoughts he didn’t exactly think were appropriate to share with the world.

Slowly, carefully, Reki lets his body soften against Langa’s. It’s a step-by-step process, the careful melting against Langa. It’s slow and deliberate, the straightness of his back slowly melting into a slouch. It’s careful and planned out, the pressing of his own head against Langa’s. Everything is calculated as if he’s testing the waters. That’s what he’s doing after all; he’s making sure that he’s not being weird and that he’s allowed to be as comfortable as Langa seems to be.

Muffled, indiscernible sounds leak out of Langa’s phone, but Reki can’t bring himself to focus on them. Even the screen itself seems blurry and distant. It’s not his fault; his eyes just can’t help going back to Langa. How is he supposed to focus on anything other than the prettiest boy he’s ever seen who’s now definitely cuddled up against him? How is he supposed to focus on anything other than the hand that’s innocently resting against his knee? How is he supposed to look at anything other than that silky blue hair that tickles his cheek, and those ocean eyes that seem filled with a sleepy haze? How is he supposed to pay attention to anything other than Langa?

The mattress shifts under the weight of the two boys, Langa burying himself even deeper into Reki’s side. And as his nose digs itself into Reki’s shoulder, Reki can’t help the hitch in his breath. He’s never had someone this close, not even the twins as they snuggle and fall asleep on him. He’s never had someone this vulnerable against him, someone who trusts him as wholeheartedly as Langa does. And the soft touch of the tip of Langa’s cold nose, it sends a shiver down Reki’s spine.

“Reki?”

His voice is faint, muffled against the thin cotton of Reki’s t-shirt. It’s smaller than it’s ever been, barely above a soft whisper. But it’s there and it’s heavy as Langa slowly lifts his head. Reki wishes Langa had stayed in the crook of his neck, but seeing the blue of Langa’s eyes sparkle under the dim light of the room, Reki can’t help the smile that blossoms across his lips. He can’t help smiling when Langa is there, looking at him. Who wouldn’t want to be looked at by Langa? A crazy person, for sure.

“Reki, I…”

His nose dives back into Reki’s shoulder. Maybe Reki hallucinated, but he could’ve sworn he saw a pink tint bloom across Langa’s cheeks. What could possibly have him that embarrassed? What could—?

The touch leaves sparks under Reki’s skin; the arms wrapping around his waist create an eruption of butterflies in his stomach. And the tilt of Langa’s head, the feeling of his nose, of his lips against the soft skin of his neck, lightness hazes Reki’s mind. Everything is wrong, everything is right. Nothing makes sense, everything is crystal clear. The world moves slowly, the moment goes fast. One shift and nothing can ever be the same again.

Reki isn’t sure in which order everything happened. He knows it started with one of Langa’s whispers, his small voice ever so slightly coated with an English accent. Then there were the touches, the hug that was so different from their typical hugs. Reki wouldn’t be able to name the difference now, but it was there. There was something more tender in the embrace, something filled with wanting. It wasn’t just one of those excited, impulsive hugs they would spring on one another. This was a deliberate touch, one filled with need, with want. Langa wanted to be there. Langa wants to be there, in the small of Reki’s neck, pressed against his side, almost falling over him. Langa wants to be this close and Reki doesn’t want him to go. He wants Langa there. He wants Langa there for as long as he can have him.

Then there was the lift of Langa’s head. Or maybe first there had been the turn of Reki’s. He isn’t sure which came first. He isn’t sure of much after that first shift, actually. But what he is sure of is the color of Langa’s eyes, the way they seemed to twinkle. All he knows is that this is Langa, his best friend, the prettiest boy he’s ever seen. All he knows is that everything is on autopilot. All he knows is that his eyes fall shut as soon as he feels Langa’s breath on his lips. All he knows is that whatever happens next, he wants it. He wants it all. He wants Langa. He wants Langa and nothing can ruin this for him.

It's hesitant at first, the soft touch of Langa’s lips against his own. It feels like more like a question than anything, but it isn’t long before the question finds its answer. It isn’t long before the soft touch turns into something more. It isn’t long before they find their rhythm, Langa’s fingers digging into Reki’s hips, holding on for dear life. It isn’t long that what could’ve been an innocent peck turns into something more desperate. It isn’t long before the whole world has been forgotten, or maybe it’s just that Reki and Langa have become each other’s worlds in a matter of seconds. Nothing else matters at the moment, nothing but warm breaths and rushed kisses. Nothing but the fading taste of the sweets they had had early in the day. Nothing but silky hair slipping through Reki’s fingers. Nothing matters, nothing except Langa. Nothing except Langa’s kisses. Nothing but the desperation that comes with the thought of losing Langa’s kisses. Nothing but the thought that this is the only time he’ll get to know what it feels like to be kissing Langa. Langa, the prettiest boy Reki’s ever laid eyes on.

Reki’s lost count of the number of kisses he’s laid on Langa. He’s lost his string of thoughts, his initially detailed plan of how things would go the day he would get to press his first kiss to someone. None of this is following the way he thought it would go, starting with the fact that he just kissed Langa and not some girl like he thought he would. But now with the entirety of his weight pressed into Langa’s lap, his hands tangled in the softest hair he’s ever had the privilege of touching, Reki couldn’t care less of his initial plan. This, this reality, it’s so much better than any of those fantasies he had come up with over the years. Kissing Langa is so much better than anything he could have dreamt up.

“Reki?”

It’s the softest Reki’s ever hear his name be said. A breathless whisper against his lips, a whisper he’ll be dreaming about for far too long. A whisper filled with adoration. A whisper he may never hear again. A whisper that may be Langa’s way of telling him that this was all a mistake. A whisper that might be the end of everything. A whisper that may as well be—

“Reki, I—”

“I’m sorry!” The words tumble out of Reki’s mouth before he can even process what he’s saying. “I wasn’t thinking and I just— I don’t know what I was thinking or maybe I wasn’t even thinking at all? I just… I shouldn’t have… I didn’t actually… It’s probably like… weird? Like,” nervous laughter falls from his lips as his heart races in his chest. “It’s totally weird, right? Bros don’t… bros don’t like… do what just happened, right? We can’t…”

“I like kissing you, Reki.”

Silence crashes down, an invisible weight pressing on Reki’s chest. Langa… Langa, he likes the kisses. He liked whatever just happened between them. He enjoyed the moment that just passed, one that Reki also enjoyed, if he ignores the wave of panic that overwhelmed him. He doesn’t hate Reki for the stolen kisses, the kisses that probably had no business being stolen in the first place. The smart thing probably would have been to ignore the pounding of his heart and the pull Langa’s lips had on him, but it’s too late to regret everything. Not that Reki regrets any of it! Absolutely not! Not when it’s Langa over and over again.

“Y’know, Reki…” This time, Reki can’t miss the blush that blossoms under Langa’s skin. He can’t miss the boy’s averting eyes and the pinkness that sticks out from under his hair. This time, Reki is certain that Langa is blushing and he can’t help but feel the heat in his own face as he stares at Langa, waiting for the rest of his thoughts. “You don’t have to… stop or anything? If you want, we can…”

“I think I like you.”

Reki’s hands couldn’t have flown to his face any faster than they do right then and there, clasping them right over the words that he hadn’t meant to blurt out. While they weren’t a lie, was now the best time to say it? Really, did this have to be all so confusing? Why does everything have to be so freaking confusing!

“I like you too!”

I like you too; truer words had never been uttered. Or at least, Reki sure hopes they hold some truth since they have his heart racing and they have him grinning like an absolute fool. Because if Langa likes him, like likes him, then what is there to be afraid? The scariest part of falling for his best friend was that it might have come with the price of their friendship, but now that Langa is here, smiling that sweet and soft smile, eyes crinkling at the corner, Reki isn’t afraid anymore. He isn’t scared as he lets his body crash against Langa’s, arms wrapping around his neck in the tightest hug he’s ever given his best friend. And as Langa’s arms loops around his waist, everything clicks. This is right. This moment, it couldn’t get any better. Nothing could take Reki’s happiness away. Nothing could take Langa away from him. Because this is right. Because this is Reki and Langa, best of friends, best of everything. Two halves of a whole.

“I like you too, man. I like you so much, Langa. And you mean everything to me.”  

#This has been sitting in my drafts since like 2021 #It's a three part thing and I was supposed to post it the way I normally do but Im still tired #so we're doing this in 3 posts #part one is right here for you to enjoy for now <3 #reki kyan #kyan reki #sk8 reki #reki #langa hasegawa #hasegawa langa #sk8 langa #langa #renga #snowgear #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #lils writes

[linilou-von-hevring]

Lakefront

Read it here on ao3!

“Whatcha doing there?”

It takes a moment for Byleth to look up from the lake. Ripples break her reflection as she pulls her soaked cloak onto her lap. Red stains the fabric, stains that bleed onto the girl’s hands and knees. And she almost seems frazzled as her eyes find Claude’s; or at least, she seems as frazzled as an emotionless Ashen Demon can be.

“I’m trying to get these stains out before it’s too late.”

“Why not just use another one instead? If you want, we can get you a new one as soon as we’re back in the capital.”

Claude must have been blessed by the goddess, or perhaps it’s just a stroke of luck. Regardless, it’s nice not being chased away as he takes a seat next to Byleth on the grass. The summer air is almost choking, dry heat pounding down onto the heads that have the misfortune of being exposed, but by the water, it’s a little more bearable. It’s a little fresher, the cool breeze brushing Claude’s cheeks. Or maybe it’s the sparkle in those green eyes that makes it worth being outside under the blazing sun.

“Jeralt said the same thing.”

He waits for more to come, but the wait is in vain. Byleth simply goes back to scrubbing her cloak, her green eyes glistening like the still lake under the sun. She seems determined to get her cloak back into its original state, but the blood is stubborn, clinging to the fabric. It clings like the memories of the last battle, one that had been far more brutal than the rest. It clings like the pit that forms at the bottom of Claude’s stomach; he couldn’t ignore the casualties that had come with his lack of preparation. He can’t ignore the wave of nausea that hits him, the smell of bloodshed leaving him sick all over again.

“You were good in the last battle.” Claude’s eyes leave the bloody garment only to fall back onto Byleth. She doesn’t look away from her work, but he knows she’s addressing him. He knows the words are for him, an attempt at comfort; he knows she had seen him detach himself from his celebrating troops to be sick on his own. “You did what you had to do to win, even if it wasn’t the victory you had wanted.” Green eyes find each other; they’re dusted with sunlight, a flicker of warmth he’s never seen in Byleth. “You’re a good leader. You’re a smart one.”

The blush that heats his face catches him by surprise. Claude’s heard it a million times before, heard the whispers and the praises for how smart he is, how cunning he is, how he plans for everything, but none of those compliments had left him swelling with pride. Every pat on the back he had gotten had felt like a stepping stone leading him to his next scheme, approval for him to keep going, but coming from Byleth, it feels different. From Byleth, he believes it; Claude doesn’t feel the need to be humble or deny his intelligence. With Byleth, he doesn’t need to put up this perfect political leader persona he has perfected for everyone else; Claude can just be himself, this kid that’s just trying his best to survive a worthless war.

“You’re pretty smart yourself, you know. And you’re crazy strong, taking those guys out like it was nothing to you.” Maybe the wink and bumping of shoulders was unnecessary, but Byleth doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t back away or leave; she simply shakes her head as she continues scrubbing her cloak. “I mean it, though. You’re an incredible mercenary. And I kinda wish we had met sooner, been on the same team from the start. Kinda wish I had gotten to know you sooner.”

Byleth hums, a sound Claude has grown accustomed to hearing. He still hasn’t figured out the meaning of the sound, but he knows it’s better than silence. He knows that if she’s humming, it means she’s not chasing him away. If she’s humming, it means he gets to stay by her side, even if just for a moment longer.

It’s peaceful by the lake. Everything is still besides the weak ripples of water Byleth produces from plunging her cloak into the water. Everything is calm; birds chirp from the treetops and Claude even spots a pair of ducks diving for fish. Everything is so serene; if it weren’t for the camps set up a little further away, if it weren’t for the bloodshed that stains the soles of their shoes, if it weren’t for the dark circles that stain Claude’s face, it would have been impossible to know they were plunged in the midst of a war. If it weren’t for the weight on his heart, everything would have almost felt normal.

“Here.” Byleth furrows her brows as Claude pulls her cloak out of her hands. “Let help.”

“I’ve never seen a king be so adamant about doing laundry before.”

Laughter bubbles out of Claude as he plunges the fabric into the water. He’s never had to wash anything on his own before, he’s always had someone do it for him, but it’s never too late to learn. And maybe he’s not as methodical as Byleth had been, maybe his fingers are not yet familiar with the weight of wet cottons or the proper way of scrubbing stains out, but it’s not so terrible. It’s almost pleasant, the little mundane tasks Claude never got to do, having been raised in silks and perfumes. He almost feels normal, just a little more like everyone else. Maybe once this wretched war settles down, he’ll take up doing more chores instead of delegating them. Or maybe he’ll content himself with this one time, enjoying the freshness of the water against his skin.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” He doesn’t wait for an answer; Claude knows waiting is useless. “Friends help each other out.”

It’s so easy to smile around Byleth. Around Byleth, there’s an ease to every one of Claude’s grins, an ease he hadn’t known possible for him. Every smile he’s sported before, be it for his friends or for his troops, they’ve always weighed him down. They’ve always been an obligation to Claude, a duty he owes his people, especially during wartimes. Smiling has always been a tool for Claude, a way to instill confidence in the people he faces, but here, with Byleth, it almost feels like none of that matters. He doesn’t need to convince her of his abilities as a leader. He doesn’t need to convince her of anything, really. With Byleth, it almost feels like everything will simply be alright.

“You’re kind.” Byleth purses her lips as she tilts her head at Claude, her eyes running over his body before settling on his face. “You’re a lot kinder than most nobles I’ve come across.”

The statement begs for questions. It’s right there, an invitation for Claude to pry, but he doesn’t dare. Every question that forms at the tip of his tongue is swallowed back; he knows better than to try to break Byleth open. If she wants to tell him about her days before being hired by Leicester, if she wants to tell him about all her wandering, all the people she has met before him, then she will. She will tell him on her own terms. She’ll open up, little by little, whenever she feels like it. And as much as Claude hates waiting, his impatience and curiosity getting the better of him most of the time, he knows when to back down. He knows he has to content himself with the bits of information that are slowly handed to him.

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he pushes himself up from the grass. Byleth’s eyes flicker between the boy standing before her and the cloak he’s left laying at his feet, left to soak in more stains than what Claude had gotten out. Her eyes flicker, but she doesn’t move. She makes no move to take back what is rightfully hers, nor does she follow Claude’s lead. She simply sits there, her expression unreadable as always.

Maybe Claude should have let her be. Maybe he should have sat back down and gone back to the little task he had imposed upon himself. Maybe he should have been thinking more rationally, but whatever brains he’s known for has since been left at the conference table. Here, under the blazing sun, under that green gaze, he’s letting his heart lead. Here, now, he’s following where fate leads him.

“I don’t know if kind is the best way to describe me, but,” he holds his hand out to Byleth, a hand she contemplates for a moment, “I promise you I’ll never be like any of the nobles of this place. Not Lorenz, not Hilda, not any of them. I’m just not one of them, no matter how hard I try. So please,” finally, fingers curl around the hand that touches his, “think of me as your friend instead of your leader, your king. Please?”

Pretty eyes roll back as Claude pulls Byleth to her feet. It’s the first time he’s ever seen her this relaxed; it’s the first time he doesn’t panic at their proximity, afraid she might take his life. It’s the first time he feels they’re equals; it’s the first time they feel like just people rather than soldiers striving to survive a war.

Byleth’s hand quickly falls away from Claude’s, but not as quickly as her eyes. They fall onto the horizon, onto the sun that’s still high, still plummeting down onto their heads. They shimmer like the lake reflecting the leaves in the trees, they’re captivating as always, always filled with a mystery that draws Claude in, but they’re not alone in holding his gaze. He can’t help but trace the lines of reddening skin, skin he knows is normally so pale. He can’t help but want to touch the splotches of burns that have started to sprinkle Byleth’s skin. And maybe that’s why she always has something to cover herself; maybe she, unlike Claude, burns under the scorching summer sun. Maybe Byleth, unlike Claude, didn’t spend her entire childhood playing under blazing rays.

“Not to pry or anything, but,” green finds green once more, “when’s the last time you just had fun?”

“Fun?”

Claude almost laughs at the way Byleth tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowed. It’s almost as if she’d never heard the word; it’s almost as if it had no meaning to her.

“Let loose, had fun. Didn’t think about the shitty state of the world. Just thought of yourself for a moment, been a little impulsive maybe. Not been all serious all the time.” Claude shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Y’know, just had fun.”

Byleth furrows her brows once more, concentration staining her delicate features. She’s searching for a time she had done something other than work; by the looks of it, maybe the answer to Claude’s question is “never.” Had the Ashen Demon ever had a moment where she just got to have fun? Or had she been born a fighter, born with a sword weighing down her little hands? Did a mercenary, no matter how young, ever have the opportunity to just kick back and have fun in their life?

Claude doesn’t wait for an answer. If Byleth has never had the chance to let loose before, then it’s become Claude’s personal mission to change that here and now. Now matter how dire their circumstances, they’re allowed a moment of indulgence. No matter how deadly the outside world is, they’re entitled to a moment of peace, a moment of their own. No matter what, they’re allowed to take back a moment of their idle childhood and make the world their own. They’re allowed to reclaim the childhood they lost to war.

Green eyes fall back onto Claude, eyes that follow the lines of his body as he spins on his heel, his arms thrown back behind his head. He knows Byleth can’t look away; ever since she’s been hired to be a part of the Leicester army, her eyes have rarely left him. She’s followed his every movement as if it had become her personal mission to ensure his safety. She’s never been far; she’s always known his exact whereabouts. And it makes sense: the death of her employer would mean the end of her income. It makes sense that she has to ensure her own survival; money is just as vital to life as not being cut down by a sword, not that Byleth would ever be careless enough to be ambushed. It makes sense that her eyes are drawn towards Claude, but this time, she’s not looking at him as if he were this fragile little thing that needed protecting. This time, she’s looking at him, all of him, all of Claude. This time, she doesn’t seem as guarded as she watches him. Perfect.

The sound that breaks from Claude’s lips is far pitchier than he had expected from himself. It’s far from that deep battle cry, that powerful voice he uses as he sends his troops forwards. This scream is one far more natural, a yelp one would expect from a child rather than from a man leading an army. This shriek as he trips back towards the water is one that pulls Byleth’s complete attention to him, her eyes suddenly huge as she reaches out to grab him. And she’s right where Claude wants her; his fingers curl around the hand extended towards him and yank the girl forward, both bodies plunging into the lake.

Cool water surrounds them as Claude pulls Byleth into his chest. It’s almost as if time slows as they sink into the lake, glistening freshness enveloping them like a blanket. Down here, the blazing hot sun can’t reach them. Down here, the world seems to disappear. At least, until Byleth is pushing Claude away and rising to the surface. Or maybe the world vanishes even more as he watches her glide against the water. Everything goes away, everything but Byleth’s elegance as she pierces through the surface, her fanned out hair now clinging to her cheeks. Nothing matters when Byleth’s looking that pretty as she catches her breath, coughing out the water she’s accidentally swallowed. Everything is Byleth, Byleth who has never seemed more human than in this moment.

Laughter bubbles out of Claude as he joins her at the surface. It’s uncontrolled, rolling out in snorts and choked breaths, but it’s by far the most genuine laugh he’s let out in a long time. It’s a laugh he’s forgotten himself capable of, but as Byleth glares at him, her soaked hair a mess, how is he supposed to not laugh? How can he help the fits of laughter as he sees her face twist upon realizing she fell for another of his dirty little tricks? How can he not laugh or sport a grin so wide it hurts his cheeks? It’s not every day he gets to trick the Ashen Demon, the girl who’s always so on guard, so ready to read through every one of his schemes. Claude’s not as predictable as she had made it seem; Byleth hadn’t planned for this outcome.

More laughter spills as a wave slaps Claude across the face. He can’t see the face Byleth is pulling, too busy rubbing the water out of his eyes, but he can imagine it. He can perfectly picture her half-hearted frown, that near pout that perfectly encapsulates her disappointment in herself for falling for something so obvious. She should have known better than to be fooled by Claude’s scream. She should have known that he isn’t one to trip over his own two feet. She should have known that he was as steady as any archer needs to be in order to survive. She should have known so much, expected so much, and yet she had been fooled by his cunning. She had expected the best of him, which had been her biggest mistake.

“You tricked me.”

“Told you I wasn’t kind.”

Another grin breaks across Claude’s face as water washes over him, a wave he gladly returns. He won’t be the only one engulfed by the cool water sent his way; Byleth disappears into the lake, though only for a split second. It’s only a second before she’s bobbing back up, having pushed herself back to the surface. It’s only a second before she’s back on the offensive, blinding Claude through the means of splashes and sunlight.

He shouldn’t have expected any less from the Ashen Demon. Why wouldn’t she be just as competitive as she is fearless? It’s anything but a surprise that she wants nothing more than to win the battles she’s engaged in, even if those battles are silly little games played out in the middle of a lake. She’ll force Claude to surrender if she must, just as she had once tried on the battlefield. She’ll do anything to hear his gasping breaths declaring her the victor. She’ll force him into a corner, trap him just as he had once trapped her, but such a feat doesn’t come as easily as she might have hoped. If she’s stubborn enough to fight until the very end, then Claude is three times stubborner than her. He has to lead her to her demise. He has to lead her to surrender rather than to victory.

“Is that really the best you can do?” War-hardened eyes narrow onto him as he grins, trying his best to not sound winded despite the exhaustion starting to weigh him down. “Guess the rumors about how strong the unbeatable, the unshakable Ashen Demon is are all wrong. Because I swear I’ve fought stronger practice dummies.” Claude shakes his head as he let out another laugh. “And here I was expecting a bit of a challenge. Guess you’re just too predictable.”

Something flashes in Byleth’s eyes. It’s a glint Claude’s only seen a handful of times, a twinkle he had once feared when he opposed the Ashen Demon on the battlefield. It’s a shine that had once shaken him to his core, leaving him sleepless from the paralyzing fear of her power. But here, under the blazing summer sun, fear is left to the shadows; now, as heat flushes Byleth’s cheeks, he knows the shimmer can only mean he’s in for a good time. Who would have guessed that all it took was a little taunt for Byleth to take the bait? Who would have thought that a little taunt would be enough for her to rise to the challenge, ready to display her true strength to Claude, though this time without the worry of his life being taken? He’d finally get an up-close glimpse of the tactics of the fabled Ashen Demon but without the anxiety that had accompanied him the last time he had challenged her on a battlefield.

Byleth’s a lot faster now, disappearing underwater before reappearing behind him. She’s a lot more silent, a lot more unpredictable. The splashes she had once directed at Claude, the waves that had washed over him, they’ve become more precise, as if magic is controlling the bursts that catch him off guard. And every ambush has Claude’s mind racing, trying desperately to predict and counter Byleth’s next move. Every attack pushes him further from his goal; maybe this is the time he finally loses to her.

Another yelp breaks from his lips as he’s dragged down into the lake. Arms wrap around his neck as water engulfs him. The sun seems to be growing farther away as Claude reaches out to the surface. The light seems to disappear as he tries his best to wiggle out of his opponent’s iron grip. Everything seems to fade away when he finally breaks free, finally able to push himself to the surface, which seems so far away.

Everything seems to vanish. Maybe the water had gotten to his head, hazing his mind. Maybe he had sunk too deep. Maybe he had been deprived of oxygen for too long, even if he knows he’s stayed underwater far longer in the past. But what other explanation can there be for his gasps as he reaches the surface, gasps that sound like he hasn’t had a chance to breathe for hours? Why else would his eyes feel so wide, the sunlight blinding him completely? Why else would he think he met his siren at the bottom of the lake?

Everything had happened so fast, from the plunge to the resurfacing. Everything had happened in the blink of an eye, fragments Claude is only now starting to put together as he catches his breath. Everything had felt unreal; maybe none of it happened, or maybe everything really did happen.

Byleth’s arms had been iron-tight around Claude’s neck as she pulled him down into the water with her. She had been a lot stronger than he had anticipated, immobilizing him in a way he hadn’t known possible. She had been a lot swifter as well, her arms falling away from him before she circled him. And she had been stunning in that moment, despite the blur of water. Byleth had appeared before him like one of the paintings that had adorned the walls of the Riegan estate, those paintings of worship he had once spent hours observing, those gorgeous painting which depicted beauty incarnate. Right there, she had seemed almost divine under the filtered sunlight.

Byleth had been the only thing Claude could see despite his burning and blurring eyesight. Byleth, she had been so breathtaking with her hair suspended around her as if forming a halo around her face. Byleth, how could something so deadly be so pretty?

Maybe it’s the loss of oxygen playing tricks on Claude’s hazy mind. Maybe the burning lake water had been the reason he had squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe everything that supposedly happened is nothing more than the replay of a fantasy Claude has dreamt up. Maybe he’s making everything up, convincing himself that his desires are reciprocated. Maybe he’s nothing more than a dreamer; but then again, everything had felt too real to be a figment of his imagination.

He couldn’t have conjured up the feeling of hands on his cheeks. He couldn’t have made up the way he had been pulled closer. He couldn’t have imagined the light touch of lips to his. It couldn’t be a fantasy playing over in his mind; he knows the feeling of Byleth haunting his dreams, always three steps too far for him to catch her. Claude knows the difference between dreams and reality; he knows he didn’t imagine grabbing Byleth’s arm as he tried his best to press a kiss back to her lips. He knows he’s not that delusional; he can’t be that delusional. If this had all been delusion, why had Byleth broken away from him, leaving him with nothing but his gasps, air bubbles rushing from his mouth to the surface?

Everything had happened so fast; everything had felt so real, yet so uncertain as Claude raises a finger to his lips. Who would believe him if he told them the story of what had just happened? No one would; no one had witnessed the scene, not even the sun. And as Claude remains alone at the center of the lake, drenched and heaving, he knows he’d have been called a liar. Byleth is nowhere near him; she didn’t resurface alongside him, coughing out water as she had earlier. No, she’s far from him, already sitting on the shore and ringing out water from her hair. If it weren’t for the fact that she, too, was soaked down to her core, Claude might have even believed he had made up the plunge they had taken together.

But he didn’t make anything up. His sleepless nights had not caught up to him, leaving him with fabricated memories. The sun had not been too much for him. He’s not going crazy from some cold that washed over him from the bit of time he spent in the lake. It’s impossible, even if he knows nature is more unpredictable than he’ll ever be. It’s impossible for the sun to have pounded such delusions into his head, even if he’s been warned that it has the power to daze and confuse those who stayed under it for too long. Claude knows he hasn’t gone crazy. Not yet, at least. He hasn’t yet lost all his senses to the one sitting there, all pretty under the harsh sunlight.

Byleth’s eyes rise towards Claude, but they quickly dart away as she kicks the water her feet are soaking in. And something pulls on Claude’s heartstrings as he watches her fidget with her hair. He’s never seen her like this; he’s only known her to be the fearless Ashen Demon, the girl who had glared daggers at him, the girl who had narrowed her twinkling eyes onto him. He’s never seen Byleth look shy, glancing away as he draws closers to her. He’s never seen a blush stain her cheeks. And she looks so beautiful like that, the color creeping into her face, leaving her looking bashful. She looks beautiful and human; maybe she’s not as untouchable and mysterious as Claude had thought.

“I shouldn’t have…”

Byleth purses her lips. Her eyes flicker all around before falling back to her hands now resting against her lap. The thoughts are racing through her mind; Claude can see them bounce all around. He can easily imagine her trying to grab onto a few of them, trying her best to find the right words, but nothing comes of it. She remains silent, biting the insides of her cheeks.

Claude can’t fault her for her silence. He knows what it’s like trying to explain a decision that has no explanation. He knows what it’s like to act impulsively, act rashly. He knows what it’s like to do something only to realize too later there were other ways. He knows the feeling all too well.

“But you did.”

Green eyes flicker towards Claude as he pushes himself out of the water. He’s heavy from the lake-soaked cottons clinging to his skin, and he feels gross, sinking into the now flooded muddy grass, but neither say anything about it. Neither seem ready to acknowledge what has happened. They don’t mention the plunge they took, nor do they mention the moment they shared. At least, they don’t mention it outright; putting it into words, addressing it, that would make it too real. They know it happened, but talking about it, it’s scarier than the battles they lead. The only thing more terrifying that talking is the prospect of losing the moment to foggy memories.

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” A pause. The longest pause Claude has ever had to endure. “I wasn’t thinking. It was impulsive.”

“Do you often go around disarming your opponents with kisses?”

Something swells inside of Claude as Byleth shakes her head. The smallest sliver of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she lets her head hang forward. The tiniest hint of a laugh drips from her lips as she straightens out, leaving Claude to fall for her smile. It’s the first time he’s ever seen one on her, and it lights up her face. It leaves her glowing, leaves her with a radiance he has never witnessed before.

“No. Only you.”

Claude’s heart flips as slender fingers find his against the grass. They curl over each other, locking together as a perfect fit. It’s almost as if they had been fated for this moment, this exchange of shy smiles and glances. It’s as if Claude had been destined to fall for that smile, that smile that is all for him, caused by him. That smile he had only dreamt of witnessing, what ever had he done to be deserving of such beauty?

“I think—” Byleth purses her lips once more before shaking her head and turning to Claude. She sucks in a breath, her exhale a little shakier than usual. “I’d like to do it again. Without catching you off guard. Not impulsively, but on purpose this time.”

It’s so easy to smile around Byleth. Nothing’s ever been easier than the grin that tugs at the corners of Claude’s mouth. Nothing’s ever felt better than the butterflies that erupt in his stomach as he brushes a strand of hair out of Byleth’s eyes before closing the distance between them. Nothing has ever felt as good as the smile pressed to his, a smile he never even dared dream of tasting. Nothing can compare to this. Absolutely nothing.

Claude knows no one will believe him if he spills the secret behind his pounding heart. He knows no one would believe that the Ashen Demon had smiled at him or that Byleth had let him thread his fingers through her damp hair. He knows he’d be called a liar or a dreamer if he dared insinuate that he has gotten a taste of those soft lips. He knows it all sounds too good to be true, but even so, he knows he didn’t make it up.

No one will believe Claude’s tales, no one but the sun that has borne witness to the tender hearts learning to beat for one another. No one would know if this moment, no one but the ducks that cheer as laughter fills the little space separating the two. No one has witnessed Claude’s compliance as he’s pulled closer once more, no one but the birds that sing of love. No one could imagine the beauty that has bloom under the summer sun, no one but the trees that had swayed as another kiss seals the promise of care and devotion.

#hello 2024 I wrote some more Claudeleth #It's fluffy this time #Don't you love it when they just get to be kids for a moment and have fun? because I do #alright tags time #claudeleth #claude x byleth #claude von riegan #byleth eisner #fe3h claude #fe3h byleth #f!byleth #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fe16 #fire emblem #lils writes

[wzrd-wheezes]

i love so intensely it burns,

igniting parts of me i didn’t know existed,

consuming every part of my body,

burnt embers of a heart that loves so fiercely it hurts,

a hand that yearns to fit perfectly in someone else’s now empty,

fingers clinging on to thin air, hoping that someone will hold back.

my reflection in the mirror seeming alien,

the eyes staring back at mine unfamiliar,

because after all,

im not myself when i’m not loving somebody else.

- LH

#lils rambles #lils writes #poems #my poerty

[antiwhores]

Bakugou cums so fast and hard the first time he has sex.

Yall be like: “He lasts long!” “He lets you finish first.”

He would love to! But I imagine he actually didn’t last for shit.

Bakugou had forgotten to use the tricks that everyone had told him.

“Think about something gross so you don’t cum fast!” Not possible, you felt too good for him to think about anything but you.

“Beat off before it happens, the sex’ll last longer.” It happened spontaneously, he had no time.

“Just hold it in through your bladder!” HOW?! Thats the only one he remembered to try and yet it still failed.

He felt so embarrassed when his afterglow wore off. He thought that you wouldn’t wanna have sex with him anymore. He knew better, but he decided that you would go tell all your friends about how easily the great Bakugou Katsuki cums.

He apologizes to you with a scowl on his face (not directed towards you, it was for himself).

“I didn’t mean for it to be that fast. M’sorry.”

He finally meets your eyes when you grab his face, kissing him.

“Katsuki, it’s okay. It’s our first time. I didn’t expect you to last forever. If anything, it’s a compliment. Just means I’m that good.”

Bakugou internally sighs, the panic swaying away from him.

“…Wanna go again?”

#been a while #sorry guys i got sent to the #mental hospital for a lil bit #and then i needed time to #recuperat and shit #maybe one day ill write consecutively #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha x reader #bakugou smut

[ohposhers]

going off the fact that JD wrote almost every Brozone song, i have this headcanon that on particularly lonely nights when JD can't sleep he stays up writing songs for his brothers that he will absolutely never show them ever </3 He's had the guitar since he was 11 and he refuses to get a new one cause it's one of the only things he still has from his parents LOLOL

#im down bad for this troll i hate him #rest in peace sticker jd #he tore it up one day when he was feeling especially regretful #john dory trolls #brozone #trolls #trolls band together #my art #idk why hes so beat up maybe he fell off a cliff #lil silly man so talented at writing

[mrghostrat]

Though he’d promised Aziraphale his attention, his head was turned towards a screen on his right, and the angle of his camera suggested the phone was tucked at the base of his keyboard and monitor. Aziraphale was actually grateful for it; Crowley’s momentary distractedness gave him the time to recover from the sight of him dressed up so professionally. “I, er— yes. I need your help though.” Crowley turned to him suddenly, leaning in close and grinning like a shared secret. Big Name Feelings • 3. Speeding Up

i am so at peace. 5 hrs totally zenned out on these colours. i'm gonna see his face in my dreams 🥰

#good omens #gomens #crowley #this was just. so relaxing. 🥰 #yet another 'is this gonna be quick? flat colours or b&w maybe?' #but once i started the eyes i was like oh yeah baby let's settle in for a long night #thank u once again to my lovely lil discord server for company while i screenshared the lineart!! #anthony j crowley #good omens human au #good omens fic recs #rat writes #rat draws