#so much for ‘short drabble’

[bakubunny]

🤲🧎🏻‍♀️kindly asking for shinso + "don't give me that look" and/or "i haven't even touched you and you're already this wet" 😵‍💫🥵

HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY 🥳💜💜

“i haven’t even touched you…” is one of my all time faves. 😩 i’ll gladly fill this request! and thank you!! happy early birthday to you too! i made this a birthday date with shin to celebrate you. ☺️

side note: i used sir as a title/honorific, but if you don’t want that, let me know and i’ll change it.

hope this was worth the wait! 💜

cw: aged up characters, teasing, sir as title, fingering, pet names: baby, kitten, pretty girl, good girl

When he’d brought you here, he truly had no intention of getting you so worked up. It was supposed to be a fun, innocent date with your boyfriend. A cute date with popcorn and candy at a drive in theater for your birthday. but with Hitoshi, things weren’t always that simple.

Everything started out great. You’d bought your car ticket ahead of time for the Friday night double feature: Scream and Don’t Breathe, perfect for a crisp October night snuggled up in the backseat of his car with blankets and pillows on either side of the two of you. With the radio set to the right frequency to hear the movie and your favorite goodies nearby, the first movie started rolling.

Hitoshi’s arm was wrapped around your shoulder, and you leaned in to his embrace to get comfortable. He thought it was adorable the way you jumped just a little with wide eyes at a movie you’d both seen several times; even though the movie was a predictable watch at this point, it still got you enough for him to notice you subtle movements and small gasps. And come to think of it, he did love hearing you gasp. His pants got a little tighter thinking of how he’d made you gasp and moan the night before with your fingers curled in his hair….

You leaned forward to grab your drink from the cup holders and you just looked too damn cute, enraptured by the film on screen. His large hand slid down your spine and rubbed the small of your back for a moment and moved back up around your shoulder. The credits of the first movie began, signaling the intermission, when you felt Hitoshi’s gaze.

“Happy birthday, pretty girl. Is this the extravagant night you’d hoped for?” His eyes were playful as he looked down at you.

“I’d say so. I get to be snuggled up with you watching movies. What more could I ask for?” you replied.

Hitoshi’s brow lifted slightly, a grin curled around his lips as he leaned in. “I can think of a few things….”

You smiled as your lips met, his hand moving up to cradle your face. His kiss was tender for a moment, but as you continued it shifted to firm and wanting as his tongue slid over yours. Hitoshi groaned into your mouth.

"Come here," he said, pulling you into his lap so you straddled him.

Hidden by the dark of night and slightly tinted windows, he took your face in his hands and kissed you once again. A shiver of need ran down your spine the deeper he pulled you. From the way his thumb stroked your cheek at first to the way he massaged the back of your neck as he kissed you, every movement he made had heat pooling between your legs. You felt a smile on his lips when a small groan left your own.

Warm kisses trailed down your jaw to your ear as your breath fell shallow. You wanted to stop him as his mouth descended on your neck, and you almost did. Hitoshi knew how sensitive your neck was. But it was hard to think when intense pleasure shot through your body as he latched on to every tender place he could, kissing, sucking, licking in a way that made your eyes roll as you whimpered.

“Baby, please,” you said, half-heartedly pushing him away.

“What is it, kitten?” Hitoshi teased between kisses. “Is everything alright?”

You gripped his shoulder tighter as his teeth grazed your neck. “You already know.”

One of his hands ran down to your thigh, digging his fingers into your flesh. “Tell me anyways. I want to hear it.”

“I… I’m gonna want more if you keep it up, and we really shouldn’t do this here,” you replied.

His hands slipped under your sweater and unclipped your bra. “Just let me play with your tits while we wait for the next movie, yeah?”

Heat rushed to your groin and flushed your cheeks. “Fine, just while we wait.”

Hitoshi took your tits in his large hands, massaging them before dipping his head to slip a nipple In between his lips with a groan. His tongue ran over the swollen bud as he sucked, pinching and playing with your other nipple in his hand. Another moan left your throat as your hips wanted to buck into the swelling bulge in his pants.

Hitoshi grabbed you by the hip. “No. Stay still for me.”

You groaned, but did as he asked while he took your other tit into his mouth. A subtle throb built between your thighs the longer he stayed. As the minutes passed and he continued to tease relentlessly, your whimpers got louder. The second movie eventually started, but Hitoshi didn’t let up. You squirmed in his grasp in an attempt to get away, desperate to find relief from the wet ache in your cunt.

“‘Toshi,” you whined. “It’s starting.”

“But you sound so pretty, baby. I don’t wanna stop,” he replied.

With that he continued, much to your pleasure or dismay, you weren’t sure. Your breath was heavy as you clung to him, little threads and shocks of pleasure running through your body.

You groaned. “You gotta stop or I need you to touch me or something. I can’t take it.”

Hitoshi ignored you, even with a gentle tug on his hair.

“S-sir, please,” you said softly, “I need you.”

He pulled his head up to look at you and smirked, your cheeks flushed with eyes begging for anything he’d be willing to give.

“That’s my girl. Jeans off for me,” he said.

You quickly pulled them off and leaned back against the pillows lining the car door. You’d thought that, after he’d spent so damn long on your tits, making you writhe in his arms, that the teasing was over. But no.

Hitoshi’s hands slid up your thighs as he kissed you. He somehow managed to maneuver his body so that his head was between your thighs. He trailed each one with kisses from your knees all the way to the innermost part of your thighs. His lips ghosted across your cunt in anticipation, but never quite got there. With more slowness than you thought necessary, he pulled off your panties to claim his red, swollen little prize.

“Fuck, kitten, just look at you…. You’re dripping for me and I haven’t even touched you,” Hitoshi said.

His lips met yours once more. You whined into his mouth when he ran his fingers along your folds before finally sliding them into your cunt. Fingers slightly curled, he sated the ache of your body with a hard, steady pace as you made out. Your legs quivered and you moaned as you came, shockwaves of pleasure rolling down your body. He brought his hand from your cunt to your lips and you took what was offered, cleaning off his fingers between your lips.

“Such a good girl….” Hitoshi said, leaning in for another kiss.

gremlins: @callm3senpaii @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @darkstarlight82 @bookcluberror @breadandbutter33 @i-literally-cant-with-this @she-who-writes-for-multi-fandoms @rinalouu @stvrfir3 @r4td0lll @emmab3mma @mhadabiandhawks4eva @aria-chikage @stuff-i-like905 @zazter-den

if you’d to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

#so much for ‘short drabble’ #got carried away but i think it was worth it #it’s been a while since i’ve written hitoshi and he deserves the attention #aged up characters #bnha #mha #x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi #shinsou x reader #shinsou smut #bakubunny #requests

[pupsqueakerz]

hada silly lil thought...doin choso's makeup while sittin on his lap, hehe....had 'ta write somethin quick bout it!!!

cw: not proof read, m!reader, no pronouns other than "you" used though.

" almost done...."

you mutter, your eyes narrowed in concentration. your hands steady as you press the lipgloss applicator to choso's lip, the pink tint smearing across his lips.

a satisfied huff slips past your lips as you lean back, closing the tub of lipgloss, "there we go". choso stared down at you, finding it amusing how proud you were about finally convincing him to let you do his makeup.

" guess i"m pretty now, huh?" he asks, leaning in for a kiss. only for you to lean back, away from him, "wait wait-" your lips pout as a huff leaves your lips, "you're gonna ruin your makeup n' you haven't even seen yourself yet."

choso ignores your complaint, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still as he chuckles, "doesn't matter-" he mumbles, " 've been staring at your cute face for the past 20 minutes" his lips press against your jaw, smearing the pink across your skin as he kisses you, "and you looked so damn cute all concentrated n stuff" he continued, pressing another kiss to the corner of you lips.

"choso-" you start to protest, only to get cut off by his lips pressing against yours. you can't help but giggle as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him back.

he pulls away with a sigh, his eyes flickering over your face. one of his hands leaves your hip, cupping the side of your face. his thumb brushing the edge of your bottom lip, wiping away some of the gloss that transfered, "plus, it looks better on you anyways..."

#˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ #choso...choso m' boyfriend... #love him so so much #short n' sweet!! #drabble #choso kamo #male reader #m!reader #x male reader #x reader #choso x reader #choso x male reader

[starrystevie]

"ids?" the curly headed bouncer asks and honestly, for a seedy hicktown bar, steve's surprised they have a bouncer at all, let alone one who looks that good under dim neon lights.

he can feel robin, ever the queen of nonchalance, freeze next to him before shoving her hand into her vest pocket and fumbling around for her fake. steve on the other hand pulls his license confidently out of his wallet and holds it out for the guy to see, turning to ask robin a question.

"so what are you going to get first-"

"no good, buddy." the bouncer looks regretful and already has his sharpie in hand to mark the back of his hand. steve sputters and drops his hand before double checking that he pulled out his id and not something dumb like a frozen yogurt punch card or family video membership card.

"what do you mean, 'no good'? how can it be no good? robin-"

his license isn't expired, it's not a fake, his face is clearly there and visible in all it's beautiful glory, and it should be able to get him into some shitty dive with no problem. the bouncer already has robin's hand in his and making a large black x on the back as she grins sheepishly at steve.

"sorry, i had to cave," she whispers while inspecting the marker lines under the dingy street light. "it's not exactly the most convincing fake."

"and you," the bouncer interrupts with a finger pointing in steve's direction and a very attractive smirk that steve is absolutely not going to think about later, "are a few weeks shy of 21, so give me your hand."

steve scowls, eyebrows pulled together and crosses his arms over his chest. "oh, come on man... look. i wasn't even going to get anything hard, just a beer or something. gotta be good to drive this thing home, you know?"

he hears robin squawk at being called a thing and bats his hand away from where he gestured to her with his thumb. he hears the bouncer laugh at either steve or robin, he's not sure, but he's very sure that he wants to hear the laugh again. he smiles in return, tries to flash the harrington charm to worm his way out of being resolved to ginger ale all night and he thinks he might have cracked the guy but then-

"nice try, pretty boy." his hand is being pulled up and the cool tip of the sharpie is pressing into his hand. steve rolls his eyes, ignores robin cackling in the background and crowing something about how it serves him right, and looks down to see the bouncer writing even more on his hand than just an x.

there's a scrawl of numbers underneath the black lines that force him to stay sober followed by a name, eddie, and a smaller x followed by o. cute, he thinks, and feels his cheeks flare up like a light.

"steve, let's go!" robin yells through the doorway as the band they came to see kicks up, the smooth voice of their singer already greeting the crowd through the tinny speakers.

"for later, if you want." the bouncer smirks and pats the back of steve's hand, his fingers trailing over the drying marker in a very not subtle way, leaving fire in it's wake. "i get off at 1 and i have beer that i'm willing to share without the eyes of the law following us. consider it an early birthday present, steve."

steve gives him a smirk in return and nods before turning to follow robin into the bar, throwing a wink over his shoulder. "happy birthday to me, then."

#can you imagine that i tried to make this a short lil hc and instead ended up writing like way more than i intended #the crowd pretends to be shocked #i literally have so much work to do today and i chose to do this instead whoops #steddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet

[saetoru]

the first night al-haitham spends with you, he’s unsure what to do with his arms.

“just wrap this one around me here,” you giggle, maneuvering his arm to curl under you. he does so stiffly, laying on his side like a log as you press close against his body. “now lay the other one over me.”

he does—and by that, he simply plops his other arm to lay flat over your torso.

“this is a rather awkward arrangement, don’t you think?” he raises a brow.

“it’s because you’re laying like a robot. loosen your limbs,” you huff, “you might as well eat nuts and bolts for breakfast.”

he’s not good at these kinds of things. he wants to tell you that—that if you’re looking for a boyfriend to hold hands and cuddle with, he’s probably not the best candidate. or the second best. or even the twentieth. he’s probably the last person on the list that you could get intimate with.

yet here you are, curling his arm around you like there’s any hope of him getting this right.

“are you sure this is—”

“here, i have a better idea,” you interrupt. suddenly, you’re hands are shoving him away, making him blink as you roll him around to turn and face away from you.

“what are you—” your arms wrap around him, and your chin rests on his shoulder as you press a gentle kiss to his skin. it’s warm, feeling you pressed against him like this. it’s nice and comforting and it feels like home.

and sure, maybe he lays a little stiff, maybe he’s unsure what do with his arms as he awkwardly lays there on his side, but you wrap yourself around him tightly, pressing a few kisses to the side of his head as you smile against his hair. he can feel you—he can count the beats of your heart and if he tries hard enough, he can feel the way the rhythmic pounding is just as quick as his.

“there,” you murmur, satisfied with yourself. a part of him feels he should turn back around and get it right—that he should be holding you and not the other way around.

but then you pull him closer against your chest, and he can’t help but melt into you. “this will get uncomfortable for your arms rather quickly,” he points out.

“shh. just sleep,” you click your teeth.

he thinks it’ll be harder to sleep with someone here, someone breathing and moving against him and keeping him locked in place. but oddly enough, he falls asleep quicker than usual that night—and every night after too.

#heyyyy guys it’s been a few days #do u miss me #i’ll be back in a week or 2 #✰ — al haitham. #another old ass draft that was collecting cobwebs that #i’m too shy to tag #and it’s also a bit too short to rly be a drabble #so #here u go #look away #i just wanna be the big spoon and hold al-haitham is that too much to ask #little spoon al-haitham is real to me okay #he’s touch starved

[amvro]

pairing: amuro tooru x reader

summary: he is home late (again) but you love to stay up for him

cw: i would not say suggestive but a lot of kissing implied ? IDK IM SORRY, it’s very short

It wasn’t rare for you to be staying up waiting for him to come home, but tonight he was especially late coming home and he truly did not expect you to still be up. The clock almost ticked 3:30am and he truly wished he didn’t have to stay out so late if he knew you would still be up. He was going to ask why you were still up and tell you about how you should’ve just slept without him, but he knew you would tell him you would be too worried to fall asleep regardless. 

“I’m so sorry I was so late,” he said, apologetically. “But really, next time you shouldn’t mind me. It’s far too late.”

“And it’s far too late for you to be out with no one to greet you when you come home,” you replied with a soft smile. Gosh he was in love with you. “Waiting for you to come home is one of my happiest times, at least let me do this much. Besides, it’s a Friday we get to sleep in tomorrow.”

And you were absolutely correct. Although he’d tell you every single time to go ahead and sleep, it still warmed his heart when he saw you reading a book or scrolling through your phone with a warm tea, waiting for him to come home. The way your face would brighten up when he came home was truly the only thing that could heal him from a long day at work.

“I’ll hop in the shower real quick, so go to sleep okay? It’s still not good to be up this late,” he said as he took off his coat and put his stuff down, getting ready to step into the bathroom.

“Wait,” you said, almost subconsciously.

“What is it, love?”

“Oh, um,” you said, you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You looked up at him slightly embarrassed. “....kiss?”

A faint blush covered his face as his eyes narrowed and lips pursed. He did not understand how you managed to make his heart flutter from such simple words after all this time, but he did understand that this wasn’t going to go away. He walked right back to you and pressed a kiss on your lips. He was going to kiss you again when he resisted the temptation and kissed you on your forehead instead. 

“Why not?” you asked quietly. You were going to kill him if you kept this up.

“Because I’m not going to be able to stop at this rate,” he said, but you went and kissed him instead.

“But I don’t want you to...” you said. That was it, he was giving in. Saving the country was a whole lot easier of a challenge than the ones you gave him it seemed.

“Okay, now you’ve done it,” he said, kissing you again. 

The shower will have to wait a little. 

#furuya rei x reader #amuro tooru x reader #amuro x reader #furuya rei #amuro tōru #amuro tooru #detective conan x reader #NOTTTTT PROOFREAD #i sat down at like 2am and dumped whatever words would come out of me #so truly if i wake up and this is literally the most horrid thing ive written in my life please forgive me #um i am BACK !!!! #ALSO I SEE THE ASKS I PROMISE I WILL GET TO THEM #THEY ARE COMIGN #I AM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THEM ACTUALLY #I HOPE TO FINISH ALL OF THEM WHILE IM IN WINTER BREAK SO HOPEFULLY WITHIN THE NEXT FEW WEEKS THEY WILL BE WRITTEN #THANK U SO SO MUCH FOR READING I HOPE U ENJOYED #im sorry this is so short so consider it a drabble i was going to make it a blurb but it is past blurb length i fear

[casdeans-pie]

A Brand Not Unwanted

Destiel

Words: 497

Rating: T

Tags: Drabble, Fluff, Castiel's Handprint, Suggestive?

Castiel's handprint got healed away a long time ago, and if Dean could be honest with himself he kind of misses it. So he's not sure how he feels when he notices that it seems to have come back... He wants to touch it....

---Read on AO3---

The handprint had been getting bolder for a while, but Dean had never seen it this colour – not since the first time he’d pulled up his sleeve at that grimy gas station. He poked at the edge of the red skin with his finger, feeling the way that it raised up slightly from the rest of his shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but it looked like it should. It tingled sometimes.

Dean wiped away the condensation that had formed on the mirror from his shower and twisted his body slightly so that he could see the mark better on his reflection.

He wondered if the permanent scar of his best friend’s handprint magically reappearing on his body should bother him, but it didn’t really. It looked kind of badass.

Dean wiped away the condensation that had reformed.

Cas had big hands.

Long fingers.

Dean stared at the mark for a moment longer and then slowly brought his other hand up, hovering it directly over – lining them up.

For a moment he held still.

Then he pressed down hard.

A loud crash sounded from somewhere in the bunker that made Dean jump, and a flurry of wingbeat sounds announced Cas’s arrival just before Dean spotted him appearing in the mirror behind him. For a second neither of them moved, though Cas seemed to be catching his breath, his hair messy and windswept, and with his wide eyes locked onto Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean-” Cas began, his voice rough and strained.

Then reality came crashing back down.

“Jesus Cas, warn a guy!” Dean yelped as he grabbed the towel he’d draped over the sink and wrapped it quickly around his waist, almost dropping it again a couple of times in his haste. “Just ‘cause Jack gave you your wings back does not mean you get to just fly in here without freaking knocking.”

“Your… the… my…” Cas rumbled, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words.

Dean tried not to focus on the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and the heat at the back of his neck.

“It’s back,” Cas finally managed, his expression so full of awe and wonder in the mirror that Dean had a hard time keeping a fond smile from twitching at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah.” Dean turned around to face him, towel now wrapped firmly around his waist, and leaned back against the sink. “Magically reappearing scar isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me, but it’s up there…” He left that statement hang for a moment before he added, “Huh… Actually, y’know what, I don’t think it is.” He scratched at his cheek and the stubble he had been about to shave off caught under his nails. “But it’s still weird.”

Cas’s hand twitched by his side, and he curled his fingers into a fist, as if he had to stop himself from reaching forwards. His eyes, almost glowing in their intensity, shifted from the handprint to Dean’s own. “You… have my mark again.”

#I'm sorry this is so short! I just liked the drabble so much #I never know whether to use my tag list for something this small lmao #castiel's handprint #destiel #destiel drabble #deancas #spn fanfiction #castiel #dean winchester #pie's projects #put that handprint back on that man !!! #destiel ficlet

[puppyeared]

Been LOVING your lil magician folks recently please continue they're beautiful and very cute and cool and also very well-designed!! 🥺❤️

thank you for the kind words !!! im not much of a writer, but i do have some sort of story in mind for them.. theyre bitter rivals who end up as roommates bc of their scatterbrained elderly landlord lol

#idk how much of it im gonna keep or change but thats basically the gist of it ^_^ #i dont know if i could ever write a solid linear story bc im very indecisive and tend to change things a lot so most of what i make ends up #very abstract or nonlinear.. just short drabbles or stuff that can be slotted into a general setting or premise #although i do want to challenge myself to try and write some sort of enemies/rivals to friends because i have a huge weak spot for that #dynamic!! i tend to be a little soft on my characters which i think has to do with me being a conflict avoidant person. so maybe exploring #this kind of dynamic will help me experiment with my sense of storytelling. although i cant promise it will be written well lol #im also thinking of making their story part of a bigger world so kinda like an omnibus?? i have another story in mind i think i can fit int #the same canon and itd be funny if theres like a bunch of wacky going ons between different apartment tenants nichijou style #but we'll see!!! thank you for your interest in these little shits!!!! #my art #myart #my oc #oc #presto #shuffle #house of cards #oc talk #ask #doodles #yapping

[singsweetmelodies]

Hello Katie 👋🏼👋🏼 :D

For the 50 romance prompts ask meme, I'll like to request for 44: soulmate AU: timers <3

but if possible... with a twist...? (you don't have to include a twist if it's too difficult to work it in!)

The twist being, for whatever reason, their countdown timers for each of them to the time they meet their soulmates doesn't match, so they think "we're not each other's soulmates. that's cool. (no it's not)" but it turns out that they're each other soulmates anyways. or they choose to be with each other in spite of not being each other's soulmates. idk. *nervous laughter*

hiiii charlotte 🥰 first off, i am SO sorry for the incredible delay with this answer!! i saw this prompt and i absolutely LOVED IT (and the twist!! 🙏 *chef's kiss*) but unfortunately i got struck with a horrible case of writer's block/work deadlines, and just couldn't get to it at all.

until yesterday: i decided to just open my inbox and see what came to me. no thinking, just following the vibe of a prompt and writing. and uh. this happened... not only did it get ridiculously long (oops?) but it also somehow became a mini "investigate montreal" fic?? so in that vein, i'm tagging @1016week and submitting a belated entry for Day 6 "Montreal"... ❤️

i love this one. hope you love it too!! 👀⌚

~

Charles' soulmate timer stops when he is seven years old, and he meets the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen.

He's been vibrating with excitement all weekend - not just because it's a karting cup, but because his soulmate timer has been ticking down to this day for months now. Well, not just months, not really. It's actually been his whole life, but Charles doesn't remember all of that. He only remembers the past few months, when the little numbers had been getting smaller and smaller, until there were only ten days left and Charles gasped when he realised that the day would fall on the same day as the Bridgestone Cup.

"Of course the girl I marry is going to like racing, too," he'd told Maman and Papa, confidingly. Not a lot about soulmates made much sense to him, but this did.

His Maman had tried to smile, and Charles had hugged her tight to let her know it was going to be okay. He would find his soulmate, and then everyone would be smiling, because that's what people do when you meet your soulmate.

(Later that night, when Charles had been too excited to sleep and he'd gone to the bathroom quickly, Charles had heard his parents having an argument in their room. The door was closed, so their voices were muffled, but Charles could still make out his Maman saying "I just don't think it's a good sign, to meet your soulmate so young!" But Papa had countered, "Many people do, and they have beautiful stories. You have to trust that our Charles will meet his perfect match tomorrow." And then there had been an icky noise, like kissing, and Charles had flushed the loo quickly and ran back to his room.)

Now, with the beautiful blue eyed boy standing in front of him, Charles thinks of Papa's words again. Our Charles will meet his perfect match tomorrow.

Charles thought it would be a girl who really liked karting, but this is even better. This is a boy who wins at karting, because he's holding a trophy in both hands and grinning like he couldn't be happier.

Of course Charles' perfect match would be someone who wins at karting. It's only right, because Charles also wins at karting.

Charles clears his throat. "Hi," he says shyly, and the blue-eyed boy jumps.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," he says apologetically, and then he laughs. He has a nice laugh, Charles thinks - like he knows how to have fun. "You are a bit short," the blue-eyed boy adds, and hey.

"Hey," Charles protests. "I'm tall for my age. I'm seven."

"Well, I'm nine," the blue-eyed boy says, like that's the most impressive age in the world.

It is a bit impressive, but not very, because Lorenzo is much older than that. Still, it is a little scary - Charles is only seven. What if this blue-eyed boy doesn't like him because he's only seven? Older kids can be mean like that.

No, he is your perfect match, Charles reminds himself. This blue-eyed boy won't be mean to him, because that's not how perfect matches work.

Charles takes a deep breath, then he sticks out his hand. "I'm Charles," he says.

The blue-eyed boy takes his hand, and it feels... weird. A little bit like when you get shocked by static electricity.

Charles giggles, unable to stop himself, and the blue-eyed boy smiles, as though he likes that.

"Hello, Charles. I'm Pierre," he says, squeezing Charles' hand. His eyes widen a moment later. "Oh! You've met your soulmate?!"

Charles doesn't understand what he means. "Well, yeah," he says. "It's y-"

And then he notices it.

Pierre's soulmate timer, right there on his wrist, right above where Charles is gripping his hand - it's still ticking.

Now, Charles doesn't know a lot about soulmates yet, but he knows that that's not good. Not good at all.

"I, um," Charles stammers, and then he does the one thing Maman and Papa said you should never do to your soulmate. Charles lies.

"I met so many new people today. I don't remember who it was."

Pierre's face falls. "Oh," he says, and he sounds unbearably sad for Charles. "But..." He chews his lip, shaking his head with a deep frown.

Then, mid-shake, Pierre's expression changes to one of determination. "I will help you find them," he says, with the kind of confidence Charles can only dream of when he's not on the racetrack.

He tugs on Charles' hand - which he still hasn't let go of - and Charles is helpless to do anything but follow.

~

They don't find Charles' soulmate anywhere, of course, and then Charles has to go win his race - but Pierre makes him promise that they will find each other at the next French karting event, and Charles will tell him all about his soulmate.

Charles promises, even though the idea makes his stomach feel all funny. I shouldn't be lying to my soulmate, he thinks, guiltily.

But Pierre's soulmate timer didn't stop ticking, and... that's not how soulmates are supposed to work.

The moment he's in the car with his father after the race, heading back home, Charles asks him about it.

Papa is quiet for a long moment, then: "Are you sure there wasn't someone behind Pierre, Charles?" he asks, in his careful, kind way. "Someone who's timer stopped at the same time as yours?"

Charles thinks about it for a moment, but even the idea of that feels - wrong, somehow. Like going into a corner and knowing you braked too hard, and you're going to flip the kart.

He shakes his head decisively. "No," he says. "It's Pierre."

He hears rather than sees his father blow out a soft sigh. Charles catches his eye in the rearview mirror, feeling confused and a little shaky inside.

When Papa sighs like that, it's never good news - it's usually something about sponsorship, which is a word Charles is already coming to dread.

It doesn't make sense how this could be about sponsorship, though. It probably isn't.

Charles waits for his father to gather his thoughts, like he needs to do sometimes to make sure he says exactly what he means. (It's something Maman keeps telling him he should try doing as well, but he's not so good at that yet.)

"You know how even the greatest racing drivers make mistakes sometimes?" Papa asks.

Charles frowns, but he nods. "Yes?"

"Sometimes the universe is like that, too. Sometimes the universe makes a mistake, and stops the timers too soon," Papa explains.

Charles frowns. He hasn't heard about that before, but he guesses it makes sense. It's true what Papa said - not even Senna was a perfect driver who never made mistakes. It makes sense that the universe is the same.

"But this doesn't mean you don't have a soulmate, okay, Charles?" Papa says before Charles can spend too much time thinking about the whole thing. His voice is firmer than Charles was expecting, and he reaches up to tilt the rearview mirror to see Charles better.

"It doesn't mean you don't have a soulmate," he repeats, like he doesn't want Charles to ever doubt that. "It just means it's going to be a little harder to find them."

Charles frowns, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. Isn't the whole point of soulmate timers to make it easier to find your perfect match?

It's just his luck that his soulmate timer doesn't work properly.

"I understand," Charles says, though, because he can tell it's important to his father.

Papa nods, but he keeps watching Charles in the rearview mirror for the rest of the drive, like he sometimes does after a race where Charles crashed the kart badly and he needs to keep making sure that Charles is fine.

Of course Charles is fine. He doesn't think this is comparable to a bad race at all! It's a little annoying, yes, but it's not that bad. It's just a bit of extra work, isn't it?

Charles shrugs his shoulders, glancing quickly down at the stopped soulmate timer at his wrist.

Whatever. Racing is more important than soulmates, anyway.

~

Almost twenty years later, Charles still says that to himself almost every day, even if he doesn't believe it with nearly the same careless seven-year-old confidence anymore: racing is more important than soulmates.

It is, because it has to be.

The thing is this: his father's explanation to Charles' seven-year-old self had been true - if a little oversimplified, and painted with an overt layer of kindness.

The truth Charles knows now is that there are two reasons, two categories, for people whose timers stop when the other person's keeps running.

One is, like Papa had said all those years ago, a simple case of mistaken timing - cases where the universe or fate or whatever controls it all stopped one person's timer a little too soon, or the other's a little too late.

It's harder to find each other in those cases, but it's still quite possible.

And then there's the second category. The unrequiteds. People whose timers stopped at the right time - when they met the person who would be their perfect match - except that they are not that person's perfect match in return. It only goes one way.

It's rare, but it happens sometimes. No system is perfect, after all - not even a system of soulmates.

For years and years, Charles tried to convince himself that he fell into the first category. His soulmate timer simply stopped too early, by some cosmic accident - but it's okay, Charles insists to everyone who asks and to himself as well, because what it's done is given Charles more time to focus on his racing instead. He's not constantly glancing down at his wrist and wondering when his timer is going to stop ticking - he can just get on with the racing.

He'll find his soulmate eventually, but on his own terms. There's nothing bad about that, surely.

Charles believes that. Really he does.

Except.

Except, if it's true and Charles falls into the first category - the mistaken timing category - then it would mean Pierre isn't his soulmate.

Pierre, who kept the promise he'd made to a seven-year-old who wasn't even his soulmate (because, yes, he had found Charles at the very next French karting cup, and he'd asked to meet Charles' soulmate - and when Charles had to admit that he still hadn't found them, Pierre had hugged him and told him not to give up and that he would find his soulmate someday. Pierre had held Charles' hand and explained that his parents almost didn't find each other, but they did. So it might take Charles some time, but that was okay, because it had taken Pierre's parents some time too, but now they were happier than ever. He'd been so convincing, firm but kind and absolutely sure of himself, and he'd made Charles believe it. He also made Charles smile, genuinely and truly, when he promised he'd stick by Charles' side no matter what anyone else said or whispered about his stopped soulmate timer.)

Pierre, who kept that promise about sticking with Charles, too. Pierre who never stopped being kind, and loyal, and the best friend Charles could ask for, whether he was seven or thirteen or nineteen or twenty-six.

Honestly, how was Charles supposed to not fall hopelessly in love with him?

He tried to deny it. For years and years, Charles tried to deny it - I will find my soulmate someday and it will all make sense, he'd tried to convince himself - but the thing was, what made more sense than Pierre being his soulmate?

It was roundabout the time of Pierre's first win (when Charles was standing under the podium in Monza with an aching back but a heart soaring with joy for his best friend despite the disaster of his own race) that Charles resigned himself to the truth: Pierre is his soulmate.

He has to be. Isn't a soulmate meant to be your perfect match; the person who understands you better than anyone and makes you happier than any other person in the world?

There's nobody else who could make Charles as happy as Pierre does. Nobody, nobody. There's no point in even trying to deny it anymore.

Pierre is his soulmate. But he is not Pierre's.

And that's okay. It's okay.

It has to be.

~

It isn't okay, not really, but that's true of a lot of things in Charles' life, and he's learned how to deal with them. He can deal with this, too.

On the whole, Charles thinks he does a pretty good job of dealing with it. He gets to be Pierre's best friend, after all - isn't that just a different kind of soulmate? True, Charles might want more, but it isn't like he has nothing. He has Pierre, and he will have Pierre for the rest of their lives.

Not in the way he wants, but - at least he will have Pierre.

The one thing he tries never to think about is Pierre's actual soulmate. Because Pierre has one, he knows, and he will meet them at some point.

Charles doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to look at some soulmate of Pierre's, and smile at her, and not be hopelessly, heartbreakingly jealous.

(He will do it, though. He will learn to smile at Pierre's soulmate - for Pierre's sake. He'll do it for Pierre.)

But that's a bridge he will cross when they get there. He doesn't have to worry about it yet (or at least, that's what Charles keeps telling himself even as the months tick by, and he knows there aren't year figures left on Pierre's soulmate timer anymore. Just months now, and then... weeks.)

Charles isn't thinking about it. He's put it out of his mind completely - which is easy enough to do, thankfully, given everything that's been happening on-track this season.

That's probably why he accepts Pierre's invitation to dinner in Montreal without thinking twice about it. (Even if he had realised, though, Charles doesn't think he would have been able to say no, either. He would give Pierre everything, if he only asked.)

So they go to dinner in Montreal, and it's perfect, and wonderful, and laughter-filled, and all in all exactly what Charles needed to distract himself from the fact that he has yet another engine penalty, and the sinking feeling that the championship is beginning to slip out of his reach.

Pierre seems to realise it, because he's in even finer form than usual - teasing Charles and tickling his ribs playfully and making him laugh at every possible opportunity.

Even on the drive back to the hotel: they stop at a red light, and Pierre steals Charles' cap, and Charles is giggling and filming it while Pierre is giggling back, and he's pretty sure neither of them are thinking about it at all, until-

Until Pierre's face changes from laughter to something almost ashen. "Charles," he says, and for all the years Charles has known him, he's never once heard Pierre's voice like that. "My soulmate timer just stopped."

For a few seconds, the words don't even register in Charles' mind.

Then they do, and Charles can feel his heart drop. "What?" he breathes.

His hands shake, and he doesn't even register the fact that the light has gone green as he glances all around them, craning his neck to see if there's anyone behind the white Ferrari, or around to the side.

Just a few minutes ago, their car had been surrounded by fans on all sides, all jostling to try and get pictures of them. But now, somehow, they're all alone in the Montreal night.

(The irony of it all is not lost on him - is this how Pierre felt all those years ago, when he was trying to look for Charles' soulmate at a karting cup, but not finding anybody it could be?)

"Are you sure it stopped just now? And not earlier?" Charles asks, willing his voice not to shake.

"Yeah," Pierre whispers. He sounds... devastated.

"But," Charles says, and then he has to take a deep breath. "But there's no-one else here, Pierrot."

"I know," Pierre says, somehow even softer.

Charles' fingers clench reflexively around the steering wheel, and he's moving in blank autopilot as he puts the car into gear and starts driving forward again.

He doesn't even realise he's shaking his head until Pierre says softly, "Charles." There's something wounded about it.

Charles stops shaking his head and slams on the brakes instead, jerking the car into something he hopes is a parking space at the side of the road.

"I don't understand," he says, far more calmly than he feels. "You can't - I can't be your soulmate."

Okay, maybe he's not so calm after all. But he doesn't think... he doesn't think anyone would be calm, in this situation.

Pierre makes a sound that could almost be a laugh, except that it sounds too strangled. "Do you know," he says, "that I have spent half my life wondering if the soulmate system got something wrong in my case? Because if you're not my soulmate, then who is? Who could possibly..."

Pierre does laugh this time, shaking his head. "You know, I asked to go out with you tonight for a reason. I knew - I knew it would happen tonight, so I needed to..." He swallows. "I needed to see you, one last time. Before I wouldn't be allowed to love you anymore."

It jolts through Charles then, what Pierre is trying to say. "Pierre," he breathes, and now it's his turn to say his best friend's name in a way he doesn't think he's ever said it before.

But Pierre's not finished yet. "I thought I could have one last night with you," he says. "One last night, before I had to say goodbye to my feelings, and try to love someone else."

My feelings. Try to love someone else.

Charles Leclerc is a lot of things, but an idiot is not one of them. He knows what Pierre is saying. He's...

Pierre loves him too. All along, Pierre has loved him too.

Only, he never had the option of thinking we're soulmates, Charles realised, and his heart twists in his chest.

Because Charles, for all that he accepted his soulbond toward Pierre was unrequited - at least he'd had the option of them being soulmates. Yes, it was in a twisted way, but at least he'd had that.

Pierre didn't. And he still fell in love with Charles.

The thought hits him like a shell-shock, and it's enough that Charles can only sit there for a moment, staring blankly, as Pierre continues talking beside him.

"I meant for tonight to just be a quick dinner together, something fun but normal for us," Pierre is saying, wringing his hands. "But I lost track of time. I always lose time when I'm talking to you, Charlito, I could talk to you forever - but the point is, I forgot to tell you I need to go back. I forgot that I was meant to meet my fucking soulmate tonight, because I was spending time with you, and - "

He takes a deep breath, and then he laughs again, leaning forward to drop his head into his hands. "I felt it happen, you know? I knew exactly when my soulmate timer stopped, because I could feel it, and it's - it was when I put that fucking cap on my head, Charles."

The cap that he's still wearing. Charles' 16 Ferrari cap.

Charles' hands shake as he reaches out to touch it, just the brim. "Your soulmate timer stopped when you put my cap on," he says, because a part of him still can't believe that this is real, that he's not living in some kind of heartbreakingly wonderful dream.

Pierre straightens up so fast that Charles is left with his fingers dangling awkwardly in mid-air. "Yes," he says, suddenly looking wild, "but this doesn't have to change anything, Charlito, I promise. I will still help you find your soulmate, and I will - I'll learn how to live with an unrequited bond, it's -"

"No!" Charles interrupts, half-throwing himself across the car to catch hold of Pierre's hands. "No, no, no, no. No more unrequited bonds, Pierrot."

Pierre starts to shake his head, but then he stops in the middle of the movement. "What do you mean," he asks, very carefully, "no more?"

And suddenly, Charles feels giddy, of all things. "I mean, your timer didn't stop when mine did. So for years, I have thought that we can't be soulmates, or at least that you couldn't be my soulmate. But now your timer stopped when you put on my cap, so -"

"Stop, stop, stop," Pierre says, squeezing Charles' hands tightly. "What do you mean, my timer didn't stop when yours did?"

"Oh," Charles says, and then he winces, the weight of the only real lie he's ever told his best friend (the only real lie he's ever told his soulmate) settling onto his shoulders with uncomfortable heaviness. "Um. Well. Do you remember when we met, and you thought I already met my soulmate?"

"No," Pierre breathes, but it's not the kind of no that says "no I don't remember." This no is more like "no way."

"Yeah," Charles says, and he can't help but look down at his own wrist, where the soulmate timer has been stopped for years and years. "My timer stopped the moment I met you, Pierrot."

"You..."

Pierre doesn't look like he knows how to finish that sentence, but Charles understands him anyway. "How was I supposed to tell you? I was seven, Pierre, and your timer didn't stop. I thought it was a mistake for years."

"But?" Pierre asks, like he can tell there was a but.

Charles beams at him. "But, I realised that there was nobody else who could be my perfect match. So I thought you were my soulmate after all, but it was unrequited."

"Never," Pierre says with a fierceness Charles doesn't expect. "Charles, never. If I knew... if I thought I had even half a chance, I would have been with you anyway."

Charles tries to laugh, but it comes out all breathless. "No you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would," Pierre argues, and his voice is heartbreakingly sincere. "I don't care. I would have chosen you."

Charles hears a punched-out noise, and it takes him a moment to realise it came from him. The next moment, he's unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing awkwardly over to sit on Pierre's lap.

It's not quite comfortable, because for all its luxury, the white Ferrari does not have a lot of leg space - but Charles doesn't think either of them give a single fuck, in this moment.

"I love you," he tells Pierre, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I've always loved you, but I never would have stood between you and your soulmate."

"Funny," Pierre says, his hands coming up to grip Charles' hips, "because that's exactly what stopped me from kissing you senseless."

"Well," Charles says, and if he grinds down just a little on Pierre's lap, he'll swear to everyone who asks that it was accidental. "It doesn't have to stop us anymore."

"Never again," Pierre agrees, tightening his grip on Charles' hips. "Never."

"So kiss me senseless, please," Charles whispers, and then he adds "soulmate," and that's what does it. Pierre surges up and kisses him, wild and desperate and more than a little clumsy, but without question the best kiss Charles has ever had. His own cap digs into his forehead a little, but Charles can't even bring himself to care about that - they owe too much to this cap now, honestly.

Maybe the universe does know what it's doing after all, Charles thinks. Maybe the universe just wanted to write a good story for them. A story that goes like this:

Charles' soulmate timer stopped when he was seven years old, and he met the boy with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen.

Almost twenty years later, Pierre's soulmate timer stopped in a white Ferrari in Montreal, and Charles finally got to kiss the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen, the man who is his best friend and his soulmate.

The odds of it working out this way have to be... a million to one, probably, or maybe even less.

But then again, what are the odds that two boys who met at a French karting cup and became friends with a shared dream would both make it to Formula 1?

Maybe the answer is just that Pierre and Charles have always liked beating the odds.

~

(50 Romance Prompts Ask Meme) <- not currently taking more prompts, sorry!

#50 romance prompts meme #piarles #piarles fic #myfic #soulmate timers au #*me writing this to try and banish my writers block* so it's just going to be a short little drabble! #you can tell i am a scuderia ferrari fan and delusional because LOOK what happened lmfao #i don't think you could call this ''short'' in any sense of the word #in fact it probably belongs on AO3 #OOPS #but i love it #i love it SO MUCH #we are so back babyyyyy #(like any good ferrari fan i fully expect to be saying ''it's so over!'' a week from now) #(but let's enjoy it while it lasts!!) #(SOULMATE PIARLES BABYYYYY) #(posted at exactly 16:26 my time too! this makes me smile <333)

[iwaoiness]

When Iwaizumi is drunk

Iwaizumi has a high tolerance for alcohol, but when he gets drunk, he gets clingy -like really clingy-, and possessive -like really possessive-. And, as twisted as it sounds to admit it, Oikawa has fun with this Hajime.

A lot of fun.

The first time he discovered it was a couple of years ago, at a party in a popular Tokyo bar. While Tooru was talking animatedly with Sugawara and a nice guy they hit it off with, Iwaizumi appeared behind him, wrapping his strong arm around his waist to pull him close, sticking Tooru's back to his broad chest, their hips fitting snugly together.

"Hey, my pretty boy, I've been looking for you" He spoke, throaty and low over the music, kissing the sweaty skin of Oikawa's neck with hot lips.

Tooru blinked, blushing up to his eyebrows as his smile faltered in the face of the new boy's confused look and Sugawara's amused gaze, who took a swig of his drink trying to hide the laughter.

"A-Ah, Iwa-chan, sorry, Koushi-chan and I got caught up with Aoi-kun" He replied, feeling his knees weaken as Hajime tightened his grip a little more, pulling him closer to his solid body. Iwa's thumb began to trace delicate circles along his hip bone through the thin fabric of his blue shirt.

"Mmh" He hummed, resting his chin on Oikawa's shoulder and raising his darkened and intense eyes to the new boy, scrutinizing him up and down.

Aoi smiled, tense and uncomfortable, wiping his palm against his jeans before extending it in Iwaizumi's direction.

"Hey, nice to meet you, I'm Ao-"

"I didn't ask you."

Suga couldn't hold back his laughter this time, and Aoi flushed with embarrassment. Tooru turned his face toward Iwaizumi with round eyes and mouth open. Who is this Iwa-chan and where is my Iwa-chan?

And why the hell is this so, so hot?

"Iwa-chan," he uttered slowly, instantly grabbing Iwaizumi's attention. Iwaizumi glared back at him, his cheeks tinged with a blush. "Are you drunk? What happened to your renowned alcohol tolerance?"

Hajime frowned, and, to Tooru's added surprise, he stuck out his lower lip in a pout.

Iwaizumi Hajime, pouting.

Him.

Pouting.

"I'm not, why do you think I am too?" He whined like a toddler in a tantrum and Oikawa's heart nearly stopped dead in its tracks when Hajime hid his face in his neck, snuggling.

"He's fucking drunk" Sugawara assured with amusement, watching Iwaizumi in fascination while Tooru continued to stare wide-eyed, his cheeks and ears turning crimson. "And I think you should take him out for some air."

"But Oikawa-san promised me a dance" Aoi protested, scowling. Tooru began to open his mouth, intending to clarify that he had promised a dance involving all three of them. However, Iwaizumi stepped forward, raising his head from Tooru's shoulder to narrow his gaze at the young boy.

"Tooru is mine, and I don't share what's mine with anyone" He growled, his tone resolute and unwavering. He then let go of the waist of the tomato-red Oikawa to interlock their fingers and lead him toward the door, leaving Aoi standing there in confusion, while Suga playfully patted him on the back.

What happened next, well, it was scarred on Oikawa's neck and thighs.

#haikyuu!! #iwaoi #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #oikawa x iwaizumi #haikyuu #hq fluff #hajime iwaizumi #drunk iwaizumi #hq drabble #drabble #sugawara koushi #i love them so much #possessive iwaizumi #clingy iwaizumi #soft and fluffy #one shot #short fic

[nonbinary-akutagawa]

Against Ideals.

Kunikida tsked at himself as he took of his glasses to polish with the corner of his shirt, still calculating a response to say to the two men Infront of him.

As he placed his glasses back on, he decided to finally speak.

“It goes against every ideal I have written down in my book” he first stated “but there was one ideal that my mother forced me to write down, it was to 'follow my heart' and even though it may be against my better judgment....” he looked at them and could easily see the apprehension on their faces for the last words he was about to say.

“I would still love to be your romantic partner.”

The almost comical way Dazai's expression turned from hopeful to complete joy made Kunikida feel giddy inside, the type of giddy you'd feel for the one you love (or perhaps in this case for the 'ones' you love)

Chuuya gained a handsome smile on his face from Kunikida's words, obviously more able to keep his happiness under control, unlike Dazai who was now energetically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he hugged Kunikida from the side, happily yapping and explaining stuff about all the places they could go to for dates, practically turning into white noise for the two longer haird men.

And as much as Kunikida felt anxious about what he has committed to, he can't say he isn't greatly happy about it.

He's just gained two loving partners, his life is looking very bright all of a sudden.

End~

→Read on Ao3←

→Paper version←

#wip #not actually a wip #this just ended up in my drafts one day #i love them so much man *sob* #bungou stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #kunikida doppo #skk #kunichuuzai #kunichuu #kunikidazai #fic #fanfiction #short oneshot #drabble #getting together #fluff #cute #my post #ao3 #archive of our own

[password-door-lock]

Saeran takes care in arranging the cheese plate, although he knows he doesn't have much reason to be so meticulous. The two of you are probably going to devour it over the course of the next few minutes— after all, both of your circadian rhythms are severely skewed after last night (or this morning, to be more precise). The RFA party ran late, and then, despite the hour, the other members wanted to spend a bit of quality time together as a group. After that, of course, the pair of you had to make the trek from the party hall in the city to your marital home in the countryside. Saeran drove, and though he assured you that he wouldn't mind it if you fell asleep, you insisted on staying awake with him, playing silly driving games until the two of you were safely in the house. After getting into your respective pajamas and brushing your respective teeth, you and Saeran fell asleep sometime around three in the morning. 

The two of you only woke up about an hour ago, ravenous, as anyone would expect, and now, here you are, combining forces to throw together a low-effort lunch. “Honey, if I sliced up an apple, would you eat it?” You ask. You threw on one of Saeran’s sweaters after getting out of bed, but otherwise, you’re still in your pajamas. This makes you look even cuter than you normally would, leaning on the counter and staring contemplatively at a basket of apples. 

Saeran regards you fondly. “I think most people just eat apples whole, don’t they, my love?” He can’t help but tease you a little. After all, you’re just so adorable.

“I don't think most people put whole apples on their charcuterie trays,” you grumble, though your eyes shine despite your apparent annoyance. Saeran can tell that you’re just making a production of it, trying to entertain him— and, to your credit, it’s working.  “What about tomatoes?”

“Anything is fine,” Saeran assures you, carefully slicing the mild brie that he picked up a few days ago in anticipation of this exact event. After the last RFA party, he learned that neither one of you is really up for cooking a proper meal the next day.  “It's like we're having a picnic,” he muses. Granted, it’s the middle of winter, so it won’t be possible to have your lunch outside, but this is the same kind of food that Ray would have prepared if he’d ever been able to set up that picnic he promised you back at Magenta. 

You grin. “In our pajamas?” 

“Hm.” Saeran looks down at his oversized T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. Although he can’t say that this was a factor of his original picnic fantasy, now that he’s actually living it, he is largely  unconcerned with what the two of you are wearing. He's happy to be comfortable, after all, and he's even happier to see you equally comfortable. “I guess so.”

“That's a great idea,” you decide, placing a pair of whole apples on the plate with the cherry tomatoes and blueberries, despite your earlier reservations. “I'll go get a blanket. We can eat on the floor.” Now Saeran understands— the ambiance of your indoor picnic is more important to you than the aesthetic quality of the charcuterie board. Truth be told, he can’t help but agree, especially considering how excited you sound.

Saeran returns your grin. There's never a dull moment with you, that's for sure. “I've never had an indoor picnic before.” It's not something that he ever would have thought of before he met you. Honestly, he spent so long daydreaming about that specific picnic in the garden that now, he cannot divorce the idea of a picnic from the image that he created in his mind. He’s glad that you can see the situation from a different angle. 

“There's a first time for everything,” you call from the living room, where you are setting up a picnic blanket on top of the rug. “Maybe somebody’ll write a book about us or something.” 

“Maybe you're right, my love,” Saeran calls back, carefully arranging the cheese on the plate. “We’re innovators, aren’t we?” As he does every time he takes a moment to reflect, Saeran finds that he feels thankful to be by your side.

#this is short and sweet #work has been kinda hectic lately so I've been prioritizing self care and I haven't had much time to edit/post #but here I am! #for the record this is one of my favorite wintertime daydream scenarios #mystic messenger #mystic messenger drabble #saeran choi #choi saeran

[epiclamer]

continue in the dead of night. this is a threat

I gotta say, you threatening and mean anons are my favourite.

Part 1

(No reposts but reblogs appreciated <3)

In the Dead of Night Pt. 2

The ride home in the back of Medic’s van was probably the most stressful thing Villain had ever been put through. Sure, maybe they had robbed banks countless times, been cornered by cops and superheroes, tortured and almost drowned once. But watching their life long nemesis almost die in their arms still took the cake.

Medic worked furiously on stitching up and flushing out the giant gash on Hero’s torso, Henchman drove as fast as possible, but still safely enough to try and get them back to the base in time. And Villain? Villain held and supported the hero as they tried to ignore the impending breakdown creeping up on them.

Hero had to make it. They had to be okay. Villain didn’t know what they’d do without them.

“It looks like they’ll be okay for now, but I want to get them on fluids as soon as possible so we’ll have to rush them to the med-bay. But if everything goes smoothly I can have them in stable condition in an hour tops.” Medics words fell on deaf ears even as much as Villain tried their best to pay attention. They were just too worried. They had never felt this way before, not for anyone, but Hero was different.

Medic seemed to catch on, placing a gentle hand on Villains shoulder in an attempt to console them. It worked for a minute, just a minute, then they felt the familiar sharp right turn to their base and Villain was jarred back into their silent panic.

Every next move was a blur. The van parked, henchmen and medical staff swarmed the back door, grabbing Hero from Villains arms and sweeping them away into some far away back room and Villain was left to just sit in the back. Legs crossed, one over the other as they took a moment to themselves to breathe. Taking three deep breaths before they trusted their legs enough to move and headed for the med-bay.

Thoughts of what they would do if Hero didn’t make it haunted their mind as they walked through the quiet halls. No sign of any of the previous bustling, it was eerily still.

When they reached the one room with an “occupied” sign hanging over the door, Villain stopped and prepared themselves for some sort of terrible and crushing news. However, when they finally pushed the doors open and headed inside they found Hero laying on a bed, properly bandaged and with a steady meter beeping at their side. Still asleep, or unconscious for lack of a better word, but they looked peaceful now.

“They’re going to make it.” Simple words, yet they meant so much to Villain. “They woke up once. Startled awake.” Medic stood beside the astonished villain now, so many questions on the tip of their tongue, but Medic continued. “They we’re looking for you. Calling your name. They made me promise that you were okay.”

Something sank in Villains stomach. Guilt burned their throat and their eyes widened. “Wha- what do you mean???” The question was more so for confirmation rather than answers, Villain knew exactly what Medic meant.

There was a pause that hung for too long in the air before Medic answered. “Someone’s out to get you and your little lover of an enemy took the attack for you.”

#guyssss #my short story is SO good #I’m dying #I’m literally incredible #IM LIKE AMAZINGLY GOOD AT WRITING ACID TRIPS #anyways #the short story is incredibly gory #I love horror writing SO MUCH #imma enter it in another competition #get those gains #hero x villain #villain #villain x hero #hero #drabbles #fantasy #imagines #oneshots #scenarios #hero and villain #villain and hero #hero whump #villain caretaker #whump #whumpee #caretaker #heroes and villains #villains and heroes

[shady-tavern]

Deals and Revelry, Quin's Backstory

The lovely @fyrenwater requested some more pieces for Deals and Revelry and I started with Quin's backstory. Hopefully it's a fun read! With Quin there is of course a warning ahead for implied murder.

***

The temple was old and not in the broken, long abandoned kind of way, overgrown and damp and too dangerous to enter. Quin had seen plenty of old places, had walked through plenty of runes. He lived for the danger, made a living out of going where no one else wanted to thread.

The upper temple had looked like one would expect, half swallowed by the swamp, covered with plants and little pieces of walls and fallen pillars stuck out of the knee-deep water and morass. 

He had even found the remains of a statue's face, nearly whittled to be unrecognizable by time and the environment.

The place clearly had been looted to hell and back, but something had felt different. Something had compelled him to stay. So he had looked around, using every single ounce of his talent and bullheaded tenacity until he had found it three days later. A hidden entrance.

The temple that laid below the broken skeleton husk above ground was not destroyed or crumbling. It was perfectly preserved, even if water had clearly found its way in. Nothing had grown, however. There was no slick algae, no signs at all that nature and the elements had wriggled through the cracks.

A few roots dangled from the ceiling, but they were all dead, crumbling when he reached up to touch them.

The temple was old, old in a way that told Quin it had withstood the tooth of time without a single scar for centuries. Something was still alive in these halls, even as everything that touched it died.

For just a brief moment he felt like he inhaled something otherworldly, a strange kind of power permeating the air. Whatever was down here wasn't even hiding that it existed, even if its presence had barely made it above ground.

This was what he had felt, what had made him trudge through mud and water and get bitten relentlessly by mosquitos for days. 

His steps echoed as he walked, a heavy presence to the silence around him. The sort of presence that only came with something ancient that refused to disappear. That refused to die even after it had been forgotten.

Quin wasn't a fool, however. He took his time, carefully examining his surroundings, disarming traps and escaping the few he didn't notice in time by the skin of his teeth.

The first time his blood spilled he felt the entire temple around him sigh and tremble. As if a great beast had tried to move in its cage.

And this temple was a cage, he realized as he walked and considered the ancient writing on the walls, his rations dwindling by the day. But he couldn't leave, it was almost feverish how he kept looking and searching, being drawn ever deeper into the temple.

Or rather, the tomb. This was meant to be a final resting place for something too powerful and ancient to comprehend.

A part of him knew he was pulled along by whatever was entombed here, but he allowed it to happen. He wanted to know what was down here.

He found his answer in a comparatively small, circular room. Paintings glittered on the wall as through freshly finished, the paint still wet.

Plaques with text were left below the artworks, as well as big words pressed into the floor. A strange kind of metal had been used to form the letters of a civilization long gone.

The presence was strongest here and Quin set up his camp, studying the ancient texts. A warning was on one part of the wall, showing two giant beings battle it out. The next text was easier to guess, if only because of the depiction of one giant being slain and the people at its feet using its blood and bones to seal the other.

Just as his last crumb of food was devoured and his last sip of water swallowed, Quin figured out the ritual. He still didn't understand too much about what exactly was down here and what exactly had been done to it to put it there, but he knew how to at least...wriggle loose the bars of its prison a bit, so to speak.

He used his blood to write, each ancient letter precisely placed between the metal writing on the floor. The moment he finished, his blood glowed a dark and deep red and he heard a sigh in the very air itself.

The being's presence became cloying and overpowering and while he couldn't quite make out words or any kind of spoken language, he could make out intent. A pact. A promise of power and wealth and everything he could possibly ever want, so long as he carried it out into the world.

Quin didn't hesitate so much as he turned the offer over in his head. He knew the stories of deals made with devils, with sealed away entities and rumored demi-gods and of course with very human monsters. He knew they were always a bad idea.

One could not trick or out-deal creatures that lived and thrived on such things.

But this deal was the very thing he had been searching for when he had first started dungeon delving. Power. Purpose. To be more than he was now, to no longer walk with blunt teeth and hidden daggers.

He wanted to be sharp and dangerous and deadly and powerful.

So he reached out with all that he desired and the being accepted. His world turned dark and black as, in his mind, a maw massive enough to swallow the sky opened wide.

*.*.*

The thing was in his head now, kind of. Quin was not fond of this part, but he managed to figure out how to shield his thoughts as he traversed the ruin, collecting the treasure the thing was guiding him to. Wealth was a part of power after all and power was what he had wanted, first and foremost.

It was...exhilarating. He was no longer human, he knew that in the very marrow of his bones. He bled red still, he learned and his emotions and thoughts were the same as before. He hadn't lost his humanity, however much of it he had possessed in the first place.

But he was stronger, faster and sharper now. As dangerous as he had always wanted to be and he reveled in it.

His bags filled with gold and jewels he emerged from the tomb-temple and the world was just slightly sharper around him, his senses stronger. He knew he could actually track something down by scent alone if necessary and it made him grin.

He set out with a confident stride, tall and fierce in ways he hadn't been able to even emulate as a human. He was different now and as he traveled, he slowly got used to all the changes.

Of course, every pact came with its downsides. People who had spoken freely with him before or had been willing to share information or even secrets over a couple of drinks shied away from him now.

Quin found that no one dared to meet his gaze and he checked his small pocket mirror multiple times, but his eyes were still the same. Dark and soulful, as his mother had once said. Gods rest her soul, she had always encouraged him to do what he wanted. To take what he wanted.

Quin traveled on swiftly, outstaying his welcome at every new place within mere moments. The thing in his head wanted something, but communication was still iffy and frustrated the both of them.

Then Quin stumbled across a whip-thin young woman, left bleeding at the side of the road. She was dying, that was easy to see, but her eyes told a different story. She did not shy from him the way everyone else did, a defiance to her as though she believed him to be the reaper and she was going to cling to this life with all she had.

Quin wasn't her end. If anything, he was her knew beginning, as he produced a contract for her through his...what was the thing, a patron? It was no benign entity, that was for damn sure. It roiled with malice and bloodlust whenever he focused on it.

The woman took the contract and found herself healed and changed, much like Quin had. They traveled onward together and Quin realized that people avoided her as much as they avoided him.

"What are we?" the woman asked as they camped outside a village that had refused to house them.

Quin shrugged. "Better," was all he said with a smile he knew was too sharp, dangerous in a way human smiles weren't. "Eat up, we're having a long road ahead tomorrow."

Treasure weighed heavy and it soon brought the unsavory attention of bandits and robbers. Quin had never shied from bloodshed, from protecting what was his and this was no different.

The fight was almost too easy with all that he was capable of now. He and the woman stood over the dead once it was done and dealt with. He inhaled the smell of blood, sweet and coppery, iron and salt and smiled to himself.

"You are right," the woman said quietly as she helped him loot the bodies. "We are better now."

They continued on together, picking up a couple more people along the way. A man tossed out on his ear by his family for loving another man, twins who were rumored to be born with black magic, a couple that had fled from their wrathful noble families. A betrayed merchant left in rags.

They all accepted the contract Quin offered them and soon he called them his hunters. They were vicious when necessary, absolutely deadly and no longer quite human. They weren't as strong as he, the contract he could offer a diluted version of the pact he carried in his soul and mind.

They approached a city a couple of weeks later and the thing in the back of his head stirred, hungry and greedy, feeling all those souls within calling out. It pressed images into his mind, of deals and contracts, of all the ways he could feed it. Make it stronger. Help it break its cage in given time.

Quin did not like that he didn't have much of a choice in this matter. The thing would take back the pact if he didn't listen and that would kill him and his hunters. And curse him, but he had grown fond of this lot of lost souls that followed him like he was their shepherd. 

Maybe he was, in a way.

His treasure got him what his charm no longer could: people willing to listen. He found an empty, unexpectedly large tavern and settled in. It was nice to have a home, he had to admit, after traveling for so long.

He soon had to concede the business side to employees who had no deals with him. For if he or his hunters were behind the bar or walking around with serving trays, the few that had shown up left swiftly.

It took time and effort to build a bit of a reputation, but slowly he carved out a place for himself in this large city. Mostly he was known for his deals and his tavern for offering nice ale and food to acceptable prices.

As he sat in his usual booth, waiting for people to approach him for a piece of his patron's powers, he realized that this wasn't quite the life he had wanted for himself.

Sure, he had gotten quite a lot out of the pact, but mostly he had wanted to be free. To do whatever he wanted. To have all the different versions of power to be untouchable and uncontrollable. To be really, truly free.

He watched a man gather the courage to approach him, his arms gripping a clearly sick babe. He'd get the mildest contract Quin could create.

Quin would help the guy for free if his patron allowed such things, which it of course didn't. For all of Quin's occasional depravity and ease at murdering, he did not like to take advantage of the truly helpless.

Of the people his parents had once been.

'Well,' he thought to himself as he smiled as mildly as he could when the father walked towards him at last. 'If this is my lot in life, I better make it a damn fucking good one.'

So he remodeled the tavern, hired performers and grabbed his carefully hoarded treasure. He spent and invested the gold, bartered and made deals that had nothing to do with the coiling darkness connected to his mind and soul.

He set himself free in almost all aspects. The pact had given him many things while shackling him down and even if the shackle was something he had to live with until his dying day, there were still other chains to break.

Chains made by society and stupid rules even he had stuck in his head despite his best efforts.

So Quin set himself free as much as he could and built his reputation anew. He built the Revelry and it grew beyond the bounds of his tavern with every year, gold flowing back to him first in a small trickle and then in a big river and he took it and invested it into his business, his street. His life.

Within a couple of years he was as powerful and untouchable as he had always dreamed of being. He had the sort of reputation that made people avoid his gaze for more reasons than one. 

Some days he could delude himself into thinking that it was his bloody and dangerous reputation alone that made folks inch away from him, rather than what his patron had turned him into.

Sometimes it was a lonely life, sure, but he had a...yes, a family now. His hunters meant the world to him and he cared for his employees, making sure they had everything they needed to be happy.

In return, they were fiercely loyal, bringing him rumors and secrets and warning him of backhanded deals and impending betrayals by business partners. He grew untouchable in more ways than one thanks to them.

He kept his patron fed and content, made sure it had everything it could possibly want. He was careful, however, never quite feeding it as much as it really wanted.

He didn't want it to get out of its tomb and while he knew some day it would happen, he'd drag it out as long as he possibly could.

Quin made the Revelry and dedicated himself to it, gave it his heart and blood and most of the time it was enough. Most of the time he felt like his life was nearly perfect.

As long as his patron was quiet, he pretended as though every part of him, his everything, could be dedicated to what he had built. That all his choices were his own and could not be controlled by another.

This was a good life, he reminded himself, trying to ignore the greed for more within him. The greed to reach that extra little inch to true freedom, the shackle on his foot keeping him firmly grounded.

He had a rich, free, powerful life. The sort of life written about in stories and that he had dreamed about as a boy while helping his mother scrub pots and pans and his father with mending clothes. 

He almost wished they were still alive to see him now. Sometimes he poured a drink in their honor and hoped they were watching from whatever afterlife they were in now.

He hoped they were proud, that he had taken all their lessons and challenged the world. That he had come out the other side as the person he wanted to be.

He hunted and made pacts, terrified foolish nobles and bartered for information to get the city guard fully under his thumb. He already had a number of people on his payroll, but he really wanted to get his claws into the captain. Then the city really would be his at long last.

He had no idea how soon his wish would be fulfilled.

It was a night like many others, filled with joy and laughter, wild partying and people cutting loose in a way that fed his very soul and spirit. Quin was in a very good mood as he made a contract with a burly man who could scarcely stand to even glance in his direction.

"My right hand will take care of things," he said, gesturing lazily and his first hunter melted out of the shadows.

His oldest friend, sometimes pain in his ass and a stalwart, loyal companion. Quin knew, deep down, that he would have withered away emotionally without his hunters at his side.

The deal made and on its way to being fulfilled, he got up just as someone tripped, stumbling towards him. He caught that person just in time, casting a brief glare at the drunk woman that had decided shoving his guests was a good idea.

The woman hurriedly looked away and Quin plastered on his best smile, straightening up the one in his arms. "Now there, usually I have to put in some work to make people swoon like this."

And the first thing he noticed was that the stranger met his eyes, unafraid and unflinching, before listing a bit to the side. Ah, a drunkard.

Or not, he realized when, for the first time, someone refused to be parted from him. Cold fingers clung to his silk doublet and the feeling that something was wrong tingled in the back of his mind.

So he reached out, hooking his finger under an equally cold chin, not yet knowing that he was looking at the one who would change his life forever in all the best ways.

The one to set him free, truly free, at long last.

*.*.*

Tag List:

@those-damn-snippets @the-cash-cache @queenofbooknerds @14-lizards-in-a-trenchcoat @fern-writes-whump @bexterbaileyw @setsailforthestars @piperjistic @addrai @catloverlawyer @permanentlydepressedpigeon @tama-on-vetta @marateleam @transparentdiplomatlandgoth @cheesecakev2 @myst3rious-figur3 @warriorofbooks @aprilraine

#my writing #short story #quin was so chatty #I hope this is an enjoyable read #implied murder #i have no idea why the tagging didn't work for everyone #going to look into it #anyway #hope you enjoy this little thing I cobbled together for quin #and his very much not really tragic backstory #he's just one greedy mf #it's a bit weird to me that there is so little dialogue #but it just worked better this way somehow #anywho #there might be a Drabble for Deals and Revelry later #for quin and his love #he's really just a very fun character to write for #hope I didn't overlook too many spelling mistakes

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

For the smut prompt. I'm torn but I think I'll go with #34.

LOVE IT. Thank you babes, I chose to go with Curtis and Honey for this one.

18+ ONLY.

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet Masterlist

You should have known he was going to use the magic wand on you.

It was a new toy, something you both picked out together and now you were blissfully paying the consequences of a late-night shopping spree for you two. Your body arched, the vibrations almost too much as Curtis swiped the head across your sensitive clit, which now throbbing, swollen, and a bit abused in all the best ways.

Curtis's heavy hand cupped a breast, teasing you but occasionally pressing his palm against you to keep you lying down to take the "abuse". You wanted to cum so badly, it was right there almost if only he would let the wand stay for an extra five seconds.

Your boyfriend was having too much fun though edging you, another thing you both talked about in length before trying this together. Your gaze finally focused on his, his features aroused, almost devilish as he inflicted this torture on you. "Please Curtis?" You asked nicely, biting on your lip as another wave of sensations trembled through you, your legs snapping closed around his hand holding the wand against your pussy.

Your hands went to his bare chest, brushing through the dark hairs and up to his shoulders to grab on as you again were so close to cumming that your body shook. "I got you Pretty Girl." He muttered as he pushed you over finally, gathering you in against him as you clung to him, sobbing his name while you buried your face into his chest. "So fucking beautiful." His fingers replaced the wand, which was now buzzing somewhere on the bed, his fingers fucking into you with precision. "Gripping me so good." Curtis continued praising, pressing his lips to the crown of your head while you rode the last of your orgasm in his hold.

It was sparks across your vision, an explosion of tight pleasure and floating. His touch slowed and became gentler as he brought you down from it all. "You okay?" He asked, his touch still gentle as he eased you back a bit, checking in with you. You nodded, a shy little grin taking over, which was matched with his very pleased wide one.

"Yeah, this one is a keeper."

Curtis winked at you before leaning down to give you a hungry kiss, his hips dropping enough against you to make you feel him. "Agreed." His tone gravelled in need while he pulled away to find the still buzzing toy and turn it off, leaning over the bed to set it aside to be taken cared of later, you were still lounging in the mess of sheets, still buzzing from before. You admired the flex of muscles all along his backside, the taunt stretch of the back of his thighs to his round ass then up to his back which was rippling in the movements. "Fuck..." You muttered out loud and stretched your foot out, running it up his thigh suggestively.

"I should probably compare though... you know, make sure the real thing is better still."

Curtis crawled over you, pushing you back with a flexing hand against your neck, his fingers making your new favorite necklace on your neck. His dark brow was arched at the implication of your words. "I can assure you it is, but words me nothing." His mouth hovered over yours, the silver flash of his chain glinting in the room's light that you made a grab for it, tugging him the rest of the way so your mouths clashed.

It was a hungry needing kiss, soft moans and groans shared between you till he pulled away, kissing roughly down your neck, making his way to your breasts to love on. You both were getting in the moment once again when his phone chirped several times, repeatedly, making him curse into your cleavage that he had buried his face in. "Fucking asshole."

You giggled, reaching over to grasp his phone and look at the display. "It's Edgar."

"Mute it." His tone was muffled, teeth and tongue making short work over your nipple that he pulled into his mouth to tug on, making you whimper at the sensation.

"Answer it, I dare you." You teased, holding the phone towards him.

"Hell no Honey." He scoffed as he let your nipple go, making it tighten and perk with the sensation, his fingertips rough as they rolled it between the pads. You squirmed, hooking your legs around his narrow waist.

"What if it is an emergency?" You countered, your hands running over his buzz cut, giggling when he huffed against your chest and finally lifted his head. His eyes were brilliantly blue as he narrowed his gaze at you.

"It's not. Right now I'm busy." He grabbed the phone out of your hand and tossed it back to the nightstand. "He is just being a dumbass. I already know what he wants and I told him I wasn't available this weekend."

"At all?" You questioned, humming slightly as you let your hands wander. It was intoxicating to feel all his muscles, poised over you as he was.

"At all, Honey." Curtis grasped your chin enough so you would look at him. "This weekend is just us and I intend to keep it that way."

#smut asks #curtis and honey #life is short so make it sweet #i love these two so much your honor #curtis x plus!sized reader #curtis everett x honey #drabble #amber writes #sweater writes #amber answers

[good-beanswrites]

Hi there!! Your milgram drabbles are actually giving me life. If you're still taking requests (if not, totally fine!!), how about Haruka and Colours? :)

Aww thank you so much!!! :D Thank you for the request ooh, it's such a fun prompt for him! I ended up going with something for him and Muu between the first two trials, but I still wanted the main focus to stay on his voice and growth 👍

“This is your wardrobe?” Muu's eyebrows raised. “That's all there is?”

“W-well, I don't own much else that I, I really like to wear. Sorry." Haruka’s mind whirled into a panic. His new friend had been in his cell for less than two minutes and he was already a disappointment. She knew a lot about clothes and fashion, but he didn’t know a thing about that. They’d have nothing in common. She’d grow bored of him, and hate him, and -- 

“Aw, you don't need to apologize! The warden should be sorry for making you wear this. Muu will have to fix it.” 

“Fix what?” He bit down on his thumbnail. He knew there was a lot of him that needed fixing. That’s what he’d been told as long as he could remember. But what did she plan on doing that no one else could?

“All white does not do you justice. I'll request some things for you, okay? Let’s see…" 

She spun away from the clothes to examine him. He squirmed under the sudden, intense gaze. She looked him up and down, without saying a word. He hugged his arms to his chest. He had too many painful memories of people looking at him like that. But at the same time, he hoped she would never stop…

Her lips twisted into a gentle pout. “See? You poor thing, you don’t feel confident in that at all.”

“W-well, it’s only that --”

 “-- Don’t worry about a thing. Muu will get some neutrals, and a few accents. That will help bring out your eyes.”

“My, uh, my eyes?”

“Mm, they're your best feature.” She said it as if he were crazy for not knowing. His mouth gaped. He had a best feature? 

“Speaking of, I'll have to grab some pins to keep your hair back, so you can actually see them…” She reached out to brush some of his hair aside. He flinched, but let her touch him as she tried out a few things. While poised over his face, she looked at him seriously.

“How do you feel about purple?”

He swallowed. How did he feel about purple? Haruka thought it was a strange question, but if Muu was being so nice to him, he should trust her. He should respond perfectly. He went back and forth on what the right answer could be. How did everyone else feel about purple? How did Muu feel about purple?

“Nevermind.” She put her hands on his quickly raining shoulders. He relaxed them. “I think I’ll go with green.”

He sighed with relief. “Oh! Okay!”

Muu continued muttering to herself about different colors and styles, to which he nodded along. If she thought it would help him, he believed her. 

———

He stepped into the dining hall for breakfast. The prisoners were used to their routine by now, so nothing really caused disruption anymore. It was why Haruka was unprepared to be a disruption himself.

“Haru~” Mahiru called. “Wow!” 

His eyes widened. As he scrambled for a reply, Mikoto nodded from another table. “So colorful!” All the eyes turned to him. Even Es turned from where they were speaking with Jackalope in the kitchens. They all smiled at him.

“How fashionable!”

“It suits you well.”

“Aw, look at you!”

The sudden praise forced his hands up to cover the huge smile on his face. “Me?” 

He could feel his cheeks redden, but his heart raced in excitement. At their request, he did a stiff turn to show off the whole outfit. “Ah… it’s only because of Muu…”

“And it looks like I did a great job!” She appeared beside him, pressing her palms together. “You look wonderful.”

With so many kind eyes on him, he couldn’t help the giggle that spilled between his fingers. 

“Buuut Muu can’t take all the credit,” she said. “Or your clothes. This is you. You look happier. You’re holding yourself differently.”

“I didn’t know…” He hadn’t meant to do that. That was a good thing, right? Haruka felt his legs shift, as he thought too hard about how he was standing.

Is this why he was forgiven? People were finally seeing him. Es really looked at them during his interrogation. The prisoners had noticed him more and more. Even the voices that whispered in his cell at night had taken a strong interest in him. And now, everyone was showering him with their praises. Muu was right, it was more than the bright colors he was wearing.

“Yeah, you seem more confident.” 

He lowered his hands to return her beaming smile.

“I… I think I am.”

#milgram #haruka sakurai #muu kusunoki #i had a few different thoughts for the prompt -- maybe something with the crayon coloring from Weakness or something relating to the #vibrant bugs/fish in AKAA #but i really loved his trial glow up (personally i think he had the best one of t2!!) and wanted to work with that #ive been trying to avoid time breaks in short pieces of writing but i definitely wanted to show him getting the attention he deserved :') #i pictured that before all the t2 shit started to hit so everyone is in a good mood and genuinely happy to see him so confident #i hope his internal monologue wasnt too much but i had a blast writing it asdfdsf #a small dose of childishness but a big dose of needless anxiety ;--; #i dont know if haruka fans like seeing him and muu together but i wanted to show them interact because this treatment specifically would #have Such a good impact on him which makes me so happy #ahh i hope you enjoy! this was so much fun ✨ thanks again :D #drabbles

[catfuyus]

WARNING: one single kiss ! gn!reader

I feel like you don’t really realize that mikey might have a thing for you until you’re all out drinking one night and mikey’s had one too many.

everyone’s laughing around the table, having a good time. you’re seated next to him and it’s the usual crowd. until mikey leans over to whisper in your ear for a second. one short, small sentence slurred together… “you’re really pretty.”

he moves to lean his head on the table and stare directly into your eyes. his are heavily lidded, hazy with a drunken alcoholic stupor. but it’s cute, seeing manjiro’s cheeks flushed like this. he’s always treated you about the same as everyone else in the gang. it’s the first time you’re hearing it.

“thanks, mikey,” you mutter after a giggle. not too sure how many he’s had, but he’s definitely well into being drunk.

“and you have nice lips.”

the heat rises to your face with that compliment. how many times had he been staring at your lips?”

you laugh awkwardly again, playing with the mouth of your beer can, keeping your eyes trained on your drink. “thanks, mikey…you do too.”

“I do?”

“Yea, of course.” you laugh.

“then…” he leans off the table to sit closer to you. to bring his face closer to yours. “do you wanna kiss me?”

“what?” awkward laughter. You can’t tell if he’s being serious or silly. Or just plain drunk.

“You should kiss me.” And even though his cheeks are flushed red from the alcohol, his half lidded eyes are dead serious and determined.

You place a hand on his chest to keep him from leaning in fully. Even though you can smell the light scent of beer on him, he still smells like the cologne he put on earlier. The warm scent making you wanna pull him in and do absolutely nothing to resist his advances.

It takes a great deal of effort for you to look up into his eyes. His face so close you could count his eyelashes. He’s looking at your lips. Again. Like a dog waiting for permission from their owner to grab the bone.

“Maybe just…one—” and before you can even finish the sentence he pulling you in for a kiss. Hand at the back of your head as he works his lips against your own.

It’s soft, and tender. It steals your breath away. And then you feel his tongue against your bottom lip, gently, before you part your mouth and allow him to slip inside. Your toes curl in your shoes, fisting the fabric of his hoodie before he does something absolutely delicious with his tongue that forces an audible moan out of you.

When you break for air, Mikey nuzzles into your neck and whispers an innocent “I’ve always wanted to do that” against your skin. Brushing his lips up the nape of your neck before fully moving back into his seat.

Your lips are still shiny with his spit when you lock eyes with Mitsuya from across the table and he gives you a congratulatory smile.

#mikey drabble #mikey thirst #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro sano #manjiro x reader #manjiro drabble #don’t wanna tag it too much this is so short ! teeny baby <3 #constantly thinking about kissing him ♡ #wrote this while I had the song of the same name stuck in my head