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wttcsms · 1 year

Note

“she fell first, but he fell harder” with any inarizaki boy of your liking please! 🩵 have a good day~

pairing rintarou suna x f!reader word count 2.6k content contains mutual pining, tutor!au, right person/wrong time, bittersweet ending, unrequited love, slight angst author’s notes maybe not what u anticipated hehe

You don’t look up from your book even though the slamming of a bookbag on top of the table obnoxiously announces the arrival of another student, one who’s obviously going to take the seat next to yours.

“Hey—” So it’s a boy then.

“—can I ask you for a favor?”

Now you look up, partially annoyed that he’s interrupted you while you were in the middle of reading a particularly interesting paragraph, but more curious than not. You tilt your head, taking him in. Of course, you know Rintarou Suna — it’s hard for any student in the school not to know him. But just because you’re aware of his existence — and if you dare to allow yourself to be bold enough, you think he’s aware of your own — doesn’t exactly make the two of you chummy enough to ask each other for favors on a Tuesday morning.

You must have a bad poker face because he raises both hands in mock surrender. “Look, just hear me out. I need to pass this English class or my coach and captain won’t sign off on allowing me to play in the next few matches. I’ve seen the rankings; you’re top of our class. You know this shit a lot better than I do.”

A beat passes.

Two startling and equally scary revelations:

Now that you’re finally seeing him up close, Suna’s eyes are a much lighter shade than you thought they were. (Not that you’ve given his eyes much thought up until now, anyway.) It suits him. And,

Suna is absolutely aware of your existence.

“I’ll owe you one.” He says, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He’s playing at being nonchalant, but you can see it in those lighter-than-you-thought eyes of his that he’s practically pleading with you.

“I want you to convince Atsumu Miya to do an interview for the school paper.” You finally say.

Raised eyebrows is the closest thing you’ll get to seeing emotion on his face, you think. “Done.” And then, “Why Atsumu?”

“He’s not an easy person to get a hold of, but I know being the first person to ever interview him will probably mean something in the future.”

He nods, taking it in. “So it’s not because you’ve got a crush on him?”

You can’t tell if he’s teasing you or not; his voice and facial expression give nothing away. Shifting a bit in your seat, you frown. “No. His bad dye job makes him an eyesore.”

The corners of Suna’s mouth curve up at that.

ii.

“I didn’t know you wrote for the school paper,” Suna says.

“I’m the president of the club.” You push a paper covered in red pen marks, all of them corrections and criticisms against him. “Suna, we’ve been going at this for almost two weeks now. How have you barely improved?”

“Maybe you’re just not a good tutor.” You can read him well enough to know that he’s only joking. “You wanna be a journalist or somethin’?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. At least pretend to look over your paper.” Sighing because you know he won’t actually do anything unless you appease him, you shrug. “I want to be a sports reporter.”

“So that’s why you were so excited to meet with Atsumu!” You don’t expect him to actually be invested in your life, but you excuse his exclamation as him being bored out of his mind and savoring any distraction he can get.

The idea of being just a pleasant distraction from the pain of schoolwork makes you feel weird.

iii.

As you near the two-month mark since your tutoring sessions began, you make progress with Suna. He’s funnier than you realize, both of you sharing the same dry sense of humor that has jokes that can only properly be delivered if you say it with a straight face. He’s shown you about 200 of the images and videos cluttering his camera roll, and you pretend there’s no intimacy in that. His grades in English have substantially gotten better, to the point where you’re certain one day he’s going to decide that he doesn’t need tutoring anymore.

(For some reason, that makes you kind of sad.)

For now, you’re content to just be sitting next to him, both of you silently working on your assignments. He’s rewriting his essay due tomorrow (he’s a bit of a procrastinator, really) and you on your latest article for the school paper. The silence in the library — the silence wrapping the two of you together — is surprisingly comfortable.

Sometimes, Suna can’t make it to the tutoring sessions, and you pretend that it doesn’t matter. You just shrug and smile and move on. After the third time he does, he confesses that it’s because he’s seeing someone.

We’re just talking, he tells you. But you know that he must really like her because Suna doesn’t usually waste his breath talking about things he doesn’t care to talk about. He’s the one who brought her up completely unprompted. You actually would have been more than okay with remaining completely oblivious to whoever Suna decides to enter the talking stage with.

He yawns, stretching his arms while he does so.

It should be illegal, you decide, for someone so out of reach to still be so close to you. If you shifted your body back against your chair, nothing would stop the inevitability of his outstretched fingers brushing against your hair. The thought of that happening makes you far more excited than it should.

(He never tells you when they stop talking, but you know when they do because somewhere in between all these tutoring sessions, you started to learn him.)

iv.

“You really think I’m just messin’ around?” He’s got his elbow resting on the library table, cheek and chin laying against the open palm of his hand. When Suna smiles, it’s a little crooked, almost like a smirk, yet warm enough to cause heat to rise to your cheeks, especially when he’s smiling and staring at you like that, like you’re the one person he actually wants to see.

“You’re always messing around,” You point out.

“I wouldn’t joke about this.” There’s that familiar pleading look in his eyes that contains enough superhuman strength to pound away at your steely resolve. It’s the same look he gave you all those months ago when you two were nothing more than classmates exchanging favors. It’s the same damn look that got you caught up in all sorts of messes: rearranging your schedule to tutor him, suddenly spending more time making sure you look good for school, rejecting the other guy who first asked you the same question Suna’s asking now…

“I’m serious. Please go to the dance with me.”

“You didn’t even give me chocolate or flowers.” You manage to say, trying to ignore the pleased sensation that overtakes your body. It’s a different reaction from what you felt when your other classmate asked, and he at least had the decency to bring you your favorite drink from the vending machine when he did it. “This doesn’t seem like a very serious request.”

He snorts. “Would you have even wanted me to show up to homeroom with a poster and a bouquet and the twins serenading you as I asked you to a school dance?”

He knows you well enough that an extravagant proposal like that would have you wanting to run into the nearest bathroom stall and lock yourself in there until school ended. The fact that he knows you would hate anything remotely close to that, less dramatic or not, makes you agree to go with him.

(Perhaps he’s spent these tutoring sessions learning you, as well.)

“Hey!”

You turn around at the sound of a familiar voice, smiling when he comes into view. Donned in the same oversized gown, graduation cap hanging from one hand, Rintarou Suna is smiling back at you.

“Knew you would graduate top of our class. Congratulations.”

“And you were ranked within the top twenty. Being a volleyball star just wasn’t enough for you, huh?”

It feels good to be out here, freshly graduated and knowing the rest of the world is out there, just beyond the boundaries of your high school. The heat is getting the best of everyone wearing the thick graduation gowns, but instead of looking like a sweaty mess like the rest of you mere mortals, Rintarou just seems to shine, as if he’s made for summer. His hair sticks up, probably an effect of being stuffed in the cap for so long, and you find yourself pressing down on his hair. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to help him tame his cowlick, and the action is so familiar, that it doesn’t even catch him off guard.

“My tutor carried.” He says, grinning at you.

(You feel considerably warmer now, and it’s not because of the sun.)

The laugh you give him makes his grin only grow wider. You sound equal parts pleased and surprised, just like how you always do whenever he decides to randomly compliment you. Is it bad that he wants to make you laugh like this for the rest of his life?

Before he can make a proper quip, one that will surely have you laughing even harder, someone is gently tugging you away from him.

“Hey, babe, my parents wanted to get pictures of us together.” And then, as if realizing Suna’s right there even though he’s tall enough to be hard to miss and close enough to tug you back towards him, the boy stares at him. “Oh, hey. Suna, right?”

Everyone here pretends as if it’s not already obvious that you all know each other.

“Congrats on nationals, man.”

“Thanks.” Suna says, without sounding the least bit thankful, even though he should be. He thought the two of you broke up already, and he’s been preparing for how he’s going to confess his feelings for you for the past two months now. At least now, he won’t have to suffer your rejection and embarrass himself for making a move on a taken girl.

“C’mon, my mom’s going to hate us if we keep her waiting any longer.” Your boyfriend is holding your hand, leading you toward wherever his parents are. You turn your head, looking like you want to say something to Rintarou, anything at all, but instead you give him a shrug and a small smile.

He keeps that smile of yours tucked safely in his pocket, not knowing that it’ll be a few more years until he gets to see it again.

vi.

Staying in touch is hard, but Suna is nothing if not stubborn. A random TikTok sent to you at 2 AM here, an attempt to meet for lunch if the two of you are in the same city at the same time there.

Getting drunk from your high school reunion and sneaking into the library the two of you spent the better half of your high school years pining after each other in is the most fun Suna’s had in years. The two of you are lying on the plush carpet, too drunk to care about how dirty it must be.

“Gosh, we spent so much time in this place.” You’re looking up at the ceiling, tacky glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to it, remnants left behind by students who graduated way before you two.

“Some of the happiest times of my life.” He’s being too honest without realizing it.

You laugh, thinking he’s just joking because you always think he’s joking every time he tries to hint at his feelings for you. Feelings that didn’t hit him until he realized how pretty you are, even with your hair tied back and your bottom lip being bitten to death by your teeth as you type away at an article none of the students in this school will even bother to read. Feelings that he wished he confessed to you on the dancefloor, when the two of you slow danced, and you asked him are we doing this as friends? and he didn’t have the balls to say anything but of course it’s as friends.

“Yeah, I bet having me roast the shit out of every paper you wrote was the highlight of your second year.”

“It’s because it was you doing it that made me so happy.”

You laugh even louder at that. “Oh my God, Rin, you’re such a sap when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not just sayin’ shit just to say it, y’know? I mean it.” He tries his hardest to make the sincerity in his words stick, but he’s drunk, and his words are kind of slurred, and his intentions just slip and slide away. “I liked you back then.” Still do, he doesn’t say. I still like you.

“No way, really?” You turn to face him, wide-eyed with a tipsy smile on your face that lets him know that you just don’t know how serious he is right now. “Because I had the biggest crush on you in high school too!”

He always assumed the feelings were returned, but the possibility that they weren’t — that him confessing would just fuck up your friendship and have you leave him — was too large for him to risk it. Swallowing hard, he asks,

“Did you… Did you ever think we would end up together? Back then, I mean?”

You hum, too inebriated and maybe too distant to him now to recognize the pleading look in his eyes. “I wanted us to, but then I thought there wasn’t a chance in hell you would actually like me back. Gosh, this was all so long ago, though. I can’t believe we used to like each other, isn’t that so funny, Rin?”

The used to reveals enough to him.

vii.

You’ve made a name for yourself now. You’re not just a mere sports reporter (he doesn’t know that he’s the first person you confessed your dream career to), but every professional volleyball team in Japan has deemed you their favorite reporter to see out on court. Rintarou blames the fluttering of his heart and the excitement that floods him every time he sees you at one of his games on your popularity, but he sees through his own flimsy excuse.

You don’t show favoritism when it comes to conducting your post-game interviews, but tonight, you’re standing in front of the camera with him, smiling up at him with a microphone in your hand. He’s happy you’re here, but the only question he cares to answer is the what if? that’s been haunting him ever since that reunion. What if he confessed in high school? What if he sobered up after that night and told you the truth? Would this interview be different, then? Would you still say,

“Congratulations on a game well played!”

And would he still say,

“I heard some more congratulations are in order.” He’s giving you the same lopsided smile he always gives you, the smile that rests on his face yet belongs to only you. It’s all anyone could talk about. Pictures of you flood his timeline; his teammates, other players, and sports fans alike all were overjoyed at your happy announcement. You didn’t just win his heart over, but a good portion of Japan’s as well.

“Congratulations on your engagement.”

You smile at him, practically beaming, shining so much brighter than these stadium lights, and he holds onto this one even tighter. A smile just for him, placed right next to the memory of the one you’d given him at graduation.

#suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #rintarou suna x reader #hq x reader #fluff #one shot #drabble #angst #imagine #hq fanfic #wttcsms writing warmups

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steddieas-shegoes · 7 months

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sweater weather

for the @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round 2 (prompt: fall) rated: M wc: 998 cw: implied sexual content, dirty talk (kinda) tags: clothes sharing, horny Eddie

🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂

Sometimes it seemed like fall arrived overnight.

Instead of a gradual change into cooler mornings and evenings, they woke up to a sudden 45 degree morning with no warning.

Steve loved fall, but he liked the slow shift of it. He liked the transition from short sleeves to long sleeves, then long sleeves to sweater, then eventually the winter coats and scarves.

This year wasn't gradual.

They'd been in his pool only two weeks before, surprised by the September heat wave hitting them.

So waking up to a chill in his bedroom and freezing cold tile in his bathroom from his windows being left open all night was a bit of a shock to the system.

Eddie was still asleep in bed, covers pulled up to his nose and light snores making Steve smile endearingly back at his sleeping form.

Steve went through his usual routine: shower, brush teeth, blow dry hair, put on chapstick.

When he walked over to his closet, he pulled out his favorite sweater and smiled to himself.

It was technically Eddie's, but he'd stolen it from his trailer so often, Eddie ended up "accidentally" leaving it at Steve's house one night and just never bothered to take it back.

He threw a t-shirt on, just in case it would be warm later, then put the sweater on over it. He accidentally grabbed a pair of Eddie's jeans before shaking his head and finding some of his own, not prepared to try to squeeze into the slim fit of his boyfriend's denim.

He made his way downstairs to make coffee and toast, knowing Eddie would wake up soon when he moved to cuddle him and would be met with an empty bed.

Steve hummed to himself as he spread grape jelly on his toast, the smell of coffee filling the kitchen.

He took a moment to open the window above the sink just enough to let some of the cool, fresh air inside. Eddie would complain when he came down, Steve would tell him to put on socks and a sweater, Eddie would tell him he shouldn't have to be dressed in his own home, etc.

But Eddie would wrap his arms around Steve's waist "for warmth" and kiss his neck, breathe in his freshly showered scent. He would tell him that he needed him to keep him warm in bed, but pull away because he knows Steve has to go to work. He'd pour himself a cup of coffee and then eat a spoonful of peanut butter instead of eating real breakfast because "it's too early to digest real food."

Footsteps on the stairs interrupted Steve's thoughts.

He took a sip of his coffee and smirked into it, listening as Eddie mumbled to himself about no one turning the damn heat on.

Eddie rounded the corner, saying something about "this big fancy house has heat," and then froze when he saw Steve.

Steve's brows raised as he took a bite of his toast.

"That's my sweater."

"Mhm. I wear it all the time, baby."

Steve took another bite of toast and ignored the floating feeling in his stomach at the way Eddie was looking at him.

Like he was starving, but not for breakfast.

Eddie glanced at the clock on the wall and then back to Steve.

"You have 20 minutes before you have to leave," Eddie said.

"Uh huh," Steve agreed.

Eddie's hands were on his waist before Steve could register what he was implying.

"Eds, no. I did my hair already, c'mon," Steve gripped his hands to push them away, but he didn't try very hard.

"I won't touch your hair. Don't need to," Eddie's lips ghosted against his throat, his hot breath sending a shiver down Steve's spine.

"Baby..." Steve groaned, but already felt himself hardening in his jeans.

"You're so fucking hot in my clothes, sweetheart."

Eddie was pulling the neckline of the sweater back to leave a bruise, a reminder for Steve that he belonged to Eddie, that Eddie loved him.

"We don't have time," Steve moaned, unconvincing in his quest to get Eddie to stop.

"I know. But later, you know what I'm gonna do to you?" Eddie said before sucking another bruise on the other side of his neck.

"Hm?" Steve felt fuzzy.

"Gonna make you strip out of everything except this sweater. Leave the windows open like you like, and if the neighbors hear you screaming my name, that's their problem," Eddie pulled away with a smirk. "You're gonna make a mess of this sweater while I touch every inch of you. Then you're gonna ride me until you can't feel your legs."

Steve would think he was bluffing, but after nearly five years of being with Eddie, he knew he wasn't.

He knew he'd be coming home later and getting all of that.

"In bed?"

"I'll think about it."

Steve smirked back at him before leaving a kiss on his lips and turning back to his breakfast.

"You got anything today?" Steve asked, ignoring the way his heart was still racing from Eddie's touches.

"Just a call with the guys to go over some last minute recording stuff."

"So you'll be home all day?"

"Yeah, why? You need me to do something?"

Steve turned to him again, took a sip of his coffee, and then smiled.

"I need you to get yourself off before I get home so I can ride you for hours," Steve said seriously.

Eddie sputtered, nearly dropping the coffee pot.

"Hours?"

"Mhm. Kind of in the mood for you to make me beg."

"O...kay."

Steve leaned in for one final peck on the lips before he set his mug and plate in the sink.

"See you later. Love you!"

"Mhm, love you," Eddie said back.

Steve felt piercing eyes on him as he left the room. He adjusted the sweater so it rested against his waistline as he walked, smiling when he heard Eddie whistling after him.

He loved fall.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #steddieholidaydrabbles #warmup round

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Discreet

A drabble for The Slumber Party Writer’s Warm-Up. I got:

Summary: He’s taught you to keep a secret, but you’re done keeping his.

Character: Tony Stark

Warnings: cheating, alluded noncon, slight violence.

Please leave some feedback and reblog! Also check out the Slumber Party event coming up in February and support your fellow writers. We will be sharing other warm-up drabbles there!

Discreet. To be intentionally unobtrusive.

Discreet. From the Latin root dis and krei. The former negates the latter. Together, such a simple word. Undistinguished. Unimportant. Unknown.

To be discreet. To keep a secret. To shut your mouth and do what he says. To listen to those dangerous warnings.

‘You’re young. You can’t understand the risk I’m taking. If people were to know. If you’re not…discreet.’

Discretion. Silence. Oppression. The obedience to his ultimate will.

‘I have a wife. A reputation. A lot more to lose than you’. The tickle of coarse hair on your neck, gentle but insistent kisses, hands grabbing, crawling, needing, wanting, taking. More, more, more.

Not discrete. A flip of the letters and it all would change.

Discrete. Distinct or unconnected. To separate. Discretus, to keep separated.

“Honey, you can’t be here. She’s here. You have to go.”

Naked, bruised, used. He throws your clothes at you as he paces, phone in hand, gripping it as the chirping of the front door sounds. He unlocks it as you pull on your shirt, tucking your bra in your pocket. You step into your pants and stumble, your insides clenching with emptiness. You see her on the screen, ginger hair, a child on her hip.

‘Tony,’ her voice sings through the speaker, ‘I’m home.’

“I have to go,” he doesn’t look back, “you know the way out. Be quick.”

You take your shoes and search out your panties, flung carelessly across the corner of the bed. You hover your hand over them. She can’t know, there can’t be a single clue of your presence, of your very existence. You touch the cotton, the elastic parted slightly at the seam from his impatience. You hesitate and hover your hand above.

You take a step back. You don’t grab them. You carry your shoes and purse out and sneak out the back. Her voice and that of a child from just down the hall. Your heart pounds as your feet barely make a noise beneath you. A shadow; silent, discreet. Hollow. Fading back to obscurity. Haunted, haunting.

The subway hurls you through the tunnel. You move on habit alone. Your apartment door greets you with its splintered wood, peeling paint shedding as if claws have shredded it. As if a wolf had come to your door. Hadn’t he?

Inside, static, dark. You drop your shoes and your purse, the twist of the latch violently loud in the dim. Floorboards creak beneath your weight, reminding you of your existence. This is real. All of it. You, him, that fetid rotting in your gut.

You sit on the second-hand couch. The stench of cigarettes still wafts up from the cushion. You drop your head back and close your eyes. In the stillness, you drift. Dreams swirl in a skewed reflection of reality.

Your first meeting. Discreet. Forgettable. But not him. You couldn’t forget him. Not Tony Stark. Not the man with the iron grip.

👄

A thumping on the door gives you a start. You sit up, dizzy. You groan as the dull pain persists in your pelvis. The pulsing bruises on your thighs, the thrum of his pelvis pounding against you, a stinging sear in your walls.

“Open up!” Tony shakes the door with his incessant hammering. “You little bitch.”

You rise without urgency. You fix your shirt as the scent of your own sweat makes you sick. You smell him on your still. You fell asleep before you could wash him off. At least you hadn’t slept in the bed.

You amble over with a yawn, rubbing your eyes as you come to the door. You’re too tired to think or see straight. You twist the latch and the door flies open at once. He’s on you, hands at your neck as he forces you backwards, kicking the door with a shaking slam. He pins you to the wall, strangling you as he rages.

His dark eyes are dilated, deep pools without a bottom. You’ve seen that look before. Every time he’s inside you. As many times, you’ve felt his grip around your neck.

He keeps one hand on your throat as his other fishes around in his jacket. He pulls out the panties, unfurling the wrinkled pattern of pink flowers on checkered white. You blink at him.

Discreet. You keep your emotions in check. You don’t feel much of anything. Like he taught you.

“She fucking found them,” he snarls, shaking you, “she knows.” He balls them in his fist as his voice thunders around you, “you– you did it on purpose.”

You stare. Your heart beats wildly and your lips part. You don’t know what to say. You smile. You did.

Discreet and discrete, a simple switch of the letters and the meaning changes entirely.

He sneers and slams you against the wall. Your head bounces off and he grasps your chin, pushing it up as he keeps you trapped against the stained wallpaper. He raises his fistful and forces it against your mouth. He shoves the cotton inside until you’re gagging.

“Do you even know what you’ve done?” His hand stretches behind your skull, his other still clamped around your chin as he hauls you away from the wall, “you fucking– I brought you up from nothing. I chose you and you do this!”

You watch him blankly as he drags you around like a doll. The empty shell he’s made of you. His anger flares in his eyes at your vacancy. He stops you and comes close, his breath scalds your face, his nose nearly touching yours.

“What is wrong with you?” He barks, “don’t you understand what I’m going to fucking do to you?”

You reach up and touch his wrists. He winces as you wrap your fingers around his arms and pull them down. He lets you guide them down to his sides. You turn, mechanically, head down as you bend and grab the small square table against the wall. You hook your finger in your pants and inch them down.

He sighs. The air roils in his silence. You bend deeper and wiggle your ass, biting down on the cotton. He comes closer and frames your hips with his hands, squeezing meanly until your hip bones ache.

He snickers as he pulls you back against his crotch roughly. The table shifts as he leans against your ass and snickers. He bends and brushes his nose along your shoulder, biting into the muscle that curves into your neck. You murmur around your panties and grip the wood tight.

“You think you’re broken now,” he snarls, “you have no fucking idea.”

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #writer warmup #navy and roo's sleepover #drabble #dark!drabble #dark drabble #mcu #marvel #iron man #avengers

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anotherobeymeblog · 9 months

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You never hid how much you loved the way Satan would writhe quietly beneath you, his face twisted into a silent cry as you brought him closer and closer to his peak. The way he offered himself to you, raw and vulnerable, but not docile (if you wanted docility, you'd have to break him first). Here, in this room, all pretenses were dropped, and every part of himself that he usually suppressed was on full display. With the pact as a safety net, he could hiss and spit and claw your back to shreds and you still called him pretty. The idea that you didn't need to tame him to want him made him lightheaded, and ironically, that thought alone made him go boneless as his hips twitched one last time with a cry of your name.

#gn reader #weird little drabble thing i guess #idk mostly just a warmup to get back into the swing of writing for this fandom lol #obey me #nsft #obey me satan #reader insert #obey me x reader #om satan x reader #dom reader

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minhxiao · 5 months

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a drabble for prompt #23: a kiss, hungrily dainsleif/abyss aether | rating: T | words: 743

“It was always you, you know.”

The words distract Dainsleif so much that his blade slips and catches onto the pommel of Aether’s sword― he manages to dodge just in time to see the metal slice cleanly through the edge of his cape, but the strike is hardly close to anything vital. Abyssal power, dark and corrosive, a power that Aether now wields with the ease of breathing, slowly singes its way through the tattered fabric.

Dainsleif’s eye widens as he slides backwards and strips the cape from his neck with one hand. He coughs up black blood.

Aether’s eyes never leave him. His golden hair whips around his stricken face as an unearthly power blinks like fading stars around his form.

It’s wrong. All wrong. The voidlike, shadowy miasma that trails behind Aether like a ghost. The utter absence of his presence, his warmth now completely barren, how when Dainsleif reaches out with his own power he’s met with absolutely nothing at all.

But Dainsleif still finds his prince achingly handsome, even like this.

“Is that why you still keep me alive?” Dainsleif’s voice is hoarse, fragile.

“Would you prefer it if I killed you?” Aether’s eyes catch against Dainsleif’s corroded skin, the visible evidence of his eternal damnation. For the first time, his eyes flash with something like regret.

“No,” Dainsleif whispers, remembering a time when Aether had once smiled. “I must live to bear the weight of all that I’ve lost.” Even you. Even if it’s unbearable.

“... Even if it’s hardly a life?”

The way Aether’s voice just barely trembles at the end of his sentence causes Dainsleif’s gaze to snap towards him in surprise.

Aether’s eyes are molten with anger, anguish, with… something. His expression is vivid with feeling. The volatile, swirling emotion that Dainsleif finds there is so familiar it hurts. Aether had always felt too deeply― it burned him from the inside out.

“Even so,” Dainsleif misses him like it’s a curse, because it is. “I’ll live as long as you intend to, my prince.”

Perhaps it’s those words that closes the distance between them.

My prince. My sword.

It takes Aether all of three steps to reach him.

My dawn. My knight.

Three steps before Dainsleif’s world bends as Aether drags him closer by the collar and slams his mouth against his.

Five hundred years and Dainsleif is still so weak against his prince’s tongue. Centuries watching the world turn around his frozen past, his body stuck in time― and yet the earth lurches forward once more when Aether touches him again.

The kiss is hardly chaste.

Aether flips him onto the ground until Dainsleif falls willingly beneath him, their swords clattering in a screech of metal. Aether is not gentle as he pins him to the floor, both hands pushing desperately against his chest and Dainsleif feels like he’s sinking into the earth, limbs heavy with the weight of him.

When Dainsleif’s knee slides between Aether’s legs, his prince shivers above him like a morning star.

“Ah… Dain,” Aether gasps and Dainsleif hates how the old nickname stirs memories of unparalleled devotion in him. He wonders at the way Aether kisses him, fervently, hungrily― an invasive thought crosses his mind. All this time, has he been with another?

I haven’t, Dainsleif wants to declare. Only you. As if his unswerving loyalty would mean anything in the face of their current circumstances.

But Aether has his hand grasped firmly around the back of Dainsleif’s neck, fingers curled into his hair, as if he is his and only his and Dainsleif can only gasp against his mouth, arms sliding around Aether’s waist.

Dainsleif had forgotten what it felt like to be wanted like this.

“It was always you, you know.”

It was dangerous. Because he was so, so exhausted, and one word from his prince with his lips against his could so easily tempt him to lay down his sword for good.

“Aether―” Dainsleif starts. It feels like a sin, saying Aether’s name.

But Aether only kisses him once more, hand falling to his burning, afflicted skin. It hurts distantly, but Dainsleif was used to the memory of pain.

Say nothing, Aether’s eyes tell him desperately. Not a word.

It felt like an order. So all of it, every word unsaid between them dies like crushed flowers in Dainsleif’s throat as he lies there, letting his prince kiss him and wondering if death must feel so sweet.

#old request for a twitter user #using the kiss prompts as warmups right now because i've forgotten how to write #also it was fun exploring abyss aether & dainther for the first time! hope dainther nation enjoys #ficlets #drabble #kiss prompts #dainther #abyss aether #dainsleif

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kagejima · 2 years

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writing warm-up three

pairing: tetsuro kuroo + reader

word count: 735

author's notes: i was DEEP in my kojiro feelings today but then got sidetracked bc like... kuroo fucking you in the back of his company SUV is like... it's like... my brain is fried, help

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Kuroo knows he shouldn’t be in the backseat of his company given SUV with you. But here he is, his cock buried deep in your cunt, his mouth latching onto your nipple and his tongue swirling around it, you whimpering and wiggling in his lap… because he can’t get enough of you.

Because who was he to deny you? Who was he to deny a sweet angelic woman who just wanted to be helpful at her first real corporate job? Who was he to deny you when you asked for extra work to show him you were a hard worker? And sure, maybe it was selfish of him to ask his boss if he could take you under his wing when other people had bigger workloads… But in his defense, the others should have been faster if they wanted you. He sees the way everyone in the office watches you, longs for you, day in and day out. You’re his work partner.

And who was he to deny you a few weeks ago when you had to pull an all-nighter on an account, take-out containers and alcohol and energy drink cans littering the conference table, both of you having a nice buzz going and you admitting you had had a crush on him since day one? Who was he to deny you when you asked if you could kiss him but it escalated into him shoving everything off the table and fucking you on top of it?

“We’re going to be late…” You whimper into his neck, but his hands around your waist only tighten.

“Then you should call them and tell them we’ll be late,” He replies before his teeth nip at your breast.

You, still wanting to be helpful even after all this time, fumble around for your phone on the seat next to you. You try to dial the number of your high-profile client who you’re supposed to be meeting in fifteen minutes, but Kuroo is making it damn near impossible so it takes you a little bit.

He brushes your hair out of your face before admiring the dainty silver chain that gleams against your neck. The dainty silver chain that would look much better surrounded by marks.

“Hello? Yes, this is--”

Kuroo can’t help himself. You wiggle some more as feather light kisses dance across your face, down your neck, and you bite your lip hard when his teeth tug lightly at the skin there.

“Yes. We ran into some traffic. Yes, I’m s--”

Need slams into you as Kuroo continues to suck tenderly on your neck.

He also takes this opportunity to start bouncing you on his cock again.

“I’m so sorry! We’ll be-- We’ll be there as s-soon as we can!” You start babbling as Kuroo grins into your neck.

The call ends quickly and he smiles up at you, continuing to move you against his cock, but slower now, making you whimper as he takes his time. The bastard knew exactly how to tease you.

“I can’t even cover those up!” You whine, imagining the splotchy red marks Kuroo has decorated your neck with, “They’re gonna know why we were late!”

“Mm? And would that be so terrible?” He hums, stilling you on his lap, “Would that be so terrible if they knew you were mine?”

You moan into his kiss. His kisses are always so soft and so tender, even when he fucks your brains out. You shiver at the prospect of being his. No more hiding – sure, maybe the company would lose their shit, but you both had proved your worth to the company so you shouldn’t technically lose your jobs.

Maybe.

Maybe it was safer to hide for now.

“Say that again,” You breathe against his lips when you break the kiss.

“What?” His eyes glitter, you falling right into his trap, “Mine?”

He smiles up at you, absolutely obsessed with how you nod wordlessly and are completely captivated by the prospect of actually being together.

“My kitten…” He whispers before he places a kiss on the tip of your nose.

You blush profusely when he does this, but there’s no time to be embarrassed because he’s back to bouncing you up and down on his lap.

“Now be a good little kitten and come on my cock. We don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?”

#kuroo smut #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo #kuroo drabble #kuroo x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #dsjhfalsdkjfahsd but like he cums inside you and you gotta pretend the whole meeting it isn't just gushing out of you :((((#oooooooof #writing warmups

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tavyliasin · 4 months

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Raphael and Haarlep Drabble - Falling for You

A quick little piece, the idea needed an out before I work on anything else~ Raphael is loathe to admit he cares, but there are times when he will show it, when really pushed. Small CW for implied peril and falling, short drabble below the cut~

Falling for You

“Oh, woe is me, for all of my friends are gone to follow their own missions, my lover ran away to hide underground, and there is not even a devil to hear my cries!” She stood on the balcony at the edge of the boudoir, looking at the rocks and lava fields below where the House of Hope flew through Avernus. The room was empty of all but “Tav”, no Raphael lounging on the couches, no Haarlep laid out upon the bed… She spread her arms wide and leapt. The rocks rushed towards her, but the force of gravity was slower than the shape that swooped swiftly from above, scooping her up in strong red arms, scent of cherry and musk mingling with palmarosa and black pepper on his silks. “Tav” chuckled, looking up into the fierce eyes of the saviour that had swooped down just in time to catch her. “I knew you’d save her, you really do care~” They nuzzled into his shirt, dropping the pretence but keeping Tav’s form. “You truly are an insufferable Harlot, but I didn’t take you for a fool, too. I knew it was you from the start.” Raphael kept flying, still holding Haarlep tightly to his chest as they remained in Tav’s form. “Spoilsport, if you didn’t care you should’ve left me to fall. Or you could’ve at least kept up the illusion a little longer, I thought you’d like playing the heroic saviour to your Little Mouse.” They continued to tease, clinging to his shirt like a maiden in distress, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Don’t you want to be my hero, Raphael?” The fiend gritted his teeth at the use of his proper name, and spoken in her voice too…but he kept flying, carrying them both further above the floating House, a view of the vast landscape beneath. “You forget a few key points, do you not? There would not have been time for you to transform and fly from there, you could have actually died. You were born in Avernus, were you not? It is your home plane, the one place you are not immortal, Haarlep.” For once, Haarlep stopped the teasing at the sound of their proper name, shifting back to their usual - and much larger - form in his arms. They looked altogether more comical to still be held like a bride being carried over the threshold, “Tav’s” silk gown tearing at the seams. “I- You actually care about me?!” They almost laughed, but the furrow on his brow held their tongue. “Then…I will have to do this more often.” Raphael was about to reply, to call them impudent, but Haarlep reached up and took hold of one of his horns, the other of their hands looping around the back of his head, fingers curling through his hair as they pulled him in to a heated kiss. “It has been a while since we played in the sky like this…shall we dance, Archduke?” This time the title came not as an insult, but as a genuine mark of respect, such as the incubus could muster. The plans of the two were coming closer to fruition, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to take a moment to celebrate that together.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #haarlep #bg3 raphael #bg3 tav #fanfic #warmup drabble #short drabble

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dingus-bingus-the-simpus · 2 years

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Accismus

(yandere!Riddle Rosehearts x reader)

tw: possessive/entitled behavior, guilt tripping, unhealthy relationships, riddle is a pissbaby

wc: 0.4k

You realized early on in your friendship that Riddle’s love language was acts of service. He would never just tell you how much he appreciated you, but he would make you the most intricate study guide if you even mentioned a test you were worried about or offer to make you tea when you were feeling slightly under the weather. He never asked for anything from you, although a hug in return would make his whole face flush a shade worthy of his surname.

At first, you assumed this was simply his normal reaction to acts of comradery, no different from his praise of Trey’s baking or his blushes from Floyd’s teasing. But as time went on, you couldn’t help but feel like his fixation on you extended further. It seemed that wherever you stumbled on campus, he was never far behind, trailing after you like a lost puppy. He would always make excuses, rambling about how he just happened to be in the area, ensuring that some obscure school rule was being enforced. After a while, you stopped asking questions.

It was much worse when he couldn’t find you, anyways. You’d hear from others about his panic, passed from one Heartslabyul student to another like a dirty secret. How he would become restless, snapping at any slight infringement of the rules, pacing around the dorm’s gardens aimlessly. He seemed to be constantly teetering on the edge of overblotting again, and this time his classmates blamed you.

So when the red-haired boy showed up at the doorstep of the Ramshackle Dorm, his arms filled with a large bouquet of white laced roses, face speckled with a crimson blush, your heart squeezed in pain, knowing what you’d have to say. You knew your words would only ring hollow to the lovestruck dorm leader, if you tried to elucidate the growing poison in your relationship. But as he confessed his feelings to you, raving about how you were the only one he could truly trust in the school, his last tether to a normalcy his mother had ripped away from him, guilt settled heavily in your heart, snuffing out any words of protest. So you stood there, silently nodding along, letting him pull you into his arms as he rambled about the things he would do if he lost you, his precious rose.

#i haven't written anything in a while so this was a little warmup drabble for me #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #riddle rosehearts x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #drabbles #yandere #reader insert

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bluerose5 · 11 months

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What the Future Promises

There was something about sitting on the throne, his throne, that felt right.

Then again, maybe it was more so being there with Alistair, remaining at his side, that made all the difference in the world. They were approached on equal footing, neither one of them raised on a pedestal above the other. Both of their words carried a weight fit for their position.

Darrian's transition from Chancellor to King had been a logical shift in power, given his and Alistair's relationship, but not everyone was happy with such change.

Not that they didn't know how to deal with such opposition.

After all, a certain someone was all too willing to offer his services. Their ceremony in Rivain might have bound them all in marriage, but Zevran hardly wanted the title or power that came along with it. He left that to them, enforcing their rule from the shadows, where he worked best.

Two kings of elven blood on Ferelden's thrones, and one that stood behind them both, supporting them, even if left unseen.

Safe to say, all of Thedas was keeping a close eye on the situation unfolding in Ferelden.

It was only fitting, though, in Darrian’s eyes.

Circumstances forced Alistair and him to start their journey together during the Fifth Blight.

Now, they would forge their own path on their terms with Zevran at their side.

Whatever the future had in store for them, they would be ready for it.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #darrian tabris #alistair theirin #zevran arainai #hardened alistair #king alistair #zevwarden #zevwardenstair #aliwarden #zevistair #drabble #bluerose writes #mostly wrote this as a warmup #and to get this image written down a little

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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 years

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The Chosen One just gaslighting the people training them into thinking they’re the chosen one for different prophecies.

“You had a vision six years ago,” the wise man said. “The day the Castle fell.”

“I did have a vision then,” the Chosen One said. “There was a duck. A lake. No, it wasn’t a duck. It was a swan. A woman trapped as a swan. I need to save her!”

The group glanced at each other uneasily.

“Maybe,” the woman meant to teach them magic, “you had a-another vision? About a Demon King rising?”

“That’s crazy,” the Chosen One said even though they definitely had. “That’d be messed up if I saw that.”

“Maybe the swan was a metaphor,” the knight suggested to the other two. “Can’t visions be metaphoric?”

“You’re thinking of oracles,” the Chosen One bullshitted. “No, no, I’ve never had an oracle. I did have another vision.”

The trio leaned forward eagerly. “yes?”

“It was dark,” the Chosen One whispered. They closed their eyes. “So dark. I was in a forest. I walked and walked until I came into a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a stone. A sword was embedded in the stone.”

“Uh,” the wise man said. He pulled out a scroll and studied it. “There’s nothing here about a sword—“

The chosen one gasped, eyes flying open. “I know now what I’ve been chosen to do! I am to find the stone, pull the sword from it, and become King!”

“We have a king,” the knight said, nonplussed. “You’ve met him.”

“See, you have one now,” the Chosen One said ominously. “That’s what the sword is for.”

The knight and the mage looked to the wise man in a panic.

#Drabble #writing warmup

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wttcsms · 1 year

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Hihi i saw ur request box was open & i just couldnt resist! A big confession to make here, uhh ive been such a big fan of u and yr writings and also u were the v first fanfic blog i came across a couple years ago so yea, u literally open my third eye to a whole new world of fics👉👈 🥺

i feel like you havent written angst in a while–and bc i miss ur angsty haikyuu fics– sooo could i request post-breakup college!au with atsumu or iwai (honestly anyone who'd best fit the scenario cuz i trust ur characterization👌) abt the aftermath of the breakup, them seeing us on campus and unconsciously following us with their eyes, reschin to help out on instinct only to realize theyre no longer together, thinking about what could've been just reminisce reminisce

ahhhh im sry honestly dont know how to expand more on the idea

thank you for stealing my ficvirginity😃

pairing atsumu miya x f!reader word count 2.1k content contains exes still in love, college!au, mutual pining author's notes hi <3 i remember you (eycee, right?). don't be a stranger! you can always dm me and say hello :) thank you for the constant support. not sure if this fic is angsty enough, but i wanted yours to be the first req i do <3

“Hi, welcome in! Let me know if— Oh.”

Your voice falters, recognition and maybe even something similar to embarrassment flits across your face, and a split second later, you go back to smiling like nothing’s wrong. Like the two of you haven’t spent the better half of this month actively avoiding each other at all costs, even though the sprawling acres of the University of Tokyo suddenly feels too small. The entirety of Japan has felt too small ever since it became his mission to never cross paths with you ever again.

This mission of his started just a little over two weeks ago, on the very same day you decide to use his heart as your own punching bag. The worst part of it all, though, is the fact that he doesn’t even hold any type of contempt for you. It’s a cruel sort of joke; sometimes, Atsumu Miya feels like everything bad that happens to him is just some sort of sick punchline in a sitcom instead of real life.

Usually, when girlfriends find out their high school sweetheart is going to be a wildly successful (and rich) professional athlete, they’ll do anything in their power to hang onto him.

You decided to snip the invisible string tying the two of you together, and you did it so effortlessly, so quickly, that Atsumu had to make sure that he hadn’t been imagining the last four years of your relationship.

He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s torn between staring at you like a total creep or looking at everything in the campus bookstore but you. He settles for the former, scared that this will be his last opportunity to really look at you.

Neither of you is saying anything. It’s a Saturday and so no one else is even in the bookstore this morning, and Atsumu wants to say something, anything, but he’s never been that great at carefully picking his words, and he’s scared out of his mind that he’ll say something stupid and prove once and for all that you had been right to break up with him. Better yet, he wants you to say something. He wants you to give him a better explanation instead of the bullshit you told him in his apartment.

We just want different things.

What does that even mean? He thinks he would have shouted out that question, if only your little break up speech hadn’t caught him so off guard. Different things? The two of you wanted different things? Sure, Atsumu likes to sleep in a freezing cold apartment, and you need the room to actually be at a reasonable temperature. And maybe Atsumu has a penchant for overly fried, greasy foods when all you want (and deserve) is a fancy dinner. Maybe Atsumu wants to be at a sports store instead of browsing aisle after aisle in Sephora, but he doubts these different wants have accumulated so much that you felt you had no choice but to break his heart.

“Hey, Miya.” You say it softly, dropping the perky customer service voice you greeted him with before you turned around and realized who he was. And he flinches. He fucking visibly cringes at the way you speak to him, walking on eggshells and going back to formalities like he’s barely above a stranger to you.

Miya.

(Did you know that he wanted to make that your last name?

Do you know that he still does, even now?)

“Hey,” he replies back, curling his fingers into fists inside his pocket. He thinks his voice comes out all scratchy, like how it always sounds when you don’t use your voice nearly enough. He clears his throat awkwardly. Everything feels awkward; everything feels wrong. He says “hey”, but what he really means to say is please don’t call me Miya; you know the color of my toothbrush, you don’t have to call me Miya.

“Were you looking for something?”

You.

Subconsciously, Atsumu finds himself seeking you out. He walks by another girl on campus and almost breaks his neck with the speed he turns around to catch a whiff of the perfume wafting from her body because he swears it’s the same fragrance you favor. He walks by the building that houses all the classrooms for your specific major, even though it’s located on the opposite side of his own classes because he secretly hopes against all hope that he’ll run into you, and you’ll see him and fall in love with him again. He goes to the same restaurants the two of you frequently ate at together, and he orders your usual because you can never finish your entire meal and always have him finish off the leftovers for you (and the food is always good, but somehow it doesn’t taste the same when your utensils haven’t touched it first). And he doesn’t even need to be here, doesn’t even care enough about his stupid class to go out of his way to buy the study guide, but he knows you’ve started picking up the weekend shifts at the campus bookstore, and suddenly, he cares enough about passing to get the damn study guide.

He shrugs. “Just some stupid workbook to study for an upcoming exam, but it’s not that serious.”

“Oh. Is Dr. Furata giving you a hard time again?”

“How do you do that?” Atsumu blurts out, wanting to kick himself for giving too much of himself away. You already own every centimeter of his heart and maybe his soul. You don’t need anything else from him; he’s almost certain there’s nothing left for him to give you, but he can’t help but impulsively ask the damn question that’s been running through his mind ever since you left him behind.

Did you know that when you’re confused, your brows furrow together, and you get this adorable, endearing crinkle in between them? Do you know that he still finds that same expression as cute as he did when you still called yourself his girlfriend?

“What are you talking about?”

How can you just stand there and act like you never crushed his heart? How do you wake up in the morning and not feel like your life is missing something important, like you’ll never feel whole again? How can you keep him wrapped around your finger, and then have the audacity to not even realize it? How did you let him go so quickly?

Practicing caution, he swallows hard before clarifying, “How do you know everything?” Because if you can act like he’s just a polite acquaintance, like he’s nothing more than another fellow classmate, he can try to play pretend too. He can act like there’s not enough history between the two of you to fill up every damn textbook in this stupid store. “Yeah, Dr. Furata’s been on everyone’s ass. Somethin’ about midterm grades being worth a quarter of our overall grade.”

“Believe me, you’re not the first victim of Dr. Furata’s to come wandering in the store. I think I have a few more of the workbooks he suggested in stock. Let me go check.”

It’s instinct at this point for Atsumu to just follow you. If he uses his imagination, it’s almost like he’s back to browsing in a makeup store, walking aimlessly in every aisle, following you loyally because he’s happy to have you lead the way and he doesn’t care where he ends up, so long as you’re there with him.

But this isn’t an afternoon date with you. This is him following a bookstore employee. After you find that study guide, which is really nothing more than his flimsy excuse for seeking you out, you’re going to ask him “card or cash?”, ring him up at the register, and he’s going to walk out that door and have to act like he’s still not in love with you. All the while, you’re doing fine. You’re fine right now, and you’re going to be fine when he leaves, and you’re probably going to be fine, five years down the line, when you’re happy with someone else and Atsumu is alone because in this little hypothetical, he still hasn’t gotten over you.

He is trailing behind you in this bookstore, and your back is facing him, and he’s panicking because he doesn’t think he’s capable of not loving you.

Just two weeks ago, you knew him better than anyone else in the world, maybe even better than Osamu, perhaps even better than he knows himself. Now, you just give him a polite smile as you grab the small stool to reach the books located at the very top of the shelf.

“God, I hate the way we organize everything in the store.” You say, lightheartedly complaining. He knows you do. He knows because he’s known you for nearly a decade. The two of you have grown up together. You made this same complaint sprawled out on the couch in his apartment.

When he doesn’t reply, you look down to see if something’s the matter, only to do it too quickly that you find yourself losing your balance. Before you can come crashing to the floor, Atsumu is quick to catch you, and you pretend that his protective embrace isn’t comforting. You pretend not to notice that he’s wearing the cologne you bought him for Christmas last year, and you continue to pretend that you don’t miss him at all, that you don’t still love him.

And for a second, the two of you both pretend that you’re still with each other. That it’s perfectly okay to savor this intimate moment, that his arms wrapped around your body right now isn’t awkward in the slightest. He’s staring at you with a sort of starstruck, boylike wonder, and it’s so familiar, so sweet, because it’s the way he always used to look at you. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, and—

The loud ring! interrupts whatever moment the two of you are sharing, and you nearly jump out of his arms. You hear the distinct footsteps of another student, and you adjust your shirt before remembering where the two of you are — what the two of you are. Not a couple. Barely even friends. Just a bookstore employee and a student that needs a book. That’s all the two of you are allowed to be.

“I should probably go check up front and make sure they don’t need any help.” You tell him, biting down on your lip. “Anyway, did you need anything else, or would you like me to check you out right now?”

He blinks a few times, as if still in a daze. “Uh, yeah, sure.” The tips of his ears are flushed a light pink. “Y-yeah, I’m done here.”

The two of you practically race each other to the front of the store, and you step behind the counter to scan his workbook. He drums his fingers, looking around the store. When he’s nervous, he likes to be moving. You know this.

Just looking for an excuse to use his hands, Atsumu mindlessly picks a pack of gum off a nearby rack and slides it towards you so you can also scan it. You know you shouldn’t say it. You know it’s supposed to be a clean break. Instead, you tell him,

“Actually, if you want, I have the fruit variety flavor.”

“Huh?” This catches his attention.

You reach into one of the boxes that have just been shipped to the store, rummaging through a tiny one before revealing a shiny, new package of gum, this one advertising all the flavors based on tropical fruits. “Would you rather have this one?”

“Oh, yeah!” As if truly forgetting what the two of you actually are (exes, strangers with too much history, two people still pretending like they’re not in love), his eyes light up. “How did you kno—” He doesn’t finish the question. He knows the answer to the question.

You’re quick to finish ringing him up, the “polite strangers” illusion being completely shattered. It’s obvious, really, that there are always going to be parts of Atsumu that still live deep inside of you. You can only hope that this isn’t the case for him.

You hand him the bag, and when he grabs it from you, your fingers just barely graze each other’s. Atsumu is scared — scared that this might be the last time he ever feels your touch.

And because you’re a glutton for punishment, you find yourself telling him,

“Don’t be a stranger.”

You can’t tell who’s more devastated: you or him.

#atsumu miya x reader #miya x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #hq angst #one shot #drabble #imagine #haikyuu fanfiction #wttcsms writing warmups #this fic is so taylor coded btw #'please don't ever become a stranger's whose laugh i could recognize anywhere'#< that's literally reader n atsumu rn #wanted to leave it vague but #reader breaks up w atsumu bc they're both going in diff directions in life and she doesn't want to 'hold him back'#EVEN THOUGH ATSUMU WOULD REARRANGE HIS WHOLE LIFE FOR HER AND FOLLOW HER ANYWHERE #but she wants him to do whatever HE wants

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steddieas-shegoes · 8 months

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you are the best thing that's ever been mine

for the @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round 1 (prompt: high school or college AU) rated: T wc: 638 cw: n/a tags: established relationship, angst with a happy ending

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Being with Eddie had been easy. Two years at college, pretty much sharing a dorm unofficially, studying together whenever they weren't working their shitty jobs, annoying Eddie's roommate Gareth constantly.

But when graduation came, and real life set in, they realized quickly that what they thought was hard was nothing.

They had a small apartment on the outskirts of town, rundown and barely worthy of the rent they had to pay, but it was theirs.

Steve managed to find a job at an elementary school as a guidance counselor right after graduation, but Eddie struggled for a while. It didn't seem like anyone was hiring for a music teacher, and he started to wonder if he'd made a mistake in his degree.

He thought he'd taken a safer route than just going into the music industry, or trying to, but clearly he'd been wrong.

"Baby, we're fine. I make enough to cover what we need, we just have to be on a tight budget," Steve told him after Eddie had explained how useless he felt not contributing to their bills yet.

They were lying on the couch, Eddie tense under Steve.

"But you shouldn't have to, Steve. I'm basically the same as the spider we refuse to kill in the shower," Eddie groaned.

"No you're not. You're trying to find a job and you're going to," Steve insisted.

"And if I don't?" Eddie said, pushing Steve off of him so he could stand up and pace. "If I end up searching for a job for months or years, how long until you get sick of having to support us both? How long until you kick me out because I can't give you what you want? We can't ever have a family on just your income in this shitty apartment."

"Eds, you won't be unemployed forever. We've got time."

But Eddie didn't want to listen.

He walked over to their window that opened onto a fire escape and climbed through it.

Steve saw that it was raining, but knew Eddie wasn't going to come inside until he was ready.

If Eddie had to be in the rain, then Steve was going to be with him.

Steve joined him a moment later, cringing slightly at the cold rain instantly soaking his clothes.

"You remember our senior year, when I was convinced I'd have to drop out because my social work for students professor hated me? I cried every night for three weeks about his class and his attitude. I was awful. But you listened to it all, held me through it all, helped me study for tests and prepare for my final presentation. You remember what you told me the day of the final?" Steve asked, keeping some distance between them while he spoke.

Eddie shook his head.

"You said that one hard class wasn't going to keep me from being what students need. You told me that I was going to be fine because I already cared about kids I don't even know yet, and anyone who couldn't see that was an idiot. And you told me you loved me for the first time."

Eddie looked over at him, brows furrowed, hair dripping wet from the rain.

"You loved me through a tough schedule, and being broke, and complaining about someone who ultimately didn't matter. You loved me when I was an asshole to you and everyone, you loved me when it was hard. Now it's my turn, okay? Let me love you through it all."

Eddie didn't answer for a moment, but then he leaned in and kissed Steve's forehead gently.

"I never thought I'd have someone who loved me like this. You're the best part of my life, you know that?"

"And you're mine," Steve replied, kissing him on the lips as the rain continued to fall.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #steddieholidaydrabbles #warmup round #college au

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bansenshukai · 1 year

Text

while we're on the snips n drabbles topic, here's a little one from a while back:

Tobirama raised an eyebrow. “I assumed you did not enjoy putting your mouth on another man out of a misguided notion rooted in your internalized homophobia, or perhaps your bull-headed ideas about shinobi dominance.”

Madara smiled at him. It was not a pleasant smile– most of them weren’t.

“Shows what you know, Senju. Why don’t we play a game?”

His brows furrowed. “A game?”

“A challenge,” Madara corrected, knowing full well that Tobirama would not back down from a challenge issued by him. “I’ll make it easy for you. I dislike my hair getting in the way, so as long as you hold it up I will suck your cock. Let go, and I stop.”

Tobirama certainly wasn’t going to say no to something like that, and in a few minutes they were situated in the bedroom, Madara kneeling between his knees and their clothing long gone.

He raked his fingers through Madara’s coarse strands, gathering them into a rough ponytail, and stopped for a minute to admire the sight of Madara with his unruly mane raked back. One would think that taming Madara’s hair would make him look softer, or more refined, but pulling the hair away from his face only brought out the sharpness of his cheekbones and the hungry, predatory look of his eyes.

Madara bent his head down, considering the jut of Tobirama’s erection.

“Hm. Eager, are we?”

“Oh yes, because having my lover’s head by my cock, ready to put it in his mouth is such an unappealing sight.”

Madara was not very good at sucking cock. Which was not a surprise really– lack of experience would do that to anyone, and he doubted that Madara would have done something so trite as research. What was actually surprising was how gut-wrenchingly arousing it was.

Madara’s tongue curled inexpertly around the head of his cock, licking up the precum drooling from his rock-hard erection too harshly, his sharp eyes pinning Tobirama down without a single blink– the dangerous stare of a wild animal, maybe– and Tobirama gasped and curled over on himself.

The eyes narrowed in satisfaction, and Madara took more of his cock into his mouth, working up and down the shaft with too much pressure. It was still good anyway. He thought he should close his eyes– Madara’s gaze was too intense, cutting through all the veils he had hung up even without the help of the Sharingan– only he couldn’t make himself do it. It had only been a few minutes but he felt his balls tighten in warning; he was so close to spilling himself inside Madara’s mouth– he wanted it, needed to spurt into that hungry wet warmth and cum, to come unstrung all at once. Pleasure coiled up in the base of his spine, unspooling every knot of tension and he was gasping and swearing– and unthinkingly his hand dropped away from Madara’s head, and Madara pulled off all at once.

“Goddamn you son of a bitch–”

Madara carelessly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirked. “A challenge is a challenge, Tobirama. That’s something we’ve always agreed on.”

#madatobi #drabble #i write lots of tiny things without the intention of going anywhere just as warmups or for fun #as well as of course longer fics but those I mostly post on ao3

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