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rockingrobin69 · 7 months

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Wildly

“I have this—dream,” Harry started, mouth so dry he had to stop, swallow a little helplessly. Draco’s grey eyes, expectant: “Never mind.”

“What? Come on, spit it out.”

“Nothing. It’s silly.”

A shove to his shoulder. “You’re silly. And it’s your turn, so, you have to tell me anyway.”

With a lopsided grin and his chest all fluttering, “You’ll laugh.”

“I never laugh. It’s one of the core Malfoy Values: no speaking while chewing, always pace instead of run, and under no circumstances, do not laugh.”

Harry rolled his eyes, feeling lightheaded with it. Draco’s feet tucked under his thigh, leaning against the arm of Harry’s sofa like he belongs there, like there’s no place else he could be. Happiness was a warm trickle running in his belly, this soft thing he was scared to move for fear of disturbing.

Still, breathed in, felt his chest go wide. Made himself open his mouth. “It’s—when we’re older. And we’ve been, erm, together, for a while. Your hair’s gone all white,” (“excuse you!”), “all silver, I mean, and we’re, y’know, old. And we have this garden.”

Braved a look up. Draco’s face was alight, something so tender it robbed Harry of words, of air. Taking his hand, overcome.

“A garden,” Draco said, not a whisper but something close. “That sounds lovely.”

“And we—let it grow wild. With trees and weeds and flowers. And every morning, if the weather’s nice, we go outside and have our tea there.”

Draco’s fingers squeezed his. “We could have a porch with a roof. So we’re not entirely weather-dependant.”

Not saying, there are charms to repel the rain, or, we live in Britain, for crying out loud. Serious, so seriously looking into Harry’s eyes, like he could see it too, like he wanted this.

“And—I don’t know. Maybe a bird feeder or a pond. And we sit very quietly in the mornings and wait for the animals, birds or frogs or squirrels or foxes. And we’re old, and, happy? That’s… it’s silly.”

“You’re silly,” Draco said again, shaking his head with his eyebrows arched and fond. “The silliest creature of all. Harry, this isn’t a dream. We’ll have all this.”

“How—” swallowing, swallowing, “how can you say that. We’ve only been… we’re so new at this. And life can, we know it can.”

Draco shook his head, brought Harry’s hand up for a kiss. “I know,” he said, “because I’ll do whatever it fucking takes, Potter, to give you exactly this. The garden and the birds and the foxes. The life you want, all of it, exactly it. Do you have any idea how rotten I’ll spoil you?”

“Stop—” shoulders up, trying to scramble away from his kisses, but the Draco-attack was relentless and dauntless and climbing all over him on the sofa, nibbling his cheek, the edge of his nose, his eyebrow, “Draco, ha, fuck, stop!”

“Never,” with a tone so certain and so deep Harry believed it immediately, started laughing, wiping his face. “Harry, I will never stop. Get that in your gorgeous little head right now: I will never, ever stop, and I’ll make sure that you’re happy, that you’re so happy, that you’re well and bloody delirious till the end of time, do you hear me?”

“Okay!” yelling, helpless, “okay, okay, I hear you. Now get off, you menace, you’re crushing me and it’s far too hot and.” Taking Draco’s face in his hands, steadying it through the blurriness. “You ridiculous creature,” with so much affection it was battering his insides, it was painful.

“I’m the ridiculous one,” Draco huffed. “You’re sitting here thinking I’ll let you go without a single dream you can name. Harry…”

“Okay,” laughing, still helpless. “I got it. You’ll take care of me.”

“Now he bloody gets it.”

His thumb traced Draco’s jawline, rested against his pink bottom lip. “You’ll give me my garden,” he said carefully.

“With the birdfeeder and the pond.”

“And the tea, and the porch.” And forever, Harry didn’t say.

And forever, Draco smiled. “All of it.”

“Fine. You… fine. I guess I’ll just have to take it and be happy.”

“Now, that sounds like a plan,” Draco smirked, leaning into his palm. “Can we kiss already, or are you still hell-bent on being a sap?”

“I’m the—you perfect, ridiculous creature,” crushing their faces together and shaking with it. “If I recall correctly, now it’s your turn, and I won’t let you try and skip it with slyness and trickery.”

“Trickery,” Draco’s eyes rolled, so close it was only the one grey blob.

Harry couldn’t breathe. “Shut up. Shut up and tell me. You think you’re the only one who… if you’ll make me happy I’ll make you bloody—ecstatic.”

“Always a competition with that man,” but he sighed, a soft thing, and leaned his forehead against Harry’s. “You want to know? You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Well.” Blinked, the movement a gentle tap on Harry’s cheeks. “I have this dream. When we’re older. And we have a garden, and we drink a lot of tea, and you’re so, so, so happy.”

“Come—here,” weakly, “with your fucking, ugh, just kiss me, please,” and Draco did, fire-wild, roasting hot and just as bright.

Harry didn’t know how to tell him he was, already. Happy. So he kissed him, and kissed him, and hoped it was enough.

(Flufftober day 7. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

#literally could not wait posting this one #drarry fic #flufftober2023 #prompt: porch swing #no swing but - well - well - well #SO MUCH joy. so much soft. so much delirious happiness #900 words #rockingrobin69

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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 11 months

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based on this

He’s halfway through the portrait to the common room when someone calls his name.

“Weasley.”

Ron pauses. It’s not that he’s not used to being stopped (though typically it was proceeded by a sharp Mister); it’s that he’s not used to being stopped by this bloke. It takes him a full minute to look around. After all, Ginny might be nearby.

But there’s no one. She’s not here. Ron is. The reality of what’s happening is even more mind-boggling when he turns around, brows furrowed and says, “Yeah, Riddle?”

Tom Riddle is what Ron can only call an Apex Slytherin—top of the food chain, probably drinks the blood of innocents out of solid gold goblets, professor’s favourite, sneaky and conniving and outrageously good-looking.

It pains him to admit that last part, but game recognises game.

And there he is, slightly up the hall. Standing back straight, tie straight, head-boy pin straight, announcing Ron’s name. What in Merlin’s name is going on?

“Have you seen Potter?” The way Riddle asks questions is like how his mum asks questions. It’s with that eerie knowing, like they already have a script of what you’re going to say and expect you to say it exactly as written or face the consequences of lying.

But he’s pretty sure Riddle won’t punish him with no quidditch or send him to his room for the evening, so Ron shrugs. “I dunno. Harry’s probably in the dorms.”

Riddle sighs, “Yes,” and sounds ever put-upon. It only confirms Ron’s working theory of an invisible script. “I would like to speak with him,” he continues.

They stare blankly at each other.

...Is he meant to say something? If Riddle wants to speak to Harry, he can speak to him. What’s this have to do with Ron?

It goes on until he nods slowly, hoping that’ll make Riddle spell things out a little clearer. Eventually, Riddle closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, “Fetch him for me.”

It’s definitely not a question. Ron can hear absolutely zero question in Riddle’s tone of voice.

Now, he may not like the guy, but he’s not stupid enough to risk pissing him off. “Uh, sure? Give me a minute.”

When Riddle nods, Ron finally crosses the frame. Then he does something he’s never had to do in all seven years of his Hogwarts life; he watches and waits for the portrait to shut entirely. Just in case.

The common room is always crowded after dinner, and today is no different. It takes him longer than ever to make his way through the room, dodging questions and pranks and careless remarks—and those are just from Ginny. Though, he thinks it probably hasn’t been that long at all.

…But there’s a concerning weight pressing against the back of his skull, burning a hole into his brain. He swears it’s Riddle’s anger rising as the minutes pass. Or maybe he’s just been cursed. He did turn his back on Riddle for a second, after all. That’s plenty of time to horrifically maim Ron with an undetectable curse that slowly rends him into a vegetable…

Finding Harry is a relief he hasn’t felt since making the quidditch team.

However, it seems Harry’s in a bit of a mood. He’s lying face down on his bed, glasses still on, robes a mess. Ron’s not sure what’s happened to cause this, but he’s got a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with tall, dark, and edge-lordy out in the hallway.

Well. Ron’s made it this far. So even though Harry can’t see him, he thumbs over his shoulder roughly to where Riddle is waiting and says, “Hey, Harry. Someone was asking for you or something-”

“Tell them I’m dead,” immediately comes muffled out of the Harry-shaped lump before he could finish.

And Ron… Nah, he’s not gonna argue. “Uh...�� It takes him all of three seconds to lock in on a plan. “Alright?”

He’s out of the dorm and into the common room in a flash. It takes a few minutes to convince Ginny, but when she hears it’s for Harry’s sake, she’s happy to drop everything. And ultimately, Ron returns to Tom Riddle a new man.

Riddle quickly looks him up and down, most likely cataloguing the obvious lack of Harry along with everything else. The first crack in his polished veneer is the small line between his brows.

“Weasley...” he starts and stops. Stares a few moments longer as if debating whether the answer to his next question is important enough to hear and gives in, “What happened to you?”

Internally Ron thanks the Slytherin learned temptation to have all the information possible. Externally Ron heaves and sniffles. A few more tears slip down his face, and his voice cracks for good measure as he says, “Harry’s died.”

The second crack is a slight frown that tugs at Riddle’s lips. “I just spoke to Potter before dinner. He was perfectly fine.”

"Yeah, well," Ron prepared for this, “it’s happened all of a sudden.” He wheezes, “He fell off his broom during a pickup round of quidditch. It was so fast. He plummeted before anyone could get their wands out to stop him-" he shudders and holds his hand to his mouth.

So overwhelmed he must look (thanks, Ginny) during this fake dramatised retelling of Harry’s untimely death because Riddle’s face turns white as a sheet. It’s the most emotion Ron’s ever seen on him.

For a moment, just a small moment, Ron wonders if this is a bad idea.

And then Riddle is turning about face and marching down the hall, going who knows where to do who knows what. It’s plenty of time for Ron to shrug off the worry and wipe away the fake tears.

Too late now.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #my fic #part one #pov: ron #900 words #this is horrible but i laughed and i hope you will too #part two to come soon (hopefully)#potential title:#fic: in loving memory

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samlacy · 10 months

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Miles and Gwen baking together, it goes miserable wrong.. but its cute!

remember : teens kissing ≠ sexual, so just bc Miles and Gwen kiss (or I would rather say a peck on the lips) DOESN'T MEAN IM SEXUALIZING THEM.

Miles and Gwen are in the same reality and aren't spider(wo)man or anything.

words : 0.9k

☆☆☆☆☆

Miles was in front of Gwen's apartment, not-so-ready to knock on her door. He was reading the "welcome!" carpet for the 6th time now. He felt nervous, which made his heart beat fast.

He tried motivating himself, which worked for a few seconds, enough to make him knock on the door. Suddenly he felt regret wash through him. He kicked the small rock on the side of the door, which oddly landed in the building.

The door opened a pair of eyes peaked through the crack. It was Gwen's, Miles knew them from anywhere, plus he had to for the thousand of sketches he did of her. They were blue and shined through his soul.

She opened the door fully after noticing it's miles. She waved at him and greeted him inside. Miles sent an awkward smile and took of his Jordan's, putting them on the small shelf they had for the shoes. He hang his jacket right over it.

Gwen bounced happily, sneaking herself behind miles to close his eyes with her hands. That of course took Miles off guard, but he played along with it.

"Where are you leading me?" Miles dared to speak as she slowly told him how to move and when to turn around a corner.

"It's a secret!" she giggled as she made Miles turn one more time. She told him to close his own eyes and not to peak.

When she was ready, she spoke up "Okay, you can open them now!"

Miles did so, and his mouth half opened. God she was so pretty. Gwen had a hello kitty themed apron on, it had two small pink ribbons on the front where her straps are. Miles saw the other Apron in her hands, it was Badtz-maru themed. Technically they were matching! It was totally adorable, plus he had black ribbons!!

Other than the fact Gwen was totally stunning, he saw the self made dough on the counter with some ingredients. At that point, he knew they were gonna bake something together.

"Do you like it?" Gwen asks with a small smile planted on her face.

"Oh, I love it!" Miles answers, hearts almost forming in his eyes as he looks at her when she claps from the answer.

"Great! I decided that we should bake this recipe I found in this book", she immediatly turned to the sweets recipe book, flipping over the pages as she finally spotted it and went up to show miles, when he was wrapping the apron around his waist.

"That sounds nice! Let's start then", he smiled as he followed Gwen's moves. She puts the book down as she takes a ball of the dough and flattens it with her hand.

Miles copied it, he took a piece of dough, rolled it and pressed on it. The ball was completely flat compared to Gwen's half flatten ball.

Gwen held back a laugh as she just made him re-do it. Miles was completely confused as he thought it was supposed to be like that.

After another try and another one. He finally got it! With a lot of proud he showed it to Gwen, which she smiled at.

Not expected, she grabbed the side of his faces and pecked him on the lips.

She parted away with a way wider smile now and saw how Miles eyes widened and his cheeks started heating up.

Miles took a little to register what just happend, till he grabbed her waist and kissed her this time, now making Gwen blush as hard as he did.

Out of slight frustration she hit him in the chest part lightly and started giggling. Miles studied her face structure, counting her freckles. The sun peaking out of the window directly hit her face, which made her glow even more.

"Okay, let's focus now!" she warns him as she goes to the cabinet to take an ovenplate out for the small cookies. She placed it on the counter, and started placing the formed doughs on it. Gwanda waited till Miles was also ready so they can start decorating them.

She had small edible objects, sprinkles, chocolate chips and some food colour. Miles was shocked when he saw a little puppy looking sprinkle, ready to use it on his dough. Gwen admired his happiness, clearly nothing could make her happier than seeing Miles smile.

Gwanda decorated 3 of her cookies. The first one was formed like a cat and had a bow on one ear, looking clearly like hello kitty! The second one was plain, just chocolate chip cookie with some sprinkles on it. But the third really seemed like it reminded her of miles. It was a silly cat with red stripes all over it.

"That looks so weird" Miles commented as he giggled at all the designs. As if his was any better!

"You have no right to talk, your cat looks like it got ran over five times", Gwanda uttered, but immediatly laughed out loud as she saw how Miles jaw dropped and his eyes looked at his cat, kinda giving Gwanda a point for that.

"It's not that bad", he mumbled, slightly pouting as he looked down on it. His cat's one ear was bigger than the other while the nose was misplaced. In total, it was a disaster.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say", she chuckled once again.

(Idk how to continue this, but I hope you enjoyed!!)

#mcu fandom #mcu fanfiction #miles x gwen #miles morales #gwen stacy #soft fic #fluff #baking #cookies #dough #900 words #imagine #atsv headcanons #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse

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rhubarbrambles · 6 months

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uhhhhh i wrote a fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50943265/chapters/128700715

chapter 1 of... who knows! as many as i feel like. 1 is a bit short (900 words) but it felt like the right length. here u go mariver enjoyers. Aangst!

#shiver splatoon #shiver hohojiro #marie splatoon #marie cuttlefish #mariver #marie x shiver #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #my writing #900 words

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spoonietimelordy · 12 days

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I refuse to work in the train on Tuesday and Wednesday, so I'm having to finish my essay tomorrow. 2 days straight of writing and refusing to spend time with friends, yeaaaah *sarcasm*

#charlie is rambling #900 words #still 2k to go

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tree-of-life-and-death · 10 months

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"The honored grandmother of Louheze shared her prophecies with me by spinning them in the petals of her lotuses."

This is the kind of fun fact which will make my best friend go nuts. He also wants me to work in the dragon/god that experiences time backwards but for now he has to deal with just the one, who is all powerful but only cares about lotuses.

#autistic queen tbh #writing #my writing #wip: drowned dragon bk 3 #oc: jiang yanmo haizi #oc: lorelei #oc: grandmother miao shou #one sentence a day out of #900 words

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milky-aeons · 3 months

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𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄

౨ৎ . . . he's always been cocky. It was that self-righteous bravado JEAN KIRSCHTEIN had which drew you towards him in the first place, like a moth to flame, too curious to look away. It was your own damn fault for getting burned.

warnings: swearing, sexual content, emotional dysregulation, reader is bad at feelings, Jean is no better, enemies to lovers, mdni, w.c 3.9k

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐗𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, at first.

A mindless curiosity. If you were being honest, what really piqued your initial interest in Jean Kirschtein was that ridiculous way he wore his hair.

At least, that was what you liked to tell yourself. On those nights where his golden eyes wouldn't leave your mind while you tossed and turned. Feeling your body heat, your skin stretching too taut across your bones, aching.

It had morphed into something more mind consuming, more tangible, at a speed and stealth you couldn't keep up with. You were always a woman who liked to have a decent reign on her emotions. In a world like this, where you had all been thrown into war and shattered beyond repair, it took only the strong to pick themselves back up and keep going. For so long, that had been your only objective. To keep moving. To never stop, to make it to the other side.

And here you were. The Rumbling had decimated over eighty-percent of the world's population, was the number plastered across every newspaper in Eldia. You had made it. There was no reason to push it all away now in favour of those survival instincts. And in its wake, all your thoughts left untouched, those feelings left unfelt, came roaring up to the surface with a one sure goal of swallowing you whole.

You were going insane.

The first time you had saw him since the War broke out, you almost did not recognise him. Standing there at a newspaper stall at such towering height. He rose above any other male around him.

When you were teenagers, you used to delight in the blush that raced across his cheeks when you teased him about his silly undercut, how it reminded you of the mane of a horse. He would splutter, like a wounded thing, and shout at you in a high, offended voice. You would laugh, and laugh, until his tanned skin coloured the same shade as the roses you collected in your basket.

Back then, you were just an ordinary towns girl, making fun of a trainee soldier because you thought them all the same. Stuck up, boorish, common things for a youth to entertain. You never knew about the frequent encounters you would soon find yourself with the soldier who graduated in the 104th's Top Ten. Who, despite everything he boasted, joined ranks with the Survey Corps and ventured where you could only hope to dream. Who would bump into you on quiet, serene nights as you returned from the flower fields, and offer you a suave smile.

"Never thought I'd see you again. You're still goin' round with those flowers in your basket, huh?"

"Indeed, I am. Would you like me to fashion you a flower crown? It would do well to hide that ridiculous haircut you seem to still wear."

The boat rocked against the lull of the waves. Your vase skidded across the wooden worktop, and you gasped, holding it in place.

You had become distracted, again.

Being one of the best florists within all three walls, and after taking up the family business as your father's prodigy, you were not surprised when a group of militants showed up at your studio a few days hence. Informing you of a campaign to visit the nation of Marley, and that your services would be of great use. Many ceremonies, they had said, a great many. We could use a florist's touch such as you.

And that was the day you saw him again. At the newspaper stand. His hair was longer, his eyes sharp and always cunning. From your workroom here on the boat destined for Marley, you were certain the smooth baritone of his voice had become one with the walls at this point, you seemed so fixated on it.

Insane. That man was driving you insane.

Huffing, you picked up a smooth satin ribbon from your sewing box and fashioned it around the bouquet you had taken longer than usual to put together. The first of many you had been asked to create for a cordial tea that was scheduled for when you first arrived there. Bittersweet, for truth, Calla Lily, to show justice, sharp pops of colour from Gladioli, for strength of their new nations. You sat back in your chair and regarded the arrangement.

It was the need to speak to the Commander about the debrief of events that sent you standing from your chair and meandering down the ships hallways in search of your company. It was not because the soft tongues of pollen from the lilies were just the same shade as his watchful, watchful eyes.

"Excuse me," You spoke after knocking on the door of the main cabin. Armin Arlert's cordial tone beckoned you inside.

All of the main players of Paradis' military were gathered around a small tea service; the Commander and his partner, Annie Leonhart, along with the strong presence of Reiner Braun, sitting at the round table. Armin smiled warmly at you when you introduced yourself into the room with a small bow.

He, was furiously fixing his long hair in the reflection of a wall mirror in the corner of your vision. You refused to look his way. Out of sheer stubbornness, you would not. To prove something to yourself, you would aptly ignore the soldier.

Yet you did notice how his comb suddenly froze in mid air when you entered the room.

"Miss [Name]," Armin greeted. "Can we help you with anything? Is everything to your liking?"

"Everything is just perfect, Commander." You said, smiling warmly. "I have come to tell you that I... have been within two minds about what flowers I should use for our opening ceremony. Would strength imply hostility to the already wounded Marley nation, if I were to use Galdioli?"

Armin tilted his head to the side, his golden hair sliding across his forehead. "Hm. No, I think it's good to be a bit bold, actually. I'll trust your judgement on it, [Name]."

You were surprised that you had asked such a convincing question, after coming to the cabin on a shaky basis. Feeling his eyes on you through the mirror, your cheeks pulled into a tight smile, and you were just about to thank the Commander, when—

"All this talk about flower crap, what ones to use, what ones to stick in your hair," Jean Kirschtein's voice piqued up, and you roiled at the way it slinked across your skin, how it called all your senses to high alert. He chuckled in a smooth timbre. "Really, [Name], you haven't changed a bit."

Stiffly, you slowly turned your posture until you could fully face the soldier in the corner of the room. He had gone back to his task of combing those auburn locks to sit neatly swept, his eyes not looking at you.

Connie Springer, who had previously been leaning out of the cabin window, turned to his comrade with an accusing face. "Says the guy who's been fixin' his damn hair the last hour. What are you even doin' that for, huh?"

In his reflection, you saw how Jean's lips stretched into a cheeky, heart-breaking smirk. It made the flutter of your pulse hum erratically, made every sharp remark you wanted to throw at him bottom out from your mind.

"Because," Jean boasted. "I gotta look good for all the Marley ladies we're gonna bump into, don't I?"

And just like that, your heartbeat stilled in your chest.

It hadn't occurred to you until then, how acutely tangible that feeling inside you had become for the golden-eyed soldier. When it had made that shift from curiously interested to all-encompassing, ravaging, when it had become a need of yours to have him in every way you could. And standing there in the doorway of that small cabin, on that boat destined for Marley, you had felt the weight drop deep against your shoulders.

You were in love with Jean Kirschtein.

It was a barrage of emotions, one coming in torrents after the other. Shock. Longing. A foolish, giddy elation. And then; anger. Brewing, boiling, furious anger.

You were in love with Jean Kirschtein.

"Miss [Name]?" Armin called you softly, his tone edged with concern. You blinked, coming back into the room, only to realise that every pair of eyes were gazing at you curiously. "Are you feeling okay?" He ebbed.

An impressive reign on your emotions you had, indeed. But these emotions were never there before — and you had realised that, all this time, this is what had been trying to rise up and swallow you down. Yet anger, you were familiar with anger, you could shield yourself with that and use it to escape, just like you have always done.

"Yes—Yes, I am quite alright," You smiled, but it was razor-sharp. Then, directing it at him, the man of all your desires, you said, "I have heard there are some interesting technologies in Marley, Kirschtein. One of them namely being the light camera. Perhaps, you should ask them to take a photo of your face, so you can stare at it as much as you want."

Jean's honey eyes went wide. Connie coughed, which turned into a deep throng of laughter that had him falling from the window and into a chair. Perhaps his comrades had joined in on the chortling too, but you did not stay long enough to find out. The moment the sharp words left your tongue, you had whirled around, shutting the cabin door behind you.

The scent of the Calla Lilies were sweet and cloying, and even as you cradled your face in your shielding hands, their pollen still found a way to reach you. Dizzying, half-maddening, just like your thoughts as they spun without mercy in your mind.

You loosed a breath and leaned up so your hands, still clasped, pressed against your mouth. You could feel each pound of your heart, as if it were a hummingbird trapped in its cage within your chest. Any moment now, you were sure it would burst free and fly far, far away. You wished it would. In fact, you wished you yourself could just burst into a thousand little pieces and soar through the cabin window and be scattered within the waves if it meant you did not have to feel like this.

Hot. Angry. Yet scared, upset, mortified at yourself and how you had exploded at him. He—Jean, he did not deserve such remarks. He did not deserve how you had taken your insecurities and made them into swords to fling back at him. Of course, you knew this, and that rational tender part of you wished to corner him in some private area of the ship and apologise. Another part warred with that thought, wishing to grab him by the lapels of his brown suit and shake him back and forth, screaming, furious that he was eliciting such feelings from you.

And yet, a smaller side of you, a dangerous, heated area of your heart also wanted to grab hold of his lapels, but only to rip and rend them from his body. Exposing his smooth, strong flesh that he held himself so proudly with underneath—

You stood up with the intention to pace around your room until you could will yourself to calm down.

That was when you heard the thundering footsteps outside.

They were quick. They were determined, rapping against the wooden floorboards that connected all corners of the ship. Startled, you felt every inch of you still, your senses on sudden high alert. They were close by. Were they coming from—?

The door to your work room suddenly flew open, the force of it strong enough to crack the door against the wall as it did so. And there he stood on the other side of it in all his maddening glory, his large hand outstretched from where he had impacted, his shoulders moving up and down with effort. Before you could even protest, Jean had invited himself into your quarters and slammed the door behind him.

His eyes, wild and stern, found you and locked you in place. Rudely, he jutted his finger in your direction and spat, "Just what the hell is your problem, huh?"

So taken aback at the sudden intrusion of the man you had just been agonising over now standing here, panting and furious in your bedroom — it had taken a second for your mind to really catch up. But when it did, your first reaction was obvious defence, causing you to straighten your spine and gawk at him.

"I beg your—!"

"Oh, don't fuck with me, [Name]. I think it's time we sat down and had this damn conversation." Jean snarled, the muscles in his cheek jumping as he spoke. "Ever since we were kids, you've had this weird hate against me, and I've never understood why. The hell have I ever done to you, hah?"

Heat was quick to rise up the column of your exposed neck and onto your cheeks. He was angry, you could see it in the way his eyes blazed, his broad shoulders bunched and tight. You mirrored him, your eyebrows knotting at what he had just said.

Hate him?

"Don't be dramatic, Kirschtein. I've never—!"

"Oh yeah?" He goaded, his expression mocking. "Bullshit. What was that back there, then? Or yesterday? Or at the newspaper stall before we left? Is that your weird sycophant way of being nice, or are we just living in a backwards world all of a sudden and I didn't get the memo?"

"We've always mocked each other, that doesn't mean I hate you—!"

"Well you damn well make it believable, sweetheart—"

"Will you please, just, calm down for a moment—"

"And you've been more prickly than usual, these days! Getting all riled up over things you usually don't, hell—you won't even fuckin' look at me anymore!"

"Well—that—that—!"

"If I've fucking done somethin' to ya, have a damn back bone and say it to me!"

"Jean—"

"And another thing—!"

"For the love of the Walls, it is because I am in love with you, you foolish man!"

The silence that cut into your argument was so deafening, you could almost hear it ringing in your ears.

Whatever angry words were about to leave Jean's open mouth died on his tongue. It almost looked as if they had been forced right back down his throat, he looked so strangled for air.

None of you dared say a thing. The only sounds that existed within the room was the echo of your laboured, angry breaths, mingling with the sudden inhale of air he took that expanded his chest. He moved his mouth, as if to say something, but nothing came out. His dark brows knitted together. He opened his mouth again.

"What... did you just say?"

It was like a bucket of water had been decanted over your head, shocking you into realising what had passed from your lips. You stood there, dumbfounded, exposed, watching the emotions play across his face. The anger melting into shock, which bled into a distortedly humorous confusion.

He took a step forward, and asked again, "Oi, what was that last thing... you just said?"

"Nothing." You bared your teeth at him. "I said nothing. Get out."

He was eating up the small distance that existed between you two until he reduced it to that of a few steps. On his face there was an expression you couldn't decipher, could not sift through the emotions which held it together. Perhaps the uncertainty of it was what sent you retreating until your back hit the far wall of your bedroom. Perhaps it was the shattering of your defences, your walls you kept up so effortlessly, that fuelled the glare you threw his way when you craned up to see him.

When you saw something simmering in the eyes that haunted you in the deepest, darkest hours of the night, you thought — perhaps it was the realisation between the two of you, that the shift from fun to tangible had taken place long, long ago.

"Leave, Kirschtein." You whispered, but it came out hollow, broken.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning down so you shared breath. "Do you want me to?"

Every aspect of him invaded your senses, made it so frustratingly hard to think, to breathe. With him so close, barely millimetres from brushing your nose with his own as he levelled your faces, you could see the smatter of freckles on his high cheekbones. Could breathe in his scent of musk and sea breeze, quickening your breaths, your pulse. Your fingers clawed into the wood behind, restraining yourself from reaching out to him. Because you were afraid that if you did touch him, that you would never be able to stop.

He shifted to press his hand to the side of your head.

"Do you," Jean murmured, whispering so as only you could hear. "Want me to leave, [Name]?"

Instinct was roaring at you to press into him, crying for a release to an ache deep within your belly that curled low and heady.

Insane. He had already drove you insane.

"Damn you, Kirschtein." You hissed, before reaching up to fist your hands into his stupidly fixed hair and crashing your lips with his.

There was a moment of surprise on his part, as if he wasn't expecting you to be so bold. His lips remained frozen underneath your own, unyielding, a perfect statue of human discomposure. Jean, however, was a never a man who was slow to adapt to any situation, give it in the midst of battle or when the woman he has been pining after for years — who, he was convinced, hated his guts — had decided to smash their lips together.

And this sound escaped from the soldier. Akin to that of a wounded animal, a tortured soul, it rumbled down your throat and you swallowed it greedily. Jean's hand flew to cradle the side of your face, pushing back against your kiss, his fingers steepling into your hair and craning your neck back. Your shared kiss started off as something chaste and unsure — releasing each other before coming back for longer, scared to stop for too long lest they woke up and realised it was all a dream.

Jean grew impatient, he grew desperate for you. In one movement he had snaked his hand behind the small of your back and hoisted you against him — almost short-circuiting at the feel of your body pressed so close, like he had thought about so damn frequently. Every time you passed him, every time he watched the strong swish of your hips as you walked through the market on a sunny afternoon. He'd bite his lip, he'd put his fist in his mouth, anything to distract himself.

But this — right here, right now. This couldn't be real.

And yet, he wanted more. He needed more, he needed you.

A moan tore up your throat when he tilted your head just right to deepen the kiss, his large hand fitting to the back of your neck. You felt his tongue explore your mouth, eager and willing, so ravaged at tasting every part of you. It occured to you that you needed his tongue on other areas of your body. Between your breasts, your thighs, you needed to fist your hand in his hair and tell him where to go.

You let out a small shriek when he suddenly hooked two hands underneath your thighs and hoisted you up against the cabin wall.

The ship rocked as you clawed at one another, unravelling folds of clothing and facets of bravado until you were just two souls, two humans, who had survived it all and were allowed to live, without fearing that tomorrow could be the last. He had fisted the ribbons of your working dress in his hands and ripped them in one pull. You gasped when the air slid across your smooth skin, now exposed, hidden behind nothing but a camisole that peaked where your taut nipples were.

Suddenly, Jean paused. He stared at you as if he were seeing you again for the very first time.

"Fuck," He gasped, holding you tighter, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your sensitive thighs. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm—do you—?"

You grabbed the knot of his tie and pulled him back into you, kissing him with a wild, chaotic passion that caused him to unfold underneath your fingertips.

It was in that chaos that he held you up fluidly to his body and walked you over so he could splay you against the work table — where the lilies and gladioli and bittersweets lay. He had shoved them somewhere off to the side, muttering something about stupid damn flowers and how they were always in his way.

And you had laughed. In that way which Jean secretly adored, as it upturned your eyes and made them crease at the sides. Like little curving moons in the night sky.

He shucked off his suit pants in a flurry of clumsy movements, palming at your breasts hungrily as he did so. You were driving him half mad with how good you looked, you smelled — fresh daisies and honey, intoxicating him, making his head spin. He splayed his entire hand onto your stomach and asked;

"You sure?"

Something broke inside of you at his vulnerable expression, always the gentleman. You sucked you lip between your teeth and nodded your head, adding, "I believe I will go insane if I cannot have you."

"Well, that makes fuckin' two of us."

The first stroke of him inside you was incomprehensible.

The second ignited your nerve endings and made you bow up and off of the desk, pulling you taut like a bow string and releasing you when he pulled back. There was something harmonious in the ryhtmn you two found, Jean keeping a hand on your stomach while he pushed into you hard and fast. At one moment, he lifted your leg underneath the knee and spread you wider, groaning ferociously as he buried to the hilt.

He kept going until he had fractured your universe. Until the little spots in your vision were like constellations. He was placing tender kisses along your body when you came back down to him, so raptured by pleasure it was hard to move. You could feel the pulse of him still inside you and he too, rode his release.

He swept your hair from your shining forehead and placed a long, lingering kiss.

"I said," You panted, leaning up to nip at his bottom lip. Oh, but you will have him again, and again, and again, until you made no use of your legs and the boat docked on Marley. Perhaps you would not even leave this room. Perhaps they would have no flowers for their ceremonies, after all. "That I dislike your hair even more that way, I'll have you know."

Jean's honey coloured eyes — dazed with pleasure — flickered to you when you said those words. Then, he chuckled, and you felt it vibrate against your chest and deep within your heart — where he had been, all this time.

He leaned down to nuzzle into the crook of your neck and said, "I love you too, idiot."

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein x reader #this was is so self indulgent ehe #also??? sat down to write like 900 words holy shit #this became a whole passion project #jean kirsten x reader #jean kirstein x reader #🪄— milky writes #divider by fireflygraphics!#‼️ — spoilers #💓 — thump

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denpa-dere · 6 months

Note

prompt 10 for luci!!!

Prompt: “What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?” with Lucifer

Warnings: Alcohol/Drinking

___

Okay, so, maybe you two had formed the bad habit of egging each other on. Not that he'd ever admit to letting anyone, let alone some little human, get under his skin and sway his judgment. No. He was Lucifer, first-born of the seven lords of hell and Avatar of Pride. As the prince's right hand, he had an image to uphold, always.

But between you and the prince's foolish encouragement, he was drunk.

The evening had gotten away from the lot of you, having fun and drinking on Lord Diavolo's dime in celebration of another RAD project successfully brought to completion. As the night drew on and the crowd thinned, some of the other demon brothers with weaker constitutions trickled out of the upscale bar, heading for home. You waved off Beel (saddled with an unconscious Belphie) when he offered to walk you back to the House of Lamentation. You could handle yourself, you reassured him.

Besides, it was rare to see Lucifer in such fine form: disheveled, face flushed, laughing raucously. He slouched over the bar, covering his face with one hand, trying to compose himself, and it was so- for lack of a better word- human that it made your heart swell.

You excused yourself for a quick trip to the restroom, wanting to collect yourself before seeing what else the night had in store. Fairly drunk yourself, you started to psych yourself up. Yes, obviously between Diavolo and Barbatos, Lucifer would get home safely no matter what state he was in. But you wanted to be the one to take him home. The thought of speaking alone with a more loose-lipped, candid version of him excited you a little too much.

You caught your reflection in the mirror and paused, dismayed. Maybe it was the harsh bathroom lighting, but you looked tired, older than your years. A cold weight settled in your stomach. You adjusted your hair and tried to shake off your sudden burst of insecurity. You were thinking too hard.

You had been gone for just a moment, but returned to find your seat at the bar taken by a beautiful demon. Even after all this time, the natural beauty of most demons still sometimes stunned you. The demon leaned in close, speaking to a very animated Lucifer and laughing coquettishly as he described something you couldn’t quite hear. You felt the air punched out of your lungs and numbly made your way over to gather your things.

"Hey, it's getting late, I'm going to head back," You said, throat dry but still smiling. Only Barbatos seemed to hear you. You bid him farewell and made your escape.

You felt stupid. How arrogant were you, anyway? You may be friends, you may live under the same roof, but you were still just you.

You heard your name called and turned, squinting in the darkness. It didn't take long for Lucifer to catch up with you.

"Why didn't you say you were leaving? You shouldn't be walking alone this late," He scolded you.

"I did," You replied with a thin-lipped smile, "You were busy."

He racked his brain for a moment and then chuckled, "Ah, that. I swear, I can never find a moment's peace."

“You seemed like you were having a good time,” You mused, continuing your walk home, “You should have stayed.”

You obliged, letting him turn you to face him. Maybe it was the alcohol, but tears were beginning to prick the corners of your eyes. He regarded you with an expression you couldn’t quite place- pity? That was your uncharitable interpretation, anyway.

“What do you mean by that?” He asked, sounding somewhat offended, “Do you have better things to do than stand to be in my company?”

You clicked your tongue. Of course he would go there.

“No, Lucifer,” You sighed, feeling too raw to argue, “That’s not… I didn’t want to intrude if you were, you know, feeling a connection or something.”

Awkward and ineloquent. Nice. You could feel him staring into the side of your head but refused to look up. Your face burned. This wasn’t going how you had hoped. You sped up a bit, wanting to be home and done with it, already. You could sleep it off and pretend this didn’t happen, that he didn’t just see how transparently you were wounded.

Lucifer blatantly bit back a laugh and you bristled at his condescension. Whatever you thought was between the two of you had never been spoken aloud. It now laid vulnerable and dangling in front of your face, and he was laughing at you. Perhaps wishful thinking had caused you to misinterpret things. That cold weight in your stomach grew heavier.

“Is that- are you jealous?” He asked, incredulous. You didn’t reply, keeping your gaze straight ahead. His eyes widened.

“You are,” He said, reaching for your hand but catching the sleeve of your coat, “Stop, stop, stop.”

“You forget yourself,” He said, a bit more sober than before, “And our pact. You are mine, does that mean nothing to you?”

Fuck, now you were crying. This pressure was too much, the dam was about to burst.

“It means everything to me,” You choked out.

He took both of your freezing hands in his, “I have been around for a very long time,” He said, as if soothing a child, “You are the only human I have ever made a pact with. The only one I have ever trusted with that sort of power-”

You huffed, “I’m not talking about pacts.”

“I know that,” Lucifer said, silently pleading you would not have him elaborate. Not here, in some cold, dingy street. Not now, too drunk to give you the confession you deserved, “But what part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?”

#obey me fic #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader #writing prompts #denpa's transmissions #drabble: writes 900+ words #dis one hit good because im feeling kinda insecure today ty anon :3 hope you like it

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 9 months

Note

CONGRATS ON HUNDRED DOVE!! you sent me a risqué ask for 100 so now i do it back to ye-

"caught in the rain" with leona :D or ruggie, if someone got to him first! ehehehehehehhehehehe you can see stuff 😳👀 for free ✨✨✨

btw your ask is sending me so hard but i'm already typing out so much for leona so your ask is gonna be the last one for the event lol

Caught in the Rain; Leona Kingscholar

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, reader needs to get bonked with a stick (/j)

Content Warning; Swearing

Word Count; 700+

AN; Don't expose my ass on my own blog, Soru /j. (just trying to feed your own simping along with the simps) But I hope you enjoy what I wrote for Leona and this prompt! As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

The sky lay heavy with dark clouds, the smell of rain thick in the air, yet not a single drop had yet to strike the ground. The air was dense with humidity, warm from the harsh sun’s rays from earlier in the day. But yet, you found yourself outside, trying to find Leona.

He had invited you to spend your summer break as his guest in the palace. Well, less so 'invited', more so demanded.

“Do you have anywhere else to be, herbivore? I thought as much. Come on, you’re staying with me.”

You still don’t really know why, but you weren’t going to throw away the chance of staying someplace beyond nice for the summer… plus Leona wasn’t so bad once you got to know him. Yes, he puts on an act of not caring, and being abrasive, but you knew that he cared, that he worried. Also, the two of you had been having this back-and-forth banter for months; blurring the lines of just friends bickering and something... more. But neither of you had made a move. It just hung in the air between you, nearly as suffocating as the humidity now; potent with the possibility of a massive storm.

Back to the present though. You were on the outskirts of the palace, looking for wherever Leona had decided to take a nap for this afternoon.

“Leona,” you called, but all you heard in return was the low rumble of thunder in the distance. Where is that overgrown house cat? I swear if I get caught in a downpour because of him… “LEONA!”

The first drops of rain began to fall, gentle and sparse. But you knew full well that in a few minutes' time they would be falling hard and fast.

“LEONA KINGSCHOLAR?!” You shouted at the top of your lungs.

You heard an annoyed huff of air off to your left, and looking up you saw none other than Leona lounging in the low-hanging branches of a tree.

“Ya don’t need to yell, ya know,” he sighed, landing softly on the ground. He looked up to the sky and frowned before setting a slow pace back to the palace. “Are you coming or what, herbivore?”

You followed after him, catching up so the both of you were going at a comfortable pace. Thunder was still rumbling, and the rain was slowly picking up, but there was no rush. Well, there wasn’t any rush until there was a flash of lightning and it seemed like the entire sky’s worth of water came down all at once on the both of you.

“Shit,” Leona hissed and guided the both of you to the relative cover of a tree to wait out the worst of the monsoon. “Just our luc-” He stopped talking when he looked at you though.

You were spitting out some stray rainwater that had managed to get into your mouth. But once the intruding water was gone you looked over to him but you felt your eyes lock on his torso; the white shirt that he was wearing was now completely see-through and you could see everything. Stop staring! Damn though- STOP STARING! But your eyes refused to move.

Leona noticed this, and he also took in your drenched appearance but was more subtle with it. “Tch,” he tapped you on the nose, breaking you of your staring stupor. “My eyes are up here,” his voice was teasing though, light.

You snapped out of it, catching his mirthful eyes. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper. You felt your face grow warm at the slip of your tongue, but it was true. Even before you openly ogled at him, you always thought that, but never said it to his face.

Leona chuffed, but he didn’t say anything; neither denying or accepting your statement. “You aren’t half bad yourself,” he said softly.

The two of you sat underneath the tree, still in your soaked clothes, watching the rain fall together in a comfortable quiet. And while the first golden rays of sunlight may have been stunning, the both of you thought it was nothing when compared to the captor of your hearts; each other.

After all, you still had the rest of the summer to build on this new development.

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rockingrobin69 · 6 months

Text

ruffians, and so on

“Oh,” Harry said, again, and then, “oh. It’s a—”

Tiny, fluffy thing in Malfoy’s arms. It hissed when Harry came closer to inspect, and Malfoy grinned like it was the cleverest creature in the world. He muttered a sorry that he evidently didn’t mean, stuffing his smiling face into the fluffy bundle.

“She’s quite possessive,” his voice came out muffled. Harry didn’t growl, but it was a near thing.

“Yeah? Well,” swallowing the silly rant about being possessive and teach it a thing or two, about how Malfoy was his first and only then this little—little—kitten’s. “She’s a cat,” he spat eventually.

“Very astute,” Malfoy laughed, that crackly sound that still made Harry’s chest go all, all, fizzy and warm like bad lemonade. “I can see why you never became an Auror after all.”

“Hmm?” already lost his concentration. The white little thing was climbing up Malfoy’s chest, wrapping itself around his neck and Harry, er, wanted, erm, far better control than what he currently—that was his spot, and she had to go. “She has to go,” he said, stupidly.

“What?”

Harry blinked. “I mean,” but he had no idea what he meant. “Shouldn’t you take her to a, dunno, vet or something?”

“Darling,” still laughing, but he sent a hand out for Harry to grab, only a little hysterically. “Come here.”

As if he were pulled by a spell, a string, already breathless and taking in tiny little pants of Malfoy’s appley scent. Malfoy brought Harry’s hand to his lips, gave it a kiss. Then, with a mischievous eyebrow, lowered it to the lump of fur clinging to him.

“See? She’s entirely sweet,” as Harry’s hand trembled, still too scared to—“Go on. It’s fine.”

With only half a growl, Harry nodded, closed his eyes. The little kitten was… soft, and strangely warm. Like this, Malfoy was very close too, and Harry could put his head on his shoulder and—oh, there she was again. Nose to nose, she really was quite… sweet.

“Hello,” Harry whispered. The kitten gave him a green-eyed stare.

“What do you think we should call her?” Malfoy’s voice was so gentle.

“I—I don’t know.” Felt like a big responsibility, and also too soft, and Harry pulled himself back up and tried for a step back, only to be taken by the hips. One of Malfoy’s hands found the back of his head.

His eyes were grey as always, and just as fond. “It’s all right,” he said. “I know you’re not exactly mister creativity here. As far as I can recall, you never even named your broom.”

“Didn’t know you were meant to,” Harry grumbled. “Besides, I don’t think Icarus was such a good name.”

“I was being ironic,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, pouted a bit in the way that always made Harry kiss him.

“Well, you’re not naming the cat.” Sticking his tongue out, only a little melted.

“Because I’m sure you’ll find something very original.”

“Hey, Hedwig was a good name!”

“I was referring,” Malfoy tilted his head the tiniest bit closer, “to a certain teenage organisation you led. Never mind. If you want to name the cat, I’ll entrust this very important mission to you. Provided I receive my fair payment.”

Grinning, helpless, “Yeah? What’s that, exactly?”

“I believe a kiss is in order?”

Oh, Harry’s been dying for one for far too long to object. Leaning in that infinitesimal amount of space separating them, taking that deep, sweet breath, his lips already touching Malfoy’s when—

“OW!” Malfoy tore back, eyes huge and incredulous. “What in Merlin’s fuck, little cat? Why the claws?”

His frustration allowed Harry’s belly to calm, allowed him to actually laugh. “You said it yourself,” with a cheeky pinch of Malfoy’s nose. “She’s a possessive little bugger.”

“Very poor form,” Malfoy wasn’t paying attention to him, eyes only for the kitten now, and his voice infuriatingly gentling. Harry, with a huff, found himself still smiling.

“I guess I can understand. I wouldn’t let anyone else kiss you if I were hanging on your neck.”

“Yes, my point exactly. I’d expect such crass behaviour from him, but we are Malfoys, young lady! I’d appreciate it if you showed proper decorum to the high standard expected of you.” With a blink, looking at the ball of fluff currently yawning in his hands, “Or—well, or not. I suppose you can do as you wish, damn you.” Looking up at Harry: “Potter, I think I might spoil our cat rotten.”

Harry wasn’t jealous. “Yeah,” he managed, stiffly, “yeah, I reckon you will.”

“Don’t give me that look. As though I don’t have every intention of spoiling you rotten too.”

“Oh,” Harry said. His mouth was twitching.

“Oh,” Malfoy mocked, “oh, he says, like I hadn’t made it perfectly clear. Truly, I am surrounded by a troop of ridiculous ruffians and—yes, you included, little cat. Don’t think I forgot. And just because you have the most adorable little beans does not mean—what’s the point. It absolutely does mean it.” Turning back to Harry, “Well? Are you coming?”

“Hmm? Coming where?”

“To get dinner? Harry? You did hear me, right? You weren’t just staring at the cat the whole time.”

Flushing, “Of course not.”

“Right,” Malfoy’s eyebrow quirked.

“Right.”

The cat made a tiny sound, not a meow. It’ll get the hang of it soon.

(For flufftober day 28. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

#drarry fic #drarry + kitten #is this fic inspired by littlewinnow's art = of course it is silly #900 words #flufftober2023 #prompt: soothing touch #rockingrobin69

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underforeversgrace · 8 months

Note

Savant par!

From this ask game. (Send me a pairing/group of characters and I'll write a short little scene!)

I hope you wanted fluff because this is a pure 900 words of fucking fluff.

Danny groaned and he reached outside of the warm cocoon of blankets he was enclosed in, swatting blindly until his hand finally connected with the alarm clock blaring beside his bed.

He knew he should get up, he had classes today… but Tucker’s slow breaths lulled him back into his dreams, curling up at Tucker’s side. It was college, no teacher expected everyone to show up every single day. Besides that, it was him. Their teachers were always more surprised when he showed up than when he didn’t.

Oh well. He was fairly certain none of them were quite able to handle the fact they were teaching a semi-dead teenager who had saved all of them a time or two. Despite his secret having been known for six years by now amongst the Amity population and many of these teachers the same ones he’d had multiple times in the past four years of college, it seemed people still struggled to understand Danny was just a normal kid (most of the time).

The next time Danny awoke, it was to a gentle pressure on his forehead. Danny peeked open one eye, smiling at Tucker’s sleepy face.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Tucker yawned. “You skipped class, did you know that?”

“Mmmm,” Danny hummed noncommittally. “Had better things to do.”

“You should probably get up, you can still make your afternoon physics class,” Tucker said, though he began running his fingers through Danny’s tangled black hair.

Danny made a sound somewhere between a whine and yawn and buried his head into the hollow of Tucker’s throat, listening to the rhythmic beats of his boyfriend’s heart and the blood rushing in his veins. Danny looped one arm over Tucker’s waist, hooking his ankle behind one of Tucker’s legs.

“I thought I was dating a ghost, not a koala,” Tucker laughed, though he didn’t protest. Tucker snaked his one arm under Danny’s neck and let the other lay lazily over Danny’s hip.

“I’m the ghost of a koala,” Danny answered matter of factly.

Tucker laughed, pulling Danny closer. “You’re cold,” he whined, even though his actions showed he clearly didn’t mind.

Danny grinned mischievously and slid his hand under the hem of Tuck’s shirt and against the small of his back. He might have triggered his ice powers just an eensie weensie bit and Tucker yelped in protest as Danny cackled.

“That’s cheating!” Tucker laughed, squirming to get away from Danny.

“No, mine!” Danny said, playfully tightening his grip on Tucker. “You’re warm and I’m cold!”

Tucker gasped, clearly deeply offended. “Am I just a space heater to you?”

Danny snorted. “Duh. What else would you be - the man I love?”

Tucker chuckled, pressing another kiss to Danny’s forehead. “See, that’s what I thought I was. Are you telling me I’m not?”

“Obviously not,” Danny said with an over exaggerated eye roll. “You’re just the space heater and I’m the devilishly handsome superhero.”

“Oh come on, I’m not even the damsel in distress love interest in this fantasy of yours?”

“Fiiiiine,” Danny said, looking up at Tuck’s smiling face as they poked fun at each other. “I suppose you can be the damsel I save from the monsters.”

“Actually,” Tucker said, pulling away slightly, a thoughtful look on his face, “I have a better idea for my role.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

A smile crossed Tucker’s face and his eyes glinted, playfully, lovingly. “I was thinking I could be the man you marry,” he said.

Danny’s mouth dropped and he nodded ferociously, various sounds of agreement escaped his mouth as he failed to remember the word ‘yes’ in his excitement, when his ghost sense went off, and suddenly Ember and Skulker were there. Danny leapt from the bed, crouching defensively in front of Tucker (and being relieved he had actually pulled on pajamas after his shower last night).

“Ha, take that!” Ember said as Skulker pouted, crossing his arms in defeat. “Told you four eyes would be the one to propose!”

Danny glanced behind him, he and Tucker sharing confused looks.

“The whelp can take me on, but he’s too afraid to ask his boyfriend to marry him?” Skulker demanded. “I’m the Ghost Zone’s greatest hunter! If he’s brave enough to face me, he should fear nothing!”

Ember cackled. “You owe me five bucks!”

“Wait, hold up,” Tuck said, sitting up. “Did you two have a bet about mine and Danny’s relationship?”

“Duh. Half the Zone has some sort of wager! We better be invited to the wedding, pipsqueak.” Ember said, glaring at Danny, who was wondering how it was possible this was the actual life he lived, where semi-enemies made bets on love life.

“I haven’t actually answered yet, y’know,” Danny pointed out, turning back to Tucker, whose face went impressively pale.

Ember and Skulker both went silent behind him, Tucker just staring at him wide-eyed.

Danny grinned and shoved his hand intangibly into the apartment wall, pulling out a small box. “Was there any doubt my answer is yes?” He asked, opening the box to reveal a plain silver ring on the inside.

Tucker laughed and reached for the bedside table, moving aside a bunch of tech manuals and pulling out his own small box. He opened it and moved to show Danny the black band he’d bought. “No. No, I guess there really wasn’t.”

#grace writes #grace asks #grace answers #Ask game #danny fenton #tucker foley #Savant par #900 words of fluff

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sgtjamesrogers · 8 months

Text

“Sign here… and there you are, cheers!”

The receptionist pushed a glasses case towards him across the desk, stowing his receipt and paperwork away in return. Roy looked at the smart-looking leather case with some amount of trepidation, as if it might grow teeth and bite him.

He’s avoided this for as long as possible; he’s hated his eyesight going on him. It had been one of the first signs of his body giving up on him, and any of the potential solutions had felt too irritating to follow through on. Having to poke his finger into his eyes with contacts, LASIK would have made his night vision even worse, and glasses were a particularly irritating solution while he was an active athlete.

Of course, being retired as well as seeing how much blurrier road signs continued to get, meant that it would be irresponsible to keep avoiding the issue. Glasses would simply have to do. Roy stowed the case in his jacket pocket with a nod to the receptionist, he wasn’t going to wear them out of the optometrist’s office. He still had a little pride left, after all.

Roy found Nelson Road a busy hive of activity, and the full-tilt chaos of the season left the car park full to bursting. He felt his dread grow as he parked, but took his new frames out of the case and put them on anyway. No way out but through, after all. He just didn’t want to hear everyone being so kind about them.

Well. Tartt would probably be less than kind given his proclivity for ‘grandad’ jokes and jabs about his age. The idea that at least one person wouldn’t be painfully positive was almost a relief.

The first person he encountered was Isaac, who gave him a considering nod as they passed each other on the stairs.

“Cool frames bruv,” he said over his shoulder, taking the steps two at a time. “They pull the whole look together. S’cool that you’re doing more fashion!”

Kill me, Roy thought as he descended toward the dressing rooms. It was like a repeat of Phoebe’s gift shirt, with multiple people in the corridor stopping to stare and pretending they hadn’t. Preferably before I get to my desk.

“Oh!” Nate blurted out as Roy entered the coaching offices. His forehead scrunched with dismay as Roy lifted his eyes to him, like the noise had been an unstoppable reflex at the sight of Roy Kent in glasses. It took everything in him not to turn on his heel and walk out again.

“What?” Roy growled, stalking over to his chair and sitting heavily.

“They look nice,” Nate said helplessly, gesturing to his face with one hand. “The frame shape suits your face, is that…not what you want to hear?” Roy was staring at his desk, but in his peripheral, he could see Nate cast desperate confused looks at Beard, currently kicked back in his chair reading Wonder Boys by Michael Chabon.

“You look the same as you always do,” Beard said without looking up. “There. Happy?”

“Yes,” Roy grumped, and then frowned at the book’s cover. “Can I borrow that after you’re finished?”

“Ay coaches,” came the voice in the doorway, the low voice and ‘soft a’ pronunciation signaling the arrival of Jamie Tartt. “Colin’s not going to ask so I came instead, everyone’s talking about–” His voice halted like someone had pointed a remote at him and clicked ‘off’. Roy looked up from his desk.

“Talking about what?” He asked, unable not to sneer through the words. “Come on, let’s fucking hear it. You’ve had to be saving up all sorts of material for a day like today. This must be early Christmas to you.” Then he really looked at Jamie. “Have you already been at cardio?”

“Mm,” Jamie said, nodding slowly as he stared at Roy. He did look like he’d been on a treadmill, the apples of his cheeks a pinky-red that was creeping towards his ears. “What? Have I been at what?”

“Cardio,” Roy repeated, voice raising in growing disbelief. He should never have put the glasses on, the second he did the whole world went off like milk curdling in his fridge. Jamie shook his head just as slowly in response. He looked almost dazed.

“Mm, not cardio. Not since my usual when I got up this morning,” he said, sounding out each word like a step where he couldn’t quite find his footing. He screwed up his mouth afterward, lips working like there were other words he might say that refused to be located. Colin was behind his right shoulder just outside of the office, squinting hard at the back of Jamie’s head.

Nate reached and felt Jamie’s forehead with the back of his fingertips, his earlier bemused nerves now burnt away with concern. “Are you coming down ill?”

Jamie jumped like he’d been electrocuted, eyes widening first at Roy, and then at Nate.

“Ill? No, nah, I’m grand,” he said, a little too loudly. “Picture of health.” He stepped backward out of the office, bumping into Colin and continuing to backpedal. “I think I left my— phone! I left my phone, in the…in the toilets!” He vacated the dressing room so quickly, he might have left a Jamie-shaped cloud of dust hanging in the air, like a Looney Tune.

Roy shoved his glasses up his forehead, scrubbing with annoyance at his eyes with the backs of his knuckles. The glasses were clearly cursed, there were no two ways about it.

#ted lasso #royjamie #jesse writes fic #this might qualify as more of a ficlet since it's only 900 or so words #also Can You Believe. that there are no pictures on beyonce's internet of brett goldstein in glasses.#anyway that's what this is

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burntblueberrywaffles · 6 months

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Me planning out an Anidala fic: am I making them move too fast?

Also me, remembering they canonically got married after five days of awful flirting in canon: no, I think we’re good

Pls don’t check my math on this btw, I am lazy and will not research SW timelines. We are here for vibes not facts)

#also before anyone goes ‘oh you’re writing an Anidala fic? can’t wait to read it!’ you misunderstand;;;#I am ‘writing’#look it took me 8 month to finish a 900 words fic and I actually had the plot planned out and mostly written #pls don’t expect anything from me lmao #star wars #anidala #vaderdala #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #burntblueberrywaffles

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tree-of-life-and-death · 2 years

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Eopei chatted aimlessly about the weather (never rainy enough) and the harvest (better than last years) before the conversation turned to tin.

I watched a video about the Bronze Age, remembered tin exists, panicked, and, well, here you go. This is so smooth guys. Nobody will notice this last minute worldbuilding. I'm going to get a good grade in—

#wip: drowned dragon bk 2 #oc: eopei of upper diartes #aw wait fuck the other guy should be lower diartes then #i really need to get my worldbuilding corkboard pinned back up #anyway #one sentence a day out of #900 words #my writing #writeblr

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letters-unsending · 1 year

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No. 30

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“I told Superhero we were married so he would help fight against Supervillain.”

////

Villain takes Hero’s hand into his lap and worries his thumb over the ring—their fake wedding ring—like he knows each arc of metal, each facet by heart, like he’s known the ring for years. Even as a participant in this charade, Hero thinks he could be convinced that Villain cares. He thinks, as Villain’s fingers wander and trace the scars across his knuckles, that this could all easily be real.

“Darling,” Villain calls, shaking him out of his reverie, “why don’t you tell him? About how it began.”

Darling. Villain has jeered that name throughout many of their fights, but the word has never been soft, never been breathed over the shell of his ear. Hero twitches. He hides the flinch with a smile and turn of his hand. Taking his cue, Villain slides his palm over his own, and Hero sighs, leaning into Villain’s side, looking lovesick as he ought to be.

////

“Finally!” Sidekick teases when Hero shows them the ring.

“No,” Hero sighs and takes the ring off, setting it on the table, “it’s not like that. It can never be like that.”

“Oh,” Sidekick whispers as Hero slumps into his chair, “you’re actually really torn up about this. I knew you liked that white-picket, married life shit, but you look like the dry cleaner ruined another one of your capes.” Sidekick sits in the chair opposite of Hero and pauses. The silence is long, condemning. “Oh, you poor thing. You actually like him, don’t you?”

Hero lifts his head from the cradle of his arms. “I can’t do this. I can’t have him acting like he actually cares for me.”

“…like he actually cares for you,” Sidekick repeats slowly.

“Yes?”

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty, you know.” Sidekick pats the ring and smiles when Hero’s hand flinches toward it. “Because I really thought you were smarter than this.”

////

Villain’s had a hand on Hero’s back all night. Hero almost tripped forward the first time his palm pushed against his spine, leading him further into the finery of the gala hall, but it soon became a comforting weight. When Villain spoke to another attendee for too long, Hero leaned back into the touch. Villain would thrum his fingers and murmur ‘patience darling’ before leading Hero off to the next businessperson or reporter.

After coming back from the bar, Hero decides to return the favor. Smiling, he sidles up beside Villain and slings an arm behind him, resting his fingers over the edge of his waist coat. He settles a thumb on the curve of Villain’s hip as her proffers a flute of something fizzy and pink forward.

He doesn’t register Villain has stopped mid sentence in his conversation till both Villain and his conversation partner—holy shit that’s Superhero—turn toward him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Hero flusters, about to withdraw his hand.

“It’s fine, darling.” Villain reaches down and flattens his hand over Hero’s, holding it still against his hip, “I just wasn’t expecting you so soon.” Sending a reassuring grin to the both of them, Villain takes the drink and continues the conversation, “now, where were we?”

////

“You’re not wearing your ring.” Villain observes, sagging against the wall beside Hero.

“We’re in battle. Of course I’m not going to wear it.” Hero retorts and fingers around his collar until he hooks something—a necklace—and drags it out. “Anyways, I do have it.” The ring hangs from the chain, glittering like firelight in the dark, and Hero squeezes it in his hand. “I keep it like this so I don’t break it.”

Villain stares at the ring, at the ash and blood on Hero’s fingers. He laughs and pulls out a necklace from beneath his own collar. His ring hangs just the same. Sighing, he folds it into his hand and rests his forehead on the tense line of his knuckles.

“I wish we had more time to pick these out. We picked the first pair they showed us in the store because we were in such a rush.”

“I like them.” Hero holds his ring tighter. The gem cuts into his palm. “They’re a good memory—they’ll be a good memory, after this is all over, but you’re right, I would’ve gotten you something different. Something sleeker and dark, like your suit.”

“You would’ve gotten me-”

“Say, how bout once this is over and Supervillain is dealt with, we get new ones? I mean, not that soon. There’s no rush, but-”

Before Villain could string out a response, a crash sounds from behind them. Dust plumes over the wall they’ve sheltered behind and Villain lunges at Hero, yanking him up by the collar. His smile is feral and he grabs Hero’s hand, the one with the ring.

“Darling, your timing is terrible.”

#writeblr #villain #writing prompt #hero #prompt #villain prompt #hero prompt #writing #villain x hero #hero x villain #idk even know what this is #fake marriage #fake marriage AU in less than 900 words

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