#binni writes

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Fandom: Haikyuu!! Words: 956 Rating: M, E, R18 Pairing: Sawamura Daichi/Michimiya Yui Summary: Michimiya enjoys having sex with Daichi, but it's not until now - okay, actually now - that she realizes maybe it'd be nice if they took it a step further.

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Nap Anon!! I finally have it up for you!!

less than 1,000, sickeningly SFW, no warnings, unless you don’t like tanaenno but lbr here.

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

For rubyfiamma! Pretty sure the title speaks well enough as a summary, lmao. But here you go! Dork husbands! Under 1,000 words, safe for work, and there’s cookie dough.

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45? ScotFran?????? Yes please?

This ... could have gone a lot better, but the day has been long, and I am exhausted.

SO. ScotFran, prompt being 'pretending to hate each other'. I wrote this with 'hate' in mind, but it came out more as 'playful teasing', i am the worst i am so sorry............

Pretty PG. Uhm.... Harmless ... insults. That's--i don't even know what that is. THEY'RE TEASING EACH OTHER.

Word count is just under 600! And as usual, I just skimmed through for basic errors, and I probably missed a ton of them.

At that moment, he thought – considering the distress and anger and all-around irritability Scotland was determinedly not willing to put up with – maybe it would be best to act on the former. There was no promise, of course, but hey. He could try.

"If you would just stop being so focused on the fucking heel of a God damned shoe, you cushion-minded twat, maybe we could actually think of something beneficial for both our peoples!"

Was that a vein about to pop? …No. No, there were three. Fantastic.

"Perhaps if you would focus more on the minute details of fashion, and not look like you glued mutilated shrubbery on your face when out in public, things just would be better between us!"

France….

Though to be fair, Scotland did have to cover his snorting.

And right, right. Playing into England's favor. (Cuz no way was he putting up with this on the way to Cardiff.)

"France, shove yer face with a croissant, I've seen yer face in the morning and it's no prettier than England's."

"Mon coeur…!" The stricken look on France's face was, truly, amusing; and Scotland didn't miss the flame flicker just a little in England's eyes, oh no. (Wait—)

But while England was temporarily blinded, Scotland lifted his eyebrows just a tiny bit in France's direction. "And is the heel of a shoe that important? Yeh just walk on 'em. As long as yer comfortable and it doesn't end up hurting yer feet." It wasn't a lie, really. Fashion – especially shoe fashion – wasn't much of a priority on Scotland's list, so. He wasn't lying.

France was quiet for a moment, but he seemed to catch on quickly enough. "Well, what could I expect from any of the British brothers? All of you are dull when it comes to aesthetics. First impression is appearance! Which is why none of you make good first impressions, I suppose."

If France had a wine glass, Scotland was sure he'd be twirling it. As it was, he was just sitting there, legs crossed royally with his arms folded in equal pomp. Well, France certainly was good at this game. Almost too good.

"Well good thing we all know each other so well, then," he retorted. "We know each other beyond our appearances."

"And yet our appearance still reflects who we are. England, still a messy, punkish heap, parading himself as a monkey in a business suit. You, Scotland, clinging on to a culture only the disillusioned still live." (Hey. Whoa there.) "And I: a sophisticated, fashionable gentleman of high standing!"

"Or an air-headed trollop." There was a smirk curling its way onto Scotland's face, but it wasn't … harsh. It was playful, and he knew that France could read right into it.

England was still too busy enjoying any kind of hit at France, weak or strong, to notice. Which really was for the better. His energy was more focused on muttering obscenities about France as he walked out the door just a short moment later. Once he was out of sight, it was just France and Scotland exiting and trading more light-hearted, spirited jabs at each other.

Just in case, you know, England was listening in.

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26 and just pick one. pick any pairing~

To be honest, it took me more time picking a pairing than writing. And I tweaked the prompt just a littttle bit.

Prompt 26: Sitting on a park bench. I tweaked it to: Sitting on a baseball park bench in the dugout. ∩( ・ω・)∩

Pairing: Yamamoto/Gokudera - KHRWord Count: 1055 i had set myself a limit at 500 gditRating/Warning: PG, nosebleed, so a little bit of blood I guess?

--

Which he absolutely, positively, definitely is not doing.

Yeah, okay, that's a humongous lie; he is totally doing just that on his not-really-a-day-off.

Though to be completely honest, the smell of sweat is becoming overwhelming. Gokudera's giving Yamamoto to the count of 5 before he up-and-leaves. One—

"Hey! Sorry it took so long, hahaha."

…God dammit. Fucking baseball nut, he is always like this. But it's okay, Gokudera reconciles. The sudden scent of a freshly-showered Yamamoto sitting next to him makes him comfortable, and he has to grin. But he has to make it sarcastic.

"Great game out there. What was that final score? 7-1?" he starts, smirking. Then he forces a laugh from within his chest. "Though I guess the fact that you're the only one to hit a homerun on your team says a bit. Why didn't you play till the end, anyway?"

Gokudera doesn't have to look over to see Yamamoto turn pink, or know that his eyes are a mix of shame and also devotion. Or to know he's trying to wave it all off.

"Just how rotation turned out!"

"Bull. Why? You should have at least been at pitch for most of the innings."

Yamamoto sighs. "It really wasn't a big deal. One of the new guys tried starting a fight, so we both got in trouble. Coach didn't wanna send me out at all, but I guess he didn't want a shut-out."

"May as well have been," Gokudera mutters. He shifts his position so he's leaning into Yamamoto. Some of his hair's still wet, and the cold from it pressing his skin is close to refreshing. "So what managed to get you into a fight?"

"He made some rude comments about me. And you."

"I don't need you to defend me!"

"Well you weren't there, so."

"And how do any of them know about me?" He was mafia, after all. (Even if it's his not-really-a-day-off, and all.)

"Well, I have a picture of us in my locker. He saw that, I guess."

"You—!" Gokudera feels his face heat up. What a loser, that Yamamoto. …But it is nice, knowing Yamamoto has a picture of them. …He guesses.

"So he started asking questions, and I didn't lie about anything. Then he just started making unnecessary comments. So we got into a fight. I didn't hit him, or anything—"

"You should have."

"But we were yelling and we really were being unsportsmanlike. So I get it. I just don't like when people make accusations or rude comments about the people I love, so…."

Gokudera bit his tongue to distract from the heat in his face.

"I decided that this is gonna be one of my last games. I want to return to the Vongola."

"What."

"I love baseball, but I miss you and my friends more."

Gokudera moves quickly, trying to swing his leg around Yamamoto to straddle him. His fists are grappling onto Yamamoto's shirt, and his leg's just about done swinging, but…. It doesn't end quite as picturesque as it does in Gokudera's head. Instead his knee hits the back of the bench with a cringe-worthy crack, and he ends up recoiling backwards onto the dugout floor. But with his hands holding onto Yamamoto, Yamamoto falls with him, on top of him, with an equally cringe-worthy crack of his forehead on Gokudera's before rolling off to the side. There's a loud, muffled, "FUCK," and suddenly both of them are groaning and cupping their noses. Gokudera almost wishes he'd been shot in the ankle—

Okay. Not really. But maybe a stubbed toe on one of Giannini's inventions.

"Oh, wow, that hurt, haha…. Wow…."

Gokudera's groan is really more akin to a growl. "Glad one of us finds humor in this." Then he squints his eyes to Yamamoto, who's smiling up to the dugout's ceiling. It makes Gokudera's pain lessen (but really just a little bit), and with his head turned to study him a little more closely.

"…Do you mean it?"

"Hm?"

"Coming back to the Family. Do you mean it?"

Still smiling, Yamamoto turns his head and nods as best as he can. "Yeah." Then his smile falls to a curious line, and, "Gokudera, your nose is bleeding."

But he abruptly cut off. With not much more finesse, Gokudera tries one more time to straddle Yamamoto. This time he succeeds. Mostly, anyway. There's an oomph or an ouch or two muttered onto Gokudera's lips as he kisses Yamamoto. Neither of them really seem to care about the nosebleed too much, if Yamamoto's hands finding rest on Gokudera's hips is any sign.

When Gokudera does sit up just a bit, he snickers at the sight of the smeared blood. Now, instead of a pleasant-smelling Yamamoto, he can really only smell the blood now. That, and whatever pain that set itself on pause clicked play, and its return is … unpleasant.

"You have blood all over your face," he says, but Yamamoto grins it away.

"We can hurry back inside and clean up before everything's shut off and locked up. Come on."

Gokudera stands, wobbly as the action is, and helps Yamamoto to his feet to the best of his ability. He suffers something of a headrush, but there should be aspirin or something in the back, right?

Yamamoto grabs his hand; Gokudera grips it a little harder than usual as Yamamoto leads him to the sink, tosses him a towel, and grabs his bags. Cleaned-up, for the most part, Gokudera catches Yamamoto's gaze, and Gokudera lets himself grin.

Day off or not, it was a productive day, and boy does he have the report for the Tenth.

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so i have this small fluffling of an idea for an original story, but i was wondering if you guys thought maybe these were decent assignments, or if any don't seem to sit right with you guys.

aries - economics/finance taurus - science/research gemini - entertainment cancer - education leo - legislature (thinking about switching with sagittarius) virgo - business libra - judiciary scorpio - news media sagittarius - executive (branch) capricorn - military aquarius - health/medical pisces - faith and religion

some of them i feel are pretty decent match-ups, but others i'm still wobbly on. any suggestions?

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hmmmm mmmmm mmm a prompt... MakoHaru as little kids? I am so weak for little puppy love ships. Or maybe just one of them gets de-aged? (Makoto preferably bc there's no fic of that?)

I feel like this could have been a lot better, but ... like I said before, I don't want these very long...!

Or maybe it's just something Makoto ate. Haru's not sure.

But Makoto's shrunk considerably, wearing an old outfit Haru just barely remembers, and acting much like he used to at Ren's age. Haru's eyebrow maybe twitches just a little bit. He's not cut out for child-rearing when there are more important things to worry about. (For example, swimming.)

"When did you get so big, Haru-chan?"

"I've always been big."

Makoto smiles wide, and Haru feels a jolt in his heart. He doesn't remember Makoto being this cute.

"No! I saw you just yesterday! You cast a spell, didn't you?"

"I don't know any spells."

"Well, something happened." Makoto looks around, and then his stomach grumbles. "Haru-chan, do you want anything to eat? Maybe we have mackerel!"

Makoto jumps up to rush to the kitchen and searches through the fridge to find the fish. He even goes about grabbing a stand so he can reach the small counter-top grill. Haru finds himself biting back a grin, and strides over. Just before Makoto's tiny fingers can turn the grill on, Haru grabs him from under his arms and sets him back down.

"Go put the stand away, and I'll get this ready."

Makoto stops for a second but nods and does as he's told. He watches Makoto sit happily and read one of Ren's and Ran's manga, and just a few minutes later he plates the cooked mackerel. When he walks out to the table, he finds +his+ Makoto sitting there, looking around in a very confused state.

"Haru?!"

"Makoto."

"...Mackerel?"

"Mackerel."

Setting the plate down, Haru touches his hand to Makoto's forehead, pleased to feel no fever. Things seem fine, and he sits down across from him.

But maybe Makoto should stay away from whatever's in the water for now.

btw, the excuse for the de-aging i used is the ten-year bazooka, from reborn. ahhh, the 10-year bazooka.... i bet nagisa's the one who got a hold of it

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Do you have a meme you're doing? If so, link me! If not, USUK with dance the night away.

Ha, I wish. No meme, just asked for requests ;u;

Ughhh, this one's the shortest, but I think it's my favorite so far, ahhhH.

"Hm? Sorry? Doing what?"

America grimaces as England's grip on his left hand tightens, and so his right hand's rest on England's waist becomes a little tighter, as well. "Stepping on my feet."

England smirks in fun and separates them just a few inches. "Terribly sorry."

"Haha, yeah, you're cute."

But America, despite being the lead in the dance, is waltzed around the floor. His blue-violet coat-tails sway out to mimick England's, and America's pocketwatch thumps against his chest as they spin. He hears a small chime from it, announcing the passing of midnight.

"Come now," England goes on. "That isn't a good enough reason to marry me."

America catches a fleeting rush of fun dance by in England's eyes, and he grasps on to it. Not that England isn't usually in the mood for fun, or laughs, but he's generally a very work-before-play kind of guy. To be honest, America's almost surprised their Engagement Ball isn't being seen as something like work to him. Maybe because the engagement isn't entirely for political purposes. Or maybe because the King of Diamonds made a bet with his Jack that England would see the night end in misery, and England would love nothing more than to see France pay Switzerland that debt.

But America's opinion tends to sway in favor of England actually having a good time. So America pulls England closer as they continue dancing, and though England looks a little surprised at first, a brief flash of genuine happiness illuminates England's eyes.

"Nah," America finally says. "Just one of a few."