#this is unbeta'd

[evilovesyou]

I'd love a drabble about Harry coming into the kitchen to find Louis raiding the fridge at night (might be bc I'm super hungry lol) 🙏🏼

Harry blindly followed the quiet, indiscernible sounds, eyes almost closed in the familiar hallways of their house. He squinted when the light spilling out from the doorway of the kitchen came into his field of vision. He had half a mind to turn around, but light probably meant Louis. It might also mean a very clumsy burglar, but Harry was willing to take that chance. He’d seen Home Alone. 

Standing in the doorway, he saw Louis’ legs beneath the open door of the fridge. He’d found him, then! Time to close his eyes again. He leaned against the doorframe and started to drift off again, when he heard Louis humming a song. It made him smile, knowing the melody, and took him a little while to hear that the lyrics were entirely wrong.

“How the fuuuuuck do you make pancakeeessss? Where the fuuuuuuck is the flooouuuur?”

“Recipe’s in the purple book,” Harry mumbled, licking his dry lips, “flour is in the cupboard with the pasta above the stove.”

“Christ, love! You almost made me drop the eggs!” Louis’ lively voice was loud in the quiet of the night.

“Why aren’t we sleeping?” Harry grumbled, opening his eyes enough to walk up to Louis and wrap his arms around him from the back as he strained to reach the flour.

“Pancakes!” Louis explained, humming happily when he finally got the box of flour down and he could lean into Harry’s front.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Perfect time for pancakes,” Louis said very matter-of-factly. “Wanna sit down while I work out this recipe of yours?”

Harry, whose eyes were firmly closed again grumbled, hugging Louis tighter.

“Alright,” Louis giggled. “But keep your eyes closed, love. I’ve got no idea what I’m doing.”

“I know.” Harry said into the nape of Louis’ neck. “Wake me up when the kitchen’s burning.”

more of my writing

[lokimostly]

If You Think It's Love

Loki x Reader (Drabble)

It's in the way his hand moves over yours as you turn the page. That slightest intentional touch, the desire to hold dear manifested in a small and subtle gesture.

You used to think nothing of it. It's always been one of Loki's mannerisms, to put his hand over yours, envelop it for a moment as he helps you with something you could very well do yourself: the turn of a page, the grasp of a weapon, the reins of a horse. You used to think, up until this moment, that it was because of his impatience. But as you sit beside him on the floor in the corner of the library, next to large windows that light up the room with golden dust, your skin warm with the heat of the sun through the glass... and watch the way his hand flexes when he pulls it away, your stomach drops.

You've come to notice that Loki, unlike his brother, is not a grand, definitive statement. Not a precisely carven marble statue where every angle is complete. He is the sum of his small gestures: a faint smirk, a small quirk of the brow, a flash of emotion across the eyes that strikes you like a shooting star. Bright and brilliant and all too easy to miss. The affection in his face for you unmasked, but only ever for a moment.

It makes you wonder, as you glance at him from the corner of your eye, how many of the signs you missed before this moment. Right now his angular face is beautiful in its focus, as he trails the line of the book with his finger, lips moving in soundless shapes of the words. He parts those lips when he looks at you, sometimes. Like you bring him a taste of unrestrained awe; the thought makes your heart flutter violently against your ribs.

He looks up then, catching you in the act, and there's another small gesture: he blinks, and his long, dark eyelashes catch in the golden light, revealing their warm undertones. "What is it?" He asks, in a way that makes you suspect he already knows the answer.

You shake your head and make a face. "Nothing," you lie— which, to the god of lies is a bold statement indeed, but he says nothing. You stare at each other, until some of the dust from the ancient books around you catches in your breath the wrong way and you sneeze.

He laughs, quiet and musical in the empty library. When you rub your nose and open your eyes, he's still looking at you, just for that moment, and it's like all the puzzle pieces are fitting together.

Loki is in love with you.

His eyes narrow in a way that's almost fond. "What is it?" He asks, more pointedly, and you realize he doesn't know. That you've found him out. You've undone his riddle. Solved the culmination of years and years of clues so cleverly hidden, he may not even know they're there.

"I think ..." you begin, and then your face flushes at the thought of finishing the sentence. I think you're in love with me, because sometimes you touch my hand.

But you know that you're right. In your bones, in your core, you know Loki and you always have, and you're right about this.

And I think I'm in love with you, because when you touch my hand I wish you wouldn't let go.

It takes a moment for you to come back to yourself and realize that Loki is hanging on your last word. His expression is open in suspense, with perhaps a twinge of fear behind his emerald-green eyes, because he doesn't know what you're going to say.

You open your lips and find that you're smiling. "So this is love," you say without thinking, and Loki's brow furrows at the same time as his pale cheeks flush.

"What is?"

You lean forward and pull back his hand from where it rests on his knee, setting it on top of yours; the two of them lying on the open page like they always do, only now he doesn't dare pull his away. Instead, Loki looks up and meets your eyes with bated breath.

"This," you say softly, and turn your hand over beneath his, palm to palm, and you twine your fingers through his. Your heart is in your throat. "Isn't it?"

He takes a moment to answer. Eyes shaking with the thoughts that run behind them, his gently curling hair glowing in the warm afternoon light. Slowly, he draws a deep breath, and curls his fingers around yours. "If you think it's love, it is," he agrees softly, the confession soft and shaky on his lips. It almost makes you smile— knowing that Loki is the sum of subtle gestures, and yet for you he opens. A lock with the right key.

You squeeze his hand, but when you move to let go, he recaptures it. Pulling it back to him, running his thumb over your knuckles, and then... he looks back down at the book between you, and continues reading like he had done before.

You smile and laugh through your nose. Even though your heart is still beating hard, in the end, nothing has really changed. Loki was already telling you for years of his affection, and you - knowingly or not - were telling him, too. Two sums of small gestures that make up a love so powerful your chest aches at the realization of it: knowing for certain that Loki, your longtime friend, feels the same.

[banesboy]

Magnus is tired

this is my attempt to get back into writing i havent written anything in well over a month be gentle uwu 

i’ve seen so many sleepy alec fics, sleepy alec confessing cute shit so i decided to feed myself some cute, sleepy magnus being extra clingy

Magnus is a people person, he really is. He enjoys the subtle smile most give when he finishes his job for them. It was a thankless job, he knew that from many years of experience, but that doesn’t really bother him. At least not anymore, he’s gotten used to the silent nods of gratitude or the simple change of atmosphere around his customers when he’s successfully finished a job.

But that’s what made days like today interesting. He didn’t know what it was but everything just seemed off, as if the world has just slightly shifted on its axis purely to fuck with him. He was snappy with a majority of his customers, getting irritated especially at the one who insisted on watching his every move while he made their potion. After a certain amount of time of receiving and fulfilling requests he was practically working on autopilot.

Which is why he called it a night pretty early. He put his list of the rest of the annoying, typical jobs he had on his desk to pay attention to tomorrow. He sunk down onto the couch closing his eyes for a moment, a moment may have turned into a few minutes, maybe an hour. However long it was, he was woken up to someone’s hand in his hair. He blinked a few times, vision slightly blurry with sleep, but he saw the all too familiar lopsided smile and soft eyes. He relaxed again, mumbling out an “Alexander,” hoping his message of “Hi, I’m tired, sit next to me so I can put my head on your lap and go back to sleep,” conveyed through his one spoken word.

The words Alec spoke were soft around the edges, affectionate, not that Magnus properly heard what he was saying as he was already nodding off again from the fingers still gently carding through his hair.   

He opened his eyes once more when Alec’s hand left his hair and he heard a softly spoken suggestion of getting up and getting to bed, most likely a repeat of what he’d said before. He knew that the smart choice would be to do that, future Magnus would be thankful as his neck was already starting to ache from his position. Instead he just replied with “No. Comfortable.”

Alec smiled again, Magnus’ heart constricting even in his sleepy state, before replying with “You don’t look very comfortable, Magnus.”

Magnus didn’t verbally reply, opting to make grabby hands at his boyfriend, smiling a little when Alec shuffled closer, a questioning look in his eye. Magnus simply grabbed his wrists, a lazy attempt at pulling him down to sit next to him. Luckily, Alec caught on, and sat down next to him, automatically relaxing. It was nice, how easily the loft has gone from Magnus’ to theirs. Over the months the loft began to look very homely, proof of Alec’s time spent here littered around.

Magnus was drawn out of his thoughts as Alec shifted a bit, reminding him of his initial goal of making Alec sit here. He moved and gently laid his head on his open lap, now seeing him as Alec looked down. Magnus smiled, the angle not being the most flattering even though Alec still managed to look cute, raising his eyebrows at Magnus’ actions but not saying anything.

Magnus commented on that, the fact that against all logic, from this angle Alec still managed to look ‘precious’, as he decided to put it.

Alec looked up then, cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. To be fair, he should be used to small compliments like these, Magnus being anything but shy when talking about Alec. But, to this day, small things such as this fluster him.

Magnus shifted a bit, rolling over to see nothing but the black fabric of Alec’s shirt. Magnus took a deep breath in, the familiar scent of soap mixed with something specifically Alec washing over him. He truly relaxed then, curling his legs up to fit more comfortably on the couch.

He quickly drifted off back to sleep, Alec once again softly playing with his hair. The last thing he heard before fully giving into the tiredness that’d been encasing him for the past few hours was a quiet, “Night, Magnus.”

[evilovesyou]

Prompt!

I’ve saved this one from the prompt generator, and I’ve been thinking about it for a while

Genre:Romantic Comedy

Trope: Angels and Demons

Prompt: Learning a hobby together.

It’s crafting time! and to flex those well developed fluff muscles!

When Zayn had looked through the peephole in the door, all he’d seen was a grinning Niall. Now that the door was actually open, he had the very same grinning Niall right in front of him. Marvellous. It was evident he’d rushed to see Zayn by his flushed pink cheeks and his crooked halo. Zayn was almost knocked off his feet with affection. 

And that was when he saw the box.

“What’s in that box, Niall?” he asked, suspiciously narrowing his eyes. He flapped his wings behind him in a threatening manner. It sounded a little bit like the sleeves of a leather jacket rubbing together.

“Supplies!” Niall was unperturbed.

“What are the supplies for?”

“We’re crafting today, Zaynie.” Niall nodded to himself, and stepped forward, ignoring the way Zayn tried to block him. “C’mon. It’ll be fun!” he said, petting Zayn’s left horn and using his momentary shock to push himself into the apartment. His soft, feathery wings brushed Zayn’s shoulder and he carried the scent of late summer.

“Don’t… Niall, I told you my horns are sensitive.” Zayn sighed and closed the door. The angel had already kicked off his shoes and put the box on the coffee table.

“And I used the information to get into your house.”

“That’s not very angelic of you, is it?”

“Eh,” Niall shrugged, wings fluttering with it, and pulling a series of things from his box. “I did it in the name of Fun. And Fun is sacred.”

“Fun, depending on what kind, can also be considered demonic,” Zayn pointed out. “Is that wood?”

“It’s willow reeds, Zaynie. We’re going to learn basket weaving!”

“What do we need baskets for?” Zayn slowly came closer and sat down on the edge of his sofa. His. This was his apartment, even though the angel he’d accidentally befriended in college seemed to consider everything that was Zayn’s to also be his. “And why are we making a mess in my living room, not in yours?”

“You know how Harry and Liam can get about messes in the house,” Niall explained, lining up the supplies neatly. “I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Zayn chose not to point out the fact that Harry was dating his best friend, who was the messiest demon he’d ever met. “What if I tell you I do mind, actually?”

“Oh, do you really?” Niall looked up at him for the first time, dropping his busy hands into his lap as he sat back on his haunches. Zayn’s soft, blue and yellow rug reflected in Niall’s bright eyes, the afternoon sun streaking his ash brown hair with golden streaks. The orange and pink of the oncoming sunset on Niall’s wings was completely out of place in Zayn’s self-proclaimed demonic, dark mind. He sighed.

“I don’t mind, Niall. I would just appreciate a heads-up next time.”

“But if I told you beforehand, you would’ve come up with a million excuses like ‘Niall, we don’t need baskets.’ and ‘Niall, for the love of God, don’t buy willow reeds on the internet at 3am.’ and ‘Niall, I don’t want to spend time with you–’”

“I always want to spend time with you,” Zayn rushed to correct, not realising that he’d said it out loud until he heard Niall’s quiet gasp.

“Yeah?”

“I thought it was quite obvious.” Zayn admitted, dropping his head into his hands. “Everyone teases us about it.”

“Yeah, because I have a crush on you, Z. Not the other way around.”

Zayn’s head snapped up so fast his horn almost poked Niall’s outstretched hand. Niall’s wings snapped up, ready to take flight, but immediately relaxed back down when their eyes met. His halo was still crooked. 

For a moment it seemed very quiet, until Zayn could hear people talking underneath the open window, a car going by in the street, the neighbour’s dog barking, his own heartbeat. He slowly reached across the edge of the table, tracing Niall’s temple, and fixed his halo for him.

“I like you, Niall,” Zayn said finally, as he dropped his hand. “A lot.”

more of my writing

[writingblankspaces]

Here’s a sneak peak bros:

“You need to eat this kimchi before it goes bad. Your mom’s cooking looks too good to waste,” Jimin commented, carefully getting out each dish.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi asked, already too tired to really process what was happening before his eyes.

Right in his kitchen, a kid that had been dead for upwards of three years was warming up dinner for him.

“Making dinner. Since I can’t eat anymore, you need to. I’ve seen the way you eat, or rather, the way you don’t eat.” Great now the ghost was worried about his wellbeing.

How fucking ironic.

When the food was warmed and the side dishes were put into small bowls, Jimin carried them to the table and sat them in front of Yoongi. He waved his hand, telling him to eat and at a lost of what else to do, Yoongi ate.

Jimin watched him with a sad smile on his face then wandered to the sink, starting to clean the dirty dishes.

That was another thing Yoongi had noticed besides his things going missing.

His apartment was cleaner than it had ever been and at first, he’d attributed to himself working so hard he didn’t have time to make a mess.

That only worked for so long until he came home to freshly washed dishes, which, in combination with his misplaced keys and computer mouse, had been the last straw(s).

“It smells so good. I bet it tastes just as good,” Yoongi snorted and shoved a spoonful of kimchi jjigae into his mouth.

[movedtojeonasskook]

A/N: I read too much smut lately so... yeah, I wanted to write something smutty for a try. But alas, I somehow managed to make a pwp angsty and I have no idea why whoops I’m sorry.

but anyway, here,  top!jungkook/jimin; nc-17, pwp with angst.

p/s: I just realized this drabble can be related back to “Remember me” if you know what I’m saying-

“Can’t sleep?”

“Can’t sleep,” Jimin simply answers, and doesn’t reciprocate the stare that’s coming from Jungkook.

It’s way too affectionate, and it’s way too intense. Jimin doesn’t think he has the heart to deal with it yet, so he doesn’t look at Jungkook, and just keeps his sight fixed on the cracked ceiling. He can’t see Jungkook this way, but at least what he’s looking at reminds him of yesterday, when they tried to paint over the cracks, but ended up tumbling on the floor, engaged in a tickle fight after tripping over papers and stools.

He smiles, and it’s only when he smiles he feels something cold and wet touch his lips — he realizes that he’s crying.  

“Jimin,” Jungkook immediately starts, but Jimin’s faster.

He sits upright, and wipes the embarrassing traces away from his face as he laughs instead, because it’s all that’s left to do. He knows explanations and lame excuses won’t cut, and Jungkook’s stare is getting even heavier on his chest and Jimin just wants to shut everything down.

“Jimin,” Jungkook tries again, and this time he reaches out for Jimin’s arm and his hold’s so firm, Jimin didn’t stand a chance to stop himself from getting turned so that they are both facing each other now.

“Don’t say a thing—“ Jimin warns, and it turns out that Jungkook isn’t planning on saying a single word more.

He kisses Jimin instead, and from the way he’s pressing their lips together, all lingering and deep without dragging things out, without wasting a second more, Jimin knows, he knows. They aren’t going to say a thing, at least not for now.

Not when the sound of Jungkook’s breath that’s beginning to get short is starting to stir something within him, and not when Jungkook’s hands that were on his arms now slide downwards only to drag warm fingertips up his skin after slipping them beneath his shirt.

Jimin lets the moment take him away so he doesn’t have to think, he lets the gaze of Jungkook’s eyes that darken instead distract him when he gets pushed down onto the bed, now lying on his back as the younger male breaks away from the kiss, his breathing all heavy and and drags his black top off with one smooth movement. Jimin’s eyes unknowingly follow the way Jungkook’s now exposed torso flexes as he rids of his shirt, and leans upwards instinctively while the younger male crouches low above him, to meet him halfway so their lips can meet yet again, this time a little louder, and much more wetter now with tongues and teeth.

They let all of their attention be taken way by the kiss that still feels so intimate despite the heavy hints of lust, and only pull away when it’s Jimin’s turn to suffer from tight lungs and shallow breathings. Jungkook’s eyes never wavered, not even once as he looks at Jimin’s face, and drinks in the sight of how his swollen lips are before he raises his hand to drag a thumb across his lips.

Jimin feels it, he feels the gentle touch that eventually settles on his bottom lip, and he looks at Jungkook for seconds before he takes the younger male’s thumb into his mouth, his vision now downcast as he feels that stare coming yet again, and just focuses on outlining the digit with his tongue.

It goes on for seconds before Jungkook brings another hand up to caress at his cheek, and it almost feels like the younger male’s about to speak, but he doesn’t and pulls away entirely instead to let both of his hands fall onto Jimin’s waist and starts sliding his sweatpants together with his boxers down. The younger male drags it so slow, so he can get the chance to leave traces of his touches all the way from Jimin’s hips, to his thighs then to his ankles before everything’s off.

Jimin should feel cold, but he doesn’t. He instead, feels his body getting warmer as Jungkook leans all of his weight down onto him when he begins mouthing at his neck, while a hand stretches to the side so to pull the top drawer of the nightstand open. The quiet roll the drawer sounds when it opens only build anticipation within Jimin, and he doesn’t allow Jungkook to pull away so soon as he intertwines his fingers with the younger male’s raven locks and keeps him there, where wet kisses and marks are left all over his neck and collarbones.

It’s only when the two lubed digits slip in that Jimin lets loose of the younger male, and let Jungkook aligns their bodies so their lips can meet for a deep kiss that takes away both of their breath immediately as the fingers began to move with familiarity, and scissored at ease within his body that’s welcoming the intrusion. It didn’t take long, it never did — because Jungkook understands Jimin’s body too well, he understands how deep he should go, he understands where to hook his digits on the other side of his inner walls so he can graze his touch against that one place that shakes Jimin, and it doesn’t take long this time for Jimin to start making soft, breath noises against his lips that are quiet pleas which spots wetness at the front of his own sweatpants with precum.

Another finger in with another long minute of agony that’s patience, Jungkook finally pulls away so he can push his own sweatpants downwards, till they pool at his knees and before he can grab the bottle of lube that’s been lying aside, Jimin suddenly does what he did, pushing him down so he’s the one lying on his back this time. He doesn’t question Jimin’s actions, even if his curiosity’s blaring obvious from the way he’s looking at him, but he keeps his question silent anyway, and Jimin answers just as silently.

He lubes Jungkook’s cock up, letting each drag of his hand slow and sensual on purpose before he sinks down on the younger male and the instant he feels the way the other’s inside of him entirely, he begins to move. This isn’t an once in the blue thing, and Jimin would be insane if he drags out the wait for either of them anymore longer — yes, Jungkook’s warning him to slow down from the way his hands are now squeezing tightly at his hips, but Jimin doesn’t.

Jimin rides Jungkook fast, and each time their skin meet for a lewd, slapping sound Jimin’s moans dip a little deeper because there it is, Jungkook’s inside of him entirely again and that’s all he wants, that’s all he needs now. He lets his lust guides him in which pace to go, and before he can open his eyes to look at Jungkook who’s letting out soft grunts, he suddenly feels a shift in their positions.

It’s not much, but Jungkook has decided to sit up, and Jimin can’t help the quiet exhale that leaves his mouth at how much deeper Jungkook can actually push up into him like this, and Jimin thinks he stop breathing for awhile just to get used to it until Jungkook’s hands reach downwards, kneading at his thighs before he begins moving.

It’s Jungkook who’s moving this time, and he opts for a slower pace like he had wanted, like Jimin still needed time to get use to the stretch he’s relatively used to. Jungkook doesn’t care, though. He takes his time, and he fucks up into Jimin slow. His thrusts go deep, but they go slow and each time he fills Jimin up to the hilt, his hips circle before he lets the drag out his body out be agonisingly slow so Jimin can feel everything and Jimin does, to be honest.

He feels it all too much, he thinks he can’t even stay still, but Jungkook suddenly leans closer, so much closer he can press a kiss against his lips, and it’s so tender it makes Jimin’s heart swell, and it’s so ridiculous because the peck feels overly chaste for a kiss in the middle of sex. But it’s not like Jimin’s complaining, he likes the way Jungkook’s beginning to supply his lips with a series of gentle pecks that linger like a comforting warmth that wraps around his body, and it squeezes down at his heart so tight, Jimin thinks he might be choking on it because the way Jungkook’s just fucking into him deeply, so gently as he leaves light pecks on his lips?

It’s like they are in love, and Jimin thinks he’s getting light-headed.

He turns his face away immediately, and doesn’t miss the way how Jungkook’s eyes now look up in hopes that Jimin will look back into his eyes, but Jimin doesn’t, because he still can’t, because he doesn’t want to look into the younger male’s eyes to hear the other saying that he loves you. Because Jimin’s going to say it back and when he does, he thinks he’s going to break.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word at his blatant avoidance, and just bites down at his shoulder as he drops a hand in between their bodies to begin fisting at Jimin’s cock, and all the thoughts Jimin’s beginning to have are all swept to a corner because all he’s saying at the moment is Jungkook, Jungkook, and Jungkook please.

Jungkook gives in to him, like he always does, and fucks into him harder than before, with his face now buried into the crook of his shoulder as his other hand continues to pump at Jimin’s cock relentlessly till his body clenches down around Jungkook’s even tighter than before, and Jimin’s stops speaking because all that’s leaving his throat are just moans and nothing else.

Jimin comes, streaks of hot wetness coating at Jungkook’s torso and at his own shirt that’s now clinging onto his body as his thighs quiver uncontrollably upon the pleasure that’s making his mind go blank.

His mind goes white, and it goes for so long, he almost missed the way Jungkook releases himself inside of him a few more thrusts later, and the soft whisper of ‘I love you’ that’s slightly muffled against his own shoulder.

He wishes he did, but he didn’t and now he thinks he can’t breathe.

“I told you to not speak—“

“I love you,” Jungkook says again, because he never listens, and he just continues to hug Jimin closer so that their bodies can be pressed together as he continues to hide his face at where Jimin’s shoulder and neck meets, and presses a kiss that’s way too gentle right there. “I love you, Jimin. I love you—“

Jimin tries to push himself off Jungkook immediately. He tries so hard, but Jungkook just hold him right there, where he’s still straddling at Jungkook’s laps and Jungkook holds him so close, Jimin begins crying again.

“Fuck you,” Jimin gives up and just buries his own face into Jungkook’s raven locks as he chokes on his own tears. “I fucking hate you so much, I swear, Jungkook, you can’t do this, fuck you,”

Jungkook just laughs, wetly as Jimin hears the younger male sniffle before he too, begins to shed tears that drip uncomfortably onto his own skin.

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the only thing he can. “I love you so much.”

“Stop saying that, Jungkook, stop—“ Jimin’s voice is strained as he tries to throw a punch at Jungkook’s chest, but the younger male ends up catching it so their fingers can intertwine tightly instead. “You are leaving, Jungkook. You have no right, you can’t say this — you are leaving me.”

Jungkook squeezes his hands tight, and doesn’t say those three words that hurt too much again, but the noises of the younger male crying hurt just as much anyway.

“… Don’t forget about me,” Jungkook says after a short silence and Jimin can’t even keep his eyes open anymore.

He just keeps his eyes closed and sobs even harder, because fucking Jeon Jungkook can’t keep his mouth shut and now they are a crying mess that’s so pathetic to even look at.

“Don’t you dare forget about me, Jimin,” Jungkook starts again and squeezes tight at Jimin who just holds him closer in return even if there’s no more space left in between. “Don’t forget about me—“

Jimin nods, even if it seems too much of a promise to fulfil, and whispers the same thing in return just because he needs to hear the same reassurance too.

 Because they are both way too selfish.

“I love you too, Jungkook.” Jimin presses a quick kiss to Jungkook’s head as he blinks back his tears. “… I love you too, so don’t you forget about me too.”

Jungkook’s quick to nod to promise him of that, and Jimin thinks he might understand why the younger male had been so bent to get a reaction out of him earlier because this reassurance, regardless how blatantly of a lie it is, soothes something within him nevertheless. It coats his heart with something warm, yet so heavy that he feels his heart sink at what’s to come because Jungkook’s leaving tomorrow.

He just lets Jungkook hold him tight, and holds Jungkook tight in return because this is the last time.

“Don’t forget me,”

[gilrael]

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

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Haikyuu!! Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ennoshita Chikara/Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio Characters: Ennoshita Chikara, Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Hinata Shouyou, Kageyama Tobio, Kinoshita Hisashi, Narita Kazuhito, Karasuno Volleyball Club, Original Characters, Akaashi Keiji, Kozume Kenma, Yachi Hitoka Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Kinoshita and Narita are great friends, Team Captain Ennoshita Chikara, Coming Out, Training Camp Summary:

“Put on your freaking shirt, you idiot!” Chikara growled, shoving the piece of cloth back at him with a little too much force. “Admit it, Chikara,” Tanaka shot back cockily, “you like seeing me shirtless.”

---

Ennoshita has a crush on Tanaka and is trying to figure out how to deal with it, while also trying to be a good senpai and captain for the rest of the team.

[momostodoroki]

maybe we'll find a brand new ending

Hi guys! This is my first ever contribution to the bellarke fandom, and it's probably not as good as it could be, but anyway, this is written over a prompt i saw the other day that goes like "drunk!Bellamy confessing his feelings for Clarke" and well.. this is kind of my take on it. Please leave constructive criticism and be welcome to leave prompts in my ask if you want to. Title courtesy of the OST of Begin Again, "Lost Stars"

"You did good, Bellamy. They... you're their hero. You saved them." and she regrets the sentence as soon as it leaves her mouth. She thinks he's going to yell at her -she's prepared for that, wants it even, but it doesn't come. Instead, with a slight slur to his words, he says:

"I did it for you."

She doesn't know what to say (how does one reply to such a heartfelt statement?) so she starts denying him, saying that she knows the 47 are important to him and that he would have gone anyway, but he just shakes his head, waits for her to finish talking. "I'm not saying I don't care for those kids. Hell, I'm fonder of them than I would admit while being sober. But princess," and here he pauses to take a swig of his drink, letting Clarke bask in the glory of hearing him say her nickname without a bite in his words (maybe there's still hope, she thinks). "I got inside that mountain for you. Because you sent me there."

Clarke doesn't like parties.

She didn't like them on the Ark with the withering looks everyone sent her and Wells over their slightly less worn clothes and better masks, and she doesn't like them here on the ground, not when the truce with the Grounders is still very fragile and when the very ground is a source of innumerable dangers to both sober and (very) drunk teenagers.

She would oppose to this particular one too, but it's been ten days since the mountain was defeated, and though the joy of having their loved ones back home is enormous, they didn't finish this war unscathed (she can't even think of poor Harper without having a nervous breakdown because of the guilt), and the morale on both sky people and grounder camps hang low, so she lets Jasper, Monty and Miller talk her into throwing a celebratory party and before she fully realizes it she's bringing the idea over to Lexa, who agrees, saying that it will serve to further unite both tribes.

And so she sits on a log in front of the biggest bonfire ever, clutching a cup of Monty's best moonshine so far (he calls it Harper's brand and it makes Clarke want to fling herself off a cliff) and stares off into the distance. She's been like this for most of the night: vaguely aware of her surroundings but alert enough that she's the first to reach Octavia when she nearly falls over herself, drunkenly dancing to a grounder song, checking her over for injuries. Lincoln is there, though, and he assures her he will take care of the girl, so Clarke goes back to her seat.

She's pleasantly having a conversation with Kane -who, by the way, is not as much a dick as he used to be, and not nearly as much as her mother has proven to being these days- about the new guard patrol schedule, when she feels someone sit beside her on the log and, even though their conversation is far from finished, Marcus excuses himself and goes to, he says, find her mother. She looks over to her sitting partner and finds one brooding Bellamy Blake, drink in hand. He's swaying a little in his seat, she notes, and she's suddenly very aware of the fact of all the things that haven't been said between them ("I was wrong", "love is not weakness", "nothing is worth losing you" are a few that come to her mind in the very moment) and that Bellamy is quite drunk.

"Hey" she says in a greeting. He tilts his head in her direction as a salute. They haven't talked much since his return, except for a few important camp matters here and there, but there are serious conversations she thinks they've both been avoiding, and she doesn't really want to have a heart to heart with a drunk Bellamy right now.

He hasn't been the same since his time inside the mountain. It's not like he talks about it, of course, but the cocky smirk he used to greet her with is a rare sight now, and even rarer when directed at her (and by "rarer" she means nonexistent). She wishes it didn't hurt as much as it does but, she muses, she brought this upon herself, now she must face the consequences of her actions. 

The nightmares are new, too. Bellamy was far from a peaceful sleeper when it was just her and him and the rest of the hundred around the drop-ship, but these days his screams echo across Camp Jaha in the dead of the night, and even though her tent is practically in front of his, she doesn't have the courage to try and comfort him (brave princess, he'd once called her, but he was wrong, she was the greatest coward to ever step on earth).

Clarke is far from drunk -the glass she's holding is still her first- but Harper's brand is a strong one, and when she sees Miller wave his arm in Bellamy's direction, a wide smile in his face, when she sees Bellamy's nod in his direction, his lips tilted slightly upwards, she blurts out:

"You did good, Bellamy. They... you're their hero. You saved them." and she regrets the sentence as soon as it leaves her mouth. She thinks he's going to yell at her -she's prepared for that, wants it even, but it doesn't come. Instead, with a slight slur to his words, he says:

"I did it for you." 

She doesn't know what to say (how does one reply to such a heartfelt statement?) so she starts denying him, saying that she knows the 47 are important to him and that he would have gone anyway, but he just shakes his head, waits for her to finish talking. "I'm not saying I don't care for those kids. Hell, I'm fonder of them than I would admit while being sober. But princess," and here he pauses to take a swig of his drink, letting Clarke bask in the glory of hearing him say her nickname without a bite in his words (maybe there's still hope, she thinks). "I got inside that mountain for you. Because you sent me there."

"Bellamy, you're drunk." She argues. And it's a good point, but her father used to say that drunk people and children never lied, and she's stuck between wanting to hear more and get the hell away from the bonfire, so she makes her desires meet halfway. "Let's get you to bed." She offers, her arm slipping under his to hold some of his weight, and when she's laid him on his bed and he's closer to sleep than he is awake, she allows herself to leave his tent.

Just as she's leaving, though, Bellamy squirms in his bed, and calls her name.

"Clarke," he murmurs, making her stop in her tracks to look at him. "I'd do it again. For you, I mean. I'd do it again" and then he drifts off to sleep, leaving her with a heart that's bursting at the seams with feelings she refuses to acknowledge, feelings she has no right to hold for him. So she goes to her own bed that night, resolving to talk to him, properly talk to him the next morning, and sort things out between them.

She finds him in the med bay the next morning, asking her mother (who's looking at him disapprovingly for a change, she notes sarcastically) for painkillers. She calls over to him, and when he looks at her there is a blush obscuring his freckles, she's pretty sure he remembers his drunken words last night, 

She supplies the medication he's asking for, but before he can leave, she grabs his arm and pushes him back on the examination table. "I wouldn't do it again." He looks at her with questioning eyes, and she takes it as a cue to keep talking. "Send you there again" she mumbles, then raises her eyes to his own, "I wouldn't do it Bellamy. It's not worth it." 

It's not much of an apology, and it sure as hell doesn't fix things between them, but the smile he gives her is huge and bright and warm (has he ever smiled like that to her? she doesn't think so), and maybe there is yet hope for them.