#now I’m getting tired of seeing the same joke again and again and again

[bitchinbarzal]

Blue and Gold, Cold and Alone | M Kesselring

summary: kess got traded.

—

When the news breaks, it isn’t from him. It’s a Twitter notification.

You’re still in bed, phone dimmed and fingers scrolling mindlessly when it pops up: Trade Alert: Michael Kesselring and Josh Doan to Buffalo for JJ Peterka.

The breath leaves your lungs.

Not because you didn’t know it could happen. But because he didn’t tell you.

Your phone buzzes again this time, his name lighting up the screen.

You answer with a quiet, “You got traded.”

He sighs. “I was going to tell you—”

“When? After you landed in New York?”

“I didn’t want to say anything until it was real. I didn’t want to stress you.”

You roll onto your side, pressing a hand over your eyes. “It’s real now.”

He leaves the next morning.

You don’t cry until the door shuts behind him.

Long distance, at first, doesn’t seem like the end of the world. You’d done it before. You had your life here work, friends, obligations you couldn’t drop. And he had the game. He always had the game.

You FaceTime every night for the first week. Silly jokes. Tired smiles. He shows you his apartment bare walls, new team gear in boxes. You send him a coffee maker. He sends you a sweatshirt.

It’s not the same, but it’s something.

Then the calls get shorter.

A missed one here. A late reply there.

“I’m just tired,” he says.

“I get it,” you say.

But it’s not just that.

He starts mentioning a name more than once.

“Avery said the sushi place down the block is killer.”

“I was late to skate ‘cause Avery’s dog ran into traffic—don’t worry, she’s okay.”

“Ran into Avery at the gym. She made me promise I’d stop eating like a frat boy.”

You laugh the first few times. It’s harmless. A friend.

Until it doesn’t feel harmless anymore.

Until it feels like replacement.

One night, you text him something soft

Miss you, wish you were here

He replies three hours later with a photo of his dinner. No caption.

You stare at it for a long time. You don’t write back.

You see him in a teammate’s Instagram story two nights later. He’s sitting at a bar, laughing, and she’s there. Her hair falling over her shoulder, her hand on his arm like it belongs.

Your heart squeezes so tight you forget how to breathe.

You don’t confront him right away.

You just pull away.

When he finally notices, it’s midnight. Your phone buzzes. His face fills the screen.

You answer, eyes already brimming.

“Hey, baby,” he says, smiling.

You don’t smile back. “Can I ask you something?”

He sits up, concern furrowing his brow. “Of course.”

You swallow hard. “Are you sleeping with her?”

His whole body stills. “What?”

“Avery.” Her name catches like fire in your throat. “Are you - are you with her?”

His face twists, broken and shocked. “Jesus Christ. No. Where is this coming from?”

“You talk about her more than me. She’s always there. I don’t even know what your apartment looks like anymore, but I know Avery’s dog’s name.”

He’s quiet. Then, “You think I’d cheat on you?”

“I think I’m not sure what we are anymore.”

He looks like you’ve gutted him. “You’re it for me. Always were.”

“Then why does it feel like I lost you anyway?”

His voice drops. “Because I’ve been a idiot.”

He shows up three days later.

You open the door in pajamas, bleary-eyed and cautious.

He’s holding your favorite coffee and a bag with that stupid sweatshirt he knows you love.

“I’m not staying long,” he says. “Just long enough to prove you’re the only one I want. The only one I’ve ever wanted.”

You don’t cry right away. But when he steps inside, when he wraps his arms around you like he’d fall apart without you and you let yourself believe him.

Maybe this isn’t the end.

Maybe it’s just where you learn how to begin again.

[booniebaby141]

Birds of Ratite

Ghost X Soap

After extensive research, I’ve come to the conclusion that Simon Riley would have a hyperfixation about birds, specifically Cassowaries because “They’re like fucking dinosaurs Johnny, be grateful they can’t fly, they can kick hard enough to break bones.”

Johnny will gladly listen to Simon yap about them for hours on end. I like to think when Simon runs out of Dad jokes to tell him during missions, he just rattles off fact after fact. Johnny can’t really complain, he does the EXACT same shit to Simon all the time; any time he gets first kit haul, he will prattle on about all the explosives, chemical compounds, and ammunition he got for the next demolition.

They will gladly listen to each other yap, especially in a high stress situation, where it could mean the difference between life or death…

~~~

“Bravo 7-1 to Watcher, just outside the safe house 2 Klicks North of the drop zone. Ghost is in critical condition! Knife wound to the abdomen, need medevac NOW!”

“Copy that 7-1, sending help your way.”

“Fuck, c’mon stay with me Sir.”

The two collapsed just outside the safe house, falling to the grassy field before leaning back against the safe house wall. Soap looked around aimlessly and desperately, watching as the sun peaked just over the horizon, illuminating his face, and his hands, now covered in the blood of his best friend as he kept a firm hold over the wound to prevent further bleeding.

Ghost almost wanted to laugh at the situation, being stabbed with his own knife by an opposing soldier was definitely not on his Task Force bingo card. It had been driven deep into his stomach before being yanked out as Soap flanked the man, dropping him to the ground while he still had a solid grip on the knife. The cut was deep and Ghost was starting to get delirious from the blood loss, he’d pass out soon enough if they didn’t get help quickly.

“Sir? Stay with me... Help’s coming L.T.”

“Johnny?”

“Ghost? I’m right here mate.”

He began to pull at the seams of his mask, trying to take it off in his weakened state when Soaps hands stopped him. It was an old promise they’d made to each other if they found themselves in a near death situation. They wanted to die seeing each others faces, their real faces.

“Simon no, stop. I’m not gonna let that happen, you’re gonna be fine. Quick, umm… How high can a cassowary jump?”

“What Johnny? Why?”

“Just answer the question, Sir.”

Ghost huffed raggedly but eventually wheezed out a struggled “7 feet.”

Soap nodded with a weak smile. “Aye, what’s the scientific name for them?” He continued to ask Ghost questions and keep him somewhat lucid.

Ghost realized what Soap was doing now, and he thought hard to try and stay awake until medevac arrived. “It’s *cough* it-it’s Casuar- *cough* casuarius johnsonii.”

They could hear the chopper approaching, Ghost rolled his head against the safe house wall, landing on Soaps shoulder as darkness approached the corners of his vision. “It’s cold Johnny…”

Soap propped him back up, getting in front of him and running his hands up and down the length of his arms in an attempt to warm him up some. “They’re landing now Simon, just a bit longer aye? Quick, tell me where they live.”

“Wha? Johnny?” Ghost slurred out, struggling to keep himself awake but he knew he had to, for his sake, and Johnnys.

“The cassowaries L.T, where do they live?”

“N-new *cough* New Guinea, and Aus-Australia.”

“Aye? Well I’m gonna take you there when this is all over, so you stay awake you big, broody, bastard.”

That got a slight chuckle from Ghost, which quickly turned to a fit of coughing and sputtering as the pain sharpened in his abdomen and the blood seemed to pour out at an even faster rate. Soap kept his hands placed firmly on the wound, watching as Ghosts head lolled to the side again and he grew quiet, uncharacteristically so even for him. He was so cold, so tired. In his half delirious state, the warmth of Johnnys hands gave him enough of an illusion of safety to start falling asleep.

“Ghost? Ghost?! Come on wake up Sir! Their wheels are down. Wake up you bastard! Come on, tell me their wingspan, what colours are they, anything Sir!”

The last thing Ghost remembered hearing before passing out was the frantic, panicked shouting of his teammate and the warmth of his skin, and the hurried thudding of boots on the ground as a medical team was pulling over a stretcher with Price in tow. He hears a faint conversation, something whispered, something upsetting, before being pulled up to the stretcher and the last bit of consciousness being pulled out of him.

The warmth never left however.

He wakes up in a hospital bed, Johnny’s hand clasped around his. He looks like shit, like he hadn’t left Ghosts side for a second to clean himself up. Still bloodied and stained, yet here he was watching over his lieutenant like a hawk.

“You made it L.T.”

“You fucking made it.”

Ghost didn’t have time to reply before strong arms were wrapped around his chest in embrace. He winced slightly as Johnnys weight pressed down on the bandaged stab wound, but eventually settled in a soothing silence as he held Johnny closer. He pretended not to hear the sniffles coming from his sergeant.

“I made it Johnny.”

The two remained that way for a while, Ghost looked around his hospital room to see the array of things left by his team. There were several cards surrounding a large bouquet of roses, hydrangeas, morning glories, and marigolds; all the colors of a cassowary’s feathers. There were some bottles of bourbon left by the Vaqueros, even Nik had brought a little mug with birds painted on by Soap. Inside the mug, Ghost noticed two slips of paper.

“What’s in the mug Johnny?” He asked suspiciously, to which Soap chuckled before briefly letting go to grab the tickets.

“I told you, you make it through this, I’m taking you to see them. Once you’re given the all clear from medical, we’re going…”

Ghost looked in awe at the two tickets, round trip to Australia with accommodations and a visit to the Taronga Conservation.

“Fucking hell, Johnny…”

“Ahh, don’t give me all the credit, Gaz helped me find the place and Price gave us the leave and got us a hotel. But I planned the rest. Got even more surprises in sto-”

Soap was cut off as Ghost pulled up his balaclava slightly to give him a kiss. Soap leaned into it, returning to his initial embrace and kissing right back, soft and gentle; what they both needed after such a close encounter with death. Talk of the trip could wait. For now, they simply needed each other.

“8 to 10 feet Johnny.”

“What Sir?”

“I never answered your question before, their wingspan is 8 to 10 feet.”

“Hah, guess we’re gonna see then aye L.T.”

“I guess we are.”

2 Weeks Later

“Watch out for the magpies Johnny, they’re even worse than Canadian Geese. Hey look up, a Masked Lapwing! And it’s a black shouldered subspecies, you usually only find them in New Zealand. Did you know that the only species of bird who can do…”

Soap listened with a smile although he did lose track at times as Ghost listed off every bird in the conservation he could see and had at least 3 facts for each of them. Still, it was good to see him back up and about, and back to his usual self. Although if it was a side of him rarely seen, Soap felt honoured he felt comfortable to show it to him. Both men nearly cried when they finally got to visit the cassowaries. Simon nearly cried because he finally got to meet his favourite bird in person, and Johnny because he finally got to watch Simon meet his favourite bird in person.

~~~

Just a silly Ghoap idea I had from a TikTok I saw on cassowaries. What else would they yap about? I just know Ghost and Soap are the AuDHD dream team of hyperfixation.

[thatrandomblogsays]

Me: *reading a post that makes the joke “Peeta dropped the baby bomb, Gale drops bombs on babies”* haha good one

Also me: you’re missing the point! You’re missing the point! YOURE MISSING THE POINT! He grew up starving. His best friend almost died of hunger. Most of his people live in poverty. He watched children die in a bloodbath every year for the capital’s entertainment. The girl he loved went into the games. Was tortured by the capitol. His district was bombed out of existence. Nearly everyone he knew was killed. Their only crime was being fed up of being hungry and oppressed and sharing the same district as Katniss. All those innocent people. Murdered. He had to take refuge in a district that was bombed out of existence and forced to live underground. Of course he joined the war effort. Of course he designed unethical bombs and battle tactics. He wanted revenge. He wanted the capitol to have a taste of their own medicine. He wanted the rebellion to succeed. And tell me you could live through what he did, and that no part of you would be screaming for Justice and vengeance. Gale is you. You are Gale. He represents a part of feelings and actions that reside within us, even if you don’t act on it.

“But he killed prim!” Exactly! Gale loved prim. She was a second family to her. He looked after Katniss’ family. He saved them from the district 12 bombings. He loved her. He never would’ve put her in danger. He never would’ve put in order for a bombing if it would kill Prim. But coin would. And did. She took what was meant to be a tool of Gale’s righteous revenge for all the suffering he and his people suffered through, only for someone in power to take it and use it to kill someone he loved.

There’s some many lessons to take. We can’t control the things we create. War spares no one. Even justifiable rage and actions can end up rebounding and hurting those you love instead of your targets.

“He drops bombs on babies” is too simplistic of a takeaway and does a disservice to the story and Gale.

[luvbabydoll]

soft target — john price

a/n: here is part one

the school’s quiet now.

the sun’s low, painting everything gold, and you’re locking your classroom door with tired hands and a cardigan pulled tight around your shoulders. the same sundress underneath, just a little more wrinkled now. your flats scuff softly on the pavement as you head toward the bus stop, bag slipping from your shoulder.

and then—

“bit late for the bus, isn’t it, love?”

you freeze.

he’s leaned against a dark car at the curb, sleeves still rolled, cap tilted back slightly. cigar in one hand, half-burned and glowing faint. he looks like he’s been there for a while. watching.

waiting.

you clear your throat. “i’m fine. it’s only a few minutes.”

he hums. takes a drag.

“not safe out here. bus stop’s full of pissheads after five.”

you blink. “i take it every day.”

he exhales smoke slowly, like the words amuse him.

“not dressed like that, you don’t.”

your fingers tighten on your cardigan.

“what’s that mean?”

he flicks the ash off the tip of the cigar, then gives you that slow, maddening once-over.

“floaty little thing like you? sweet voice, soft shoes, not a clue how many blokes’d follow you just to see where you get off.”

you shift on your feet.

“i manage just fine.”

“‘course you do, sweetheart,” he drawls, tone all condescension and heat. “still doesn’t mean you should be out here on your own.”

he nods at the car behind him.

“come on. i’ll drive you.”

you shake your head. “i don’t need—”

“wasn’t askin’.”

the words are quiet. firm. but not unkind. not really.

more like... decided.

you hesitate. bite your lip. you shouldn’t. god, you know you shouldn’t.

but then he opens the door for you, like he already knows you’ll say yes.

“it’s not charity, love,” he adds, almost mockingly. “just not lettin’ a pretty thing like you end up on the evening news.”

your heart hammers.

you get in.

the leather’s cool. smells faintly like him. like cigar smoke and expensive soap.

he walks around the front, slow and unbothered, flicks the cigar into the street with a practiced hand, then slides in beside you and starts the engine.

no music. no small talk at first. just the low purr of the car and the weight of his gaze at red lights.

until finally, he says it.

“didn’t peg you for the bus type.”

you glance at him. “i’m a teacher. not exactly glamorous.”

he scoffs. “could’ve fooled me.”

you blink.

“look like you belong in one of those soft little perfume ads,” he mutters. “all lips and lashes. s’no wonder your class won’t shut up.”

you don’t answer.

his fingers tap the wheel lazily. “bet they’ve all got crushes. boys like that—doesn’t take much. just a smile and a dress.”

“i don’t flirt with my students.”

he smirks.

“never said you did. just said you don’t have to.”

you look out the window. cheeks hot.

“you always talk to teachers like this?” you murmur.

he doesn’t hesitate.

“only the pretty ones.”

the drive is quiet again. only this time there’s music.

not loud—just a low hum from the speakers, something gritty and slow and old. a man’s voice, raspy, drawling about whiskey and war. you don’t recognise it, but you don’t ask either. you figure he already knows that.

he doesn’t look at you while it plays. just taps the wheel in time, lip twitching like he’s in on a joke you’re too young to get.

“not your kind of music, is it?” he says finally, eyes still on the road.

“no,” you admit softly.

he chuckles.

“didn’t think so. you’re more of a... sugar-pop sort, yeah? all pink headphones and love songs?”

you bristle, but only a little. “i listen to plenty of things.”

“mm,” he says, unconvinced. “you ever even heard of tom waits?”

“well… no.”

“figured,” he smirks.

by the time he pulls up outside your apartment, the sun’s almost gone. your building looks worse in this light—weathered and crooked, like it’s sighing from holding itself up.

he looks at it, then at your shoes.

“you live here?”

“...yeah.”

he lets out a breath through his nose. not rude—just surprised.

“jesus, sweetheart. i knew teachers weren’t paid well, but jesus lovie.”

you slide your bag onto your shoulder, already reaching for the handle.

“thanks for the ride.”

but he’s already out of the car.

before you can step out, he’s opening your door for you again—holding out a hand like you’re stepping onto a yacht and not cracked pavement.

you blink up at him.

“i can walk.”

“not in those dainty little things,” he mutters. “look at the state of this lot.”

and then—god—he lifts you.

just like that. arms around your thighs and back, bridal-style, all warm and solid and smug.

“john!” you squeak, clutching his shoulders.

“don’t fuss,” he says, carrying you like you weigh nothing. “not lettin’ you ruin those shoes on my watch.”

you want to argue. you really do.

but then you’re at your door and he doesn’t put you down. not right away.

“keys?” he asks, eyes flicking toward your purse.

you fumble, unlock it with shaking hands.

and instead of handing you over the threshold, like a normal person—

he steps inside.

like he’s invited.

like this is his now.

you’re still in his arms when he glances around.

“cozy,” he says again, same tone as in your classroom.

his voice is quieter here. thicker.

you try to wiggle down. he finally lets you go, setting you gently on the floor like a toy being placed back on the shelf.

you smooth your dress. try to fix your face.

“you didn’t have to come in.”

“wasn’t gonna leave you out there in the dark,” he shrugs, looking at your tiny kitchenette, the stack of books near the couch. “besides, didn’t get my proper tour earlier.”

you give him a look. “this isn’t a tour.”

“sure it is,” he says, moving to lean against your counter like he’s done it a hundred times. “i’ve seen your classroom. now i’m seein’ where you keep your soft little cardigans.”

you cross your arms.

“you’re very confident.”

he grins.

“and you’re very polite for someone lettin’ a stranger into her flat.”

you hesitate. “you’re not a stranger.”

“aren’t i?”

he steps a little closer. your back almost hits the wall.

you don’t answer.

he smiles, slow.

“you should eat somethin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

you blink.

“you don’t have to—”

“i know i don’t,” he cuts in gently, brushing a bit of lint from your sleeve like he’s done it before. “but i want to.”

“why?”

“dunno,” he shrugs. “maybe i like takin’ care of soft little things.”

[timmydraker]

Tim calls a family meeting and everyone is assuming he’s got a big case he needs help with, which is alarming for someone who refuses to admit that some cases are beyond him.

So, everyone shows up at the cave only to be ordered upstairs by Alfred. For those who only showed up to make fun of Tim for needing help, this is confusing because case work ain’t allowed upstairs.

All do them figure out quickly that this means it’s not to do with Gotham or Ref Robin, but the man behind the mask.

Bruce and Dick were there first and because Damian is always with one of them, so is he.

Steph picks up Barbara and Cass, with Duke already at home and Jason showing up at the same time as Kate and Lucius.

When they all get into the lounge room used for when people are over, just two doors down from the actual family room, they all find themselves chatting casually as they stave off their own worries or confusion. Some of them try find out if anyone knows what’s going on, but when Alfred and Barbara reveal they have no idea, they give up and make a few guesses but no more.

When Tim finally comes in after Alfred received him, he looks tired.

It’s not usual for Tim to get distracted with work and not sleep for a while, but he will conk out for hours when he decides to and wake up alright.

The bags under his eyes, the redness within them, and the way he looks close to tucking himself into a ball…

Bruce is immediately leaning forward, opening his mouth to make sure his son is okay but Tim just raised a hand to silence him. “Just… just let me speak, okay? I need to do it now or I’m not going to be able to.”

Everyone gives him a nod or look of understanding, making him twitch a smile before inhaling deeply and psyching himself up.

“I have cancer.”

…

Nobody speaks as Tim exhales shakily.

Everyone is staring wide eyed at the young man before them, who just reached the legal drinking age, and trying to asses his physical form for an understanding of what he just said. They’re all trying to gain X-ray vision to see exactly what is hurting him all while trying to convince themselves they heard him wrong.

Tim closes his eyes and speaks automatically, leaning into facts like he always does when he’s freaking out, “I noticed I was getting by more tired and fatigued around last year. My doctor said I have a low white cell count but he wasn’t alarmed as it was still in the normal range. But a few months ago I started to note that bruises were taking far too long to heal and I was getting a lot of pain around my joints and bones.”

He inhaled again, shakier than before at the same time that Alfred sits himself down with a hand over his mouth.

“It’s stage 2 and because of my lack of a spleen it’s going to be a harder process for treatment but fortunately I own a medical company so there’s that at least.” He makes a sort of joking smile that falters immediately, falling into a pulled back frown that comes with someone whose about to sob as he adds, “But it’s also aggressive so I-I don’t know how-how to-fuck-“

Dick and Cass are immediately moving off the couches they are on and catch him as he finally crumbles into himself.

Bruce is next to follow, the stoic man openly crying for the first time in years.

Jason and Damian are in shock, both frozen in place as dread takes over their minds.

Steph is looking out the window, as if staring at some kind of his or deity and demanding an expiration as to why they have to hurt her loved ones so badly. She’s crying, but it’s silent which is all the more harrowing.

Lucius places a hand on Alfred’s shoulder to comfort the elder even as he himself itches to go comfort the young boy who helped him run the company when he was at his worst.

Kate leaves the room to go call Bette, needing her mentor because this is just something she can’t handle.

Duke is sobbing into his hands as he leans into Barbara’s lap. Barbara who is clinging to him like a lifeline as she feels her world shift once again, feeling so angry and confused at how one of them could be threatened like this. Of all the ways they could go out, was it really going to be cancer?

It was a harrowing experience for all of them to remember that they were human in more than just their flesh being able to bleed and be wounded, but for it to grow sick. For it to age and attack itself.

They were human at the end of the day and Tim…

In Metropolis, Clark Kent rushed into the bathroom at his work to throw up as he heard a conversation miles away.

[kxsagi]

i’m so obsessed with your writing, it’s not even funny. Especially the way you write sae, it has me on a chokehold ughh😊🙏

“𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐝, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫”

a/n: OH YOU LEMME SQUEEZE YOU IN A TIGHT HUG THROUGH THE SCREEN??? THANK YOUUU!!!

just for that, you’re getting this: 

sae really thought that he was going to have a baby boy. 

after all, he had a brother, and the rest of his family were mostly boys, too (a/n: not canon but wouldn’t be surprised if it was). 

so when the OB/GYN hands over your newborn baby to him, his eyes almost pop out of his sockets and his pumping heart nearly breaks the sound barrier when he sees that he’s now the father of a girl. he has a daughter. 

“awww were you hoping for a boy?” you joke, playfully teasing your husband. 

“i was expecting a boy, but i’m not complaining.” you watch a small smile form onto his lips, a proud sign of an exciting new beginning. 

a year has passed and your baby girl’s features are becoming more prominent. 

her teal eyelids, very tired-like but still pretty, are framed by long bottom eyelashes, identical to her dad’s. everything else, from her skin to her hair, looks like you. 

“sae-kun, she’s so pretty!” sae’s manager, girolan, exclaims, as he holds up your baby girl in his arms like that one scene from the lion king. 

in response, sae only scoffs and side-eyes him. he can’t help it, he’s overprotective of his daughter and is getting uncomfortable by the second. 

your baby girl just stares at girolan, before doing the same, exhaling a puff of air, turning her chubby face, and side-eyeing him. 

girolan is baffled and immediately hands your daughter back to you. “did… did she just –” 

you’re breaking out into laughter, cutting off the overthinking man who is now afraid to hold your daughter again. 

your baby girl only scoffs, turns her head, and side-eyes him again, and you’re laughing harder than you have ever had in your entire life, your baby girl wondering why her mom is shaking like crazy. 

“what?” sae asks you. “what’s so funny?” 

“she’s doing the same thing you do!” 

“huh?” 

your baby girl notices the laughter and does the same thing to girolan for a third time. 

“the scoff, head turn, and side-eye!” you laugh, holding your baby girl closely and nuzzling your nose with hers in a fit of giggles, contagiously spreading to her and now she’s doing the same. 

“oh so she learned from sae…” girolan sighs. “so sassiness is a gene after all...” 

sae gently pinches his daughter’s chubby cheeks. “picking up on my attitude already, princess? you really are my daughter, aren’t you?” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[kingkaisen]

TELL ME || Levi A.

even during the battle to end the rumbling, levi can’t help but think about you.

“Tell me, Y/N . . . Are you proud of me? Or are you disappointed? Did I fight hard enough? Could I have done more?”

Unanswered questions continued to appear in Levi’s mind as he glanced down at the blood splattering onto his fingertips, dripping from his mouth.

“Will I see you again someday? How long do I have to wait until I can know the answer to that?”

The pain in his leg was horrific. Awful. Indescribable — there weren’t any words in existence that could accurately detail the burning, aching sensation that made him wish he could chop off his own leg to escape the misery.

Even so, as one or two of his comrades held onto his limp body — he couldn’t tell who or how many, thanks to his blind eye — he did nothing but cough up blood.

“If I died today, I wouldn’t mind. Not if I get to see you again. I promised you that I’d always keep fighting — that’s what I said, right? I wish I didn’t make that promise, because I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired . . .”

As Levi rode on the back of Falco’s winged titan form, he realized something.

The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the agonizing heartache he felt every second of every day since he watched you die.

He hated himself for falling in love.

He hated himself for not being strong enough to save you.

Being known as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier felt like an utter joke. Like he was being mocked.

It was all he could think about as he looked down at the kids — no, they were adults now — fighting titans on Eren’s skeleton-like form, desperately attempting to stop the rumbling.

It was like he raised them. You both did.

But you didn’t get a chance to see them grow.

If you were still around, you would have known that Connie did indeed get taller. You won that bet. Levi owed you a new tea set, as he thought that the hilarious kid would stay the same height forever.

You didn’t witness Armin start to come out of his shell a bit, either. He was the commander now, could you believe that?

The shy kid who you thought of as a son — who followed you around like a lost puppy during his early days as a scout — was now Levi’s boss. And the colossal titan. How silly.

Jean had turned out to be a great leader as well, fighting for humanity instead of for himself. You would have been proud.

He only grew out his hair because you weren’t around to help him trim it. He could do it on his own, but he didn’t want to. Not without you.

Mikasa was exceptional then, and she was exceptional now. You were the only person she trusted to wash her scarf whenever she was too busy to get around to it.

Reiner and Annie were fighting too.

Everyone was fighting. All to stop the rumbling.

Even if it meant killing Eren.

“Could you do it, Y/N? Could you have helped us take Eren’s life?” Levi wondered.

You wouldn’t have supported the rumbling. That was a fact. Even so, you adored that kid, almost as if you were possessed by Carla’s ghost.

And he adored you too.

Your death was one of the horrific events that pushed Eren to this unspeakable point.

Both Eren and Levi witnessed it.

A titan snacking on your body as if you weren’t a person, but grapes at a picnic. Both of them were too weak to stop it.

They could only watch. Watch as you were eaten alive.

—

When the fight ended, your face was among the many ghosts staring at Levi. His old comrades were all satisfied. He didn’t have to fight anymore. He could just live.

But he couldn’t rest.

That came later. It came when Levi was an old man, sitting alone in his wheelchair at his favorite place in Marley to stare out at the glistening water with his one decent eye.

Old age claimed his life as the sun started to set, its beautiful orange rays shining over the water.

And you were waiting for him. You and all of his old comrades.

He pushed himself right out of his wheelchair. He could walk again. He could see again. He was young again.

His wrinkly skin melted away. His gray hair was once again black. His scars no longer existed.

Slowly, he walked towards you, the love of his life. The person he never got a chance to grow old with. Start a family with. Experience peace with.

When he wrapped his arms around you, holding you after so many years of trying and failing to remember what it felt like to touch you, he knew that he could finally rest.

[aryaryxoxo]

Six Times You and Bakugou Were Forced Together — and the One Time He Chose To Be. #katsuki bakugou x fem!reader ⤷ After six chaotic summers of ruining each other’s vacations, you thought you were finally free. But the joke’s on you—because now you’re classmates. Same school. Same dorms. Same explosive rivalry. Turns out, the universe didn’t get tired of the drama. It just leveled it up. (7.7k)

Warning: I KNOW THAT BAKUGOU’S KIDNAPPING IS THE REASON WHY UA IMPLEMENT DORMS FOR THEIR STUDENTS BUT FOR THE SAKE OF THIS FANFIC AND MY SANITY WE AREN’T FOLLOWING THAT TIMELINE. FHAJFHSKFJKAFJS TRUST ME OKE FJAJFJAJD THIS IS A PART 2, you can read this as a standalone but some parts need context ajksndajndasa miscommunication at its finest? pls dont hate me ;-; Bakugou being a stubborn bitc-

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1st - Being seated right next to each other

Mother always said she and Father were soulmates. The red string theory—proof of destiny. They met when they were young, but one had to move away. Gran and Pops believed America was better for their family.

Mother and Father were devastated. But despite the miles and differences—culture, time zones, even oceans—they found their way back to each other.

So, if someone asked you if you believed in soulmates? You’d say yes.

But a soulmate for love? Hah. Absolutely not. Soulmate of hate? Yes. And his name is Bakugou Katsuki.

Well… last year, something changed. You actually wanted to see him again. You wanted to race him to the pool, ride the waterslide until you both threw up, fight over snacks, and maybe—just maybe—see if that tension between you meant anything more than glares and name-calling.

But then there was the emergency. Your quirk flared, something went wrong, and you landed in the hospital. Three weeks confined. The doctors ordered full rest and observation. 

Mother and father are worried, they ordered no flying, no training, and definitely no UA.

You had to summon every ounce of strength—and stubbornness—to convince your parents to let you go to Japan. You fought. There was yelling. Crying. Accusations. But in the end, you won. Barely. 

Still, through all of it, you kept thinking about him. Bakugou.

Did he wait for you at the pool? Did he wonder why you never showed up?

If only your pride wasn’t as tall as Mount Fuji. If only you had taken the number his mom offered you. You could’ve sent one text. Just one.

But you didn’t.

Now here you are. Standing in front of Class 1-A. “…You can sit next to Bakugou Katsuki, since you already know each other,” Mr. Aizawa said, his eyes barely flicking toward you.

And just like that, twenty pairs of eyes pinned you as you walked toward the blond boy sitting near the window, arms crossed.

He didn’t say a word. Just watched as you pulled out your chair and sat beside him.

Mr. Aizawa immediately launched into the course expectations. But you couldn’t focus—not when the person you wanted to talk to was a solid wall of silence right next to you.

When the bell rang, the quiet filled room suddenly burst into conversation, getting to know each other and such. 

“OMG, how’s life in America?” a bright voice asked. You turned to see a pink-skinned girl grinning at you like you were already best friends. Two girls silently followed her from behind. 

You smiled politely. “Hot. Crowded. But okay, for the most part.”

“Sorry—I didn’t catch your names earlier,” you added, stifling a yawn. “I’m sorry if I arrive late. I just landed last night. Jet lag’s killing me.”

“You should rest first before throwing yourself into hero school,” said the calmer girl with black hair. “I’m Momo. That’s Mina, and Jirou.” She pointed between them.

You gave them a grateful smile. “Nice to meet you all.” But something shifted behind you. You could feel it. From the corner of your eye, you saw him—Bakugou—heading toward the door.

Your heart leapt before your pride could stop it. “Bakugou, wait!”

You followed him out into the hall. “Bakugou, you damn well know I’ll follow you even to hell,” you snapped, panting slightly, steps quickening until you caught up and blocked his path.

He halted. Hands in his pockets, hair messy as always, eyes unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” you said, breathless. “I’m sorry I made you wait. I didn’t mean to just disappear on you. There was something that happened—”

“I don’t care,” he cut in flatly.

Your words caught in your throat. Something cracked in you.

“…What?” you asked, voice trembling.

“I said I don’t care,” he repeated. “Now get the hell out of my face.”

It shattered something else. What the hell were those moments between you, then? Him comforting you when you panicked after getting lost in the woods? His quiet, genuine smile when he finally went down that stupid tall slide and you are there, waiting at the bottom?

You thought they meant something. But this was Bakugou. Of course they didn’t.

He stepped around you like you were nothing.

“Asshole!” you shouted, eyes burning.

“I know,” he muttered without turning back.

Yeah. Soulmate of hate. And that soulmate of hate just became your seatmate.

2nd - dorms are right next to each other

"Mom, I told you, I’m fine. I can unpack by myself. You don’t need to come all the way here just to help me organize my socks," you huffed, balancing your phone between your shoulder and cheek as you pushed open your dorm room door.

Your mother’s voice crackled on the other end, dramatic as ever. "I know, dear, but your father and I were thinking maybe we could help carry a few boxes... maybe set up your shelves, help you pick curtains—"

"Mother," you interrupted firmly, dragging a suitcase in with your free hand. "I’m here to become a pro-hero. If I can’t even move into a dorm on my own, what kind of hero would that make me?"

There was a pause. Then— "Oh my baby is growing up!" she wailed.

You sighed and let your forehead fall against the doorframe. “Okay, I love you, but I’m hanging up now.”

“Take pictures!” she shouted just before you ended the call.

You flopped onto your bed, face buried in the pillow, only to groan when you realized you hadn’t even opened the other suitcase. You sat up and—

SLAM

The door next to yours opened with a signature kind of violence you’d recognize in your sleep.

You froze.

Slowly—very slowly—you turned your head.

Sure enough, there he was.

Bakugou Katsuki.

You groaned into your pillow for the second time that hour. “No. Don’t tell me this is like the resort thing where you thought my room was yours.”

Bakugou, standing in your doorway like the world personally offended him, crossed his arms. “That wasn’t my fault. The receptionist gave me the wrong key,” he snapped, tone clipped. “And second—this is my room.”

You didn’t move. “You’re funny”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

You peeled yourself off the bed, grabbed your phone, and opened the email Mr. Aizawa had sent a few days ago.

“Mr. Aizawa said I’m in Room 401,” you said with confidence, scrolling quickly. “See? Right here. ‘Room 401.’ Boom.”

Still holding your phone, you stepped outside the room, ready to prove him wrong and compare the email to the number hanging next to the door.

But you froze.

There it was—right in front of you, nailed to the wall in bold, silver lettering:

Room 402.

“…Oh.” Your voice came out a little too small.

You turned your head to look at Bakugou, your pride deflating.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t yell. He just stepped into his room and dropped his stuff unceremoniously onto the bed, like he hadn’t just watched you dig your own grave in real time.

Good thing you hadn’t unpacked yet.

You quietly backed out of the wrong room, dignity dragging behind you as you made your way next door.

You muttered under your breath, “This doesn’t count as me admitting I’m wrong.”

No answer. 

You shut your door and stared at the wall that now separated your room from his.

Oh yeah. This was gonna be great. Not only was Bakugou your seatmate—he was also your dorm neighbor.

If this was the universe’s idea of a joke, it was a really cruel one.

…

Bakugou couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned, the blanket tangling around his legs like it was trying to suffocate him. He growled under his breath, flung the covers off, and sat up with a frustrated sigh.

This is so damn stupid, he thought, rubbing a hand down his face.

Giving up entirely on the idea of rest, he slipped out of bed and stepped onto the narrow balcony connected to his dorm. The night air was cool against his skin, a quiet contrast to the firestorm in his head.

Above him, the stars spilled across the sky like someone had cracked open the universe.

He stood there, arms resting against the railing, jaw clenched tight. He tried to think of anything else. School. Training. Tomorrow’s lesson. But his mind betrayed him—because it kept circling back to you.

To your face when you saw him again. To the way your voice cracked when you said sorry.  To the silence he gave you in return.

He knew he was a dick for ignoring you. He knew it.

But seeing you again, after you didn’t show up when you said you would… it made his heart twist in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.

I need sleep, he muttered to himself.

He was about to turn and go back inside when movement caught the corner of his eye.

He froze.

Just a few feet away—on the balcony next to his—you were there too. Barefoot, arms leaning on your own railing, eyes lifted to the stars like they had secrets you were trying to unravel.

You looked so peaceful. So lost in thought. So… you.

And you hadn’t noticed him yet.

Bakugou stood there quietly, gaze locked on you, and for a moment—just a brief, silent second—he let his guard down.

Damn it, he thought.

Because no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise, there was still something about you that pulled him in like gravity.

Bakugou reentered his dorm room, jaw tight, ready to sleep off the mess of thoughts spinning in his head. But then—he stopped. Something was sitting in the corner of his bed.

That stupid plushie.

Mr. Strawberry.

He stared at it for a moment, lips twitching in annoyance. Of course. Of course it ended up here. He could think of a million ways to get rid of it—toss it out the window, set it on fire, blast it into space. And yet… the first thing that came to mind was you.

How your eyes lit up when you held it. The way you hugged it like it held the entire world.

Bakugou groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Dumbass bear…”

Grumbling under his breath, he picked it up and marched out of his room. The hallway was quiet, moonlight slipping through the windows. He stopped in front of your door, hesitating just a second, before gently setting Mr. Strawberry down.

Not knocking. Not saying a word.

Just leaving it there for you to find.

3rd - somehow paired up for kitchen duty

“So, what’s up with you and Bakugou?” Mina asked casually, plopping down beside you at the dinner table, carrying a glass of water. 

You froze, spoon midair. Of course she’d ask. Someone had to.

It’s been a month since you transferred to U.A.

A month since you finally stepped into your dream school you’ve fought so hard for. And a month since you saw Bakugou again.  A month of him not saying a single word to you.

Despite sitting beside each other in class. Despite living one wall apart in the dorms. Despite brushing shoulders in the hallway, cafeteria, and training grounds.

It was strange. Uncanny, even.

Because every year during vacation, you’d see him. Like clockwork. You’d fight, race, dare each other to do stupid things by the pool. There was always something. Even last year—even when you didn���t show up—your thoughts still clung to him like chlorine on your skin. And when you saw each other again, in school of all places, you thought maybe… maybe something would’ve stayed. Would’ve meant something.

But now, you two were stuck in the same school for the next three years, and it was quiet. Too quiet.

You didn’t want to admit how bitter it felt. Didn’t want to acknowledge the tight knot in your chest every time he ignored you. Because he didn’t deserve your hurt. He was an asshole. Plain and simple.

You tried to explain yourself back then. You tried to say sorry and he just shut you down.

And the worst part? You still cared.

“Uh…” you finally responded, blinking out of your thoughts. “Nothing. There’s nothing between me and Bakugou.”

Mina raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of tension for nothing, girl.”

You forced a smile and took a bite of your porkchop. “Must be the air.”

“Okay, everyone!”

Tenya Iida, ever the earnest and booming class president, stood up from his seat, effectively cutting off your conversation with Mina.

Thank god.

You were grateful for the interruption. You needed any kind of distraction. Preferably one that didn’t involve Mina asking more questions about a certain blonde explosion boy.

“I have consulted Mr. Aizawa,” Iida announced, adjusting his glasses with dramatic flair, “and in the spirit of cooperation, balance, and fairness—we have concluded that there must be a sense of shared responsibility in this dorm!”

There were a few groans from the class. 

“Therefore!” he declared. “Every day, there will be two pairs of students responsible for breakfast and dinner. Since we all have lunch provided at school, this will ensure a consistent meal schedule and reinforce teamwork!”

He held up a neatly folded list like it was the Holy Grail.

“I have already assigned these pairs, and I will now read them aloud in the order of rotation.”

Mina leaned toward you and whispered, “Watch me get paired with Sero and burn the kitchen down.”

You smiled a little, just as Iida started rattling off names.

“Kirishima and Kaminari! You two are first.”

“Aw yeah!” Kaminari fist-pumped. “Let’s make curry for breakfast!”

“Tokoyami and Shoji. Second.”

“…Understood,” Tokoyami said, mysteriously.

You zoned out a bit as the list went on, your attention drifting, until—

“Bakugou Katsuki and [Your Name]. You two will be the fourth pair. Thursday.”

You snapped back to reality so fast you almost dropped your spoon.

You turned your head slowly—and of course, he was already looking at you from across the room, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.

Great. Cooking. Together. In a kitchen. For everyone. With knives.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Excuse me?” you raised your hand slowly. “How long are we paired up for breakfast and dinner?”

Iida didn’t miss a beat. “Until next term.”

You stared.

“Until… next term?” you repeated, voice rising half a pitch.

Iida smiled, utterly unaware of the quiet panic blooming behind your eyes. “Correct! I believe consistency will help build better cooperation and minimize confusion. That is the goal, after all!”

You sat down in slow motion, hands flat on the table.

From across the room, you could feel the weight of Bakugou’s stare, hot and heavy and already annoyed.

What could possibly go wrong?

(Everything. The answer was everything.)

…

Thursday came. Oh, how the days had flown by—fast, merciless, and leading you straight into doom.

You were enjoying the last shred of peace you’d know before the battle came storming in.

It was 6 a.m. The sky was still yawning. Your soul is already crying. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, hyping yourself up like you were about to face a villain instead of eggs and toast.

You took a deep breath, left your dorm, and stepped into the elevator. When the doors slid open to the communal kitchen floor—you saw him.

Already there. Already prepping. Already ignoring your entire existence.

He had the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up (which you totally didn’t find it hot, totally), a pan already sizzling, and that signature why-are-you-breathing-in-my-space scowl planted firmly on his face.

Of course he didn’t consult you about what to make. Why would he?

It’s not like this was a pair assignment or anything. Or not like communication was key to teamwork. Nope.

You walked in and cleared your throat.

He didn’t even look at you.

“Good morning to you too, Gordon Ramsay,” you muttered.

“What?” he barked, barely glancing your way.

“Nothing. Just admiring how we apparently live in your kitchen now.”

“Tch. Just don’t get in my way.”

You rolled your eyes and walked over to the fridge. If he wanted to act like he was running a five-star restaurant, fine. You’d start prepping the side dishes. At least someone had to make sure the toast didn’t turn into charcoal.

He didn't thank you. You didn't expect him to.

But as the smell of breakfast filled the dorm and the sun peeked over the horizon—you both moved around each other, wordlessly in sync.

It was annoying. How natural it felt. You hated it. (You didn’t.)

You were setting the table, carefully arranging plates, utensils, and the food you helped finish (even if he barely acknowledged your existence during it). The scent of grilled fish and rice was comforting, and for a moment, you almost forgot you were cooking with Bakugou.

Almost.

You turned around to grab the napkins—

—and walked straight into him.

“Ah—!” you yelped, recoiling as the side of the miso soup pot brushed your arm.

It didn’t spill—thank god—but the heat still licked your skin.

Bakugou barely flinched. His reflexes were too sharp, too quick. He gripped the pot tighter, steadying it before it could tip.

“Dumbass,” he muttered sharply. “Watch where you’re going.”

You hissed through your teeth, shaking your arm. “I did—I didn’t know you were right behind me! You didn’t announce you were carrying—who the hell carries boiling soup around like that?!”

He glared. “People who actually do something instead of pretending to be useful.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

He moved past you, setting the soup down roughly on the table.

“You’re such an ass,” you muttered under your breath—but loud enough.

“I heard that.”

“Good.”

Your arm was still stinging a little, but you didn’t let him see it. He didn’t apologize. Of course he didn’t.

But when everyone started filtering in for breakfast—complimenting the food and surprised it wasn’t a complete disaster—you noticed something odd.

Bakugou didn’t sit down right away. He hovered in the kitchen a bit longer.

Then, when he finally took his seat, he slid something across the table toward you without a word.

A small pack of burn ointment.

You blinked.

He didn’t look at you. He just shoved rice in his mouth like nothing happened.

You stared at the ointment. Then at him. Then back down.

Maybe, just maybe, this day was successful.

4th - you and Bakugou both end up in detention

You’re not a violent person. Really, you aren’t.

You bow to elders. You pour their tea with both hands like your mother taught you. You accept when you’re wrong. You apologize when you make a mistake. You don’t raise your voice. You don’t raise your hand.

...Well. That’s a lie. A small one. With two very specific exceptions.

First, there was the time a certain blonde menace with a god complex and an anger issue decided it was perfectly acceptable to grip your beloved stuffed toy—Mr. Strawberry—by the neck like he was squeezing the life out of it.

You had warned him. You had politely asked, "Give him back". Bakugou didn’t listen. So you launched yourself at him, tackling him like a linebacker.

Second, and more importantly, was the reason you were now in detention.

To be fair—you warned that guy too. The random jerk from Class 1-C or whatever, who thought it was funny to call Mina names. Said she looked like a clown with skin problems. Said she was a “failed science experiment.” Then he turned on you. Called you “transfer trash” and said Bakugou must be so unlucky to be stuck with you all the time.

You gave him three warnings. Then you gave him a fist to the eye and a knee to the groin.

"Again, Mr. Aizawa," you said with your hands folded like a model student, "I only hurt him twice. One in the eye. One in the manhood. That’s all."

Mr. Aizawa didn’t blink. "Then explain to me," he deadpanned, "why he's in Recovery Girl with a broken nose and fractured wrists?"

Your eyes widened, scandalized. "I said I didn’t do that!" you yelled at your teacher.

Okay. Maybe a third exception.

But before you could argue back—really argue back—the door burst open.

And in walked your first exception.

Bakugou Katsuki, looking just as pissed off as you were. Maybe more. Jaw tight, shoulders tense.

He didn’t say a word. Just marched over to the unoccupied chair beside you and dropped into it.

Mr. Aizawa barely lifted an eyebrow. "What did you do this time, Bakugou?"

Before Bakugou could answer, Snipe entered, striding in like he just finished dealing with a forest fire. "Not only did he arrive late for my class, he also kept provoking everyone. Ignored direct orders. Nearly set off an explosion indoors," Snipe rattled off with the tone of someone who's been through this many times before. "That's a third strike. I'm formally requesting detention."

Bakugou scoffed, arms crossed. "They were talking shit first."

"And you decided to answer with grenades," Snipe shot back, dry.

Mr. Aizawa sighed the sigh of a man who regretted all his life choices. "Great," he muttered. "Just what I needed." Then he looked at both of you. "You two. Same time. Same place. One week of detention."

You blinked. "Together?!"

Bakugou snapped his head toward you. "What the hell are you doing here?"

You glared. "Serving justice with a side of righteous fury."

"Sounds like assault," he muttered.

"Sounds like shut up," you snapped back.

Mr. Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. "If either of you speaks again, I’m extending it to two weeks."

Silence.

You leaned back in your chair, arms folded. Bakugou mirrored you—same posture, same scowl.

Yeah. This was gonna be fun.

…

“Mr. Aizawa, what are we even doing here?” you groaned, dragging your feet behind him like a ghost with sore legs. “I literally can’t feel my arms from training. Pretty sure my spleen filed a complaint.”

Aizawa didn’t look back. “Because,” he said flatly, “you two are going to clean up the mess you made earlier.”

You blinked. “What mess—” Oh. Right. You and Bakugou managed to destroy four punching dummies and one reinforced wall panel during your totally accidental sparring match-turned-world-war.

(Okay. Maybe you threw the first kick. Maybe Bakugou exploded it.)

You glanced at Bakugou, who had the audacity to look proud.

“I need this entire training room spotless by tonight,” Aizawa said, stopping at the entrance of Gym Gamma. He turned to you both, his voice level but threatening. “Floors scrubbed, gear cleaned, the storage shelves reorganized. And no fighting. If I hear so much as a grunt, it’s another week.”

Then he walked off like the drama king he was.

You turned to Bakugou. He turned to you.

And at the same time, you both muttered, “This is your fault.”

Some time later, you were off in your own little corner of hell, surrounded by dust and mess. Boxes were scattered all over the training room, and for some reason, it had become your job to stack and organize them—because Bakugou was somewhere else, doing god knows what, probably blowing something up.

You huffed and wiped your forehead. Your arms were jelly, your legs were shaking, but your pride? Still intact. So you grabbed another box. Heavy as hell. Probably filled with gym weights or metal, because of course, your luck sucks.

You staggered forward, muscles screaming, vision blurring slightly from exhaustion.

Almost there.

Almost—And then your arms gave out.

Crash.

The box came down hard—slamming against your shoulder, the edge smacking into your cheekbone on the way down. You hit the floor with a thud, breath knocked from your lungs.

“Shit,” you hissed, clutching your face as your eyes watered. You weren’t sure what hurt more—your pride or the throbbing burn spreading across your cheek.

Footsteps thundered behind you. “Oi—what the hell was that?” Bakugou’s voice rang out, sharp and angry. But when he turned the corner and saw you crumpled on the ground, his expression shifted for a split second—just long enough for concern to flash in his eyes before the scowl came back twice as strong.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, crouching beside you. “You could’ve brained yourself, dumbass.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to sit up.

“Yeah, sure. Tell that to your face.” He reached out before you could argue and tilted your chin slightly, inspecting the red, already-swelling mark on your cheek. His hand was rough but careful, thumb grazing your skin like it might crack if he pressed too hard.

You blinked at him, stunned. Was he... worried?

He stood, brushing the dust off his pants, and stomped away.

You expected him not to come back.

It made sense, didn’t it? After all, you were the one who never showed up that day. You were the one who made him wait. If he left you here now, it would’ve been fair. Predictable, even.

So when the familiar sound of his boots returned just seconds later, your head snapped up in surprise.

He dropped to one knee beside you again, avoiding eye contact as he shoved a cold pack into your hands.

“Next time, don’t be stupid,” he muttered.

You stared at him. The cold pack in your hand. The way he wouldn’t look at you.

“…You came back.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes flicked toward you for a second—just a second—then looked away like he’d been burned.

“Shut up,” he said.

But he didn’t leave. He just sat there, beside you, legs stretched out on the floor, arms crossed.

The air between you was fragile. Like something about to break. All the bitterness, all the tension — it hung between you like a string pulled taut.

You wanted to speak up. To explain. To finally say why you didn’t show up at the resort that day.

“I didn’t—” you started, your voice soft. “That day, I—”

But before the words could fully leave your lips—

“I thought I was going to see you two for another week,” came Mr. Aizawa’s dry voice as he appeared behind you, arms crossed. You and Bakugou jolted slightly at his sudden arrival.

“Looks like I was wrong,” Aizawa continued, raising a brow. “One busted cheek, zero broken furniture. That’s progress. Go see Recovery Girl.”

He turned, already walking away. “Detention’s over. Try not to destroy anything or someone else.”

You looked down at the cold pack still pressed to your face, then over at Bakugou.

He was already looking at you. And this time, he didn’t look away.

5th - you and Bakugou were to compete against each other during the sports festival

"Now that’s an explosion if I’ve ever seen one!" Present Mic’s voice echoed through the roaring stadium. The crowd was electric—but none of it mattered to you. Not right now.

You needed an entrance. And fast.

It was the U.A. Sports Festival. The entire school had been preparing for this moment, training endlessly. But if you were being honest with yourself, you were more prepared than most.

Because for you, this wasn’t just about school spirit. This was a declaration.

A chance to prove—to the world, but especially to your parents—that you deserved to be a pro-hero.

That you were enough.

You could still hear their words, sharp and unyielding, echoing in the back of your mind. “You’re not cut out for this.” “You’ll just get hurt.” “You’re not like the others.”

You clenched your fists, forcing those memories down, locking them away. Not today.

Another explosion cracked across the field. The stadium shook. Your heart did too.

Of course, it had to be him.

Out of everyone you could face in the finals… it had to be Bakugou Katsuki.

You’d scraped past Todoroki in the semis—a narrow victory, but a victory nonetheless. You earned your place here.

But now you stood across from Bakugou, the embodiment of raw power and intensity. And he looked like he was ready to burn down the sky. He was charging toward you like a storm, feet pounding against the arena floor, eyes locked on you with that explosive determination only Bakugou could wear. 

You were near the edge of the line, counting silently—one, two—calculating every breath, every beat.  If you timed this just right… And you did. Just before he could strike, you twisted your body out of reach with perfect precision, grabbed his arm mid-motion, and used his own momentum against him. 

You shoved him toward the edge, and for the first time, he hesitated. You saw it in his eyes—the sharp realization that he was cornered. You raised your arm, ready for the final blow that would win you the match. 

But then it hit—that memory so vivid it stole the air from your lungs. You were at the dinner table, the scent of your mother’s cooking curling in the air, laughter echoing, your dad teasing you over a too-full bowl of rice. 

It was warm, familiar—too familiar. Then, suddenly, the laughter faded. The food soured in your mouth. Your skin began to burn, your body overwhelmed from the inside out. Your quirk spiraled out of control. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. 

And in the present, right there in the arena, you felt that same terrifying flare building in your chest. Panic clawed at your throat—this was bad. One blow and you could hurt him—really hurt him. And the thought of that—of hurting him—made something inside you shatter. 

So you did the only thing you could. You turned and ran. You ran from the edge, from the crowd, from your victory. You ran from Bakugou—because you couldn’t lose control. Not with him standing that close.

…

Bakugou was pissed—no, furious. What the hell was that? One second you had him cornered, about to land the finishing blow, and the next… you ran. Straight out of the arena. It didn’t even feel like a win—more like a slap in the face. 

The moment the match ended and they declared him the victor by default, his blood started to boil. He didn’t want a win like that. He wanted a real fight, a real answer. So he stormed down the hallway, heading straight for the changing area where he knew you’d be. 

His footsteps echoed sharply off the walls, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat, erratic with frustration. But just as he rounded the corner, he heard it—someone from another class, laughing too loud, too smug. 

“She ran because she was a pussy,” the idiot sneered. That was the final straw. 

“You!” Bakugou barked, voice slicing through the air like a grenade going off. The kid froze. “She made it to the finals, and you couldn’t even get past the first challenge. So shut the fuck up.” He didn’t even wait for a response. 

The student stood frozen, confused and stunned, as Bakugou shoved past, storming toward the changing room with every intention of getting answers—from you.

He kicked open the door with a force that made the whole room shake, and there you were—sitting silently, staring straight ahead like you were trying to disappear. When you finally turned to look at him, the weight of everything hit him all at once. His voice cracked with frustration and pain as he blurted out, “What the fuck was that?!”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling but steady as you said, “I’m sorry.”

But that only ignited something fiercer inside him. His eyes burned with anger and confusion, and before he could think twice, he snapped, “Do you think you’re better than me? That you can just run away like that? Or are you that desperate, huh?!”

The moment the words left his mouth, his chest tightened with regret. He hadn’t meant to say it like that—he didn’t want to hurt you. But the damage was done.

A suffocating silence filled the room, thick and heavy like a storm about to break.

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with tears you were trying so hard to hold back. Your voice, once soft, now held a sharp edge as you fired back, “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Bakugou. So maybe you should shut the fuck up before you embarrass yourself.”

Then, almost breaking, you whispered, “What did I do to you?”

Your question hung in the air, raw and aching—an echo of all the pain neither of you wanted to face. But you didn’t wait for an answer. You turned away, each step heavy with heartbreak, leaving him standing alone in the room, the silence swallowing him whole.

And in that moment, Bakugou knew—he had fucked up, and this time, it felt like he might have lost you for good.

6th - getting kidnapped together

This was hell. Scratch that—this was worse than hell. If Bakugou had known the “training camp” involved team-building games, getting partnered up with other extras, and fake survival scenarios in the middle of nowhere, he would’ve exploded his way out before they even packed.

Bakugou gritted his teeth, arms crossed as he stood in the clearing surrounded by trees and idiots. Mina was bouncing around with a box of paper slips like it was a party game. “Partner draw time!” she called out, way too excited for his liking. “Everyone pick a name!”

“Tch.” He didn’t even try to hide his irritation. “This is so damn stupid.”

“Aw, c’mon man, just go with it,” Kirishima said, slapping his back like they were best friends or something.

Bakugou sighed through his nose and grabbed a slip of paper. His eyes scanned the name—and his whole body immediately tensed.

It was yours. After the whole debacle at the sports fest, you two weren’t talking anymore—scratch that, you weren’t talking to him. Which, honestly, he didn’t blame you. It was kind of funny how the tables had turned.

Across the clearing, Bakugou caught sight of you staring down at your own slip of paper. You looked so pissed off. Then your eyes lifted—and locked onto his. Neither of you looked thrilled.

“Wait— you two?!” Mina’s voice cut through the quiet, full of shock. She was well aware of the strange shift between you and Bakugou.

“It’s okay, Bakugou, I can take—”

“It’s fine, Mina. It’s for the sake of this camp,” You interrupted, voice low but firm.

The two of you started walking down the dark, barely lit pathway. The air between you was thick with awkward silence—neither of you said a word.

The mission was simple: work with your randomly assigned partner, use a crappy map to reach your destination, and avoid any “ambushes” set up by the teachers. Easy. Tedious. Pointless.

But then it all went sideways.

The ground shook. There was a loud bang in the distance—too real, too raw. Someone screamed. Smoke poured through the trees.

“Shit,” Bakugou muttered, yanking you behind him as his palms flared with heat. “That’s not a fuckin’ drill.”

It wasn’t. A real villain showed up—one who’d warped in through some kind of black mist. The two of you fought hard, but there was something in the air. A gas. His movements slowed, your limbs heavy, his vision doubled. And then, everything went dark.

...

When Bakugou woke up, everything ached. His head was pounding. His wrists were bound behind his back. The air was damp, heavy with mold and dust.

He was on the cold floor of what looked like a storage basement. Concrete walls, broken light above. Dim. Quiet. Except for the sound of breathing next to him.

You.

You stirred, groaning softly as you sat up, only to realize you were tied too. Your eyes widened when you saw him, and he hated the way your face tensed in fear for just a second before you masked it.

“You okay?” he rasped. You nodded slowly. “Yeah… I think so. Where are we?”

“No idea.” He shifted, testing the ropes. Tight. Bastards knew what they were doing.

You looked around, gaze sharp despite everything. “Did they say anything? Do anything?”

He hesitated. “No.” Then, muffled voices came from outside the door. “You said we only needed the boy,” one of them said. “Why did you bring the girl too?”

Bakugou froze. Every muscle in his body locked. They didn’t even mean to take you. You were an accident. A casualty. And it was his fucking fault. “I’ll handle it,” another voice replied coldly.

Then silence.

Minutes ticked by. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. But he counted. 1,829 seconds. He knew because he needed something—anything—to keep control.

He broke the quiet first.

“I’m sorry for saying those words,” Bakugou said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. “There was too much going on and I took it out on you”

“It’s okay,” you reassured gently. “You didn’t know what was going on.”

Another silence settled between you, heavy and tense.

Then, gathering his courage, he broke it again—this time asking the one question he’d been dying to ask but had been too cowardly to voice, too scared of the answer.

“Why didn’t you show up?” His voice was low, almost cautious.

Bakugou saw you inhale shakily, struggling to hold yourself together. “I was eating with my parents. One last meal in our house before we headed to the airport and went to the resort. Then—out of nowhere—my quirk just spun out of control.”

A tear slid down your cheek. Bakugou wants to reach out and wipe it away.

“It hurt. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t do anything but watch it control me. I—” Your voice cracked. “I hurt my parents. And then I passed out.”

You sniffed, your voice breaking as you continued. “The doctor told me there’s little research about quirks turning on their own users. My parents were scared. They told me I wasn’t going to attend UA anymore. That I wasn’t going to be a pro-hero.”

Another tear slipped free.

“I was so mad. I’ve spent my whole life working my ass off, trying to get strong enough, trying to be good enough for UA. And then just like that… one night. One freak accident. And it was all gone.”

You let out a bitter laugh—short, sharp.

“I had to beg them to let me come. Had to scream, argue, cry. I pulled everything I had left just to get on that damn plane.”

Bakugou said nothing, but he didn’t look away either.

“But I’m also scared… because what if they were right? What if I’m not fit to be a pro-hero? What if my quirk turns on me again? What if I hurt—” You choked on your words, tears spilling freely now, full-blown crying.

He shifted closer, just enough that your shoulders nearly touched. “Is that why you didn’t use your quirk?” he asked quietly. You nodded.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but firm, “ You’re way stronger than before. Hell, you’re stronger than all those extras combined.”

He paused, watching your face carefully, making sure you were listening. “You fought to be here. You survived everything. And that’s why you’ll be a pro-hero.”

Bakugou wanted to wrap his arms around you, to hold you tight—anything to make you feel whole again, to remind you how much you mattered. 

“I’m sorry—,” he muttered, but you cut him off. “Bakugou, I said it’s okay,” you smiled gently, trying to ease the tension.

“For making you do detention,” he continued, finally meeting your eyes. You could see the hesitation in his gaze, and your confusion only deepened.

“What are you talking about—?”

“I’m the one who broke that asshole’s��� the one who insulted you and that pink-haired girl—his nose and wrist.” He said it quickly, as if ripping off a band-aid. “The reason why you got detention.”

Your mouth dropped open as the realization hit you like a slap. “Oh my god— is that why you were late?!?” You didn’t even realize you’d leaned into him until your shoulder bumped against his, playful but full of disbelief.

“You idiot,” you breathed, stunned, but a laugh bubbled up anyway—uncontrollable and light.

“Why did you do it?” you asked, your voice cracking between a whisper and a giggle. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh too loud.

Bakugou looked away again, needing to— you were too adorable trying to hold back your laughter. His jaw tightened, and his cheek twitched.

“Well,” he muttered, “he was a dick.”

You let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking your head.

“He kept running his mouth even after you kneed his—uh, you know. Then he said something about you. Something really shitty. And I saw red. I punched his face again.” He paused, remembering how furious he’d been when he heard what that bastard said about you, how he couldn’t control himself when he threw that first punch. Then, quieter, he added, “When he tried to swing back, I broke his wrist.”

He could feel you staring at him, your laughter now mixed with something warmer—admiration, maybe. He finally looked back at you, wanting to see your face again.

His chest tightened at the sight of your smile.

“You’re unbelievable,” you whispered, still smiling as you leaned your head back against the cold wall.

He didn’t say anything, just stared a second longer.

“Thanks,” you added softly, almost afraid to say it out loud. “For sticking up for me. And for Mina.”

This time, he didn’t shrug it off. He just muttered, “Tch. No one talks shit about you.” And he damn well made sure of it.

But this moment—this happiness—was brutally short-lived. The door slammed open with a harsh, unforgiving bang that echoed through the cramped room. Two men stood silhouetted in the doorway—one wearing a cold, expressionless mask, the other with no face at all, just a swirling black mist where his head should have been.

Without hesitation, the masked man strode forward and yanked you roughly by the arm, dragging you away from Bakugou. You stumbled, struggling to resist, but his grip only tightened, unforgiving and strong.

Meanwhile, the black-mist figure knelt beside Bakugou and, with an effortless motion, loosened his restraints as if they were nothing.

They didn’t say a word as they led both of you out of the cramped room and into what looked like a rundown bar—dimly lit, thick with dust, and lined with flickering neon signs that barely clung to life. You twisted your wrists desperately, trying to break free, but the masked man’s hold squeezed even tighter. A sharp yelp escaped you.

Bakugou saw red—his blood boiling hotter than ever.

“Hurt her, and I’ll kill you!” Bakugou’s voice exploded through the room, fierce and unwavering, cutting through the tension like a lightning strike.

I need a plan. Fast. I need to get her out of here, Bakugou thought, heart pounding. He had to get you out of danger. He could blast them all—no problem—but that prick was way too fast.

Ding!

“Pizza delivery!”

One Time He Chose To Be

Bakugou stood outside your hospital room, gripping Mr. Strawberry in one hand as he stared at the door like it might bite him. After the heroes rescued both of you from the League of Villains, you had suddenly collapsed in his arms. The doctors said you inhaled the majority of the gas—it wasn’t lethal, but it was enough to knock you out.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and finally pushed the door open.

This was the second time he’d seen you since then. The first was… chaotic. Nurses, his teacher, and a few classmates had practically dragged him out of the room, needing a crater’s worth of force just to pry him away from your side.

Now, the second time.

He had gone all the way back to the dorms just to grab that stupid plushie you wouldn’t sleep without. Had to practically do parkour through campus and dodge paparazzi like a ninja to avoid answering their invasive questions.

And now—there you were. Sitting up in bed, wrapped in blankets, watching cartoons on the hospital TV. You smiled at a joke on screen, soft and unguarded. His heart thudded a little too fast.

Sensing him, you turned, lowering the volume.

“Bakugou! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting?” you asked, carefully shifting your body to face him.

He stepped closer and extended the plushie toward you. “I’m here because I know you can’t sleep without him.”

You blinked, touched. “You went all the way back for Mr. Strawberry?”

He shrugged, eyes darting away. “Tch. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

But it was a big deal. And the way your fingers curled around the plushie, the way your eyes softened, told him you knew that too.

“Thank you… for bringing him,” you said softly, hugging Mr. Strawberry close as you looked at him. “You should be the one getting comforted, you know. The League of Villains is after you, and yet here you are… comforting me instead.”

You tried to tease, but both of you knew there was truth in your words.

You shifted to the side, making room. “After all the crap you’ve been through, you’re the one who deserves to be comforted.”

Bakugou got the message, wordlessly sitting beside you. “I know you’re probably sick of me apologizing, but I want to say sorry again—”

He didn’t finish. Because your lips pressed against his, gentle but certain.

When you pulled back, a smile tugged at your lips. “I think that’s the best way to get you to stop apologizing.”

Bakugou stared at you, stunned for a second. You watched the flicker of emotion cross his face, his jaw clenching slightly—not in anger, but in something raw and overwhelmed.

“I think,” you continued softly, “us getting stuck with each other, ending up together every vacation… I think the universe is trying to tell us something.”

Bakugou dipped his head down, resting his forehead gently against yours. His voice was low, almost a grumble, but the softness in it made your heart skip.

“That, don’t be stupid… and just get together already.”

You let out a breathy laugh, teasing, “Together already? Maybe ask me on a date first?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

“Then…” he said, clearing his throat. “Would you go out with me?”

“Bakugou—” you started, but he cut you off, voice lower than usual, almost gentle.

“Call me Katsuki.”

Your lips curled into a slow, genuine grin, the kind that reached your eyes. You didn’t miss a beat.

“Of course, I would go out with you,” you said softly, letting the name roll off your tongue like it belonged there. “Katsuki.”

...

A/N: so umm, the fanfic writer curse (idk what the name) is true, bcs why tf am i writing this in the ER, almost die—TWICE (this is separate from the er. My mother is finally getting the help she needs :>) and i’m having imposter syndrome BECAUSE IM ACTUALLY BEING APOINTED AS THE EDITOR IN CHIEF ?!?!?!?!?!? FUCK

Taglist: @theysaidhush @magicalrainbowfish @watu2ka @rixiieee @shewki @bugg777 @d4wnyjlk @biodegradablevagina @suksatoru @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @bruleecream @badslittlemuffin @mewwccury @blueemochii @iris-nights @well-yeahs-blog @rikidaze @ayoulookingfine @gina239 @lvc-lv @getosh0e @intimidaid @jealousmartini (just comment if you want to be added on my taglist >⩊< )

[kerryshifts]

hey, what do i do if it’s been so long and i still haven’t shifted? i’m losing faith in shifting… how do i even get it back? i really don’t know, and it’s making me sad :( i want to shift so badly...

faith means nothing. this is not a religion. this is how life works. you don’t have to believe in shifting to shift. you don’t have to believe in yourself to shift. you don’t have to believe others who talk about their experiences in their drs to shift. you can shift when you are in utter desperation. you are still shifting whatever you want it or not. and before you say "but for me shifting is only valid when it’s in my dr" well, then you are still shifting every second to your dr. even when you do not see it. even you are feeling like shit. even when you are about to lose it. it’s okay to be sad, and you can still shift. you don’t have to be all rainbows and unicorns.

and listen, you asked me. i will give you the answer i believe in. i will say to you what i think its the easiest way. i dont like to say “listen to 20 subliminals and affirm all day until you are going mad and meditate three hours and lay in bed for hours without moving or swallowing your own saliva” because i hate doing all that. it makes shifting feel like a performance, and that’s not what i stand for. so if you are tired to hear the same thing everytime, sorry. find someone else. (and because of a recent anon ask i got, i feel the need to say this: there's no point in asking if you are not going to do it anyway. so or you like what i say and do it or you just move on without complaining & hating on me in my asks).

you want to shift so badly? good. your desire is the thing that pushed you until now, not the time that has passed since the day you discovered shifting. the whole 'you want it so bad because you have already it in the future' saying? go by that. but your future is not far away, it's right here.

stop thinking about your past with shifting. what’s even the point in complaining and crying about it? ok. it happened. anyway, its going to be pointless when you're in your dr and you realize that time means absolutely nothing. really, all you do by complaining is just slapping yourself in the face over and over, but just mentally. let it go. think about now.

and now, again, your desire. you are here asking me how to do it after a long time, all because you want it so bad. so let me hold your hand while a say this, start with realizing that your desire, actually, worked. you did it. all of your emotions did you a favour, and you finally reached what you wanted so bad. you already shifted. you won the igaf battle. if the 3d is making you see your cr bedroom, it's just a delay. your mind already knows the truth, aka that you are in your dr now. your eyes are catching up. and even if it feels like a joke at first, persist. it doesn’t need to be 30 times for minute. you go through your day just knowing that your eyes are catching up with the rest of you.

saying that you still haven't shifted doesn’t do you any favours. by saying that you are feeding the delusional part of your mind that is making you think that you are not in your dr. which is, as i said, delusional, because you were always in your dr to begin with.

no because let’s be realistic here. what is 'fuck i still see my cr' doing for you?????

believing "nothing happens when i assume" is not helping you. the whole point of assumptions is that you make them. negative and positive. if you keep looking at the 3d as the final answer, then you didn’t assume shit in the first place.

you should not accept what you see. you are not accepting your cr. you decide what you want, you move on. if your 3d keeps showing you this cr, as i said, you just tell miss 3d that you don’t care and you do not accept her present. why would you think about it again again and again ??? that ain’t being secure of your assumptions. you say to your brain that its tricks are pointless because you are in your dr. and your dr is the one you accept and you see.

and honestly that’s it. shifting is not complicated. not when you don’t want it to be.

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ SLOW MORNINGS, SAM WINCHESTER

summary. Slow mornings in bed with Sam.

slight mention of sex but no smut!

word count. 683

I wrote this in 15 minutes but I need requests because I’m out of ideas! Pls send some (whatever character on my master list is fine!) and interact w this<3

supernatural masterlist

my full masterlist/support my work!

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Sam would be lying if he said that his favorite time of day was anything other than mornings spent with you.

It’s always the same exact routine, and yet neither of you will ever get tired of it.

You feel Sam’s bare chest on your back, you feel his arms squeeze your middle as to let you know that he’s awake, and that for some reason he can sense that you are too.

You stay like that for a while, a lot of the time, you just stay in complete and utter silence, taking the moment in.

There’s a dim light left from the night before, coming from the nightstand behind Sam.

You let out a content sigh, before Sam speaks.

‘Morning, beautiful.’ He lays his lips on your cheek, and kisses you softly, just in time for you to turn around, and end up in his chest.

‘Hi.’ Your arms go around his body, and you look up.

‘You talk in your sleep.’ Sam whispers to you.

‘No I don’t.’ You look at him with confusion, and a bit of amusement.

‘You so do. You snore too.’

‘Now you’re just lying for fun!’ You unhook your arms from his body and slap his chest.

Sam laughs, and it’s your favorite sound.

You laugh too, while smiling at him, and Sam swears that he sees an entire future or mornings just like this. You by his side, laughing and making jokes, staying warm in each other’s embrace.

‘What?’ You interrupt Sam’s train of thoughts.

‘What?’

‘It’s rude to stare, you know?’ You raise your brows at him.

‘I’m rude then. I like staring at you.’

‘Oh yeah?’ You get closer to him if that’s even possible.

Sam raises his hand to lay in your hair.

‘Hmm.’ He looks at you and suddenly your heart stops.

Sam looks at you like you’re the only good thing in this world- you’re not a saint by any means- but to him? You’re the most interesting being to ever walk earth.

After so long, he’s still trying to figure you out- he doesn’t mind, and he knows that you like to play with that.

‘Sam, seriously. What?’ You let out another laugh, and put a hand over your mouth to suppress it.

‘I just- I can’t believe you’re mine.’ Sam says, and your eyes light up.

‘Well, you better get used to it.’ You kiss him.

It’s tender, it’s sweet, and it’s full of love. Sam will never get used to it. He’ll never get used to waking up next to you every morning, to hearing you say ‘I love you’ or to you never leaving his side even when he fucks up.

Both of you smile in the kiss, before sam breaks it.

You’re left with a pout, and let out a small ‘hey.’

Sam pushes your shoulder down so you lay on your back, and he’s suddenly on top of you.

‘You know, I read somewhere not long ago, that morning sex increases your chances of having a good day. More energy and all.’ Sam says, a small smile dancing on his lips, his hands tracing patterns over each side of your body.

‘Oh yeah? Where’d you read that exactly?’ You bite your lip.

Sam pretends to think before saying ‘You know, morning journal probably.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yep.’ He then leaves a trail of kisses over your jaw and your neck.

‘You know, if you wanna have sex with me, you can just say so.’ You once again raise your brows at him.

‘Fine. I really, really wanna have sex with you. If you’d let me.’

You both burst out laughing feeling like two stupid teenagers.

Sam kisses you again interrupting your laughter. It’s more passionate, more fiery, it’s needier. It’s like a huge explosion, suddenly his hands are all over you, your hands grip on his back.

It’s not like every single morning starts like that- or maybe they do, but you wouldn’t trade that for the world, because for a little bit, it’s just you and him, and the outside world doesn’t exist.

[piinnkkryyss]

LIKE A TATTOO | SMOKE “ELIJAH” MOORE.

PAIRING — smoke x pharmacist!reader

SUMMARY — Just a slow, unbroken stretch of intimacy, tension (if you squint), and (really) quiet understanding. It’s dusk. You’re alone. And he’s at your doorstep again.

CONTENT — NO WARNINGS (that I know of 🫩)

RENYlogue; I’m black, so… I write my characters in a slight description of me but there’s not really any description in this so read freely if you’d like.

—AUGUST 17th, 1932  It starts like this: a cough at the back of the room, sharp and shallow, more stubborn than sick. You don’t turn right away. You finish straightening the bottles on the shelf—castor oil, menthol salve, a tin of senna leaves. The pharmacy’s quiet in the heat, late afternoon pouring thick through the windows, the wooden counter warm under your fingertips.

The door hadn’t rung. He must’ve come in with that careful walk he has—silent like smoke, all lean shadow and long jaw, always watching, always listening. You know who it is before you turn.

“Elijah.”

You say it soft. Like the name’s a secret.

He leans on the counter with one elbow, half in the light, half in the dark. White shirt rolled to his forearms, the same worn suspenders he always wears when he means to stay a while. He doesn’t smile. He never really does. Just looks at you like he’s seeing something worth memorizing.

“Need somethin’ for a toothache.” He says it like a joke, like a lie. You know damn well he ain’t hurtin’. Not where medicine can reach.

You nod, take your time reaching behind you for the oil of cloves. You don’t ask why he’s really here. You never do. Smoke Moore don’t belong to anyone, but he circles you like he might be trying to. Like something in you keeps pulling him back, even when he don’t want to be caught.

He watches your hands—always your hands. “How’s your daddy?”

“Same,” you say.

“Sleepin’ more than he’s wakin’. Doctor think it won’t be long now.”

Elijah nods slow, jaw working like he’s chewin’ on something unsaid. He knew your daddy before you were born. Most of Clarksdale did. But only Elijah Moore got forgiven for what he became after. Only Elijah got to stay in the story.

You place the tiny glass vial on the counter between you. He doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t move. Just looks at you like maybe he wants to ask if you sleep at night. If you still sing in the kitchen when you think nobody’s listening. If you still light that candle by the front window when you’re waiting on word from somewhere nobody will name.

Instead he says, “Hot today.”

“Mmhm.” You cross your arms. “Ain’t no wind.”

“You look tired.”

You laugh, dry and low. “Everybody tired.”

He shifts then, finally picking up the vial. His fingers brush yours—warm, rough, careful. He always touches you like he’s afraid he’ll leave a mark. But he already has. “Let me drive you home,” he says.

Not a question.

You shake your head. “Ain’t far.”

“I know.”

Still, he waits.

You close the shop not long after. You don’t say much walking to his car, but he opens the door for you like it’s habit. Like it’s always been that way.

“You still talk to the Lord?” he asks, voice barely loud enough to hear.

You keep your eyes on the road ahead. “Sometimes.”

From the time your dad getting sick and the boys leaving you abruptly to Chicago in the middle of the night. Speaking to the lord felt so much like an echo, like it was all for nothing.

But look who came back.

He nods, like that’s enough.

Your house is quiet. Shutters closed to keep the heat out, front steps swept clean like always. You see the porch chair shift in the breeze, and for a second you think maybe your daddy’s out there, humming like he used to. But no. Just the wind.

Elijah walks you up. Doesn’t ask to come in. Still, you let him.

Inside smells like rosemary and lemon balm, old books and memory. He stands in the doorway while you set your bag down, glances at the picture of your mama on the mantle. You feel his eyes on you again, the way he always looks like he’s tracing something delicate.

“You eat today?” he asks.

You blink. “Don’t think so.”

He nods, slips off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves. “I’ll cook.”

You don’t tell him no.

He moves through your kitchen like he’s been there before. Like he remembers where the flour is, how your daddy likes his greens. You watch him chop onions like a man making penance. You sit at the table, hands folded in your lap.

“Why you come by today?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps cooking, slow and steady, steam rising around him like a ghost. Finally, he says, “Been thinkin’ about you.”

You exhale through your nose. “You always thinkin’, Elijah.”

“I know.” He turns. “But lately it’s been louder.”

You meet his eyes. Dark and tired and full of something you’re too afraid to name.

“Elijah,” you whisper.

“Don’t gotta say nothin’,” he says quick.

“I know what this is. Ain’t tryna make it somethin’ it ain’t.”

You shake your head. “That’s just it. You don’t know. He sets the spoon down. Crosses the room in three steps. Stops short of touching you.

“Then tell me.”

You look up at him, heart kicking against your ribs.

“I don’t want you to be another ghost in this house,” you say. “I don’t want to wake up and have to scrub you out of the air.”

His face goes still. But then he nods. Like he understands. Like maybe that’s what he’s afraid of too.

“I’ll go,” he says. “If that’s what you need.”

But you don’t answer. Not right away. You stand. Move closer. Your hand lifts—slow, uncertain—and rests against his chest.

“I just need you to stay a little while,” you say.

So he does.

The stew simmers low. The light fades blue. Somewhere in the house your daddy coughs once, then falls silent again.

Elijah pulls a chair beside yours. Doesn’t touch you. Just sits. Close enough you feel the heat of him. You rest your head against his shoulder, and he lets you.

Just the weight of a man who’s done too much, and a woman trying not to love him for it.

The cicadas sing. The stew cools. The clock ticks.

And he stays.

AUTHORS NOTE *gasps* I actually wrote something mate longer than 400 words and didn’t give up! CLAP! Anyway, I do wish I wrote better paragraphs though but this’ll do. If you have any reqs they’re always open 🫩.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 2

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make nothing into something for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). lando is abusive, full stop but like many survivors of abuse, it takes reader a bit to claw herself out of this. as a survivor of abuse myself, I am doing my best to give this story line the most respect and care that i can. please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. my sincerest apologies for not putting this in the warnings at first. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. sorry bubs. swearing. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way. pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 4k

Chapter 1 Master List

“You didn’t have to walk me home, you know. It’s only a few blocks.” You tell Max as you press into his side, shivering against the cold breeze of the Monaco night. It had been warm when you left the apartment earlier that evening but now the air held a chill that had you wishing you had taken Carles up on his offer to drive you back home. 

Around you, the city buzzes, a hive of activity on a Friday night but the extent of your world consists of only you and Max. 

“Of course I did. It’s late and cold and there was no way you were walking home alone.” 

“Max, we live in Monaco, I’m perfectly safe.” You joke but secretly, you’re glad Max had offered to walk you home. 

You’d never admit it but you liked being around him, his demeanor had always been calming to you and tonight, your nerves were frayed more than usual. It was probably thanks to the whispers you had heard at the gallery, asking not so quietly where Lando was as you walked around and spoke to the guests. He had never showed up and while you were disappointed he hadn’t showed, you weren’t quite surprised either. There had been something in his tone when you left that evening that had anxiety curling your gut before you even stepped out of the apartment. You hated to even think it, but you somewhat suspected he had never planned on showing up to the show at all that night but you wouldn’t ever put a voice to those thoughts.   

“Fine then.” Max huffs, but there’s no venom in his voice. “Maybe I just wanted to spend some extra time with you, okay? I feel like we never see each other anymore.” Max lets the unsaid end of that sentence hang in the air: ‘Because you’re with Lando now.’  

Your heart aches at the truth of his words. A lot of your friendships had taken a hit over the last three years. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but your circle had shrunk significantly since you had started dating Lando and it shocked you how you never had realized it until now. It had started small, with Lando saying he just wanted to spend the weekend only with you while he had a rare weekend off and then slowly morphed into him only wanting to spend time with his friends so if you wanted to see him you had to spend what little time you got with him with his friends as well. Slowly, your friends stopped calling and inviting you places because the answer was always the same: ‘sorry, Lando has plans this weekend and I’m going to tag along with him!’ Or just a straight up ‘no, not this time.’ 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, biting your lip as guilt creeps up your neck. “It’s been a rough year.” 

Max hates the regret that courses through him. He shouldn’t make you feel like this, shouldn’t voice his opinion of what he sees happening in front of him. He can’t help the frustration that bubbles to the surface when you talk like that though. He knows exactly where it comes from and it kills Max knowing that there is one person solely responsible for dimming that sparkle you’ve always had. 

Max stops in the middle of the sidewalk, causing a few tourists to shout in surprise when they have to dodge the Dutchman’s tall frame. A frown finds itself onto his face as he looks down at you. Your heart stutters to a stop, you’ve seen this look before and it has the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. 

“I hate when you do that.” He can’t help himself, he’s kept his peace for far too long but the fact that  Lando missed tonights show has been burning a hole in his chest all night and the embers were about to flare to life. 

Panic squeezes at your chest. Around you, people are shooting glances your way as you both stand in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. You only have a few moments before someone notices it is you and Max Verstappen and start taking pictures. Pictures that will inevitably show up on some gossip instagram account and cause you more trouble than they’re worth. 

“Do what?” Despite your desire to not be seen arguing with Max, you can’t help the question that slips out. 

“When you apologize for things that aren’t your fault. Anyone with eyes can see who the problem is in your relationship and it’s not you, Dovie.” Max’s words come out more harsher than they intend and he knows he’s approaching a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed tonight. 

You can’t bring your eyes up to meet Max’s heated gaze but you can feel him looking at you. Those blue eyes you used to think you could get lost in when you were younger. Before everything changed. Before you met Lando and he swept you right off your feet. 

“Charles told me about the apartment.” Max confesses. Maybe if you know you have others supporting your decision to leave, it’ll make it easier. He hopes that his support would mean something to you.

Your stomach plummets to your toes, cheeks burning red with shame. “Charles should keep his big mouth shut.” You bite out, fists working themselves into a ball at your sides. 

Max’s eyes narrow at your outburst. There was the fire that you’d been missing. Something in Max heaves a sigh of relief, you’re still in there. You’re on the cusp of getting that fire back and Max can almost see you reach for it deep in the pit of your belly. You’re so close to the edge and Max knows you well enough to know when to back off.  

“I’m sorry.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I won’t press. I just wanted you to know that I miss you.” 

Max momentarily wonders if he’s gone too far when he sees tears well up in your eyes. His heart squeezes at the thought of being the one to make you cry. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” You sob, no longer caring who sees you or what could possibly make it back to Lando. “I know you’re friends with him and I shouldn’t put you in the middle of our mess.” 

Max’s brows knit together in confusion. The fact that you would question his loyalty to you over Lando simply baffles him. “I’ve been in your life longer than I’ve known Lando and you’ll be in my life long after he’s gone.” Max lets that last sentence hang in the air, the prophecy of his words clinging to your skin. 

“Max.” You whisper, floored by the fierceness of his tone and the sincerity of his words. 

Panic claws at him. He’s gone too far, revealed too much. He can’t do that with you now, not when you’re already so fragile. You don’t need that from him and he knows it. Back off, something in him orders and alarm bells clang to life. 

“All I’m saying is,” Max keeps his tone deliberately light. “If you need a friend to talk to, I’m here. Always.” 

You nod, appreciating how he backed off when he saw you panicking. 

Max takes your elbow before turning you around, pointing you in the direction of your apartment. “Come on, let’s get you home, okay?” 

As Max walks you the rest of the way home, Lando is still set up in his gaming room playing Tarkov with Max on his stream. As they begin another raid, Lando notices Max’s stream start to pick up at a much faster pace than it’s been running all evening. He’s been streaming for hours now, since before you left the apartment and while he knows the opening should be wrapping up right about now, he has a hard time caring. Those things are always so boring and he never understands the art, even if it is nice to be photographed out with you and your brothers. 

“What is this link everyone’s spamming chat? You all know if you start spamming, we’re going to mute you.” Max asks, frustration evident in his voice. 

Lando glances over at the chat screen on his second monitor and sees his name flying by along with what looks like an instagram link. He knows he shouldn’t click on dodgy links but curiosity gets the best of him because at the same time the chat starts to explode, so do his notifications from Instagram. “The fuck?” He mumbles, ignoring Max who is reading the chat as they come in. 

“First Verstappen steals your championship, now he’s stealing your girl? Chat, what the fuck are you all on about?” 

Lando can feel the heat rising in his face and he’s instantly thankful that he’s got his video off. He mutes himself quickly too before texting Max, who is desperately trying to regain control of the chat. The link finally opens and Lando nearly drops his phone. He’s been tagged in a series of photos that show you and Max walking out of the gallery together, then you two stopped in the middle of the sidewalk embracing with you clearly looking upset, and then a final one showing you two walking away together. 

Anger flares bright and sharp in his chest as he looks at the photos. You’re making him look like a fool, galavanting around town with the likes of Max Verstappen late at night, especially after all he went thorough with Max last season. What the fuck were you thinking?

“Alright, chat I think that’s going to be the end of the stream tonight. This is why we can’t have nice things!” 

Max ends the stream without a second thought, knowing that Lando is going to be incandescent with rage after seeing those photos and reading all the comments. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source First he steals the championship, now it looks like Max Verstappen is making a play for @/lando's girl. Uh ooooooh... user9928 I mean, she looked pretty upset in the other pictures I saw leaving the gallery. Lando didn't show to support her so... user298 paddock bunnies gonna bunny >>>user223 she's literally known Max almost her entire life??? user110 this isn't a thing...her and Max have been friends for YEARS. Leave the poor girl alone user1008 lando's loss, she's amazing. user918 idk but if my girl got caught getting a kiss from another guy, I'd go scorched earth >>>user028 SERIOUSLY I am floored by the people defending her??? Like??? >>>user928 maybe if Lando showed up for his girlfriend, Max wouldn't have had to step in and comfort her...?

As Lando struggles to come to grips with what he just saw, you and Max are standing in the lobby of your apartment as you desperately search for your keys. “Fuck, I think I forgot my keys upstairs.” 

“Just give Lando a call, I’m sure he’s still up.” 

You shrug, cheeks heating. “He sometimes gets tunnel vision when he’s streaming and forgets to check his phone.” You admit, not wanting to go more into detail because you know how bad it’ll sound if you have to tell Max that sometimes Lando will completely ignore you while he’s streaming. What you also don’t tell him is that this has happened to you before and all three times, you’d had to spend the night at either Jade or Charles’ house because he had been on stream so late you had nearly fallen asleep in the hallway. 

Max levels a glare at you, unable to believe what you’re saying. “Well, lets both go up then and maybe we can get his attention by knocking.” 

Anxiety ripples through you as Max starts off towards the elevators, giving you no other choice but to follow him. It’s a quiet ride up to your floor as you fidget with the hem of your shirt, unable to even attempt to make small talk with Max. You know the facade of your entire relationship is about to be lifted right in front of one of your oldest friends and you don’t quite know how to make it stop. 

When you raise your hand to knock, your heart hammers in your chest so wildly you momentarily worry Max is going to be concerned for your health. Much to your surprise, it only takes a few short moments for the door to swing open so fast you nearly stumble back. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Lando spits when his eyes land on Max. The venom in his voice is so shocking you need to take a step away, unintentionally stepping closer to Max, which seems to set Lando off even more. Rage flares in his eyes at your proximity to his on-track rival. 

“That’s a wild way to say ‘hey man, thanks for walking my girlfriend home in the dark because I couldn’t be bothered to show up to her art show’ but you’re welcome.” Max grits out, taking one step closer to you as if he might need to get between you and Lando. 

Tension hangs thick between the three of you as Lando seethes where he stands in the door. 

“Max, it’s okay.” You whisper, shame lighting a painful spark of fire deep in your chest. This was going to get out of control so quickly. 

“No, it’s not and you know it.” Max turns back to Lando now, eyes blazing with a level of anger that is miles more intense than the look Lando is giving you. “And why the fuck are you coming at her so hot? All I did was walk her home.” 

Lando scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Because this was just posted by almost a dozen gossip accounts and was being spammed all over Fewtrell’s chat while we were streaming.” 

You take the phone Lando is brandishing in your face and go pale. The carousel of photos in the new post are pretty damning, you have to admit but you would have thought that your boyfriend of all people would know better than to blindly believe a series of grainy photos above trusting his own girlfriend. 

“Lando…” You sooth, arm reaching out to touch his elbow. You wince when he pulls away from you. “You of all people should know how those things are twisted. Max was just walking me home and we were talking, that’s it.” 

“But why was he hugging you?” He shows you the third picture of Max hugging you after you had started crying out on the street. You had to admit you were kind of impressed with how fast those photos got out, but it was Monaco after all and you hand’t exactly been discreet when you were upset with Max. 

“Because she was upset you didn’t show up for her. Again!” Max shouts and you flinch.

 The words slice a fresh wound across your heart. The fact that Max knew that this wasn’t the first time upsets you more than you think it should. You’re not entirely sure why Max’s opinion of you matters so much but you’re not quite willing to examine those feelings yet. 

Lando’s glare swings away from you and back onto Max. “Because I’ve been to a million of them and they’re all the same. Same pretentious people pretending they have taste. Once you’ve been to one you’ve been to them all.” 

The words that come out of your boyfriend’s mouth have you audibly gasping, hand flying to your throat. “Lando.” You whisper, pain and shock coursing through your voice. 

You swear you feel a brush of fingertips on the small of your back but the touch is so light and so quick you think you’ve imagined it. 

Something flickers behind your boyfriend’s eyes then and it’s almost like he realizes he’s gone a step too far. His shoulders sag and he shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry baby.” Lando reaches for you and before you can step away, he pulls you into his chest. He doesn’t miss the way you stiffen in his embrace though and neither does Max. “Please come inside and we can talk about it alone, okay?” He whispers, glaring at Max, clearly dismissing him. 

The way his arms used to feel around you was comforting, you’d seek his affection when you were anxious or upset and he would always take care of you but somewhere along the line, the affection you craved stopped being handed out so easily. Now, you craved it but only because if he was touching you it meant he wasn’t mad at you and maybe this time it would be different. Every time he showed you this kind of affection you hoped that this would be the time he would change. 

It never was. 

“Thank you for walking me home, Max. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” 

Worry lines crease the spot between his brows as he frowns. Everything in his body is screaming to put up a fight and not let you go inside with Lando. He knows if Charles were here and had just witnessed what he had, there was no way Lando would be leaving this building in anything other than a body bag but he wasn’t Charles and he didn’t have any entitlement to you. He wanted to fight but you weren’t his to fight for. 

“Call me if you need anything, okay Dovie?” 

Lando’s arms tighten around you at the nickname. He hates it and Max knows it. “She won’t need to, I’ve got her.” 

“You sure about that, mate?” Max asks, one brow tipping up in question. 

Without waiting for a reply, Max turns on his heel and walks towards the elevator. In his pocket, his fingers curl around his phone because the moment he gets out of the building he knows exactly who he’s going to be calling: Charles. 

As soon as Max leaves and your behind closed doors, the mask slips again. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, walking home with Max fucking Verstappen? And hugging him?” Lando is pacing the floor of your living room as you stand there, helpless to say anything against his raging. 

It’s usually like this when he gets angry with you and you’ve gotten good at being quiet while he rages. You have to let him work out all the anger and eventually you know he’ll calm down and apologizes for losing his temper. You’ve seen this before and you know exactly what to do, how to humor the angry beast that has surfaced once again. 

“Lando, it wasn’t like that and you know it.” You fight to keep the exasperation out of your voice, knowing that would just set him off even more. “I was alone, my brothers were going in the opposite direction, and Max offered. That’s it! It was completely innocent.” Despite yourself, you try to reason with him.

“You should have just gone home with your brothers then instead of putting yourself in that position.” He snaps and you glare at him. 

“You would have rather me not slept here at home tonight than take an offer from a friend to walk me home? All because you didn’t follow through with what you said you’d do?” 

You know you’re pushing him and Lando doesn’t like to be pushed. Your conversation with Charles two weeks ago flickers through your mind. How you deserve better and it strikes you then that everyone but you can see it. Everyone around you, everyone that loves you can see how bad he is for you, how poorly he treats you and how much you’ve changed since you started dating him. 

You supposed that if you had changed for the better, maybe everyone who loved you wouldn’t have anything to say. Don’t people change for the people they love all the time? You were sure they did but you weren’t sure you liked the change you saw in yourself anymore. You couldn’t fight it, this change that felt like you were wearing shoes that were three sizes too small for your feet. Like you had outgrown yourself in a way that wasn’t okay and you somehow needed to find your way back to who you were before Lando. Before he broke you. 

“And avoid you causing social media chaos that I’m going to be dealing with for weeks now?” Lando sneers, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down his nose at you. “Yeah, absolutely.” 

You laugh, cold and bitter, as you shake your head. “Thats real nice Lan, real nice.” 

“I’m just saying. Now the rumor mills are going to start up again. Whenever you’re at a race, people will be watching to see if you’re with Max again. Or maybe next time it’ll be Lewis. Or maybe you want to go a bit younger? Get a ‘friendly escort home’ from one of the rookies? I’m sure Franco would love to try his hand with you. My girlfriend, the paddock bunny being passed around.” 

The ache in your chest grows as he chooses his words carefully, barbed and sharp as glass, so they hit their intending target, cutting through you like butter and causing mortal damage.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” You whisper. “I’m sorry that the pictures hurt your feelings and were taken out of context but you don’t have to be so mean.” 

Tears threaten to spill and you will them to stop, knowing that will only fuel Lando’s fire. He loves when he upsets you like this, when he gets to tell you what a drama queen you are. Just like your brother, he would say, always whining and crying on the radio about how Carlos wasn’t being a team player and letting him win when he didn’t deserve it. 

“If I’m not the one to give you a reality check, then who will? Your entire family has coddled you for your entire life and you think you deserve some level of respect that you haven’t earned. If you deserved that kind of respect, you would have gone home with your brothers or walked home alone. People who deserve respect don’t put their relationships in jeopardy because they’re afraid to be alone at night.” 

“Put our relationship in jeopardy?” You laugh again, rolling your eyes at the audacity of what Lando is saying. “Lan, you really are being a bit over dramatic here, don’t you think? I’m sure the PR department at McLaren will take care of this by the next race, no big deal.” 

Lando laughs, dark and bitter as he takes a step towards you. You have to fight the urge not to flinch when he gets closer to you. Deep down, you know he’d never raise a hand to you but it’s hard to remember that when he gets in your face like this. “Now you expect McLaren to clean up your mess?” He hisses. “God, you really are a spoiled little girl, aren’t you?” 

“I’m just trying to find a solution to the problem that I seem to have caused.” You snap back, courage flaring in your chest as you stand up a little straighter. Max’s words from earlier play back in your head: ‘anyone with eyes can see who the problem is in your relationship’. “What if I come to the next race? If the two of us turn up in the paddock together, that will help quiet the rumors, don’t you think?” 

Lando narrows his eyes, “So you can get more attention from Max? Absolutely not. I’ll have McLaren handle this, okay? Just forget about it.” 

You want to scream at his solution because it was the same exact thing you had literally just suggested and been laughed at. But that was the way Lando was. If it wasn’t his idea, it was the worst thing you could have suggested. As long as it was his idea though, it was brilliant and the perfect solution to everything that was wrong. You should have anticipated this coming but you knew it was useless to fight with him. 

All at once, your body is overcome with this total wash of exhaustion. Total mental and physical exhaustion grips at your throat and you sway on your feet. “I’m going to go to bed.” You choke you. “In the guest room.” You tack on before turning on your heel and walking away from the fight like you do every time. Lando always gets the last word and as he stands there alone in the living room he feels like he’s won this one. He’ll have to call Sophie in the morning to get her to start working on damage control but for now? For now, he’s sure you realize your mistakes and you won’t put a toe out of line like that for a long time. 

Little does he know that all he���d done tonight was push you past your breaking point. 

(Quick note!!! If you want to be added to the tag list, I absolutely will but when you request that, can you pleeeeease let me know if you want to be on my general tag list or just the specific fic you're commenting on. ❤️)

Tag list: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164 @ilove-tswizzle

[toonice113]

The jacket pt.2 ⋆ ★ L.Hughes

❗️requested - part one

Pairings: Luke Hughes x Fem!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: Based on this request: i was wondering if you’re open to do a pt.2 with gf’s reaction to his injury in the 3rd (around ~10:55) and maybe a post game where he’s just happy to see her in the jacket and she’s stressed bc he’s injured

Warnings: mentions of his injury but he’s okay

Word count: 608

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ what a fucked up day, the devils lost and im pretty sure my laptop is dying so i had to write this on my phone. have this part 2 of the jacket to hopefully make it a bit better.

Your heart almost stopped when you saw Luke laying in the net and the 10 seconds it took for him to get up felt more like 10 minutes. Today was supposed to be fun, and it had been, after the jackets you’d all eaten lunch and during the first intermission the kids had done an easter egg hunt, but all that seemed so far away now.

From your left Aly places her hand in your shoulder taking you out of your trance just as Luke gets up and skates away holding his shoulder in pain, the same shoulder he’d told you about that had been injured last year. You turn to look at her and one look is all it takes for her to understand, taking her son who was napping in your arms from you as you stand up with your phone in hand walking towards the house.

You check for updates that don’t come through for a while, texting him to let you know how he’s doing as soon as he gets a chance to and hoping that the lack of communication meant he was alright.

“Hey, he’s okay, he’s back on the ice” one of the girls tells you from the backyard doors and you feel like you can breathe again, locking your phone and rejoining the rest.

You’re back home when the call comes through, your phone ringing only once before you pick it up.

“Hi baby” His voice sounds tired, definitely not happy with the result of the game

“Oh god hi” You say “How are you?”

“Well that wasn’t how I wanted the game to go but hey what can you do? Seeing you in that jacket with my name on it sure does make today a bit better though” You can hear his smile through his words

“Yeah we’re definitely going to have a few words about that post later, but I don’t really care a lot about that right now, how’s your shoulder?” You ask worried that he went back to play while being injured

“Listen you just looked too good not to share, can’t wait to see it in person” He ignores your question about his shoulder

“Are you trying to distract me from the fact that you left the game clutching your shoulder in pain? Because it’s really not working baby” You tell him

“Maybe the good luck only works if you’re in the arena, hey wanna fly to Raleigh?” He jokes and that’s when you start getting concerned again

“Luke stop deflecting” Your tone is more stern this time and that’s when he realizes you’re actually worried about him and it’s time to stop joking around

“Baby I promise you I’m okay” He sighs “Shoulder’s good, just a bad hit, the doctors checked it and said I was okay to go back out there” You sigh too, relief flooding at his genuine tone “Will probably have to ice it today and tomorrow but I should be okay”

“Okay” You say “I’m glad you’re okay, got me worried for a minute there when you didn’t get back up”

“I’m all good” Your phone beeps, a facetime request “Now, how about you show me some outfits with your new jacket”

You accept the request, his face, with a big smile, covering your screen “Oh yeah, now that you’ve reminded me” His smile falls “What the hell were you thinking posting that picture”

But you’re not mad, and he knows you’re not mad, so after a playful scolding your phone is set in your dresser as you show Luke some outfits you were thinking of wearing for the home games.

[kxsagi]

“𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧”

a/n: everyone say thank you, landon! he hurt me and now i wrote angst. i’ll never forgive his bitchass for cheating on liz (yes i’m still mad about it) and i pray that she heals fast and thoroughly 🙏

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, bachira meguru, ness alexis

itoshi rin

he doesn’t say he misses you. instead, he shows it by keeping everything the same. your mug is still by the sink. your shampoo still in the shower. 

he trains harder than ever, but there’s a hesitation in his eyes, like he’s searching for something beyond the net, like scoring without your "good luck" feels hollow. 

he deletes your contact but memorizes your number. blocks you, but checks your socials with a burner. his pride won’t let him reach out, but gosh, he wants you to notice he’s suffering. 

sometimes he thinks about bumping into you “by accident.” at a café. bookstore. anywhere. but he never goes because he’s scared you’ll already be with someone else. 

he dreams of you. and in those dreams, you always leave again. 

isagi yoichi

he blames himself. rewatches every conversation in his mind like game tape. where did i go wrong? where could i have passed better? loved better? 

he still talks about you like you're part of his life. "she loves that song." "she would’ve liked this." even though the room goes quiet after. 

he keeps every gift you gave him. your first silly drawing, the bracelet you made at some street fair. it’s tucked in his drawer like sacred things. 

you told him once he overthinks everything, so now, ironically, he overthinks that, too. did you mean it as a joke? were you serious? were you already halfway out the door? 

he wishes you’d just tell him you hate him. because silence is worse. silence is hope’s cruel cousin. 

itoshi sae

he lets you go with a poker face. you’d think he didn’t care. but it’s the first time in years he misses a penalty kick. 

he deletes your pictures. not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. too much. and seeing your smile in that yellow-tinted light makes his chest cave in. 

he scrolls through your old texts when he's drunk. replies to them like you're still there. never sends them. 

he never begs. never asks you to stay. but every time someone mentions your name, there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes, like grief dressed in quiet clothes. 

he used to be bored of everything. now, he’s just tired. especially of pretending you didn’t matter. 

kaiser michael

you were the first person to tell him he didn’t have to perform all the time. that you liked him even when he wasn’t loud, golden, brilliant. 

he didn’t believe you. not really. until after you left. now the silence around him feels unbearable, like a stage with no audience. 

he flirts more now. louder, emptier. it’s all performance, a desperate echo of who he used to be when you were around to bring him down to earth. 

he keeps expecting you to walk in, roll your eyes, say "you’re so dramatic." but you never do. 

sometimes, he talks to you when he’s alone. not the real you, the memory version. and she’s always a little kinder than he deserves. 

shidou ryusei

he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t talk about it. but suddenly, the fire in him feels more like self-destruction than passion. 

on the field, he’s a menace. fouls more. gets carded more. you were the only one who calmed him down, reminded him of softness. now there’s no balance. 

people call him reckless. a lunatic. but they don’t know he’s trying to feel something. anything. 

he won’t admit it, but your absence tastes like metal in his mouth. bitter. sharp. 

sometimes, he punches the wall and pretends it’s not because he remembered your birthday and realized he has nowhere to send the gift. 

mikage reo

he’s always had money, always had power. but losing you? it’s the first time he couldn’t buy his way out of pain. 

he tells himself you’ll come back. that it’s just a break. that if he levels up, scores more, shines harder, you’ll notice. 

goes to the places you loved together, always ordering your favorite drink and leaving it untouched. “just in case.” 

he practices apologies in the mirror, over and over. never sends them. because every version feels too small for what he broke. 

his smile is still perfect, still charming, but if you look too close, it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. 

nagi seishiro

he doesn't understand why you're gone. he replays the breakup like a confusing side quest with no clear ending. 

sleeps way more than usual. not because he’s lazy, but because dreaming of you is easier than being awake without you. 

when he plays games now, he keeps losing. rage quits more often. "it's boring," he says. but it’s really because the person who used to sit beside him is missing. 

keeps your shirt. cuddles it like a plush. doesn’t say a word when reo comments on it. 

still texts you sometimes. “this meme reminded me of you.” “you’d laugh at this.” you never reply. he still sends them. 

karasu tabito

he jokes more than ever. laughs louder. flirts harder. but his humor has a sharpness to it now, like he’s constantly daring the world to notice he’s hurting. 

people say he's “the same as always,” but they don’t see him standing outside your apartment for 30 minutes just to walk away with a heavier heart. 

started journaling again. you told him once that writing helped with healing. he writes like you’ll read it one day. 

won’t admit it, but he plays dirtier now. more aggressive, less patient. “love made me soft,” he says. like it’s a curse. 

he misses your voice. not just your words. the sound of you saying his name like it meant something. 

bachira meguru

he paints you. over and over. sometimes with wings. sometimes with broken glass in your smile. always with love. 

still talks to his "monster" about you. "you think she hates me now?" "do you think i scared her off?" 

he’s still sunshine to everyone else, but when he's alone, the silence is suffocating. 

your absence changed his art. darker colors. messier strokes. people praise his “emotional evolution,” but he just misses being happy. 

he goes to the park where you first kissed and sits on the swing for hours. waiting. just in case you remember, too. 

ness alexis

he always said you made him feel seen, not just as a shadow to kaiser, but as his own person. now that you’re gone, he forgets how to exist without comparison. 

overcorrects. becomes louder, flashier, more dramatic. like if he’s impressive enough, you’ll regret leaving. 

still wears the cologne you bought him. even though it makes him nauseous with memories. 

he swears he’s over you. but the second someone mentions your name, his hands start to shake. 

keeps your photo as his lock screen. “aesthetic,” he says. “nostalgic,” he means. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[kooggukk]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 NOBODY ELSE // JJK

genre: fwb, fuck buddies😼

note: guys i just want jungkook.. this has been sitting in my drafts for way too long haha sorry for spelling mistakes or anything i got too lazy to proofread it lol! enjoy tho💕

word count: 4.3k

being invited by jungkook’s mother for a dinner was normal for you and your family. you and jungkook grew up being neighbors, attend to the same high school and college later on — which he dropped out of.

it wasn’t because he’s dumb, he’s nowhere near that. he got bored, tired. his mother didn’t like the news when he told her, but she didn’t have a choice, other than to support his dream. jungkook always wished to be a singer.

some of his closest friends joked about it and laughed at the idea of jungkook being a worldwide celebrity. we could say that affected him a lot, he felt zero support from both sides: family & friends. he would often spend his days in his house, sitting on a particular part of his couch.

maybe you know him too well, you know that when he’s writing a song he would get a glass of beer, place it carefully on his coffee table, get his black notebook with his pen that he would click continuously when he’s deep in thoughts.

you know he would knee on the soft mattress beneath him, sitting on his feet like a cutie, focus on the lyrics with his big doe eyes.

you also know he would obviously play with his lip piercing, licking it, turning his tongue around it and what not. oh what that tongue can do.

the amount of times he had eaten you out on his couch, — on that spot of the couch — you wouldn’t even be able to count on your ten fingers. your friendship with him was different.

different, because you support him and understand him in a way nobody else had yet. but different because he fucks you, like crazy. he had fucked you in every way possible. fast, rough, deep, gentle, slow, anal. the last one was just once, though.

it all started at your birthday party, when you turned 25. you got wasted, he got tipsy, he knew about his whereabouts unlike you. he knew what was going on when he fucked you first, but what was he supposed to do when a woman like you, was literally begging to fuck you.

he felt guilty, he felt like he took advantage of the alcohol in your system. but when you woke up in the morning, with jungkook next to you, cuddled up, you didn’t freak out. you knew what happened, and you didn’t regret it. nor did he.

you know it shouldn’t be right, that it shouldn’t feel that good to get fucked by your best friend but god, you can’t help it. he admitted it, he finds you attractive. you find him it too.

but you both talked it out, no feelings. he told you he’d never want anything else from you other than your friendship and pussy.

and now, you’re sitting at the dining table with jungkook in front of you, his mother next to him and his father at the end. your mother on the other end as your father is next to you.

it’s normal, the atmosphere was comfortable and funny. the adults discussing work related stuff, your and his mother had already gossiped about someone else too.

it was a perfect night, except that jungkook hasn’t taken his eyes off of you the entire dinner, except when he got asked a question. you scolded him, non verbally with your eyes.

he’s a jerk. he just fucked you the night before, not on his couch this time though. it was in his kitchen, where he got too turned on by seeing you cut a cucumber. yes, a dang cucumber.

“so ___, i heard you finished college.” his mother spoke to you, your gaze turned to her and you smiled. “oh yes, last week actually.”

“what major were you in?” his father joined in. “psychology.” your mother interrupted and reached over to rub your back, feeling extremely proud of her daughter. you smiled, “i’m thinking about going back, i’ve been researching a lot on nursing lately.”

your eyes stopped on jungkook once again. he’s leaned back in the chair, one arm resting on the back of his mother’s chair, the other resting on his thigh. his chin is slightly lifted, looking at you as he plays with his lip piercing. fuck.

the parents continued the conversation, telling different stories about nurses as that came up. jungkook leans back to the table, resting his chin with his hands, elbows on the table.

he stares at you, not uttering a single word. you give him a small frown, not too noticeable. his eyes drop to your neck, then your chest or atleast what only was visible, then back to your eyes. you chuckled and shook your head in disbelief, he’s seriously thinking of sex right now.

you’ve tried to keep your ‘let’s fuck’ relationship with jungkook private, not going around and telling every second person that ‘hey i fuck my best friend!’. the only person who might know that you and him slept together is one of your friends from college, she saw you and jungkook that one night. the first night.

she hasn’t asked about it though, thankfully. it’s not like it was her business, so she dropped it. you knew he wouldn’t try anything with you in public, especially not in front of your parents. so that’s why it caught you off guard when you felt his leg touch yours, slightly nudging it.

you cleared your throat as you jumped a little from the surprise, a smirk on his lips as he stared at your flustered form. you cussed him out in your head, ‘fuck you’ you mouthed and he just raised a brow at that.

you rolled your eyes as you realized he wouldn’t mind that, his eyes still devouring the sight of you, almost fucking you with his eyes at this point. you don’t even wanna know what he’s thinking about at the moment.

“jungkookie, have you found yourself a girlfriend?” your mother asked, catching his attention. he fixed his posture and shook his head, “no, i’m not looking for a relationship at the moment.”

“he’s such a liar!” his mother pointed at him, “i know he’s seeing someone.” she said and took a sip of her wine. “am i?” he raised his eyebrow, his voice laced with confusion. “deny it all you want, but i found a lipstick in your pocket when you came home.”

his expression changed, his eyes somewhat turned nervous, scared even. you stared at him with a small smirk, taking a sip of your soda. he glanced at you, “must’ve been ___’s.” he chuckled and shook his head.

“and why would her lipstick be in your pocket?” his mother asked, obviously she didn’t believe him. “we came here together, i believe she put it there so she could use it if her makeup gets smudged.” he shrugged.

he was right, that was in fact the reason you put it there. “oh yeah, it’s mine.” you said, a small smile appearing on your lips. his mother nodded and with that the conversation was over. thank god.

as everyone finished eating, your and his mother disappeared into the kitchen, your fathers went outside to have a beer while ‘man talking’ or however they called it. leaving you and jungkook alone.

“you wanna die?” you scolded him, your voice was quiet not to get caught. “i swear junkook, i’ll choke you.” he grinned and rested his head on his hands, smiling at you like a child. “what?” you asked.

“choke me? is that your new kink?” he teased, his foot finding yours again under the table. you clicked your tongue and crossed your arms, “do you ever stop thinking about sex?”

“nope. impossible when you’re around me, babe.” there he goes again, he always somehow finds a way to get you hot. he just knows what to say every time. “you’re unbelievable.” you can’t help but to smile with a shake of your head.

“what? you’re acting like you didn’t just strip me off with your eyes.” he teased and you gasped, “i did not-“ you stuttered, you got caught. “you’re the one to speak.” you argued back.

“i’m not denying it, i did wish to rip that pretty blouse off you.”

“i dare you, it was expensive. the only thing ripping will be your balls when i beat you up.” he scoffed at your words. “c’mon, you wouldn’t do that.”

“you think so?” you raised an eyebrow and he hummed in response. “how would i fuck you without balls?” again, he just knows what to say to drive you crazy.

“touché.” you mumbled and raised your glass to take a sip again.

✩•.𖣠°˙★

the evening came to an end as you both bid goodbye to your parents, you thanked his mother for the delicious meal. he offered to take you home and you agreed, assuming you’d end up at his place anyways. but your parents didn’t have to know about that.

and it happened just like that, the moment you stepped in his home you were pushed to the wall with force. you gasped, jungkook didn’t leave a single second for you to react as he attacked your lips, kissing you.

he held your face in place by your cheeks, your small reticule dropped from your hand as you hugged him close, kissing him back with just as much force and desperation as he did.

his right hand went to grab your ass, then holding your thigh as you lifted it up. he immediately pushed himself closer to you, grinding his growing erection against you.

not wanting to fuck you right at the front door, he dragged you to his living room, pushing you on the couch. he grinned at you and he dropped to his knees, the loud thud must have been hurtful, but he didn’t waste a single second.

he eagerly gripped the hem of your jeans, undoing it and pulling it off you, lifting your hips to help him. “hm, good.” he praised you for that small action of yours, his voice enough to create an ocean in your panties.

he touched your knees and thighs, caressing your skin while he leaned in to plant kisses on your inner thigh. he pulled you a little down, holding your legs tightly and he spread them. “don’t close.” he demanded, his voice hoarse and it sent you shivers down your spine.

you gasped once again when you felt him kiss you on your panties, he pulled away to take off his black turtleneck sweater but went right back in, pulling off your panties in a second.

the cold air hit your core immediately, but soon replaced by the heat coming from his body. he licked a stripe down your pussy, getting a hum out of you at the familiar feeling of his mouth working on you.

your mouth fell agape when he sucked on your clit, your hands finding their way to his black hair, getting a great hold of them. he groaned at your action, he knows you like to get a hold of his hair, so he hasn’t cut it in some months now.

he pulled away, you almost whined about him stopping but then he spread your folds with his fingers, spreading your wetness on his digits. he glanced up at you when he brought them to his lips, licking them.

he hummed, “love it.” he said, his voice a low growl. one of his hand rests on your thigh, gripping it softly. the other goes to your core again, inserting his finger in you. his head goes back down, disappearing between your legs once again as he starts sucking again, his finger pumping into you.

your back arched, unintentionally. “oh, fuck,” your breath hitched, he smirked against you. he added another of his long digits, curling them inside you, he pulled away as he stared into your eyes, then his gaze dropped to his hand working on you.

he groaned at the sight, he’s slept with girls before you, it was obvious he was experienced, but he could swear on his life your pussy was the prettiest he has ever seen in his whole life.

“so pretty,” his voice was teasing and you gasped his name, pulling his head up. “shut up,” your voice was a low murmur and he raised an eyebrow at your sass.

“what? can’t i call what’s mine pretty?” he chuckled and shook his head, secretly adding a third finger. “i don’t want your fingers,” you whined, your hips moving on their own. “i need to get you stretched, babe.” he grinned and he continued, his three fingers now going in a slower pace.

“no,” you stopped his hand, “i’m okay, just-“ you licked your lips, his gaze dropping to them. “shit, just fuck me already.” your voice was more like a whisper, full of need. “you’re tight, i don’t want to hurt you.” he argued back, but his fingers were already out of you as he wiped them in his jeans.

you sat up straight on the couch, closing your legs. “c’mon, you fucked me enough already. i can take you,” he couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh and he nodded, “love that you speak your mind.”

with that said, he got up from the floor and leaned down to kiss your forehead, “i’ll be back,” that one small action of his is why you trust him, how you know that he is the right guy to be fuck buddies with.

he can be rough during sex, there’s no doubt in that, but you had experienced gentle sex too with him. roughness isn’t always necessary to get rid of the sexual frustration, and maybe, maybeeeee, you like it more when he’s gentle with you.

you like it more when his body is pressed against yours, slowly moving with the rhythm of his deep thrusts, you love it when he goes to hold your hand, either above your head or next to you, it doesn’t matter. you love it when he stares in your eyes with every thrust. unlike during rough sex, when his eyes are either closed or focused on your tits.

soon he comes back, a pack of condom with him, some tissues and a towel. “what’s the towel for?” you ask, he never brought one before. he smiled at that and when he got to you, he plopped down on the couch. “just in case.” he shrugged but you felt suspicious, he was up to something.

he put everything aside and leaned in, crashing his lips on yours once again. “how do you want it?” he asked when he pulled away, but he still managed to give a soft peck on your nose.

you frowned because he usually wasn’t like this, wasn’t so affectionate. sure, in other ways he was, especially after sex. he always takes care of you, but he never just pecks you in random places and asks how you want it.

“however you want me.” you shrugged. “you’re up to something, you’re suspicious.” you narrowed your eyes at him and he grinned. “suspicious?” he asked as he started to unbutton your blouse. you hummed and leaned back, letting him do it.

“i’m not suspicious.” he said and kissed the skin just above your breasts, he pulled the clothing off your shoulders when he finished with all the buttons, leaving you in your bra.

“you’re very detailed tonight, aren’t you?” you sighed and reached behind, undoing your bra with a smooth move. “detailed?” he frowned and reached to his belt, unbuckling it.

you hummed and reached to unzip his jeans, with a lift of his hips you pulled it down, his dick begging to be freed from his white underwear. you could feel yourself throb by just the thought of having sex with him again, when in fact you just did it yesterday too.

“it don’t bite.” jungkook chuckled when he saw you were just staring, god, almost drooling at this point. you rolled your eyes, holding the hem of the underwear. you pulled it off, his dick sprang free.

you could let anyone call you stupid, you don’t care but for sure you know that jungkook’s dick is pretty. of course it would be, that whole man is a god. he sighed in pleasure when you wrapped your fingers around him, his head thrown back.

you started off slowly, stroking him with smooth, unrushed moves as you watched his face. his eyes closed, mouth open and eyebrows knitted together. soon you picked up your pace, earning low groans and sometimes even moans from him.

you started to kiss his neck, nibbling on his soft skin. he cursed, it was his favorite when you kissed his body. his breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with every breath he took.

“shit, ___.” he uttered a low groan, “don’t stop, oh- please..” you hummed at his begging, jerking him off as fast as you could. he was close, you know well enough to see when he has an orgasm.

you see the way his thighs occasionally stiff, his grip on the pillow that reached his hand first is tight. and then you see his eyes staring down at you, sometimes rolling back and closing, then opening them again. you see how his mouth is agape, his low groans turning into soft moans and cries, his brows crashed together on his forehead.

he was just straight up mesmerizing. sometimes you felt like the luckiest woman on earth that you could capture him in this state. which he was in because of you, nobody else.

“please plea-“ his voice cracked, ending it with a louder moan as he reached his orgasm, spilling his white juice on your hand. you didn’t stop there, you slowed down your pace, but you just couldn’t stop.

he hissed when he started to feel sensitive, bringing his head straight back up from the backrest to look at you. “___, don’t,” he whined. you cupped his chin, pressing a soft, feather-light kiss on his rosy lips.

he lazily responded to it, barely moving his lips. he brought his hand on yours, stopping you from jerking him. you pulled away, “just give me a second, babe,” his voice came out hoarse, your heart skipped a beat and your pussy throbbed by the nickname.

he licked his lips, clearing his voice. “you still with me?” you smiled, your hand reaching to his hair, gently pulling a few strands of them. he scoffed and fixed his posture, his hand grabbing your thigh.

“you gotta do more than just a handjob to lose me.”

“more? i can do more.” you mumbled, your face already in his neck, kissing his skin once again.

“i know you can,” his hand went from your thigh to your hip, helping you straddle his lap. you both moved naturally, riding him is definitely in your top 3 positions.

you quickly handed him a condom from the box which he put on in a second and just like every time, your arms went around his neck, grabbing onto his shoulder while he hugged your body close to his with one of his arms, the other hand holding his cock, he carefully entered, stretching you good like he always does.

he sighed in content, enjoying your warm walls clenching around him. you hummed, letting yourself down completely on him, only to go back up, then to smash back down.

his hands grabbed your ass while you did that, helping you keep the steady rhythm. his head was now thrown back once again, you watched his adam’s apple bob when he swallowed, his mouth fell open.

you kissed his neck again, wherever you could reach. for some reason, it was your favorite spot to kiss, under his jaw, behind and under his ear, just right above his collarbone, you loved it.

oh how much he loved it too, your kisses were always wet but never to the point to leave his skin covered in saliva. you were always so gentle with him, maybe that’s what he loved the most.

he had been with a few girls before who would stupidly and harshly just bite down on his skin, leaving ugly marks all over his neck and shoulders, but with you, never. it could be to just avoid any attention by giving him hickies, or it could be because you found it too intimate, too romantic.

whatever the reason was, he knew he sometimes wished, maybe even prayed that this time you would mark him, even if it’s the smallest spot on his skin. of course, he would never tell you to do that, though. marking really does feel too intimate, and he was afraid he would cross a line with you.

he realized what he was missing out on, so he held his head up, looking at you move. your breasts moved just enough to catch his eyes. his fingers dug in your asscheeks as your own hands explored his body, from caressing his chest, then slightly brushing your fingers over his nipples, down to his ribs, and to his abs.

he felt you slowing down, “s’okay, take a break,” he whispered and you did so, stopping your movements. your chest was rising rapidly, sweat forming on both of your foreheads.

he softly pecked your cheek, lifting you up by your ass just enough so he can start pushing upwards into you. he didn’t rush anything, going slowly at a comfortable pace. “you okay?” he asked, his eyes searching for yours.

you sighed, giving him a nod but he shook his head. “words,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss your skin just above your breasts.

“i’m okay,”

he groaned when you clenched around him, he felt himself slowly slipping down on the couch with each thrust he made, so he held you tightly, switching positions.

he made you lay down on your back, your legs wrapped around his waist without slipping out of you. he picked up a slow pace at first, his hands roaming around your body, mostly your sides.

you held his hand, “stop,” you whined, your sides are hella ticklish. “hm? what? can’t handle a little caressing?” he teased, moving his hand so slightly over your skin you got goosebumps.

you tried to push his hand away but you failed, his touches made you giggle and he smiled, glad he could still have moments like this with you in the middle of literally fucking.

all of that stopped when he suddenly smashed himself deep into you, a little harder than he did before. you couldn’t help but to moan, he straightened his posture and he spread your legs, holding your knees.

just like when you were riding him, your breasts bounced again, drawing the attention on them. he picked up the speed of his thrusts, sweat dropping from his forehead, down to his chest where it slowly dripped down his body.

“so a nurse, huh?” he suddenly said, referring to the conversation you had at the dinner. “would love to fuck this pussy in a nursing costume.” a low moan left his mouth when you clenched around him, “ya like that?” he laughed. “you want it too, yeah?”

“shut up- oh my!” your mouth fell agape in pleasure when you felt a finger pressing down on your clit, moving in every way possible. up and down, side to side, making circles. he wasn’t too rough, he knew it was one of your most sensitive parts of your body.

the top of his thighs slapped against the back of yours with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping on each other got mixed with the noise of your wet folds taking his dick, the couch slightly creaking along with heavy breathing and occasional quiet moans, whines.

you felt yourself getting closer and closer, the familiar feeling already in your stomach. you felt like you were going to explode, your eyes shut tightly as you bite down on your lip, your body ready to let go.

after a few more of his thrusts you let go, but oh! turns out it wasn’t just your usual orgasm, no, you squirted under him. he pulled out, watching your body shake and then slowly relax. “fuck,” you breathed heavily, you could have sworn you saw stars.

“did i s-“

“yes. you squirted.” he said, like that was something casual. you thought it was over, that he was done but then he did the unexpected, he pushed back in. “just a little- longer,” his words came out in gasps, pounding into you to reach his own climax too.

you whined, you felt extremely sensitive and it was slowly turning to be the opposite of pleasure, “i know, just a little more,” his voice was soft, he knew it was too much but he needed that orgasm.

then, his thrusts suddenly stopped, staying still inside you as he filled the condom, a low groan leaving his lips. he licked them, feeling like his mouth just turned drier than a desert. he pulled out and leaned down to peck your lips, “you did good,” he whispered.

you hummed, your fingers already touching your core, the wetness surprising you. “dang..” you both chuckled, you sat up and looked down, feeling uncomfortable. there was a wet spot on the towel under you, “you bitch, that’s why you needed the towel.” you shook your head in disbelief, “scared i’ll stain your sofa?”

he smiled and tilted his head, resting his ass on his heels. “actually, yes. you know it was expensive.”

“then, maybe you shouldn’t fuck me on it?”

he chuckled, “maybe, but i don’t care. you’re worth it all.”

[universefcb]

Hii can you make a fic with Hector with a reader who moves a lot when she sleeps and hogs the blanket?

↬❥ Early morning crime

Hector Fort x Reader!fem

Synopsis: You're sleeping together, but you end up taking the whole blanket.

a/n: I want to date him 😩

REQUESTED

warnings: fluff

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The night was silent, and the only light in the room came from the moon outside, which cast a silvery glow through the gaps in the curtains. The wind blew softly, making the window creak slightly. Inside the bed, you slept soundly, curled up under the warm, fluffy blanket, completely oblivious to what was happening next to you.

Hector, on the other hand, was not having the same luck.

He had started the night off well, comfortable beside you, but as the hours passed, something inevitable happened: you took possession of the blanket. At first, it was subtle—a light tug here, a light tug there—until, without him realizing it, you had completely monopolized the only protection against the early morning chill.

Hector groaned softly and tried to pull it back a little, moving carefully so as not to wake you. His fingers gripped the edge of the fabric, and he tugged slowly. It worked… for exactly two seconds. You shifted, turned over, and, almost supernaturally, curled up even tighter into the blanket, as if protecting yourself from a harsh winter.

“Really?” Hector muttered under his breath, staring at you with an incredulous look.

He let out a tired sigh and ran a hand over his face. The room wasn’t absurdly cold, but without the blanket, the temperature seemed to have dropped drastically. Hector tried another approach, pulling a little more firmly. But all he managed to do was make you mumble something incomprehensible in your sleep and cling to the blanket even tighter.

“This can only be a test of patience…” he said to himself, closing his eyes for a moment.

Could he get up and get another blanket from the closet? He could. But that would require him to get out of his warm bed and onto the cold floor. So he simply crossed his arms and huddled together as best he could, hoping that his own body heat would be enough.

Hours later, in the middle of the night, you slowly woke up, for no apparent reason. Your body moved reflexively, seeking Hector's familiar warmth. It was only then that you realized something was... strange.

When her hand touched his arm, a shiver ran down his spine.

He was freezing.

You frowned, fully waking up. Moving carefully, you turned to face him and, even in the dark, you could see that he was huddled together, his arms crossed over his chest, as if trying to protect himself from the cold.

Shock and guilt hit immediately.

“Hector!” you whispered, touching his face with your fingertips.

He shifted slightly, letting out a sleepy mumble.

“Hm?”

“You’re freezing! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Hector opened one eye, clearly still groggy from sleep, and let out a tired sigh.

“Because you’re a blanket monster…”

Your eyes widened, feeling the guilt rising. With a heavy heart, you quickly pulled the blanket over him, making sure to wrap him completely.

“Oh my God, honey, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize…”

He closed his eyes again and sighed in relief as he felt the warmth of the blanket finally covering his body.

“Now it’s over… I almost froze to death…” he joked, although his voice was thick with sleep.

You bit your lip, still feeling guilty. With one quick movement, you snuggled against him, wrapping your arms around his body and burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“I’m your human blanket now. Is that better?”

Hector didn't respond immediately, but his arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her even closer.

“Much better…” he murmured, his voice low and satisfied.

You smiled against his skin and closed your eyes, feeling the warmth finally return to Hector's body.

This time, I would make a point of sharing the blanket.

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