#and the leave in all the shitty parts of wc and its like...the fact that characters have blue eyes w/out white fur or smtn

[brackenfur]

im srry if this sounds pretentious but when it comes to criticizing warrior cats and the issues w the series, the fact that the characters have unrealisitic coat color/eye color combos or have fur patterns that real cats cant have does not make the list for me

[eustasskidagenda]

I'm bored and my head is full of One Piece stuff. So I decided to join the old N$FW alphabet trend, with my beloved, Eustass Kid. English is not my first language, so sorry for the mistakes.

WC : 3869

A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

If you’re just a one night stand, Kid’s aftercare is nonexistent. He will just tell if your session was nice or shitty (with his usual brutal honesty, so sorry not sorry if it hurts your feelings), he’ll maybe make a comment about how good your ass was and then, he’ll bark you to leave his room, or if he’s at your place, he’ll leave without any more word. Do not expect any form of kindness from him, this man is rough by nature after all.

However, if you too are engaged into a relationship, he’ll need some time to cool and calm down, so don’t talk to him or try to cuddle with him during this time, it’ll only annoys him. After that, he’ll get up and bring you a glass of water and something to clean you up. He knows he’s rough during sex and wants to make sure you’re doing okay, so feel free to ask him anything else. Once you’re comfortable and all your needs are fulfilled, he’ll lay next to you and give you his honest opinion regarding your session. He’ll let you rest your head on his chest, while he runs his fingers through your hair. Kid is not good with pillow talk (and with any talk in general), I think he’s more the type of guy to quickly fall asleep (and snore loudly). If you’re in a talkative mood, he’ll try to keep his eyes open but end up falling asleep quickly anyway. 

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)  

On himself, bro is a fan of his own dick, I think everyone in the fandom agree with this fact. He knows it huge and he’s proud of it. I mean, he makes women cum all around it or gag on, of course he’s proud. Actually, you know how to boost his ego? When he undresses in front of you for the first time, ask him if his cock will fit into you with a worried face. He will be so fucking proud.

Another objective fact, this man is a fan of his torso. I mean, the shirts he’s wearing are useless as fuck, bro just wants to flex with his muscles. 

With his partner, Kid is in love with their ass. The whole Eustass Kid agenda agrees with this headcanon. He wants to see your booty all the time : spank it,  grab it, makes it jiggle, even bites on those juicy cheeks. Damn, his hand(s) is/are always glued to your glute. 

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)  

Well, regarding his cum itself, it’s on the thicker side and there’s quite a lot of it. Definitely not really tasty, but overall, it’s not the worst taste. 

Kid loves to see his partner covered in his cum, its fuel his ego immensely. His favorite spot are your ass, your stomach and your face. If he cum during a blowjob, he asks you to pull your tongue out and will cum on It before making sure you swallow every drop. 

With a one night stand, Kid will NEVER cum inside. He’s already a Kid lol, having another one kiddo is not in his plans. Actually, if you ask him to cum inside, he’ll get mad at you and starts to think you want to have a child with him, so the mood is totally ruined.

If you’re his lover, he’ll maybe cum inside you, depending to your menstruation cycle. He just loves seeing his seed slowly flowing out of your pussy and stuffed his fingers to put every drop right back inside of you. 

D:Dirty Secret

Well it’s not a dirty secret but considering how cocky and arrogant he always acts, it is for him. The fact is, sometime, Kid likes when you take all the initiatives and do all the work. Yeah, I know, at the first look it doesn’t match his energy, but sometimes, Kid can get pretty tired, especially since he lost his arm. He rarely use his metal arm in bed because he’s afraid of hurting you. And doing everything with one arm can be exhausting from time to time. So please, offer him some relieve, be a good girl and ride him. 

Plus, of course, Kid loves anal sex. Fucking, fingering or licking that ass is a major turn on for him. Maybe some people find anal sex dirty, but not him. He LOVES how naughty it is, how tight an asshole is and how flustered his partner is when he spreads their ass cheek to lick their hole. 

And, since Kid is a punk, you CAN’T convince me this man have a single heterosexual bone in his body. Kid is not straight, I can smell it. I think he’s bisexual.So he often has fantasies regarding a threesome with a man. If you’re a one night stand, he doesn’t mind sharing because he just doesn’t care about you. If you’re his lover, he’ll maybe try if you insist on a lot, but will fix a lot of rules, like the other man can’t kiss you or put their dick inside your pussy. Your pussy is his and only his.

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Considering how much Kid cares about his reputation, he knows what he’s into doing in bed. Sure, during his first times, it was a bit messy, but he’s a fast learner and good at following his instincts.

He also has no shame to ask you to touch yourself, so he knows what you like and how to make you cum as many times at possible. 

Overall, Kid doesn’t have a lot of experience, I mean, he didn’t fuck with hundred of guys/women. But he’s not a virgin. He’s just really focused on his goal of becoming the PK and one night stand only happens from time to time. Considering how asocial he’s, I think he needs to feel a kind of connexion to have sex with someone, even if it’s just for one night. 

F: Favorite Position

Literally, any variation of doggy style. Kid is an ass man, so he wants and needs to see the ass he’s fucking. Plus, he’s a rough guy, with wild instincts and seeing someone all helpless, on all four awake his carnal desires.

The more helpless you are in front of him, the more he’s turned on. He likes to see your pussy and asshole clenching desperately, waiting to be filled. While he thrusts into you, he just loves seeing your ass giggled and leave some hand prints when he spank you. If he can tie your wrists or pull on your hair, then, it’s even better. Seeing you, your chest against the mattress and your ass up in the sky is his favorite view. Plus, he can see his cock thrusting inside of you, coat of your juice. What a delight. 

With his lover, he also likes matting press. Just because you always cry out, complaining about how big he’s and how deep he’s fucking you in this position. He’ll never stop looking at you and your flustered expression. 

As I said in the dirty secret, Kid also likes to leave all the work for you sometime. In this case, he’ll go with reverse cowgirl. He can see your ass, hold your hips with one hand, or just lay back and watch you bounce up and down desperately on his cock. Seeing his dick buried deep inside of you will make him growl of satisfaction. 

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)  

Not goofy at all. Sex isn’t supposed to be funny for Kid. I think he can laugh, like while he’s teasing you, he’ll make fun of you, like "look at you, crying for my cock, you’re such a crybaby" but that’s all. Never, lord, never, you’ll hear Kid joking during sex.

If someone laughs at him during sex, then, he’s pissed off. With a night one stand, the mood is just ruined and he’ll leave. With his lover, he’ll get mad too, and also kinda hurt in his pride. He wants to make you feel good and cum at least once, so if you laugh at him, he'll think he’s not doing a good work. It will take a lot of time to reassure him after laughing at him.

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Lol, I don’t think someone will live after asking him such a question.

But the carpet matches the drapes. 

Honestly, I don’t see Kid as a very hairy guy. 

And it’s maybe an unpopular opinion, but I think Kid takes care of himself. I mean, his manicure and make-up are always nailed. So when it’s starting to be hairy down there, he’ll trim it and cursed during the whole process, but that’s just Kid, always cursing. 

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

With a one night stand ? Zero intimacy. Just rough sex and two people trying to reach ecstasy. 

With his lover, Kid is still not a romantic. For him, sex is not a way to express his love, it’s just a way to make the both of you feels good. He doesn’t understand the making love, lovey lovey dovey, crappy stuff. Having sex with his s/o means something to him, but the romantic side of it just fly over his head. 

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)  

Considering his huge sex drive, Kid masturbate a lot. 

If you’re around and in the mood, then, he’d rather fuck with you than jack off. But if you’re not there, or not willing to have sex, he’ll just use his hand.

Everytime he sneaks around alone, you can be sure he’s jacking off and his crew already walk in while he was giving himself a little self-care time. 

K: Kinks (One or more of their kinks)

Humiliation/Praises : Calling his partner a whore, a slut and feeling them tightening around his cock. He likes to see how flustered he can makes you with his words. But if you’re not into degrading stuff, he doesn’t mind using praises, like "look at you, taking all of my cock so well,  that’s my girl", "that’s it, just take it all", "you feel so good around my cock" , "your pussy tighten around my cock, it won’t let me go, you like my dick that much?", "be a good girl and stay still" Etc

And he expects you to praise him as well. Tell him how good he’s fucking you, how good his cock feels inside you. And call him Captain in bed and you will have a lot of orgasms. He’ll make sure of it.

Anal sex : As I said in his dirty secret, Kid likes how tight anal sex feels. It always makes you flustered and he needs a s/o willingly to do anal sex from time to time. 

Pain : Well, Kid likes rough sex, everyone will agree with this fact. He likes to slap your cheeks, your ass, biting your neck, choking you lightly, pulling your hair. And he also loves when you scratch his back, pull on his hair and even bite him. It will make his cock throbbing inside you. 

Public sex : Kid likes to fuck you in a public place, the risk of being caught is a turn on for him. It’s just so naughty and sexy in his mind. But let’s be honest, if someone caught the two of you fucking, he wouldn’t give two flying fucks and just continues to thrust inside you. Feeling you tightening your walls around his cock because of the embarrassment will even make him growl and pound harder.  

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

As long as he can fuck you, the place doesn’t matter. Most of the time, he’ll fuck you in the bedroom or in his workshop, with you bending over his desk. 

He also likes fucking you on the deck, it matches his public sex kink. He’ll bend you over the railing, so hey, it’s quite romantic, to watch the sunset and the ocean while he’s plowing into you like the wild animal he’s.

But let’s be honest, Kid will fuck you anywhere, anytime. This boy isn’t picky. As long as you give him your consent, the place doesn’t matter. 

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

The rush of adrenaline after a hard battle. He’s just so horny after a fight 

Whenever he needs to release some anger or frustration 

If you tease him, especially around of people

If he watches you fight. It’s hot, to watch his lover fighting and it always makes blood rush down to his cock. 

If you wear his red coat. It flustered him, but also makes him horny. Same if you’re wearing one of his shirts. 

If you want to have the ride of your night, just wait for him in the bedroom, wearing nothing but one of his shirts wide open on your bare chest. Or wait, naked, with his coat on your shoulders. Damn, it will drive him crazy.

Seeing his lipsticks smeared on your face or neck. 

N: No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything involving piss or shit. 

Sharing is caring, but if he ever accept to have a threesome, the guy will never have the right to fuck you. Your pussy belongs to him, and only him.

Being tied up. Kid hates feeling inferior or weak. If you’re his lover, he’ll only accept to be tied with something in metal, so he can take it off whenever he wants and take back the lead. 

Anything involving waters. He feels weak in it, even in the shower. He needs to feel powerful. 

Pegging is not a total no, but it will only happen with his lover and when the relationship is stable and long enough. He knows where his G point is, and please, he’s a punk, he LOVES non-conformism. But being vulnerable, laying on his back with his legs spreads or on all fours, his muscular ass up, chest against the mattress while you’re pegging him ? He really needs to trust his partner, because he’s afraid to ruin his reputation. Probably a bit overwhelmed and embarrassed at the end of the experience, but it was good. Please, reassure him than having that kind of experience has nothing to do with virility and that he’s still the dangerous and well-known Eustass Captain Kid. 

Roleplay : it’s so ridiculous and humiliating for him, he can’t. 

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)  

A receiver, not a giver. Watching someone kneeling before him, sucking his cock, even gagging on it, damn, it’s just feel so good.

He bucks his hips, fucking your mouth. If you drool all over his cock, it’s even better. 

If you can deep throating him, it will make him cum really fast. His cock is big, not everyone is able to take his full length and girth. Just imagine this man losing his mind, cursing and throwing his head back while you deep throat him.

He, unfortunately, doesn’t go down on you often. But have you seen how this guy likes to show his tongue and lick his lips ? He knows how to use it, I can smell it. If you’re a one night stand, you’ll have to ask for having you pussy ate. 

If you’re in a relationship, especially if it’s the first time you two are fucking together, he’ll go down on you, lick your pussy and drink your juice, making sure you’re wet and ready for him. Go ahead, grab his head, pull on his hair, he likes it. Considering how stubborn he’s, he will keep going and only stop after you cum at least once against his lips. 

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Fast and rough. This man is a beast. 

He always needs to release some anger or stress, so he’s always rough while fucking you. Even more with a one night stand. 

He doesn’t want to hurt you, still. But his pace will never be gentle and sensual. But he’ll adapt to whatever you’re able to take it. 

He likes hearing skin slapping against skin, sounds of your wet pussy, leaving bites on your body. For him, sex is messy and rough. 

I can only see two ways to force Kid to have slow sex : 

If you’re a virgin and a one night stand : he’s pissed off. He wants to have fun, not to be anyone first time and all the craps it involves. So just take your clothes and get out of here. Yeah, he’s mean.

However, if you two are in a relationship, he doesn’t want to hurt you and knows his pace is not adapted for a virgin. He will do his best to take you slowly, in missionary, holding back himself. He wants to make you feel good and as you continue to fuck together, progressively, your sessions will be more and more rough and messy. His strokes would be really long and deep, hitting all the right spots. Imagine him, with his jaw clenched, sweats dripping from his forehead, growling huskily, the muscles of his arms all tensed as he’s trying his best to not slam roughly inside your tight pussy. Damn. 

If you challenge him, like, betting he’s not able to fuck you slowly, this man will have the slowest pace ever, just to prove you’re wrong. At the end, he won the game and you’ll be frustrated by how slow and torturing his thrusts are. 

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)  

He likes quickie, but not that much. Let’s be honest, if you ask him a quickie, the answer will always be yes. 

But he prefers proper sex, because he’s always 100% implicating in what he’s doing, so he wants to fuck your properly. 

During quickie, Kid will bend you over something or carry you against a wall, skip any foreplay and just slams himself into you, his lips against yours to muffle your screams. 

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Kid likes to experiment, but only with his lover. With a one night stand, he wants to be in control and proves how good he’s. If you ask him to do something he has never done, then, he’s not willingly trying.

If you’re in a relationship, he can try some stuff and fantasies, but don’t you dare laugh at him if he’s not doing great the first times you two tries something new. It will really hurt is pride, he gets pissed off and less inclined to try new stuff.

Concerning the risk of being caught, well, Kid doesn’t give two flying fuck. 

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

His stamina is perfect, he can last for a while. Good luck. 

Even with his rough pace, he can last easily 20 minutes of intense pounding. 

You’ll be tired before him. He’s quite observant with you and will notice when you really can’t take much more. 

His sessions are intense and you always end up breathing harshly and sweating, with your legs shaking. 

Kid knows how to hold back, but you can make him cum quickly with anal sex or deep-throating. 

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He hates toys. Are you saying he’s doing the job so poorly, you need a toy to cum ? Okay, he’s pissed off. 

If you want to have a toy during your solo masturbation session, then, feel free, he will gladly create any toy you want with his DF. But when you two are fucking, no toy. 

It hurts his pride.

The poor baby has a lot of pride.

Maybe he can have some fantasies, like a handmade vibrator. He’ll ask you to keep it inside you during the day and from time to time, he’ll use his DF and watch you trying to keep a cold face in front of others while the toy tease your G point. 

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He likes to tease you, especially with dirty talk. Just because it always makes you tighten around his cock. 

He will also tease you a bit during foreplay. He loves when you beg for his cock.

But due to his lack of patience, Kid is not the kind of guy to tease during hours. 

In public, if he can’t fuck you, he gets frustrated and tease you as a way to release some frustration.

If you want to tease him, feel free, but he’ll show you absolutely no mercy later, pounding into you like a fucking beast and growling about how naughty you were earlier. And if you try to squirm, he’ll hold your hips and growls to stay still. You earned this, so shut up and take it. (But of course he’s not a total dick, if you need him to slow down or even stop, he’ll listen.) 

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

This man can’t do anything in silence. Of course he’s loud.

He grunts a lot, talk dirty, spank your ass, all of the time. 

He doesn’t scream. Just grunt and curse a lot. Just imagine him, with his low, husky voice, grunting close to your ear. 

He likes to hear you scream or moan for him. So please, do it. The louder, the better. 

Tell him how good he's fucking you, how huge his cock is stretching your walls and Kid will be more than happy. He's a simple man, overall.

W: Wild Card (Random headcanon)

After sex, if you’re in a relationship, he falls asleep really fast… and even if he’ll never admit it, he likes to be the little spoon. Just hold him firmly and tenderly from behind and let him be the little spoon, please. 

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)  

Pale dick, pink sensitive head. A few veins along the shaft, but not that much.

Kid is a big and large guy, and considering how bold and cocky he acts, his cock is long and thick af, he needs the right back-up lol. He knows he’s big and he’s hella proud of his own cock.

Length around 17/20cm (7/8 inch). And the girth is scary. Good luck if it’s your first time. 

A shower, not a grower. 

His balls are proportioned to his cock size and heavy.

When he takes off his pants down for the first time in front of you, he’ll probably grins while watching your scared or excited face. 

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

High. Really high.

Kid is kinda always angry at something and he needs to release his frustration with sex. 

He can fuck you multiple times in the same day and still be ready for more. And his refractory period is really short, too. So good luck.

In a relationship, Kid needs someone with a huge sex drive too.

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Will snore 5 minutes after collapsing on top of you. 

After fucking you like a beast, he feels relaxed, his anger is gone (at least for now), same for his stress or frustration, so he’s sleepy. He’ll just clean himself quickly, or not, and fall asleep.

He doesn’t like pillow talk, but if you’re in a relationship, he’ll try to make an effort. 

If it’s a one night stand and not at home, he’ll leave and fall asleep once he’s back to his ship. 

[poetryinsilence]

Noughts and Crosses - Jake “Hangman” Seresin x childhood friend!reader (part III)

A/n: Yo! PTSD and TRAUMA talk. Just beware. And Strong languages. But also he kinda went to therapy cuz he clearly needs it. Jake's raw emotions are what I need if I ever go see a therapist. No beta read, still going raw :)))

Summary: What you've learnt from years of absence of Jake runs much deeper than you think. From his line of work, he had witnessed a lot, but that doesn't mean it won't cost him.

Wc: 2,873

part I | part II part IV

Saturday rolls around as you kept yourself busy cleaning up the mess Jake made around your house, while he lounges and becomes one with your sofa, softly chuckling at the tv. The back of his skull bore into your gaze, and your brow knitted its way together as you watched his shabby blonde streaks woven and interlocked at the ends.

"Jackal...when was the last time you took a shower?" your words tread carefully.

Jake's head leans over the back of the couch with a shit-eating grin falls upside down, bemused by the nickname he hadn't heard in a long while.

"Well," he starts "How long has it been since my discharge from the hospital?"

Oh no. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I've tried, honestly. But you should try manoeuvring with one hand and two bricks attached to you."

You squeezed your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose to keep the internal scream blockade from deafening the outside world. The physical stress weighs evermore on your shoulders as you nod slowly to psych yourself up for this next part.

Generating a black, flimsy plastic bag from your back pocket, you handed it to Jake. "Waterproof your leg, you're getting a bath. Now."

He smirks, wetting his lower lip. "If you wanted to get intimate, all yo—"

"Don't." 

Hands threw up to surrender, lips pout like a puppy after he got scolded. No retort, only to do as he's told.

This isn't how you imagined you would spend your day. Filling a bathtub with whatever scraps of bath products you have left that could clean every single pup at the shelter. Except you're cleaning Jake. And it is as weird as it sounds. But for whatever reason, the sympathetic sentiment in you couldn't leave him like this, half of which was maybe, unintentionally, your neglect of not taking care of him. The guilt quietly seeps in.

Jake limps in, a plastic bag wraps just below his knee like a shitty Christmas present and manages to stage a twirl to his fashion statement. You gesture him towards the tub.

"Get in the tub with your back towards me. You can keep your clothes on—" 

"Nope. I'm not doing that" Before you could finish your sentence, he shimmied his way out of his pants which made your gaze snap up to the ceiling with a growl of frustration. The flash of heat rises at the tip of your ears.

"You can look if you want." he beams, towering over and eyes connected with yours as he strides across to the bathtub and slinks himself in.

Is it okay to back out of this? No. You're not one to back away from a challenge. You can't let him think he's besting you in this situation. Tightening the iron grip of your jaw, you fix yourself onto the stool and get to work.

Jake hums to himself merrily, with his legs propped up against the tiles, and you at his service. You’re thankful that the excessive amount of bath products you dumped in this water is covering the explicit parts of him. The floral fragrance of jasmine loiters midair in the bathroom. That sweet scent doesn't fit Jake's personality, but he doesn't mind it. In fact, he likes the idea of smelling like you. He wonders what his mother would think if she saw the two of you now, grinning from ear to ear and saying 'I told you so'. The length she would go to prove his younger self wrong.

A happy memory transition to the next, the one he was hoping you wouldn't ask. One that has your fingertip tracing over the patterns over his shoulder, or what remains of it. The weight of the scar sustained from a trivial injury, but the cost of it leaves a heavy mark on his heart.

"Jake..."

"You remember when I told you not to call my mother?" he blurts out.

You hum.

"A while back, I had...a highlight to my career— achievement would be an overstatement, but everyone seems to think so. For a while, I thought so too. Being the only pilot with an active combat kill amongst my teammates."

There's a pause, unease and tension gnawed at the back of your throat. The silence of Jake treading on unfamiliar territories, a face of him that you briefly saw back at the hospital, one that you couldn't quite put the finger on it. But it’s clear to you now— fear.

"The celebrations led me to think what I did was right. And, in a way, it was. Protecting millions of lives is what I do. Then, when the dark kicks in, so do my past actions."

Your thumb encircles his tensed-up shoulder offering comfort, as his hand reaches up and cups yours, there's a mild tremor. Seeing his bravado crumble down to reveal his raw emotions made your heart break into pieces. But you could never understand what he's been through.

He dryly chuckles, "I called mom after that mission. I thought she would do the same and congratulate me, but it's like she knew. Her sobbing on the other line...all she did was ask if I was okay."

Molecules of water pool from the faucet and break the surface tension, sending ripples of waves through the bath foams. The droplets resonated in the room, even after it stopped, you could still hear the slow dripping hitting the water. You dare not to call his name, to face him at his most vulnerable, nor would he want you to see him like this.

Jake took a breath, suppressing his tremble to the best he could. "For months, I had the same dream about the mission. Sometimes I see myself in the other carrier, just waiting for that inevitable moment. I tried everything, but nothing changed. Eventually, I became numb, detached, and act like everything was fine. Knowing fully well this is what happens in this line of work. But, fuck...these are lives. And it could've been..." He trails off.

The hot, stinging tears roll down your cheeks. All you could do was hold him close to you, tightening and tightening your grip, wishing that the pain he experienced could be transferred onto you through an embrace. But, alas, nothing is ever that simple. You can only keep living with that grievance, hoping that someday you could ask for forgiveness.

The evening draws with a heavy blue, and the underglow of the tv lit up a fraction of the room. With you resting on the crook of his neck and him pressed onto the crown of your head, surrounded by cushions and blankets, you let The Good Place run on screen to fill in the emptiness. Jake's hand never left your grasp since the bathroom. But, neither did the overwhelming information that swirls your mind afterwards. Paralysing yourself to live day to day, without missing a beat. Constantly riding shotgun in your own vehicle, with one hand on the steering wheel, not knowing if you might swerve out one day, and that would be the end of it all.

*

The aching soreness in your lower back grows dull as you try to shift to lessen the pain, and groggy eyes flutter open with a few blinks to focus and expose the creme walls of your living room. You don't remember dosing off on the couch or turning off the tv. The blankets have been pulled up to your chin and a comforting heat still radiates in the palm of your hand. You gave his hand a quick squeeze and gently nudged him.

"Hey, Jakey. Wake up!" you softly called.

A weary grunted and whined in response, returning himself to dreamland again.

You called, again. "C'mon, Jake! Wake up!"

"What?" he groaned, drowsy olive eyes now just peering at you. "What do you want?"

You sat up, beaming brighter than the sun that was beginning to rise through the horizon. "Do you trust me?"

He frowns, brows knitted tightly together and fear what you are going to say next. "I do. But, you asking me that first thing in the morning makes it seem more suspicious."

"Good." You nodded once, "Then, get up and get changed. We're going out."

*

Windows rolled down to let the summer air into your matchbox car, and the fabric of your cotton t-shirt clings to your body in this sticky humidity. Wild strands of hair fly freely from your loosely tied bun, reflecting a golden hue from the chromatic sunrise. But, not everyone is enjoying a brief moment of ethereal bliss. The battered blonde pilot; in his ever-so-dark sunglasses, masking his fatigue, annoyance, and everything in between— force captured in the passenger seat.

The car shrieked as you pulled into the parking lot, just facing a brick red duplex that's more like a mansion. The place is adorned with wildflowers and ample bushes, and fancy, vintage roof trimmings that you could probably never afford. You smile gleefully to yourself, admiring the building that you consider to be your second home.

"Where are we?" Jake finally spoke.

Your face radiated, the edges of your eyes creased and holding that smile for seconds too long made anybody fear their life.

"This is my workplace." Your singsong voice answered.

He scoffs. "So you took me to work? The one thing I can't do right now? If I wanna work I would just go back to Top Gun, but, newsflash! I can't!"

"It's less about work and more about helping around here. Plus, today is something like 'Take your son or daughter to work' Day, and it just so happens that I have an overgrown toddler living with me. And I can't leave them alone at home."

The mocking pout on your face made Jake hiss in unsatisfactory, biting back what he had to say and just going with the flow.

"It's going to be alright! We have something that could make your movement easier," you reassured him.

When you stated something along the lines of assisting his movement, Jake was imagining something more like a wheelchair that's practical and you could possibly push him around the block. But, what was waiting for him was less of a wheelchair, and more like a chair with wheels attached to it. Talk about surprises.

Jake stood his ground for a solid 10 minutes, initiating a stare-off with you, not uttering a word but clearly infuriated with the choice of option— the only one— displayed in front of him. And you, wearing a cocky grin that looks a tad too good on you, arm resting against the back of the black mesh office chair with one upraised brow.

What choice does he have? Drive back to your place? He doesn't have the keys, nor can he drive at the moment. Sulk his way through the day by just standing in the lobby? The cast around his leg is uncomfortable as it is, can't even scratch an itch, not to mention the crutch is barely any help at all.

The deadpan expression is carved permanently on his face, but the giddy excitement bubbles as you witness him excuse himself on the chair, surrendering off his mighty high horse.

"Doesn't feel good to be on the receiving end now does it, Seresin?"

"Shut up."

The plastic wheels rumbled along the hardwood floors, with occasional bumps that earned a grunt from Jake when running over the door sills. Your manager is kind enough to understand the sudden addition but is still grateful for the extra help they could get around the place. There, through the double barn doors, reside rows of cages as a temporary home for these helpless creatures. Some yaps at the sight of you, and some whine to procure any attention.

At the end of the long hallway, here you stopped and unbolted the lock with a clunk to the transparent door that's housing a german shepherd. Fur shining in beautiful sandy hues and shawled with a coat of black. Its sullen eyes soften the moment it sees you, tail wagging like a metronome.

"This baby boy here is Captain." you scritch the floof between those perked-up ears. "He was found with his hind legs broken and fending off another stray dog. The vet informed us that there were low chances that he could run again, ever.

He leans further into your touch, licking the hand that's patting his head. "In the beginning, he was defensive and wouldn't let anyone go near him. Even in therapy, he refuses to move or gives himself the chance to run again. But, I never gave up on him. I stuck with him through it all, and he did take it. He took that chance through me." You turn to face Jake, gaze gleaming with assurance and hope.

"Is that what I'm supposed to do? Go ask for help?" He swallows, voice filled with uncertainty.

You solemnly return a smile. "That's up to you, Jackal. You don't have to do this alone. There are people that are willing to listen. I'm willing to listen if you're ready to talk."

Jake's eyes flicker to the floor for a fleeting moment, contemplating. Then peers up to observe the dog, mouth muttering something too quiet for you to perceive.

"But! This isn't the point of me bringing you here today," you exclaim. "Your mission today, Lieutenant, is to take the dogs out for their field day. And this little baby right here is your wingman for the day." You squint your eyes, catching a glimpse of something. "You guys look quite similar when you're side by side."

The pilot and his temporary wingman frown.

Field day is a special day for pets. It’s one of the grand activities arranged for the pets to have fun, as well as dressing them up for their new adoption pictures. The noises of barking and panting are scattered around the luscious green yard, as various sizes of pups are excited to interact with one another. 

However, your eyes tether towards the other side of the field. There are currently two being just blandly observing the situation. A Lieutenant and his Captain. Awkwardly hiding underneath the shades of the blooming oak tree. You shake your head. Maybe if you give them a little more time, they’ll warm up to each other.

Jake crossed his arms in his best effort, brooding in the cool shadows cast by the leaves that slowly merged with him. He cared not for this field day thing, but he cared enough about you to know this was important to you. If he participates in some way that could make you happy, that's the least he can do.

He sighs and whips his head around to find Captain immersed himself gnawing on a lime green, worn-out ball. Enjoying the fact there isn't a single intrusive thought inside that little head of his.

"Look at you, it must be nice being you. Not a care in the world and having somebody that loves you."

Jake's gaze draws back to you, frolicking around with dogs following your trail, laughing as brightly as a shining star and he can't help but be infected by your smile. He knows he has a bad habit of making you mad, but he always finds you cute when you're angry. With your deadly glares and the crease in your brows, he knows he got your full attention. But your smile also takes up an entirely new feeling. Like walking down a sunny country path, hand grazing along the overgrown grass. He noticed. How your lips were drawn to a thin line when you smile, cheeks pinched together and made way for a dimple, eyes always glimmer with a bright shine when you're interested in something.

"And yet, she doesn't know. Probably never will," he mutters.

Captain whines and pitifully looks at him.

"Don't give me that look."

Captains tamper the soil a few times before dropping the ball in Jake's lap, waiting expectantly.

"Oh, I don't need your pity party."

He launches the ball across the field which sets Captain bolting, eyes locked on to the acquired target and retrieving the object back to the Lieutenant. Dropping the ball on his lap once more, excitement coursing through his tiny, furry brain, fanning his own tail.

The green ball gripped tightly in his hand as he shakes his head. "I'm not doing this."

The poor pup’s ears droop and the tail comes to a halt, pleading with his puppy dog eyes.

“The answer is no.” He casually tossed the ball aside, but the littlest commotion still sends Captain to a running sprint after his favourite toy. “Ah, fuck.”

You look up just in time to witness Jake rowing away with his crutch as a paddle on land. His action sends Captain into a delighted frenzy as his large doggy paws hop after Jake attempts to escape. You chuckled, reaching a hand to your back pocket and fishing out your phone. The screen encapsulates the playful scenery, and with a touch of a button, the shutter freeze frame of this beautiful memory. A memento that holds dear to you as your new phone screen.

A/n: If Jake was a dog, what type of dog would he be?

[heauxzenji]

Szn’s Creamings

Miya Osamu x Fem!Reader

Warnings: oof a lot sorry- eggnog(its delicious and you’re all just mean), corruption if you squint, clandestine sex I guess? Choking, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), nipple play, the Miya accent, improper use of Christmas decorations, bondage, unprotected sex(you should know to expect this from my writing by now), vaginal penetration, squirting, creampies/breeding, use of the word daddy like ONCE, cum eating, a dash of overstim for optimal flavor, ahegao (😌) aaaaand snowballing (aka spitting cum in someone’s mouth) swearing obviously ummmmm shit man idk anymore I’m 999% sure that’s it- good shit below da cut

Wc: 2.5k

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and a VERY Happy Holiday no matter your culture’s festivities! This is part of my collab with my lovely friends in The Sewer Server- @rat-suki ty anu for organizing it all! I’m love u. This fic was written in an eggnog & fireball induced  blackout, and is singlehandedly fueled by lust for Osamu’s Dorito body and my love for Steak n’ Shake.

Cheese-on’s Greetings Collab mlist here 🎄🎁🐁

“This... is it?” He cocked an eyebrow at the concoction, the red and green sprinkles bleeding dye into the whipped cream, the sad cherry on top sunken into it. 

“This is what you’ve been goin’ on about fer the last 3 weeks?” 

This- was an eggnog milkshake. A wintertime classic, and a staple at the local diner in your hometown. Simple enough. It didn’t look like much- in fact, it honestly wasn't. But to you, this shitty, artificially-flavored diner milkshake encompassed all the joys of holiday magic into one tall, frosted glass. You could count the years you spent in this diner, knocking them back. You’ve grown of course, but the nostalgia always stays the same. Having Osamu come to your hometown for the holidays was a pretty big step in your relationship, sure, but including him in the milkshake tradition usually reserved for your best friend? That was even bigger. 

“You haven’t even taken a sip, you ass,” you giggled, putting your own straw to your lips, reveling in the cool flavor that was coating your tongue. Pure sugar, just a hint of nutmeg and cinnamon- perfect as always. You pushed the glass over to him, urging him to try for himself. He took in a large drink, letting it rest before clicking his tongue a few times and looking over at your eyes- eyes that were aglow with anticipation and gingerbread men? No, that was just the reflection of the gaudy tinsel that adorned the booth you sat in. 

“Soooo?” 

“Not bad,” he sighed, pushing the glass back your way. Always anticlimactic. 

“But I could definitely make one that’s better.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him. 

One thing you knew he could never resist was a challenge. Grabbing his wallet, he slammed some bills on the table, whisking you away from the diner in 2 minutes flat, the milkshake an ever present memory, like that of the favorite Christmas gift from childhoods passed. You didn’t think he’d take it that seriously, but you also knew that Osamu took everything- especially food- seriously.

Even still, the drive back to your parents’ was a calm one, like every night adventure. The only difference was the bitter cold in the air, and the soft crooning of songs about Santa Claus on the radio. The only thing was- you just couldn’t stop pressing your thighs together….

“Put it away, sir.” you said jokingly, shifting your current position on the couch. Miracle on 34th Street shown on the small screen of the television as you flicked through what seemed like every Christmas movie ever made with the remote.  The feeling of his cock starting to stiffen at your back told you everything you needed to know; that Osamu wasn’t interested in whether or not Santa Claus was real, or  whatever the ‘true’ meaning of Christmas was- he was solely interested in the meaning of that which currently resided between your legs. 

A sneaky had drifted under your shirt, breath hitching in your throat as his thick fingers rolled one of your nipples, the soft tugging leaving you mewling as the sensation traveled down to your now throbbing clit. You leaned into it for a split second, but you were bought back to reality by the sight of your family’s Christmas photos on the fireplace mantle. There was no way in hell you could get fucked in front of a photo of your grandmother. You swatted Osamu’s hand away.

“We can NOT do this right now-” your words fell on deaf ears as  his hand snaked up your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth in  its wake as he settled them right above your stomach, fiddling with the drawstrings of your shorts. 

“My mom and dad are literally upstairs….” The words left your mouth faintly your body lurching toward him.

Again, you tried. A valiant attempt. It wasn’t a lie- they most certainly were upstairs, presumably fast asleep, as they had been up there for almost two hours now, leaving you and Osamu to watch a few corny Christmas movies- or so they thought. But he saw through your objections. Hearing the way your voice softened, seeing how your chest wavered as he got closer and closer to your face, he simply couldn’t contain himself. 

“It’s not my fault ‘ya wanted to stay here,” he huffed, large hands seizing your own, pushing away their protests as he passed his thumb up and down your clothed slit. You bit your lip in an effort to silence the moan that was bubbling its way up and out of your mouth. You had started to become feverish, your own state of vulnerability apparent as Osamu used one arm to pin your wrists above your head, sending your lower half flailing and bucking up into his free hand as you whimpered desperately for his touch.

“You want it, don’t ya, little love?” Little love. The one pet name you could never resist. Almost like a switch, you moaned a particularly needy, not-so-hushed “hmmhm- yes, daddy,” that definitely would have blown your cover. Luckily, Osamu’s thick fingers worked their way into your mouth to silence you, your lips immediately wrapping around them and obediently sucking to heed his words.

“Just be s’quiet as possible,” his hushed tone came out in a low baritone. He pressed a finger to his lips, pointing another up toward the ceiling from the couch of your parents living room. 

Keeping your arms restrained, your boyfriend’s free hand pushed past your layers of clothes, your saliva coated his fingers, providing just enough slickness to enter your hole with ease, gently curling against that soft spot right inside. You were so warm, so needy, easily molding into his touch as he watched your eyes widen within his. You fixed your mouth to open, but it hung there as his fingers worked, your cunt sucking  them in manically. 

“F-fuck,” you could barely manage that. “Please I-hmph- please…”

“Use yer words, little love,” he cooed, the tone of his voice was sickeningly slow as he teased you, slowing his fingers down. You bucked your hips in protest, pouting and wiggling underneath him to feel some form of friction.

“Stop Squirmin’.” His demeanor shifted immediately, darkening at your perceived disobedience. The hands that held your wrists met your throat, a half gasp escaping you as he gently squeezed, your face softening into a pout. 

“I said- use yer words.”

“Please, please fuck me,” you squeaked. “F-fill me up.”

“Then we gotta find a way t’keep ya nice n’ still. Will you be good fer me?”

You nodded. You always were. Osamu’s ability to render you a compliant, malleable toy for him to fuck was astounding. You could spend the rest of your life being his obedient little thing without a care in the world or a complaint.

“I know ya will,” he pressed a kiss to your lips. “My little love’s always s’good…” 

You knew you were in for it- but you didn’t expect this. It was a little different from your normal setup, but at the same time, the rush of excitement built in the pit of your stomach just as it did the first time ‘Samu ever bound you. It just so happened that there were some discarded lights nearby the Christmas tree. You could see the glimmer of an idea in his eyes as he plugged them in, smiling as the glow lit up his face. He looked at you on the couch and wiggled his eyebrows- as much as you wanted to laugh out loud, you weren’t in the position to be picky about your rigging tonight. You had to make do. 

“It’s…. festive?” You could tell that even he was amused. But amusement aside, the desire that built between you, the stored tension of having not touched each other for almost two days now was clearly screaming to be addressed. His large hands made a bite in the wiring of the lights and they quickly found themselves around your wrists, the illumination beautiful, but also kind of blinding this close to your face. With a kiss to your lips, he moved from your wrists and down toward your torso, trailing an interesting track of holiday cheer into a harness around your chest and tying in your back. Your arms were bent forward at the elbow, snugly enough so that you could wiggle your fists, but your wrists were of no use.

 Pushing you onto your knees, you felt the press of your boyfriend’s hand against your back as he repositioned your arms and elbows to place you on all fours. Cool air immediately hit the skin of your lower half as you felt him pull your bottoms off. You wriggled your hips in an effort to help, but instead your flesh was met with an aggressive strike. Managing to catch your discomfort in your throat, a lowered hiss bared through your gritted teeth, soon followed by a sharpened inhale as you felt the presence of him towering over you. 

“Been thinking about the way those cute lips were wrapped around that straw all night,” he panted, palming his cock through his sweats. You could see how uncomfortably hard he was- it lit a fire in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t wait to serve him, you couldn’t wait to feel the weight of his thick cock against your tongue- and stretching your pussy past it’s limits.

“I bet’cher sweet mouth wrapped around my cock would look even prettier, don’t ya think?” 

His words hit at your core. Your mouth began to water in anticipation as he pulled himself out of his sweats, gently pumping before lining up at your mouth. 

Delicately, your tongue swirled down the slit of the head, plush lips wrapping around the pink bulb. Osamu’s hands guided your head down the length, drool sliding out of your mouth and down your  chin, where it dripped onto your chest, riddled with bright multicolored light. Slowly, he fucked himself with your throat, allowing you to adjust to his girth. 

“Yep,” he exhaled deeply, hissing at how warm your mouth felt around him.

 “Ev’n prettier.”

 His motions sped up as he bobbed your head up and down, the slight saltiness of his precum going down easily, leaving you practically begging for a full load.  You always craved him on your tongue- he tasted much better than any diner milkshake could. The soft gargling of his assault on your throat slowed to a stop as he pulled you off, leaving you gasping for air. Licking the drool from the corners of your lips, Osamu kissed you passionately before throwing your bound body onto the couch.

You clenched haphazardly around his cock as soon as he entered you, head flying forward with the force of his thrusts. His arm held you upright, parallel to his chest as his cock pistoned in and out of your hole. 

“‘S-sa-ah!~ ‘Samu- ffuck!” Your eyes snapped shut as he fucked into you. His breathy grunts resounded deep in your ears, sending jolts of molten lust down your spine, chest heaving as you tried keeping your voices down. Your hot, wet cunt sucked him in deeper and deeper each time he entered you- your urge to milk him for everything he had was only made more apparent by it. 

“I can feel you baby,” He purred into your ear. “So fucking wet.” 

Osamu released you from his hold, letting you fall forward into the couch, one hand pushing your head into the cushions, the other roughly kneading at the flesh where your ass and hip met, digging his nails into the flesh as he began to carnally pound into your pussy. Each stroke hit your sweet spot with a ridiculously precise skill. Your muffled sobs echoed into the cushions of the couch as he drilled you, never once slowing the rate in which his hips snapped into yours. You wouldn’t be surprised if the smacking of his skin against yours woke your parents at this rate- you couldn’t be bothered to care with your orgasm this close to the horizon. 

Somehow you managed to free a hand from your twinkling ties, immediately pushing it to your clit to rub it feverishly. The squelching started up shortly after, your ears beginning to ring as your throat squealed itself raw into the deep void beneath you. Osamu pulled you back by your hair, pressing his lips to your ear and clasping a hand to your mouth.

“Keep rubbing that pretty pussy, sweet girl, so fucking close to cumming fer me, aren’t ya?”

You could only whine in response. He softened the hand on your mouth, muffled words spilling out.

“I’m gonna cu-ah-cum! Please let me cum!” 

“Hmmm? Gonna cum? Did I hear ya right, little love?” He knew what he was doing, egging you on like this.

You were mere milliseconds away from losing it, the edge pulling up to you so close that you could barely collect yourself as you began to feel yourself slip over it- eyes whiting out as Osamu gave you the go-ahead. 

“Just let me c-” he finished your sentence for you.

“Cum.” It was a simple word, a simple command. But the way it hit your ears: the way the low growl tore through your body- you didn't stand a chance. The warm wetness of your release sprayed against his abs, trickling down your thighs and pooling into the upholstery. Your eyes crossed, face contorting further into lewd bliss as a scream tried to escape your mouth- but only silence hiccuped its way out. 

“Good fucking girl- now take this, baby. Take it all…” God, he was the devil. 

Fucking you through it- your boyfriend chased his own high, cock twitching inside as the vision of you wrapped in lights blurring into colorful stars as he spilled into you, his load coating your insides with a mass of sticky, soothing heat. You both collapsed into each other, bodies writhing as you caught your heavy breaths. 

As he slipped out of you, Osamu lifted your hips to his mouth, sucking in the mixture of his and your own release, savoring it on his tongue. Your puffy, fucked-out cunt spasmed at the contact, the sensation overwhelming as you tugged at his steely grey locks, snapping his head back. 

“Hmmph-  s’too much ‘Samu!” Your thighs clamped together as soon as he released you.

Humming a soft apology, he moved up from your lower lips to the upper ones, pushing his tongue past them, spitting arousal across your tongue. You swallowed the mixture greedily, smiling against his lips. You could still feel ropes of cum pouring from your spamming hole and leaking onto your thighs.

“Whaddaya think?” The words were slurred against the skin at the crook of your neck while he peppered your skin with kisses.

“Delicious.” You looked at him with a smirk, mind still hazy as your body shook its way through a few more aftershocks. 

“Told ya I could make a better milkshake.”

 As he said it, laughter broke out between the two of you. Your chest struggled against the harness, as it was still pretty tight. Osamu unplugged the decorations, gently untying you as snow fell outside your living room window, the faint jingling of bells filling the room again as the tv light illuminated you both. 

 Taglist Starseeds (check ur privacy settings if your url is in bold): @honey-makki @crushzone @yumekosgamblingroom @boujiesav @onesingleravioli @ushijimasfarmhat @trouvelle @nekoma-hoe @right-shoe-jpg @atsumusc0ck @ukeis @nivky0-0 @animoozies @charmarsmith

[machine-gun-casie]

tavern music

synopsis: corpse hears tavern music coming from your room (gn!reader)

warnings: rpf, reader gets cheated on, kind of unrequited feelings, mostly hurt/comfort and physical affection tho (what im trying to say is that this is mostly self indulgent)

wc: 1.7k

a/n: havent written in a while but i found this in my arsenal, fixed it up a bit and viola. original plans for this was definitely something longer that would end with them being together but im not up for writing rn. been feeling really shitty lately and ive been needing something like this in my life. hope u guys like it ♡

He couldn’t hear it at first. His headset was on and everyone was being so loud on the discord call. When he started the stream, he really thought it was gonna be a long one. But he’s only two hours in and he’s ready to get the hell off because something was definitely wrong.

“Corpse?” His name being spoken finally broke him out of his trance, he only hummed in response. “You’ve been really quiet. Are you sure you’re up for another game?”

“Actually,” he starts as he closes a few tabs, “I think I’ve gotta go. Today was fun, though. Thanks for having me guys.”

After a chorus of ‘goodbye’s and ‘see you later’s, Corpse disconnected from the discord call. “Thank you guys for being here,” he addressed the chat, “sorry I’m ending so early today. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time. Take care of yourselves. Later.”

After hanging up his headset and getting out of the chair he’s been sitting in for far too long, Corpse made the short trek to your room. 

You had only been roommates for less than four months, but Corpse could confidently say that you have become one of his closest friends. Getting a roommate was the last resort that he never wanted to actually resort to. But alas, medical bills were piling up and youtube and music don’t make half as much money as people think they do. So cutting rent in half was the best plan he could come up with. He did have an extra guest room that no one ever stayed in. Of course having someone move into his personal space was terrifying to him. He didn’t just want to post an ad on craigslist or something. So he asked a couple trusted friends to ask a couple trusted friends… And that’s when you came in.

You were the trusted friend of a trusted friend of a trusted friend. When you met, you didn’t make a comment about his voice. Your face sure as hell showed your surprise but you didn’t say anything. To Corpse, this meant one of two things. You either knew who he was but didn’t want to freak him out, or you didn’t know about his online persona and were just genuinely shocked by his voice. It only took a few minutes of knowing you to know that it was the latter. Thank god. You were like anyone your age with social media. You had a few accounts, followed a few people, but mostly used it to stay in contact with friends. 

It only took you guys a week to realize you had way too much in common. After many a late night when he wasn’t streaming, and many an early morning when he was just done streaming, you two became inseparable. Nothing could keep you apart.

Except for one thing.

You had a boyfriend.

There was nothing wrong with your boyfriend, per se. Just the fact that he was your boyfriend and Corpse was not. 

Yeah, Corpse definitely had feelings for you. 

But right now, feelings didn’t matter when he could hear tavern music coming from your room.

He knocked lightly and pushed the door open slowly. “y/n? Can I come in?”

No response came, just sniffles and sobs. The lack of refusal on your part gave him the courage he needed to open the door wider and step into your room. He had only been in your room a couple of times since you had moved in. But he had never been in a room that gave off the feeling of a person so well.

You were curled up on your bed, facing your open laptop screen and the tavern music coming from its speakers. With every sob shaking your chest, Corpse felt his heart break. “y/n,” he murmured softly, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s not working.” Came your reply, heavy with tears. “You said it would make you feel like you're going on an adventure but I still feel like crap.”

“What happened?” Corpse asked as he sat down on your bed, facing you. You slowly sat up and crossed your legs at your ankles in front of you.

“He-” You sighed heavily. “He cheated on me.”

“What?”

“He cheated on me -has been cheating on me- with my best friend. My little brother found out.” You groaned and dramatically dropped your head onto Corpse’s thigh. His hand immediately came in contact with your cheek as he brushed a few stray tears away.

There was rarely any physical contact between you and Corpse. Sometimes you’d give him a high five, sometimes he’d give you fist bump. And there was that one time you came up behind him at the grocery store and hugged his arm to your chest. You immediately whispered something along the lines of ‘creep won’t leave me alone’ followed by a loud ‘hey babe!’

Corpse could barely admit to himself how much he liked that.

But this? This felt good. Corpse’s large warm hand on your face somehow made you want to cry more but in a good way. The tenderness with which he held your face made your heart squeeze as it remembered moments like this with your boyf- ex boyfriend. But then it remembered your brother’s words.

“Hey, what’s up?” You spoke as you answered his call. Your brother wasn’t much of a caller, so it made you worry. 

“Hey, where are you right now?”

“I’m home, why?”

“y/n… There’s something I gotta tell you.” He sighed and you could clearly hear the guilt.

“Did you break my DS!” It was your first thought as you had given it to him the last time you had seen him. “Dude! I’ve had that since I was seven!”

“No no, I called about something else.” He cut you off mid-whine. “But also I did lose the pen.” You huffed out a sigh of frustration but stayed silent so he could tell you what he wanted to tell you. “I saw your boyfriend at the park today.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “And?” How did this warrant a phone call? 

“He was with Bob.” 

When you had met your best friend, your brother was only a toddler. He had decided that her name was Bob, so it stuck. You always called her Bob, she was saved as Bob in your phone, your whole family called her Bob. But you still didn't understand. Why was he calling you to tell you that your boyfriend and your best friend were at the park? 

“Why are you calling me about this? You know that they’re friends, right?” You let out a chuckle, albeit still pretty confused. “They’re allowed to hang out without me.” 

“They weren’t hanging out.” You could hear your brother push out a strained sigh. What wasn’t he telling you? “They were making out on the swing set. As in, both of them on one swing. And I double checked, it was definitely them. I-I told mom and she said not to tell you, but I couldn’t not tell you when I’m the one who saw it!”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say a word.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

There was no lying to yourself, you had doubts about your best friend and your boyfriend. But you constantly brushed it off. He wouldn’t hurt you like that. Hell, she couldn’t hurt like that. Not after everything you had been through together. 

But you had seen his call log by accident one time, he called her more than he did you. She face-timed him one time to ask his opinion about a dress she was going to buy while you were in the changing room. She had done a handful of things since your relationship with your boyfriend started that made you uneasy. If this was their first kiss, which was something you doubted, then they’ve both been emotionally attached to the other for far too long.

All those tender intimate moments, all those dates, throughout everything, he wasn’t faithful. Not emotionally, at least. None of those moments that you cherished meant anything to you anymore. He had played you. With none other than your best friend since middle school. You didn’t know who to be more mad at.

The thoughts of betrayal from someone who you considered a sister and the hurt of being cheated on made you nauseated.

So when the large warm hand on your face stroked your cheek again, you didn’t mind it. This was Corpse. Not your cheating boyfriend. Not your lying best friend. Corpse. And you knew that he would never hurt you.

“He’s been cheating on me for a while I think.” You mumbled against his sweatpants. “Maybe a couple months. I don’t know.” 

Corpse furrowed his brows in thought. You had told him you were going to visit your boyfriend for your one year anniversary next week. “Weren’t you go-”

“Yeah.”

“And Bob’s been your friend since-”

“Yeah.” Your chin wobbled as you answered. You brought your arms up around Corpse’s thigh and hugged it. It was a strange position, but you didn’t care. He was so warm and nice and hugging him properly required more movement on your end than you were willing to do.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Corpse sighed and reached out to untangle your arms from his leg. He gently pulled you across the few inches of bed between you and sat you in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, immediately sobbing into his shoulder. “Do you want me to turn off the music?” You shook your head no against him and he chuckled before he solemnly sighed. “When did you find out?” 

“When I came home.”

“But you came home hours ago. Have you been in here this whole time?” You nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were streaming, didn’t wanna interrupt.” You shrugged.

“y/n,” he sighed disappointedly, “you’re my best friend. I can end a stream if you need me.”

“Okay.” Your voice, broken and weak and tired, made him feel so guilty. You had been crying your heart out for over two hours just down the hall from where he was.

He gently grabbed you by your hips and tried to push you away, but you only held on tighter and whimpered. “I just wanna get you some water.”

“I don’t want water.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.” You whispered. “Please stay.” 

Fuck. How could he say no to that?

So he stayed.

[howisavedtheworld]

enough | hanamaki takahiro

genre: heavy angst to fluff, a *lil* bittersweet lmao, timeskip!hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader/gn!reader, established relationship

warnings pls pls read: money problems, cursing littered in a lot of places, mentions of feelings like depression, exhaustion, loneliness, crying, etc., blood mentioned *once* (it’s from a callus, it is nothing extreme but i want to state it explicitly anyways) if there’s anything else brought to my attention ill fix accordingly

a/n: hi!!!! it’s been like two weeks since i’ve posted, i’ve been in a slump, but i’m going to genuinely try to be more consistent and kind to myself abt wat i create! also every thing i’ve ever written on here is ib my personal experiences

heads up tho, i havent read the manga and this is just my dramatized take on his life post-time skip and certain things may be inaccurate 

enjoy!

also proofread at 4 am lol

wc: 1385

PLS GIVE THIS FIC A CHANCE ITS NOT ALL SAD I PROMISE

                                               -

if hanamaki takahiro were to say he’s “tired,” one would deem it a grave understatement.

he’s not just tired.

he’s drained.

for starters, he’s worked three back to back shifts and it was barely reaching wednesday. monday at the deli was tough, considering he spent twelve straight hours packaging and stocking prosciutto and mozzarella sandwiches and arranging bags of kettle-cooked chips by flavor across the aisles of the store.

tuesday was even harder, the double shift at the restaurant hitting his already fatigued body like a brick. it was tiring enough to run around speedily clearing dishes and wiping down tables for six hours but it was absolute overkill to then spend the entire night cleaning the restaurant and prepping it for the morning crew.

6:39 am.

that was when takahiro finally left the restaurant, forcing his sluggish sore limbs to make the trek to the train station for the long ride back home.

in truth, the word “tired” barely even scratched the surface.

but he needed the money.

he needed it badly.

bills were always lingering on the brim of takahiro’s mind: the rent, the light bill, the water, the electricity. it left with him the constant urge to move, to work, to always be on the lookout for his next paycheck.

and of course, this wasn’t the best arrangement nor was it the life he’d hoped for.

of course, regret encompassed him, bound itself to his very being.

he wished he went pro after his glory days at aoba johsai, that he’d tried a little harder to be something. maybe then he’d have the opportunity to play in argentina, to travel the world, or to get signed by a sports brand just for the sake of it.

of course, he always felt a pang of jealousy for the ones that made it big.

even the ones who didn’t.

the ones with stable incomes, who could sustain themselves with only one job, who owned compact sized cars, who could actually save a single dime with hopes of eventually going on vacation.

deep down, he was jealous of them, too.

and he wondered, as he finally stepped foot on the train heading north, feeling the ache in his heels settle, if this would ever feel like enough.

if working two jobs back to back would ever amount to any feeling of satisfaction, if it was okay that he would only ever be remembered as the guy who didn’t go pro, who never got his degree, who was barely getting by.

he really didn’t think so.

because how could it be enough?

how could he have nothing to show for the life he lived?

sometimes, takahiro felt almost as if he was cursed. that life had dealt him the worst of cards just to see him crack underneath the pressure.

a lot of times, he did.

he had his fair share of low moments: the time he found himself shedding tears in the back of the deli, hiding behind loaves of rye bread and cold cuts hoping nobody would catch him.

or the time he bandaged his own bleeding foot by himself at the restaurant because his calluses broke open and everyone else was simply too busy to help.

in these moments, hanamaki felt so alone.

as if the world had forgotten him, had continued to spin on its axis, leaving him alone to figure out its rotation.

in these moments, he really just wanted to run away from it all.

to quit his jobs and just disappear for some time.

but he couldn’t.

because hanamaki takahiro had also learned that in every shitty day or moment, there was a flip side.

there had to be a sliver of hope in the midst of darkness.

7:32 am. 

that was when hanamaki got home.

he stood for a moment, fumbling with various receipts and trinkets in his pocket before he finding his keys and opening the door.

it was quiet. 

he could only hear the whirr of the shaky air conditioner and the hum of morning birds outside the bay windows of the living room. he took one step inside, wincing at the ache in his legs and sharp jab of pain up his spine.

locking the door behind him, he slipped off his shoes before the silence was broken.

“baby?” your soft sleepy voice rang through the apartment, making his body jump.

he was sure you’d be sleeping by now.

“hey, babe.” he let out a exhale of relief that you were the source of noise. “sorry if i woke you.” 

you sat up from your position laying on the couch, shaking your head incessantly while wiping the grog from your eyes.

“no,” you quickly spoke. “i was waiting for you.”

his heart skipped a beat looking at you, your eyes half-lidded from exhaustion with dark circles underneath them, your hair completely disheveled from your awkward sleeping position on the couch, and you wore his old seijoh jersey that was too large and slipped down your shoulders, the hem falling just above your knees.

you looked at him, offering a soft smile before beckoning him over to you. “work must’ve fucking sucked, c’mere.”

and you were so right.

it was awful.

he took lengthy strides over to you before dropping onto the couch, his head finding its way to your lap.

your fingers instinctively reached to stroke his soft locks and he sighed, leaning into your touch.

“are you hungry?” you murmured. “i made udon earlier. it’s cold now so you’ll have to warm it up.”

he was hungry, desperately so after not having a moment to get even a small snack in at work, but he wanted to stay here for just a little longer, pressed into you, feeling the pads of your fingers against his scalp, smelling your conditioner and listening to the softness of your voice.

he shook his head, and you laughed, knowingly nodding. “okay, you can eat it later.”

“how was work for you?” he questioned, eyes fluttering closed at serenity of the moment.

you hummed, fingers still locked into his hair. “shitty. you know, usual bullshit with customers. but i think with my next paycheck, we’ll make the rent.”

his eyes snapped open to look up at you, and you were staring down at him, an excited smile on your face when you locked eyes.

and takahiro knew you had hopes and dreams, that you wanted to go back to school and get your degree and have a normal job, and eventually buy a house and car, and maybe have kids, but you always said that part wearily, claiming you both should start off the family off with a pet first.

he knew you wanted something different. you’d told him.

but even now, in this moment as he stared up at you, saddened by the fact that the future you hoped for was nowhere in sight, there was no inkling of disappointment in your eyes, no what-if, no questioning of if it was enough.

you looked at him like the life you had was all you’d ever asked for.

as if of course it was enough.

before he knew it, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

your eyes widened and you moved a hand to his cheek, wiping the tear away.

“i love you.” he stated, a few more lone tears sliding down his face.

your face softened before you squeezed his cheek with your hand.

“hey.” you beckoned him to sit up.

he followed, sitting up to face your frame on the couch. “don’t cry ‘cus we made the rent. there’s always other bills you can pay. if that’s what you’re worried about.”

and he laughed, nodding while tears spilled over his irises and he watched you through bleary eyes, wipe each one away and pull him into an embrace.

“i love you. you know that, right? i’ll always love you.”

hanamaki takahiro realized that in this lifetime, he doesn’t need a sports deal, or a compact car, or trips to argentina. even if life were to always be this hard, if he was always teetering on the in-between, if this was all the universe had to offer him, that was okay.

because it had granted him you.

and you, alone, were more than enough.

[0risha]

“BONES.”

✰ PAIRING ⤷ dabi x fem!reader

SUMMARY ⤷ It took him over a decade to muddle his brain with different memories to overshadow his past ones, not wanting for the abstained shadows of remembrance to embrace him.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.

Dabi doesn’t trust himself.

He doesn’t trust the color of his mind to stay in the now state it’s in. If Touya Todoroki were to unwrap the gauze that clung to his very being, he’d fall apart. And he couldn’t have that. This unforgiving life of his had finally unfolded its palms and given him a gift and he’d stay sane for as long as he could to enjoy it.

✰ WC ⤷ 6.6k?

✰ TAGS ⤷ major angst, there is fluff though pinky promise, there’s a suggestive line, please don’t cancel me, it was detrimental to the story manga spoilers, a few curse words, character death, very, very soft dabi, shigaraki is an ass

NOTES ⤷ this is, indeed, the longest thing I've written that wasn't for school. and the summary is just a blurb because i had no idea what to write there. lol, I'm sitting at my laptop while crying my eyes out...... but uh.... I hope you like it ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ

You smoke, Dabi takes that into account on the first day he sees you. Dabi hates cigarettes, despises them. He hates that itchy feeling his lungs get whenever he takes a drag, hates the way it makes him feel abyssal, co-dependent. And if there's one thing that Dabi hates, it's relying on something else that wasn't him self.

With that into consideration, he’s not entirely sure why you catch his eye, you’re not typically the type he goes for. He usually chose the dainty ones, the ones that were so eager to experience a jive of thrill, they don’t realize that they’ve encountered a person who played an important role in one of the most powerful villain organizations. 

You're in the corner of a dingy bar, the dim lights somehow doing your angelic features justice. The light catches the glint of your name tag and the pastel blue of your scrubs. You look tired. Even from a far distance, he can see the sunken tent of your cheeks. The cigarette stick which hangs from in between your index finger and middle is halfway from becoming a stub. The plastic platter of pretzels that sit across from your chest is untouched as you grumble out replies to the bartender who's trying to make conversation with —a very uninterested— you.

When the clock hits eleven, your bar stool is scraping the ground as you attempt to leave. The relentless bartender grabs your arm with one last plea. His voice raising when you deny the idea that you should give him your number because you're too pretty to be by yourself. With one last pull, you stomp away towards the exit. Dabi doesn't know if it's because he's a villain too, but he follows after you. His senses telling him that there’s no way the bartender who you’d just rejected would let his wounded pride stay unbandaged. 

He’s careful not to make any noises with the soles of his boots. The absence of street lights concealing his figure. Unbeknownst to him, his body enforces the skills he uses while stalking his next prey. His languid motions flowing with the same transverse as the cold, biting wind.

And you don’t notice a thing, your hands stuffed into the pockets of your thick silver jacket. But when your walking comes to a stop, Dabi’s heart nearly tumbles out from his chest. Not a second later, you pull out a pack of cigarettes and place one to your lips, lighting it in one go. When you resume walking, Dabi’s body internally holds a jubilee with jeers of relief. He’s not exactly sure why he’s helping you but what type of person would he be if he let a pretty lady like you get hurt? 

At the thought, his throat tickles with the hope to let out a laugh.

When Dabi hears the crunch of leaves that bounce off the cracked concrete, for the second time that night he nearly breaks into a fit of laughter. The culprit’s first step is to trap you behind the fenced wall and his burly figure. What an amateur.

A part of Dabi wants to wait and see what you do. Are you a regular civilian? Do you have a strong quirk that would fight him off? His trail of thought evaporates when you hiccup out a laugh, smoke from the corner of your lips flowing into the man’s face. Dabi’s eyebrows quirking up with interest. What’s your next act?

After several hitches of breath, nothing comes and Dabi finally decides to step in as he feels the waves of anger emitting from the balding, middle-aged man who has you cornered.

The confrontation is brief —when the bartender turns to glance at an approaching lean, scarred figure, he scurries off without a word.

“Didn’t have to help me, I had it in the bag.” You squint at your savior as your cigarette bobs with the movement of your full lips. His stature towers over yours but you don’t seem the little bit phased. 

“You weren’t scared,” he says and it’s more of a question than a statement. His cool voice sends a frosty layer through each stack of your vertebrae. Though, it slowly ebbs away as you study his features and realize how pretty he is —his eyes a pool of melted lapis. Sharp cheekbones molded to accustom to scars and silver staples that do nothing but add to your thinking connotation of him being ambiguity personified. 

“Yeah, even if he did... you know.” You wave your hand. “He would’ve died sooner or later.” Dabi’s eyes narrow in confusion as he catches the way your eyelashes flutter prettily against your skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh.. uh- he had heart issues, the kind you can’t recover from.” You remove the lit stick from your lips and give him a full-toothed smile. “Thank you, Mr. Stranger.” And with that, you turn away and resume your lethargic walk down an empty alleyway.

Must be your quirk. Dabi thinks as he watches your figure disappear into the grasping shadows of the night. When he returns to the battered LOV hideout, he goes out of his way to avoid any interaction with the League. Refusing to taint his memory of your pretty smile and pretty face.

The next time Dabi sees you, you’re in the same place. This time you’re not wearing scrubs, opting for a more casual look with a baby blue top that contrasts nicely with your skin and jeans that accentuate your figure. You don't have a pack of cigarettes either.

Unlike before, you notice his stare and you bathe in it. The bartender from the other day all but glances at you. Amusingly, you turn to glance at the brooding figure in the corner of the bar with a knowing look.

After two beers and spinning courage, you walk towards Dabi with sway in your step. His eyes follow your movement until you decide to situate yourself next to him in the booth. His low lids focus on you as you fidget with your manicured fingers. Cute. He thinks. You’re too cute for your own good. 

“What’s your name?” You break the silence. Teeth gnawing into the plush dent of your bottom lip.

Dabi takes his time to mull over his answer, he doesn’t notice the way his body temperature flares nor the tiny blue flames that threaten to dance on his scabbed knuckles. A grasp —an unfamiliar cloak, wraps its fabric around his shoulders. Prickles of his being push with urgency to ease it away but it’s all in vain.

“Touya.” 

Touya, from the corner of his eye, watches your eyes light up with interest. Bright and wide with swirling specks of gaiety— joy. Which Dabi guesses are because of him. He turns his attention away from you, not wanting to get warped into your pretty eyes that sparkle just from hearing his name. 

“S’ a pretty name,” you whisper. Sporting a subtle grin, one that blows wide when you see all four chambers of his heart pumping wildly with blood. 

“Can you walk me home, Touya?”

It goes on like this, again and again —conversations with Touya at the back of the bar, sitting next to him in the grimy booth. His replies are quip ones but you know he’s listening to your idle chatter because you feel the way his eyes bore into your skull. 

The night always comes to a close with both of you walking shoulder to shoulder, the plans of your upcoming day echoing off the bounds of the night sky. You live in an apartment building, a shitty one. He remembers you complaining about the squeaky floorboards, your loud neighbors, and the pervy, greasy-haired landlord that barges through your door at the most unreasonable times of the day. Touya raises his eyebrow at that.

“I’ll take care of him for you.” The words fly past his lips before he can stop them. 

Your response is a peal of robust laughter that comes to a halt when you pull out a cigarette. “I’ll be sure to come to you,” you say. Today marked the thirtieth time you both engaged in subtle conversation. He takes note in the fact that you only smoke when you wear scrubs —the rope of curiosity gets the best of him.

“I have to keep up with the appearance of my two personalities, duh.” Touya has no clue what you mean but your clipped tone tells him that he shouldn't pry.

Meanwhile, your eyes flit to his sapphire ones than to his lips.

“Touya?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I kiss you?” You watch the way his eyes widen with a low giggle. 

But before he can answer, your lips are already on his. He’s quick to take action as he cups the underside of your jaw, your breath minty even though you just had a smoke. His head’s a mess, there’s a jumble of terms that fail to come together and form coherent ones. The only thing his brain can commit is the pillowy softness of your lips. Sadly, he can’t enjoy the whole experience. His bottom lip erased with the tissue needed to feel, only leaving a purpled patch in its wake. 

For a second, his chest tides over with a tinge of shame but it’s quickly washed away as you pull him even closer. Your small, gentle fingers carding through his soft, inky tresses.  

The kiss ends when you pull away with a breathless sigh. You stay close to him, noses nearly touching as once shared breaths mingle. His hands are on your hips now, slowly kneading the soft flesh. A couple of seconds dart by as your dark eyes stare into his bright ones. The low-lighted area giving them a fascinating glow.

You want to tell him how pretty he looks at this moment. His flustered expression causing your gut to simmer with heat.

You need to tell him how nicely entrapped his presence always makes you feel but something in you decides against it, choosing to save it for another time. So you search for an alternative, breath growing unsteady as you stumble across one.

“Can you....walk me home, Touya?” This time it's different from the first night you asked him.

This time your voice trails off with a much different undertone.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Touya wakes up before you do. Peeks of the sun squeeze through your bedroom blinds, casting a shining glow on your skin. As he studies your peaceful features, he encounters a divulgence. One that causes his skin to crawl with parasites that immediately beg him to keep up with this facade. To derive a little longer and enjoy this bliss at his own expense. However, Touya decides against it. It’s quite obvious that he’s not the safest person to be around, his appearance giving that thought away. 

It might be better if he tells you first, he thinks.

It might be better if he lets a precious thing like you go before he builds a stockpile of lies that’ll eventually come crashing down when the realization finally hits. 

“I’m a villain, you know,” he murmurs as he watches your eyelids flutter open. He grimaces as he tries to think of what your reaction may be. The first words you woke up to would have to be that you’d let a criminal into your home —into your bed.

He sits up to place his back on your cool headboard. The bell of anxiousness that sits at the pit of his stomach rings after a few beats of silence. You turn to stare at his upright figure with two arms tucked underneath your satin pillow. “I know, m’ not stupid, Touya.” You grumble, turning your head to return to sleep.

“What?” His eyebrows knit has his chest shutters with disbelief. 

You ignore his bewilderment. “Since we’re confessing our deepest, darkest secrets can I tell you what could’ve been my villain origin story?” Touya stares at your face before bursting into laughter, one that nearly causes the staples around his jaw to unhinge. Though, this laughter is one of relief.

 A part of him doesn’t believe it. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever done a deed so right, so pure, that had earned him someone like you. The only thing his reeling mind can suffice is that he had killed a scum in some random, dirty alley that ended up being the lowest of the low. At the random thought, he laughs some more. 

“What?” You can’t help but giggle, his laughter —which was a rare entity— made you giddy with joy. “I’m serious!” You pout, turning away from him to feign anger, your ears stay perked up as his smooth, rich laughter fills your bedroom with warmth. 

“Okay, fine I won’t tell you.” His laughter trails off as he moves from the headboard to lie directly across from you. 

“Alright, tell me.” His abnormal body heat causes you to shuffle closer until you rest your head on his chest. 

When your story is done, he can’t help but stare at the ceiling in cerebrate silence.

At the age of fifteen, a program introduced by the hero association had recruited kids with abilities related to the medical field. Yours being an x-ray like quirk that allowed you to detect diseases, broken bones, and infections. Ones even normal x-ray’s couldn’t see. Forced to drop out of high school to take nursing classes and discard your latest stage of childhood life, you’d already become a registered nurse before the ripe age of nineteen. You worked in a special division, one where you only dealt with pro-heroes. You tell Touya about your worst encounter, one where you diagnosed a collection of broken ribs and the incapability to do hero work for several weeks and got shoved so hard that your ankle had twisted. Fortunately, the program had been discarded when you were twenty. With your inability to do other things that weren’t related to nursing you decided to stay one. 

“Where were your parents?” It takes you a second to answer, chest deflating in the worst kind of way as you remember your father and mother’s shame-ridden faces staring back at your own —your's ridden with disbelief.

“They got money, so it didn’t really matter what happened to me.” You whisper, using the soft pad of your index finger to trace his scarred skin.

“Wanted to be a writer, Touya.” You try your best to hold in your cries but to no avail. “Wanted to write a best-seller,” You laugh, but it’s overshadowed by the watery sob that follows.

And with that, he finally understands. You’re two personas, a writer and a nurse. His chest tides up with pride once he realizes that he’s probably the first person to see and understand what they both mean to you.

“You can still be one,” he says. But it’s a promise of his own in disguise. I’ll change the world for you, make it so you can do anything you want to. It echoes from his every syllable and trails off with a familiar lilt.

And you see it too —hope-filled eyes flit to glittering ones. His, a bright pair of blue gems that shine with raw, unfiltered passion- yet to be completely polished. Against your will, every tendril of your being untwines and wraps itself around his words- you believe him. Unconsciously, your lips blow into a wide smile. “I’ll hold you to it, Touya.”

The stagnant air diffuses once you ask him a question, “when’s your birthday?” 

Internally, you kick yourself in the shin as Touya shoots you a whimsical look. You’re not sure why this is the first personal question you decide to ask him.

But to you, Touya’s painted in grey, moral wise. You’ve only known him for less than a month, his background revealed the same night you met him. When you were with Touya, he didn’t seem like a villain. Villains were supposed to be vile, viscous people that didn’t dissolve properly into the troughs of today’s society. 

His touch was gentle, handling you with nothing other than care. But you’re sure he’s used those same nimble fingers to inflict pain on whomsoever he chose. To you, Touya’s a jigsaw. You’re prepared —at least you think you are— to solve it. Prepared to start with the small pieces. And when those gradually come together, you’d use them as a guide. Treading carefully to work from known to unknown. 

However, Touya prays to the gods that you don’t use your quirk to see the way his heart pumps wildly and the way his breath hitches. It took him over a decade to muddle his brain with different memories to overshadow his past ones not wanting for the abstained shadows of remembrance to embrace him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.

Dabi doesn’t trust himself. 

He doesn’t trust the color of his mind to stay in the now state it’s in. If Touya Todoroki were to unwrap the gauze that clung to his very being, he’d fall apart. And he couldn’t have that. This unforgiving life of his had finally unfolded its palms and given him a gift and he’d stay sane for as long as he could to enjoy it.

“December 15th.” Your eyes widen when you realize the day was when you both had met. “I was your birthday gift then, huh.” You giggle, pressing closer to his body to feel the erratic thump of his heart.

“Guess so.” A good lie is always better than the truth. 

That’s what he tells himself when Tomura asks where he’s been for the past couple of months. Vehement, crimson eyes digging into Dabi’s skull.  He scoffs in annoyance, opting to tell the blue-haired man that he’d been out of town to scout for new members. Rummaging through underground areas where the average of villains was the thickest. 

And yes, they’re all lies. He’s happy that Tomura is as dumb as he looks. Though it may be because Dabi has mastered the art of weaving intricate webs of lies- he’s grateful, nonetheless. 

When Dabi turns away from him, Tomura’s eyes narrow.  

Shigaraki Tomura isn’t as dumb as he looks. But Dabi didn’t know that -at least, not yet.

Here in the LOV hideout, where Dabi’s just a ruthless flame kindler, he finds no self-content, only impatience. Sometimes, taking part in Toga’s antics as a source of entertainment, her bloodlust too damn thick to ignore.

Impatience, a contagious drug that filters through Dabi’s veins and causes his blood to sear whenever he thinks about the overturn he wants hero society to so badly face. It’s the only way this ache of his can be soothed.

At first, it was just for him to bask in -for him to enjoy. For him to see a part of his past, burn. To see a rage of flames that -in time, turned to a cinder, his memories with it. 

But now, he wants you to see it too. He wants to keep you tucked by his side as everything unfolds. Knowing this, he waits. Dabi’s not naive, this dream of his isn’t a one-man act. 

Though, the biggest step closer to glory comes earlier than expected…

He’s a hero, the number two pro hero in all of Japan. His speed and the aid of his wings being his strongest suit. The information he provides is what still causes the Leauge to thrive. And the reason that Shigaraki now knows of the Meta Liberation Army. A powerful villain organization that rivaled Tomura’s very own. Led by a man named Destro, a name that every villain’s supposed to know. Kuriogi tells him this in his usual monotone voice, he’s the founder and now his son currently leads the army. The thing is, Dabi does know but for other reasons. His father was a hero after all.

Shigaraki orders Dabi to keep watch over Hawks. Sure, Dabi has his suspicions too, but he couldn’t differentiate if it’s the hostility he feels after he learns Hawks’ friendly relationship with Endeavor or for the fact that several missions had been deemed as errors because of the red-winged man’s mistakes. 

Though, his stress dissipates when he comes home to you. It didn’t take a lot of time for Touya to get accustomed to your apartment. He’s used to living in shitty places, the League had been -and still is- living in one for months. 

Fortunately, your landlord never comes around. You think it’s because of Touya’s intimidating presence but it stretches farther than that. Farther into the territory of what makes Touya into the fearful villain he is. But, you didn’t have to know that. Touya deliberates. You were stressed enough as it is.

Sometimes you’re not even home, late shift reminders overtaking your flimsy calendar. On those days, when you return, you’re so tired that Touya has to undress and bathe you himself. It’s never a toll, he enjoys listening to your barely decipherable recaps of your day, ones that sometimes turn into angry speeches of frustration that he’s sure to soothe with soft kisses to your pursed lips.

“Touya,” you whisper. Head in the crook of his neck while he lathers your body with body wash. Your head’s cloudy, exhaustion taking its home in your body. 

“Mhmm.”

“Love you, like.. a lot.” The words bleed together with little to no pauses. It’s so slurred that Touya has to mull over it.

When he finally separates them in his head, he pauses. Eyes going wide as the grip on the pink loofah loosens. 

Those words had never been emitted between you two. They were the three forbidden syllables that hung still, frozen in mid-air. It should’ve been easy to say. So easy to confess if push ever came to shove and the tides of adoration ever became too much to bear.

Despite that - in Touya’s head, his sole belief was that he was a package of damaged goods. What solace could you find if he ever told you that he loved you? Would it bring you happiness- fear?

Months had passed between the two of you, the light of winter and spring passing with intertwined hands. But what if- what if- you didn’t love Touya as much as he thought? What if you stayed by his side because you took pity on him? Took pity on a man who had no efficiency, no worth, no value, and used it to your heart’s content to mend yourself together.

Unbeknownst to him, those thoughts had run aimlessly across your mind as well. Both of you were damaged goods. Both of you unfamiliar with the thrum of the common melody. 

When you feel his movements halt, a part of you feels victorious.

Oh, how lucky you were for being high on delirium. This was a chance pulled out of luck’s pocket. 

“Don’t gotta say it, I see it.” He lowers his gaze to see you staring intensely at his chest. Which no doubt encases an organ that beats wildly because of your words. For the first time in a long time, he grows embarrassed. A streak of red blossoms from under his scarred cheeks as he chooses to hide his head in your neck, inhaling the strong citrusy scent of your body wash. 

Hesitantly, you brush your fingers across the expanse of his back. Careful to avoid rough skin. Hoping that with your touch, you can convey a message of understanding. 

I love you Touya and I know you love me.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

On a week that you’re finally off from work, you choose to spend it with Touya. He‘s barely out anyways. When you ask him why he’s never out doing villainy things. He answers with, “to spend time with you, princess.” A chortle at the end of his sentence when he sees you duck your head in embarrassment. 

“Wanna go dress shopping with me tomorrow?” You ask, taking a handful of potato chips in your palm, focus still on your tv show -which Touya believes is the most boring thing he’s ever come across.

He turns to glance at you, eyebrows knitted as he contemplates. 

He knows he shouldn’t, situations where his identity might be discovered, wouldn’t be good for the both of you. 

And if Tomura were to find out…. the possibilities were too endless and Touya would keel over before he put your life in jeopardy.  

But he still says yes- he’s never actually seen you wear a dress, he tells you. A subtle smile adorning his lips when he sees yours. He doesn’t ask why you want to buy a dress all of a sudden but he doesn’t mind.

The next day, you dress him up in a big burly coat that you had found at a thrift store years ago. Touya scrunches up his nose in disdain as you pull it up to cover his purple-hued scars, the fabric smelling oddly like sulfur. If it weren’t for the way you seemed so focused on hiding his identity he would’ve discarded the clothing a long time ago. He thinks the last straw is when you plop a pair of dark sunglasses on his nose.

“Don’t look at me like that!” you fuss. “I tried my best.” 

“Was your best option really a combination of coat and sunglasses?” He exasperates, voice coming out muffled.

“What... I can’t hear you?” You cup the back of your ear, feigning curiosity.  

He rolls his eyes at your comment. “Whatever, let’s go.”

You grab your silver coat from your rack and walk outside, both of you making it to your beat-down  Honda. As Touya shuffles in the passenger seat you can’t help but giggle at his uncomfortable posture, they turn louder when he turns to glare at you but fails miserably, his intimidating face shrouded by the coat and glasses. 

When you enter the boutique a small ding of a bell hits your ear. You smile in victory once you realize the vacancy. A short lady with gray hair waddles towards you and Touya. “Well, hello there!” She exclaims her soft voice matching with the appearance of her shop. Sweet and adorable. “What are you two looking for today.” She walks closer to you two, her motherly aura shrouding you in contentment. 

“Well… I’m not entirely too sure,” you say, clasping your hands behind your back. “But something blue and flowy.” You hum.

“Blue and flowy, you say?” She turns. “Follow me.”

You turn to glance at Touya, whose attention is already on you. You grab his hand and follow behind. She leads you to a wide room, the smell of laundry detergent filtering through the air. Your eyes widen once you see the rows of dresses adorned in plastic.

“These are all my babies.” She waves and turns to you with an expectant look, eyes crinkling as she gives you a warm smile.

“They’re real pretty, aren't they?” You nod. “Well, the dressing rooms are back there.” She points to the far right. “If you need anything just come to me, I’ll be at the front desk.” 

You walk towards the small corridor of dressing rooms and pick the first one you see. Pushing Touya into the stall, you place your hands on your hip after clicking the door shut. He takes his sunglasses off and shoots you a quizzical look.

“Show me your flames,” you breathe out, palms growing clammy as nervousness starts to set in. 

You wring your hands as you watch his adam's apple bob, his stare turning hard. “No.” 

You cross your arms and plead. “Please Touya, I wanna find a dress that matches your flames. They’re probably really pretty… don’t know why you won’t show me.” Your voice trails off.

He had an idea that this would happen sooner or later. There were times where you did see his flames but those were accidents. He always made sure to quickly extinguish them when he caught your peering eyes. 

His chest floods with guilt once he sees your disappointed expression. He didn’t think his flames were pretty. He’d melted too many flays of flesh to count. The last thing he wanted to do was show you the bright-tinged spirit responsible for his grave sins.

But one dilemma Touya has is that he can’t ever seem to jump over the weak spot he has for you. So, he gives a meek - fine.

He watches your features light up with glee, only hoping that you wouldn’t regret asking him for this. “Can I take the coat off, first?” You hum, scrambling to do it for him. Revealing his plain white tee and his dark black jeans. 

“Step back for me,” he whispers, gnawing at the bottom of his scarred lip. He opens the palm of his hand- to first, show a tiny blue flame that sways languidly. Progressively, he increases the flame until it engulfs his hand and upper wrist. When he looks up from his palm to your face, he’s surprised to see that your eyes aren't menacingly calculating or searching for release from fear. Instead, you look on in astonishment. 

He sees the reflection of his flames in your eyes and from that circled mirror, a tiny nibble of his conscience starts to ebb with pride of his quirk. 

After gushing about how pretty his flames look, you commit the color to memory. Dashing out of the stall to search for a dress, humming a tune when you envision his reaction to seeing you in such a nice, quaint dress on such a special day. 

He perks up once you unlock the door, expecting you to change and show him what you’ve found. But instead, he’s met with your smiling face and what seems to be a dress -shrouded in a velvet coverup. “Don’t look so disappointed.” You wag your finger in front of his face. “You’ll see it soon.”

When December rolls by with chilly air as company, you start to see Touya less and less. He never does tell you what exactly it is he does while out doing villain work. Though, he did tell you that his absences would occur more and more since he and his league were working hard to take down a villain organization. 

Your eyebrows had furrowed at that. “I thought villains were supposed to band together,” you asked, head resting on his thigh as you stared up at his face. “Not ones with different philosophies,” he had said, hand suspiciously inching closer and closer to your chest. You hummed, still confused. 

It might sound naive, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Hero society didn’t interest you. You couldn’t say villains did either but Touya was one. One of the bigshots. 

Once, when you’d seen him on the little tv in the corner of your break room, it took a lot in you to not crack a smile. Though the idea of bringing chaos into the world with wide arms made your nerves rack with trepidation, you had Touya, and that seemed like enough. 

Fortunately, Touya not being home was a benefit to your plan. You’d already scheduled your days off for work and booked the reservations for the fancy restaurant that was at least an hour’s drive from your apartment building. It was hard work, but for Touya’s birthday, it was all worth it.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Shigaraki Tomura does not like to be lied to. 

If he had written commandments for the people he came across, that would be his first line, golden engraved. It’s an unexplainable feeling he gets. If he could, he’d describe it as an itchy, hot coil that warps across his skin. It’s not painful, it’s simply annoying. And he feels it nearly every day. The scars that mar his neck being a result of it. 

Why does the world have to be riddled with so many liars? 

Dabi’s a liar, he knows that much. Hawks, that red-winged hero may be one too, but he’d deal with that when things finally came into play. 

Now, he focuses on the man Dabi truly is. Villains lie. Shigaraki knows this, he’s a villain too. But- he tells the truth when it comes to his goals. 

He tells the truth with what he wants. 

What he wants LOV to bring. 

What he wants society to flood with.

So why couldn’t Touya Todoroki do the same?

Shigaraki Tomura’s smart and Dabi is a fool to not see this. Who came up with the plans? The missions? The very concept of LOV? Sure, AFO had shaped him into who he was today but he was the same man locked in Tartarus, not Tomura.

When Tomura finds the roots of Dabi’s lies through Kurogiri’s peering eyes. It takes an hour of pleading for the ghastly man to convince Tomura not to find Dabi and disintegrate him into a fine pile of dust. 

“Why should I!” Tomura shouts, his ruby eyes glaring into Kurogiri’s yellow ones. “He lied to me.” Shigaraki spits out the word so hastily and it’s as if saying the word itself was a sin of its own. Kurogiri nods, silently transmitting his words of understanding, not wanting to raise his temper even higher. 

“But Dabi’s an important member of the League, Tomura.” Kurogiri coaxes. “In a week or so, we’ll be off to fight with M.L.A. If anything give him a warning, a threat. Just don’t kill the boy.” Shigaraki takes a second to glare at Kurogiri but eventually, his shoulders sag with defeat. 

Even though Dabi had committed the gravest sin, he’d show mercy. 

Begrudgingly, he grabs the cup of orange juice from Kurogiri’s hand, his thoughts flying at a fast pace, anger refusing to subside. All until his thinking cogs get stuck on one idea, one thought. 

The thought crawls out from his mind and paints his expression with one of sickening glee. His smile so wide, that rivulets of blood dribble down from his cracked lips. His tongue darts out to lap up the tangy liquid as he gets high on this idea, on this revelation. 

Shigaraki Tomura needs Dabi but Shigaraki Tomura does not need you.

Tomura knows everything about you, your background, your parents, the countless homes you had to reside in, where you live as of now- where you and Dabi live as of now. Where you work and what exactly you’re planning to do on the 15th day of December. It’s terrifyingly easy to uncover reservation logs.

You’re a pretty woman, Tomura could admit that. But you were a stain in his perfect, webbed canvas of the future. Those countless months where he had expected Dabi to be his righteous subordinate and listen to his demands were spent with you. Cooped up at your run-down apartment doing god knows what. 

Tomura’s teeth grit as he digs into the flesh of his neck, specks of blood underneath his fingernails while he fervently scratches the already scabbed skin. Kurogiri glances over at him, seemingly reading his mind. 

“I’m leaving.” Shigaraki swipes up from his dusty seat. Oh, how he missed the elegance of his LOV’s old hideout. 

“Don’t forget AFO’s orders concerning Gigantomachia.” 

Tomura blinks once, twice. “That thing has way too much HP.” He breathes out. 

“For now, I need to do something else.” He whispers, bringing his embalmed hand to rest on his face.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Whenever Touya thought of coincidences he thought of the word luck. It was a coincidence that Touya had been at the same bar as you, a coincidence that because of your lack of care for hero society that you’d glossed over the fact that he was a villain. But as Touya stood in your empty apartment, bloody and bruised from his prior fight, his connotation of coincidences slowly turned sour. A bitter taste sat on his tastebuds as he read over your note. 

Happy Birthday Touya, my love.

meet me at the Burqoues Restaurant! 

Take an uber…. I don’t have any money for one 

(using it on the restaurant money) 

so I’ll just take my car.

p.s. you’ll get to see my dress. 

It was a coincidence that the day he told you was his birthday was the very day the League of Villians had merged with the Meta Liberation Army. Touya didn’t know what this grappling hook of fear was, but as he saw that your Honda was still idly parked in that weird angle you always had a habit of doing -it came to take its hold around his neck. 

Maybe you’d actually found a couple of bucks and took an uber instead. Right? 

You were probably in the restaurant, ordering that expensive champagne you really wanted to try. Ready to show that pretty, wide smile you always gave Touya when you saw him. 

Right? 

Touya couldn’t think- couldn’t breathe as he sped down the street. His grip on the wheel was so tight that his staples were close to popping. The loud ringing in his ears drowned out the persistent honking of cars that he nearly collided with. 

What should’ve taken an hour took a measly twenty minutes. Without a second thought, Touya was already out of the car. 

Upon entering, he received perturbed glances. He didn’t blame them, his clothes were bloodied, several staples unhinged from the skin. 

“S-sir?” a tiny voice squeaked. He glanced at the receptionist desk, the bright chandeliers illuminating her meek stare that looked borderline terrified. He probably looked like a villain. 

“D-do you have a reservation.” 

“Yes.” He answered gruffly, head craning to see if he could catch sight of you.

“Your name please.” 

“Touya.” He gritted, eyes focusing back on the receptionist who didn’t seem to believe him. She ducked her head to check, eyes scanning frantically. 

“Oh, yes!” She smiled, it was too wide to be real but, frankly, Touya didn’t care. All he needed to know was that you were here. 

“Table 15.” She pointed. “You won’t miss it.”

Touya didn’t bother to reply, legs already scrambling towards what he hoped would be you. Ignoring the stares that followed behind him.

Table 12

Table 13

Table 14

Table 15-

Touya's heart nearly stops, vision tinging with black as his knees nearly crumble beneath him. 

You weren’t there. 

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

When Touya returned to the now, Paranormal Liberation Army hideout, Shigaraki had given him a smile so sweet that it had caused Touya's blood to run cold.

However, Touya did not pry, choosing to ignore the guilty glances the rest of the league sent his way. And he hated himself for it, hated the coward he'd grown to be in such a short period of time.

Later on that night, he returned to your desolate apartment, choosing to take a cigarette from your half- empty pack. 

Yes, Touya despised cigarettes but at that moment they'd never tasted so sweet. His lungs didn't itch, he didn't feel abyssal. He just felt— soothed. As he took several drags, Touya silently pleaded for the nicotine to somehow make every fiber of his being believe that you had decided to finally leave.

That you had finally realized that a villain like him was no good and would only put your life at risk.

However, his façade had cracked when he'd found multiple files on your desolate laptop, drafts of your story in the making. The first page dedicated to your love for giving you the motivation to publish your first ever book.

And at that moment, for the first time in his godforsaken life, Touya wished he could cry. To show you, somehow that he was grateful for everything you had given him. That he was thankful and sorry for letting his mirror that reflected thousands of moments with you -your arms cradling him, him cradling you- shatter into fractured pieces.

As Touya Todoroki sat on a velvet sofa, arms wide and camera ready, a piece of his brain fabricated the image of you next to him --adorned in a sapphire blue dress, showing him that pretty, pretty smile that he’d grown to love, he told you —and told the world the story he never had the chance to.

To simply, atone.

[luvteez]

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong​ for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will 

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“ 

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder. 

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

[kuroos-moon]

xvii. “Oikawa’s Worst Nightmare” • Two

Smau Masterlist

Written Part

Wc: 2.2 k words

7:43 PM 

“I am so sorry love, wake up for me, yeah?” He puts on a sad smile, he wanted to hold your hand but he felt too undeserving to do so. How could he hold you when he caused this? “I’ll be better next time, I’ll be my best, I’ll do anything for you,” he promises, his eyes holding so much pain as they looked at you, he just felt so responsible for what happened to you.

Oikawa sat on a not so comfortable chair beside your bed, scanning the bandage on your head, the light purple bruise on your right cheekbone and the slight scratches on your arms. He could never forgive himself, not that he wanted for that to happen to you, but he really could’ve tried harder or did something better in order to prevent this right? 

“Y/n,” he mutters under his breath, his voice hoarse from the crying after the match ended. The entire match, he held it in, he held it all in- the pain, his worry, the suffocating guilt, it all made his hands shake and his mind a mess, he knew he sucked so bad during the game. He didn’t care that he looked so pathetic, he didn’t care who had seen his tear stained eyes and heard his sobs- he just bolted, leaving his bag, because he just had to see you. 

He was about to caress your cheek, his fingertips almost touching your skin when he hears someone scoff behind him. Turning around, he sees Kageyama with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face as his eyes sharply glare at Oikawa. 

“I’ll take it from here,” he says, “go home or whatever,” he adds, his tone icy as he approaches Oikawa and stands beside him, waiting for him to get up from the chair. “I’m not going anywhere, Tobio-chan,” he responds without looking away from you, his voice devoid of its usual liveliness. 

“I’ll stay with her,” Oikawa says more firmly when Kageyamas huffs at him. “You have no right to!” He slightly races his voice and immediately winces as he receives a kick on the shin from Oikawa. “I understand the resentment but shut the fuck up Tobio-chan, she’s resting,” he says with a fake sweet smile as he looks up at him. 

“You don’t deserve to be by her side,” he scoffs and Oikawa stands up from his chair to be on eye-level with him. “It’s not like you do either,” Oikawa bites back, his childishness getting the best of him. “If you wanna say something then let’s take this outside, you’ve been enough of a pain for her already,” Kageyama sneers and when Oikawa chuckles at him, he felt like he could punch your boyfriend right there on the spot. 

“If you wanna go outside, do so on your own Tobio-chan, I’ll stay here with y/n,” he says with a sigh, remembering where he was- in your hospital room- he had to be at his best and most mature behavior. He was supposedly done with arguing with the fuming boy but he was caught in surprise when he was yanked by his collar. 

“Drop the act, let me see you crumble Oikawa-san,” he says and Oikawa knew exactly what he was talking about. Tobio saw right through his pretending, there was no way in hell he was okay enough to exchange some petty comebacks with his junior because at any moment he was gonna have a breakdown from all his emotions. “You know you’re not good enough for her, no matter how serious you are with her right now, no matter how much you care, you’ve been really shitty in the past right? You really didn’t approach her with good intentions at first, y/n knew that and accepted you but look at where that got her, Oikawa-san,” he spitefully says in a low voice, “all because of you.” 

Oikawas eyes were slightly wide, Tobio was right, spot-on correct. He was tongue-tied, he knew he couldn’t argue back at that at all. “If you care about her like you say you do, then leave her alone, break up with her or whatever,” but that just drove Oikawa over the edge. Yes he was still unworthy of you, but he knew how much you loved each other and leaving you was totally not the answer. 

“I’ll marry y/n Tobio-chan, I already bought a ring so shut up about it,” he clicks his tongue in annoyance, he understood why Kageyama was mad at him, he was thankful you had such a friend, but to tell him to break up with you? “Face it Tobio, you’re just pathetically using this as an excuse to a drive a wedge between us but that would only make my princess unhappy, I couldn’t possibly do that now can I?” He knew just what to say to piss off the boy.

Blinded by anger, he was about to throw a punch right across Oikawa’s jaw but a firm tug at the back of his collar pulls him away from Toru. “I will throw your asses right out that window,” Iwaizumi glares at the both of them. “If you wanna kill each other then do it outside, I’ll watch over y/n,” he says and the two setters just stand there in silence. “Oh, and Tobio, Hinata’s outside.” 

They both look at Iwaizumi as he approaches you, placing a gentle hand on the top of your head as he shows a soft smile. “I’m sorry you have to be with these idiots,” he mutters and Oikawa could be heard scoffing childishly at the background. They all still when you slowly squint your eyes a few times before they open. 

Oikawa just stares at you with wide eyes, feeling his chest lighten at the sight of you finally waking up. “Iwa,” you say with a smile and you may or may not have seen Iwaizumi’s eyes get glossy as he says, “y/n ever so dramatic, what took you so long to wake up.” And you just chuckle at him. 

You try to push yourself up and instantly grip your head as a short but painful throbbing appears at the area you fell on. Kageyama was quick to move to your side and Iwa respectfully gives space for your best friend. “Tobio!” You say with so much enthusiasm that he just felt so happy. 

“Y/n are you okay? Does it hurt? Should I-” but you cut him off as you wrap your arms around his neck, ignoring the pain at your sides. “Don’t get so worried now, bakaa!” You grin at him as you pull away. You cup his cheeks in your hands and scan his eyes, and as you do so, you feel how hot his skin was against yours. 

“Hey you’re burning up,” you scold as you put your hand on his forehead and he just pulls your hands away and holds them in his. “You feeling okay? Does it hurt anywhere?” He asks and you just shake your head and suddenly remember the events of a while ago- more importantly your beloved Toru’s match. 

“Tobio what time is it? Oh crap the match! Wait Iwa’s here! Where’s Toru?” You panic and immediately go quiet when your eyes land on him. He was standing a few feet behind Iwa, he didn’t know how to react. He may also have felt so small when he saw how happy you were to see Tobio, you both looked too close and familiar with each other that he actually wonders for a second how you managed to choose him. 

“Toru,” you pout as your bottom lip quivers and the three of them immediately panic as you were about to cry. Iwaizumi clears his throat before resting a hand on Kageyama’s shoulder, lightly pushing him outside with him. He wanted to oppose but he’d rather not be here either because he didn’t want to see the both of you together anyway. 

So now you were both alone and he still does not take a step towards you, he didn’t understand himself either. Was it the guilt? Or was it the indescribable feeling he felt as he saw how at home you looked with Kageyama? All thoughts were diminished when he sees you bury you face in your hands.

“Y/n, baby, what’s wrong?” He asks as he swiftly makes it to your side, sitting beside you on the bed. His tenses when you hug his waist, burying your face against his chest; he was surprised, but he soon recovers and hugs you back carefully after that. You both held each other, and he patiently waited for you to finish crying as he strokes your hair. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your match,” you sniffle, pulling away from him and he was left speechless. You were crying about that?! “Y/n what- that’s okay, it doesn’t matter, I was so worried about you,” he tells you and you could hear the pain in his voice. Observing him closely, you notice his puffy eyes and you could tell he had been crying. 

“Y/n please forgive me for Jen, if I wasn’t- well if I hadn’t gotten into anything with her, or if I hadn’t been involved with you-” and you cut him off with a kiss. “If you hadn’t, then neither of us would be this happy,” you say in a stern voice. “Don’t you dare blame yourself Toru, you’ll only make me sad,” you tell him and he bites his tongue to keep himself from saying any more about how sorry he was. 

“Come here,” you sigh as you take in the sight of him, opening up your arms; he was clearly fatigued, and his puffy eyes made your heart ache. He doesn’t refuse your hug at all and practically throws himself at you, hiding his face at the crook of your neck as he allowed himself to be vulnerable, whispering a lot of apologies and promises on how he’d never allow anything to hurt you in any way ever again. 

You feel his shoulders lightly shake as he tried to silence his sobs, though you felt his tears anyway, “you’ve had a rough day,” you sigh as you rub his back soothingly, he had just told you about the match they lost too. He pulls away, a pout on his lips as he looks at your face. “Y/n, I love you, I love you so much, and you- you love me too much and I just wanna thank you, uhm, because you stayed and you make me wanna love everything about life,” he rambles on and you simply hug him again.

“I love you so much, my precious Toru” you whisper the last part as you snuggle against him, oblivious to the fact that hearing you say that made his heart clench with so much love and adoration for you.  

A few minutes later, Iwaizumi and Kageyama head back inside and stop in their tracks the moment they see the both of you. He was still sitting beside you, you had your cheek against his chest, your arms around his waist, and he just held you securely so you wouldn’t fall. “Uh, she fell asleep,” he sheepishly says at the two who had just entered. 

Iwaizumi chuckles at the sight. “You’ll stay the night?” He asks his friend. “Of course, and the doctor told me she could be discharged by tomorrow evening if all goes well,” he smiles as he looks down at you, all cozied up in his arms. 

“Hey Iwa, could you maybe watch her for a bit? I’m starving,” he asks, and Iwa notices how Toru had now let go of whatever guilt and sadness he has been feeling a while ago. He was quite amazed actually, Oikawa had a thick skull, it was hard to pull him away from his thoughts, but with you he believes and does anything. 

“Sure,” Iwa replies and Oikawa carefully tries to tear you off him but you slightly whine, opening your drowsy eyes to look at him. “You’re leaving?” You ask and he chuckles at you. “Of course not princess, I’ll just-” 

“Okay so let’s sleep,” you grumble, tugging at his waist so that he lies down with you. He positions your head on top of his arm and felt so content when you wrap an arm around his torso with your face snuggled into him. “We’ll just eat breakfast together,” he tells Iwaizumi before turning his back so that he was now facing you. 

Without saying another word, Kageyama walks off, he didn’t know if it was even possible but the sight of the two of you that way actually made him feel even sicker. 

“Toru I’ll die if you leave me,” you whisper, barely awake and he just hums in response, trying his best not to fall asleep himself because he wanted to listen to whatever you’d be saying while you were asleep. 

“I’ll wear your jersey some other time.” He chuckles softly, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. He found it so adorable how you’ve been looking forward to wearing his jersey and cheering for him as much as he did. 

“Toru, don’t ever leave,” you say again and when he doesn’t answer, “you’ll never leave my side, right?” You ask and he pauses for a while. 

“I’ll be right by your side at all times y/n,” he assures, kissing your lips for a brief moment. “Now go to sleep and rest up, my love.” 

It had been quite a while since you’ve fallen deeply asleep and he just looks at you, caressing your cheeks lightly with his fingers. “I’ll stay, y/n,” he sighs. “I’ll let go of Brazil for you,” he mutters to himself as he looks away from you and up at the ceiling in thought. 

“Who am I kidding, I’d stay here even if you’d ask me to leave,” he chuckles at his silly self, so deeply in love. He was so sure of you that he had indeed already bought a ring.

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[dubsxreader]

worship the king //.o1 // shigaraki tomura x female!reader

summary: after the soul crushing realization that you're not meant to be the Hero you've spent your life training to be, you hunt down the most indiscriminate killer you know: Dabi. his man-child of a leader being there only makes the task easier, right? too bad Shigaraki has a knack for seeing things in others they don't see themselves. wc: 3,312 playlist: here!

rated: M for dark and mature themes; future lewd tw: suicidal ideation (seriously don't read if you're in a bad mindset this probs won't help), depression, toxic thoughts, manipulation, the start of a v dependent, idolizing relationship ie "worship" in all definitions of the word haha. Shigs taking advantage of a mentally vulnerable hero basically; dead dove do not eat for that reason.

a/n: this is something I wrote almost year ago now, when I first fell head over heels for Shigs and really felt like bnha was saving me from insanity haha. I have 15 pages of notes for this fic, but for now, for the King's birthday, this is my thank you to him and a year of loving Shigaraki Tomura <3 also to the xreader community for being my gateway into every fandom that takes over my life haha. will be posted to ao3 later

You stand on a cracked, littered rooftop, sullenly looking over the calamity you figured would be destroying the lives of every day, happily unaware citizens tonight. A slight sigh of relief leaves your chewed-to-hell lips, hidden to your own addled mind but glaringly apparent to any of your fellow heroes who’d commented on your state of mind the past few months.

You appreciated their care, you really did—for all the surface level care it could give, that is. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t understand. They were simply more Heroic than you, official capital and all. More driven, stronger, faster… But you’ve been doing the absolute best you can, and you were sure of that. Days–weeks months?–of harshly honest self speculation assured you of your failures and of the fact that, simply put, you weren’t cut out for shouldering multitudes of lives every time you stepped out your door. Heroism didn’t just end when you took off your costume; no, it was an ideology that should be ingrained into the soul of the costume wearer, and you’d come to the jarring conclusion that, after all your special training, you just weren’t up to snuff.

You couldn’t even save yourself from your own demons. How the hell were you supposed to save those more deserving of life if you couldn’t cope with your own shit?

A small, condescending snort leaves your nostrils as you observe the blue flames engulfing the area below you. Fucking worthless. What was the point, then? Hours of support Hero's work on your items, costume—wasted. The countless words of love and support from friends and family. Ha. Your eyes track the small movements of the current chaos’ perpetrators with a keenness you've found twisted comfort in recently. A familiar, all encompassing fixation gears up that brings you out of the cloud of self-doubt, hate, and deprecation that was so, so wrong to feel as a Pro-Hero in today’s society. In this bubble there's a solution, so it's okay. You let out a numbing breath.

Maybe you could give the Villains +1 morality in the eyes of whatever twisted being rested on their laurels, idly watching as you drive yourself insane.

A swift gust of wind knocks the empty cans and bottles from their peaceful resting places as you leave your perch, descending into the empty alley below to begin your last stand against yourself. Resolute and heavy steps echo in the widened, deserted streets of the city you vowed to protect—a small, still aware part of you thankful it’s so late at night that most would be sleeping. Your targets (saviors?) usually moved when they would make the most social impact, but you’d been tracking a certain member that didn’t seem to adhere to their strict schedule.

Whoever they were behind the obvious moniker, they seemed to kill liberally. It should be easy. You take a numbing breath.

The stench of burning flesh and ash is suddenly all too pungent, assaulting your senses enough to kick your mind into another, more logical plane and question how stupid you’re being. How disappointed everyone who knew you would be. Izuku and Hitoshi, especially, had been trying their hardest to devote extra time to you recently, you knew that—fuck, how selfish were you to bring their attention away from a goal they’d fought so hard to achieve?

The flames are smoldering char on concrete when you arrive at the end of another alleyway, just as dirty as the one you’d come from… But the incineration just seemed to have cleansed the way of its trash. You nearly sigh again in morbid relief when you see two men still standing there in the aftermath. You can see from behind that the man you’ve been tracking, Dabi, still has his left arm extended, as if relishing the memory of his flames destroying the ones he deemed unworthy.

Hands in your hero costume’s pockets, you steel yourself in your usual Hero emotions: indignation, conviction, disgust at the idea of them feeling they had a right to do anything going against the grain of the society you were indoctrinated into. You clear your throat with the last of your practiced confidence, bringing the sights of the two Villains to your own frame shadowed by the bright street lamp at your back.

“You two aren’t planning on getting away with this, are you?”

Your simple, deadpan drawl has both men scoffing to themselves and sharing a look of exasperation and annoyance. They clearly want nothing more than to be done with whatever the hell they were doing; your gaze sharpens in acknowledgment while their own take note of your hero costume. This is it. This is really it. You’ve done it. Is it really what you want?

Your eyes ice over, hardening to protect your vulnerabilities when they meet those of the second man’s own carmine flecks, so unflinching and so, so bored from behind his trademark hand.

Yeah. This is it.

Resignation freezing the rest of your visage and nothing left to say, you dash forward with simple physical speed, locking onto the Villain you recognize as the leader of the League of Villains himself. Sure, Dabi was a proven relentless killer, but you figure if you go after the leader himself there would be even less hesitation or time to think on either side. They were both reportedly unflinching, ruthless, uncaring and absolutely evil, but Shigaraki’s devilishness was practically beaten into you at this point. He was the obvious candidate, the oddness of his presence meaningless yet welcome at this point.

Your eyes never leave his as you take those last three lunging leaps, your arm cocked back in a hopeful show of some impressive power you might possess, in a display grand enough to paint yourself as a threat if not at the very least an annoyance.

Blue flames lick at the back of your costume. You’d somehow been faster than Dabi’s flames, which made no sense at all—you weren’t fast in any capacity if you were to judge yourself. It must’ve been a misfire. Lucky you’ve targeted the faster acting Villain.

Something distinctly odd flashes in his previously disinterested eye as you rush him, your Quirk barely powered yet still reflecting in his observation as you aim for the mask. Your own, in contradictory spite, slows as your mind races, brushing the hand enough to feel the inexplicitly soft and leathery texture, knocking it clean off the face of the man you’d targeted. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the anticipation of the end, but you don’t feel anything near what you thought you’d feel when his living hand grazes your outstretched arm. If anything, it feels like an angry wasp had come at your elbow in some sort of misguided revenge attempt. Bearable.

Fucking livable.

You skid to a shaky stop feet behind them, your glare going to the small hole in your costume’s arm where he’d made the briefest of contact. The skin had only begun to crack and decay from a central point; nothing near the scale and intensity you’d been warned about by your superiors and peers. What the fuck gives?

A desperate rage threatens to erupt at the lack of damage. You feel cheated. Your eyes shift from the minimal damage to the apprehensive yet notably curious eyes of your chosen euthanasist. Was he just not taking you seriously? You didn’t blame him, but…

“I thought the League was the best of the best?” The sting in your arm is mockingly there and you scoff, barely hiding your indignation at his unfulfillment of the role you’d forced upon him. You take it and use it to fuel the crumbling foundation of your resolve, ashing it to the ground yourself and focus on the slightly slumped figure topped with white-blue hair.

His eyes are now magnetized and piercing, never wavering from your own, adding to your rage and confusion. Just what is he getting at, looking straight at you in the fucked up state you’re in and just–just fucking seeing–?! You aren’t looking for pity, fuck all if it's from the person you’ve deemed would have the balls you didn’t to end this shitty nightmare you live in. With a primal, anguished and utterly guttural scream you dash forward once more towards Shigaraki Tomura, hand erupting in a more accurate show of your true power.

Once again, he simply guides your attack away from him into empty space, this time with a deft shove of his index finger. Silent and calculating. You stumble on your feet as you land, ignoring the insulting sting, and turn to face them at a pace you know isn’t up to Hero standards but unable to even fake it anymore. Your eyes, though.

They fucking call to him.

How could he dust you? A Pro-Hero, coming at him alone, a deadly ally at his side, with what he knew from his research to be nowhere near their quirk’s power and potential?

Nevermind the look in your eyes he’d recognized immediately—this Hero was asking to be killed. Cracked lips twitch to grin at the situation. His mind works at full throttle to balance the possibilities.

“Heh…” The small breath leaves him, a smirk winning out and pulling at already taught skin, “You’re looking to die, aren’t you, Hero?”

Your brows furrow in… Fuck, you can’t identify your feelings at this point–they shouldn’t matter–they’d become obsolete the moment you took a swing at the supposedly impulsive and irrational Villain in charge. All you can feel is the overwhelming sense of weight, of pressure, of absolute and total CHAOS destroying any semblance of unity you’d pulled together to end this.

“What the fuck does that matter to you, Villain?!” Your glare is full of a rawness you can’t recognize, let alone mask, “Fucking fight me or die!”

His smirk, now fully on display, stretches to the smuggest of smiles as he takes his experimental first steps forward, casually retrieving the hit hand and placing it safely in his trench coat pocket. You weren’t immediately attacking him—hell, you weren’t even defending yourself! You’d only be more obvious if you’d delivered yourself to his doorstep tied in a bright, blood-red ribbon labeled “do what you want, I don’t care anymore!” It made his blood simmer, his skin itch in excitement at all the optional routes opened up before him.

Quickly, too quickly to deploy your defense {even if you wanted to}, he’s in your face and encircling your neck in a four fingered grasp. Your eyes vaguely mark Dabi looking on with a detached interest, and you can’t help but mirror his lack of understanding—your emotions and thoughts unfortunately too far past controllable to be hidden behind the usual Heroics.

“You could still serve a purpose, you know.”

Narrowed (e/c) eyes meet piercing, analytical rubies set to freeze and crumble enemies. You have no answer to that, none at all—if you hadn’t come across another anything while you’d been searching in earnest, how could it be tossed into your lap from the hands of a Villain? Your clear disbelief doesn’t deter him in the slightest. It only gives him the subtle signals he needs to ensure a dedicated new member of his team. This situation could only go well for him and the League, if he plays it right, and he’s thankful Dabi knows when to shut the hell up and take the back seat when he truly should.

He’s never seen Shigaraki’s version of recruitment before. After Dabi's climate destroying display, he could use a lesson.

On the edge though this Hero is, the line is thin and the touch needed is delicate and calculated.

“You can make a real difference in this rotten world,” Shigaraki slowly lowers his defensive arm and loosens his grip on your neck, conveying his intentions to calm you. He notices this strikes an especially sore nerve that you’re too unhinged to recognize. You’re taken over by your emotions, unable to distinguish that you’ve offered your weaknesses to your enemy on a silver platter. Disgusted rage he’s now certain is self-focused meets him, only bringing him a step closer to your frozen and highly panicked figure. His free fingers fidgets on the clammy skin of your neck, tapping a pattern across your throbbing pulse, expectant and soft while the other stays loosely, carefully, against your clavicle.

It's constant.

It's… calming?

No, it's fucking overwhelming and uncomfortable and— As if your body’s acting on the last vestiges of your studies, you struggle in his grasp and pull your dominate arm back, channeling all your sadness and panic you’d been unable to expel into the attack you hoped would just fucking end this fucking end this it’s done—

Another four fingered grip captures your wrist, directing your power away from anything important and only ruffling Dabi’s clothes as he watches on. You choke on a cry, near your mask’s end with Shigaraki’s unexpected patience. You’d been told this was nothing more than a spoiled, raging, calloused young man entirely unable to connect with any feelings other than his own selfish need to destroy all Heroes he came in contact with. The only conclusion your racing mind can come to is that he doesn’t even view you as a Hero worth destroying. Thick and torrid tears rush from your eyes, betraying your need to be recognized and being denied that luxury in your final moments.

“I can’t even get what I need from you fuckfaces—!” Your cry rings out, eyes shutting tightly, shaking with the force of your emotions finally finding the breaking point they need to crash through into the real world, “What the fuck can I do to make a fucking difference?!”

Shigaraki pauses to assess your sobbing. You’ve all but folded into yourself; you would’ve disintegrated against his hold on your neck if he hadn’t been paying attention. No… he sees you. He sees you. His fingered grip on your neck slides up to force your head to follow, meeting his sure gaze. You’re lost. You’re anxiously grasping at anything you can to stop the burning, itching need to destroy your own mind… And he gets that. He knows what it took to hook him tightly into his own mindset. He knows of seeing a seemingly impossible goal set before him, of feeling unworthy and needing to prove himself to his peers and himself. If anyone could reshape you... it would be him. If anyone were to reshape you... it should be him.

“It isn’t fair, is it…?” He starts slowly, voice dripping with cooing understanding, gauging your expressions and body, “You work so hard to be what others want you to be… And never feel enough, even when you put your all into it.” Your whole being shudders at his words, breaking down and melting into the pressure of your expectations for yourself. You choke on another messy sob, tears blinding you, snot nearly reaching your lips, a trail of drool unknowingly slipping from the corner of your grimacing lips.

“We’d never expect more than you can give, you know,” He all but whispers into your ear, his words echoing with staying power. You miss the tiniest bit of excitement he lets slip into his tone at the thought of corrupting a fairly strong Hero to his cause with mere psychological one-upmanship. The power over your entire existence is an intoxicating prize and he’s not about to let go of it if he can help it.

A sad cross between a whimper and a cry escapes you as you crumble even more into a hold you’d only come to for annihilation. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why weren’t you dead? You’d wanted to die, needed to just stop everything and just—just STOP, finally, just stop. He was a hardened criminal with no need for heroes, what the hell kind of use did he see in you? You still the tiniest bit. You just need a use, a tangible use, is that what you’ve been missing? A clear direction set before you by an overwhelmingly liberating, intelligent, capable force… Could he see it through all the absolute shit you covered yourself in?

A tentative spark lights the furthest parts of you as you finally meet his confident and knowing gaze. Fuck if you don’t feel seen for the first time in your life, finally seen and accepted for the absolute mess you see yourself as. The conflicting, philosophical doubts you’ve had about Heroism, and your own heroics in the existential race you call a life, find a peaceful place in Shigaraki Tomura’s vision.

It's an alien calm, a powerful sedative on your mind, leading you to melt into his look—telling him all he needed to know and more. The grin he sports widens and his eyes shift to give a silent command to Dabi, still (surprisingly) observing quietly, before changing your life indefinitely, “Follow me, little hero. You'll never be lost again.”

A deep, swirling purple warp gate you’d only seen in footage appears at the entrance to the alleyway.

The loose grip on your neck finally leaves completely, giving you ample room to escape up and out across the rooftops. You’re frozen in your battling thoughts at the suddenly very real decision in front of you.

You knew you weren’t good enough to be a Hero. You’d been struggling with the core beliefs on what the word even meant, if the world you’d been taught was even so black and white. Did you even want to die or did you just need someone to come and give you a purpose, some great refocusing direction? Someone to swoop in, recognize and acknowledge your pain before wiping it away and giving you something definite to live for? You knew you couldn’t make it as a Hero. You were nothing in that world. But maybe you could make that nothing existence, doomed to the weaker, better…?

Eyes nearly blinded before blinking down more streams of tears, you sniffle and take a tentative step towards the man looming tall over you, an umbrella shielding you from a brightness you couldn’t stand to be seen in. You harshly wipe your falling tears to watch Dabi walk swiftly into the portal, an unlit cigarette of some sort dangling from his patterned lips. Shigaraki steps to it much slower. He stops before he reaches it, twisting subtly to look at you from over his shoulder. He shouldn’t have to say anything more for you to follow, if his assumptions are correct—

They are.

Your first steps are slow but pick up speed quickly, feet nearly throwing you into his right side, at the mouth of the portal to a place described by your thoughts as no return. His eyes widen in delight, a manic grin following as he places the fingers of his left hand onto your head in a semblance of comfort. More than he ever got. His right arm wraps confidently around your waist, absurdly consoling to your rapidly evolving morals and needs.

It allows you to let it all go, though. It tells you someone more capable, more prepared is there. That he sees you and is keeping you alive because you’re useful to him. You can’t seem to care why when the overwhelming realization that such a powerful man saw you as you were, truly were, and still found a profound use for you in a world you were dying in takes a strong hold. You’re practically weightless as he guides you into the inky blackness of his caretaker’s portal, mind clicking into place and recognizing the distinct choice you’re making with a calm acceptance of this development in your life.

You were a useless hero. Perhaps this is your chance to prove you could make a difference to someone as a villain.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! :) hope you enjoyed~ happy birthday, Shigster! maann I wish he'd take me away ;w; drop of a hat, I'm gone lol. the ultimate escapism... yandere!Shigaraki! xD annyway, I hope you have a wonderful day~ <3

[xxsmokeyy]

ok so how about a story where (preferably bi) reader and levi both fall for petra and there's this competition between them as to who can win petras heart first but after petras death (or some other issue; your choice) they both mourn and bond with each other and realize that all those times they tried to outshine each other, they fell for each other instead

Levi x Petra x Bi! Reader (F) One Or The Other

genre: mild angst, fluff (healing)

summary: it’s a bit surprising that despite being rivals, both you and Levi have gotten through a lot together. before you know it, you’re already seeking refuge from one another.

tw: mentions of death

wc: 6,575

You know it’s a heck of a risk trying to aim for someone’s hand like Petra’s. She’s the entire definition of a dainty, lovely girl everybody admires, of course including you. Besides, you don’t even know if you stand a chance, not when there’s a tough guy your way.

Namely, Captain Levi.

Well, there’s another one named Oluo, but you don’t even think of him as a competition. Definitely not a threat as well.

“Hey,” you call the girl with strawberry blonde hair. She looks back at you with a smile and stands upright, wiping the sweat trickling down her neck. You watch as she tucks her hair behind both her ears to get rid of the stray fringes. Isn’t she just hot?

“Need help?” you ask, ready to give her a hand upon seeing her singlehandedly clean the stables.

“I don’t think Captain would allow that,” Petra says before petting the said man’s horse. “Am I right, big boy?” she talks to it, combing its black mane with her slender fingers. Adorable.

“One dick of a Captain we have, don’t you think?” you say, rolling your eyes heavenwards as the image of your superior passes by your mind. “Hmm, not really. I believe his austerity is right just the way it is,” she says in full decision. Of course. The one thing you don’t like about her is the way she worships the shitty Captain like some kind of noble man.

You let out a disappointed sigh, crossing your arms. “You have got to stop being a clean freak apologist, Petra. Unless you’re inlove with him or something,” you point out and take a step towards her, taking away the broomstick from her other hand.

She’s visibly spent to the bones, tending to the horses all by herself to meet the Captain’s regulations. He only always assigns one person per duty, saying soldiers should learn how to clean alone just as much as learning how to fight, which is an utterly dumb stance in your opinion.

When she blushes by your words, a small pang hits your heart. It’s just as you guessed.

Not that it’s not so achingly obvious enough these past few years, but it’s only gotten worse ever since the new 104th recruits joined the Scout Regiment. She keeps praising the dickhead in front of them whenever they ask about him, telling them a variety of stories stretching from way back, it’s ridiculous.

“I don’t!” She really doesn’t. She just idolizes him so much that it comes across as romance. People keep rubbing to her face that she’s inlove, though it’s definitely not what she feels.

Her denial nature and easily flustered reactions keep your spirits low, almost surmising with a conclusion that you had no chance at all if not for the fact that she never made romantic advances to him her whole stay in the army.

“You do,” you avert your gaze, not wanting her to notice the brewing jealousy in your eyes, else she might avoid you or act awkward if she finds out.

“I don’t!” she presses, accidentally pulling on the horse’s crest, forcing a neigh out of it. Petra apologizes to it like it can understand her. “If that isn’t definitely guilty, I don’t know what is,” you mumble under your breath, releasing another sigh as you start sweeping the scattered hay.

Once the Captain’s horse calms down, she faces you, hands on her waist, ready to explain her feelings in fine details. “Look—“

“Who said you can slack off?” Speak of the devil. Your conversation is given a good interruption when the dark haired man arrives.

Petra immediately fixes herself, fist slamming to her chest as acknowledgment of the Captain’s presence. “We weren’t, Captain! She just wanted to help me out,” Petra clarifies right away, voice firm and booming.

You feel the infamous pair of fierce eyes dart on you, and you briefly thank anything that first comes in mind for your current position, back facing the Captain so he can’t see your disgusted scowl.

You prep yourself and turn around, giving him a half-assed salute. “I just finished with the laundry. Thought I could give her a hand,” you say, tone almost holding no formality at all, “—sir,” you lazily add.

His brows twitch as he hears you out. Brat.

“I don’t recall telling everyone to work in pairs, neither of you understood that?” he pinpoints, staring you dead in the face. You’re not intimidated, though, not one bit. If you think I’m scared, you can kiss your own ass. “I insisted. In case you didn’t notice, she’s tired,” you inform, steadiness unwavering. What is even wrong with assisting someone? This merciless prick.

“Oh?” He walks toward you in strides, easily coming face-to-face with you in a span of seconds.

“Come to my office, Petra,” he orders without looking at her, and the woman gives you one last glance, then making off after giving him a polite yes. There it is. He’s about to show his true colors, you just know it.

“Cheap way to win her over,” Levi lowly spits at you, and you can feel his hot breath ghosting harshly over your face. “If you’re so kind, do it all over again,” he orders lastly, internally entertained by how your eyes shut close in fury, grip on the broomstick tightening.

As he finally steers to leave, you swear in your life you never wanted to hit someone so damn much it’d knock them out cold.

Levi heads back, footsteps fading into the background, and an exasperated groan leaves your mouth. You frustratedly throw the broom to the floor, startling his horse, which does nothing but make your blood boil stronger in your veins. Fuck him!

—

You lie down on the hard ground, even more deadbeat than the girl you opted to help. For shit’s sake, who knew this is what you get for volunteering to be of use? You can only imagine how the new cadets would have it hard once the Captain notices their mediocre cleaning skills.

It’s probably nearing curfew, you guess from the excessive appearance of stars in the skies, but your muscles are strained stiff you can’t come inside any time now. You were left with no choice but start from scratch. If you act up and not clean up to his standards, you’ll only get it way worse, so you decided not to push him further.

You sense someone approach you, and you strongly wish it isn’t Levi. He’s the last creature you’d like to see today.

Soft and familiar amber eyes greet yours from upside down, a petite body looming over you, and you couldn’t be anymore thankful. Petra gives you a sympathetic look before sitting down beside your laid form, keeping her hands behind her back.

“I told you,” she starts, “it’d be no good if Captain sees, but you insisted and he arrived! Now look at you, you’re absolutely exhausted, aren’t you?” she continues to scold, though it doesn’t strike you as a scolding. More of a concern, yes. A smile creeps up your lips.

“Just give me the bread,” you confidently say, and she sighs in defeat before revealing the pastry she had in hand. Your heart feels giddy as you sit up straight, taking the food she went out of her way to prepare. It’s like the tiredness just disappeared into thin air. What an angel.

Petra scrunches her nose as she watches you eat in speed. You cock a brow as you see her look at you like you’re— “Do I stink?” you frantically question and smell yourself all over. No way, you’ll definitely get points off now!

She giggles bubbly and shakes her head to dismiss your assumptions. “No, but you’re biting like you haven’t eaten in ages. That famished?” she asks once she’s calmed down.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks, unsure of what to think. She’s definitely an angel, especially when she smiles. You sigh for the nth time, “Obviously. Did you see how much of a bastard our Captain is? In all honesty, I’d prefer Hange as our squad leader,” you complain and resume to munching.

“I don’t know about that,” she says, gaze boring into yours. You tear your eyes off of her and stare at the horse stalls. “What did the old geezer make you do?”

“Nothing, just a bunch of paperwork,” she says truthfully. Oh, for all you know, he just wanted her all to himself. What an unfair move, using his authority to have her alone.

You angrily bite down on the bread, later realizing you’ve finished it. As she observes you, her eyes widen, suddenly remembering something. “I forgot your water!” she exclaims and rises to her feet, but you stop her before she can leave, grabbing her soft hand.

Your chest stutters involuntarily from the contact and you compose yourself right away. “It’s alright, I’ll get it myself. Go back to your room before Captain catches you,” you urgently say, not wanting her to get in trouble again. “Just help me up,” you ask to which she generously follows. You briefly wish the moment could last longer.

“You sure?” she quizzes when you finally stand up. Both of you heading inside, you nod and hum in agreement, “Thanks for the food.”

She gives you a smile as you both reach the halls, waving you goodbye before you part ways. Ahh, you feel all energetic now.

You walk to the mess hall, footsteps light and shallow. Judging from the dimly lit corridors, it must be a few minutes away from curfew. You just hope you don’t bump into some higher-ups. Hange’s fine, though.

As you push the door open, you regret it right away. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter unintelligibly. Aside from the raven haired man, the room is dead empty, a lone candle in a chamberstick providing dull light. Technically, he is the last creature you see tonight.

You have lost count of how many sighs you’ve released the whole day, all energy in your body draining once again. Steel eyes lock on you as you enter. There’s no turning back now. Well, at least Petra isn’t the one who found him here.

Levi cocks a brow as he watches you proceed inside, seemingly heading to the water jug. You stay quiet and take a glass, then filling it with water. As much as possible, you don’t want to converse with him.

He seems like he won’t let you succeed with that. “Done with the stables?” he asks, sipping on his tea.

“Yeah,” you curtly answer, not up for some bantering.

“Some goody two shoes you are,” he scoffs, ticking you off, but you refuse to let it show. You face him and lean your back against the counter. “Like you’re any better with your assholish attitude,” you sass him out, drinking on your water all the while remaining eye contact. You’ll show him.

“And you complain like the little brat that you are,” he rebuts.

“You’re just threatened that she might go for me behind your back when I just wanted to help,” you answer with a shrug, taking a few steps closer to the table he’s seated.

“Women like you like to play dirty.”

“You don’t know a thing about women,” you snide with a condescending smile, belittling the man before you. He can’t be one to talk about women when he treats you like shit. If there’s someone Petra might end up with, you sure as heck wouldn’t want it to be this guy.

He throws you a glare, piqued by your words before standing on his feet and and walking his way to you. You stay steady, unfazed by the intimidation he’s giving off.

“After all these years, do you seriously think you stand a chance?” he deadpans, which strikes straight to your feelings. He doesn’t have to emphasize that, you already know it, memorized it even.

“I don’t know, but it’d be just as much as a loss if she chooses you,” you say, slamming the glass you’re holding onto the table. After giving him one last glare, you turn your back on him, having enough of the senseless arguments.

He hates how you only ever treat him as a Captain in the battlefield, but not when you’re at ease. You always looked at him like an arch nemesis of the sort, not afraid to answer back at him like he doesn’t deserve your respect. He stressfully closes his eyes and massages his temples as you leave.

—

You sit on the bench, just in front of the Captain, who is currently beside your beloved Petra. Look at him making his moves. You roll your eyes discreetly, sipping on your fresh tea.

“What are you, on a diet or some crap?” Levi asks, finding Petra’s plate empty, bowl of soup halfway finished.

“No, I gave it to the girl you made run laps,” she informs, “she almost passed out, you know.” Right? you wanted to agree but decide to sit still and listen.

Levi doesn’t answer, and instead puts his own loaf of bread on her vacant dish. “Eat. We have an upcoming expedition,” he only says and sips on the liquid left in his cup. Petra’s cheeks turn into a feminine shade of pink, and you so wanted to pull her away from him. She exclaims a yes and starts munching. Great, I should’ve done that first.

You’re not about to put up without a fight, though.

“Dear Captain has to eat as well, don’t you think?” you sarcastically chime in, transferring your unmoved bread onto his plate. “Can’t have him thinned to bones when the walls get breached again,” you add, innocent smile downright infuriating to Levi’s eyes.

You desperately try to keep in your barging laugh to yourself as you watch him look at his plate disgustedly.

What do you say, Petra? I’m just as kind as he is, right? That show off.

Petra hums in agreement and nudges the Captain to eat, a string of hearty giggles leaving her velvet lips, alluring about a total of three people from the same table. You heart skips a round of beats as you watch her flash her toothy grins. Talk about an appetizing view.

Her giggles boil down as realization hits her. She gives you a mixed look of confusion and thoughtfulness, opening her mouth to speak and stop you on your tracks.

“But—”

You wave her off before she can shove her worries to you and prop yourself up, momentarily stretching your limbs in relaxation to then pick up your dirtied china.

“Don’t worry, Petra, I’m already full,” confidence brimming in your tone, you tell her and take your leave. But not without giving the Captain one last glimpse. It was even more appetizing to see him pissed.

Your other comrades only watch in awe as they see the unnamed rivalry uncover ahead of their eyes, your victorious smile determining the whose triumph it is for today.

How about that?

—

When you finish with dish duty, you head to the dining area once more to check if the sconce candles are extinguished, only to find them still lit and burning, with a side of holy bastard, as you like to call him. Of all people.

“Here again? What is this, your lounge room or something?” you mockingly ask and take a seat in front of him, wiping your wet hands on your pants. He ignores you.

You purse your lips out of observation. He must be a tea addict, having another one after dinner. “Are you always here every night?” you ask again, initiating a genuine conversation.

He finally looks at you and sets his tea on the table, a bit surprised by your question. “I am,” he answers. You nod, about to ask another question but he beats you to it.

“I’m removing you from the flank,” he suddenly blurts, taking you aback. What? Your rested face visibly loses composure as your brows furrow together.

“What do you mean? Is it because I shitted on you earlier? Oh please, do you think I’ll hit on Petra while on a mission?” you continuously spurt in one go, hackles slowly raising.

“It’s not about her. Erwin specifically asked for you to join his group since you apparently answered him right,” he remarks, completely calm. You are smart, that’s already a given that he knows, it’s just that feelings can get over the best of you that he doesn’t find rational.

Your ragged breathing upon taking him the wrong way steadies as you listen. “The Commander?” you confirm and he grunts his response. “Alright then, you better watch over her in my stead.”

Levi takes a glance at you, steel grey eyes holding an unreadable expression, which you find amusing and triggers a laugh out of you. It’s like his answer should have been already staring you in the face. Naturally, he’ll do that without you ordering him.

He can be cute at times, can’t he? In a funny way of course, you inwardly clear out.

Meanwhile, he thinks you’re out of your mind as you humor yourself. He’d honestly like it if you just leave him alone right now, which you eventually did, waving him goodbye.

The night before the expedition, you pay Petra’s room a short visit.

She answers the door within three quiet knocks. “Hey,” you greet with a smile and she offers to let you in forthrightly. “No! It’s fine, I just need a few seconds,” you dismiss.

“What is it?” she curiously asks, now face to face with you as you stand in her doorway.

“I won’t be with you tomorrow, so you better take care. Stick with Gunther, or Oluo. If possible, not with the Captain,” you whisper the last bit jokingly, but she ignores it and only questions why you’re separated. You explain the situation to her, leaving out the confidential details.

Petra nods, stroking her chin. You notice she’s already in her nightwear and is probably prepared to sleep, so you decide to return to your own quarters.

“Take care, alright?” you remind, eyes boring into her borderline gold ones. They were pretty and gentle, a pair you always adored through the years.

Petra wishes you the same and then a good night, strongly wanting to unite with you safely after the mission you could feel it deep inside you.

As you look at her, you‘re certain that you haven’t met a more loving person your whole life. Will there ever come a time that you’d confess to her? Probably not. If you’re being frank, you don’t think what you feel for her is that deep a love that you’d go out of your way to initiate a romantic bond. If nothing else, it might only be admiration, an attachment at most. You like her, that goes without saying, but there isn’t any room for in depth involvement, especially not in this line of work, you think.

The door to her room finally closed, you spin to get your own shuteye, only to see a familiar figure from a little distance.

The candlelights on the halls define the highest points of the man’s face beautifully, and you identify him without a hitch, dull grey orbs meeting yours.

“Let her sleep, and get your rest,” he briefly says before making off. Your eyes slightly largen from the lack of interaction, as opposed to the reprimanding you expected. Was he supposed to say his regards to her as well?

In all fairness, he didn’t go for your neck this time. Well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Morning comes quickly, along with the falling into formation as sketched, the deployment of operation, and the arrays of discoveries you found in the progress. Everything happened quickly, and before you know it, the expedition is given an official beat to retreat.

You stand on the same branch as the Commander, waiting for his signal to flee after fighting off the wave of titans to defend the target. Three pair of your blades are blunted down to nubs from the excessive charges, and you think for a moment if you should replace them with new ones.

Catching your breath, you wipe dry your dampened skin and clothes. You watch as he idly chat with the Captain, instructing him to refill his gases. For what? I thought it’s over?

Levi listens to what he’s told, perceivably on his guard. Why is he even here? Where are the others? When you’re just about to call Levi’s attention, Erwin catches sight of you and the confusion resounding from your aura. He then permits you to break away from his flank and reunite with your own squad, and you gladly follow.

You first help clean up with the immobilizing equipment used on the spy, telling Hange to prepare for withdrawal. She passes the message onto the other soldiers, commanding them to bestride their horses to then get going.

You still don’t know where to find your teammates, so you stick with the higher-ups a little longer.

Since you’ll travel by horse from here on, you decide not to meddle with your gears anymore. You hop on the saddle and lightly yank the reigns to start moving, and with everyone else, you ride through the woods, thousands of questions ready inside your head.

A few moments later, you hear Erwin converse with Hange regarding the spy, about how they must still be alive and how they must’ve blended in by now. You feel the tension rising as you listen to his assumptions, trying to register everything he’s trying to come across with, and it all makes sense when you hear two consecutive thundering of little intervals.

You quickly turn around and swerve, shifting your weight to guide your horse back to where the booming sound came from. It’s the alleged sound intelligent titans make when they transform, and you know push has come to shove if you hear two of them.

As far as you remember, the key weapon was situated together with your squad, you being the only one left out, so you’ll find them where Eren is. You let your horse gallop in great speed, heart thumping loudly in your chest it’s almost deafening. Please, be safe.

It feels like decades have already gone by when you arrive at the terrorizing scene of carnage.

You put your horse to an abrupt halt and jump off, cold sweat breaking without control as you stumble upon corpses and corpses you achingly recognize, the life in their eyes strenuously extracted. Gunther, Eld, Oluo… Petra.

An immense vertigo hits your head, your field of vision blurring upon seeing them drained of consciousness. You refuse to accept the view, shaking your head like a child in utmost declination. It seems you’ve only followed behind the Captain, finding him looking at the same plight.

“Levi…” you helplessly call as if seeking for refuge and saving. But it horrifies you the most when you meet his dead gaze deprived of rest, almost exactly looking like theirs, striking violently at your heart. No, not you, too…

Streams of tears shed endlessly from the corners of your eyes, and Levi doesn’t know what to do. He’s beyond pained, watching the only comrade he has left on his team slowly break down due to the shambles. He can’t afford to be frozen by the fathomless torment he’s currently trying to overcome, nor does he have the luxury to stay by your side and console you.

He has no choice but to keep moving.

“Call the others for assistance and put their bodies on a carriage,” are the last words he gives you before taking his leave, wires zipping and clutching into the surfaces of the tree barks as he skillfully maneuvers with his gear.

You think for a second, is he that used to losing people? but you completely miss out on how he slashes the giant enemy in great anger, expertly cutting flesh like he’s never done before as if it’s his only chance to momentarily pour out his emotions, all the while trying to stay objective.

Your whole body weakens and you fall to your knees, getting a closer look at the dead woman before your sight. Your hand acts on its own, stretching out to painstakingly tuck Petra’s locks behind her ear like how she always styled it. Your lips tremble as you attempt to fight your threatening sobs back.

She has slipped out from both your reaches.

Since then, you limited your interactions to those that were only really necessary, because for the first time in a while, you feel utterly alone. Years of having the sweet girl by your side all gone into the dust, along with the overwhelming loss of your whole squad, everything is weighing you down.

Flashes of memories come at the most misplaced time every now and then, and you can’t handle it when it triggers in public, causing you to lock yourself up in your room, weeping in secret.

You can’t be any more thankful to your Captain for letting you wallow in your own way of coping. Most importantly, though a small part of you still doesn’t want to admit, you’re more than grateful he stayed alive all throughout the last of the mission, coming back home with you.

You still remember the hurt in his eyes that no matter how hard he attempted to conceal, still peers out. It was visible when you had no choice but to throw the bodies out of the carriages, bringing not a single fallen soldier back. It was visible when Petra’s father asked the Captain for his daughter, even going as far as spilling his plans of arranging a marriage between the two young pair.

It’s haunting you so much, you haven’t had an hour of sleep after arriving back even if there’s an upcoming operation. Despite it being against your will, you frequently wonder how he’s doing.

One night, you find yourself walking through the halls, unable to force your mind to just shut down and rest without stressing out for the uncountable time.

You don’t know why you’re fully decisive of where to go and who to find. You don’t know why you feel calmer every step further. You don’t know why you’re so eager as you push on the wooden doors of the mess hall. You don’t know why you already expected to see him there.

“Oh, look at the old geezer drinking his tea in the dark. Do you know what time it is? It’s past curfew,” you inform sarcastically, voice also forging a front to sound normal. It’s not yet past curfew, you just want to tick him off.

“You’re only four years younger, and it’s not,” Levi answers as he lets his eyes land on yours. It’s obvious you’re only trying to clown around, the exhaustion in your face giving away your crestfallen state.

“What? How do you know that?” you ask, scandalized.

“I recognize the time.”

“I meant my age?”

“Because I am your Captain, woman. Don’t push me,” he hisses and brings his teacup into his mouth, the hot beverage staining on his tongue just the way he likes it. Even more so that it’s the only thing he can rely on at the moment. That’s what he thinks.

You scowl and sigh. Fair enough.

You take a seat in front of him and he gives you an unreadable look, as usual. Does he feel intruded? All of a sudden, you feel shy, hoping you’re not bothering him.

“What? I won’t mess with you, I’m tired,” you argue upon seeing him stare you down like something’s off with you.

Levi studies your expression, finding your face a bit similar to his in a not so positive way. With a shallow sigh, he decides to let you be and do what you want.

You prop your cheek on your elbow and maintain eye contact. “How’s your leg?” you quiz, genuinely curious of his current condition. The bastard brought home an injury as souvenir, rendering him downright useless for the plans the Scouts had right ahead.

“Not good,” he says, earning him a hum in response. The longer he lets his glance stay on yours, the more he notices the little details in the way you presented yourself.

Tonight, you spared no effort in fixing your hair, still a bit messy from the tossing and turning earlier in desperate hopes to fall asleep. Your lips were dry and chapped, he notes to call you out for it later. For all he knows, you might be dehydrated already. Your eyes? Unquestionably racked with pain.

You rest your face on top of your overlapped arms and settle to find a comfortable position.

“Go to your room if you want to sleep,” he orders, which you only ignore. Does he seriously think you’ve been able to sleep these days? Because you’re sure as heck he can’t with those dark under eyes of him. “Your neck will only get stiff in that position,” he adds.

Something about the company he generously, though not obviously, offers makes your eyelids fall shut in ease, his baritone voice helping your nerves compose themselves.

“I said I’m tired, give me a break…” you gradually lose volume as you speak, slowly drifting off without knowing.

Levi clicks his tongue when you finally succumb to drowsiness.

It’s not like he doesn’t have any options left, but he couldn’t do anything as he stays all night to watch over you. Surprisingly enough, the company felt comforting that he can’t bring himself to leave.

Couple hours later, he’s still up and reading a book when he hears a soft whimper escape your lips. Levi takes a glimpse at you and is a bit baffled to catch sight of a lone driblet trickling from your lids.

Sighing, he feels inclined to wipe it away with his thumb in sympathy and does as his subconscious says. The moment his calloused finger touches your skin, he realizes that you were undeniably warm. So much for a brat like you.

When you wake up, you feel a heavy cloth wrapped around your soldiers. You check the surroundings and remember falling asleep in the dining, later seeing that the fabric is a tan jacket, a uniform. The familiar scent enters your nostrils, and you name its owner right away.

An involuntary wave of heat rises to your cheeks and you’re uncertain why. It’s Captain Levi’s.

It makes you contemplate out of nowhere, was it wrong to treat him like a competition?

Thinking about it, you kind of regret not being casual with him. Without question, you’re not really in best terms with him, having an eye for the same person for a long time, that should be understood. He’s an outstanding soldier, that you can admit, but you can’t exactly put up with his strict ways at times, some of it coming off as irrational.

Maybe you should really just accept the fact that he’s a great Captain nevertheless. Because even though you viewed him like that all this time, he’s still being considerate in some ways.

A small smile forms on your lips. You definitely should start warming up to him. He’s the only team you’ve got left.

—

Tray in hand, you enter the Captain’s room, not bothering with a knock. To hell with that, I’ve got a handful, if he complains about his privacy or some crap, I’ll shove this damn food to his face.

Yes, you decided to bring him his lunch after the successful-fail raid in Stohess District. Honestly, you’re damn tired to the bones, but you take it upon yourself to give Levi a short visit.

He gives you an annoyed stare, obviously not expecting your company, and you only roll your eyes. “What’s that?” he asks.

“Food. What, is your old age getting to you? Need some glasses?” you talk back, not up for his dumb question.

Things aren’t going so well for the Survey Corps, political stances going against your brigade, comrades dying one by one you’re not entirely sure if their death was in vain or not. It’s only a miracle the Commander found a way to nullify the consequences about to come your way. That’s why Levi better not raise your hackles bad or your brain will completely explode in front of him.

He ignores your sardonic jest and eyes the tray, primarily looking for the tea, if you brought one. You did. But he keeps his hands to himself for a while.

“It’s too early for dinner, and I could’ve gone to get my own food.” An exasperated sigh escapes your throat, hearing his argument.

“This is your late lunch, sir,” you inform candidly, taking him by surprise. True enough, you didn’t mean to be so observant, but you saw him skip lunch earlier before the raid. Heck, this isn’t even the first time he deliberately missed it. You know he’s still unwell and at a loss just as much as you are—maybe even worse, and that’s preventing him from taking care of himself.

Of course, he’s still your Captain whom you’re willing to serve, wholeheartedly, at that. Hence, you’re going to take care of him if he’s not doing it himself, whether he likes it or not. If even this guy leaves you, then you’ll probably arrive at the end of your wits.

With an exasperated sigh, you set his meal on top of the nightstand right beside his bed. “Are you enjoying being a useless Captain?” you cross your arms and quiz, having enough of his prideful attempts for rejection.

“Tch, you know full well I’m not,” he answers and averts his glance, looking outside the window and the dimming skies.

“Then eat your food and stop complaining,” you lastly command, real bossy and assertive that he’s on the brink of cocking a brow in question.

He falls silent. You were right, he won’t get any better if he continues to mistreat himself. Besides, it’s already you who went out of your way to prepare him food, he shouldn’t just let that go to waste. Finally giving in, Levi first grabs the teacup by its mouth and takes a sip, nose immediately scrunching in repulsion upon tasting the beverage. You might be trying to poison him, after all.

“This tea is shit.”

“I said stop complaining.”

—

A whole different wave of hurdles and complications just got overcome after the wall breach alarm got deemed false, and three new intelligent titans were revealed. Seeming as though those weren’t even enough, humanity’s key weapon got kidnapped as well. Naturally, a rescue operation was deployed to action, losing a ton more soldiers in the process.

Everything is starting to become overwhelming, you’re both physically and mentally exhausted, and emotionally. Everything is beginning to feel like a pain in the neck, as if the Scout Regiment didn’t have that way from the start.

It’s actually just as you guessed. When you went outside without a full functioning team and a Captain to follow orders from, you felt lost and misplaced. The novel experience was depressing, to say the least, moving forward without the ones you’ve fought side by side with through the years.

You can’t help but find yourself looking for a familiarity, a middle ground of the sort. Feeling like a storm is building up inside you for trying to suppress your problems all by yourself.

On the low spirited trip back, you eventually realize you needed someone. And who else is there aside from him?

You ride your horse back to the walls, aching for his presence. Anything that has to do with him, you want to see and feel.

It’s almost like vexing decades have passed when you arrive and return to the headquarters. You hop off your horse, movements slow and back hunched, aura visibly despondent.

Your half lidded eyes desperately scan the fields to search for that one person, comforting satisfaction taking over your entire body as you find him standing a few meters away from your form.

Funnily enough, he was waiting for you just the same.

Levi couldn’t decipher what shitty smile you tried to give him, it was only plain pitiful in his eyes that his guts are telling him to walk over to you and give you a welcome. He didn’t have to do it, though.

Because maybe you did the first step. Maybe you took big strides or maybe you eagerly ran to his figure to feel his warmth against your body. But nothing else matters when you reach out both your trembling arms to him, now wrapped around his sturdy body, locking him in an embrace you never thought you’d feel your whole life.

You slowly descend to a sobbing mess, completely abandoning the idea of you looking like a mere crybaby in his eyes. He’ll surely bring this up some other time, but damn that. All you know is that you needed this, badly.

It’s shameful, being fully aware that you’re slowly eating your words. Whenever you think of how you put the tiny distance between you and him, you just want to slap your palm across your face. In reality, he isn’t so bad.

You want to thank him for letting you free yourself and let it all out, but your awfully shaky sobs are hindering you from doing so.

Levi senses your exhaustion, and a whole other variety of intense emotions. You’ve been keeping some burden to yourself, too. It’s amusing to him in a way that you’re both similar in a lot of things. Especially in the bad habit of bottling oneself up, assuming it’d do any better.

Deep down, he’s glad you let loose and opened your walls to him. He cares for you, after all.

As you weep against his chest, lungs stuttering and eyes turning bloodshot, Levi allows his hand to pat your back, lightly stroking it to make you calm down.

It is, indeed, wordlessly reassuring, telling you that he was there. You never imagined that of all people, he had the ability to offer the exact solace you’re looking for, just with the simple gesture.

For once, he lets it slide that you’re all bloody, sweaty, dirty, filthy—name it—when making contact with him. He just doesn’t know that needed this as well. In fact, the entire time you were away, his foot mindlessly tapped in full expectancy of your arrival, waiting with bated breath. Not like he’ll admit that.

“Don’t you dare speak,” you threaten amidst your shaky hiccups, and he almost finds it amusing how you can still manage to act so tough in front of him when you’re already breaking down against him.

He secretly heaves out a sigh, the expression of relief escaping your ears, “Brat.”

Both of you stand there underneath the twilight to dusk horizon, ignoring how some of your subordinates watch you in shock, or how you’re not halfway the trouble yet, still utterly clueless of what lies ahead. Because right now, you were still together. You had each other, someone to lean on in this wretched mess.

Without the two of you knowing precisely why, both your hearts feel a tad bit alive.

[sagewritesmore]

PART FOUR: POPCORN AND GREEN TEA

perfectionism | prev | next

wc: 2108

You tapped your foot on the pavement, anxious to finally meet the eyes of your old friend. The feeling of excitement was almost overwhelming all your senses, the only thing you could focus on was the plain, faded brown door in front of you. Quickly, you sent Suna a text to let him know of your arrival, however in the corner of your eye, you suddenly noticed two figures approaching. You shrugged it off, thinking that it was just two guys passing by on a walk, but rather than walking past the house, they stepped up the driveway slowly drawing near you.

Hearing Ennoshita's words in your mind about being aware of your surroundings, you discreetly glanced back observing the two. But, much to your surprise, it was the exact two guys who bombarded you at the supermarket yesterday. Well, actually, more like the one blond who smashed a shopping cart into your heel, blubbering apologies and looking away, while the other one stood there and watched the whole incident play out.

You watched them for what seemed like forever. Could they possibly be Suna's friends? No, the whole thing seemed too coincidental, surely that couldn't be the case. Not willing to take the chance, you took out your phone once more in hopes to get Suna to clarify that those were, indeed, not his friends. Unfortunately for you, it appeared that the universe had decided to make you a pawn in its game because the two of them were, indeed, his friends.

You let out a heavy sigh, you could already tell that the next few hours would be nothing but awkward stares and embarrassing conversations. Not wanting to ruin your one day of freedom- the one day where you didn't have to listen to your dad's constant yells, telling you how much of a disappointment you are- the one day where you didn't have to sit in front of the piano all day just to feel some sort of gratification. It was then that you decided to just ignore the situation, and pretend as if the blond wasn't the reason that the back of your foot was wrapped in a bandage. For all Suna knew, this was you guys' first encounter, so be it.

Right as the door opened, your eyes were drawn to the tall green-eyed boy who you used to spend every day with as a young kid. "Y/N, so glad you're here!" Suna smiled, as he went in for a quick hug. "Those two behind you are Atsumu and Osamu." He introduced, pointing to the two that were now directly behind you. The blond looked absolutely horrified, stealing brief glimpses at the bandage that hugged your heel, the other one, however, stared back with a nonchalant smile. "They may have almost the same face, but the one with the ugly piss-colored hair is Atsumu, and the normal looking one is Osamu."

You grinned back at the two, showcasing your brightest smile, hoping that they'd get the message to not bring up the fact that this was not your first encounter. You were going to introduce yourself to the two, but the blond seemed to beat you to cut. "How come Samu is the normal one?" He whined.

Suna snickered, "Because Osamu doesn't act like a dramatic brat who needs his hand held every damn second of the day."

Suna's blunt words made you softly chuckle, there was something in friendly banter that just made it so pure and innocent. You looked up at the two, noticing that the blond's expression had softened after hearing your giggles. With the brief moment of silence at hand, you decided to take this as the moment to introduce yourself. "I'm Y/N, it's nice to meet you Atsumu and Osamu."

"Well now that we got introductions out of the way, why don't we go inside and find something to do," Suna suggested.

"Rinny, can we watch a movie?" You asked excitedly. The last time you had watched a movie was when you hung out with Nishinoya, Tanaka, and Ennoshita before leaving Miyagi, and your dad hardly ever let you engage in anything other than school work or piano, making it a rare treasure.

Suna nodded, "Watching a movie it is."

As all of you entered the house, you couldn't help but hear the blond, Atsumu mutter to his brother, "If I called 'm Rinny I think he'd punch me on the spot."

A smile quickly reappeared on your face as you heard his brother respond, "I don't know, I'll give ya one thousand yen to put it to the test."

"No, I think I'll choose life," He giggled.

You found your way to the couch and swiftly pulled out your phone, eager to let your friends know your current situation. The whole scene sounded like something straight out of a book.

You clicked your phone off and turned your attention to the aroma that seemed to be emerging from the kitchen. The familiar scent, caramel popcorn and green tea, jogged an almost forgotten memory of your childhood. An unlikely duo, yet even as a child you couldn't get enough of the weird combination. No one would've ever thought to put the two together, but it just worked.

You almost laughed at the sight. Suna walked out of the kitchen juggling three bowls of caramel popcorn, three bottles of energy drinks, and, of course, your mug of green tea. Since he had such little grace, you got up and lent a helping hand. "No, no you're my guest and you're injured go sit back down," Suna scolded.

"Well it's too late, I'm already here, so I'll just take some of that off your hand," You said while grabbing the mug of tea and the three energy drinks. You walked over to the twins and handed them each their bottle.

"Say what happened to yer foot over there?" Osamu asked with a smirk on his face.

"Oh yeah you never told me what you did to your foot, Y/N," Suna added as he placed the remaining bowls on the side table.

"It's not a big deal I just scraped myself with glass while unpacking," You blurted. You hoped that the lie was convincing enough, but to be honest, scraping yourself with glass sounded way more believable than being run over with a shopping cart.

"I see, sorry to hear that," Osamu responded in an almost surprise-like manner. You thought that maybe he expected you to call out his brother, however you decided to stick with your initial decision of ignoring the situation to save your night from awkwardness. His expression only got more surprised as he realized the unusual food combination you were eating. For only eating caramel popcorn with green tea, he looked as if you were committing a crime against food.

"Green tea with caramel popcorn?" He asked.

With no shame you nodded your head. "Don't knock it until you try it, it's my favorite combo in the world. I can never get enough of it."

Suna sighed, "Yeah, it's no use to convince her otherwise it's been more than a solid seven years since i last saw her and she still likes it."

The night ended almost as quickly as it started. Although you were initially worried about it being awkward, your worries were soon rested once Osamu started explaining his love of cooking. You both talked endlessly about all sorts of sweets and savory foods you both enjoyed indulging in. However, his twin, on the other hand, barely talked as he aimlessly played around with his phone.

Your eyes noticed the time on the nearby clock, the numbers displaying that it was near midnight. Your stomach instantly knotted, if your dad wasn't asleep, you for sure were going to get an ear full when you arrived home. You picked up your phone, and smiled at Suna and Osamu who's chest softly rose up and down as they slept.

You stood up quietly, getting Atsumu's attention. You didn't expect him to do or say anything since he'd been quite dull the entire night, but it seemed like this was a night of surprises. "Yer not planning to go all the way to the bus stop by yerself now are ya?" He asked.

"Well I'm not waking either of them so they can escort me if that's what you're asking," you responded "But, you're more than welcome to join me if it'll put your mind at ease." You fully expected him to not care, however he grabbed his jacket next to him and stood up, walking over to where you stood by the front door.

He quietly opened the door, careful to not make a creaking noise. "After you," He said as he directed you out of the house. The crisp winter air hit your face, your whole body jolted from the sudden change of temperatures. "Don't suppose yer cold now?" He asked, probably noticing your shivering. You replied by shaking your head and continued on the trail to the bus stop.

The rest of the walk was mostly silent, neither one of you knowing what to say. This was definitely uncharacteristically of Atsumu, anyone who'd even slightly know him would expect him to be chatting your ear off with overdramatized commentary. However, things seemed to be different in this situation, there was an eerie feeling about you that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Of course, it didn't help that your first encounter with him was him, in fact, running a shopping cart into you, but it wasn't just that. Maybe it was the way you presented yourself, in an almost sickening sweet-like manner. It all felt artificial, like a facade.

"Well this is it," you said, snapping him out of his thoughts, "Just in time for the last bus, thanks for walking with me." You turned around to enter the vehicle but before you could, a hand made its way to your arm. You immediately flinched at the contact, pulling away at the light hold he had on you.

"I'm sorry I just- i um," He started, trying to find a way to word what he wanted to say. "I wanted to say that 'm sorry for yesterday, it was kind of a shitty thing to do, and 'm also sorry for not really talking all that much today, ya seem really nice and I'm usually not this bad when it comes to meeting new people. And, I totally ruined the night by ignoring you I-"

You lightly laughed, "It's alright, plus any friend of Rin's, is a friend of mine, and you didn't ruin tonight at all, I thought it was perfect." You both smiled back at each other, not saying anything for a moment. You cleared your throat, "Um, I'll see you around, have a good night, Atsumu."

He watched as you entered the bus. A small smile made it on his face as he watched you wave goodbye from the bus window. He waved back and muttered under his breath, "Good night, Y/N."

The bus ride was only about ten minutes. Anxiously, you opened the door to your house, hoping that by some miracle your dad would be sound asleep. The old door slightly creaked, you peaked inside and all your worries flushed away as you saw your dad passed out on the couch. Granted he was passed out drunk, at least that's what you gathered by the four bottles of empty beer that laid at his feet.

Even for you, life wasn't as perfect as it seemed. As much as you wanted it to be, as much as you led people on to think that it was, it just wasn't. The worst part of it was that deep down, you felt accountable for it all. Maybe if you would've been just a little better at piano, you could've achieved your perfect life.

You reached your bedroom and exhaustedly plopped down on your bed. You glanced at the picture of your mother on your bedside table. Her long hair glided down her lavender dress, her face gleaming with a smile. In one hand she held her violin and the other held an award deeming her the best violinist in the nation. She was talented, beautiful, intelligent, and made your dad happy. She was absolutely everything you weren't, and your dad made sure to remind you everyday.

Life before she died was perfect. You could never recall a memory of you being sad around her. Before you closed your eyes, you whispered, "I wish I was perfect like you."

fun facts !

Whenever Atsumu doesn't know how to address a situation, he just goes on his phone and plays angry birds.

If you're ever bored, Osamu will talk forever about all the different ways you can cook the same recipe.

Suna can never stay awake during a movie night, he always falls asleep somehow.

Before getting into volleyball, the twins' mother tried to get them into violin, however that quickly failed once Atsumu broke his bow on the second day of lessons.

perfectionism ©

smau written by @sagefzy

taglist: open just send an ask :)

@shephard17895 @art-junkie-13 @vhsryuu @qualitygiantshoepsychic @everytimeswift @kritiiiii

[cherryobx]

To letting go//JJ Maybank x reader

requested?: yessssss “hey! you're probably busy or whatever,, so just ignore this if you want, but if you could, can you do something where the pogues save the reader from a toxic friend group and show them how friends are supposed to be? kinda need a fake scenerio to comfort me haha. it can be w anyone or just a platonic,,, just need a happy ending :) ty”

summary: The pogues take you under their wing after your kook friends lie to you

warnings: angst, toxic friends, some curse words

WC: 1335

(not my pic!!!)

I DIDN’T PROOFREAD!

Being a pogue and being friends with kooks was never easy. They got everything handed to them since birth. They were literally born rich.

Since your father worked for one of the kook families you started to go to work with him when you were little and that’s when you met your best friend Laurene. 

When you started hanging out with her daily, you met her other kook friends. Her ‘squad’ as she called it.

Everything was simple when you were kids, money and clothes didn’t really matter. But as you grew older, these things became more and more important.

And that’s when you started to feel out of place.

Laurene often bought you presents. But you knew they were out of pity because you could never afford the kind of clothes she wore all the time.

Laurene was understanding most of the time. She understood when you couldn’t go shopping with them or couldn’t hang out because you had to go to work. You felt like you disappointed them when you couldn’t go and that tore you down mentally. But you never admitted that to yourself.

One day, Laurene dragged you to go shopping with her friends. You agreed, of course, because you thought that if you said ‘no’, they wouldn’t really accept you in their friend group anymore. 

“What do you think about this one?” Laurene held a beautiful, and definitely very expensive, dress in front of her, showing you how it would on her body.

“It’s great! It would look so pretty on you,” you told her.

“Then I’ll buy it!” she happily exclaimed and practically ran to the register.

You and your friends walked out of the store. They all had a few shopping bags in their hands. Kooks were 100% the type of people who believed that money could buy happiness.

You walked behind them, hands in the pockets of your jean shorts that you ad found in a thrift store.

Sometimes you felt like they didn’t even notice you were there. You felt invisible beside them.

“Okay Y/N, we’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

You were confused. “Wasn’t Kara supposed to throw her birthday party today?”

“No, she canceled it. Right, Kara?” The blonde girl beside Laurene nodded.

“Oh, okay. Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye Y/N!” 

“Bye!”

And then you were alone. You decided to go home since you had nothing to do anyway.

At home, you ate a bit and then laid on your bed, reading a book that Lauren had given you. You loved reading. It helped you escape reality and go to places you wouldn’t get to go to in real life.

When it was getting dark outside, you thought that you should go to the beach. You could see the stars there very well and it was always a beautiful sight.

When you arrived at the beach, you saw a group of people had set up a little fire pit there and were all sitting around it.

You knew those people. They were John B and his friends JJ, Pope, and Kiara. You had never really talked to them but they always seemed to have a lot of fun.

You sat a bit away from them and then laid down, so you could stargaze. 

“Hey! Y/n?” JJ came up to you.

You didn’t take your eyes away from the sky but you nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. What do you want?”

“Why aren’t you at Kara’s birthday party?”

“She canceled it.”

“No, she didn’t,” he said, making you sit up and look at him. “What are you talking about? I just talked to her today. She said she canceled it.”

“She didn’t cancel it. Basically everyone is there right now.” He pulled out his phone and showed you someone’s Instagram story, where you could clearly see that there was a huge party going on at Kara’s place.

“So they lied to me…” you felt your eyes get wet. You knew that you didn’t really fit in with them. But why would they lie to you?

“Hey! No, don’t cry.”

“What did I do to deserve this?”

“You did nothing wrong. Kooks just are like this. Bunch of selfish assholes.”

“But they’re my friends.”

“Y/N, news flash, they’re not your friends. Kooks and pogues can never be friends, they despise people like us. I don’t know how you survived being close to them for so long.”

“Yeah, thanks for making me feel like shit, JJ. Why the fuck are you here anyway?” Tears were rolling down your cheeks like two waterfalls. You were angry at your friends, you were angry at JJ, but mainly you were angry at yourself.

“You just seemed lonely, that’s all.”

“Yeah because I look like a loner, right? Well, you can leave now. I don’t need you to make me feel even worse.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. Look, come hang out with me and my friends.” He stood up and gave you his hand to help you up too.

“Fine. But if you’re like some kind of weirdos, I’m leaving.” You wiped the tears from your face with the sleeve of your sweater,

“Wow, being with kooks sure has its after-effects,” he laughed.

“Shut up.”

You walked over to his friends and sat down beside him, making everyone’s heads turn to you.

“This is Y/N. Y/N, these are my friends John B, Pope, and Kiara,” he introduced them, although you already knew who they were.

“Aren’t you that pogue who always hangs out with the kooks?”

You sighed. “Not anymore.”

So you told them the whole story, almost starting to cry again but luckily you held back your tears.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll show you what real friends look like.”

And they did. You had found your people. You were accepted there. You felt like that was where you belonged. They made you feel loved and never left out.

A few weeks after ‘the incident’, Laurene came to your place. She knocked on the door and waited for you to come out.

You had blocked all of them on all platforms and even deleted their numbers. You didn’t need fake friends in your life.

“What do you want?” you asked when you opened the door, seeing her standing there.

“I wanted to know why you’re ignoring us all of a sudden.”

“You lied to me. You made me feel left out and worthless. You want more reasons? Your friends never liked me, neither did you. And I know that for a fact.”

You didn’t even wait for her to respond. You just slammed the door in her face and walked into your backyard, where all of the pogues were waiting for you, setting up a fire.

“You ready?” Kiara asked, handing you a bag full of the clothes, pictures and jewelry that Lauren had given you throughout the years of knowing her.

“More than ever.” You had a plan of burning it all. You didn’t want constant reminders of all the shitty years you had spent pleasing the kooks.

To be honest, you were a bit nervous too. You were throwing away a big part of your life. But that’s what you needed to to to let go of all the bad memories.

In the few weeks, you had known them, JJ had developed a crush on you.  A big one. You were broken, just like him and that made you two so similar. He didn’t want to fix you, neither did you want to fix him. But you felt like he was the one to make it all better. And you were absolutely right. Luckily you felt the same about him.

JJ grabbed your hand and kissed the top of it, looking into your eyes. “You got it.” He could sense the nervousness coming from you.

“To letting go,” Pope said.

“To letting go,” you repeated, throwing all the stuff into the fire, making it erupt in flames.

taglist: @teamnick​ @www-imbored-com @delightfullynlove @prejudic3 @afterglows7b-tch13 @tomhardybby @ad-infinitums @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @ilovejjmaybank @drewsephsmiles @allycat449-blog​ @abbiesthings @teenwaywardasgardian

[iloverubberduckiez-blog]

Partners- Reader x Hybrid!Maknae line

A/N: Don't know if ill write more and make a Lil series or keep this as a drabble

WC: 4k

Warnings:Fluff, possible smut if i continue. 

Rated: PG 13 i guess

After another long day at your shitty desk job as a secretary, you were on your way out when you get stopped by the department head.

“Hey Y/N, I'm glad I caught you!”

You inwardly groaned. All you wanted to do was to go home to your beautiful hybrid who you knew would no doubt whine about you coming home late. 1000 bucks says Mark was here to tell you that you would be delaying that peace a little longer.

“Mark please I am tired and I already worked two hours over today”

“Sorry Y/N. I have to stay too. We are expecting some big shot from the main branch and you and I get to personally oversee all things pertaining to him when he gets here. He’s gearing up to take over HQ as the new CEO”

“Oh my- No way.”

“Yup. Jackson Wang”

“Damn. well, he is super hot so I'm doing it for him, not you. When do we need what?” 

“He doesn't get in till next week so we will have time to prepare. Just letting yo know you can pass on the DRASS project to Amaya.”

“What no way that project is mine, it's literally all I've worked on for months-”

“And I know you were super excited to fly back to Kenya to help those people and see it through. I promise you will get full credit but We need this, trust me Jackson says he wants to pick his personal team from within the company. If we do well enough this will be the push we need and could select us as candidates.- You have a hybrid right? well, I have a family of five, and having extra money in the bank whether it's just a bonus for this or a whole new position will help us both and you know it.”

“okay” You relented with a sigh taking the folder from his hands.

“You should rest up this weekend so that we can meet up a little early next week to go over what needs to get done and how we can prepare for everything.”

“so i can go home now?”

Mark chuckles and nods. “ Run along, give your boy a hug from me” Mark kisses your forehead as has been the norm and walks away with a small wave towards his own car.

Leaving the office you groan after seeing the traffic. It was going to be a slow crawl in the car for like an hour before you make it back home.

“Y/N!” You didn't even unlock the door before you were bombarded with the full weight of the handsome hybrid you share a home with.

“Where were you? I was waiting for you for so long. I got us dinner but its all cold now” His voice a little muffled as he spoke into your hair.

“oh what did you eat?”

Taehyungs tummy growled.

 “I didn't. I wanted us to eat together because i got Lasagne, your favourite.” His tail which was wrapped around you as he had hugged you fell to the floor in sadness.

“I’m so sorry Tae.” You looked up to find his ears flattened on his head as his arms drop from your shorter frame. 

Taehyung’s eyes meet yours as he feels how your guilt seems to seep through and he gives you his beautiful signature boxy smile before picking you up and carrying you into your apartment.

“It’s okay Y/N we can reheat it.”

You kiss him on the check and go into your room to change into something comfortable before joining Tae back in the kitchen and sitting on one of the stools.

“Wine M’lady.” Taehyung poured two glasses and reached for your hand leading you to the couch.

“c’mon it will take a while to heat nicely in the oven.”

You nodded and followed him hi sat first then pat his lap. You looked at him questioningly.

“First my favourite meal and then expensive wine? It's not my birthday Tae.By the way this wine is like 1922 grade $400 bucks stuff how in the world did you get some?”

Taehyung chuckled.“I just wanna sit and cuddle with you and have a nice evening together plus you smell like a squirrel.”

You caved and snuggled beside Taehyung instead of on his lap but he just pulled you closer to him nuzzling your hair and drawing little patterns on your arms.

You inwardly facepalmed, of course, Tae’s sensitive nose picks up on all the people from work and apparently most pungently your intern who had sent his Squirrel hybrid to give in some documents to you halfway through a meeting - “I can go take a shower-”

“No don't go please i just missed you a lot today is all.”

“ You sure? Nothing else? Nothing bothering you?”

“Nothing at all.”

It was not nothing.

Taehyung had spent the better part of the morning crying his eyes out after overhearing your conversation to Seokjin. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, in fact, he was going to come and give you a hug good morning but what he heard made him stop dead in his tracks. 

“He’s a beautiful Calico cat Y/N, i think that it could be a good match for you. You did say you had always wanted a cat right? well this is your chance and he will dote on you hand and foot- you work too much honestly when do you take time to read and breathe?”

Tae robotically walked away tail tucked in between his legs and retreated to the bathroom He didn't bother with the rest of the conversation he was just numb. He turned on the shower but made no other moves towards actually showering. All he could think of was that maybe you were trying to replace him, that he wasn't enough for you or maybe that he was just too much and you didn't love him anymore. He heard you knock on the door announcing your departure for work but he couldn't bring himself to respond. After crying for what felt like hours Tae looked at his phone. You had sent a message.

“Tae,

Had to leave early,U might not have heard me in the shower.Take care. Y/N”

Taehyung felt morose. No “I love you” or cute emoji. He sighed and went to your room. Laying on your bed he snuggled up to one of your pillows and managed to fall asleep. It ended up only being a nap as Taehyung woke around an hour later. Eyes still puffy and with a sniffle, he sat up determined and decided to do something special for you.

“Hey Hyung”

“What do you wan- Is Y/N Okay? Did you start a fire again?”

Taehyung deadpanned. “Hyung that was one time!”

“Okay, what's wrong little brother?”

Taehyung whined. he felt the beginnings of tears stirring up again.

“come over. Hoseok has a day off today. Or do you just wanna talk to me?”

“I’ll be right there”

Yoongi sighed rubbing his fingers over his temples. Hoseok was currently now consoling his little brother who after regaling his story managed to upset himself and break down into full-blown tears again.

“I knew something was up I *Hic* didn't think she, we would ever be apart” 

Yoongi sat on Taehyungs opposite side and pulled him into a hug after wiping some of his tears.

“It’s just a big misunderstanding okay she is just working really hard she’s not trying to abandon you.”

“Hyung you don't know that. Easy for you to say because you have Hoseok- Hyung.”

“And it's only because of her that I got adopted by him remember? She wanted us both but she didn't have the means to look after both of us so she called all her friends willing to take a hybrid on and then she said that she was sorry she couldn't do more but at least we would be able to see each other. She’s the reason we can still talk, see each other despite being separated, and hang out.”

Hoseok nods, “She got an extra bed in your room too for Yoongi to come to stay over whenever he wanted and she gave him the spare key remember? I don't even have a spare and I've known her longer-”

“she likes us better” Taehyung and Yoongi snapped to Hoseok at the same time.

Hoseok laughed. “well glad to know where I stand. I wouldn't hold it against you if you moved now, she earns enough to support you now...so if-”

Yoongi smiled “You would be hopeless without me and you know it.”

Hoseok scratched behind Yoongi’s ears and with a smile, he began “Well if you want my advice on this-”

“We don’t,” The hybrid brothers said again in unison.

Hoseok rolled his eyes and mumbled about getting something to eat and calling Seokjin to figure out what was going on.

Yoongi’s heart was aching for Taehyung. He wanted nothing more than to see his beautiful smile again.

“Y/N likes Lillies why don't you buy her some and like welcome her with those and some chocolates or something when she gets home?”

Taehyung sighed. “I thought about that but it feels too simple and like something anyone could come up with.” His eyes glazed over to the Tv where a couple was horseriding on a ranch. Immediately Taehyung lit up.

” That's it!”

“Tae we can't buy a horse ranch, even with all three of us chipping in”

“Not the ranch Hyung. Y/N likes this special wine that you can only get at a few places. If I get her a bottle and cook her a fancy dinner she can remember why she only needs me.”

Hoseok came back to the living room.

“oh, I have a bottle from the last time we went to the ranch as a group the chateau right? I was gonna wait for her birthday and surprise her but you can have it Tae,”

Taehyung glomped Hoseok in gratitude.

“cant breathe Tae”

“sorry.”

Yoongi stood up scrolling on his phone. “what did Soekjin say?”

Taehyungs smile dropped and his face morphed into nervous worry. Yoongi placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder expecting bad news from the way he reacted.

“He is out of town for the weekend. Some big trip so I could only leave a voicemail. It’s probably nothing. Anyway, you should go on and get dinner ready for Y/N before she gets home right?”

Taehyung brightened a little and skilled nodding. Before he left Yoongi said he should probably order food so he doesn't poison you or set the place on fire. He left feeling optimistic and hopeful that he could mend things with you. He wanted to help take better care of you he promised himself.

You woke up to the smell of burnt pancakes and Hot chocolate. Following the scent, you found Tae in the kitchen attentively staring at the pancake until a small ding went off on his phone. Shutting off the timer he placed a layer of batter where the last pancake just lay and set the timer again. You watched him fondly before he plated this one and poured honey over it. Putting the plate on a tray with the precut fruits and hot chocolate his ears went up as he sniffed the air. Turning around he saw you in the doorframe.

“Y/N...i-i made breakfast” He hastily grabbed your hand and led you back to you room tucking you in, before rushing out and bringing the tray with him.

Your heart swelled at this blessing of a man in front of you and he watched with rapt attention as you cut off a piece of the pancake before placing it in your mouth.

“How is it?” His ears sagged over his head expecting rejection.

“I can make you an omelet instead if you-”

“Taehyung it's the best pancake I’ve ever eaten.”

He buried his face in your pillow at your praise, tail wagging happily. You offered him a strawberry and a piece of the pancake and he hummed happily.

After sharing breakfast together you spent the day spring cleaning together before spending the rest of the day on a movie marathon. On Sunday You were both invited to game night at Hoseoks and You and Tae were a dynamite team as usual with Yoongi coming in to troll Hoseok much to his displeasure.

“I look forward to working with you further Mr wang.” you held out your hand. Jackson laughed and gave you a hug instead. 

“No way just call me Jackson. I’ve been friends with Mark forever so any friend of his is a friend of mine, also you come at a right recommendation, which is surprising cos he can be a bit of a downer.”

“I’m right here you know!” 

“I’m so grateful for you for doing this at such last minute. i know it was a lot to organise in the given time frame Y/N.” 

“Not at all, Mr wa- Jackson.”

You all stayed in his office with some comfortable banter before going home.

Taehyung called over to you and began to advance happily towards you before he stopped and sniffed you strangely. You wanted to ask him what the problem was but your phone chimed. it was Soekjin- he was calling you. You declined the call because you remembered you needed to tell Tae what was going on so that you could get his opinion on things.

“It might be urgent, if he keeps calling you like that. Go see what your human friend wants.”

“Do you not like Jin? Since when? Tae what’s-”

“You’ve been talking a lot to whoever lately and you smell like a new scent and a hybrid and I feel tired so I’ll probably just go hang out at Hyung’s.”

“No wait Taehyung I’m not trying to have secrets or hide anything from you but there is something important I need to tell you.”

Taehyung huffed and went to go sit down as you took his hands in yours. He looked like how you found him 2 years ago a wounded puppy with eyes full of love and brimming with sadness.

“Things are a bit crazy at the shelter and Jin needs help in housing some of the Hybrids temporarily. Some can go to other shelters but some need a more... loving environment, calmer without the more violent hybrids sharing with the weaker type ones. I offered to take two of them in while he figures everything out. I know its a lot and if you don't want to, we will just stay just us but if Jin is overcrowded he’s at risk of getting shut down and then they could all end up on the streets I-”

“It's okay.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“It's just temporary, right? I can understand that we shouldn't let anyone be on the streets if we can help.”

“really? you’re fine with this?”

“It’s...I will be able to deal with it. But I want strawberry cake and I’m not sharing”

“Of course Tae. Guess I should call Jin and tell him the great news!” You chirped and went to grab your phone. You didn't notice the sheer rejection that he tried to hold in.

Jungkook and Jimin stood behind Jin. The latter holding Jin’s shirt as he explained some of the pills he had brought along for their nutrition and bringing along some bags with groceries. You reached to take it and Jungkook took them all in your stead silently trying to minimize eye contact with you.

“Thank you Jungkookie.”

Embarrased, Jungkook stuttered out. “I-Its the least I can do after you are being so kind.” You practically melted and pet the Muscle bunny softly at the base of his ears and he stomped his foot a little and grinned showing his toothy smile.

Jimin, not to be outdone, said he could help you pack everything away and let go of Jin who was trying to remain them of something that they were tuning out in their silent contest to impress you. You tried to place a jar on a shelf too high and fell back into JK who caught you and placed it up for you instead. Jimin began whining that he could have done it for you but he was busy with the things in the fridge.

Taehyungs loud sneeze broke up the rowdy lot of you.

Jungkook gripped your waist in fear and stayed behind you as you faced Taehyung. Jimin in shock had hit his head on the shelf of the fridge and tried to catch some of the items that threatened to spill out.

Tehyung seeing Jungkook’s hand on your waist had yanked you out of his grasp and began scenting you and sending a snarl their way.

You sighed. This was how Taehyungs been acting ever since you started the project with Jackson. Pretty much anything could set him off but you felt bad because you should have been more understanding of how this may look in his eyes.

“ Jin, Rabbit, feline”

“Tae, Longtime! Sorry if we woke you. this is Jungkook he's a black Holland Lop and Jimin is a calico cat.”

“I’m Y/N’s Siberian husky.” Tae said to the other two before looking back to Jin.

“ I was awake- Hyung i was finishing the laundry for the new...guests.”

You spun around in his arms to face him. Petting his ears as he cooed into your touch “Aww Tae I told you I’d manage it”

Jin’s ringtone killed the silence and he dashed out telling you to call if any problems arose.

Thereafter you got the boys settled into Taehyung’s room. With a sigh you went and faceplanted into your sheets only to have Taehyung come and crawl beside you. After half an hour when you tried to get up Taehyung just grumbled and  held you tighter.”

“Tae i have to go to”

“work I know” He said with a sigh reluctantly letting you go. 

“Today’s a chilled day we will be done early. Besides, you guys can use this time to bond and make friends.” At his whine, you kissed the top of his head. “ please? For me, try?” 

Six weeks later all of you have somewhat of a comfortable rythym in the household. On a day off you decided it would be fun to go to the beach. Jimin offered to pack a picnic for everyone and Jungkook and Taehyung were moody on the drive over because they didn't think of it first. You had also told him since he was so helpful he could sit in the passenger seat and Jimin spent the whole ride grinning like the cat who got the cream.

Once there you were happy to let the boys wander off to their heart's content after setting up your belongings under a beach umbrella.

Jungkook had other plans. He worked very hard on his physique and although shy he still remembers the first time he came back shirtless from a run and found you on the couch. You tried to hide it but He knows you checked him out and you were definitely attracted to him the way your eyes hungrily racked over his body. Since that day he would be on the lookout for any golden opportunities to be close to you. Honestly, Taehyung had it made. You were kind, smart, hardworking, and breathtakingly beautiful. So often he dreamt of you as his and he knew the others thought the same. Officially though he was still a foster, Jimin had reminded him that morning and their place here wasn't secured so Jimin said he was gonna up the Ante. At first, Jungkook ignored him and went to shower but when he emerged to the sound of you praising Jimin for coming up with such a cute and thoughtful idea, He knew he needed a plan of his own. 

Taehyung excused himself for the bathroom and Jimin was looking around for the cooler box. He decided to go and check in the car leaving Jungkook alone with you. This was his moment. He stripped himself of his shirt and innocently asked if you would come to the water with him. He rationalized his need for an escort being that he was not used to such big crowds of people and thus managed to convince you out of your sundress to reveal your bikini and guide him by the hand towards the water.

Jungkook was Jungshook at the two-piece and how you looked in it enjoying the view until some guy came out trying to talk to you. That snapped him out of his daze and he flung you over his shoulder and bolted into the water trying to shield your body for his admiration alone. You were having a ball of a time and Jungkook got to stay near you and hold you claiming to save you from sharks if you found any.

Jimin had stomped away to the car and after retrieving the cooler box which he was pretty sure Jungkook was supposed to carry happily bounded to the store to get ice for the drinks on the way back. He also spotted a local artist doing caricatures and thought to remember to bring you over later for a couple picture together. He knew you weren't a couple but Jimin was smitten for you. He was slightly confused as to why Tae didn't have a romantic relationship with you, or at least you weren't his mate so he still had a shot. The only thing in his way now was the little maknae and his cute bunny-like stupid smile and ‘helpful groping’. Jungkook certainly wasn't shy in trying to subtle scent you when you were distracted anymore, not like how it was when they first arrived. No, they had gone from not trying to interfere with your and Tae’s relationship to wanting their own with you, a romantic one. The mystery now was why arent you and Taehyung together? Was it because he was a hybrid or was he just not the right guy? did you reject Taehyung before? Did you get rejected by Taehyung and now he regrets it and wants you back? Jimin didn’t care he wanted you and that was final. Even if you never returned his feelings even just being by your side could be enough for him, enough that he could get over sharing your affection with Taehyung after all he was the first even if he hates to admit it.

Taehyung almost dropped the Icecream cones in his hands.

 Its been so long since you two had come to the beach, in fact, the last time was when Yoongi had hinted at you two being an adorable couple. Taehyung had gotten you ice cream to share and you had some dribble down from your mouth to your chin. Taehyung did it before his brain was able to process the action, he licked a stripe from your chin to your lips lingering for a second before placing a chaste kiss there. You were embarrassed, to say the least, and Tae hid his own embarrassment by getting up to toss a ball back to a bunch of kids playing volleyball. When he came back he noticed you with some of Yoongi’s cocktail and the two of you managed to finish the jug just between the two of you. Later at home Yoongi and Hoseok took to the twin beds in Tae’s room and you pulled him into your room. Tae had discovered you were really handsy and although he wanted you so badly you were both too drunk to do more than sleep after a sloppy makeout session. The next morning you had woken up first and Left some water and ibuprofen with an apple by his side. His morning wood making him panic in short horror prompting a quick cold shower. While he discarded his clothes he saw your underwear that you had slept in still coated in fragments of your arousal, on top of the laundry hamper and grabbed it as he stepped in the shower. It was the first time he had taken your underwear.

Yoongi had told him then to let you bring it up- the idea of you guys figuring out what you want moving forward as it was clear to him and Hoseok that you two were lusting after one another but was it anything more? Taehyung was in the midst of figuring out his feelings for you and what everything meant and how things were going to be different but you came in the apartment with breakfast goodies in tow. You managed to still look effortlessly beautiful in the morning and Tae was so happy that you got him his favourite things for breakfast from your waffle house.

“Tae, I’m so sorry about yesterday i was super drunk”

“I was drunk too Y/N its fi-”

“No it’s I'm sorry can we just forget this all happened i don't want to loose you Tae I love you. Can we move on please?”

Taehyungs heart shattered across the floor but he nodded and to put insult to injury you kissed his cheek before scolding Hobi for drinking The hot chocolate you meant for Taehyung and yourself.

“I’m sorry lil bro. If you wanna stay with us we can share my room, i have a double bed and Hobi can-”

“Its okay Yoongi- Hyung. I can keep it together for now, ill give it some time and if that doesn't work I’ll confess and we work from there. For now, her loving me is enough, even if its just friends. This love and adoration from her is enough.”

It’s Not Fucking Enough. Not anymore. That was then when he had you all to himself, No new boss keeping you at work always hugging you, No Bunny, no Cat. No it was war now, and Tae has just about reached his limit.

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter three.

wc: 1,972. original publish date: october 5, 2020.

Van Gogh switches off his phone, smiling to himself in secret contentment to have his best friend back. The fight didn't last more than an hour -- definitely their shortest fight to date -- but usually he's the one who has to go seek out Kennedy to make things right. Which makes sense: Gogh's usually the one who starts the fight so he should be the one to finish it. But it still feels nice to know that JFK cares enough to put an end to it all. Sometimes Van Gogh wonders if Kennedy is ever as hurt by their arguing as he is. Now he doesn't have to guess.

Van Gogh begins packing his carryon-sized suitcase, which is brown with black trim and scuffed plastic wheels. He's had it since he was a kid -- he used to have to go on his parents' business trips with them. They started leaving him at JFK's house when he was ten and eventually stopped leaving him with anyone at all. He had to learn how to watch the house himself once he turned fourteen -- he was a scared freshman with only one friend who lived on the upside of town. He never learned how to meet anyone new. Van Gogh grew so accustomed to being alone that he never knew he should meet anyone new.

The boy begins tossing various articles of clothing and his favourite novels into the suitcase. Mostly he just stuffs the luggage with underwear and socks. He throws in a pair of jeans and two solid colour t-shirts. He walks into the bathroom and starts shoving toiletries into a plastic Ziploc bag. He takes his toothbrush, a full tube of toothpaste (it's family size, but of course he's the only one using it), a travel-size hairbrush that he barely ever uses, and a minute box of floss that he'd acquired from the dentist six months ago, but never used since. He seals the bag and turns toward the door to walk back to his room, but decides to snatch some extra bandages out of the closet for good measure. He barely ever needs to switch out his head cast now that his ear wound has stopped bleeding, but the bandages might get dirty from outside sources and he can't have that.

Van Gogh walks back to his room and throws the Ziploc bag on top of the clothes folded in his suitcase. He crouches down to flip the lid and zip the luggage, but realises he doesn't have a real jacket and this thin and simple windbreaker won't do much good outside of the heat of the house. He unzips the bag and fishes the green fleece blanket off of his bed. It's still sitting in a messy pile. Kennedy never thinks to fold anything. Van Gogh fixes it into a neat square and places it in the suitcase. He crosses the room to his closet, searching for an extra layer more practical than a blanket.

He finally decides on a jacket after meticulously searching for the perfect one. He pulls it off the plastic white hanger by the shoulder panel. It's heavy, with its leather sleeves and fleece lining. It's orange and white, which is a hideous combination, but they're also Clone High's mascot colours. Van Gogh pushes his short arms through the sleeves of the jacket and models it in the mirror, the clothing dripping off of his body and swallowing him whole. He turns around to admire the back, which is his favourite part for some reason. Sewed in crude felt lettering are the initials JFK -- it had belonged to him in freshman year, but he'd tragically outgrown it that spring. Kennedy was going to throw it away, but Van Gogh had told him not to, insisting that there was no reason to dispose of a structurally sound jacket.

Van Gogh zips the suitcase securely and tilts the whole thing upright, taking one more sweeping look around his room before deciding he's ready to go. Well, he's not ready, exactly; he just knows it's now or never. He's never been one to contemplate that sort of dilemma and still choose now, but maybe if he doesn't think at all he'll actually go.

He turns off his bedroom light, blanketing the orderly knickknacks and tight corners under a veil of deep velvet. Only the moon, hanging high and glowing bright, lights the room through the window. Van Gogh nods in satisfaction, or maybe in farewell, before turning around to walk through the ocean cave hallway and out the front door of his house. He locks it with the key which is miraculously still hidden away in the pocket of JFK's jacket from the last time he wore it. Gogh usually doesn't lock the door at all. Maybe one day the house will get robbed and his parents will finally take that as a hint to stop putting him in charge of their most expensive asset all by himself. Who trusts their sixteen-year-old son with their whole house, anyway?

Van Gogh sits on the wooden steps leading up to his splinter-hazardous porch, elbow on his knee and head in his hand. He's pushed the handle of the suitcase down and parked it on the wood slat next to him. He waits for Kennedy patiently, but his stomach sinks down into the soles of his feet as the endless minutes tick by. Maybe his dads caught him sneaking out. Maybe he changed his mind about spending so much time with Van Gogh. How long were they gonna be spending together, anyway? Kennedy hadn't said.

Gogh's head is still spinning, swirling like moonlight caught in the infinite night sky as JFK pulls up. He's driving a flashy red convertible... not the most practical car for a road trip, but the only one he has all to himself. Van Gogh doesn't have a car. Even with his parents absent as often as they are, he still doesn't own something so luxurious.

"I started to think you weren't going to come," Gogh says in place of a greeting.

"I was packing."

Van Gogh looks at his own suitcase. "So was I."

"Well, maybe you should've packed more."

"I'm sorry I don't have as many beauty products are you do," he scoffs. "I'm naturally pretty."

Kennedy walks up the stairs to wheel Van Gogh's suitcase to the car for him. "That you are."

Gogh rolls his eyes, but doesn't give a passionate retort. His head drains of all thought -- including the spinning moonlight that dizzied his conscience just minutes prior.

"I don't need help with that," he finally manages, hoping his voice is frozen over enough to make up for the seconds of thoughtlessness. He lifts himself up off the steps and snatches the suitcase away from JFK, probably a little too hastily for how he's feeling.

"Damn, I was only trying to help."

Van Gogh freezes and turns around, painting on the most innocent smile he can find. "I know you were." He lifts the trunk of the car and hoists the suitcase in. He then walks around to the passenger side door of the vehicle and climbs in, clicking his seatbelt securely before closing the door. He stares ahead out the windshield as he waits for JFK to join him.

Once Kennedy is securely inside the car, he drapes his wrist over the steering wheel and stares out the windshield as well, seeing the neighbourhood from a different view than Van Gogh even though they're looking at the same place.

"So," JFK starts, and the sound of his voice almost makes Van Gogh jump as he's pulled out of his trance. "Where do you wanna go?"

Gogh stares at the boy in the driver's seat, his eyebrows knit together and a scowl frothing on the corners of his lips. "You mean you don't have a plan?"

Kennedy turns to the boy, his expression soft. His whole body looks so calm and relaxed. He looks like himself, but it's a different sort of cool -- almost... withdrawn.

He's wearing his letterman jacket -- the new one he'd gotten at the beginning of the year after outgrowing the one Van Gogh is wearing. His fingernails are bitten down to stubs, from anxiety, or possibly just poor hygiene.

"My plan is that I don't want to be here."

Van Gogh shrugs agreeably. "Then let's just drive."

JFK doesn't pull his gaze away from Van Gogh, and the shorter boy shrinks down into his seat with each second that passes. Kennedy's stare is so intense and serious that Gogh squirms under the pressure. He squeezes the side of the leather seat. It's cold, just like the rest of the snowy world. He wonders if wherever they're going will being having as shitty of an April as Exclamation! is.

"Put on the seat warmers," Van Gogh whispers.

Kennedy finally looks away. He seems to snap back into reality, not knowing he'd ever left it. He starts the car and it spits to life. He revs the engine and it whirrs, comforting him with its eager lurching. Van Gogh watches JFK's hand as he presses some buttons, illuminating them green. A few seconds later, the bottoms of his thighs are warming up through his jeans.

Kennedy sinks his foot down onto the gas, oblivious to the fact that the accelerator might disturb Van Gogh's neighbours, some of whom go to sleep before 9:55pm on a Friday night. In the part of town where JFK lives, the lots are all so big that noises can't be heard from other houses. Gogh's street is jam-packed with families, stuffing their single-story homes full to the brim. Sometimes he envisions the buildings overflowing, flooding the streets with unnecessary as-seen-on-tv merchandise. Maybe that's something he'd like to paint one day, when everyone stops worrying about him and overanalysing his artwork.

JFK eases off the gas as they drift out of town, exploring the unfamiliar landscape. The night is somehow brighter out here, despite being away from all the motion and the lights. They drive up a hill, slowly, the car wheels gripping the asphalt cautiously. Kennedy pulls into a turnout, a barren overhang with a view of nothing for miles and miles spread beneath it. Kennedy turns off the car and the headlights die along with it. Van Gogh's head snaps in his direction, his chest welling up with fear. The height, the quiet, the darkness under the moon -- Kennedy doesn't do any of this. They sit on the floor of Van Gogh's bedroom when his parents are MIA. They do homework or stare at the ceiling as they listen to music from a record player. Gogh doesn't know how to be silent with his best friend -- not when they have no other task to be occupied by.

Van Gogh opens his mouth, his eyebrows heavy with concern. Kennedy starts to speak, as if on cue.

"Just breathe," he says, and it doesn't sound like a suggestion.

"It smells like nothing," Van Gogh replies after taking a deep breath.

"No," Kennedy says, shaking his head slightly. "It smells like our world."

Gogh's expression switches from vulnerable to critical. "Our world. Like we own it."

JFK turns to him. "We can. We do."

Van Gogh opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off by his best friend again. He makes a low shhing noise without turning to his passenger.

Gogh stares out the windshield at the unfinished map beneath them, and he wonders where to begin. They have the whole world at their disposal. Van Gogh wishes he'd packed darts to throw at the map, so he could plan an unplanned trip.

From up here, he feels like he could touch the moon. He closes his eyes and relaxes in his seat. For a second, he does touch the moon.  

[lustresky]

kahit ‘di mo alam [james ‘bucky’ barnes x f!filipina!reader]

summary: After an emotionally taxing mission, you and Bucky share some stories— and maybe also some leche flan along the way.

wc: 5200ish. (might have went to town on this one.. haha woops)

themes: angst (i need to chill tf out i’m sorry:’’/), some fluff ig, happy but kind of ambiguous ending (mayhaps a sequel....), mention of ptsd/trauma, hydra being shitty, bucky trying his best to comfort reader (this is my first time writing him so sorry if he’s kinda ooc..), filipina!reader, also kinda cliché idk

a/n: psa, i do not know how to bake. all i am is your typical filipina girl who has a soft spot for bucky and also thinks that there needs to be more poc centered readers. that is all<3 thanks to @ panlasang pinoy for da leche flan recipe lmao. also! title is a song by december avenue, which i think fits this story. check it out if you want!:]

requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c:

You hum quietly to yourself, beating the yolks with a silver balloon whisk that Tony had.

Out of all the things that you would never have thought Tony would own when you first joined the team, a full on expensive ass baking set was on the top of the list. Hell, you don’t even think that he’s ever opened the oven door before; but then again, the guy’s loaded, so maybe it wasn’t really a smart idea to wonder what he did or did not own.

Whatever— you thought to yourself. Pondering about what the billionaire did with his money wasn’t really what you should be focusing on right now, anyways.

You continue with the repetitive motion of your hand, stopping once the eggs were smooth. Gradually, you add the condensed milk, followed by the regular milk and then finally, a few teaspoons of vanilla extract. You mix the concoction once more, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you focus on the task at hand.

You didn’t hear the gradual shuffling of feet into the kitchen, nor the opening and closing of the refrigerator door; and so you were startled out of your concentration when Bucky Barnes himself ended up in front of you, a bowl of oatmeal in his hands as he positions himself properly on the island chair.

He doesn’t greet you— and honestly, you weren’t expecting him to anyways. You two were never really close; acquaintances at best, with how high both of your walls were built.

You really only knew Bucky from what Steve had shared. You knew that he was part of the Howling Commandos, that he’s Steve’s life long best friend, that HYDRA had brainwashed him and used him against his own will...

Even just thinking about that acronym still makes bile rise up in your throat.

HYDRA had also imprisoned you, beat you, used your body for their own gain. Your stories were similar. Two unwilling and unlucky humans— taken against their own volition, experimented on like a pack of mouse labs, memory and history wiped out to store target information…

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself.

Baking had been the only thing that you remembered from your past. As much as HYDRA tried to erase your history, the memory of your lola’s kitchen came back time and time again, relentless and the only sense of soundness that you found yourself with. The cartons of eggs, the measuring cups, the light dusting of flour all over the table, the rays of the hot afternoon sun peeking through the curtains, the smell of the freshly baked pandesal wafting through the air…

It was comforting, sometimes it was the sole thing that made you calm down. The only pleasant memory that you had left of the simple life that you barely remembered, but greatly missed and longed for.

Hence, before you knew it, you were in the spacious kitchen of the compound; making leche flan to calm your nerves and trying your best to forget what had just happened a few hours ago.

The mission had ended with the team’s victory, sure, but you don’t think that you’ll ever forget the image that had seared itself in your mind. You desperately wanted to forget the sight of Bucky, vulnerable as he lay on the ground with his metal arm torn off of his body, right before an enhanced individual gave him a powerful blow square on his abdomen.

Blood had spluttered out of his mouth, red, bright, coating the brick walls that you were both enclosed in. The mission should’ve been simple: break in, grab the information needed, and then bring said information back. There should’ve only been a few guards. It should’ve been a quick mission— but the sight of Bucky being plummeted with no remorse brought you back memories. Memories that you had tried so desperately to forget.

You bite your bottom lip harder, unintentionally gripping the bowl and whisk in your hands tighter as your arm mixes faster— faster and faster until you suddenly find yourself with a splatter of batter on your cheek.

You groan. Nice one, Y/N, you thought.

You hear a small snicker in front of you and you look up, embarrassed and annoyed. Bucky just stared back at you, a hint of a smirk on his face.

Taking a quick but good look at him, you notice that he had cleaned himself up. His hair was still damp from a shower. It was wavy, pulled back into a small ponytail behind his neck. His face was clear of soot and blood, and he no longer wore his combat outfit.

You can’t help but flicker your eyes over to his left arm, familiarity getting the best of you. You know that you should be rational, but you still feel your shoulders sink as your gaze missed the glint of metal that you were accustomed to.

Bucky senses your wandering eyes. He shakes his head, head dipping back into his bowl of oatmeal. “It isn’t your fault.” He mutters, voice raspy.

You huff, setting down the metal bowl on the marble counter with a bit too much force. You take off your apron and with it, you hastily wipe the splashed part of your face clean; or at least, as clean as you can without a mirror.

“No,” You argue, feeling your throat tighten as the memory and your emotions flashed through your mind once again. You ball up the now dirty apron, throwing it onto the counter. “It is.”

When you had seen him lying on the floor, taking hits every single second, you were unable to move. You had felt helpless, weak... cowardly. It was dumb. You were an Avenger, for Christ's sake. Your life was plenty of danger— seeing people getting hurt had never shook you so hard to the core before. Hell, you survived HYDRA.

Yet the memories were enough to make you freeze up.

Thankfully, Steve had showed up right before the enemy had landed his final blow. If it wasn’t for him, you highly doubted that Bucky would’ve been sitting in front of you right now, casually eating his oatmeal as if he didn’t almost just die a few hours ago.

When Bucky tilted his head up to look at you, ready to retaliate, you stood your ground and stared right back at his light blue eyes. Neither of you said a word.

You were angry. Mad. Furious. At Bucky? Maybe. Him dismissing the fact that you almost let him die and treating your mistake lightly was a thing in its own, but fuck. You were mad at yourself.

You feel incompetent. Useless. You almost let a teammate die, even if physically, you were completely capable of saving them. You drop your head down, unable to continue looking at someone whose life was in your hands just a few moments ago. A life that you were fully capable of protecting, but couldn’t, just because of some stupid fucking memories coming back to haunt you.

Before you know it, a hot tear ran down your cheek— and you hurriedly wiped it away with your arm. Now isn’t time, you hiss at yourself. Baring vulnerability in the middle of the kitchen? Ha. you thought to yourself.

Pathetic.

You grip the edge of the marble tiles, steadying yourself and trying to control your breathing. In and out. In and out. One, two. One, two. It was shaky at first, but after a few seconds of repeating the exercise, you managed to get a loose grip on it. Just enough of a hold to straighten your posture and set aside your mixture, before bolting away from the kitchen and into your bedroom a few doors down the hall.

Once inside, your resolve crumbles. You didn’t even have time to lay on your bed, your legs just giving up and leaving your body down on the carpet. Fresh hot tears ran down like rivers on your face, your nose stuffed, your eyes blurred. Your lungs heaved, just trying its best to give you enough oxygen, but you’re sniffling, your throat’s dry, and your mind’s weary and everything just feels like absolute shit.

You don’t remember how long you had sat there, your legs against your chest, head in your knees and hands on the back of your head as the rest of the water in your body leaves in tears.

You hate feeling like this. Emotional, vulnerable, sensitive… You aren’t supposed to be like this. You have a job. You can’t let your own personal problems get in the way of accomplishing what needed to be done. There isn’t any backing out in what you’re doing. There isn’t a delete nor reverse button. If you fuck up, you fuck up, and that’s that.

Your bedroom door suddenly opens, the unexpected sound making you flinch. Fuck, you forgot to lock it.

Still, you hold your head down against your knees. You don’t want to see anyone right now, you don’t even think that you have any energy left to make a proper conversation. Your throat’s dry, your nose is stuffed, your eyes are sore. You absolutely feel like shit.

The intruder continued their pace, before stopping in front of you. You hear a shuffling of legs, and something being set on your nightstand, until you feel a warm hand lay itself on the side of your left leg. They gave you a couple of soft pats.

From your position, you can’t really see who they are; you had a gut feeling that it was Wanda— but then again it can also be Nat. Or maybe even Steve.

Whoever it was, you know that they’re just trying their best to help, and you appreciate their concern, truly, but you just don’t think you’re capable of talking about something so close to your heart with someone else.

At least, not right now.

Except, you also know that they wouldn’t leave without any verbal cue, and so you force a smile, a truly fake and horrible one as you lift your head up to try and convince whoever it was who decided to check up on you that you’re fine, thanks, and that you just need some space— but as soon as your eyes focused on the person in front of you, your act drops, as the one who you expected the least stared back.

Before you can even ask him to leave, he beats you to it. “Here,” He says, getting up on his knees and retrieving the bottle of water that he had placed on your night stand. “Drink this.”

Wordlessly, you comply. The quench of the water on your tongue clearing your head, hydrating your body back.

Eyes glued to the carpet, unwilling to look anywhere else, you pass him back the glass. Bucky takes it and places it back to where he had originally put it.

He clears his throat. “Listen, Y/N… I— I know that we aren’t really… we aren’t really on the best of terms but— if you want to talk about it, I’m all open ears— but if you want me to leave and forget about this, I’ll head straight out the door.”

“I just—“ Bucky continues, and although your eyes were still fixating on the tufts of wool of your carpet, from the corner of your eye you could still see him shuffle awkwardly on his kneeling position. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you. We all are.”

You… didn’t really know what to say.

Here Bucky was, a soldier, another person who had undergone through HYDRA’s torment, someone whose walls have since been taller then, a teammate who you respected but aren’t close to— hell, barely even really friends with; offering you comfort, a place to vent, a shoulder to let your head rest.

As much as you barely knew him, you feel a pull in you to let him stay.

Bucky, however, takes your silence as refusal. Your eyes catch his legs unfolding from their position, straightening out as he stands up. He doesn’t say anything else as he turns towards the door.

“No, wait—“ You croak, cringing mentally at your voice. Looks like the water didn’t do as well of a job as you thought did. Letting out a much needed sigh, you finally let your gaze strike his, and once it made contact, you saw him. Clearly.

His eyes are cloudy, concern evident in his features. His dark brows are furrowed, lips set in a straight line.

You muster up some courage, and whisper, “Stay.”

Bucky’s expression flickers for a moment, concern turning into total surprise for just a millisecond, and if you had more energy you would have maybe laughed— but you didn’t. Instead, you cast your eyes back to the floor as you hear him shuffle back to you.

He sits to your left, legs crossed, arm on his lap. He doesn’t say anything for a while, the sound of your breathing and his being the only sounds filling your bedroom for a few minutes.

It wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence, some awkwardness from you both definitely seeping through... but nevertheless, your eyes start to get heavy.

Bucky, somehow sensing your current situation, clears his throat— effectively gaining your attention. Your head snaps up to meet his eyes.

“If you want… you can, you know…” He gestures to his right shoulder with his hand. He doesn’t continue his sentence, knowing that you had caught on to his proposition.

Too tired and sleepy to say no, you let out a breath and say fuck it.

You shuffle closer to his body, and as you lean your head down, a wave of fatigue washes over you. You hear Bucky inhale a breath as you finally drop, the left side of your face colliding with his shoulder.

As much as your body was pleading for you to simply close your eyes and just… rest— it still feels too awkward to do so. The silence is deafening, and as much as you appreciate Bucky lowering down his walls just a bit, you can’t help but let the next words tumble out of your mouth;

“What was it like in the ‘40s?”

You feel him stiffen beside you, and for a moment you worry that you had asked for more than you can chew, but within the next second Bucky lets out a small chuckle. He shakes his head slightly, a few strands of his freshly washed hair subsequently grazing over your face. It tickled.

“It was…” He starts, seemingly finding the proper words to say. “It was definitely a different time.” He concludes, sounding nostalgic and full of wistfulness.

His voice: deep and gravelly, began to lull you to sleep. You’ve never heard him quite like this before, often, his words were quick and precise and straight to the point. Never full of sentiment, never so… warm.

You want to hear more. So you hum in response, wanting to know more about his old life, urging him to go on— and go on he did.

He talked about the memories that Shuri had helped him remember from his time in Wakanda. His secret rendezvous, his childhood with Steve, their adventures and misadventures. He went on, his own memories making place in your own mind and pushing aside the ones that had you freezing up before. The ones that had broken you down are now being replaced by silly anecdotes, wistful memories and nonsensical stories.

Without even noticing it, you find yourself asleep on his shoulder, a small smile on your face as Bucky recounts another thought from the past.

You don’t know how long you had fallen asleep, but the crank in your neck was enough to tell you that it might have just been a bit too long. Your bottom aches, sore from the not so cozy flooring, and your back definitely needs to be stretched. Your body hurts, but at least your chest feels lighter.

You lift your head up from Bucky’s shoulder, feeling him flinch from your sudden movement. His head pulls back from its resting place on your wall. He looks back at you, confused.

He meets your eyes, and it seems that he had just woken up as well… had he fallen asleep too?

Bucky just continues gazing into your eyes, and you can’t help but just… stare back. Thankful for his comfort.

“I…” You whisper, about to thank him, until you remember the dessert that you had just hastily cast aside before bolting to your bedroom. “The leche flan!” You cry out, worried— fuck, if you leave it out for too long it could spoil!

Bucky, however, became even more confused at your outburst. You calm yourself down for a moment, letting out a sigh.

“My— uh, my dessert.” You explain, embarrassed. “It could spoil if I leave it out too long— I need to… I need to get back to it.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, thankfully understanding your dilemma, giving you a nod. So you lift your body up, stretching it just a bit, your bones popping themselves back into place.

You’re almost out of your door when you hear footsteps from behind and to no surprise you see Bucky, hair disheveled and lounge clothes wrinkled. You fight an urge to giggle. The all powerful soldier, looking all messy and drowsy... It’s definitely a sight to behold, maybe even a precious one at that.

He runs his hands through his hair, loosening his ponytail and settling his hair tie around his wrist with one hand. You try to ignore the way his fingers easily managed to do that. “If… I mean if you need a hand… I can— help?” He suggests, voice dropping to an unsure whisper by the end of his sentence.

You feel your mouth pull into a small smile, and this time, you let it do so. “Sure.”

So to the kitchen both of you went, a comfortable silence and understanding settling between you two. You quickly spot your metal mixing bowl from before, alone on the island counter. A relieved sigh falls from your lips as you peek an eye into the container to see the mixture untouched.

“So…” You start, grabbing the apron that you had thrown onto the counter in a fury. You don’t bother with getting a new one— it’s only slightly dirty, anyway. You put it on, tying it around your waist and patting it down slightly in less than a second. “Let’s get you an apron, shall we?”

You open the cabinet in which you keep the aprons and pick one up at random, giving it to Bucky with one hand— your back still turned away from him— as you use your other hand to close the door. When you turn back to face him, a complete look of hesitation is on his face.

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Bucky clears his throat. He looks up at you, and then at his arm, sheepishly. “Can you…?”

Eyes widening, you quickly nod, ashamed that you had forgotten about something so important. “Yes, of course.”

You walk to his side, grabbing the piece of cloth on his hand and positioning yourself behind him. “Here.” You say, grabbing the bib part and looping it around his neck. You brush his hair out of the way, inadvertently appreciating its softness, as the neck ribbon then lays itself properly against his neck. “Arms up.” You order, Bucky complying instantly. Taking the other two pieces of ribbon by his side, you wrap it around his waist and tie it by his back with a small little bow, tightening it just enough for it to not fall off but still be comfortable. “There.”

“Thanks.” He mutters, turning around to face you with a grateful smile, hair swishing as he did so. You smile, but then you realize that he should probably tie it just so that it won’t get dirty or in the way.

Before you know it, you ask him, “Want me to tie your hair, too?”

Bucky’s eyes widened, and upon realizing what you had just said too, your eyes did the same. Was that too much? You quickly open your mouth, desperately trying to apologize. “I’m just— it could get dirty or in the way if you don’t… and doing it with one hand must be…” You explain, inwardly cringing at your own words and not even trying to finish your statement.

Thankfully, Bucky quickly catches up to what you were trying to say. He flashes you a reassuring grin. “I would appreciate it, doll.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach at that little nickname.

Getting the hair tie from his wrist, you desperately ignore the way your hands brushed against his. You angle your body towards his back once more, raking your hands softly in his hair, grabbing it gently and putting it into a comfortable ponytail.

“Thanks again,” He turns around to face you, gratitude clear in his eyes. You just smile back at him, feeling the heat creep up to your face. Thank God your skin doesn’t easily show colour.

You had never been this close to him before— and the bedroom incident (You had decided to label that... ’moment’ in your mind like that as of right now.) just a few minutes ago didn’t quite count as you weren’t looking at him, nor were you a hundred percent conscious during that encounter.

Before things get even more awkward, you quickly turn your body back to the kitchen island. “Well then— let’s continue with this, shall we?” You announce, wanting to just calm your feverishly beating heart and the rise of heat in your cheeks. Maybe agreeing to let him bake with you isn’t as good of an idea as you had thought.

Bucky just gave a hum as a response, and so you went about and explained to him each and every step that needed to be done. Thankfully, you had already finished mixing up the batter, and so now all you really had to do was heat up the sugar, pour the batter into the moulds, and then steam it all up. Just three more steps and you’re done.

“So,” You start, grabbing the metal containers that you had already pulled out from the cabinets before you had started. “This—” You lift one up, pointing at it with your index. “Is called a llanera. What we’re basically going to do is pour some sugar in it, heat that up until it’s nice and brown and syrup-y, and then we add the batter. Got it?”

“A yah-neh-rah?” Bucky asks, rolling the word over his tongue, getting the feel of it. You smile at his well-executed attempt.

“Yep,” You reply, placing the mould down onto the counter. You grab the sugar jar and a tablespoon, dipping it into the container and sprinkling a generous amount all over the metal container. “Actually— I’ll heat up the sugar and then you can pour the batter in, that sound good to you?”

Bucky just gave a hum once more, signalling his approval of your plan.

After about two tablespoons, you put it aside and walked towards the stove top, Bucky following beside you in earnest with the metal bowl containing the egg mixture in his arm. Turning the dial up, you put on an oven mitt as you wait for the range to get hot enough; and once it does, you hold the metal tin a few centimetres away from the top of the burner. Within minutes, the sugar caramelizes, turning into the familiar, brown syrup.

The scent that then fills the kitchen is heavenly, pure sugar wafting through the air. You hear Bucky sniff, and you let out a smile, happy that he liked it too.

You place the hot tin onto a cooling rack. “Your time to shine.” You smile up at Bucky, motioning for him to go ahead and pour the batter in.

With a gentle and cautious hand, Bucky slowly tilts the bowl into the mould, the creamy mixture pouring itself out. After a few seconds, you say, “Okay… that’s good— you can stop now.” He swiftly follows your instruction, stopping when there‘s only 2 or more so centimetres left in the pan before the batter touches the rim. He looks up at you, expectant.

Before you know it, the thought passes by your mind. How cute.

Biting your lip, you set aside the flutter in your stomach. You give him a huge grin. “That was great,” You praise him, genuine pride rushing through you. “Now let’s finish the other ones, shall we?”

Bucky and you then continued on, filling the rest of the llaneras up. It was a pleasant experience, discomfort and awkwardness not present at all while both of you worked on your respective tasks. It was… soothing, you could say.

“Nice!” You cheer, clapping your hands together as Bucky finishes filing the last of the moulds, setting down the empty metal bowl in the sink right after. “Now, let’s cover it with aluminium foil and then we can steam it and eat it.” You grin up at Bucky, who simply nods back at you.

You grab the aluminum foil, eyeballing the sizes for each of the containers. It doesn’t really matter anyway, they just had to be big enough to cover the pans. Within a few, quick minutes, all of the llaneras were ready to be steamed.

Opening up the steamer, you place three of the moulds in— mentally telling yourself that you should ask Tony to buy more steamers so that you can simply just cook the next batch of leche flans all at once. You then close the handle, setting it on medium heat and the self timer on. “There.” You announce, hands unintentionally going to and resting at your hips, proud.

You face Bucky, who seem to be just as proud as you are. It seems like he had something on his mind, though, and so you tilt your head. Curious. “Something on your mind?” You ask.

He hums, hand going back to scratch the nape of his neck. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…” He starts, giving you a reassuring smile to show you that he meant it. “But… how’d you learn how to bake?”

Your breath hitches in your throat at his question, caught off guard as the answer flashes in your mind. To say you were surprised was an understatement. You had assumed that he would ask you when the leche flan would be finished— not about your… past.

Though, you figure that he deserves to know about your history, now that you basically know all about his own. He had recounted his entire life to you just an hour or two ago, after all. It’s only appropriate that you share some of your own life with him back.

You let your hands fall from your waist, resting them in front of your stomach as you fiddled with them as you compose your answer. “Well—“ You start, taking a deep breath. Bucky, patiently, urges for you to go on with a small nod. “I don’t— I don’t really remember much from my past… just a few memories here and there.” You take a pause.

“But— there had always been this one memory, which… always stood out from the rest.” You bite your lower lip, the recollection taking place in your mind, making you smile. “I was in my lola’s— my grandma’s kitchen, dough in my hand and flour everywhere and we were—“ You feel your throat tightening up, making you take another pause. Bucky, still as patient as ever, gives you a small smile and wordlessly urges for you to go on. “We were making pandesal… a type of bread…” You continue, smiling, remembering the sticky hands and the rays of the hot southeast sun passing by the blinds. “It was a calm afternoon… just me and her, baking...”

“That’s all I really remember of her, and so I… every time I feel overwhelmed or every time I’m having a bad day I just— bake.” You conclude, looking up at him. There was more to the story, more that you have yet to tell him, memories that are still hard to share; but even with the small piece of it leaving your chest, your whole body feels lighter, grateful for having been listened to.

Bucky just stares back at you, respect evident on his face, a small smile still on his lips. “I’m… thankful that you shared that with me, Y/N.” He says, and as your name rolls off his tongue, you can’t help but smile back.

You were about to say something, but the moment was cut off by the steamer's angry beeping. You let out a small giggle as you see Bucky flinch. “Well— let’s check up on those lil’ things, shall we?”

Opening up the steamer and waving the steam away from your face, your mouth waters at the sight before you. They looked perfect.

Quickly grabbing a serving plate, you take one of the tins out and place it upside down on the ceramic— it would probably be even better if you let it cool down first in the fridge, but you can hardly wait. You give it a couple of taps, stopping once you hear the familiar ‘plop’ sound.

You take off the llanera, and a pristine and perfect looking leche flan greets you back. You hear Bucky hum in approval beside you as you take out a fork, getting a slice. Turning to your side and raising the utensil up at him, you ignore the slowly rising heartbeat in your rib cage as you muster up the courage to say, “Want the first bite?”

Bucky seemed to be taken aback at first, and for a moment you fret that you might have overestimated and overstepped your boundaries, but a small nod from him eases your worry. Lifting it up to his mouth, he lets you give him the slice. You decide to ignore the intimacy of the moment, as is the heat in your cheeks; instead focusing on his expression.

He doesn’t show nor say anything at first; and you furrow your eyebrows. Was it too sweet for his taste? Had you accidentally let some egg whites mix in with the yolks?

Before you have the chance to ask him what he thought of it, Bucky swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as his lips curled into a huge grin. “Damn... that’s really good Y/N.”

Relief rushing through you at his approval, you laugh, happy that he likes it. Not wasting another second, you open your mouth and give yourself your own slice; savouring the creaminess and sweetness of the desert. It tasted heavenly.

Looking back at Bucky, you startle yourself out of your sweet paradise as he stared back at you. Light blue— almost cerulean— eyes gazing back into yours.

“Thank you.” were the only words out of his mouth, but that still didn’t stop your heart from fastening it’s pace nor the butterflies from welcoming themselves into your stomach.

His deep and raspy voice clearly enunciated every single emotion, and you know, deep in your heart, that he wasn’t just talking about the dessert.

You smile back at him, eyes crinkling, as you say, “You’re welcome.”