#so. yeah. up all night because of general anxiety and a loud brain.

[ddaengju]

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[justmeinadaze]

"I'm Just a F**ked Up Girl Looking For Her Own Peace of Mind"

I'm currently experience this and struggling with it so I wrote a little thing here. *sighs*

TW: Mental health (anxiety and depression), child abuse, mentions of suicidal thoughts. Reader has a breakdown and the guys help her through.

Eddie firmly barreled open the front door as he powerwalked into the house. Steve had texted those two words he dreaded every time he got a text from the former jock. 

“Bad day.”

When they started dating you, you told them about your past. About the hospital stay and medication… the depressive lows and manic anxiety episodes… the thoughts that pushed through your head from time to time even though your life was so much better now than where it had been. 

“I’m not…easy…to be with.”

“That’s ok, honey, neither are we.”

You three had laughed at that at the time. 

The first time they experienced it broke their hearts for you. People always mentioned “feeling depressed” or “oh I’m so anxious about this thing!” but they discovered the true meaning of those words during your first break in front of them.

They hadn’t moved in with you yet so you were able to hide the fact that you hadn’t been sleeping. Your mind constantly reminding you of things that needed to be done and how you were a failure for not doing them. Nightmares plagued your dreams at all hours so you just gave up, scrolling through your phone instead as the mental illness continued to whisper.

“Do better. You’re lazy. May as well just get it over with and end the burden you put on people.”

That following evening you had a date night with them at their place and you couldn’t cancel. You genuinely wanted to see them but you were so tired…

“A good girlfriend goes out on dates. Go ahead. Cancel. Let’s see how quick they leave you for someone better.”

Through the first half of the movie they put on, your leg never stopped moving. Steve watched as your eyes never stayed focus in one place. Eddie felt your erratic energy radiate off you as you switched from holding his hand to letting go every few minutes. 

“Baby? Is everything ok?”

“Yeah.”, you responded a bit too enthusiastically. “Yeah, Ed, I’m fine. I’m just…I’m just a bit tired. It’s ok. I’ll get over it.”

Steve paused the film and as his hand petted your head you broke down. 

“I’m sorry. Fuck! Why can’t I be normal?! I’m ruining everything. You should just leave me and find someone better.”

“Hey, hey. No. Sweetheart, no one is better than you.”

“Talk to us, honey. What’s going on?”

You sobbed as you told them what had been happening over the last few days. The listened intently, comforting you anyway they could think of in that moment. 

“They don’t go away, Steve. Those thoughts never go away. Most days I can manage them but they are always there. W-Who can I tell? If I tell a therapist or a doctor they will put me back in the hospital even though I’m not going to do anything… I can’t tell my friends because I feel like I’m burdening them or they just don’t care. I can’t tell people in general because then I’m being ‘overdramatic’. I can’t take time to heal because I’m supposed to ‘suck it up’. So I do… Eddie, I want my brain to just stop telling me I want to die because I really don’t. Some days, though, on bad days…it’s so loud…”

The metalhead yanked you to his chest as you cried, crying with you as he tightened his grip as if he could squeeze all your broken pieces back together. He’d give anything to take your pain away, they both would. 

Today was a manic day and Steve picked up on it fast. Today was his day off and as soon as you woke up, you barely said a word. He asked you if you wanted breakfast and you shot him an angry look as you walked away. Turning on the tv, he put on the game but after a few minutes you came around the corner snapping at him to turn the noise down. Even when he muted the sound, he could hear you growling and swearing under your breath as you moved around the bedroom. 

Other people would see it as you being a brat; causing drama for the sake of drama. 

You wished you could make the world understand that was the opposite of what you wanted. In an episode like this everything was just…amplified…and for some reason your brain insisted it was on purpose. Steve was purposely turning up the volume to get under skin. The birds chirping outside knew you were on the edge so they gathered outside your window with intent. Even the clock on the bed side table was mocking you. 

Both men tried to handle days like this by themselves but when it got to a certain point, they knew they needed to come together to help you. That point came when you abruptly screamed and threw something hard against the wall. 

When Eddie entered the bedroom, Steve was off to the side watching you as you angrily paced, fluttering your fingers with eyes squeezed tightly closed. 

“What happened?”

Your eyes open at the sound of his voice as you shrugged and threw your hands in the air. 

“What happened? What the fuck happened?! Oh, I don’t know. Where do we start, Eddie?! This house is a fucking mess. I tell you guys all the time I need fucking help! I’m not a maid! I’m your girlfriend! But who fucking cares right?! We can just live in trash and be unhappy!”

They knew better than to respond. Before you three moved in together, you had suggested they come to therapy with you and they were surprised with some of the things they learned. They and even you knew they were more than accommodating when it came to housework and splitting household chores. When you were growing up, however, it was never enough.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, look at this mess! Did you do anything today?!”

Little you looked around at the immaculate living room wondering what else you could have missed. 

“I work and I slave all day at a job I hate so you can have food and a roof! The least you could do is fucking get off your ass and clean a bit!”

“I-I’m sorry, mama.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just do your job! We’re a team remember? I need you to pull your weight.”

They could almost see interactions like that replaying through your eyes and it killed them. They also saw how fast the logic brain took over as you realized what you were doing before the depressive brain abruptly took over.

“I’m sorry. I-I don’t mean to… I know I’m being crazy…I just…” You lean your back against the wall and slide to the floor with your hands over your ears. 

Both men descend with you, crawling closer to you and as soon as Steve’s hand touches your bicep you head shoots up with eyes full of tears. 

“I’m sorry. You two don’t deserve this. I’m a terrible girlfriend.”

“No, baby, you’re not terrible. Everything’s ok.”

“I-I-I appreciate…e-e-every…everything you guys do. Fuck. Everything is so loud, Eddie. I can’t… I couldn’t…I just wanted to scream…”

“Then scream.” You laughed at his response as you wiped your eyes but he insisted. “I’m serious, sweetheart. Just let go.”

“What about…about the neighbors?”

“Like they don’t get an earful almost every night.”, he jokes, grinning when you laugh again. “Go ahead. Just lean back and let loose.”

You roll your eyes as you do what he says but it’s a small shout that barely echoes in the room. 

“Wow. That was both adorable and pathetic. Come on now. Steve, why don’t you try?”

Chuckling, he struggles to stop smiling making you giggle harder before finally closing his eyes and letting out a good scream that makes the metalhead clap. 

“That’s the king of Hawkins right there! Now try again princess.”

Sighing at his antics, you do as he says actually letting go while they scrunch their face and cover their ears. 

“Woo! That was like Banshee from X-Men! Way to go!”

“What about you, nerd?”, you ask as he smirks.

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate as he leans his head back and howls loudly like a wolf. 

“I love you both.”, you softly grin as you reach for both boy’s hands. “I’m sorry for being…me.”

Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, Steve tilts you closer to him and kisses the top of your head. 

“Don’t ever apologize for being you, honey. We love you. Every part of you.”

“We know everyday you’re trying, baby. Unlike your mother who insists on being an evil little gremlin.” You giggle at Eddie’s interpretation. “Like your wizard of a therapist said, healing takes time and we’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“Jesus, Munson, you ARE a nerd.”, Steve jests. “But the other stuff he said I agree with.”

“Oh please! Tell me her doctor doesn’t sound like Gandalf from time to time.”

“I still have no idea who that is.”

After rising to his feet, the metalhead grabs your hands and pulls you off the floor. 

“Well, I know what we’re doing tonight.”, he announces with a mischievous smirk before kissing your lips and running back towards the living room. 

“I’ll make dinner.”, Steve murmurs as he leans down to kiss your lips as well. 

“Oh, you know he won’t allow that. He’s going to want you in front of the tv so you don’t miss anything.”

“True. Hm. How about Enzos delivered?”

When you nod, he caresses your cheek before disappearing after his friend. 

As your eyes glance around the room again everything seems different than it did before. Instead of seeing a mess ridden, dark empty area, you saw a bright room filled with memories of the men you loved making you laugh and feel loved unconditionally. 

“But for how long? It’s only a matter of time.”

“No, it’s not.”, you whisper. 

Taking a deep breath, you head towards the living room where Eddie and Steve greet you with a comforting smile. 

[oncyprusshores]

Religious Trauma and the Fundamentalist Doomsday Cult

Content Warning: Pretty heavy discussion of doomsday fundamentalism and emotional abuse I’ve tried writing three different topics this morning, and none of them were working out. I wanted to touch on some aspect of Christianity that I believe is failing our generation, but my brain just couldn’t make the words. In all my drafts, though, I noticed a theme. And if I’ve been subconsciously using that theme this whole time, maybe it’s what my brain wants to write about.  There are so many reasons I believe the modern church is struggling (and rightfully so), but I suppose the biggest, most obvious, one is simply that those of us who grew up in fundamentalism have been pushed away.  I grew up in a small pentacostal church (yes, the snake handling kind). Looking at it now, it feels like a doomsday cult.  Countless sermons about the coming of Christ, media hype surrounding blood moons suggesting that the world was ending soon, watch parties for Left Behind, year-long studies of Revelations, and this one man who every single sunday was possessed by the Holy Ghost to warn us: “Be ready, be ready, be ready”. To this day, even though I don’t believe in Christianity, whenever I hear a loud sudden noise my entire body tenses in fear that it’s the trumpet of the seventh angel about to show up and prove everything I believe is wrong. Of course I don’t think that will happen. If I thought it was a genuine possibility that Jesus Christ could appear at any moment and throw my soul to hell, I probably wouldn’t have dedicated my soul to Aphrodite. But that is what effective brainwashing does. That is what true emotional abuse does, it sinks it’s claws into you so deep that your mind is changed forever from it. And, also characteristic to abuse, if I said this to any of the people responsible for it I would be gaslit.  “You’re just feeling convicted.” This is the most insidious line in Christianity. My rational brain knows, of course, that me hearing bullshit I hate and wanting to turn it off is NOT in fact my soul feeling convicted- it simply means I am hearing bullshit I hate and I’d rather not spend my time thinking about it! But in the heat of the moment, when you’re face to face with your own mother, your emotional response is immediately guilty.  I know it’s wrong, I know it’s not true, I KNOW it’s not right: But that’s abuse. It hijacks your mind, your normal through processes, and all you can feel is conditioned sympathy for the abuser.  But of course it goes deeper than that. I’m still scarred in so many other ways.  I grew up constantly being told there was no future. To this day whenever I muse about ‘oh I wonder what this place’ll look like in ten years’ around my parents I’m met  with “the world probably wont be here by next year”. Without fail. Every time. I have to actively convince them to just imagine a hypothetical scenario where the apocalypse doesn’t come tomorrow just to talk about something as mundane as “hey do you think this mall is still gonna be around?”

I thought that I would never get to discover true love, I would never get to have my first kiss, I would never be married, I would never get to be a mother, I would never even get to drive a car. Hell, I was ten years old- That mindset hit everything! I would pray to Jesus asking him to not come back until after Pokemon Black and White came out. I laid awake at night thinking, ‘oh man I’ll never get to see a Star Wars Episode 7″. I couldn’t bring myself to watch trailers for upcoming things because it’d just make me sad I probably wouldn’t get to experience them! (Now I wonder if that’s the underlying reason I don’t watch game trailers outside of E3 and actively try not to get hyped for anything).  I’ve also had Generalized Anxiety Disorder since I was 10. Yeah, that didn’t fucking help.  In many Christian circles, they just assume the end of all things is imminent. And when that is the most popular religion on the planet... Yeah! That’s how you get things like manmade climate change! That’s how you have those in power justify exploitation and colonization! Towards the end of my mandatory church services, the pastor could tell he was losing me. To keep my attention, he offered me a regular spot to write in the church newsletter. The very first thing I wrote was titled “DOOMSDAY”, an article wherein I simply argued, “Yes, Christ is coming. But it’s awful for our mental health and makes our life decisions shortsighted if we just assume there is no tomorrow.” Sorry, did I say that was ‘the first thing’ I wrote? That language was a bit misleading, it was also the last thing. They declined to publish it, told me to forget about the offer, and never went to me for anything ever again.  So if I wanted to profile a reason why Christianity is failing, I guess I ended up doing that. When you create an environment like that, when you operate on the basis that the world is ending next tuesday (no matter how many times tuesday comes), when you actively choose to refuse anything that even slightly challenges your world view- Yeah, that’s when your religion fails.

That’s how your weekly church article writer grows up and writes to extol the virtue of the Gods you tried to bury. 

[shwarmii]

shout-out to my Shakespeare professor who was one of the most put-together ladies i had ever met

i had her during 2020, so the end of the semester was online due to quarantine. but everyday, in-person or online, she themed her outfits around the play we were studying. and as much as i loved Ms Frizzle, when i say that she themed her outfits i dont mean this professor dressed like Ms Frizzle; if anything, she dressed more like the world's most Ms Frizzle-Like Version Of Miranda Priestley. this woman dressed in silk and carefully draped her blazers and wore pencil skirts or pleated pants with luxury high heels. she had the softest-looking waterfall of white hair i had ever seen on a woman. always had her nails and make-up done to match her outfits. i get the idea of planning outfits around Shakespeare plays seems a bit kitschy, but her wardrobe also screamed classic, wealthy silhouttes. she had a sun outfit for the Romeo & Juliet balcony scene, she wore all black for the mourning scene at the end of Romeo & Juliet; she wore an all white and silver-jewlery outfit to symbolize the moon in what i think was a specific passage of Midsommer's Night Dream and she also wore a green, leaf-print outfit with fairy-inspired jewlery for Midsommer's closing i think. it's been three years since i saw her and i have chronic memory loss (and my memory is all Bullet Points and no visuals, weird, i know), so the details are fuzzy, so i just really remember the overall impression and vibe; but i do have a notebook somewhere in which i wrote down notes in the margins detailing what she wore because i was so amazed at her fashion sense and dedication. like, even if i dont remember specific outfits that well bc of my own neurodivergencies, THAT'S how much i liked her outfits, i recorded them individually to spite my chronic memory loss (...i just need to find my Shakespeare class notebook lmao rip). but yeah, it was all very much what you'd expect a fashionable CEO of interior design or a television network to wear. she knew how to look good and relied on classic looks and silhouttes with that play-themeing. and even though i have been describing her to look severe, esp with that Devil Wears Prada reference, i feel the need to iterate that she's a very giggly, always smiling, squeal-happy, elderly woman with a very "Oh, I might complain about men in a generalized sense to analyze all the men cast in these plays but obviously I do not mean like the men in my class, of course not, you darlings are perfect, you're English majors, of course I do not mean you, you're special" Obviously Joking sense of humor (she made the same jokes about the women in her class tho, dw, her coy "my students are perfect ♡" jokes hit everyone she could aim them at), i loved her. she carried around a purse that was formatted to look like a Complete Works Of Shakespeare book; and for her introduction on our first day, she facetiously cuddled her purse with pursed-kissy lips and announced loud and proud (and with many "I can't take myself seriously" giggles) that she was a single, never-married woman whose closest thing to a romantic partner was The Bard himself

i just keep unintentionally remembering her as i myself spiral, thinking of all my chronic health issues and my combination ADHD-Autism and how my each-labeled-"severe" mental illnesses, my C-PTSD and Anxiety and Depression, means i find it hard to sit next to people sometimes bc their presence just feels so pressuring. like, i just feel stiff with my shoulders high and i am uncomfortable. it's only sometimes, but i still panic that-- what if on top of the flare-up days and the bad brain days and asexuality and caretaking and potential medical debt-- what if i cant even share the couch and need to get up and leave to go sit somewhere in private? doesn't that make me a failure somehow? do i maybe not want romance like i have hungered all my life for? am i too damaged or was i never made for it, or am i only wondering this because i am single? because it is a hypothetical, because i havent met someone yet? or would i be better off with a queer platonic partner, or maybe even no one? would my ideal future be me with no one? i felt so safe and at peace, albeit lonely but never debilitatingly, when i live alone. maybe i just need to meet someone i can feel safe with. maybe that person doesn't exist. maybe im not aromantic, but im just not going to meet any person like that, statistically. i dont think i am aromantic anyway. but would "the worst case scenario" (it isn't the worst, but the unloved parts of my brain likes to act like it is) being single forever really be so bad?

and the past day or so, i then think back to that Shakespeare teacher, who i am pretty sure is aromantic but either doesn't know or care about labels (and i feel like she might be because of her diction towards these men she self-admittingly had "very shallow" attraction to) as she is at least 75+ years old and identifies herself as a cis woman attracted (at least mildly) to men. she told us once that she's gone on plenty of dates, she's had men move in with her, but then she needs her space back because they breathe too loud or something else feels too suffocating, and now she's something-odd years living happily single and alone in her home with all her books and no loudly breathing partner around, and how happy she is with her life. not to mention how reading Shakespeare and teaching about him is all the partnership in her life she openly thinks she will ever need (which, i have my own inner qualms about her choosing Shakespeare of all people, but, sure, she's a Shakespeare professor with a doctorate in his plays, it makes sense she'd joke about hitching to his wagon alone and no Properly Romantic partners, fair, fair, fair enough lmao)

and it is so nice, even as someone socially raised as female (aka. still grew up with the whole "spinster, get married young, anti-aging" rhetoric) but identifies with they/them pronouns, to see a woman in real life be old and never-married and happy. all the women i otherwise know are either single and at my age (and almost all of them plan for marriage, or at least having a lifelong partner, in their future), or are women i grew up knowing that either are still married or were married. i never knew an older woman who was unmarried her whole life long (nor a man, actually? i think??), much less an older genderqueer person. and it's just really lovely to remember that even with the parts of you screaming "UNLOVED UNLOVED UNLOVED" to know there is still a future where, even if no one else has got you, that you yourself do. you can protect your own peace as you get older. and you can still be happy

it doesn't fix me automatically, of course. but it's comforting to have a real-life example like her to hold onto, to remind myself that even of "the worst" happens and i never marry: it's okay. that's a perfectly fine option. i'd be in pretty good company

[patchofsunlight]

Hands | Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Bakugou learned from a young age to keep his hands to himself, even when his entire body longed for touch and his eyes filled with tears at the loss of a comforting habit.

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

WARNINGS: hurt/comfort, angst, touch starved bakugou!!, kind of a character study? i think about him a lot, one kiss, cursing, consensual hand holding (PFFFT), mitsuki fucking sucks but what’s new

I hope you like this!! please remember feedback is always appreciated and all that. thank you for reading!! sorry if it sucks LMAO I DID MY BEST AND I KINDA LIKE IT

When he was a child, before he even cared about quirks or rankings or strength, Bakugou Katsuki loved holding hands.

No one knew exactly why, but that was just something he liked. He would hold Izuku’s hand while they talked and ran around the neighborhood, he would take his teacher's hand in his ever so softly whenever he walked over to their desk to ask a question. Katsuki would latch onto his dad with the most loving, tiny grip he could muster, and he would even interlace pinkies with his mom when she was having a good day and didn’t deem his manners “too soft”,  “too weak”, “too foolish”. Those were nice days in the Bakugou household.

Bakugou Katsuki was five years old when he had his heart broken for the first time. It was a few weeks after his quirk manifested and he was just so excited to play hero (with a quirk, this time!) alongside his friends after school that he didn’t even hesitate before grabbing Izuku’s hand exactly like he always did, jumping up and down with energy and happiness, rambling about how he was gonna be the number one hero one day — until Izuku screamed, pulling his hand away with a painful expression. Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows, confused at his best friend’s antics, and then he saw it: the raw, burned flesh of his palm.

Katsuki had hurt his best friend.

It’s very easy to fix objects, his dad used to tell him while stitching up one of his ripped shirts, you just get a bit of glue or yarn and you put it back together, a smile graced his lips at the feeling of his son taking his hand immediately after he let go of the sewing needle, but people are a lot harder to patch up, Katsu. People can’t be fixed, sometimes.

He wasn’t exactly sure of when he started shoving his hands inside his pockets, when he started opening doors with his feet and touching people with his shoulders to get their attention. It took him a while to understand that that first occasion wasn’t an accident, and that controlling his quirk when he got too excited or just overly happy was too hard and the security he got from all those tender touches he so eagerly searched from everyone in his life wasn’t worth the risk. The best thing Katsuki could do, for himself and for others, was to keep his hands to himself, even if they felt cold and empty and his big red eyes filled with tears at the loss of such a comforting habit.

He told himself it didn’t matter. You’d have to overgrow that over time, anyway, his mom reminded him at some point. Such childish, silly bullshit. Only softies hold hands, Katsuki, and we both know you’re not a softie.

It was easy to pretend he didn’t miss it. After a few years, the lack of touch was simply another part of his life he consciously chose to ignore, another longing he conditioned himself not to think about. It wasn’t like many people noted his abrupt change in behavior either — there were other things about him that were much more worthy of attention than that, like his killer quirk and quick brain, like his determination and ambition. Who cared about the fact that little Bakugou Katsuki didn’t want to hold hands anymore? Who cared about the fact that little touchy and clingy Bakugou Katsuki now barely touched others? 

Such childish, silly bullshit. Only softies hold hands, Katsuki, and we both know you’re not a softie.

He met her during his second year at UA. Y/N was mostly quiet, but still friendly and hardworking, fighting hard for her place as the number one student in Class 2-B. A project involving the two classes put them as partners, and project meetings soon became sparring sessions that turned into study group that led to study dates and then real dates and, by the beginning of his senior year, Katsuki had gotten himself a girlfriend.

He wasn’t certain if she noticed the way he purposely kept his hands out of reach when they walked side by side, or if she ever saw how he always made sure his palms were pointing away from her skin whenever they hugged or cuddled. He didn’t think anyone would ever pay enough attention to him to the point of perceiving his hesitancy. It didn’t matter that Bakugou had gained complete control of his quirk, it didn’t matter that he still felt his skin and his hands tingling with the urge, the craving for touch — the satisfaction wasn’t worth the risk, not the stupid satisfaction he didn’t even need. Such childish, silly bullshit. Bakugou Katsuki was doing very well with letting go of old customs, no doubt.

But Y/N noticed. God, of course she did — she noticed all the longing gazes, all the small flinches. She noticed how he never let his hands touch hers and at first it made her worried. Didn’t he want to touch her? Had she done something wrong? Her boyfriend wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, even though he had been putting in the effort to talk to her whenever he felt a bit under the weather or bothered. 

However, this seemed like a bigger problem, like something he would never speak of unless she brought it up. It seemed deeper.

“Katsu?”

He lifted his scarlet eyes from the book in his hands and turned them to her sitting figure. They were both on his bed, despite curfew starting in less than an hour and the knowledge they shouldn’t be alone in his dorm. To be honest, Aizawa was quite used to watching the Class B girl sneak out of his student’s room every other night, wearing one of his many hoodies and those shorts that she always left in his closet. As long as they weren’t causing him any trouble, Eraserhead didn’t cause them any trouble, either.

“Yeah?” his voice was clearly tired after a day full of training and studying, a hint of sleepiness dripping from his tone.

“How come you never let me hold your hand?”

Katsuki froze on the spot, feeling his heart pick up its pace until it was beating so loud he could hear it by his ear, throbbing. He gulped harshly, sweat immediately gathering up on his hands from his own anxiety. She had noticed?

“What do you mean?” he tried to laugh calmly, but his chuckle sounded forced and nervous. He put the book away.

“You never let me hold your hand,” Y/N’s cheeks were tinted red with shyness. She had been pondering on how to talk to him about this for days now, yet seeing him so flustered made her surprisingly tense. “You avoid touching me with your hands in general, actually,” her chuckle sounded as forced and nervous as his, “is… Is there something wrong? Would you feel better if I stopped touching you so much? Does it make you uncomfortable? Because I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Katsu. You can talk to me about things like that, you know it.”

He couldn’t get himself to answer, unable to move or truly process her words. He really thought he had been slick, huh? He really thought she’d never notice, he really thought she’d never care. How would she feel if he told her he was afraid to hurt her, that he was afraid he would lose control of his quirk and burn her somehow, like he had done with Izuku all those years ago? Would she think he was childish and silly, too? Such childish, silly bullshit, Bakugou Katsuki scared of holding hands with his girlfriend, scared of touching her and holding her like she deserved to because what if it went wrong? What if he fucked it up? The best thing Katsuki could do, for himself and for others, was to keep his hands to himself, even if they felt cold and empty and his big red eyes filled with tears at the loss of such a comforting habit.

People are a lot harder to patch up, his father told him. He didn’t want to be guilty of screwing this up, didn’t want to destroy the relationship he cherished so, so much. Would she think he was weak for being this reluctant? Would she laugh at his stupid antics and tell him to grow up and stop being such a softie? Would she get mad? Should he even tell her?

“Katsu?” her soft voice relaxed his muscles like it habitually did, and he sighed deeply before meeting her worried eyes. “Talk to me?”

Y/N had always had this amazing talent of making him feel at ease. Ever since they met, so many months ago, she had this blinding quality that urged him to be quieter, calmer, less defensive. She didn’t even have to try tearing down his walls — they simply melted away when she smiled at him for the first time. He had never really talked about this issue with anyone else before, and he didn’t know how to even start, but Y/N made him want to try. Still, the words felt heavy on his tongue.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered so quietly that she leaned in to hear him, furrowing her eyebrows in disagreement.

“Come on, Katsu. Please?”

He inhaled deeply. She stared patiently, waiting for him to organize his own thoughts enough to explain the thousands of things running through his mind. When his eyes met hers again, he felt warm all over. Katsuki loved the way she looked at him — there was no fear, no ulterior interest, no nonsensical admiration. She looked at him and she saw… Katsuki. Just that. And, strangely, that seemed enough.

The boy averted his eyes from hers. “I don’t want to hurt you with my quirk.”

Oh. Oh? That, well, that was definitely unexpected. The crease in Y/N’s eyebrows deepened. 

“Why would you ever hurt me, Katsuki?”

The future hero lifted his head to look at her instantly, confusion swimming in his red gaze as he answered, “I mean by accident, Y/N. I—,” he almost stopped himself right there, yet her expression caused him to continue, “I really liked holding hands when I was younger, you know? With my friends, teachers, family, and all that,” his ears were bright pink with embarrassment that subsided when she smiled softly at the new information, “it made me feel safe or whatever. Then I—then I got my quirk and, sometimes, when I held hands with people it just—,” he exhaled heavily before letting out a sad, defeated laugh, “I have burned a nasty amount of people. I don’t want to do that with you, too. I’d never want to hurt you.”

Katsuki was hardly a vulnerable person. He tried to be, yes, because he wanted this to work and for it to work he had to meet her halfway somehow during certain moments, but it was so, so difficult. It was so difficult for him to open up and talk about one of his biggest insecurities of all time, about one of the things he most craved for. He didn’t want to scare her away.

“Katsuki.” Her tone was serious and she stared at him with such intensity that he lost the ability to breathe for a second. “I understand where you’re coming from, but that’s bullshit.”

Bakugou blinked. “What?”

“You’d never hurt me, okay? I know you wouldn’t. I trust you, Katsu, so much. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you about this before,” she bit her lip thoughtfully while he could only stand there, dumbfounded with her reaction. 

Out of all his imagined worst-case scenarios, this was a surprise. 

“Katsu,” the girl called to him again, smiling lovingly in that way that made his world spin in its axis when they first met, “do you trust me too?”

“Of course I do,” there was no hesitation this time. Of course he did.

“Can I touch your hands?”

Once again, he froze on the spot. She looked at him expectantly.

People are a lot harder to patch up. She was trying, though. She was really trying to fix the ripped pieces of himself he tried to bury under anger and seclusion, pretending there was nothing wrong and that this was just how things were supposed to be. 

Bakugou looked down at his own hands, studying them carefully. With a last shaky exhale, he nodded.

She took his hands in hers, letting her fingers interlace with his cautiously so as to not startle him. Her thumb caressed his palm ever so softly and he fought the instinctive flinch that threatened to push her away. After years without it, this type of touch felt too intimate, too close, too new.

He liked it. 

He smiled.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” Y/N smiled back, grinning when he took it upon himself to squeeze her hand in appreciation. “You’re fine, Katsuki. I like holding your hand.”

His smile grew wider and he leaned in to kiss her, living for the feeling of her fingers squeezing his while their lips moved slowly. They had kissed a million times before, yet this felt different. If given the chance, Katsuki probably wouldn’t mind being stuck in that moment forever, with her lips on his and his hands on hers — Y/N had melted away all his walls and defenses from the start, and he was incredibly glad. He was incredibly glad for her.

His heart was beating fast inside his chest, especially when she pulled one of his hands up slightly to let it cup her face. A shiver went down his spine as he felt the curve of her jaw under his fingertips, the softness of her skin touching his. When there was not any air left in their lungs, they parted from each other. She turned her face to kiss his palm affectionately and his entire face seemed to burst with love and gratitude.

“I like holding your hand, too.”

She giggled, and, for the first time, Bakugou felt like it’d be alright if he decided not to keep his hands to himself. Such childish, silly bullshit, waiting around when he could’ve been holding hands this whole time.

A/N: so that was it!!! i hope you liked it!!! hehe hello

taglists

all: @kiedhara @wingeddemonclub @thedemigodsarealivebitch @ray-ofmoonlight​

also tagging @tsuhika bc i am: a fan and you gave us permission to tag you in shit SOO KJSFBIUEFB LMAO SORRY

[blahkugo]

Manual

Terushima Yūji x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 4.5k

TW: dub/noncon (noncon filming & voyeurism), manipulation, drugs (weed and alcohol), implied virginity, degradation, exhibitionism, daddy kink

A night of danger and debauchery with the city’s infamous drug dealer. 

It was a simple enough text that started it, but you’re not even sure how he got a hold of your number. A few days ago, a plain ‘hey’ had flashed across your screen and before you knew it, you were agreeing to go for a ride in his speedy car. ‘How fast is it?’ you had asked as an attempt to stall the conversation. But it was his reply that settled it for you: ‘As fast as you want it.’ 

It’s stupid how easily swayed you were, but the words left a knot in your stomach that you had never encountered before. Like a ship setting its anchor on the seafloor, though not one of anxiety nor tension caused by any of the usual stressors of your life—something entirely alien. The real issue wasn’t its unfamiliarity, but how much you took pleasure in it. And as ships do, the feeling set sail as quickly as it appeared, and you were left wistful and aching for its return. 

Never had you been like your classmates at the private school, who used familial wealth to excuse week-long benders and avoid lengthy jail sentences, because never had you felt that depravity necessary. But as you make your way down the block, you envision daddy waking up to find his little girl simply vanished, and you can’t help the wicked smile that spreads across your face.

When you arrive at the grimy, red sports car— music blasting through the open windows despite the dead quiet of the block— that ball of thrill settles in your gut yet again. As long as you’re in the company of Terushima Yūji, you’re well aware that the feeling isn’t going to go away.   

The car is low. So low, in fact, that you have to balance a hand on the roof and slide in legs first. How does he even drive around in this metal death trap without scraping the asphalt? Your leather skirt bunches and slips further up your thighs no matter how hard you tug it lower. 

“Alright?” It’s the only form of greeting he calls out to you over the ear-splitting music. Terushima eyes your lustrous, bare legs resting in the passenger seat of his beat-up Camaro, but doesn’t bother turning down the tune. He’s not very polite, but you didn’t exactly accept his offer to be drowned in refinement, did you? 

“I’m okay,” you shout, struggling to be heard over the booming voice rapping about ‘drugs and bitches.’ Typical. “How are you?” You’re not sure if it’ll break the ice, not even sure he wants to speak at all, but anything’s better than fidgeting awkwardly in your chair with nothing but the god awful music to drown out your anxiety.

He mumbles back a simple reply, fixing his gaze on your breasts straining against the tight, low cut tank. You fished the two-piece outfit out of the depths of your wardrobe, a revealing number borrowed from a friend that you never even bothered trying on before tonight. His stare has you itching to cross your arms over your chest, but you hold out. You can’t have him thinking you’re a prude, even if it is the truth. 

His hand grips the stick shift lazily and before you know it, the engine is rumbling and you’re peeling away from the curb. Terushima’s driving is every bit as reckless as you assumed, stop signs appearing to be soft suggestions rather than mandatory decrees. The residential roads are practically deserted, but the lack of caution has your heart racing wildly all the same, fingers clutching at your seat. As the adrenaline rushes through your veins, your stomach sinks further into the frayed leather seat. 

When the music is shut off abruptly, you believe he must finally want to speak to you, perhaps even exchange pleasantries— but the next words out of his mouth are a sly, 

“Do me a favor, yeah?” You nod, before realizing his eyes are still fixed on the road ahead. It’s not like it matters anyways, because he continues on as if you had answered him. “Grab the bottle under your seat for me, princess.” Princess. It’s uttered so nonchalantly, but there’s a certain edge to his tone— the tiniest hint of a teasing lilt. You don’t like it, but logical as your brain may be, your stomach still swirls with butterflies. 

Swiping at the floor, you search until your fingers make contact with glass. Low and behold, you pull out a bottle of– 

“Smirnoff,” your eyes scan the label intently, attempting to place the emblem among the liquors you’ve seen at the country club. While you weren’t exactly expecting a water bottle— that’d be much too off brand for Terushima— you aren’t too keen on the idea of reckless and intoxicated driving. He glances towards you once, but doesn’t make a move towards the drink at all. 

Only a few seconds later, he shoots you another look, single brow raised in quiet anticipation. The long-forgotten burdens of high school peer pressure washes over you again, fingers quivering as you unscrew the cap. 

You’ve never had vodka straight out of the bottle, never had vodka in general except for when it’s mixed into your cocktails. But his expectation weighs heavy in the confined space. So, fuck it. What did you come out with him for if not to live a little? 

Nail polish remover, children’s cough syrup, and liquid fire. That’s all you taste as the lukewarm fluid glides down your throat. The burn is unbearable, but a pool of warmth oozes through your chest and your hand relaxes a bit on the edge of your seat. You don’t even realize that you’re coughing.

“First time drinking?” He offers you a lazy smirk, tone edged in ridicule. 

“What?” Holding your breath, you silently beg the itch in your throat to disappear. “No, I- I have wine with dinner.” 

The laugh that rumbles through his throat is deep and hoarse, much too loud to be laughing at your comment— and thus, is only perceivable as taunting. Even so, you can’t deny the seduction threaded into his smoky vocals, or the wire deep within your core, pulled taut and ready to snap at any moment. 

“Wine,” he snickers again. “You’re funny, you know that?” He swipes the booze out of your hands and chugs. If there’s ever a proper time to start worrying, it’d be now. But at least he stops for lights? 

Besides, you can’t say you’re not enjoying the view. Terushima’s defined jaw ruts outward with every swill, his lips puckered towards the bottle as if his life depends on it. As cautious as you should be, he’s too pretty to keep your eyes focused anywhere else; your mouth surely knows it, practically salivating at his Adam's apple, bobbing as he gulps. If you reach your hand out just a few inches, you can run your fingertips against it and–

“Gross,” he pushes the bottle back towards you. 

“Black cherry,” you counter, as if it’s an explanation for the disgusting taste. 

“Is that the flavor I nicked? Damn, wasn’t paying enough attention,” he shrugs. 

“Nicked?” Mouth agape, you stare intently at the side of his face and hope for a valid answer. 

“Bottle looked lonely, so I swiped it,” he brushes a finger at the alcohol trickling down his lip; one of your own digits twitches in envy. “Is that too criminal for you, princess?” 

So he is mocking you. The vodka must be melting your brain, because all your body comes up with in response is a wind chime of a soft laugh— an entirely foreign noise to your ears. It must be a mistake, or the music playing tricks on your hearing, because you don’t giggle. 

Still, according to Terushima’s awful pet name, you have something to prove. Not sure how else to shut him up, you opt for the easiest way out. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” The bottle meets your lips and liquid fire waltzes through you again. Seconds pass as you chug, the haziness of your last sip urging you to down just a teensy bit more. Just enough to get you tipsy, just enough to prove him wrong, just enough to drown out the voice in your head claiming this is a terrible idea. 

This time, you don’t cough. 

“‘Atta girl.” 

Then, you’re drinking, and he’s drinking, and the two of you are having the grandest of times. Never mind the fact that he’s consumed far less alcohol than you have, or that lines are blurring and you’re no longer able to see straight. Gone is the anxiety you were plagued with upon meeting him and the worries that shadow you day and night in your regular life. And that’s all that really matters. 

He blasts the music once again. Maybe it isn’t as terrible as you originally thought. A deep, pumping bass resonates through every bone in your body and Terushima seems to be pressing the pedals harder with every beat. 

Up you go, higher, higher— higher?

Your eyes have been scouring the mischievous man next to you so intently that you never bothered to ask where you were going. But can you blame yourself? Even now, as you round up the side of a cliff, every thought passing through your murky brain pertains to him. 

His lazy half smile that won’t drop, as if he’s keyed in on a secret that’s all his own, lidded eyes that make him look entirely apathetic and alluring all at once. Hell, even his fingers are beautiful. Slender and graceful, one hand is placed leisurely at the wheel and the other is shifting the gear stick with meticulous precision. Terushima Yūji has always struck you as raw and vulgar, but now you see there’s a sense of finesse to him as well— and of course, you’d need to be halfway into a drunken stupor to truly notice it. 

You’re shaken from your thoughts once he cracks the windows, hair whipping around violently. If you only knew the lyrics to any of these songs, you’d be singing along. Instead, you settle for kicking your legs out the window and tapping your fingers to the beat. Who cares that your fingers are moving too slowly to match the rhythm? 

Terushima says nothing at your erratic behavior, only smirks when your head leans against his shoulder and you stare idly up at him. Relief. It’s the only identifiable emotion you’re able to place in the midst of this haze. Yes, the world is foggy and black spots take over half your vision. But you hold onto that feeling— the breeze, the weightlessness. All the while, the anchor in your gut makes its home further into the sand. 

“We’re here,” he chuckles, pointing at your windswept hair when you turn to him. It’s the first time his laugh sounds genuine, bubbling up naturally instead of forced and vicious. And he’s finally looking at you; not in stolen glances, with eyes glazed over in mockery or lust, but truly looking at you. You break out of the murkiness clouding your brain to catch what ‘here’ is, only to gasp at the sight in front of you. 

He’s brought you to the very top of a cliff, overlooking the city. Cars and buildings seem nothing more than blips on a map, insects to your God-like view. 

As beautiful as they are, the dazzling lights of the world below you pale in comparison to the deity seated inches away. It’s difficult to believe that you had never once taken notice of him, though your younger self filed him away as a troublemaker—an invaluable waste of space— based on gossiped knowledge and without a second glance. 

“Y’know what I never noticed?” You’re well aware the words tumble out a whine, drawn out and a bit slurred, but proper diction is the last thing on your mind. “You’re really pretty.” As soon as you’ve said it, your face is set ablaze. Control yourself. 

“Pretty? Haven’t heard that one before,” he throws his head back and you’re struck with that gruff, raspy laugh once again.

“But you are,” you’re unable to contain yourself at all now, all proper thoughts replaced by the cut of his cheekbones, the messy bleached hair tumbling over his sleek undercut— and best yet, the tiny piece of metal prodding through his tongue and now balanced between his teeth. “A pretty bad boy, with pretty teeth, and a pretty piercing, and you texted me why?” With the hurried words, another wave of heat spikes your body. 

Perhaps his eyes brighten at your little confession, or perhaps his face gives away nothing. You can’t really tell much of anything.

“You really wanna know?” You nod hungrily at his whisper, his hushed tone teeming with temptation. Terushima creeps closer, so much so that you feel his breath fanning your face. Underneath the overwhelming scents of cigarettes and booze, he smells a bit like tea leaves. Strange, but pleasant. “Are you sure?” He’s smirking now, obviously finding your curiosity entertaining. 

At the same time, one of his hands inches towards you— cautiously, deliberately, like a predator creeping towards its skittish prey. You tremble in your seat, unsure why the proximity has your heart beating out of its chest. 

All at once, his hand shoots past you and towards the glove compartment. Terushima lets out a snicker, flashes you a brilliant set of teeth, and proudly offers you nothing: “Sorry, not tellin’ you.” 

Your slurred gripes do nothing to sway the tease, who’s now engrossed by the itty bitty ziploc baggie he pulled from the glovebox. Though your head is spinning, you yourself can’t help but feel enthralled by his movements— staring shamelessly as he sprinkles the weed onto paper. His fingers prove precise yet again as he rolls the greens into pretty little cylinders. 

Almond eyes meet yours only when he brings the wrap to his lips, gazing directly at you while his tongue slides across the paper. A chill prickles across your skin, but there’s only heat within the parked car. 

Before you know it, he’s extending a large hand towards you, silently willing you to take the first hit. Somewhere far away, you hear your own voice mumbling, ‘I don’t know how to.’ As hard as you try to put up a front, to exude sex and confidence in front of this well-versed man, you’re not quite sure you can pretend your way through this one. 

A wispy laugh, a sly comment and a wink later, two of his fingers have the joint pressed between your lips. ‘I’ll teach you,’ he promises, instructing you on precisely how to breathe. You barely register the palm fastened at your chest. Is he being a creep? Maybe he’s just trying to help. Either way, you don’t pay it much mind. 

And then, smoke fills your lungs, fills your head, fills the already-depleting air of his tiny car. You’re coughing again, but he warned you of the burn this time, and ‘besides, it’ll get you higher.’ 

You were hoping to see chalky hues of pinks and blues, but the drug does nothing but provide you with lidded eyes and a tingle that runs from head to toe. A single stroke of your finger against the leathered seat sends waves of shivers throughout your arm. Your palm splayed against your own thigh feels unfamiliar and ticklish. 

The buzz is only truly worth it when you finally turn to look at the wicked man next to you; Terushima has a slick smile dancing across his face, eyes heavy and probing you for any sort of reaction. The bleached blonde hair at the top of his head pales under the moonlight, suddenly seeming impossible to resist. When you reach out to grasp a strand, he moves quicker, gripping your fingers tightly between his. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His low drawl is lazy, more amused than genuinely angry. But your fingers twitch beneath his grasp all the same, completely embarrassed and still itching to touch his locks. “Princess doesn't know how to ask for things politely?” You don’t have to look into his eyes to feel the smugness radiating off of him. 

“No, I-” There’s no saving face now, and he knows it as well as you do. 

“Or are you just so used to getting what you want?” Even as he taunts you, his digits thread through yours, pulling you towards him so that your hands hover over his lips. “Is this what you wanted?” 

You shake your head, but the thought of grazing his pillowy lips— of your trembling fingers exploring that tiny metal ball in his mouth— is now etched into your clouded brain. 

“No? What about here?” He trails your digits down his crisp t-shirt, stopping only when you’ve reached his midriff. You should stop, should adhere to the yellow tape bound around this entire encounter; instead, you stare at the blonde with wide eyes, tongue poking out of your mouth as you debate your answer. He breathes an airy laugh, “use your words.” 

But before you can, his lips are meshing into yours. And here are the hues of the pinks and blues you so desperately wished to see, hidden in his caress all this time. There’s heat, and heat, and more heat— and a quiet hum traveling from the very tip of your mouth to your toes, as you melt together. 

When he releases your hands, they fly towards his hair, finally tugging at the soft pieces. A simple clasp of your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, a warm welcome for his tongue to slide in. Embers spread through the tiny space, setting your lungs ablaze far quicker than any drug could. His cool, metal piercing tickles the roof of your mouth; if you were coherent enough, you may wonder what it would feel like skimming other stretches of skin. 

But your thoughts are cotton candy melting at his touch and allowing one, singular thought: him, him, him. 

Your sugar-spun mind loses track of the time he spends pressed into you. Seconds, minutes, hours later, he finally pulls away, the long string of saliva between you the only remnant of your lip-locked endeavors. 

“It’s getting late,” his words are a whisper, a break in the heavy silence of heaving chests and spinning minds. You’d have thought the infamous heartbreaker would urge for more, and a part of you wishes that he would. But instead, he drives you back down the cliffside in silence, his hand on your thigh rooted in place, keeping you longing for another taste. 

Only when you’re coming down from the high, still a bit tipsy, do you realize you’re almost home. Terushima’s fingers still play at the hem of your skirt, stroking at the fire deep in your gut. With all his teasing, you figure you may as well make your move now. 

“You can pull over here,” you instruct, happy to have found your usual domineering voice. Perhaps it was buried under the weight of weed and wandering lips. 

“Your house is another block away,” he refutes with a grumble, but heeds your demand anyways. When he turns to you, you’re caught in that bewitching gaze, finding yourself at a loss for words yet again. “Anything else you need?” The words are laced with possibility, a dangerous challenge. But any gall you felt coursing through your veins has vanished without a trace. 

“No- I- I should get home,” your eyes drop, staring at a loose thread on his pants— and all at once, moving to leave the car. “Daddy’ll be mad if he catches me out.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s chuckling, repeating them.

“Daddy will be mad? You still call your father daddy?” And there’s the Yūji Terushima you thought you knew, mockery and taunts always at the tip of his tongue. You throw a weak punch against his chest, huffing in confusion. 

“What’s so wrong with that?” 

“Nothing,” He exclaims a bit too smugly, climbing out himself.

Next thing you know, you’re caught between his body and the hood of the car, sturdy arms trapping you in place. Chilled air nips at your bones; a single skim of his knee against your thigh and that cold is forgotten. You really should be at home. 

“Terushima.” It’s funny how a single word— a person’s name— can contain a thousand different meanings. You’re not even sure how you say it, questioning the inflections of your cracked voice and wide eyes. He whispers your name right back, the gleam in his eyes magnifying tenfold. 

You’re well aware he has you right where he wants you, a little bird caught in a cage, though you’re more than happy to be singing any song he asks. 

But there’s only silence as you stare at each other beneath the flickering street light. So much so, you can hear your hearts pump blood, can hear the engine of a car rumbling by, can even hear your neighbor’s pesky dog barking a block away. 

“Do you need something, or do you just like saying my na–”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in. 

It feels different now. Perhaps your nerves aren’t frenzied, and you don’t attain euphoria with every graze. But you feel him. You can taste the smoke on his tongue as it knocks against your teeth. Black cherry floods your brain, the same flavor that drifted you up that cliffside to begin with. 

Terushima’s hands grab at your waist before you’re hoisted up and placed on the hood of the car. Gone are the lazy kisses of two heads in the clouds. His movements are quick and decisive, aggressive even. A hand roams your body, trailing under your tank and across your breasts. The other shoves aside your panties, nimble fingers circling your bud. 

A low whimper leaves you when he runs a digit across your slit. 

“Careful,” hot breath fans your lips as he chuckles, “too loud and he’ll hear us.” 

But you can’t stop your wanton mewls. Not when he dips into you, curling his fingertips to hit a spot that has you seeing stars. Not when his teeth nip at your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear— leaving soft marks behind. And most certainly not when you can feel his cock straining against your thigh. 

“Fuck, Teru I–”  Within minutes, your entire body trembles, hands clutching at soft hair as you chase your high. 

“Tell daddy what you want,” his eyes pierce into yours, completely unashamed of his perversion of the pure term. You try to shake your head no, to refuse his order— but he simply flicks his wrist quicker, pumps into you faster. You’re so fucking close, too near the edge to care, so you simply allow the words to tumble out, 

“Daddy p-please, I want to cum.” 

A few circles on your clit, and you’re putty in his hands. The high hits you with a loud, leg-shaking cry— far more dizzying than any of the debaucheries of hours past. 

You’re flipped over without a moment to breathe, breasts rammed into the frigid car hood. Terushima pulls your skirt up with one hand, the other nudging your cheek firmly against the metal. 

Never would you have thought you’d be one for such public indecency, but the elation of your last orgasm still hasn't even completely resided. For the third time tonight, you find yourself drunk off the ambrosia of this wayward god.  

“Beg for it,” he slides his cock up your slit, coating his thick member in your slick. 

“Please Teru,” you whine helplessly. A loud slap echoes through the empty street as his hand meets the globe of your ass, the pain more shocking than painful. 

It reminds you that anyone could walk out of their homes to see you being railed against a beat up car— and the thought of one of your neighbors waking up to that sight wracks your body with a twisted pleasure. 

“What was that?” The bastard actually laughs, gruff and hearty, as you writhe against him. 

“Daddy, I need you.” And then he’s thrusting into you, pushing into the tight ring of muscle. Though he prepped you, you claw at the car, searching for any sort of relief from the overwhelming pain. 

A few snaps of his hips later, you relax as the stretch becomes bearable. He takes his time rutting into you, spreading your legs further, making sure you feel every inch of him deep inside you. 

Only when you begin bouncing back to meet his drives does he quicken his pace, a single hand gripping your waist— five finger-shaped bruises you’re sure will be evidence for days to come. You barely recognize your own voice; high-pitched wails spill from your lips, curses and pleas and cries of ‘daddy’ like a broken record on replay. 

“Look at the little slut, creaming all over me,” a particularly hard thrust sends you reeling, tears flowing freely down your face as you blabber mindlessly. “Who’d have thought the city’s very own ‘prude princess’ would be blacking out over some dick?” 

You should be ridiculed, would be utterly offended by the insult, if not for the fact that his cock has you teetering the delicate line of consciousness. Those words are precisely what send you over the edge for the second time tonight. 

“Fuck, stay right there,” a low, gravelly groan as Terushima continues pounding into you. Then, a few more prods and he’s following suit, pulling out to spill his seed all over your backside. 

Vision still spotty, you finally turn to look at the beautiful man, hoping for rosy cheeks and that soft smile you believe is a secret saved just for you. Instead you’re met with a dull frown and a look of pure apathy. 

He won’t even meet your eyes. 

“Can you walk the block or should I drive you?” Though he poses the question, the lack of his typical liveliness tells you everything you need to know about his preference: he doesn’t have one. 

Somewhere far away, you hear yourself tell him you’ll walk. Your head’s still caught on cloud nine, or perhaps it was only ever the ninth circle of hell—twisted and contorted by black cherry and rotten greens.

“Are you sure? You look a little shaken,” he laughs, that same hoarse tone you once thought charming now seeming gnarled and vicious. The taunts once endearing, now simply malicious. 

From the corner of your eye you spot his phone, unlocked and teeming with messages. A flash of a familiar black leather skirt bunching, a flip of your hair, pieces of your purity plastered across his screen for the world to see. 

You walk back home in silence. 

[iam93percentstardust]

If you’re still taking prompt, could you please write something with Steve loving Tony’s big doe expressive eyes, plus him giving tony lots of slow deep kisses and maybe a comforting talk bc Tony’s anxious about something? 🥺

Sure thing! Hope you like it!

(Thank you to @therollingstonys for helping me brainstorm and, as always, this fic can be found on my ao3)

~

Tony is already in bed by the time Steve comes up. Their room is dark, even the windows shaded to block out most of the light coming in from the city, and it takes Steve a moment to realize that the dark mass huddled under the blankets is, in fact, his wayward husband. He sighs softly and runs his hand through his hair, thinking of the dinner he’d prepared for the two of them that had sat out for an hour before he’d finally decided Tony wasn’t going to join him. He doesn’t know why he’d expected otherwise. He knows how Tony gets the night before something big and Tony’s been withdrawing from him for the last couple of days; he should have seen this coming.

“So this is where you’ve been all day,” he says quietly. Tony shifts but doesn’t move out from under the blankets. “JARVIS, lights to 15%.”

JARVIS obligingly turns the lights up, raising them just enough that Steve doesn’t have to strain his eyes in the dark. Tony doesn’t protest the change, which is a good sign. It means that he’s stressed and anxious but he’s not actively trying to hide away.

Steve crosses the room, shedding clothes as he goes so that he’s down to only his boxers by the time he reaches the bed. He climbs up and stretches out over Tony’s body, hovering above him on his hands and knees. From his vantage point, he can see the tiny tuft of hair that’s sticking out from the blankets but that’s it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You wanna talk about it?”

Tony makes a dissenting noise and the blankets shift, like he’s shaking his head.

“Can I at least see you?”

Another dissenting noise.

“Come on,” he cajoles. “Can’t I see those beautiful brown eyes?”

“No,” comes the grumbled reply.

He bites back a smile. Wouldn’t do to look amused when Tony’s clearly so distressed. “Are you sure? I haven’t gotten to see them all day,” he asks instead, voice low and teasing, devoid of anything that Tony might take as disapproval. If Steve is right about what’s going through Tony’s head right now—and he’s pretty sure he is—he needs to be very careful about what he says.

It takes a moment but Tony eventually shifts enough that his entire head is poking out from under the blankets. He looks exhausted, worn out from stress and worry, and there are deep shadows under those brown eyes he loves so much, but he’s still the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen.

“There they are.” He smiles fondly at his husband and leans down to kiss him. It’s meant to be a quick, reassuring thing, but as so often happens, he gets caught up in the feel of Tony’s lips against his, how he tastes, how perfect he looks in that single moment before his eyes flutter closed, and Steve finds himself drawing the kiss out into something slow and lingering.

When he eventually pulls away, Tony’s eyes are dazed and slightly out of focus. Steve can’t resist leaning back down again and brushing a kiss over Tony’s right eyebrow. Tony’s eyes slip closed again as he sighs and Steve kisses each trembling eyelid before pulling back.

“What’s got you so worked up, hmm, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

Tony wiggles out from under the sheets just a little more, enough so that his whole head and the tops of his shoulders are uncovered. “I—” he begins and then bites his lip.

Steve thinks he knows what this is all about and he thinks Tony might be feeling too seen already to admit what’s going on in that big brain of his. He rolls off of Tony, onto his side, and slides under the covers, tucking himself up against his husband’s side, who rolls over to face him. Steve shifts them so that Tony’s leg is thrown over his hip, his head tucked under Steve’s chin, into his chest. He can’t see Tony’s face like this—he’s already missing the sight—but he thinks Tony feels like he needs to hide so he can be open as he should be.

“Better?” he asks.

Tony nods, his beard scratching on Steve’s naked chest.

“So is this about tomorrow then?”

Tony nods again, voice muffled when he says, “I’m going to be a horrible father.”

“You’re not,” Steve says, even though he knows it’s a platitude that barely even makes a dent in Tony’s lack of self-worth. He just can’t stop himself. He hates hearing Tony put himself down like this.

“I am,” Tony says matter-of-factly. “I’m going to be just like Howard and I’m going to ruin this child.”

Steve bites back a sigh—Tony would take it the wrong way right now—and instead presses a kiss to Tony’s hair. “You’re not going to ruin them.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

Because for one thing, I’ll be right here to help you raise them, which puts me ahead of Maria for one, he thinks. But he knows better than to voice that opinion out loud. He doesn’t know why Tony is so insistent on idolizing his mother, who was so frequently absentee, except that she was slightly more loving than Howard had been. And to Tony, so very attention-starved as a child, even slightly was better than nothing.

“Because you’re already thinking about them,” he says. “You’re already worried about how you’re going to take care of them, planning contingencies for every little thing that could possibly go wrong. Parents like Howard don’t do that.”

Tony is quiet for long enough that Steve lifts his chin up and kisses him again, trying to soothe away Tony’s anxieties with every sweep of his tongue. Tony’s arms slide around his waist, clinging to him as he kisses back. Time slides by as they kiss, minutes, hours, who knows? All that matters is the feeling of Tony’s body against his, the taste of his tongue in his mouth.

“This could go so badly wrong,” Tony whispers when he finally pulls away.

Steve tells himself it’s pointless to mourn the loss of Tony’s kiss and points out, “Sweetheart, that would be true even if we were the best parents in the world and had successfully raised five other kids.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Steve interrupts firmly. “You’re not alone. I’m here right by your side. Pepper and Rhodey are here with you. Nat, Bucky and Clint—oh wait, maybe we shouldn’t count Clint.”

To his relief, Tony laughs, tucking his head back under Steve’s chin as he shakes. Steve smiles and brushes another kiss over Tony’s hair, holding him as close as he can. He wishes they could be like this forever, but at the same time, he’s so excited for what tomorrow will bring.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” Tony admits once he’s stopped laughing.

“That’s what parenting is,” Steve says softly. He’s just as terrified of getting it wrong as Tony is, but he knows that there’s no one way to get it right. “We’ll make mistakes, but we’ll do it together and hey, I think between the two of us, we’ll manage to raise a pretty decent kid. If they’re even a tiny bit like you, I know we’ll have done a great job.”

“Or like you.”

“Oh no, definitely not. I pick way too many fights.”

“But for all the right reasons.”

“That’s not what Bucky says.”

“That’s because you keep dragging Bucky into your fights.”

“That sounds like a him problem.”

“It wouldn’t be if you would just pick your battles.”

“I have picked them,” Steve argues. “I’ve picked all of them.”

Tony laughs again and raises his head to peck Steve on the lips. “Okay you’re right. I hope mini-Stark doesn’t turn out anything like you.”

“I hope they’re just like you,” Steve says, smiling down at him. He’s so lucky. Not everyone gets to spend their life with the person they love more than anything, but Steve not only gets to have Tony but their child as well. “Beautiful and generous and too smart for their own good.” He can see the argument forming on Tony’s face so he quickly adds, “Did Pepper ever decide what she wanted for her present for being our surrogate?”

Tony groans. “Jimmy Choo’s entire spring line.”

Steve winces. “Sounds expensive.”

“Good thing you married a billionaire then, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Good thing I married you.”

Tony’s smile is soft and sweet. “Everything changes tomorrow, doesn’t it?”

“For the better,” Steve promises.

This time, Tony just nods and says, “Yeah,” instead of arguing. Then his smile turns a little coy. “Last night we’ll have to ourselves for a very long time. We should make the most of it.”

Steve grins and takes the hint, leaning in to kiss him again.

~

He comes home from his run a week later to find Tony asleep on the couch, a newborn Morgan Stark-Rogers also asleep on his chest. Tony’s hand rests on her back, keeping her safe against him. Steve smiles at the sight, a wave of affection for the two most important people in his life washing over him. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the two of them together, setting it as his new lockscreen. Tony will have another anxiety attack eventually and when that happens, he’ll pull this picture out and show it to him.

Tony thinks he won’t be a good parent.

Steve looks at him and knows he already is.

They’re going to be just fine.

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

So this is a personal one for me to ask and if you're not comfortable with it don't mind it; how would the tmnt boys (seperate) react when the reader confesses that they're autistic after the boys got curious when she had some peculiar, behavior or stims. The reader would be stressed, because she has a crush on the tmnt boy in question and she didn't want them to find her weird or just stop interacting with her. When she's met with confusion instead, because the boys never heard of it, cue this weird conversation where reader tells them to the best of her ability what it is and the boys just keep asking questions. Also some general headcannons with it maybe?

Okay so I'm actually really happy that you asked me this because I feel like ASD isn't portrayed a lot in any type of media. My ADD and ASD have a lot of overlap so I hope I can capture what you're asking of me!

Now let's get into it!

TMNT Headcanons

The boys reacting to an autistic reader

Leonardo

he wasn't really sure what was happening the first time you reacted

one minute you were standing next to him doing dishes and the next you were attempting to claw your skin off like an angry cat

Leo tried not to look annoyed as he watched you rub your hands against your shirt until your flesh started to turn red

you looked like you were crying but he knew you weren't

but your face was starting to turn purple and your cheeks were puffy from the effort of holding your breath

"Y/N? You need to breathe."

You shot a glare at him, scathing eyes meeting his now very concerned expression

your own softened and you clutched your arms to your chest, heaving oxygen into your lungs until your face became a normal shade again

"Are you okay?"

The words were stuck in your throat and you weren't sure if you should nod or shake your head

so you gave him a half-hearted shrug

he frowned back at you but turned to finish the dishes on his own

when he questioned you about it later he couldn't help but be curious

"Well actually it's uh- it's kinda a sensory type of thing? There are certain textures that I can't stand touching do I avoid them but if I come into contact by accident my brain just kinda explodes and I shut down."

"How exactly does that work though?"

"I don't really understand it much but like- you know that feeling you get when you think there's a bug on you and there's not but it really really feels like it?"

He nodded

"Yeah, it feels like that. And anytime I touch something that triggers that reaction it takes FOREVER to get the feeling off my skin. That's why I usually wear gloves when I do dishes. Guess I just forgot to grab 'em today."

He was sympathetic

and god, you were so embarrassed

lucky for you, Leo's not an asshole

"Well thank you for explaining it to me, you really freaked me out earlier. I'll talk to April and see if we can keep a pair or two at the lair just in case you forget again."

Consider your heart melted

you couldn't even find the words to thank him and holy shit was your face red

"Hey y/n?"

"Yeah Leo?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me- us that you were autistic?"

Did you rip the band aid off now or make something up? Which would ,technically speaking, be less catastrophic in the long run?

"I uh- I really like you and I really didn't want you or the other's to look at me differently..."

wow, you liked him? miss ma'am you have saved this boy a world of anxiety and damn does he thank you for it

"Thanks for telling me... and y/n? I really like you to."

Awh fuck yeah, best possible execution of band aid-ripping-off ever

Donatello

Donnie wished he could act surprised when you finally told him

he really wanted to, it would've made you feel better for sure

but he sucked at lying and he didn't want to make you feel like he thought you were an idiot

because that was so far from the truth

after going through extensive research on Mikey's behalf when he suspected he had ADHD Donnie had stumbled across many different websites that discussed the symptoms and overlaps between both disorders

to make a long story short, Donnie knew that you had ASD and he was waiting for you to tell him

it would probably come off as rude if he brought it up in conversation right?

he didn't want to risk it

but that didn't stop him from keeping an eye on you and your behaviors

he was a man of science, of course he was going to analyze you

not in a weird way or anything, just as a curious sort of precaution

but the longer you were involved in the turtle's lives the more noticeable your stims and meltdowns got, Donnie did his best to cover for you without making you suspicious of him

eventually he'd come up with something that he hoped would come across as a friendly gesture and wouldn't set you off or scare you away

it was game night at the lair and you, as always, were perched on the arm of the sofa, a large grin plastered on your face

inside your head was exploding but you were masking it pretty well if you do say so yourself

but Donnie was, well... donnie was donnie

so when he noticed you starting to rock a little more visibly he removed his attention from commentating the game and grabbed a pair of headphones from the side table

you were beyond confused when he passed them to you but your face revealed everything

"They're noise cancelling, try them on."

holy shit it was like putting your head underwater, everything was muffled

not in the way normal headphones did, you quite literally couldn't hear anything at all, just a calm amount of nothing

you nearly started crying when you realized that Donnie had figured you out on his own

but you'd never been more relieved about anything in your life

Raphael

he wouldn't admit that he was mesmerized by your presence

you practically radiated calm

his complete opposite

it was his favorite thing about you, because despite your quiet disposition and calming aura you weren't afraid to call him out or rebut any of his insults

this was not something you expected him to appreciate nor was it something you thought would make you catch feelings

but damn if you didn't

he'd been sitting in on yours and Donnie's little experiment for an hour or so now, watching you both exchange quiet whispers and inside jokes that you always seemed to lag on

then you slipped up

not bad, nothing detrimental to the project, just the same mistake that you'd already made ten times over

you might as well have exploded

"Y'N, you just have to move thi-"

"I KNOW DONATELLO. I FUCKING KNOW AND I JUST CAN'T DO THIS BULLSHIT!"

you set everything down gently enough to avoid breaking it before turning and storming out of the lab, waving your hands like they were on fire

Raph and Donnie exchanged a look that sent the larger red turtle following after you

when you calmed yourself down enough to talk you kept your gaze locked on the wall, explaining that you couldn't make eye contact when you were upset

he might not be the smartest brother, but Raph's no dummy, he put those pieces together pretty quickly after you told him that one small detail

he wasn't upset that you didn't tell him and you'd personally never been more relieved

your heart nearly splattered into the stratosphere when you finally gace him your own explanation

"yeah, I like ya too."

you grinned so wide you were sure your face would split open and your entire body rocked side to side with excitement

he thought that was pretty adorable too

And he did stick around to offer a bit of support when you apologized to Donnie for screaming at him

Michaelangelo

to be frank it probably shouldn't have taken so long for Mikey to realize that you were autistic

the similarities between your own personality and his ADHD were so in sight it was near painful

it was his turn to make dinner that night and you'd made sure that you came over early to help him set up, you knew how side-tracked he'd get and you were the poster child for solid routine

what more perfect matchup existed?

trick question, there isn't one

you were on one side of the counter cutting vegetables and he was on the other throwing said vegetables into the mixing pot

the music was at an ungodly level of loud so your only means of communication were screaming over it

"MIKEY."

"WHA?"

"YOU GOT THE-"

"YEAH."

"AND THE-"

"UH HUH."

"COOL, HAVE YOU SEEN THE-"

"TONGS? NO, THE SKEWERS. YEAH, THEY'RE IN THE OTHER DRAWER."

"THANKS."

the two of you went about your previous tasks, thinking nothing of the conversation that had just taken place

at least until you'd begun washing your knife and cutting board

that's when Casey walked in, looking both perturbed and annoyed at the same time

"Alright, which one of you knows telepathy?"

Mikey exchanged a glance with you and you returned it with a raised eyebrow

"The hell you mean brah?"

he looked at the both of you like you were the ones that had grown four extra heads before speaking again

"You literally just had a conversation with like five words and somehow just knew what the other meant? What's up with that?"

you glanced at Mikey again

"Holy shit, did we?"

"I mean, not really. You used your hands."

now all three of you were confused but it quickly became two when Casey shook his head in defeat and left the room

"You know I think he's right."

he blinked first and your staring contest ended

"But you used your hands-"

"I got autism Mikey, one does not simply not use their hands as forms of speech."

"You're-"

"Yep."

was the silence laughing at you? could it do that? it was kinda rude

"Huh, that actually makes sense, that's not mean is it?"

you shook your head no

"You're just me but fast."

Mikey agreed with that, pestered you with a few more questions, and went back about working, as did you, you saw no reason to address it further

but your cheeks burned red

"Yo- Y/N that actually explains why everyone else thinks we're a thing."

you didn't know if you could choke on air or not but you did it anyways

"Are we?"

he gave you his signature grin

"If we are then Raph owes April a hundred bucks."

you returned his smile

"Oh this oughta be good."

I'd like to preface this by apologizing for my near three week absence. Life got crazy and my writer's block hopped on a train, went through a school zone, killed seven pedestrians, and committed tax fraud before tumbling off a cliff never to be seen again.

But on the bright side- I got my SAT scores back and started some scholarship applications. Super happy with that. School's out in a few weeks so I'll be able to write more (hopefully).

Anyways, I hope I got this one down okay. I may have hyper analyzed the request so I might be a little off. But I really enjoyed doing this one and I hope you like it!

-Mars 🌠

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 16: Prinxiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Heeey, look at that, I’m behind! Day 16: When your soulmate listens to music, you hear it in your own head as well. 

Content warnings: assumed death of a soulmate (he’s not dead), depression, general sad vibes.

Word count: 2.6k

Note: the songs referenced in this fic are IDK You Yet by Alexander 23 and Love is Gone by SLANDER. Both of these songs make me cry and were the inspiration for this.

It was at midnight on December 19th when Roman’s soulmark first appeared. He didn’t realize this until 1am.

Granted, he didn’t know it was his soulmark for the first hour.

At first, the almost imperceptible steady beat in his head just seemed like a song that had gotten stuck in there. He didn’t remember ever hearing the song, but it wasn’t unlikely that he’d heard the tune at the store or on the radio and it unconsciously ingrained itself into his memory. He was working on an assignment that was due in the morning, a script analysis for one of his Theatre courses, and had begun to bop his head along to the music when his roommate walked in, eyes bleary and arms laden with books.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” He asked through a yawn, dropping the books on his desk and flopping into the bottom bunk. 

“I could ask you the same question, Pat,” Roman hummed, completing his conclusion paragraph with a dramatic flair of his hands. “Just finished my paper. Going now.”

“Lost track of time at the library,” Patton murmured in response, draping his arms over his eyes. 

Closing his computer, Roman popped his back and climbed up the small ladder into the top bunk, using his cellphone as a flashlight. He assumed Patton was already fast asleep (the man could fall asleep at the drop of a hat) and tried to follow suit, only to sit up in annoyance after several minutes.

Whatever song was stuck in his head was keeping him up. 

He remembered a tip he’d seen on the internet once, that said if you sing the last part of the song, it’s easier to get out of your head. Something about ‘your brain needing to complete it to be satisfied’ or whatever. As hard as he focused, though, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what song it was, much less the ending. 

The more he concentrated on it, the louder it seemed to get, until it was no longer a hum of bass in the back of his skull, and he could make out the lyrics, the guitar solos, everything. He definitely hadn’t heard this song before. It wasn’t the kind you’d hear playing in public; it was loud, swears thrown in every chorus, just generally the kind of thing you’d hear in a Hot Topic but nowhere else. 

And then it stopped.

For a split second he was pleased, thanking his brain for finally shutting off, and conceded to lie back down. He might be able to get six hours of sleep at this rate. Pretty good, for a college student. 

Except as soon as he closed his eyes, another song started. It was another one he didn’t know, one he would have no way of knowing each word to. The realization hit him hard and his eyes shot open, nearly falling off the ladder in his haste to climb down.

“Roman? Everything okay?” Patton drawled, clearly having been woken up by Roman’s enthusiasm. 

“My soulbond!”

“What?!” That got his attention and he jerked up, narrowly missing whacking his head on the top bunk.

“The music in my head all night, it’s my soulmate! It must be his birthday!”

He was pulling up music on his laptop before he’d even processed it, hands freezing over the keyboard as his brain grasped for something to play. What could he play that would properly introduce himself to his soulmate? A show tune? Something from the 80s? But his mind had gone completely blank, and he couldn’t think of a single one.

“What do I play, Pat?” He gasped, tapping the mousepad in time with the upbeat tempo in his head. 

Patton was suddenly leaning over his shoulder, clacking a name into the search bar before pressing enter. Roman narrowed his eyes 

“Why that one?”

Patton shrugged, “It’s kind of cheesy romantic, like you. And the first line is fitting.”

“A valid point,” Roman announced, closing his eyes to listen for a pause as the music switched. The second the song ended, he slammed the space bar, begging it to play before the next one started. 

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet.

A little more depressing than he initially would have chosen, but he could see Patton’s point. The music on the other end had been paused and he smiled in accomplishment, knowing that he must have heard. He let the song play to the end of the first chorus before pausing it, waiting with his roommate with baited breath.

The silence was almost unbearably long, Patton watching him intently for some kind of indication that the music was back.

Hello,

It’s me.

Adele’s soothing melody filled his mind and he absolutely wheezed with laughter. Patton grinned and let him explain through gasps for air, and he let out a giggle in response.

“Okay,” Roman snorted, “What next?”

Patton passed out probably an hour later after helping Roman pick out songs that would adequately encompass him as a person, but the theatre student didn’t sleep last night. Eventually him and his soulmate found a nice rhythm, each playing a song in turn. It didn’t take long for him to assume that his soulmate was emo (a fact that had him blushing furiously), simply due to the overwhelming amount of My Chemical Romance and Green Day played in his head, and he figured it was probably pretty obvious that he was a theatre kid. The second song he played was from Heathers, afterall. 

When his eyes finally started drooping too much to ignore, he knew he had to end this soon. The soulmate’s song ended and he quickly pulled up the first thing he’d thought of, a children’s lullaby, trying to indicate that he had to sleep.

There was quiet on the other end when the song ended, before the beginning trills of Baby Shark started playing and he groaned, quickly muffling the sound with his hand so as to not wake his roommate. He didn’t let it play past one verse, thank Olympus, and then his mind was quiet for the first time in many hours. It seemed like a mutual agreement that ‘now is sleep time’, and Roman went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Their new norm was quickly established in the following weeks. It became obvious almost right away that playing their music at the same time was cacophonous and only caused headaches, so they eventually settled on switching days. Every second morning, Roman would wake up to his alarm and quickly start his morning playlist, a set of rousing, uplifting, exciting songs to get his blood flowing for the day. It was his day to choose the music, so he’d set his walking playlist for class and his study one for the evenings, sometimes playing an adventure podcast or something to spice things up. The other days, he’d be woken by the soft notes of melancholy tunes, starting the day slowly. As the morning progressed, usually by the time he was eating breakfast, the tone would change to something a little more fast paced, as if his soulmate needed to warm up before getting to the main act. As much as the music wasn’t his style, he found himself keeping pace to the beat with his steps, bopping his head along to the melody, humming a harmony to the more commonly played ones. Just knowing that this was his soulmate made it better. 

And then, one day… the music stopped. 

He’d woken up around noon, not a big deal since he didn’t have classes until after lunch anyways, but he knew for a fact that his soulmate was always up by 10, latest. Whether the other had classes or a job that kept his schedule, he didn’t know. It was an oddity for sure that there was no alarm. 

He put it off to the other probably having a sick day, or a free schedule, and he was sleeping in for once. The worry only started creeping in near the evening, when usually at this time, the music would start slowing down again as the sun set. There hadn’t been a peep all day, which was very unlike either of them. Even though the silence bothered him, he wouldn’t dare intrude on the other’s day, so he studied and ate dinner in silence, tapping his pencil against the table. Of course, he put it off to a one day fluke. 

Except, two days after, when it should have been his soulmate’s turn again, there was no music. And the time after that. And the one after that. It was almost two weeks of radio silence on the other end before he called Patton through broken sobs, pleading for him to stop studying and come back to the dorm. Obviously, he made the ten minute walk in five. 

And then Roman admitted the way his anxieties had been spiralling.

“What if- What if our soulbond broke? Did the universe realize we were a mistake? Or… or what if he died?! What if he’s hurt or dying or alone and I’m just-”

Patton shushed him gently, rubbing his back as Roman hiccuped into his shoulder. “When did this start?”

“Two- two weeks ago.”

“Then isn’t it possible that he just isn’t listening to music for a little while? Maybe he’s… somewhere without wifi. Or his phone broke.”

Even though he very much didn’t believe a word Patton was saying, he nodded along messily, clutching Patton’s shirt tighter. He eventually agreed to give him more time, hold on just a little longer, before completely giving up.

It took about a month before he did, and it didn’t get better from there. 

Their consistency had been their norm for almost nine months, over summer break and now into the new school year, and now it was torn away without warning. Roman refused to listen to music on days that weren’t his, even though Patton tried to tell him it was okay, but he wouldn’t. It didn’t feel right. He mourned his soulmate the same way he would mourn a close friend’s death, for he truly believed he was gone for good. The person he’d barely gotten to understand, much less meet, and he was just… gone. He was going to live the rest of his life without a soulmate.

Most nights he just did the bare basics of the homework he had to do, without any of the old flair he’d put into all his work, and curled onto his bed to watch a show or, on his days, listen to music. His old playlists had shifted to the bottom of his rotation, now only bringing sadder memories that Patton had insisted he not indulge in at this point, so it was usually just automated lists he found. Nothing was special about them anymore. 

Today was his day, an uneventful Saturday where the most exciting occurrence was Patton convincing him to come to the cafeteria and eat with other people. It had been tiring and only made him feel more alone, so his daily scheduled moping times had come up a little earlier. Patton had given him a hug and a gentle kiss on the head, telling him he had to go meet some people for a group project, and to call if he needed anything, before grabbing his bag and leaving. Roman didn’t miss the sad look tossed his way before the door shut.

Despite Patton’s advice, he was feeling particularly shitty today, and his fingers, seemingly with a mind of their own, pulled up one of his older playlists. One of the ones that was reminiscent of days when he actually had a soulmate. He clicked shuffle and tossed the phone onto the pillow next to his head, curling that much deeper into his blankets, as if he could somehow refill the void that had been cut out of him. 

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet.

The first song he’d ever played had become a sort of inside joke between them. Despite the song’s sad melody and somber lyrics, it was a reminder of the first time they’d interacted; an awkward, laughter filled night. At least, it had been on Roman’s night, and he could only hope it had been the same on the other end. 

He didn’t even realize he was crying until the pillow beneath him was tear stained and gross to lay on. Why had the universe chosen him as the target for its cruel irony? Not that he wished this on anyone else… but why couldn’t soulmates be foolproof? Why was there that margin for error, the always-there possibility that everything you’ve ever dreamed of will be ripped out of your hands just as soon as you think you have it? So close, but so far. At least before they’d connected, he’d lived in blissful hope and ignorance. 

The song ended and he pressed pause lethargically, not able to find the emotional strength to listen to more. Maybe Patton had been right. A glance out the window showed that it was well past nightfall, the full moon gleaming into his window, and he decided to just sleep the emptiness away. It hadn’t worked so far, but maybe tonight was the night. He turned off his phone screen and plugged it in to charge, rolling away to face the wall, and waited for the soothing peace of sleep to take over him.

At first, he thought it was just a hallucination, wishful thinking. More than once in the three months since his soulmate disappeared, he’d thought he’d heard music, only for the feeling to disappear as soon as he focused on it. A soulbond only became louder when concentrated on, so he eventually realized he was doing it to himself subconsciously, his mind struggling to fill the emptiness that had once been filled by the other’s music. 

When it disappeared, he figured it was music from someone else’s dorm filtering through the thin walls. But no, this was too clear, too distinct, too ingrained, to be coming from an external source.

He calmed his racing heart before he could jump to conclusions. This music isn’t like what his used to be. It must be your brain, because he’s gone. He’s GONE, Roman.

Much as he tried to push it down, he couldn’t. It was becoming evident that no, something was happening, and it had to do with his soulmate. As he had done for the time he’d known (could it be considered ‘knowing’) the other, he concentrated on the lyrics, because those were the only feeble ways they’d interacted in those times. 

I’m sorry,

Don’t leave me,

I want you here with me, 

I know that your love is gone.

I can’t breathe,

I’m so weak, 

I know this isn’t easy,

Don’t tell me that your love is gone,

That your love is gone.

Patton walked in after his group meeting to see Roman sobbing in his bed and, immediately assuming the worst, he jumped onto the bed and pulled him into his arms. Through gasps for breath, Roman was able to choke out that, “He’s back. He’s playing music. He’s back. He’s back.”

Part 2 HERE

[izzabeean]

Chapter 18 : Awakening

SUMMARY

There's a lot to unpack.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 3,446

content : profanity

tags :  alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : a/n: I'm sorry this took too long, I've been needing a mental health break with how busy life has become. This chapter is a bit rushed just because I wanted to post it before next week since I've been MIA for so long.

masterlist

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Slowly turning the key, your head starts to spin as you push the front door open to an empty apartment and a mixture of emotions surge through you. Relief that the repairs for your apartment are finally complete and you can move back to the comfort of your own home. Yet sadness swells in your chest at the realization you’ll be alone.

It’s weird. The natural response would be to get out of Oikawa’s apartment as soon as possible, sick of his antics and constant harassment. But for some incoherent reason, a part of you feels hesitant.

This heavy sensation in your chest drags you down as you walk into your apartment -- it seems so much more burdensome than when you left. Everything still feels fresh.

An agonizing pain mixed with confusion emanates off the walls flashing you back to the night Ushijima ending things. Your anxiety grows stronger as you picture his piercing hazel eyes glowering down at you after asking for you back. It's seemingly getting more and more difficult to make a decision as each moment passes and you're feeling inexplicably hopeless.  It's a terrible idea to get back together with him -- just remembering that night makes you sick. We need to talk still haunts you accompanied with his unbothered, stoic expression... Your heart starts to race trying to make sense of what you’re feeling.

Why is everything suddenly so difficult?

You clench your fists so tightly your knuckles turn white. Why does he even want you back? This isn’t something that he should take so lightly, he hurt you. Though you strongly feel anger festering within, a voice keeps whispering in your ear to take him back. You can’t tell if it’s what you truly want or it’s just the fear of disappointing your parents even more.

“How’s it looking?”

Your manic thoughts are pushed away with Oikawa as he walks further into the apartment to take a look around.

The flood -- you’d forgotten about that morning until this moment. Your heart starts beating faster as the memory rushes to the forefront, not just from the panic and frustration of waking up to a submerged apartment, but to the moment of the warmth under the covers with Oikawa’s firm body pressed up behind you. Had Oikawa been holding back the entire night you spent together? Of course, you didn’t know how long he’s had feelings for you, so surely if he did at the time, it must have been absolutely tempting to make a move on you. But why didn’t he? Truthfully, if the situation was switched then you would’ve taken the opportunity to…

“Not bad,” you answer, trying to force an honest smile, but Oikawa sees right through you.

“Why do you do that?” Oikawa says, his voice is tight on the cusp of irritation.

“Do what?” you respond quickly, hoping that he will just let this one go. But he doesn’t.

“Force yourself to smile like that,” he grunts. “You’re not good at hiding when you’re upset.”

“I’m not--”

“Bullshit,” he retorts with a harsh tone.

You bite your tongue, even more conflicted on what to say.

Oikawa sees that as he analyzes you, he knows it’s not easy for you to talk to him about stuff.  “Is something on your mind?” he asks softly, drawing his frustration back.

It’s hard to process, you’ve felt this heavy feeling for so long, you thought it was normal. The only time you’ve felt any reassurance is in Oikawa’s presence, yet for some reason, today the aching is much more prominent.  Everything feels so nerve wracking. You know he likes you and yet, it makes your heart throb.

“My parents,” you start with your voice a little shaky. “They think they know what’s best for me...”

“For the internship?”

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, eyes fixed on the ground. They also think they know it’s best for you to be with Ushijima, but you couldn’t tell Oikawa that. “Everything’s all set up and it could make me successful but…”

You turn away from him so your face is out of his view. The silence stretches between you for a moment. You feel oddly vulnerable, like the slightest touch will shatter you into pieces. If only it was easier to explain the constant pressure you receive from them, you might've tried to laugh about it upon telling him, just to make things a bit lighter. But, it wasn’t something you were ready to dig into.

���Then what do you want?” Oikawa asks, breaking the quietness.

The age old question that’s been going through your head this entire time. Truthfully, some answers seem so vivid now. You don’t want that internship… It’s not something that will excite you in any form. You want to work to achieve something and this feels like it’s just being handed to you because of your parents. There’s no drive for it.

But as for Ushijima, well...

“I don’t know,” you utter, shaking your head. “I don’t know if I ever will.”

“You’ll figure it out, I know you will,” Oikawa hums, before walking up to ruffle your hair.

Even as he pulls his hand away, his touch is still lingering, forcing you to catch your breath at the sudden surprise. His words are warm and caring as if he truly believes everything will fall into place. You want to believe him. Even the warmth in his eyes almost sways your skepticism, you can feel affection in them, but you can’t seem to grasp onto the hope he has. At this point you’re too stunned to even say a word as you allow your emotions to control you.

“When are you moving back in?” he asks, bringing you back to reality.

“Probably in the next couple days,” you breathe then pause staring at him for a bit while feeling your entire face burn up. An undeniable tension floats in the air and you're struggling to understand if it’s just your mind racing or it’s actually there. The way he manages to get your heart racing out of nowhere, the look he gives you when his chocolate eyes gaze at you, makes you want to melt… “Can you help?”

“Of course.”

------

Now that Iwaizumi is gone, it’s only standard for you to sleep in the guest bedroom. You’re not sure why a room down the hallway was more uncomfortable, but here you were tossing and turning unable to fall asleep. Of course you have other causes to your insomnia, like the pressure of deciding whether or not you should move forward with the internship and whether or not you should get back together with Ushijima. But at the very moment, your head can’t seem to wrap around the idea that Oikawa is just down the hall.

You’ve been living with him for awhile and now you decide to be nervous about it, you think.

Tucking your head under the covers, you take a deep breath inhaling the soft scents of softener and linen, a deep contrast to the sweet scent of citrus mixed with a tinge of oak in Oikawa’s room -- which you’d noticed shortly after is the essence of Oikawa. You clench your jaw, y our brain is all messed up from everything going on. Not to mention it's strange, the way Oikawa’s been so generous lately -- sweet without being boastful or bothersome, completely unlike himself. You’re not sure what you were expecting after your “fight”, but it probably wasn’t this.

You won't be sleeping anytime soon, so you get up and grab your coat, hoping an evening walk will put your mind at ease.

The night is dark and calm as you walk down the street, sidewalk lit by a streetlamp every few steps. Though quiet, your thoughts are louder than ever, pounding at your head hounding you to make a decision. As the cool air picks up and nips at your face, you quickly shove your hands in your pockets full of tissues and a cartridge. Pulling it out, you’re reminded of the evening you first bought the pack of smokes, how your agony ripped you apart to the point you had to turn to a bad habit. The recollection of relief pulsing through your body after inhaling the rich smoke tempted you as you open the pack and take out a stale cigarette that’s a bit crumpled.

The emptiness sets in and your eyes begin to gloss over as you think of what you should do next. For a moment the stress of your future can temporarily disappear with one breath, but how disappointed would Oikawa be if you did so.

That evening, when he called you in the midst of your smoke, he didn’t even know what had happened, but he was still there in a way. His voice echoes your head as he slurs that he hopes Ushijima makes you happy… It makes you hot and flustered. Oikawa always just wants what is best for you. Even if it didn’t benefit him…

You crush the cigarette into your palm and with that a shiver went down your spine. The heavy feeling in your chest seemed to lift itself a little and you almost thought you were standing a bit taller.

------

Fiddling with your pen, you look up once again at the time; class is almost over. Oikawa sits beside you, seemingly locked in on the professor's lecture. It feels unfamiliar to see him taking notes, attentively listening -- his concentration is normally as lacking as yours. Today your attention span is the worst it’s ever been trying to hone in on the dull monotone voice that booms across the class.

Then an idea sparks.

Quickly you try to grab the pen that Oikawa is writing with, but his reflexes are too swift for you as he jerks it away from your reach. A loud obnoxious screech from your chair lurching forward interrupts your professor in the middle of his lesson.

“Y/N, is everything alright?” the professor asks, while everyone’s eyes turn to you.

It’s awkward as you scoff under your breath, but sit up and readjust your seat.

“Y--yes, everything is good,” you say before having the professor return back to his stale lecture.

You let out a sigh while your face gets all flushed. The taste of desperation coats your mouth and it’s so overwhelming that you had to go to uncomfortable lengths just to feel the slightest bit of normalcy between the two of you. There’s just something about the way his irritation spikes through his tight-lipped smile and balling of fists while his eyes glare at you. You missed it.

Suddenly, a quiet snicker sounds beside you. In the corner of your eye, you can see a softness in Oikawa’s appearance and he's slightly smirking. You try not to make it obvious that you notice, but it makes your heart melt a little.

The remainder of the lesson, you continue to replay the way Oikawa’s lips almost turned up to a smile. You wish you got more of a reaction out of him, but it was enough to reassure things.  When the professor gives his final dismissal, Oikawa pops up to pack up his belongings. There’s this longing of wishing you could sit beside him longer as you slowly collect your things.

“Ushiwaka is here,”  Oikawa says, gesturing to the doorway.

You glance at the doorway noticing a familiar figure poking his head in. His eyes survey the classroom and before meeting yours, you quickly dart them away.

“Are you kidding?” you say under your breath, quickly zipping up your bag, feeling a flash of irritation course through your veins. “I’ll be right back.”

Oikawa raises his brow as he watches you speed towards Ushijima. He knew something like this was going to happen. It was only a matter of time.

But you weren’t pleased with Ushijima’s appearance.

"What are you doing?” you fume, you were quite pissed off as you pout your lips in petulant annoyance.

“I wanted to walk you to your next class,” Ushijima admits so nonchalantly it grinds your teeth.

"N--no," you reply, losing your focus to Oikawa walking by. “No, I don’t need--”

“I need to make up for the time we’ve lost together,” Ushijima adds, eyes locked on to yours that are wandering past him looking at Oikawa who’s getting further and further away.

"I-- I can’t. Please just… I need more space,” you sputter before swallowing hard your body leading to Oikawa’s direction.

"Take whatever time you need, I'll be waiting,” is what you think you heard from him as you catch up to Oikawa, but you don’t really care because your heart feels like everything you did in the moment was unlawful. You didn’t want Oikawa to get the wrong idea, and you feel like he might have, it makes you sick. Just when things started to repair with him, Ushijima just had to sweep in.

“What did he want?” Oikawa asks, his gaze ahead. “Did you finally accept his proposal?”

“What? No," you answer, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re really taking your time with this aren’t you,” he mumbles. “You better figure it out quick, he’s not going to wait for you forever.”

“He can wait,” you say to which Oikawa glances at you.

You get to a fork in the hallway that branches off to your next class or leads to outside the building. Oikawa raises his hand to bid farewell, but you stop planting your feet and take a deep breath.

“Toru.”

He stops and looks over at you…

“Can you come with me…. to my parents?” you breathe. “I don’t want to do the internship. I just don’t want to go alone to tell them.”

Hesitant of his answer, you wait for his response.

“I’d be happy to.”

----

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” you whine, abruptly stopping on the sidewalk in front of your parents house. The sun hides behind the dark clouds, almost seeming like a sigh that you shouldn’t move forward with your plan, but gently touches your back.

“It will be alright,” Oikawa says softly as you try to push away the heat of his touch.

You’re sure that because Oikawa is here with you, you can go through with it. Even if you’re on the verge of retreating, it’s in fact, much more relieving to have him support you on the sidelines.

Every ounce of you pushes your body forward towards the front door. The ominous illusion of a stone cold castle looms over you as you press your finger to the doorbell.  The anxiety starts to build up as you look back to Oikawa. He gives you a smile and your face is hot, worried about what's to come from this conversation.

The door unlatches and slowly opens.

“Oh, hello,” your mom says, eyes wide yet narrow glaring down at you. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hi,” you respond shyly. You wanted to grab Oikawa’s body to shield you from your mom’s unpleasant aura, but of course you plant your feet. “This is Toru Oikawa.”

Looking back at him to check in and see if he too is incapacitated from her energy. But he isn’t.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says with a bow.

“How charming, come in!” she greets.

Oikawa straightens up, smoothing out his shirt before fixing his hair. Your eyes widen in awe - his calm confidence is visionary. You didn’t remotely feel comfortable around your mother and Oikawa is smooth and endearing. You're definitely always bringing him with you when you have to see your parents.

Your poorly hidden anxiety is noted on Oikawa’s behalf as he raises an eyebrow and flicks you on the forehead.

“Don’t stress!” Oikawa smiles.

Entering into the house, you two take off your shoes and make your way into the dining area where your mom awaits you. The rooms feel remarkably lifeless and empty.

“Where’s dad?” you ask, taking a seat at the dining table as Oikawa follows suit, sitting next to you.

“Oh working again, doesn’t know when to stop,” your mom sighs. Her eyes trail to Oikawa and her gaze feels so much softer compared to the daggers she throws at you. “Would you like some tea? Water?”

Her gaze lingers as she patiently waits for an answer.

“Thank you, but I’m alright,” he replies.

She turns to you and your heart leaps out of your chest, her stare feels like it could drag your soul out of your body.

“No, I’m fine,” you say, voice shaky as you swallow hard, forcing the next couple words out of your mouth. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the internship.”

Your mom’s intimidating demeanor drops immediately, her eyes twinkling with excitement while taking a seat across from you.

“Oh they’re so delighted to have you,” she croons. “They’ve even made you a care package in anticipation of your arrival!”

“See, the thing is…”

Your mom’s blissful face cuts.

“What’s wrong,” she says, making the question more of a blank statement.

“Nothing’s wrong, I just--”

“You think a mother wouldn’t know her own daughter.”

“It’s just--”

“Spit it out.”

You hold your breath, not sure how to present it. Looking at Oikawa, his eyes are full of affection and reassurance, you’ve come this far and you can’t back out of it now.

“Are you quitting?” she murmurs, gazing at you with a stern, cold look on her face.

“I’m sorry,” you say, trying to cushion the blow. But her eyes grow with more displeasure.

“Excuse me,” she hisses.

The air cuts thin. You’re quiet upon hearing the disappointment in her voice, and can understand why she’d be absolutely mortified.

“All that your father and I have done for you,” she barks. “This is how you repay us?”

I knew this was going to happen, you think to yourself as the worst case scenario seems to be on track with her reaction.

“I want to find somewhere else to intern,” you breathe, scared your words are just going to start a war. Her eyes have blaze in them won’t go out. There’s so much passion to make you like her, but even more successful, despite you going against her wishes. Something in her aura makes you want to run, but running is all you’ve ever done. It’s time to face your fears. “Please, let me explain.”

She doesn’t speak, her scowl says everything as she leans back in her chair, arms crossed against her chest.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, ever since I first went in for the interview,” you begin trembling. “Everyone was so welcoming and so excited to have me, but something just doesn’t feel right.”

“So you’re going to be selfish and only think about yourself?” she argues.

You recognize your anxiety from earlier stirring in your stomach. Your mom isn’t the easiest person to speak to, especially when her face radiates failure and suffering, this is quite possibly the most horrified you’ve seen her.

“It’s not what I want to do with my degree. I want to look somewhere else that will make me feel more fulfilled.”

“What you want is a mistake,” she thunders.

Her words are like knives digging into your heart. She just seems so distraught, and obviously cares about your future, but you can’t do this anymore.

You stand up from the table and bow deeply. “Will you please trust me? That’s all I ask.”

The room is silent as tension fills the air, you don’t really know what to expect as you shut your eyes tight waiting for a reaction. You’re expecting to be yelled at-- not to mention a shock wave of embarrassment protruding through you in front of Oikawa. The moment is painful and you don’t know what to do. You remain in the deep bow waiting.

“Alright. You don’t need to be so ridiculous, bowing...” she mumbles. You stand up and she has her hand clasp to her forehead. “You’re father’s going to kill me, but alright.”

Your heart rate increases, uncertain what she means by that, because you thought you’d misheard her.

“I guess it’s about time you’ve made your own decisions,” she says. “I was beginning to believe you’d continue to go along with it, but you’re your own person now.”

Shock and confusion washes over you, mixed with hope and excitement. You press your palm to your heart wondering if it’s about to beat out of your chest.

“Just don’t come crying when nothing goes your way,” she adds.

Letting out a huge breath, your lips upturn to a smile.

“Thank you,” you say. And it’s genuine.

[lemonzestywrites]

sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

paring: buck x eddie

word count: 2,268

tw: panic attacks, implied claustrophobia 

[ao3 link]

_____

Buck has never been a fan of the dark. Especially as a child, the thought alone had brought along too many nightmares and memories of running to Maddie’s room to make her double-check for monsters under his bed. It doesn’t bother him as much anymore, but still, every now and again, on nights where his anxiety is all too present for his liking, the same twinge of uneasiness will find itself scratching away at his brain.

He hasn’t felt it in a while, but that itch has been sitting at the base of his subconscious since he’s clocked in for his shift, and now Buck can’t help but be on edge. He tries his best to ignore it and go on with his day, but the next 12 hours tick by with a foreboding weariness he can’t quite place.

The hospital only makes it worse. The plain white walls, the PA system going off every other minute, the frigid cold that sticks to his skin, he hates all of it. There’s a small voice in the back of his head that wonders if it’s just the result of having been admitted so many times. It doesn’t feel like all too sure of reasoning, but he’d rather not linger on the thought too long. So instead, Buck settles for it and chalks it up to nerves, making a mental note to bring it up during his next session with Dr. Copeland. Until then, he should be fine.

Emphasis on should.

Because apparently, the universe gets a real kick out of watching Buck suffer since it wasn’t enough that the hospital’s power went out- no, the entire fucking city got hit with a widespread blackout. And if that wasn’t worrying enough, Eddie hasn’t been answering his radio, and Buck’s phone isn’t working either. He does his best to stay calm, really he does, but with every passing minute of radio silence, the sick coil of nerves knotted in his stomach only gets tighter and tighter.

After 10 minutes of no response, Bobby had given Buck the go-ahead to go look for Eddie, and that’s all he needed before he’s off, weaving through the halls of the hospital heading to where he’d seen him last. If it weren’t for whatever shred of self-control in him, Buck would probably be sprinting through the building by now.

Eddie’s been back to work for only about a couple weeks now. And he’s doing great (obviously, he wouldn’t have gotten cleared to go back if he wasn’t). Buck is happy for him- happy that his best friend is back. God knows the last couple of months had been rough without Eddie, he had spent the last couple of years carving out and filling a special place in the station especially reserved for him, and then all of a sudden, it had been vacant again.

Buck is excited that he’s working again, really he is. But now the energy between them feels…different, and he knows why- they both do. It’s not like Buck had expected them to come back completely fine either. But even months after the shooting, they still have yet to talk about any of it. A part of him feels like they should, but in the months he stayed over at Eddie’s, helping out however he could during his recovery, Buck could see the toll everything had taken on him, both physically and mentally. Eddie didn’t seem ready to unpack that with him yet, and Buck wasn’t going to push him.

It’s fine. He knows Eddie has been going back to therapy. They’ll talk whenever he’s ready.

Buck does his best to give Eddie his space, let him, you know, do his job, but the past weeks feel like he’s been doing nothing but living on the edge. Every time Eddie’s out of his sight for too long, he can hear a voice screaming at him, ‘Where is he? Is he okay? Find him. Protect him. Find him. You said you’d have his back. Your fault. Your fault. Your fa-’

Then Eddie will turn the corner, and Buck’s lungs will release a breath he hadn’t known he was holding on to. He hopes it’ll take the fear, too, that with every sigh won’t just be a release of pressure but help let go of the irrational worry he has. But it never does. It eats away at him, taunting him with the idea that Eddie might get hurt again, but this time Buck won’t be there to help him.

(God, they really should talk.)

He still doesn’t bring it up. Instead, Buck sets aside his apprehension and tries not to indulge in the panicked voice in his subconscious. He’s been getting better at it.

At least he was.

All it took was 15- no, 16 minutes now- of radio silence for Buck’s heart to start pounding against his chest in rapid succession. For the nervousness to shoot through his veins, thrumming all the way down to the tips of fingers as they twitch with a numbing unease. He treads through the halls keeping his head on a swivel, alert and attentive to trying to find his best friend in the sea of patients and doctors. Eddie’s probably somewhere in the hospital helping out the staff; he is a medic after all. Yet despite any amount of reasoning Buck tries to apply, the sickening feeling in his stomach doesn’t seem to dissipate. It’s been 16 minutes, and he hasn’t had any luck. He’s even circled the floor twice just to be sure, but still, nothing.

He’s considering doing another lap when he hears it- the distant noise of someone banging on metal coming from behind the elevator doors. The sound is so faint, paired with the loud frenzy of the rest of the hospital floor, that Buck almost doesn’t hear it.

He rushes to the doors, pressing his ear flushed against it. He can hear someone yelling, but the voice is too muffled to make out what they’re saying.

“Eddie?” He calls out, no doubt getting a couple odd looks from the passing medical staff, but he pays them no mind. He bangs on the doors a couple times before yelling again louder, “Eddie! It’s Buck- can you hear me?”

There’s a beat of silence before the pounding continues again, this time with much more force in response. Buck doesn’t waste any time before he digs his fingers between the doors, using everything he has to pry them apart. The muscles in his shoulders and arms strain, but the creaking of metal offers enough motive to keep him going. Even if it’s not Eddie, it still means someone’s trapped down there.

(A selfish part of him still hopes, though.)

Once the doors are opened wide enough for him, Buck drops to his stomach to peer down into the elevator currently caught between two floors. Even with the little light he does have, he sees a curled-up shadow crouched in the corner below him, “Eddie?”

The person shifts, “Buck?”

There’s nothing more Buck wants than to revel in the relief he feels when he finally hears Eddie’s voice, but it quickly scatters when he notices the trembling panic coated in his tone.

“It’s me,” Buck reassures with as much steadiness he can force out and just hopes that Eddie doesn’t hear the way his voice shakes out the words. “Are you okay?”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I-I can’t breathe.”

Buck’s mind starts to spin, panicking on what to do now. The gap in between the doors isn’t that big, so it’s not like he can slip down there with Eddie or pull him out either. He has enough sensibility to grab at his radio to at least let Bobby aware of his status, “Cap, I found Eddie. He’s trapped in an elevator stuck between the 7th and 6th floors.”

A few seconds pass before he hears Bobby’s voice on the other end, “Okay, we’re working on getting the hospital’s backup generator working. Stay with him until we can get it back online, then we’ll head up to you.”

Eddie lets out a strangled noise at his words. The twinge of panic in Buck’s stomach only coils tighter when he realizes how Eddie’s breathing seems to pick up, now coming out in quick hallow shivers.

‘He’s having a panic attack.’ Buck realizes.

It takes less than a couple seconds after for Buck to murmur a hasty “copy that” into his radio before he readjusts his focus back to his friend.

He’s not unfamiliar with panic attacks, his or Eddie’s, most of which being the results of nightmares that seem to linger when dusk settles. During the last few months, Buck has lost count of the nights that either one of them has woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, and in the midst of alarm and fear, craving a recognizable magnetism of being held. A silent want to be assured protection and comforted.

It’s sick now. How there’s nothing more Buck desires than to provide that same security now, but the small two-foot gap between the elevator doors draws out to what feels like miles of distance.

Even though he can’t crawl down there with him, Buck finds himself reaching into the elevator shaft as far as he can, “Eddie, can you grab onto my hand for me?” Listen- he knows what he’s doing isn’t entirely safe, sticking his arm into an elevator that hasn’t been secure yet. But the sound of Eddie’s breath coming out in nothing but shaky huffs is more than enough to make him forgo any logic.

From within the enclosure of the elevator, he feels Eddie grasp his hand with an iron grip, the distress trembling at his fingers.

“Hey, I’m here, I’m right here, alright?” Buck presses the conviction through his tone, his best attempt to override his own uncertainty. “Do you think you can try and take some deep breaths?”

Buck can faintly make out the silhouette of Eddie nodding, “Y-Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I can try.”

“We can do them together,” Buck offers. He takes a deep breath himself, and from below him, he hears Eddie take one too. Unconsciously, Buck starts to tighten his hold in tandem with their breathing, squeezing his hand on an inhale, loosening his grasp on the exhale. He hadn’t really realized he’s doing it until after a couple breaths, Eddie starts doing it too. And with each squeeze, his grasp slowly becomes more determined and less shaky. It doesn’t take long for them to eventually sync up for the tremor in Eddie’s hands to fade.

A couple more moments pass, and his breathing begins to steady more.

“How you doing down there, Eds?”

“Can you…”, he clears his throat, an attempt to hide how wrecked he sounds. “Can you talk to me?- About anything, it doesn’t matter.”

Buck rattles his brain for something, anything to talk about before he remembers the nature documentary he had watched several nights prior, “Did you know toucans are born blind?”

He hears Eddie laugh; it comes out breathless and nervous, but it’s a laugh nonetheless, “Really?”

“Yeah, ironically enough, they also aren’t great at flying either. They usually hop from one branch to another to get where they want to go.”

“Tell me more?” He asks, his voice quiet.

Buck smiles and keeps going, rambling about birds for a while. He doesn’t really know for how long, and at some point, he loses his awareness of what he’s saying, more focused on Eddie than anything else. Faintly, he wonders if his arm is getting tired by now.

“You know, Chris has been learning about biomes and ecosystems in school…he’d love to hear all this stuff.”

“You can tell him all about it after work.” He reassures.

Eddie’s hand twitches in his palm. “How much longer?” Buck can hear the dread creeping back into his tone.

“I…”

Not too long. He wants to promise, but the words get caught in his throat. There are a lot of things Buck can do- lying to Eddie isn’t one of them. “I-I don’t know.” He finally admits, the shame dripping down from him. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Eddie laughs, yet this time there’s no shred of humor in his voice, “I’m not sure if I can last any longer down here, Buck.” God, he sounds on the verge of tears.

“What can I do?” Fuck, at this point, Buck would do anything. Hell, he’d pull the damn elevator up himself if he had to. Whatever it would take to get Eddie back on safe ground.

“Just-” A pained noise escapes him, “Please don’t leave.”

Buck swears his heart fucking shatters. “Hey.” Even though he can’t see exactly where Eddie is, he does his best to look him in the eye before he squeezes his hand, “I’m not leaving your side, okay?”

The first thing Buck’s fire instructor had said during his training at the academy was never make a promise you can’t keep. Buck knows how important promises are to people, especially in states of emergencies. In the middle of chaos, those two words are all anyone needs to cling to. So that’s why, when Eddie looks at him, with what little light there is provided catching the edges of his watery eyes laced in fear and worry, Buck doesn’t hesitate to grip his hand as tight as he can. To hold on and look at Eddie with all the conviction and certainty he has and tell him,

“I promise.”

[speechlessxx]

look at this godforsaken mess that you made me.

[Chris Evans x Reader]

Summary: After one night of truth, it became difficult to hide the emotions behind this illicit affair.

Warnings: implied age gap, angsty, actress!reader,(poorly written) smut but in flashbacks LOL

Word Count: ~ 3k 

sorry this was lowkey ass. i wrote this in the hospital. 

Buy me a Ko-Fi - donations are appreciated but not necessary

Laughter and chatter were almost as loud as whatever top 40 pop song was blaring throughout the speakers. You used to enjoy these get togethers, but this time was different. You dreaded it.

If it had been your choice, you would’ve immediately packed up and flew back to your hometown, but the heavy storm brewing in the skies cancelled all flights out of the city. You were stuck with your co-stars – the makeshift Marvel family that welcomed you with open arms. Though you loved them dearly, six months had been a long time. You longed for a break and you deserved it all the same. But truthfully, you craved the escape more.

You were among the youngest members of the cast – at the prime partying age, according to Mackie at least. Everyone found your eagerness to leave and sudden standoffish behavior completely uncharacteristic, but you always dismissed the accusation.

No one needed to know the truth.

You stared blankly at the wall, a glass of water in your hand as you fought to ignore the eyes that burned through the back of your skull. Looking up would be a mistake, but you were always good at making those.

Your fingernails dug into his shoulders. His muscles defined due to his preparation for the movie. You gasped when his teeth nipped at the delicate skin of your neck, legs locking around his waist as if to pull him closer.

His thrusts were slow and deep as you moaned. The sound echoed throughout the hotel room, making him tsk. A soft chuckle escaped him before his lips ghosted over yours. “Can’t let anyone hear, baby,” he whispered, and you whimpered in response. His voice was deep and husky – a consequence of the early morning. He groaned when he felt you clench around him. “You gonna cum?”

You nodded, too breathless to muster a coherent response. His thrusts became sharper, faster as he tried to push you over the edge. He unhooked your legs from his weight and pushed them over his shoulders before one hand wrapped around your neck, applying pressure slightly.

The loss of blood to your brain paired with the new angle for deeper thrusts had you writhing beneath him, eyes rolling back. His lips found your again, capturing your moans. “Cum for me, baby,” he said into the kiss.

You threw your head back deeper into the bed as you felt the knot in your stomach snap.

“Chris! Chris!”

You took a long sip of water as you tried to shake the memory from your head. You suddenly felt hot – uncomfortable, even.

It had been a routine for you. Encounters that dated back over a year. It had started on a set of another movie, one that was apart from the Marvel franchise. You were new to the industry – the film had been your debut role that launched your career. It had been Chris that put in a good word for you with Marvel’s higher ups, landing you on the roster for an upcoming movie.

Though, now, you wondered if it had been a ploy to keep you in his circle.

You pulled at your shirt, shifting on the couch as you tried to listen to whatever crazy story Anthony babbled on about.

“No champagne?” Lizzie asked you, offering you the bottle. You smiled and politely declined. She eyed you and your water warily as she poured herself some.

“No, (Y/N)’s a beer girl!” Tom piped up, raising his bottle to you as if beckoning you to take a sip. Again, you declined.

“What’s got you suddenly sobering up?” Anthony chuckled. You shrugged. “Oh, c’mon,” he dramatically scoffed. “None of us have a call time at 6 a.m. You’re allowed to get drunk tonight, (Y/N).”

You laughed and shook your head. “I’m just not up for it. I guess.” What you meant to say was I don’t want to get drunk and sleep with Chris again.

Your shoulders suddenly tensed when the couch dipped and a familiar aroma swarmed you.

“Chris! Chris!” You chanted his name as you came around him.

His thrusts were relentless as he rode you through your high, desperate to reach his. “Feel so good, baby,” he huskily said. “So tight, so wet.” He pulled his hand from your throat, the blood suddenly rushing back to you, and moved it to rub tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He groaned into you as your pussy quivered around him, shaking your head. “No,” you weakly whimpered. “I can’t – I can’t – “

“Yeah, you can,” he encouraged, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, resting his forehead against yours. His deep blue eyes stared deeply into yours and all you could feel in that moment was just him. “One more, baby… Gimme one more.” Your fingers combed through his hair as you nodded. “Cum with me, baby, c’mon.”

Your breath hitched as your anxiety quickly rose, but you hid it behind a tight smile. Perhaps you were a better actress that you gave yourself credit for because everyone seemed to buy that grin.

“Hey,” your jaw clenched when you heard his voice. It was hushed as if he were afraid someone would catch him talking to you.

Throughout the last month of filming – after your falling out – it had been easy to avoid him. Most of your screen time was shared with Elizabeth or Tom – the three of you being hailed by fans as the “new generation” for Marvel. Even before you abruptly cut him off, you barely saw him on set. Your time together was only limited to midnight rendezvous, closed doors, and twisted sheets.

You let out a shaky breath. “Hi.” You said, keeping your eyes on the rip of your glass, refusing to meet his.

Chris stared at the side of your face. He noticed your clenched jaw and tensed shoulders. The way you avoided looking at him broke his heart into a million pieces. He bit his lip before tearing his eyes away from you, focusing on the pieces of lint that gathered on the material of his pants.

You watched from the corner of your eyes as he picked at them. It was a telltale sign that he was anxious – or bored. Although you prided yourself with the idea that you knew him better than most people did, you still could never tell with him. He was a collection of empty promises, half true lies, and mixed signals.

You should’ve gotten up. Maybe you could’ve excused yourself from your little circle and insert yourself into a conversation with Robert and Scarlet. Would it have been suspicious if you did? Perhaps you could’ve just called it a night, say your goodbyes, and rush off to your hotel – back to the very room where he broke your heart.

“Cum with me, baby, c’mon.”

It was as if your body was attuned to his words and demands. Because just like that, you were a wreck beneath him, gushing and milking him for all he’s worth. He grunted as his thrusts became sloppier until he pushed in as deep as he could and that familiar warmth spread through you.

He was breathing heavily as were you. He pressed a kiss to your temple before gently pulling out. You winced at the sudden emptiness, feeling his cum drip from your hot core. “You did so good,” he praised as he slumped beside you on the bed. Two thick arms wrapping around your spent body, pulling you into him. He left a trail of kisses all over your skin. “Always such a good girl.”

In your hazy, post multiple orgasms mind, you said three words that changed everything.

“I love you.”

But you couldn’t move. You were frozen on that couch, fighting off the tears and the somber memories.

In your blossoming career, your repertoire consisted of two major movies – your debut movie and the Marvel one that wrapped this very day. Both of which had you starring alongside Chris.

You two became insanely close to one another. He could read you like an open book as you did him though sometimes, he threw you off.

“We just get each other,” is what he would say when prompted to speak out about your chemistry. “We’re like two long lost best friends.” Many attributed the closeness to a kinship of sorts – some even saying that you were like the Tom Holland to his Robert Downey Jr; some speculated a relationship. Little did anyone know that this “kinship” brewed from something else entirely.

He knew everything there is to know about you. Your ticks, your pet peeves, the way you tasted and squirmed. He knew from the way your were trembling and the way you gripped your glass that you were fighting the urge to cry.

And he hated knowing he was the reason for your tears.

“I love you.” The words that escaped your lips was barely above a whisper. If Chris had let out a deep breath the very moment you said it, he might’ve even missed it.

But he didn’t.

He heard all three words.

“What?” He unwrapped his arms around you, startled by the confession. You flushed in realization.

“I – I didn’t – “

“You love me?” He scoffed. Your faint smile immediately fell as you shuffled in the bed to stare at him. His eyes were wide in bewilderment – disbelief, even. “You … You can’t love me.”

“Just forget about it, okay?” You begged, not wanting to ruin a good thing. Despite your feelings, you didn’t want them to push him away. You were willing to swallow your pride and love for him if it meant that he wouldn’t shut you out.

Chris shook his head at you, frantically jumping out of the bed. You watched vulnerably with tears brimming in your eyes as he quickly got dressed. “Chris – “

“No.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he pulled on his sweatpants. “Y-you… you can’t love me.”

“Okay, then I won’t!” You urged. “I didn’t mean it.”

He stood at the side of the bed, staring at you, seeing through the lies. He watched your guard fall as you watched his walls go up. He shook his head as he reached for his shirt.

“Chris – no, please,” you begged, pulling the covers to your chest as you tried to stop him from leaving. “I didn’t mea – “

“You meant it.” His tone was hard to decipher. You weren’t sure if he was angry with you or if he was confused. It was just flat. Before you could argue, he pulled his arm from your hands, hastily walking towards the door.

“Do you not want me to?” You asked him, freezing him in his place. His hand ghosted over the cold doorknob as his mind searched for a response. “Or do you not feel the same?” Your voice broke as did his heart.

He didn’t bother to spare you a second glance. “I don’t feel the same.” He said, curtly – emotionlessly – as he turned the knob and left you alone and in tears.

“(Y/N) – “he began but immediately cut himself off when he saw the single tear that rolled down your cheek. You quickly wiped it away with the back of your hand while he fought the urge to lean over and wipe it himself.

“Uh, I gotta go,” you said immediately after, quickly saying your farewells to your friends.

Chris bit the inside of his cheek as he and everyone else watched you abruptly leave, the door swinging closed behind you. Anthony had whistled, joking that someone was in a mood which Tom replied that you were probably just tired.

But Chris knew better.

-=+=-

It was late into the night when he heard the soft knocks. If he had been asleep, he wouldn’t have heard them. But just like you, his anxiety kept him up all hours of the night.

“Hey.” You shifted beneath his stare, keeping your eyes trained on your shoes.

“Hi.” He greeted in disbelief.

You stood in the hotel hall in awkward silence, trying to find the right words to say. Breathe. You reminded yourself. Just breathe. You found the courage, swallowing your pride, to lift your chin up and meet his gaze for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

It was awkward – to say the least. You always found that his room was much roomier than yours. It felt as if your room was a studio apartment while his was half of a penthouse – complete with a dining table and a full kitchen.

You fumbled with the sleeves of your cardigan as he asked if you wanted anything to drink. You politely declined – you wanted a clear head and an empty bladder for this long-awaited conversation.

You found it strange that he sat down in the seat adjacent from yours. He could’ve sat in the seat across from you – it would’ve made this interaction a whole lot easier.

He stared at you curiously as he wondered why you were here. Your constant avoidance led him to believe that you wanted nothing to do with him – and he didn’t blame you. He didn’t exactly handle that situation very well. Maybe you were here to end if officially?

“I just have to know,” you sighed out, looking up at him as he angled his entire body towards you. You scratched the back of your neck before continuing to fumble with the fabric of your sleeve. “Why?”

“Why what?”

You sucked your teeth before your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip. You took a deep breath. “Why don’t you love me?” His brows rose in consideration as he tried to come up with a logical answer.

Why didn’t he want you to love him?

Truthfully, Chris wanted you to. He gravitated towards you like the planets to the sun. You brought a warmth into his life – a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long, long time… and it scared him.

He was no stranger to heartbreak – 39 years on this Earth. He’s had his fair share of it. And despite longing for a true, good love with a promising future, he was still so afraid of the possibility of getting his heart broken again. But he hated knowing that he broke yours.

He didn’t think he deserved you and only limited himself to the stolen kisses behind closed doors. It was his breakable heaven – and in the moment it got too real, he did the only thing he knew how to: leave.

But he couldn’t find the words. He stared at you dumbfoundedly, silently admiring your courageousness. For someone so young, he didn’t expect the cliché of showing up to his hotel – though he contemplated showing up to yours – and prompting this much needed conversation. But he knew your goal was very clear to you – it was either closure or a new beginning.

You rolled your eyes, exhausted. “Because… I don’t know. Maybe I’m crazy or naïve, but the way – the way you are with me? It’s not casual. It’s not a one-time thing. And maybe I’m reading too deeply into it, but I – I …” You trailed off. I hoped it was more. I hoped it was real.

“I love you,” Chris muttered. Your eyes widened with shock at the brashness.

“Chris – “you shook your head. You were tired of this long cycle – this vicious game of tug of war that pulled at your heartstrings until they snapped.

“I’m serious.” He said, looking directly into your eyes. He saw the doubt, the sudden indecisiveness that washed over your features. He saw you try to reel back into yourself, subtly scooting away from him to create distance. He saw the walls build back up as his fell for the first time in forever. “I was afraid of what it meant when you said it…” He admitted as he reached over to hold your hands in his. “It just made everything so – so real for me and honestly, (Y/N)? It scared me so much.”

“But you just left me there – “

“And I regret that.” Chris interjected, shaking his head as he pulled your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I regret it so much. If I could turn back time and stay, I would. In the month of you icing me out, it just… I couldn’t live like that. The world never felt colder when you weren’t by my side. But I, truthfully, honestly do love you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to admit it to myself – to admit it to you… But I love you, (Y/N).”

You shook your head, doubting him. Was this another scheme of his? Was he just trying to get you back into his bed by feeding you more lies – by telling you what you wanted to hear?

“Please, believe me,” he begged. His voice had quaked, breaking ever so slightly. “I’m in love with you.”

“Chris – “he couldn’t register the tone. It was flat, not leaning towards angry, or heartfelt, or confused. Just flat.

But then he saw the tears roll down your cheeks and he instinctively cupped your cheeks to brush them away with his thumbs.

You were torn. Despite hearing the very words you wanted to hear a month ago, you weren’t sure how to feel. Of course, you still loved him. His was the very name that your heart called out for as you laid awake in the late nights.

You gasped when he suddenly leaned in, closing the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t hungry nor heated. It was passionate, loving. “Just let me love you,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours – and you melted into him. 

[nepenthendline]

Heyyy, could you do a headcannon post for tsukki, kenma, suga, Kageyama, and kurro, and how they would go about proposing to their s/o. I love your writing btw!!! 💜

proposal hcs make me so sOFT, and thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺 It means a lot! I’m going to bury myself in these hcs to get rid of the stress my uni are giving me rn also kageyama’s is so long omg i got a little carried away

slight timeskip spoilers (kenma, sugawara, kageyama, kuroo)

Requests are open!

Proposal Headcanons - Tsukishima, Kenma, Sugawara, Kageyama and Kuroo

Tsukishima:

Tsukishima wasn’t one for extravagant publics displays of love and affection, so his proposal wouldn’t be either

he wanted it to be natural, not some crazy, over-the-top event that had everyone in the neighbourhood witnessing

it would be around 5-10 years (depending on how old you were when you started dating) of being together when Tsukishima decided he wanted to marry you, it’s not that he never thought about it, he just wanted to be sure this was the right decision for both of you

he had mentioned marriage to you one night a few months before proposing to test the waters and see your opinion so that he could gauge whether you would say yes or not

he took Yamaguchi with him to pick out a ring, he was great friends with you too so he knew your style and preferences well to help out Tsukishima

the proposal itself what somewhat planned, he knew the day he was going to do it but, other than that, he left it open to change

the two of you had gone for an evening walk across a pathway that overlooked the town, something you two do often to wind down

you two hadn’t spoke much, a comfortable, warm silence surrounding you besides pointing out the odd squirrel or brief check-ups on each others day

both of you had stopped at a railing on your walk, leaning against it to watch the sun set over the tall buildings

his hand was in yours, brushing his thumb over the back of it as he looked out to the view

“I love you (Y/N),” his voice was quiet but it seemed certain

he wasn’t the kind of man that told you he loved you multiple times a day, it was reserved for special moments and the times where he couldn’t get how lucky he was to have you out of his mind

“I love you too Kei,” you didn’t need to be loud, or shout your confession to the world to know that you both meant it deeply

“Marry me,” it sounded more like a instruction than a question and his gaze hadn’t left the sky

“W-what?” had you heard him wrong? was this a joke?

he turned his eyes to you, locking them with yours - this was the most serious and sincere you had ever seen him

“Marry me,” he repeated

you stood with your mouth slightly open, eyes wide as he pulled out a box from his pocket, opening it to display a simple, yet stunning ring

“I always thought that if you went for what you truly wanted, it would just end in pain and disappointment, that all the effort and sentiment would be for nothing, but with you it’s so easy. I might never be, but I want to become the best man for you, that you deserve, so marry me.”

Kenma:

gets married for tax purposes

marriage was not something Kenma had ever though about in his life growing up

he never thought he would get married or find someone he had a connection with and, honestly, he was fine with that

he didn’t really see the appeal of it in the first place

it wasn’t until many years down the line of being with you and his friends around him getting into relationships when he started to consider the possibility

the first time it came into his head was at Kuroo’s wedding

he spent most of the time wishing he could go home and get out of this uncomfortable suit, but there were times when he say Kuroo’s beaming smile that he was glad he came

some of the ex-nekoma team members had poked at him with questions of when he was going to get ‘hitched’, which he responded to with a sigh

he certainly wasn’t going to propose because others told him he needed to

the next time it crossed his mind was when he started a new game that his fans had recommended he play

it was a romance game which wasn’t his usual go-to genre, but it had incredible reviews and created a storm in the gaming world so he thought he might as well check it out

through the game he got to witness an endearing story of a couple that went at odds to be together

the story delved into their married life and all the little things they enjoyed together through the years

he didn’t really want to admit it, but it did make him feel a little emotional

he saw himself and you in the characters, as if he was watching his own life play out on his screen

every now and then you and Kenma played some games together so you could spend time with him and he could show you want had been interesting him lately, so he decided to show you this game

you thought it was adorable, so heartwarming yet a little sad at points, but you had always been a little more outwardly emotional then Kenma

“imagine if we got married haha, how cute would that be!” you gushed out in the moment without thinking as you played

“eh...I guess” it wasn’t really the answer you were hoping for, but at least he didn’t sound utterly disgusted by the thought

you continued to play with him for a while, tucked into his side and making comments every now and then

a particular endearing part was plating on the screen and your eyes shone as they fixated on the characters

he could tell by the glassy look that you were getting a little affected by the story, but you looked so cute

the way your lip pouted ever so slightly, and how you gripped at his hoodie, as if to steady yourself

he had a sudden rush of adoration for you, he really did love you and the last couple years of you living together had been wonderful, how he got to wake up beside you, do daily chores with you, how you supported him in his many careers

“Maybe we should get married,” he blurted out, you whipped your head towards him so fast you almost got whiplash

“Are you...proposing?” you questioned, with somewhat of a laugh in your voice

“huh...looks like I am.”

Sugawara:

Sugawara was sensible, mature, a little bit of a tease and sometimes chaotic if Daichi wasn’t watching but also traditional

he had often thought about what it would be like to grow up, get married and have a family

it wouldn’t take long before he knew he wanted to marry you, even throughout the 3 years you had already been together he had daydreamed about marrying you more times than he could count

from all the memories you had together, all the times you helped enough other in rough patches and the learning the two of you wanted to continue in the future had him certain that he wanted you beside him forever

so he set out his plan

he took his old teammates, Daichi and Asahi with him on a hunt to find the perfect ring

Daichi was there to keep him in check and calm his nerves, although Asahi was probably the most nervous and Asahi had a great eye for stylish, beautiful pieces due to his designing career

now it was time to plan

he didn’t want it to be crazy, but he wanted it to be something, a whole event in itself

so he scheduled a meal for the two of you and some of your friends

it was at quite a fancy restaurant in the evening and your group had its own secluded table at the back, surrounded with dividers from the rest of the restaurant

all of you spent the meal catching up and laughing, but Sugawara seemed a little quieter than usual

you had asked him if he was ok, but he just replied with an ‘of course!’ and a smile, so you let it be

Asahi was shaking but you put that off to general anxiety

you guys had ordered desserts and everyone had gotten theirs first

as the waiter brought yours over, the table went silent

the waiter came from your left, Sugawara on your right, so you had looked over as he came

as he set the plate down, you noticed the words spelled out in chocolate sauce 

“Will you marry me?” 

you gasped and turned towards Sugawara, who was now on one knee next to you, holding out an open ring box

“I have known for so long that I wanted to marry you. You’re beautiful, smart, courageous and so loving, and I want to have you by my side forever. I promise I will continue to grow as your partner and take care of you every step of the way, so, will you marry me?”

Kageyama:

the only thing in this boy’s brain is you and volleyball, its all his one braincell can cope with

that being said, he has never once thought about marriage

his whole life he has spend all his energy and focus on becoming a better player, the best setter he possibly can and standing on the court longer

but you were the first person to get him, to understand him and accept him as is while helping him improve and grow

you helped him to open up and communicate with people better

you helped him whenever he was frustrated with volleyball and a certain play he was working tirelessly on

you never once turned your back on him when he struggled or lost his temper

you were his partner, but it was different from a volleyball partner

he cared for you, every part of you, and always wanted to know if you were ok or spend time with you

you made him genuinely smile everyday and he knew that he wanted to be your partner for life

it came about when he was hanging out with Hinata on one of their rare days off to catch up

he had been talking about you constantly, expressing how much he loved you and adored you

“Why don’t you just marry them?” Hinata questioned with his held tilted, as if it was obvious

“w-what? Hinata boke!” he shouted as his face grew red and pushed Hinata aside

the two talked about it and Kageyama decided, very bashfully, that yeah, he should just marry you

but how does he ask you that?

he knew nothing about marriage or proposals, so he spend the next few weeks asking his friends, teammates, even his coach on how to propose to you

“Take them to an expensive restaurant!”

“Wouldn’t it be cute to propose in Disneyland??”

“Well, I proposed to my partner by sending them on a scavenger hunt”

he was bombarded with ideas, but none of them seemed right

none of them seemed like him

he was getting frustrated with the pressure of coming up with a good way to ask you to be his forever, it had to be perfect, it had to be special and it had to fit with your relationship

you noticed he was getting agitated a lot more recently, he was quieter and snapped more often, he stayed back later at the gym to train and he rarely ate dinner with you anymore

whenever you asked what the problem was, he replied with an ‘it’s nothing’ and stormed off

his teammates had noticed too and were less than pleased with his attitude as it affected their gameplay

one of his teammates had begged you to come to the gym and talk some sense into him when he started continuously overworking himself

it was 7pm when you set off from your house to the gym where he was still training

as you entered, you noticed that he was the only one here, hitting serve after serve that never seemed to land right

“Tobio,” you called out

“Baby,” you tried again but you couldn’t catch his attention from his deep focus on the ball

you walked over to him and lightly grabbed his arm, stopping him from serving the ball again

“Tobio, what’s wrong? Everyone is worried about you. Are you having trouble with a play? Because we can sort that out with your coach-”

he cut you off by mumbling something under his breath, much too quiet for you to hear

“What was that?” 

“I want to ask you to marry me and I don’t know how,” he said louder this time, his eyes staring at the ball in his hand as he gripped it tightly

“O-oh, right...” you were stunned, speechless, this wasn’t something you thought you would hear from him

“Everyone’s been telling me how to do it, but none of them seem right,” his voice was low and his gaze still hadn’t let the ball

you put a finger under his chin and lifted his face towards you

“It doesn’t need to be what everyone else tells you, we can do things our own way,” you tried to comfort him with a smile and he simply stared back at you

“So go on then,” you were beaming at him by now, yet his face got even tighter with confusion

“Go on, ask me to marry you.”

his jaw hung wide open, his eyes seemed to be staring into your skull like he had seen a ghost, this is certainly not what he expected

he tried to speak a couple times, stumbling on his words as they got caught in his throat

“It’s ok, take your time,” you brushed your thumb over the back of his hand as you held it, encouraging him to continue

“w-will you....will...willyoumarryme?”

BONUS: you two picked out a ring together afterwards, this boy has no sense of style, don’t trust him by himself

Kuroo:

Kuroo had jokingly asked you to marry time multiple times throughout your relationship

the first couple times ended with you being a blushing mess while he teased you

but by now you just tell him to shut up go off sis

marrying you had always been part of the plan for him, just a natural progression of your relationship

while Kuroo can be quite the tease, he was extremely serious of his relationship with you and your future

he started off his plan by asking your dad if he would like to spend the day together, you know, father-son-in-law bonding time

what your dad wasn’t prepared for was Kuroo to turn up in a shirt, suit trousers and confess how he wanted to marry you

he had a whole speech prepared about how he would be the best husband for you, how he would be sure to take good care of you and, possibly, be the best father in the future if you planned to have children

you dad had to eventually shut him up as Kuroo kept going, saying how he would be delighted to have you marry the man

step one: check

now he needed to find the right ring

he had a look around at multiple stores but he couldn’t find anything that was unique enough to be called yours and that captured you or your relationship

since Kuroo had quite the high-paying job plus a little backing from a certain famous youtuber so the cost wasn’t an issue and he wanted to spoil you

so he got one custom made

he sat with a designer for hours creating the most stunning, distinctive ring that he knew you would love

step two: check

over the next couple days he planned a meet-up evening with your family and his where he would pop the question

you both had spent the day cooking and preparing for the evening before they all come to your house

you had all finished dinner and moved over to the living room to chat

Amidst all the chatter, Kuroo stood up and cleared his throat, grabbing everyone’s attention

“I have something I’d like to say,” he said with confidence, then turning to you with a grin

“The last few years with you have been perfect. We’ve had some ups and downs, but we have made so many amazing memories together. You really are my other half and I think everyday about how truly lucky I am to call you mine. You know me better than anyone else. I know I’ve asked you this a couple times in the past when we’re laughing together, but this time I’m serious,”

he got down on one knee, holding one of your hands while presenting the custom ring in the other

“will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

and the crowd goes wild

Tagging @togasknifes so she can read Kageyama ty ly

[omiscurls]

for eternity and one day more

sakusa kiyoomi x gn!reader soulmate au (the last words your soulmate will ever say to you are written somewhere on your body)  content warning: general angst, major character death, mentions of funeral, car crash, hospital

you wish you could’ve said tears made your vision blurry. but after all these days, your eyes were perfectly dry, no little rivers were streaming down your puffed cheeks, and you were forced to stare directly at your wrist, and the words tattooed there by some idiotic magic. some cursed, freaky foolery that made you rethink your life the past two days at least ten times, searching for even one mistake, for even one moment you could feel something wasn’t right. 

but to your dismay, there was nothing. everything in your life fell to pieces so perfectly, as if you were the princess in a dream of every five year old girl in the world, only now could you realize, it was all too good to be true. well, except one part. 

the words stared back at you, burning into your flesh, your glance holding them into place, as if they were to disappear if you did as much as blink. 

“and one day more”, the tattoo said, directly and clear, never changing tint painted your skin black, no matter how desperately you wanted the letters to shift into something else. you wished to be hated right now. you wished for it to be an insult, and yet, the words remained as cheesy and painfully romantic as the first day you saw them. 

so he wasn’t your soulmate after all. 

all these years, never once had you doubted that. since the moment atsumu introduced him to you, since the moment he said “oh and i guess this is omi-kun, but it’s not like you’re gonna have a conversation wi—”

and since the moment he interrupted. 

“i am perfectly capable of introducing myself, miya.” since the moment he glared at him, fingers constantly running through his hair, all messy from practice, by which he was visibly annoyed. 

“hate to break it to you, but my actual prefered name is a bit more mundane than that cursed nickname” 

“hey, i came up with that! it’s not cursed!” atsumu pouted, half mockingly, half serious, 

“precisely” he mumbled, making the setter narrow his eyebrows even more, before huffing and proceeding to leave, “i’ll be coming back to practice. it was so nice of you to come! just yell at me if you want me to rescue you” he winked, and soon was gone. 

“so? are you actually going to tell me your name?” you asked, one eyebrow raised, as his eyes focused back on you.

“please, like you don’t know” he chuckled, internally surprised with himself that somehow, his usual anxiety and disgust wasn’t kicking in, instead he felt relaxed and in place when talking to you, even if it was no more than thirty second since you met each other. 

“oh, so you consider yourself a celebrity, huh?” you laughed, causing him to shake his head. 

for a second he didn’t respond. you were starting to feel startled with the way he started at your smiling lips, but then he blinked finally, and answered. 

“i have places to be and balls to spike, smiles. let’s just say...”

and that, that was the precise moment since which you knew. since the one line he said before running off, a smug smile you should never be able to see, and yet you did. you were sure and certain. this was your soulmate. 

“... i only share that information with people i actually like”.

“sure you do, omi-kun!” 

since that moment, your heart began to settle and as much as you pushed that thought away, saying that you were too young to know, and after all you just exchanged a couple of truly meaningless sentences with him, you couldn’t deny the fact that you knew. knew for a fact, that you’ve found your own person. 

it was so random and sudden, so casual, countless evenings did you stare at your mirror and let your mind wonder, trying to find answers as to why you were feeling so strongly so fast. it was uncharachteristic of you, even if you were ever in love, you didn’t believe it could happen on such first sight, and yet there you were. was it the magic your parents always told you about? the one so inexplicable that they always stated that “you just have to feel it”, and “you’ll know when it comes”?

you thought it was just your lonely brain pulling tricks on you, until that one night you decided to hang out with the MSBY team, and went to tsumu’s apartment, waiting for hinata, meian and sakusa along with tsumu and bokuto. 

you didn’t pay much attention to their talk, it was mostly plans for the upcoming season, until they shifted the subject. 

“hey, did you ever read what was on omi’s wrist? he never covered it, but maybe that’s why i didn’t pay attention” the blonde wondered, his fingers playing with the edge of his glass. bokuto shook his head. 

“no, i think it’s too personal to check. why’re you curious? you hope you’re his soulmate or what?” he laughed in his usual, loud way, and the word “soulmate” called for your attention. 

“no you weirdo, it’s just he started covering it recently, and i just wonder, did he meet his other half?” 

“my ma’ always said that there’re no other halfs, because you’re a person on your own”

“yeah yeah, cute, but not the point here, bokuto” atsumu sighed. “and he didn’t even tell me... bastard.”

there was comfortable silence between the three of you for a few brief seconds, before the blond setter started the topic again:

“hey, you’re oddly quiet, where’s your tattoo located?” he asked with genuine curiosity in his eyes, as you glared at your wrist, covered loosely with the bracelet you wore over it ever since you got the tattoo, it being something so intimate you didn’t want to share it with the entire world at once, concealers didn’t work on the ridiculously black tint, and the bracelet made it harder to read. 

“you didn’t notice? thought you were observant?” you teased, making atsumu roll his eyes and take your hand into his, pushing the piece of jewelery away to read the caption. 

“it’s on your wrist too? awh, maybe you’re omi’s soulmate!” he exclaimed looking at the writing from every angle possible. 

“what’s written on there?” bokuto asked, not wanting to shift from his seat across the table. 

“oh, it’s and—”

“we’re here!” hinata yelled at the same moment, giving you an opportunity to move your hand back. 

and so it stayed a mistery. 

you shifted onto the bed you shared, still messy after you both woke up those couple of days ago, earlier than you were supposed to, because of a text he got from his mother. a text that set him off for the entire day and finally caused everything that happened next. 

your heart couldn’t stay still when you put your head over the pillow, the familiar scent of the other side of the mattrace hitting you no matter how hard you tried to hold your breath. 

you noticed a small package laying on a nightstand next to your fiance’s side, and you went over to grab it, eyes getting hot when you realized what it was. 

a set of band aids. 

omi wore band aids on his wrist for as long as you could remember, but according to atsumu, he only started wearing those after meeting you. they were always on the inner side of his wrist, and after a while putting them on was his routine, it grew on him so much he didn’t even really think about it - just bought a pack once a week and put it on 2 times a day, for it to stay hygenic. didn’t make it a big deal or anything, but if you asked, he’d turn really gloomy, while also trying not to worry you too much. 

“hey, weirdo, let me see what’s under that band aid. you of all people should know that if you get a cut, you can’t have it covered all the time, it won’t heal like this” you muttered against the couch you were laying on, gently grabbing his hand by the little finger, only for him to jerk it away, not even moving his gaze from the book he was reading. 

“it’s not a cut” he just mumbled, eyes following the printed letters in utter focus. 

“then why do you cover it?”

“i don’t want you to see it” he explained straight away, in the blunt way he always would, not finding any reason to keep it away from you.

“why?” you asked sincerely, apparently enough to bring his eyes away from the book. he reached out to grab the tips of your fingers into his and slowly rubbed his thumb on the back of your hand, a soft smile wondering on his face but never actually reaching to lift up the corners of his lips. 

you couldn’t help but grin a bit yourself, making him raise an eyebrow. 

“quit smiling at me, i can’t stop messing up what i’m saying if you look at me like that” 

you giggled. 

“like what?” 

“nevermind, dummy. just... don’t worry about it. just trust me and don’t check, okay?” he pulled your hand to his chest so you’d come and sit beside him in the armchair. you curled up against his chest, hair still wet from the shower damping his t-shirt, enjoying the smell of his perfume and the delicate, intimate aura of the moment, even though curiousity wouldn’t let you out of its hold. 

“is it your soulmate mark?” you asked, remembering the conversation between you and atsumu, about how he started to cover it. 

“thought i told you not to worry, didn’t i darling? can i trust you that you won’t check?” he mumbled against your hair, and let out a breath when you nodded. he trusted you wouldn’t, and you didn’t.

although now you wish you did. 

“what’re we reading?” your sleepy voice ended the silence in your living room after a while, your eyes too tired to see for themselves. sakusa shifted and relaxed in his position, taking a breath before he started telling. 

“it’s called the orange girl. it’s a story of a boy reading letters from his dead dad, who wrote them while terminally sick, about a love story he shared with a girl, whom he met on the tram, she got his attention because she was holding a basket of oranges. she then disappears and shows up at random places at random times, acknowledging him but never actually talking, and they continue this hide and seek until she gives him a riddle, which he solves. they can’t be together for long, since he’s sick, but they had to, since their love was so true they couldn’t stay away from each other without falling into pieces. they were like the glue holding each other together, the mistery being the only shared link they had for a long time” he kept lowering his voice as he felt your head growing heavier and heavier against his chest, to the point he practically whispered. 

“that’s... sad” you mumbled, half passed out, and he tried so hard to surpress his laugh, so it doesn’t bring you out of your blissfull state. 

“i don’t think it is, no. see, they didn’t have much time with each other, but that was enough for them, they cherished every moment and would much rather spend so little together than eternities alone. no matter how long she’ll have to spend alone before meeting him again, she’ll love him forever, and so will he, even though he’s not physically there, i think it’s poethic.” he stated, getting hair out of your face, gently leaning forward to put the book down. 

“just as i’ll love you.” he added, now thinking you were asleep completely “even if you’ll hate me. come on, big baby, let’s get you to sleep” 

come to think of it, he always said he’ll love you forever. never an eternity, always forever. in his proposal, it was “always and for always” and whenever you fought and made up it was “for as long as the sun shines in the morning”

never an eternity. 

it’s not like it was something bad, he could be really a master of his words if he wanted to, and if he ever used that one, you’d obviously get scared and tell him to quickly say something else, not to tease fate too much, but he never did. 

as if he knew. 

you wanted to show him just as much you respected him and his privacy after that night, scared by the last sentence he said, and thought you didn’t hear, and made it your goal to find a new set of band aids for the both of you. it was often “look, omi! i found ones with elza, from frozen! she reminds me of you, so here. take these” 

“excuse me? if i get elsa, you get swen”

“why the hell would i get swen?”

or that time when for your anniversary you had ones custom made with some of his favorite song quotes. it was an inside joke, not much of a joke but much of an inside between the two of you, that always put a smile on your faces while still reminding you that before love, before passion and before even friendship, there was always trust and respect between the two of you. 

and that reminder was often needed. 

he could be a sappy romantic, at times, but it was still the sakusa kiyoomi you met that first day, still a blunt jerk, accents on jerk, still closed off, still a bit egoistic and cold at times. you two had similar tempers, and it often resulted in fights. very often. 

you loved his fierce attitude, you adored his honesty. appreciated the straight forward notices when he didn’t like something you did, and liked the way he always spoke what was on his mind when around you. but sometimes what was on his mind didn’t exactly cover what you wanted to hear. 

as you put away the box of band aids, your hand grazed over the photoframe still damaged from the one time he had to glue it back together after one fight, after he threw it on the ground to let out his anger in some way. 

you yelled at him for your fair share of over twenty minutes, and only when your voice started to get sore, did he start talking, but whenever he wanted, venom could cover those sweet words he’d so often whisper, as if his sentences were sharp enough to cut through glass. 

“why can’t you just let someone care about you?” you’d shout, voice cracking at the end, causing you to put a hand over your throat, realizing it’s time to stop talking. 

“because you won’t understand! you’ll never understand! that’s the thing, y/n, you may try as hard as you want to, but in the end, you’re too—” he’d manage to bite his tongue before saying something he didn’t mean, and yet your eyes widened. 

“too what? too stupid? too much of an idiot to mit the intelectual standards you have set? is that it?” you’d drag and tease, as every muscle in his body would tense up, fists curling as he’d take the frame and smash it onto the ground, soon realizing how much of an overreaction that was, but not just yet. 

“stop putting words in my mouth! i never said you were stupid, for fucks sake—” 

the door closing behind you would wake him up from his thoughts, as he whispered a quiet “fuck” under his breath, and go after you. 

nevertheless you’d never leave, you always went to the bathroom, put some water in your face, take a few deep breaths, and by the time you were ready to go face him, he’d already have calmed down and would be ready to talk, apologize if it was his fault, forgive if it wasn’t. 

cause after all, you were soulmates. 

you were meant to be with each other. you wouldn’t survive with each other. two puzzles of the same picture, fitting perfectly, and not with anything else. 

right?

he’d mutter the lyrics to can’t help falling in love while he’d occasionally do your hair, he’d come behind you while you were cooking and rest his chin on your shoulder. leave notes in your lunch. 

he was the most thougtful person you ever met. the most precise in his actions, most affectionate in what he was capable of doing for you, most selfless in giving his all into bringing a smile on your face. 

one night, he came home from practice, and there was just something so weird about him, you remembered, about the way he smiled almost like he was fifteen again, all excited and hyped. 

you lifted yourself up from the bed, finding it hard to move, since the ache in your heart was roaming throughout your entire body,leaving you tired and defenseless. however you managed to get to the dresser, and search for one through your shirts. 

“so, you know how i’m not the biggest fan of merch, right?” he said, his eyes lit up as he turned around to grab a nicely wrapped, loose gift from his bag. 

“i know? you don’t understand the hype people get from wearing things that have your surname on it, you’ve told me countless times”

“yes, but—”

“you’ve also told me that doing figurines of living real people is somewhat creepy”

“yeah, that too—”

“and that the plushie they made with you scares the living shit out of—”

“i know! i know! but listen” he’d say, handing you the package. as you began opening it carefully, he continued “you know that because of privacy policy they can’t make the merch jerseys the exact same as the real ones? the merch has the surname and number smaller by 2 centimeters, and the space between each letter is wider by exactly a half of a centimeter. and since we’re redoing the shirts with a slightly different design, i ordered—”

“you ordered one more for me” you whispered as you held the soft material in your hands, the paper laying somewhere on the ground, by your feet. 

“i ordered one more for you.” he finished, scratching his neck in a nervous gesture “i know that i’m not the best boyfriend—”

“fiance” you corrected. 

“fiance, when it comes to letting you wearing my things, so i hope this makes up for it in a way?” he suddenly flinched as if he remembered something right in that moment “oh, and...” he reached to his bag again “these are my perfumes. if... oh my god, this is so pathethic, why was i so—”

you took the bottle out of his hand, and, since he didn’t like to hug right after coming home, you gave him the brightest smile you could. 

“it’s perfect. you’re perfect.” you muttered, hand moving upwards to ruffle his hair and mess with him just a little bit “come on, go clean up, dinner’s almost ready”

would it be a violation of your agreement if you just wore his shirt now? it’s not like he’d come check. you didn’t need your own-his shirt right now. you didn’t need to have “the one original that no fan will ever have”, you didn’t give a fuck about those 2 and a half centimeters of difference that meant so much to you. 

you hastened to open the bottom drawer, and then, folded nicer than your version, was the real, real sakusa kiyoomi number 15 MSBY shirt, the one and only, a little harsh from being used and washed a lot, but right now, there was no softer fabric in the world. 

you hid your head in the folds of the jersey, begging for the tears that you knew damn well were building up to finally come out. 

“you idiot” you whispered, “you idiot, you idiot, you fucking idiot!” louder and angrier every time you began wailing, the black material being the only thing covering your screams. “why’re you always so stupid? so... so fucking precise? couldn’t you spend one night, one night without me? one night in anger? you’d still be— you absolute, fucking idiot, sakusa!” 

only anger and frustration came to your heart as you recalled all the things he did with you. 

all the dances to classical waltzes at three in the morning in the small light over your oven. 

your walks with his dog, faces white and noses red from the winter cold. 

all the events you’d go to along with him, when he’d dress up all pretty and would ask you to do his tie, even if he was the master of the art himself. 

the time he actually taught you how to tie a tie, while you were both drunk talking in your bedroom after a college party. 

all the things he did for you. the good morning forehead kisses, the cups of hot tea with the exact amount of additions you liked, the way he always wrapped your scarf a little bit tighter around your neck, the way he’d remind you to wash your face if you were too tired to motivate yourself to get up and do it. 

why would he do all those things with such ease, how did he memorise every single line of your character, every single habit you ever developed, if he

wasn’t your soulmate?

your sharp breath began to even out after a while, as you recalled the most recent events. 

he was very set off that morning. his mother, who he hated with all the hatred available in his heart, texted him something about an alledged family dinner he had to go to that evening. 

the text woke you up at six in the morning on a saturday, not making a great start to a day full of nerves. ever since that text, he’d been more irritable and annoyed than the usual. he didn’t finish his morning coffee, he got splashed with rainwater by a car while on his run, everything was wrong. 

everything was wrong. 

you left the stage of your relationship where you were afraid of making each other mad long behind you, and yet you were kinda afraid to ask for the basic things that day. like, what did his mother text him? why did it annoy him that much?

you didn’t know that at the time, but what woke him up wasn’t a text, it was a burning feeling under his band aid. he lifted it, noticing you were still sound asleep and looked at the writing. nothing had changed, but it was burning hot, and didn’t allow him to stay asleep. 

“what the hell?” he mumbled, rubbing the skin, as if that was supposed to help, but there was no result. 

“mm?” you mumbled, asleep, and he just glued it back on and laid down next to you again. 

“nothing, don’t worry about it.” 

nothing, don’t worry about it was a phrase he overused. not that he wasn’t comfortable with you, no, it was the complete opposite, but as he was raised in a very traditional way, some things were just meant to remain a secret.

it was a sort of protection he’d give you, protecting you from his dark thoughts, his mind that often didn’t listen to his commands, from himself, putting it short. 

little did he know, all you ever wanted was to see those parts of him that he kept caged from you. 

that was the one difference between the two of you that nothing could get over, but, even in a puzzle, elements have to be different in order to fit, right?

right. 

you called yourself stupid as you recalled that now. 

turns out you would fit, just... not together. but why would someone be so perfect for you, why would your heart jump out of your chest every time you saw him, if it wasn’t meant to be? why did it feel so right if it just wasn’t?

as simple as that. he wasn’t your soulmate, after all. 

that night, you got into a fight. you finally told him how many fucks you give about him wanting to protect you, how secretive he is, how dumb and idiotic, and weak it makes you feel. how you hated it. 

you glanced at the delicate ring placed on your finger, and sadly didn’t recall the moment he’d put it there with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen, but the moment you almost took it off the other night, driven by emotions and stupid, selfish motives. 

if only you knew then... if only. 

you wouldn’t say “do i even truly matter to you, kiyoomi?” you wouldn’t laugh sarcastically, you wouldn’t stare at him as if he was the worst person on earth. you wouldn’t make him feel so worthless and so pathethic. 

“of course you do. that’s why i don’t want to get into it, what’s so hard to understand about that? why is so hard for you to accept, that i may just have things that i’m not gonna share with you? where is that privacy and respect you so like to talk about, huh?” 

“kiyoomi, respect for privacy is one thing, you’re just isolating yourself from me! what, did you get bored of me? did you realize i’m not fit for your fantasies anymore? is that it?” you did know you shouldn’t have said that in the first place, you knew you did it purposely and only to hurt him, but emotions have taken over your brain completely. 

“what the fuck! i know you’re just trying to make me more mad so i say something i regret, don’t think i didn’t catch up with your sick methods already, mrs smart!” he turned around to face you, a heartbroken look in his eyes, as if the trust he had for you was disappearing by the second. instant regret hit you, but that was just the deal between you two, nobody knew when to zip it and back off. 

“oh so i’m suddenly so bad, huh? so hard to deal with, is that so?” 

his face went all white, blood rushing away as he heard those words. 

“that’s right. i heard you talking with atsumu.”

“hey no, you’re taking it out of context, i would never mean it like that and you know it damn well”

“do i? do i know it damn well, kiyoomi? or do i just try to believe in something about you that just isn’t quite there?” tears appeared in the corners of your eyes as you realized it wasn’t about the text anymore. 

“no. no, no, no, no, don’t go there. you need to calm down, you’re being ridiculous!” 

“i am being ridiculous? I AM being ridiculous? you’re the one that makes me hate you right now!” you shouted, as you turned around, grabbed your keys and phone and left the apartment. 

it’s fine, he told himself, you just went over to the bathroom like you always do, but minutes and hours flew by and he realized you truly... left? he searched everywhere, and you just weren’t there. he began to panic. 

especially with his tattoo burning it’s way into his skin even more. 

it doesn’t matter where you went, it doesn’t matter for how long. what matters is when your phone finally rang from someone else than sakusa kiyoomi and you picked up, it was the worst possible call you ever got. 

he was at the hospital. 

car accident. 

drunk driver. 

it was so obvious, it was so basic, it was so... idiotically predictable. 

you obviously rushed there, obviously with fear at heart, but you didn’t fear him leaving you forever. he didn’t say his “and one day more” yet, right? he couldn’t go. 

you checked every document, talked with every doctor, with every relative already present, even dealth with his hell sent mother and overprotective sister, and dismissed every single bad news, every single “he might not make it”, every “i don’t know wether he’ll wake up, it would be a miracle.”

and when you entered the room, he did look as if he was he was one foot in his grave already. you were careful to reach out to to his forehead over all the little cables and tubes, and get his annoyingly curly locks out of his eyes. 

“why did you follow me, dumbass?” you whispered, eyes set on his closed lids. “you know i’ll always come back to you. i love you too much to leave, you know that, right? you’re aware? why did you do such a dumb thing? you’re smarter than this! we’re smarter than this!” you whined and whined, but to no response. 

his mother gently informed you that it might be time to say goodbye, but you didn’t listen, you didn’t care. it wasn’t the day he’d die. 

you stayed in his room alone for a little while, gently rubbing his hand with your thumb, mentally apologizing for being so, so difficult, and stubborn, and—  and stupid! 

you didn’t know what it meant when all the devices started beeping suddenly, you had no idea. 

but even you would recognize that line that was supposed to jump at the speed of his heart rate going straight. you’d recognize that awful beep. that deadly calm on his face.

“hey. hey, hey, hey!” you started shouting. “don’t you dare leave me yet, you idiot! we still have so much to do together, no, no, no start working! start fucking working!” you screamed at his still heart, looking at the dark screen. 

“no. no no no no no, i refuse, i won’t let you do me like that, sakusa, you hear me? you’re not allowed to—” you began panicking as you shook your fiance’s body desperately, barely managing to even move him a bit. 

“wake up, you idiot, wake up!” was the last thing you said before your words started blurring together and becoming an incoherrent mess, before the doctors got into the room, before some nurse escorted you out. 

that was the last time you’ve seen your boyfriend.  

and now you were supposed to be getting ready for the ceremony, you were supposed to act like the composed, grieving partner, his never-to-be spouse, picture perfect form of sadness, yet you couldn’t pick yourself up from the floor, where you were sobbing in the material of the damn jersey, ironically, cause he’d be so mad for it, if only he was there. 

honestly, anything would be better. any screams, silent treatment, any fight, any tears, anything. would be better than this. 

because not only were you incapable of picking yourself back up after loosing your only love, you were also painfully reminded that this man, the man that meant the whole universe to you, he wasn’t your soulmate. he was never in the plan for you. and you were so mad, at whoever was up there, at fate, at god, at whatever, you couldn’t believe it, you felt like a glitch in a system. 

he had to be your soulmate. 

and yet the last words you heard and are ever gonna hear from him were “you’re being ridiculous”. 

as you tried to get up from the floor, hands clenching around the material, you realized you have no idea what time it is. 

you had no idea where your phone was, at that. you didn’t check it in over three days, you didn’t have the nerves to read all the “oh my god, are you okay? i’m so sorry for your loss” bullshit. 

they would never understand “your loss”.

so as you finally found it somewhere in your purse, it was all out of battery. it took a while to charge it, and after you realized how little time you have until the funeral begins, you received a ton of messages all at ones, just as predicted.

you didn’t mean to go through them, you truly weren’t in the place to do so. but there was a chat that was always pinned at the top of the list. 

your eyes widened. 

1 new message from:

omi <3

your fingers and breath both shook endlessly as you pressed the highlighted font, eyes watering finally when you realized, 

it was a voice message. 

it took a while before you pressed it open. 

sounds of traffic were heard, as if someone was calling you from inside a car. “hey there, smiles, it’s me, your favorite douchebag of a boyfriend! no, without all the jokes, we all acted on impulse, didn’t we? i’m sorry for all i said. you know i am. just let me explain it to you in person, okay? i’m driving around here, but you’re nowhere to be found, and your friends don’t know anything about where you are, neither does atsumu. you can be mad at me all you want, but please come home, okay? it’s getting late. we can fight but i won’t stop worrying about you ever, i won’t ever stop caring. please, baby, please tell me where you are? you’re not picking up, so that’s why i’m leaving you a voice message...” 

your heart was beating like crazy as you listened to your boyfriend’s voice, realizing this will be the last thing you’ll ever hear him say.

“... anything is better than not knowing if you’re okay, y/n, any screaming and yelling you have planned for me, truly. i didn’t mean what i said, and neither did you. but i do mean that i will really try to be more open with you, if that’s what you want. i’ll try to make up for every mistake i’ll ever make. and remember, i’ll love you

for eternity, and one day more” 

after that, his speech was interrupted by a loud noise, him saying “what the fuck” and some sounds of metal being smashed. and after that, there was a whole minute of silence. 

a scream left your throat as you realized, 

he was your soulmate, after all, 

but you lost him forever. 

*

after you finally made it to the funeral, greeted by your friend and hugged tightly by sakusa’s sister, coldly glanced by his mother, you realized, the cascet was open. 

why the fuck. would they leave it. open?

“hey, sakusa-san?” you asked your fiance’s sister, and she turned around with a tired smile. 

“please honey, call me by my first name” she said gently, playing with your shirt, as if she had to do something with her hands. 

maybe it ran in the family. 

“why did they... why did they leave it like that?” you pointed towards where your boyfriend surely was, and her smile disappeared suddenly. 

“mother wanted it like that, honey. do you want me to help you go see him?” she grabbed your hand tightly and smiled, as much as she could, and when you nodded, she leaded the way. 

it was hard. it was very fucking hard. you wanted to run, you wanted to disappear, to not be there anymore. he looked as if he was sleeping. as if he was going to wake up any moment. you swore his eyelid twitched at one time. 

maybe you needed to do something with your hands too, because you noticed something wrong about his suit. 

“who the hell made that?” you asked while reaching over to his hand. 

“who do you think?” the woman sighed, pointing towards her mother. 

“he has his sleeves uneven. he’d hate that” you chuckled under your breath, adjusting said sleeves, when suddenly, your fingers grazed over the black ink on his writs. you looked, even though you knew you shouldn’t.

wake up, you idiot! said the writing. you let out a breathy sigh as you reached over to your purse, and glued one last “frozen” themed band aid over the tattoo. 

“you’re my eternity. and my more, too”

[beeexx]

A little Tarlos moment fron 2x09

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TK’s headache has moved further down from his forehead, to settle like a blanket of pain wrapped over his eyes instead. It makes sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair all the more worse, the bright light doing nothing other than adding to his growing discomfort and slight nausea. He is tapping his leg, the sound bouncing off the quiet sleepy room, and he thinks that the only reason Marjan hasn’t whacked him to make it stop is because she’s still pitying him over his brief spell in a room similar to the one Judd is in for a concussion that still hasn’t completely gone away. He moves his head between his legs, closes his eyes to try and drown out some of the blinding lights and breathes through his nose. 

He keeps bouncing his leg though.

TK hates hospitals. He has many reasons for disliking them but he’s never had to spend a night on the edge of his seat, worried sick for people he cares about before, not in this capacity at least and it’s making him feel sick.

The worst thoughts rush through to the surface unbidden. What if he never gets to see either one of them again, hear them laugh, joke around with Judd, dinner at their place every other Sunday. What if Judd doesn’t make it? What if Grace dies? What if -

“Hi, you okay?” It’s Carlos of course, back from his coffee run, who gently places a hand on his shoulder. TK tenses for a moment, caught off guard and suddenly ready to bolt right out of his seat. He can’t fully tamper down his reaction and Carlos notices of course. TK thinks he’s probably frowning and it doesn’t take long for Carlos to start to shuffle around until he’s sitting on the ground in front of TK, coffee cup left forgotten on the chair. TK opens his mouth-

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, it’s very obvious that you aren’t.” Carlos chastises making TK look up from the ground he’s been staring holes at. His lip twitches though and he nods.

“Yeah, I won’t.” He promises and it makes Carlos’ worry lines less prominent for a moment. His hair is still a little sleep tussled, a few strands of curls at the back Carlos spends ages on each morning to lie flat are now loose and he looks tired, he is probably as tired as TK feels. 

It’s been just a few days since the kidnapping and TK’s gotten used to having a particularly sort of nasty headache as his daily companion since then, ruining both his days and nights with spells of pain that won’t go away. Well, it’s probably ruined Carlos’ nights too, judging by the growing circles underneath his eyes, and TK’s constant tossing and turning every time they’re in bed. It’s been a few days of bad sleep and lounging around the house with Carlos worrying. It makes TK feel really bad, he hates it when Carlos worries about him. 

Both he and Carlos had however gotten their best night’s sleep in days when the call came through, waking them both and sending TK into a near panic attack when he heard what had happened. He’s strung so ridiculously tight he’s scared he’s going to snap in half and he goes back to bouncing his leg, trying to distract from his discomfort, averting his eyes.

“Hey, no shutting me out.” Carlos gently cups his chin and forces him to meet his eyes, thumb stroking up and down in comforting motions, eyes kind and understanding. TK sighs but he nods.

“Sorry.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat, trying to get the lingering thickness away. He looks away for a moment, sees Mateo is asleep with his head resting on Paul’s shoulder while Paul is reading, frowning slightly as his eyes move across the text, flipping pages now and then. Marjan left with Tommy a while back to go do something TK isn’t sure of exactly and he hasn’t seen his dad for a while either. They are all somewhere near of course, lurking, in case something changes.

“I’m scared.” TK keeps his voice down though, just in case. Carlos nods and moves his hands to cover TK’s thighs, pressing gently down on his right leg to stop the movement. It’s an involuntary reaction on TK’s end that he stops, the effect of Carlos’ touch on him, anchoring, calming him down almost immediately. Carlos gently squeezes his knee.

“I know baby, I am too. But the doctors are optimistic and we have to believe them.”

“They are cautiously optimistic and I don’t know what that means in doctor lingo but cautiously sounds like it’s not something to celebrate yet.” He mutters. 

“Maybe not, but it’s not cause for sitting here looking close to fainting either. I don’t think Judd would like it if you ended up in a hospital bed yet again after getting out of one so soon.”

“I would do it if it would make him wake up and bust my balls.” 

Carlos' mouth twitches.

“He’s going to wake up.” Carlos says with such conviction TK believes him.

“But what about Grace?” He whispers, dread filling his stomach. Grace with her kind eyes, easy smiles, never ending patience and generous support TK’s not realised he’s cherished this much until she’s suddenly been hurt, with the outlook not seeming good. He is scared, terrified even that she might not make it. He doesn’t know what it would do to Judd if that was to happen. Carlos grows serious and his eyes travel to the room she is in, sadness passing over his features. With Michelle gone a lot Carlos and Grace had formed an easy friendship to fill up that empty space, and so it wasn’t totally unusual that when TK came home after shifts to find Grace and Carlos out on the patio together, drinking lemonade and chatting away, smiles wide and whatever task they had said they would do, long forgotten. It’s not just TK it pains to see Judd and Grace hurt, it pains Carlos just as much and TK immediately reaches forward, cupping Carlos’ cheek and leaning his forehead on his, offering his comfort up like it’s second nature. They both exhale, breathing through it together. 

“It’s going to be okay, it has to.” Carlos says quietly and gives himself over to the worry for a moment before he pulls himself together, pushing the worry down. TK knows compartmentalising like Carlos can do is something that isn’t always the healtihest of coping mechanisms. Right now though, TK isn’t going to say anything, god knows he has a terrible track record of bad ways to deal with things, and he wishes at this moment that he could do it too, push it down and focus on something else. 

“The doctors say Judd is going to wake up but it will be a few hours until then, so we’re going to have to believe that everything is going to be okay. In the meantime why don’t we go home and shower and change clothes.” He suggests.

“Not to sleep?”

“I’m not aiming that high today, I don’t think either of us will be able to do that. But you don’t look too good right now and it’s worrying me a little, so instead of checking you into this hospital myself I suggest we go back to mine and recharge for a moment and come back with food for everyone. I’m sure they’ll all need it.”

It’s a distraction, probably as much for Carlos as it is for TK, but it’s a distraction born out of kindness and a big heart, the need to do something other than sit here and worry sick. Carlos, TK has learnt during this year, is the kind of person that needs to do something, he’ll feel absolutely useless sitting still. His brain works best when he’s doing things while TK tends to be the other way around, shutting down, unable to do anything other than freezing, standing still in his growing anxiety, until everything boils over and the urge to either get high or do something almost as equally stupid gets too much and he can’t stop it, sending him down bad paths. 

So he takes the opportunity and nods. Carlos gets to his feet and holds his hand out for him. TK takes it and gently and carefully Carlos pulls him to his feet and wraps an arm around him immediately. For a moment TK snuggles close, nosing at Carlos’ neck before he moves his head away, focusing on walking instead.

“How’s your head?”

“Sore.” He admits out loud and Carlos frowns. “It’s feeling more like a migrain though so maybe it’s just stress?”

“Maybe, do you want an ice pack?” TK thinks of saying no but he isn’t looking forward to getting into the car with the raging monster banging against his eyelids so he nods. Carlos gently kisses his forehead, squeezes his hand before he walks away, leaving TK alone in the mostly deserted hallway, with his thoughts again. 

Being a firefighter has made TK somewhat immune to certain high risk situations, gruesome injuries, fright so visceral people become unpredictable, or shock so silent it feels it lasts for days unable to break free of, and death too, to some extent at least. His dad’s cancer, which had been a suffocating presence, expanding each day inside of TK’s ribcage, making it impossible to focus on anything other than it, giving him little room to exist outside of the anxiety and constant worry. Tim more recently, which had been quick and taking the breath out of him, slamming straight into TK like a block of concrete, catching him unaware. 

His own overdose is a reminder that it takes different shapes.

And then this. Relentless, big, sudden. Impossible to escape. Scary.

They all wear their worry on their faces and clinging desperately to hope that feels like it’s dimming with each moment he stands here. 

He twists the string of Carlos’ APD hoodie, the first thing he had gotten his hands on when they were rushing to get here in the middle of the night. It was a few hours ago now and there hasn’t been an update for a while now, other than that they can only wait which anyone knowing him should be aware he’s terrible at. 

Carlos comes back shortly after, holding the promised ice pack, TK looks behind him at a nurse with red cheeks and a bright smile as she watches them. 

“Carlos Reyes did you flirt with a nurse to get me this?” But he accepts it gratefully and presses it to his face, exhaling in relief at the cold seeping onto his clammy skin. 

“I charmed her more likely, by talking about my very cute but bratty boyfriend.”

“Yeah I’ve changed my mind, I don’t care how you got it, I’m just happy that you did.” Carlos snorts and ruffles his hair. 

They drive back and Carlos helps TK up the stairs before he disposes of him gently onto the bed. When he goes to leave, TK tugs him back, holding tightly onto his hand.

“Where are you going?” He sounds small, he feels small right now.

“Just to get some water, I’ll be right back -” But TK shakes his head, moves the pack of ice away and pulls harder on Carlos’ hand until he gets the hint and climbs into the bed. TK pulls him close, arms wounding around his neck and tucks his face into Carlos’ neck. Carlos' hands come to rest on his waist, big and strong, secure around TK. He feels the heath of them through the shirt he is wearing. He can feel Carlos’ heartbeat against his ribcage too, riverbating through him.

Still here. Still alive. 

TK is used to danger. 

But he isn’t used to this kind of danger, when it feels deeply personal, like an attack. 

And it’s all so sudden, after Carlos’s suspension that has luckily been lifted but had given him enough stress and worry making TK wish he could march into Carlos’ precinct and yell at his boss that one of their best officers deserved better. It comes too soon after he was taken hostage and hurt, the wound hasn’t even begun to heal and it’s been roughly torn open again making TK feel so goddamn unsteady, the fear he’s suddenly been slammed with so tangible as it presses down on him from all sides. He feels he’s been edging closer and closer to a panic attack all night and the only thing that hasn’t sent him completely over the edge is having Carlos near. 

But he’s also so goddamn scared suddenly. He’s suddenly terrified of losing Carlos. A car accident, those happen so often and maybe TK’s been naive but this has never felt like such a palpable threat to him before, until now. Until Judd and until Grace. 

“Talk to me?” Carlos whispers, forcing TK out of his thoughts for a moment and TK hugs him closer, biting down the tears that have come unwillingly. 

“You can never leave me.” The words come pouring out of him and his voice breaks, unable to be kept steady. He bites down hard on his lip but an audibly sniff escapes and when Carlos tries to move his head away TK hugs him tighter, not wanting any space left between them.

Carlos is quiet for a moment, but no longer than that. He takes his hands away from TK’s waist and wraps them gently around TK’s wrists to gently tug them away from his neck so he can look at him. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks and takes TK’s hands in his, holding them delicately, stroking his thumbs soothingly across TK’s skin. TK angles them slightly against Carlos’ chest, closer to his ribcage, where he can feel the thumping of Carlos’ heart underneath his shirt. It comforts him, the only steady rhythm to latch onto at the moment, to try and steady his own breathing, copying the unwavering rise and fall of Carlos’ chest. 

“I don’t know…” TK whispers, unable to meet Carlos’ eyes. He focuses on his and Carlos’ tangled hands, trails the blue veins with his eyes, Carlos’ slender and long fingers, trying to find the right words, while also buying some time. 

“No?” Carlos gently pushes and TK shakes his head. “TK.” Carlos sighs before he cups TK’s cheek and angles it up so he can meet his eyes. TK blinks a few times to clear his watery eyes and Carlos wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, expression stricken, like it gets when he wants so badly to help but doesn’t know what to do. 

“When I was taken hostage…” He begins, clears his throat a few times, can’t bear watching Carlos upset. “I didn’t really stop to consider how awful it was for you during those hours, and I haven’t been able to grasp the intent completely behind your worrying these few days and now it makes me feel like such an ass. But I understand it now too, what happened to Judd and Grace, it could happen to us too and it’s so scary, so scary Carlos, what if -” He stops, gulps down more tears and bites his wobbling lip hard. 

“Hey, hey.” Carlos says gently and TK’s eyes snap to him. They are sad, but determined too. “It could, but even so I will always promise to fight to get back to you.”

“I wish you could promise me you won’t leave me or that I could promise that nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“Well knowing you, letting you out of my sight has proven to be a massive mistake, I swear you’re the most accident prone person I know.” TK wetly chuckles and Carlos’ mouth twitches, the joke easing the tension between them.

“I get scared too, all the time…” Carlos confesses and TK searches his face, reaches out automatically to smooth over the worryline on his forehead, itching to kiss it away.

“Yeah?” TK asks. Carlos nods.

“Yeah, all the time. Especially where you are concerned. But I do think it’s only normal with our jobs and so on. Just… I don’t know, try and be more careful?” The frown grows into a wry little smile and maybe if TK wasn’t so shook from earlier he would have joked it away, but he nods seriously instead.

“I promise. I will always come back, always. Even if I leave.” It’s a painful reminder of TK walking out on Carlos a few months back, still making TK feel ashamed of how he acted. But things are different between them now and walking away from Carlos and from everything they have built together and are going to continue building, that is not an option anymore. “Good.” Carlos whispers and kisses his nose making TK smile. “I will always come back too. Always. I will fight every day to make that promise true.”

“Me too.” TK promises, takes their intertwined hands and kisses the promise into their hands, hoping that the day will never come where he doubts it, doubts them and their future. 

“We’re going to be okay.” Carlos promises and TK closes his eyes and rests his forehead on Carlos’, slowly starting to accept it. 

“Yeah.” TK whispers. 

“And so is Judd and Grace.” 

TK isn’t fully there yet where he dares believe it to be true, but he isn’t giving up hope that it’s all lost either. 

“So, how about a shower?” 

TK opens his eyes, yawns before he stretches, pops his back and nods.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Carlos helps him to his feet and in the bathroom they undress each other before they get in together. TK hums in content as the hot water washes over him and with it the last doubts he has about the future, down the drain where it belongs. As soon as Carlos joins him inside TK walks close, presses his body to Carlos’. It’s not sexual, but it’s a need, to have him near, to let the calmness of Carlos’ wash over him and bring with it a comfort only Carlos can bring out in him and judging by the harsh breath escaping Carlos’ he craves the contact almost as much as TK does. TK presses a soft kiss to Carlos’ heart and it grows comfortable between them. That’s until Carlos decides to squirt shampoo loudly on top of TK’s head, breaking them out of the moment. TK’s glare turns into a laugh and Carlos’s eyes sparkle, so very much alive and TK’s insides flutter.

They shower for longer than what they had planned and when they do make it back to the hospital, carrying food from a place Carlos knows to be one of Grace’s favourite takeaways he feels better, more hopeful and willing to believe that things will work out. Carlos’ hair is messy from TK running his fingers through it, but his arm is secure around TK’s waist and TK’s leaning on his shoulder, watching their family help unpack the bags.

And then Judd wakes up.

[wolfstar-supremacy-innit]

"Tell who?"- Part 3

Remus smiled into his pillow. Why’s he so cute? He felt something rustle under his stomach. Reaching under himself, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. His resolutions list. Remus flipped onto his back and squinted at the letters. Warmth was pooling in his chest. Something is missing here. He patted the bed in search for his quill and ink, then wrote:

5. Fuck this I wanna tell him I love him

The paper slipped to the floor as Remus’ arms gave out and he drifted into an instantaneous, profound sleep.

Alternatively:

The Marauders are in their 6th year at Hogwarts, it's New Year's Eve and Remus writes a New Year's resolutions list. Sirius finds it the next day. The story is written from Remus' point of view. It's wolfstar and lighthearted. Kinda inspired by this fanfic.

This is part 3 of the story. I will be posting the other parts separately here and also the full fic on ao3 (I will link everything when it's done, check this post for that in some time). Warnings: underage drinking and smoking, mentions of anxiety disorder.

Part 1 Part 2

Enjoy <3

I’m such an idiot. I’m an idiot. Why didn’t I lie?! Why didn’t I disprove it? This was it. This was the end of the world. He knew Sirius wouldn’t react terribly badly. He wouldn’t express disgust or resentment, not after Remus confided in him about how sensitive he was on the question of his own sexuality. But it would be painfully awkward. Their connection would never be the same; it couldn’t. Remus dreaded losing his best friend. But it was done. Sirius’ best friend was James anyway. Remus buried his face in his hands as tears stung his eyes. He settled into his new hideout and slept there for the night. He couldn’t bear to face Sirius.

In the morning, Remus made an effort to arrive to Charms class as late as possible, right as Flitwick was commencing his lesson. He slid into the chair at the end of their usual table, next to James. Sirius was on the other end. “Where were you, mate? You scared us,” James whispered. Peter was gazing at Remus over his shoulder.

Remus cleared his throat. “Sorry, fell asleep in my spot,” he said. In his peripheral vision, Sirius was leaning far on the table, trying to catch his attention. But Remus took it upon himself to laser focus on the lesson, his nose buried so deep into his notes, it was nearly touching the parchment.

After the class, he bolted again. He just couldn’t face him. He couldn’t. He returned to his hiding place and waited out his free period and most of lunch. He had to repeat his breathing exercises more than ever. Suddenly, Remus paused. Determination was rising in his chest. Then he forced himself to pull it together. It wasn’t like Remus to run away from his problems. If being a werewolf had taught him anything, it was that neglecting and avoiding your issues doesn’t make them vanish. Makes them worse, even. Also, Remus didn’t have a lot. He had his parents, music, books, magic, and he had his friends. There wasn’t much he prised more than his friendships with James, Sirius and Peter. Sirius knowing about his crush was thoroughly embarrassing, yes, but it wasn’t worth completely losing his friends. Plus, he was due for a shower. So Remus took a few more deep breaths, dusted himself off, and headed for the dorm. When he got there, nobody was inside. He took his sweet time in the shower, allowing the warm water to drain out more of his nervous energy. I can handle this.

When Remus got out, Sirius was there, lying on his stomach, doing homework. He looked up. Remus put on a brave face and said: “Hi.” Sirius’ worried expression was exchanged with a slightly more relaxed one. “Hi.” Remus sat on his own bed looking in Sirius’ general direction, but not quite at him, cleared his throat, and said: “Um, sorry I bolted. That was childish.”

“That’s alright,” Sirius replied in the tiniest voice. It was very unlike his usual loud, assertive self.

Remus wanted the bed to swallow him whole, but he pushed through. “We don’t have to talk about the... thing. Or acknowledge it. It’s not a big deal, really.” A lie. But it needed to be done. Sirius didn’t say anything. Remus was certain he didn't know what to say. Reaching into his bag, Remus retrieved his Charms textbook and started on his own homework. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sirius still looking at him for another minute, then he went back to work. The silence was agonising and tense, but Remus had known it would be. They would just have to persevere. After a while, Sirius asked: “Hey, could you help me with this? It’s Arithmancy. I procrastinated, and now I have to hand it in in half an hour.” Remus snorted. Their next class was Arithmancy, and only he and Sirius took it. So, Sirius was choosing to act like nothing happened. That was okay with Remus. “Sure.”

Only, as it happens, Sirius didn’t ignore it. Throughout the next week, he started acting a little peculiar. He was still loud and fooling around, but he would also hold doors for Remus, for example. If anyone knew Sirius, they knew doors were either held for him, or he would just swing them open and let them slam behind him into the next person’s face. Even James noticed it and asked him if he had brain damage. Also, a couple times at meals, Sirius would scoot his seat closer to Remus’, making their arms brush while they ate. The first time it happened, Remus blushed so profusely, he could see giant pink splotches splattered all over his neck and cheeks in his reflection in one of the large silver bowls on the table. Sirius stopped calling him ‘mate’ too. Occasionally, he’d ask for help with his homework, even though he clearly didn’t need it. It all made Remus want to shoot himself in the face with a hex. It seemed like Sirius was pitying him, and he despised it. It was somehow worse than Sirius being awkward and distant around him.

January’s full moon fell on the 25th, and Remus’ transformation didn’t go particularly smoothly. It was likely one of the worst ones out of all those he spent with his friends as animagi. He was fairly confident it was because of the whole Sirius thing. Just because he decided to deal with it didn’t mean it wasn’t taking its toll. Remus was stressed all the time. Not just because of Sirius, of course, but that was a key factor. When he woke up in the hospital wing the following morning, his friends were there. James rambled on enthusiastically about an upcoming Quidditch match. Remus didn’t really comprehend half of it, but still tried to nod at appropriate times. Peter piped in once in a while to agree with James or add something. Sirius, however, was completely silent the whole visit. About an hour later, Madam Pomfrey chased James, Sirius and Peter out, but Remus didn’t mind too much. He was knackered. He drifted off to sleep before the boys were even out the door.

Later that day, at dusk, Remus sat in his hospital bed reading a muggle novel when Sirius popped in. Or rather sneaked in. He was alone this time. “Had a free period. Thought you might want some company,” he explained. Elation started brewing in Remus’ stomach.

“Oh, brilliant, thanks.”

“What are you up to, then?” Sirius sat on the bed.

Remus lifted his book. “Reading. Not much to do here, really.”

“Sweet. Will you read to me?”

“What?”

Sirius smiled. “Will you read out loud for me?” He turned around, plopped on the bed face-up with his boots propped up on the railing at the foot of the bed. He tucked his hands behind his head, half lying on Remus’ legs.

“Oh, okay.” Heat sneaked up Remus’ neck. He read to Sirius until it was almost time for him to leave for his next class.

“Transfiguration next. Think I’m gonna gouge out my eyes if we don’t move on from teacup to gerbil.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You mastered it two lessons ago.” Remus rolled his eyes, smiling. Sirius let out a soft laugh.

“Moony...” He was now sitting on the bed next to Remus. “I feel like this is my fault.” He reached out and gently touched the bandage on Remus’ arm. Sirius was referring to Remus’ beat-up state.

“What? Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Well, because of the... You know... I mean, you’re upset and-“ Remus’ heartbeat picked up swiftly. They hadn’t so much as mentioned the crush since that day in the dorm.

“I’m not upset. Really. I just have a lot on my mind.” He searched his brain for something more to say to make Sirius feel better. It wasn’t his fault at all. It was Remus’ for letting this bother him so much. “It’s not you.”

“You sure?” His eyes were so sad; it was painful.

“Yes, Sirius, really. It’s not you, okay?”

“Okay.” After a pause, Sirius continued: “Oh, I almost forgot. Brought you something.” He smiled, finally. After rummaging in his bag, Sirius emerged with a stack of chocolate bars and dropped them into Remus’ lap. They were Remus’ favourite. Warmth fluttered across his chest. Sirius had to have ordered these from Honeydukes. Now it was Remus’ time to smile.

“Oh, brilliant! Thanks, Sirius.”

“No problem. Right. I better clear off, then. I can’t handle another detention with Minnie for something as stupid as being late.”

“Right. See you in the dorm then.”

“See ya, Moony. Oh, loved the reading. We should definitely do that again!” Then he walked out the door. Remus’ cheeks flamed crimson. He sank deep into the covers, yanking them over his head. He’s gonna be the death of me.

***

After that visit at the hospital, another strange thing started happening. On several occasions, Remus caught Sirius staring at him, then quickly looking away when their eyes connected. In class, at meals, in the common room as the four of them sat in front of the fireplace doing homework. It made Remus very nervous and a little confused. Furthermore, with James’ upcoming match, Sirius and Remus found themselves alone more often than not. James either had practice or was in the library going over tactics for his team, and Peter loved tagging along. When Sirius and Remus were alone in the dorm, Sirius would usually suggest that Remus read to him. At first, they were in their respective beds, but then Sirius started sneaking onto Remus’ bed as he read. It made Remus’ heart thump every time, because Sirius Black in his bed, well. That was a sight to see. He would lounge on his back, one ankle over the other, hands behind his head, eyes shut, and listen. He never fell asleep. Occasionally, he would laugh or comment on an interesting segment.

One of those times, both of them were on Remus’ bed as Remus read “A Stranger in a Strange Land” by Robert A. Heinlein. Sirius liked the muggle books. He was in his usual disposition, with half of his hair loosely and messily pulled back with a hair tie. Remus adored that look on Sirius. He was sitting cross-legged in level with Sirius’ hips, with the book sprawled onto his lap.

“Hey, got a cig,” Sirius asked as Remus was turning the page.

“Yep.” He used Accio to fetch his rolling equipment from his bedside table, placed the contents on the rizla and performed his spell. It rolled smoothly, the tobacco and filter tucked tightly into the paper. He’d been practising.

“Hey, that’s one thing off your resolutions list,” Sirius said, smiling as he accepted the cigarette. Their fingers touched.

“Well, technically, it’s two, isn’t it...,” Remus trailed off, clearing his throat. Christ, why did I say that?! He could already feel the blood rushing in his ears. Maybe Sirius wouldn’t get the reference... But Sirius pushed himself onto his elbows and peered at him. Remus pretended to pack up his cigarette equipment with intense concentration. Sirius sat all the way up and leaned so close, Remus could feel his breath. Nervousness sparked off goosebumps all over Remus’ skin. He swallowed thickly. Sirius smelled of mint and expensive shampoo. “Moony,” he said, and Remus finally turned to face him. Their noses were less than two centimetres apart. Remus’ heart was hammering against his ribs.

Sirius glanced at his lips, then slowly leaned in and closed the distance. Remus fluttered his eyes shut as adrenaline set his insides ablaze. The kiss was warm and gentle. “Sirius..,” Remus started, but the other boy just connected their lips again, this time kissing him more eagerly, and Remus just gave over. Sirius was letting him know this wasn’t charity; he really wanted it. He licked into Remus’ mouth delicately, grasping the back of his neck to pull him closer. Remus had never had a real tongue kiss before, but Sirius was leading him, and it all came naturally. Without warning, he felt tears burning behind his closed eyes. Remus had never, not even for a moment, let himself get caught up in the idea of Sirius liking him back. He knew rejection would shatter his soul, and he couldn’t let himself be torn apart by his own fantasies. But it wasn’t a fantasy anymore, and Remus was overwhelmed with the relief of letting go. Of finally allowing himself to crave what he'd been pushing down for months. His favourite person wanting him back. He entwined his fingers into Sirius’ hair and kissed him back intensely. They were both breathing heavily, then Sirius placed his other palm on Remus’ upper thigh. A tingling sensation shot up his lower back as he inhaled a long breath through his nose. Sirius was remarkably skilled, Remus noted.

Remus lost all sense of time. He didn’t know how long they kissed, it simultaneously felt like minutes and hours. Suddenly, they leapt apart as steps and chatter echoed on the stairs leading to the dorm. Sirius stood up and hurriedly smoothed down his hair. Remus wiped his lips with the back of his hand and frantically covered his lap with the covers. He was tight in his trousers. Christ. He wondered whether Sirius noticed as the heat blazed his cheeks. Peter and James trudged into the room, still talking.

“Alright lads,” James said, sauntered to his bed and started taking off his Quidditch robes.

Sirius cleared his throat, then said: “Uh, yeah. Brilliant.” His voice came out lower that usual.

"Bloody amazing practice today!"

“Oh, you guys Should have seen them! I could barely keep track of the Quaffle! Ravenclaw hasn’t got a chance,” Peter prattled on, but Remus couldn’t focus. His brain was whirring a thousand miles a minute. Holy shit, was the only coherent sentence his mind could congregate. He could still feel the the ghost of Sirius’ kiss on his lips.

Minutes later, Sirius returned to his usual banter and mucking about with James. If something different was going on inside his head, it didn’t show. A sudden arrow of disappointment and yearning shot through Remus’ chest. Was this just a one-off? His excitement dwindled for a moment, but when he glanced over to Sirius again, he was already looking at him. They smiled at each other. It didn’t matter anyway. Remus felt like this kiss could power his brain for all eternity. It had been like something straight out of a dream.

Part 4 will probably take me a little longer, given that I basically had the first 3 parts drafted when I posted the first one. Also 4 will probs be the last one. Hope you like it so far! :) <3

Part 1 Part 2