#(Yes I know how that sounds. But he doesn’t //OOC)

[thesiblingsoftheblackandwhite]

Blinky pulls his hood over his head and squeezes it down so that it’s completely pressing against his ears. He goes for his sunglasses before remembering that he had left them in his other hoodie after the shower, and instead squints to hopefully filter the amount of light coming through from the bright fluorescents of the grocery store. Even close to night, it’s still reasonably full with chattering people and carts with squeaky wheels going back and forth through aisles after forgetting something or adding items to their buys. He smells fresh produce nearby and decides to stumble around until he finds what he’s looking for.

Tinky would have gotten lost…

As he justifies going all the way to a store to help his baby brother while extremely tired instead of sending Karaxis, Blinky finds the glass case of raw meat. If he was honest, he understood Nibbly’s preference to it - it did look filling, even uncooked. Bliklotep wouldn’t try human meat without reason to, but he certainly wasn’t opposed to it.

You there.

He strides up to the counter and presses his palms onto it to stare the gal working there down, and his squinting might make him look just a tad more stressed than he actually is.

Get me the thickest and largest piece of meat that you have. Preferably something human-tasting.

He thinks it over.

Like pork. Or - you know what, steak is close enough. Or veal, even better. You got veal?

The woman stares at him. Blinky taps his fingers on the counter impatiently.

Well?

[earthtooz]

x : NOT JEALOUS ! :*+ﾟ

in which: alhaitham isn't jealous, he doesn't get jealous, so what is this suffocating feeling in his chest that only happens when you're talking to another man that isn't him?

warnings: 5.4k words, jealous!alhaitham x gn!reader who has loads of rizz, university!au, fluff with angst but happy ending, pining!alhaitham who doesn't realise that he loves you, kaveh is there, mention of cyno, ooc at some bits?, swearing, alhaitham is a little bit of an asshole at some parts sawry. he's bad with feelings.

a/n: inspired by @danijaci's jealous jealous boy comic with alhaitham! hi dani if you're reading this pls don't perceive me... hides... but i hope you all like it :,)

Alhaitham isn’t jealous. 

The uncomfortable feeling obstructing itself in his throat is just because he’s beginning to develop a sore throat- that’s all. It is flu season after all, who knows what kind of bacteria are in the air? Ones capable of lathing an uncomfortable oil that burns inside his chest, the smog crowding its way into his heart, sickening him to his core as Alhaitham can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening beside him.

“I’m free friday,” a voice besides you confirms.

“Okay!” you cheer, sounding a little too happy for Alhaitham’s liking. After all, it’s 9 am, who has this much energy in the morning? “lets do Friday then!”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye Y/n.”

“Bye, see you!” Alhaitham watches from the corner of his eye as you wave to the random stranger you’ve decided to associate yourself with before finally taking the seat beside him with a sigh. 

He doesn’t say anything to you, feeling your eyes glance at him expectantly as he stares stubbornly at the lecture board instead of acknowledging you or the jumble of feelings clogging up his diaphragm. 

“Hello, you,” You lean over slightly, careful to not invade his personal space whilst waving at him, hoping to catch his attention. He glances at you, nodding in greeting before returning to his book, the pages and rows of words only fuelling his unease he suddenly felt. He doesn’t even know where he left off, the book’s events a blur in Alhaitham’s mind.

How bothersome. What’s happening to him?

“Talkative today, aren’t you?” Your tone is playful despite his cold attitude and Alhaitham sneaks another look in your direction, noting the way your lips curve upwards. “So, how are you?” 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, inserting a bookmark between the pages before slamming it shut, an indicator that you could keep conversing with him.

“Cool.” You tap your nails on the desks of the lecture hall. “Oh, I finished my essay the other day.”

“The one for your elective?”

You hum in agreement, “I hope I never get it back. Submitted it ten minutes before the due date.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been stressed over it if you just started it earlier-”

“I know, I know,” you huff, “spare your productivity lectures for another time, I’ll be needing them later in the semester.” The grey-haired shakes his head as you laugh, but his gaze returns to the front cover of his book as he solemnly thinks about the interaction you had with another man, right in front of him. 

(What right did he have to see you smiling so earnestly like that?)

“Who was that?” Alhaitham coughs out, barely choking down his pride in time to make space for the question.

You murmur some guy’s name that he doesn’t bother to remember. “He’s a friend of mine in the same discussion group for this course and we decided to do the assignment together. He bumped into me on the way in so we were just planning when to meet to do the research.”

“Oh.” Your answer doesn’t calm the churning in Alhaitham’s gut. Not even one bit, in fact, it makes it worse. 

But it’s not jealousy, Alhaitham doesn’t get jealous because he’s above petty feelings of inadequacy. He’s merely concerned for you, worried for your brainpower by the end of the project because your partner seems less-than-incompetent. If you’d picked someone like Alhaitham (or better yet, just picked Alhaitham), you would’ve aced the class without even blinking an eye. 

(The two of you are friends, so why didn’t you pick him? It’s literally been proven that the two of you are compatible working together since you were both executives of Sumeru’s Cultural Society, and amidst all of the activities the club has run, you’ve collaborated many times to make each event run flawlessly. So why not him? Why would you pick another man over him?)

“You know you could have picked me, I wouldn’t mind working on the assignment with you,” he grumbles, words soft but very clear.

Alhaitham misses the way your eyes widen in shock as apologies scramble out of your mouth. “I’m sorry! I automatically assumed that you wanted to work on it by yourself. Next time I’ll ask you.” 

The lecture begins before he could say anything in return and like a robot, he sets his thoughts aside and begins listening, notes document up and cursor blinking at the ready.

A mundane two hours pass by, one powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide before the lecture is finally over, much to your pleasure. Alhaitham notices the way you eagerly jump out of your seat to stretch, grabbing your bag. On the other hand, your grey-haired accomplice takes his time in packing up, forcing you to wait for him.

“Would you like to get some coffee before the meeting?” You ask.

“Sure, we can find a seat there and join it together,” he adds and you beam at him, expression bright and so enchanting that it makes him forget about all the perplexities he felt before the lecture. 

The two of you make your way to one of the many campus cafés where you practically wrestled Alhaitham to stop him from paying for both your orders (losing in the end) before sitting at a booth, your laptop set up with a pair of Alhaitham’s earphones shared between you. The meeting begins to fill up with almost all committee members, even Kaveh, who resides in his room of his and Alhaitham’s shared flat. Upon noticing him, you go to text him, with the grey-haired peeking over your shoulder from time to time to see your conversation- not that he cares that much.

(Perhaps if Kaveh glanced up from his phone, then he’d see how close Alhaitham had gotten with you, breaching the distance that he prefers to keep around others. He’d also notice the headphone sharing despite how he generally tends to keep them out of anyone else’s hands.)

You’re tasked with the role of taking notes for the meeting since Alhaitham, in your opinion, is not at all a reliable scribe. His notes tend to just include vital information and never what everyone else needs to know, yet each time you scold him for it, his unbothered expression never falters, waving your complaints off with a shrug. 

“Hey, Kaveh and I are going to go for lunch tomorrow after our classes. Care to join?” You ask, smiling at him hopefully as your messages with Kaveh sit open on your screen. Alhaitham doesn’t think twice before agreeing. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” you murmur, pulling out a chair as Alhaitham and Kaveh take their seats opposite you. 

“So it does,” Alhaitham notes, not caring to look too long out the window before returning his gaze to you. “You have an umbrella, right?”

“I, uh, didn’t think I needed one today.”

“Do you not check the weather before you leave?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh teases. “It’s no problem, Y/n, if it rains I can walk you back to your dorm.”

“Only if you are okay with it,” you insist, “I have no problem walking home in the rain. I love the rain.”

Alhaitham intervenes with a raise of his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll catch a cold. We’ll walk you home.”

A soft but genuine ‘thank you’ slips from your lips, neither of you wiser to the way Kaveh eyes his roommate suspiciously, not missing the use of ‘we’ in his sentence and the implications the collective pronoun has. For it meant that Alhaitham is willing to take precious time out of his day to perform an act for someone that he is not indebted to do. Not that Alhaitham is inherently selfish, per se, but he is a man of routine. He wakes up every morning and takes five minutes to scribble on his stupid whiteboard in the kitchen what he has to do for the day and strictly abides by it, not even straying two minutes off schedule.

Willingly volunteering his minutes? Kaveh finds that suspicious. 

“So, how’s your architecture assignment, Kaveh?” You ask, breaking the blond from his daze whilst Alhaitham pours glasses of water for the table, starting with your cup. 

“A nightmare,” he sighs, sinking into his chair. “I still have so much to do, you know my professor didn’t like my blueprint? How ridiculous! I hope that man steps in a puddle and wets his sock.”

The grey-haired pipes up with a remark. “I can’t wait for it to be done, our living room is a mess right now.” 

“Hey, I am the one that cleans that living room, thank you very much. Your bookshelf is still a mess even though I’ve asked you to clean it five times.”

“If it bothers you so much then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m the only one who-”

“-I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you murmur, cutting the conversation before shuffling out of your chair, seemingly eager to do so.

Kaveh turns to the grey-haired again, “and you just scared away Y/n.”

“Sorry no one wants to hear about your architecture project.”

“Y/n literally asked, asshole.”

A rebuttal sits on the tip of Alhaitham’s tongue- as it always does when it comes to bickering with his roommate, but it dies out when an intruder comes to the table. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” he begins, “but the person who just got up, is that your friend?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off, mind passing it over for me?” The piece of paper he was holding lands in Kaveh’s hand. “Thanks, bro.” Is all he says before strolling away, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

The blond does not hesitate to open it up, chuckling in amusement when reading the content. “’Hey you’re cute, here’s my number’ it says. What a bitch! You didn’t like his vibes either, right, Alhaitham?”

“Hold on, what does the note say?”

Grabbing (snatching) it from Kaveh, the grey-haired has half a mind to rip the note apart, a certain sense of distaste washing over him that intensifies the long he stares at the guy’s handwriting. His eye is twitching. Why is his eye twitching?

“Hey!” He hears Kaveh call. “Don’t scrunch it, that’s Y/n’s-“

Alhaitham stuffs the ball of paper into his bag where he’ll recycle it later even though something irrational within him tells him to burn it. “Y/n won’t miss it. You said it yourself, he’s a bitch.”

“Sure, but why are you doing-“

“Hey!” You interrupt, sliding back into your chair with a grin on your face. “So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the grey-haired murmurs, assuming his crossed-arm position. Kaveh side eyes his roommate before agreeing with a hum. “Let’s order something now. We want to beat the rain, right?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

This meeting for the Sumeru Society might have been one of the most important ones of the year thus far, with almost every committee member expected to attend. After all, the annual ball was a big event that always had the largest turnout, and the amount of planning that goes into it to ensure its success is almost triple that of its other events.

So why weren’t you here?

“Why did you leave the meeting early on Friday?” Alhaitham asks as soon as he sees you.

You pause briefly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. It must have been the way that Alhaitham’s voice raised a pitch towards the end of the question, demonstrating a nervous break in character that was not at all typical. Cool and collected would be the defining words to describe Alhaitham, as well as someone who does not care for the menial activities of others, so what is he doing asking you? And why does he care so much?

“I, uh, had dinner with someone,” you confess, continuing to grab your books and laptop, missing the way his features contort into something un-cool, and very un-Alhaitham.

“Whom?”

You murmur the name of some other guy, who he vaguely recalls to be your project partner.

“What?” Alhaitham snaps.

“I didn’t think missing out on some of the meeting would be a big deal! I got another committee member to explain what I missed,” you justified. “Besides, there’s no big events going on right now, so I thought-”

“-That you could abandon your tasks and go have fun with someone else?”

Alhaitham’s not really sure why he said that. He’s not angry that you skipped a meeting; there are larger things in the world to worry about, he’s angry because you spent time with another guy that wasn’t him.Why not go to dinner with him instead? He spends it every night with Kaveh, and you are far more favourable than Kaveh.  

“Is it really something to get mad over? I already told you, I got the meeting notes and everything-”

“-You’re an executive of the society, Y/n, more is expected from you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, “how come you didn’t bat an eye when the vice president wasn’t there the other day?”

“Because she was sick.” 

“Okay, fine! what about the subcommittee? they’re not always there either!” 

“They’re subcom. Whether they miss a meeting or not is not crucial.”

“So, it’s just my business that you care about?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, disbelief clouding over your expression like a mask.

Again, Alhaitham doesn’t know where these punches are coming from and why he’s throwing them against you so viciously, but his heart is tightening defensively with a burning emotion that he’s been feeling more and more recently, and his first instinct is to lash out, to protect himself from it.

Perhaps it’s because foreign things that he can’t understand terrify him and you, all you ever do is make him feel things that he’s never felt before and he can’t understand why. 

“You’re not that special.”

A flash of hurt gleams in your eyes and Alhaitham knows now that he’s royally fucked up. “You’re an ass,” you grumble, about to walk away when he intercepts.

“Listen to me!”

“Fuck off!” 

“Y/n-”

You’re gone before he can get another word out, retreating figure stomping away whilst his chest weaves into knots; something that no amount of deep breathing can calm. It doesn’t help that the minute he returns home, Kaveh is onto him like some sort of parasite, curious over the tense air surrounding his normally-composed roommate. 

“Hey, welcome home- whoa, what’s gotten into you?” The blond asks.

“None of your business,” Alhaitham grumbles through gritted teeth, taking his shoes off and throwing them aside haphazardly. Kaveh doesn’t miss the way Alhaitham’s jaw is clenched, or the strain in his hand when he brings up a hand to run through his hair, or the very subtle and minute twitch in his cheek.

The blond ignores all signs that he wants to be left alone, and instead, follows the grey-haired to his room after he swung the door open. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, let’s talk about this-”

“Talk about what?” Alhaitham growls.

“Who pissed in your black coffee today?” 

“No one. Now get lost.” 

“Aw, come on, you know what they say. Getting things off your chest is always beneficial.”

“There’s nothing on my chest, go away.”

“You sure? no stress, no deadlines, no love interest making you tear your hair out-”

“-No, no, none of those!”

“Then what?”

Alhaitham steadies himself by resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he exhales loudly. “I got pissed and took it out on Y/n, who’s mad at me now.”

“Huh? Why so annoyed?”

“Because Y/n went to dinner with another man.”

It’s silent for a while. The sassy quip that he expects from Kaveh does not happen. Instead, the blond merely smiles, a satisfied, knowing grin that slightly irks him. “You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you realise you have feelings for Y/n.” 

“What? Where did you get that conclusion from?” Alhaitham sits up straighter. There are a lot of things he knows, and he knows for sure that he does not like you in any way beyond platonic. He doesn’t have any time to spare for love. There are scholarships he still needs to apply for, internships to be interviewed for, research projects to submit- nowhere amongst the minute hand of the clock is there space for love. 

“Oh come on,” Kaveh sits down on the bed beside his roommate, leaning back on his hands. “You’re not as smooth as you hope to be sometimes.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y’know the sooner you accept you have feelings for Y/n, the easier life will be.”

“Life is already easy and there is no sooner because I don’t like Y/n like that. Now get lost. I have stuff I need to finish.”

Kaveh shrugs, standing up with a soft ‘suit yourself’, taking seven steps before he’s out of the room. Alhaitham lets out a sigh that has lodged itself in his throat for too long, and the feeling of reprieve he gets is short-lived before he’s flooded with a certain tightness again. Maybe he did have a weight on his chest after all, not that he’d ever admit it to himself or Kaveh.

He gets up from his made bed with a grunt and decides to push aside all distractions. Time is unforgiving, and if doesn’t finish his assignment by this Friday then he’ll be a little less than pleased.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Alhaitham feels like he can’t breathe. 

You’re sitting alone at a library desk, all focused and concentrated on your laptop screen with your headphones on, blocking out any outside voice as you type away. He wonders if he should say hi, maybe try apologising for the way he acted last Monday- who is this guy that’s approaching you and why does he look so familiar? 

And why are you smiling so happily?

You beckon to the seat beside you and the guy readily complies, taking the chair beside you like he belonged there, like there weren’t other candidates that should be there instead (he’s not talking about himself. definitely not).

He hands you one of two coffee cups he’s holding. What kind of right does this guy have to give you a coffee? Does he even know your order?

He feels like a bit of creep keenly watching you interact with someone else from a balcony of the library, but the book and laptop in front of him lies forgotten, and in a rare moment of weakness, Alhaitham can’t find it in himself to return to his tasks, pursuit of knowledge momentarily forgotten. He can’t push aside the bile that threatens to rise, he can’t loosen his grip on the couch’s armrest, and he can’t blink for a second in fear of losing you from his sight.

(You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? How can you look so pretty laughing and why doesn’t he ever get to make you laugh like this?)

Alhaitham is losing his damn mind. So much so that the first thing he does when he sees you again is corner you. 

“You shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

You’re backed against the brick walls of the time-worn building that your shared lecture always takes place in, and Alhaitham, spotting you like a hawk, put you in this precarious position as soon as the two hours were over. 

He can’t breathe. It’s been almost three weeks since you last spoke to him and you’re staring up at him like you’ve done nothing wrong, blinking once and twice at his uncharacteristic display of subtle aggression. 

“Who?” you mutter, shaking your head to try and grasp reality once again. you hug your laptop closer to your body. “What’s this about?”

“I said you shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.” 

“What guy?” 

“Your project partner.”

“Really?” you mutter in disbelief.

He nods, teal eyes shining at you firmly. “Really. The project’s over, you don’t need to talk to him anymore.” 

“I don’t recall ever giving you the right to dictate who gets to be in my life or not, just like how you can’t tell me what to do with my time.” 

“I’m looking out for you, so stop trying to make me sound tyrannical.” 

Your mouth hangs open as you furrow your eyebrows, growing more and more frustrated with each second. So much for thinking that he wanted to resolve the awkwardness between the two of you. “I’m not even going to argue with you,” you murmur a quick ‘jerk’ under your breath before brushing past him. 

Alhaitham, however, is not willing to let you go as easily as you wish, quick to chase after you. Not that you go far anyways, turning around to face him again in the spaciousness of the vacant hallway. “Why do you care?” You ask, exasperated. “You’re Alhaitham, you don’t let trivial things like who I hangout with bother you, you’re cool and collected and rational, and I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

He doesn’t understand either, not the erratic beating of his heart, the stubbornness of his mind, nor this undisputable urge to keep you all to himself. Is it normal to want to hide someone for selfish reasons?

Trailing off, Alhaitham is slightly humiliated that for the first time in his life, someone has witnessed him coming short of an answer. No logical conclusion, no explanation, not even a satisfying quip, just plain, suffocating silence.

“Right. When you do have an answer, let me know.” You walk away.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your last rebuttal still weighs heavily on Alhaitham’s mind, even two days later as he and Kaveh are seated for a lecture in a shared course. His thoughts are scrambled like never before, the messiness of it all making him feel uneasy because for once, he doesn’t have an appropriate answer to a question.

Why was he acting like a temperamental teenager? What you did with your life was up to you, and indeed he has no right trying to change that. More importantly, why was it so hard to apologise for the stuff he said-

“So, how’s everything between you and Y/n?” 

Kaveh turns to him with widened eyes whilst Alhaitham’s poker face doesn’t move an inch, deceivingly apathetic.

“Good, we’ve been hanging out a lot more recently,” the other guy says, who Alhaitham quickly recognises to be your project partner and distaste rises in his stomach like bile. 

“Aye, good for you, man! So when are you going to ask Y/n out?”

“No way, bro, not yet. I’m such a wimp, but I hope I grow the balls to ask soon because I really like-”

“-looks like you got some competition!” The blond nudges Alhaitham, and if it were anyone else, they would not have glanced twice at the grey-haired who seemed unmoving and uninterested. However, Kaveh is not anyone else because he noticed the darkened look in Alhaitham’s eyes instantly, anger seeping into his composed gaze as his nose scrunches in disgust. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“So, you and Alhaitham still aren’t talking?” Kaveh asks, leaning on the table of the restaurant with curious ears, hoping that he can grab some answers out of you as to why there was a stalemate between you and his roommate.

“Nope,” you sigh. 

“Why not?”

“I’m just-” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I’m just waiting on an apology from him.”

“An apology? Why? What did he say?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“You know how he is. Always insufferably secretive, so no, I don’t know anything that happened.” 

“Alhaitham just said some hurtful things to me, and he was being weird when I told him I was going to dinner with a friend of mine. Just kept being in my business.”

“Really?” The architecture student quirks a brow, confusion plastered on his face. “That’s not like Alhaitham at all.”

“I know, right? He kept trying to be like ‘don’t hang out with him’ and ridiculed me for not playing my part as an executive of the Sumeru society,” you complained, “like sorry I have other things I want to do.”

Kaveh nods in understanding as the conversation briefly stops when the waiter comes to drop off utensils at your table. As soon as they were gone, however, you begin again.

“And even though he was all up in my business, trying to tell me what not to do, he then said that I wasn’t special, which is so confusing because like-”

“-hold on. Alhaitham said that you weren’t special?” You nod at his parroted claim. “To him?” 

“Yeah. Stung like shit when he said that, especially since I thought we were friends but guess not,” you murmur sadly, fiddling with the fork.

Later that night, almost immediately after meeting you over dinner, Kaveh barges into his roommate’s room, not even changing out of his outside clothes. The sudden intrusion shocks Alhaitham who was busy typing on a document, textbook splayed open beneath him but momentarily forgotten as the blond takes a seat on the bed.

“What the- not even a hello?” The grey-haired asks, confused by this uncharacteristic silence of Kaveh’s. It’s pretty normal for the blond to barge into his room without notice, but it was not normal for him to be so quiet, practically brooding on the mattress. “Whatever. Where have you been? Have you eaten yet, because I made-”

“When will you just confess to Y/n?”

The mention of your name causes a spike in Alhaitham’s heartbeat and he swivels around instantly, attention fully directed towards his roommate. “Where is this coming from?”

“Y/n told me everything that happened between you two by the way-”

“-what, when?”

“Tonight, we just met for dinner.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done if you knew? Showed up and made things worse?” He doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Why did you say that Y/n wasn’t special to you?” 

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham sighs, very loud and very perplexed. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

“Don’t you miss Y/n? You two used to hangout so often.”

“I do, of course I do!” He exclaims, burrowing his face in his hands. 

“So why aren’t you apologising?” 

“Because whenever I’m around Y/n, I’m not who I normally am,” he mutters, “especially everything whenever that project partner is around-”

“Jealous, much?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh come on, you’re ridiculous. Stop pushing away your feelings and just be honest with yourself, Alhaitham! Y/n is not just a friend to you and you know it.”

“But, we are just friends-”

“So you mean to tell me that if I hung out with someone else- like if I hung out with Cyno, you would be pissed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then why is it different with Y/n?” Once again, Alhaitham doesn’t have an answer to the question, sitting as still as a statue hunched over his desk. “Fine, I’ll spell it out to you. You like Y/n, more than just a friend!”

The silence leftover from Kaveh’s outburst is tense and full as the grey-haired lets the words sink in. 

“I’ll let you think about it,” the blond murmurs, voice softening dramatically as he stalks out of the room. Before he closes the door, however, he leaves a few final words. “Just- be honest with yourself, Alhaitham, and I wouldn’t delay trying to talk to Y/n.”

A sharp click rings through the room.

Alhaitham is no stranger to being alone, for who needs the company of others when you are happiest by yourself? Yet, in the weeks that you have not been speaking to him, a cardinal urge as been growing each and each day, wanting him to do something so atypical of him: to reach out and make the first move. Every passing day doesn’t lessen the thoughts that plague his mind, rather, they make him more and more impatient, because what if you get swept away by your project partner? 

(What if he’ll be too late? What if you won’t know of these powerful emotions that are steering through the storm in his heart? What if you won’t know just how badly he was been wanting you- wanting to see you, wanting to apologise, wanting to see you beam at him like you always would.

What if you won’t know that he adores you, especially now that he’s figured it out?).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A rain droplet falls and lands on your nose, another lands on your forehead, then another lands on your lip then more and more keep falling from the cloudy sky, falling through the leaves and landing on the bench you were currently sitting on. Goodness, you should have checked the weather before leaving your dorm. Why was it now out of all times that it had to rain, what would Alhaitham think after he finally decided to reach out to talk?

Taking your phone out to message the grey-haired about relocating, an umbrella is suddenly held over you, stopping the gentle drizzle from falling onto you. Looking up, you’re greeted by a familiar face that you have been missing too much recently.

“Hello, you,” you breathe, voice gentle and quiet and Alhaitham feels like he can finally breathe after so long, the scent of rain washing away all perplexion.

He nods at you in greeting before offering you the bouquet of flowers he was holding. A gorgeous arrangement of pink of white stare prettily at you and a man even more gorgeous expects you to accept it.

“For me?” You ask.

“For you.”

“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” you take his gift with gentle hands, holding it close to your chest. 

“I want to apologise,” he firmly states, getting straight to the point; very Alhaitham of him. “For treating you the way I have been recently.”

You beam at him, so bright and so gorgeous that it renders him speechless, a feat pretty difficult when it comes to someone like Alhaitham who has a whole dictionary of words, in multiple languages too. Somehow, they all flock out of his mind the second you smile at him.  

“I accept your apology, thank you for reaching out, must have been hard for someone like you, huh?” You tease, standing up from the bench.

“Well, I had do for someone as special as you.” The grey-haired’s voice is deceivingly confident and assured, but you know better, especially when he looks away to hide his expression with his neatly styled bangs. 

“No need for the flattery, you know, I’ve already forgiven you.” There’s a moment of silence that occupies the air, caused by Alhaitham’s hesitation as he fishes his brain for the courage to ask you out. You speak before he can get a word out, however. “I got asked out the other day.”

“By your groupmate?”

“He has a name, you know, but, yeah. I rejected him, though,” you laugh awkwardly, almost like you were trying to cope with it by playing it off. “Did you know that he would do that?” 

“Yes. I did.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on me not hanging out with him?”

“I guess you could say that. We can talk more about it another time,” he tells you, voice gentle and caring to mask the subtle hit of jealousy he feels in his chest, scolding himself for letting someone else confess to you before him. However, it’s a minute sensation in comparison to the triumph Alhaitham feels knowing that you rejected the other party. 

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do, but I want to ask you something first.” 

You nod, hugging the bouquet closer to your chest, anticipation heavy in the air as you spur him to continue. 

“If I asked you out, would you reject me too?”

A mere second passes by where you don’t respond, yet the second stretches out to what feels like eternity as Alhaitham’s stomach churns. Patience is something he doesn’t lack, but how can he be patient when his heart wants you so bad? 

Then, you take his hand, and the heavens sing at the feeling of your hand in his. “I wouldn’t, but are you asking me out?”

“Are you free right now?”

“I am. Why?”

“Let’s go out then. On a date.”

“I'd love to.” You rise up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, one that has his heart racing with joy rather than frustration.

The smile you earn is gentle, shy, but says more than Alhaitham's words ever can.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[kuronarnze]

a/n: hihiii, idk why but ive been liking to write for sae sm lately, im actually supposed to be studying since im having finals, but here i am.. writing a oneshot.. enjoyy the oneshot!!

Itoshi Sae x Reader !

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

In Case You Didn’t Notice

You were just being nice.

Just laughing at his joke, brushing lint off his shoulder, leaning your head on his arm like it meant nothing.

But to Itoshi Sae?

It meant everything.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Exhibit A:

The time you texted him “good luck” before a match.

You: "Good luck today! :D"

Sae: smiles at phone for 3 full minutes

Also Sae: saves the message to his favorites like it’s national treasure

Rin: “You’re gross.”

Sae: “Shut up.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Exhibit B:

Your voice message from 2 weeks ago.

You: “AHH I just saw a cat wearing a sweater Sae you would’ve DIED it looked like you 😭”

Sae: has replayed it 14 times and counting

Also Sae: accidentally made it his alarm tone

(He hasn’t changed it.)

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The problem is, you’re not doing this on purpose.

You’re just friendly. Warm. Effortlessly funny. The kind of person who remembers Sae’s coffee order and the fact that he doesn’t like french fries.

You’ve been best friends for three years now. And Sae is utterly, hopelessly in love with you.

You laugh at his sarcasm.

You poke fun at his grumpiness.

You ruffle his hair when he wins and pull him into hugs like it’s nothing.

It is, in fact, everything to him.

And the worst part?

You have no idea.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Why are you frowning?” you ask one day, leaning against him on his couch.

Sae’s wearing a hoodie that suspiciously looks like yours. He says nothing about it. Just shrugs.

“Not frowning,” he mutters, eyes glued to the TV.

You giggle. “Liar.”

His heart explodes.

He turns to you, and for one second—just one—he thinks about telling you. About all of it.

That every version of his future includes you.

That even your silence is his favorite sound.

That he’s in love with his best friend.

But he just says:

“Wanna stay over?”

You blink. “Oh! Yeah. Sure.”

He nods, like it’s casual. Like he didn’t just spend the entire week hoping you’d say yes.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Meanwhile, Rin is suffering. (Uhm guys so rin is kinda ooc here since i wanted to try writing frustrated rin)

“You are the biggest coward I’ve ever met,” he tells Sae the next day at training.

“I’m being patient,” Sae says, dribbling past him with ease.

“You’re being pathetic.”

Sae shrugs.

“They’re literally in love with you, idiot.”

“I know.”

Rin trips on air. “THEN SAY SOMETHING!”

Sae stares at the goal. Then glances at his phone. Your name is at the top of his recent calls. You called him last night just to say goodnight. Just because.

He smiles (YES HE SMILED. Itoshi sae smiled.)

“Soon.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Meanwhile, You.

You are in denial.

“There’s no way Sae likes me,” you whisper to your friend.

“...Are you okay?” they ask. “You literally wear his hoodie like it’s your job.”

You: “It’s comfy!!”

Them: “He buys you snacks he doesn’t buy anyone else.”

You: “That’s just… nutrition-based friendship!”

Them: “He let you nap on his lap for two hours.”

You: “Bro he’s just soft underneath the arrogance.”

They stare.

“You’re so far gone,” they say.

“I know,” you groan, covering your face. “And I can’t stop liking him.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You don’t know how it happens. One moment you're watching anime on his couch, the next moment you're laughing so hard you fall right on top of him.

And you freeze.

Chest against his.

Face a breath away.

His hand on your waist.

Sae doesn’t move.

His eyes flicker to your lips.

Then your eyes.

Then your lips again.

“…Hey,” he says, voice low.

You can barely breathe. “Y-Yeah?”

“You ever think about kissing your best friend?”

Your heart slams into your ribs. “Maybe.”

He blinks. “...Really?”

You swallow. “Do you?”

He doesn't answer.

He just leans in and kisses you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

When you pull back, your fingers are twisted in his hoodie.

“You like me,” you whisper.

He sighs. “Took you long enough.”

You punch his shoulder. “You’re so annoying.”

“Still like me though?”

You roll your eyes and kiss him again.

Rin, somewhere in the distance, senses peace returning to the universe.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Rin's pov !!

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Sae's notes app !

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

HSOSHSOSHOEJSOSIESOOSDI tbh im obsessed with this oneshot HAHAHAHA tysm for readinggg !

THIS WAS MY FIRST TIME USING SMAUS AND OHMYGOSH I WAS HAVING A HARD TIME GETTING THE TEXTS ALL TOGETHER 😭

sosorry if there are any mistakes !!

dedicated to my bbg @yoonlyhan hi! Look its your man sae 🫶 tysm for the kurona oneshot sjsjsjsjjsjskaosos i love the way you wrote kurona ranze 💗💗

Have a nice day 🫶

[recordingmae]

JJK men x reader

Their reaction to being called your husband!

Characters; Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen.

T.W; nothing really but reader is afab, characters might be ooc, some suggestive content but nothing crazy!, fluff! NOT PROOF READ!!

author: GUYS THIS IS THE FIRST TIME IM EVER PUBLISHING SO PLS FEEL FREE TO GIVE ME FEEDBACK! Also first time writing in general 😭Anyway ahhh I’m so excited pls enjoy

Satoru, G.

The two of you had been laying in your shared bed for the past hour, your head on his chest and one of his hands gently raking through your soft locks. His other hand gripping his phone as he scrolled through some social media platform. You were doing the same thing until a video had popped up on your recommended page.

Calling my boyfriend ‘husband’ to see how he reacts!

The idea- almost as if in an instant cured your semi-boredom. You sat up abruptly only for Satoru to pout at your sudden movement.

“Hey, I wasn’t done playing with your hair,” he whined before reaching out and placing his phone down on a nearby nightstand.

His messy white locks covering some of his face, but you could tell he had an offended expression- like a child would when you take away their Lollypop. “ ‘m sorry ‘toru I was just gonna ask if you wanted pizza” you mumble as he tries to sit up and wrap his lanky arms around you, keyword being tries.

You got off the bed before he trapped you- knowing that if he got a hold of you he wouldn’t let go.

Satoru nodded at your question as he watched you pick up your phone and sit back down at the edge of the bed. A five second pause filling the air before you put on your best performance that he was oblivious too.

“Hi, me and my husband just wanted to order a large cheese pizza-“

Satoru blinked.

Then he blinked again.

Maybe he misheard you— God he hopes he didn’t.

After a small moment passed you simply pretended to humin agreement “yes, my husband can pick it up in about 20 minutes- alright thank you!” You place your phone down on the bed and a millisecond hadn’t even passed when you feel his arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you onto the bed- so that your back is to his chest as he spoons you.

“I didn’t know you wanted to marry me that badly” his breath hot on your neck as his grip on your waist tightens.

“Don’t get cocky, I just thought it sounded nicer” you mumbled out as the heat rose in your cheeks.

“I think calling you my wife would sound nicer too, yeah?,”he pressed his lips to the back of your neck, groaning slightly as he breathed you in, “I’ll take you wherever you want for our honeymoon— have a big cake, doves, I’ll buy us matching blindfolds too,” his voice going a bit playful near the end of his sentence.

“ ‘Toru it was a prank! we still have so much time” You let out a soft laugh, trying to wiggle free from his grip- or Atleast loosen it. Though it doesn’t even budge as places a soft dry kiss on your shoulder.

“I’m being dead serious angel, call me your husband again and I’ll go buy the ring.”

both of you forgot to actually call the pizza place after.

Toji, F.

The two of you were out- grabbing some food, shopping, and you were basically dragging him to every store he clearly didn’t care about, he only sucked it up because you said if he did then perhaps he’d get lucky tonight.

Your dark haired boyfriend walked beside you with a hand gently pressed onto the small of your back.

As the two of you were walking you heard a familiar voice call your name- a tone so sickeningly sweet that it made you want to gag as you turned around to see who it was.

An old classmate from high school- or known as the girl who spread random rumours about you all throughout senior year. She waved excitedly as she rushed over, “Oh my gosh!! Y/n it’s so nice to see that you actually aren’t such a shut in anymore!” Her passive aggressive tone only ticked you off more- you didn’t even notice how toji’s hand snuck around from your back to your waist, pulling you closer towards him.

You force a tight smile onto your face, the kind you would reserve for fake people and bad customer service.

“Who’s this guy with you? He’s not your like rent-a-boyfriend or something right?” She says pointing a finger up and down at the man before she reaches a hand out to you his chest and that’s when you finally realize that the conversation needed to end.

Before her grubby hand could touch your man, you stepped in front of him.

“nope, this is my husband, Toji” you made sure to drag out the title, which payed off as you saw your ex-classmate’s smile falter.

You feel Toji’s chest vibrate from behind you with a quiet laugh.

“Toji do you remember how I told you about the girl who couldn’t keep her mouth shut about me in high school?” You spoke but never broke eye contact with the girl before you.

Toji’s dark eyes flickered towards her, slow and dangerous. His smile didn’t reach his eyes “oh, her”—“Didn’t you tell me how she used to say you’d never get a man?” He continued, almost thoughtfully as he pressed himself flush against your back, hands reaching to grip your waist. “And now your married to a guy like me”

Internally you were crying tears of joy as he played along- damn he knew that he was doing a good job.

Lastly, he added a snarky comment just to put salt into her wound “guess Karma works fast- but it’s no surprise you have no guy with you”

Your ex-classmate could only laugh awkwardly as her eyes darted to Toji’s grip on your waist as if she would get burned unless she left, and so with a clearly unsatisfied look on her face she simply turned around and did just that.

Toji tugs you in the opposite direction before lifting his arm and draping it over your shoulder, leaning down to whisper into your ear. “You know I’m gonna make you call me that again later, right?”

You smack his chest lightly- but the smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know.

Ryomen, S.

For the past 20 minutes you and your boyfriend were bickering back and forth, threats were thrown, bribes, and maybe one or two shameless promises. It was only when you had practically crawled onto his lap- whispering into his ear as you begged Sukuna to do a Tik Tok with you.

His exact response being “Only one video you damn brat- Anymore and I’m going to break your phone” awww what a romantic he was.

You had told him that the video would be one where the two of you rate your favourite snacks but little did he know it was all a cover for your little prank.

The two of you were in the kitchen as he sat down on a stool next to you, arms crossed, glaring at the phone propped up against a pile of bananas as if it owed him something. The hood of his sweatshirt was half on, and it perfectly casted shadows on his sharp features, Making it look like he was more or less ready to commit a felony rather then rate a few snacks.

Contrasting to you however- beaming brightly as you pressed the record button “Hey guys! Today me and my husband are going to be rating our favourite snacks!”

The silence that followed your words made you rethink your life choices as you didn’t dare look at him. You felt the weight of his stare- the energy emanating from him.

Sukuna turned his head, his voice low and deadly “The fuck did you say?”

You swallowed a lump down your throat and continued to stare at the camera- your voice shaking nervously “your my hus—-band?” You dragged out scared that he would kill you mid sentence.

Though instead Sukuna reached out and gripped your chin forcing you to look at him. His dark red eyes examining your face before he spoke “Again.” He demanded- and you complied.

Suddenly he stood up from his chair and let go of you briefly before he lifted you up from the chair with ease and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“If you want to call me your husband then I need to make you my wife” he grumbled and you couldn’t help but just laugh as you banged your tiny fists lightly against his back “ it was a prank ‘kuna!! Put me down!”

“I’m sick of your Jokes, Woman. I’m gonna show you what really happens when you practically beg to be my wife”

and show you he did.

[catsoupki]

LOVER ON A LEASH (8.2K) AO3

pairing - katsuki bakugou x reader

synopsis - You feel hot, stuffy. He’s whispering words into your ears that are too filthy to repeat. Closing your eyes, you pull at his shirt, he takes the hint and sheds it. One last time, you think, and never again. (Or, when Bakugou grapples with his blood-stained past, you’re there to help.)

cw - sexual content, fwb dynamic (but not rlly), porn with feelings, insomnia, mentions of dealing with trauma, implied mental illness, codependency, minor manga (post-war) spoilers, angst, hurt/a lil comfort, afab!reader, pro hero katsuki, “are they lovers?” “no, worse.”

a/n - insomniac bakugou inspired by @solarstranger ‘s ward off (this loneliness) ; dynamic heavily influenced by @bkgexe ‘s organic chemistry ; i hope bakugou isn’t ooc in here… im trying to depict his struggles and personality as a grown-up as accurate as possible? i’m making a lot of assumptions here.. i think this might be the start to a multipart series (that can still be read as standalones) because i dont have the patience to write the entire thing in one-go

taglist - @azzo0 @kiwibao @gguksgem @dienamights @xoyuji @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @katsuisbaby @lipstainedgemini @hatsukeii @staraxiaa

The agency is empty save for the occasional janitor and night-shifters. Most of his sidekicks have already gone home to get a good night’s rest and to return to their families.

Katsuki’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes when he nods past a tired Kirishima, no doubt coming back from a long patrol. He keeps his head down when he mumbles goodbye in hopes that Eijirou won’t notice the bags that drape below his eyes. So he looks at the floor, he thinks about the winks of sleep that have somehow, in the dead of night, leaked from the cracks in between his fingers like sand, he finds that he’s losing himself, a little more than yesterday, every single night.

As if he’s slipping away, as if the colour drains from his hair and from his eyes until pools of ash and red submerge him, until his feet are soaked. When Katsuki lies awake on his cold mattress, oftentimes alone, when sleep eludes him, he’s forced to reconcile with the past. The field that he laid on when he was seventeen (when he wasn’t enough, when he lost) now houses a dozen residential buildings. The blood-tainted dust is buried, but it continues banging on the chambers of his heart to be let out. Much like how he deals with the civilians that need saving, like how he rescues a stray cat that comes baring teeth, he tilts his face away systematically, instinctively, and he deals with his expired trauma the only way he knows how: not at all.

In the wee hours of morning, while his room is sterile like the hospital, white as the moon, the feelings he turns away come back biting like a dog. Sometimes, he admits defeat. He surrenders to the fangs that sink deep into his skin, drawing blood till he’s left empty. Then, the guilt that has tied his career down will be overthrown by muscle memory: his hand will reach for his phone, he’ll squint when the blue light from his screen hits him all at once. It will uproot his ribs and reveal the throbbing ache that was left behind them all those years ago.

And he will call you to soothe it.

“Sir?” His assistant knocks tentatively on the door, briefcase already in clutch, Katsuki then remembers he’s working, he remembers the numbness, his exhaustion. “I saw that on the team calendar—I mean, are you sure you want to pull another shift this Saturday?”

He feels the syllables before he sounds them, “yes, I’m sure.” he says, but the words on his tongue are bitter like poison, a lie, “book me in for next Sunday as well.”

When the justification of his insomnia comes crumbling down, Katsuki tells himself that being a hero means sacrificing yourself for the greater good. He fights like the world expects him to stand back up and to return as the hero that they know, the hero who killed All For One.

Being a hero was never about the awards, it didn’t matter how many plaques or trophies adorned the shelves in his house, much less the weekly rankings published on the HPSC’s website. It had always been about redemption. He fights like his life is on the line each and every single day, as if to say to Edgeshot, to prove to him: my heart was worth it, wasn’t it?

So every time he steps into a fight as Dynamight, it’s done so with violence, he takes punches and throws them back, he spits out blood and grits his teeth and wins. As an act of penance, of atonement, for when he wasn’t enough, for when he lost.

But his lies are picked apart by the voice in the back of his own head, quiet like tonight, small, it screams into the void.

When his assistant pushes on the door, he sees the plate that’s hung on his door, spelling out his pseudonym—but it symbolises less a responsibility as a civil servant and more of a duty to the man who gave up his life for him. For him. That name weighs heavy on his chest because for every step forward, it is pulled back by guilt and obligation with the cold reminder that he wasn’t good enough.

Katsuki sighs.

“Anything else?”

He chooses to resume working, the paperwork he completed earlier today is closed, then reopened again on his computer so he can pretend that he doesn’t see the concern that seeps from his assistant’s eyes.

“No sir, not at all.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

It was Tuesday when you first met him. You were seventeen, in a hospital after breaking a leg from falling down a flight of stairs. It’s trivial, and you get a few good laughs out of it. Your friends at school enjoy drawing on the cast around your foot and the time you spend in this building is just a minor inconvenience that will go away with time.

You remember seeing his ash blond hair, matted with blood, on the news when he was laying down his life for the world. It’s weird, you’ve seen the most vulnerable moments of his life broadcasted on live television while you’re just a passerby that he doesn’t really register walking past every Tuesday.

Your usual icebreaker dies on your tongue.

You think his eyes have glazed over your features before. Unremarkable, in the hallways of the hospital. Maybe his hand has brushed against yours when you both reach for the last remaining drink in the fridge. Though, you also think, he won’t remember.

But you are your mother’s daughter and you persist. When you’re sitting in your father’s car, your sister is holding your hand on the way home, you think about that boy. You have a week’s time to think about him, to come up with something to say. What can you tell a boy whose name you don’t know?

He is world famous at seventeen. He is your age but he has seen more death than you could possibly imagine, he’s carried more weight on his shoulders than you ever can, and he is known for the sacrifice he made as Dynamight, society knows him by the hair you see on television because he is significant and his life is right in front of him.

You think about the things you could say. You practice in the bathroom mirror, but the insecurities leak too easily from the gaps of your teeth and you fail. You try to run the syllables through your tongue but they become too rehearsed, mediocre. You try your damndest to create brief windows of time that allow you to speak. While he is waiting at the pharmacy, while he’s watching the news, and as he is queueing behind you at the cafeteria.

But when you’re really next to him, in crutches, the wounds that mar his skin can’t be soothed by the words you speak.

You look into the mirror, everyday you smile and you rinse and repeat till your countenance sits right with you, you rehearse till the rehearsed words sound correctly, but you are in your father’s car, your sister is holding your hand and your heart is in one piece. What can you say to a boy who belongs, already, to the world at seventeen?

“What the hell is your problem!” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can look up. You berate whoever it is that knocked his entire cup of hot chocolate into the back of your shirt until you’re burned and drenched.

This is the first time you regret speaking. The hours you spent standing in front of the mirror, learning to shape your mouth and lips into something palatable, relatable to a god, is reduced into nothing when you look up and see him.

“I...” The boy’s voice is weak. Too weak. It’s quiet and if not for the fact that he is right behind you, maybe you wouldn’t have registered it at all. “I’m sorry.”

He’s so awkward when he says it that you can tell “sorry” isn’t a word that usually exists in his vocabulary. He doesn’t look at you, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and he is anything but the hero that you’ve seen on screen.

You look at his hands, covered in smoking hot chocolate that’s still dripping onto the floor. Now, you think you briefly remember the nurses around you scrambling for the janitor, for the mops. But, then, all that you remember is feeling sadness creep into your bones. This boy who you have spent days thinking about like some hero is weak and twitching in front of you because of a cup he can no longer hold. You look at his hands, the stump that twitches, and his other hand that moves to grab it, to grab the air a few inches above because the spasm of what used to be his right hand is a vulnerability that Dynamight cannot show.

You looked at him like how a man looks at a stray dog—with pity. And he hates that, so he looks down. You realised, then and there, that he was just a boy. He was a boy unaccustomed to the damage that the world chose to give him. He wasn’t a god, he was just thrusted into the middle of it all, forced to see the death that he wasn’t supposed to see, and forced to carry the weight that was unfitted for his shoulders.

You thought he was going to pull away, but you are your mother’s daughter, you persist, and your hand is hooked around his remaining wrist—boney, rough with scars. This is the first of many times in which you say to him, “It’s okay. Things happen.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Katsuki thinks of you when he’s discharged. When he sits in the car with Masaru driving, Mitsuki is next to him and he thinks of the piece of paper that has your number scribbled over it with broken crayons. It sits in his pocket, warm, it tingles his skin.

He forgot what you said, and what you did, but he can’t forget how you made him feel. It’s stupid—he tries to convince himself. It’s stupid to remember a girl he’s talked to a few times here and there at the hospital. He should be focusing on school, on recovery, but he thinks of what you mean, what you can mean. He remembers your grin when you smuggled that piece of crumpled tissue into his pants like an inside joke, he tries to decipher the words you blur between the lines. What audacity, he thinks, and he can’t help but love that.

He sees you again when he’s at a party he’s been dragged to. He’s freshly eighteen, bravery is plastered onto his face but it is embarrassment that nips at his heart when he makes eye contact with you. He never called you, never texted, but the piece of paper lays amidst his books, unforgettable, undeniable.

He was never good at deciphering your words, or your gaze for that matter. He can’t tell whether you remember him just by looking at you. Your eyes pause a little too long on the scar that slashes his cheek for someone who has seen it before, but what does he know? Everyone looks at him like meat. Your eyes hold a certain judgement he’s scared of. Quiet, accepting, but judgement nonetheless.

He debates whether he should come over and strike up a conversation. If he were to talk to you like nothing happened, what would you do?

When he meets your eye again, sweat is condensing in his enclosed palms with the callouses pressing into his flesh like fingertips, it is now that he realises he should’ve called you, texted you, it is now that he comes over.

“Sorry for never reaching out, just—haven’t had the time.” He lies through his teeth like it is second nature.

This is the first time that he tests you.

“No worries. Things happen.” You say, with a tone that makes Katsuki’s jaw tick. He hates how easiness rolls off of you, like waves, because it isn’t fair that he’s spent the past few months remembering your hand around his wrist, your words in his ear, when you haven’t been suffering at all.

The night is young, but even when it goes on, you never ask him why, but it feels like you’re toeing a line that was just established, like you’re rubbing a fresh wound. So you let him have his boundaries even when it involves you. He’ll ghost you, he’ll lash out at you for something that is not your fault, he will treat you like you’re disposable and like you’re garbage. And maybe you already knew that when you snuck your hand into the pockets of his pants with your lover’s grin. Maybe you already knew what you were signing up for.

You let him come back into your life when he’s ready because you feel like you’re doing something good, like you’re doing charity. You don’t ask questions, you never do, because when you look into the mirror, you’re your mother’s daughter, and what you see between the gaps of your teeth isn’t enough to be begging a god for his time.

When he disappears, he usually comes back in a week or two. He will coat his apology and his excuses in sweet words that you’re not sure what the real meaning is—I’ve been busy; you’re still my favourite, he’d say, and you can’t help but laugh when he lies with unblinking eyes.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He was nineteen when he lost his first kiss. Drunken, he was blushing all the way down to his neck when he shoved against the lips of another girl, albeit a bit off-centred. He doesn’t dare admit to her that it’s his first time, but he thinks she already knows. It’s embarrassing—because the lack of experience is a vulnerability that Dynamight cannot show. So he’s stuck kissing a girl whose name he does not know in the corner of somebody’s house. He’s violent and awkward when he pushes her up against the wall. It’s messy—her spit tastes like a substance that he should not touch, and all that he feels is a burn that numbs his lips.

He forgot how he got here. The faces in the crowd blur together, unremarkable, and Katsuki fails to recognise even a single person in this room.

It’s less magical than what his friends described it to be. Denki framed it as the best moment of his life when he pressed lips with Jirou, and Eijirou claimed that kissing Mina was what made him a man. Maybe it’s the alcohol buzzing in his system, it makes his head warm, fuzzy, and his blood rush, but this girl feels like nothing in his palms. The way she puts her fingers on his cheek, where people look at for a bit too long, is uncomfortable, it makes his face itch. Her lips are cold, he’s already forgotten what she mumbled before he kissed her, let alone what she did, he only remembers the agony. He feels less like a hero and more like a cheap prostitute that got taken advantage of.

(Maybe it’s the alcohol buzzing in his system. Maybe it’s the fact that this girl isn’t you.)

He thinks, beneath the flashing lights and loud music, a snarl is present on this girl’s face. Her lips are pulled taut by her cheeks but his vision is falling and he can’t tell what she’s saying. What a prude, probably.

He leaves the party right after. He was somehow able to sober up before pushing the girl away. He doesn’t glance at her, because he knows he’ll be looked at with judgement, or worse, with pity. He sneaks past the crowd and out the backdoor all without replying to a single person that screams at him. His hand is in his pocket, the one that tingles his skin, and he’s already fishing out his phone. The blue light from the screen hits him all at once when he dials the number he’s memorised by heart.

You were asleep, but the guilt that steeps in his heart from waking you up was quickly drowned out by your voice. The grumbles that resonate in his ear, somehow, for the love of god, cools his head and puts out the fire that is his lips. You tell him to come over, and he isn’t sure what the implications behind those words are, but he shows up anyway, you kiss him and take the pain away.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

It was a Sunday when you two first had sex. The last time he’s talked to you was a month ago. That night, right before the words die on his tongue, he calls you. “I’m lonely.” He says. His voice is grainy over the phone, it’s pressed up against your ear and you can almost feel the hot breath against your skin. He says it like he knows you understand him—and you do. He doesn’t need to spell it out and maybe that’s why he keeps you around. He gets a woman for sex and he gets to keep his pride intact all at once. Your lips will sweep his problems under the rug, you’ll ignore the dark circles under his eyes and you’ll just pretend that he loves you.

He wonders about how long this will go on, how long it can go on. He thinks about your dignity and how he’s held it hostage in a jar. He thinks about your hands, the pity in your eyes, and he doesn’t care.

(He remembers your grin when you smuggled that piece of crumpled tissue into his pants like an inside joke, he tries to decipher the words you blur between the lines.)

For nights like this, his loneliness becomes the excuse that allows him to call you. In the dead of night, when he mumbles words amalgamated with want and sadness, lust is a disguise that reveals itself a little too easily from the gaps of his teeth, but you show up at his door anyway.

You feel his eyes rake over you, he meanders, he takes his time, like it isn’t cold out, like you owe him to be standing here like this. You shudder, half-mooned lids glide over your skin, like honey. You eat with your eyes first—so you show up in your tight skirts, crop tops and eyeliner—a costume, an armour. But you are your mother’s daughter, you persist, and you feel like a prize to be won.

Katsuki doesn’t say much, he never does. He only hooks his hand around your wrist and pulls, until you topple into his house, until you are wrangled in between his sheets and his limbs before you have the chance to ask “why me?”.

It’s almost like he’s doing this intentionally. He shocks you into submission like a fisherman to his prey because he wants you when you’re soft and docile. But you are capable of reading between the lines—you hear the pleas that hide behind lust and gluttony: take the pain away.

So you do.

Even before the words tumble out of your lips, the vowels and fricatives already feel foreign and slimy on your tongue. It's why you don your costume, your armour: of tight skirts, tight tops, and tight eyeliner. They squeeze the fat of your thighs, the meat on your shoulder, and at your tear glands. But you walk in anyway, you let your legs rest on the linen of his bed, your elbows against the pillows. Your costume clings to your skin, your armour cups itself around your dignity. Mold. Mockery.

You don’t ask because you already know the answer. Because you are your mother’s daughter and you persist: because you are here.

You let him mar you with his teeth. Despite the bites that will show up purple the next morning, you lift your head even more. He is ravenous—holding you down to the bed like a ragdoll, you figured that he doesn’t care about what you think nor how you feel. He doesn’t really register what’s beneath his palms, even when he’s cupping your heart in one and choking you with the other, his prosthetic is cold around your neck, it numbs the bruises he’s sucked into your skin, you can’t help but like that.

“Fuck,” he moans, with his chapped lips tickling the hairs on your neck. “Kiss me.” he says, like you are lovers and these rendezvous are anything close to romantic.

He slides into you easily, like it’s meant to be. He does it so painfully slow that you dig your heels into the muscles on his back: hurry up and fuck me—he understands the words you don’t say.

He’s looking down at you, and you like him like this: when he’s above you with his eyebrows slightly furrowed, vermillion eyes piercing, looking at you. His gaze will move from your eyes to your lips, they’re staring at him, he thinks. He’ll lean down and suck on them. He kisses with his teeth, unkind, aggressive—you like it like that, he knows, when he’s in your arms.

“You’re so pretty when you cum.” You blush. Yeah.

He’s breathing hard, his lips break into a smile—a genuine one. He loves it when you pull your kiss-bruised lips between your teeth, when your nails scrape down his back until long red marks appear. He moans even harder, louder.

Against your better judgement, you let this go on. You let him bury himself in you, deep, painful, so he forgets the agony that tortures him everyday. You feel like a martyr—a sacrificial lamb for the pillars of society. You let yourself feel good—charitable—in his arms and in your heart (with his cupping hands), beneath him, you allow yourself the belief that you’re doing something good (your armour, costume). You look at the empty jars in his cabinets and think about your dignity (mold, mockery). You let him hold you by the throat and shudder into your nape (because you are your mother’s daughter and you persist, but no one is there to hold your hand and your heart will be in pieces).

Somehow, you find yourself listening to his snores at dusk. You think he’s gotten better at lying. You’ll smile in his ear and realise a bit too late that you’ve been caught like a deer in headlights.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You’re sitting in front of the television, your head on his shoulder, and Katsuki has his arm wrapped around you. It’s a little cold, but the both of you are too lazy to find a blanket. A show that neither of you care about is playing on screen, it acts as the source of light, and as something to fill up the silences.

You two should both be asleep. He has an early patrol and you have a presentation tomorrow. The show isn’t particularly interesting, but you just can’t find it in you to go home and get onto your bed.

You don’t live here, but you know where things are. You don’t have the access card to his apartment building but somehow the security guard recognises you. There’s a second toothbrush in the sink, your clothes are mixed with his in the laundry basket but your name isn’t put down on paper. It lures—begs—you to have the “what are we?” conversation with him. A part of you wants to know, that part is irrational and wants to be his. That part of you sits down in the shower and imagines what it would be like to hold his hand outside of bed and sex. The rational part of you, though, knows the question will break whatever it is that you have with him. Because you know Katsuki. You know the guilt that pulls on his heart, you’re familiar with the pride that nestles itself into his skull, and you know he won’t let himself have this. And you’d rather have him like this than to not have him at all.

He lets you stay the night.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

It’s winter. The colleagues you entertain get braver and they’ll somehow get you to go out with them. Bar-hopping like you’re in college, sure, you’ll continue entertaining them. You’ll be in your short skirts, tight tops, with your eyeliner smudged. You down the drinks like water while your colleagues holler, you’ll pretend that you don’t notice your supervisor’s gaze on your chest. You’re having fun, you really are.

It’s the group’s third stop of the night, sweat has accumulated on your back with how crowded this bar is. It seems that everyone is here—out on the dance floor while the swaying bodies spill the drinks that leave a sticky residue on your skin.

The group of seven you arrived in have already split into groups of two or three. Your coworkers are nowhere to be seen, maybe they’re throwing up in the bathroom, maybe they’ve ended up on someone’s bed. You don’t really care.

Everyone’s dancing, and this guy nudges your arm with his, you flinch. “You here alone?”

“No.” You say, regret is already pooling in your stomach. Why did you ever agree to come? You know you don’t like going out.

“You should join us for a few, we promise you a fun time,” he winks, and you think you throw up a little in your mouth. You feel the shape of rejection before you sound it, but the words die on your tongue.

“Sure.”

You don’t drink anything more. There’s enough alcohol in your body for you to continue lying to yourself. His arm that started behind your seat slowly inches down, closer, they’re testing you. You entertain him, you let him ghost his sweaty palms over your exposed back, then your thighs.

He drags you to the dance floor, then off, all before the song ends. You know where this is going. He’s pulling you to the walls, he continues looking at your body, he doesn’t even try to pretend he’s here for anything else, and you think this feels worse than your supervisor’s eyes on your chest.

When he kisses you, his breath is an unfortunate mix of alcohols that don’t work well. You wonder how many drinks he’s had when his teeth knock against yours.

He tried to be smooth, you can tell. He’s selfish but he pretends he’s not, and it reflects in how he kisses you. He’ll push you to the edge of the bathroom, his hands will be on your waist, then your thighs again, and you’ll pretend you don’t know where this is going. He’s not as clingy as what you’re used to, he doesn’t grip the back of your neck like you’re going to run away like he does.

The man whose name you do not know is slipping his tongue into your mouth when he’s suddenly pulled away. “What the fuck is your issue?”

Your vision may be swirling, your face feels hot and you’re slightly out of breath. But there’s no confusing ash blond hair and the vermillion eyes that you’ve seen a thousand times when they’ve been on you, above you, crying.

“Fuck off.” Katsuki says with no room for argument. He takes your hand and pulls you behind him. It’s winter, and you can’t help but lean into his warmth.

“Ohhh, I see how it is! Nasty ex?” Laughing, his speech is slurred. Before Katsuki can say anything, though, you speak first. “He’s not my ex.”

He doesn’t seem to register any of that. The statement was useless, but Katsuki grips your hand tighter. Then, for a reason you can’t understand, the man tries to pull you back into his arms.

You feel it before you see it, Katsuki’s eyes flare up with anger, it’s dangerous. It flows and seeps and you already know this isn’t ending well.

There’s a nasty crack—you think the man’s nose is broken. Maybe it’s the trashy bar, because the music just gets louder and people shift away and pretend they see nothing. You’re the one who pulls a heaving Katsuki off the floor. You don’t look at the man who’s still left twitching on the floor, you don’t wish to see the bruises and blood that no doubt line his face. You pay attention to ash blond hair and vermillion eyes instead.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You raise your voice so he hears you over the music. He’s silent, he’s still seething, you think. You wait, because that’s all that you do.

He clicks his tongue and you see the conflict through his eyes. You know his pride is weighing heavy on his shoulders when the anger in his eyes melt into something more vulnerable. It’s something Dynamight can’t possibly show. His eyebrows are downturned, he’s completely sober, you realise. You let yourself imagine what he could’ve said, if things were different. If he was something more than the boy you recognised on television, maybe you wouldn’t have needed to sneak a piece of crumpled tissue into his pants like an inside joke. Maybe, you would’ve been able to walk into this room with his hand around your waist instead.

The smell of smoke and sugar is inundating you when you see the sweat that forms a light sheen on his forehead. Then, you’re pulling him by the hem of his shirt and kissing him.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You wish you never said anything.

“That can’t be healthy..” Mina is holding your hand like she’s preparing you for the blow. She looks at you like how people look at stray dogs, with pity in her eyes. She’s understanding, she’s nice, it’s why you’re friends with her. But she’s too kind, she’s a hero—and she’s meddling in your business.

You wish you never told her anything.

“It’s, like, a friends with benefits situation?” Your justification is crumbling right beneath your feet. You can’t meet her eyes when these words escape your lips, bitter, like poison.

“He’s using you—!”

“I know.”

Maybe it’s because she can sense the tension, but she leaves soon after that. The wine she brought lays unopened on the table, you try to numb the guilt with shows, music. You can’t, because the truth leaves a gaping hole in your heart.

Some time after Mina left, maybe it’s been a few hours, you’re sitting alone when he phones you. “Hey,” he says, like foreplay, like the both of you don’t know why he’s calling. “Hi.”

“How are you?” he then asks, voice quiet. You’re sitting next to the window, the glass cold against your arm. You want to scream at him, you want to admit that you’re not doing well, but that’s not what Dynamight wants. You look out the window, onto the street, the world that owns him. He says your name, and it makes your breath stutter. You sigh, “I’ll be there.”

He must be feeling particularly lonely tonight, because when you knock on his door, he opens it immediately, like he was standing beside it waiting for you. “Eager?” You whisper. He smiles.

Tugging you by your sleeve, you two fall into his bed, his linen sheets. You feel at home, maybe you’ve spent more nights here than your own bed.

His mouth is over yours already.

You feel hot, stuffy. He’s whispering words into your ears that are too filthy to repeat. Closing your eyes, you pull at his shirt, he takes the hint and sheds it. One last time, you think, and never again.

He kisses you on your lips, he tugs on them before moving downwards. You’re unravelled like a present, clothes fall off your shoulders till he’s down between your thighs. He wraps them around his head, “I love it when you moan my name.” So you do. “Katsuki,” you say, like a prayer, when he licks your clit, fingers scissoring deep, pressing on your g-spot. “Fuck,” you’re pulling his hair, it makes him moan into your cunt. “Make me cum.”

You look down when you finally orgasm, it wracks through your body, until you’re left twitching. He’s pulling his fingers out of you when he puts down your legs, and while holding direct eye contact with you, he puts them into his mouth, as if there’s something more than just lust and gluttony in his eyes, as if to say: I love you.

Then he’s slipping into you again, slowly. The fingers on his prosthetic hand wrap around your throat, it makes your head dizzy. You taste yourself on his lips when he finally begins moving. Kissing, pumping, deep and agonising. He doesn’t last long. His moans get louder in your ear, his hands become desperate, pressing into your thighs until bruises are left behind. “Baby, please. Kiss me.” He comes with a shudder.

It’s quiet, the silence feels fragile.

You’re sweaty when you lay next to him. His movement is languid when he pulls you closer, you let him. His hand is around your waist, yours on his chest. Mina’s right. Your heart is in your throat when you say, “I can’t do this anymore.” A few syllables muttered is enough to make him cold, completely frozen in your grasp. “What?” He furrows his brows, disbelief evident in the way he frowns.

The look you give him makes him want to cry. Sadness pools in your eyes, so he holds you tighter. He cradles your head, but it’s too late. Your mind is set, both of you know that.

It is now that he realises he is holding a person with a soul. When he calls you up, while you’re something less than a bad habit, you’re something more than a porcelain doll in the palm of calloused hands—you are the prettiest girl he’s ever seen since the age of seventeen. You’re the air that he breathes, and it is now that he realises he has ruined you with his maw.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Mina visits you the next day. She comes in with the extra key you gave her with food in her hands, as if she knew before you told her that this has destroyed you.

I broke it off.

Your apartment is a mess. Takeout bags are everywhere and your living room looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a few weeks. Mina smiles with something you don’t want to know about, pity maybe, sympathy maybe. You’re too tired to feel guilty when she begins cleaning. Packing away metal cans and dirtied plastic boxes, she helps you take out the trash, vacuum, while you stay glued next to the window. Maybe you should’ve never said anything, maybe life would be better if things just continued the way they were.

“You did the right thing.”

She comes again the next day. Then again. She comes over for at least an hour everyday for a week straight. You begin feeling bad for how much of her time you’re taking up, but she insists. She visits just to spend time with you. She makes sure you eat, she makes sure your apartment isn’t a complete mess.

She starts talking about it when two weeks have passed. Gentle prompts that give you the reins to open up however much you wish, and you realise it now just why she has so many friends. But she still looks at you with the same smile, pity and sympathy.

“I think I was okay with letting him use me because I guess I just always felt like—well—like I deserved it. What he gave me actually felt like something more than what I deserve. I’m just normal, you know? And—he’s a god.” She’d hum and let you continue. The silences aren’t awkward like you had feared, but she turns on the television to fill them in anyway.

It takes roughly one more week for her to start giving her opinion.

“You’re not any inferior, okay? He’s just a hero. Just a hero.”

No one really notices, maybe your parents ask once more about “the boy you always mention”, Mina asks whether you want to talk a few more times, you nod sometimes, and shake your head other times. You don't really notice how it gets better, it just does. You smile more at work, your apartment gets tidier and you can look at things without immediately thinking of him.

You’re not over it, you’re nowhere close to that. And when you’re alone in bed, maybe during the nights you can’t sleep, you ask yourself what even is there to get over. You two were never a thing, you existed between boundaries, your lives don’t really cross paths. The only reason you’re friends with Mina was by pure coincidence. He never invited you to hangouts, to events, and your coworkers don’t know about him. He called you when he needed you, and you gave him what he wanted. Only one of your colleagues figured there was something off, but even then, it’s easier to say “oh it’s nothing” than to explain the limbo that you were in. Life continues as if nothing is out of place. You get a promotion at work, you install a dating app then delete it a few weeks later. You go drinking and have sex.

You find out he has a girlfriend three months later. It was involuntary. You find out at work, from people who know nothing about your life gossiping about heroes because they’re far away, because they’re not real people with real souls.

“Dynamight got a girlfriend, you know.” Your coworker says it casually, like it’s the weather, and maybe to her it is.

You should’ve been able to hum and nod like a normal person, but instead you clench up and act like you’ve been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh.” is what you manage, but you straighten up and try your best to act normal. “Really. Who is it?”

“I think it’s Illus-o-Camie, like, the Glamour hero.”

You remember seeing her name on his phone once. You were laying next to him after sex when a notification pops up on screen, she was thanking him for something. You don’t try to hide your gaze back then, Katsuki just rolled over and swiped it away. “Work stuff.” He said.

“That’s nice.” You say, the words bitter on your tongue—a lie. “They look cute together.”

“I know right!”

You text Mina that night, it’s a Friday so you ask her to come over. When she walks in, you get deja vu from how she looks—the pity-sympathy smile—it’s almost like she already knew, and just didn’t tell you. Against your better judgement, you ask, “How long have they been together?”

“A month.”

You feel your heart break. But you’re your mother’s daughter, you persist. You nod and you hum.

“I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be okay.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He wasn’t supposed to be here. It’s Thursday, it’s cold, but he couldn’t really say no when his friends asked him to go out. The atmosphere isn’t bad, everything’s buzzing and kinda fun. He isn’t drinking because he has something to do early in the morning, he’s also the designated driver. He thinks it’s going to take one or two more hours before everyone heads home, he sighs. Mina is slung over Eijirou’s arm, Denki is in a bathroom stall with Sero, vomiting up the alcohol he’s ingested in the past hour. So now he’s alone. This bar is pretty shit from what he’s seen, but it’s exactly how heroes like them can drop in and not have anyone notice.

He’s waiting outside of the bathroom when he thinks he’s hallucinating.

You don’t like going out. You always tell him that. You dislike the feeling that alcohol gives you and you hate crowds, so he didn’t believe it when he saw you, just—there. On the dancefloor, with a man he couldn’t recognise.

He thinks about what you mean to him. You’re not his girlfriend, maybe not even a friend. So he weighs his options, it seems that no one realises his true identity. Kirishima is too busy with his girlfriend and the other two are nowhere to be seen. No one’s gonna stop him, no one can.

He looks at you, your skin is smooth even under the strobe lights, with a light sheen, probably of sweat. He wonders whether you’re having fun, if the frown on your lips are anything to come by, you aren’t. Your body is still against his, though, a little too close for his liking. How the man touches you leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he isn’t someone to you. He has no right to do anything, really. He isn’t important enough to go over there and rip him away from you.

He briefly remembers jealousy gripping at his nerves, his entire body is hot and—and then that douche is kissing you, so all that he just thought about goes flying out the window. He’s too much like a tunnel-visioned racehorse when he all but rips the man away from you by his hair. He’s sober, he’s a hero and he’s a god, yet, he’s standing in some trashy bar with words in his heart that can’t be admitted, punching a man’s face in all because of a girl.

He has no idea how you managed to pull him off of the poor excuse of a man that’s laying on the floor, bleeding and twitching. Your lips are moving, they’re still slightly wet from what’s presumably that guy’s spit. They’re bruised, swollen, and he wants to kiss them better. He can’t decipher what you’re saying, but you’re looking at him expectantly, waiting.

He’s frustrated. How dare you. You mean nothing to him. You can’t. You shouldn’t.

But then you pull him by the hem of his shirt, and the rest is history.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When Camie first brushed his face, he wanted to grimace and cry. He made sure that never showed on his face, because his manager insisted that this was a necessary publicity stunt for his plummeting popularity. It’s partly your fault, for calling your whatever off right before the HPSC check-in.

(He lies, he revels in his delusions, each and every day, each and every passing second, to convince himself that you wouldn’t have stayed.)

There’s nothing wrong with Camie. She’s hot. She’s pretty. She’s got a model body and face, her acrylic nails that are always done tingle the botched bit of skin on his face, while she looks at him with makeup that’s never smudged.

(He schools his face into a non-grimace.)

People like to ship them together. He has a verified fan account that’s dedicated to this very duo. But Camie has always been just a friend, an acquaintance, if anything.

Bakugou isn’t sure why he didn’t push her away. Or make a slightly unpleasant face when they weren’t under the scrutiny of the public. Camie’s smart, she’s good with people. There’s no doubt she’d pick up on his hesitance—unwillingness.

Camie is an accessory on his arm at the annual hero awards. He questions the meaning of this. What does this matter, in the grand scheme of things? Will his image of being a good boyfriend to a fellow hero save more lives? Will it deter any villains from attacking the city? What does his personal life have to do with anything?

(He feels less like a hero and more like a cheap prostitute that got taken advantage of.)

Everything, someone would say. His manager, Camie, you. His mental well-being affects his performance and subsequently the people he saves, the buildings he destroys. But he’s fared alright—well, even—in the worst times. Right after the Great War, after you whispered those bone-chilling words in his ears.

He realises that, somehow, when he tries his best to fulfil a duty he promised a dead man, he loses the very essence that made him a hero, a god. He strips himself of meaning, of purpose, to slowly let himself go. He sheds them off Dynamight like clothes for the public to see, so he is palatable, so he is malleable. He does something that his younger self would have insulted and dismantled with ease—he lets society swallow him with the definition they’ve assigned to the word heroics, and the indignity that is dredged with it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Camie is not your friend. She’s a fake bitch who just got caught in the crossfire.

Serves her right, you think. She deserves it for the times she’s brought Katsuki to crowded bars, the times she’s forced him to wear matching necklaces that erode with sweat. It isn’t fair. She was labelled with a title you’ve fought tooth and nail for. By the press, by Katsuki. You can’t possibly fathom what she could have done that gave her the right. It feels stolen, as if she came as a thief, and for all the sleep and dignity and face that were confiscated from you, you laid barren on his linen sheets while the identity girlfriend was nicked, like an heirloom, right in the dead of night from your fingertips.

When you see her face, perched against his, it’s like you’ve got vomit on your tongue that water can’t wash off. So you stop flipping through magazines, you don’t use the television and social media has been wiped completely from your phone. You cut yourself off from the world of heroics and all that’s in it. Uprooted and replanted so you can focus on your boring job and boring friends. Work, drink, have sex, cry, and rinse and repeat. This routine is rehearsed until it becomes ingrained into your habits, into every twitch of a finger. You stop seeing Mina, and all of her hero friends too. You dye your hair, pierce your ears and sign up for a gym membership. You become another person.

In a year, you’ve gone from the sheep that lays bleeding in a wolf’s maw to the butcher himself.

(But sometimes, when the skin of hatred slips off, at dawn, with the windowsill cold against your arm, the teeth marks reopen. And despite the desperation with which you pull on the costume of a hunter, your armour, it collapses until you drown in spools of ash and red all over again.)

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

“What are you doing here?”

“Camie and I broke up.”

You look at him—really look at him. He’s meeting your eye with not a hint of waver, he isn’t frowning, but not exactly smiling either. Guilt is the guise that’s on his face but you know Katsuki.

“Let me rephrase the question: what do you want me to do?”

“To take the pain away.”

While you stand at the doorway, he’s the one that’s banished to your windy corridor. He stands there because he knows he owes you something. He lets you weigh your options, but he wants you to open your arms and welcome him home. It’d be so easy to just close your eyes and let him ravage you. But—

“You never liked Camie, not like that.” You remember her acrylic nails, her flawless makeup. Some armour, some costume.

“Shit, was I that obvious?”

You think about what you could say.

Camie didn’t—doesn’t deserve that. No one should be used and disposed of, not even by a god.

“No, I just know you well enough.”

He really doesn’t look guilty, not at all.

“I missed you.” He says.

So you think of his empty words, the promises that were not made to last. You think of the nights he calls you, the times he left you alone.

(“He’s using you—!” “I know.”)

You didn’t deserve that.

“Do you? Or do you just miss what I gave you?”

“That’s not—fuck. I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet. The word “sorry” still isn’t something that comes by his vocabulary regularly. “I don’t know.”

You sigh. It’s Sunday. You have work early in the morning. You’re cold. You haven’t showered.

“What do you want from me?”

“Just—let me try again. I missed you. I really did.” He gulps. “I do. I’ll treat you right.”

When he looks at you with glassy eyes tonight, he’s just a boy you met at the hospital. When you were seventeen, when you wanted to be wanted. He was a god then, and he is a god now.

Will you be able to notice his crocodile tears when all that you see in the reflection of his eyes is mud tangled with your bloodied roots?

You don’t know what to say to him.

When a plant is uprooted, the old pot is left behind to rot. The soil will be depleted of its nutrients, it decays because the plant is nowhere to be found.

“I don’t think you can.”

[lmvari]

do you mind? (repost)

summary. sharing a table with a stranger at a crowded café, only to realize they’re far more interesting than you expected.

characters. xiao, scaramouche, heizou, venti, kazuha x gn!reader (separate)

tags. modern au, fluff, crack

warnings. kind of ooc xiao and kazuha, alcohol in venti's

XIAO

Internally panicking, but he welcomes you to the table with a small nod. He’s the reserved type—the kind to look anywhere but in your general direction just to avoid eye contact. Archons, how many times has he glanced out the window just to stare at that decorative plant? He even counted the leaves.

Social interaction isn’t his strong suit. And it certainly doesn’t help that you’re attractive.

If he had his way, he’d sit in silence, letting the passing seconds fill the space between you. But his own discomfort betrays him. Hands fidgeting under the table, fingers tracing the rim of his cup, gaze flickering to anything but you.

He feigns indifference, arms crossed, posture rigid. 

But then—you speak. Because, for some reason, you find him interesting.

You introduce yourself first, then ask for his name.

His heart stumbles in his chest. He’s unsure if it’s from nerves or the sheer absurdity of the situation. Someone willingly trying to talk to him, despite his obvious attempts to fade into the background.

Though his palms are slightly damp from tension, he keeps his voice steady, his expression unreadable. Flat tone. Unwavering gaze. A carefully maintained air of disinterest.

You frown. A subtle shift, but he notices.

That’s a cue, isn’t it? A signal that you’ll leave him alone now. That’s what he wanted… right?

Then why does something in his chest sink when you simply nod, pressing your lips into a thin line, offering nothing more?

He exhales quietly. Curses himself. He just lost the chance to get to know you.

But this is the first time someone’s been able to catch his attention. So he thinks of a way to redeem himself.

"Oh. Okay." You say in response to his answer, forcing yourself to sound indifferent. But truthfully, you’re embarrassed.

You spent a whole ten minutes bouncing your leg, debating whether or not you should make the first move, only to be met with disappointment after finally mustering up the courage.

You bite your bottom lip and tap your fingers on the table, falling silent. Now, all you can do is wait for the servers to call your order so you can leave. You seriously don’t want to embarrass yourself further in front of this stranger.

“I, uh...”

A voice cuts through your thoughts.

You don’t assume right away that he’s talking to you, so you keep your gaze averted, pretending not to notice.

Then, a cough. Loud enough that you instinctively glance up in concern.

Your eyes widen slightly when you find him already looking at you.

“Yes?” You ask, taken aback that he was referring to you. There’s a flicker of curiosity in your expression, maybe even a bit of hope.

He hesitates. “…I'm sorry.” His voice is quieter this time, almost unsure. “I didn’t mean to come across as cold earlier.”

The shift in his tone is subtle, but you catch it. Gone is the detached, indifferent edge from before.

You smile, relieved. "No, no, don't worry about it! I get like that sometimes too."

He exhales lightly. Almost as if… reassured. After a beat, he offers a small, hesitant smile in return. It’s brief, but it’s there.

It suits him, you think.

It’s cute that he chose to apologize instead of just letting it be. Most people would’ve moved on, unwilling to make things more awkward. But he didn't.

And then—

"I'm not used to people." He pauses. “…Especially ones like you.”

A beat of silence.

You blink. Wait. What?

His own words seem to register a second too late.

You watch as his shoulders tense slightly, his fingers curling into a loose fist on his lap. The tips of his ears are… pink?

Oh.

Oh.

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Was he flirting with you? No way. He doesn’t seem like the flirty type. He’s definitely more socially awkward than you. Maybe he didn’t mean it like that.

But before you can overthink it—

“…If it’s okay with you, may I have your number?”

SCARAMOUCHE / WANDERER

Glares at you menacingly. Like a cat trying to hiss someone away.

Him? Sharing a table? With some random nobody? Absolutely not. This table is his.

Without breaking eye contact, he places his bag on the chair in front of him. A silent warning. Don’t even think about it.

"It's occupied," he deadpans before returning to whatever he was doing.

You, unimpressed, grab his bag and dump it on the table. Then you plop down into the chair, arms crossed, staring him down as if to say: "Try and get me out of this seat, you brat."

His mouth parted slightly, just for a second, before snapping shut. Did you just—? The audacity.

A scoff escapes him as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his glare sharper than ever. His fingers drum against his bicep as he mutters under his breath—something that sounds suspiciously like, "At least you're not completely spineless." Not that he’d ever say it directly.

But since the café is packed and dragging you out by the collar would be frowned upon, he begrudgingly allows it.

For the most part, he ignores you. Or at least, he tries to. You pretend not to notice the irritated glances he throws your way every time you smile at your phone or stifle a laugh.

Then a server approaches.

She sets your drink down and takes a brief look at the two of you. No food orders yet. Her eyes brighten as she leans in slightly, all smiles.

"We actually have a 25% couple's discount for two strawberry shortcakes!"

Silence.

His stare darkens.

He looks at her like she just personally insulted his entire bloodline. If he had one in this universe, anyway. His lips part, undoubtedly to say something cruel enough to make her rethink her entire career.

But before he can, you slap a hand over his mouth.

"That sounds great! We’ll take it!" you chirp, grinning at the waitress as if your life doesn’t currently depend on keeping Scaramouche from verbally eviscerating an innocent employee.

The server’s eyes sparkle with delight as she scribbles down the order. She even hums. 

He looks personally offended.

You heave a sigh as the server finally walks away. Just as you’re about to relax, you feel a vibration against your palm. The glaring stranger is trying to speak, his voice muffled against your hand.

Then, before you can react—

His tongue moves.

He licks your palm.

Slow. Wet. Deliberate.

"Gross!" You yank your hand away, scrubbing it furiously against his sleeve.

He swats you off instantly, recoiling like you just infected him with the plague. "Get your germs off of me!" he snaps.

"You're the one who just licked my hand!" you retort, scandalized.

His scowl deepens. His expression alone speaks volumes.

"The hell was that for? First, you hog my table—"

"I wasn’t hogging it, we needed to share!"

"—interrupting my peace with your presence—"

"I was minding my own business!"

"—and then you have the absolute audacity to make us out as some kind of couple?!"

"Shut up, they might hear you! We’ll lose the discount!" you hiss, glancing around in case the staff overheard. The people in the vicinity gave looks of concern at your direction.

He scoffs. "You have some nerve."

You roll your eyes. So dramatic. Acting like you just ruined his life.

"I had to grab the opportunity. It’s strawberry shortcake."

He clicks his tongue. "That’s your excuse?"

"It’s strawberry shortcake," you repeat as if that alone explains everything.

He huffs, crossing his arms. "Fine. Go eat your stupid cake."

"You don’t want some?"

"I hate cakes."

You blink. Who the hell hates cake?

"Why?"

His eyes narrow. "Why? Because I hate them. I hate sweets in general. Life isn’t sweet. Life is full of bitterness and sorrow. I don’t get how people manage to laugh in this world. It’s annoying."

…Wow. That escalated.

How did a conversation about shortcakes turn into a monologue about the inherent misery of existence?

"What the hell? Who hurt you?" you mutter.

"My mother."

You suck in a sharp breath. 

The words are so blunt, so casually spoken, that it takes you a second to process. Your lips twitch. No. You shouldn’t laugh.

But the longer you stare at his deadpan face, the harder it is to hold back. A chuckle slips out. Then another.

Hey, this guy is kind of funny. He's growing on you.

He gives you a baffled look like you’re the crazy one for finding humor in his trauma dump.

His brows furrow, and for a brief second, his gaze lingers—not in irritation, but in something else. Something almost mesmerized. He mutters something too quiet to catch before looking away, resting his head on his palm.

You inhale deeply, composing yourself. "Fine. I'll eat both cakes, then. I'm the one paying anyway."

He doesn’t respond, just glares at nothing in particular.

Minutes later, the same cheerful server returns with a tray of two servings of strawberry shortcake. Just as you reach for your wallet—

A hand beats you to it.

The stranger slaps down his own cash before you can even open your bag.

The server’s grin widens. "Ah, paying for the date? How chivalrous!" she chimes, her voice far too amused, before skipping away.

You freeze. Wait.

Did he just let her think that?

Your gaze snaps to him, utterly bewildered. He doesn’t even deny it—just grabs one of the plates and starts stabbing the cake with his fork.

"I thought you said you don’t like sweets."

"That’s right," he mutters before taking a grumpy bite.

You narrow your eyes. "Then why—"

He chews, swallows, and then shrugs, avoiding your gaze.

"Would be a real waste of my money if I didn’t enjoy it with you."

HEIZOU

Has been watching you since you entered the café. Not in a creepy way, just subtle, observant, like he’s solving a case. And wow you are stunning. The way your eyes scan the room, looking for an open seat, tells him you’re about to approach him.

He makes his move first.

"Over here!" he waves, voice warm and inviting, like he's an old friend waiting for you. You hesitate, confused. Do you know this guy? But with no other seats available, you accept with a small, grateful smile.

Big mistake. Or maybe the best decision you’ve made today.

Because once you sit, he talks. And flirts. And teases. And somehow, he already knows things about you.

Will ask you all sorts of questions: What's your name? Your age? Your birthday? Your favorite color? Any pets? Exes?

Even taking guesses as to what your answers might be. and he got them all right, if not, then close. But every now and then, he throws in something completely unexpected: 

"What's your ideal type? Is it me?"

"Aside from being pretty, what do you do for a living?"

"Have you ever committed a crime before? Because now you have."  He says while clutching his chest. 

You nearly choke on your drink. Heizou just grins, clearly enjoying himself.

"Alright, your turn. You can interrogate me now," he offers, eyes gleaming with amusement.

And so you do. Because he’s interesting. Charming. Smart. Too smart. And when he leans in slightly, studying your features like he’s committing them to memory, you feel yourself getting drawn in, too.

Heizou hums in thought. "You’ve got the kind of face that belongs in a painting," he muses. "I’d describe it more, but I’d rather see how flustered you get first."

You roll your eyes, trying (and failing) to suppress a smile.

He'd be the type to reach out and take small bites of your food while chatting. He does it so shamelessly that you're impressed, so you just let him.

This boy is so confident with himself, flirting so casually like it's second nature.

He wouldn't go as far as to touch you, of course. He knows his limits and will keep his hands to himself. But he acts so relaxed and friendly with you that you think maybe he's just playing you.

You’re not dumb. You know he’s interested in you.

It’s not like he’s being subtle about it, either. The lingering glances, the teasing smirks, the way his eyes light up whenever you react to his words. It’s obvious.

And sure, you feel the same way. But still. 

Is this how he always approaches strangers? Does he flirt for fun, or does he actually mean to follow through? How many people have fallen for his tricks before?

A thoughtful hum breaks your train of thought. Heizou taps his chin lightly, then suddenly snaps his fingers. A habit you’ve noticed ever since you sat down.

"Your expression tells me you’re doubting my motives. Correct?"

You blink in surprise. Then chuckle softly, shaking your head. Damn, he’s good.

"That’s right. A point for you, detective."

He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Funny you say that. Being a detective is my full-time job."

Your lips part slightly in surprise. He never mentioned that before. But now it all makes sense. The way he reads you like an open book, the way he asks questions so effortlessly, the way he makes it feel like you’re being studied and he’s enjoying every second of it.

"That’s quite… attractive." You admit, cheeks warming slightly.

Heizou leans back in his chair, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself. "You think so?" His grin widens, but there’s a new glint in his gaze now.

"Then allow me to clear up any lingering doubts, sweetheart." He tilts his head slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.

"I do plan on pursuing you."

Oh.

Your heart stumbles. You were not prepared for him to be that straightforward.

Heizou watches your reaction, clearly amused. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head. "Only a true detective can crack the case of this heart theft, you know."

A teasing pause. Then, the final blow.

"And my prime suspect… is you."

VENTI

When you approach him, the faint yet unmistakable scent of alcohol lingers in the air. He’s drunk. In the middle of the day. At a café.

Wait. Do they even serve alcohol here?

His head rests lazily on his folded arms, eyelids heavy, lips slightly parted. If it weren’t for the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders, you’d think he was fast asleep. Beside him, a humble coffee cup sits suspiciously untouched. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you lean in for a peek.

Yep. It’s alcohol.

How the hell did he sneak that in? More importantly, how has no one caught him yet? You glance around, half-expecting an employee to scold him, but they just pass him by like he’s invisible. Maybe he’s a regular here.

Deciding not to wake him, you quietly settle into the seat across from him, giving him space. 

Then, without warning, he jolts awake.

"Oh! Hello, stranger!"

He’s suddenly wide awake. No sluggish blinking, no groggy confusion, just pure, unbothered energy. You flinch at the unexpected enthusiasm.

He doesn’t ask why you’re here. He doesn’t even bother to ask your name. Instead, he jumps straight into conversation as if you’re an old friend who’s been here all along.

And somehow, you go along with it.

With an animated grin, he launches into the most ridiculous stories you’ve ever heard.

"Earlier, I saw this red-haired guy absolutely demolish some blue-haired guy in a fight. It was spectacular! Ehe~!"

You blink. Excuse me?

That’s just one of the things he shares. He never runs out of things to say. Wild, chaotic, oddly fascinating things. Like?? Does he see stuff like that on a daily basis?

And despite nearly passing out five minutes ago, he speaks so effortlessly that you start questioning if he was even drunk to begin with.

Like Heizou, he will also steal some of the pastries you ordered, albeit in a more subtle manner. He thinks you don't notice this lol.

"You've got fine taste in sweets, stranger!" he hums, twirling a fork between his fingers. "Tell me, what's your opinion on wine?"

You blink at the sudden shift in topic but answer with an amused smile. "I don’t really know much about it. I just drink whatever I feel like."

Venti gasps dramatically, "Hah, I thought so! I cou—"

His sentence is abruptly cut off by a hiccup. You barely suppress a laugh as you slide a glass of water toward him.

"Whoops! My bad!" He lets out a bubbly giggle, taking the water with a flourish. After downing a few sips, he clears his throat with an exaggerated ahem.

"As I was saying—" He pauses for effect. "If you're interested in wine, I’d be delighted to educate you! I’d say I’m an expert.”

You tilt your head playfully. "I can tell."

His eyes twinkle with mischief. "But if you're not..."

He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper.

"I'm still very interested in having a drink with you sometime. You’re quite the gorgeous stranger, you know."

Before you can fully process the compliment, he winks. Smooth, confident, entirely shameless.

"So," he muses, resting his chin in his palm.

“What do you say about keeping in touch?"

KAZUHA

Kazuha is probably the most normal one out of the bunch. No glares, no drunken ramblings, no interrogation-like questioning. Just a warm, endearing smile as he gestures toward the empty seat across from him.

He even stands up, gently pulling your chair back for you. A small but thoughtful gesture. One that makes your heart skip just a little.

"Please, have a seat." His voice is soft, and smooth, like a passing breeze on a summer afternoon.

As you settle in, he strikes up a light conversation, asking about your day with genuine curiosity. He listens intently, nodding along, occasionally offering small comments that make you feel at ease.

And unlike a certain maroon-haired flirt or a wine-loving bard, instead of stealing your food, he offers you his. With a slight nudge, he pushes his plate toward you.

"Would you like to try some?" His expression is hopeful.

You shake your head, feeling too shy to accept. "Oh, no, it’s yours. I couldn’t."

He pouts. Actually pouts.

"Come on, just a bite. Humor me." He even throws in the puppy eyes.

And damn it, how could you refuse that face?

Reluctantly, you take a tiny piece with your fork, just enough to taste.

He notices. And he’s not having it.

Without a word, he cuts a larger piece, lifting it toward your lips with his own fork.

"Say aah," he coaxes, his smile both playful and teasing.

Your face burns hotter than the café’s espresso machine, but you comply, letting him feed you.

His expression softens, eyes twinkling with quiet satisfaction.

But just when you think it couldn't get worse—

He leans forward slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Before you can react, he reaches out, thumb brushing lightly against the corner of your mouth.

Then, with a casual grace that should not be allowed, he brings his thumb to his lips, licking off the stray bit of cream.

And smiles.

Innocently.

As if he didn’t just send your soul straight into the abyss.

You stare at him, utterly flustered, while he simply sips his tea, acting as though he didn’t just casually destroy you in broad daylight.

"You're acting awfully sweet to a stranger," you point out, tilting your head at him.

Kazuha hums thoughtfully, swirling his tea. Then, he gives you a small, shy smile.

"Am I? Well... how could I not, if the stranger is you?"

Smooth. Too smooth.

He gives you a shy smile. "We could fix the 'stranger' part. How about friends?"

You giggle softly. "Are you sure just friends?"

He gives you a playful look. "Well, we could be more in the future."

His laugh is light, airy. Like the whisper of wind through maple leaves. But then, something seems to dawn on him, and his expression shifts.

"But—" he pauses, suddenly looking sheepish. "If you're already seeing someone, being friends is enough."

Oh, that's adorable.

You giggle behind your hand, heartwarming at his sincerity. After all that flirting, he's still worried about stepping over a line.

"Don't worry," you reassure him, "I've never dated anyone."

His eyes widen slightly, genuine disbelief flickering across his face.

"Is that so?" He tilts his head. "That's surprising. I thought someone like you would be off the market by now."

You shrug, smirking at him. He leans in just a little, voice dropping to a gentle murmur, as if sharing a secret.

 His gaze locks onto yours, warm, admiring. 

“I get to find and keep the treasure, then? What an honor.”

note. ah yes the work i was most proud of back then lol anw i’m planning to make a part 2 for this idk when tho maybe when i feel like it. i improved a few bits from the original and this is not proofread! i literally just skimmed through the text and changed a few stuff hope u enjoyed say hi if u remembered this

© lmvari do not repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works on any platform.

[luxdove]

Remember me!

(Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader)

Notes: Reader cookie is inspired by Don Quixote from the game Limbus Company and not from the actual book since I have never read the actual book

Since I’m also terrible at writing I’m mainly laying down points and not an actual story format? English is not my first language pls be kind cuz I low key got no idea how to type a story and also these characters might be OOC

Also reader is gender neutral and this is my first story I’ve ever posted 😭

This is also not even proof read and honestly I felt this went all over the place so I apologize if it doesn’t sound great😭

Cw: Hypnosis, memory loss (idk what else to say for warnings)

You don’t remember anything from your past, you kinda just grew up living inside of this tower

But you weren’t lonely! No no! Well actually you were since no one would visit you however! You had tons of books! And would often dreamt yourself to be the greatest cookie knight of all of Earthbread!

It didn’t matter if you seemingly had an endless supply of books, they just never seem to get boring no matter how many times you have reread them!

However one day a knock followed by a crash of the broken door happened, this day was special since it marked your day of freedom from the loneliness imprisonment!

“Oh sorry we knocked your door down…” the cookie with a cane said sympathetically

“It is no worries! What is thou name?!” You exclaimed happy to see more cookies in existence, Gingerbread cookie looks a bit confused as he wonders why you spoke in the old language but he shook it off and tried to understand what you said

“My name is gingerbread cookie! And these are my friends Strawberry cookie, wizard cookie, Custard cookie, Chili cookie, and Pure Vanilla cookie!” Gingerbread Cookie introduced everyone. “What is yours?”

“Thy name…?” You thought about it, you actually don’t remember your name. You looked around and noticed a mail that was addressed to this tower and it said. “Blueberry Milk Cookie…” you muttered “forsooth! Thy name is Blueberry milk cookie!” You confirmed, after all the mail seemed to be addressed to you so surely that’s your name right?

“Well Blueberry milk cookie, would you like to join us on our journey?” Gingerbread cookie asked and you started squealing in excitement. Never had your eyes had shown such bright and shiny stars within it.

“May I?” You asked to confirmed and they nodded. Indeed this was the best day ever.

It’s been a good long while ever since you joined them; you helped them build up a kingdom while meeting new cookies on your journeys. However after meeting all the Ancient cookies in Crispia you decided to hold back for a while to focus on yourself. After the group came back from meeting 2 Beast cookies you decided to take the offer and join them on their journey since you were always excited for a new adventure or journey, after all this is progress for you to become the best cookie knight in earthbread!

“Gingerbread Cookie Esquire! May I ponder where we are headed off to?” You asked

“We’re going to Beast Yeast to beat Shadow Milk Cookie once and for all!” Gingerbread cookie answered, you didn’t join them from their past journeys in beast yeast due to you signing up for random things to occupy your time in hopes it can make you stronger

“Shadow milk cookie..? Hm…where has thou heard such name…?” You muttered as you thought, somehow the name seems familiar to you yet you have never seen this cookie before. “Oh! Yes! Shadow Milk Cookie! I hath read such books and scrolls of the legends of the Beasts!” You exclaimed

“Ah…so you have heard the stories then right Blueberry Milk Cookie?” Pure Vanilla Cookie asked with his kind smile while you nodded vigorously

“Forsooth! Pure Vanilla Cookie Esquire! It ought to be foolish of me to not know such rich stories soaked in knowledge of the old!” You exclaimed “After all! Thou art wished to become the greatest cookie knight in earth bread!”

Everyone laughed while you smiled in glee, after all you sounded like you were stuck in some childhood fantasy with childlike innocence of the world even though you were already exposed to such environments and topics. It was just nice to hear such childlike dreams from the group while they adventured off into a more dark turn.

You guys were enjoying your time while walking down the path towards the Spire of Knowledge, that wasn’t until you guys heard a mischievous laughter.

“That laugh! It’s Shadow Milk Cookie!” Gingerbread Cookie exclaimed as they all went into ready to fight stances as Shadow Milk Cookie appeared.

“Oh if isn’t it my favorite audience to mess with- wait who is this newbie” Shadow Milk Cookie eyed you

“Tis is I! Blueberry Milk Cookie!” You introduced yourself “For thou wishst to become the greatest knight of all of earthbread!”

Shadow Milk Cookie stared at you for a good minute or two, ah yes now he remembered you- but how do you not remember him?

“Blueberry Milk Cookie….huh” Shadow Milk Cookie had a thinking face on as he floated in the air.

“Forsooth! However one of thy missions is to defeat thee!” You exclaimed with shining stars within your eyes as you pointed your lance towards him. Ah, how Shadow Milk Cookie missed those eyes of innocence- it seemed you kept them after all those years.

“Defeat me? HA! Sorry newbie but I! Am the star of the show! And you all are within my stage!” Shadow Milk Cookie exclaimed with a prideful grin. Suddenly a whole rush of monsters and corrupted animals started heading towards you guy’s way.

“Ooooo lookie lookie I guess times up for the next act! Welp toodles! Have fffuuuuunnn~” Shadow Milk Cookie bowed while topping his hat off while he poof-disappeared again.

“That COOKIE!” Gingerbread Cookie gritted his teeth.

“It’s alright Gingerbread Cookie, perhaps we’ll face him again sometime in the future” Pure Vanilla Cookie patted him calmly.

“Indeed Gingerbread Cookie Esquire! After all the Spire of Knowledge is not too far away! Perhaps thee villain rests thou chambers within there!” You exclaimed happily to finally meet one of the Beasts face to face

“Villain?” Pure Vanilla Cookie questioned

“Forsooth! Villain! Is thee Shadow Milk Cookie not thee villain?” You questioned

“Hmmm…maybe but there might be a reason for him to be like that” Pure Vanilla Cookie said wisely, however within your eyes the Beasts have gone far past redemption and are now marked as villains within your book. Now it is your job to defeat such villains!

Then Shadow Milk Cookie greeted you guys because otherwise he would be called a “terrible host” for not greeting his audience and actors. Then you guys just walked all over the place because the palace just seems too confusing! Left is right, right is left, up is down, down is up! There’s literally stairs that are upside down! How on earthbread would you even know where you’re going?!

However as expected you all have lost each other, surprisingly not because of the lay out of the palace no, no.

It was all because Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t think it was entertaining enough so he just decided to split up everyone just for the fun of it.

“GINGERBREAD COOKIE ESQUIRE!!!!! TO WHERE IN EARTHBREAD HAST THOU DISAPPEARED!!!” You yelled out.

“PURE VANILLA COOKIE ESQUIRE!!! TO WHERE HAST THOU-“ you were about to yell out again but a hand covered your mouth.

“By WITCHES do you ever keep your voice DOWN?” A voice that is instantly recognizable and undoubtedly was from Shadow Milk Cookie said in annoyance, however that annoyance was replaced by a smile filled with mischief. “It’s alright you silly Willy! Since it’s you I’ll not do anything”

“Ah! It is thee! Villain!” Your eyes shined with stars in them again as Shadow Milk Cookie face softened, oh boy does he feel somewhat bad for what he’s going to do soon but…he has to, to bring you towards the truth and not live in such a fake reality without knowing just…well you know just a tiny winy bit of information- nothing that would certainly hurt you of course.

“Tis is I! Blueberry Milk Cookie! For thy-“ you were introducing yourself again but suddenly got interrupted by Shadow Milk Cookie.

“Y/n cookie” Shadow Milk Cookie corrected

You looked at him in confusion “Thy name is not Y/N cookie…? Thy name is Blueberry Milk Cookie!”

Shadow Milk cookie didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at that statement “oh you silly willy! That is my old name not yours!” Shadow Milk Cookie barked in laughter

You were in disbelief, perhaps there was more to your life than you could have thought?

“Oh the look of distraught! But who am I to blame? Of course the witches fault! After all they did remove your memories old friend!” Shadow Milk Cookie laughed

Your eyes widen at the news. Your memories were removed? And you were friends Shadow milk cookie back then?

“You villain! I shan’t hath companionship with the villain!” You shouted in disbelief, there was just no way

“Hm? Don’t believe me? Well…” suddenly your limbs get caught in strings making you unable to move any of them and making your body dangle above air. Shadow milk cookie float towards you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at his eyes, hypnotizing you. “Look into my eyes, breathe in calmly” Shadow milk cookie said in a calm voice

You tried resisting you really did, but when you tried to close your eyes Shadow milk cookie literally used his other hand to force your eye to look into his eyes and then your eyes started to close

“No! I shan’t fallen for the villain’s trap! I shall..! Not…! Fall…len…” then your head lowers as your eyes closed off into a festering, slothful dream controlled by Shadow milk cookie

“Hm…well hopefully this dream will make you remember and get you back into your senses dear friend” Shadow milk cookie muttered as he disappeared off to check into his audience wondering how they were doing so far

You couldn’t believe it, these memories…they must be fake

All these lies that you have fed to yourself because you couldn’t remember your past

You were friends with all the villains it seems

You were there when they were created

You were there when they all started their kingdoms

You were there when they slowly got corrupted, also dragging you to also become corrupted

You were there when they were imprisoned by the witches themselves

You tried,cried, and begged the witches to release your friends, swear to curse them somehow if they don’t

The witches being the evil that they are, removed your memories of such events

The faerie cookies grabbed your body and sealed you inside of a tower so it wouldn’t be opened by the inside however it could be opened by the outside

Did you knew too much that the witches made you to lose your memories…? You couldn’t forgive yourself after seeing memories like these, but at the same time you don’t believe it- you just couldn’t!

“Still in disbelief dear?” Shadow Milk Cookie said as he noticed your disturbed expression, you haven’t woken up too long ago “Well I’m sure this photo will help you” shadow milk cookie said as he hands you over an old picture

No…

No! This can’t be true!

The photo of you smiling along with these villains! This was your pushing point and this finally broke you and shattered the reality you thought was true

“That’s enough!” A somewhat muffled voice followed by a broken door “shadow milk cookie this ends now!” Pure vanilla cookie yelled as he pointed his staff to Shadow milk cookie and shoot, however Shadow Milk Cookie effortlessly dodged the attack

“Blueberry milk cookie!” Gingerbread cookie exclaimed “you’re safe!”

“…” you stood there in silence as your eyes were focused on the photo

“Blueberry milk cookie?” Strawberry cookie said as she carefully approaches

“My name is…Y/N cookie” your voiced sound like you went through 9 stages of grief and was broken “my name was never Blueberry milk cookie”

“Blueberry milk cookie?! What are you saying?” Gingerbread cookie “snap out of it! Shadow Milk Cookie fed you lies!”

“Ohohoho! But these are not lies you see!” Shadow milk cookie exclaimed with an uncanny grin “I just showed them the truth!” As he hugged you and rested his head at your neck from behind you while you look down in either shame or despair

“It’s true…my past…I was with them…I was one of them” you answered softly, your eyes that are now dull and seems to have swirls of blue due to the hypnosis of Shadow Milk Cookie- after all he didn’t necessarily fed you the whole truth, just enough to bring you back to his side and then fed you lies

“You cookies however….” You pointed your lance at your once comrades “have been feeding me lies!” Your face full of rage and distrust

“What are you saying?! We haven’t lied about anything!” Gingerbread cookie exclaimed

“Y/N cookie! Please I believe you can see through Shadow Milk Cookie’s deception and see the whole truth!” Pure Vanilla Cookie exclaimed in worry; hoping they can get it through your head the real truth because after all- they haven’t said one ounce of lies and have only spoken the truth so far. So why were you acting like this?

“Lies, lies, lies, lies…it’s all lies with you! You knew who I was and were sent with a mission by the witches themselves to make sure I don’t remember the past!” You roared in anger, seemingly to believe the lies that Shadow Milk Cookie planted along with those memories.

“Hahaha! Oh how this is sooooooo entertaining to watch! Look how wonderful the curtains have fallen as the truth comes out from hiding!” Shadow Milk Cookie laughed in pure entertainment. “Go on Y/N Cookie….

Kill them” he commanded

You listened as if on queue you rushed towards them with your lance, but before you managed to crack or crumble a single cookie, Pure Vanilla cookie teleported them away.

“Aw crumbs! I wanted to see them crumble! Boooooo!” Shadow Milk Cookie pouted “I guess it’s alright since I have you now!” He smiled with his unhinged smile again as he looks at you. Man you look exhausted with all this information poured upon you at once. “How about we catch up hmmmmm? Just like old times” Shadow Milk Cookie grinned.

“I suppose…that’s alright…” you muttered

“Won-der-ful! Now now where do we start?” Shadow Milk Cookie wondered

Part 2 -> here

But low key I started cringing cuz idk what I was doing 😭 cuz I was working on this all day but started working in different parts of the story throughout the day

But anyways I hope you like it, like I said this is NOT proof read nor do I KNOW what I’m doing

[inosukijiro]

✮⋆˙ giyuu has a crush

𝘀𝘆𝗻. ━ giyuu is wholeheartedly in love with you.

⟡ 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 .ᐟ no bc i am making this man a pathetic simp for you idc. im writing these with myself in mind so yk, i have to pour out my feelings. and also i need to get all this giyuu writing off my chest, its actually a problem the fixation i have on this man but no fics tickle my brain just right so i have to write them myself

⟡ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 .ᐟ none. giyuu might be a little ooc. modern reader in kny. i rewrote this a few times so pls be nice 🤧. 1.4k words.

─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───

Giyuu actually doesn’t know how this occurred. No, actually that was a lie. He knew how this happened, but didn’t at the same time. And honestly speaking, the man does not care at all. You were so nice and sweet to Giyuu it made his head spin. Like it makes him ill in the best way imaginable. He doesn’t understand why you want to be around him so much, why you want to be his friend – not that he minds – but he just can’t get past his own indiscretions about himself. That was until you told him to his face.

You tell him that you thought he was cute – I'm sorry? – and you liked how calm he was – really? His brain can’t compute anything that you say. He doesn’t know if you need any medical assistance or he’s just dreaming. But it makes you laugh. The cute, dumb look on his face as he stands there, gaping at you like a fish.

It wasn’t like it was new information. You did enjoy his company the most. He was very quiet and by no means were you either, but you have this habit of matching the energy of people you were with. So, it was almost relaxing and refreshing spending time with Giyuu. Though Giyuu is silent most of the time, he does in fact talk. At first it's about a mission he was on recently, if and most likely when he gets more comfortable with you, he’s talking a little more in depth about random things that are on his brain. It's endearing really. Or sometimes he’s just talking about things that he thinks you might like to know, random facts, and so on.

But sometimes you do the talking and he likes that too. You could talk for hours and he could listen to every word you have to say. He would soak it up like a sponge as you focus your eyes on the crochet hooks weaving in front of you. Your voice is quiet and nice, soft and warm sounding.

This typically happens when you visit his estate. And you visit his estate a lot. Maybe Giyuu was a little disappointed that you weren’t staying with him, but he knows that he shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds. He’s lucky enough to see you this much, as much as he's lucky to see you at all. He can’t be too mad though. Mitsuri has jumped you the first moment she got when the Master had brought up your living arrangements. You had nowhere to go. And honestly, Giyuu may have been a little relieved that Mitsuri of all people had gotten to you first.

He really wouldn’t have minded if it had been Rengoku or Gyomei. For obvious reasons, Rengoku would be happy to have him stopped by and probably Gyomei too, because it seems like they don’t have a bone to pick with him. Honestly speaking, he wouldn’t have minded Muichiro either, though the boy would have probably forgotten your existence within the day. But any of the others, the thought made his skin crawl for plenty of reasons. Maybe it was because it would have become a hassle, or he would be harassed every time he went to visit you. Yes, it does seem on par with him that might just avoid you so you don’t get verbally assaulted like he does if you were to associate with him. But he was a lonely, pathetic man who was enamored with you at first glance the minute you showed up out of nowhere and he couldn’t help but thank the heavens that the stars had aligned so nicely for him – even if he felt he didn’t deserve it.

His only issue with the arrangement was Obanai. The man had almost butchered him on numerous occasions just for showing up to the Love estate. Even if he wasn’t there for Mitsuri, the Serpent Hashira didn’t seem to care. Maybe it was funny the first few times – it actually wasn’t – but you really couldn’t keep your mouth shut anymore. Obanai was wearing you thin with his commentary. Everytime Giyuu was around, it was like the others just couldn’t help themselves by making a comment insulting the man. Maybe it was because you didn’t want to disrespect a Hashira, especially if four of them were in the room with you, but Giyuu was here to see you, and it was almost like insulting Giyuu was an insult to you for wanting to spend time with him.

Mitsuri was okay with Giyuu coming to visit you, she actually encouraged it. So watching Mitsuri stand behind you while you gave Iguro a piece of your mind was something Giyuu didn’t know he needed to see until then. And maybe he did allow himself to feel a little selfish and smile mentally. He still remembers how Iguro had this look of disdain on his face, simultaneously looking like a scolded child and embarrassed because this was happening in front of Mitsuri.

Giyuu wondered if you caught the look that Obanai and Kaburamaru were giving you – if looks could kill and all that – but that was stupid. You most certainly did and just didn’t care enough. And Giyuu also wonders just what kind of sorcery you have, because he did hear you mention Sanemi by name at some point and now he's not bothering him as much, especially when you are around.

It wasn’t like he could do anything about it, not like he had ever done anything about it in the past. He never really had the heart to correct anyone in their assumptions of him, he never really thought he had to. Though, that mainly was because he thought he deserved such mistreatment. Regardless, it didn’t matter how he felt about it and himself. If you enjoyed his company that much to defend him, he was going to provide as much of it as you wanted. But there was something about it that made his heart swell a little bit bigger and flooded him with enough warmth that you could have mistaken it as him having a fever.

Now here the two of you were, sitting outside the Water Estate. You both had taken your places by the koi pond Giyuu has. It's so calm and cool. The soft moving of water could be heard every time the wind blew just enough, as well as the sharp sound of water splashing because some fish got too close to the surface.

Giyuu isn’t losing himself as he stares at the pond, watching the fish move around. He finds himself mesmerized though, as you talk. It’s nice, as usual. He likes how you talk and the way you talk. He could listen to you for hours and never get tired of hearing you. And he knows that if he glances at you now, even briefly, he wouldn’t be able to look away. You just look so… wonderful. It makes him dizzy. But he has such a weak will to do so, and now he's staring at you. Eyes soft and relaxed. He has never felt so content.

Giyuu doesn’t know if he realizes what kind of situation he is in. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s finally realizing just how much of an effect you have on him. He likes you. He likes you beyond anything in the world. He loves you and everything about you.

You don't notice him staring. You’re too busy weaving the crochet hook in and out of your craft. You make it look so effortless. So enjoyable. And you seem so happy crocheting away as you speak. The way you talk and do it at the same time, you're so smart. You have to be. And Giyuu can’t help but hope you don’t look up. You’re as mesmerized with your work as he is with you. He would die though, if you caught him. The thought makes him sweat almost, being so close to you like this. His hands are clammy, and he's never been this nervous.

Yeah, he definitely has it bad for you. And for the first time in a while, even despite his nerves, he found the corners of his lips curling upwards, in a soft and timid smile. He averts his eyes, almost to gather his bearings, but that isn't enough. The subtle flush creeping onto his cheeks betrayed him. But he couldn’t be more delighted.

⟡ .ᐟ thank you for reading !

[bottledpeaches]

Mr reca word vomit bc the brain worms won’t leave my brain!!! I promise I’m Very Sane abt this man

TAGS: not proofread, written before his release so potentially ooc and I’m too lazy to rewrite it post-release, secret relationship trope, reader wears lipstick, making out eheheheheh, reader is smaller/shorter than him, this is my propaganda and sign for u to become a reca kisser too

TAGLIST: @akutasoda, @https-sourlimes, @tragedy-of-commons, @mitsvriii (putting you on the reca kisser agenda >:3), @harque, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @moineauz

Ok so imagine being in a secret relationship with the man himself…

Like the two of you HATE each other’s guts in public. As a rival film producer, the public loves to pit your films against each other, and the two of you as well apparently. There have been so many instances of you making small digs and sly remarks toward each other during interviews that it’s become somewhat expected by now. You have a gripe with the pacing of his films and his fame. He has a bone to pick with your cinematography.

“That manic director’s most recent film? I would give my thoughts, but unfortunately I fell asleep not even halfway through.”

“That uninspired, dreadfully dull and artistically lacking director? All their films look the same. I couldn’t differentiate them even if I wanted to.”

No matter how critically acclaimed your work is, he always has something to say about it.

Even if it was in the back of an alley with his hands gripping your hips tightly and teeth nipping at your neck.

"It took until a quarter of the way through the movie before- hah- your cinematography finally showed some signs of thought put into the shots. I know you can do better than this. So why- mmph- did it take you so long?"

You angrily nip on his bottom lip. A flash of satisfaction runs through you when you hear him hiss and taste blood on the tip of your tongue.

“Like you’re one to talk with the horrendous pacing of your newest film! Tell me, what was the plot of it again? Because I- mmm!?- already forgot the direction it was supposed to be taking twenty minutes in!”

"Well, you just simply lack reading comprehension. Not my fault, of course.”

“Oh, you little piece of-!”

He shuts you up with a rough and messy kiss. Your legs immediately go jelly and were it not for his leg slotted between yours and pushing you up against the wall, you think you would’ve collapsed right there and then.

When he pulls away, your lips are glossy and swollen. There’s a dazed look in your eyes that makes him smirk in satisfaction and without any hesitation, he pulls out his camera to take a few shots.

“Yes, yes, wonderful! That expression really suits you!”

Anger looks good on you, but he much rather prefers this expression.

He leans in for another kiss and because you can’t say no to him, you indulge him- until you hear footsteps nearby. You hurriedly clamp your hand over his mouth and wait until they’re gone before glaring at him.

“Stop running your mouth so much in public! You’ll give us away at this point!”

“Then stop being so loud,” he hisses back, though he’s in no better state than you, his-already-disheveled hair an absolute mess now from you gripping it. His flushed face is littered with lipstick marks and you can’t resist the temptation to add a few more.

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” he huffs out as you place a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. A soft kiss to his eyelid makes his eyes flutter shut and an affectionate sigh escape him. He smells of the chemicals used to develop film and strong coffee…

Then there’s a gasp and the undeniable sound of a camera shutter going off. Caught red handed.

You pull apart from him with a surprised gasp and expression. Strangely, he doesn’t look fazed at all. Still as smug as ever.

You whirl around to see an equally-shocked photographer standing there. Paparazzi, from the looks of it. He was probably going around and looking for some potential shots before accidentally stumbling upon something that would make front-page headlines. When you look back at him, then at the photographer, there’s even more people now snapping away at the two of you in a compromising position.

With the damage already done, you try to leave before he stops you. His jacket resting on your shoulders dwarfs your smaller frame and he yanks on the film strip belt to reel you back in. The crowd of photographers has doubled now, murmuring excitedly to themselves.

“Wh- let go! The paparazzi are having a field day-!”

He silences you with a swift kiss and a pinch to the inner thigh. The cameras flash even more rapidly now.

“Let them see for all I care.”

enjoyed this? my taglist is open!

@ bottledpeaches, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[ros3maryt3a]

Loved your dating hc's!!! They all felt really convincing and in character 💕💕 How do you think the pt (preferably chrollo, uvo, phinks and feitan if thats too many) sleep next to u?? are they cuddlers, kickers, white noise users, midnight bathroom breakers, snorers or whatever else?

Ahhh glad to hear it!! I’ve only really wrote a lot about Chrollo so I was worried the others were OOC-

I’ve only really been thinking of writing for Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks, Shalnark, Machi and Paku but given as you asked for Uvo I’ll add another onto that list! (Small spoiler warning: I love the troupe, but they’re all messy sleepers and I won’t be convinced otherwise!)

Chrollo

He definitely has a night mask, incense and all that to help him doze off. Chrollo is a chronic suffer of predormitional insomnia: his mind runs a million a minute, man is NOT used to sleeping a healthy 8hrs.

You can guarantee if Chrollo falls asleep before you (a very rare event) you’ll find him stiff as a log. He falls asleep in whatever position he’s in and will stay there until he wakes up. Honestly, it’s a wonder he isn’t ridden with all sorts of issues (get him a chiropractor one day.)

On the other 364 days a year when he falls asleep after you, well aren’t you just the perfect little teddy bear! His arms are always wrapped around you tightly.

If you happen to be a light sleeper? You’ll definitely wake up in the middle of the night to his face buried into the crook of your neck; fingers tapping away at your abdomen as his breathing settles, the smell of lavender drowning out any other senses. So definitely a cuddler. (I will die on this hill)

Sometimes he might even pepper your neck with kisses if he notices you’re awake.

If you’re a heavier sleeper? You better get used to waking up in the morning under a vice like grip, a mat of black hair brushing against your cheek and -whether he’s awake or not- you’re not getting out of it

Big spooner, you could be twice the height of him and he’d still demand it.

Not much of a snorer, maybe the few light hitches here and there but overall he’s sound asleep.

Most nights when Chrollo can’t sleep, he’ll sit up with a book in one hand and his other arm wrapped around your sleeping form. Sometimes he’ll doze off and sometimes he’ll only be brought away from his book by your stirring.

On particularly bad nights, where his insomnia truly flairs up, you’ll have to listen to a plethora of podcasts or “soothing sounds” for him to actually sleep. And yes, you’ll have to listen to them. There’s something innately intimate about having you indulge him in his interests: makes it far easier to sleep.

Feitan

You cannot tell if this man is awake or asleep 9/10.

“You sleep. I watch.” Kind of deal, he has many things to preoccupy himself with: like watching you! (In a: ‘someone takes even one step in this general direction, you’ll have a lullaby of screaming to doze off to’ kind of way)

It’s not that he can’t sleep, it’s that he doesn’t want to. Feitan sees sleep as a waste of time, it bleeds days into days and he could be spending that time well, instead of sleeping.

Everytime he wakes up he mentally kicks himself for having made such a waste of time

That’s where you come in! Hope you’re willing to have a human sized cat latched onto you every single night! Big spoon, little spoon, doesn’t matter to him: you’ll wind up with him clinging onto you for dear life regardless.

Despite this fact however, you’ll never know the plethora of times he wakes up in the middle of the night, painstakingly, detaches himself from you and paces around the room feverishly. Muttering about who knows what, head flicking to every angle at even the minutest of sounds. Feitan doesn’t like not being alert: loathes it, so this is his way to regulate the nerves that rest often brings.

Feitan is a very light sleeper, any slight movement may set him off and cause him to completely switch back on (sleep maintenance insomnia hits him hard).

He doesn’t strike me as a snorer but definitely isn’t quiet, sounds like a Guinea pig sometimes. A total teeth chatterer. Seriously, you’ll wake up and hear a light ‘Tch Tch Tch’ from wherever the hell he’s grabbing onto you tonight.

Will not ever wake up in the same position he falls asleep in (not that you’ll ever know that fact, he’s always looking over you long before you’re awake.)

Trust me: you’ll know if Feitan has a bad dream. His claws (yes claws) will be digging into you, his hold on you tightening with a particularly sharp ‘hiss’ of his teeth.

Likelihood is: his sleeping patterns will leave more marks on you than any other activities ever will. But, don’t worry! It shows he cares (I think?).

Phinks

Kicker, oh he is a real kicker.

You’ll wind up waking up off the bed more times than you will on it.

On and off cuddler, there’s very few times that you’ll fall asleep cuddling but by god is it a wild guess as to whether you’ll wake up doing so.

Phinks will fall asleep with his back towards you, teetering off the edge of the bed. And, In the matter of minutes can have one leg half way across the bed, the other swung over the edge, left hand across his face, right on his chest, mouth slack and whole body at a 45* angle.

Other times, you’ll find a knee digging into your back as he’s (very awkwardly) cuddling you from behind.

Surprising the masses (not): he snores. Has a whole box of nose strips to stop this.

Despite all of these, interesting, idiosyncrasies. The few times you fall asleep cuddling: he’s an entirely different sleeper. It’s like he takes a page out of Chrollo’s book and doesn’t move an inch (aside from rolling, he’s a total roller).

The snoring won’t stop though.

Doesn’t need anything to help him sleep, his head hits the pillow and he’s out like a light. Real heavy sleeper as well, you could roll him off the bed with an almighty thud and he’d still be sound sleep. It’s actually fairly endearing.

Will sleep for 6 hours, wake up for 1, roll around for a bit, settle down and then sleep for another 2.

Best pray you’re a heavy sleeper: that’s all the advice I can give you.

Honestly? It’s like sleeping next to a bear, vaguely adorable as much as it has you fearing for you life (and place on the bed).

Uvogin

If Phinks is like sleeping next to a bear, Uvo is a bear hug.

You’ll find your place settled neatly against his chest, as if he’s one of those comically large backpacks (like Johnny’s from Hotel Transylvania). Don’t worry about anything, truly, you’ll be snug as a bug in a hug.

Surprisingly, not a snorer (when sober at least). Often needs noises to fall asleep to though. If there’s not calamity afoot then Uvo tends to get angsty; you may have to deal with the occasional outburst.

So, you often have loud games or shows blaring in the background as he rests his chin on your head. Uvo doesn’t fall asleep easily, meaning there’s very few times that you can turn the noise off before you head to sleep yourself. You best get used to sleeping to the volume of a rock concert! (with his constant screeching he blew his own ear drums)

Invest in earbuds of some kind, it’ll help the both of you.

The LOUDEST snorer when drunk. I mean LOUDEST. Cotton buds line your bathroom cupboards for whenever he drinks, you’ll have to pick out bits of cotton on particularly bad nights.

Absolute hoarder. Whether it be you, a pillow, the duvet, he’ll have it and he isn’t letting it go. It’s honestly quite comforting, his presence isn’t exactly small, so with this hoarding comes a sense of security.

He’s surprisingly gentle as well, it doesn’t feel infantilising, more like you’re something from a heist that he doesn’t want to break.

Can fall asleep anywhere there’s noise. It’s a skill, you’ll find him contorted in a corner just so long as the TV’s humming in the background. Don’t think of moving him, you won’t.

Probably takes a good few trips to the loo during the night. Which, unfortunately for you, given your nightly position: leads to you being woken up every time he does.

Shalnark

Not a fan of cuddles, like at all. Shalnark is quite the squisher when you’re both up and about or even just lounging on the covers, but when it comes to sleeping? He’ll do it, sure, but he won’t be too thrilled most nights. There’s the odd time that he’ll be uncharacteristically for the idea, pulling you close and running off a mile a minute! He doesn’t tend to actually sleep those nights, more ramble on like you’re at some two person sleepover; the sentiment’s there nonetheless.

Despite this fact, he’s very specific with having at least something pressed up against his back -little spooner- and will get agitated if this requirement isn’t met.

Podcasts, lots of podcasts. Shalnark has about ten to twenty playlists that he’ll be sat scrolling through: trying to find the one he wants to sleep to. You’ll never be privy to these of course, he tends to keep a pair of headphones shoved in some drawer.

Oftentimes, before even attempting to sleep, he’ll be scrolling through some forum or busy doing: something. Though, for some reason you don’t remember any of his chronic scrolling…

Bathroom breaker, it’s nothing annoying but you’ll never not notice the shift in weight, as he swings his legs off the bed and heads to the bathroom. He’s always careful not to make too much noise, which winds up causing more in the process.

Has a small assortment of glasses of water that will accumulate through the week, all filled to different volumes. He swears he’ll drink them! He never does. It just ticks that little box of ‘just incase’ and he can’t sleep without it. Same with most other amenities.

Late sleeper, this man will never be up before you. That may be attributed to the fact he never falls asleep before you, but who’s to say!

Machi

The fact you don’t have single beds is both a gift to thank her for and a curse. Machi is a sleep tosser; she tosses a lot.

You tend to sleep on opposite ends of the bed. This is both in part to her overall distaste of sleeping together and the kicking. Oh boy, the kicking.

You know how the immune system can sometimes misinterpret things as threats, causing autoimmune reactions? That Machi when asleep. It’s like a subconscious instinct, a defence mechanism is you will; it’s certainly a good one! It’s just, not always needed. Especially not when you wake up at 4:34am after a particularly sharp jab at your side.

Though, some nights she’s stiff as a board! Not one movement or peep. As if death herself had stole Machi away.

She’s not a particularly picky sleeper, Machi can rest to almost anything. However, there is one thing that seems to expedite the process. Fire - whether the simple crackling singing off in the distance, or the chocking scent of smoke pervading the air. It seems to calm Machi, there’s no foreseeable reason for it. She just, likes fire.

L i g h t sleeper, you can’t count the amount of times she’s jolted awake, swearing she heard something. Windows, doors and anything else that might throw the room into disarray or stir up noise are a must close.

Sleep mutterer. It’s a rare occurrence, but Machi will sometimes have whole conversations with the air. You’re usually both asleep when these conversations take place (there was once that you overheard one to its completion. You’ll never tell her of course).

Pakunoda

Incense galore.

Seriously it’s everywhere.

Pakunoda needs some form of soft scent to lull her to sleep. This often comes in the form of floral scents, but can branch off into other soothing smells. Her particular favourites include cedar and amber.

You wouldn’t describe what you and Pakunoda do as cuddling, per se. She treats you more like a support pillow than anything else. Arms wrapped around you tightly and chin resting upon your head.

Neither of you will be able to move an inch throughout the night. Pakunoda has a very specific pre sleep schedule that she’ll run through every night (including final bathroom breaks, cleaning and small talk) and after that, it’s lights out. It doesn’t matter if you wake up and need something: she’s out cold. You might be able to escape, if you can pry yourself out. But just know: getting back in the same position will prove twice as difficult.

Not a snorer, hell, you can hardly hear her breathing most nights. If it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of her chest against your back, you’d question if she even was.

Up long before you are, usually has one half of the bed already made (haphazardly as not to disturb you.)

I had a lot of fun doing this one; might return to it for further Troupe members at a later date, so cheers for the ask Anon! (Little irrelevant thing I just want to mention for future reference: if any PT ask includes Hisoka or Illumi please specify as such.)

[aventurineswife]

*aesthetically crashes through brick wall hopefully b4 requests close again* hi hi hi. If I remember correctly and my memory hasn’t failed me again you once confirmed you still did Roblox Pressure reqs(pls just ignore this and bury me in the sand if I’m wrong)

So could u possibly do one where like. An expendable walks(crawls technically. why did I say walk.) into Sebastians shop with reader (also an entity but not hostile) trailing behind them, and they kinda just go ‘hey I found this random ass kid earlier but I think urbanshade might just kill me if I take them with me. do you want them? No? Okie dokie they’re yours anyways. buh bye!’ I wanna see how confused he would be.

I need to stop looking at traumatized & emotionally constipated middle-aged men that are in no means qualified for taking care of another life form at all and going ‘mm yes. How about I, a person who doesn’t usually make fandom ocs, give you a child that’s either going to be a menace or the equivalent of talking to a brick wall.’ what is my brain on when I’m getting these ideas(I know what I’m on right now tho: sickness!!! Yippie!!!!! there’s the reasoning to why I’m pretty sure this request sounds like it has no thoughts behind it whatsoever!!)

"Congratulations. It’s a Child"

Summary: When an unhinged Expendable stumbles into Sebastian’s shop with an unregistered, non-hostile entity trailing behind, they casually drop the “kid” off like unwanted lost-and-found. Now Sebastian—emotionally constipated, mutation-riddled, and very much not qualified for childcare—is stuck with a quiet, cryptic companion who might just be more trouble than they look. (Cue existential dread, sarcastic monologues, and the slow, painful process of accidentally caring about someone.)

Tags: Sebastian Solace x Reader, Found Family, Accidental Guardianship, Emotionally Constipated Middle-Aged Men, Cryptid Child Reader, Humor, Light Angst, Reader is an Entity (Non-Hostile), Weird Vibes Only, Expendable Shenanigans, Soft Moments Hidden in Sarcasm.

Warnings: Light body horror (Sebastian’s mutations), Implied trauma, Dysfunctional coping mechanisms, Mild language, Vague medical experimentation references, Emotional repression, Mentions of Urbanshade’s shady ethics.

A/N: Damn... Are you okay??? 😭🙏 (It's been a while since I last played pressure so might be ooc.)

The vent to the dimly-lit, wet-smelling shop creaked open with the unmistakable sound of something… crawling.

Sebastian looked up from reorganizing his precious hoard of semi-functional equipment, muttering something snide under his breath. "You better not be bleeding on my floor again," he called without looking. "I just wiped up the last guy’s spleen."

Instead of a groan or panic, there was a cheerful, damp squelch and a too-happy voice.

"Heyyyy, Sebby. I found a thing."

That made him look up.

Dragging themselves into the flickering glow of the overhead lights was an Expendable—rank unknown, mental stability very known (i.e., nonexistent)—pulling themselves forward with half-functioning limbs. Crawling behind them was... you.

You, in your odd, quiet way, were barely a presence. You moved like fog. You looked like you hadn’t blinked in an hour and emotionally resembled wet drywall. You weren’t hostile, but you weren’t exactly giving friendly neighborhood cryptid either.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. "...Why is there a child. In my shop."

"I dunno!" The Expendable chirped. "They were just kinda wandering around near and I was like ‘oh cool, another weird lil guy’ but then I remembered Urbanshade has, y’know, morals in the same way anglerfish have dental plans, and figured they'd probably explode me if I brought ‘em back."

"You’re telling me," Sebastian began, "that you—a war crime with legs—found this... thing—" he gestured vaguely in your direction, "and decided I should have it?"

"Yup!" the Expendable grinned, already halfway out the door. "Congrats, you're a dad now. Or uncle. Or weird sea cryptid mentor. Whatever works. Byeeeee!"

The door slammed shut with the finality of a prison cell.

Silence.

Sebastian looked at you. You looked back. Blankly. Possibly telepathically. He wasn’t sure and that just made it worse.

"...You’re not gonna scream or throw up on my floor, are you?"

You blinked once. Maybe.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Fantastic.”

You slowly sat down in the corner of the room like a cat that had just been told “no” for the first time. You made no move to speak. Or breathe? Did you breathe?

Sebastian was not qualified for this. He sold half-broken flashlights and vaguely cursed glowsticks in a flooded blacksite. He didn’t do kids. Especially ones dropped off like a damn Amazon package with no return label.

But you weren’t leaving.

“…Fine,” he grunted, tossing you a half-cleaned blanket from a shelf. “You break anything, I break you. Understood?”

You wrapped the blanket around yourself like a haunted burrito.

Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is why I don’t have roommates.”

[m4y4wasnthere]

i’m not pretending

dallas x f!reader ; fake dating scenario

fic request here

warnings: cursing, oral giving, degradation, praise, hair pulling ; smut with plot!

a/n: this is a wayyy longer fic than my other ones so um, be prepared. this one also is a bit more ooc dallas 😭

summary: your obsessive ex is getting super unbearable to the point you go to Dallas Winston for help. A fake dating scenario long enough to make your ex lose interest in you, along with a few rules, one of which says no catching feelings. this never works out well 😒

“look, I know we aren’t the best of friends but please! it won’t be awhile, maybe just a month or two, he keeps following me everywhere!”

You were following Dallas along the sidewalk begging him to agree to fake a relationship with you. You two were definitely not close at any means but he was your best bet at getting some kind of privacy from your obsessive ex.

“christ’s sake, fine! now stop being so annoyin’ and followin’ me around, go back home or wherever man,” he stated while abruptly stopping. You bumped into him and he gave you a cold glare over his shoulder. You got the hint and backed away.

“meet me at the Dingo tomorrow, we can discuss more about it.” You walked back home content with yourself with convincing him, but you had no idea how far this plan would go.

✰ ✰ ✰

“okay lets make a list of rules. uh, for number one, no kissing,” you got out a piece of paper and started to scribble down.

“a list? Who do you think I am?” Dallas fiddles with a small jumble of some garbage wrap from a straw. He doesn’t look at you but his eyebrows are furrowed while trying to make a paper ring out of it.

“yes, a list.” You shoot him a glare, he doesn’t bother to see. “maybe if you made lists, you wouldn’t always be losing your wallet,” you muttured under your breath.

“no kissing? look, I’m not lookin’ forward to this but I’m smart enough to know that nobody is gonna buy this if we don’t kiss.” Dallas snatched the pencil away from you and tried to erase the rule.

“i’m not wasting my first kiss on you.” Dallas paused and you were expecting a snarky remark but he just sighed.

“no kissing, on the lips, how ‘bout that?” He jotted down on the paper. You nodded in slight appreciation, he gave the pencil back to you and the two of you spent the rest of the hour going back and forth making up rules.

Your list came out to be this:

1. no kissing on the lips

2. no flirting/hooking up with other people

3. we each have to give each other something to show our relationship is real

4. weekly dates

5. stop only in private

6. pet names are needed

7. dont tell anyone

8. no catching feelings

the two of you didn’t have strict boundaries other than the last one. neither of you thought it would be hard rule to follow, your mutual dislike made it all really easy.

you guys agreed on starting this ‘contract’ tomorrow.

✰ ✰ ✰

its been 2 months since this fake dating agreement started. you found that Dallas wasnt as insufferable as you originally thought. he was funny with his wit commentary, his sarcasm, his carelessness about everything, you admired him in a way.

he was also beautiful, you noticed it before but never wanted to admit it. his dark hair complimented his sharp features but his eyes were soft in contrast.

your heart fluttered everytime he called you doll, his gal, even your name sounded like foreign music when it rolled off his tounge.

what was happening? Suddenly every-time you guys went on dates, you wished they could be more private, you wished he would hold your hand a bit longer, you wished his eyes would linger on yours and always trace your face, you wished he liked you.

you had a crush on Dallas Winston.

every second longer you stayed with him, you broke the rules of the “contract” more.

what were you supposed to do? suddenly everytime you guys were out, your acting became more snd more believable because you weren’t acting anymore. well, you wish it wasn’t acting for both of you.

you found yourself spaced out more often, lost in daydreams about your fake boyfriend, thinking about how he would react if he knew, how he would embrace you and tell you he felt the sam-

“doll? are ya okay? you’ve been looking at my arm for awhile.”

je snapped you back to reality. arms on the table, elbows planted, playing with a ring of his and twirling it on his finger.

“sorry I was just thinking.” you looked down at your untouched plate of food and starting grabbing some fries to eat.

“you ’re thinking a lot more often, i don’t know if I really like it. can’t get enough attention from you nowadays.”

he looked at you through his lashes with those gorgeous eyes. your stomach flipped and you almost dropped a fry.

“what if I’m thinking about you?” you said blunty, you tried to let out a small laugh to cover up your honest statement.

dallas stopped playing with his ring, it fell flat on the table with a quiet clunk. his eyes pierced through yours, your stomach churning with the realization of what you just said.

your face flushed with heat, ears burning, your eyes flickered to the floor. the diner felt as if it was closing in around you, it was too much to handle. you got up stiffly and grabbed your bag.

dallas was stuck sitting his chair, he was just staring at you. why wasnt he saying anything?

gosh how could i be so stupid and just say that???

you quickly walked towards the exit of the diner, passing by familiar faces. the sounds of your soles were followed by thumps. is he following me?

you quickened your pace and pushed the door open. your house was maybe a 3 minute bike ride away, about 5-10 minutes walking distance. of course you walked here with dallas so there was no way you couldnt make it home fast enough to your liking.

you spotted a black cruiser bike laying on the sidewalk. its been there for a few days, so there wasnt much worry for it having an owner.

you quickly hopped on it and starting biking up the sidewalk.

you heard faint steps catching up to you.

“doll, where are you going? c’mon lets talk about this !” dallas’ yelling slowly got muffled as you got farther away.

you couldnt help but tear up a bit as you finally stopped hearing his voice. i feel so stupid, i didnt think before i spoke. i wasnt supposed to say that.

✰ ✰ ✰

its been 2 weeks since your stupid accident confession to dallas.

you’ve been avoiding him at all costs, if you ever saw him at the same place, you left immediately.

he constantly tries calling your home phone, but you never pick up. too scared to hear what he has to say. until today.

you heard a knock on your front door. your house wasnt anything special, in a bit better shape than the curtis household but not so different in size or layout. your parents pay it off but they’re rarely home, their jobs always keep them occupied.

you were tired, you were having breakdowns throughout the weeks over dallas. you were too scared to talk to him, afraid of the chance of rejection.

you didnt really care for your appearence most of the week since you stayed home. you were wearing a cozy beige sweater and some black shorts.

you groggily made your way to the front door, about to turn the knob when the knocking became insistent.

“im opening up, god, just wait a bit !” you yelled annoyingly. the locks came undone and the door got swung open.

“hey.” dallas stood there infront of you. you stood stunned for a few moments before speaking.

“go back home dallas. im not in the mood to talk.” you went to close the door, when his hand stopped you. pushing it was no help, he held it open with no struggle.

“no shit, ive been trying to call you all week.” he walked past you into the living room. he stood, analyzing your home with tired eyes. he laid down on your couch, stretched out.

“sit with me.” he gestured next to him. you hesitantly walked over but sat on the far end of the couch to his dismay. he frowned alittle before speaking up again.

“c’mon doll talk to me. i havent seen you in weeks, ‘missed you.” he muttered the last part under his breath. you shifted uncomfortably and grabbed a nearby blanket to cover yourself with.

even now he was unbelievably hot. you hated yourself for even noticing. his hair was noticeably messy and his eyes had slight bags under them. his black tank top always hugged him in the right places

you looked away.

“talk about what dal? i dont know why your here. you should just go hom-“

“your avoiding me and i dont know what i did. okay?” he stands up, “the last time i saw you, you just drove off on whoevers damn bike that was. ’ve been calling you for a week straight and no answer.” his hands wave through the air as he talks before he plops back down and rests his head in his hands.

“look ‘m sorry if apparently its so bad that im worried about my girlfriend.” he leans back on the couch, breathless.

“fake girlfriend.” you muttered sharply under your breath. your crossed your arms, staring at the floor.

“is that what this is about?” he looks at you with a sharp turn, “god, baby, i dont care about what you said last week. it didnt bother me at all.”

“thats the thing. it didnt !” you took the blanket off and started pacing infront of him, “you dont care that i basically just said i liked you. it doesnt mean anything to you.” you were getting yourself worked up with each word you said, your eyes starting to get blurry with tears, “this stupid fake relationship and these stupid rules and i broke one of the most important ones, and you dont seem to be affected at all!” you crossed your arms and stared at him, unaware of the tears starting to stain your cheeks.

“doll i never said-“ dallas stands up and tries to approach you, but you pull away.

“dont try and lie, its not gonna make me feel better. just go dal, go.”

he ignores your statement and pulls you into his chest. you try and push him away but he doesnt let you go.

he lets out a low chuckle.

“you think this is funny? what is wrong with you !” he holds you tightly against him.

“no doll i swear ‘m not laughing at you. its just-“ he smiles lightly as he struggles to gather his words.

“i never said it didn’t effect me. god baby, if you just answered the phone. you’d know that i didn’t mind,” he stops hugging you so you can look at him,

“i wasn’t pretending. ‘nd i love you too or whatever. dont make me say it again.”

you stare at him dumbfounded.

“what?” you stop struggling against his grip and just try and process what hes saying.

“are we okay now? can you stop avoiding me?” he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, he holds your face in his hands.

“yes..” you say hesitantly. what do i do now? does that mean we’re dating? fuck.

he leans in so he can whisper in your ear,

“does this mean i can kiss you?”

you shakily nod and he pulls you in from your waist, his head tilts to the side and he hesitates before his lips reach yours.

your body was trembling from the slight affection. his lips were warm and soft, so different from his personality.

he put his hand behind your head to pull you into him more, making the kiss deeper. his other hand danced along your spine, until deciding to rest on your face.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, making him stumble a bit backwards before grabbing hold of the couch.

he pulled away for a breath before sitting down and pulling you forward to straddle him. his eyes traced your face. his gaze pierced your eyes, down to your mouth.

“my pretty girl” he mumbled before taking your lips again.

this time is was more forceful, more passionate. he grabbed at you thighs and had his hands travel all over your body. you helped him take his jacket off and threw it to the side.

he let his tongue into your mouth, making you moan into him.

he sucked on your tongue, he let his toungue slide across your teeth. he was hungry for you, he wanted more.

“take your sweater off f’me baby. let me see those pretty tits.”

he helped your sweater above your arms and over your head. your tits slightly bounced with the motion.

“no bra? fuck, your gonna be the death of me doll.”

he immediately ducked down to suck on your breast. he flicked his tongue around your nipple. you squirmed underneath him, breathy moans escaping your lips. his hands cupped your breasts, he swirled his finger around your other nipple and pinched it.

his lips de attached themselves from your tit with a pop. he licked his lips and gazed at you with a grin before returning to leaving sloppy kisses all over your chest.

“you like watching me lick all over your tits doll? ‘m making you feel good?”

you moaned quietly in response. “use your fucking words baby.” he bit some of your plush skin. “mph ! yes dal i like it.. please don’t stop” your skin flushed with embarrassment as he smirked at your obedience.

“so good f’me baby.” he lifted his head to look at you, admiring the hickeys that covered your now sore breasts.

dal took his shirt off, revealing his slighty sweaty toned body. you couldnt help but stare, you traced his faint ab lines. he watched you intently. you leaned down and licked up his abs.

“fuck doll… didn’t know you were like that. do it again.”

so of course, you did it again, this time dallas fumbled with his belt and reached down his pants. he stroked himself as he watched you lick up his chest.

“can i do it for you?”

dallas grinned and lifted you up so you were standing infront of him. he carefully stood up so he could take his pants and boxers off fully.

“sit back down baby.”

you sat in his place as you watched him slowly get out of his boxers. shit. hes big. hes the right amount inbetween thick and long.

you couldnt help but drool at the sight of him. naked and sweaty, dick right infront of your face, twitching for you.

“yea ‘m fucking big. you sure you can take this baby? not gonna be too much for you?” he smirked and said in a mocking tone.

you didnt say anything, instead you put your hands on his dick and slowly started to jerk him off.

he let out low grunts before you opened your mouth and licked the precum off his tip.

“fuck… baby, suck my cock like a good girl already.”

you obliged. you slowly opened your mouth to let more of him in, sucking and swirling around his twitching cock.

he got inpatient and grabbed a fistful of your hair and started bobbing your head up and down. tears swelled in your eyes at how big and full his cock was.

“yea doll, cry for this dick. make me want to fuck you sore.” dallas loved watching you at his mercy. he heard your gasps for air and felt the spit that piled each time you took him in fully. hearing him degrade you like this made you so wet. you couldnt help but sneak a finger down your shorts to relive yourself.

your other hand crept up his thigh and behind his ballsack. you pressed into a very special spot that you knew well.

“wait, fuck, you can’t just-“

his cock twitched in your mouth, precum oozing down your chin. his grunts became low moans of approval as you kept rubbing at his g-spot. you started to rub your clit at a steady pace.

“keep going baby. ‘m gonna come, dont swallow it.”

after a few more swishes of your tongue, you felt his cock pulsate and release white loads in your mouth. it almost made you gag with how deep he was.

“fuck baby. stick your tongue out.”

you looked up at him and stuck your tongue out. it was full of creamy white cum, and it was all his. the thought of it made you squirm and touch yourself even more. your legs squeezed together as you swallowed.

he suddenly took your hand and dragged you to your bedroom, when he forcefully pushed you against your desk.

“dal-“

“cant even wait for me huh pretty girl? had to start touching yourself at the thought of me.” he tore your shorts off with ease. “so fucking wet just by sucking my dick, your panties are soaked.” he rubbed your clit through the thin fabric.

“please dal i want you inside me. please baby, i just got too excited, i needed to touch myself.” your ass was pressed against his legs and your back was arched as you had your head turned to look at him.

“beg f’me some more. i want to know how bad you want this” he hit his hard cock against your covered pussy. you whined underneath him, moving your hips back and forth to get just the tiniest ounce of friction.

“please dal i’ll do anything, i want your cock so bad. im so wet for you.. i wont touch myself without permission again, just please put it in, please please please..” you continued to whimper under his touch and grind on him.

without warning he held the fabric to the slide and slipped 2 fingers into your needy hole.

“such a needy fucking doll.” he pumped his fingers in and out, coating them in your arousal. “just imagine how good my cock will feel,” he takes his fingers out, “pumping in and out of you.” then pushes them back in.

breathless moans escaped your lips as you felt your insides clench around him. you arched your back and your hands struggled to find something to grab on.

he curled his fingers as he pumped them in out, making you jolt in response.

“dally-“ you were cut off by his thumb reaching to your clit, rubbing small circles.

“oh, dal..” you let your upper half rest ontop of the desk. dallas continued rubbing your clit and pumping his fingers in your pussy, you started to feel a build up in your core.

you moved your hips in contradiction with his fingers, making each thrust even deeper.

“dal ‘m gonna come, keep going please.”

you felt yourself twitch as the knot you felt in your core break and your pussy pulsated around dallas’ fingers.

your body fell up and down panting from the orgasm, dallas took his fingers out and pulled your hair so you were pressed up against him.

you turned your head slightly behind you to view his face, to your surprise, he put his fingers in his mouth. licking your cum off his fingertips.

“you taste so good, y’know that doll?”

you watched as his tongue glided across his digits, fingers glistened with saliva and your own arousal. it made your pussy crave for more.

he pushed you back down on the desk and lifted your ass up in one swift motion.

“ngh ! dal be more-“

the tip of his dick slid into you and he forced his whole cock inside.

“shit. you’re tight..”

you let out an unexpected moan as he started slowly thrusting in and out of you. his thick cock stretching your insides.

“oh yea.. dallas.. i love you”

you moaned nonsense as he fucked you senseless. he found a steady but quick rhythm to stick too.

dallas leaned down fully, his sweaty chest against your back, grinning ear to ear, “you what? couldn’t hear you baby.”, he whispered. he slid out and rubbed your clit with the tip of his precum covered cock.

you whimpered and tried to grind against him, but it wasn’t the same as feeling him fill you up.

he held your arms behind your back, “ah ah doll, tell me what you said. i wanna hear it.” you struggled to find friction against him.

“i said i love you dal. i love you so much, please put it in again. i need your thick cock in me.. please..”

with a delighted chuckle, dallas shoved his cock back into you, your eyes rolled back as he slammed into you harder than before.

with each thrust, you felt your core tighten again, you clenched your pussy feel him more.

dallas felt what you were doing, he reached under you and put a thumb on your clit, rubbing slowly.

the knot in your stomach was becoming hard to suppress, dallas’ unfiltered moans didnt help.

his thrusts started to get sloppy and staggered, his cock twitched inside of you everytime you clenched down.

“dally ‘m gonna come, come with me?”

he smacked your ass in response, making you arch your back even further.

“yes doll, ‘m gonna come now. let me fill that sweet little pussy up.”

with a few more struggled thrusts, you felt him shoot his warm load inside of you. you released your 2nd orgasm, sending euphoria up to your brain. he continued to sloppily thrust before pulling out slowly.

he watched as cum dripped from your pulsing hole, he dragged his fingers up and pushed all of the white substance back in.

“so pretty when your all sweaty and ruined by me. you agree baby?”

all you could do was tiredly nod and make an incomprehensible noise. your head lay on the desk, drool leaving your mouth. you couldnt think at all.

✰ ✰ ✰

you woke up in a tight warm blanket. you barely remembered the night before, but when you tried to move, you realized that there was no blanket.

it was dallas.

“dal?”

dallas grunted in response.

“you stayed?”

he shifted his position until you were able to look up at him.

“f’course i stayed.”

you stayed silent, looking at his shut eyes.

“so..are we…?”

dallas groggily opened his eyes to look at you.

“what do you think doll. you think i stay with just anyone until morning?”

he planted a kiss on your forehead, before drifting back to sleep.

you knew he wasnt good with words, but that kiss was just enough.

✰ ✰ ✰

[bowtiepasta]

indulging: gn!reader, implied ptsd, brief gun, reverse comfort, established relationship, soft and retired si, possibly ooc since this is my first cod piece in a minute. be nice please

you light an old candle in the kitchen, one saved from new years, and call his name, but he’s already moving—boots by the door, checking windows. old habits really never die, do they?

“it’s just a fuse, si.”

he doesn’t answer. instead of a switch box, you hear the click of a gun you didn’t know was loaded.

“simon.” you say, softer this time, stepping into the shadow of his silhouette. “it’s okay.”

when you see his shoulders sag, you usher him into the living room, careful to mind all the trinkets and memories now decorating your home despite not being able to see them without squinting.

with his head in your lap he tells you, in that voice like gravel and apology, that he’s been anxious for days.

you shift beneath him to reach the blanket draped over the back of the couch—navy, soft and frayed from too many washes, the one he pretends not to favor but always ends up loafed under anyway.

you tug it down and drape it over his back, fixing it when it catches on his shoulder, smoothing over the edge by the curve of his neck where his dog tags leave faint, irritated lines. they aren’t there tonight. he hasn’t worn them in the house for months now.

the wind rattles weakly against the kitchen window. the kind of sound that used to make him check all the locks again—three times over, sometimes four. he doesn’t move. that’s a win in your book.

you yawn. “did you eat today?”

he hums, which isn’t a yes.

the candle’s almost halfway gone now. it burns faintly of pine and smoke, same as the scarf you wrapped around him back in january when he came in from shoveling the walk and couldn’t feel his fingers.

“there’s leftover stew in the fridge,” you add. “with the carrots cut how you like. plus, i found the crackers that don’t go soggy in five seconds.”

his shoulders twitch in a small, grateful laugh.

“you spoil me.”

“i keep you alive, baby.”

his lids open, closing again when you lean down to press your lips to them. “so spoiled.”

your thumb moves along his temple, grazing the spots where his hair grows in uneven. he’d tried trimming it himself last month, stubborn over the bathroom sink with dull scissors and curses under his breath. you’d happily taken over, guided his chin with your fingers, smiled through the steam despite the way he never quite met your eyes in the mirror. now that same temple twitches under your touch, a small tell.

power’s still out. the hum of the fridge is slowly dying down, the candle sputters and spits when the draft rolls in. you think about the leftovers on the stove, simmering in the pot because you always forget to put it away until you’re both already in bed.

you nose at the crown of his head. “i refilled the tea tins,” you yawn again, and he follows suit. “moved them to the left side of the cabinet so you’ll stop knocking over the sugar in the morning.”

“i’m sorry i scared you,” he shifts on your lap, nuzzling your thigh while his head’s elsewhere.

“you didn’t.”

“i clicked the bloody gun.”

“we’re both still here aren’t we?” you’re quick, and he scratches another notch in his metaphorical bedpost, for all the times he thought you wouldn’t have anything to say back but did. he’s starting to believe you were made for him, in every sense of the phrase.

outside, the wind pushes against the window like it wants in, but here—here, the room glows faintly gold. the fuse is still blown, hallway still dark, kettle as good as dead. even so your home is warm with old blankets and old habits, and a man who doesn’t quite know how to rest, but tries anyway, in your lap.

idk idk idk idk i missed him and spat this out think whatever you want i feel too sleepy and soggy to proofread

consider reblogging, commenting, or sending an ask if you enjoyed. thank you for reading ! ♥︎ do not copy, edit, or repost, any of my content on any platforms.

[asterafroditis]

Hello!! What do you think about a scenario with a freshman reader who is dating a third-year student and is worried about their relationship after the guy graduates from college?For example with Lilia, Leona, Vil, Jade (would like to read something longer rather than a headcanon, I realize it's hard to write with everyone, so pick whichever of the characters listed you like best).

𐔌 . ⋮ seasons ahead .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Lilia & Vil x gn! reader (separate)

𓏵 1350 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, no pronouns used, light angst, hurt/comfort, ooc(?)

When I first saw this ask I legitimately wanted to write Vil BUTT I barely have made any Lilia content so I wanted to challenge myself with this haha TT but there is also a Vil version since he rots in my head! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

You should have known from the beginning—should’ve known that dating someone like Lilia meant chasing after someone with centuries of stories behind his smile. You knew from the moment he first offered you his gloved hand with a mischievous wink and an old-fashioned compliment. Knew the moment he called you “darling” with just enough sincerity to make your heart skip.

But you were foolish in that soft, hopeful way only freshmen can be. You let yourself fall.

And he had never pushed you away.

Even now, as the end of the year creeps in like fog rolling off the Briar Valley cliffs, he lets you stay close.

You sit with him in a quiet corner of the Diasomnia dorm lounge, wrapped in the faint scent of worn leather and old paper. The fireplace crackles softly. Lilia is reading—of course he is. Some ancient, yellow-paged novel written in a language you barely recognize. His fingers trace the faded ink like he’s greeting an old friend. You’re curled beside him, your open notebook long forgotten, your pen idle between your fingers.

It’s too peaceful. Too quiet for the words burning in your chest.

“I heard you’re really leaving,” you say at last. “Not just graduating. Leaving Night Raven College… for good.”

He closes the book with a soft sound. Smiles gently. “Mmm. The birds must leave the nest sometime, mustn’t they?”

“It’s not funny.”

“No,” he says. “It isn’t.”

There’s a pause. You stare at the flickering hearthlight and feel your chest tighten. You’ve known this was coming since the day Malleus cracked under centuries of pressure and pain, and everything changed.

But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

You hate how kind Lilia is in moments like this. How easy he makes it to love him. He’s warm in that way starlight is—beautiful, constant, and impossibly far away. You want to drag him closer. Keep him here, where the world still makes sense. But he belongs to time. And time never waits.

“You’re going to live for centuries more,” you murmur. “And I’m just… me.”

He tilts his head. His hair catches the firelight like dusk on water. “You’re you. And that has always been enough.”

You bite your lip, fighting the burn in your eyes. “Will you forget me?”

His laugh is soft. Almost sorrowful. “I’ve forgotten many things over the years… names, places, entire winters. But the ones who matter? They leave echoes. Imprints.” His gaze lowers to you, quiet and fond. “You’re not a passing breeze. You’ve already left your mark.”

You want to believe him. You do. But doubt still coils in your stomach like a vine.

“I don’t want to just be an echo,” you whisper.

He places his hand over yours—small and delicate, but steady. “Then don’t be. Write me letters. Send me photos. Meet me again someday, when the winds are kind. We’ll find each other. We always do.”

You don’t know what to say. You want to scream, cry, beg him to stay. But instead, you lean into his shoulder. And he leans into you right back, like he always has.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye,” you admit quietly.

“Then don’t,” he says. “Say goodnight. Say ‘until next time.’ Say ‘I’ll see you in spring.’ The world is big, yes, but paths cross in the strangest places. Even time bends a little for love.”

You close your eyes, memorizing the sound of his voice.

And when he kisses your forehead, it isn’t a farewell. It’s a promise. That he might not be yours forever—but he is yours now. And that has to be enough.

─────────────────────────

It started the way all fairytales do—not with a grand gesture, but something quiet. A single moment that shifted the light.

Vil had gently brushed your hair out of your eyes one day after your alchemy class, his fingers lingering longer than necessary, his gaze soft and searching. You were still new to NRC then—navigating the chaos of the cafeteria, dodging overly ambitious spellwork in the halls, and learning, day by day, how not to gawk whenever Vil Schoenheit walked past like a vision of poise carved in gold.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he asked you to meet him for tea later that week. You still didn’t, even a year into dating.

Now, the two of you sit hand in hand beneath the hush of the Botanical Gardens after hours, a space Vil had “borrowed” with a few elegant words to the staff. The greenhouse glows with soft firefly light and the ghost-pale shimmer of moonlight through misted glass. It’s beautiful—of course it is. Every moment with him feels curated, intentional. But this time, you can sense the quiet weight beneath the beauty.

Graduation looms like a shadow at the edge of the light.

He’s leaving soon. You won’t.

And the thought claws at your chest like brambles.

Vil senses it before you speak. Of course he does. He’s always been attuned to your silences the way a director reads stillness on a stage.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet tonight,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “That usually means something’s troubling you.”

You shift, the question burning at the tip of your tongue. “It’s just… I’ve been thinking. After graduation… where will you be?”

Vil’s expression remains still, poised. But you feel the smallest shift—like a mirror catching light at a different angle. His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to ground.

“You mean: what will happen to us?”

You nod, biting your lip.

He doesn’t look away. “I’ll be busy, yes. My schedule will change. My career is—and will remain—demanding. But do you truly believe I’d forget you?” His voice is soft but sharp, like velvet hiding a blade. “Do you think I’d treat this—treat you—like some seasonal wardrobe I can store away when it’s no longer in fashion?”

Your breath catches. “No. I just… I’m scared.”

It feels so small to admit, but it’s the truth. You’re young, still tethered to the rhythms of campus life. He’s already halfway into the world beyond, with press interviews, film scripts, magazine covers bearing his name.

Vil lifts a hand and gently touches your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes are serious, edged with something vulnerable—something real beneath the perfect exterior.

“I won’t lie to you. I never have,” he says. “This won’t be easy. There will be nights I’m in another country. Weeks when we can’t speak beyond a message or two. There will be pressure—rumors, distance, uncertainty. But I have never committed to something I didn’t intend to see through.”

His words steady something trembling in your chest.

“We’re not naïve,” he continues. “We know time. We know ambition. But if you trust me—truly trust me—and if you still want me, even when I’m not here, then I will be waiting. No role, no red carpet, no flashing light will ever hold the same weight as your voice saying my name.”

You stare at him, overwhelmed.

“I do trust you,” you whisper. “I’m just scared to lose you to a world that’s so much bigger than me.”

Vil exhales slowly, and when he smiles, it’s not the show-stopping, camera-ready one. It’s something smaller. Truer.

“Then let’s not waste this season worrying about ones we haven’t stepped into yet,” he says, bringing your hand to his lips. “Let’s make these days worth remembering. Let me become a memory so bright, even time won’t dull it.”

And somehow, in that moment, you believe him.

Because with Vil, even endings feel like carefully chosen scenes in a story far from finished.

[lancestrollsgf]

# STOP LOOKING AT ME WITH THOSE EYES ! YANDERE! AXEL KOVACEVIC X READER, WRITTEN

introduction master list request list

# WARNINGS: not a good interpretation of a yandere (not intense), lowercase intended, female! reader, use of y/n, spelling/grammar errors, possible OOC axel and gullible reader, established relationship, messy writing, and maybe bad descriptions. good ending!! + a cute extra scene at the end

# SUMMARY: you decided to follow your boyfriend to the torment he was participating in. due to not making many friends in highschool in croatia, being in a new environment and country could be a possibility to make new friends, but by the way axel is acting, he doesn’t seem to like that.

# AUTHOR’S NOTE: i did have to watch season 6 again to really get a good intro on axel again, i also did some research/watch interviews, hoping it is right. in this axel is 16 years old and is from croatia, balkans. meaning that axel is going to school in croatia and went to hong kong for training with sensei wolf. i know that it wasn't shown but pretend that axel and reader actually had time and would at least in someway interact with the other characters (more like just miyagi do). i apologize for this being on the short side, i’m still trying to get the hang of writing again. word count: 1100. here is the link of the song the title is named after!

# REQUESTED: YES

axel has been your boyfriend for a while now, and you've always been by his side—more voluntarily than anything, considering how hard it was for you to make friends in your high school back in croatia. it wasn’t that you were unlikable, just that people didn’t seem to care enough to get close. axel was different, though. from the moment he noticed you, it was like you were the only person in his world.

when he told you he was leaving for the tournament, you didn’t hesitate to follow. a new environment, a new country—it sounded like an opportunity, a fresh start. maybe this time, things would be different. maybe you could finally belong somewhere. but axel… he didn’t seem to like that idea.

it started small. a hand on your lower back when you tried to talk to someone new. standing just a little too close when another competitor greeted you. answering for you when someone would ask a question. his grip would tighten, his voice always calm but firm, a quiet reminder.

stay close to me.

you brushed it off at first. axel had always been protective. he said it was because he knew what people were really like— how they used and discarded others when it suited them. you didn't want to believe that.

but then came the glares. the cold, sharp eyes watching every interaction you had. the way his jaw clenched whenever someone so much as smiled at you. the way his mood soured whenever you laughed at someone else's joke.

then the words.

"we're leaving soon, don't get to close"

"they're pretending to be nice, they're trying to get to me"

"i'm the only one who understands you"

at first, you tried to ignore it. axel had always been intense— possessive, even —but he had his reasons. he didn't trust easily, and he never let his guard down. but now, that wasn't just directed at his opponents in the tournament. it was now aimed at anyone who got too close to you.

it started off small. a hand on your wrist when you lingered too long in a conversation. a sharp look when miguel or hawk cracked a joke that made you laugh. the way he always seemed to position himself between you and someone else. like an unspoken barrier.

at first, the others found it ammusing.

"man, your boyfriend's intense," hawk had said nudging miguel after axel all but dragged you away from a conversation. "you sure he let's you breathe?" miguel had given you a sympathetic glance, but he didn't push. sam, on the other hand, did.

"you know that you can talk to whoever you want, right?" she asked one afternoon when axel had stepped away for a minute, due to his sensei wanting to have a conversation with him.

"i know," you had said, but the words felt hollow. because deep down, you knew it wasn't about permission. it was about him. about the way axel saw the world— how he believed people couldn't be trusted. and more than anything, it was about his fear of losing you.

but it couldn't go on like this.

that night, after most of the competitors had gone back to their rooms, you found him outside, leaning against the railing of the balcony of your shared rooms. the bright active city lights reflected in his eyes, but his expression was unreadable.

"you're mad," he said before you could even open your mouth. "i'm frustrated," you corrected, stepping closer. "axel... you have to stop this. i want to be here with you, but i can't do that if you keep pushing everyone else away." his grip tightened on the railing. "i'm not pushing them away. i'm protecting you."

"from what?" you asked, starting to get irritated. "from people being nice to me? from me finally being able to have the chance to make friends?"

he turned to face you then, his gaze sharp but conflicted. "people lie. they act friendly, they pretend to care— but in the end, they always let you down." his voice was steady, but there was something beneath it. something raw. "not everyone," you said softly, reaching for his hand. "not me."

for a moment, he didn't move. then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours, his grip firm, but not forceful. "i don't want to lose you," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "you won't," you promised. "but you have to trust me the way I trust you."

axel exhaled sharply, looking away. you could tell it wasn't easy for him, to let go of control. but after a moment, he nodded. "...alright," he muttered. "but if they give me a reason to not trust them—"

"i know," you interrupted, a small smile tugging at your lips. "you'll be watching." a smirk ghosted across his face, and for the first time in a while. his presence didn't feel suffocating. it felt grounding.

— extra scene funny and cute!! (y/n and axel are sitting with miyagi do in this scenario and they have a good relationship with them in this scene.)

the shift in axel hadn't gone noticed. while he still had his moments—hovering nearby whenever someone got a little too friendly—he wasn’t shutting you off from the rest of the world anymore.

during a lunch with all the teams in the tournament, miguel nudged hawk and nodded toward the two of you. “dude, i think your little intervention worked.” hawk smirked, taking a bite of his food. “told you. y/n just had to remind him that she’s her own person, and won’t go anywhere.” hawk replied quietly.

demetri, who had been wary of axel ever since the tense standoff, finally realized enough to sit at the same table again. “so, we’re actually allowed to talk to you now?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

axel shot him a look, but there’s no hostility behind it. “don’t push it.” tory leaned back in her chair, smirking. “hey, progress is progress.”

even sam, who has been quietly observing, gave a small nod of approval. “it’s nice to see you with us instead of watching from a distance.”

you squeezed axel’s hand under the table, and for once, he didn’t flinch away from the attention. instead, he met your gaze, a silent understanding passing between you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

the end!!! 😄😄 if anyone from the better norris series is reading this, part three is coming soon! just trying to get through the axel requests, which i am open to more requests, before posting the third part. ( i am working on part four rn )

[milolsk]

c/w; gn reader, he calls you doll once, choking but not really, manhandling, fwb dynamic, pent up leon, dry humping, a bit ooc so I’m sorry for that, some dirty talk, if I missed any lmk!

thinking about roommate!leon, who you’ve somehow found yourself in a fwb situation with. you’re still unsure how this situation came to be. but you don’t find yourself complaining about that when you have your roommate come home from work, all frustrated and annoyed, and knowing you’re in for an interesting ride.

his hands find purchase tightly on your hips as soon as the door slams shut behind him and he manages to find you in your shared kitchen, lazily reading the back of a box from which your snacking on. your eyes widen in surprise at his urgency, pushing the box further away from yourself and swallowing thickly.

you don’t say anything. his hips push you into the counter as his own come behind you, a huff escaping his nose as his hands knead the flesh of your hips in his hands. the edge of the countertop digs into your skin, the coolness of the granite top biting in a soothing way. your palms flatten out against the countertop, pushing yourself straight up to feel his chest against your back. your head turns to the side, and your eyes lock with his own blue ones.

you know the cloudy look in those eyes. fuck, you know what’s gonna happen.

“is this okay?” his voice is rough. he’s impatient despite being so close, and even despite his frustration he wants to be sure you’re okay with him doing this. his hands grab harshly at your hips as he rolls his hips into you involuntarily, lips rosy and bruised from how hard he’s biting at them.

“yes.” breathless. it’s always been okay if it’s him.

he doesn’t wait for anything further. his lips crash onto yours, the angle awkward as your neck strains to the side enough to make the messy kiss feel relieving. it’s urgent, animalistic, and sloppy. one of his hands disconnects from its rightful place, a meek escaping your throat shortly before he grabs your neck with the stray hand and gently squeezes. it’s not enough to cut off the flow of blood, instead he rests his hand on you as if you’d disappear if he’s not holding you tight enough.

groaning against you, his lips detach from your own. that earns a disappointment whine from you, though your caught off guard as the hand on your throat moves to rest on the back of your neck. his hand pushes your neck down to bend you over the counter. his other hand leaves your hips and finds itself grabbing your arms and pinning them behind your back.

“y’don’t even know how long I’ve waited for this, doll.”

his breath is hot on the shell of your ear, and his words earn nothing less than a wanton moan out of you as his hips roll into your ass. the friction you both finally feel is what you assume heaven to be.

he’s rough and demanding. the pace of his hips only picks up the longer your held in this position. from the corner of your eye you can see his rugged face as his teeth leave marks on his lips, jaw falling open every few moments to release a quiet pant that makes you envious of the air that drinks in his sounds instead of your ears. the hand from your neck snakes down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up enough to grab at the soft skin below it instead, a guttural moan escaping his throat as his hips roll against you harsher.

“fuuuck, baby. need my cock in you now. fuckin missed this hole. can’t take it anymore, need’ya now.”

you’re tugged out of the hazy state the pleasurable friction left you in, finding yourself flipped onto your back on the counter with leon slotting himself between your legs. he doesn’t struggle with the belt in his fingers and the metal clanking of the buckle against the tiled floors reverberates in the kitchen.

your mouth salivates, hands rushing down to remove your own trousers.

a/n; long time no see! i’m so sorry for the year long hiatus. if it was a crime to be erratic in posting i’d be in for life. this is super rushed and not checked, so if there’s any spelling errors lmk! i’ve been super starved of fic ideas or anything of the sort and feel like my writings not up to par. feel free to suggest anything I could work with, and if I disappear for another year or so please don’t hold it against me 😭🙏