#Left to Right really is how good the characters are in a fight however

[diaryofamadsunwukongfan]

Here is power scaling tier list for the rwby fic I haven't written yet

Ask me anything

[silkentine]

Wha--?! Silk finally finished her fem Zoro design after (checks notes) literally 6 months since she made the canvas in procreate?

I'll break down design thoughts and share some fun bonus pics under the cut:

I LOVE long hair on Zoro, I think that was the first change I wanted to implement. Zoro in canon actually has a really interesting relationship with gender dynamics which (if for some reason you're reading this and you haven't watched One Piece) can seem out of left field for the "dumb brute" character. His rivalry with and reverence for Kuina suggests he doesn't adhere to the idea that women are weaker than men. Later on, however, during his confrontation with Monet and Tashigi during Punk Hazard, his hesitation to slash her down reveals that he's subconsciously over-protective of women because he thinks they're inherently weaker. I actually don't have any problem with this character trait, I think it makes him feel more real as a person and he obviously gets shit-talked enough about it in the story itself. But how did I want to reflect these beliefs if Zoro had been born a woman? Easy: internalized misogyny and applying value to herself via her appearance.

My version of Zoro grew up wanting to fight with swords but her only chance of entering the dojo was to work under the proprietress, Lady Shimotsuki to maintain the property, cook meals for the male students, and eventually be a good wife to the current heir, Kuina. She learns that, to get what she wants, she must be the ideal woman, even if she stays up all night training swordsmanship with Kuina when she isn't supposed to. He treats her love for swordplay seriously and treats her like an equal, which sparks a bond between them and eventually leads to Zoro's goal of becoming the world's greatest swordsman after his sudden, accidental death.

After years of intense training (now that Lady Shimotsuki admits that she'll need a new heir and Zoro is the closest thing she has) Zoro's finally old enough to leave and begin her journey. She starts letting go of the idea that she has to look pulled together to be taken seriously because she can just kill anyone who looks down on her. Her clothing falls into disrepair, she wears outfits that help her move in combat, and she starts tossing her hair up into messy, knotted buns under her bandana. Even so, she keeps her hair long like rolling hills of grass. (At least during pre-timeskip. She lops off her hair to prove to Mihawk that she's serious about being trained.)

I've put her in a thin sweater that she stitches (poorly) back together after her first interaction with Mihawk. (I kept one sleeve because I was inspired by the santoryuu Nami that Oda drew that one time.) I also wanted to girl-ify the ubiquitous haramaki so I picked leg warmers for her because I think they're sufficiently "dated" enough to be kinda analogous with his old man belly warmer. I also love gyaru fashion, sue me.

Here is a screenshot of her as a blonde:

And here is a sketch of her post-timeskip where she's fully embraced her butch nature:

Hubba hubba, am I right?

Check out my tag "girl piece original design" to see more of my genderbending art! Next post, I'll put all my East Blue Crew designs together! I can't believe it's taken this long but I AM SO HAPPPPPYYYYY

[visforvengeance]

Where you been, baby?

Requested by: no one :)

Notes: and here’s stack!!!! So this can be read as a standalone or apart of a series. It’s kind of similar to the one for smoke but not exactly. This WILL be posted on AO3. Enjoy!

Warnings: mmm not smut exactly. But not sfw either ya know what I’m sayin. Ok. I didn’t necessarily feel any way about Mary as a character. She was just there tbh. But all love to Hailee, I love her down. There’s just some Mary slander here lmao

Smoke x reader

You could hear the music outside of the mill as clear as day. There had been bodies hanging around. Some dancing, some drinking, some…better left unsaid. You made your way to the entrance. You didn’t even get the option of waiting in line before Cornbread saw you and ushered you right on inside.

It looked just how you’d imagined inside. Warm lighting, joyous faces. It ignited something in you. Recognition. Reminiscence. Nostalgia. It had been a long, quiet time while the twins were gone. And, maybe that was for the better. But you couldn’t say you didn’t miss it.

As you were walking to the bar, you managed to lock eyes with one twin. Your twin, Stack. He had Mary hanging off of his arm, and he was mid-puff when he saw you. Mary had been too wrapped up in herself to notice that Stack had suddenly stopped paying attention to her and focused on you instead.

Still, you walked on until you reached it. Taking a seat beside the pair, ignoring Stack’s stare. You warmly greeted Annie,

“How ya doin', Annie?”

She beamed at you, pulling you over the bar to squeeze you into a hug. All of you had grown up close together, but you and Stack grew closer. You were each other’s first everything. And, because of that, you thought that meant it’d stay that way. But, no, it didn’t. You caught Stack with Mary one night, and it had been a cycle of heartbreak ever since then.

Elias obviously loved you more than her, more than anything. But with that realization came fear. The twins were on a warpath. And, he couldn’t have you there for it. He wouldn’t. So, he left it all. He knew it would hurt you. Hell, it even hurt him, too. But, it was for the best after all. Right?

“Lemme get a shot of whiskey, please.”

Annie began serving up your shot when you heard Mary speak up beside you.

“Well, look what the cat done dragged in.”

Annie tried to diffuse the situation because she knew how both of you could be. But, Stack just watched, intrigued. Everyone knew you didn’t start problems, but you sure as hell could finish them. And, Mary was always a problem.

“Now, Annie, wasn’t I just here minding my business?”

“Don’t y’all bring that mess in here. This is a celebratory night. Take it outside if y’all gon fight.”

You really hadn’t planned to fight. You were even willing to let it slide if Mary would just shut the hell up. But she never did know her place.

“No, Ms. Annie, it ain’t gon be no fighting tonight. I just came to congratulate the twins, give them a little warm welcome back home,”

You looked over to Stack, who still had his eyes only on you. He looked damn good, you’ll give him that. But, nothing more. He didn’t deserve to know just how much you missed him. And how much his leaving had affected you.

“Welcome home, baby. We missed you.”

Elias didn’t miss the wink you threw at him, nor did Mary.

“Oh, bitch, who do you think you walking in here like that?”

So foul-mouthed, that one. Almost like she was trying to compensate for something? Who knows. However, Stack wasn’t going to tolerate her disrespecting you. No matter how much she thinks he’s over you, that was never really the case.

It was always you. Only you. Why he had to go and fuck that up? He never fucking knew. But it’s just you.

While he shoved her out of the juke joint, you made your way to the dancefloor. Sammie had been playing on stage, and the whiskey had hit you harder and faster than you thought it would. You could feel the bass in your bones as the ground shook from the stomping and music.

You were in your own little world until you felt a body slide up against yours so perfectly you melded together. His warmth was what got you first. Next, the feeling of his hands all over you. Years of missing how they felt against your soft skin.

Then his scent circled around you. He smelled like smoke, alcohol, and the earth. It made you dizzy. He turned you around so you were facing him. Still so close together that you were breathing each other in. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this feeling.

“I really was only coming to say hi and welcome, you know.”

He wasn’t listening as his lips were on your neck, kissing and sucking, desperately trying to eat and inhale you at the same time.

“You wasn’t even gonna tell me you was back here, huh?”

His hands gripped at the fat of your ass, pulling you into him. You could feel his erection against your stomach. Still kissing. Still sucking. Still trying to devour you piece by piece.

“Elias..”

He stopped, resting his head on your shoulder. Inhale. Exhale.

Softly, “I was scared to see ya.”

Stack didn’t usually talk about his feelings, at least not with anyone other than his brother or you. So, it was no surprise when you were met with the softer, more vulnerable side of him than usual. And, it’d been so long since he could really talk about his feelings. The ones he couldn’t share with his big brother.

“I was scared.”

“Which time? When you left or when you came back?”

“Both.”

That was the first time in a long time that he’d been honest with anyone other than himself.

Your hand caressed his cheek, like how you used to when he was laid up in your bed. You forced him to look at you; he’d been doing so all night, but now the ground floor was more interesting.

“What were you so afraid of, Elias?”

Man, he really didn’t want to answer that. That’s a whole new layer of vulnerability that he’d have to learn to break down. One that no one had seen, not even you.

“How was I gon keep you safe? I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. So I left.”

You wanted to be mad at him. Be fucking angry like you should be. But, you just couldn’t.

“So, what about now? You gon leave me high and dry after tonight?”

He had just gotten back into your life, and neither of you wanted him out of it again. Stack knew you missed him more than you were willing to admit, and he’d get on his knees and beg for you to give him another chance if that’s what it took.

Maybe this new version of the two of you could work out better than before. But, what if you don’t? Were you willing to go through that heartbreak again? You refused to be someone’s second choice again. Not even for him.

“If we gon do this again, I need to know you ain’t gon leave me again.”

Elias would not make the same mistake twice, no matter what. He just got you back, and he’d do whatever it took to keep his baby right here with him.

“I ain’t going nowhere without you this time, girl.”

Your eyes lingered on his for a minute. Despite their usual hard exterior, the twins wore their emotions on their sleeves. It was never outright noticeable. But when Smoke was angry, there’d be a permanent scowl on his face. When Stack was sad, it was almost like he wasn’t connected with reality. Like he was detached.

What you saw on his face now was just truth. The man made promises, and he didn’t always keep them. But tonight, he’d decided that loving you how you should’ve been loved was something he’d do forever. Even on his last day on earth.

Your lips locked with each other, slow and passionate. There was curiosity, too. A bitter trace of sadness. But, a whole lotta want and need. Stack had decided from that moment on, regardless of what life threw at him, he was not going to suffer it through with you by his side.

[barbwritesstuff]

I'm struck with a sudden and unprovoked need to explain the romantic dynamics in Blood Moon and Thicker Than. I don't know why, and will not be taking questions at this time.

There are eight romanacable characters in Blood Moon.

Marco

Carrie

Vicky

Ed

Sergi

Shawnie

Roe

Farro

And nine in Thicker Than.

Tracy

Marcel

Erin

Nathan

Iliya

Freya

Ravima

Chris

Minjo

Starting with the werewolves...

Marco's whole shtick is the best friend. He's the goofy, kinda scrappy golden retriever guy who is fun, a little awkward, and prone to running his mouth. That dynamic doesn't change if you romance him. When it comes to the bedroom, he's super versatile. Top? Bottom? Rough? Gentle? Left? Right? No matter your preference, he's game.

Carrie brings the baggage so you don't have to. She needs a lot of love and understanding, especially at first, but if you're kind to her she'll let her guard down and open up. I wanted her dynamic with the MC to be all about that trust and that extends into the romantic and intimate scenes. Carrie's banter with the MC is her way of feeling safe... so yeah, that's in the sexy bits too.

Vicky is my Batman. Strong, stoic, silent... even when perhaps she shouldn't be. She's been through hell and back and her number one mission in life is to make sure no one she loves has to experience what she did. She also knows kungfu, because of course she does. Her romantic scenes are very, very gentle.

Ed is a sassy wee sweetheart. A genuinely good, and really smart guy who has to try so hard not to roll his eyes at the antics of some of the other werewolves. He's never dated anyone before, so the romantic dynamic is a little slower, a little sweeter, and a little softer. Because he's a virgin he'll set some boundaries in the bedroom. After all, he's still figuring it all out.

Sergi is a little late edition to the Blood Moon love interest roster. When I first invented the character, he was originally going to be way more of a background character than he ended up being. There's a bit of an age gap here, as Serge is a little older than the MC, and the relationship develops right at the end of the game. It's a kinda messy dynamic, a lot of trauma, helping each other recover through love, etc.

Shawnie is hot and she knows it. Curvy, sexy, playful, fun. Because the other female love interests lean a little bit bleaker, I wanted Shawnie to be for people who wanted a lighter, bubblier, more fun romance. That doesn't mean she's shallow or simple, but that she takes her fun where there is fun to be taken.

Roe is the alpha of the other pack and has some pretty intense feelings about power and being in charge. Expect some tussling in the bedroom. They've been an alpha for only a little while and have only recently started to realise how lonely it can be at the top. A lot of their romance is them realising they have that wall around themselves and figuring out how to navigate around it.

Farro is the only love interest in Blood Moon who is 'missable'. I.E. Depending on your choices, you may not meet him at all. He looks like a werewolf, even among werewolves, big and muscular with long hair and a beard. He's also a dad, a widower, and super introverted. However, behind closed doors, he's rather intense.

And now for the vampires (and non vampires) of Thicker Than...

Tracy is a bitch with a heart of gold. She's using you to escape the clutches of the cult that she's been trapped in for decades, and isn't quite sure if she can trust you either. But, despite all her sharp edges, she's the most ride-or-die person in the world. She needs some tenderness, but isn't shy about desire or romance.

Marcel does a really good job of acting the part of the scary, shadowy vampire lord, but the truth is, he's rather too easily charmed by plucky fledglings who push back against the system. He's also kinda a freak in the bedroom.

Erin is complicated. She's been fighting against the vampire court for decades and is a figurehead of the revolution... even though, in some ways, she doesn't really believe in it any more. I haven't written her intimate scenes yet, but the vibe I'm reaching for is a little messy, a little angry, just like she is. Also lowkey thinking of adding a threesome in with her and her human girlfriend in Chapter Four. I dunno.

Nathan is the vampire hunter, so if I had to give him a trope, it'd be enemies to lovers. He's kinda a badarse, but also really bad at looking after his own arse. He is, after all, catching feelings for a vampire. Also, he 100% doesn't get enough sunlight. The vibe is I-don't-know-if-I-should-kill-you-or-kiss-you.

Iliya is one big walking cliche, and that's why I love him. I wanted him to be the bodyguard romance, and he is that. He's also kind of a bastard in a I-will-betray-you-but-then-maybe-unbetray-you kinda way. Big, a little cheeky, and very hungry.

Freya is soft and kind and very trusting in almost every way. Unfortunately, that makes her a little (occasionally a lot) gullible. She wants to believe the best in people, even when sometimes it puts her in danger. My intension with her character was to contrast it with her witchy powers. She's a sucker, but she's also one of the most powerful necromancers alive (and is capable of consulting with some of the dead ones). Her romance is, like everything else about her, very soft and cosy. She will only use her powers on you if you're into it.

Ravima is perhaps my most classic vampire romance. They're dark, they're sinister, they're obsessed with art, with knowledge, with anything that will make immortality a little less boring. They also kinda want to eat you, but they also want to fuck you, and that's kinda the whole vibe.

Chris is my first (and last because oh holy hell the coding is hard) gender selectable love interest. They're only available to players who select the divorcee origin at the start of the game. That's because, they're the main character's ex spouse. Perhaps obviously, the romance route is very second chance romance.

Minjo has the weird honour of having the most Romeo and Juliet romance I've ever written. She's team werewolf, and you're a vampire. She's also a total MILF, and only available to characters who are also parents. Bond over being single and raising kids. I wanted to give her a dry sense of humour, and a down to earth sorta charm.

Anyway.

My number one goal with these romances was to make them all unique. I didn't want to copy paste the love scenes and change the names. I wanted them to all feel like different people and for their romance routes to feel different and unique to them. I don't know if I've fully achieved that. There's some that do overlap with each other, but I think I've managed to hit a few different spots on the love interest spectrum.

[demilypyro]

Ok so as someone who knows very little about sonic characters that aren't the main cast. Can you explain to me who Surge is? (I am asking you to infodump. I understand I could just check the wiki but then you wouldn't get to talk about a character you like)

Alright you asked for it. Long post attack.

So Eggman had this protege named Doctor Starline, who had a falling out with his mentor and hatched a plan to kill Sonic and replace him with a new hero, one who would take Sonic's place in the eyes of the people but be under his control.

So he kidnapped a random girl off the street (no name or history known at this point), filled her with a bunch of cybernetics to give her superpowers, and slowly brainwashed and trained her into becoming essentially Sonic's equivalent of Wario.

This was Surge the Tenrec.

As Sonic's so-called "imposter," Surge is like an exaggerated version of Sonic. She has his heroic heart, but also his temper, his pride, his irresponsibility, his rudeness, all turned up to 11. She's got the standard super speed, as well as electrokinesis - lightning powers. She's accompanied by Kitsunami, or just Kit, a blue fennec with water powers and a similar background, but who was based on Tails instead.

As part of their brainwashing, Surge was conditioned to hate Sonic. As Surge's backup, Kit was conditioned to want to support Surge in any way he can.

Surge and Kit eventually found out what had happened to them, how Starline had kidnapped and brainwashed them, and were planning to betray him. Before they could, however, Starline was killed, after being thoroughly trounced by Eggman, leaving Surge and Kit free to do whatever they want.

When Surge finally encountered Sonic, she blamed him for what had happened to her. She holds him responsible for always letting Eggman survive to come back another day, leading to ever-escalating conflict. While before she had no real reason to hate him beyond her brainwashing, all that baseless animosity now had a foundation, and she's wanted to take him down since. Surge and Kit have had several fights with Sonic and Tails already, and while they were defeated each time, it's clear they pose a real threat.

Left with only each other, and having no real goals beyond taking down Sonic and Tails, and no hints to their past, Surge and Kit became a neutral force of chaos, not affiliated with either Sonic or Eggman. While Surge has the desire to be a hero, she can't let go of her grudge toward Sonic, and Kit's obsession with helping Surge regularly shows itself to be unhealthy, which may lead to a falling out between them in the future.

Since their first appearance in the Impostor Syndrome mini-series, they've made regular appearances in the main comic starting with issue #50. They've been making waves, establishing new rivalries and inciting new conflicts. Sonic wants to believe there's good in Surge, but she's a tough nut for him to crack.

Surge is one of the series' best original characters. Surge is cool, has an interesting origin, and she contrasts Sonic in a way that gives ample opportunities for new stories. She's got a good heart, but she's carrying around a ton of trauma and animosity she doesn't know what to do with. She's scrappy, resourceful, and more introspective than you might expect. And by often being positioned as the underdog, she's very easy to root for.

I was always a bit uninterested in the Sonic series at large, but Surge really got me on board. She really made me a fan.

She's my favorite Sonic character.

If you're interested, look into the Imposter Syndrome mini-series, which leads right into Sonic IDW issue #50, or you can just read Sonic IDW from the start.

Okay bye

[scottiexmariee]

Ok so I've been loving all if the stuff you've been putting out so far, it's literally so good!!! My request is how the lads would react to you falling down the stairs and I'm talking like a long stream of stairs (totally not bc I fell down the stairs today while watching sylus edits hehehe)

First of all, omg, I am so sorry but I giggled. I hope you're okay!

Here you go, anon. I hope this is what you had in mind! Do me a favor and ban yourself from watching Sylus edits near stairs!!

How the boys would react to you falling down the stairs

Characters: Xavier x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Sylus x Reader Warnings: Stairs are your biggest op.

(little bit of falling, little bit of fluff. Lots of love for anon)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9k

☆ Man would be mortified.

☆ He turned his back for two seconds, next thing he knows you're takin a tumble

☆ Would most likely ban you from being near stairs by yourself again

☆ “You can take down wanderers, but lose a fight against stairs?” 

☆ Would let you lean on him for support the rest of the night (he knows it hurt)

The elevator to your shared apartment building had broken down. By the time the two of you had arrived home to find that out, it was 11pm, and far too late for maintenance to come out to fix it. You were stuck taking the stairs until maintenance arrived tomorrow morning.

Normally, this wouldn't be an issue. However, your day had been excruciatingly long, and the stairs were more of an obstacle and a hinderance than they should have been. Your body was sore, your legs felt like jelly, and you really hated stairs in general.

Xavier looked down at you, stifling a laugh at the exasperated expression on your face. "I could always just carry you," He offered, extending his hand.

Whether it was your pride or your stubbornness, you couldn't accept. "I'm fine," You insisted, although it sounded like you were reassuring yourself more than Xavier. "You're tired too. Go ahead, I'm right behind you," You would very quickly find out that your last statement aged like milk left out in the sun.

Xavier shot you one last skeptical glance before he turned and began walking up the stairs. You followed suit, doing a decent job until you stepped wrong and lost your balance. Your arms flailed, successfully grabbing on to nothing. The only audible indication that you were about to fall was the startled gasp that left your mouth, which caught Xavier's attention with just enough time left to helplessly watch you fall.

You stumbled backward, colliding with every single one of the 13 steps on your way down. Every single stair caused a painful shock and an even bigger dent to your ego.

Xavier was kneeling by your side in an instant.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his voice laced with concern. He helped you sit up, carefully eyeing you for any visible injuries. You were very sore, but luckily not seriously injured. At most, you'd likely be bruised in the morning.

You let out a huff of air, stifling a pained grunt in the process. "Well, that was embarrassing,"

Xavier stared at you, wide-eyed and looking like he was 3 seconds away from calling an ambulance.

"Xav. I'm alright," You insisted, twisting to lift yourself up.

Xavier intervened, quickly scooping you up before you could get to your feet.

"No," He said, shaking his head. "You're banned from stairs,"

With that, he began walking back up the stairs you'd just tumbled down. While you were nearly dying from the embarrassment, Xavier actually didn't mind carrying you. In fact, he'd rather carry you up and down every flight of stairs you encountered for the rest of your life if it meant he wouldn't witness another fall like that again.

Once you were safely at the top, he gently set you down outside of your apartment, making sure to keep hold of you in case you were unsteady on your feet.

"I can stand," You assured him. You were still heavily embarrassed, but ultimately thankful that he was so sweet.

He kept an arm on you until your door was unlocked.

"Is it too soon to say you should have accepted my offer the first time?"

You shot him a glare, although it lacked any real heat.

"I think I should stick around for the night, just in case you happen to encounter anymore stairs,"

❅ Professional Zayne mode engaged immediately

❅ Depending on how bad the fall was, you're getting a full body exam before you're even allowed off the floor

❅ and that's not it, either

❅ You think you might bruise? Cold Compress. 15 Minutes. Now.

❅ Man will be stressed for the rest of his life any time you're in the same vicinity as a single stair

Zayne had lost track of the amount of times he'd warned you to be slower coming down the stairs. Every single time you came down them, two at a time and at a speed that was less than acceptable, he'd get heart palpitations, convinced that this was the time you were going to fall.

It was coming, and he knew it. He warned you. You, however, tore through the house like a woman on a mission. You had a habit of learning the hard way, and you're simply too prideful to take his warnings seriously.

Until about 30 seconds ago.

You don't even remember what you were going to tell him. You'd been upstairs, he'd been downstairs. You raced down the stairs, coming in hot, and somehow miscalculated a step about halfway down.

That fall that Zayne had warned you about numerous times was finally a reality, and damn it was painful.

Zayne, from the kitchen, heard what sounded suspiciously like a body bouncing off the stairs and immediately stopped what he was doing to come check on you.

He rounded the corner, and there you were in all your glory: dazed, disoriented, and sore with a bloody lip serving as the cherry on top.

"Don't move," He said gently, kneeling at your side. With well trained eyes, he began looking you over. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," You groaned. It was true. 30 seconds ago you were having the time of your life, and now you felt like you'd been hit by a semi truck.

The next 10 minutes consisted of Zayne thoroughly checking every limb, asking you to answer various questions ("what day is it? What year is it? Time? Count backwards from 10. What comes after W?") and forcibly holding an icepack to your lip.

He ended up carrying you to the couch, gently laying you down so he could continue what he was doing while simultaneously babysitting you.

He did not hit you with an "I told you so,"

Not yet, anyway.

However, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking for a house that didn't have stairs.

❀ He'd hear it from the other room and think a tree fell on his studio or something

❀ "Is it storming? I swear I heard thunder,"

❀ He'd make sure you were okay, but he's definitely teasing you about it later

❀ "I'm looking for a new bodyguard. Mine can't even handle a staircase,"

❀ definitely makes a moment post later on

❀ ^ "thought it was storming earlier. turns out it was just (Y/N) getting in a fight with stairs and losing. 10/10 ambience though,"

❀ on a separate occasion, I can see you both falling at the same time and blaming each other for it

While Rafayel was occupied with his current project, boredom had gotten the best of you. You began exploring the studio, surprised to find a set of stairs that you hadn't noticed before. Upon further inspection, they lead to an attic.

Curiosity killed the cat, so they say. You couldn't help yourself.

Was Rafayel an attic man? What sorts of trinkets did he stash up there? The questions were burning too hot to go unanswered.

Unfortunately, it was mostly old paint supplies and boxes of random decorations that had been retired. You were left a little unsatisfied, but you had gotten an answer.

As you began to retreat, you realized the stairs felt a lot steeper than they did on the way up.

It didn't take long for you to lose your footing. The sounds that filled the air were a symphony of thuds and curses.

After laying on the ground for a few minutes, trying to recover, you opened your eyes to see Rafayel standing above you.

"You good?" He asked, kneeling down. "I kinda thought you died,"

"I'm not good, but I'm not dead."

He gently checked you over and then extended a hand to help you up.

"I think you should stay away from stairs," He drawled, leading you toward the couch. "and I also think you should sit here and recover from that,"

You plopped on the couch, too tired to protest.

Rafayel studied you for a moment longer, wanting to make sure you were truly alright before he began the teasing. It was his way of lightening the mood. "Are you sure you're alright?"

You reassured him that yes, you were alright. He sat next to you, casually tossing an arm around your shoulders.

"Good, because we need to talk about your Bodyguard skills. You need training or something. You just lost a fight to some stairs,"

⟡ He was never worried about you around stairs before

⟡ but he's absolutely having remodeling done within the next 24 hours now

⟡ you are getting absolutely BABIED by this man the second he comes to your aid

⟡ You're not even lifting a fork, sweetie

⟡ You're getting tossed over his shoulder and carried like a sack of potatoes if stairs can't be avoided in the future

⟡ You're not going to get hurt again if he can help it

At times, Sylus thought it was cute when you shut your brain off around him. He knew that it meant you felt safe, and it filled him with warmth whenever he stopped to think about it.

He'd place a tactical hand over the corner of the table when you bent down to pick something up, just in case you bumped your head again, you'd hit his hand instead of the corner.

He'd gently guide you when you weren't paying attention to where you were walking, too engrossed in your conversation to look for obstacles.

You really only did it when you two were at the base. Sylus didn't mind, though. In fact, it was almost endearing, the way you were comfortable enough to turn off your spatial awareness.

He couldn't always be around to steer you away from obstacles, though.

And you, unfortunately, had a habit of walking around while looking at your phone instead of where your feet were going.

You'd done it again today. But this time, it had caused a problem.

You were walking down the stairs to get a drink, completely fixated on a video you were watching, not a single worry in the world about the steps. Sylus had chided you for it before, but it had never been an issue....until now.

You stepped too far forward and immediately ate shit the rest of the way down the stairs. Your phone clattered to the floor, ending up several feet away. Mephisto witnessed the entire thing and had the nerve to squawk at you.

To add insult to injury, Sylus just so happened to be rounding the corner just in time to see your disheveled figure crumpled on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

He was careful not to jostle you when he knelt down.

"Can you move?"

You wiggled your fingers, your toes. Flexed your wrist, rotated your arms. Despite the horrendous pain in your side, you could still move. You answered his question with a nod.

He picked you up as gently as he could, holding you princess style with both arms, being extra careful.

"Were you on your phone?" He asked, already eyeing the evidence on the floor. The screen was shattered, but the sound of the video you'd been watching was still coming through the speakers. He'd warned you about walking distracted before, but was usually there to be a hero. Not this time.

"Maybe,"

He refused to get more than three feet away from you for the next several hours, constantly offering to get you various things you may need. Water? He's on it. A snack? You bet. Heating pad? Consider it done.

If you had known that accidentally falling down the stairs would cause Sylus to get all soft and cradle you like you were made of glass for the next few hours, you'd have fallen on purpose a lot sooner.

[alwayscorvus]

Your little things... - Part 2 - WuWa Characters

malereader x Brant/Calcharo/YangYang (separated), fluff;

just some things which you are in habit of doing to your partner and vice versa; Part 1;

Calcharo

Calcharo's hair is a long story. In many ways. You are mesmerized by them. And that's why you don't miss a chance to play with them in your spare time.

Yes, it's risky. It's dangerous. You have already come terrifyingly close to death many times.

But does that mean it's worth stopping? No, definitely not. This feeling is worth dying for.

Dip your hands into a coats of his hair. Run them from the very top to the very bottom. Feel how each strand pleasantly wash over and tickle your body.

And your movements are always flowing, because his hair in some magical way never gets tangled to any degree.

Oh dear. You can do it again and again and never stop.

And your favorite activity, despite everything, is doing Calcharo braids. Often one. Extremely long and thick. In which a few shorter sticking out strands fit nicely into a whole hairstyle. Which, when swung properly, is like a weapon. Capable of dealing good damage. Leaving red painful marks. Of course, Calcharo doesn't walk around in braids. Certainly not in public. He has his dignity. So he's quick to undo them. But when you are in privacy (previously in your hotel room, after in your secluded cabin) he lets himself wear them. Especially at night. It's quite a convenient option. And Calcharo knows it gives you a great joy…

Touching his hair for the first time wasn't easy. Depending on whether you did it during phase when Calcharo had a hidden crush on you or when he was keeping his emotions under control and showing off his lack of interest

In the first case, Calcharo looked at you as dear in the headliness. Truly frustrated. With a beautiful bright blush on his cheeks. For the first time in your life you saw something like that. And you probably got shot by cupid's arrow at that moment.

In the second situation… well… Calcharo also at first looked at you a little puzzled. However, his expression quickly turned murderous. You swallowed your saliva heavily. You finally understood what all his victims felt just before they died. In the blink of an eye, you felt a strong grip on your wrist, and your whole life flashed before your eyes.

Good thing Calcharo had a weak spot for you…

-Hey, Calcharo? Who is that creature that keeps showing up at your side to give you a high-five after the fight is over?

Man suddenly stopped in a half step and looked at you with suspicion.

But he could see right through you.

-Don't tell me that you are jealous.

You didn't respond. Your gaze fell to the ground.

Calcharo laughed loudly at that, not hiding his contempt.

-Oh Jué, you are. You really are.

Your sweetest moments are your kisses, which you always tenderly lay on his forehead.

Whether it is when you part your ways. Or when he returns exhausted after a hard mission, and you welcome him home with open arms. You assure him that everything is going to be fine. Wrapping his wounded body in love and endless warmth.

Calcharo can pretend he doesn't like it. He may shy away and pull out of your embrace. Act cold and tough. But in reality, when he slips away from crowds and gets left alone with his problems, he really needs someone's support.

And your kisses cause a pleasant tingling on his Tacet Mark.

Nothing gets on your nerves and troubles you more than Calcharo's constant overclocking. You don't care about what he does. You know it's his way of living. And before you stepped into this relationship you had to come to terms with how he is. Because if you started to like him the way he was at first, then why should he now change his whole self under your pressure.

You knew what you were getting into.

But dear Jué. Calcharo really could watch himself at least a little more.

After all, the state he's getting himself into could really threaten his life. And this isn't about another deep wound that can be patched up, given medicine and waited to heal. At some point, Calcharo might just lose himself.

And nothing would break your heart more than losing your loved one and watching him no longer be himself. Just a monster that has taken over his body.

That's why you always try to be there for him when he crosses the safe line. When you see him tremble. When his body is changing. When he loses touch with reality. When battle screams turns into whines of pain.

Whether it happens accidentally. At night when his emotions are cumulating. During a fight when he uses too much power. Or even when you are far away and medical team informs you of his critical condition. You show up immediately next to his side.

You start talking to him, firmly, profoundly. In order to break through the wall around him as efficiently as possible. When he begins to recognize you and you can already tell that he won't harm you, you grab him by shoulders. Calcharo flinches but you persistently try to make eye contact. Till you see that one small glimpse in the back of his black-filled eyes. A frightened, lost Calcharo seeking help and understanding in a world that has rejected him. Once you know he's there you hug him tightly, assuring him that everything will be okay. You squeeze and wait. Wait till your Calcharo comes back to you.

Witnesses don't understand why you don't get torn apart after first seconds of trying to contact someone in these phase of greatest rage. They can't understand how strong feelings can fight other equally powerful emotions. Nevertheless, they savor these moments and always make the same sound of relief.

Brant

Maybe at first glance Brant doesn't look like house husband material. But in reality… He is a definition of those words in his own unique way.

You know how in some cultures future housewives are taught how to peel fruit, specially decorate and serve them? Apparently, this can portray own skills and a talent for good housekeeping. But at the same time, it's a small and beautiful gesture to spoil your partner with.

Well, maybe in Brant's case his habits aren't a results of a family tradition. Still one can't underestimate their importance.

When you spend leisurely moments together on your ship. When wind blows your hair and sea air pleasantly teases your nostrils. When you sit cross-legged on a big wooden barrel chatting with the rest of a crew and Brant leans against a side.

There comes a time for a little snack!

Almost out of nowhere, like a rabbit out of a hat, Brant suddenly digs out a juicy tangerine, which was previously stored in his pocket. First he neatly peels it, and after that he proceeds to consume it. Paying no attention to the rest, only occasionally adding a few words from himself to a whole conversation. However, he couldn't forget about you. Every now and then, he scoops a better-looking piece onto a top of his freshly polished dagger and nonchalantly slides it towards you.

You don't even have to turn in his direction. With trust, you naturally open your mouth and catch the fruit, allowing yourself to be fed.

It is always important to Brant for his partner to be well cared for, full and satisfied. It's a small goal that he has set in the back of his mind, and he always feels itchy and frustrated when things turn out otherwise. Please let him take care of you-

It has been for long known how important to a ship's captain his hat is. It is his pride and glory. It not only symbolizes power and authority, but also status. It allows for the most important member to stand out from the rest of a crew. Its a proof of all the previous achievements and hard work that led to this position. It's just like a medal. Helps to add confidence, charisma. Solidify one's identity. It's definitely something that every captain, despite his utmost love, devotion and appreciation towards his crew, doesn't share. And that's not a subject for any discussion.

Well, unless it's about you.

It's not like you asked for it. You never even dared to suggest it.

You know what comes with the weight of wearing a captain's hat and how important a seemingly ordinary piece of clothing can be to its owners.

Nevertheless, one day, as you were quietly sitting on a ship's stern. Far from people's bustle. With your eyes closed and ears open for a rustling of moving containers in a distance, you suddenly felt a gentle weight on your head.

You carefully pushed your eyelids open and looked to the side. Behind your back a figure of your partner appeared. He stood proudly, with his hands resting on his hips and a smile wide from ear to ear.

-Looks good on you, my dear~

And that was just the beginning. From then on, when he is exhausted, goes for a break and you take a steering wheel, he passes his hat to you. Brant always puts it on by himself and delicately fixes it, while brushing back strands of your messy hair so hat lies in the best possible position. And highlights your best features.

Or when he wants to show you off, whether in front of a crew or newly arrived guests. He hands you his hat, throws his arm around your shoulders and, pushing out his chest, proclaims:

-That's my man~

It's extremely intimidating. But at the same time it causes a strange warmth inside.

After all, he may be a ruler of seas and oceans. But you are a ruler of his heart.

He's a little playful. Don't tell me he isn't. Brant can't resist teasing you at least a bit.

When you're out of reach, separated by a crew.

When he's standing on top, right behind a steering wheel, and you're watching him from below while helping clean up on deck.

When he's performing on stage, and you're sitting in a front row as his biggest admirer.

When he's sprawled out with his feet on a table and a glass of whiskey in his hand, negotiating a merchandise payment with some shady types. And you're leaning against walls of a bar, working as his best bodyguard.

When he dances in the night at the festival, in a blaze of colorful lights, right in the center, surrounded by heated bodies of strangers. And you closely mirror his actions, making sure that no other hand taints his skin.

He catches eye contact with you.

Keeping you in mind in every situation. Wanting to show his closeness even while being distant.

He lifts one corner of his mouth up and winks at you with amusement.

Your heart starts to beat faster, even if you respond with a snort and a look of pure pity. With this one simple gesture, Brant really proves that he has you completely wrapped around his finger.

YangYang

In the mornings, you get woken up by a strange tickling sensation around your nose. The itch lasts so long and is so persistent that you awaken with a loud sneeze. And with you, your girlfriend.

In the dark, not yet fully familiar with reality, you search for the cause of your unwanted wake-up call. In your field of vision appears a object, almost pulled straight out of a cartoon.

A small white feather.

Cute, fluffy. But not alone.

There was a whole bunch of them, and their source was your chosen one's luscious black hair.

You wince slightly at this sight. But Yangyang's panicked face immediately gets you melted. Your grimace turns into a smile, with which you hastily place a sweet kiss on her forehead.

-Go back to sleep, little one.

You move away and slowly reposition yourself to your previous pose, eager to regain as much as possible of remaining half an hour of your sleep.

-I'm-m- sorry!

Almost with tears in her eyes she hurriedly apologizes, turning in your direction. As if she knew from an experience that it was her fault.

However, you calm her down instantly, almost cracking up laughing at the whole situation. Without a second thought, you lock her in a tight hug and snuggle her head into your chest as firmly as possible.

Your friends often find you in one particular position.

Yangyang sitting comfortably on her bent knees and you spread out with your head on her thighs.

Smiling, daydreaming, completely carefree.

Yangyang is lovingly brushing through your hair while massaging your temples, that are sore from an overload of thoughts.

In her soft voice, she whispers sweet nothing into your ear.

Assuring you that everything will be fine. That you have nothing to worry about. That you are the best. Strong, smart, funny. That you can handle anything.

She appreciates you and successively builds your confidence.

Such moments happen not only when you are waiting for someone in the city, relaxing on a couch in your apartment or spending an evening in camp, at a rest stop during another of your longer missions. Many times these situations occurs on the wide grasslands of Huanglong. Where you go on picnics as part of your shared dates. Warm rays of sunshine rubbing your faces, pleasant blows of wind carrying scent of wildflowers and wisps of mature grain roughly tickling your bodies.

Fountains. Cursed places. You always avoid them with a wide berth. Or at least try, even if with poor results.

Just joking, you only pretend to do so. In fact, what happens when you approach them really melts your heart away. Because yes, in the end you always stop by them. One little person doesn't let you get past them.

-Oh look! A fountain!

Overexcited Yangyang jumps up on a spot, hurriedly grabs your hand and runs towards a monumental stone decoration.

-Do you have a coin? -she asks even more thrilled, turns towards you and looks with an awaiting gaze.

Her tone evidently rushes you.

Amused, with a laugh and head that shakes from side to side with a pity, you reach into your pocket digging for a golden trinket.

-Faster faster! - Yangyang grabs you by a forearm and pulls.

She always acts as if this pile of stones, that joyfully splashes aruond with water, were about to escape you.

Truly adorable.

You finally reach your goal and hand her a coin, from the change of recent purchases, which you try to stockpile for such occasions.

Overjoyed, Yangyang grasps the small treasure with her fingers of both hands. Tilts her head down slightly, brings the shiny little thing to her forehead and makes a wish in a whisper.

Then with a sweeping motion, she tosses a penny and watches as it dives to the bottom of a fountain with a cheerful plop, joining the rest of its family, from all corners of world.

Yanyang intertwines her hands with you again. She smiles pleased and truly satisfied with herself.

And what does she wish for? Well, there is only one thing in the world that she really cares about. For you to be healthy and for your relationship to continue like this without any interruption. In happiness and unity. Nothing has to change, because it's already perfect.

not sure if you know but yesterday this profile had its first year anniversary~

2024 means:

10 wuwa posts

7 hsr posts

2 genshin posts

let's hope for the better! in forecast for an upcoming week: massive jiyan rainfalls

[daistea]

Since you take requests, would I be able to ask for something with Mithrun and Kabru with like a reader that's kind of dense with social cues/hints (especially if they're romantic)?

(I had people confess their love to me, and I still didn't get it till they put it in very clear terms)

(it's probably the 'tism, but I digress. )

I think it's potentially an absolutely hellerious dynamic since Kabru always plays 5D chess with every social interaction. As for Mithrun, I think it's funny to think how the other canaries would just be repeatedly hitting their head on the wall because their captain won't say it straight and they just don't g e t i t.

Ps: I absolutely love how in-depth all of your understanding of characters and their personalities are, and I just hxfhxdvgudts.

This blog just brings me so much joy

Yaaa!!

“Iᴛ’s ᴀ Dᴀᴛᴇ” Kᴀʙʀᴜ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, Mɪᴛʜʀᴜɴ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

gn reader

5000 words ;P

Warning: reader is very oblivious. Like incomprehensibly oblivious (for the lolz)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

♡ Kabru ♡

- Kabru has had little flings here and there throughout his life. He treated every partner with respect, of course, but Kabru wasn’t particularly looking for love. He doesn’t dislike the idea of love, it just hasn’t happened yet.

- So, when Kabru starts to genuinely fall in love with someone, it’s a new feeling. He’s observant enough to recognize what it is.

- Unfortunately, the person he’s falling in love with is you.

“He’s been unusually quiet lately,” Holm remarked. Who he was remarking that to remained to be seen. Mickbell didn’t care much. Kuro had other things to worry about. And Rin had already made the same observation three times earlier that day.

The first floor of the dungeon was always crowded, and Kabru’s ears were usually open for anything that could be of use. The leather armor merchant to his left had recently raised his prices. The cobbler to the right was in an argument with an older lady over the shape of a patch he’d made on her favorite boots. And Holm was concerned about Kabru’s recent lack of observations; as concerned as Holm could be.

“Is that really such a shock?” Kabru sent Holm a smile over his shoulder. “I’m not exactly a chatterbox.”

But he was aware of himself enough to know that his behavior lately had been odd. He was usually so good at hiding it, too, but the comfort of his friends seemed to lower his walls. Without realizing it, Kabru had spent their latest dungeon expedition sighing to himself, staring at walls, and missing the details of important things. On the third floor, they’d encountered thieves. His party always relied on him to clock the intentions of approaching adventurers— thieves tended to be overly familiar, friendly, and a bit too eager— but Kabru’s mind was elsewhere. The thieves attacked, and it had genuinely taken him by surprise. The fight wasn’t hard, but Kabru’s lack of preparation set off alarms in Rin and Holm’s heads.

“You’re not,” Rin agreed. Her brow furrowed and she got that cute little line on her forehead again. “However, you’ve really been out of it.”

“Have you been thinking about that person again?” Holm asked.

That person. That person? Kabru knew a lot of persons. The whole first level was filled to the brim with persons, half of them being his acquaintances. Kabru had zero desire to admit that he knew precisely who Holm was referring to, though, and decided to keep his gaze straight ahead as he weaved through the crowd.

When he didn’t respond, Mickbell laughed, “Yeah, he’s thinking of them alright.”

“Heat?” Kuro asked.

Mickbell scoffed from his place on Kuro’s shoulders, “Tall-men don’t go into heat! At least I don’t think so. But they catch feelings, like a cold. Kabru’s caught a cold.”

“Not sneezing,” Kuro mumbled.

“A feelings cold, I mean! The worst kind.”

That was one way to put it. Kabru couldn’t help but sigh as he led the party towards a quieter spot in the corner. Once they were out of the sea of people, he leaned against the stone wall and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t have feelings, I’m simply curious,” he said.

Curious. Right. Mickbell sent him a scrunched up, narrow-eyed look that was reminiscent of constipation. Yet, Rin interjected before the half-foot could say something heinous. “What’re you curious about, particularly?” She asked.

“Good question,” Kabru folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head in thought.

What was he curious about? You held so many secrets. You had this look in your eyes that drew him, a look that reminded him of a room in his mother’s house. She always told him to not go inside. Her rules only made him want to turn the knob even more. And when he finally did disobey her and go inside, all he saw were boxes full of ceramic unicorn miniatures. Still, the rush of satisfaction he’d felt at finally knowing what was in there couldn’t be matched. That’s what he wanted to do to you, open your door and take a peek.

Or, perhaps a ‘peek’ was an understatement. He wanted to meticulously inspect every inch of your mind with a microscope, to know the atoms unseen by the human eye, to be intimately acquainted with every molecule you possessed.

“He’s zoned out again,” Holm muttered, ripping Kabru out of his thoughts.

He looked up, eyes widening at the observation. Holm was right, he was zoned out again, staring at the dirt on the floor and contemplating you.

He forced a smile, “Don’t worry about me, really. I’m just preoccupied. It’s that person, I simply want to know their intentions.”

“Intentions for what?” Rin asked.

For everything. There was no simple answer.

“Oh hey,” Mickbell glanced over his shoulder. His voice was flat as he scanned the room, ���There they are.”

Kabru followed Mickbell’s gaze, a straight line that led directly to you— all lines seemed to lead directly to you lately. His heart clenched in a way that was both unpleasant and addictive. Without realizing it, he pushed away from the wall and began striding toward where you stood.

“Wait,” Rin grabbed his arm as he passed. Kabru blinked, looking down at her and waiting for her to speak. She met his eyes and frowned, “I think you’re going to be disappointed. They’re not as mysterious as you think they are.”

Nonsense. You were incredibly mysterious. Kabru could tell you had secrets, layers. He dreamed of pulling them back one by one.

“They couldn’t disappoint me,” he sent Rin a smile that he hoped was reassuring— he knew it was, he’d practiced it in the mirror and on other people all the time.

“I think they will,” she argued.

“They won’t,” his smile faltered just the slightest. Rin didn’t usually get involved in Kabru’s… hobby. Did she know something he didn’t? He decided to not ask outright, accepting the challenge of figuring out the meaning behind her concern on his own.

Rin let go of his arm and Kabru was free to go. His mind switched elsewhere, onto you, and before he knew it he was already slipping through the crowd of bodies to reach you.

You were in front of the vegetable seller’s stand, inspecting a lumpy potato. Kabru knew the vegetable seller was cheating on his wife. Usually, he’d try to get more out of the man, digging deeper simply for the sake of knowing. Yet, you stood there, beautiful and mind-consuming. What did Rin mean by ‘I think you’re going to be disappointed’? Kabru was rarely disappointed with secrets.

“Hey,” he raised a hand as he neared. You looked up from the potato and returned his smile. There was that look in your eyes again, that closed door he desperately needed the key to.

He loved crowds. He loved the hundreds of voices. He loved listening to each one and assigning them meaning, picking apart their words, filing them away into neat little categories. Yet, the crowd might as well have disappeared. All he saw was you. All he wanted was you and your words and your thoughts and your fears and your goals and your likes and your dislikes and your intentions and your—

“Oh hey,” your voice cut through the wants like the slash of a sword, “Kapru.”

Kapru.

His brows furrowed and he plastered on a polite smile— also practiced in the mirror. “It’s Kabru.”

“Right, sorry,” you shrugged.

Were you playing with him? Were you sending your pawn out, a piece that you expected him to take for the sake of a larger, more powerful move? Was it bait?

“How are you?” He forced himself to ask, though he could hear the weakness in his voice. He desperately hoped you wouldn’t notice.

You only tilted your head in thought, “I’m fine. Just buying potatoes.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other,” Kabru said. It was a lie, you saw him last week. “My party and I are about to go back to the surface to restock. We could grab a drink if you wanted.”

“Why?” You asked.

Why? Why? Kabru couldn’t say why. He wouldn’t say why. ‘I want to take detailed notes on every word you say, every gesture, every breath’ wouldn’t be helpful to his cause in the least.

“Because we’re friends,” he slowly explained. Again, there was that hint of weakness lacing every syllable. He wanted to tear his voice box apart and reconstruct it in a way that wouldn’t falter every time he saw you.

But you didn’t seem to notice. “Alright,” you sent him a smile that made his heart clench.

Alright. Kabru’s smile relaxed, “Alright,” he echoed. “It’s a date.”

‘It’s a date’ was a common saying, of course. But it still held implications, it still held desires, it still signified something more— At least to him it did.

You remained unphased by it, though. Usually, when Kabru said that, there would be a laugh or blush or the widening of eyes. You gave him nothing of the sort. No flirtatious looks, no intention-laced smile, no flicker of recognition.

“See you then,” was all you said.

Rin was wrong. You couldn’t disappoint him. Opening your doors and peeking inside your mind would be so satisfying.

- You go on several dates with Kabru without realizing they’re dates.

- After one date when you make friends with the next table over and invite them to join your meal, introducing Kabru as ‘my friend’ and not ‘the man who is courting me’ or ‘my boyfriend’, he begins to wonder…

- Do you not realize that these are dates?

Kabru knew he had the tendency to stare, but he usually kept that urge locked away for the sake of masking. Always masking. Always aware of his surroundings and the people and the words and the looks.

He kept his staring urge hidden at first. Yet as time passed, as you went on more dates, he couldn’t help himself. He had to stare. He had to drink in every detail of your face, coveting it all as a desert wanderer would covet water.

And you didn’t seem to mind. You would give him this look sometimes, a look he couldn’t quite decipher. It was a mixture between affection and confusion and bashfulness. It was his favorite expression of yours and never failed to put butterflies in his stomach.

Kabru knew he was falling in love. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but he’d never been truly in love before. At night when he forced himself into bed, he stared at the ceiling and mused on the future you had together. Neither of you had said anything to make the relationship official, but was that even needed? It was obvious that you were together— to him, at least.

Kabru held your hand as he led you through the crowded streets. Once you caught up to his side, he placed his palm on the small of your back. He wasn’t much for PDA, but it was a necessity when traversing the island together. He didn’t want to lose you in the crowd.

Once you were in a more quiet spot, he sent you a smile, “I have to ask, I’m too curious; What’s your favorite date that we’ve had together?”

You thought for a moment, “Hm… I would have to say last week. It was a Thursday. I like Thursdays anyway. I think it was the 7th? Yeah. June 7th, Thursday. That’s a good date, it’s a bit cool outside and all the flowers are blooming. But if I had to say which one was my favorite, I think it would be April 18th. I’m not sure that we spent that date together, though.”

…Okay.

Like the sunset rising over the mountains, it began to dawn on him.

Were you stupid?

No, you weren’t stupid. He had seen you in the dungeon before, how you fought and strategized and reacted. You couldn’t be stupid.

Then what? Were you playing hard to get? Were you teasing him? Was this a move on the board, your Knight piece pressing forward to continue the assault? Kabru needed to know.

He kept his hand on your back but his gaze straight ahead. “That’s nice,” he said. It wasn’t nice, actually. “What about when we hold hands? Do you enjoy that?”

You shrugged, “It helps us keep track of each other as we go through a crowd.”

“But I hold your hand even when we’re not around other people.”

The face you made betrayed your true thoughts. “Yeah, it seems like your hands are cold a lot. You really should start keeping gloves with you.”

“...Do you think I’m holding your hand because my fingers are cold?”

Another flash of confusion, another furrow of your brows. “Why else would you hold my hand?”

The sun rose completely over the mountains and the daytime, clear and bright, engulfed his world.

You had no clue.

- This stresses Kabru out immensely.

- He starts taking notes. He has a special little book just for you. A lot of the pages are filled with scribbles and question marks.

- He makes a plan on what to do. He’s going to up the ante, he’s going to make his feelings so clear that you can’t ignore them or be oblivious even if you tried.

- He starts getting more touchy. He kisses your forehead often. He kisses your knuckles. He’s around you all the time, every chance he gets. He tells you you’re beautiful. He says that he wants you to meet his mother. He talks about your future together.

- You say, “Oh, your mom? Cool. You think we’ll get along? I’m always up for making new friends.”

- “You want a future with me? Well, I’m free next Wednesday.”

“I like you,” Kabru was breathless and wide-eyed. His hair was a mess from how often he’d run his fingers through it. He was disheveled and hadn’t slept the entire night.

You glanced up from the book you were reading, “Oh? Cool, thanks.”

He sent you a look. “No, I mean I love you.”

“Yeah,” you flipped a page in the book, “love you too.”

“You do?” Hope bloomed and unfurled like a spring flower. Kabru felt his cheeks grow warm, a fire igniting within him.

“Yeah,” you said lightly, “I love all my friends, of course.”

That spring flower suddenly wilted. The fire was doused by a cold bucket of water in the form of your words. Kabru wanted to scream and bang his head against the wall.

“You don’t get it,” he hissed through clenched teeth, fingers tensing as he leaned forward, desperate. “I’m in love with you. This is really hard for me to say, but I think you need to hear it like this. I love you. I love you. I love you…” Somehow, his cheeks went even hotter. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed his embarrassment, “I-I… Sorry. I just need you like I need oxygen. I…”

You snorted, “You don’t need me to breathe, I’m a person not an organ. You’re breathing right now just fine.”

He was not breathing just fine, but that was beside the point.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Kabru said. He could hear how strained his voice sounded.

You watched as he walked away, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight. Then he screamed. It sounded like he also kicked something, a crate or box maybe.

How odd.

- When it finally gets through your head, he’s actually a bit satisfied by your embarrassment at it all. Yes, please do acknowledge your obliviousness. Please do apologize for treating his love confession so casually. When you do so, he feels as if he could melt from the relief.

- He still wants to bang his head on the wall, though.

- And he’s spent a lot of nights screaming into his pillow.

- Kabru continues to play 5d chess with you, just simply out of habit, but you’re playing Hungry Hungry Hippos the entire time. He still finds himself trying to pick apart your actions and responses, but he’s learned how to take things at face value when it comes to you. It’s a difficult adjustment, but one he’s willing to make.

- He starts to learn, take more notes, observe your behavior. For dates, he lays it out carefully. You two are going to do this specific thing. Why? Because he would like to see you happy, and hold your hand, and kiss you. Why? Because he loves you. Now you get it.

- You’re fascinating actually. Genuinely, he starts to adore how your brain works. He wants to pick it apart and hold the pieces up to a magnifying glass.

♡ Mithrun ♡

- He does not care.

- Be as oblivious as you want, that’s not going to stop Mithrun.

- The Canaries, however, are going insane.

“How’s it going with them?” Pattadol asked. Her hands were folded in front of her in that polite way, the way that told Mithrun that his second in command had something on her mind. Pattadol thought she was subtle. She was not.

And he knew precisely who she was referring to. Might as well give her an answer that’ll satisfy her curiosity, lest she keep asking questions.

“Fine,” he answered, “just fine.”

Yet, Pattadol’s brow furrowed. Not a good sign.

“Just fine?” She asked. Her voice went up a pitch. “It’s just fine? Really?”

“Really.”

She unlaced her fingers and spread out her hands as if gesturing to something, but all that surrounded them was Mithrun’s under-decorated living quarters. There was really nothing to gesture at besides the wooden cabinets and the bed. Mithrun waited, aware that she was picking through her piles of thoughts— probably thoughts mixed with screams of frustration— to find the right words.

Finally, Pattadol forced a shaken smile, “It’s clear to anyone that knows you that you’re in love with them, Captain.”

That was what she decided to say? It was a bit blunt for Pattadol’s usual style. Mithrun only shrugged, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s pretty obvious.”

“So why haven’t they noticed yet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I want you to be happy for once!” Pattadol snapped, but she then took a deep breath, “Sorry, Captain, I didn’t mean to sound that way. This is hard for me, talking so openly about these things… But it’s so frustrating to watch.”

Mithrun could understand that. While he personally wasn’t frustrated by the circumstances, he knew that the Canaries couldn’t stand watching his interactions with you. It wasn’t a big deal in the long run, in his opinion. They’d get over it.

“Thank you,” he answered.

“Do you have any ideas on how we can do that?”

“Do what?”

Pattadol’s eye twitched ever so slightly. Her fingers tensed like claws, and Mithrun felt the corner of his lips turn up in a barely-there smirk. But genuinely, he wasn’t sure what she referred to. Did she mean the part about him being happy, or the part about you being oblivious? She should’ve been more clear.

“About…” she hesitated. Obviously she wasn’t sure what she meant either. She then nodded as if deciding, “About everything. About the obliviousness, your happiness, etcetera.”

He didn’t know what the etcetera referred to, but didn’t care to ask. “You don’t have to do anything,” Mithrun assured her as he leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. The wood creaked slightly from the movement. Everything on this boat creaked, as was the nature of boats, he guessed.

“I would like to do something,” Pattadol nodded, determined. “We all would.”

A shrug, “Alright. Then do something.”

- Pattadol, over-achiever and top student and certified Girl Who Cares Too Much, takes that as a challenge.

- Cithis only joins because she thinks it’ll be funny.

- Fleki also only joins because she thinks it’ll be funny.

- And Lycion also also joins because he thinks it’ll be funny (though he does care on some level. Not really about you, but about Mithrun. And it’s painful to watch.)

- Otta is forced to join.

- The attempts are weak at first, like dipping a toe into the water to see how cold it is. Mithrun only has so much patience for interference with his life, so they have to be smart and tread carefully.

- Pattadol gives Mithrun a hint. “There’s some pretty flowers growing beside the road over there. You should give one to them!”

- “What would they need a flower for?”

- Mithrun asks that on purpose. He knows precisely what he’s doing. Yes, people generally like receiving flowers, he knows that. But he also believes that flowers are useless gifts.

- “Then what present do you suggest?” Pattadol asks.

- Mithrun has an idea. He gets you soap. Everybody uses soap (hopefully) It’s a useful gift, and if he gives you the same kind he uses then he’ll get some weird sick flicker of pleasure from having his scent on you. (He wisely chooses to not say that part aloud.)

You held the little bar of soap in your hands as if it were an injured baby bird you found on the ground. Yet your feelings towards it were far from protective or empathetic. This soap said something. It had a mouth and it used it to scream.

You met Mithrun’s flat gaze, “Soap…”

He nodded, “Yeah. Soap. It’s a gift for you.”

For you?

Mithrun continued, “It’s the same kind I use. Smells the same.”

It felt as if you’d swallowed a handful of pebbles and they all had gotten stuck in your throat. “Do you… think I’m stinky?”

You cursed yourself for even asking that. What a useless question. Obviously, he thought you stank! He gave you soap! He was trying to tell you something, being subtle and polite for once! Usually Mithrun would just say it bluntly, but he’d been working on his desires lately. Perhaps he’d also decided to embrace societal expectations? You weren’t sure. But soap. Soap!

You didn’t notice how Mithrun tensed. You didn’t see him quickly blink several times and tilt his head. You didn’t see the slight widening of his good eye. “No, I—“

“I’ll go use this right now,” you interrupted, “I’ll go wash away my stench so you can finally stand to be near me.”

Despite the horror, you were a bit proud of yourself. You’d taken a hint, maybe you were getting less oblivious.

- In your defense, a bar of soap is a weird gift.

- Alright. Mithrun admits it, he needs help. He’s not so prideful anymore that he won’t admit that he doesn’t know what to do.

- Pattadol is really triumphant about that but does her best not to show it.

- Plan B: make it so obvious that you have no choice but to realize his feelings.

“This has to be the most physically uncomfortable I’ve felt in a very long time,” Mithrun said as he tugged at the ends of the fancy, over-decorated blouse the Canaries had put him in. “I honestly prefer Cithis’s frilly dresses.”

Which was saying something. Mithrun had a preference? That was a good sign.

“It makes you look handsome,” Pattadol said.

“The only thing it makes me is itchy,” he corrected.

The Canaries had somehow found a blouse— not a shirt or tunic, a blouse— that made Mithrun feel something other than indifference. He usually didn’t care about what he wore, as long as it was comfortable, but the clothes they’d stuffed him into were offensive to human-kind, like vegan bacon.

It had a big frill on the front and puffy sleeves. It was somehow both too flowy and too tight at the same time. The trousers weren’t much better, digging into his legs. And the shoes…

Mithrun didn’t want to talk about the shoes.

It was clear to him that Fleki and Cithis had only contributed to the outfit because they thought it would be amusing. Good for them, he supposed. Pattadol seemed to genuinely like it, Otta looked horrified, and Lycion was in some in between state where he wanted to show pity but couldn’t quite stifle his giggles.

“Remind me again what the point of this is?” Mithrun asked with a sigh.

“We got them to agree to a date!” Pattadol said, grinning, “I said outright ‘it’s a date’ so there would be no confusion. I made it clear that the date was with you. Now, if you show up looking like a million gold with a bouquet of flowers, they’ll get the hint.”

Mithrun did not want to do that.

Mithrun rarely wanted to do anything, but this just felt wrong. In his opinion, the relationship between you and him would develop naturally in a way that fit both of your personalities. He didn’t mind waiting for you to realize his intentions, he had time. As long as you didn’t fall in love with someone else, and didn’t stop him from staring at you or touching you, then he wasn’t in a rush.

But since the Canaries insisted, seeming to think that this was the right course of action, he would go along with it. Maybe it would be an utter disaster and Pattadol would realize that she knew very little about relationships— especially a relationship involving Mithrun. He was aware enough of himself to know that it wouldn’t be conventional.

With his hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and the ridiculous outfit on, Mithrun entered the restaurant Pattadol had chosen. He found you immediately. You sat in a chair with your elbow on the table and your ankles crossed, waiting.

Mithrun held a bouquet of pink roses as he approached. You lit up when you saw him, but your brows then furrowed.

“Where’s Pattadol?” You asked.

His stride faltered, “She isn’t coming.”

“Oh,” you shrugged, “well since she set this up I assumed she’d be here.”

Why would she be here? It was a date Pattadol had set up for you and Mithrun specifically.

You probably didn’t know it was a date, he realized. Pattadol thought she’d been clear by saying ‘it’s a date’ but failed to realize that that was just a common phrase among people and meant nothing to no one.

Calm, he slid into the seat across from you and watched as you raised a brow, “What’re you wearing?” You asked.

“My team picked it out for me.”

“You look like you’re part of an opera or a ballet, like you’re about to stand beneath a balcony and start spouting poetry to your lover.”

That was a good description, actually. Those were the words Mithrun had been looking for earlier when he saw himself in the mirror.

He nodded, “Yep.” Then, wordlessly, he held out the bouquet to you.

Your eyes widened, “For me?”

“I’m handing them to you, aren’t I?”

Gingerly, you took the flowers and held the stem of the wrapped bouquet with both hands as you inspected each petal.

A flicker of surprising satisfaction ran through his chest. You liked the flowers. It made sense, most people liked flowers, even if he didn’t see why.

You dipped your head down toward them presumably to smell them, but your lips then parted and you dug your teeth into the nearest rose.

Mithrun froze.

You chewed on the rose, your nose wrinkling in disgust. You gave the flower a good shot, a proper taste, but it didn’t take long until you grabbed a napkin and spit up the pink slobbery mess into it.

“Sorry,” you sent him an apologetic smile and tried to hand the bouquet back to him, “they don’t taste that good, and I don’t think I could season or cook them in a way that would help.”

Mithrun knew he was staring. He knew he was making a face, slightly tilting his head down, intensity in his eye. The kind of face someone made when they were internally screaming.

He was not internally screaming, but he was thinking— about you, how your brain worked. And how it was so damn charming for some reason and all he wanted to do was kiss you until he was all you could think about.

He wanted something. The feeling was sweet, a shot of adrenaline, one of Fleki’s drugs. Addictive. Like the slow drip of honey. He could survive off that want for ages.

Wordlessly, Mithrun threw the bouquet over his shoulder to get rid of it. Judging by the gasp that followed, it probably hit someone in the head.

Loving you was as natural to him as breathing.

- Mithrun decides to not let the Canaries interfere any longer. He was wrong earlier in thinking he needed their help. He doesn’t.

- Also, watching them go insane over your obliviousness and his lack of communication provides a good bit of entertainment.

- When he finally decides to give into that all-consuming, new, exciting desire and kiss you, your response is, “But I wasn’t casting a spell, no reason to try and stop me.”

- God, he adores you.

- He takes kisses whenever he wants them, with no care about what you think his intention is.

- After a certain kiss that involves tongue and teeth and fingers digging into your waist, you start to openly wonder… Are you in a relationship with Mithrun?

“Yes,” Mithrun didn’t even glance up at you, remaining unphased by your rather serious question, “We’re in a relationship.”

He continued to jot down notes about a monster he saw, as if he’d just casually answered a question about the weather. ‘Is it going to rain today?’ ‘Yeah looks like it.’

You gulped, “How long?”

“A year now,” he kept writing. Truthfully, he’d been expecting this. A flash of disappointment crossed his mind; there goes one of his hobbies, watching the Canaries have a crisis over his love life.

You buried your face in your hands. Mithrun stopped writing and patted your head as if comforting a dog.

- The Canaries are pleased that this is over. But actually, they’re going to have to watch you not realize it when you’re engaged to the Captain.

- At your wedding you’re in regular clothes. Someone asks why and you say “Mithrun told me we’re going to a wedding. He didn’t say it was ours.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Tower Chaos

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You have had feelings for Bucky for a long time. Yelena finally questions you about it.

Disclaimer: Spoilers for Thunderbolts. Kinda Tower fanfic, reader helps Bucky when he's hurt, established relation/friendships with characters, YelenaBob pairing, found family chaos, yelling in Russian, mentions of injuries and cuts, happy ending. Not Proof Read.

You sighed. They never had your favourite ice cream flavour. You’d think being a regular customer, who regularly asks for your regular favourite ice cream, they would keep it stocked. 

But no. So, reaching for your second favourite, you threw it into your basket and continued shopping. 

Five minutes later, you were being handed a plain plastic bag and your change. 

“Have a nice night,” you called as you left the store. 

Usually, you’d have your headphones in, playing whatever playlist Joaquin had mashed together from your work laptop before you could stop him. Some songs were good, others not so much. 

But since they’d died before you’d stepped a foot out of your apartment, you’d left them behind. 

The emergency ice cream run was too important. 

However, it was as you were walking back to your apartment you started to hear noises. Grunting, mostly. And it was one you seemed to recognise. 

Down the alleyway, Bucky tried to catch his breath. All he’d tried to do was help, but instead he’d gotten the crap beat out of him. Just because he was a super soldier didn’t mean he didn’t bleed. 

Yet, as his body slumped to the floor, he saw a shadow cast over him. And just for a moment, he accepted what might come next. A death? A kidnapping? A ransom note? More beatings?

That was when he got a shock to his chest. 

“Come on,” you sighed, hoisting him up. “Suppose you’re coming with me.”

“Y/n?”

Bucky had to be dreaming. Was he already dead? 

“Well done. I see the old-man eyesight hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Bucky just grunted and tried his best to walk on his own, inevitably leaning on you for support. 

Once you’d gotten him through the door to your apartment, you helped him onto the sofa. 

“Don’t go anywhere.”

As Bucky held his side, trying to make himself a little more comfortable in his seat, you walked behind him and towards the kitchen. 

Pulling the freezer door open, you placed the plastic bag from the store inside and shut it in. you moved across the kitchen and grabbed your first aid kit from under the sink and eventually found yourself kneeling on the floor besides Bucky’s legs. 

“How did you find me?” Bucky asked you as you ripped some packaging open and shook the ice pack. 

You pressed it into his side. “I was getting supplies.”

“Medical?”

“Ice cream,” you told him. He held onto the pack as you moved back to the kit to grab something else. “So, do you wanna tell me what happened? Or am I gonna have to guess?”

“I didn’t plan on it.”

“Nobody plans on getting hurt, Bucky.” 

He looked at you, but you didn’t look at him. Your focus remained on the cut on his arm as you cleaned it. 

“Why didn’t you just come to me?” You asked him, eventually. He’d gotten hurt a few hours before, but thought he could walk it off. 

Bucky’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

For a moment, your eyes flicked to his face before going back to the second cut you were gluing shut. “We had a fight, Bucky. Doesn’t mean I want to see you get hurt.”

Bucky sighed a little before he looked around your apartment. There seemed to be more stuff on your shelves than usual. Books and pictures that were usually kept in your office at the Compound. 

“Why aren’t you staying with Sam and the others?”

You were avoiding his gaze; he knew that much. “We’re, uh, we’re not really talking right now.”

The small bottle rattled against the other items in your kit as you threw it inside. Bucky leaned forward as you sat back on your heels. 

He just looked worried and concerned. “Why?”

You gave a short sigh. “Because I stuck up for you, and now he thinks I’ve chosen a side. There are no sides to this, Buck. You, Yelena, and the others. You saved people that day. That deserves to be recognised. But none of you even had a choice.”

It felt like the battle had been going on forever. When the woman you’d come to know as ‘Val’ had introduced the world to ‘The New Avengers’, you’d taken one look at their faces on the screen. 

They hadn’t been expecting it. 

And your thoughts were confirmed as much when you called Bucky a few hours later to check in on him and the others. 

However, Sam hadn’t been as composed. He’d been asked by the President himself to start up a new team of Avengers. And, somehow, six people the country had seen as enemies of the State were suddenly being introduced to the world as the very people who should be trusted with civilian lives. 

The rift had started immediately. 

And you’d been stuck in between ever since. 

“Again,” Bucky added, solemnly. 

Even before you’d met Bucky, you already knew enough of his past to know not much of who he was in the modern world had been consensual. 

You reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry Sam doesn’t see that. But he will.”

Bucky nodded for a moment, squeezing back. “I know. Do you…want to come and stay with us for a while? I know Yelena misses you.”

You smiled, if a little sadly, for a moment. Yelena had been your best friend – once she stopped trying to kill Clint. 

And for a moment, you nodded your head. Only to then shake it. “It’s probably best that I don’t. But I wouldn’t mind coming to dinner once in a while.”

Bucky smiled a soft smile. He missed you, too. “We’d like that.”

Three days later, you arrived inside the Tower. 

It was mostly open plan, with grey, black and gold. Every once in a while, there was a hint of red. 

Surprisingly, you’d been let through immediately. 

Apparently, your name was on the security list. 

And so began the steady elevator climb to the top penthouse. 

Once the doors pinged open, you stepped out. And for a while, no one was there. You knew you were early, but an hour before, something in your gut told you they needed your help. 

“Hi,” a soft voice said somewhere beside you. 

Eight feet from where you were standing was Bob; dressed in a purple sweater and a pair of jeans. 

“Hi. I-I know I’m early but-”

That was when swear words erupted from the direction of the kitchen. Three pan crashes and two seconds later, Bucky emerged from the kitchen. John was following behind him as Alexei yelled something in Russian. 

Bucky visibly relaxed. “Hey, you’re here.”

Before you could say anything, someone called your name from behind you. 

Yelena was across the room, her Guinea Pig in her hands. For a moment, she’d stopped. Then she was rushing. Carefully placing him in his pen, Yelena dusted off her hands and ran towards you before hugging you, tightly. 

You smiled and hugged her back. 

Then she moved back, keeping her hands on you. “You’re early,” she said, a little surprised. 

You looked around at the others. “I know-”

“Some might say it’s rude to be early.”

You gave a subtle glare to John. “But something told me you might need my help.”

You looked at Bucky and despite his smile and his nod, he seemed…tired. If a little scared. 

“You couldn’t be more right.”

From having both hands on his hips, he reached out and took yours. Once you were standing beside him in the kitchen, you realised why. 

“Oh.”

Two pots were overflowing with some kind of chilli…soup…mix. One pan had been burnt with, what you assumed was meant to be mashed potato and the rest…

“Oh my god,” Yelena practically threw her words up. “Dad!”

Ava appeared beside you. “We all drew straws for who got to cook tonight. Alexei won and nearly burnt our home down. Is that wine?”

You wondered what she meant until you realised you were still holding the bottle you brought. “Oh, yeah. Thought we could drink it with dinner.”

Your other hand was still in Bucky’s. 

“We don’t usually let him cook because of, well, this.” Bucky breathed. 

As Yelena moved across the kitchen, yelling at her dad and almost chasing him out of the kitchen whilst yelling in Russian, John leaned in. 

“Can any of this be salvaged?”

“Should it be salvaged?” Bob asked, standing on the other side of you.

You remained quiet for a few minutes. Both because you were still registering the mess of the kitchen, but also because a plan was being drawn up in your head. 

“Where’s your storage cupboard?”

Bucky nodded to the otherside of the kitchen. “Through there.”

“Come with me.”

Pulling him with you, you both managed to avoid slipping on whatever red-oil monstrosity was spilling onto the floor. On the way past, Bucky turned the heat down before the entire thing blew up. 

“What are we looking for?”

You quickly gave Bucky a list as you reached and grabbed things. As he helped you, you popped your head back out into the kitchen. 

“How quickly do you think you two can clean this up?”

John pointed at himself. “Us?”

“Yes, you. And Bob.”

“But- this is not a two man job.”

“Then ask Yelena and Ava for help.”

John groaned as you disappeared back into the storage space with Bucky. 

Twenty minutes later, Alexei was apologising to you for not correctly making his…whatever he called it, dish properly. 

“You’re forgiven, Alexei.”

“Thank you.”

What followed was an evening of…fun. For the first time in a long time, you saw each of them smile. Bucky, Yelena…hell, even John. 

Yelena gave a small gasp. “You should stay for a movie. You can stay right?”

You hadn’t answered before she’d answered for you. “You’re staying. I’ll go and get Bob. It’s his turn to pick the movie.”

You chuckled softly as you watched Yelena run away and down the hall. You’d all long since finished your dinner. Bob had offered to wash up, but when Yelena had cut in and said Bucky had already volunteered, he’d walked away. 

“She’s right, though.” Bucky said to you, a short moment after she left. “You could stay.”

You nodded, but once again, shook your head. As much as your heart wanted to stay, your head wouldn’t let you. 

“I know. But I don’t…I don’t want the others thinking…”

For a moment, Bucky met your gaze. Then he lowered his head before he transferred the freshly clean plate onto the drying rack. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Two hours later, you were deadly asleep as you rested against Bucky. 

Within twenty minutes of the movie coming on, the familiar soundtrack and feeling of Bucky beside you comforted you more than you knew you needed. You didn’t even try to fight it. You closed your eyes and leaned against him. 

The next time you woke up, it was feeling his arms slip away from underneath your body. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna stay on the sofa,” Bucky whispered in a low voice. From the way his scent was enveloping your senses, you could only assume you’d been placed in his bed. 

You pouted a little, your eyebrows furrowing at the thought. “No, that’s…stupid. This is big enough for both of us. Come to bed.”

“Y/n-”

“Just come to bed. It’s not like we haven’t slept in the same bed before.”

It didn’t take much more convincing before Bucky was laying in bed beside you. Almost immediately, you moved closer to him under the covers until you’d placed his arm around you. 

Bucky chuckled quietly. “Thought you said it was big enough for the both of us.”

“Shut up.”

Chuckling once more, Bucky fixed the bedding over both of you before leaning closer to you. There was no denying he got a better night’s sleep when he was lying beside you. 

It was somewhere in semi darkness your phone started to ring, loudly. 

With a groan, you turned over to search for your phone. Somewhere in the darkness, Bucky slurred the direction where he’d put your phone. 

Reaching across to one of the night stands, you finally found your phone and answered before looking at the caller ID. 

“Hello?” 

“Are you okay? Joauqin said he tried texting but you didn’t answer.” Sam started. “I’ve found an old box in the storage room. Finally started clearing this place out-”

From just above you, Bucky mumbled, “Everything okay?”

You nodded, still tired. “It’s just-”

“Are you with Bucky?”

The air felt heavy as he asked. “Sam-”

The shift in his tone was instantaneous. “No, I see how it is. Look, I’ll let Joaquin know you’re busy.” And then, “Maybe it’s best you don’t come back to the Compound for a while.”

You tried to cut in but by the sounds of it, his mind was already made up. And if, without letting you explain, or knowing that you weren’t taking sides, he’d become certain in his decision…

All you said was, “Okay.”

As Sam hung up, you locked your phone; the click echoed around the room. 

“Do you need to go?” Bucky asked, quietly. His arm was still around you. 

“No,” you laid back down with Bucky. “No.”

 Three weeks later, you decided to head to the Compound. As much as you’d ‘moved’ out, some of your stuff was still there. As you packed the last box into your car, you turned back and looked at the outhouse down the road. 

Sam was still there. You knew he was; boxes were still being shuffled in and out. 

Tearing open another dusty box filled with crap, Sam looked up to see you walking in his direction. 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You stopped just short of the door. “Came to see you.”

The cold was starting to settle in across New York and you’d dressed for it. Boots, jeans, hoodie under your jacket. 

“Thought you’d be with the rest of your team.”

“They are my team,” you agreed before hearing Sam give a humming laugh as if to say, “I knew it. You did pick a side.”. “But so are you, Sam.” 

You sighed, continuing to talk. “You’re all my family. They’re yours, too, Sam. Or are you gonna shut them out, as well?”

Sam looked up. “I’m not shutting them out.”

“You’re shutting everyone out,” you argued. “They didn’t have a choice, Sam.”

Pulling something from the box to move it towards the mini trash skip, he said, “They stayed. That was their choice.”

Again, you sighed. You averted your eyes from him for a moment to look around the outhouse. He was almost done. It was just the final unit of boxes. 

Sam moved back over to the box. “Look, I appreciate you coming here. But I meant it when I said it’s best you don’t come round here.”

“Sam.” you looked at him. 

“I get we’re all family, and nothing can truly change that. But…” Sam sighed. “As much as you love us all, you made your decision.”

You felt fire in your belly. “Hey, do not put this on me. That is not fair.”

“Do you love him?”

The fire got hotter. 

“That’s got nothing to do with this-”

“Do you love him?” Sam repeated, practically spelling out each word. 

“Yes,” you answered before you could think. “But that doesn’t change-”

“It does. You’re too emotionally involved-”

“Emotionally involved!? I get you can be a pain in my ass some days, Samuel. But being an actual ass has never been in your true nature. Deep down you know Bucky didn’t have a choice. Neither did Yelena, or Ava or the rest of their team. And once you’ve finally pulled your head from your ass, maybe you’ll just be able to admit that. This is not on them, and it most certainly is not on me.”

Sam could see the fury in your eyes. He could see the fire in your chest and the hurt in your heart. And he wished he could take it all back. 

He’d been there to see you and Bucky grow feelings for each other. He’d been there to witness you both actively avoiding feelings because you both thought it was dangerous. 

It was in that garage he realised, this time, he’d been the one in the wrong. 

Of course you loved Bucky. But one thing you’d never done is go with your emotions when it came to something on this level. 

But that still didn’t change the rift between him and Bucky. He doubted that it would. 

“Y/n- I didn’t mean-”

“Yes, you did.” Your gaze was fixed on Sam. “And one day I’ll forgive you for being an ass, but right now…” 

Part of you caved and you looked away. You rarely cried, but when you were angry and frustrated…your body betrayed you. 

You managed to hold it in as you looked back at him. “Maybe you were right about me coming here. I’m gonna go.”

“Y/n-”

“Bye, Sam.”

Bucky didn’t see you until two days later. And you were still angry from your talk with Sam. 

As he walked into the Tower, Bob lifted his head from his milkshake and book. “Y/n’s in the kitchen.”

He dropped his bag by the sofa. “She’s here?”

Bob nodded. “She brought food.” 

He held up his milkshake before pointing towards the cup holders on the table. “She got you one, too.”

Picking his cup up on the way, he walked towards the kitchen, already having an idea of the image that was about to greet him. He could smell the lemon blondies from the living room. 

The kitchen was mostly clean, which was his first sign. Whenever you did bake, the kitchen tended to be a wonderfully organised yet flour-sprinkled chaos. 

When you were pissed, it was almost as neat as a pin. 

His second sign was that it was quiet. 

Whenever you were baking, there tended to be music or a show in the background. That was if you weren’t already on the phone to someone – specifically, Yelena. 

His third sign was the amount of baking you’d done. Lemon blondies, blueberry muffins, chocolate cupcakes, frosting, flapjacks, cornflake cakes, raspberry and vanilla cakes, confetti cakes, protein muffins and many others. They were all stacked and piled in tupperware cases on one of the side counters, if they weren’t still in their pans cooling down. 

His fourth sign was that you didn’t move, didn’t even look up, when he walked inside. You were fully focused on what you were doing. 

He approached you slowly in the deep silence. “Not good?”

You shook your head, your focus on the batter pouring from the stand mixer into the rectangular cake tin. “Not good.”

As you put it down, Bucky stepped behind you and opened up the oven door. Slotting it inside, he closed the door as you set the timer. 

Bucky watched you for a few moments as you took the cake battered bowl to the sink, brought over another one filled with icing and started dishing them out into different food colouring segments. 

As he leaned against the counter you were working on, Bucky’s gaze flickered over your face. 

He’d known you for so long, he’d easily seen every emotion come across your face. Anger, love, fear, joy, anxiety, embarrassment, confusion, rage, numbness, laughter, and many more. 

A lot of them, he’d seen through your eyes. 

“Have you been crying?” Bucky asked the question, but he already knew the answer. 

He was certain of the answer, even more so, when you didn’t look at him or answer him. So, with a gentle finger under your chin, he tilted your head to look at him. “Hey.”

His voice was soft. Soft enough to break the dam you’d been holding in place. 

You didn’t have to say anything. You rarely had to say anything to Bucky. Without hesitating, Bucky took you by the shoulder before holding you into him. Immediately, your arms wrapped around him. It was hard to breathe evenly when you were trying to keep your tears at bay. 

“I might take you up on that offer,” you mumbled into his blue henley. “If it’s not too late.”

Bucky smiled, briefly. His hand stroked down the back of your hair before cupping your head. “There were no limitations.”

A bubble of slight laughter rose up your throat. But you just held onto him tighter. 

“This is gonna be so cool,” Yelena said as she helped you carry your stuff towards your room. “We finally won’t be outnumbered. We can watch movies- Oh, I’ve already added you to the rota. Your choice is after John’s. A lot of his are military movies which are boring-”

Yelena continued to tell you all about her plans as she helped you move into your room. About her and Ava’s ‘girl’ days. Their on going prank on John, changing a lot of his dark coloured items to bright neon pink; for example, his dark navy towel to a bright neon pink. Same with his face clothes and gym shower bottles. 

Both she and Ava warned you about Alexei’s hoarding room; it was mostly filled with memorabilia of the Thunderbolts and ‘New Avengers’. Apparently someone on Etsy had gotten wind of their original title and made t-shirts. 

“Oh, the room next door to that one is filled with everything on Yelena.”

You gasped. “Please tell me there’s baby pictures.”

“Pictures?” Ava asked. “Please, there are projector wheels full.”

You looked at Yelena. “Oh, I have to see them.”

“No, you don’t.”

Ava leaned into you. “I’ll get them for you.”

“You know, sometimes I hate the fact you can walk through walls.”

Ava just smiled. 

It didn’t take long to get used to living with them. Often Bob joined ‘girls night’ which eventually developed into ‘team’ night when Alexei and John got bored. Games night was every Friday. Bob stayed home most of the day, keeping an eye on reports coming in. 

On your days off, you’d help him. A lot of the time, you’d both just talk away until the others came home. You’d even taught him how to bake, which had eventually turned into a baking lesson for a lot of the team considering they’d never really had those moments to learn out of simple enjoyment. 

Meanwhile, you and Bucky…were you and Bucky. 

And it didn’t take any of their specialist training to notice.

To notice the way Bucky always stood close to you, or how your eyes flicked to each other when the other wasn’t looking. More so if they were. Or how you both seemed to have an unspoken language between each other, already knowing what the other needs. 

It didn’t take any of their specialist training to notice the way you looked at each other, or how you interacted. How Bucky’s hand always ghosted over your hip or led you by your lower back. You were also the only one Bucky wasn’t afraid to…touch. To hold hands, or to hug. He’d never been like that with anyone. 

Yelena knew, especially. She’d heard stories from her sister. 

“Do you think we should do something?”

“What was that film? The one with the single twin? Lainey…Linda…no, that’s not it.”

Yelena sat up straight and sighed. “We watched it last night. The Parent Trap. And it’s Lindsey Lohan.”

“Yes. That one. Why don’t we…just do that?”

Ava sat up. “You really think tricking them onto a boat is going to work?”

Alexei shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be a boat. It could be a closet, or a training room or-”

“We’re not locking them in anywhere.” Yelena told them all. “They’re grown adults.”

“Do you think they’ve always been like that?” 

“They were when I first met them,” John said as he transferred food from the stove onto each plate. “He would have died protecting her. And she would have killed him for doing so. They hadn’t even known each other very long from what I knew.”

“So it can’t be that long before something happens, right?” Ava asked. “I mean, she slept in his bed that night she came here for dinner.”

“But that could have been a fluke,” Bob pointed out. “The guest rooms, and her room, weren't finished yet.”

Yelena thought for a moment. “Okay. We need an agreement. If things don’t start naturally, we give them a little push. Nothing big, just…maybe show them the right direction.”

They all agreed. 

But six months later, they were sick of the subtle differences they’d all been making. Name dropping, schedule changes, lighting changes, stories. Ava was the first to make the big leap from subtle to not-so-much when she arranged a blind date for you. 

The annoyance from Bucky had been clear from the moment she phased through the front door. 

However, despite being the one to draw up the agreement, Yelena was the one to truly break it. 

“Do you like Bucky?”

She’s marched into your room, dressed in her pajamas, holding onto her guinea pig. Although the question had been a surprise, Yelena bursting into your room at nine at night only to flop down on your bed in front of you was not. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you like him?” Yelena paused to reframe the question. “Okay, do you have romantic feelings for him?”

You stuttered, “For Bucky?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

She didn’t give you time to answer before explaining. “Because I think you do and since you’re my best friend, I think, legally, I should know.”

“Yelena-”

“I can keep a secret, I promise,” she sat up and talked to her pet. “You know I can. Well, I tell you my secrets but we live with Ava. She knows everybody’s secrets.”

Yelena finally looked back at you. “So?”

So? 

So…the answer was yes. You had done for a while. Probably since you met him, if you were being completely honest; though you didn’t recognise them to be romantic then. Just feelings. 

Mainly the feeling that you wanted him to be safe, and to be free. 

A man willing to lay his life down for his country, only to lose something worse than that to a different cause; one he never chose, one he never consented to. Only to be brought back and be blamed for the act forced on him despite fighting against deadly torture for over twenty years. 

That was a man that needed someone in his corner. 

“Yelena.” Just from the tone of your voice told her everything she needed to know. 

“I knew it. I knew it.” She smiled to herself before repeating herself to her pet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged, putting down your legal pad. “What was there to tell?”

Yelena pretended to think, “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I’m your best friend and I should know who my brother in law is going to be. Or that he’s the reason every date I’ve sent you on has never worked out. Or-”

You reached out for her. “Okay, okay. That’s enough.”

“Y/n, why don’t you tell him?”

You looked away for a split second. “We…have an agreement. Kinda. We’ve never spoken about it but, we know.”

“Know what?”

“That it’s too dangerous.”

Her brows furrowed. “Dangerous? Because…it’s so electric you might blow a spark?”

You ran your tongue over your lips. “No, it’s…how do I put this? When he worked together…there was a chance of things going wrong because we wouldn’t be thinking. Neither of us were willing to risk putting people in danger because neither of us could focus properly.”

“Well, that’s…”

“Yeah.”

“Stupid.” Yelena finished. “That’s really stupid. I suppose you two being in love, I have to give you some slack. And the sentiment. That is very sweet. But also incredibly stupid.”

You just looked at her, dumbfounded. 

“You like each other. If someone is going to get hurt, then they get hurt. It’s a part of the job. Just because you work together doesn’t mean people will get hurt because of it. The only people who you’re hurting are yourselves. And us, but that’s for another time. You should tell him.”

“Lena-”

“No. You should tell him. And he should tell you. I’m sick of seeing you two act like lovestick cowards.”

You both kept her frustrated for another two months. 

You’d been sitting with Bob for most of the day. Around mid-day, you’d both left the Tower to go and get some food. But it was when you were standing in the kitchen, Bob telling you about his ideas for Yelena’s birthday, that a warning flashed around the room. 

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”

Then you heard the noises. 

Both you and Bob took one look at each other before heading out back into the living space. “Guys?!”

Through the elevator doors, Yelena hobbled through with Bucky by her side. They all looked like hell. 

“What the hell happened?”

Ava and Alexei took the semi-conscious Bucky from Yelena and rushed him down the hallway. Yelena tried her best to keep your focus on her. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s gonna be okay.”

“What the hell happened, Yelena?”

Beside you, Bob’s focus remained on the blonde Russian. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, knowingly taking Bob’s hand in her other one. “We ran into a few hurdles.”

“I thought this was meant to be a search and rescue.”

“It was,” she nodded. “But apparently Sam and the others also got wind of it. They’ve taken some bruises home, too.” Yelena was quick to add her next sentence. “Not from us. Well, mostly not from us. The search and rescue was tied to a hostage situation.”

“So,” your head kept turning to the hallway Bucky had been taken down. “So what-”

“A kinetic energy blast.”

Yelena saw the fire in your eyes. “Sam- Sam did this?”

Yelena shook her head, then nodded. “No. Well, kinda. But it was- Bucky was helping him. Sam thought he was clear of the blast. So did we.”

“I need to see him.”

Yelena let you go and Bob stepped into your place. “Yelena,” his finger traced over her brow. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m okay, Bob. I’m okay.” Yelena took his other hand in hers before resting her head against his. Then she hugged him. 

Meanwhile, you ran down the hall and into the medical wing where Ava and Alexei had Bucky. He seemed a little more awake. 

“I’m okay-” 

You hugged him immediately. Somewhere behind you, Alexei made a soft noise and Ava hit his gut. 

“Wilson said he’d be sending a medical officer over.”

“I don’t need one-”

“Yes you do,” you cut in before looking at Ava. “Yes, he does. Where are the medical supplies?”

“Doll, if you can fix me-”

“I still want someone checking you over.”

As Bucky agreed and the others left, John brought you the medical kits and left you and Bucky to it. 

“He didn’t mean it, Y/n.”

You swallowed. “I know. Yelena said.”

“Look at me?”

You eventually stopped cleaning one of his cuts to look at him. He smiled for a moment. “I’m okay. We both know I’ve been through worse.”

You tilted your head. Too soon. 

“They were helping us, and we were helping them. It’s not much but it’s a start. Maybe I can call him. He might actually pick-”

Bucky’s talking was cut off by your lips crashing into his. The only thought going around in your head as he was talking was that you could have lost him. Sam and the others might not have been there, Bucky and the others could have been outnumbered, and you might never have seen him again. 

Yelena was right. The only people you were hurting were yourselves. 

Once Bucky had come out of his trance, he looked at you, his fingers absentmindedly running through the ends of your hair. “What was that for?”

“I don’t want to ignore us anymore.”

“What made you change-”

“I could have lost you,” you spat the truth out. “And I don’t want to lose you and not have you with me in the first place. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Bucky admitted. Then a glint came across his eyes. “I should get hurt more often.”

“Absolutely not.”

Bucky chuckled before cupping his hand against your head. “So…we’re not ignoring it anymore?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

“Good.” 

Pulling you closer to him, he kissed you like he’d been dying to for years. 

[strawberry-nugget]

notion | k. bakugo | 2

Notion M.list | prev | next

Paring: Bakugo Katsuki x reader

Summary: The last four years have been a blur. You and Bakugo had been in this hellish friends with benefits/ situationship for way too long until you decided to end it last year. Now, due to being peer-pressured to choose Izuku over him, you've been in no contact for two whole months and you are finally making a hear out of permanently living in Tokyo, three hours away from him and everybody.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, fwb, jealousy, alchohol drinking, bakugo is bloody after patrol, just a tad of angst, situationships (my real worst enemy), no smut in this chapter tho oopsiesss, Bakugo fighting with Mitsuki, All characters are 20+

A/N: oopsies sorry it took me years to come back to this fic 😅 However, next chapter is pure filth to make up for it

Your apartment in Shibuya is too small. It’s a studio apartment, kitchen crammed into one corner, bed pressed against the opposite wall. The Hero Commission pays for it, but that doesn’t make it feel any bigger.

You don’t mind, not really. Most nights, you’re too tired to care. Between patrolling for the agency and handling the odd jobs your boss throws your way, you’re lucky if you get six hours of sleep. The city hums outside your window, neon signs reflecting off glass, the distant chatter of nightlife a constant reminder that Shibuya never really sleeps.

The agency you work for part-time isn’t bad. The pay is decent, the hours flexible—you even get to spend three days of the week back at Musutafu. It’s not a top-tier agency like Endeavor’s or Hawks’, but that works in your favor. Less press, less scrutiny, fewer expectations. The heroes running it like that about you. You’re efficient. Capable. And a former top student at UA. You’re unremarkable and so well trained in such way that makes you easy to move around like a chess piece.

This is the job, after all.

You haven’t been back home for two months. Not since Izuku confessed to you.

His words had been careful, earnest—so painfully Izuku. Through text, on your way home for the weekend, he told you he had feelings for you, that he had for a long time, that he wasn’t expecting an answer right away but just wanted you to know. That was the problem. You didn’t have an answer.

You have not been back home since that stunt Bakugo pulled just to be the one to pick you up from the train station that day and definitely not after that dinner at the Bakugos’ in which Mitsuki was trying her best to set you up with someone that isn’t her son.

Then again how could she have known you and Bakugo have had your fair share of occasional sex throughout the course of four years?

The memory of how awkward that night was makes you groan inwardly. Mitsuki had been relentless, a whirlwind of enthusiasm as she served dinner, her eyes practically sparkling as she brought up Izuku. “You should go out with him! He’s such a good boy, and he really cares about you!” she had exclaimed, nudging you with her elbow as Bakugo sat across the table, his expression a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.

You had tried to redirect the conversation, bringing up Bakugo’s latest achievements or the new training regimen he had implemented, but Mitsuki had been having none of it, like it was too easy for her to pester about Izuku now that he had politely declined her invitation to grade papers for his class “No, no! I mean, have you seen how well he treats you? He’s always looking out for you!”

Each comment made Bakugo’s jaw tighten, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You had laughed it off, but the undercurrent of tension in the room had been palpable. That was the night you’d left, feeling more confused than ever—especially with the way Bakugo had glanced at you when he thought no one was watching.

You remember the way his fingers tapped against the edge of his plate, his eyes flickering to you every time Mitsuki gushed about Izuku’s “perfect boyfriend potential.” He didn’t say much—not outright—but you could feel his irritation radiating off him in waves.

Mitsuki, oblivious as ever, had kept going.

“And you know,” she had continued, pouring more tea into your cup, to help the food go down smoothly “he’s such a sweet boy. Hardworking. Polite. Not like this one—” she jabbed her thumb toward her son, “—who still thinks grunting is an acceptable form of communication.”

“Oi,” Bakugo had grumbled, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he shot you a look, something unreadable simmering in his red eyes before he went back to stabbing at his food. Like he was begging you to say something.

Anything.

Even to mention that he’d come visit you in Tokyo. Something to establish a different kind of familiarity between the two of you to his mother.

You had tried to laugh it off, waving a hand dismissively. “Izuku and I are just friends, miss Mitsuki”

“For now,” she had teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “Come on, you’ve known each other forever. Doesn’t it make sense?”

But you had known Bakugo since forever too. You wish someone could see through that, you wish someone could urge the two of you to admit your feelings but your shenanigans had been tight lipped and banned to mention to the world. Maybe it could have been different had any of you spoken about each other to your friends.

Because how else could you tell his mother you’re never going to fall in love with Izuku-— you’ve been in love with her stupid, begrunting son since high school.

“Katsuki! Put some thought into her brain! She’ll listen to you!”

That was when Bakugo stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “Tch. I’m fucking done.” He grabbed his plate and stomped toward the sink, movements sharp and tense. You’d barely had time to process before he was brushing past you on his way out of the kitchen, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“You don’t gotta humor her.”

He drove you home, tried to kiss you before you opened the door to leave but settled for kissing your cheek. You kissed his neck in return. A promise you do not want Izuku, but not enough of a confession to let him know how you feel.

That was the last time you’d seen him in two months.

Your shifts at the agency have doubled since, at your demand. You’ve tried anything to get him out of your head, anything to just convince yourself that life goes on. You can stay friends with him and pretend you’ve never been anything else.

‘If he wanted to, he would be with you’ one of your coworkers had told you the other night, when you mentioned the matter, while deliberately skipping to mention who you’d be talking about, in your desperate attempts to finally make friends out of all the people you spend everyday with.

And she’s right. You know she’s right.

She’s also right when she pesters you to join her and a few of your other coworkers for dinner on Friday after patrol. Claiming you’ve been so shut off, that they want to get to know you better. And you say yes, because you have nothing better to do— you can’t spend another sleepless night staring at Bakugo’s last message that you left on read. ‘If he wanted to he would’ replaying in your head like a mantra.

______

Friday comes too quickly.

Between being on the edge every single day as your parents are begging you to come back home for the weekend and a single text from Bakugo on Wednesday night asking if you’re still alive, you’ve been expecting the outing with your coworkers religiously throughout the week.

It’s your only excuse to get black out drunk and go home and sleep the weekend off.

Aiko, the coworker that invited you asks you to dress nicely— no cargo pants and a sweatshirt like the ones she sees you exit the agency with and you pack a plain sweater dress with you before you leave for the agency in the morning.

And while the dinner goes smoothly, you’re asked to join them for drinks— frankly you can’t refuse when seeing that they paid for your dinner too.

You promise yourself It’s not a regular thing—you’re not close enough to any of them for that—but someone suggested it after patrol, and you were too tired to come up with a reason to say no. So now you’re here, tucked into the corner of a noisy izakaya, half-listening to a conversation about some high-profile villain case in Minato while nursing a glass of highball.

The place is warm, filled with the scent of grilled meat and cigarette smoke. Your coworkers are already a few rounds in, voices louder, laughter easier this time.

Some sick part of your brain wishes Bakugo was here too. That all your friends were here too, or maybe, that this was one of your class reunions at Shoto’s house.

“You ever think about going full-time?” one of them asks, nudging you with his elbow. Watanabe. He’s been at the agency for two years, still hoping for a promotion. You mostly share patrols with him and Aiko. “Commission’s gotta be lining you up for something better, right?”

You take a sip of your drink, the ice clinking softly. “Doubt it,” you say. “They like me where I am. I like where I am. It’s flexible and pays well. I used to go home in Musutafu every weekend.”

“Oh yeah, you went to UA!” another one exclaims.

“Man, that’s rough,” Watanabe laughs, shaking his head. “With how you handle yourself, you could be working for one of the bigger names. Hell, any big agency at this point. You went to college too. That’s like, insane hero knowledge.”

You don’t respond. You just glance at the condensation on your glass, at the way the dim light catches the edges of the liquid inside. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Not like you don’t know you’re capable of more, but the top hero life isn’t something you ever wanted. You like your job just how it is. Your pay is the same as the one in your old agency in Musutafu where you worked full time and Tokyo is a far better city to live in than your hometown.

There’s a comfort in the routine, in knowing exactly what’s expected of you and having the freedom to navigate your own path. Besides, the last thing you want is to be in the spotlight, not when you’re still trying to figure out your own identity beyond being a hero.

In Tokyo, maybe you could finally get away from that messy situation with Bakugo. You could always be three hours away from him, working less, having more time to yourself. Not fighting for any rank.

As the night rolls on, the conversation shifts from work to personal lives, and your coworkers seem all too eager to poke fun at each other. You try to keep your head down, focusing on your drink, but Watanabe isn’t done with you tonight. So much for wanting to get to know you.

You wonder if Bakugo would snap at them for all those questions. God, he infiltrates your mind in all the wrong times.

Begrudgingly you reach for your phone. You want to message him, casually, maybe snap a picture of the place and caption it with something along the lines of ‘wish you were here too’ but that’s pushing it and you’re not even sure he’s going to let you live this through.

Still, you force yourself to reply to him.

It’s simple. It’s three days late, it’s two o’clock in the morning and it’s pushing Saturday. And you don’t even know the state that he’s in tonight.

You: yeah...

You: If I could see you I’d be better.

You press send and think nothing more of it.

“Hey,” it’s a while before Watanabe calls your name again, “you’re awfully quiet over there,” he calls out, his voice cutting through the buzz of chatter. “Got a boyfriend keeping you busy, or something?”

The table erupts in laughter, and you can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks. “Yeah, right,” you scoff, rolling your eyes as you shut off your phone and set it on the table beside you, screen facing the wood “As if I’d have time for that.”

“C’mon!” Aiko, chimes in “You’re out here saving the world everyday! Don’t tell me you don’t have a cute guy waiting for you to come home!”

You chuckle nervously, unsure whether to play along or deflect. “I’ve got my hands full with work,” you say, forcing a smile. “That’s enough of a challenge for me.”

“Maybe you just need to let loose a little,” Watanabe teases, wiggling his eyebrows. “What’s the harm in dating a villain or two? It could spice up your life!”

The group bursts into another round of laughter, and you can’t help but shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite the embarrassment. “I think I’ll pass on that,” you reply, trying to sound firm but failing to hide your amusement. “I’m not looking for any extra trouble. Or loosing my license”

“Sure, sure,” Aiko says, leaning closer, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But if you do find someone, we expect an invite to the wedding! You know how to plan an epic event, right?”

Marriage sounds like a nightmare to you, right now, tonight, at almost three am, when your phone chirps with a notification for a text that you know who it belongs to.

It doesn’t make sense that he’s awake, but your heart tightens as you catch a glimpse of his name on your screen as the light starts to die down.

Katsuki <3: Really?

That’s all it says. One word. You read it in his cocky, too annoyed-at-everything voice.

And yet, it makes your stomach drop.

You stare at your screen, throat tightening. It’s been three days since he texted you—three days of silence on your end, because you didn’t know what to say. Because you were trying to be smart about this, about him. Because you’re trying to keep a space between you, since this isn’t working out for your poor heart.

Because if he wanted to, he would.

You should’ve known he’d be pissed.

“Hey, you good?” Aiko’s voice cuts through the background noise, and you force yourself to look up. She’s watching you closely, brows furrowed. “You just spaced out.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head. “Yeah. Just—forget it, just my sister.” Your fingers tighten around your glass.

You don’t know what to say to him. You never really do, and yet you answer when you know you shouldn't.

You: really

____

Katsuki stumbles through the front door of his house, the heavy thud of his boots echoing in the quiet of the dead of night.

It’s barely past 3 am.

The dim light of the hallway barely illuminates his bloodied form as he drags himself inside, his limbs heavy and unsteady. His chest rises and falls in uneven gasps, each breath painful, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving him with a deep, gnawing exhaustion. His body screams for rest, but instead, he opts to stare at the screen of his phone, he chooses to re-read your goddamn message like a book that’s too dear to one's heart.

He curses under his breath, a low, rasping sound as his fingers grip the doorframe, steadying himself for a moment. Blood drips— from his eyebrow down to his eyes, from his lip down to his chin, streaking across his costume in dark, splotchy patterns. His head throbs, dizziness sweeping through him like a wave, but he forces himself to move forward. One step. Then another. But each motion feels like a battle, and the world spins with every turn.

The house is silent. Too quiet.

He kicks the door shut behind him, the noise louder than it should be, reverberating through the walls. He freezes for a second, holding his breath, hoping that his mother isn’t awake now, from that sound only. He doesn’t want to deal with her—not now. But of course, the creak of the floorboards in the hallway answers his silent plea, and he hears her footsteps before he even sees her.

Mitsuki, of course, appears at the top of the stairs, her expression initially blank, but then it shifts. Her eyes widen as she takes in the sight of him; his bloodied face, his torn-up hero costume, the way he’s swaying slightly on his feet, his face lit, only by the screen of his phone.

She rushes down the stairs in a frenzy.

“Katsuki?” Her voice is tight, laced with a mixture of surprise and concern, but it doesn’t take long for the anger to seep into her tone.

When she reaches him, she grabs him by the arm, steadying him with a grip that’s deceptively strong for someone who isn’t as physically imposing as him.

“You’re a goddamn mess,” she hisses, her red eyes scanning him with an expert gaze, noting the blood trickling down his face and his furiously bruised cheekbone, “What the hell happened?”

Katsuki opens his mouth to respond, but his words slur slightly, the pain of everything catching up to him. “Nothing. I’m fine.” He tries to brush her off, but his voice cracks as he sways on his feet, almost losing his balance.

“Fine!? Fine?” Mitsuki’s voice sharpens, rising in volume as she pulls him further into the house, her hand pushing him toward the couch. “You’re barely standing, and you’re covered in blood! You think I’m gonna just let that slide?”

“M gonna go bathe, go to sleep ma” he says dismissively, too silently, hissing at the way his jaw clenches before storming off to the downstairs bathroom.

Mitsuki watches him for a long, tense moment as he stumbles toward the bathroom, clearly not even close to being in the state to do anything for himself. But she’s already too far gone to let him do this alone. Her anger is bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over as she takes a step forward, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re not going anywhere, Katsuki!” she snaps, her voice echoing down the hallway. Without waiting for him to turn around, she grabs his arm again, yanking him back toward her.

Katsuki stumbles forward, but she shoves him down onto the couch, and for a brief second, the world tilts dangerously. He grits his teeth, trying to steady himself, but the dizziness doesn’t let up. His vision blurs, and for a moment, everything feels muffled. He can hear the rapid beat of his heart in his ears, drowning out everything else.

Mitsuki stands over him, arms crossed, her eyes flicking over his body with that sharp, cutting gaze of hers “You’re gonna strain yourself like this, you have to rest.”

“No. No I don’t”

“Don’t give me that shit kid.”

“Oh” he chuckles, looking up at her with full blown eyes “I ain’t giving you any shit Ma. ‘M perfectly fine”

“Right, because isolating yourself and running yourself into the ground is so much better.” She glares at him, voice dropping into something softer, almost concerned. “You barely come home anymore, and when you do, you’re either exhausted or pissed off. This isn’t sustainable, Katsuki. You’ve always been bratty, but this? Why do you always want to get yourself killed?”

He clenches his jaw, looking away, shoulders tense. He hates this—hates feeling like a kid again, like she can still see right through him no matter how much distance he tries to put between them and he definitely hates the fact that his mother has to see him like this. Weakened. Like he’s sixteen with a pierced heart again.

Mitsuki sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You should at least spend time with your friends. What about Izuku? He was asking about you the other day.”

That makes Bakugo bristle instantly. “What about him?”

She gives him a look, like he’s being difficult on purpose. “You know. Maybe you should take a page out of his book—he’s got a healthy work-life balance. And he’s got time to check in on people.”

“Yeah? Good for him.” Bakugo’s voice is flat, but his fists tighten at his sides. He brings out his phone again, trying to check the time—it’s 3.12 am, but instead of actually remembering the time on the screen, he sees that stupid photo of you and him as his lock screen.

His mother notices, says something about how ‘you haven’t even called her’ that you’re the same as him. That she sent you a text on messenger about Izuku the other day and you didn’t respond.

Katsuki hates that his mother so casually mentions you in this conversation, like she can make up for the way she’s been speaking to him so far.

His breath catches, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he scoffs, shoving his phone into his pocket like the sight of it suddenly pisses him off.

“Tch. She’s busy.”

Mitsuki raises an eyebrow. Of course, she doesn’t stop at lecturing him about work, she has to mention you. You, in the same sentence with Izuku. Like she’s not the reason you haven’t come back in Musutafu for so long. It makes him so extremely mad.

“You should call her. Go to Tokyo with Izuku. Help set them up. It’ll do good to you.”

Katsuki’s eyes snap impossibly open at her words “who? Me? I ain’t you. I ain’t setting anyone up. They’re both shit for all I care. I ain’t going to Tokyo just to set that idiot up with her. And I’m not gonna see anyone who doesn’t want to see me”

Lies. Lies. Fucking lies. He wants to see you so hellishly bad.

He gets beat up by a villain and all he wants to do is come to you, wrap his arms around you and drown in that comforting cradle that you’ve got. And you’re in fucking Tokyo for all he cares, because his mother and Izuku and then himself, pressured you into two different choices the last time you were here.

He can still fucking see you in his kitchen, trying to help his mother put the dishes away. He can still feel you kissing his neck, in his car, that same damn night, when he told you he’d beat the shit out of his childhood friend for wanting to get with you.

He wonders if that’s how you felt, four years ago, when he asked you to let him eat you out so he could practice— to do it to someone else.

You’ve never made it weird. Never judged him. You kept giving and giving and he kept taking for three whole years and instead of manning up asking you to be with him, he let things boil to a shimmer and die down.

Now you’ve been in Tokyo for two whole months. You haven’t visited home at all.

“I don’t need a fucking day off.” His voice is sharp, tired, like he’s barely holding himself together. “And I don’t need to hang out with anyone. I'm not going to waste my time setting anyone up.”

The truth is, he doesn’t want to set you up with anyone but himself and he doesn’t even know how to do that.

“Just because you keep running yourself to the ground doesn’t mean no one else can’t be happy!”

“Huh?” Katsuki asks, like a menace, like he’s so furious at his mother for speaking profanities “I'm perfectly happy being a hero!”

Mitsuki scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, please. You’re a goddamn mess, and you know it. At least help her and Izuku be happy, get yourself someone too! You’re twenty fi—“

“I don’t fucking want anyone, I ain’t got time for this shit!”

Katsuki grits his teeth then hisses, his hands shaking where they’re clenched into fists against his thighs. His head is still pounding, his vision still swimming slightly from exhaustion and blood loss, but nothing—nothing, makes him feel worse than hearing his mother talk about you and Izuku in the same fucking sentence. Hearing her trying to scold him at late am im the morning about being single.

How did this fight—that was originally spurt by his battered state, turn into this?

Right.

It’s because for him, everything somehow leads back to you.

No matter how much time passes, no matter how much distance stretches between you, no matter how much he tries to drown himself in the job and pretend it doesn’t eat at him—it really fucking does.

His mother is still staring him down, exasperation written all over her face, but Katsuki barely sees her anymore. His pulse is pounding in his chest and ears and his jaw is clenched so tight it might crack. He sways slightly on his feet, exhaustion threatening to drag him under, but the anger burning in his chest keeps him upright.

“They’re your friends. For god’s sake”

He doesn’t know who he’s angrier at; Mitsuki, for bringing this shit up and merging into this matter like it’s her business? Izuku, for even being in the damn equation? Or himself, for not shutting this down the second your name left her mouth.

He knows he’s not mad at you though. So that’s got to count for something.

“You’re fucking delusional,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “You really think I give a shit about some dumb romance? You really think I’ve got time to play matchmaker?”

Mitsuki gives him a long, unimpressed look. “I think you’ve got time to be miserable and angry every damn day, so yeah, maybe you could afford to think about something else for once.”

“Ma—”

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes. “You know Izuku’s interested. He told me so himself, and I think she likes him. I don’t see why you have to act so weird about it.” Mitsuki doesn’t notice the way he jerks at that. “You do want her to be happy, don’t you? What’s wrong with giving them a little push?”

His grip on the back of the couch tightens, his breath ragged. “I don’t care what they do,” he lies, and it tastes awful. He absolutely cares about what you do. “Just leave me alone. Wanna wash this blood off me”

He takes off with that— pushes off the couch with any strength he has and gets on his feet. Ready to fleet, ready to rest in the comfort of the downstairs bathroom that he so likes in this house.

And he wobbles, he fucking wobbles. He’s beaten up so bad he really fucking wobbles like a toddler learning to walk.

“Katsuki” Mitsuki snaps towards him, ready to give her full weight to support him and he winces. He wants her away. He’s so tired that he wants everyone to be at least a mile away from him.

“Tch. I just said im fine”

Mitsuki doesn’t buy it for a goddamn second. But he’s fucking fine. At least—he has to be.

He forces his legs to work, trudging toward the bathroom with slow, heavy steps. Every inch of him aches, every breath stings, but he doesn’t stop. He won’t. Not until he’s behind a locked door, away from Mitsuki, away from her damn nagging, away from the thoughts clawing at his skull like they’re trying to tear their way out.

His fingers fumble with the doorknob, slick with sweat and dried blood, but he forces it open, stepping inside and shutting it behind him with more force than necessary. The click of the lock sliding into place echoes in the quiet.

And finally, after an excruciating double shift, a villain with a stupid muscle power quirk and his mother, he’s alone.

Katsuki exhales sharply, leaning against the sink, gripping the cold marble so tight his knuckles go white. His reflection stares back at him from the mirror, slightly swollen, bruised. His lip is split, dried blood crusting over it, and there’s a deep gash above his brow that still oozes sluggishly down the side of his face. The bruise at his cheekbone shines through it all like a movie star on a red carpet premiere.

He looks like shit. He knows that much.

He scoffs bitterly at himself before turning the faucet on, letting the water run warm. He peels his hero costume -whatever’s left of it- off piece by piece, each movement stiff, his muscles protesting as the adrenaline wears off completely. The fabric clings to his skin where the blood has dried, and he hisses when he finally manages to strip the last of it away, standing bare in the dim light of the bathroom.

His body is littered with bruises, deep and ugly, blooming across his chest, ribs, and arms. He traces his fingers over a few of them while looking at himself in the mirror before shaking his head and stepping into the shower.

The moment the hot water hits his skin, a groan rips from his throat. His body slackens, his forehead pressing against the cool tile as steam fills the space around him. The heat soothes some of the ache, washing away the blood and grime, but it does nothing for the real problem.

Nothing washes you away.

A year ago you said you two should stop fucking around. He said yes. No more casual sex, no more getting in between your legs almost every Friday night when you’d arrive at the train station. No more one on one time at night at all, in his car.

A year ago, he said he’d be a good friend. You did too. But you ghosting him for two months and then replying to him three days after his initial text with the desire to see him, deems him unable to keep his word.

He hates it. Hates how even now, even here, when he should be focusing on breathing through the pain of his body, his mind still drags him back to you. To the message on his phone. To the two months of silence that stretch between you like a fucking canyon that was broken tonight with that wrecking ball of a sentence.

It’s stupid. It’s nothing. It’s a simple fucking sentence, but it’s you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, fists clenching at his sides. He wants to hear your voice. He wants to tell you to come back. Offer you a job at his agency too.

He wants to demand to know if you miss him like he misses you—if you ache for him the way he aches for you. He wants to make this shitty fucking joke of entanglement end and make you his officially.

Dammit, he just wants the normality of you.

He can’t let anyone swoosh you away from him.

He sighs.

Tokyo is three hours away, but at this time the roads are empty and truthfully, he’d be better if he could see you too.

Exiting the bathroom, he’s already set on a decision for tonight. He throws on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants; the set of gray ones that you got him for his birthday two years ago, jokingly saying it’s an outfit for your eyes only, and rampages through his clothes for another change.

With a backpack that’s too out of sight, he scoffs, running a finger through his damp hair. He's too frantic about this, but he’s going to do it.

Mitsuki crosses her arms, unimpressed, standing right at the doorframe of his room.

“Where are you going now? You’re gonna go sleep at the agency? Get a bed in there won’t you?” She jabs and Katsuki stares at her so intensely, backpack finally in his sight and hand that he feels his look could pierce through her.

The sound of Bakugo’s palm slamming against the edge of the bed as he grabs at his clothes makes her jump.

“Stay the fuck out of it,” he growls.

“You’re gonna wake up your father if you keep yelling like that”

“I'm going to Tokyo” he finally announces, after a moment of silence. He wants to be calm. He wants to be with you.

Mitsuki blinks at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His voice is low, rough, like he’s barely keeping himself in check.

“But she and Izuku, they—“

“They’re not a fucking they.” His breathing is harsh, eyes blazing with fury. “I wanted her first. Got her first and you don’t get to decide shit for her. Stop with this fucking Izuku bullshit. If you wanna play matchmaker do it for me and her”

Mitsuki studies him for half a second before scoffing. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you actually—”

Katsuki doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, but she sees the way his grip tightens around the backpack’s edge.

Mitsuki exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ.” She shakes her head and smiles “You do like her.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Bakugo’s fingers twitch. His mouth opens, then closes. His heart is pounding, but he refuses to let it show.

“You’re gonna strain yourself like this, you have to rest. Go tomorrow ”

“I don’t wanna rest,” he snaps, voice low and razor-sharp. “Can’t fucking rest, so what do you want?”

Mitsuki glares at him, arms crossed tight. “Don’t you dare start with me, Katsuki. You come home at three in the goddamn morning looking like that— you’re not going to Tokyo in the middle of the fucking night.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

Mitsuki pinches the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply. She looks at him the way she always has when he’s being especially difficult—like she’s two seconds away from wringing his neck and kissing his forehead all in the same breath.

“Katsuki.” Her voice is sharp but edged so sweetly. Right underneath. “You can barely stand.”

“I can stand just fine.”

“You were wobbling like a damn drunkard ten minutes ago.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m going.”

“You’re just gonna show up at her door? At this hour? Looking like that?”

Katsuki’s grip on his backpack tightens. Yeah. That’s exactly what he’s gonna do. That's the plan.

Mitsuki exhales slowly, shaking her head. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“M not,” he admits, “but I don’t care.”

He steps past her, brushing against her shoulder as he heads for the door. Mitsuki doesn’t stop him this time, just lets him go with a sigh that sounds resigned. She’s too tired too.

Katsuki pauses, his hand hovering over the doorknob. His mother’s voice follows him like a shadow.

“Be careful”

He doesn’t respond. Just pulls the door open and steps outside, rushing to his car.

The roads are empty and he’s driving a porche.

Tokyo is three hours away— but he’s gripping the steering wheel like he can cut that time in half. The dashboard clock glares at him, bright in the dark.

3:45 am.

He doesn’t care. He barely even feels the bruises tightening over his ribs as he shifts in his seat, pushing the car faster down the highway.

He should call, let you know, ask you why you’re up so late, ask what you’re doing, ask if you’re even okay with him coming to fucking Tokyo in the middle of the night just because he wants to hold you.

Instead—He sends you a text.

_____

Katsuki <3: Where the fuck are you?

You blink at the screen, heart stuttering in your chest.

It’s four in the morning. You weren’t expecting him to respond—especially not this late, and definitely not like this.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You could play it off, tell him you’re just out with coworkers, that it’s nothing. But there’s something about the way he texted you that makes your stomach twist.

You: Izakaya in Shibuya

Katsuki <3: You drinking?

You hesitate at first. What does it matter if you are? You’re not his girlfriend. Hell, you’re barely even friends at this point—not after two months of silence, not after you stopped responding like a coward. You’ve been nothing but unfair to him and yet, you reply, perhaps out of the newfound boldness of sake. Like this damn exchange of messages means anything.

You: yes

You set your phone to the side, get sucked into any conversation thats going on in the background

But then, before you can reply to whatever question Aiko shoots at you, your phone buzzes again.

Katsuki <3: R u drunk?

The words send a shiver down your spine.

“Hey, everything okay?” Aiko’s voice pulls you back to the present. She’s leaning toward you, brows raised in concern. You force a smile, nodding as you flip your phone facedown after typing the fastest reply in the world.

You: eh idk

You: why?

Not a lie. Not the whole truth, either.

Katsuki <3: just checking

You’re restless now. Your fingers tap against the side of your glass, your pulse thrumming in time with the background music. Bakugo shouldn’t have this effect on you anymore—not after all these years, not after everything.

And yet a lump forms in your throat.

If he wanted to, he would.

Maybe this is just nothing. He’s just bored. Just finished a night shift. Maybe he’s drunk and picking at a wound he doesn’t even realize he left behind.

Part of you wants to ask if he’s doing okay, if work at his own agency has been treating him right lately. But you don’t. You’re lost in your own trance of thoughts.

You want to fucking leave this place. You want to go home. Stare at the screen of your phone, at that two worded response until the sun is up.

“So if you date anyone, you’ll invite us to your wedding?” Aiko asks, giggling over her own glass.

Oh right, the topic of conversation is romance once again.

If you could vomit your heart out on demand, you would.

“My imaginary wedding? Yeah yeah”

You quickly start to think of ways to run away from this place to go home, but none of them do. You just have to rip the bandaid off and do it.

“Promiiiise!”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Alright, I promise, though I have to go, I got a big report to fill out tomorrow and I need to make sure I’m awake enough to handle all of you!”

As you stand up to leave, Aiko leans across the table, her expression suddenly serious. “Don’t fall for any villain on the way home”

“Yeah, please dont, text us when you get home!” Watanabe adds, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “You know we’re always here for you”

You smile, feeling a warmth in your chest at their support, but secretly you wish this was your friend group back home saying all this to you “I will, I promise! Thanks for tonight, you guys. It was… surprisingly fun.”

When you finish gathering your things, Watanabe leans forward, an adorning grin plastered on his face. “Wait a second! I’ll call you a cab it’s almost five am”

Your heart skips a beat, and you freeze for a moment, caught off guard. “Uh, thank you so much,” you say quickly.

“No problem! Get home safe and let us know you’re safe”

You give them one last smile, your heart lighter than when you first arrived. “Alright, alright! I’ll keep you posted!”

As you make your way to the exit, you can still hear their laughter and playful teasing trailing behind you. You can’t help but feel lighter as you step out into the cool Tokyo night, the city alive with its usual energy.

The streetlights cast a warm glow around you, and the chill in the air feels refreshing against your skin. Your thoughts drift back to the teasing, the laughter, and the moments shared. There’s something about it all that ignites a spark of hope within you. Maybe it was time you made a hear out of permanently living in Tokyo.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Taglist: @littlebignoona @cielito--lindo @hopingforgoodblogs @sexylexy12 @bestyouveevermet @dreamingoftomorrow @2elusional @meeeepsworld @psicotropicwanderlust @katsucookies @xxkay15xx @drabby-abby @ryuucollapse @jennatollsthings @ihatethis222

Sorry if I’ve missed anyone. I will be updating it in the morning

[lesbianralzarek]

do you ever think about how karlach was probably a "bad guy" (massive oversimplification of a complex character) before we met her? the people who knew her As A Person seemed to really like her As A Person, but when she was on the clock? she was gortash's bodyguard, and she liked it. shes angry looking back on it, but thats because she was busting heads for gortash, not because she was busting heads. which she was. its naive to assume she was an innocent bystander who knew nothing about any of his shady shit. she wasnt standing by the door holding bouquets of lilies while gortash negotiated rescuing cats from trees. gortash didnt think shed be a good fit for the job of zariel's killing machine because he saw her open a jar of pickles. karlach. did. bad. shit. and she liked it up until the leopard ate her face

do you ever think about how she wasnt able to literally afford her morals before we met her? she grew up poor and no doubt faced tons of hiring discrimination as a tiefling in baldur's gate. remember what she said about how she once thought gortash respected her, and what a huge deal that was? we dont know if she wouldve chosen a different job if she had options, but we do know she didnt have options. when we meet her however? she has options. she just miraculously escaped avernus right after having disobeyed zariel. she had her hands (metaphorically) chained to her battle axe for 10 years, but suddenly she can make meaningful moral choices. spoilers for her origin run, but its implied she knows shes terminal long before dammon says so. she doesnt always know what the right thing is, but she knows shes running out of time, and she knows she wants to dedicate what life she has left to live in the service of being everything she never got to be

do you ever think about how she wants to be remembered as better than she was? because i think about that a lot. i think that, in order to truly appreciate who karlach is by the time she wets her axe on gortash, you cant ignore who she once was. you only see her true strength once you know zariel's living weapon had to fight to be soft

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Before I end up making that post I want to talk about briefly with the release of IS5 again, the concept of each IS havin a fundamental theme of unreality to them. I really like this, because it feels like in a pretty unsubtle way a solid way to ground the structure of a roguelike setting into what is normally a pretty grounded storyline.

IS1, Ceobe's Fungimist (please Hypergryph let it return), is a hallucination caused be Ceobe eating weird forest mushrooms. Nothing that happens in IS1 is real, explicitly. However, IS1 is fundamentally drawing from something, and in Ceobe's case, it seems to be drawing from her memories of traveling abroad Terra looking for the origins of her axe (and food, of course). What are things Ceobe's remembers happening to her, what are hallucinations filing in the gaps, and what are Ceobe catching glimpses of fundamental truths of the world (the Black Procession and the Feranmut skeleton that is Maybe? Lifebone for instance) is left extremely vague. Characters such as the Frozen Monstrosity do seem to genuinely exist, but there was no Frozen Monstrosity in Lungmen. Was Ceobe using something she herself experienced in place of Frostnova, or is Ceobe hallucinating the entire thing regardless? Who knows. Ceobe probably doesn't have the answers for you.

IS2 has explicit themes of madness and deception, and although I do not find him a particularly compelling character or plot device, a playwright who can literally warp reality with his plays. Much of the stage design recycles echoes the stage design from IS1, almost as if the Troupe is welcoming you, the player, onto their stage. You aren't here to discern the truth behind the Troupe, you're here to save one man, and while you are able to peel back the curtains somewhat, you never really do learn what the Troupe is. There are puppets who come to life and whose music damages your souls, there are actors driven so fully into their roles that they end up traveling to Sami to carry out their destined end, there's a Troupe Leader whose defining imagery is puppets and strings, and yet, you're no closer to finding out how this all happened than you are trying to explain why the Knights' Duel node exists.

IS3 asks the question "What if time is like evolution?" and presents its unreality in the form of a sprawling, massive bundle of alternative timelines to your own. It feels almost impossible to line up most of the events and memory mappings and endings on top of each other, and even the endings seemingly branch off into several versions of themselves. While, for example, the Irene encounter maps onto her own memory mapping story, we never see the timeline involving Lumen's memory mapping in the game at all. There is no Seaborn version of Gladiia in-game for you to fight. This is made seemingly all the more uncanny by the fact that there is actually a canon timeline going on, and the implication through the Bosky event that you are only seeing these alternative timelines because curiosity got the better of you. You came into contact with technology alien and yet familiar, and as a result, your good little timeline where you just save a girl who tries to commit identity death turns into you having to watch from the third person a version of the world where you and Mizuki are potentially the only intelligent life left on Terra for all eternity.

(No seriously, this ending is fucked up, what the fuck.)

IS4, on the other hand, gives us a reality that is unraveling, so fragile and malleable that you can cause things to manifest out of sheer force of will, something there are explicit warnings about not doing. It's a land where the living become the shambling, almost mechanical dead, and the mechanical being living creatures. It's a world where the abyss looks back at you, and finds you to be worth destroying. Gravity isn't right, time isn't right, language isn't right, snow falls black and the dead rise once again to beckon you home. There's nightmares in the shadows, and they're eating away at everything.

Sorry shit I got dark there. IS5 is Nymph's happy little storytime where she explores future and alternative versions of Kazdel through the imagination of her and her compatriots. What if Theresis and Theresa worked together and Nasti completed her designs (and maybe committed a genocide????) and Kazdel was a flying utopia city? What if the Teekaz all walked in a different direction and became the Sankta, or all became the Anasa? You know, sometimes you lose your sense of reality and become dependent on the visions you see from the Revenants, sometimes you need a little bunny to pull you out, and sometimes those Revenants might have actually caused a new reality to exist but haha, don't worry about that.

What if, hahaha, just saying what if, there was a version of Amiya in a world where the Sarkaz barely exist, where she was given the crown by a dying Theresa with no guidance on how to use it ethically? Haha I mean, what if Kal'tsit wasn't around? What if, just theoretically, there was a version of Amiya for whom the most formative person in her life was the decaying mind of a man stuck as an AI program who kept his people alive for 10,000 years? What if, hehehehe you know, what if, there were special endings you got for each of the stories you told where you went onto fight her, showing up closing up those stories, those worlds, to eternally protect them until she can find the answer to all troubles? What if the Sarkaz prophecy from Chapter 7 kept coming up, over and over again, the prophecy of an Amiya who would melt millions of lives into memories over and over again? What if this was an Amiya so immediately dangerous that the Sankta version of Buldrokkas'tee doesn't hesitate in trying to kill her?

I mean that would be a really scary story if it was true. Really it's Nymph's special storytime with the revenants. Don't worry about it.

Anyways I love pretty much each of these takes (IS2 is definitely the weakest though) and it shows a lot of thought from the storywriters about how they wanted to integrate a roguelike mode into their game.

[wheresarizona]

Spring Breaks Loose

summary: It's a beautiful Spring day, and you're spending it with Javier and your two pet calves, Daphne and Velma. To keep your husband on his toes, you ask him some very random questions.

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

rating: T (No y/n, Husband Javier Peña, Soft Javier Peña, mild language, oral sex mention (f + m receiving), domestic fluff, slice of life, pregnancy, waxing poetic about cheese, romantic comedy, Javier referring to you, Daphne, and Velma as ‘his girls’)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: Hello there! To celebrate Learning to Live's third birthday (insane), I wrote something that has art! Thank you to all of those still reading this labor of my love. It means a lot to me that you've stuck with me this long. This story will always have a special place in my heart, and I'm so happy to share it with others. ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you!

Art by the incredible @kenobiwanx! (Thank you, it's perfect!)

(Note: Cielito is a reader-insert character and written without physical attributes, so you can picture her however you want. Cielito is you! I just needed a reference for the artwork, so I chose a model that kind of looked like me. 😊)

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

The warmth of spring is a welcome change from the chill of winter. The shining sun will begin its descent soon, and you’ll watch it from the base of this towering oak tree, beneath its curving branches and green leaves. You sit with your husband while the two calves you call your bovine daughters graze nearby.

His large palm is a comfort, resting on your belly, your hand over his.

“Okay,” you start. With how you’re lying back across Javier’s lap to prop yourself up on his bent knee, it’s easy to gaze at his beautiful, smiling face. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses?”

For the last twenty minutes, you’ve been asking him random questions. If you could be any Skittle, what color would you be? Red. Do you put on your socks left or right foot first? Right. Do you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain? Yes, as long as it’s with you.

“A horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses…” he replies. “Hmmm.” His expression shows he’s really thinking it out, which delights you. “A horse-sized duck could do some real damage. I think I’d choose the duck-sized horses. It’d be a bitch fighting a hundred, but definitely better than a giant fucking duck.”

“Solid answer.”

“What would you choose?”

“Oh, absolutely, the duck-sized horses. You’re right about the horse-sized duck doing damage. That’s a no, thank you from me.”

He chuckles. “You got another question?”

“Ummm.” You take a second to think of one. “Oh! If you had to choose, would you give up cheese or blow jobs for the rest of your life?”

He frowns. “Can I still eat you out?”

You giggle. “Yes. You can give oral, but you can’t receive it.”

“Fuck, this is a hard one.”

You smile. “I know.”

“You give really fucking good head.” That makes you preen. “But, a lot of the shit you cook has cheese in it, and you know how much I love your food.”

The only person whose cooking he loved more than yours was his late mother’s. But, from what you’ve heard, eating her food was a religious experience, so you understand.

“You love it a lot.”

He smiles. “I do. I can’t believe I’m saying this. I’d give up blow jobs.”

“Wow, that’s a little surprising. Also, very sweet that you’d choose my cooking over getting your dick sucked.”

His free hand caresses your face, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheek. “I can live without blow jobs, but I can’t live without your food—”

“Awe.”

“—or eating your pussy.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle. “You’re ridiculous.”

He chuckles and quickly pecks your lips. “What about you?” He asks when he pulls back. “Cheese or my mouth?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“It’s hard to choose, right?”

“Yeah, it is. ‘Cause you are fucking amazing at eating pussy. Like, you deserve the highest honor for being the ‘World’s Greatest Cunnilinguist.’” That makes him laugh, his smile so big his dimple appears. “It’s true. I’m not even joking. Then we have cheese—glorious, delicious cheese. A gift to humankind. The eighth wonder of the culinary world.”

He’s amused. “I think I know, but which would you give up?”

“My god. I’m sorry, babe, but I think it has to be oral. I can’t imagine living without cheese. It’s cheese, for goodness’ sake!”

“I’m not surprised by your choice. You fucking love cheese.”

“Um, who doesn’t love cheese? Like, cheese is so good that many lactose-intolerant people are willing to suffer for the tasty goodness, and I don’t blame them. Also, you love cheese. Don’t deny it!”

He’s looking at you with soft eyes and a soft smile, the fondness clear on his handsome face. “I do love cheese.”

“Thank you. Now, it’s your turn to ask a question—look, the girls are curious about what their dad is gonna ask.”

The calves approach you both and lie down—the red one, Daphne, choosing a spot in the grass beside you to rest her head in your lap while her sister, Velma, gets comfortable on the ground by Javi’s feet.

It makes you smile, your hand moving to stroke your fingers over the red calf’s head.

“Can’t let my girls down,” he replies. “Let me think.” His eyes move away from yours for only a moment as he thinks about it. He meets your gaze again. “If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?”

“A classic. I’m assuming no wishing for more wishes?” you ask.

“Correct.”

“Okay. Universal healthcare, perfect tits, and for our family to be happy and healthy.”

He huffs in amusement. “You already have perfect tits.”

“Right now, they’re pretty great, but I’m thinking post-however many babies we’re gonna have, and, you know, aging.”

“They’ll still be perfect.”

You smile, playfully swatting at his chest. “Stop it, or I’ll beg you to get me pregnant.”

His lips turn up, his expression matching yours. “You’re already pregnant.” For emphasis, he rubs his palm over your dress-covered tummy where you aren’t even showing yet.

“Fine, double pregnant, which—“ You frown. “—when I actually think about that, it sounds awful for a first pregnancy. I have bad enough heartburn with one baby growing inside me, and don’t get me started on the morning sickness. Why do they even call it that? It’s misleading. This shit is all day. How worse would all of this be with two buns in my Easy-Bake oven?”

He leans forward to kiss your forehead. “Thankfully, this time around, you don’t have to find out.” He sits back to look into your eyes, his eyebrows creasing in concern. “Are you nauseous right now? Do we need to head back to Pop’s?”

Instead of coming out here on horseback, Javi brought you in his truck with the girls in a trailer behind it. He drove slowly, so the bumps weren’t too bad.

Your free hand went over his on your stomach again, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “No, I’m okay. It’s not too bad right now.”

“If it gets worse, tell me, and we can go.”

“I will. Thank you, babe. So, what are your three wishes?”

“A chance to talk to my mom again.” That didn’t surprise you. She passed away eight years ago, and he missed her dearly. “I’d love to tell her how happy I am, and all about you and her first nieto (grandchild) on the way.” He rubs small circles on your belly.

“She’d be so excited about her nieto (grandchild).” It is still too early to know the baby’s gender. “Not only that, I think she’d be more excited than Pop, and that’s saying something since he literally shows the sonogram to every single person he talks to.”

It’s true. He keeps it in his wallet, and any time he goes into town, he shows it to whoever he sees.

An amused huff leaves him. “You’re right. She’d be way worse than Pop.”

“We’d love it, though.”

“Yes, we would.”

“What‘s your second wish?”

“To have a baby with you,” he answers immediately.

You smile. “How does it feel to know that wish is going to come true?”

His face visibly lights up with a toothy grin that makes you giggle. “Fucking amazing. I am the happiest man on the entire planet, and it’s all thanks to you.” He pecks the tip of your nose.

“I wouldn’t say it’s all me. I mean, you had a part in making the baby. It was a small one that only lasted like, ten seconds, but it was still pretty important.”

“Sure, but I believe you once said that I only contribute a pleasurable 1% to our group project that you are doing 99% of the work on. By those numbers, I think you deserve all of the credit. So, it is all thanks to you, mi amor (my love).”

“If you insist.”

“I do. I honestly can’t believe how fucking lucky I am. I’m married, we have a kid on the way, we’re gonna have a house, and a dog. Christ, two years ago? I never would’ve imagined this was what my future looked like. Someone could’ve told me, and I wouldn’t have believed them.”

“You’ve come a long way, and I’m just glad you’re finally getting to live a happy life.”

“I am, too.” It’s hardly any effort for him to lean forward, closing the distance to press his plush lips to yours in a tender kiss—warmth spreads through your veins, and your eyes close, relishing this sweet moment. When he breaks away, he gently nudges your nose with his, and your eyelids flutter open, the expression on his face showing his love and happiness.

“You’re adorable,” you tell him. “What’s your third wish?”

He’s smiling. “For our family to be happy and healthy.”

You share his look. “You, sir, are a sap.”

“You said it first.”

“I did.”

“What’s the next question?”

“Why do I have to come up with all of them?”

“Because you’re better at it than I am.”

“That is so true. Give me a second.”

“Okay.”

You sit there against his leg, one hand over his, the other petting Daphne as you think.

“This next one might be a bit controversial,” you say.

“Okay?”

“Is a hot dog in a bun a sandwich?”

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

[la-gotica-fantasma]

Nineteen writing tips I've picked up / been told -

~ ( Disclaimer : I am not telling you what to do or what you can and cannot do. Writing is personal, stylized, and a vessel for self-expression. Your writing is YOURS suga, and however you do it is beautiful. This post is just some advice I've found insightful, and maybe you could too. ᓚᘏᗢ ) ~

★ If you cannot tell if your story is connecting - read it out loud

★ If you have a really good idea, and you are practically itching to write it right now - then do !! Jot down that amazing idea and then connect all those frayed wires.

★ If you want the reader to be attached to a character - let that character be imperfect. Let them be selfish, overzealous, clumsy, or naive. / Let their good traits have bad days.

( examples include, but are not limited to; )

Savior-complex: Pushing too hard to help someone and hurting them more.

Patience: Being left high and dry.

High tolerance: Other characters overestimating their ability to tolerate anything.

Selfless: 'Character X' putting themselves after others to the point that 'Character Y ' has to forget about themselves to be able to keep 'Character X' afloat.

Bonding: Building an unhealthy reliance with one another.

★ If you want a character to be [emotionally] complex - let their emotions conflict. / Let morals be mixed into their dilemma (if they have one). / Try not to let the plot overshadow the characters inner conflict.

★ If you have a work in progress that you want to finish, but can't find motivation to - that's okay !! You're allowed to wait, and you're allowed to come back later with a bajillion ideas !!!

★ If you have plot holes - don't overwork yourself trying to getting rid of them !!! There are plot holes in stories that are TRUE, it'd be impossible to fix all plot holes.

★ If you are writing first person / thought - give their thought process a voice. How do they think? How do they structure their sentences? What phrases do they often use?

★ If you are writing stuttering, people rarely ever stutter "L-l-like..... T-t-this." - Stuttering is usually the repeating of the same part in a sentence, going back on it, like they're editing their sentence. / Space in between words, breathing, preparing. / Filler words !!! "Oh- I- I just-.. uhmm.. I was- I was just giving.. an example."

★ Don't 'CAPITALIZE' dialogue to show that they are yelling / shouting / screaming - we can convey yelling with how we phrase their speech, exclamation marks, etc.

★ Don't be afraid to make a character have hate for another character - nobody can like everybody. It can add personality and makes the character all the more realistic for the reader

★ Sensory details are always great to have in your work !!! But in action scenes - having less sensory detail is almost always more immersive.

"Why?", Because if a character is in an active sword fight with another character, their focus wouldn't be on the way the moonlight spills through the mesh curtains, or how their hand feels against the handle.

Putting those details before or after is so much more realistic and lets the reader grab and hang on to what you have to say, instead of a zip line with loose handlebars.

★ Don't be afraid to use tropes - it's not cheating in the slightest, you are the one writing it. Nobody else could've used the trope like you would. / You can use tropes to your advantage; readers find security in tropes, let the reader think "I see this often, they'll _____" and then totally 180 them.

★ Kill "Show. Don't tell." - you can do both !! It will be right either way, but always choosing one or the other disengages the reader from certain aspects.

★ Kill "Said is Dead" - you can lack the word "said" just as much as you can overuse it !!!

★ It isn't just about if a character coaxed, agreed, revealed, or proposed the dialogue. - It's also about how they did it. Was it soft? Sand papery? Rich? Confident? Hesitant?

★ Chaos doesn't solve 'everything' - but it solves a boatload.

★ Your story doesn't have to have a happy ending for the main character.

★ If a scene feels random or forced - check if you have motive for the scene

★ If you think of yourself as a bad writer, or you're self-conscious of your writing, remember - that no matter what, you will always be a better writer than Colleen Hoover.

~ ( Reminder : If you live by any of the things I mentioned, this is no hate to you. I am not shunning you, nor the way you write. Your current writing and your future growth is beautiful. But, if you like Colleen Hoover you can block me. ᓚᘏᗢ ) ~

[astralis-ortus]

against the world

✱ boyfriend!bc × fem!reader

— for as long as i love you.

w.count → 2k genre → angst, fluff, a dash of comedy warnings → reader mocked by a character, self deprecating thought a.n → based on this request! took me a while to figure how to write because brain did not want to work together with the pictures i had in mind but we're here! it's a fun one to work on (despite the angst)(i actually love the angst) and i hope it's up to your expectation!<3 ⋆ see masterlist

the bus ride felt like forever.

honestly, you weren’t even sure why you ended up arguing with chan in the first place. hell, you couldn’t even remember what even really irked you about his response. all you remembered was about feeling upset and ended up lashing out at chan to the point where he decided to head back to his studio despite just coming back the hour prior, just so he doesn’t say anything he might regret.

when he still hadn’t returned hours later, however, guilt started to dig its sharp nails into your sore heart.

you knew you had to let him cool his head—you understand that, but you can’t sit still knowing he’d likely lock himself in and drown himself in work. you can’t, especially when you knew for a fact he hadn’t got anything to eat since you two were planning to go on a date had the argument never happened. he hasn’t been on top of his condition as is, and you won’t be able to forgive yourself if this whole absolute ridicule of a situation you caused made him fall sick.

hence, after your nth call went straight to his voicemail, you know there’s only one thing left you could do—go to his studio and apologize.

“thank you,” you offered a smile at the familiar security guard, bowing your head enough as you entered through the trainee and artist entrance of the building. usually, either you or chan would offer him a snack or coffee whenever you got there together, but with all the chaos happening inside your head, all you could remember to grab was the light meal you had hurriedly prepared for chan as an apology.

“bang chan is still in his studio,” the security guard quietly informed with a knowing smile, abruptly stopping you in your track with your eyes wide at him, “most of the staff, trainee, and artist have left for the day, but you could let me know if you need access to the rooftop. the weather is good enough for you to talk there.”

you blinked at his offer, a little stunned at the conclusion he took just by looking at you. is it that obvious…?

“it’s going to be okay; fights are bound to happen between couples,” he continued lightly with a tender smile, as if reading the thoughts passing your mind, “as long as you love and care about each other, there’s nothing you two can’t handle. don’t worry.”

choking up a breath, you hurriedly thanked the security guard and walked past the familiar hallways leading to your boyfriend’s studio. tears were pooling dangerously in your eyes, threatening its way out as you replayed the passing advice in your head. he’s right—as long as you love and care about each, there’s—

“hey! you! stop right there!”

the loud echoing voice snapped you out of your thoughts, again halting your steps before you reached your destination. despite your racing heartbeat at the sudden loudness, you try your best to seek for the other soul around—leading your eyes to land at a female figure at the end of the hallway.

“oh,” you immediately bowed your head as soon as you noticed the identity of the staff rushed towards you—one you recognize as a part of division 2, according to an exchange she had with chan a few months prior during one of your visits. “hello, i just—”

“who are you? how do you get in here?” the sharpness in her voice made you wince; startled and confused. you’re certain she’s aware of your presence before—distinctly remembering how chan awkwardly introduced you as to her own request, understandably wary of an unfamiliar face lurking around a private section of the company.

“right,” you shook your head, ridding your mind off of the uneasiness you picked up, “sorry, you probably don’t remember. i’m chan’s girlfriend. we met a couple months ago? i remember chan introdu—”

“girlfriend?” she scoffed, not even letting you finish your sentence. the way she shut you off left a sharp sting in your heart, but even that wouldn’t compare to the way her icy gaze pierced right through you—pricking and prodding every inch of your appearance, finalized with a condescending snicker.

“another crazy fan, huh?”

you felt your heart sink at the accusation. dating chan, you knew it would come with the bad alongside the good. you understood that, and you knew better than anyone to focus on the flowers and butterflies chan made your everyday look like while paying zero attention to the odd snarky remarks here and there. though it sure has been quite some time since the last time someone accused you of being delusional, but to be completely honest with yourself, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

fingers tighten around the strap of chan’s meal bag on your hand, you try hard not to let yourself crumble as you attempted to defend yourself, “no, i’m not—”

“besides,” cutting you short, she took a step closer and shoved her fingers on your shoulder, “you need to wake up. why would chan even date someone like you?”

you know you’re not perfect. you know that despite the amount of love you have for chan, there’s no promise of a perfect future between the two of you. you know that there’s a possibility of a life where you have to live without chan, and the blame will most likely be on you—because you’re not pretty enough. you’re not talented enough. you’re not someone of a similar background. you’re not even anywhere close to being on chan’s level, and it’s all because you’re you.

“seriously, get a grip,” she hissed, digging her fingers onto the bone of your shoulder while you desperately bit your lip, trying to contain the tears threatening to fall. “you’re just some lowly, delusional fan. don’t even—”

“don’t even what, noona?”

both you and the staff immediately snapped your eyes towards the figure behind her; heavy, firm steps towards you with his jaw tense and a silent rage burning in his eyes. she immediately scrambled away from you, hiding her hands—ones nearly pushing you to an endless canyon of despair.

you’ve never seen chan that angry.

“i-i just—”

“she’s my girlfriend,” chan emphasized through gritted teeth, taking your freezing hand in his trembling one, “and you do not talk to my woman like that.”

“i was just looking out for you!” she attempted to defend herself, fear present in her eyes as she attempted to look straight into chan’s eyes. “you know how crazy these sasaengs have been these days! i just—”

“stop!”

your body involuntarily jumped at the sudden raise in his voice, eyes wide as you looked at him in surprise. his face was red—but even from your point of view, you could see he was hurt.

“no one gave you the right to talk to my people like that,” chan towered against her as he makes himself clear, "especially towards my woman. you don’t—”

“channie,”

your voice was soft, but it was enough to quiet down the anger burning inside chan. yes—his priority is to keep you safe.

shifting his attention entirely towards you, chan felt his heart drop—your eyes were red, trails of tears apparent down your cheeks. your fingers were ice cold against his burning skin, and the way he felt your body tremble broke his heart.

“baby,” chan cracked a weak smile, trying to ease the tension on you as he ran his palms against your arm, “are you okay? need me to carry you?”

you quickly shook your head, sniffles escaping past your lips as your nerves slowly calmed down. you’re just so, so tired—and all you need is chan.

“let’s head to my studio, okay?” his voice was soft, arms wrapped around your frail figure as he leads you down the empty hallway, leaving the still stunned staff behind. he’ll deal with that tomorrow; because now, your well-being mattered most to him.

as soon as you got to chan��s studio, he immediately locked the familiar green room and covered you up with a blanket—ones he kept especially for you, keeping you warm as he quietly cuddled you on the small couch. your faint sniffles turned into sobs, and as the sense of safety finally settled in your bones, you finally let yourself cry into chan’s arms.

chan simply stayed silent; warmth of his arms surrounds you whilst he lets you pour your feelings out.

he heard almost everything the staff had said to you, and he’s mad at himself for not being able to protect you from those words. he should’ve been there with you, keeping you safe from the unnecessary hate just because you’re his girlfriend. he should’ve stayed with you instead of running away. he should’ve—

“i’m sorry for lashing out on you,” you clutched onto his hoodie, voice coming out weak as you try to regulate your breathing. “i didn’t know why i was so upset. i shouldn’t have done that to you. i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry too, baby,” he pulled you closer into his arms, letting you nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “i shouldn’t have left you home alone, let alone for hours. i just—i could’ve handled it better. i’m sorry.”

a hum escaped your lips along with a soft shake of your head, showing your disapproval to his apology. “no, channie. i understand why you feel like you need to leave to clear your head. just… i’m worried because you didn’t answer my calls, and i know you hadn’t eaten anything today, so—”

“wait,” chan gently pulled away and looked at your flushed face, light trace of his fingers fixing the stray strands off your features, “you called? i didn’t hear my phone ring—or buzz, as a matter of fact. when did you call?”

“last was an hour ago, i think?” you leaned onto chan’s warm touch. “i don’t know. i was hurrying—ah,” eyes suddenly wide, you prodded your finger at the bag chan had set aside on his desk earlier, “i brought you some sandwich to eat. it’s not much, but you need to eat, channie.”

chan was stunned—he felt warm.

he’s used to being left alone to sort his feelings. he’s used to being treated as if his emotions were worth nothing, and he only mattered if he did something for others. chan is used to feeling invisible—but with you, he felt seen. not because of what he’s trying to prove, but because of the simple fact that he’s… him.

clearing his throat, chan immediately flashes a smile at you. “let’s eat first, yeah?” he hummed, voice noticeably lighter as he gently moved you off his lap and grabbed the little bag. “you should eat too. you spent a lot of energy crying.”

“but—”

“no buts,” he playfully glared at you, lips pursed in protest, “you came all the way here for me, it’s only fair i share my food with you.”

“after this,” finally unpacking the sandwich and handing you his other half, “we’ll order something else and some ice cream while i play you some of the songs i was working on. sounds good?”

the way your face lit up was enough of an answer for chan—your excited nods were merely a confirmation.

“alright, alright,” he chuckled, fighting off the urge to pull you back into his arms. instead, chan fished for the phone in his pocket and handed it to you. “your pick, baby.”

“yes! i’m—wait,” pressing on the power button, you blinked upon realizing how the screen remained unchanged despite your attempts. “did you forgot to charge your phone, channie?”

Chan grimaced. You could see how he’s slowly tracing his steps throughout the day—until a split second of realization flashed past his eyes. His lips turned into a little grin; one he always wears when he realizes he did something wrong.

“…did i?”

You’re out of words.

“channie!”

“hahah—i’m sorry!”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[maxinehufflepuffprincess]

Inbetween

Chishiya Shuntaro x Reader x Niragi Suguru

(Hi, so I wanted to say a big thank you to everyone who voted. I wasn't expecting to get even five votes, let alone 215. That is so crazy. I hope this is good enough for you all. The boys are probs out of character.) Summary: You cuddle with Chishiya and Niragi. Taglist. Masterlist. Progress Update. Part 2.

You made your way to your room. You had spent the day with Kuina. Today was a day for you to unwind, catch up with friends, party a little, and forget about the games. You didn't have to play tonight, which you were thankful for. It meant you could shower, change, and crawl into bed. Maybe read a little. However, those plans weren't to go entirely how you wanted.

As you stepped into your room, you walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Whilst waiting for it to heat up I began to walk over to your bed, only to let out a yelp of surprise. "Holy shit." You jumped, placing a hand on your chest. On your bed sat Niragi who just happened to be glaring at Chishiya, who was leaning against the wall, close to the window and of course he was glaring back.

"What are you two doing here?" You asked in confusion. Tonight was neither of their nights. You had a friends with benefits agreement with them both. They alternated on who you spent time with. And tonight was your night to be alone, so the fact that they were both here was baffling. "You know, if you both came here to glare at each other, I'm sure you could do it elsewhere." You added as you grabbed your pajamas off the table. Your eyes darted between the two of them.

"We wanted to spend time with you, sweetheart." Niragi said as he stood up from the bed, walking over to you. He placed one hand on your waist, pulling you close to his body.

"And I want to shower." You replied.

"Oh is that an invitation, baby?" Niragi smirked as he leaned down, his face closer to yours.

You let out a soft scoff and placed a hand on his chest. "Down boy." You spoke teasingly as you gently push him onto the bed. "Now, you boys have two options. Either, you can both piss off and leave me alone. Or you can both pick a side of the bed and snuggle with me. Either way, I want a clear answer when I'm done in the shower." And with that you walked to the bathroom, stepping inside and stripped out of your clothes before getting into the shower.

Once you were finished washing your hair and body, you dried yourself and put on your pajamas. You then pushed through your hair to get any knots out. When you were satisfied, you left the bedroom to see that both Chishiya and Niragi were on the bed. Niragi sat on the right side, his bottom half of his body under the covers. He chose the side closet to the door, the side closet to where he had left his gun. Chishiya sat on the left side, on top of the covers, one leg on the bed, one on the floor. His usual white jacket was folded up neatly on the bedside table. He had chosen the side near the window.

A smile spread across your face as you crawled onto the bed and sat between them. "I'm glad you both decided to stay." You commented as you lifted the duvet and slipped under. "Chishiya, are you gonna get under the covers? Please join us?" Your eyes sparked as you spoke to the male. Chishiya looked at you, contemplating if he really wanted to share a bed with Niragi. "Oh yes, don't you wanna snuggle, Chishiya?" Nirgai mocked.

"I'd rather drown than snuggle with you." "I can make that happen." "Not if I set you on fire first." "You little shit-"

"You're both being ridiculous. Just please, for the rest of the night no arguments, no fights, no jabs, no glaring. Or at least wait until I'm asleep before you murder each other." You watched the two look at each other, and then you. Chishiya got under the covers and then in perfect unison, the two males laid down. Once the two were comfortable, you moved a little closer to the left, your head laying on Chishiya's chest as your right hand laid on your stomach. He wrapped an arm around you and held you close as one of your legs entwined with his. You were basically in a sweetheart's cradle of sorts.

Behind you, Niragi spooned you. His arm wrapped around your middle, his hand holding yours brushing slightly against Chishiya's side. Both men were tense for a moment before relaxing. Your other leg wrapped around Niragi's. Both held you close. Both men protecting you. From what? Each other? The horrors outside your room? Though the two didn't seem to reach as they began to sleep. As they held you close, as their head seems to move closer to one another's, just a little. How Chishiya's hand somehow ended up entwined on your stomach with your hand, and Niragi's.

And there the three of you slept. Peacefully, safely, warmly, comfortable. With you in the arms of those who meant the most to you. The men who made you feel whole.

Taglist:

@thecheshireprincess @mocchii-writes