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satorusugurugurl · 22 days

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The Leisure Streamer is a Hottie! (Chapter Five)

Summary: Rumor had it the top donor of the-strongest-streamers chats get to see him naked! Now that you're the top donor, will you get to see the goods, or was it just a rumor? Time will tell.

Pairing: Streamer!Gojo x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: language, suggestiveness, social media drama, hate comments, cyber bullying,

A/N: One more part remaining of this series!! Thanks for you patience I really appreciate you all!! 💚💚💚

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

“Yo, wait—” Gojo flushed, shifting in his gaming chair. “This man is—oh! Ooh!” his computer screen was reflected in the lenses of his dark blue glasses as comments came flooding in from his chat. “Why is he lifting me!? Where is he taking me?” several comments came flooding in, talking about how Sylus was Gojo‘s kryptonite to others, begging for him to read his lines, including the little sounds he made. All of which he ignored his eyes, focusing on his phone that was propped up on his desk. A message from you flashed across the screen.

Sweetheart💚: I can’t believe you’re two-timing whore! 😩

He swirled side-side in his chair as he picked his phone up, smiling like an idiot. Everything else didn’t seem to matter as he ignored his stream for a second to send you a quick reply, which didn’t go unnoticed by his fans asking what he was doing.

Gojo: How could you? If anyone’s a two-timer, it’s you. And what’s his face—Rafayel? I distinctly remember you telling me to play this.

Sweetheart💚: don’t bring my fictional husband into this! 😤You’re the one fawning over Sylus on the livestream over the “shower scene”

Gojo: jealous? 😏

Sweetheart💚: Me jealous? No never.

Gojo: if you want to shower with me that bad, all you have to do is ask, sweetie! 😮‍💨

Sweetheart💚: I want to shower with you and be at the shop in 10 minutes! 😚

His heart swelled, and his cheeks hurt from how wide he was smiling. It had been close to a month since you both had met each other. A month that had been filled with laughter, dates, and joy. Gojo couldn’t remember the last time he had been this happy!

The only real hiccup the two of you had experienced was the leaked photo of you at the Love Hotel. That has been stressful and nerve-racking, but things to his mad, amazing PR manager. This situation had been diffused before it could spread like wildfire. Gojo made a statement to his fans, asking them to respect his personal life, which was respected. The prodding questions had stopped, but of course, he still had the occasional question that brought up the mystery girl from the hotel. Whenever something like that was asked, he had his statement memorized, which he would recite to not come off as an asshole. A majority of the time, his fans were sweet and understanding.

Gojo honestly had some of the best fans in the world. But you were the best thing that he’d ever had happen to him when it came to his fans. The more he got to know you, the more he became your biggest fan. You being his top donor a month ago changed his life for the better, and now that he was thinking about that, he needed to get the money back to you somehow subtly.

“Bro is staring at his phone like a teenage girl!” a robotic voice sounded in his headphones as someone donated to have their comment read out loud.

The chat was going wild now, asking what he was doing or who he was talking to. Was he smiling like a teenage girl? He didn’t even finish processing through his brain as a meme popped up in the chat on his. Damn, his followers move fast, as several means seem to follow suit.

The text on them varied from "the strongest streamer when Sylus talks!" to "me when Gojo streams," all the way to "me when the pizza rolls are done." Anything that could be added to the goofy someone took of him was added, which was both impressive and slightly embarrassing. From now on, he should refrain from texting you when he is streaming, or he will continue to be turned into a meme.

“Oh, you guys are hilarious,” his voice was thick with sarcasm as he turned his attention back to the screen. “A real bunch of comedians. I have here in the chat.” several laughing face emojis flooded the log, thankfully, making those god-awful memes fade from his view. “All jokes aside, I’m going to play for a little bit longer before I sign off. But I’ll be streaming again tonight. We’ll be perfecting my island on Animal Crossing!” but he could care less about his island. He was much more looking forward to watching you sketch while he played.

Well, Gojo continued streaming. The door to The Rainbow Dragon Café chimed as you walked in. “Hey!” Geto grinned, waving at you from the counter he was leaning over. “Satoru, it’s still streaming.”

“Oh, I know that’s fine, though I wanted to talk to you anyway.” You sat on one of the barstools, pulling your iPad out. “I finished some rough sketches for your logo. I need you to let me know what you think. You could tell me or if you want me to change anything.”

“Oh, cool, I’m eager to see what you designed.”

For the first time in a long time, your hand started shaking as your boss took the iPad, turning it around to look at your very rough sketches. Your nerves were shot to shit, and you weren’t all that happy with the sketches you had produced, which was not normal for you. Every other client you have had in the past always left you bouncing with excitement, eager to see the reaction to the hard work and dedication you had put in. But this lack of confidence was some strange new emotion you hadn’t felt in years.

This all started because some of your boyfriend's followers found your art account.

Satoru wasn’t kidding when he told you some of the fanbase was toxic. They sent you nasty messages telling you that Gojo deserves better. They criticized your artwork over your choice of colors, line art, and handwriting. Anything they saw on your account, they ripped it apart, shredding your confidence into ragged pieces.

The comments didn’t bother you at first. They were so minuscule, and you figured if you gave it a few days, they would give up when you didn’t react or feed into their negativity. That didn’t stop the comments; they continued and grew progressively worse daily.

You were confident in your work. But people were constantly telling you how much you sucked, how you lacked the talent; those words stuck to you like glue, and it didn’t matter how many times you blocked the spam; the word still felt like a hot brand in your mind. You hated to admit it, but those words produced an art block for you made out of fear and self-doubt.

“Oh,” Suguru hummed, pulling you out of the void you were trapped in, “wow.”

“T-They’re rough!” You jumped in your hands, reaching for your tablet. “If you don’t like them, I can fix—”

“Whoa, whoa, hey now, I didn’t say that.” Geto probably pulled your iPad out of your reach. “Nothing even remotely close to that.”

You swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in your throat. “T-Then what--uhm,” Geto’s dark eyes filled with concern as you cracked your knuckles anxiously. “What do you think?” The feature of his face softened, but the problem remained.

“I was saying, wow, this is amazing.” his gaze finally dropped back down to your iPad, where he stared fondly at the dragon you had designed. The head was focused towards the audience while the body and tail curled into a circle where the name of the logo had been written. Rough colors of white, teal, and green had been scribbled in. You also had drawn some Chibi versions of Rainbow Dragon for the website or other social media. Geto might like to use it in the future.

“These are just sketches; I can see how amazing the final product will look.” Wheels seem to be turning in your boss's head with the different possibilities of how he could market with the fantastic logos you had designed. “There’s a lot we can do with this. We could make mugs and T-shirts. I could commission a new neon sign to be made.” the way he listed different possibilities, some of the fear on your shoulders. “This is awesome. Do you think you could draw some versions of a Rainbow Dragon?”

“Y-Yeah, of course! I can start working on the final logo too after—” Some comments from your account flashed like a warning sign at the forefront of your mind. “Some more adjustments.”

“Adjustments? But these are great. You can finalize this logo right here. I absolutely love it.” Your chin quivered, and as hard as you tried to hide it, Geto saw through your facade. “Hey, " he said, putting your tablet down, reaching across the counter, and gently taking your hand. What’s wrong? You can talk to me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Please, I have two teenage girls. I know ‘nothing’ definitely means something is going on.”

With a sigh, you focused on the rings on Suguru's hand. “I-I’ve been getting some feedback on my art account.” Calling the cruel, hateful words ‘feedback’ was like sugarcoating the whole situation. “So I haven’t been feeling like my work is the best right now.” there was a flash in Suguru’s eyes as you glanced back up at him, which you could only describe as a protective rage. Like a big brother would give to a younger sibling when he found out that they were being bullied. “But I'm okay for the most part. I'm trying to work through it.”

“I’m going to take a while guess and say that it’s Satoru’s wild fan, girls?” your silence told him everything he needed to know. “It is. Those girls are the worst.” He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Have you told him or Nanami what’s going on?”

“No, I haven't.”

“You need to tell him.”

“No, no,” you shook your head, “it's not like there’s much he can do.”

“Satoru would move mountains for you because you’re his girlfriend. He won’t put up with this shit.”

Technically speaking, you were his girlfriend to him and your friends and family, but nobody else knew that. Both of you agreed that since the last fiasco, lying low had been the best thing for you to do. It really didn’t seem like the best time to stir up drama again.

Plus, they were just comments. It wasn’t like anyone was physically trying to harm you. They were just being rude about your artwork, saying things that obviously weren’t true, but they still hurt. But your relationship was meant to be private until Satoru publicly announced that the two of you were dating; people wouldn’t just be mean about your artwork. You could only imagine what people would say about you. You knew if they hated your artwork this much. You were afraid to see what they would say about pictures of you both together.

You needed to grow some thicker skin to continue your relationship with Satoru and God; you wanted it to continue.

You liked him so much. Never once in your life have you been happier in a relationship. Gojo spoiled rotten, treated you like royalty, and you fell harder for him each passing day. You wanted a strong relationship with him, so you should tell him what was happening. It shouldn't even be a question of whether you should or shouldn't. Good communication is the key to a solid and stable relationship. But you were so hesitant to tell him about it.

Maybe it was because you didn’t want him to think you couldn’t handle being in the limelight. But being in the public eye happened when people being in a relationship with someone as famous as Gojo, as popular as he was, meant that their life would be out in the open, even if he tried to keep his personal life separate from streaming. This was just what came with the territory of being a popular streamer. Today, anybody can find out who people are through their secrets. With time, you will be able to ignore the comments. They would be something that didn’t bother you anymore, plus you didn’t want Satoru worrying about you.

You were strong, and you didn’t need him to protect you.

Inhale deeply through your nose and exhale through your mouth before meeting Suguru’s concerned gaze. So much came out of that one Q&A opportunity with Gojo. One thirty-minute question session turned masturbation session, leading you to some of the best moments of your life. You had a boyfriend girls dreamed of having. You made lots of new friends, and life was good! With more passing time, you would slowly get back into the drawing flow. Ultimately, all the good things that had happened outweighed the bad.

“You need to tell him,” Suguru said again, glancing at his phone screen as he scrolled, anger increasing as he stared at it.

“I’ll tell him soon, " you confessed, sighing heavily.

“Tell him what?” warm hands squeezed your shoulders.

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sudden contact, but the second soft lips thrust against your cheek relaxed. “Toru! You scared the shit out of me.” smooth, white-haired tickled your cheek, his chin pressed against your shoulder.”I told Suguru I would show you the rough draft for the new logo I designed.”

“Oh?” Gojo peeked over your shoulder, staring at the screen. “Is that so?” You gave your boss a pleading look, a silent request that he not tell your boyfriend what was going on. He sighed before he tapped on his phone.

“Yeah, she was.” Gojo beamed, pressing another kiss to your cheek. “Do you wanna see?”

“I want to see my girlfriend's amazing work!”

“Here.”

You shut your eyes, humming softly as you leaned into the warmth that radiated off of Satoru’s body. The smell of clean linen and musk relaxed every muscle in your body as you felt your boyfriend shift to take the iPad from Suguru. For a split second, Gojo was confused to see an Instagram account on the screen of Suguru’s phone instead of a sketch, but he didn’t question it once he saw the cute mochi avatar he knew belonged to you.

“Oh, cool!” he clicked on the first post, which was a logo design you had made for a local arcade. The cute Chibi pinball machine was colored in vibrant shades, and your line art made everything stand out. “That’s my girl! Look at the talent! The lime art, the shading!”

Shading? Line art? You just drew a sketch for Suguru. Your eyes went wide as you straightened. You turned to look at your boss, finding his face transfixed on Gojo. He wasn’t looking at your iPad but Suguru’s cellphone. His thumbs moved over the screen, scrolling towards the comment section. Every muscle in his arm tensed as he read what people were saying.

‘This is so sloppy!’

‘Ppl paid 4 this shit? I would ask 4 a refund ☠️’

‘u should get a real job 😂’

“Satoru,” you tried reaching for the phone, only to have Gojo pull away, stepping away from the counter as he read more.

‘eew her did they draw their avatar as a chibi mochi because that’s the-strongest-streamers favorite food? 🤢 desperate much?’

‘Slut’

‘Whore!’

‘Gojo deserves better than your talentless ass 🙃’

The further he scrolled, the nastier the comments became. The muscles in his forearm twitched, and it was the first time you saw an expression on his features that you had never seen before. It was rage.

“How long?” He asked, a voice as cold as a winter storm.

“What?”

“How long has this been going on for?” Satoru gestured his chin towards the phone, which was still in his hand. “How long.”

You wanted to shrink into yourself so you could feel the heat radiating off of him as he fumed with anger. Hesitation held onto your tongue, preventing you from speaking. How would he react if you were to tell him, to be honest, about what was happening? Would he be angry with you for not telling him sooner? Or would he go on his livestream and call his fans out? It was those uncertainties that prevented you from speaking.

The chill of cold metal brushed over the back of your hand as Geto gently squeezed your trembling hand. With a glance in his direction, you felt some of the air you had been holding inside your lungs escape as he nodded, dark bangs swaying with his movements. He was right—he had been right since the start.

You needed to be honest.

“The comments started after our trip to Sendai,” you confessed, chewing on the inside of your cheek to the nearly painful point.

You waited for him to explode and ask what you were thinking. But that never came. Because your boyfriend was brilliant despite his smugness and ego, the second he read those comments, his mind began racing with different options and outcomes if he did certain things. His mind was working at one hundred twenty percent, and finally, he devised the perfect plan.

“We need Nanami.” He stated bluntly, as if he’d been telling you what he had planned as he dialed a number on his phone. It rang once before the other line was answered. “Heya Nanamin! So I need you to do me a huge favor.” muffled voices came out from the other line. “Why do you assume I'm always in trouble?” More muffled voices, sounding slightly annoyed. “Okay—yes, there was the Sendai incident, and the slime on the trai—okay! Shit, don't list them off. That's not even what I’m calling for.” Gojo dropped his arm over you, pulling you flush against his side. “I need you to tell Tokyo Comic-Con I'll be there with a plus-one with me. Uh-huh yeah, thanks a bunch.”

“What was that all about?” You asked, watching as Gojo quickly typed something on his phone. Your phone buzzed, and you glanced at the screen, jaw-dropping. “Toru! Why the hell did you send me eight hundred dollars?!”

“Oh, I'm giving you back the money you donated to my stream the night we started talking.” He sighed, rubbing his neck. “Well, more like—”

“More like what?” You did not like the look on his face as he smirked.

“More like hiring you to redesign my merch and channel.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree

LSIAH Tag List (AGE MUST BE IN BIO):

@witchbybirth @zoeyflower @missmuffinr @kalulakunundrum @matchalatte06 @aussiemeerkat @gojoful @ilovebattison @getoloverr @dottedhalfnotes @sonicsolos @manyno @candy-s72 @smolbeanzzz @ya9amicide @strychnynegirl @jaeminaur

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transmascissues · 10 months

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some thoughts about top surgery recovery, as of 3 days post-op:

when they say using your chest muscles sucks afterward, i never realized exactly how much was going to be be limited. coughing, sneezing, hiccuping, laughing — all of it is terrifying right now. even talking for too long starts to put that kind of stress on my chest, and my voice isn’t as strong as it usually is. it takes me forever to fully empty my bladder when i’m on the toilet because i’m totally relying on gravity to do all the work (and shitting was effectively impossible without a stool softener even though i haven’t taken the pain meds they said i would need them for)…and don’t even get me started on figuring out how to wipe (hint: back to front while sitting, using my dominant hand to push my non-dominant hand far back enough). using the computer is also harder — i was planning on playing lots of baldur’s gate after, but for the first couple days i could only really go for a few minutes before using my arms that way got too tiring. having a mastectomy pillow has been an absolute godsend when i’m using my phone because i can prop my arms up on it and not really have to use any muscles at all to hold them up.

the biggest piece of not being able to use my chest muscles right now, which i’m writing separately because it’s been such a huge thing for me, is that i cannot sit up or back by myself at fucking all. like, if i sit on the couch and lean back a bit to sit against the cushion, it hurts to pull myself back up to fully straight — and if i’m leaning back any more than that, i just can’t do it at all and i’m stuck there unless my boyfriend puts their hands behind me and pushes my dead weight back up. i totally get why some people sleep in a recliner now because i’m completely at the mercy of having someone there to help move me around once i’m at any sort of angle. sitting back is mostly the same as far as what i can do, and arguably hurts worse to attempt at all, but my ability to do it seems to be coming back faster than my ability to sit up. if you’ve never had your mobility limited to that extent before, prepare yourself: the first time you’re stuck somewhere and the person who normally helps you doesn’t answer immediately can be really fucking scary (i learned that the hard way).

the anesthesiologist warned me that i might have a sore throat after surgery from being intubated, but i was not prepared for what “sore throat” ended up meaning for me. you know that feeling of swallowing something that’s too big and you can still feel it in your throat even after it’s down? it’s like that times 20, and further down in my throat. the worst pain i’ve felt in the last three days wasn’t from the surgery itself, it was from trying to swallow pancakes when my throat was at it’s worst. today is the first day it’s even started to fade, and even now, it hurts just to swallow my own spit. i don’t know about you, but that’s not what comes to mind when someone tells me “you might have a sore throat”.

on that note, the incisions themselves have really been the least painful part in general, probably because the nerves there aren’t reconnected yet. the vast majority of my pain and discomfort at this point has been from the drains and bandages — the drain sites getting sore or just randomly starting to sting, waking up feeling suffocated by the ace bandages, etc. it’s not because anything is wrong with them — the drains weren’t placed wrong and the bandages aren’t too tight, they’re just a huge pain in the ass to deal with 24/7. i can’t express how much i’m looking forward to getting the drains out and being able to take binder breaks because it’ll make things so much more comfortable.

my incisions are connected in the middle because my chest tissue was all really close together, and the part where the incisions connect is really the only part where i’ve felt any pain so far. i suspect it’s because the swelling on either side is making that part of the incision push together and press against itself, and then the binder pushes on it even more. it’s not a severe pain at all, but i do sometimes lift the center of the bandage off my chest for a second to give that spot a bit of a break.

i’ve already started getting some of the weird sensations associated with nerves reconnecting, and it definitely is wild. so far, it’s been mostly tingly feelings, sometimes like chills and sometimes more like a limb falling asleep. (weird observation: taking a shit makes my ribs tingle? i’ve got no good explanation for that one.) i’ve gotten a zap on one side and some buzzing feelings too. it’s pretty mild right now, probably because it’s so early on.

i’ve also gotten what i would describe as phantom boob feelings, especially on the first night. specifically, when i close my eyes, sometimes i’ll feel like someone is touching or jiggling the boobs i don’t have anymore. definitely not a super pleasant experience, but i think being out of it from the anesthesia still really helped me not be too upset by the worst of it. i’ve gotten a couple little phantom nipple touches too, but those were just split second blips of sensation that were far less bothersome in comparison.

i never realized that the classic post-op hunch is caused more by the binder than by the body itself, but we had to take all of my bandages off the night after my surgery to send pictures of something to my surgeon, and i was shocked by how much straighter i could sit with everything off. i was definitely still hunched, but it was more like a natural slouch and less like i looked like i was using an invisible walker. with the binder on, it’s super uncomfortable for me to try to stand straight at all because it feels like the ace bandage doesn’t come with my body and just drags everything down, and i’m always holding my mastectomy pillow or my hands to my chest while i walk around to stop it from feeling like gravity is going make the bandage tear my chest open.

every so often, when things are getting especially painful or uncomfortable or just generally difficult, i do start to wonder if i made the right choice. not because i regret getting rid of those things — not by a long shot — but because it’s a fucking hard process to go through. this is probably the hardest thing for me to admit, but the rational part of my mind knows it’s natural to feel that way once in a while. all of this is temporary and the relief from dysphoria will be permanent, but right now? this is my entire world and it doesn’t feel particularly temporary and i do have moments of “why do i have to go through all this when other people get to just have the right body from the start? why couldn’t i just live with what i had? why can’t i just be living my normal life right now?” no matter how sure you are of your choice, no matter how proud you are of being trans, this shit is hard and it’s okay to feel that.

i’m going to put the pictures of my chest one day post-op under the cut, because i think it’s pretty rare to see pictures from that soon after the surgery. they’re not gorey at all — the actual incisions are totally covered by steri strips and everything around them is clean — but still, if you don’t want to see relatively fresh surgery results, don’t look under the cut.

for all the discomfort and pain and limitations and other weirdness of recovery, every time i look at these pictures it reminds me of exactly why i’m doing all of this, and i’m so glad i kept fighting for this for so long. some people might never understand why someone would choose to go through this whole process, but i know it’ll be worth it in the end.

here’s my chest one day post-op! i think it looks super good and my surgeon said it looks like it’s healing perfectly (as much as it can be healing at one day). for reference, my chest was a DDD/F before surgery. i know this isn’t how my chest will look in the end, but i’m already thrilled with how things are turning out! i’ve truly never been more confident in my choice of surgeon — like, come on! look at that! she did so good!

#top surgery adventures #<- gonna start putting all the posts about my top surgery in that tag #top surgery #trans man #transmasc

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slowd1ving · 2 months

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STRESS, STRAIN: THE TALE OF YOUNG MODULUS AND A FORLORN PHYSICS STUDENT ゜゜・BLADE DRABBLE

Dealing with a stalker roommate? No problem, Kafka's got the perfect solution: staying with the unapproachable and cold Blade. Teetering the thin line between sleeping on the streets and facing his rumored wrath, it sure is hard keeping your balance when the engineering student is anything but civil. gender-neutral, physics major reader paired with college au + band au (will come into play in another part I swear) see here for some basic designs for them warnings: some violence? consumption of alcohol, arguments, blade being a dick, college au wc: 6.3k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

✧ Perhaps it’s lucky that your acquaintance Kafka finds you at your most dire of moments, or perhaps it’s your Achilles-level misfortune finally catching up to you. Dorm changes aren’t particularly infrequent, sure—but dealing with a stalkerish, obsessive roommate is definitely story-material for when you’re downing shots. Literature major Kafka isn’t one to turn her magnanimous back on whom she considers a friend, even if said friend is currently wallowing their sorrows away by complaining about the lack of available dorms to make the switch and drowning in hard liquor. ✧ Saviour Kafka, who plays for notorious metal group Stellaron Hunters (she’s a suave electric violinist), finds this a perfect opportunity to help out the cute guitarist from the rival Trailblazers! Her deft fingers are already sending a message to her pinned contact and drummer: Bladie, finally found you a roommate. Respond. It should be okay to put two college students (in bands infamous for their tense rivalry on– and off–campus) together in the proverbial lab rat cage; after all, neither of you are aware of who the other is behind the elaborate masks. It’s not like there’s a deficit of music groups at the Astral Institute—so who will ever know? Don’t ask how she knows the face behind the pretty Venetian mask. She won’t ever tell. ✧ Honestly, she’s not sure how the bad blood started (she helped spread the rumours). All she cares about is doing you a solid!

“You think the streets will accept me for who I am?” Even with your head slumped over your forearms and the smell of cheap vodka clinging to your clothes, Kafka thinks you look naively charming in the dim amber lights of a bar pretending to be upscale. And by naive, she means very naive—for real, how can a physics major be so gullible as to not question their roommate’s deranged tendencies until it’s far too late? It’s hilarious.

She’d dissect how this mood is perfectly, pathetically fallacious to your situation; yet her mind is too honed in on the buzz of her phone as Blade finally replies to her text.

“Kafka,” you bawl into a stack of papers you’d salvaged from your ransacked dorm. “What if the asphalt doesn’t like me when I’m sleeping in the streets?”

21:48 > ok.

Kafka, being an expert at metaphorical and allegorical interpretation, translates Blade-speak easily: let’s discuss this tomorrow, please and thank you.

“Found you a roomie,” she murmurs delightedly, watching with her hawk-keen eyes as you sit up drunkenly.

“That was fast, even for you,” you wipe your eyes cautiously—still wracked with the occasional hiccup. “Who is it?”

“Blade. You know him?”

✧ That sobers you right up. Of course you know him. Nicknamed Blade for how cold and unfriendly he is, you’ve personally seen him in engineering lectures: making people shiver from just his gaze alone, and on one notable occasion, making his project partner cry after his infamously harsh criticism of her proposal. It’s common knowledge that he practises various martial arts, but the rumours that circle around him like vultures whisper of how he uses them on the streets. But whilst you doubt the reliability of the latter talk, it’s hard not to picture his hands dripping sanguine when his eyes glint the same shade. ✧ Honestly, how bad could it be? It’s not like you have any other options unless you want to wake up with your roommate standing over you while you sleep again. After her, you doubt he’ll be any more of a walking nightmare. ✧ Perfect!—Kafka is a bit too enthusiastic at your reluctant nodding, but you cast it from your mind as you pack your stuff with Caelus and Stelle standing behind you like a pair of twin guard dogs. One good thing about this is that you can finally take your guitar with you (rather than storing it safely at Dan Heng’s room) to the apartment—because of course he’s too good for the dorms. Though, after experiencing your batshit roommate, you really can’t blame him for avoiding this area. ✧ Maybe, just maybe, the rumours about him being insane too are false and you can finally have a peaceful night’s rest without fearing for your life.

Yeah right. You hate him. You genuinely hate the man over in the room next door. The passage of time on your phone indicates it’s only been a week since you showed up with five boxes of belongings and a nervous smile on your lips—but the agony you’re going through prolongs this mental period to eternity.

Sisyphus embodies futility for evermore; as do you when you’re knocking on his door for the nth time to beg him to quiet down on his drums. The timings are so meticulous and calculative that you’re sure you could work out a linear sequence to this situation if you tried.

Exhausted from the laboratory job you’re juggling on top of band practice and reading on Dirac notations? No problem—Blade’s busy expressing how you feel in terms of loud crashing and banging that you hate to admit is (very technically) skilled.

Recalling your first encounter—your nervous smile and his cold indifference as you moved into the room next to his—it’s not hard to imagine that he’d be inconsiderate of you. Those red eyes had slid right past you like oil on water: judging you to be not worth his time to even greet properly. In fact, it’s like he’s trying to chase you out so you leave him alone for good.

The deep mahogany door swings inward, and you’re left facing an unimpressed, scowling Blade. With the way he’s clutching those drumsticks, you’d think he was about to skewer you—but you’re a bit too preoccupied with how he’s only sporting a pair of loose navy trousers that cascade languidly from his hips.

“What do you want?” Laconic as ever, he gets straight to the point with his question—as if he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve come knocking. Just like this morning, just like last night, the night before, the night before yesterday’s—every damned night is a problem.

“For you to invest in soundproofing,” you scowl back, too tired to keep up the fragile facade of politeness. At least when you practise with the electric guitar, you can easily hook it up to a pair of headphones and protect the sanctity of silence elsewhere. Actually, you don’t think he even knows your guitar exists with how considerate you are of your asshole roommate.

“Why should I?” he crosses his arms, looking directly down at you. If you looked closely, the slight stretch of his lips resembled a smirk—but you’re definitely mistaken, since the man never so much as smiles. The cold expression accompanying his crude words sums up his thoughts: if you don’t like it, beg Kafka for whatever other solution she has.

His inky hair sways from where it’s tied back, and you resist the urge to yank it until he sees sense.

“For better quality of life,” you grit out.

Those eyes turn into sardonic crescents. “I’m good.”

And the door is shut.

✧ Fortunately, you’ve managed to fall asleep in the middle of the practise room before on countless occasions; tuning the heavy thumping comes easy after a while when you’re exhausted and practically dead on your feet. The problem is during the day—doing your assigned reading and writing up results from practical work comes much harder when you’re constantly accompanied by the rhythmic percussion of a madman who favours metal. It gets so rowdy that you seriously consider whether he’s part of the Stellaron Hunters and knows you’re a Trailblazer—it would make sense, after all, if he was just feeling extra spiteful. However, from the trembling students claiming to be his previous roommates, this is just common treatment: him basically telling them to beat it and never return. ✧ Two can play at that game. Upon complaining to Kafka of his (rage-inducing) musical tendencies, she suggests that you get back at him with your electric guitar. Don’t ask her how she knows, no she’s not trying to instigate and watch the chaos—Kafka attempts to reassure you. You don’t trust the shady writer one bit, but both Data Analysis major Dan Heng and Environmental Studies student March 7th give the plan the go ahead. If you’re not mistaken, you can hear a touch of personal grief in the normally composed Dan Heng’s voice—something so poignantly irritated you wonder what the story between them is. ✧ Contrary to his nonchalant attitude, it’s clear he’s annoyed by the loud chords that buzz through the apartment. As soon as he picks up his drumsticks, you plug the guitar to the amps and thoroughly mess with him. You know enough from Caelus’ repertoire to place each genre of music Blade starts to play (which is limited to metal). No problem—you play various styles that decidedly aren’t metal and are so discordant with his own tempo you can’t help but keep a grin on your lips. He’s much too stubborn to knock on your door, but the irritated twitch of his eyes in the kitchen belies just how aggravating this is. And when you know he’s scrawling down notes for his classes, that’s when you’re practising your metal riffs and playing around with the fretboard. If you’re feeling particularly nice, you’ll play along to some darkwave gothic music—something relatively more calm—but these occasions are few and far between.

Chromatic eyes pierce your back while you deftly chop vegetables for your dinner. Really, now’s the best time to do work: when you’re busy with cooking and not insistent on plaguing him with jarring melodies. For someone so logical when it comes to his meticulous classwork, he sure doesn’t seem it as he leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen—sipping water and just staring at you while you Julienne an onion.

You shoot him a withering glance as you toss the slices into a bowl on the side, and he glares at you with a matched fervour. If it weren’t for the fact that you literally don’t have anywhere else to go—Caelus doesn’t even have a couch for you to sleep on—you’d have moved out a long time ago.

It’s a rustic space: sage green cabinets filled with charming, mismatched plates and cups; glossy white counters that house various herbs and the occasional plant; a lacquered table in the middle that has a vase holding a singular dried flower. An orange lily—still retaining a vibrancy that conceals just how long it’s been there. You wouldn’t have expected this style of decor from him, but at the same time, you doubt it’s his influence so much as Kafka’s.

“Do you have a problem?” you probe icily, turning back to where you’re slicing a carrot into thin matchsticks; if there was a god somewhere, you’d hope it could transfigure the man behind you into the root vegetable you’re enthusiastically chopping.

“No.” And when he speaks again, he’s right behind you. There’s a sink to your left, but he’s much too close as his breath ghosts over the nape of your neck. Affronted, you turn around; only to watch as his eyes widen minutely, glass of water slipping out of his grasp and spilling down your front.

“You dickhead.” Your hands angrily grab at his collar—unheeding or perhaps uncaring of his reputation for violence as you feel the cold seep into your skin. You’re seething; for someone with such good reflexes, this is a new level of low in attempting to chase you out. Or perhaps it’s revenge for finally getting under his skin. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

It’s a little too late when you realise the position you’re in: skin showing through the translucent material, breathing shallow from your infuriation, face glaring right up at his.

“Sorry.” His voice rings out insincere—and there’s that damn faint smile still toying at his face as he looks directly at you with that heavy gaze. “My hand slipped.”

You shove him back, too disgusted to acknowledge him any further. Maybe if you turned back around, you’d see the tiniest pricks of red on his face as you tossed your soaked shirt into the washing machine—leaving you in a damp vest while you continued cooking for yourself. Maybe if you looked back at least once, you’d see the amusement in his eyes as you maul the bok choy on the cutting board.

Those are maybes.

There’s particular things you know for certain. One, you despise him and his existence. Two, he abhors you and your entire being—because why else would he be so insistent in making you leave out of your own volition?

✧ It’s the time of year that you hate: joint engineering classes so you can cover the materials aspect for your physics studies. Well, it’s not like you hated it from the very beginning—you’ve hated it ever since you realised that once again, you’d have to be in the incorrigible presence of Blade. While he did finally install some soundproofing in his room, he’s taken it upon himself to linger wherever you’re present. Typing up your notes on the deep maroon couch with a mug of lavender tea perched on the coffee table? He’s in the window seat, looking over a thick reference manual for tensile strengths. Going to meet bassist Dan Heng so the two of you can play around with various lines for your next song? He’s at the convenience store you briefly stop at, gazing at you before he glares at your friend. Practising a slow solo in the living room (it’s really got the best ambience)? He’s tapping out a beat that you can very faintly now hear—one that surprisingly goes with the electrifying chords. ✧ Point is, you’re ignoring him and his presence—while he’s inching ever closer. It comes to a head at the lecture hall; you decide to sit in the third row, since it’s both far from the back (where he usually frequents) and it doesn’t make you look like a beg. When you glance at his predestined seat, it’s empty—unsurprisingly as he’s there usually a minute before the professor—while the seat next to him is taken by a girl you’ve seen before. Despite his horrible personality and the (probably true) rumours surrounding him, there’s a few stragglers who genuinely want him. And you genuinely want those people to seek help because it’s clear something went wrong in their lives for them to be thirsting over a man who looks like he eats cigarettes for breakfast. ✧ He comes in late, as you expect, but you freeze as he places his bag down next to you. Aghast, you can’t help but stare; yet for once he’s not meeting your eyes, and it’s far too late to make a scene and move elsewhere—not when the professor’s just arrived and is keen to start the lecture for materials. He doesn’t talk much, but you’re so distracted by his presence pressing slightly into your sides that you forget that today the professor’s deciding on the pairs for your projects—mouth agape, you stare in shock as she assigns them based on who’s sitting nearby. To be generous, she says, yet there’s nothing generous about this arrangement as his mocking eyes meet yours. He knew, you seethe, storming out of the hall right as the class wraps up.

“I hate him.” Your molars grind bone-against-bone as you harshly press angry chords into the fretboard. “I hate him so so so so much.”

“Who are you talking about?” March 7th—in charge of the synthesiser—glances first at the bassist to your side, then back at you. Her eyes are wide in sympathy, yet it’s useless in the face of your despair.

“Blade.” Poetically, the word is accompanied by the deep twang of Smoke on the Water as your fingers move mindlessly on your precious baby. What, your roommate?—she queries. No, a pet fish—Caelus responds, but you tune them both out.

“He knew the professor would assign groups like that,” you groan. “That’s why he sat next to me.”

“He’s definitely trying to get you to leave his apartment out of your own will,” Dan Heng’s smooth cadence is somewhat soothing—and his conjecture is one you’ve come to yourself—but the accompanying baseline he’s playing to the song makes his theory sound comical. “But he won’t screw up his own project like that.”

You sigh, and the melody falls apart as you bring it to a grinding halt.

“Believe me, I know just how much he values his projects.” Your head throbs upon thinking about that poor girl sobbing, and the bassist coughs to stifle a laugh.

“What did he say that one time? ‘Your vapid idea would be better used on death row than as a functioning building’,” Stelle—the vocalist and also the only Psychology major you know who doesn’t unnervingly stare at you—imitates the deep reverberations of his voice, and you’re astonished at how it’s recalled verbatim (down to the exact adjective).

“I’m surprised it got round that far,” you suppress a smile—after all, it’ll be your head on the chopping block next. “You should’ve gone into theatre like Caelus did.”

What a waste of talent, you shake your head mock-ruefully, which quickly turns to true woe as you realise just the predicament you’re in.

✧ It’s not a complicated assignment. Well, it shouldn’t be: designing a sound structure based on the whims of the architectural class (whom you loathe); except that Blade is notorious for being a severe critic for civil engineering partnerships—like seriously, out of all hills to die on and it’s civil engineering. You begrudgingly create a new contact for him in your phone; a digital space just for him, which almost makes you throw up at the thought.

(+2 unread messages) <Dickhead> (new contact) 10:11 > library. 10:11 > east block, 20 minutes.

You stare incredulously at the chat, which is neither phrased as a question nor a request but an encrypted demand. The fuck? Infuriated, you take the break between your reps now rather than later, swilling down water while you irritably type out a reply.

No can do. < 10:15 I’m busy. < 10:16

The reply comes less than a minute later; three dots animating themselves into existence while you wipe the sweat off your face with a towel. This prick. Well, it’s not so much a reply as an acknowledgement of your words—because he doesn’t reply, but rather your phone starts buzzing and you fumble while looking at the expletive lit up brightly on the screen.

You’re sorely, sorely tempted to press the red receiver on the device.

“What do you want?” you scowl, and you hope it translates through your voice that you’re revolted by his mere radio presence.

“Where are you?” He ignores your question; voice vibrating low through your headphones, and you can’t help but shiver, just a little. Even through the thick towel, you can still feel crescents being formed in your palm from your nails—you sincerely wish you were throttling him instead.

“None of your business.”

There’s a budding migraine blossoming to life in your temple as you finally hang up. You think that’s the end of it—after all, it was literally yesterday that the groups were assigned.

But when you shoulder the gym door open—skin still damp and warm from your shower, clean clothes sticking ever so slightly to laved skin—there’s a sleek car parked outside, and you frown when Blade opens the driver’s door.

“I’m going to report you for stalking,” you grit out, pressing your body to the cool glass of the building. “How the fuck did you know where I was?”

“Kafka,” he replies simply, and of course, that crazy woman was the one who viewed your private story and sent it to him. “I’m picking you up.”

“No you’re not.” Seriously, he thinks you’re that easy to convince—

“I’ll shut the fuck up with the drums for these two weeks.”

It’s almost miraculous how quickly you slide into the passenger seat.

✧ You’ve never been in such close proximity to him before (if you don’t count that day in the kitchen). At least, voluntarily. When you close your eyes and lean back against the headrest, you can smell the faint, woody scent of his cologne. It’s different from the putrid tide of Axe the average engineering student drowns themself in—rather, it’s got the deep undertone of oud and something sweeter. You don’t expect it; maybe if he smelled like first impressions, he’d stink of blood and a dumpster fire. ✧ Don’t fall asleep—he remarks, and you can feel his eyes on you briefly. Eyes on the road, prick—you retort, but your own lids are still tightly shut. Therefore, you don’t see how his gaze traces the remaining water droplets from your shower: how his hands linger on his gear stick so he can feel the emanating warmth from your damp thigh. ✧ He freezes. Gross. He doesn’t like anyone, and only tolerates the rest of the Stellaron Hunters since they’ve seen him at his lowest and yet still find ways to bug him. And you. He wasn’t expecting you to last as long as you have. He certainly wasn’t expecting you to irritate him in your own way, and actually manage to aggravate him enough to force him into soundproofing his room. Actually, he still doesn’t know why you did that. He doesn’t know why his heart picked up slightly at the sight of you in that soaked shirt. And in the end, he still doesn’t entirely know why he chose to sit next to you for that lecture instead. It’s to annoy you, he decides. No point in deliberating too much about it. ✧ It’s surprising that the two of you don’t immediately argue over the project; some eco-facility for sports that surprisingly was chosen unanimously by the pair of you. Eyes flitting to each other and back, it was a miracle you both had the same idea somehow. And it’s surprising when despite your lack of experience in civil engineering like this (you usually opt for mechanical on projects like these), you carefully consider the missing parts in his outlines—security cameras, sound systems, and tiny edits to the structure to really amplify the architecture. ✧ He doesn’t mind your presence. That’s what shocks him. As you doze off with your head pressed into the crooks of your elbows, he doesn’t reprimand you like he would with anyone else. Instead, he places the material reference guide down and stops considering cement foundations. Before he gets the chance to poke your forehead, your phone buzzes against the table—lighting up with a name he didn’t think he’d see. ✧ Dan Heng. He knows you’re friends with the guy, but there’s a burning sensation as his eyes watch the pop-up turn into another message, then another. What does he want? In real time, there’s a particular irritation that blossoms with each new notification.

<Dan Heng> 20:19 > Are you still up? 20:19 > My roommate’s going to move in with his girlfriend, so you’ll be able to…

The message is cut off, but Blade isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what the implication suggests, and there’s a certain coolness in his eyes as he stares the message down. Isn’t this what he wanted? Yes, this is precisely the ending he hoped for: you moving out and him getting his space back to himself.

But the issue stems from Dan Heng. He can’t have that. He can’t have you moving in with that man of all people. Anyone else would be fine, he insists to himself.

Dan Heng. Dan Heng. Dan Heng.

There’s a certain hypothesis he’d like to test. With your guard down like this, he snaps a photo of you with the drool leaking onto your sleeve—sending it directly to you. Just like clockwork, your phone lights up once more with a message. It’s not ‘Blade’ that’s texting you.

<Dickhead> 20:20 > [photo.jpeg attached]

He grits his teeth, clutching his textbook until his fingers ache from the strain. No, he won’t give that bastard the satisfaction of taking his roommate like this.

He’ll play nice. When you find someone who works this efficiently with you, while managing to hold their ground under his intimidating gaze, it’s hard not to want them to not scurry away.

Eat shit, Dan Heng.

✧ Somehow, mercifully, you manage to complete the project with that weirdo. It’s strange—he’s surprisingly more cordial than ever. And with his inky hair pulled into a loose bun, glasses perched on his straight nose—it’s hard to imagine he’d ever made that poor girl cry in front of everyone like that, but you’d witnessed it yourself. So with a sigh, you remind yourself that he’s just as much of an asshole as the rumours say. But, staring at him so relaxed like this, these two different Blades are hard to ever merge.

“Something on my face?” He’s still writing with his glasses sliding down his nose. He sounds irritated, as per usual, but the tiny smirk painting his face lets you know that no he’s not irritated, he’s just being an arse just as always.

“Yeah, pen,” you mutter, looking away as he finally glances up at you. When you glance back at the desk where your laptop precariously shows the still-unfinished presentation slides, he’s gazing up at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

It almost puts to rest the image of a dickhead.

“There’s no pen, though,” he purrs, voice low while he rests the manual back on the table. “I’ve been reading all morning.”

Nevermind—he’s as much of an asshole as he regularly is.

“Who knows,” you comment offhandedly, slowly sliding a blue biro your way as soon as he looks back down. There—you attempt to inch forward to draw on his face, but he catches your wrist from across the table between you.

You freeze. Shit, you screwed up. With how relaxed he is, it’s getting easier and easier to forget the rumours of his bruised knuckles that follow him like a shroud. His eyes glance coolly at you, then at the incriminating weapon within your fingers.

“What are you doing?” Maybe he’s the questions first, beat up later kind.

“Getting revenge.” Shameless, you think, but definitely not as shameless as getting told to effectively shut up with the drums yet having the audacity to keep going louder.

His lips part, and your eyes nearly stray to the pink colour of them. Then, he smiles—something so cynical and disturbing you can’t help but shiver and twist your arm out of his hold, all so you can watch him askance.

“I can see why people find you scary,” you shudder, tapping your biro on a square notepad.

“And you don’t?” An innocuous question, but one that almost sounds accusatory.

“Nah,” you make a disgusted noise, like you’re trying to suppress vomit. “You’re just a prick.”

In the end, that same prick ends up rolling his sleeves upon your request so you can litter blue ink upon his forearms. With how pale he is, it resembles delicate ceramics painted with cerulean landscapes. And while you do include etched illustrations and swirling designs, you make sure to include several phalluses dotted around—just so he lives up to his contact name.

“Wow,” he remarks sardonically. “Maybe you should quit physics and join the liberal arts programme.”

You ignore him, taking a few shots of your handiwork and sending them to Kafka, captioned I feel like this truly reflects his personality and making sure all the tiny dicks are in full focus.

“Maybe I should,” you shrug. “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you, at least.”

“Likewise,” he responds, but it’s not as satisfying to think about you quitting as he thought it would be.

It’s stupid. He finds that he doesn’t want the ink to wash from his arms, not so soon.

When you log into your account to touch-up the presentation, you spot the comment he left back in the library on the presentation slides—timestamped to the exact twenty past five.

17:20 > Maybe if you stopped staring at me, we’d be done sooner.

It’s the longest sentence he’s ever typed out to you—but that’s exactly what makes it so galling.

go fuck yourself < 22:31

22:31 > ooh you want me so bad aha

You pause, staring incredulously at the text, then to where the bathroom’s situated. The water’s definitely running.

… < 22:32 damn this idiot’s really getting scammed and hacked < 22:33 crazy < 22:33 [feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:33

22:33 > on the daily lmao 22:34 > same two old man passwords for everything

Types like one too < 22:34

22:35 > right?? 22:36 > we should be friends btw 22:36 > [Blade.] sent contact silver-W

Dang he really put a period after than name too < 22:37

22:37 > top ten edgelords 22:37 > [Blade.] sent laughing emoji

[feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:37

It’s not until the morning when he’s looking over the (surprisingly well-done) slides that he finally notices the string of (highly unprofessional) messages that he definitely did not write.

His head throbs and his eye twitches as he reads through them—burning holes through the wall separating him and you. He hopes you receive the subliminal nightmares he’s so graciously sending you.

It’s a fiercely deliberated decision. With a heavy heart, he finally presses [backspace] on the typo next to his nickname.

He only hopes you won’t notice.

(Silver Wolf notices—immediately screenshotting the new handle [Blade] and sending it to you.)

✧ Good things come in threes. Getting through this project, not getting beat up by that nerd, and getting through the presentation smoothly. By that, you mean you do most of the speaking while Blade clicks through the slides. However, contrary to all expectations, his voice comes low and rich—neither stumbling through the knowledge nor forgetting the important parts. It’s so shocking you can’t help but stare at him; something he definitely notices, judging by the self-important smirk he sends you. ✧ Perhaps a little too good. The pair of you leave the lecture hall separately—after all, it’s not like you want to be in his presence any longer, and he doesn’t particularly want to be in yours either. But you do want the sweet energy drink that’s been chilling in the shared fridge for the past few days: as tantalising as the very nectar of the gods. ✧ It’s when you enter an alleyway shortcut that you witness her—your old roommate. Vaguely, you recall she used to have a crush on Blade (a match made in heaven if there ever was one); perhaps that’s why she’s inching towards you with a pipe that is tetanus’ wet dream—so grimy you think you’ll immediately die if you’re struck by it. ✧ All this over him?—you think with disgust as you try back out of the alleyway, only to collide with the towering body of her boyfriend: some guy unfortunate enough to be entrapped by her pretty face and definitely not her personality. She doesn’t want you, and he (aforementioned: Blade) doesn’t want her either. It’s rather tragic, but woefully you can’t spare any pity for them: not when you’re about to get beat and for what? A successful presentation with Blade? ✧ They’re amateurish enough that you manage to evade them for a minute, but the alleyway’s too narrow to slip past them, and you’ve never been in a fight like this. ✧ You’re cornered when he appears: some twisted knight he is.

“You’re late,” you heave, bruises on your knuckles and that man’s face.

“You…” Blade trails off as he sees the blood spatters on your clothes, and his expression twists into one he’s glad you can’t see��not when his broad shoulders face you in an impenetrable wall. The two idiots—Tweedledee and Tweedledum, judging by how disturbingly gullible they are—stiffen immediately upon his timely arrival.

He’ll handle it like he always does.

But it’s certainly strange. Why does he feel so much angrier than he does normally?

✧ It’s late afternoon: dusk barely kissing the rooftops of the city, stars just about peeking from the violet firmament. You didn’t ask questions when he made enough space for you to slip out the alleyway: heart lodged in your throat as you quietly sat down at the local café with blossoming pain in your ribs and fists. Stupid, you were stupid to think that crazed girl would ever leave you alone. ✧ Maybe it’s counterintuitive to feel safe when he steps into the small building. He smells faintly of blood: a terrible, metallic odour spilling onto his clothes and flesh. But beneath that, there’s a lingering scent of that woody oud—you can’t help but sink into it. ✧ They won’t bother you ever again—he murmurs as the door jingles behind both of you. You didn’t kill them, did you?—you mutter back, half-sarcastically. No, but it probably hurt quite a bit for them—he shrugs. “Let’s go home.” ✧ Home. He says that, but there’s still that offer from Dan Heng to move in with him—one you’ll probably accept. Blade may have saved you, but he’s still a dickhead who has made numerous attempts to kick you out.

“Ow, fuck,” you hiss as he dabs antiseptic on the various cuts on your hand. It’s well into the evening now, and you’re currently sitting on the bathroom counter with your injuries on full display.

So infuriating. You glare at the man standing in between your legs—unscathed completely. Worst of all, there’s a smug smile on his lips; whatever worry he might have had over you has completely dissipated.

“You couldn’t let them hit you once?”

“Bitter much?” he returns easily, swabbing another cotton ball with alcohol and pressing it against the large cut on the side of your forearm. It stings, but you grit your teeth and bear it—much too annoyed with him to show any more pain.

In this position, the resentment you feel towards him turns faint; a veil seems to obscure the burning sensation.

“You talk too much,” you seethe. “What happened to the prick who kept his mouth shut and ignored me?”

Tendrils of his jet-hued hair brush your cheek as he inches forward. “If you like, we can go right back to that—playing at my whim included.”

He hasn’t felt like this in years—back when he was still a boy named Yingxing and unmarred by the burdens life would eventually place on his shoulders.

“Let me do it myself,” you argue back.

“Nah.” Silver Wolf will pay for calling him an old man. “You won’t do it properly.”

Another brief kiss from the alcohol against your bloody knuckles, and this time you can’t hide the slight wince on your face. It takes quite a lot of self-restraint to not dent the tweezers—he should’ve done so much worse to the two who tried this, besides beating the shit out of them and getting Kafka to land them behind bars.

“That rod probably had tetanus on it,” he shrugs, rummaging around in his disused first-aid kit for plasters and bandages.

“Yeah, I thought that too,” you shudder. It's this moment of casual, same line thinking that strikes you as being far too strange. He's so close you can feel each puff of air when he exhales: practically scalding the bare skin stretched over collarbones. Too close—and if he keeps talking like this, as if he’s no longer disgusted by your presence, you won’t be able to deal with it.

“What’d you do to her?” he questions, but it’s not the ‘no wonder she attacked you’ tone—rather than that, it’s like he’s trying to prompt you into distraction.

“This is actually your fault,” you scowl, irritably casting your mind back to when she used to talk your ear off about the man standing here.

“How so?” Nonplussed, he starts rolling the bandage across your arm—evidently, he’s experienced with this sort of thing.

Stalker roommate. Stalker roommate has crush on engineering maniac. Stalker roommate sees that your new roommate and engineering maniac are one and the same—you summarise, too tired to give the specifics. He sees the way your lids flutter closed from exhaustion; for once, he’ll use Kafka to get more of the information you omitted.

“Honestly, you two freaks would be perfect for each other,” you murmur absentmindedly. At that, he pulls the bandage tighter against your skin and you draw in a pained inhale.

“You should try stand-up.” His voice is thick with revulsion, and it’s quiet for a few brief moments as he gets started on patching up the scrapes left on your back. You’re sitting on a stool now: unable to see his face but awfully mindful of how his hands brush over the skin layered over your scapula.

“You still haven’t thanked me.”

“Thank you, my aggravating saviour,” you say, much too insincerely. “But that reminds me that I’ve got good news for you. That should suffice as a symbol of my gratitude.”

What is it?

“One of my friends has a room free, so I’ll probably be able to move out soon.”

The worst part is, he knows exactly who this friend is. His hands freeze on the band-aid he’s smoothing on your skin; too absorbed in his murderous thoughts to notice how you stiffen at the prolonged gesture. He’s not jealous; these are merely stirrings of friendship—this ugly, amorphous thing writhing in his gut and condemning him to senseless anger.

“That’s not good news,” he breathes, and it’s a little too quiet as he finishes wrapping the final bandage around your bruised ribs.

For the first time ever, Kafka receives a text from Blade that doesn’t consist of just one word.

<Bladie> 20:33 > I need advice.

Oh, this is interesting.

What are friends for?—she coos, making sure to show Silver Wolf the glaring achievement in Blade’s range of text vocabulary.

He’s clearly been on the rear end of bad news; while for her, on the contrary, this just means her scheme is moving along very nicely.

177 notes · View notes

genderlessdude92 · 5 months

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PRECIOUS

PAIRINGS: Alastor x Reader

SUMMARY: You and Alastor get into a fight because you’re just worried he got hurt after a fight with Vox. He snaps at you and…well, you isolate yourself. whoopsies!

WARNINGS: Emotional abuse, Toxic relationship dynamics (but they both love each other dw), Intense emotional distress, Language, Potential Triggers, Donestic conflict. (MAJOR FLUFF AT THE END THOUGH!!! ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP!!!) They were a couple alive too if you don’t mind idk i suck at writing- USAGE OF Y/N I ALMOST FORGOT AHHH- Lmk if i missed anything :3

NOTICE: please don't copy or steal or translate any of my work or you will be haunted in your dreams and i will spawn something unpleasant at your porch the next day. But...thanks for liking my work !! >.< Property of @l4zyb0n35 and @genderlessdude92

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WORDS: 1.7k

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“Alastor, are you serious?!” You yelled as Alastor started to walk away from you, mid conversation.

Alastor had just gotten into a big fight with Vox, luckily survived, though. The frustrating part is, he won’t even let you heal him. Or know what the battle was even about?!

Which made you really, really paranoid.

“Alastor, don’t walk away from me, that’s rude.” You caught up with him and began to match his pace and he walked to the halls of the hotel to lucifer knows where. “We need to talk about this.” You say firmly. “I’m going to find out one way or another.” You add, raising your voice slightly.

Alastor stopped walking and turned around to face you. He was looking down at you, which always made you feel so small. Even if he wasn’t actually looking at you, you could still feel it.

“Well, then.” His voice was calm, but a hint of annoyance was there. “Aren’t you just invested in my little public hiccup.”He crossed his arms, waiting for your response.

“Yes I am. And I think we should talk about it, instead of you getting defensive.” You looked him dead in the eye and kept talking. “And why you didn’t tell me.” Your voice went quieter again.

Alastor hid a chuckle, “I thought you would care more about me surviving, than knowing how many lives I took today.” He raised his eyebrow, mocking you. “Or maybe, I don’t want to share this kind of information with someone who will judge me for it.” He was now fully annoyed by you.

You stepped closer to him, trying to keep him from leaving again. “Alastor, please stop. I’m just trying to help. I don’t…” You trailed off nervously. “I don’t want us fighting.”

Alastor smirked at you, “Oh, don’t worry love. We aren’t fighting. Yet.” His tone was harsh and he leaned down to look you in the eyes. “But I will if you continue to harass me about this.”

You felt yourself start to panic, but tried your best to hide it. “I’m sorry Alastor, I just…” You couldn’t finish your sentence, as he interrupted you.

“No. Don’t ‘just’ anything. You know I hate that word.” He said with a cold smile. “Now leave me alone before I get upset with you.”

“…You know,” You began, standing in your place as Alastor walked away, “You should at least act like you care about my opinion, maybe act like a husband, as well.” You snapped back, but in a more calm, collected tone. (minus the shakiness in your voice.)

“That’s rich coming from you.” Alastor snapped back, turning around to face you again. “What did I ever do to deserve such a self-righteous wife?” He raised his voice a bit, but not enough for others to hear. “How dare you assume things about me without even asking. How dare you come here and make demands of me. How dare you try to control me.” He continued yelling, walking towards you. “You have no right to tell me what to do! I don’t have to explain myself to you!”

“I’m not trying to control you. I’m just saying, maybe you could at least consider what I have to say sometimes…” You tried to say bravely, but failed at the end. You felt so small. So insignificant.

You felt like nothing.

Alastor was now right in front of you, towering above you. His height and stature were intimidating, but his voice was worse. It was rough and demanding, making you feel like you weren’t worth anything. “You are nothing, nothing compared to me.” He sneered. “I don’t give a damn about what you think. What you say. What you do. You’re just a pathetic little sinner who has no idea what real power feels like. You’re not worthy of my time. You’re not worthy of my attention. You’re not worthy of my love.” He spat out the last word like it tasted sour in his mouth.

His words were cutting through your heart, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

You dashed away to the nearest staircase, needing to get to your office. Your only safe space.

***

It has been about a week now since the fight you and Alastor had.

It had also been a week since you came out of your office.

You didn’t really leave your office because, one, it had a fridge of food and other things. Two, you had a makeshift bed with the couch. And three, why would you even go out there?

Only problem is, you’ve cried everyday, and that made you feel like complete imp-shit.

You really wanted to see Alastor, but you knew it wouldn’t end well.

You also didn’t want to be around anyone else, either.

***

Alastor was a gentleman to all women who deserved so.

An example he would give you is Rosie. He’s a gentleman to her because she’s nice to him and has manners. She deserves it.

But, if he was near Velvette, he would call her cruel names and shred all her ‘designer masterpieces’.

But, now he was confused.

What happened with Y/N?

He had never fought like that with her before no, usually she would be next to him in bed right now.

He was starting to miss her.

…he needed to give her an apology.

But he knew he wasn’t good with words.

So, he brainstormed.

“I could probably give her a heart…” He thought, stepping out of bed and pondering for a moment, “…no, no….maybe…some flowers?…” he looked over to his bayou. “…Allergies.”

He slumped onto his armchair and looked around his room for any ideas at all.

“…maybe some candy? No.” He thought, “She doesn’t eat much sweets.”

He sat there for a while longer, thinking.

Then it hit him.

***

You heard footsteps outside your door, and immediately froze. You looked around your room for any escape route, and found none. You decided to sit back down on your couch, and began to wait for whoever was there to leave.

The footsteps stopped outside your door, and a knock sounded out. “Y/N, open the door.” Alastor’s voice was stern and commanding. “I know you’re in there.” He added.

You opened the door slowly, and peeked out to see who it was.

“Hello, darling.” Alastor said with a warm smile. “Can I come in?”

You just stared at him, saying nothing

‘fuck’, he thought, ‘i caused this.”

“Y/N, I just want to apologize.” He finally said, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I was wrong.”

“…you don’t mean that.” You replied, still not moving.

“I do mean it, darling. Please jsut…let me in.” Alastor said sincerely, taking a step forward.

You hesitated for a moment, then moved aside to let him in. He closed the door behind him and stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, unsure of what to do or say next.

Then, your eyes wandered to the large picture album he was holding to his side.

“Alastor…what’s that?” You asked, taking a step back cautiously.

“…it’s our picture album.” He looked at you, remaining calm. “…from…when we were alive. You know, with all those crappy photos.” He smiled softly.

You looked up at him, “…I’m scared.”

Alastor knew exactly why, as well.

He sighed, “I promise…I will keep myself contained if i ever, ever lash out like that… ever again.” He claimed, tears building up in his eyes.

“What i said back there was not true at all. You are everything to me, you are worth so much, and most of all, I love you.” He dropped the book to the floor and held out his arms to hug you.

You didn’t move, “…I don’t want to be here…” You said, letting a tear fall.

He nodded, “That’s okay, dear, let’s go to our room, okay?” He reassured, picking the book back up and holding you tight to his waist as the shadows consumed you both, talking you to his room.

***

You and Alastor missed this.

Limbs tangled together in bed, holding each other close, breathing in each other’s scents, you wish you had this sooner.

Alastor flipped a page of the album, “Oh look,” He noticed, pointing his claws to the first picture in the album, “It’s our cat, oh, what was his name again?” He asked, looking at you.

You were still crying.

He took a deep breath, “Y/n,” he exhaled, “It’s okay, dear…please don’t think about it.”

You looked at him, “w-what?” you said, wiping your cheek.

He ran a claw through your hair, “Nothing.” He said, smiling softly.

You put your head on his shoulder, “Okay,” you mumbled into his chest, closing your eyes and enjoying his scent.

He stroked your hair, “Do you remember our wedding day?” He asked.

You shook your head, “…no, I don’t…it was too long ago…” you said, sniffling.

He kissed the top of your head, “That’s alright, sweetheart, we have plenty of time to talk about it.” He assured you, pulling you closer to him.

You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. You felt safe in his arms. Safe and loved.

Alastor flipped the pages until he found the wedding pictures, “Oh, here we are. Look, see how my mother walked you through the aisle?” He rubbed the picture with his thumb, rethinking back the memory.

“…yeah…I remember now…” You snuggled closer into him, trying to control your ragged breathing.

“…just breathe daring.” He reminded you, “Look here, you see how much you’ve changed?” He laughed softly, flipping another page, “See here? Here you are at our anniversary dinner, you wore that beautiful dress that made your legs look amazing.” He blushed lightly, “I remember you told me I was the only one allowed to see it.”

You giggled, “…that was a joke, silly.” You said, opening your eyes and smiling up at him.

“Ah, yes, I know.” He smiled back,

“…You’re so precious to me, y’know that?” He said, leaning down and kissing your forehead.

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩

END NOTES: Idk what i was thinking when i made this fic erm…! Idk I’ve been going thru some shit rn but I’ve gotta impress the community because the notes/likes/comments/reblogs on my posts aren’t doing to good rn!! Oh no!!! (that is a sign from my greedy ass) And i just started a multi-chapter fic so like idk why i’m typing this- support is appreciated. BAI!!![![![11!

-Lynn ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩ Masterlist Link

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x wife reader #alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x you

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sun-kissy · 3 months

Text

gasp for air | r.l.

tw: blood, major character death

remus lupin x reader

summary: you’re on an order mission with remus and sirius when you get hurt and things go terribly wrong

You gasp as the curse hits you, stumbling backward as you immediately press your hands to your stomach. It feels as though you’ve been stabbed. The world spins before your eyes, the rows of shops in Hogsmeade snapping in and out of your hazy vision. Your back hits the wall and you look down to see your hands already painted red.

A loud string of curses can be heard from your far right as Sirius worriedly steals a quick glance at you and sees how your knees buckle, how you fall to the ground. You watch him continue to dodge hex after hex, throwing his own spells at the two masked Death Eaters growing closer towards him. You blink, and your surroundings look even blurrier. “Remus!” you hear him scream, his voice cracking with panic. “Remus! Check on Y/N! I’ll hold them off.” You try to tell him that it’s okay; you’re fine, but you don’t seem to have the energy to say a word.

From way in front of you, Remus turns around, and you see all the color drain from his face. You attempt to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace as you press your hands tighter to your bleeding stomach. He abandons his duel and runs toward you at once, his knees making a sickening sliding sound as he drops to the ground in his rush to get to your side. Everything looked like little black dots, like stars right now. Was that supposed to happen?

“Y/N, dove,” he breathes, inching closer to you and wrapping an arm around your waist, gently pulling you nearer to him. You shudder at the pain that simple movement causes to the gash in your stomach. Remus is staring at you now, worry etched all over his face, his breathing fast and ragged. You frown. You really wanted to smoothen the crease between his eyebrows and trace the scars on his face to calm him, like you always did. So you lift your hand to do just that, but your exertion only lets you raise your trembling arm halfway before it drops back onto the ground.

He makes a wrangled sort of noise in his throat, bringing his hand to cup your cheek and keep your face upright. “Hey,” he warbles, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. “Hey, you’re gonna be okay. I got you, alright?”

When your boyfriend said you were gonna be okay, he was usually right. When you know, you know, they say. And right now was the moment you knew. You knew he was wrong. His glossy brown eyes meet your half-lidded ones, and you shake your head. “I don’t think so,” you murmur.

“No,” he says louder, his voice trembling with panic and desperation and oh- pain, so much pain that you wished you could squeeze him into a hug. But you can’t. The wound in your abdomen throbs harder and faster, the pain taking over your senses as you fight to keep your eyes open. “No. Don’t you dare say that. You are not dying today, okay? You are not dying on me,” his voice goes quiet and breaks at the last sentence. Tears start to dribble down his cheeks as he lovingly cradles you in his arms.

You glance up at his tear-streaked face, and you feel your own eyes start to water. An ache gnaws at you and you have no clue whether it’s from the gash on your stomach or your heart breaking into a million pieces. “Remus-“ “No!” he cries again, starting to sob. “No. Just- just stay quiet. Save your energy.”

“Remus,” you say again with all the strength you can muster. The weakness in your voice seems to make him want to listen, and he hiccups with tears but doesn’t interrupt you. “Listen to me. You’re gonna be fine, okay? You’re gonna be fine without me.” He shakes his head vigorously, his body now starting to wrack with sobs. He’s unable to say anything anymore, and so are you. Your eyelids start to feel heavier and your abdomen throbs with pain.

“Love,” you mumble more urgently now, your breathing starting to slow. “I need you to keep…. keep fighting. Can you do that? For me?” Remus looks at you with so much love and anger that the one person whom he loved most was being taken away from him. For a second, you feared he would disagree. But he looks you in the eye and nods slightly, grasping you tighter as though the strength of his hold on you would save you from death. You muster a grateful smile for him, and he softens, crying quietly as he wipes the tears off your cheeks.

Remus bends down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you can feel his lips quiver. “I love you,” he chokes out, his expression pained but full of affection. You feel his soft breath on your forehead as he utters the words. You open your mouth; meaning to say it back. But all that comes out is a gasp for air as the world turns pitch black.

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suhkusa · 3 months

Text

EGOIST 12.

PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader

CW. hurt/comfort-esque, trauma, smut, dry-humping, make-out, dubcon (both have alcohol in system)

A/N. oh thats not

-> MASTERLIST.

“Stay,”

Your voice is wobbly and weak. There’s silent tears flowing down your face. Even so, Atsumu feels nothing but rage. He can’t console you, no.

“please,”

He wants to go, to rip his hand away from yours. To find that asshole and beat him down. Your eyes are pleading with him.

“Y-You can’t even do anything, it’d be bad for you,” for your career. He knows.

Which is why he reluctantly sits back down, but also why the menacing look on his face is yet to fade.

“Fuck,” he stresses, running his hand through the middle of his hair.

He doesn’t even know why he’s so upset. Is it because you’re hurt? Is it because someone got to you before he did? His head hurts with these thoughts. Mostly because he just doesn’t know.

Atsumu watches as you lay back down. Hiccupping as you bury your face back into the pillow.

You make everything so fucking confusing. He’s supposed to hate you. He wants to. Every day he plans on being angry, to ignore you. But as soon as he sees you, it feels like all those walls crumble down, and he ends up being the one who wants to be noticed by you.

It’s gross. He doesn’t want to date you. Doesn’t think so at least. He doesn’t even like you like that. Maybe Atsumu is just protective of you. Perhaps, he feels like he owes you for being so fucked up towards you for so long.

That’s definitely it.

At least that’s what he’ll continue to tell himself.

———

When you wake up, everything from the night prior is a blur. You were at a bar. You talked to someone. Then you were outside. Then you were in. Then you danced. Then Gora.

The only thing you did know was that you absolutely do not remember falling asleep with Atsumu Miya.

When you see the mop of blonde laid beside you, you instantly prop yourself up, a strong pain in your head following right after. You let a noise slip out, and curse you because a groan from the man beside you came right after.

You debate to slip out of bed, but before you’re able to, his voice catches you.

“Are you alright?”

The words catch you off guard, but yet they make you feel somber. You feel your face soften. He’s genuine.

“Um, yeah,” you look around, “why are you in bed with me?”

Atsumu looks confused. “Do you not—” he stops, “You asked me to, do you not remember?”

You shake your head no almost immediately.

His facial expressions look frantic, “Look, I’m sorry,” he moves to get up, “did you want to leave early? We don’t have to go today, we made our presence known enough,”

“No— it’s okay, I-I’m sorry,” you start, “You were just trying to help, right?”

He nods slowly, eyes reassuring you as much as they possibly can.

You sigh, untucking your legs and slipping out of the bed. “I’m gonna get ready,”

———

The two of you fall into this pattern throughout the day. Short responses, the nodding of the head. It’s as casual as casual gets.

And you feel okay with it.

You and your high school bully walking through a volleyball convention and chatting it up with other pretty famous men. Just where you imagined yourself being during high school.

It’s scary how easy it is to get through the day, it almost makes you forget what happened the day before. Luckily, Gora was nowhere to be seen. More like thankfully, though.

Before you know it, you find yourself alone with Atsumu at the bar.

“Are you ready for the playoffs?” he asks, playing with the rim of his cup.

“Mm,” you shrug, “I’m nervous but probably not as nervous as the rest of you,”

Atsumu nods, “Yeah, s’not the first rodeo for the majority of us, though,”

You laugh before noticing his face becoming more sad looking. You’re about to ask when he starts,

“So,” there’s a hesitant pause, “are you going to tell the coach what happened? Or- anyone?”

It takes you aback a bit, a lot, because not even you know. You remember vaguely what happened, but at the same time it feels like you can’t recall it precisely. Another thing is, who would believe you?

You’re almost nobody around here. He’s a D1 volleyball player with a career to live up to, while you’re just more or less a side character that isn’t relevant unless you were to google who the Jackal’s manager was. Which, maybe you wouldn’t even pop up still.

Not sure as to what to say, you give him a meek, “I don’t know,”

Atsumu nods at this, you can tell he wants to push, but instead he gives you a soft tap.

“Are you okay? Like genuinely,” he questions, “We don’t have to talk about it— but I’m here,”

It sucks because if it happened to you while you were alone, it’d be so much easier to cope with. But he was there too. He witnessed part of it, and even heard it from you firsthand in your drunken state.

But maybe you can take advantage of his kindness. Either way he already knows, holding back won’t change anything.

“Yeah, I’m whatever,” you mumble, “It’s partly my fault, I should’ve just listened to you,”

“It was not your fault. He’s just an asshole and if we happen to cross paths he’ll get what’s coming,” he’s angry as he says that.

You quickly shake your head, “Please don’t, that’s the last thing I need,”

Atsumu sighs before taking another sip from his cup, defeated. He takes in the forlorn look on your face, “Well then, do you want another round, or?”

You give it a quick thought before giving Atsumu a light smile, “Sure,”

———

It feels like it’s been a while since the last time you’ve been a “good drunk”. It seems like shit has always gone down every other time you’ve drank. But for once, the buzz is nice and light. It makes you smile uncontrollably as you make your way to the bed, face first into the comforter.

“Y/N, get your shoes off,” Atsumu calls from behind you, grabbing a pillow from the bed and throwing it on the floor to set up his own little bed.

“Nooo,” you moan, flipping yourself over to stare at the ceiling.

Atsumu rolls his eyes before loosening the strap of your shoes so they easily roll off. “And your jacket, it’s hot,”

“Heelp,” you plead.

“Just do it,” he mutters, grabbing the spare blanket and adding it to his makeshift cushion on the ground.

You moan and groan, rolling around in bed to try and maneuver your jacket off. But to no avail. You feel sweaty until two big hands help work your arms out of the sleeves. His face is way closer than you remember, he was feet away from you but now you feel his breath waft down your chin.

Your mind is trying to tell you to go, to stop. Deep down you know you shouldn’t be doing what you feel your body is about to do. Your eyes meet with his, and everything feels like slow motion. Way too slow.

This is Atsumu Miya. Your head is pleading and begging with you. But you can’t help it. His eyes meet yours, then trickle down to your lips, then back up to you again.

Then his lips meet yours before you even know what’s going on. You’re not sure if you initiated or if he did. All you can tell is that the kiss is hot and warm. It’s not like him at all. It feels like kissing him makes you forget about all of the past.

Atsumu slides his hand to your waist, his thumb soothing the skin in the area. Your hand has a mind of its own as it reaches to the back of his head, grabbing a tuft of it and pulling him impossibly closer.

He uses the hand on your waist to guide himself to your heat. He’s hard.

“Atsumu-,” you start, breathing hard as you try to catch it.

“We don’t have to,” he cuts you off, eyes genuine as he looks into your own, “this is only if you want to,”

The scary part is that part of you wants to. You’ve already gone this far, and you can feel yourself heating with the want for relief.

All you’re able to muster is a nod to him to continue. And he does.

He guides his clothed length along the wetness of your panties, rubbing himself against it.

A noise nearly slips out of you as the friction rubs against your clit. Your hands grab harshly at him wherever they can, pulling him closer into another kiss. It’s messy and noises slip out of you into him.

All your senses are heightened, on end. Your mind is so befuddled you can’t produce any coherent thoughts, just him.

His pace against you quickens, and you squeal as you cum, soaking your panties and coating the outer layer of his slacks. Atsumu is shortly behind you, releasing all over himself.

“Fuck,” he groans, head limp in defeat.

Your climax causes you to sober up, your eyes fixated on the mess between your legs. You’re scared because you definitely shouldn’t have that.

It’s unprofessional and most importantly, it was with Atsumu.

You can feel the beat of your heart quicken with anxiety. He notices this, using a finger to lift your chin to meet his eyes.

“We can forget about this, alright?” he starts, “what happened in this room will stay here,”

All you manage is a nod.

“Let’s get cleaned up and sleep since we have to be up early. I’ll sleep on the floor again,” is what he leaves you with before lifting himself off you and heading to the bathroom.

As you lie there in the heat of your mistake, all you can think about is what you were going to do now.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #haikyuu series #haikyuu atsumu series #atsumu x reader angst #haikyuu x reader angst #raeworks #atsumu fanfic #tw dubcon

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thisisxli · 3 months

Text

𖣘Apricity𖣘

٭.・゜゜・*

Rs: Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem!reader

Warnings:

major character death,

slight heavy angst,

slight spoilers!

summary: Sanemi doesn't allow himself to get close to you. When he lets his guard down just for a second, things turn out the opposite way he wants them to.

wc: 1.5k

edit: btw Sanemi doesn't get reincarnated, he just has a descendant that's super similar to him :)

If you enjoyed and liked this post, you can go to my page and check out my other works! MASTERLIST /

ABOUT ME

Sanemi literally blatantly ignores you when you become part of the now nine-filled Hashira.

He wasn't biased, no, he was far from it.

He just didn't like how you made his heart pound. He was sick of it. He didn't have time for any lovey-dovey shit. He realizes that too, would only hold him back; one would end up dead and the other heart-brokened. Although he promises himself he would never let his partner be killed, theoretically, he would never forgive himself if he ever got them killed.

He knew he was a goner when he found himself above you, pounding you into the sheets like there was no tomorrow.

He avoided you after that. Of course, he didn't want to hurt your feelings, he knows he did, but he also knew he had to. He couldn't get close. No way. So when you came up to ask him, he said,

"I don't want anything to do with you."

His words were like swords driving through your heart. But, you understood. So you walked away with a shattered heart, his own broken one missing the warmth of yours.

Of course, he couldn't avoid you forever. Far from that. But he couldn't be nice to you either. But you went into a mission with the damn maroon-head teenager he found so aggravating. He was worried cause he knew that kid brought bad luck. Honestly, he swears that kid brings nothing but chaos.

When he found you unconscious, carried by the kakushi, he immediately rushed to your side. He ignored the kakushis' protests when he scooped you in his arms, quickly going to Shinobu for you to recover. He was nervous because your injuries seemed pretty serious. When he had Shinobu nurse your injuries, he almost stayed by your side the entire time. Excluding the time where Shinobu changed you into brand new clothes. Technically.. He has seen you naked before. But it was inappropriate. And he wouldn't know what to do if Shinobu saw him stay. Before Kanae's death, Shinobu had rather.. a bad-temper and was also rather off-putting.

It took you two days to wake up; of course, with Sanemi sitting by your side. He flinched when he saw your eyes open, both of your faces holding surprise.

"Sanemi?"

His breath hitched, looking down at your lap. "I just wanted to see how you were doing," he mutters, thickly swallowing his saliva. "How.. are you doing?" He looks up at you again when he doesn't get a response, a shocked grunt escaping him when he sees tears pouring from your eyes.

"I.. I..."

Quick like it was on instinct, he pulls you into his arms, hugging your head against his chest. "I was so.. so useless! I could barely-" you hiccup, "barely help Mitsuri! I was so distracted on saving the villagers, I got caught so off-guard when it snatched me off my feet and-" Sanemi pulls you in for a kiss.

You whimper, tears still streaming down. Your hands clutch onto his haori, feverishly returning his kiss before he disconnects them.

"Don't ever say that about yourself. You did what you can and that's final. There's no what you didn't do or couldn't do. You saved people. And that's all that matters."

You sob almost uncontrollably on his chest, one of his hands petting your hair. "You're more than enough."

Sanemi grins when he spars with you, wooden swords making a 'clack' sound each time they connected. Everyone had their Hashira training, even the actual Hashiras.

You, Sanemi, Obanai, even Muichiro, would spar at night, leaving bruises on your skins. You and Sanemi especially sparred the most, wooden swords moving at such a fast speed, bodies moving across the pebble courtyard.

He knocked you off your feet with a swift motion of his leg before catching you with one arm. He smirked at you and you only gave back a fond smile.

Forget losing all the damn lover bullshit. He had you now and he wants you. He gives in to his selfish needs and has you. Making sure Obanai and Muichiro weren't looking, he kisses you. You kiss back, scrunching your fingers through his silver hair.

Boy, was he so wrong.

He should've kept his distance from you. To ignore you and weaken your spirit with insults.

He should've never met you at all.

You were standing there, coughing blood out from your mouth. You were fighting Muzan. Everyone was fighting Muzan. It just happened to be you.

You,

The one whose body was penetrated by his arm.

Your vision was hazy and you were breathing haggardly. God, he couldn't believe it.

Muzan quickly removes his arm from your body, your blood splattering across the floor. You fall to your knees, your breath becoming heavier, blood seeping more onto your uniform. Sanemi quickly swoops you up before Muzan could attack you, laying you down against a wall of a building.

"Y-you..." Sanemi sputtered, anger etched across his features. His brother, now you?!

You smile softly at him.

His angry expression quickly fades away. He panics, his hands roaming above your body, ghosting above your touch. He was scared, like if he was gonna touch you, you'd instantly die. Tears were already falling from his eyes, eyebrows furrowing together until his forehead hurt. He shut his eyes tightly, hanging his head low, hyperventilating, praying this was all but just a dream.

He imagined a normal life with his siblings, being closer to Genya more than ever. Then he would find you, be with you, marry you, have kids with you, and grow old with you. Why was that so hard to have?

A sob rips out from his throat, feeling your hand cup his cheek. He looks up at you as you look back at him with those same fond eyes.

"I love you, Sanemi. You were all I could've asked for."

When your hand falls from his cheek, he shrills. Instantly, he holds your body close to his for comfort, hugging you tightly as if you were gonna disintegrate like his little brother. His heart hurts. Hurts so bad. It was so much to bear.

He kisses your temple before looking at you one last time, going back into battle.

He takes in his last breath, his only last and ever thought being you.

Sanehiro takes his patrol on the sidewalk, whistling as he watches the wind blows against blossomed trees. He loved this time of year-

"Crap... I'm so sorry!"

Someone had bumped into his chest. It was a woman. He sees her bowing at him which he waved off, a vein popping out in his temple. "Hey- it's no worries. Just-" he pauses, his face falling when he sees you rise, your face coming into his view.

You nervously fiddle with your fingers, chuckling. "That's good, I hope I wasn't any trouble for you sir. Or!- or a distraction!" You grin at him. He quickly takes his cap off, bowing at her. She flinches in surprise, watching him silently. "You're no distraction to me at all, miss," he says, standing up straight. He runs a hand through his silver hair, smiling at you fondly. You stare at him, mouth open. You quickly shake your head, chuckling awkwardly.

"Would you.. ever wanna hang out some time?" He perked up at your suggestion before nodding. You both exchange numbers before bidding farewell.

Oddly enough, you found yourself with a prideful and rude white-haired man. Again.

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c0smoshit · 4 months

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Comfort headcanons!!

⋆ ࣪. ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 ≫ Cloud, Zack and my bby Vincent

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ none, just fluff

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ First little fic after a while, hope you guys enjoy!!

Cloud

★ As we all know, he isn't the best comfort buddy

★ But, through all the years he had to slowly leave behind all his trauma, he definitely has softened up

★ Secretly loves the way you would fall asleep on him after bawling your eyes out

★ Obviously not much of a talker, he prefers to listen and just be there for you

★ I just love to think that it always ends up in a hours-lasting cuddling session, doesn't matter if he was the one who needed to be comforted or the other way around

"It´s fine, really" However, your puffy cheeks said otherwise as you adverted your gaze from him. Your arms hugging your body wearily, soft sniffles and of course, your ragged breathing was all you had let him see. His approach was sincere, walking slowly up to you just to place a hand on your shoulder, he sure had improved on how to just... listen over the years. "Talk to me" But still you wouldn't budge, turning your face from him, embarrassed he had to see you like this once again. So after huffing out a sigh he seemed to have been holding for quite a while now, he placed his left hand on your unoccupied shoulder and pulled you closer to him. Then you let go, ugly sobbing into his chest as you fisted his shirt. His hands trying the most soothing patterns he recalls you drawing on his back after a rough day. He would caress as tenderly as he could, not quite being used to touching a texture softer than the handle of his sword, to hear such pretty cries and not from death. "Sorry, I just-" You hiccuped after you had rambled your sorrows into the tension-filled air of your room. However, he didn't budge, muffling your priceless apologies into his chest as he opted to just hold you for however you needed him to. That was his way of showing you how much he appreciated you, everything you had done to soothe him, he will reciprocate too.

Zack

★ MAJOR comforter

★ I mean, he doesn't even have to do anything, his meere presence is just so comforting

★ He feels bad about it but he loves your face whenever you're grumpy or upset, he just finds your tear-stained cheeks so cute!

★ Oh and btw, you aren't crying more than 5 minutes when he's around

★ He would do anything to make you forget it, want some icecream? He's already bought like 10 of them. A massage? Face down lying on your mattress asap

"C'mon y/n" You felt his saddened voice ring through your ears, his hands holding your waist as you hid your face under your palms. Your cheekbones glistening and getting irritated from the saltiness of your tears, and the more he tried to sneak a peek out of the them, the worse he felt. "Look at me please" He whispered as he delicately placed his still gloved hands over yours, finally prying them off your gorgerous face. "There we go, as beautiful as I remember" You didn't know why, but at first glance, his dumb but somewhat anxious smile looking down at you made you mimic his own expression, earning a playful laugh from him. It really wasn't fair, you thought, you could never be upset around him. "What? Got something funny on my face?" He joked before swiftly moving his hands and reaching the sides of your waist, nagging your sides until he had to catch you from falling on your ass as you laughed. "You're such a dork" You giggled out after he lifted you into his arms, your feet dangling off the floor as your arms were trapped under a bear hug. Hearts beating shakily into each other the more he nuzzled into you. "Yeah, but you love it"

Vincent

★ Tbh I think he's the most compressive of the three

★ Would and will listen to you ramble for hours of necessary, he's such a hopeless romantic

★ Not a fan of physical contact but if you are, he would not complain if you wanted to cuddle with him

★ (I mean this mf is always sleeping on his coffin)

★ Will do whatever you felt more comfortable with, if you just want him to listen and be there, he will, if you want to be alone, he will leave you be (but ofc he later would be looking for you to see if you were fine)

"Who was it?" A sudden deep voice rang through your ears, making you jolt up from the floor as you looked around to spot the source of it. And of course, it was your deary sneaky vampire. "Jesus" You choked out before turning your back to him, telling him that one, he really should stop sneaking on you like that and two, of course it was nothing. Either way, as soon as he heard your pained voice he knew you required some comfort, he's been there already. The more you stepped away, the more he tried to approach you, finally getting to wrap his cold arms on your waist as your back pressed against his chest. . . . You both stayed like that for a while, rocking back and forth as he lulled you, letting you cry out your last tears before you finally felt relief, slumping down on him as sleepiness took over your features.

He huffed out what seemed a quiet laugh before dragging you back into your bed, sitting on it first as he let you nestle on his lap, your cheek pressed against his shoulder as you slowly dozed off on him. His cloack sure was comforting.

Bonus!!

"Don't let such a stupid thing get into your head dummy" "Yeah, she's right y/n" You swore you couldn't feel any warmer in that moment, the girl's you've always looked up to were sweeter than ever. And yeah, it was a stupid thing you were upset about too.

Then they both took you on one of the best improvised little dates ever, taking walks and admiring the (not-so-clean) streets of Midgar. Then Aerith took you to her house, Tifa following shortly behind you as they both giggled playfully.

A cuddling session followed closely and you were absolutely living it. Snacking on some homemade food Aerith's mom had worked on the day before and nuzzling your head onto Aerith's chest meanwhile Tifa had her arms around you for behind.

"You both are the best, really"

You sighed out, your eyes not puffy anymore as you glanced at both of them. Earning more sweet comments from the brunnete and nods from the bartender.

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fl3shm4id3n · 1 year

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Fₐₜₕₑᵣ ₒf ₜₕₑ Yₑₐᵣ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭.

ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴜʟʟʏ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛ��ɴɪᴄ), ꜱᴜʟʟʏ ᴋɪᴅꜱ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ)

ꜱᴏɴɢ: ᴍɪᴛꜱᴋɪ- ᴡᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴄʜɪɴᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

Tw: abandonment, Oldest Child Syndrome, angst, reader cussing out Jake.

A/N: I think that one female rage audio edit (the one were the classical music is playing while there's screaming) fits her well, sorry that it isn't long, maybe the next part will be longer.

Masterlist

For the last couple weeks you were alone, you wanted to be alone. You had so much on your mind that you didn't want to interact with anyone but yourself. You hated feeling all sorts of things, specially when it came to your siblings. You had gone to the lake were you'd spot Jake and his family interacting, it was a bitter feeling being here, remembering the times Jake would use the excuse that he was busy. You sat on the floor with your feet dipped in the water.

Looking down at your feet, you couldn't help but feel tears form in your eyes. Why did the relationship between you and your dad had to change? He had made the promise that he wouldn't leave like your mom, but he did. Even though he was still here, he acted as if he did not know you. Was it because he was now a na'vi and had a new family? A family that obviously you weren't a part of, no matter how hard your siblings would try to include you in there family events, you were just not a part of them. Sometimes you wished that you had an avatar, maybe he'd recognize you again, you had begged Norm and Max if they could make you an avatar, they said they could try, but it'll take some time.

You hated it, you hated feeling the way that you did, you hated that your dad had left you behind. You hated everything at the moment. You wished that you were back on earth with the father that you deeply missed, the one that would take care of you and would look at you as if you were the light of his light, you missed when you were his Baby girl, you wished you could turn back the time.

You heard some grass moving, as if someone was walking through it. Looking back to see who it was, it was the one and only Neteyam, the brother who you barely had a relationship with you. "Hey sis.." that's all he said. You only waved at him and looked back down at your feet. Neteyam walked over and sat down on next to you, dipping his feet in the water. "Is something wrong?" he asked. You just sighed, cleaning your tears. "I don't know, everything doesn't seem fine." You said, while rubbing your now red and puffy eyes. "What's wrong? Did something happened?" he asked.

Looking over at him, you noticed his worried expression. You couldn't help but say something. "I've been thinking a lot about the past... how... how my dad used to love me." you said, looking away, feeling your tears coming back. Neteyam didn't say anything, instead he hummed, waiting for you to continue. "..Sometimes... I wished that... I could turn back time.. or.. wished to not be born if this was how my life was going to turn out." You admitted, feeling yourself hiccup as you cried. Neteyam felt bad, he noticed how his parents, mostly his dad would treat you. His first child.

Neteyam wasn't dumb, his dad may think he is but he isn't. He'd notice how you were completely ignored with the 'I'm busy with the kids' excuse. Majority of the time they'd leave the kids in his care and his parent's would be leave together, he always found that weird. Also never understood why you'd get excluded from their family when you were his father's child, also family.

"Can I admit something to you?" he asked, you looked back at him, you nodded while wiping away your tears and nose. "This may sound bad, but... I honestly wished dad wouldn't pay attention to me.." he admitted. "What do you mean?" you asked, a bit confused. "I love my dad really, but... I just.. want to be ignored sometimes you know? All this expectations and responsibilities he has on me are killing me.." he said. It was understandable, it was no secret that Jake would put a lot of pressure on Neteyam, for being the oldest. He was forgetting that his favorite son was also just a kid, a kid who was missing out on everything because he is afraid to disappoint his father.

"I know how you feel, but you never want to be ignored. Its the worst feeling you could have. Being ignored by the people who were suppose to be loving and caring to you" you said. Neteyam only sighed, you could see the sadness in his eyes. All he wanted was to be able to do what other kids did and not worry about being scolded by Jake. You then got close to him, leaning your head on his shoulder while he leaned his head down to your smaller head. This was the first time that you and Neteyam had actually spent time together.

It had gone dark, when Neteyam noticed the time, he was freaking out that his dad would get onto him. You saw how he nearly died on the spot, so you decided to walk him back and to not worry about Jake. The whole walk back he kept mumbling how his dad was going to ground him, you had to basically calm him down from having an anxiety attack. This was not okay, him almost dying for being scolded was a huge red flag.

When you got to the camp, you watched how Jake was passing around outside the hut while his wife was trying to reason with him. As soon as he spotted you two approaching, he stomped over with an angry look on his face. "Where the hell were you boy?!" he yelled at him, totally forgetting that you were there. Before Neteyam could answer, you responded for him. "He was with me!" you said loud enough, then Jake looked at you, seen your unbothered expression bothered him a lot. "You have any idea what you could of caused?!" he asked, now his full attention on you. "We were only out for a bit more later, but were here now." You said rolling your eyes.

"You should know better! He was suppose to be back before Eclipse!" Jake yelled again, all you did was roll your eyes and listened to him rant. "We're here now aren't we? That's all that matters" you said, this angered Jake. "You listen here young lady, rules are meant to be followed and when those rules are broken they're consequences!" he said. You looked at him wide eyed. He did not just say that, he did not just try to scold you as if you were his kid. You are, but at the same time you were.

"I know damn well you did not just say that to me." You warned. "Watch your mouth or else-" Jake was cut off. "Or else what?! You'll ground me!? Guess what! I'm a fucking adult, you can't fucking ground me!" you yelled, getting the attention of both Neytiri and your younger siblings. "Yes I can, I'm your father!" He said, this made you lose it. "Oh! Now you want to be my fucking dad? After fifteen years of you ignoring me and pretending that I'm not here, you decide to be my fucking dad!? Wow! Give up to the Father of the fucking year everybody!" you screamed, but before Jake could speak, you cut him off. "You may think just because you're my dad you can tell me what to do, guess what, you stopped being my dad many fucking years ago. You know what, fuck you! I wish you were never my father! I fucking hate you!" you screamed, ignoring that everyone around you had stopped and listened, they watched how you basically had cussed out their leader, they were in complete shock, including your siblings.

Before Jake could tell you something, you just took off running. Ignoring how your name was called by your siblings. It was already late and the woods were already dark with animals rooming around, you didn't care if something were to attack you, you just wanted to get away from everything. You finally stopped, trying to catch your breath. Your throat and lungs were burning. You felt your tears coming back, you let out a sob, that sob went to a full on scream. It was a mixture of both anger, sadness and frustration. You didn't care that you were being heard. You just wanted to scream and cry all at once.

Once you stopped screaming, you continued to cry, silently as it began to rain. You didn't care that you were being soaked, that was until you felt a sharp pain in your neck. You winced, touching your neck, feeling some kind of dark on your neck. You pulled it out painfully, feeling your neck sting. Looking back at the object, it was sleeping dark. Everything began to feel strange, you saw how the glowing plants began to multiply and how your eyes began to heavy. Next thing you knew, your body felt numb and you began to stumble around, until you hit the floor. You were trying to stay awake, but you couldn't. Last thing you saw was how a group of blue figures dressed in camo were approaching you, then everything went black.

ₚᵣₑᵥᵢₒᵤₛ ₚₐᵣₜ, ₙₑₓₜ ₚₐᵣₜ

#jake sully x daughter reader (platonic)#jake sully x reader (platonic)#the sully kids x reader (platonic)#the sully kids x sister reader (platonic)#platonic #platonic relationships #platonic fics #angst fic #female reader #female y/n #human reader #human y/n #sister reader #daughter reader #cereza's writing #cereza's angst

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teaaleefs · 11 months

Text

Second Best - K. Bakugou

word count: 1746

pairing: 3rdyear!Bakugou x nb!reader

cw and notes: might be ooc because i’ve literally never written this guy before Hurt/Comfort, Cussing it’s bakugou idk what you expected. Soft bakugou, Hopefully i did it right tho- comparing yourself to others, jealousy, envy, low self esteem, pet names (baby), unedited asf good luck reading it because i certainly didn't, good ending :)

synopsis: you can't stop comparing yourself to your boyfriend and one day it just gets to you

Always second best. That’s what you were.

Second best to Katsuki since… Well, always. Your boyfriend always strove to be number one, always strove for perfection in everything. He was number one in class, the most promising student in class 1-A despite his rough and brash personality. But even then, he was the best at everything. Even things you told yourself you were good at.

Cooking? He could make your mom’s recipe almost exactly the same way she did, always fine tuning the details. But you? You always changed something up, always forgot a step. Too much salt, too little garlic, not enough pepper, forgot the vegetables… and despite being with him for some time - for nearly 3 years now - during your time in UA, you grew almost resentful.

At first you felt guilty, because why would you ever compare yourself to him? Why should you be upset that he’s doing well for himself? But the thought that you were always falling behind, always miles behind and him miles ahead, it bubbled up jealousy. You never acknowledged it when you were around him. You always acted normal, acted the same. Had your usual spats and squabbles with him, had your small dates with him and exchanged vulnerable words. But the feeling kept gnawing at you. Especially during finals, always during finals or big exams. You both would work your asses off. Hell, he even helped you to study the majority of the time.

Still, everytime you found that he was just better. Better at everything. Better with his quirk, better at studying, better at retaining information, better at testing, better at cooking your mother’s damn soup, better at planning dates, taking you out, getting gifts, better, better, better.

It left you upset late at night most times. Whenever you weren’t sleeping in his room your mind would whir with ways for you to improve - for you to catch up. And even when you were sleeping in his room, when he was already asleep you would still find yourself comparing and comparing and wishing you could just be better at one thing. Anything, just one thing.

Sometimes it made heat rise to your face when you would have these thoughts while looking over his sleeping form. His chest rose and fell with soft breaths while your eyes stung and burned and you tried to blink back your jealousy. Usually blinking them back and telling yourself to get over it did the trick. But one night it just didn’t. And you ended up wiping your eyes and turning away from him, settling into the pillow beneath your head and forcing yourself to fall asleep.

But this night wasn’t like the others and no matter what you just couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. Your eyes kept flooding full of tears just for you to keep wiping them away, just for you to keep quietly sniffling and hiccupping and for your mind to keep milling over your jealousy and underlying disappointment with yourself because it honestly wasn’t fair! You were trying just as hard as he was, but he was always more driven, always more something and tonight you couldn’t take it anymore.

He heard you before he saw you. Back turned to him, quiet sniffles filling the otherwise silent room save for the sound of the fan. Scooting closer to you, he wrapped his arms around your waist. He knew better than to ask - he knew you weren’t the type to say it outright.

“Oi, what’s wrong with you?” He asked anyway, his gruff voice having gone soft. It didn’t hold its usual snark or aggression, only a hint of the underlying concern he actually felt. When you didn’t answer, he sighed and held you tighter, letting his forehead rest against your shoulder.

You could feel light kisses brushing against your skin, murmured words of comfort that he normally wouldn’t utter. See, he was even better than you at comforting his loved ones. All you usually managed was an ‘it’ll be okay’ or a hug, feeling too awkward when it came to making others feel better. Your throat tightened as did your chest, the heel of your palms pressing against your eyes as you tried to will yourself to stop crying over nothing. To stop being a baby and a jealous little shit. There was no reason to cry from an outside standpoint. But here you were, silently balling your eyes out for no reason (that’s what you thought Katsuki might be thinking at least).

“It’s not fair.” You managed to choke out, words mumbled and muffled between a sharp intake of air.

His hands rubbed soothing circles against your skin, his hold on you never faltering, but his lips stopped their soft brushes against your shoulder. “What’s not fair?”

You fell silent again. Should you tell him? But that would be selfish, what if it caused him problems? No, realistically, he would hold back for no one. Not even you. but what if he decided that you were being dramatic? What if this lead to one of your usual tiffs over nothing? What if you really were just being a crybaby? What if, what if, what if he’s too good for you?

One of his hands abandoned your waist in favor of caressing your hair, rough fingers running through the strands all the way down, down, down to your neck and then back up again to the top in a calming fluid motion. “Breathe, baby. I can feel you tensing up.” He murmured against your ear, his rough voice growing increasingly softer.

You stiffened for a moment. You hadn’t even realized you were taking in shallow breaths, but now you were hyper aware of your breathing and how tight your chest felt. Nodding to show that you heard him, you drank in slow, deep breaths, holding them for a few seconds before releasing them.

You could hear him shifting behind you, both of his hands moving to cup your face. You could sense him hovering over you even as your hands stayed pressed to your eyes. You could feel the feather light kiss he pressed to your cheek and how quietly he asked you to move your hands. When you didn’t immediately comply, he gently encased his hands around your wrists, pulling your hands away himself.

Through bleary and wet eyes, you could make out the crease between his brows, his expression hardened into displeasure as he released your wrists. His displeasure wasn’t directed at you - never at you when you were like this.

He brushed the corner of your eyes free of tears with each thumb before pulling away. Settling back onto the bed and laying on his side, his warm hand brushed from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you towards his chest. You let out a breath before you finally let yourself cry without holding it back; without the sniffling and bit back and choked sobs.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” He asked as he held you tight, chin resting atop your head.

You swallowed thickly, not wanting to tell him that you were crying because of him. It wouldn’t be fair and you had convinced yourself you were being childish. He let silence fall between you two, not wanting to push anymore when it was obvious that you weren’t going to say.

But that was fine. He was fine with just holding you tight and grazing his lips on your forehead. He held you for a while after that, murmuring sweet words into your ear, rubbing your back and hair and telling you that everything was okay, meanwhile you just couldn’t stop for the life of you comparing and wondering about how he’d react if you told him why you were crying.

Until eventually, you broke it down to him, blubbered and mumbled and choked words of explanation finally tumbling from your trembling lips. You told him about your jealousy, about the comparisons, how you felt he was miles ahead and you constantly fighting for a way to at least catch up. How he was just better, how you thought you were being silly and dramatic and that “there was no reason” for you to be crying like this - breaking down over this. How he felt out of your league, how he was just too good for you. But as soon as he heard you tell him all that he fell silent and that made your stomach drop. Was he silently agreeing with you? Did he also think you were being a crybaby? Childish? Dramatic–

He held you so tight you thought your bones might break. His head buried in the space between your neck and shoulder, he scolded you.

“Don’t fucking say shit like that.” He rasped, voice barely above a whisper, “There’s no way I’m out of your league. If I was, I wouldn't have dated you in the first place.” His words were honest and straightforward, blunt but needed. “Baby, you’re fine the way you are. Stop comparing yourself to me, it’s unfair to yourself.” He said before pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your eye, kissing away your plump tears. “We’re different people, of course things are gonna come differently to each of us.” He soothed as he pulled away to kiss the corner of your other eye. “There’s a lot of shit that you're better at than me, so give yourself some credit, baby.”

You managed a few soft noises of acknowledgement and muffled “okay’s”, taking in a few heaving breaths as you worked to calm down. He didn’t stop holding you, he didn’t stop muttering comforts to try and quiet your tears, didn’t stop telling you all the ways you had one upped him, even in the smallest of ways. He tried to show you that you had your own accomplishments, that even he couldn’t do it all - and that was the thing absolutely hated to admit, but he did it for you.

He didn’t stop holding you, his calloused fingers tracing soft patterns against your arm, not even as your breathing regulated and you sniffed here and there. Not even when you fell asleep against his chest, your fingers clutching onto his shirt in an attempt to keep him there. Not that he was moving anytime soon. He didn’t even let you go when he fell asleep too, his arms falling slack around you, but still there. Still resting against your waist, his legs tangled with yours and his face buried against your shoulder.

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