#but like knowing the little niceties that people do and what to say and when and how

[8-birdparagon]

I know that everybody moves through life at different speeds and “comparison is the thief of joy” and all that, but scrolling through the social media of people I knew in high school and seeing that several of them are just straight up married now bestows upon me a very distinct feeling of missing out

[tonycries]

Golden Boy - G.S.

Synopsis. Falling right back in love with the cult leader you’re supposed to kíll? Happens more often than you’d think.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader 

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends/lovers to enemies to lovers, oral (fem receiving), facesítting, creampíe, slight Gojo x Reader, running away from it, Suguru is so SOOO in love still, unprotected, spítting, kinda angsty, hurt/comfort, mentions of bIood and kníves, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.4k

A/N. I was listening to fantasmas while writing this so take that how you will LMAO.

The difficult part, surprisingly, wasn’t infiltrating Geto Suguru’s Time Vessel Association. No, a few faux tears, a decoy curse, and you were in - stepping through his grandiose hideout. The difficult part was convincing yourself that you were here to kill him. 

Something that utterly foolish little part of yourself still had trouble believing - even when you had a knife to his throat. 

“Any last words?” you spit, muffled through your mask, thankful for the way it covers up just how much your voice shakes. Maybe because of the way his lips curl into a familiar smile, maybe from his cool dagger pressing against the back of your neck.

Seconds away from a bloodbath. 

You don’t know if you’re breathing - or if he is either. Eyes locked on the way Sugur- your target only raises his hand up, up, up - getting ready to strike. To kill. Only you’d get him first and-

Snip!

You’re not dead. But you might as well have been, because your mask falls onto the tatami mat with a deafening clatter. 

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

It’s hard not to remember. 

“You don’t have any right to say that.” your knees tighten around where you had him straddled to the ground. Your hand pinning one of his down, blade digging deeper into Suguru’s pale neck - eyeing the slow, steady drop of blood that beads down it. “Didn’t think you’d remember me, either.”

With your mask now no longer on your face, you could traitorously take in that relaxed grin - as if your life wasn’t in his hands right now. As if he didn’t care. 

Suguru’s hair was much longer now, splayed out across the floor inkily. Circling around his broad shoulders, around the eyes that were just a bit harder than they were ten years ago. And yet, you catch the way they flicker briefly with something so raw as he whispers gently, “How could I ever forget my first love?”

So quiet that you could’ve blamed it on your imagination - and you wish you did. 

It’s so unfair. 

Unfair how you let out a gasp, despite yourself. Unfair how you were the best sword wielder that Jujutsu had to offer, yet your fingers tremble on your knife. Heart stuttering at the mere sight of the way his eyes crinkle with the beginnings of a smile. Pleading, like all he could see was you from what felt like a thousand lifetimes ago. 

Those golden years. Back when rare Susanoomon cards were what you’d fight over, and the only stains he’d wipe off were from the grassy grounds of Jujutsu High, still faint underneath the encrusted blood on that uniform nestled away deep in his wardrobe.

You manage to grit out, “Shut up. You left me- us.”

“I did.”

Like it was all he wanted to see. 

“You never loved me.”

“I do.”

Your voice is shrill at this point, words stumbling over each other. “You’ve massacred more people than you’ve saved.”

Suguru wastes no time denying - or in any niceties. Looking right into your absolutely crazed eyes as he answers, “I have.” And his answer rings so hollow and emotionless in your ears, cold-blooded. Absolutely nothing like the boy you remembered. The one that would laugh and steal you away to take you around campus on his bicycle, all because the next class was “too far”.

“I- fuck.” You place both hands on the hilt of your blade, distantly registering the way that Suguru lets his own drop onto the floor. “I should kill you- I should kill you right now.”

Just one flick of your wrist. Fast and simple. 

In and out - exactly like you’d been ordered to. 

“And to die by your hand would be a death that someone like me doesn’t deserve.”

You both jolt when your knife hits the ground - as if neither of you were expecting it. And before you can stop yourself, you’re fisting his thick robes, pulling Suguru’s face up closer to yours. Mere inches away. 

“Then- then I’ll-” you choke, a hand coming up to dig into the sides of his milky neck, leaving neat, red indents on his skin. “I’ll kill you with my own hands, Suguru.”

And he’s known you for years - would never admit it, but was by your side for only half as long as he’d watched over you. 

Saw - only from a distance -  those big fat tears you cried at graduation, the curve of your lips as you pulled a very reluctant Nanami into a hug outside his new office building. The steely look in your eyes meeting Satoru’s much softer one, telling him first how you’re going into teaching. And the smile on your face when you thought of who else might have, too. If he’d gotten the chance.

Always hidden.

Never so close to this frenzied glint in your gaze, a tiny sob threatening to escape your lips. Never like this - and yet, he never thinks you’ve looked so beautiful. 

But what would someone like him know about beauty, anyway?

You flinch as Suguru reaches a hand up to thumb away the furrow between your brows, catching on the single, stray tear sitting at your cheekbone. Whispering - so low that you involuntarily crane your head closer to hear - “Still such a crybaby.”

“And you’re still going to be the death of me.”

Soft - Suguru’s lips are as soft as you imagined. And it’s not exactly the tender, picture-perfectly romantic first kiss his teenage self dreamt up with you, but fuck if he wasn’t going to remember this like it was. 

Perfect. 

Pretty lips smothering yours, all slow and sensual. Drinking in those deliciously breathless gasps of yours as he sucks on your candied lips. 

You gasp, ���Suguru.” and it comes out teary. Making you finally register the wetness rolling down your cheeks, glistening against the dim lighting. You tighten your grip around his neck, “This won’t fix-”

“I know.” Fuck, does he know better than anyone else. 

A hand slides up your forearm, the other cupping your face to pull you closer. He’s running his hot tongue along your cheek, pooling your salty tears on his lips. “But let me make you forget - if just for tonight. Please.”

The only answer Suguru gets is your fingers leaving his neck, dancing feather-light across his sculpted shoulders to slide under his robe. Feeling the smooth plane of his pecs underneath your palm, that traitorously thundering heartbeat he wishes he could slow down. “Kiss me.”

“Fuck.” he pants into your open mouth. The sight of your glossy, slightly puffy lips having him surge forward to reattach his with yours with a pained grunt. “God- jus’ a bit more, my love.”

Again. And again and again- like he was addicted. 

He’d always been, with you, anyway.

You let out a sinful sound of his name when Suguru kisses down your neck, lips slotting over your racing pulse. Throbbing and so real under his lips, remembering how he used to feel this song under his arms long before. 

“Oh- shit.” you moan, when his now rougher - larger - hands sneak underneath your crumpled shirt, deftly unbuttoning. Unbuckling. Impatient. “Sugu-”

A hoarse groan leaves him, only spurring him to all but rip the rest of your uniform off your body faster. 

And at the first sight of you clad in nothing but your panties, Suguru’s kiss-bitten lips are falling slack. Brows shooting up into the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead now, “Been missing out, hm?” He’s dipping a hand down to run the back of his index along your clothed, puffy folds. Up and down. “Really been-” Heart clenching when he remembers the way Satoru now looks at you with a familiar glint. One he knew all too well. “-missing out, my love.”

You’re only trailing your fingers along his cheek - his neck, grazing over that little mark from your blade. He groans - maybe from your touch, probably from the way you’re dragging your cunt across that massive bulge underneath you. “Please, Suguru. Wan’ you.” 

And if Geto Suguru has spent ten years denying himself, surely he could sacrifice it for the way he lifts your stuttering, sloppy hips up so easily. All the way up until they were hovering over his mouth, hot breath hitting your clothed cunt. 

“Wanna taste you.” he groans, spying on the way your slick beads through your panties. “Wan’ see if you’re as hah- sweet as I imagined. Please.”

And he’s obsessed with the way you’re sinking yourself down so gently, cock jumping at the thought of you afraid you’d suffocate him - as if you didn’t have your blade at his throat just minutes ago.

“Fuuuck, don’t worry, pretty.” he groans, soft darting to lick at the juices smeared across your inner thighs. “Some more now. Put it all on me, I can take it- fuck-”

Your syrupy sweet cunt has Geto losing whatever’s left of his fucking restraint, dark eyes rolling to the back of his head because you were so sweet. So pretty looking down at him with your glassy eyes. So addictive. He moans, chest heaving as he breathes in your essence. “What happened to that feist from earlier? Gonna hafta do a lil’ more than that now.”

“B-but-”

It’s at this moment you realize that at any given moment Suguru could’ve easily taken the upper hand. A hand of his pulls down your hesitant hips, swollen lips against your covered ones in such a filthy kiss. 

He hums into your folds, bunching your panties between them. “Mmm. Shit- jus’ like I imagined.” Hot tongue dipping just underneath the flimsy fabric to feel out your sloppy entrance, “Better, even. Jus’ look how well you’re taking me, pretty.”

But you don’t - too scared to find out that you’d like the sight more than you should. How you wished you could go back to the golden days where it didn’t matter - wasn’t a matter of life and death. And something else entirely. 

And this dilemma has Suguru’s brows furrowing, sharp canines lightly nipping at one of your swollen folds. Wanting to see how it’s him - despite everything, it’s still him making you feel this way. “None of that now.”

RIP!

With this you have to look down, a desperate whine leaving your stupid mouth at the fucking sinful sight down below. Your panties now a tattered excuse in between Suguru’s teeth, baring them with such a devilish grin right up at you. 

“See?” he spits out the fabric onto the floor beside him, half-lidded eyes peering up at you so sultry. Looking right at you as his tongue lolls out, spreading your bare, needy folds shamefully. “Isn’t this much better?”

“Hngh- fuck, yes-” you slide your fingers through his now-messy hair, falling out of that half-bun. Jolting on top with each push of his tongue past that feeble ring of resistance, the lewd squelches leaving you with each graze of the wet muscle against your walls. “Shit- Suguru it feels too good. So deep ngh-”

He swats a hand against your ass, making you sit your slutty hips down deeper, all the way till Suguru’s jaw was grinding so greedily against your cunt. Tongue bullying past your folds in and out in and out in and-

“God- hah-” he’s pulling away to gasp deep lungfuls of air - secondary, to the way he was back immediately to making out so hotly with your tight pussy. “Mmm fuck. This cute lil cunt is so needy. S’like you’re trynna suck my tongue off.” Thumb reaching up to draw slow, languid circles that have you throwing your head back. “So perfect.”

Your delirious mouth is dropping open, body moving before your mind as you strain to reach your hand behind. Trembling. Shaky when you manage to cup Suguru’s aching erection. 

“G-guess m’not the only one ah- needy, hm?” you smirk, having him bucking and spitting out harsh little profanities with each rub of your palm down his drenched length. 

Suguru doesn’t give you a response - because his fingers are speaking on his behalf. Dipping into your sloppy hole, locating your g-spot, as if on instinct. He’s milking your pretty cunt while he roams for those sweet spots. Lips muffling around your throbbing clit, “You’re always right, my love. You always were.”

And his words are so gentle - mouth so sloppy. Squelches so obscene. 

Nose pressing up at the top of your abdomen, cheeks hollowing wetly around the sensitive nub. Letting your juices drip all the way down his chin, his jaw, dangerously close to that cut on his neck. 

The hand sliding back and forth across the swollen outline of his cock had Suguru get more frenzied. Faster. Like it was his personal mission to make you cum on his tongue before he fucking passed out. 

Penetrating your gummy hole with both his fingers and his tongue, spreading it open more. And it’s all you can do to keen, “Oh- oh my god.” Riding Suguru’s pretty face harder. “Shit- m’close, Suguru.”

“Always right.” he gasps, swiping his tongue faster across your clit. “Always perfect” Alternating between squeezing back into your hole, your sweet spots. Stretching out your gummy walls as far as they’d go. “Always made f’me.” Assaulting it with both his fingers and his tongue. Again. And again and again and- “Jus’ wish I got to have you sooner.”

His words make you snap your eyes up from his mean mouth to meet his gaze, devouring you as greedily and depraved as his tongue. They make your thighs burn with the effort to drag your sloppy pussy faster.

They make you cum - shaking, crying out little mewls of “Ngh- fuck. M’cumming m’cumming m’cumming.”

The way your voice is breaking at the end of each moan has Suguru’s cock straining so painfully against his trousers. One hand firmly on your waist, arching you deeper to tongue you through your high in ways he’s only ever dared to imagine. 

Ways he’s selfishly hoped only he could - even after all these years, the sight of any other man looking at you wrong having his irritation flaring. 

“S’right.” his voice is sending stars bursting behind your lids, tongue even worse. Having you pleading and so sensitive. “I got you, my love. Give it t’me.” Messy - not as forgiving as he’d like to be. “Give it alllll to me.”

And you do - all but smothering Suguru’s eager tongue with all your sweet juices. Ones he’s lapping up happily, tilting his head back as far as it’d go on the floor, letting your heady slick fill up his throat. His pussydrunk lips let out a hiss, both at the burn of that cut on his neck, and the way you’re desperately pulling your hips back. 

Too overstimulated. Too fucking sensitive. Too much - but it would never be enough for Suguru. 

“Please, Suguru.” you sob at the way your limp hips are being pulled back by a needy Suguru. “M’too sensitive. I- fuck-” He’s only lapping at your quivering cunt leisurely, smirk prominent against your swollen folds. 

And it’s all you can do to deliriously slip a hand underneath his robes, a desperate attempt to keep whatever shred of sanity you have left. Fingers feeling down his unfairly toned abs, the tufts of hair at his pelvis, reaching-

“Oh fuck!” Your heavy eyes admire the way Suguru arches into your touch in surprise - like he couldn’t help himself. Eyes flying open, glossy, plump lips curling into a disbelieving grin, “Ya really are made f’me, huh?” 

That’s all it takes for Suguru to head to your lewd whims, bruising fingers on your hips finally loosening to let you sit your sloppy cunt back down on his lap - except, this time, you were seated directly on his rock-hard cock. Pussy lips spreading around his length to just soak him. 

“Oh, my love.” He sits up, splaying you out so prettily on his lap. “How I’ve missed you.”

You don’t even register the way you’re raising your head up to meet Suguru’s - not until he spits. Once. Twice. Straight onto your awaiting tongue that you didn’t even realize you were sticking out, saccharine sweet saliva making such a mess when he’s crashing his lips into yours. 

“Yeahh, like that. Kiss me like that.” he slurs against your mouth, drunk off both sets of your sweet lips. Getting out through wet, sloppy pecks. “How I wish I had you sooner.”

You can feel your heart thumping so wildly against your ribcage, matching the needy, needy staccato of Suguru’s cock throbbing between your puffy folds. And, well, you really can’t be blamed for the way you break the kiss to look down and oh-

Oh Suguru notices that furrow between your brows, kissing away the nervous little wobble in your lower lips as he grunts, “God, you’re killin’ me.” 

Fuck. Killing him?

You were the one sent in for the kill, but it seems you won’t be making it out here alive. 

Because Suguru was so big, girth rubbing up against your thighs. So angry and heavy, smearing hot precum over his abs, your cunt, adding to add to the absolute mess. Long enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk out of here - which, honestly, Suguru would’ve preferred. To keep you with him forever. 

To have you always mewling so prettily when he’s dragging his fat head down your sensitive slit. To have his name - and only his name - leave your bruised lips when he’s asking, “Who’s got you this wet?” 

You’re so cockdrunk already that you’re groaning mindlessly, “You- Suguru-”

“No, that’s not what you call me.” 

And it takes you a few, long seconds to understand what he’s saying, all the while trying to focus with the leaky tip being pressed past your swollen folds. Slow. Torturous. Hitting you so violently at the same time he slips past that first, slutty ring of muscle. 

“Sugu!”

A blinding grin splits across Suguru’s absolutely fucked-out face, brows furrowing together in ecstasy. “That’s more hah- like it.” Not having heard that familiar little nickname - one of your many - fall from your lips since high school - one that makes a heart he forgot he had grow five sizes too large. “Now, just take me-” Hips bucking up, so strong and ruthless. “-like I know you can, okay?”

Over and over. 

You can’t let out anything but barely-lucid whines at this point, letting Suguru sink in inch by fucking inch. Your walls stretched out so perfectly to take his sheer size. But the stretch- oh, the stretch.

Fuck, it has you clawing at Suguru’s exposed shoulders, fingers leaving angry, red marks down the muscles. An obscene ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with each time he reels his hips back, only to bully his aching cock inside until he physically couldn’t.

“Hngh- Sugu, s’too big-” You buck your hips down in shallow, tentative grinds to meet his filthy method of fitting in. “Too- much. Didn’t expect you to be so mean-”

“The sorcerer that hah- held a knife to the infamous Geto Suguru’s neck-” he groans, hands groping your ass to move you further down his massive cock. To watch the way your sloppy entrance was stretching out so much to suck him up. “-can take this too, right? I know you can.” He reaches a deft thumb around to toy with your pretty clit, making your cunt relax like the good girl she is. Fucking up deeper, just a bit more mean. “You- can-”

Several things happen at the tail end of Suguru’s sentence - he’s finally fitting in all in one go. With a calculated, harsh thrust up into your poor cunt, your ass is kissing his heavy balls, pussy rubbing against the hair at his hilt. So full and so much.

And Suguru knows he just might not see heaven - but shit, does he feel like he’s there right now. The feeling so good that both of you letting out mingling gasps of pleasure. 

Your back falling onto the now soiled mats like such animals, the other not far behind.

“You alright, my love?” Suguru hums against your throat when you’re managing to adjust somewhat to the stretch, aware enough to kiss the palm resting protectively underneath your head - making sure you don’t hurt yourself.

You bat your teary lashes, “Never been better, Sugu.”

And something about that makes him remember. 

Remember the way you’d tell him the exact same thing when you fought with curses too strong for you - coming back to the dorms all battered and bruised, but alive. Flashing him that addictive grin, and a crooked thumbs up, “Never been better, Sugu. Gold, actually.”

His golden girl.

Shaking away the tightness at his throat, Suguru instead focuses on wrapping your trembling legs around his toned waist. Tight.

“Sh-shit- you’re milkin’ me so good, fuck-”

Abs burning as he just drags his cock along your plushy walls, keeping your legs held wide open for him. So tight - like you were sucking the fucking soul out of him. Making sure to angle his hips in just the way that’ll have your eyes tearing at the way he was massaging all your sweet spots. 

And sure enough - “O-oh my god-” you breathe, and shit, it was so hard to speak. Suguru’s cock too big, too depraved. Speeding up with every ram of his hips into a steady, mean pace. “Jus’ like that, fuck-”

“Mhm?”

You paw at his free hand settled by the side of your neck, trailing it down, down, down - rings and all - to the part of your stomach you could feel his thick tip hitting. A slight bulge, abusing your cervix over and over, “Here-”

“-s’where I belong.”

Your brows raise at his interjection, and you swipe away the long locks of hair partially covering Suguru’s face, legs tightening around his hips as you take a long, hard look. He repeats, “S’where I belong. Where ngh- you belong.”

Like some deep, dark part of him was trying to fuck out any and every doubt about this out of you - as if you’d have any - Suguru’s rolling his hips harder into yours. All the way until it almost hurt - until the sting of his twitching balls against your ass felt permanent, fingerpads pressing down so hard on your stomach. 

Lips searing against yours, punctuating each word with a jagged, rough thrust. “Because you sh-shouldn’t be ah- here. You shouldn’t be-” He drags you deeper onto his dick like some ragdoll, fingers frenzying on your clit. “-with me.”

Words slurring and as sloppy as his hips now. 

“Wh-why fuck- why wouldn’t I be?”

“Heh, you forgot?” Suguru spits out a chuckle, pushing you further and further up the mat with how bruising his hips were hitting yours. Alternating between marking your cervix - your g-spot - your gummy walls. “Forgot how I told ya to live a better life than this?” Everything and anything. Hips smacking so loud, echoing in symphony with those melancholy words he parted with so long ago. “How I told you to hngh- find a-another? Live a long life? To be happy?”

Now that Suguru was talking, it was like he couldn’t stop. Like a damn had been broken - both with his words and his movements. The curve of his dick drives you wild, veins molding your cunt into their shape. 

Gritting his teeth to hold back the way his drenched balls squeeze so painfully, biting down on your lower lip. “You’re s-supposed to kill me.” A drop of sweat splashing down on your cheek, “To kill me and maybe you’ll be hah- fuck mine in another universe. But not this one.” It’s like he’s out of control now, “Never this one. You can have anybody else.”

And suddenly you’re having a flashback to just a week prior, to an uncharacteristically solemn Satoru telling you words you should’ve been happy to hear. Quiet, and unassuming. Ones you knew that had you heard them before knowing Suguru, you’d have jumped into his arms - exactly how he hoped you would, the day of his departure. 

Chuckling at you being such a “crybaby” about him leaving. After all, this was just meant to be, right?

But no.

Instead, you’re here. Bunching Suguru’s beautiful, glossy hair curtaining the sides of your head, into a ponytail. Difficult - with how he was getting faster. Harder. Just ravaging your hole until you were gaping and breathless.

And yet, arms trembling and limp, you still manage to reveal the boy you fell in love with - the one you could never forget. From the flush on his pretty face, to the twisted, sad curve of his mouth. And the eyes that bore into yours like they were searching for the same thing. Smiling, for the first time since you entered this place, “How could I ever want anyone else, Sugu?”

The hand on your stomach is cupping your adorable face so softly - and it’s hard to believe those hands have killed. Betrayed.

Like they were capable of doing anything but as Suguru swipes the single tear glistening down your cheek, “Still a crybaby, huh, my love?”

And then you cum - and Suguru isn’t too far behind. 

It’s just a flash of hot white, tingles running down your spine - all the way to the thick, creamy base soon forming around his wildly twitching cock. 

And it’s so good. Too good that all you can do it scream out his name, letting him do anything - and you were glad all he did was fuck you so mercilessly through your high. So violent. Addictive. 

Vision blurry, mouth sagging open for Suguru to press intimate little kisses along the corners of your mouth. Whispering sweet praises as your cunt sucks him up so good. So sinfully milking him for everything he’s worth. 

Taking in rope after rope of thick cum that warms your gummy walls from the inside, overfilling just enough for it to dribble down into the mat below in an obscene little pool. Smearing down your thighs, his balls. Heavenly. 

His heaven.

And in the haze of it all, Suguru imagines that you’ll reach for your knife again, press it back against the curve of his exposed neck. He imagines you’ll laugh in his face, tell him what a great whim this was but you had to get back to your job, turning your back on him as he has done before. He imagines.

But what he gets is your strained, fucked-out little voice, “I missed you, my golden boy.”

A/N. Yes, That Line was inspired by HTTYD. If I had to be hurt, y’all do, too. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[fallow-hollow]

five stages of grief

…ft! kabru x gn! oblivious! reader

…tags! pining, confession, kabru is a bit of a freak about this, oblivious reader, reader is an adventurer

…word count! 2671

…notes! spreading my kabruganda to the masses!!! kabru is my me so I very much enjoy writing him

denial

At first, Kabru was so convinced that there was something behind your happy-go-lucky exterior.

You were so skilled in the dungeon, able to make it down to floors that even he hadn’t traversed yet. So you must have a good grasp on tactics, not only in battle, but also when socializing! Yes, maybe you read people expertly when they’d respond in kind to your friendly behavior…..

During the stage where you’re acquainted but don’t know much about each other personally, he spends so long crafting theories about what’s going on inside your head.

His party members get sick of hearing about it halfway through the second week.

Once you meet again in person, he’s ecstatic to have an opportunity to take a closer look at your inner workings. His words and mannerisms are calm and purposeful, but there is a certain spark in his eyes, almost trying to illuminate your thoughts and feelings with its shine.

Over the course of the conversation, Kabru starts getting a bit confused at his lack of new findings about you. It takes you saying something particularly damning for him to finally reach the dreaded conclusion.

“I don’t usually run into you in places like this.”

Kabru had encountered you one evening after exiting his room and seeing you and a few party members at the bar. It was nothing short of a strike of luck, and most certainly not him deliberately staying home that evening because he’d overheard your plans to go out.

“Hm?” You perked up, looking at him with a blank expression that was quickly replaced with a kind smile. Even trying to look closely, he couldn’t find anything present in your face except for a simple joy.

He would approach you with long strides, placing one hand on the back of your chair as to be friendly and intimate, but not so intimate as to make you recoil from a touch. The wink he gave you was with the eye facing away from the others on the opposite side of the table, ensuring most of them wouldn’t notice his flirtatious gesture.

“Want me to buy you a drink?”

Immediately, you raised one hand in polite refusal, your smile turning into more of a sheepish one. “Oh, I don’t know if I’d be able to pay you back. I wasn’t going to splurge much tonight anyway….”

As you talked, Kabru pulled up a free chair and sat down, a gesture that cemented himself in the conversation and setting. He noticed when he sat down in the middle of conversation, it made people less likely to turn him away than if he were still standing.

“No, no.” when he shook his head, his dark curls did a swishing movement. Once he looked back at you, he gave a half-lidded smile, only a tinge sultry in hopes you’d pick up his hints. “Your company is more than enough payment for me.”

Your party could only stare on with absolute pity as you waved your previously raised hand dismissively, giving what Kabru could only assume was a reassuring nod. Why did you think he needed reassured….? What did you think he meant?

“It’s completely fine, no need to be polite! We’re beyond such niceties at this point, I’d say. After all, I consider us to be at least a little bit friends, right? You don’t need to buy me a drink just to hang out!”

For a brief period, Kabru felt as if his whole world was spinning around him, before then shattering at the unknowing sledgehammer of your words. These statements and mannerisms suggested something far more than just a passive rejection…… no, it was something much darker.

You truly were as dense as a brick wall.

anger

Kabru doesn’t always react….. too calmly when people defy his expectations.

He’s able to keep a smile on his face just fine, but on the inside he’s screaming.

What do you mean there isn’t more? Where’s the scheme? The ulterior motive? The familiar secrets he can unravel and use to his advantage? Is it so bad that he wants there to be more?????

I’ll be honest, the man experiences his fair number of homicidal thoughts about you. In a strangely romantic way!

You’ll be chatting away with him, each remark and flirtation absolutely flying over your head, and inside his mind he’s just going I should gut them right here and sort their bones and vitals by size if they won’t let me dissect them the mental way.

And then seconds later he’ll go haha what was that! Anyway yes tell me more about the cute bird you saw last week.

I think Kabru does a lot of journaling, so he has a fair number of notes about you. Sometimes they’re drawings of you with notes about your appearance and physical mannerisms, other times he writes more free form about his thoughts regarding you. When he gets particularly frustrated, the writing can became scratchy or heavy handed to the point that it’s unreadable or nearly tears the paper.

The silence and solitude of the night was briefly interrupted by Rin rolling over in her sleeping bag. She was just beyond the range of the firelight where Kabru was still writing, and he could only barely see the way she squinted at him through her own tiredness.

“What are you scribbling about so late at night?” The mage would try to start another sentence, but be cut off by a yawn. If she was trying to be intimidating, it certainly wasn’t working. “Go to bed, Kabru, or else you’ll wake up to being sprayed by an undine if I have anything to say about it.”

That was a rather unpleasant thought….. even if the threat wasn’t legitimate, Kabru recognized that he’d probably spent far more time writing than intended. It was embarrassingly easy to get distracted when it came to you….just another thing that irked him about you. Yes…..’irked’. That’s most certainly the word.

“I’ll wrap it up soon, sorry to disturb your sleep, Rin.” With a grumble, the girl rolled back over, leaving Kabru to glance at his notebook for just a brief moment more before closing it. The writing was near illegible, but he still knew the words by heart:

‘I wouldn’t mind if they were scared of me. Maybe, if they sat on the other end of my sword, trembling and wide-eyed like human prey, I’d get to see a truly untouched side of them.’

bargaining

After the shock and rage subsides, Kabru tries to make you realize his feelings through pretty much every method imaginable except for confessing.

It feels like the man always appears at your side, always claiming he ‘happened to be in the area’ or something similar. And you never even question it, infuriatingly for him.

Your party members often tell you that something is up with the guy, that he’s hanging around you a suspicious amount but never being fully transparent, but you’d feel so bad about being suspicious of him when he’s done nothing but inquire about you and even offer gifts on rare occasions!

Kabru isn’t exactly the richest of adventurers, so gifts or treating you isn’t a regular occasion, but it’s certainly something he resorts to as a last ditch effort to try and get you to realize that he’s interested in you romantically.

Once he even tried to offer you a flower, but you still didn’t take the hint.

When you saw the flower in Kabru’s hand that day, your first thought was being so flattered that he remembered your conversation about which ones you both liked.

“Oh, Kabru!” You exclaimed with pure joy, causing the man to become embarrassingly excited that perhaps you had finally noticed the meaning behind all his gestures. Were you finally moved and wowed by his considerate, perfectly planned gift.

Clapping your hands together, you would beam and say, “You liked my favorite flower so much that you wanted to get one for yourself?”

A fly could’ve soared down Kabru’s throat in the time of that pause, but you paid it no mind, instead eagerly awaiting his reply.

The look on Kabru’s face was a completely blank smile, his bright blue eyes seeming to have almost burned out like a pair of oil lamps. Then, as he regained his composure, those lights flickered back on again, albeit wavering slightly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take it yourself? If you like it so much, I’d be happy to let you take it home.” Poor Kabru, he should have learned by now that hints have no effect against the impenetrable fortress that is your cluelessness.

Your grin was the nail in the coffin, letting him know you had something in your head that was absolutely not anything he could anticipate from anyone else. “But why not use it as some decoration? Your party members always talk about how sparse your room is, and it could even remind you of me when I’m away! Here—“

You ushered him closer, a hand now on the small of his back giving him sparks that teetered between pleasurable and painful. The free hand gestured to the plant he held so delicately, pointing out different features like the petals, stem, and so on. “I can even tell you some facts about it; that’ll help you enjoy it that much more deeply whenever you see it! And you’ll remember our conversation!”

The way you could be so resistant to his advances yet so sweet to him could be nothing short of torturous sometimes.

depression

For a while, something fairly rare happens to Kabru: he falls into a slump.

He spends a long time in the dungeon, slashing away at monsters as if it might help him clear his head. His teammates notice that he can get more aggressive in combat than usual, but never really ask him about it.

He also becomes more spacey during mealtimes, and while some peaceful silence is nice, having Kabru of all people be so uncharacteristically quiet for so long.

It comes to the point that something similar to an intervention happens one day after dinner.

“What’s up with you, Kabru?” Mickbell wasn’t one to beat around the bush, immediately starting his line of questioning while looking at his teammate, void of mischief or amusement. “You’ve been all broody and silent all week. Can’t just expect us to not ask about it.”

“What Mickbell said,” Kuro concurred almost immediately after.

The tallman did his best to blink away his tiredness and offer a more confident look that he usually used when trying to rally his team under an idea or calm them down. “I didn’t mean to make you guys worry that much about me. It’s just something I’ve been personally interested in, so it’s not something you guys need to worry about.”

“A personal problem?” Rin cocked a brow. “If I know anything about what interests you, it’s probably a person.”

“Haha, caught me red-handed like always.” He raised his hands in faux surrender, though Rin didn’t seem to be put at ease by the gesture, so he tacked on another statement. “I was surprisingly stumped on what tactics to use when talking to a certain person, it’s really got me thinking.” Averting his gaze to the side, he could almost conjure an image of your grinning face in the corner of his vision. “It’s pretty exciting, though, so I don’t mind.”

“Ugh, I knew it!” The half foot threw his head back in exasperation, causing Kuro to extend one arm behind him in case he fell. “It’s that brick-headed adventurer you’re getting all cozy with, isn’t it?! What, you thinking of starting a new party?”

While Mickbell was busy stomping his foot to punctuate his accusation, Holm merely hummed. The gnome usually stayed pretty impartial to matters like this, but that didn’t mean he could always resist throwing in a comment or two.

“I’d be stumped too if I thought about human interaction like a battlefield.” His tone of voice remained soft, but his words were still quite pointed. “You really have to be upfront about your feelings sometimes, you know that? At least, if Mick’s description can actually be trusted.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

After those two broke down into petty squabbling, Kabru could merely try his best to mask his realization behind a tight-mouthed grin.

Holm was right, and he hated it more than anything.

acceptance

Okay, this is the part where Kabru actually bites the bullet and talks about his feelings. Truly a miracle of life.

Kabru can have a lot of trouble being fully vulnerable due to feeling like he’s losing control, so he does his best to maintain control over the rest of the outing. He arranges the time, location, even makes sure to get there first. It’s the most he can do to not feel completely helpless at the whims of his own fickle heart.

When you arrive, a new wave of nervousness hits him that’s almost like nothing before. Kabru has slain men without a second thought, and here he is resisting the urge to tremble because he has to tell his crush he likes them.

He starts off with small talk, sort of building up to his confession while also beating around the bush just a little. Asking you how you’ve been, if you’ve done anything noteworthy, if you’ve meet any new people…..

Eventually, Kabru decides that if he waits any longer, he may instinctually try to hide his intentions in the long strings of small talk he’s making, so he finally takes that leap.

He said your name, and your eyes flickered up to his face. Even if you were spacey at times, you never stared past him or through him whenever he was addressing you. It made him feel….strange. It was odd to feel truly perceived at times.

“Can I be….. terribly honest with you?” He cards his fingers through his curls and closes his eyes, and you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly beautiful he looked.

“Of course,” you responded without thinking. Not like you ever needed to think twice about your appreciation for the man. More than that, really.

There was stillness, and all you could hear was Kabru’s deep inhale through his nose. He intended to phrase it more eloquently, he really did, but when he opened his eyes again and saw you waiting on his words with baited breath, there was this instinctive fear that maybe this would be his only chance. That you would walk away or disappear, leaving him with only the memory.

He didn’t want just a memory.

“I want you to know that I love you above all else.”

Your mouth hung agape like his had many times in response to your own remarks. Were it not for how shocked he was at his own words, he would have chuckled at how cute you look.

Before he could even scramble to elaborate on his uncharacteristically blunt comment, you blurted out in a similar fashion, voice slightly raised and head perked up,

“You really feel that way?!”

Faced with your blushing face, Kabru could only affirm the feelings that you promoted from somewhere deep within him. “Yes, I’d been trying to win you over for a long time, really.”

If you were flushed before, then now you were nothing short of flooded with embarrassment from ear to ear. Despite this, you were smiling, wobbly and sheepish. “I mean, it’s not like I’m shocked in a bad way or anything — I always thought you were really wonderful, too wonderful for me anyway. I really never thought you were pursuing me of all people!”

For the longest time, your denseness had given Kabru untold grief. Upon seeing you state it so plainly, however, he just couldn’t find it in his heart to be upset. Not when it was one of the things that made you so fascinating.

“I’d sort of figured as such, yeah.”

[chelseeebe]

and they said, speak now

18+. mdni. smut. mentions of cheating. femreader!xeddie. no use of y/n!

a little second chance romance story wherein eddie is invited to your wedding, though he’s hopeful that it’ll never actually happen.

a/n: wanted to get this finished so i could start writing a follow up for too sweet (bc i love it and i love mean asshole eddie) so i hope it bridges some sort of gap while i write :p switches pov a lil bit but it’s all marked out 4 ya.

“-gettin’ married to who?” eddie spits, barreling into the living room with a mouthful of cereal.

steve looks up from the paper invite and shrugs, “mark?” mouthing a quiet i don’t know as robin looks between the two.

“and i’m invited?”

“i mean.. it says all of us so..” he looks up at eddie, “do you even want to go?” dubious at eddie’s overly keen questioning.

eddie’s bewildered that he’d even ask, “‘course we’re fucking going,” shaking his head, still gripping onto his bowl of cereal, “i didn’t even know she was datin’ anybody else.. what the fuck.”

robin shares a look with her best friend, thinking eddie hasn’t seen. he knows exactly what they’re not saying. it doesn’t exactly need to be spelled out for him.

perhaps eddie hadn’t ever really gotten over it. it being you leaving to new york for college, breaking up with him in the process.

maybe they were justified in their judgemental glances, it’d been years since you’d left. he should be over it by now. evidently, you’ve moved on. why hadn’t he?

but he wasn’t and now he’s not sure if he’ll ever be.

-

the five of them shovel into jonathan’s car, robin squished between eddie and steve in the back with their bags piled high in the trunk.

eddie stares out of the window, he had started to regret agreeing to go. his ex-girlfriend, whom he wasn’t exactly over, was getting married to some fuckhead he’d never met and now he had to go and wear a suit and pretend to be happy about it all.

“i still can’t believe she’s getting fucking married,” he grumbles into his fist.

robin grins, nudging her elbow into steve’s ribcage, “oh this going to be so much fun,” elated at his misery.

jonathan sighs quietly, throwing his head back against the seat and slyly turning the volume up so as to not hear any more of eddie’s whining.

there’d been months of it, so he’s not surprised.

-

eddie is fucking elated to reach the hotel, gawping at the grand exterior as they get out of the car, stretching their legs after the long trip.

“jeez,” robin utters, staring at the tall building with her mouth hung open, “at least she’s marrying rich, hey?” wiggling her brows at eddie’s less than excited face.

he doesn’t rise to it, ignoring her obvious attempts to get him riled up.

it’s even nicer inside, gold plated ornaments decorate the walls, outdated paintings of old people he didn’t care to know, joining them.

they’re in the process of checking in when a familiar voice comes from behind, a small, meek, “hey guys!”

it’s you.

they spin, sharing tired smiles as you stand looking horrifically awkward. like somehow you hadn’t shared years and years of history with every single person here.

everyone else gets a short, half hug, exchanging niceties while eddie waits patiently for his turn. he doesn’t think you’ll even acknowledge him.

but your eyes lock, that same sinking feeling that he felt all those years ago as he watched your car pull out of hawkins plagues his stomach.

“hey,” you nod, tense as you open your arms for a hug.

it’s more than he’d ever expected, now finding himself stuck, unable to embrace the situation. you’re exactly the same and yet he feels like he doesn’t recognise you. barely touched by the graces of age, still the same girl he was sure he still loved.

eventually he pulls himself together, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you in.

fuck.

you even smell the same. the heavy vanilla scent of your shampoo wafts through the air, transporting him back in time to nights shared in his cramped room, talking about the future together and how you couldn’t wait to get out of hawkins.

it’s utterly ironic, and not to mention heartbreaking, to think about now.

“hi,” eddie musters, sounding as pathetic as he felt.

the others watch on in anticipation, expecting a screaming match only to be met with whatever the fuck this was. dancing around each other like two complete strangers.

“how.. uh, how was the drive?” you ask, fiddling with your fingers, the way you used to when you were nervous.

“long,” he smiles meekly.

there’s too much he wants to say, desperately wanting to just shake you and ask what the hell you’re doing getting married to someone who’s not him.

besides, four sets of eyes watch both of you eagerly, hoping for an argument or maybe the exact opposite.

“there you are!” a gruff voice bellows, coming out of the mouth of the most insufferable looking man eddie’s ever seen.

he walks over with his shit-eating grin, taking you away from eddie’s grasp, leaving an aching in his fingertips.

your brows shoot upward, sighing softly, “everyone, this is mark.. mark, these are my..” your eyes dip, unable to meet eddie’s gaze, “friends.”

mark’s hand extends towards eddie, grinning like a complete fool as he shakes it. “nice to meet you man! heard so much about you,” his grip tight, squeezing the tired bones in his hand.

eddie wonders if he’s asserting his dominance, if you’d told him who exactly he was. about all those years you spent as his girlfriend. about how he used to make you cum in two minutes. or perhaps all the times you swore that if you had to get married, it’d be to him.

eddie doesn’t count on it.

-

eddie waits. and he waits. and he waits.

pacing the floor of his room, contemplating if he truly had the nerve to stalk the halls to your room or if he’d have to sit here and regret it forever.

fuck it, he thinks. there’s no guarantee he’ll even knock on the door, he just needs to get out of here and at least try to.

eddie’s acutely aware that nothing he says to you will change your mind in fact, he thinks you’ll more than likely slam the door in his face.

but he’s gotta try.

- reader’s pov -

it’s a quiet knock, barely audible as you toss and turn.

you debate even answering, too caught up in your nerves to care about some bridesmaid complaining about her dress or your mother prattling on about the floral arrangements again.

but then they knock again, louder this time though it sounds more unsure, a hesitant wrap of the knuckles, pulling yourself from the comfort of your blanket to see what they wanted.

you hardly register who the person is before immediately wanting to slam the door in his face.

“what are you doing?” you hiss through the small gap in the door, noting that it was somewhere between 11 and midnight.

“i wanna talk,” eddie frowns, carefully wedging his foot between the door, as if you wouldn’t immediately notice.

“we don’t need to talk,” you refute, scowling at your batshit crazy ex.

he sighs, looking around the empty corridor, knowing he shouldn’t be here right now. “can we.. i just wanna talk.. that’s it,” his eyes wide and begging.

you take pity on him, you always did when he had that pathetic frown on his face. like a dejected puppy that needed you to cradle him.

something in your head screams out to just close the door, it’s a terrible idea and you know it.

alas, you pull it open a few more inches, giving him the chance to slide inside before it’s shut again, turning the lock immediately.

if anyone were to walk in, your relationship would be ruined, tomorrow would just be a waste of money and you’d be a social pariah in your circles.

“why didn’t you tell me that you were getting married?”

the nerve to ask that question like he deserved an explanation. you haven’t even seen the man in years and yet, he feels as if he’s owed something from you.

“i didn’t know i had to,” you shrug, standing a few feet away from him, hoping to keep the distance.

eddie scowls, brows knitted into a line across his forehead, “you don’t- i thought we were friends.. friends tell each other those things.”

“you haven’t seen me in years eddie!” raising your voice despite being surrounded by your friends and family. “what gives you the right to march in here and ask me that?” stepping closer with every word, taken aback by his sheer nerve.

his eyes harden, jaw tense, “you left me- you did that and then the next time i hear from you, it’s because you’re getting married? s’that not completely fucked up to you too?”

“i didn’t leave you! i went to college, like people our age are supposed to! it’s not my fault that you’d rather sit in jeff’s basement pretending to be a rockstar,” snarling your upper lip, hoping you’ll hit him right where it hurts.

if nothing else, it’s frustrating. eddie was always talking about his big dreams and how he was going to get out of hawkins once and for all, make something of himself and never look back.

but you got tired of waiting for that to happen. years and years of soon and i’m not ready’s had left you pretty hopeless for any kind of future with him.

he shakes his head, scoffing, “oh? so should i have followed you to new york? watched you change everything about yourself for some asshole?”

there’s a lump in your throat now and weirdly, not a speck of anger. at least not about his words for your fiancé. more so about his complete disregard of your feelings, the dreams you put on hold for him.

“i didn’t.. i didn’t change,” bottom lip trembling, “this is me eddie,” nostrils flaring as you skulk closer, “you just don’t know me anymore.”

“i know you better than he does,” he fires back, adams apple bobbing in his throat. a sincere, honest tone.

it only makes you more frustrated, the audacity to come here and act like this, the day before your wedding.

you laugh in his face, a maniacal cackle, “you’re deluded,” gathering all of your strength not to punch him in the face, “you should leave, before you embarrass yourself any more.”

he’s almost frantic now, grasping the air, “i’m not the one embarrassing myself here. the you i know would never want this.. what happened to that girl who promised to marry me? where’s she?”

“people change eddie! you clearly haven’t!” you hiss, prodding your finger into his chest, hoping you’ll somehow set him alight with your fingertip.

he grabs your hand, keeping it close to his heart as his frown sets in. “tell me- tell me that this is what you want, the big wedding and fucking mark and a coupl’a kids, tell me and i’ll leave,” downturned eyes, begging himself not to cry.

you want to scream, ferociously snatching your hand away from him before you turn away. sick to death of looking into his glossy chestnut eyes. loathing the feeling of your past flooding back into your brain.

a few years ago, you would’ve been certain that eddie was the one you were going to marry. marriage wasn’t something you were ever particularly interested in, your parents hadn’t been the best example. but if it had happened, it would’ve been nothing like this, maybe in the tiny chapel in hawkins, a couple years from now, a small, private ceremony with your friends and family. you’d be lying if you said you had never thought about it.

about what could’ve been.

somewhere, buried deep inside, you longed for it.

eddie doesn’t budge, hearing the sounds of his heavy breathing from behind. you can picture that stupid look on his face, pathetic and sullen as he waits for a fleck of hope.

you turn back, praying that you’ll have somehow found the strength to tell him to leave in the two seconds it takes to face him.

it doesn’t come, the lump in your throat dissipating only to be replaced with a fiery pit in your stomach.

and then a moment, where neither of you have the guts to speak any longer, in what feels like the most intense battle of eye contact you’d ever been a part of.

but it’s over as quickly as it started, both of you lurching forward at the same time, lips crashing together in a hungry kiss, finding the side of his head for leverage as his antsy hands grip your waist.

the rest is just a silent routine, one you two have been through a hundred times before.

your back crashes into the desk, pressed into the wood by his torso. a hand squeezing your thigh as you’re helped onto the surface.

the metal on your fourth finger aches, as if some higher power is attempting to intervene, to stop this mistake before it goes too far.

it’s dutifully ignored, spreading your legs to allow him between your soft thighs. the thin material of your shorts meant that you could feel everything. his cock jumping as it brushes against your heat, low grumbling into your mouth at the action.

his jacket slips from his shoulders and onto the floor, your soft hands running down the length of his arms, brushing against the tattoos you used to spend hours tracing.

eddie’s hands roam your body, between your thighs, tucking underneath the elastic of the shorts as your hips lift in unison, allowing him to pull them down.

his throat rumbles at your lack of underwear, rough denim pressed against your cunt, his erection demanding out of his jeans.

your fingers fumble with his jeans, hearing the low clink of his belt somewhere muddled between his grunting and your melodic pants.

the throbbing between your thighs becomes almost insatiable, finding your own release on the rough fabric of his jeans, sighing into his mouth, allowing his tongue to slip into yours instead.

cold fingers grip your thighs, lifting your legs so that they rest around his waist, clothed cock nudging against your heat, growling into your mouth.

your head jerks back, “my mom.. my mom’s next door..” you pant, fingers trailing over his lips, doing nothing to muffle his raspy groans.

“good,” eddie smirks, hurriedly tugging his boxers down beneath his balls, burying himself inside of your soaked cunt, “i never liked her.”

a strangled moan is all you manage in response, grabbing at the desk for a little leverage as his hips meet the back of your thighs. any anger you felt towards his insults towards your mother quickly float away, turning into static as he slides slowly in and out.

marvelling at the sight of your cunt once again envelopes around him. you’d missed that, his damn near infatuation with your pussy.

the wooden frame knocks against the wall, whatever shit you had compiled for the morning all comes tumbling down, clattering to the floor alongside your long mewls.

eddie near enough melts, fingers melding into one with your skin, filling your cunt to the hilt. a certain feeling that had never been replaced, only achieved by him and his undeniable love for your pussy.

your lips catch onto his, attempting to muffle his hoarse groans, hoping to to god that the walls were thick enough.

“missed you,” he murmurs, half into your mouth, the other vibrating against your chin as your lips connect in the most careless manner.

your eyes flutter shut, chest heaving, pressed to his as your fingers begin to loosen their grip on the desk. his pace unfaltering with utter desperation, an exhilaration he had chased for years, to no avail.

“fuck,” you whine, regretting the shaky word the second it slips out. one arm hooks around his neck, forehead resting against his as his hair begins to stick.

it’s so disgusting, so wracked with desire that you’re sure you’ll be thinking- feeling it for months.

eddie’s cock nudges against against the spot only he could ever find, his pubic bone catching against your clit. fuelling the inextinguishable fire in your stomach, only making it rise into your throat.

with every fervent thrust he’s grumbling something;

fuck, shit, love you, love you.

your legs tremble, exhausted as they sit around his zealous hips. naturally, they tighten, drawing him in closer, an incessant need to feel all of him all at once.

“you can’t.. not inside,” you pant, opening his eyes to meet his though they’re not on yours. staring starry eyed at the space between your bodies, watching as they collide in ways your heart had longed for.

he’s close, you can tell. choking on his breaths when you squeeze around him, signalling your own orgasm.

“fuck, i can’t-,” eddie howls, desperately pounding his cock into your quivering cunt, giving everything away for the last thirty seconds.

you cry out, toppling over the edge as your stomach all but bursts, the pleasure reaching every last nerve in your body. clinging to his neck with a white knuckle grip, clutching his clammy skin as your body turns to mush before him.

eddie just about manages to pull out, sliding between your slick folds before his stomach lurches, shooting thick ropes of cum onto your stomach, thighs and the desk.

your foreheads remain as one, gasping into the hot air that surrounds you.

finally, his eyes trail up toward yours, meeting with the most sorrowful look that a man who has just cum, could hold.

it’s as if reality sets in, untangling your legs to shove him away. harsh and untoward as he stumbles back, still reeling from his own orgasm.

“oh my god,” you mumble incoherently, “oh my god, i’m getting married tomorrow,” clenching your fist, shouting as if he were somehow unaware.

his silence is deafening, his release still clinging to your body as you jump from the wooden table, marching into the bathroom, swallowing the urge to cry.

eddie stands with his head hung low, belt still undone as you sanctimoniously barging back past him to redress yourself, muttering ferocious whispers to yourself.

“i’m getting married tomorrow,” you repeat, unwavering anger in your voice. undecided on whether you were telling him or yourself that fact.

“so you’re still gonna marry him?” eddie asks, a slight hint of optimism in his tone. he had reason to be, you suppose. anyone else would assume the same.

you swallow, “what else is there for me?”

getting married had been the next logical step. you had the job, the house, the sweet, timid guy that wouldn’t hurt a fly. why wouldn’t you marry him?

his face crumples, brows stitched together in confusion, “me?”

almost on instinct, your head shakes, smacking your palm into his shoulder, “no. not you. it’s not supposed to be you,” a certain sadness plaguing your tone, “it was never supposed to be you,” palm slapping into his chest.

eddie’s face falls, holding his jacket in his hands wishing you’d take it back, tell him you were lying and that you really did still love him.

buried somewhere under years of regret, you probably still did.

tears weep out of the corner of your eye, quickly wiped away with your trembling finger. “you need to leave,” eyes pointed to the floor, refusing to look at him any longer.

he sighs, hesitantly stepping around the mess you both had made and out of your peripheral view. slow steps, willing for your mouth to open and those three words to dance out of it.

the door clicks shut and you’re alone again. nauseous and wishing you had just let him stay, wanting nothing more than to be held in your insurmountable feelings of remorse.

-

you’ve barely slept, overwhelmed with a sense of guilt and indecision.

six years of work and making something of yourself had come horrifically crashing down in one night, one stupid, moronic mistake.

but was it really a mistake when your heart still aches and your lips still feel the traces of his.

a short knock breaks you from your trance, the noise you’d been dreading all night.

sarah. bright-eyed and stupidly excitable nature, ready for your wedding day.

“woah,” she remarks, eyes darting around the room you’re just now realising you forgot to clean, “crazy night?” she smirks, eyeing the bottles and pens that had fallen from the desk to the floor.

“oh,” you smile, bile rising in your throat, “i’m just..” clambering for an excuse, “clumsy.”

she scoffs, dumping her bag on the unmade bed, “you don’t have to lie to me,” smile growing, “if you and mark wanna.. break traditions then i’m all for it.”

her wilful innocence makes you feel all the more worse. you’re supposed best friend was none the wiser, bouncing around with a proud smile, ready for your wedding day.

- eddie’s pov -

steve notices something’s up immediately.

dark rings accompanying eddie’s eyes after he had gone missing for hours last night.

“you good?” steve’s hand thwacks against his back, assuming eddie’s manner was all to do with the fact that you were getting married and not that only a few hours ago, he was telling you that he still loved you while you were having sex.

the ride to the venue is quiet, which everyone appreciates, having prepared for a litany of complaints and whining.

the church is even more extravagant than the hotel, resembling one of those castles he’d seen in a fairytale book.

he wants that to make him feel better, that at least he wasn’t the one wasting all of this money on a stupid wedding, but it doesn’t.

because irregardless of how much money you were spending, you were still marrying someone else.

sure, it wouldn’t be a particularly honest nor holy marriage but it’d be a marriage nonetheless. something he would never have with you. no matter how hard he tried.

they file into the pew, sitting slumped against the varnished wood as everyone chatters around him.

concerned heads fly around, the groomsmen rushing up the aisle as they’re beckoned by your bridesmaids.

eddie sits up, looking around at the frantic bridesmaids who were desperately trying to get the pastor’s attention. something’s wrong. he can feel it in his bones.

he throws up a quick two with his fingers to steve before sliding out of the pew, ducking his head down the aisle as he searches for you.

slipping past the worried wedding party, opening a multitude of doors in search of you. hoping that you’d at least made it to the church, that you were okay.

he doesn’t expect to find you in here, holding onto your mouth, mascara stains dripping down your cheeks, curled into the corner with your shoulders shaking. eddie slips in, shoving the broom in between the door handle, ensuring that no one else could find the pair of you.

you spend a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes until you squeak, “what’re you doing?” the most soul crushing tone that makes his heart ache.

“i came to find you,” he says, simply.

because he would, he’d do it in every life.

your palm smears the black stains around your cheek, scoffing at his words. “you shouldn’t have.. i’m fine,” trying to convince yourself more than you were him.

“you don’t look fine.”

your bottom lip trembles, threatening to spill over again. evoking a harsh stab of guilt through his chest. eddie surges toward you, placing his palms over yours, “you don’t have to do this.. we can leave right now,” he assures, searching your eyes. he’d whisk you away in a heartbeat, you didn’t even have to ask. just give him that look.

your nostrils flare, a wail constricted to the back of your throat, trying hard not to alert the hundreds of wedding guests sat just a couple hundred meters away. the dark light of the closet does well to accentuate your tearful eyes, his heart aching with every sniffle, every quietened sob that falls from your lips.

then, you growl, rather forcefully slapping his chest, “this is your fault,” fingers grabbing onto his suit jacket, “why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” frustration seeping out of your words.

eddie doesn’t have an answer, at least not one that would make you feel better.

so he stands in silence, letting you treat him like your verbal punching bag.

“i can’t do it,” you cry, burying your face into his neck, “i can’t.. marry him.”

he nods, stood just before you in this cramped closet, “you don’t have to,” assuredly grabbing your sodden cheeks, streaks of black stain his palms, “we can go.. anywhere you want, right now.”

promising the world because really, it was all he had to offer.

he wasn’t rich, hadn’t figured out how to get the fuck out of hawkins yet but he did know that he loves you and he’d do anything to prove that.

you swallow, averting your eyes to the sparkling ring on your hand, curled into the fabric of his jacket. “okay,” flicking back to his eyes, it’s so simple and yet it knocks the breath from his lungs.

nothing really registers, eddie had planned for more bargaining, certain that regardless of his pleas, you’d still end up walking down that aisle, promising yourself to another man.

“really?” he asks, clarifying for both himself and for you. there was still time for you to pull yourself together and go get married, he wasn’t going to deny you that.

“really,” you nod frantically, “i’ll go anywhere,” tugging at the collar of his shirt, “anywhere with you.”

[tbko111]

Covet

⊱ contents: yuta x fem reader, post-relationship, smut, dubcon elements, yandere, jealousy, fingering, classroom sex, possessive behavior ⊱ wc: 1.5k ⊱ synopsis: Your boyfriend Yuta is perfect; lenient and secure. He trusts you more than anything. So why do his palms get sweaty when you talk to your friend Yuji?

"Hahaha! That's so dumb." You nudge Itadori with a giggle, him laughing back. He had stopped you for homework, which had now escalated to unrelated chatter.

Yuta smiles along, patiently waiting for the conversation to cease.

Eventually you wave Itadori goodbye, continuing your walk through the school hallways.

“I didn’t know you two were so close.”

“Yuji? Yeah, I guess we started getting along.”

Your boyfriend scans you up and down, in a way that betrays the nicety of his smile.

This was only the beginning of Yuta’s water torture. Every other day he’d see you talking up your newly established friend, and each time it came close to dismantling his well-mannered front.

With every playful gesture the two of you exchanged, it became hard for him not to stare possessive holes into you. Like he could capture you if he’d stared hard enough.

He was better than this; he was a good boyfriend. No, you’d even promote it to perfect. He knew this, and knew the bearer of such title wouldn’t throw a jealous fit. So on went his unbothered charade, suffering in silence.

The more he internalized it, the more it nagged him. Like a bad song stuck in his head. Why were you laughing with him, and not your own boyfriend with as much ease?

Yuta would be lying if he said he wasn’t starting to get frustrated with Yuji at least a little from his density. He was always too friendly; something Yuta viewed as good up until now.

It was now that when you’d offer him small pecks, he’d pull you in for just a moment longer with a sinister longing welling up in his deep blue eyes, confining your reflection.

Even after a few months his secret wishes went in vain, evident in the way that just today, you had agreed to hang out with Itadori outside of school.

Truly you thought nothing of it, but Yuta was having an anxious fit. His jaw even hung open for a moment at the news before quickly composing himself.

Even if he trusted both of you, even if it was in a public scene – It was eating him alive.

They say people tend to fill in blanks with pleasant imagery, but the opposite was true for Yuta.

His love for you was ugly; it whispered paranoia into his ears. The groundless prospect of you sharing flirtatious looks with another guy clouded his better judgment.

Looks soon turning to touches, touches escalating to kisses, kisses leading to…

He stops there. Lest losing the remnants of his sanity.

It was after school around 5, the two of you having fallen victim to cleaning duty.

“Can you follow me?”

His shift in mood was quite noticeable ever since you dropped the bomb on him, and that long silence was interrupted by his abrupt request.

You tilt your head inquisitively, but comply. The delicate hold he takes on your hand fails to foreshadow what’s to take place.

He leads you to your empty classroom. The dusk sky had dimmed all too soon, painting the scene with a mellow orange hue.

You sit half-perched on a nearby desk, resting your palms on the edge.

“What is it?”

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

Yuta looks sad, like a dog, aching for a morsel of your undivided attention.

You answer his question with a quizzical look, blinking in ignorance – only until the pure, searing jealousy in his eyes burns through any confusion you may have had a second prior.

The realization kicks in, in the form of a quiet “oh”.

Of course. You wince, doing a mental facepalm.

Soon, his shadow envelops you snugly, making you shrink back and slide up the desk to sit fully.

Your feet swing above the ground, leaving you at his mercy. Nowhere to run. Furthered by how you were now caged within his arms, warm hands dearly holding yours.

You feel his breath against your mouth, eagerly closing distance until he kisses you as if running out of time, his grip grows more firm. Clumsy, even. You gasp as a tongue is shoved into you, fevered to explore every inch.

The kiss lasts nothing short of an eternity until he pulls away, desire only inflamed rather than satisfied.

You whisper out his name, slightly overwhelmed.

Yuta breathes softly onto your neck, bordering on animalistic.

"If you were trying to get a rise out of me, it worked."

You whine, trying to push him away weakly but failing miserably. 

“I wasn’t.” you stammer.

But seemingly nothing you say will salvage the situation now.

"I don’t want you to go."

It was a soft plea, but the demanding undertone sent shivers up your body. Such selfish requests were a novel concept coming from Yuta, but the delivery alone helps you realize they were underlying all along.

And now, that it consumed him.

He slides his left hand onto your shoulder to keep you still, the other inching inwards your thighs. Instinctively you wriggle away, but only end up falling flat on the desk assistingly.

“Wait… we’re still in school.” he holds back a laugh at how your flushed face was forsaking your prim act.

Yuta looms over you with little to no composure, hooking over your leg with his arm, holding your thigh. What was to come was unavoidable now, your heart racing miles per minute.

You squirm as he bunches your skirt up and his fingers graze over your clit, slowly pressing against the fabric like playing you for reactions.

And correspondingly, you flinch and let out a small noise. He rubs circles around you, grinning to himself at how quickly he got you soaked.

He keeps up until you whine – in his head a plea for more, which he’s more than eager to satisfy.

Wasting no time, he reaches into your panties, teasing you more before the roughness of his calloused hand invades your velvet walls, making you tighten them shut.

"Relax..." He chuckles shyly, failing to hide the damn near perverted pensiveness he wore.

It inches in slowly. Your insides felt so hot and inviting, and your thrilled face was driving him crazy - his love for you heightening to almost destructive. His breath gets caught in his throat in delirium.

His pretty fingers dip in and out leisurely, the cold of his ring making you twitch with each deep thrust. 

They quicken before he knows it. Oblivious to you, his patience had worn thin long ago.

"Ah, mngh... Yuta, slow down-"

To think the careful hands that would never overstep small loving touches, could fuck you like this, was baffling to say the least. Especially since his upward curl on your sweet spot was making it hard to think at all.

"Feel good?"

"I... I dunno,"  Yes, God, it felt amazing but you couldn't tell him that - unless to die of embarrassment.

But he knew nonetheless. It was impossible not to with the way your mouth hung open, eyes struggling to do the same. But he wanted to coax it out of you himself.

Yuta gives your head a small kiss - like a feigned apology for how he soon presses you down, one knee now touching your chest, welcoming his digits deeper against your will. Startled, you gasp for air both from the sensation and the compromising position.

He maneuvers his fingers like he has your body all figured out, curving to a spot you never knew you could hit with fingers alone. The uncouth feeling makes whatever dignity you clung onto get knocked out in bliss.

His pretty black locks hang over you as he smoothly leans down more, both worsening the feeling and making his voice vibrate quietly in your ears.

"How about now?"

"Mn, uh, yes..." It spews out of you, as if your body spoke for itself disregarding any rationale. The way you were in shambles from his hand alone made him sigh in anticipation. Just how you'd look when he stuffs you with something more…

“Will you stop talking to him?”

You can barely grasp what he’s talking about, and just nod automatically. He looks contented, kissing you as a prize.

For a moment his movements slow from your stiffness, but he subdues it easily. The pace unrelents, and humiliation doesn’t begin to describe what you feel in being so powerless over a few fingers. The overwhelming weakness of your limbs almost has you convinced that he must have sedated you.

You cling onto his white uniform with noises slightly resemblant of words, and he gets the hint. He laps his tongue against yours, continuing to toy with you.

Soon a firework erupts in your brain, blurring your surroundings, even your thoughts. Your shameless, muffled noises spew into his mouth.

You shiver as it slowly dies down, leaving you twitching and gasping.

Yuta pulls back to look at you pleased, and you reciprocate – only more dazed.

His fingers pull out steadily, as if sad to be parting with you.

He licks them clean, then meets you with a warm smile. Such a filthy act done so casually.

Through hazy vision you can’t help but see yourself in his dim eyes again, staring back like she’s trapped in his pupils forever.

“Let’s go back to my dorm.”

♡ ao3

[steveshairychest]

After defeating vecna for a second time, Steve decides he's had enough of Hawkins and all things supernatural.

After hunting around for a few weeks, he scores himself a quaint little apartment big enough for him and for Robin when she eventually moves in after college. He doesn't sell his parents' house or demolish it like Robin suggests. No, he leaves it to sit and rot. He hopes his parents will come home one day and find it overgrown and falling to pieces, hopes they'll trudge up the steps to find the note that he had nailed to the front door that says, 'Welcome home :)'. Robin insisted on adding the passive-aggressive smiley face.

They move away from Hawkins and don't think about it for years. Sure, Steve still calls their friends who decided to stay there, and he often finds himself missing their company, but he doesn't miss the place itself. Only the people. He's made it very clear to them that he doesn't intend to step a single foot back into Hawkins until he dies. Everyone knows this, especially Robin, who's been informed on multiple drunken occasions that Steve wants to be buried on top of the hill next to Eddie so that he at least knows someone else in the graveyard.

But then he gets a letter in the mail, a simple letter in a white envelope and it haunts him for days.

The letter is from Wayne. His handwriting is rough and messy but familiar; they've been sending each other letters for a few years now. The cigarette ash smudged in some corners makes him smile. Most of the letter is just niceties; asking Steve how he is, what he's been up to, if he's found himself someone. Stuff he's used to. But then the words, 'I can't be alone for it Steve, I can't do it. I need you here. It's been 5 years, and the day still hasn't gotten any easier. I'd like it if you came to visit.' They punch Steve in the gut and leave him aching for days.

It takes him an entire week to call the number on the back of the envelope and confirm with Wayne that he'll be there. Just this once he'll go back to that retched place. For Wayne.

For Eddie.

The drive passes by in a blur, one second he's on the highway, the next he's passing by the Welcome to Hawkins sign and driving along the streets he thought he'd never see again. Wayne told him over the phone that morning to meet him at the cemetery, said that he wanted to get the hard part over and done with so that they could spend the rest of the day catching up and listening to Eddie's tapes. He'd be lying if he said he didn't cry for a solid 10 minutes in the car park, the memories that he had tried so hard to forget rushing back the second he lays eyes on Eddie's grave at the top of the hill.

He still remembers the hollow ache in his chest the day he helped Wayne pick out a spot. He had gone home that afternoon and begged Robin to make it stop, to hold him and tell him that the pain would go away. She had told him what he wanted, she had held him on the kitchen floor and promised he would never have to feel like that again.

She'd lied. That same ache spreads throughout his body as he trudges up the hill to stand before the shabby grave and the tears he thought he had left back in the car come bubbling back up as he stares down at the graffitied headstone. He hasn't seen it since the day he left. He forgot how overwhelming it is to see Eddie's name carved on the headstone.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited." He says through sobs, his vision blurred by tears as he plops down on the soft grass in front of the headstone. "I miss you." The words almost choke him.

There's the sound of footsteps behind him, boots crunching against the leaves and twigs. Wayne must have finally shown up. Steve doesn't turn around, he doesn't want Wayne to see his tears. He's supposed to be here as support. He's supposed to be the one coming up behind Wayne to offer his condolences. He stops beside Steve and sighs softly.

"Hi." Steve says weakly and finally looks up at Wayne - except... it's not Wayne.

"Hi, Steve."

It's Eddie.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Do you have any Kane headcanons?

I sure do! <3

Rating: T  Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?•ko-fi•

EDIT: shout out to @reallyrallyauthor who has just posted some amazing headcanons too!

Smells floraly. It’s not an extreme/off putting smell, but it hits you every now and then. At first, you think it’s just his body wash or something, but pretty soon you work out it’s just him. (My brain is telling me especially like a Hawthorn scent for some reason.) 

Animals love him. It’s almost like they are hypnotised/drawn to him. Wild animals will act domesticated/docile around him. Pets will instantly bond with him. He doesn’t seem to bat an eye at this and just acts as if it’s completely normal. 

Once a grizzly bear came out of nowhere when you were both on a hike, despite the noise you had made sure you’d been making. You’d frozen, grabbing at Kane’s arm. But Kane had just cocked his head to the side and the bear had sat down peacefully. 

“It’s fine.” Kane had told you, voice even and quiet.

But when he saw your panic, he’d nodded his head to the side and the bear had walked off that way. 

He didn’t understand why you’d dragged him back to the car. “It was fine.” 

“Grizzly’s kill people Kane.” 

“We were safe.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

He’d looked at you carefully, as if you were a toddler trying to convince him you’d see a flying pig. 

He doesn’t like to shake hands when meeting new people. It’s unsettling for him, makes his skin crawl. But he’ll do it anyway once he learns about social niceties to try to fit in. However, he’ll grab your hand afterwards and squeeze it rhythmically to calm down and get rid of the stranger’s touch. 

He gets overstimulated easily in new situations around new people and will just shut down, not speaking and avoiding eye contact completely. His warning signs are subtle and easy to miss unless you’re paying attention. 

However, if you’re near he’ll find you and just say, “leave.” quietly. 

He also comes to you when he’s overstimulated, most of the time he’ll just bury his face in your neck to shut out whatever is causing him distress. 

Despite not liking touching strangers he is more than happy to touch plants, animals and inanimate objects. And you. 

In fact he rarely does anything without some kind of physical contact with you. Holding your hand or touching your arm or leg, putting his head on your shoulder, practically laying in your lap. He’s like a cat. 

Doesn’t like it when you’re upset. It’s one of the rare times you see an immediate reaction from him, even if he doesn’t understand what’s upset you or made you angry he’s doing whatever he needs to to fix it. To stop you from feeling pain. 

Someone once pushed you rudely in the supermarket and you frowned. Kane was one second away from throwing a punch. You had to drag him out of the shop and explain that that wasn’t an ‘appropriate response’. 

He has settled on being very vocal if someone is impolite towards you, just saying “Rude.” very loudly and pointedly while staring the offender down. 

People don’t like his stare. The one he only seems to use when something’s gone wrong. When someone’s trying to square up to him. It seems to stop them in their tracks and make them reconsider. Causes a little spike of terror in their hearts. 

He’s never used the look on you, only gazing at you quizzically or softly. 

He follows you around, a little lost at times. Needing to be in the same room as you. 

At first it was a little disconcerting. The way he’d climb into your bed in the middle of the night. How he once got in the bath with you (fully clothed and not understanding your shock). You never feel scared around him though, you know he’ll never hurt you. 

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh @romanarose @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[crownmemes]

Oblivious Sentences, Vol. 3

(Sentences for characters that have a habit of missing the obvious. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"You hide behind your intelligence."

"Are you being intentionally thick?"

"You never could read people, could you?"

"How bad can it be?"

"Even if real human contact is something you don’t have, or even want or need, you should at least be able to see it in other people."

"There are many aspects of human irrationality I do not yet comprehend."

"How do you know you didn't miss something important?"

"Are you saying you want to date me?"

"What people say and do doesn't always make sense."

"You're really not good at reading people, are you?"

"I don't know how to make people like me."

"Is that rhetorical?"

"Forgive me, these things sometimes slip my mind. It won't happen again."

"This actually makes sense to you?"

"Is this some clever practical joke that I'm not aware of?"

"Is that what they say about me now? Paranoid?"

"I've got to warn you, he's lacking in some of the social niceties."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"You really don't know, do you?"

"I'm supposed to show you sympathy?"

"Just because you can't see what's going on doesn't mean no one else can!"

"Am I behaving incorrectly?"

"Was that funny? I never know when I'm being funny."

"I can lie, I'm just not all that good at it."

"I've been out of circulation so long, I've completely forgotten social niceties."

"You know, when you're interested in something and nobody else is, the polite thing is to keep it to yourself."

"I'm trying to make people like me. I want them to like me."

"Your not knowing the reason doesn't mean there isn't one."

"I don't quite understand what's happening here."

"If you look the way you do, and you say what you said, you have to be aware of the effect that it’ll have on men."

"How is it, for a man surrounded by women, that you know so little about us?"

"You're much better at this sort of thing than I am."

"Did I do something to anger him?"

"I know you were trying to help, but there are some people who might not see it that way."

"Sometimes I forget that you have such capacity for pure innocence in your life."

"Is that what we are? Friends?"

"Do you know why people are nice to other people?"

"Is there some significance to this action?"

"It's frustrating not to understand something so fundamental."

"Did I say anything stupid?"

"I've been trying very hard recently to get more in touch with my feelings."

"But how does this even make sense?"

"You're really not good with nuance, are you?"

"I thought you didn't have a sense of humour?"

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY (see full series list here)

1993

On the 22nd of November you sit on the floor of your office late at night, watching the flames of your fireplace crackle and pop. Beside you, sits Harry, eyes focused on the fire as well. Sirius had asked him to wait in front of the fire in your office at one o'clock and for you to be there too. You can't say your heart isn't beating faster than the steady tick of the clock on the wall, worried and giddy at the same time.

"I'm sorry about this whole situation, Harry," you say with a sigh, reaching out to stroke Dubh's fur idly as she clambers into your lap. "I know this isn't what you want. I tried everything to get them to change the rules but nothing worked."

"Thanks," he says blankly, like he's used to being disappointed.

"And that article in the paper — "

"I didn't say anything of that. It's a lie," Harry responds quickly.

You nod. "I'm well aware. Rita Skeeter is...difficult." As soon as the words have left your mouth, you grimace, shaking your head. "Actually, she doesn't deserve that nicety. She's a bitch, Harry. A nasty old hag that has nothing better to do with her life than spread rumours and sensationalise everything in sight."

Harry seems slightly taken aback by your words but nods in fierce agreement nonetheless.

"My best advice to you, Harry, is to run for the hills every time you see her — or just wave me over if I'm near. I am well accustomed to small talk with people like her — the trick is to just get them talking about themselves."

He nods. "I don't plan on going anywhere near her ever again."

"Smart decision," you say, sighing. "And look — I know I'm not supposed to get involved but if you need any help whatsoever, just ask. There's plenty of useful spells I can teach you and tips I can give — anything at all."

Just then, the flames move in a peculiar fashion and Sirius' head appears in the fire. Both you and Harry let out a small gasp, and when you look at Harry, his face has broken into the biggest smile you've seen him wear in weeks.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaims immediately.

He looks different from the last time you seen him. His face had looked gaunt and sunken, but now he looks far healthier and his hair, which was long, matted and greasy, is now clean and neat. You're glad to see that though he's trimmed it a tad, he's kept the beard. He looks younger.

"Hello, Harry," he says, before he turns to you, smiling, "and hello to you too, love."

You bring your hand up and give him a tiny little wave, unable to stop the giddy smile taking over your face at the sight of him.

"How're you doing?" Harry asks.

"Never mind me, how are you?" Sirius asks firmly, returning his attention to his godson.

"I'm — " Harry stops himself suddenly, holding himself back. Just when you're about to check if he's alright, he spills. He tells the two of you everything: about how no one believes that he hasn't entered himself into the tournament, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he can't walk down a corridor without getting sneered at, and about the toll it's all taken on his friendship with Ron.

You feel your heart ache for him. He deserves absolutely none of this and you wish you could do more to help.

"Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons — I'm a goner," he finishes desperately.

Sirius is looking at Harry with deep concern as he says, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute — I haven't got long here...I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

"Just break into Moony's house next time," you say simply, shrugging. "Sounds much easier to me."

Sirius gives you a look that suggests he already thought of that, but obviously decided not to as he was already coming north to see you two. You smile cheekily at him and he shakes his head, refocusing his attention on Harry.

"What do you need to warn me about?" Harry asks.

"Karkaroff," Sirius says. "Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"He's a Death Eater?" You're shocked. Just this morning you picked his fork off the ground for him at breakfast!

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year — to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

There already is an Auror at Hogwarts, you think. Or did Dumbly-dorr just forget about me?

"Karkaroff got released?" Harry says slowly. "Why did they release him?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," Sirius replies bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then named names...he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place...he's not very popular there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

How do you not remember any of this? Surely you'd have seen this all mentioned in the papers around that time?

"Okay..." Harry says. "But...are you saying that Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing."

"We know he's a good actor," says Sirius, "because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry — "

"You and the rest of the world," he says bitterly.

"— and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius says hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, "but I don't think so somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he still can't spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"So...what are you saying? Karkaroff's trying to kill me? But — why?"

Sirius hesitates.

"I've been hearing some very strange things," he says apprehensively. "The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone cast the Dark Mark...and then — did you hear about that Ministry witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?" You say. You recall reading that article about her disappearance not too long ago.

"Exactly...she disappeared to Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last...and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but...it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?" says Harry.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Sirius says grimly, glancing at you. "Do you remember her at school?"

You nod your head. "She was at Hogwarts when we were, a few years above us," you explain to Harry. "As thick as a board, she was. Very nosey, too. Awful combination."

"Makes her easy to lure into a trap," Sirius finishes.

"So...so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?" says Harry. "Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"

"I don’t know," Sirius says with a shake of his head, "I just don’t know...Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing." Harry grins bleakly. "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"You'll be fine," you reassure firmly, though you're not sure if it's for Harry's sake or your own. "I'll be there, all the rest of the teachers will be there, and there'll be that group of dragon keepers there too."

"Look, about these dragons," Sirius says, speaking quickly now, glancing around him furtively, "There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try a simple Stunning Spell — dragons are too strong and powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon — "

"Yeah, I know, I just saw," Harry says.

"But you can do it alone," Sirius tells him, looking him straight in the eye. "There is a way, a simple spell's all you need — "

Knock-knock.

At once, all three of you go dead silent and whip your heads to the closed door.

"Go, Sirius, quickly!" You hiss at him urgently.

You scramble to your feet, grabbing Harry's invisibilty cloak off the desk and launching it at him.

"Quick!"

Harry frantically pulls the cloak over his head and ducks behind your desk as you make you way over to the door, glancing back at the fireplace to see that Sirius' head has disappeared and the flames have returned to normal. You feel a small pang in your heart.

Who could possibly be knocking at your door at one o'clock in the morning? Surely everyone is asleep by now?

You pull the door open and are met with nothing but the quiet, dark corridor.

"Must've been Peeves," you mutter angrily, moving to close the door. Of course that poltergeist would find a way to cut your time with Sirius short.

"Oh, no, mistress, it is Bitsy!"

You look down in search of the voice and sure enough, at the foot of your door, is Bitsy, grinning up widely at you with her ginormous eyes reflecting the flickering light of the candles on the wall. You notice that she's holding a tray of scones in her tiny hands.

"Bitsy?" You say in shock and confusion. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"Bitsy was cleaning this corridor, mistress, and heard talking coming from mistress's office! And Bitsy thinks 'why is mistress up so late talking?' Perhaps she has a guest and is very hungry! Mistress was not at breakfast this morning, and I isn't seeing mistress in the kitchens either!"

While part of you feels angry and cheated that she's just interrupted your seldom chance to talk to your husband, you can't be mad at Bitsy and her big kind heart.

You chuckle softly. "Oh, Bitsy. You are far too kind to me. You're right, I didn't attend breakfast this morning nor did I go to the kitchens in the afternoon — I had breakfast with a friend of mine in Hogsmeade today. I should have told you."

Bitsy beams at you and holds the tray out for you to take. "Bitsy is glad to know you did not go hungry this morning. For you, mistress!"

You accept the tray with a smile. "Thank you, Bitsy. You are very kind — let me go fetch something to give you as a thank you."

"Oh, no, mistress! I cannot accept anything from you, I is just doing my duty!"

You leave her momentarily, placing the tray of scones down, grabbing a box off your desk and returning to hand it to her. "Film for your camera, Bitsy. So you can take more pictures. "

You don't miss the gleeful smile that spreads over Bitsy's face as she looks at the box in wonder. "Mistress, I must not — "

"I insist, Bitsy. Actually — I order you to accept the film. I know how much you love your camera," you tell her, pushing it into her hands.

"Thank you, mistress," she says gratefully, bowing to you. "I must return to my work now, unless mistress requires Bitsy for anything?"

You shake your head, smiling. "No, but thank you, Bitsy. I think it's time for mistress to get some rest."

Bitsy leaves, clutching the film tightly in her hands and bowing out of your view before Disapparating. You close the door behind you, letting out a sigh as Harry stands up slowly, pulling the cloak off.

"I'm sorry about that, Harry," you say. "I really wish we could have more time with Sirius."

"Yeah, me too. Was that a house elf?"

You nod, chuckling. "Sure was. That's Bitsy. You see, I stay up much later than everyone else — I'm usually up in the tower because of course, the best time to view the stars is at night, so I sleep in the next day and miss breakfast a lot of the time. And when I do, I can go down to the kitchens and Bitsy and all the other house elves will give me something to eat — have done since I was in school myself and did the exact same thing. Bitsy is my saviour, honestly. She's an absolute gem."

"You're able to get into the Hogwarts kitchens?" Harry says curiously.

"Yep. There's a painting of a bowl of fruit down by the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room — just tickle the pear and the door'll open right up for you."

You know that as a teacher you probably shouldn't be telling him this, but you don't really care. You went there countless times as a student so why shouldn't he?

Harry nods thoughtfully before asking, "That spell Sirius mentioned, that could defeat a dragon...have you any idea what it is?"

You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against your hip as you search your brain for anything like that. "I don't, Harry, I'm sorry. Perhaps you could try confundus, and confuse it? I can't say I'm too familiar with dragons...now, you should go to bed, Harry. A good night's sleep for the next few days is what you need before the first task. And in the meantime, I'll have a look and see if I can figure something out for you."

"Thanks, but I doubt I'll find it easy to sleep," Harry remarks, throwing the cloak back over his head.

"Well, if you do find that you can't sleep, come up the Tower," you tell him with a smile, pulling the door open for his invisible figure. "I find stargazing is the best way to relieve stress and solve problems."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You feel like you're about to get sick. You stare at the Hungarian Horntail, huge and terrifying as she crouches protectively over her eggs, huffing great hot breaths out of her large nostrils. And there, standing across from this fearsome beast as though rooted to the spot, is Harry. The crowd roars around you but you can barely hear them as your stomach knots and twists and flips with sickening worry.

"Accio Firebolt!" Harry yells, raising his wand.

You wait. The crowd waits. Harry waits.

And then you see it. Harry's broomstick, his Firebolt, hurtles towards him and stops in mid-air beside him, waiting for him to mount it. You vaguely register Ludo Bagman roaring something over the crowd in response to this, but you're too focused on praying to whatever great deities you can to protect your godson. You're just so relieved that he managed to figure something out — and something so clever, too! Why hadn't you thought of a Summoning Spell? It's so simple. Sirius will be so proud of Harry when he finds out.

Harry rises into the air, the wind rushing through his hair, surveying the dragon not far below him. A sort of resolve seems to come over him and then he dives, forcing you to bring your hands up to cover your eyes in fear.

"Oh, I can't watch," you breathe. Beside you, Minerva gives you an understanding look as she watches on. You hear the rush of fire, the crowd cheering and screaming, and then —

"Great Scott, he can fly!" Bagman roars. "Are you watching this, Mr Krum?"

You open your eyes just in time to see Harry plummet to the ground once more, just missing the burst of flames that flies from the Horntail's open maw — but not quick enough to completely avoid the whip of her tail and to your horror, one of the long spikes grazes Harry's shoulder, ripping his robes.

"Harry!" You shriek, practically about to chew your finger off with the alarming rate you're biting the tips of your nails as you reluctantly watch on, wishing for it to be over.

He begins to fly this way, then that, not near enough to make the dragon breathe fire at him to stave him off, but still posing a sufficient enough threat to make her keep her eyes focused on him, tracking his every move.

The dragon's head sways with his movements, her eyes unwavering as she followed him, gruesome fangs bared. You can feel your heart palpitating in your chest. Harry rises even higher, the Horntail's head rising with him, her neck now stretched out to its fullest extent.

You jump as the Horntail lets out a deafening roar, her tail thrashing threateningly as she blows another burst of fire at him, which he thankfully dodges.

She opens her mouth and then she finally rears, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last and Harry seizes the opportunity to dive at an incredible speed. You can barely keep your eyes on him with the rate he's whistling through the air, hurtling towards the nest of eggs.

"Come on, come on, come on..." you chant, hands tapping frantically at the tops of your thighs as you sit on the edge of your seat, watching impatiently.

Harry takes his hands off his broom, seizes the golden egg, and with another huge burst of speed, he's off and soaring out over the stands. He tucks the egg safely under his uninjured arm, and looks out over the stands.

You can't help but jump out your seat, cheering yourself hoarse as you voice your praise and feel relief wash over your body like a tsunami. The noise around you is monumental, drumming in your ears like a jackhammer.

"Look at that!" Bagman yells. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!"

The dragon keepers rush forward to subdue the Horntail and you hurry out of your seat, practically sprinting to the entrance of the enclosure. Minerva is hot on your heels and Moody and Hagrid have already beaten you, waiting with wide smiles for Harry to land.

"That was excellent, Potter!" Minerva cries as the boy hops off his broomstick. She points a shaky hand to his shoulder. "You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score...Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already..."

"Harry, you were brilliant!" You exclaim excitedly, eagerly pulling him in for a hug and beaming at him. Normally, you'd worry about other students thinking you have a favourite — which you do, of course you do — but today you couldn't care less, you're so overwhelmed with relief and swelling with pride for your godson. "Absolutely brilliant, Harry! Just — fantastic, honestly, I can't believe it, I was so worried — I'm so proud — "

"Thanks," Harry says, unable to keep the large smile on his face down, his face red.

"Yeh' did it, Harry!" says Hagrid hoarsely. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all, an' yeh know Charlie said that was the wors' — "

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry says loudly, so that Hagrid doesn't blather on about how he had shown Harry the dragons beforehand. You give a light chuckle.

Even Moody looks very pleased, the slightest of smiles tugging at his cracked lips. "Nice and easy does the trick, Potter."

"Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, please..." Minerva says, gesturing to the tent with her hand.

He leaves, giving you all a grin before heading into the tent and you just smile proudly after him, rolling on the balls of your feet.

"Oh, he was just excellent, wasn't he?" Minerva says to you, smiling. "The best out of the all the champions, by far!"

You nod enthusiastically. "Easily! Oh, Merlin, I am just so glad he came out alright, I thought I was going to chew my own hand off with worry..."

"He was migh'y," Hagrid says loudly, a sob racking his body as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a large handkerchief, bigger than your face, and blows into it. "Jus' migh'y."

"Oh, Hagrid," you say softly, reaching up to place a comforting hand on his back, smiling sympathetically.

Across the enclosure, the five judges are sitting at the end in raised seats draped in gold. The first judge, Madame Maxime, raises her wand in the air and what looks like a long silver ribbon shoots out of the end of it — forming the shape of a large figure eight.

"Not bad," you remark, clapping along with the crowd. "Must've been the injury that lost him marks..."

Crouch comes next, shooting a number nine into the air.

"Excellent!" Minerva exclaims.

Next, Dumbledore puts up a nine and the crowd yells louder than ever.

Ludo Bagman — ten.

You turn to Minerva in disbelief, matching looks of shock with each other before you eagerly applaud.

Now, Karkaroff raises his wand. He pauses for a moment, and then a number shoots out of his wand — four.

"What?" You yell indignantly, blinking several times to make sure your eyes aren't tricking you. "A four?"

"How shameful, he gave his own student a ten!" Minerva remarks angrily.

Several members of the crowd seem to agree with you, bellowing angrily and booing at Karkaroff's biased marking.

Suddenly, Sirius' words ring in your head.

He's a Death Eater.

You feel your spine chill as you look across the enclosure at Karkaroff's steely expression, steadfast in his decision to reward Harry four marks.

Scumbag.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"A toast!" Dumbledore announces, raising his glass. "To the completion of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

You grin, raising your glass in tandem. "Cheers!" You clink it against Minerva's, then with Professor Sprout's on your other side.

All the staff have gathered in that small room right of the Great Hall for a little staff-only party, the fire blazing in its place and radiating a pleasant warmth around the room. The house elves have prepared a small spread of finger foods for the lot of you — and you've gone straight for the cupcakes, decorated humorously with little edible dragons. They're delicious — you make a mental note to voice your thanks to Bitsy the next time you see her.

Despite the happiness that's settled in you since Harry's successful task, when your eyes land on Karkaroff, sitting on the opposite side of the room to you, talking with Snape, unease gnaws at your gut.

You're sitting in a room with a Death Eater.

You've been in this situation countless times, of course, back when you were an Auror. But then, you knew what was going on. You knew what you were in for. Here, you don't. At parent-teacher meetings, you don't doubt you've been in the company of some Death Eaters, or former Death Eaters, rather. Some of your Slytherins' parents certainly seem to have a fondness for opaque, long-sleeved shirts...

You can't help but remember that night at the Quidditch World Cup, and your brain starts to picture one of those cruel Death Eaters pulling off his mask and revealing Karkaroff's sharp face.

You grip your champagne glass tightly, downing the contents and taking a deep breath. You should go mingle, the time for investigating Karkaroff can come tomorrow.

It's this little staff party that you finally get acquainted with Madame Maxime properly, trying your hand at your conversational-level French. She seems very impressed at this, delighted that you know at least a little bit of her own language — she says something about the 'arrogance of native English speakers', which you don't disagree with.

"Oh, and look at this pretty diamond on your finger!" Madame Maxime exclaims suddenly, catching sight of your engagement ring, sitting pretty above your wedding band on your left ring finger. She takes your hand in her much larger one so she can inspect it closer. "You are married?"

You look at the sparkling ring, glinting in the candlelight, smiling softly. "Yes, I am."

"How sweet," she remarks, dropping your hand gently. "I was married once."

You raise your eyebrows imploringly and she leans closer, waving her large hand theatrically as she says, "But he was a bastard."

She laughs fiendishly, and you just sort of watch, unsure whether you should laugh or not.

"You can laugh!" she assures when she sees your unsure expression. "Good riddance, is what I say. He thought he could keep the company of some girl while I was at working at Beauxbatons — so I said to him, 'fuck you and the whore you rode in on!'"

You nearly choke on your champagne, shocked at what you've heard come out of Madame Maxime's mouth. She grins proudly, showing rows of pearly white teeth. She seems to be finding your shock very amusing as she laughs again.

"His loss," you tell her, chuckling.

"Absolument." She shrugs nonchalantly, as though it was nothing to her but a stone in the bottom of her shoe. "Et toi? Where is your husband?"

You don't answer her for a moment, sucking on your teeth. "Well, I don't know, actually."

"How do you not know?"

"Oh, because he's just escaped from prison," you answer simply. You don't know what makes you tell her that. It would have been so easy to lie, but you don't. Perhaps it's the two too many glasses of champagne you've had, or perhaps it's the way Madame Maxime doesn't seem to care about anything, really, other than Fleur Delacour and the tournament.

Her mouth drops for a second, before she laughs. "Ah, well, c'est la vie. Marriage is never easy."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. It feels weirdly relieving to you that she couldn't care less about your personal life. You find a new respect for the woman in front of you. "Certainly not."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→⁠→ read chapter twenty-one here!

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

Hugs and bisous for my incredible taglist loves:

@wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo @carpe000diem @jennifer0305 @idkman5335

[tough-n-dumb]

lullabies

this ficlet is shamelessly inspired by the ending of No Reason to Be Afraid by @insignificant457 because i couldn't get inej wishing kaz a goodnight out of my head. thank you for writing this beautiful pre-canon fic—all credit goes to you!

“Goodnight,” she calls after him, then winces. Goodnight? You’ve just joined a gang, Inej, have a little dignity. He pauses, already halfway out of view, then leans back to look around the doorframe, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Goodnight,” he says stiffly. She gives him a weak smile, which he registers before leaving without further comment.

Read below or read on AO3

It becomes a habit; a nightly routine. A goodnight, Kaz her closing remarks of most evenings—or sometimes in the dark and early hours of the morning, depending on the day. More often than not, he’ll murmur it back. If he doesn’t, she’ll give him a little tsk and a hushed, chiding manners before slipping out the window. 

They spend more time together than she thought they would—probably more than he thought as well. But after jobs, she begins to linger, the windowsill in his attic rooms now her designated perch. From it, she can watch both him and the city like the spy he’s crafting her into. She likes to dangle her feet into the cool air and observe the stars that burst through Ketterdam’s cloudy sky. They’re in different places in the night sky here than in the Ravkan plains and mountains, but the constellations are familiar. She is so far from home, but the longer she spends in the Slat, in her perch in this dangerous boy’s room, the more the definition of home starts to change (though for her, home has always been other people). 

She sometimes uses variations like sleep well or sweet dreams though she knows he’ll most likely have neither. She tries not to worry about that; tries not to listen to his pacing above her, the way his bed will creak in the middle of the night from him tossing and turning. She can only imagine what he sees when he closes his eyes in the dark. She understands what it’s like to face your demons even in sleep. 

When she uses these softer variations, he’ll often smirk and offer a wry remark in return. Something along the lines of, “What’s next Wraith, you’ll sing me lullabies?”

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” she shoots back. She gets comfortable, teasing him like this, and it pleases her that he doesn’t seem to let anyone else get away with it. 

But what neither of them know—and how could they?—is that years down the line when those same nightmares come knocking she will do just that, lending him the lilting words her parents sang to lull her to sleep whispered into his hair, the rich Suli consonants curling around them in the darkness. Their voices, they find, are one of the best ways to bring each other back from the crumbling ledge of their memories—though they’ve always known to some degree that that was the case. 

One night, she’s reclined on the sill, legs stretched out and head tilted back, the warmth of summer bathing over her even after the sun has set. She yawns and rubs her eyes, and when she opens them, Kaz is staring at her. He clears his throat and looks away, shuffling some papers on his desk in a manner she knows is just for show. 

“Go rest, Inej.” It’s a dismissal, but not an unkind one. Simply a directive. She nods, rubs her eyes once more and sits up all the way, about to wish him a goodnight when—

“Goodnight. Sleep well.” He mumbles it while still staring down at his mess of papers. 

She freezes and lowers her hands, a big smile spreading on her face. 

“What was that?”

“Go to bed, Inej.”

“Oh, no, that’s not what you said.” She is absolutely grinning now, much too pleased that she’s taught her Barrel boy niceties. She thinks his face is slowly turning pink, the tips of his ears bright with color. 

When he finally looks up at her, she feels her chest tighten at the sight. His eyes are so dark they’re nearly black in the room’s low light. The shadows crease his face into hard lines, but yes, there it is—a high blush spreading across his sharp cheeks. 

“Goodnight,” he finally repeats. “And have the sweetest of dreams, darling.” He’s injected a gratuitous amount of sarcasm into the words, but the way his eyes dart over her face—and, she thinks, settle on her lips before he looks back down at his desk—gives him away. 

“Goodnight, Kaz,” she says before slipping into the night. Tonight, she isn’t plagued with her usual nightmares. Tonight, she dreams of a leather-clad hand in hers, warmed by the sun, and sea breeze in her hair.

[buttdumplin]

A John Price meet-the-fam special!! This is pure, indulgent fluff.

cw: gn!reader, latine reader word count: 1.2k

When Price first meets your family, it goes over smoother than fucking water over a polished worry stone. It just is. You thought it might go like that, knowing that he’d do practically anything to make himself fit in as seamlessly as possible. But you also knew that bringing home a white guy always comes with a very specific brand of first interactions.

You prep him for the teasing that’s to come, about his accent, about his complexion, about the food he eats. John takes it all in very seriously, nodding along and asking probing questions. It’s all for your benefit, and he’s incredibly mindful of that. You don’t necessarily need to know he’s already got a plan of action, though.

By the time you arrive at the family home, you’re a little stiff, braced for the barrage of probing questions that’s to come. You can tell the family is curious, you see the tías eyeing up and down. But there’s no interrogation this time. Because John beats them to it. He’s polite and answers all the niceties as respectfully as he can. And then he immediately launches into offering up information, as cryptic as it may be. He dons that dimpled smile of his and tells them what he can.

“I’ve been at this job for a while now, but I’m retiring soon. It’s actually my personal life that I'm more invested in improving now.” 

“I’m hoping to buy a home in the very near future. Maybe like this one, a big family place. I’ve been tucking away money for it for a while now.”

“I’ve had to spend a lot of time away, but I’m really looking forward to staying home with this one.”

The tías are swooning when he makes intense eye contact with you across the table as he speaks. He’s not hiding any kind of intentions, from you or them. None of the information is particularly new to you, but hearing him say it out loud? In front of all the people important to you? It’s one thing when it’s quietly discussed in the early hours of the morning. It’s another thing entirely to hear it all said in such a permanent way.

At one point, your godmother, as entrometida as she always is, mentions she’s willing to go shopping with him if he’s ever in need of a ring, says she’s always had a good eye for your style.

“Oh, no. Se lo agradezco, pero ya no va a ser necesario,” he replies with an even bigger smile, and it’s got the women hollering. They’d take a bite out of him if they could. John carries himself with the firm confidence of knowing who he is, and they can see that. They respect it.

The tías, predictably, also do everything they can to keep you two physically apart. You’re put on comal duty, keeping you in the deep corner of the kitchen where he can’t reach you. John himself doesn’t try to reach for you, wanting to spare you the godforsaken “chiflando y aplaudiendo” even at your big age. So he keeps busy by setting the table, asking only where he can find the cups and tableware. They all ooh and aah.

“Ven? Ni se le tuvo que pedir,” they shout at the tíos, pointing at John’s busy hands.

A few questions do pop up once dinner is set. Do you eat this kind of food? Have you had this before? Do you like it? Tíos razz him into adding more and more salsa on his food, and John, knowing full well how it all ends, goes along with it. He’s managed to build up some tolerance that he’s quite proud of, but there is no way that’s saving him. He knows what he’s in for. A single bite and his face turns so red it’s almost purple, his coughing making it hard for him to get water down. The tíos laugh and he’s smiling along with them, the tías rushing to get more water and napkins and a cup of milk because “I heard this helps white people?” You swap his plate out for a new one while they’re all caught up with John, taking a few bites of food to try to match it to the dish he had before. 

A bubble of softness blooms in the room. The tías are cooing over him, consoling him after his “brave attempt.” The tíos take turns patting his back, smiling down proudly at him for having met their challenge. He smiles back at you from across the table, knowing full well what you’ve done to his food, spotting a few more veggies than he’s originally served himself. The tablecloth is long, surely they won’t spot him gently nudging your foot with his own. 

When your godfather invites him out onto the porch for a smoke, John knows it’s his time to shine. He asks you to stay inside with a wink. He brought those Cuban cigars with him for a reason, he’s sure he’ll make it through. You hold him at the door for a second longer, just enough to give him a tender kiss before sending him along. Neither of you missed the way your godfather so clearly recognizes the way John moves, his own military past helping read further into the man you’ve brought home. You know there’s a good chance of this not going perfectly. 

Ignoring the calls from your tías, you crawl to sit below the window that lets out right behind them. They both let out soft grunts as they settle into their chairs, a long hum of appreciation from your godfather clearly signaling John has opened the cigar box for him. It’s silent for a while. The only sounds come from the lighter and their soft exhalations. Then a soft rustling begins. It’s not the trees, it’s too muted for that. It’s not gravel, they aren’t going anywhere and they certainly didn’t make their getting-up grunts. No, it’s their clothes. Because they’ve come up with hand signs on the spot, across languages, so you can’t listen in. 

There’s some chuckling, surely that’s a good sign! But the low sigh coming shortly after isn’t very encouraging. You try to make sense of it somehow, but there’s no distinct rhythm to it. And suddenly you’re twelve again and trying to sneak a peek. You may not need a stool to help you, you’re tall enough to see through the window on your tiptoes. Maybe if you do it slowly, they won’t notice. So slowly it goes, your knees creaking as you inch up. Their rustling continues; good, they haven’t noticed. Yet as stealthy as you try to be, they’re both looking directly at you as you finally get eyes on them. Their smiles all too knowing. You godfather winks at you, clicking his tongue fondly. He holds a hand up before you can say anything, groaning a little as he rises. He takes a beat to look down at John. You’re all frozen for a moment. And then your godfather’s hand comes down firmly on John’s shoulder, giving him a sturdy shake. 

“Me meto antes de que la vieja huela todo este humo,” he says. It’s done. No disaster, just acceptance.

When you turn back to John, he’s already got a mad grin on his face, “See? This old white boy’s still got some moves.”

AN: I am buckled the fuck in for all this latine reader content, so yall will be seeing a whole lot more of it. Thank you again to @mikichko!!! For your support and encouragement, and your incredibly generous feedback. I'm doing this to feed us both.

Let me know if yall wanna see anything with latine reader in particular!!

[hollandsangel]

WAIT WAIT I DIDNT EVEN SEE U HAD TOM REQS OPEN, BUT I'VE BEEN THINKING ABT A FAME AU SORTA THING AND TOM IS PERFECT FOR IT:

just sort of tom and reader sneaking around the pap to see each other, secret moments in crowded rooms y'know all that lovey shtick.

(this ones so vague im sorry 😭 however was inspired by 'paris' by miss ts)

this one is SILLY but i love her thank you sm for the req love!!!

⇘ ⇘ ⇘

at first it was actually quite stressful, dodging cameras and wandering eyes, rarely leaving the house just the two of you and never touching in public, but as time went on, it sort of became a bit of a game. although you might have been getting a little too bold.

 tom is definitely getting too bold, sending you glances across the room where he sits with harry and haz, something bubbly in his hand.

you sit at a different table with a few costars, trying not to get too distracted by tom’s smirk and dark brown eyes. it’s hard though, considering the perfectly tailored suit hes wearing, accompanied by shiny cufflinks and his glasses after you’d begged him to wear them tonight. you feel a strange sense of triumph knowing you’re the one to have convinced him to wear his glasses, likes its just one more secret to add to the list. his hair is a proper mess, proper in the sense it’s styled to look effortless, but it’s tom, so of course it’s effortless.

you take a sip from your glass of water and lean in a bit closer to hear the story maude is telling a bit better, something about her latest play. there’s cameras everywhere, people posting instagram stories and journalists coming in from the red carpet, big cinematic set ups for the live stream about to take place.

you swear you sense him before he even utters your name, maybe you smell his cologne or hear his voice subconsciously amongst a hundred others, but suddenly he’s at your table, greeting others before you.

he says your name, feigning surprise as if you didn’t wake up in his bed this morning.

“i didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” he says, hand on the back of your chair. hes smirking, glasses slipping down the bridge of nose. you think you see harry gag behind him.

you smile innocently up at him, licking your lips, “tom! it’s so nice to see you!” you push your chair back and stand to give him a hug, biting back a laugh when harry mutters a curse under his breath and walks away from the two of you with full commitment. tom does the same.

a camera pans around the room from a few tables away and you begin pull away but tom stops you, whispering “coat check” before you separate.

you hear him, but keep up the facade, “it’s so nice to see you,” you fake niceties.

“you as well, i’m sure i’ll see you around, just gonna do the rounds,” he moptions a circle with his finger, nodding at the rest of the table before wandering off.

“i guess you haven’t seen each other since the movie came out,” someone across from you says, “lovely man,” they tell you.

you simply agree before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

it’s so juvenile, you think, the giddy feeling you get in your stomach from sneaking around and giggling with tom in dark corners like the one you’re in now, tucked away in the coat room, sneaking kisses and little touches when no one is watching.

“tom–” you don’t know what cuts you off first, your stifled laugh or his mouth on yours, “i have to get back to my table.”

he grips your waist so you cant wiggle away, grinning at you.

“we’re gonna get caught,” you’re kissing him back, so it’s hard for him to believe you really have to go, even for a second.

“not if you stop talking,” he teases.

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Sixteen

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: angsty angst… it’s not getting better anytime soon lol and a few cuss words.

Notes: Ngl this one is a little light on the word count(so sorry!), but ya girl has been dealing with a week of no power following a hurricane… This chapter still hurt me in the chest, but I’m trying to be patient while I get to the juicy bits! If the name I have for your blog isn’t working, please let me know and I can fix it asap for you!

Word Count: 1300

Series Masterlist

• Late September, 2005 • Forks HS •

Reader

Getting involved romantically with a vampire - what’s there to lose?

Everything, apparently.

To include my sanity, my piece and fucking quiet too.

“Did you finally scare him off? Or did he realize he could do better and run for the hills?” Lauren Mallory sneers, Forks High School’s resident bitch.

Her manicured hand slowly slides up my locker door and snaps it shut, I manage to snatch my hand back in time to avoid the thin metal before it could do any damage.

Rolling my eyes, I turn and head towards my next class silently, not in the mood to engage for fear of tossing fuel onto her fire. I can hear her cackle as I walk away, thankfully she doesn’t follow or I would’ve truly lost it.

Rounding the corner and finally out of her line of sight, I beeline for the nearest bathroom. Stumbling in, I push open the closest unoccupied stall and sit on the toilet, bag in my lap.

Eyes closed, deep breaths, it’s fine. Everything is fine. Her words mean nothing and they’re empty, she’s an opportunistic cunt and doesn’t know the situation. Her words mean nothing, Y/n.

Except they plant a seed of doubt anyways.

He did run for the hills, they all did. I told him I loved him and nothing. Gone, erased from my life, ripped off like a stuck band aid that leaves behind a red welt and a slight sting.

Except there’s nothing slight about the sting in my chest. Breathe Y/n, or you’ll lose the fucking plot and freak. With shaking hands, I pull out a pack of gum and unwrap a stick - something minty to focus on.

Two quick knocks on the stall door break me from my thoughts, “Occupied!” I manage to choke out.

“It’s me, you alright?” Angela Weber’s quiet voice rings out in the otherwise empty bathroom.

“Oh um, yeah. I-I’m okay.” The tremble in my voice is obvious, but thankfully she affords me the nicety of not commenting on it.

“Okay, well I just wanted to check on you.” A pause, “I saw what happened in the hallway, she’s wrong you know.” My breath hitches and I know she hears it. “Everyone saw the way he looked at you… Just know, she’s wrong.”

I watch under my stall door as her white tennis shoes disappear and the main bathroom door swings shut, quickly swallowing a sob trying to worm it’s way up my throat.

Some days he feels like a figment of my imagination, a dream I dreamt and can’t discern from reality. And some days I’m reminded that he was real, that he made me feel things I can’t get rid of.

Things I really wished I could get rid of.

One of the worst side effects of them being gone is how lonely I didn’t realize I’d be without them. I mean, from my first day here Jasper captivated me.

Now… Now everything seems dull and draining. A different kind of quiet that leaves me empty, a complete opposite to his comfortable silence. No one to talk to, no one to look forward to seeing, no one that understands.

Well, one person understands.

But she’s not exactly here enough to carry a conversation. Not that I can blame her, I’ve been avoiding people in my own way. They either ask about them and why they’re gone or they look at me with pity, both of which I don’t care to experience.

The days begin blurring together, the rain that’s always pouring over the Olympic Peninsula drowns everything constantly - almost as if the sky is sad in solidarity with me. Music seems too itchy and loud, books are too hard to focus on to just read what’s on the page, and just about anything else I could think of to get him off my mind is too… Complex. Stressful. Monumentous. Impossible.

Three familiar rapid, but soft knocks at my door snap me from the reverie of my silent room.

“Dinner is ready, sweetheart.” I think the crease between my mother’s brow is a permanent fixture nowadays, one that’s entirely my fault.

“I’m not really hungry.” Watching her face fall immediately has me scrambling for a cover, “But I’m sure I’ll be hungry later if you save some in the fridge.” The smile I give her isn’t fooling anyone, but at least I’m trying.

I have to try.

“Okay baby girl, you say the word and I’ll heat it up for you.” She lingers a few beats longer, her grip on the doorframe looks like it’s the only thing keeping her upright before she retreats downstairs.

My mom isn’t the most involved in my life and I prefer it that way, but Jasper being gone… The way it’s affected me is also taking its toll on her and it’s obvious. Guilt begins worming it’s way into my chest and prickles at the corners of my eyes, fuck.

I have to try.

• Late October, 2005 • Ithaca, New York •

Jasper

Life has been… extremely off-kilter since that night.

My hunger comes with a vengeance I’ve never experienced and my moods? They rival Rosalie’s and I’m supposed to be able to control them.

I’ve tried going longer between feedings to try and beat this crisis into submission, but it feels as though I’m fighting an uphill battle and I can’t see the crest of the mountain. I’m drowning and these feelings are dragging me further from the surface, the light is getting harder to see and my lungs are screaming.

Emmett hasn’t spoken to me this entire time out of frustration and I get it. The rest of my family is on pins and needles, the silence at home stretching open with every passing moment. Esme has been nothing but a pile of worry since Edward decided to become nomadic for a while. A temptation I myself feel, but can’t act on - not while my hunger is this volatile. Carlisle is working the night shift at a nearby hospital, our new location not as overcast as our previous one. Alice… Alice is angry. I catch her staring off into space more often than not and I know, the temptation to ask is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to. Rose is strangely quiet, content to take care of small things around the house Esme would normally busy herself with and trying to cheer her mate up to no avail.

It all feels too much and not enough.

I know that if I could sleep, I would dream of her. I would try to at least. Try to remember her scent, the softness of her sweaters, the curve of her hip, the way she sinks into me when I hold her… White-hot flames lick me from the inside out and I close my eyes against the inferno, her smile a torturous image behind my eyelids. Get a grip - for fuck’s sake, you chose this to keep her safe.

I chose this to keep her safe.

I will keep her safe. Even if that means staying away from her, even if that means removing her, my heart, from my chest.

“I love you.”

Her confession rips through me even now, three of the most perfect combinations of words to grace those beautiful lips and I… Left her. Like a coward.

I left behind my heart on the driveway of a now cold and empty house. Alone. Unanswered.

But she’s safe. Safe from the monster crawling around under the surface of my skin, begging and pleading to be set free.

Safe from me.

Next

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[mrsreinhart]

Hollywood stars shoot films in Bad Godesberg Exclusive | Bad Godesberg

The famous American actress Lili Reinhart shot for five days on Europastrasse in Bad Godesberg for her new film “American Sweatshop”. Producer Anita Elsani explains in an interview with GA why the filming had to remain secret and what the film is about.

The new film “American Sweatshop” was shot for five days in an apartment on Europastrasse in Bad Godesberg.

Child p*rnography, mutilated people and tortured animals flicker across the screens of so-called “content moderators”. Their job is to clean up social networks like Facebook, Instagram and YouTube. They delete pornographic and criminal videos and photos every day. Often it only takes a quick click to remove another violent video, but what you see stays in the minds of the moderators for a long time. This is also the case in the new thriller “American Sweatshop”, in German: American sweatshop, which deals with the real job and its consequences for people.

The main character Daisy is played by the well-known American actress Lili Reinhart. Reinhart starred in successful films and series such as “Hustlers” and “Riverdale”.

Now the Hollywood star ended up in the American settlement of Bad Godesberg to record scenes for her latest film. Also there: the English actor Josh Whitehouse, known from films such as “The Knight Before Christmas” with Vanessa Hudgens. “We shot several scenes in an apartment here for four to five days. The film itself takes place in Florida,” says the film’s producer, Anita Elsani. In the finished cut, the viewer will not recognize that the filming location was the Europastrasse in Bonn, says the Cologne native.

Filming had to remain secret

The General-Anzeiger had already found out about the filming last week and was there. However, the filming had to remain secret until the last day of filming. “We didn’t want any attention during filming so we could work in peace,” says Elsani. The film was a small production with little money, so shielding it from onlookers would have been too much additional effort. Added to this is the safety of the actors. “Actors often have problems with stalkers. As a producer, I am also responsible for making sure everyone feels comfortable and safe,” said the 52-year-old.

At Kenedyallee, residents were able to observe containers and actors and other crew members for several days. Photo: Selina Stiegler People who are in the public eye are more likely to have fans who excessively watch their idol's activities and send a lot of "niceties."

“Even if flowers and other attention are meant to be nice, those affected find it oppressive when they receive a certain amount and on a regular basis,” explains Elsani. They would also try to find filming locations to go to or send other supposed gifts. The game of hide-and-seek was successful despite smaller containers and a food truck along Kennedyallee.

The filming went largely unnoticed. The filming was carried out in Bonn without any difficulties and everyone was able to work in peace. “We also tried to disturb the residents as little as possible. The people here are really pleasant. Only a few people asked nicely and unobtrusively what we were doing here.” No further filming is planned in Bonn.

On the trail of a perpetrator

The producer does not want to reveal what the scenes filmed are about. “Taken out of context, it doesn’t make any sense,” she says. The thriller itself is about the employee Daisy, who works for a company as a content moderator. “How do people deal with the content that they have deleted from the Internet but not from their minds?” is a question that the film deals with. In the film, Rheinart embarks on a dangerous search for a particularly perfidious perpetrator. The producer says she doesn't yet know when viewers in the cinema will be able to see how the search turns out. “There is no premiere date yet, but I estimate the film will be released in the second half of 2025.”

The screenwriter is the American Matthew Nemeth, who spoke to real “content moderators” for research purposes. “The people in such sweatshops usually work from Asia, Africa or America,” says Elsani. The German directors Hans Block and Moritz Riesewieck had already explained the situation in the documentary film "The Cleaner" in 2018 and spoke to those affected in the Philippines. The Verdi union estimates that several hundred thousand "content moderators" on the Internet create content for the Delete the rest of the world.

The film is therefore a current and relevant film for all people who use social media privately. The viewer should learn that pornographic and criminal content is sorted out by hand by real people and what consequences that can have.

Cast and production “American Sweatshop” with an international cast

The German-American film “American Sweatshop” was shot in the MMC Studios in Cologne and in the American settlement of Bad Godesberg. In the media thriller, Hollywood actress Lili Reinhart plays an internet cleaner who embarks on a dangerous search for a particularly perfidious perpetrator. Daniela Melchior, Joel Fry and Christiane Paul also play in roles. The film is directed by German director Uta Briesewitz. The script was written by American author Matthew Nemeth. Producers are Cologne-based Anita Elsani (Elsani Film), Jason Sosnoff and Barry Levinson (Baltimore Pictures) and Tom Fontana. The film is scheduled to be released in 2025 and will be distributed to cinemas by Plaion Pictures. The Film and Media Foundation NRW supported the project with 400,000 euros.

[attemptinghaikyuu]

Each Others Problem

Camellia = perfection, passion, desire

You don’t say anything to Kita as you walk out of class. You’re pretty sure the sparkles around him are in your head, but you can’t be sure. You don’t think you can be sure of anything right now.

It’s like you’ve been gut punched by your revelation. You don’t know how you get home with it in your head, and when you come to your senses enough to realize you are in fact at home, you scream.

That’s the first thing you do. The second is deny how you’re feeling. Because absolutely not.

It made no sense!

Then you get furious with yourself when everything makes perfect sense! All the moments of staring and accomplishment at “one upping” that silver haired bastard are filled with mirrored moments of giggling, and now you can feel the intense butterflies in your stomach. You understand that your ‘maybe I’d feel better if I bullied him?’ thoughts are more accurately ‘maybe I’d feel better if I kissed him on the mouth?’

And oh. That could not be what you were feeling, you can’t want these things with someone you’ve had a grudge against for so long. You run your hands down your face, groaning.

Or someone you’ve been a horrible person towards.

The way his eyes twinkled when you truly saw him could not matter to you. How could he ever really forgive you for what you’ve done to him? Regardless of all the niceties there’s no way he doesn’t hold some kind of secret grudge.

You cover your eyes in despair. He has so many more reasons to dislike you, then he has reasons to like you. Pulling yourself into a fatal position on your bed, you decide it’s the perfect time to reminisce in a puddle of despair.

You think back to the times you’ve shared with Kita. There can’t be any real reason you’re feeling like this. Just some weird thing going on inside you because he gave you nice flowers. You just had a thing for flowers. Yes, that was a possibility.

Except the memory of Kita grabbing a slipping crate at the market flashes through your head, hands steadying your box of berries as you regained your footing.

His “Careful,” and laugh are imprinted forever in your mind from that day. Along with other memories of him being entirely too charming. It causes an ache to remember him—still refusing to talk to you, the jerk—handing you a tissue after you sneezed in class.

The flowers weren’t the reason you had these feelings pouring out of your heart.

The way you’re feeling-

It’s all that assholes fault.

The acceptance comes with a bitter aftertaste. The way you’re feeling doesn’t mean anything, you realize. Not since Kita must still feel the same as he always had about you.

Which was a mix of Indifferent. Annoyed. Irritated.

You hurt, and this isn’t a very sweet way of feeling from such a sweet piece of garbage.

It’s instinct that forces you to curl deeper into yourself, trying to find comfort in your surroundings. The bed you lay on squeaks as you move around from side to side. It groans to a stop as you do the same. You feel sad, and a little pathetic too.

You couldn’t believe you were going through the five stages of grief over Kita.

———

A day later of only moping, and you amazingly feel even worse then when you’d first plopped down on your bed the day before. Your fit had done nothing to cure you of your feelings.

It was too much. You had liked other people before, and none of those people had left you feeling this overwhelmed. Those people had made you feel giddy and happy. You had been too busy to act on any of them, and had instead basked in the company of the person you liked.

It had always worked just fine for you to act that way, though you knew it wouldn’t for this. You’d never had a dread inducing crush that made your insides feel like tight rope walking with no safety net. You really had to ask yourself where the easy going feelings were right the fuck now.

So in defense of the moping, this was all very new crush territory.

It was incredibly confusing to think that after all the competing and being rude to him- maybe him a little rude to you in turn, you could still like a guy that had and was now again, making you feel so bad. How did that even work? You couldn’t help considering that what you had wasn’t a crush.

A brief infatuation and lapse of judgment made more sense. That could totally be what was going on, because you could no way be having genuine romantic feelings for that man.

You totally weren’t.

Even if it was a lie, you could entertain this fantasy…and thank god… clearing that up was great. Kinda. Temporarily.

This delusional way of thinking decided upon, you come back around to the biggest problem you had. As a nice conclusion to your day long breakdown, you ask yourself ‘How can I face Kita ever again?’

I mean, you’d have to see him eventually. Whether in your classes, at the market, or any of the other countless places you had been running into each other.

It made sense to end up with so much of your time occupied by your rival. You didn’t like him (you definitely did, or um didn’t. whatever), but you did have a grudging respect for him. He was skillful in so many things but the biggest one being with plants.

And looking over to your little bok choy, growing in tiny see through cups with toothpicks holding them up, you couldn’t help the fuzzy feeling in your stomach when Kita’s plant growing suggestions came to mind. He was so careful the first time he had given you advice on your green babies. He probably thought you’d try to bite him if he said something wrong about such an important passion of yours. He was probably thinking back to your first argument in the library too. He had given advice then, and it clearly hadn’t gone the way he’d expected.

You sigh in contentment as your imagination wanders to the conversations you would have with him tomorrow. You could talk about the acidity level of your soil and how it affected your plants and-

You’d be seeing him tomorrow.

Jolting up in shock, you stand and feel panic creep it’s way in as it dawns on you that tomorrow, you’d be seeing the person that gave you heartburn. And the horror intensifies as it hits you that your declaration of how you had become infatuated, not romantically invested in Kita, had immediately been negated by your own sappy gushing.

There was no school, and no work tomorrow. Inviting Kita to your place had been fueled by the desire to show off your home plants. Your sweet little plants were sure to ignite jealousy and admiration in Kita-

a thought you had happily stewed in at the time of initially thinking it. Now, you had a dangerous situation on your hands.

You couldn’t let these feelings get any worse. You especially couldn’t let him know that you had them.

Grabbing a pillow to fling across your room, you try to do the proactive thing and think of a way out of this. There aren’t many ways to avoid this, so you decide quickly that the only thing you can do is cancel with a simple excuse.

You grab your phone and take a deep breath, as you pull up his contact. Your finger hovers over call. It takes a couple room walking, circle marathons, and picking up your discarded pillow to scream into, before your finger gets any closer to the button. All you have to do is press call on Kita’s damn contact.

You’d text him if you could, to your utter amusement however, Kita had revealed he had a strong dislike for texting while working at the market. He explained he preferred the act of talking to typing, because he could hear what people meant by there words more clearly. You had responded to this by immediately pulling out your phone and calling him to ask “You sure you enjoy hearing my voice even more than you have to?”

He had asked why he wouldn’t after, sounding incredibly sincere. He’d smiled, and then to your surprise hung up on you saying “Yer right in front of me, I don’t need to use my phone to hear you.” The cheeky bastard had watched you flounder. And you’d smiled back eventually, definitely after way too long, and tried to sound confident as you let him know you’d make sure to call instead of text, but he better not regret his preference.

You really should’ve told him to suck it and deal with your texts, there was no need for you to be polite and agree to call him.

With the memory replaying in your head, and phone still in hand with your thumb pressing down now, you barely realize a voice is saying your name.

You startle when you register the talking. “ummm?” You stare down at your phone.

You had pressed call.

“Are you alright?” Kita inquires in his concerned voice. There’s an undertone that says he thinks you’re calling with the intent to talk about a popular fruit you don’t like that keeps getting more and more attention.

Not that you’d ever made a call like that before.

“Did you have some more ideas about that hybrid you wanted to discuss?”

You stop yourself from replying to him with some choice words, angry he knows what you’d normally be saying so well. You needed to focus and say the right thing.

Trying to sound like your throat is congested, you tell him what you think will keep him appeased and far away from you, at least for a little while.

“I’m sick,” you start. “I’m really sorry Kita, but I have to cancel our meetup tomorrow.”

You throw in a couple coughs for extra affect after, waiting for a reply.

“Oh.”

There’s a silence that you listen for him to fill. It takes longer then you expect.

“I’m sorry ta hear that,” He says. “We can move our plans to another day.”

You wait a moment for more, before realizing that Kita is done speaking.

“Then I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” You hang up.

That was strangely to the point.

You knew Kita wasn’t necessarily a big chatterbox, but you were surprised nonetheless. He always talked to you. You were good at getting him to have long, winding conversations and it was strange to hear him not even ask a couple questions about your state.

He always asked follow up questions.

You ignore the absence of it.

You just needed to be glad you had time to yourself. You had been successful in avoiding Kita’s presence and could relax.

———

When you wake up the next morning, with dull daylight washing over you, you imagine your day is about to take off in the best direction it possibly can.

The doorbell is ringing, rain is hitting your windows, watering your outdoor plants, and the doorbell is still ringing which is great! It’s super cool!

With that ringing, you realize you’re going to have to get up, and start your day.

You grumble and push yourself up. Going to the door with a blanket around your shoulders and an unhappy look on your face, you throw open the door and announce,

“I heard you, please stop ringing the doorbell buddy.”

Then you freeze.

And you think oh.

And then WHY?

If things get disappointing, you tell yourself that the disappointments aren’t permanent. That they make the sweeter things in life even better. That is what you thought up to this moment.

“Morning,” He says your name softly, mouth covered by a black mask. “I figured I’d drop these by for ya.”

Today, staring at you through your door, is Kita who is decidedly determined to make you feel terrible things, because WHY was he at your door. Arms full with an assortment of cold, flu, sore throat medicines, and mystery bundles. You scream in your head and beat back the heat that is rising in your gut.

You begin fake coughing. “Oh! Kita,” cough “that’s so nice of yo-,” cough cough “you, please come in.” Cough cough cough.

Praying to some god your acting skills were good enough to fool Kita, you step aside covering your mouth as he steps into your apartment.

“Thanks for having me,” he follows you to your kitchen table, where he sets down the items. “Could you tell me exactly how you feel?”

You nearly gasp in shock, before you look at Kita arranging the medicine on your table, and understand he didn’t mean your feelings for him.

You scramble, “I’m uh, hot I suppose,” you immediately suffer psychic damage from telling Kita you’re hot. Luckily he turns to you, and judging by his frown you do look hot in a sick sense. Not in the attractive, kissing you way. The sweaty, gross way if you were sick for real.

You try to cross your arms to cover your possibly sweaty armpits.

“Here, this should cool you down,” opening one of the packages, Kita reveals an ice pack. He wraps a towel around it before handing it to you, and you forgive yourself for swooning over his actions internally.

“Thank you..” you take it gratefully, ignoring your heartbeat, pressing it to your forehead. It feels really nice.

You watch Kita rearrange things, feel the rhythm in your chest, allow it to beat however it wants for this sliver of time.

“Well,” Kita turns to you, and turns back away going to his pile again. His fingers alight on a bag. “let me know what else ya need before I go.”

“You’re going?” You say it fast, before you can stop the smidge of desperation from hiding itself in the cracks of your words.

Kita studies you, before his eyes relax and crinkle, letting you know he’s smiling beneath his mask. You hate that mask and you don’t know how you ever thought his grin was annoying.

It’d be convenient if it was still annoying though.

“I wanna let you rest.”

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle. Add a cough. It isn’t long before you wish him well, and close the door of your apartment. Leaving behind an assortment of goods that you don’t really need.

Eventually, you go to your room to grab a pillow. You need something to scream into, and if it’s an old hello kitty pillow with some questionable stains, who can blame you for choosing a somewhat crummy pillow to scream into after that interaction?

———

It’s hard to ignore Kita, because he’s everywhere. It’s like you’re experiencing a zombie apocalypse, except Kita isn’t a zombie and you’re only desperately trying to act cool and deal with terrible feelings in front of him, not run from him as he tries to eat your brain.

…ok, so bad analogy.

The point was that Kita Shinsuke was in your classes, and he was at the market. He called you to check up on things with your garden and to talk—it was really his version of complaining—about his grandma being a little overbearing at times. He was always in your vicinity. He was always in your head. You could hear him saying something hours after he’d said it.

It’s like he was an addiction, and you desperately needed a “no Kita! Bad for your heart!” Campaign, the same way chain smokers needed “no smoking! Bad for your lungs!” Campaigns.

Him being everywhere was making the whole ignoring him, or at the very least your feelings for him thing too difficult. You had to switch up how you were dealing with this mess.

If you couldn’t ignore him, or the cardiac arrest… then you’d have to fess up and get the rejection over with.

You figured it was probably for the best. Tell him you’d caught some cooties from him and that the cooties were romantic feelings, so he could then tell you he’d caught cooties from you too. And that they were the opposite of romantic feelings, they were sick of your weird freak obsession with him feelings.

———

“Hey, what’re you up to today?” Kita’s voice greets you. Your hands pause momentarily before continuing to arrange an assortment of flowers your boss had brought in an approximate 10 minutes before.

The bustle of the morning crowd and stalls starting there day are background music to your work. You’d been thinking as you arranged the stall, the only worker there to start besides your boss. They were here then gone, grabbing more of their farms crops. It was nice having the private time to think.

You were running over confessing scenarios.

It’d been a grand total of two weeks since you put two and two together to figure out the rabid response you had from being around Kita Shinsuke, and you were going about the norm better then expected. You were calmer after accepting you needed to let him know.

Finishing with the pretty flowers for the morning rush you were about to get, you decide to tease Kita.

“Getting ready for the Saturday market crowd, the thing you should be doing right now,” you say with a pinch of attitude.

“Hmmmm,” he hums, considering before he answers. “I meant after the rush we’re getting today. I think our lunch breaks line up, so why don’t we go try that bakery down the road?”

Ignoring how flustered this offer was making you, you set a few baskets up while you considered this sort of confessing opportunity.

You’d be alone together, surrounded by heavenly smells and forced to crowd in close to each other thanks to the places grand opening rush.

It would be easy, you could look at Kita and say “I like you.”

Panic tinges your calm mood. You’d probably mess it up and now that you were thinking about this, it was too soon.

Too soon to expose your heart like that.

“I’m not sure I wanna try that place, my friend Clara- you know the baking wiz? She says it isn’t all that good.” You’d trust your friend Clara with your stomach’s happiness any day and even though she’d given the place a stellar review yesterday, you’d sacrifice your stomach today.

“Well maybe we can go somewhere else then,”

Kita tilts his head up, hand covering his eyes to block the intense sun.

“What’s you favorite place ta get food around the market?”

Your response is delayed. You don’t want to answer. However, when your excuses to avoid going out to eat are immediately crossed out internally at the idea of your favorite place, with Kita accompanying you, you give in.

Your answer is a detailed description of an area that offers live music, but isn’t really a set place, just a few amalgamations of food stalls that know what they’re doing.

“That sounds great. Let’s head over there,” Kita says. “It’ll be my treat.”

He finishes off his devastating blow with a look that almost feels mischievous. Like he knows you were trying to keep some distance, or gets that you were avoiding something. It’s a glance that wants to tease you. To possibly get closer, to make Kita lean in and whisper something, all while knowing that you like him-

OH GOD.

“Sounds good.” You say easily.

———

Kitas eyes roam the menu of a neat and tidy stall offering sandwiches. There’s no music playing today, and the lack of it filling this specific area usually booming with it, makes you nervous.

Those nerves could be Kita however.

You backpedal on that immediately. It’s not that. It is not him making you nervous.

He’s sticking close to you, like you’d thought he would if you’d have gone to the bakery together. It could be your imagination, the way he’s leaning closer to you while you both wait to order. Filling some of the blank space that was open between you both. Your mind supplies a useless fact about tree roots tangling with other tree roots, who then stay connected because it’s useful for the conjoined plants.

They communicate through there root system, and you know Kita leaning toward you to give his opinion while then waiting for you own, reminds you of a trees roots growing and mixing in with another’s.

Do trees like attaching themselves to each other? You wonder suddenly. Do they grow used to the company they provide each other, and maybe, they even feel warm and happy with the proximity they have..?

You choose a different meal then your regular, hoping to distract yourself with a new taste because you are not coping with Kita very well today.

“Is this alright?” Kita asks you. The way he’s staring makes it feel like he must’ve noticed your demeanor being off.

“Oh! Yeah, this place is always good, so don’t worry cause obviously I like it,” feeling your nerves still moving like leaves blowing in the wind you say, “I also have great company so it’s really extra good today haha!”

You wish you hadn’t said that. What might Kita think hearing something like that? What will he say?

All he does is nod in response, attention drawn back to the surroundings of the area you had picked.

You ignore the smidge of disappointment at the lack of a response.

It was colorful, and full of plant life. The area you were in was bursting with it. The music that was often heard throughout brought the greenery to life and the colors popped while some people, usually kids and older folks, danced in the open spaces. It was perfect here. The warmth it filled you with made you love it.

“I don’t have to guess why you like it,” Kita states without turning. “I’ve only ever walked through this area, so this is nice.”

You let yourself soak in what you see. What you hear.

The banners, the light breeze blowing through hair, the people moving about.

“Yeah, it is nice.”

You let your gaze shift to Kita, watching him. He’s relaxed and calm in a spot that you considered yours. To be honest, if it had been two, even a month ago, you’d have felt uncomfortable bringing someone like Kita here.

But someone like Kita… what did that really mean?

How did you end up thinking of him that way?

He was a person, the same as you. He struggled to stay calm at times. He acted irrationally. He got emotional and too invested in things that he shouldn’t.

Those were all things that you hadn’t seen, especially as you stubbornly decided he was some perfect freak who had to be out to make you look bad. When you got mad at him in the library, an event that seemed like forever ago, you hadn’t known he could talk so passionately or feel so real.

“Kita,” you start. “I think I really li-

“Hey! Kita-san, what’re ya doin’ over here?”

A blonde haired man, followed by someone (clearly the man’s brother, probably twin) holding three different types of food in one of his hands, and a drink in the other, interrupt you as they make their way over to you.

“Atsumu, Osamu, ya shouldn’t yell across the market.” Kita firmly tells the pair.

You recognize them as his friends.

“Oy, Tsumu’s the one that yelled,” the darker haired man says before smiling at Kita and taking a huge bite out of one of the foods he has.

Kita doesn’t grace that brother with a response, he turns to you instead.

“Sorry,” he looks to you, your name falling off his tongue lightly, and you barely hear it over the beating of your heart. “What were ya trying to tell me before.”

You hope he doesn’t notice the brief hesitant pause you take.

“I wanted to tell you I really like the food here, and that I hope you do to,” you give him a smile and hoping to further the gap from what you had been attempting to say, look to the blonde haired brother.

“Hey, how come you don’t have any food? Are you a picky eater or did your brother take yours?” You raise a brow looking over to the darker haired one, Osamu, you think.

“Ha! Nah, I wanted to get food over here,” Atsumu, that’s his name probably, points to the stall where you and Kita are currently waiting for your food.

“Good taste,” you nod approvingly, happy to be having a conversation with the relative stranger you ask “Are you trying it for the first time?”

“No way, this place is my favorite!” He says it proudly, while snickering at his brother. They clearly have some sort of inside thing over this place because the brother glares back in response, swallowing his food before responding.

“They served me cold soup once, I’m not tryin’ it again,” Osamu has a look of genuine betrayal on his face. You nearly laugh from it.

Atsama, again probably his name, smirks having noticed you holding back a laugh. “The crazy one thinks it’s got good food, right?” He asks.

“It’s basically my favorite too,” you reply before a belated “crazy one?”

That was familiar.

He looks sheepish suddenly.

“Ah, my bad, I was thinkin about how you used to act around Kita-san is all,” he seems unsure, glancing to Kita who had been watching the scene unfold with a blank expression, yet now had an expression you weren’t completely sure about. Slightly annoyed? Squinting, you think yes, possibly that.

Your mind takes you back to a conversation overheard in the dark, street lamps lighting up, as you listened to Kita and his group of friends talk about you. They had said you were a little crazy you think. It’s most likely where the blonde brother got the nickname.

Embarrassment creeps in alongside the palpitations of your heart that had slowed down, almost back to a normal speed.

“Atsumu, don’t call them that.” Kita was upset on your behalf.

“Woah… you didn’t mind me sayin’ that a while back,” you see the blonde man’s inner cogs spin as he looks back to you. “It’s kinda weird seein’ how close and buddy buddy ya are now.”

This guy has a shit eating grin on his face after a moment, and your heart stops, considering why.

Fear grips you at the possibility of him knowing why you’re getting along now.

You are so happy when a regular worker at the stall you’d ordered from comes up to you with a polite nod, and hands you and Kita your food. A beautifully timed interruption you gratefully take. You give Atsu-whatever a shit eating grin in return, paired with an innocent head tilt.

“We got so buddy buddy when we ordered this delicious food to eat,” you then point to a spot under a sakura tree, where you normally sit, and ask Kita if he’s fine with eating over there. You ask it while taking steps backward, adding a satisfying bite to your food, watching the blonde brother narrow his eyes.

He turns to Kita and you guess he expects Kita to tell you to be more polite. Or maybe he thinks Kita will tell him why you’re so buddy buddy with a serious answer.

Your heart jumps when Kita simply follows behind with a raised brow in your direction that gets replaced with a disapproving blank stare that’s some type of vicious, to Atsa.

He gives a quick bye to Osamu, and a delayed one to Atsasa.

You can’t stop the butterflies.

You and Kita eat the best food you’ve ever eaten at your favorite spot. The meal and interactions of the past hour curling up in a nook in your head and gut, present but not overwhelming so.

———

Until it isn’t pleasant.

Those words you nearly said… you can’t ignore them.

It keeps you up at night.

You guess the interaction was overwhelming since you can’t ignore it. Though it was nice how earlier it had drifted to the back of your mind as you were too immersed in your afternoon with Kita.

Now you’re up at three am thinking about it.

“Kita, I think I really like you.”

It’s what you’d wanted to say. It’s what was now haunting your sleepy mind.

Your brain, because yes of course it does, tells you about the semi now famous fungi that can take over the brains of ants. Your brain is telling you you’re an ant.

And that Kita is a walking fungus.

You roll over with a sigh, reaching for you hello kitty pillow. You need to scream again.

———

Days blink by, and you’re normal.

Except the words you wanted to say are still there. Trying to force there way out into the space between you and Kita with the hope of bringing him closer.

It’s starting to scare you. No, not how you can’t stop the feelings from trying to come out. It’s the fear that he’ll want to stop being by your side after you say what’s gumming up your insides. It’s something you didn’t realize you were afraid of, something that makes you squirm in discomfort.

It’s that feeling, the uncomfortable, painful burning that stops the words from falling out after your almost confession.

That’s the core of this. The real reason why liking Kita feels so awful when you’re alone with yourself.

He’s a person, and he’s flawed like anyone else. Loath as you were to admit that at one point. Excited as you were at another. It’s possible that once you say all the words, Kita I really like you, he’ll be petty and say he’s done with you.

He’ll say he’s tired of your energy and attitude.

He won’t call you to talk, or walk down to your stall in the market to ask how you’re doing.

Your heart is spiking in fear simply considering the irrational behavior. Logically, if Kita wanted to distance himself after getting so close to you, he’d probably give you a sweeter farewell then “BYE BITCH.” Which is what you’re finding is what’s scaring you.

It wouldn’t be him dropping off the face of the earth. It’d be a conversation, because you can’t imagine it turning into him ignoring you again, the same way he had when you’d distracted and stopped him from taking pictures of some notes on one of your professors screens.

The rationale was there, you needed to believe it.

You couldn’t figure out how to do that.

Stopping the worries was as hard as stopping your bad studying habits, near impossible without the right incentive.

What was the right incentive to stop your worries?

———

You might’ve had worries pricking at you, but that certainly didn’t matter at the market, with a grumpy old hag bothering you.

Ms.Moko was being a pain. Not unusual, but today it was an all encompassing sort of pain. Compared to the mild endearing pain she often was, this was too much annoying for you to handle without going insane.

You wished Kita was here. He was stuck selling out at his stall, and would be there till around 2pm. As of late, that was the time he regularly came to check up on you. It was a very set time, and you looked down at your watch wistfully. 12:22 it read.

Refusing to do the math to figure out the exact time it would take for him to get here and help you, you try to put your brain to use in a better way. Thinking of a how to get Ms.Moko to stop huffing her way around your stall, starting conversations with other patrons who clearly did not want to discuss what the point of ‘40 years of pulling my wrinkly behind out of bed just to get the silent treatment from everyone who doesn’t like a straight answer! Dear, what is the point?!’

Sliding out from under the shaded area of the stall, you make your way to Ms.Moko.

“Hey! How’s my favorite costumer doing today?”

You ask it with as much enthusiasm you can cram into your words without making the old woman suspicious.

“Oh, dear child!” She shouts, “terrible! I’m in a horrendous state!”

“Oh no, what’s wrong?” You rearrange a couple of tomatillos while you watch her sigh expressively.

“It’s the Ms’s,” she’s being dramatic, the tilt of her voice clearly ladled with a stage performance worth of it.

“She says I’m too much, that I need to be more considerate of what I say!” She looks right at you, and in the dramatic act, you see something. Actual pain.

You feel your movements on the produce before you slow down.

“Why does she think that?”

“She didn’t like me telling her damn friend that he was being too clingy, and to back off my wife!” She cries.

There’s a lot of emotional weight in her voice now, all of it real. It pierces something dark in the depths of you.

“What did her friend do?” You ask, voice slower now.

She sniffs. “He put an arm around her waist, and that was after they danced to a song I was insisting we dance to.”

It’s only a little, but you want to crush the delicate tomatillos your hands are resting atop of. “That’s messed up. Why would she get mad at you for telling him to stop?”

Another sniff.

“Darling, I didn’t tell him to stop,” she says darkly.

The words that come out of Ms.Moko’s mouth next are shocking, even for her, and for a brief period of time you are speechless.

Then you wheeze.

You ignore the angry cane hitting the side of your leg.

“You- you didn’t!”

You’re almost crying you’re laughing so hard. Ms.Moko absolutely needed to apologize to her wife. Maybe that friend of her wife’s too. Scratch that. She did need to apologize to him without a doubt.

The dark feeling that had brewed up, was all gone now. All you could do was laugh and slowly ease your lungs into catching your breath.

“Ms.Moko, how can you say whatever you feel like saying?” You shake your head, still recovering. “I wish I could say everything I wanted like you.”

“Why the hell do you want to do that?” She puffs out indignantly.

“So I could say I, uh… well, never mind actually.” you hurry.

“Hey now! Don’t leave a poor, hurt woman in the dark,” she bumps you with her cane shamelessly. “You just laughed at me after I put my heart out on display for you, you better tell me.”

It feels like a threat.

“Come on dear, I want to know,” she studies you. She must see you’re truly unsure, cause in an instant she softens.

“I won’t go around shouting your secrets you know? Talk to me if you want or be stubborn and let it shrivel you up on the inside.”

You consider letting it shrivel you up.

But if you can’t tell Kita, too bogged down by the fear of it, then it should be alright to tell Ms.Moko.

You stand up straighter. You can do this.

“I really like Kita.” You’re proud of yourself, and feel a little fearless for the words coming out so quickly.

Then you see Ms.Moko’s expression. She’s shocked. Her face morphs, she’s smiling, then she’s guffawing.

“Bwahaha!”

She slaps you with her cane again. “Was that it? I knew that already!”

You feel yourself shriveling up for real. Why was this so funny?

“Dear you are just about as dense as me, anyone can tell you get along with Shinsuke,” she reasons out. “There’s no reason to keep those feelings hidden.”

“Ms.Moko I’m not talking about a friendly sort of liking,” you tell her somewhat frustrated. You can’t tell if she gets what you really mean or not and if that’s why she’s laughing.

“I mean, like.. the kind of like where you- think of your wife and you and it’s that, except I..” you stutter through an explanation of your feelings suddenly desperately wanting to convey exactly what you mean.

“I just! I like him! I like Kita ok?!” You finally shout.

Ms.Moko let’s you stand there, utterly humiliated, taking her time to respond.

“Yes, I was thinking that was how you probably meant it. But you know, I still don’t believe you have to worry about this. Your feelings don’t have to be a secret.”

She rests her hand on your shoulder and squeezes, “no one should have to hide there heart away, I hope you know that.”

You feel a slight prick in your eyes, and you blink hard.

You clear your throat, “what if he hates me though? I’ve been awful to him, too many times to count,”

“Well dear, what if he doesn’t?” She asks. “What if he likes you?”

Then jokingly, and simultaneously not, she says, “what if he loves you?”

Jolting straighter, ignoring the burst of butterflies at the thought, you deflect.

“I can’t imagine that, he’s too serious for me,” you chuckle.

“Hey now, I’m not blind,” she pauses. “Yet. And I happen to see very well how relaxed the young man gets with you.”

She smiles at you. “My wife is serious, but she’s carefree when I ask her to dance. She’s uptight, much more then your young man, and she’s still the one who tells me to stay with her to watch birds outside on our porch for ‘just six more minutes!’” She does a terrible impression of her wife’s voice. Ms.Moko gives you a look that says you better listen to her. “My point is that some people have the right affect on the other, and I think that even if Shinsuke doesn’t like you like that-

You’ll still be together in the way that fits.”

You can’t speak. Your throat has fully closed on you. A couple tears slip out that you can’t seem to stop even when you try.

Who knew your favorite regular had real wisdom that didn’t involve cooking and baking fresh produce?

Ms.Moko stays standing beside you, her hand a comforting weight on your shoulder. Waiting for you, not seeming to care how long it might take.

You sniffle.

Kita sticking around, caring about you whether romantically or not, was something you desperately wanted. Ms.Moko saying he would, hurt. It hurt in the best way, and you breathe in and out, opening your eyes as you remember where you are.

Ms.Moko stands there, moving her hand to pat your back.

“It’ll be alright dear,” she says.

You sniff again.

You’re pretty sure you believe her.

———

A lot of your stall’s regulars drop by during the last few minutes of noon, and you manage to keep it together. No more tears slipping out. No more emotionally taxing conversations K.O.ing you.

It’s a bit like you’re on autopilot. The only real change visible enough to notice, was the dropped energy level a few customers pointed out.

These regulars who took notice were extra nice, so despite the autopilot mode you were trapped in, you still had genuine smiles while you worked for the costumers around.

You let yourself go on like this, slightly bogged down by brain fog, until Kita greets you.

2pm on the dot.

The conversation is light and even with Kita immediately taking notice, inquiring over your quieter demeanor, you actually felt relatively alright.

You didn’t say anything about your feelings, you didn’t think about them either as you talked with Kita, because you didn’t have the same pressure to do so weighing you down anymore. It would be fine, however these feelings ended up panning out, you’d be a friend of Kita’s for life.

It was like releasing a breath trapped in your lungs for far longer than it should have been.

It’s easy. Realizing you want someone by you for as long as you can keep them, and thinking to yourself it was going to happen.

“Do you wanna go to a farm?” You ask suddenly.

You want Kita to do something fun with you. Something where you can be together, just the two of you.

“A farm?” Kita questions.

“A petting zoo actually, though it’s pretty close to being a plain old farm,” you slide your hands together and make a pleading face. “It’s no rice farm, but I’m sure you might find some inkling of enjoyment from some baby animals.”

Kita Shinsuke looks at you seriously, considering something before, “Ya want to genuinely hangout again all of a sudden?”

“What?” You’re surprised at Kita’s eyes boring into yours, and the question he’s released.

“I.. yeah I do, I always do” it’s a soft reply to Kita’s hard one. “I’ve just been distracted lately. Sorry about that... I should have been focusing on you more.”

His eyes turn away from your own.

“No, I’m sorry for asking that. I didn’t actually know if ya had something going on or if ya were avoiding me,” he glances back to you and you consider how maybe, you weren’t being very slick when you turned Kita down for things and avoided certain places. “It felt like ya were tryin’ to keep me away for some reason. Especially when you stopped suggesting we do things together. I think I was looking at your actions too hard, looking for excuses for something.”

Kita shrugs casually. It’s very un-Kita like and he picked it up from you most likely.

“I just want ya around too much I think, that’s why I asked.”

You flounder slightly, before throwing out “so you wanna go to the petting zoo with me then?”

With eyes crinkling at the edges from a smile that feels like the sun itself, you enjoy the warmth Kita brings you as he says yes.

———

You look good.

You say it over and over as you sit on a city bus, on your way to meet up with Kita. The petting zoo is just a couple more miles away, and the outfit you choose is durable and nice looking.

Kita probably picked out a crisp button up and maybe if you were lucky, he’d have compression sleeves on too. Not that he wouldn’t look good with his arms on full display.

You don’t bother admonishing yourself for that thought as the bus passes by buildings that are starting to have more spaces between each concrete and wooden construct. The phone in your hand lets you know you’re a stop away, and a quick call from Kita yields that he’s already arrived.

He also asked if you wanted a drink, which allowed a selfish moment where you didn’t hesitate to say you would love a drink, but it should be a surprise. One he picks for you.

A ding lets you know you’ve arrived at your stop. A would be quick walk, about 12 minutes, is cut down to 7 as you jog most of the way to your final destination: Kita.

Or er, the petting zoo.

You didn’t have patience today. In retrospect patience wasn’t something you practiced on your best days, excluding with your plants of course. Those always took patience (from your minor reserve’s) to grow.

You’re out of breath and nearly run into Kita when you spot him. Not bothering to think fully about how you need to stop moving in time, you’re thankful when Kita manages to catch you.

You’re excitement is overflowing and you take a silent moment to steady yourself internally. You manage a quick apology before asking with confidence you’re not sure you really have, if Kita Shinsuke is ready to have some fun after nearly toppling him over.

“Yes.” And he adds after just the right amount of time, “As long as ya don’t run into me when we’re at the animal pens.”

With a retort dying on the tip of your tongue, he hands you a drink in a thick paper cup. It has a lid attached that prevents you from peeking and guessing what he’s gotten you. You’re excited regardless of all you know about the drink being it’s warm against your fingers.

You thank him for the second time that day, and take a sip. Warm spiced apple cider slides down your throat, a pleasant flavor that’s perfect for a place like a petting zoo.

You smirk.

It figures Kita would choose a drink you would love. You’re glad about it.

“Alright, we shouldn’t just stand around,” you bump shoulders with him, eager to be on the move with Kita. “Let’s go see if they have some cute goats or chickens.”

Kita hums, “sounds good.”

He smiles as you lead the way through the wooden fences, finding all the cute animals that you can pet, and the ones you can feed. You love how invested Kita gets trying to get one specific chicken to eat some of the food he’s been given. He’s patient as he waits, yet the chicken looses interest at the last second every time.

If a couple of those times are your fault, Kita doesn’t seem too mad as he tilts his head, eventually smiling at your final sabotage of luring his chicken away before you move on.

The beating of your heart is a constant companion through all your stops in the zoo. It’s a pleasant feeling, and it’s their when you watch a young calf with a grown cow. It’s expanding and tripping as you go through a corn maze. The thrumming in your chest throughout the day is a feeling similar to when you had your first sip of apple cider.

Walking down dirt paths, you go through most of the vegetated sections of the petting zoo. The place technically doubles as a pumpkin patch in the fall, and with somewhat judgmental eyes you scan the crops. You appreciate when Kita joins in on dissecting the way the plants seem to be grown.

You watch as Kita kneels down beside a small, unripe pumpkin, inspecting it. You plant your hands on your knees and bend down to look with him. It’s a hard game- focusing on the pumpkin and Kita.

You realize you probably won’t confess today.

That’s not what you’re here for today of course. It’s not something you had conspicuously thought out. Today wasn’t about discovering if the man you’ve spent months thinking about, and obsessing over, and screaming into pillows for maybe, possibly likes you.

Today is about being right next to Kita in the way that fits this moment.

That had been the real revelation from Ms.Moko’s talk.

You find disappointment in the darkening sky, and take solace in how red Kita’s cheeks have gotten as the day has gone on. You feel silly watching his heated face when he’s not paying attention on your walk out of the zoo.

It’s with practiced hands that Kita begins to clean up near the petting zoos exit. Washing your hands at an outdoor spout, wiping down any bits of mud off your clothes with wipes he brought, and taking your hands in his own he checks over where a goat bit your hand near the beginning of the day.

He holds on gently but firm, his hand calloused, and clean as he inspects your own.

You let him turn your hand over. And when he does it again, you’re probably enjoying it too much.

Kita has always been dedicated. You never knew having his dedication turned towards your two hands and ten fingers moving slowly into fists as Kita still holds on, could burn you up.

You laugh, very distracted by this kind of attentiveness. “Hey Kita, I think that bite was pretty insignificant, so don’t worry so much okay?”

His eyes are on you. It’s like they always are if you’re being honest.

You shake your head. You’re not going to think that right now.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course,” you respond, still focused on his hands, not words. Maybe more so because Kita’s hands are squeezing yours, putting just enough pressure onto your hands that you can’t ignore it.

“Was this a date?”

It’s like a pin dropping in a silent room, the sudden stillness you feel in the air is a shock as you squeeze Kitas hands tighter then he is yours.

You inhale sharply, and it’s with some difficulty that you announce what you honestly thought of today, “No, no it wasn’t… I just wanted us to have fun together.”

It’s true. It’s a pinch to your side, and you swallow with difficulty, a side affect you’re sure of having been so caught off guard by your friend.

He stares. His hands tighten once more for a brief second, matching your grip before they fall away out of your hands.

“Alright.” He says.

“Alright?” You venture confused. You’re head is quite literally spinning from the whiplash of the direction of this conversation.

“I was just wondering,” Kita says casually.

He says it so casually you feel like you’re gonna scream.

“Because I was hoping it was.”

The shoes you’re wearing are covered in mud, and your covered in goosebumps.

You’re feeling like screaming for a whole new reason.

“..what?”

He shakes his head slowly, then stops and gives you an answer you weren’t ready for.

“I’ve been wondering how it is I can feel so mad at someone, and still want them ta show up so I can get mad at them all over again. That’s how I felt after the first couple weeks of yer stubborn self insisting we had a rivalry.”

Kita is facing you fully, his eyes clear and his cheeks dusted that pretty red. You wonder if they’ve been red this whole day because of you.

“When we started to get along, I was happy. Yer someone I don’t get tired of, even when I wish ya did. Ya make me really happy. And embarrassed. And frustrated. It’s like I’m always comfortable with ya, even when I’m getting dragged along with something I wouldn’t have done without you.

It feels like yer always waiting for me, or running to catch up to me,”

And I want you to know what you mean to me.”

He clears his throat. “I sincerely like you so much I can’t think straight.

Can I ask ya to try an actual date with me?”

You clench your fists tight. Nails dig into your palm and you take a deep breath. You’re processing a hurricane of words. A tsunami of emotions.

“Are you saying…” you start, wavering. “you started to like me after a couple of weeks of knowing me.. when I was bullying you..?”

You turn to see checks deepening in color.

“Was that really bullying?” He asks, all composed except for the glaring red on his cheeks.

“God,” you grin, in disbelief. You give him an indirect answer. “I like you so much.”

This trip wasn’t supposed to end like this. The sky wasn’t supposed to explode around you in burning colors and the ground shouldn’t have shaken beneath your feet.

Kita Shinsuke wasn’t supposed to make you feel like those things were happening. Yet he was, and he liked you.

You do what you do best next. You forget to think. Grabbing Kitas hands, missing the way they felt holding yours, you pull him closer to you.

So close your lips touch.

The kiss is short, and when you’ve pulled back to look at the put together person in front of you, you ruffle his neat hair and say, “I’m still bullying you.”

“Well,” he says. “Will you bully me on a real date?”

“I think I will if you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You sigh, happy and reluctant to get home despite the night encroaching.

You lean your head against the perfect, frustrating man in the palm of your hands. Someone who thinks similarly of you.

And you think quietly, secretly to yourself; I kinda love you, you know that Shinsuke?

——— Half a year later———

You shift, and groan at the movement underneath you.

Slowly, ever so gently you’re sliding down onto cushions, but it’s not as comfy as what you were laying on before.

“Noooo,” you whine.

“Sorry,” you hear a morning voice just slightly sleep tinged answer, and suddenly your completely deprived of any skin to skin contact. You’ve been removed off of Shinsuke’s chest by the man himself.

You groan again before slowly sitting up to watch your boyfriend move around the room. Getting ready for the day, two hours before you yourself do on days off from any work at classes and the market.

Its not easy falling back asleep for those two hours. You crave your boyfriends warmth, and it feels lonely without him beside you. An embarrassing thought, yet one you humbly except as the norm now.

You didn’t realize how much nicer it was to wrap your arms around someone you liked as you drifted off to sleep, as compared to a pillow or the open air.

The two hours without him are just not happening today you think blearily.

You close your eyes briefly. Shinsuke’s already fully awake. He’s prepared to get moving and nearly ready to start his day.

You’re not though. So regardless of your tired, slow limbs, you get up and follow the source of the warmth moving away from you.

You sigh when you slump against his side. It’s heavens blessing itself when the man who never stops to most people- slows down and pauses to move his hands to the top of your head, gliding over your hair. His hand eventually drifts down to the side of your face where he gently cradles your cheek, pulling you against him further.

You both stay there. Basking in one another’s presence.

Eventually, the clock starts moving forward once more and his arm goes down to your side where he squeezes.

And then he lets go, leaving you to the cold air again.

“Shinsuke,” you groan out.

“Yes?” He questions. Fully serious. No nonsense.

“…”

“What is it?” He finally pauses again, and with his attention fully on you, you can appreciate his hair sticking up.

“You should sleep a little longer,” you say.

You know your boyfriend likes his morning routine. It’s a pretty strict schedule. One that doesn’t get changed lightly.

You’re basically trying to coax a cat to do something it finds extremely distasteful.

So you know he’ll probably end up leaving like usual.

The look in his eyes is telling you he is indeed not interested in staring up at the ceiling of his room for two hours, while you’re passed out over him. You smile fondly despite the knowing disappointment blooming.

“Alright,” you huff out, acting overly put out. “Never mind, you can get out of here and go do what you need to.”

And with that, you flop back into the nest of blankets and pillows that Shinsuke has departed from.

You breathe in deeply, relaxing slowly. It’s quiet by the time you’re fully situated, ready to rest your two more hours.

It’s not until you feel the bed dip beside you, that you realize Shinsuke didn’t leave the room while you were shifting in the pile.

It’s quiet, excluding the rustling of the blankets around you being lifted. A warm back presses up against your own and it’s giddiness that fills you up.

“You’re staying?” You ask it gently, the same way you would if Kita really was a cat and saying it too loud could scare him away.

“For a half an hour. I’m not staying three.” He places his arm gently over your middle and pulls you closer to him, ignoring your mumbled ‘only two hours’.

“I have ta see a professor today,” he adds.

“Which one?”

He’s silent before, “the one that doesn’t know how to listen well.”

You gasp jokingly at his uncharacteristic answer. “Shinsuke!”

“It’s true,” he says into your hair, and his words reverberate through you. “They’re not very respectful either, ya know?”

You enjoy the couple more complaints that your boyfriend softly murmurs before he tapers off. Your closed eyes start to feel heavier in the dim silenced space.

You’re not far from falling back to sleep. The arm over you finds your hands and entwines your fingers, and it’s something you dimly register through your nearly asleep state. You hear your name, and you think you feel a possible kiss to the top of your head. You’re already asleep when Kita Shinsuke says his last words. You miss what he was trying to tell you.

“I really love ya,”

He knows you’re asleep. It’s easy for him to tell after all this time of you sleeping beside, and on top of him.

It doesn’t stop him from wanting to say it again because he needs you to know it. Over and over, he wants to see your reaction. He wants everything you want to give him. When he looks over at you and see you turning towards him, waiting for him, he wants to wait for you too.

He wants to say I love you while you’re awake.

But he can settle for saying it a couple more times while you sleep, tucked against him. He can tell you he loves you when you wake up in two hours.

He already knows he’ll have to stay a little longer then a half an hour if he wants to do that.

He’s alright with that.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Beetober 2024 Day 10 - Take control

Hitoshi is enjoying one of his rare days off. He hasn’t made it out of bed yet, even though it’s well into the afternoon and he honestly would like to keep it that way. 

Except it seems that life has other plans for him because his phone starts to ring.

There are only three numbers who would go through like that: work, Aizawa and Bakugo and Hitoshi honestly doesn’t want to deal with anyone today, but there’s no way he’s blowing either of those three off.

He stretches with a groan, almost fumbling his phone as he reaches for it but when he sees that it’s Aizawa, he sits a bit straighter.

Aizawa never calls him unless it’s important—really important—and so he accepts the call.

“What is it?” Hitoshi greets him with because Aizawa doesn’t care for niceties on the phone, he usually just wants to get the call behind him as fast as possible and Hitoshi is inclined to indulge him.

He, too, hates phone calls. 

“I sent you a location and you need to come in immediately. Bakugo has been hit with a quirk, we need you here.”

Hitoshi takes a moment to digest that.

“Explain,” he then simply says and he can almost imagine the annoyed face Aizawa makes, but Hitoshi thinks he deserves a few more words.

Bakugo has been hit with a quirk? They need him specifically? None of this makes any sense, because Bakugo does not get hit by quirks and there is very little Hitoshi can actually do.

“He can’t control his quirk anymore. We need you to come in and take over for a moment,” Aizawa says and Hitoshi frowns.

“Can’t you just erase his quirk and the one he was hit with?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end that lets Hitoshi know that Aizawa is pinching the bridge of his nose at the moment but he couldn’t care less.

“I tried that and while it does erase Bakugo’s quirk it does nothing for the one that has him out of control. We think some switch in his brain was flipped.”

“Put him to sleep then, Midnight is on call tonight, isn’t she?”

“How do you think we got him into a secure location, kid? It doesn’t work. We need you to come in and try. Besides, Bakugo asked for you, so get going.”

“Bakugo asked for me?” Hitoshi breathes out because that is—surprising. 

Sure, they are—friends, almost, Hitoshi would dare to say, but Bakugo has always been very clear on where he stands with Hitoshi’s quirk. Meaning, he thinks it’s incredibly well suited for the work Hitoshi does but he doesn’t want to have it used on him, ever. He even underlined that with a death threat or five and since Hitoshi is not going around brainwashing people randomly, it hasn’t been that hard to adhere to Bakugo’s rules.

So this takes him by surprise now.

“He did, now get going, Hitoshi. I expect you here in twenty.”

Twenty minutes is exactly the time it would take Hitoshi to get to the location Aizawa had indeed sent him already and Hitoshi feels kind of annoyed by the assumption that he’s at home.

“I could be out, you know,” he mutters and Aizawa huffs out a laugh.

“You could be but I know you, kid. It’s your day off, you’re still in bed and haven’t moved all day. Twenty minutes,” Aizawa reminds him and then simply hangs up and Hitoshi is taken aback by how well Aizawa still knows him.

Still, Hitoshi doesn’t like assumptions being made about him, so just out of spite, he takes three extra minutes to get dressed before he goes down and gets his bike. By the time he arrives at the location, exactly twenty-three minutes have passed and Aizawa lets him know just how displeased he is by that when he greets him with his eyes red and his hair flying.

“Yeah, yeah, traffic, you know,” Hitoshi waves him off and then follows him when Aizawa leads him deeper into what seems to be an agency.

Bakugo’s maybe? It would explain why they have a room that’s apparently explosion proof but Hitoshi never paid that much attention to agencies. His own is moving locations constantly and not even he knows where they are at all times, so he hardly has time to keep track of anyone else’s.

“In there,” Aizawa says when he comes to a stop in front of a door. 

The room must be soundproof because Hitoshi can only barely make out the sound of explosions and he looks at Aizawa with wide eyes.

“You want me to just go in there? He’s going to explode me.”

“He’s not going to explode you,” Aizawa sighs out and he sounds weary like Hitoshi hasn’t heard him in a long time. “He has enough awareness to not aim his quirk at people but he can’t stop the explosions. And his body is not made to withstand that many in such a short amount of time. It’s starting to hurt him. Go in there and get him to stop.”

"Your quirk didn't work. What makes you think mine will? What if I take control and as soon as I let him go he goes off again?" Hitoshi asks because he's been thinking about this the entire way.

"That's where your new trick comes in," Aizawa carelessly says and Hitoshi's eyebrows shoot up.

It's only been recently that he found out that he is able to give something like a sleeper command, meaning if he plants it deep enough, with specific triggers, he can make people do what he wants even when they are no longer under his control.

That tidbit had been on a strict need-to-know basis so far and there are currently only two people who know about it: Aizawa because he was the one Hitoshi tested that one on, and his boss.

Who made him sign almost a dozen NDA's which is ridiculous, considering this is Hitoshi's own quirk.

"I'm supposed to keep that under wrap."

"He's one of the top three. We need him. You do what you have to to make him stop," is Aizawa's almost heartless answer and Hitoshi rolls his eyes at him.

“Wow, you make it sound real easy,” Hitoshi grumbles but he does reach for the door and one moment later it feels as if his eardrums are being blown out because Bakugo’s explosions are loud, especially in a small room. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Hitoshi yells over the cacophony, praying to every god he knows that Bakugo even hears him, and he was not prepared for the way Bakugo’s head whips around, his face lighting up with something akin to hope.

“Fucking finally,” Bakugo spits out and Hitoshi doesn’t hesitate to take control of him. 

Who knows when he’ll get another chance and this is what he’s here for, after all.

The effect is immediate. Bakugo’s eyes cloud over, his posture relaxes and his quirk falls away, leaving only blessed silence behind. 

That is not what makes Hitoshi stumble in surprise though. 

He has experience with his quirk, he has put all manners of people under in his line of work and he knows how it feels to have someone under his control. Most are really fucking furious, fighting his control as hard as they can; some are scared or downright terrified. A few notable exceptions have been mildly curious (Midoriya and Denki) which was fair considering they had asked to be put under and during training with Aizawa there was only indifference. 

With Bakugo it’s not the sense of relief he’s met with that throws him off, because honestly, that was to be expected, but it’s the way Bakugo’s mind is completely relaxed, almost throwing himself into Hitoshi’s control and the only other thing he gets from Bakugo is complete and utter comfort.

It’s unheard of, and Hitoshi completely blames that on his graceless stumble.

“Everything okay?” Aizawa asks, having come in as soon as the explosions stopped and Hitoshi forces himself to straighten up again.

“Yeah. I got him,” he needlessly says as he points at an unmoving Bakugo.

“Clearly,” Aizawa drily says and if his eyes wouldn’t hurt him so much all the damn time, Hitoshi knows he’d be rolling them right about now. “Can you feel what the quirk is doing to him?”

Hitoshi remembers that there’s actually a mission for him to complete and he focuses. He accesses the part of the brain where the quirk sits and yeah, something is definitely there. Hitoshi closes his eyes to better concentrates as he prods and pokes something that feels like a lever having been switched but he can’t get it to move again.

“Something is blocking his ability to shut his quirk off but I can’t undo it,” Hitoshi admits and Aizawa hums.

“Tell him to not use his quirk and then release him. Let’s see if that helps.”

“Do not use your quirk,” Hitoshi tells Bakugo right before he lets go of him and it takes Bakugo two blinks to fully come back to himself. 

He doesn’t seem as confused as most of Hitoshi’s victims do and he doesn’t even glare at Hitoshi. In fact, he’s not looking at him at all.

“Fuck,” Bakugo whispers out, clenching and unclenching his hands and now that no more explosions are going off Hitoshi can see how red and irritated they already are.

Bakugo would have probably burned off his own hands if he kept going like this.

“Can you access your quirk at all?” Aizawa asks and Bakugo opens his hands, a look of concentration on his face but nothing happens. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“It’s like the exact opposite feeling from before,” Bakugo admits. “I couldn’t stop before and now I can’t even start.”

“Okay, so this doesn’t work long-term. Did the block feel like something that would dissipate over time?” Aizawa directs his question at Hitoshi who shakes his head.

“Didn’t seem like it. Can’t the person who did this to you undo it?”

“I was just about to grab him when he hit me with his quirk,” Bakugo says and Hitoshi winces, because that means the guy most likely exploded himself, so to speak.

“Dead?”

“In an artificial coma for now,” Aizawa states and then sighs. “He’s not an option.”

“Great, so I am either useless now because I can’t use my quirk, or I’m a danger to everyone because I can’t control it. Fucking perfect,” Bakugo hisses and Hitoshi rolls his eyes at his antics.

“Thanks for remembering that I’m still right here,” he mockingly says and for the first time since Hitoshi released him, Bakugo’s eyes snap to him.

“And what are you going to do?”

“Aren’t you curious to find out?” Hitoshi taunts him and of course Bakugo bites like Hitoshi knew he would.

“You fucking—” Hitoshi takes control of him again, not even letting him finish his sentence and Aizawa eyes him curiously.

“Only use your quirk when you want to,” Hitoshi says, ignoring the feeling of Bakugo’s mind almost snuggling up in Hitoshi’s quirk, instead concentrating on planting that command as deep as he can and he releases him just as quickly as he had taken control of him.

“What the fuck,” Bakugo hisses but Hitoshi only motions towards his hands.

“Can you use your quirk?” he asks and pretends it doesn’t hurt when Bakugo glares at him, but doesn’t verbally reply.

Instead he raises his hands and just like that a small explosion goes off. 

“Does it feel different?” Aizawa asks and Bakugo shakes his head. 

“No, it’s like it’s always felt. What the fuck did you order me to do?”

“To only use your quirk when you want to. You’re welcome, asshole.”

“Kids,” Aizawa breathes out, and then turns on his heel and simply walks out of the room, leaving Hitoshi and Bakugo behind in an awkward silence.

“Right,” Hitoshi mutters after a very long minute. “If that is all, then I’ll—” he points over his shoulder, with every intention of simply walking away, but to his surprise Bakugo stops him.

“You’re not going to ask?”

“Do you—want me to ask?” Hitoshi carefully gives back, because Bakugo seems distinctly uncomfortable and for all that Hitoshi is an asshole who likes to antagonise people, he doesn’t like to make them look like that.

“Not particularly,” Bakugo presses out and Hitoshi shrugs.

“Then I’ll just leave, if it’s all the same to you.”

“If you dare to make fun of me—” Bakugo hisses at him and his palm sparks in that threatening way he likes to use.

“For what? Feeling comfortable in my quirk? Yeah, that really is something to make fun of,” Hitoshi sarcastically says and then sighs. “Listen, I—can’t claim to know why you’d feel that way when you made it abundantly clear that you do not want to be brainwashed by me ever, but I’m not going to make fun of you for it. In fact, I’m not even going to mention it ever again. We can just pretend this never happened.”

Hitoshi is prepared to do that, because Bakugo’s shoulders are still tense and he still has that horribly uncomfortable look on his face, but he also has to admit that he’s going to mind. Very much. He would love to find out why Bakugo feels like that when he uses his quirk on him and there is no way in hell Hitoshi is going to stop thinking about this, but he will not bring it up again.

“I trust you,” Bakugo says even though it sounds more like someone pulled the words straight out of his mouth. “There’s all this anger and frustration in me but if you’re also in there I don’t have to worry about that. I just have to—lean in, and it’ll be fine.”

There’s a lot Hitoshi wants to say to that but what he blurts out is “How do you even know that when I’m never allowed to brainwash you?”

Hitoshi thinks it must be the lightning in the room, because there’s no way that Bakugo is blushing at that question.

“You brainwashed me once in our second year. I—haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” he admits, burying his face in his hands and it’s only when he hisses in pain that Hitoshi remembers the states of his palms.

“Stop that, you idiot,” he immediately says and steps close enough to wrap his hands around Bakugo’s wrists so he can pull his hands away and inspect them. “You need some first aid for this,” he decides, because there are a few blisters already and they need to get this looked at.

“If you dare to make fun of me, I’ll kill you,” Bakugo says, but there’s no heat behind it and so Hitoshi snorts, which only makes Bakugo bristle in outrage.

“Bakugo, do you even have any idea what it feels like to have someone trust me like that in my quirk? The best I usually get is indifference and that’s only when it’s like a training exercise. This, this was—” Hitoshi doesn’t actually know how to describe the feeling and so he helplessly trails off.

“I could feel it,” Bakugo admits, his voice barely audible even in the scant space between them and it takes Hitoshi by surprise.

“What?” That’s not usually how this goes, no one has ever mentioned that before and he’s reasonably sure that Aizawa would have if he had been able to feel Hitoshi like that. 

But maybe it’s all in the way Bakugo leaned into Hitoshi’s quirk, because that is certainly something no one has ever done before.

“You were surprised, but—you didn’t hate it, or whatever,” Bakugo grumbles out and it’s so ridiculous and so far off the mark that it makes Hitoshi laugh.

“Or whatever,” he agrees. “Just like you don’t mind being mind-controlled by me, or whatever.” 

It seems like Bakugo wants to argue with him about this some more, but in all honesty, Hitoshi is still a little stuck on the way Bakugo trusts him and when he realises that he wouldn’t mind doing it again—no matter if Bakugo can feel his own emotions or not—he realises that he trusts Bakugo just as much.

“Here’s the plan,” Hitoshi decides and squeezes Bakugo’s wrists once before he lets go of him. “We get your hands looked at and then I take you out for whatever food is appropriate at this hour.” Hitoshi has actually no clue what time it is anymore. “Or we forget all about it and never talk about it once we step outside this room. Your choice.”

It’s a big risk and Hitoshi is not usually into emotionally charged moments, but he feels as if one of them has to take this step. Yeah, they are friendly, friends even, but Hitoshi had always been under the impression that their flirting was unserious enough on both their sides, but maybe Hitoshi had that all wrong.

He wouldn’t mind it if he did but it’s on Bakugo now.

Hitoshi thinks that Bakugo is going to blow him off when he stays quiet for too long but then Bakugo’s red eyes meet his and Hitoshi knows his answer.

“Better get fucking going then,” he decides and pushes Hitoshi towards the door. “We’re going to eat super spicy, because today has sucked ass for me, so I get to have this.”

Hitoshi bites his tongue just in time to swallow his response back, because telling Bakugo that he gets to have whatever the hell he wants today might open up doors Hitoshi is not quite ready for, so he simply nods, even as he mentally waves his taste buds goodbye.

“Alright, hands first, and then lead the way,” Hitoshi simply says as he allows Bakugo to push him around and he can’t quite deny the way his stomach swoops when Bakugo grins sharply at him.

“Oh, I will,” Bakugo promises him and Hitoshi swallows heavily.

He has no idea what the hell he just got himself into, but he is kind of thankful that Aizawa made him leave his bed today.