#enjoy the angst <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do a Sebastian Solace x Reader (gender neutral is fine) where he is led to believe the reader has permanently died? Somehow he receives this information. At this point, him and reader don't have to have an established relationship, but they definitely have a bond and affection for each other. Then, the reader comes into the vent the following day like always, and there's a happy ending? Angsty until then though please 🙏 Thank you so much

"What do you mean they aren't back yet?!"

"......."

"I lent them a token 'cause that was an unfair end to their run. They would've used it by now."

"I'll admit that the Harbinger's...unexpected arrival was most unusual. No one at Urbanshade knows where it comes from nor why it chose to show itself to the expendable."

"[Y/n]."

"Pardon?"

"It's...[y/n].." Sebastian's shoulders slumped as he looked to the enigmatic green man who decided to show up inside his shop, confused by his sudden presence. "And why are you here now? We agreed to only meet when--"

"You seem awfully attached to them, Solace. And that's not good for us." Mr. Lopee frowned slightly. "You're giving them special treatment, putting a name to their face. Don't you want to get out of here?"

"...of course I do! I'm not "attached" to anybody." The fishman muttered, although his nervous tapping against the crates betrayed his insistence. "They've just given me the most dirt on Urbanshade, and I'd hate to lose their business.."

"Well, unfortunately...they have not returned from the Banlands. I don't believe they ever will. I'd consider their soul to be lost in the ocean for eternity."

In an instant, he felt his heart sink into the pits of his stomach, trying to process the words he just heard. "What do you mean "lost"?? She can't find them?!"

"Death has grown weary of her duties." Mr. Lopee answered grimly. "That is all I know. I have no way to contact her, but this may be a sign that she's tired of resurrecting Urbanshade personnel. Those tokens have lost their meaning."

"No..no, no, no. That's stupid!" Sebastian snapped. "She can't just "decide" to stop now!! That wasn't a fair death!"

"Nothing is fair down here, my friend. You of all people should understand that. Now continue your work. Don't let yourself become distracted over one insignificant loss."

"....I won't, "boss"." The fishman sneered rudely, watching him disappear into a cloud of green and black smoke.

But the second he was gone, Sebastian dropped his snarky front, trying his best to stay calm despite the grim news he was told.

There was a way that an expendable can die...permanently?

Did the Harbinger have something to do with that? Or was the ferry lady simply uncaring and decided she was done reviving people?

He knew that she was going to be replaced within the next year or two, so maybe she thought it was all pointless now.

Either way, he'd never know.

And he'd likely never know what really happened to you. He only had to trust Mr. Lopee's words...and begrudgingly so.

""Distracted", my ass. They have to come back eventually. They...they made a promise.." His shoulders sagged as he glanced at the vent again, only for his ear fins to perk up at the sounds of thumping.

"[Y/n]? Hah. I knew he was messing with......me...."

Much to his disappointment, it was just another Wall Dweller infected with the rotten coral who decided to sneak into his shop. And with one swift motion, he dispatched it with his shotgun, watching its head explode into clay and gore as the remains flopped to the ground.

"Ugh..disgusting.." He grumbled, not happy that he had to pick apart the creature piece by piece, wishing he didn't have to touch the alien plant. But all of it was still edible, even for expendables who couldn't even touch the bloxy cola left behind after the lockdown.

You always joked about how it's the only way you could get "greens" in your diet-

'Shit..why am I thinking about them again?'

Sebastian's hands shook a little as he set the pieces on the table, wishing he could tear these stupid feelings out of his chest, wondering why he ever allowed himself to get so close to you in the first place.

He never should have opened up. Not to you. Not to anyone.

There were more important things at stake.

He shouldn't be mourning over you. What good would that do? Mr. Lopee had a point. Maybe he was getting distracted--losing sight of his goal and the burning hatred he had for Urbanshade.

He had to get out. He shouldn't care about some weak little expendable.

And yet...he couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted to escape with you, and maybe even..get to know you a lot better without having to pretend to be business partners. He wouldn't have to pretend to despise you and find you annoying.

Now he couldn't even find out your exact status in the Banlands. But from what Mr. Lopee implied...your soul was forever trapped at the bottom of that dark ocean, surrounded by thousands more.

By thousands of haunted faces and screams he himself once heard when the ferryman scooped him out of the water.

It drove him insane for the remainder of the day, and despite trying to fight his exhaustion by organizing his wares and assets...sleep managed to find him for once.

Yet his dreams were anything but pleasant.

He was forced to witness the horrific scenario of that fabled Harbinger descend upon you, tearing into the locker you were hiding in whilst he was unable to do anything but scream for it to stop tormenting you.

His pleas fell on deaf ears, and he watched the demonic entity paint the entire room red with your blood.

...........

"Huh..that's weird."

Arriving to the 50th room, you were surprised that the vent grate didn't pop open like normal. You knew for sure Sebastian was there, given the spotlights shining directly towards the entrance to his shop.

So you opened it as quietly as you could--just in case he was sleeping. The last thing you ever wanted to do was startle the sleep-deprived traumatized fishman because of some noise.

He'd rarely doze off, and funny enough it only happened whenever you were in the shop, too, indicating he'd grown to trust you deeply.

You've come a long way in your friendship, although judging by the numerous discounts he's given you, the lack of landmines and ADS devices scattered around, his scoldings becoming less harsh and insulting, and his increasing worry for your safety the further you got into the blacksite....you wondered if he felt something more.

Like..attachment, almost.

But of course, you didn't want to assume anything.

Surely, you're just a means to an end for him. All he cares about are the documents you bring him and nothing more. He's only slightly more concerned for you because you bring him the most valuable stuff and barter with him better than other expendables.

However, as soon as you emerged from the other side of the vent and dusted off your pants, you could see Sebastian was almost...writhing in his sleep, his claws leaving deep marks in the crates as he whimpered, his tail flicking violently.

You had to duck as it suddenly swung over your head, but when you heard him utter your name, you froze with surprise.

Was he...dreaming about you?

You would've been flattered, if not for the realization that he was probably having a nightmare instead. So you quietly went over to him, wondering how you can wake him up and explain your....absence.

You couldn't return to the living world for some time after the Harbinger killed you, and surely...he's gonna realize that and get pissed off at you "wasting" another ferry token.

You just pray he believes you.

"Seb? Wake up." Stepping onto his desk was a risk, but it was one worth taking as it allowed you to get close to him so you could shake his shoulder. It took him some time to get used to your touch, and thankfully he's more comfortable with it now.

Suddenly, he gasped as his eyes snapped open, his upper body sitting up with such a start. You damn near fell off the table, but managed to keep your balance as you stared up at him.

He saw you, and only your uniform, and got angry.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!! GET OUT-!!!"

"Sebastian it's me!! It's me!!" You shouted, your voice rising a few octaves as you held your hands up.

He huffed and puffed, beads of sweat dotting his hairline as he looked down and slowly began to recognize your face.

And then the realization hit him.

You were here. Alive. Breathing.

You were back as if nothing had happened.

"[Y/n]?" He shuddered. "Shit..sorry. H-How are you...? I'm not seeing a ghost, am I?"

"I'm not. And know you're mad, so let me explain.." You sighed, putting your hands down. "I tried coming back, but the portal was busted, so I got...stuck on the other side for a while. The ferry lady was nice enough to show me how to repair it, though she didn't say much else. She seemed to appreciate me expressing my condolences for her husband, and....."

You trailed off as Sebastian put a hand on your shoulder, and at first you were worried he was going to throttle you for making him wait this long...

Only for him to pull you into a quick embrace, lifting you off your feet. "Ah..I'm sorry, Seb." You hugged him back, feeling guilty. "I guess I've been away too long, huh?"

"..it's been an entire day."

"Really?" Your heart sunk as he let you go, setting you back on the floor. "God, I...I had no idea. You must have been freaking out."

"Only...a little bit.." He muttered, managing to calm himself down as he brushed his bangs to the side. "Someone has...led me to believe that you died permanently. But they were wrong, so it doesn't matter anymore."

You were quiet for a moment, debating on whether or not to question who told him that, but you didn't wanna stress him out over the details, considering how shaken-up he got.

"Yeah, I guess it doesn't." You shrugged, deciding to look at the wares Sebastian had available.

Unfortunately, you lost all the assets you collected this time, although there wasn't anything of utter importance that you needed right now. But after grabbing the keycard to leave....he blocked the vent with his tail. "Seb?"

"Why don't you stay here a while? Hm?" He coughed, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Why? In case the big bad Harbinger gets me?" You chuckled, only to fall silent as he didn't laugh at all. "Alright, bad joke. I'll stick around for a bit."

Judging from how his shoulders instantly relaxed the moment you said that, you realized he did care more for your safety than other expendables. He didn't want you running back out into danger so quickly, especially as he knew that if you were to revive again, the ferryman...won't really like that.

It was kinda sweet seeing him act so clingy with just you, even when he didn't wanna outright admit it.

[brotherconstant]

You're the one who can pretend That there are no consequences to what you do But the truth is that it's costly Baby, 'cause you lost me Soon enough you're gonna see. —MUNA | One That Got Away

[vegaly-art]

"Remember me, " I ask. "Remember me, " I sing

Warden has lost so much, and does not even get to grieve. The people change, the world moves on, and the march towards damnation continues. But Vega's plan must go forward… and Warden has no one else. "Your Sadistic Demon Has Lost His Memory", from Warden's perspective. CWs: Mild gore, hopelessness, and grief (and all the confusing emotions that come with it). Warden is not having a good time. Read on AO3 here.

It’s almost laughable now that I thought, genuinely, that my legs could carry me off to safety. As if there was any safe place I could go, or even imagine, as I sat on the cold wooden floor of a broken-down apartment, listening to the bustle of the outside world that was just not loud enough to overshadow the pounding in my head.  The wind hummed and whistled, pulling droplets of rain in through the windows, masking the sound of my sniffling. The city was alight with passing cars and street lights and all the Christmas garlands yet to be removed from local homes. I could hear songs from open shop doors and passing vehicles, familiarly jovial and completely alien, as if sung in languages I did not speak. People passed and giggled, cars started and stopped, the world went on. And yet here I sat, wallowing as if it were the end of the world. For all I knew, it may as well have been.

And the world kept spinning. Until I heard a soft tearing and twisting, the air in the room tasting sweeter as magic flooded it all at once. Then came a few sets of footsteps.. and a familiar voice that chilled the room far faster than the coldest snow. I couldn't even make out a word he was saying, my body reacted on its own. Cloak, get up, run. Don't breathe, he will hear you. Get out. He's going to find you but you can get out. Get out. Get-

"They are terrified. Explain."

No. No. I had to go. I couldn't look at them. Look at him. It was surely a trick of my sorry mind or that thing. Cruel creature. Cruel Hush. I couldn't! But- but it was his voice. It sounded so much like Vega's voice. But he was dead. I watched him come apart before my own eyes, seeing the sparks of him fly off into the dark abyss of that musty abandoned Closeknit base. I could see glimpses of starlight on the scattered chairs, soft puffs of space dust crawling into the vents. The room smelled of ozone and burnt wood, and the air tasted so bitter I could still feel it at the back of my throat. The aftertaste of what was left of him burned into the roof of my mouth, as every emotion I could find within others and myself tasted of that bitterness he so loved. Of him. I couldn't bring myself to rift, and still can't. The meridian burned to the touch if ever I got too close, seeming to push me away in disgust, and disappointment. I had to run before my mind got the better of me but… I took a peak against my better judgement.

And there he stood, waving off Hush like some annoyed friend. His words were janky and awkward but it was... him... and soon we were alone. What was I supposed to do?

"Inchoate. The murderous one is gone. Show yourself." I didn't move a muscle, tail wrapped tightly around my leg, the now healed stub at the end brushing against my knee. He smelled almost the same as he always did, ozone and firepits and a pitter tang. But it was off. A change of undertone, perhaps. Less woody, perhaps, and almost sweeter, right at the back of the throat. "Inchoate... you could have rifted away from this place but you haven't. Which either means you feel you have nowhere else to go, or you are too curious to leave completely. Perhaps both. It matters not. You will find no answers to your curiosity by hiding. Come out." Slowly, the world around me came into focus, as I pulled myself from my hiding spot within it. My limbs fell back into their unnatural hues, I could see the hair in front of my eyes, dripping and soaked. And he looked at me, with soft red eyes, that seemed dimmer than before.

He was recognisably him, with shorter hair, and new scars. And less jewellery than I knew him to wear. But... in his gaze, I could not find him. He looked at me like a stranger. Like a child. Devoid of his sarcastic quirked brow and half-closed amusement, too soft yet too formal. I lowered my eyes to the floor as if ignoring the changes could make the old him come back. His voice fell into my mind, fracturing and stumbling, and yet I could only mirror him. It took everything in me to even envision the words that I wanted to say, let alone speak them aloud. He... was Vega, was he not?

Of course. Of course he was. Full title and all. And yet so different from the him who I had known. Restored, but only in part, with so much wrong... out of place... missing. He once told me that the Vega who crawled out of the Elision well was not the same as the one who stood today. Not that he'd be young enough to have crawled out of the well, but the turn of phrase was poetic… He had died many times before, and he knew his self then was not eternal either. And yet now I stood before that reality and everything in me felt queasy. If I had a stomach it would surely be clawing at my ribs. If I had lungs they would contract and sieze, even as I tried to draw breath. If I had a heart it would throw itself against my trachea to try and crawl out and away, or crush itself between scraping teeth. 

"There is something about you. Of you. Something. I feel you are something to me. My memories are empty vaults, fractured echoes, a lingering scent on the wind. But something of you sings in counterpoint to my movement. I... Hush says you were with me when I died. That we were... something to one another. Tell me what we were. Remind me. What were you to me?"

I went to answer again, but it was once again difficult. Even if I could push past the block in my mind, the answer I sought was distant and strained. Trapped behind the beating in my head and the tears in my eyes. I couldn't tell if he was ignoring the distress of mine or did not see it, but it felt so wrong. I wanted him to stop looking at me.

"We were allies. Partners.” I could almost hear him quirk a brow at that. “ No- we weren't like- partners. We worked together. Not at a job- I wasn't- You had a mission. I was just there to help. I was-" "You are withholding information." I was. I didn't know what else to do, or where else I could start. "We were- it- it’s complicated." "Complicated can mean many things. I imagine this must be difficult for you as well, but... please. I feel... you are here." He put a hand to his chest, between the collarbones, fingers grazing his constellation upon his neck "Inside. You are gone but you were there. The dust lies around the silhouette you've left behind. The feelings are... conflicting. You were a part of me but I don't know what form that took. It is... maddening." He got down on his knees in front of me, my hand held gently within his, staring up with those embers of once bright flames. "Please... speak." He begged...

He begged.

He was confused. He was alone. He was scared. He was not accustomed to these feelings.

I wanted to scream at him. He left me! He left me with nothing after tearing me away from all that I knew! He gave me his trust and his faith and his respect, put his life on the line so carelessly and got himself killed, then appeared back before me like this?! I deserved to be confused! I deserved to be scared!

But... I couldn't say that. Because I had people I could go to, and lie to, and a life that could go back to 'normal'. I didn't want to consider returning to that hell of a job I once had but I had the memory of it, and references to find something better. I could find new friends, and new work, and wait out the ticking clock until the end of the world. I could afford to let my memories pass and give them up, and let his suffering and his sacrifice be forgotten. 

I turned away from him. Found my way to the small set of drawers in the room. My hand reached in on instinct, pulling up a piece of paper, half crumpled from water damage. I had read it out in the rain, and though I’d helped it dry I was uncareful. The creases from my shaky hands still marred the crisp paper surface. But it should be enough to get the message across. It had to be. 

I walked back. Handed it to him. He asked about it. I answered.

"Yes, you wrote it." ..."I don't know when. The why is written inside. It materialised after your death." ..."take it."

The paper crinkled against his larger clawed fingers as he took the page gently, brushing against my own. I wanted to vomit. Vomit out those parts of him he left within my head, and my heart, and run. Run to that hideous safe house of his, surely filled with the aroma of rotted meat, and the buzzing of flies. I would go back and feed on the emotions of the police who found the scene, and the coworker I once had... or what the wildlife left of him anyway. Their fear, their agony, their confusion, their indifference. I would consume whole what was left of that poor department agent just to get that bitter taste off my tongue and fill myself with anything but my own grief and self-pity. I didn't want to hear his voice read that letter. It rang within me every time those words came back to me, but it was my imagination of his voice. A comforting distance. 

I wanted to vomit.

He began reading, emotions flowing off of him. I could feel them.

"My Dearest Warden." Confusion. "Warden?"

"You called me Warden..."

"Ah." Acceptance. "Very well. 

If you are reading this then something has happened. The magic keeping it out of phase has ended. Which means my connection to magic has been interfered with in some way." Intrigue "Return to the department if you can. Tell them that I was... holding you against your will." Discomfort. "My record speaks for itself. They will believe you. I cannot ask you to continue my plans on your own. While you are an impressive demon you are unprepared for what the quest entails. If it was enough to incapacitate me it would do far worse to you." Caution. "Let the memory of it fade with..." No... "the memory..." No... "of me." ... "You were a gift to know, Darling." Softness. "You surprised me. You made me reconsider. Those are things that I thought were out of reach by now. You can't know how much that meant.

Live, my Warden. And be well..."

He chuckled. He seemed to click something into place that I couldn't begin to understand. Or rather... I could. I understood perfectly well what he saw. What he spoke of, defying my claim that things were ‘complicated’. Expressions of affection. Terms of endearment. He valued me. Put my safety above that of his task, whatever that was. Called me Dearest... Darling...  

The romantic implications were so obvious a child could see them, but that wasn't- it wasn't like that- it- I could feel tears welling up again. It was different. But he wouldn't know the difference, would he? Head so empty, missing so much of himself. He couldn't know... 

He'd forgotten his own gentle staring as he entertained my false sleep. His gentle hands upon my stubby second set of horns as they first broke skin.  His soft touches up my back as he helped me back into my clothes, that he had painstakingly remade from my description and his memory of me.  The shock in his own eyes as he saw my necklace of red and white beads, that held a star on the neck, to match him. One I kept now in my pocket. The nights spent rambling about the stars and anecdotes of centuries past. Brachium. Polaris. Centuri. Cygnus. As if they once lived, and he once knew them. Those eyes that stared into me, past my emotional walls and practised human movements. Those words that weaved lies so beautiful I grew to believe them and stepped off the edge I was trapped by for so long.  The hand on my waist. Get behind me. The taste of bitter and ozone as he splattered. The gentle nicknames. The gentle letdowns. The curiosity, intrigue, and excuses to make up for my guilt for pushing my woeful PTO policy…

"Did I- was I... harmful? Is that where your fear comes from?" He seemed so worried by my silence, and I could feel his eyes tracing the scars on my body, barely obscured by mesh pants and sleeves. 

"You hurt a lot of people, for your goals." And now I was one of them... and you couldn't see that because I didn't tell you. Even as tears rolled down my face.

"But I never harmed you?"

"No." You were more kind to me than anyone else I’d ever known.

"Intriguing again. I... Perhaps it is enough to simply know that it was... complicated, for now. I... I can live within these constraints for the time being. This is... clearly difficult for you. And I do not wish to cause you any further stress. Perhaps a different topic would be more easily discussed." More easily discussed. More easily discussed. Oh, it'd be so much easier if you shut up and left! If I could mourn in peace. If I could-...

The quest. He needed to know about the quest. Of course.  I had to tell him. Stumbling again in my own head, I tried to find words for something that I knew so little of. I had to put my feelings aside. We took too long to get to Dahlia, he said it himself. And now we lost even more time and would lose more still. There was no time to mourn. I wiped the tears from my eyes.

"It was... complicated. You told me so little and I tried to give ideas but it seemed I didn't get it all. But... the Sovereigns. We needed to find out more about the Sovereigns. You knew them once. Two had sacrificed themselves, and now their defence weakened... and you said yourself that... their altruism could not last through millennia of nothing but thinking. In your eyes, anyway. We had to "bolster the meridian, and bring it to heel"and communicate with those Sovereigns, it seemed. Which some humans had gotten so close to speaking to them. They wished to free them? I think? Some of them did anyway, from what I remembered in my files and what you told me and I you- and-"

"The Sovereigns. After all this time. What fool would ever seek to free them? Do they have any idea the destruction the sky gods would bring?"

"Closeknit tried. They seem to venerate them. They-."

"What is a 'Closeknit'?"

"A religious organisation? Cult? Anti-daemonic protest group? I'm not sure. They-"

"This cannot be allowed to occur. I was correct to risk death in pursuit of this task."  I stopped trying to explain. He seemed to have his own whims and memories to discuss. He almost sounded like he used to, fire in his eyes and a passion in his voice. I listened. Drank it in. It was probably the only piece of him I would see for a long time. I'm glad that much was left, though it was far too little. And much, much too late.

But then he spoke of Hush. I didn't want it to be so, but... we did have to speak with him. We needed to know. He insisted that he ‘could not allow us to get in the way’. That ‘his brother would not be pleased’. He killed Vega and put him together again what- an hour later? Maybe two? Or maybe sooner, depending on how long it took to find me. He was... complicated. Conflicted. And horrifically powerful. He must be understood. His goals realigned to our own. He could be our only hope... if we dare hope at all. 

"Inchoate. Will you stand beside me again in this? Will you help me?"   I looked at him, foggy and fuzzy, deforming from the tears that remained in my eyes, feeling every little emotion that slawed off him like meat from the carcase he was supposed to be... Concern. Confusion. Worry. Desperation. Want.

"I don't have anyone else anymore..." He took my hand and said nothing. And the world rippled and burned around us, as I gently pulled that familiar letter from his grasp, now stamped with soot and his fingerprints. Pressed it to my heart as he pulled me along.

There was no time to grieve.

[arrowheadedbitch]

Jason and Tim are arguing, Jason brings up how Tim stole his mantle

Tim, yelling: I did what I was supposed to do!! I got an adult! It's not my fault the adult wouldn't help! I had to take matters into my own hands, I will not be shamed for that! If you want to be mad at someone? Don't be mad at me. Or Bruce. Or Alfred. You wanna be mad at someone? Be mad at Dick Grayson, because when I saw that Batman was falling apart at the seams, I went straight to him! I asked him to help, when Batman was going to tear Gotham apart, piece by piece, in his grief, I BEGGED Dick to help, and he said no, so I had to step up because otherwise no one would.

Jason, not angry anymore: Wh- Tim, you were, you were 13! It wasn't your job to fix a grown man, you didn't have to be the one to save him...

Tim: Then why didn't anyone help!!

Jason: Tim...

Tim: why didn't anyone help?

[spideyhexx]

oct. 2nd - bro code

Brother'sBestFriend!Rafe Cameron x Reader

mdni! wc; 1.2k cw; thighfucking, cnc ish

kinktober2024 masterlist

a/n; a last minute change to kinktober because drew starkey™️

“Babydoll, I’m not even putin’ it in, it’s not a big deal,” Rafe murmurs to your ear, his lips ghosting the shell of it as his arm wraps tighter to your waist, your hips pressing into the hard counter of the outside bar. 

“He won’t find out?”

Rafe scoffs a little, his arm tightening on you. “No, no, no, no, he won’t. Cause you won’t tell him, huh?”

You shake your head no and his hand juts up to your chin, turning your head back to him, “C’mon, words, baby, I told you I need words to keep going.” His words, however, hold no meaning. He gives the cockiest little smirk when he says it. 

It’s hard to get them out when his warm hand is holding you, and his erection presses firmly to your backside, begging for something more. Rafe was your older brother’s best friend and it would have taken a literal miracle for you not to develop a crush on him. 

Rafe’s been eyeing you lately though. Longer glances when you strip off your towel, showing off your new swimsuit. Lingering touches when he hugs you in greetings, slipping a hand to the top of your ass. Enough for you to notice, but no one else. 

A few of your friends already warned you that Rafe gave off certain vibes, which you steer clear of immediately when attributed to a guy, but he was a magnet. And he’s holding you so tightly. 

Your front is against the bar counter on your patio, his body pressed up behind you so close, you feel all of him, every inch of him. 

“Rafe maybe we shouldn’t like-”

“Shhhh,” he interrupts, leaning back to watch the curve of your ass as he rubs his hardened dick against you. All that covers you is a thin pair of blue swimsuit bottoms, his swimming trunks do nothing to contain how aroused he is. 

“Here, how ‘bout this,” he mumbles, tugging the trunks down enough to let his cock spring free, and the quick glimpse you get of it makes you gasp. 

Rafe relishes in that. But his hand finds your jaw again, “I won’t even put it in, ‘kay? Won’t even do it, babydoll, it won’t slip it in. It’s just a little help and it means nothing cause it’s not in.”

You want to tell him his words don’t make sense, but you feel his free hand nudge your legs apart and oblige, holding one hand on the counter, your other hand on his wrist. 

“He could come home,” you whisper, not meaning to be that quiet, but Rafe’s fingers tighten on your jaw. 

“Don’t fucking say that, we got time.” Rafe holds to his cock, smearing the beads of pre-cum dripping from him on your inner thigh. It coaxes another gasp out of you and he chuckles. 

“Yeah, see? I told you, it’s nice, yeah. But it’s nothing, doll. Nothing. I’m not doing anything crazy and your brother won’t know, ‘kay?”

Rafe waits for you to nod. Your hesitation causes him to press tighter to you, the counter’s edge digging into your skin enough to be uncomfortable, enough to probably leave a mark. You nod. 

His hot breath at your ear and neck and feeling how hard he is makes your head spin and the area between your legs alight. This is wrong, you know it’s bad on multiple levels. You shouldn’t want him. Shouldn’t let him do this, but you can’t find it in yourself to push him away. Instead, you slip your bottoms to the side and Rafe mutters out a, “fuck yes,” that makes more heat spark within you. 

Rafe slides his cock between your thighs, resting right under your heat. You swallow hard, gripping the counter. He nudges your legs to his heart’s content, getting them in the right position so there’s enough pressure against him, and then he grabs your hips tight. You move your jaw, stretching it out after his hard grip, reaching a hand behind you so you can hold onto some part of him. 

But as your fingertips grace his wrist, he swats your hand away, “Just look forward, doll, I got it.”

You can’t respond, because Rafe immediately starts to thrust himself between your thighs, not bothering to go slow. 

He groans and lets out a dark laugh against your ear, his teeth nibbling at your skin. “Think about this every time you walk around in one of these,” he mutters, rocking his hips, the steady rhythmic thrusts teasing you whenever his tip rubs against your cunt. “Every time you walk around in general.”

You wonder if he wants you to ask him to put it in. To push his cock into you and fuck you right here near the pool, but even if he wants you to do that, he doesn’t mention it. So you don’t either. 

The slow torture of his cock rubbing between your thighs, using them for his pleasure, has your breath heavy and your knees shaky. 

Rafe grunts, gripping your waist so hard it rivals the push of the counter against you. “This is normal yeah?” His voice comes out breathy, near wavering. 

“What?” You ask, confused by the questioning. 

“This is normal. Tell me doll, please,” Rafe almost whines at you. It has your brow knitting and your head turning to see him but he shakes his head vehemently, removing a hand from your hip to force your head forward. 

“Doll, c’mon, this is normal, yeah? Just…just feeling good with you, that’s all. Doesn’t…doesn’t fucking matter,” he gets out through pants and broken-up breaths. “I’m not even…my dick isn’t even…”

“Uh…,” you trail off. Unsure. 

“Doll,” he says, a sharp edge to his tone, like he might break if you don’t answer him. 

You rush your words out, “Yeah, yeah, it’s normal.” 

Rafe lets out a breath you could only classify as a relief. He thrusts his hips a little faster, the squeeze of your thighs warm and soft against him, the perfect amount to stimulate him. You’re sure he can feel how wet you are, the quick drag of his cock right under your cunt has you wanting to reach down and rub at your clit to give you some sort of satisfaction. But you can’t bring yourself to, your mind too focused on his sounds, on his movements. On his insistence that this is normal. He thrusts over and over until he muffles a groan against your shoulder, spilling himself on your thighs, on your cunt, on the counter in front of you. 

It’s a lot. A big mess that you don’t know what to do with. Your breath feels shakier than it was just a few seconds ago. Rafe steps back, tugging his trunks up. He reaches over for your beach towel that is laid on the lounge chair and chucks it over at you. 

You turn just in time to catch it, but you stay still, holding it and looking at him. He’s out of breath, flushed in the face, his eyes wild. 

“What? Clean the fuck up,” he mutters, gesturing with his hand and adjusting his trunks as he walks past you towards the screen door. 

With a swallow, you wipe your thighs clean, the heat in your stomach still lingering. 

“He won’t find out,” Rafe’s voice rings out, and you look up at him, only to nod, looking to where his cum hit the counter. You wipe it clean, then catch his eye again. 

Rafe stares for a few seconds, and you watch his frenzied expression dip into neutral territory, then the turns on his heel into your house.

[glitchedcosmos]

Don’t make promises you can’t keep

[emiruu-u]

This based off of the headcanon that when Cole 'activated' Lilly's statue in shintaro it shed tears at the sight of her son once again <3

[katsu28]

for you i'd wait forever

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

summary: bradley breaks things off with you before a deployment because he doesn't want you to worry about him (4.2k)

warnings: some swearing, bradley's commitment issues, happy ending i promise!

a/n: okay so from what i gathered from my googling is that tapping out is typically for new military graduates (i think?) but this idea was so cute so pls forgive the inaccuracies i have no idea what i'm doing at all <3 and also pls forgive me for the utter lack of writing since the beginning of the year, these last few months have been brutal (creatively and otherwise) but i am hopefully back!!! xx

Bradley thought he knew the tolls of being in the Navy. It was tough on not only him, but the people in his life. For the most part, he’d always put his career first. His life had always been on a set track, and although there were plenty of setbacks, he forged ahead until he got where he was today. 

And then he met you. Fell in love with you. Finally knew what it meant to have someone in his corner who was just his. Who knew him for him only, not as Goose’s kid, or Mav’s protege.

For the first time in his life, he could actually see himself spending the rest of it with you. Marriage, house, kids, grandkids—the whole shebang.

That was his first mistake. The more he thought about what life could look like with you, the more he thought about what your life could look like without him. What would happen if something happened to him and he didn’t make it back from this next mission coming up in a few weeks. 

He thought about his mom and how she lost his dad—her husband. The man she thought she’d be spending the rest of her life with. 

Bradley’s thoughts grew quite grim after that. Countless what if’s and thinking about every possible outcome and he eventually made up his mind. He had to break up with you. 

He didn’t want to. Not by a long shot. You were probably the best thing that ever happened to him in his thirty plus years of life. But deep down, he knew that it was the right thing to do. He was about to leave for six, seven months, with little to no contact with anyone who wasn’t Navy. That would definitely take a toll on your relationship. You’d never been through something like this before, and there really was no way to prepare you for what it would be like. 

You would worry about him every single hour of every single day, he knew that for a fact. Bradley barely remembered what it was like when his dad was away because he was so young, but he did remember how worried his mom was all the time.

Looking back, he understood now. He didn’t want that for you. The worry would hold you back from other things you wanted to do in life, things that brought you joy and gave you purpose. 

With the mission creeping up on him faster than he would’ve liked, he knew he had to do it sooner rather than later. 

That was how Bradley found himself on your doorstep right now, pushing down his guilt by telling himself over and over that breaking up with you was in your best interest. He hadn’t called beforehand to tell you he was coming by, so when you answered the door and beamed brighter than the stars when your eyes landed on him, he almost wanted to chicken out. 

“Hi!” You exclaimed, immediately pulling him into a warm hug. His arms closed around you out of instinct, thumb rubbing over the sliver of exposed skin at your waist, nose nudging its way against your neck the way he always did when you embraced him. 

He inhaled the scent of the lotion you loved to use, that flowery one that sometimes made him sneeze. You always said you’d buy a different one the next time you went to the store, but you always forgot. He didn’t mind it at all though. A small bout of allergies was nothing compared to the inevitable smattering of apology kisses you pressed to his face when you realized you’d forgotten. 

Fuck, this was going to be way harder than he thought. 

Your hands made their way up his biceps to cup his cheeks, eyes darting around his face. “What’re you doing here? Oh my god, did we have something planned? I’m so—” 

“No.” He gave his head a shake, offering you a smile. “No, we didn’t have anything planned. I just…wanted to see you. To talk to you.” 

“Come in, come in, I was just about to start dinner,” You hummed, escaping his embrace with an arm hooked through his to tug him over the threshold. “Trying a new recipe I found the other day, not sure if it’ll turn out good or end up being a shitshow, but—well, you can help me be the judge of that, I guess!” 

“Is it okay if we talk first?” 

If you were confused, you didn’t show it, just changed direction seamlessly, making your way to the couch instead of the kitchen. You sat down, patting the cushion next to you for him to settle on and he did, rubbing his clammy palms against his thighs. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Everything was far from okay, he wanted to say. Instead he inhaled a deep breath before his next words. 

“I wanted to tell you I’m shipping out in a few weeks.” 

Your face fell a little, but you nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. What do we do? Is there anything you can tell me? Like, what’s the best way to get in touch with you, when’s the best time, that kind of stuff? Or is sending letters better? Sorry, I feel like I’m asking a lot of questions. I don’t—I’ve never really done anything like this before, so—” 

“I think we should break up.” He blurted. 

You hesitated before answering, blinking at him like you’d somehow heard him wrong. “What?” 

“It’s hard having someone overseas for a long time, even more so when it’s a partner. It was really hard on my mom, and hard for me having to watch her worry like that for months, and I—I don’t want that for you.” He said quietly, not daring to meet your eyes until he gave his poor excuse for an explanation on why he was doing the one thing he swore he wouldn’t do to you. 

The moment he’d realized he’d fallen in love with you, he’d promised himself he would never abandon you, never break your heart or your trust, and here he was, doing that exact thing. It was tearing him apart inside. 

“I don’t want you to have to go through all that, so it’s just better if we—that we break up now. Before I go.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m sorry. It’s for the best.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice broke just after the last word, swallowed up by a hitched inhale of a breath that had his resolve wavering just the slightest bit. He could barely look you in the eyes the whole time, and now…he didn’t think he could stand the sadness and hurt flooding every single one of your beautiful features. 

“All the worrying and the uncertainty of not knowing what’s happening, I don’t—it wouldn’t be fair to you. I care about you too much to put you through all of that.” 

You were silent for the longest time, eyes glued to the floor as you processed the information. He thought you were about to start crying with the way your brow creased, but when you finally looked back up at him, your gaze had hardened. “Did these last six months mean nothing to you? You’re just gonna throw everything away because what—you don’t think I can handle it?” 

They meant everything to me, he wanted to say. You mean everything to me. 

If he was really being honest with himself, it was him who couldn’t handle it. Still, he forged on, thinking it best to just rip off the bandaid. He could live with being the asshole if it meant sparing you from the terrible experience of him being god knows how many miles away for months. 

“I’m sorry. I wish you nothing but happiness, Y/N. You deserve better than anything I could ever give you.” 

“You wish me nothing but happiness?” You chuckled humorlessly, shaking your head. Bradley’s eyes tracked you across the room as you paced back and forth, guilt ridden expression on full display. All he wanted to do was take all of it back; to kiss you senseless and tell you everything was going to work out, but he couldn’t. He’d burned the bridge, cut the rope. Broke your heart. He felt like the biggest asshole in the world. He probably was. “Screw you, Bradley. I mean it.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was all he could say. 

“Get the fuck out of my house.” 

“Y/N, I—” 

You rushed at him, pushing, shoving, sending him stumbling step by step towards the front door until he almost crashed into it had he not managed to pull it open a split second before you shoved him outside. He’d never forget the look of betrayal in your eyes right before you slammed the door in his face. 

Bradley forced his feet to take him back to his car, then to drive away before he could have a chance to even try and make things better. He’d most likely end up making things much, much worse. Though he didn’t think it could get any worse with the way he was feeling about himself right now. You were angry at him, and you had every right to be. 

But had he lingered at your door only moments after, he would’ve heard the thump against the wood that was you sliding down to the floor and the sob that escaped your mouth. 

All because of him. 

-------

Bradley was happy to finally be coming back home after ages away, but then he realized it—he didn’t have anyone to tap him out this time. His mind jumped to you first, but there was no chance in hell you’d be there for him. You’d probably moved on months ago. Forgotten about him. And with Mav away on another deployment, he really had no one. 

His chest ached the longer he stood at attention, jaw clenched tighter than he meant it to be as he watched the rest of his squad get tapped out by their loved ones. Coyote’s parents, Fanboy’s sisters, Hangman’s nieces and nephews, Phoenix’s girlfriend. They were all emotional reunions, and Bradley was happy for them, he really was. But it sucked being the one with nobody there for him. 

He wasn’t expecting the soft tap on his arm when it came. He thought it was a mistake at first; someone else’s family bumping into him accidentally, so he didn’t move. But when the hand didn’t leave its place wrapped loosely around his bicep, Bradley knew it really was for him. He turned around, squinting against the blinding sunlight to see who’d come for him. 

“Hi.” You said softly, hand dropping back down to your side. He couldn’t help but let himself take you in, eyes drinking in every single achingly familiar detail of you until you shifted nervously under his intense gaze. You looked so beautiful he almost felt dizzy, just like he remembered but at the same time somehow even better. 

“You came.” He said, disbelieving. He could still hardly believe you were actually here. 

“I promised you I would.” 

“But that—that was before…everything happened. Why are you—what’re you doing here?” The last thing he wanted to sound like was ungrateful, because he was quite literally the opposite, but his mind just couldn’t wrap around the fact that despite him breaking your heart seven months ago, you still remembered what you’d promised him in the very beginning of your relationship. 

“What does it mean to tap someone out?” You asked quietly, tracing a finger along the planes of Bradley’s bare chest. Your legs were tangled under the covers, both of you still basking in the aftermath of getting reacquainted with each other again after Bradley had been out of town attending a weeklong training exercise. 

His skin was still damp with sweat, but you didn’t mind one bit, too busy exploring the expanse of muscle shifting under his bronzed skin again. “In military terms, I mean.” 

He chuckled, hiding a content smile into the hair at the crown of your head. “That’s a weird question.” 

“Humor me, Bradshaw.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Bradley stroked a rough palm down the smooth skin of your arm, taking a few beats to come up with an answer that would make sense. “Tapping out is a super long standing tradition in pretty much all military units, I think. It comes at the end of a mission, when we’ve come back to base.” 

His arm repositioned itself under your head as he scooted closer to the warmth radiating from your body, nose nuzzling deeper against you just so he could engrain the smell of your lingering fruity scented shampoo into his memory forever. 

How you still smelled so good even after your…physical activities just before this was beyond him, but he loved it. 

“An aviator’s loved ones are usually the ones to do it. Friends, family, those kinds of people. When you tap out your aviator, literally you’re releasing them from formation. But I guess it’s kind of a gesture that means…you’re home.” 

Your wandering fingers stilled against his skin, lingering right above his heart. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Go for it.” 

“Who usually taps you out?” 

Bradley remained silent. It was an innocent question, he knew that. He’d told you a little bit about his parents, and you were just curious. Still, it sent a pang of sadness through his chest whenever he thought about what it would’ve been like if they were still around today. 

He cleared his throat, sniffing once. “Usually Mav. Or sometimes one of my squad’s family. If no one can, I just gotta wait til everyone else is done.” 

“I wanna do it.”

“What?” 

“I’m gonna be there next time you come back from a mission. To tap you out.” 

“I appreciate it, honey, I do. But you don’t need to.” 

“I want to.” You said firmly, pulling away from him to prop yourself up on your elbow and look him in the eye. You looked damn serious too. He raised a quizzical brow. “You said that to tap someone out means to tell them they’re home. I want to be the one to tell you you’re home. Here. With me.” 

Bradley opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then snapped shut when no words came out. He really was at a loss for words. No one had ever done that before. Sure, Mav’s offer was always a good one to fall back on, but Bradley had never had someone he cared about as much as he did about you telling him they were going to be there for him. 

The next best thing he could think of instead of saying anything at all was to kiss you. So he did. 

He pushed himself up towards you, sliding a hand around the nape of your neck and pressing his lips against yours. Not bruisingly hard, but enough to let you know he was all in. The other hand curled around your shoulder, splaying across your back to bring you back in closer to him, until your chests were flush and you could feel his heartbeat thundering under your palm.

He was home. You were his home. 

“I told you I’d be here to tap you out, and I meant it.” You said simply, holding his gaze. “I keep my promises, Bradshaw. Even after the way you left things.” 

Red hot guilt crept its way through his chest like vines, bringing all the memories of the last time you saw each other right back up to the surface, even after how hard he’d tried to shove them all down. If there was one thing he regretted in life, it was how he left you that night. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for that one. 

“I don’t even know what to say, Y/N, I—” 

“Then let me say something.” You blurted, wringing your hands. Bradley nodded instantly, still too dumbfounded to reply. “I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to say to you today for months. I don’t even know if I should.” 

“You should.” He encouraged, nodding quickly. He’d always wanted you to be able to speak your mind with him. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear it.” 

“Okay. Okay, well first of all, you’re an asshole, Bradley.” 

He nodded again. He deserved at least that much. “I am. Absolute asshole, I know.” 

“But I never stopped loving you. Even though I was angry and sad and confused as fuck as to why you would do that to me, I still loved you. And eventually, I realized that it wasn’t anything I did wrong. You were scared. Of losing me, of me losing you. So you decided it was your responsibility to pull the ripcord before you crashed and burned.” Bradley winced slightly at the comparison and you grimaced at your own poor choice in words. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“It’s okay. You’re right. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“You said you didn’t want me to worry while you were gone, well, I did that anyways.” You chuckled, like you were remembering a fond memory instead of the constant state of anxiety you’d been in. “But instead of worrying that the man I love might not make it home, I was terrified that if you didn’t come home, I’d spend my whole life replaying our last conversation in my head. Wondering if there was something I could’ve said or done so you wouldn’t have given up on us so easily.” 

“You think that was easy for me? Sweetheart, walking away from you was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my whole life.” 

“Sure seemed pretty easy.” You scoffed lightly, only a tad spiteful. A low blow, you realized, when Bradley stiffened for a split second, but you held steady. 

“It wasn’t.” His reply was immediate and firm as could be, but somehow, that didn’t make you feel any better. “You have to understand, breaking things off was the last thing I wanted to do. But I couldn’t—I thought that if I didn’t, you’d wait for me.” 

“I would’ve waited, Bradley! I did wait for you! For you, I'd wait forever because I love you, but you didn’t even give me that choice. You made the decision on your own instead of talking to me about it. That was what hurt the most.”  

“I’m sorry.” Bradley said quietly, reaching out to take your hand. His fingers laced through yours almost tentatively, feeling so familiar but so foreign at the same time. There was a point in your life where you never thought that concept would apply to Bradley. “I never should’ve left like that, I wish I could take it all back.” 

“I think I understand now why you did it. I understand that fear that comes with the experience of losing a loved one like that. But Bradley, you’re not responsible for my feelings. And I don’t care how scared you get, I’m not going anywhere. From now on, we work things out together, no matter what you think is best.” 

“From now on? Does that mean…?” 

“You’re my home, Bradley Bradshaw.”

Bradley took your face in his hands and he kissed you, long and hard, pouring every ounce of pent up feelings he’d been bottling up for the past seven months into it. Pain, fear, love, hope—all of it. You were never one to believe in such emotion being able to convey itself through a simple physical action, but now you could honestly say you understood it. 

Your hands spread across the broadness of his back, fingers pressing into the crisp starch of his uniform like you were afraid of letting him go , even though he was home and everything was okay now. Losing him the first time made you angry. You didn’t even want to imagine possibly losing him a second time. 

He drew back, only far enough to press his lips to your forehead, hands still holding you close as could be. “Thank you for coming.”

“I don’t make a habit of breaking my promises.” 

“C’mon, I wanna introduce you to the squad.” He said softly, lacing his fingers through yours. The way he all but bounded over to the group of aviators a little ways away was almost boyish, as was the excitement in his voice when he approached them. “Hey everyone, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Bradley announced, sliding a hand around to the small of your back. 

Everyone’s eyes turned on you, conversations petering to a gradual stop as they looked between you and Bradley. You shifted nervously, suddenly feeling unsure with all the attention on you, but Bradley’s thumb rubbed along your skin, soothing you just a bit. “This is Y/N. My girlfriend.” 

The tall blond reacted the quickest, snapping loudly before aiming a finger in your direction, along with a shiny smile. “Wait, I know you! You’re the one in that photo Rooster keeps tucked in his helmet. Lemme tell you, he looked at that picture every damn day, it was like—” 

Bradley let out a very forced laugh, aiming a not-so-subtle daggered glare at the other man. “Okay, Hangman! That’s okay, I really don’t think—” 

“You’re a real saint, taking this one back. If I ever pulled the shit he did, my car would’ve been keyed to all hell when I came home.” Hangman chuckled, giving his head a shake. 

“Hangman. Shut. Up.” 

“Don’t tell me to shut up, you shut up!” 

“You’re the only one talking!” 

“Alright, alright, you’re both grown men here,” The dark haired woman sighed, turning towards you. “At least, I hope so.” 

You chuckled at that, casting a glance over at Bradley to find him already looking back at you, the back and forth with Hangman already long forgotten given the way he was smiling at you, like you were the force that made the world go round. Taking you in under his arm, he dotted a kiss to your hairline as your fingers came up to intertwine with his again, watching you interact with his squad like you’d known them for years. 

It was everything he ever wanted. And now that he had it, he’d never be dumb enough to let it go again. 

His mind drifted back to his parents’ fate— how they never got to live out their life together. How there was no guarantee about anything when it came to Bradley’s own fate with you.

And sure, it was scary to be so uncertain about the future, but you’d both climb that hill together when the time came. For now, Bradley could let himself be content. This second chance at a life with you wasn’t one he was planning on taking lightly, not by a long shot. 

“Let’s get off this damn carrier and hit the town! Drinks at the Hard Deck, last one there buys the first round!” Hangman’s drawling voice drew Bradley out of his thoughts, just in time to let the words sink in.

You, on the other hand, stifled a giggle at the sight of seeing a group of full grown adults scatter as fast as Bradley’s friends did. Watching Hangman nearly shove Coyote to the ground upon seeing their cars were parked next to each other was something you’d never not get a kick out of. 

But Bradley, he didn’t seem as worried about it all. In fact, he walked leisurely with your hand firmly in his, swinging both of them between the two of you as you made your way to your own car. 

“Aren’t you worried you’ll be the last one there?” 

“I’ll buy the round, I don’t care.” He shrugged. “I wanna spend some time with my girl.” 

“Your girl.” You hummed, giving his hand a squeeze. “Gotta say, I’ve missed hearing that.” 

“I’ve missed saying it. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, honey. Starting with, do you or do you not have a voodoo doll made in my image that you stabbed with pins when I was away because I broke your heart?” 

You scoffed, letting out a not so attractive snort. “Bradley, I mean this in the most respectful way possible—what the hell are you talking about? Where would you even get that idea?”

“I—uh, I had a dream about it? A few weeks into deployment.” He admitted sheepishly, cheeks burning red in embarrassment. You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “You don’t, right?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You replied, giving his chest a firm pat. You didn’t have a voodoo doll of him, of course, but playing along was worth it just to see Bradley squirm. 

“Wait, wait, wait, but you didn’t say no.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“So you do?” 

“I didn’t say that either. But if you’re not sure, I’d watch yourself the next couple weeks.” 

His brows furrowed in confusion and a bit of fear as he watched you walk away from him with some bounce to your step. “I…really don’t like the sound of that. Hang on, get back here. Explain, please!” 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[rhiangalaxy]

I wonder what Binghe's gonna tell him 👀(IAC pt.3) (First/Prev/Next)

[ID: A Scum Villain Comic. Panel one depicts Chibi!Plant Yuan looking up with a grin towards Chibi!Luo Binghe while reaching his hand to cover LBH's hand on his shoulder. He says, "So...Is Binghe ready?" to which LBH replies with a nervous expression "This Binghe admits he's a little nervous." SY turns to hold onto LBH's shoulder and arm and says "Nonsense! You'll do great!" LBH with his hands held up to his chest responds "A'Yuan really thinks so?" In a non-chibi style, SY holds a hand up to cradle LBH's face (who is facing away from the viewer with a heavy blush) and says "I know so. No one can beat Binghe."

Panel two is completely in chibi style. SY reaches up to his hair saying, "But! If Binghe is still nervous... I know what will help!" SY takes out his hairpin causing his hair to fall down fully, with a bright closed eye smile says "You can have my hairpin! Think of it like a good luck charm!" A very flustered LBH has his fist slightly raised in front of his chest and sputters out "But that's precious to A'Yuan! I can't just take it!!" A smaller LBH as if his thoughts looks very flustered with his hands cupping his face going "omg his hair is down..."

Panel three is in chibi style. SY looks towards LBH amused saying "Silly Binghe... It's not taking if I'm giving it to you. If it makes you feel better just give it back after the Conference!" A tiny flustered LBH has his fingers pointed together with a meek "okay..." LBH holds the hairpin and looks towards it with a lovestruck look, saying "Thank you A'Yuan..." He then looks up determinedly and says "This one promises to win the Conference for you!"

Panel four is not in chibi style. LBH looks flustered to the side, nervously saying "And when I do... I have something important to tell you. So wait for me okay?" SY smiles brightly responding "Binghe doesn't even need to ask. Good luck! I'll be cheering for you." A caption appears saying "Later..." now showing LBH with SY's hairpin in his ponytail. He raises a hand to rest on his chest looking down thinking "Okay Binghe, It's time to make A'Yuan proud." End ID]

[zu-is-here]

Happy birthday to the boy who changed the fate★

Axel [10/29] & Eve by ari-cuno

Anko by groovygladiatorsheep

Crazy Lace by clownyclowns

Esther by orange-dreamzer

Flicker by bluepallilworld

[decojellyfish]

Whimper

Hi everypony! This is the official part 2 of Bite!

You guys have no idea how much I appreciate all the love I've been getting for my past fics! Thank you all so much :)

------ Hybrid AU! TF141

Retired Fight Dog! Ghost, Soap, and Gaz x Retired Fight Dog! GN! Reader x Owner! Price Reader is only addressed as ‘you’

SFW ~ Angst to fluff

Warnings: Very brief/occasional swearing, mentions of self-hatred and depression

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: "Come Wander with Me - Jeff Alexander" 0:09 ━●────────── 2:47 ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷

───♡───────────── Beginning It had been a week since you’d run away from the Price household. You couldn’t bring yourself to ever turn around, to ever look back at the house. You temporarily returned to your old lifestyle, hiding in the shadowy alleyways, dumpster diving for food, etc. But as the days passed, the guilt and shame would eat away at you. Your portions of garbage food would grow smaller and smaller before you gave up on eating altogether.

Any kind of food, no matter how clean or rotten it was, never felt like it was deserved. You would rot away in a pool of disgrace, staring up at the sky. Whether it was the middle of the day or two in the morning, you were lying in a dirty alley and gazing at the never-ending sky. You couldn’t even retreat to your happy place, it was corrupted now. Whenever you tried to run into escapism, you were abruptly snatched back into reality as images of your attack flashed across your mind.

You weren’t deserving of your happy place anyway. You were given a chance to live in a warm home, warm fresh food whenever you wanted it, clean clothes, and even a bath. And you threw it all away because you were too scared, you couldn’t escape the past. You would rather stay willfully trapped in the past than lean into the future’s welcoming arms. You had practically slapped the future in the face. Spit in its face, even.

You couldn’t go back there, not after what you did.

The boys had been looking for you, any chance they had. You knew this because you had close run-ins with them before you would run as far away as you could from your current alleyway. You were right back where you started—square one. You hated square one, but now, you felt like you deserved to be permanently chained to it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Price household was barely holding it together. That faithful afternoon, when Price and Gaz returned from their trip to the grocery store. Price had worried he left the door open, then seeing Soap’s patched-up state and Ghost residing on the couch, his head in his hands. Until that is when Ghost and Soap retold what happened. Albeit, Soap interrupting constantly with tears in his eyes.

He felt that it was all his fault. He was the one who reached out to you, violating your comfort zone without even realizing it. Soap just wanted to scoop you up in a tight bear hug, with your consent, and apologize to you over and over again. None of them knew where you were. Your scent was hard to track down, even for Soap or Ghost. Nevertheless, they would all look for you whenever they were out. Sometimes even Gaz would stay up late, ruining his sleep routine as he stared out the window, hoping he could see you in the distance.

He never did, but that didn’t make him give up. When he came back home from the grocery store that day, Gaz was so excited to share his favorite treats with you. The box of treats remained on the countertop, waiting to be opened. Gaz was waiting for you to come home to open it, like a welcome (back) home surprise.

Even Price would lay awake at night, wondering where you were. Which alley you were in, what you had found to eat. Sometimes he would wonder if you were even alive at this point. The first place he thought to check was the pound, maybe you’d turn yourself in. Next, he checked the shelter, maybe you were brought there. But alas, you were nowhere to be found.

Ghost was even starting to sneak out at night, patrolling the area for any sign of you. Soap would often tag along with him, he felt that since he was responsible for your departure, he was equally responsible for seeking you out and bringing you back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The sun was beginning to rise. The sky, hour by hour, gradually brightened up from dark indigo to light blue. It had been nearly two weeks since your sudden escape. You were sure that you were far away from the Price household, maybe even a town away from them. Waiting for the day to pass again like it had the other ones, your monotonous schedule was interrupted by a little sound. A little ‘clink’.

Looking over, you saw an ivory plate with four treats on it. You looked up, finding the perpetrator who dared to give you food. It was a woman, she looked kind. But you felt that her kindness was deserved elsewhere, maybe for another hybrid that didn’t fuck up the chances the universe gave them.

“Go on, sweetie.” She smiled at you, “It’s okay to eat, you look hungry.” She was knelt by your seated form, showing no signs of leaving. After nearly thirty minutes of just staring at the woman, the plate of treats, and a spot on the sidewalk, you hesitantly approached the plate. Grabbing a treat, you looked up at her, almost as if wanting her approval. “There you go, eat up.” Her voice was like a campfire, warm and safe.

You had slowly eaten all the treats and now, were following the woman like a lost puppy. Well, you kind of were one. Only that you were willfully lost. Your sunken eyes followed her as she walked up the few steps of a hybrid shelter.

Staying at the bottom of the stairs, you looked up at her as you began to protest. “Oh, no, I- I don’t need a home…” “Well of course you do, lovie.” She smiled down at you, not understanding what was going on in your head. Of course, everyone needs a home, it’s just that you were a bad pup. Bad pups don’t deserve homes or food. You only ate the food she offered you because she wouldn’t leave you alone.

“C’mon, pup, it’d nothing to be scared of. Everyone is deserving of a warm place.” She smiled down at you, quickly trotting down the steps and grasping your hand. Despite your constant protests and objections, she pulled you into the building and you were suddenly hit with so many smells of different hybrids. It was overwhelming, you wanted to leave more than you already did. But you were now in the custody of the shelter, there was no getting away now.

At the shelter, you didn’t do much. You didn’t do anything. You never left your cage, you always had your back turned to everyone but the wall, even when sleeping. Even in captivity, you didn’t eat, didn’t play, and you never communicated. There was even a rumor around the shelter that you didn’t have a voice or face. That was only with the new members, though. It’d been another week since you were brought here, and you were growing more and more hopeless by the day.

Why? Why was the universe giving you more and more chances? You’d only end up throwing them away, why wasn’t the all-knowing universe catching on?

You didn’t get it. You didn’t get why they kept trying to feed you, replacing the uneaten food in your bowl with new food. Food that would also stay uneaten. You didn’t get why they made sure you drank at least a little water each day. You didn’t get why they cared. Why did they care about you so much?

Why did they care so much about someone who threw away every chance they got, because they couldn’t trust anything supposedly good in this world?

You had grown quiet. What was once a fearsome fighter dog, one that was well known for their vigor and bloodthirst, was now a meek little pup. Scared, not knowing what they did to deserve this life, this pain, this distrust of every single being around them. You would find yourself getting angry again, angry that you didn’t get a cozy life like the other pups, and when you were offered one, you ran away.

Bad pup. Bad pup. Bad pup. It repeated in your head like some twisted earworm that had engraved its home into your brain.

Unfortunately, your only outlet for this anger was your tears. But you didn’t want anyone to hear your suffering. You still wanted to be seen as a scary fighter. So you waited till everyone in the shelter was asleep, this meant everyone, so you would end up waiting till three or four in the morning to just silently cry your heart out.

You would grip at your hair and the clothes you still got from Price, and you would sometimes clutch your entire face as you desperately hid it to muffle your sobs and hiccups. You would cry for an hour or two, then you would be asleep by sunrise. It was your little routine by now. Hey, at least that meant you were getting used to this place.

Sometimes, there were nights when you would cry harder than other nights. Mostly ones where a hybrid was adopted, a constant reminder as to how unwanted you were, or the ones where you couldn’t stop the constant flashes of your past fights. All of them. Ones with actual fighter dogs, ones with domesticated dogs that were just trying to live their lives, and Soap. None of them deserved what you did, not even the fighters that wounded you that you ended up wounding back just as harshly if not, worse. They didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that. Soap didn’t deserve to be the victim of your outburst. No one did.

You didn’t deserve this life, you didn’t deserve to be a bad pup. You didn’t want to be a bad pup anymore. You would desperately cry out to the universe, in your head, that you didn’t want to be a bad pup anymore. You wanted to be a good pup. You wanted to play in the park with other dogs, you wanted to have a bath every week, to go on walks, to eat your favorite treats, to wear your own clothes that didn’t have holes from rotting away. To have a kind owner.

You wanted Price. You wanted Gaz, and Soap, and Ghost. You wanted to take back that chance, you would plead every night to get it back.

But as much as you wanted to get that chance back, it didn’t come.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Price never stopped his search. None of the boys did. But while the boys would sleep throughout the night, Price was now spending his time in bed constantly searching for any sign of you on his computer.

Finally, he came across a photo of you. He had to do a double-take when he saw the date of the photo. It was recent, and you were still wearing the t-shirt from your first day at the home. He had to make sure he didn’t wake up any of the boys with the slight cry of joy and relief he let out at the revelation that you were safe and in a shelter.

He made sure to save the address of where you were. It surprised him that you were so far from his home, but he was happy you looked like you were safe at the moment.

That morning, Price was up and early. Already dressed, he began to cook breakfast for his boys. They all had their morning routine of having breakfast and usually chatting with each other. Gaz and Soap, however, had grown quiet the past few weeks. Price and Ghost could tell they were heavily affected by your disappearance, Soap was more guilty than Gaz was saddened as well as missing you.

Price would interrupt the difficult silence that they’d all grown accustomed to with a clearing of his throat. “I’ll be out for a while today. I’ll be visiting an old friend.” He didn’t want to say who he was seeing specifically as that would make all the pups want to come with him. It would overwhelm you if all the dogs came in with him just to see you. He knew you would need a slow reintroduction to the idea of becoming domesticated.

A few murmurs of acknowledgment made their way around the table as the boys ate their breakfast. It was clear they were all trapped in their heads, stuck in their thoughts.

An hour later, Price got in his car and drove to the shelter where you currently resided.

He stepped into the building, already beginning his search for you again. He looked at each cage, wondering which one you were in. It wasn’t until he had finally caught a glimpse of a familiar t-shirt that he let out a sigh of relief. Kneeling by your cage, he carefully watched your back slowly rise and fall with each breath you took. He could vividly imagine the empty look on your face, how you were trapped in your head and stuck with your thoughts.

Price couldn’t blame you for wanting to be alone, he could sense the guilt dripping off of your curled-up form.

“Hey there, pup.” He spoke softly, you could hear a little smile in his voice too. You couldn’t help yourself, you looked over your shoulder at his gruff face. You did it so quickly that it made Price chuckle a bit, “Yes, it’s me. The old man.” He joked, running a hand over his facial hair. You stayed quiet, your head returning to its original position of staring at the back of your cage.

Letting out a little sigh, Price got slightly comfortable by your cage. “...the boys and I, we- we’ve missed you. We’ve been lookin’ all over town for you…” He continued to speak with a soft tone, his voice almost like a gentle, forgiving embrace. “I wanted to let you know that- we’re not mad at you. Nobody is, not even Soap. He misses you, I think, the most.” He laughed a little. “I know you’re scared, pup, I don’t blame you. You and the boys came from a very scary and cruel place. I’ve seen, multiple times, what that kind of life can do to a dog.”

Looking over at you, Price took in your tired appearance. “What you did… yes, it was bad. But you were scared. You did what you felt was necessary to protect you.” He paused. “Soap feels guilty himself, he didn’t mean to set you off. And he wants nothing more than to apologize for himself, and forgive you too.”

“He wants nothing more than to keep you safe. You know, he’s already been going on and on about being your guard dog when going on walks and at the park.” He laughed a little, looking over at you again.

That made you think to yourself. Soap wanted to protect you. Soap, the dog that you violently attacked in a fit of fight or flight senses that flooded your brain at that moment. It made you feel even more guilty, causing you to clutch at your shirt as a form of biting back the tears that were forming in your eyes.

“Now, you have every right to answer this question however you please, okay?” He looked at you, noticing how you looked over at him again, a subtle sense of curiosity in your dull eyes.

“Would you like a second chance to come back home?”

You were riddled with embarrassment as you followed Price out of the shelter, your tail could not stop wagging. And it was wagging hard. Your tough exterior was being betrayed by your brain, directly wired to your tail and making it wag like you had just one first place at a dog show.

It didn’t stop even when you were seated in Price’s car, audibly swishing against the material of the car seat. You were just so happy. You were happy Price had given you a second chance, the universe gave you a second chance to have a go at this whole domestication thing. After you had convinced yourself you weren’t deserving of one, the one person who you wanted a second chance from had come in and given it to you.

You weren’t going to mess it up this time, you weren’t going to lash out, you were going to see your old foes as new friends, and you were going to cherish this second chance for the rest of your life.

Price chuckled at your swishing tail, putting his phone down after sending a text. “I’m glad you’re happy, pup. You deserve to be.” He smiled at you, his thick, greyish mustache curling as if smiling too. He put on some jazzy radio station and began to drive back home. He even held your hand for comfort, after he offered his hand over the cupholders anyway. “It’s gonna be okay, dear. You’re gonna be okay.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The boys were all waiting by the front door, waiting for you to step through that door at any moment. After Gaz had received a text from Price, saying that he’d found you and was bringing you back, he had quickly informed the other two. Gaz had taken the liberty of setting up your little bed on the couch, lighting a little ocean-scented candle on the coffee table, and even setting a small plate of his favorite treats next to the said candle. The treats were just for you, like a little welcome-home gift.

His only orders for Ghost and Soap were to look sharp, making sure they weren’t still in their pajamas when you arrived, as well as having Soap fix up his mohawk.

Once all was said and done, the house was ready for your long-awaited return, the boys stood near the front door with bated breaths as they waited to hear Price’s car pulling into the driveway. It was about five minutes of waiting when they finally heard a vehicle arriving at the house.

Gaz’s tail was wagging, he was excited to greet you and hold you once again, happy that you were now safe and sound. Ghost was happy too, not as much as Gaz was, but still happy to have you back with the rest of the group. He was a little excited to see how you would adapt to a domesticated life, he could tell you were starting to like it before you left.

Soap was nervous, almost terrified. His tail was halfway tucked between his legs as he tried to maintain a good posture. He didn’t know what your reaction was going to be to see him again, he could already see you adamant on avoiding him like a virus. Maybe even barking at him to leave you alone, calling him a bad dog. In his eyes, he was a bad dog. He didn’t respect your boundaries when you were just settling in, he was the main reason you were gone in the first place. As much as he tried to keep himself straightened up, his eyes were full of shame, guilt, and worry.

The front door would open with a quiet click of the handle, and a tiny creak as it opened. Price was the first to step inside, letting you come in at your own pace. As you entered, you would look at the boys with surprised eyes. You hadn't expected them to be waiting for you, you thought they would be doing things around the house.

Gaz was smiling from ear to ear, opening up his arms as he silently asked for a hug. Taking a bit to get used to being in the house again, you eventually walked closer to him, accepting his embrace. “Welcome back, friend…” He hummed, resting his head on your shoulder as he closed his eyes. You slowly returned the hug, wrapping your arms around his broad frame with a gentle squeeze.

After nearly a minute, the two of you parted from one another. Ghost would gently pat and rub at your shoulder, a silent way of welcoming you back. “Good to see you back. We missed you.” It was the first time you’d seen Ghost smile at you. It felt… strange. But in a warm, welcoming way. Those three words nearly tore you up, ‘we missed you’. After weeks of imagining the group saying ‘good riddance’, ‘finally, they’re gone’, and ‘I never thought they’d leave’ constantly in your tortured mind, ‘we missed you’ blew all those thoughts away. It made you tear up, but you managed to blink them back and gulp down that burning lump in your throat.

You turned your gaze to Soap. The minute you locked eyes with each other, it was almost as if all your guilt and shame were shared with him, and his was shared with you. The day you saw Soap cry seemed to be an impossible thought. But it was happening right in front of you. Although he wasn’t a sobbing mess, you could tell he was holding back. And you were sniffling just as much.

With a deep shaky breath, he mustered up the courage to finally tell you what he’d been choking back ever since you’d run away.

“I’m sorry, pup. I’m sorry for not respectin’ your boundaries. I should’ve known you needed a bit o’ space, especially around Ghost and I. I- I just-” He sniffled, regaining himself when he felt his voice cracking. “I just wanted you t’ know that you’re safe here. No more fights, no more fear, no more worryin’ about when your next meal is gonna be. I just wanted you t’ feel safe, I… I want you t’ know that you’re safe, pup. We all are.” He sighed.

When Soap finally looked back up at you, staring at the ground in shame, he saw you choking back tears and sobs that were tearing at your throat. His eyes widened, “Are you okay, pup…? ‘M sorry if I said anythin’ that made you feel- bad.”

You shook your head in response, “No, no… I’m sorry too.” You wiped at your eyes as you sniffled. “I shouldn’t’ve freaked out on you like that. I had zero right to attack you, to hurt you the way I did that night. Especially after all you guys have done for me. I just- felt so guilty, I couldn’t come back. I thought all of you were gonna be so mad at me, you were just gonna kick me right out onto the streets again.” Your voice began to shake and crack, and your concrete walls began to crumble down. “I didn’t wanna face that, so I figured I could just do it all for you guys.” You hid your face away into your hands.

“I don’t feel deserving of the food, of these clothes, of anything you offer me.” You sobbed. “Not after what I’ve done, what I did.”

Soap watched the way your scarred ears folded back against your head, your tail nearly tucking itself between your legs, the way your shoulders shook with every uneven breath you took in or let out. He lightly brushed his calloused hand against one of your arms, making you look up at him with your red, puffy eyes.

“...do you need a hug?”

Your throat burned more than it ever did, causing you to whimper and nod as you began to audibly sob and cry, not being able to hold back anymore. Soap opened his arms and held you. He held you in such a gentle, forgiving way, that it was almost as if you were made of thin porcelain. Clinging onto him, you sobbed into his shirt. Your muffled cries and violent hiccups were soothed by one of his hands slowly caressing circles into your back.

“You do deserve all these nice things, pup. With all th’ shit you’ve put up with?” He chuckled slightly. “You deserve it all…” He smiled down at you, softly nuzzling into your hair.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Putting on a new set of clothes that Price had gotten you from the store, you stepped out of the bathroom after having your first bath back. They were comfy, nice, soft, and baggy too like wearable blankets. You had snuggled into your makeshift bed that Gaz had set up, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders.

Gaz happily watched as you tried the treats he’d set out for you, his tail wagging when you gave him a nod of approval. “Don’t spoil dinner just yet, pup. Food’s here!” Price called out from the front door. Price decided it was an order-in kind of night, so the group settled on take-out Chinese food.

Soap and Ghost made sure to handle the food order, their appetites combined making them wannabe food critics. Your mouth watered when the smell of it hit your sensitive nose, as well as the other dogs. Soap had also picked out a movie for the group to watch on this special night, he loved movies.

The group was sitting around the coffee table, their plates and mouths full of delicious food. Yours too. You were all sitting silently, captivated by the adventure unfolding before your eyes on the TV screen. For a brief moment, you were brought back to reality when you went to stab some more food with your fork.

You took the moment to look around. You were surrounded by what would be your new family, all in warm clothes, with nice hot food in your stomachs, and a nice warm home with decent air conditioning.

You were clean, you weren’t hungry, and your wounds from the streets had been taken care of. The you from a few months ago wouldn’t believe it, even you couldn’t believe it a little bit. That you were safe. You were looked after. You were loved.

And you deserved it all. ───♡───────────── End

Again, thank you so much for the love and support! If you have any requests or asks, feel free to submit them!

------ Taglist: @venavanup @draculauraspage @tf141gloryhole @obnoxiousbag @chanel-princess-world @ssc7514

If you would like to be added to the taglist so you can read my latest fics, let me know! Thank you :)

[hinamie]

yeah sorry theyre tragic in this au too

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[twilightkitkat]

Thinking about how Logan is more open about his emotions than Wade despite what people perceive, and how Wade slowly learns to open up and confront his own emotions because of Logan.

Prompted by this amazing thread. Shoutout to @ramblingautisticman and @desperatelyneedcoffee for inspiring me to write this.

---

Most people expect Logan to be the more closed-off one. To hide his emotions behind a mask and keep them to himself.

But that's Wade's role.

Logan is honest about his emotions—when he's angry, he'll growl and thrash and let people know. When he's happy, he'll bark out a laugh and grin and let his eyes wrinkle at the edges. When he's sad, he'll cry and scream and drown himself in alcohol.

He may not be phased by smaller things, but he's honest about his feelings. (Something Wade could never do.)

Wade, on the other hand, isn't. He exaggerates trivial feelings, obvious situational ones—he'll cower in fear at a "scary enemy or pretend to be pissed over a minor inconvenience. He makes his outward, shallow emotions so loud that it turns everyone's attention away from what he's feeling inside.

(Because if people know how he feels inside, they'll see him and hate him. It's easier to be hated when you can chalk it up to "understandable" reasons, to being annoying or loud or inappropriate. It isn't easy when they hate you. When they look at you, bare and vulnerable and open, and hate who you are at your core.)

Wade has spent his entire life hiding his emotions. Even from himself.

He shoves them so deep down that they become a slightly bitter taste in the back of his throat until it all becomes too much and he violently throws them up.

Wade is like a glass bottle: he can steadily hold all his emotions inside, pretending to be OK, until the glass shatters and explodes and the shards dig everywhere and he's left to pick up the pieces.

But Logan isn't like that. He lets himself feel. He lets others see how he feels.

Even from the first moment they met, he let Wade know how he felt. How he fucked everything up. How he wasn't the hero he was looking for. How he was battling with so much grief and rage that he'd reached a point of complete apathy.

(It made Wade envious. To be able to just say it and move on.)

Logan was the first person Wade met to be so blatantly honest. To wear his emotions on his sleeve and act on them and still be strong and keep fighting.

(...Could he still be considered strong, if he did the same?)

When Wade was vulnerable, it felt like he was choking—the words tumbling out without his permission and leaving a mess behind. Even with the people he loved, he couldn't ever bring himself to fully trust them even if he knew he should. Even if he wanted to. (Even if he tried to.)

(He still remembers sitting across the kitchen table from Vanessa. She held his hand tightly, as if she was afraid he would slip away. Was slipping away. She was urging him to let her in. To tell her why he hadn't been himself. To open up so they could share the burden.

But he just... couldn't. How do you tell someone who loves you, who you turned back time to save that nothing was helping? That no matter how hard he tried to focus on Vanessa and just live a "normal" life that it all felt wrong? That he felt an itch under his skin to do more more more and nothing was "more" enough.

That he felt like he was just wearing his skin. Like it wasn't his, not since Francis twisted him into a monster he didn't want to become. That he still remembered her look of surprise and the reluctant way she cradled his face when she first saw it.

It wasn't her fault. He knew that. It was an adjustment.

...But why didn't anyone understand? The gnawing loneliness, the self-hatred, the feeling of everything being nothing and too much all at once.

He hated himself.)

But Logan let his emotions course through his veins like second nature. Wade watched as emotions twisted across his face like it was a form of art.

And, for the first time, he felt comfortable opening up. He let the words spill from his mouth, except instead of feeling the trail of acid burning through his throat it felt like relief. He finally met someone who understood him, who had gone through the same suffering. He saw his loneliness reflected in Logan's eyes and finally, finally, felt he could reach out without dragging someone down. (They were both already at rock bottom, anyway. The only place to go from here was up.)

And so he told Logan about Vanessa. About the family he wanted to save. About how, yes, he vaguely cared about the world, but none of this was to save the world. (It was for just nine people.)

And Logan... didn't judge him. He saw understanding—a tired, but real kind—reflected in his eyes. He didn't make fun of him for his selfish motivations. Didn't snarl in disgust that he could never be a hero because of them. (He saw him and didn't recoil.)

And there, sitting across the table from each other in that shitty building they'd escaped to, Wade finally felt seen. Understood. (Ironic, isn't it? To have to go to the void to open up about the void inside of himself. Wade would write a poem about it if he knew how to.)

He felt that same kinship as they continued their journey. Even through the insults, the exasperation, the annoyance, Wade could tell none of it was serious. Because Logan never really told him to fuck off. To stop.

If Logan didn't like him being touchy, he'd shove him off. (He didn't.) If Logan didn't like him asking questions and rambling about himself, he'd actually try to get him to shut up instead of just grumbling. (He didn't.) If Logan really didn't want to be here, he'd leave. (He didn't.)

Logan's visceral type of emotional honesty allowed Wade to let himself be vulnerable. Because if Logan hated him, he wouldn't be here. If Logan didn't want to hear it, he wouldn't tilt his head and listen and ask questions.

(It made Wade feel safe to express himself for the first time since he'd been strapped to that shitty operation table and torn apart until all that remained was a body not quite his own.)

Things were going good.

They were.

(Wade desperately hoped they'd stay that way.)

But then Logan pulled over the car, real and raw fury in his eyes. He yelled at Wade, his voice trembling with the intensity of it.

He picked apart everything Wade had told him. Threw it back in his face.

And oh. Oh.

Logan was honest. He was true to himself and his emotions.

And so, Wade thought quietly as the tired continued, he really meant it. It felt worse than when Logan had stabbed him.

(It felt like he was back on that operating table, small and weak and pathetic but still trying to keep smiling. To keep cracking jokes and being annoyed. Because, if he didn't, he'd break. If he didn't keep the shards of his personality clutched so tightly to his chest that they dug into his hands, nothing would be left of him.)

Logan dissected him. Using everything Wade told him. (Using the ammunition he'd provided.)

(Was Logan really looking at him with understanding, back then? Or was it disgust? The images blurred together in Wade's mind, distorting his memory.)

Told him how he was worthless. That the Avengers and X-men were right to reject him. (Ouch.) That it was his fault he couldn't salvage his relationship with Vanessa. (He'd tried. He'd tried so hard.)

That Logan saw him for what he was: a pathetic, attention-seeking parasite who clung to others instead of facing his own problems.

It really was God's greatest joke that he couldn't die.

Wade spiraled.

(Was he wrong this whole time? Did Logan really, truly hate him? He had to, if he's looking at Wade like that.)

If even Logan (the only person who could begin to understand his suffering) couldn't accept him, who could?

He felt like the ground was crumbling underneath him and he was falling and floating at the same time. He felt like he was an observer, looking in on the outside, even as his emotions crashed over him like a tsunami.

But he couldn't let himself break down. Wouldn't let himself be vulnerable. Not here. Not now.

So, he slid the mask back on and responded in the only way he knew how to.

"I'm going to fight you now."

(Even when they'd collapsed, bloody and weak and exhausted, the words kept ringing in his head. They'd let out their physical frustrations, maybe, but the words still clung to him like a blanket. There was still a sinking feeling in his gut. Dread twisting his stomach at the thought of being open.)

(The feeling never really went away.)

---

They started living together, in the aftermath.

Wade had called after Logan as he was about to leave and awkwardly asked him if he'd like to come home with him. Just long enough to find a place to stay, or even just for dinner.

(Logan couldn't refuse. Not with the sense of wrongness filling him as the distance between him and Wade grew with each step. When he heard Wade's voice, it felt like hope. It felt like coming home.)

One night turned into two, turned into a week, turned into a month until Logan had his own side of the dresser and nobody bothered to ask if he was leaving. (Thinking of leaving made Logan vaguely nauseous, now. It felt like ripping away the foundation of the home he'd painstakingly started to build here.)

Logan still had baggage. Still had days where all he wanted to do was grab a beer and stare blankly at the wall, thinking of all he'd done and all he'd lost.

But it was easier. Wade would walk into the living room, plop down next to him, and begin talking his ear off about whatever happened that day. He'd sling an arm around his shoulder, flip on the TV, and keep talking.

(Logan would lean against him, slightly. Would focus on Wade until his warmth and touch and voice drowned out his thoughts.)

(It worked better than alcohol ever had.)

Logan tried to let Wade know that he cared about him. That he appreciated it. Appreciated him.

(That Wade's presence was what made everything worth it. Made him finally feel like he was able to tread water without drowning.)

He'd cook Wade meals. (And pay attention to what he liked and disliked, making sure to cook things he knew Wade would comfortably eat.) He'd lean into his touch. Listen when he talked. Answer any questions he asked.

And so, when Logan came out from the shower one night and saw Wade curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the black screen of the TV, he approached him.

Wade had a vacant, empty look in his eyes. The kind that Logan recognized, but hadn't seen on him before.

It made him worried. He'd never seen Wade like this. (It was unsettling. To see Wade, who was so vibrant and expressive, look so bleak.)

"Is something bothering you, bub?" he asked, settling down next to Wade on the couch.

Wade finally seemed to register his presence, eyes flicking over to where he sat.

"Oh, peanut! I was wondering when you'd get out of the shower. Was it nice and steamy? I'd love to join you next time," Wade wriggled his eyebrows (or what was left of them) suggestively.

It was like a switch had flipped. Wade went from blank, like a doll with its strings cut, to animated and excited in a second. His eyes were sparkling again and he grinned at Logan like nothing was wrong.

(It was... uncomfortable. Did Wade not trust him? Was Wade hiding something from him?)

Logan wanted to question him, but Wade kept chattering and he could never really get a word in edgewise. (A part of him wondered if it was intentional.)

Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe Wade was just having a bad day. Logan tried to rationalize it, even as a pit formed in his stomach. A feeling of deep wrongness.

Except it kept happening.

Wade would get that same, desolate look in his eyes (always when he was alone, away from everyone) and Logan would walk in on him. Logan would try to see if something was wrong, but Wade would interject before he could.

(Logan knew his expression was concerned. Knew Wade could tell he was worried, that he cared about him. So why didn't Wade let him in?)

(Wade always listened, patiently, when Logan talked about his problems. It was one of the few times he'd go quiet, only occasionally asking questions and making extra commentary. He'd look at him with a grim understanding. Not pity, not sympathy, but empathy. Free of judgment. It was the first time Logan felt like his emotions were actually being received by someone, cradled and held and protected so that they didn't burn him out.)

Until, finally, one day, Logan snapped.

"What the fuck is up with you?" he snarled, and that didn't come out the way he intended but he was so frustrated by Wade refusing to just let him in.

"What do you mean, Wolvie? I'm—"

"Shut up. You're not fine. I've been alive for two hundred fucking years, I know by now when someone's lying, Wade," Logan interrupted before he could continue his usual antics.

"Look, I'm just having a bad day, alright? You know how it is. I'll be up and running after I take a nap, don't worry about little old me!" Wade's voice took on a faux-cheerful tone.

"This isn't just a bad day, bub. It's been happening a lot. You get this look in your eye, like you're not really there, and just stare at the wall." Logan stared at Wade with concern evident on his face. "It's worrying."

Wade snorts. "You don't have to worry about me of all people."

Logan furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean? 'You of all people?' Of course, I'd be worried about you, dumbass. I care about you and if you're hurting, I want to know why."

And Logan was so painfully honest. It was so clear in his eyes, in his expression, in his body language that he cared about Wade. Deeply.

It made Wade snap.

"Just shut up! Stop fucking talking. I don't want to hear it." Wade wished he had hair right now so he could fucking tear it out. He'd take any kind of physical pain just to distract himself from Logan, worried and open and trying to pry him open.

"Wade, what are you—you know you can tell him about anything, right?" Logan tried to regulate his breathing, to keep his tone calm. To not show the panic he was feeling. (It was obvious anyway.)

"What, so you can throw that back at me, too?"

What? What was Wade—

"So you can tell me I'm a fucking joke? That every superhero team was right to turn me down? That I couldn't even manage to keep a relationship with a stripper?"

Oh. Oh fuck. That was—

"That I should just fucking kill myself, but of course, it's God's best joke that I can't die, so now my pathetic existence is on you?"

He couldn't possibly think Logan meant that, right? Couldn't have been thinking about that this whole time—

"I don't want to burden your royal highness with my stupid problems," Wade practically snarled, "so stay the fuck out of it."

He slammed the door and left.

And Logan was left alone.

Logan wanted to run after him, to grab him and tell him that he didn't mean it. He was pissed off and spewing whatever came to his mind in the moment to hurt Wade. (And he'd achieved that goal, hadn't he?) He felt betrayed and responded in the only way he knew—by lashing out. (But that wasn't an excuse, not really. Not to take everything Wade had trusted him with and twist it. To betray his trust in such a personal, visceral way.)

(Logan knew that Wade meant well. That he was just scrambling to save his world and thought of the only solution that would get Logan to help. That when he made an "educated wish" he'd still try to see it out, had still asked the TVA after everything. But he was so fucking angry and so fucking tired and just wanted any excuse to lay down and die.)

Did Logan really have the right to, though?

Wade had listened to him. Helped him. Even after what Logan had said and done, he'd still cared. (And wasn't that a sobering thought. That this whole time, Wade thought that was Logan's opinion of him. That he still cared about Logan despite having his voice ringing in his ears, tormenting him.)

(It made Logan angry to think that Wade was used to it. To setting aside how people treated him and not expecting anything in return for his kindness. To loving and giving without receiving. It made him want to murder the people who set the bar so low. It made him want to rip out his own tongue.)

(It made him realize, yet again, that Wade was a better man than he'd ever be.)

...And Logan had fucked up. Immensely.

Had given Wade hope that he could finally open up to someone who came from a similar background and understood his suffering. All to tear it away in one glorious, horrible, mistake.

Logan had no right to fix things. To ask for forgiveness. (From Wade. From anyone.)

But what was the alternative? Letting Wade think he hated him? Leaving?

Logan would rather die than go back to living completely isolated from the world. He couldn't go back to waking up every day and drowning his sorrows with alcohol. Letting memories flash behind his eyes as he replayed everything he fucked up and obsessed over what he could've done differently.

(Because, without Wade, he would still be there. At rock bottom. Without a place to belong or any reason to get up in the morning. A samurai without a master. A drifter without purpose. A stray without a home.)

The thought of leaving behind the only thing he cared about anymore made him panic. He felt nauseous, like he wanted to throw up yesterday's dinner and his own heart alongside it.

He knew it was selfish and pathetic, but he couldn't let go. Couldn't handle losing the only thing that made living worth it, after everything.

(Of course, when he finally found someone who was like him, who felt the same loneliness, who couldn't die, he had to go and fuck up. What is Logan good for if not ruining anything good in his life?)

Logan knew he was selfish. And pathetic. And stupid.

(He felt his mouth move around the words. Spit venom at Wade, who was completely, utterly silent. He heard them, vaguely, but they didn't register. He was running on pure rage and adrenaline.)

(Why did he take until now to notice?)

He knew that.

But he didn't think it was this bad. That he'd end up ruining the only good thing to come out of his miserable existence.

He thought, at least, that even if he'd fucked up everything else, he could be good with Wade. Could be good for Wade. It was the one thing he prided himself on.

And now look at him.

Instead of Wade, it's Logan who was God's best joke.

Fuck, he wanted a beer.

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

sweet child, you didn't even stand a chance

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 7 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.3k (jesus. this is the longest one yet)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, some minor timeskip manga spoilers, slightly nsfw themes, mentions of food, bakugou katsuki is bad at feelings, feelings—lots of 'em, the true calm before the storm, shit's about to go down!!!

a/n. we're so back, y'all!!! this one took me a while, i have to admit. it even got to a point where i thought i'd just leave this series unfinished for a plethora of reasons. but after clawing through a few sessions of barely being able to write anything, i was struck with the vision of how to get the chapter going in the middle of a massage lol. the rest was history. that said, i'd love to know your thoughts so far, so please don't be a stranger <3 (comments keep me going. btw. not to sound like a slut)

links. masterlist, ao3

You ended up not getting home until past 8 PM that Monday.

After you successfully used your quirk on Kirishima and Hiroto, resulting in the transfer of that fated scrap of paper containing the attack’s details, Kaminari insisted that you hang out after lunch and make the most of your day off until everybody relented. Bakugou was uncharacteristically quiet—you noted—even as the electric hero whisked the six of you away to the nearest mall where you shopped and visited a KTV spot afterward.

You didn’t expect to spend hours watching the four goof off and sing their hearts out while Bakugou sat silently to the side, although time passed by faster than you thought it would anyway. The group eventually parted ways at around 6 PM, after which you and Bakugou decided to eat at a ramen restaurant where you sat yourselves by the counter so you wouldn’t have to force conversation.

Hiroto shadowed the two of you the entire time, up to the instant when you and Bakugou entered a darkened spot in the outdoor parking lot to wait for the twin to message Kouki and have the old man teleport you back to headquarters. You didn’t have to wait for too long—you were gone and right back at the front of your bedroom in a matter of minutes, bug-less and cameras covered another minute after.

And only as you stripped off your going-out clothes for the day in the privacy of the bathroom did it sink in—how you actually did it.

You actually transmitted the message.

And as much as it fucking sucks, the most you can do now—at least until D-Day—is to put your faith in Kirishima and the rest of the pro-heroes who will be tasked with stopping this act of genocide altogether.

Easy enough…

Right.

The next day—Tuesday—starts typically as the others have transpired in the last two weeks-ish of living in the headquarters: violently woken by a twin’s knocking, then scrambling to seem like you were sharing the bed, to promptly getting ready for and having breakfast at the mess hall.

Just like how every day’s been in this supremacist hellhole, everything goes by like clockwork.

That is, up until Omiru walks up to your usual table just as you are about to take your last chug of water after downing your substantial plate of pancakes.

You peer at her from over the rim of your glass, cautious—and rightfully so. Beside you, Bakugou puts down his utensils and straightens up in his seat. Neither of you says anything, opting to let her speak first instead.

And when she finally does, she’s looking straight at no one but Bakugou.

“Follow me.”

At that, you glance at the pro-hero in question, who only shoots the twin a stern look before nodding curtly. You watch him as he gathers his tray and stands up, and you’re about to move and follow suit when Omiru’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“Not you,” she spews pointedly. “Just him.”

From where you are half-sitting with your ass frozen mid-air, you blink at the woman. “What?”

“Masaki-san needs him at the private training facility, pronto,” comes her terse reply, sounding more impatient by the minute. “He’s not to be disturbed.”

Your face contorts in displeasure before you can think better against it. Then, schooling it into a more neutral expression, you shake your head as you finally straighten up, willing your voice to stay firm. “Whatever you have to say to him you can say to me, too.”

Omiru opens her mouth to most likely snap at you for wasting more and more of her time, but she doesn’t get to do that because you’re both silenced by a sudden hand on your forearm. You whip to look at Bakugou, and his lips are pressed into a thin line as he nods again—only this time, at you—as if that was all the explanation you needed.

“It’s okay,” he offers, his voice low. “I’ll come and look for you by the time we’re done.”

You can only stare at him, tamping down the incredulity that’s creeping up your throat.

Since when did he decide to be Mr. Calm and Collected?

As much as you want to, you don’t question him, though, knowing it will cause more harm than good. You’re so close to the day of the operation, and the last thing you need is to blow your cover.

So instead, and with a wary heart, you nod back at him, before leaning in and pressing a quick peck on his cheek.

“Take care, babe,” you say timidly, grateful he took the kiss just now like a champ—with little to no faltering.

“I will,” comes his weirdly soft response, before he steps out of his seat and trails behind Omiru, leaving you and your tray of empty plates.

You move to tuck the stretchy fabric into the rest of the contorted arrangement you’ve got going on—folding your panties was the most you could think of doing to keep your mind off the anxiety that’s been gnawing at you the entire day, after all—and plop it on your pile of fresh undergarments.

Or at least, you were going to do that, when the door to your bedroom suddenly bursts open, and you startle so badly, that the neat stack of underwear crumbles like a poorly built Jenga tower on top of the bed.

You scramble to hide them behind you just as Bakugou emerges from the hallway, and the very first thing that registers when your eyes land on him is that he’s fucking drenched.

In sweat. Drenched in sweat.

And, to your chagrin, he must’ve noticed you gaping at him because his gaze drifts over to meet yours after he closes the door behind him. “What?”

You blink at him, suddenly yanked out of your dumb stupor. “Nothing—it’s just…” you trail off, now trying to ignore the weirdly scandalous way his wet shirt is clinging to his muscled torso. You knew his hero costume accentuated and therefore showcased a built body from the chance encounters about him in the news, but seeing it through an almost translucent cover-up…

“Just what?”

You gulp, bringing your eyes back up to meet his unnervingly scrutinizing ones.

…Why is he looking at you like that?

Instead of dwelling on the thought, though, you manage to voice out the question you and the imaginary mouse in your pocket are wondering. “W-why are you so… sweaty?”

Now, if he’s offended by how that came out just a breadth’s hair away from sounding disgusted, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he crosses the short distance between him and your small wardrobe and flings it open.

“I thought you were smarter than that, princess,” comes his casual reply, and you find yourself stiffening—not just at the nickname, but at what came before that.

You frown, although he doesn’t see it with his back turned against you. “I don’t get how you’re being so nonchalant today,” you say so honestly you shock yourself, voice lowered out of instinct despite having made sure that there are no extra bugs in the room.

Whatever Bakugou expected for a response—it must’ve been anything but that—because he stops rifling through his clothes and whips to look at you, a mild expression of surprise written across his features.

But before he can say anything to that, you beat him to it. “What did they make you do, Bakugou?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but pauses before he can get a word out. You watch the man as he stands there for a second, the metaphorical gears in his head spinning loud enough that you can practically hear them. You can tell they’re still turning a beat later, even as he closes the wardrobe behind him and turns to fully face you.

“I—” he starts, hesitant, “I thought you would’ve figured.”

“Figured what?” You’re getting impatient now.

“That I was called on to start making the bombs.”

Oh.

The realization dawning on you must be evident in your profile because Bakugou nods as if in confirmation. “I was anticipating they’d call me in sooner or later, so I wasn’t surprised when that twin approached us during breakfast.”

Fuck, you feel stupid.

How you’re feeling is none of Bakugou’s business, though, so you will yourself to dip your head to show you understand. “I totally forgot about the bombs,” you admit.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame you,” he turns again and resumes busying himself with the cabinets. “They did their research and found out my bombs are more explosive the fresher they are. Explains why they waited ‘til the last minute.”

Huh.

“I guess that also explains why you look like an over-glazed doughnut.”

That makes him bark out a laugh. “More like a wet dog, but I’ll take that.”

You’re about to say that no, he definitely looks more like an over-glazed doughnut, but then you remember you’d rather fail this mission and cause massive destruction before you go off admitting he looks…maybe just a tiny bit delectable in this state.

You’re back to avoiding the sight of…him—altogether—in silence, when Bakugou glances at you over his shoulder. “Can you pass me my towel?”

“Sure,” you say as you fetch it from where it’s hung across the couch’s backrest before padding back toward him.

You hand it over. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

Now it’s your turn to stand somewhat awkwardly behind him as he finishes up gathering his change of clothes for the night. There’s one more thing you need to ask him.

Anytime now.

You take a sharp inhale just as he whirls to face you, expectant. You muster a small smile, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I was just gonna ask—they didn’t hurt you, did they? You were treated okay?”

Your stomach instantly drops when the expectant look just now morphs into a smirk. “I think you underestimate my ability to protect myself, princess.”

You feel yourself flame. “I—” you stammer, wildly caught off guard, and his grin widens. You then frown, resigned. “Come on, man, not cool.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, sounding far from apologetic, “‘m sorry. Though, you should’ve seen the look on your face.”

“That’s it,” you raise your hands in mock surrender, spinning to gather your folded underwear that are still scattered on the bed. “They can go ahead and snip off your balls, for all I care.”

“Damn, that escalated quickly.”

You only toss him a sarcastic smile as you take up the spot beside him, opening your tiny drawer and dumping the articles into them before he can get a closer glimpse. The last thing you need is for him to see your threadbare, granny panties.

Bakugou chuckles again, the indication of his mirth the last sound that echoes in the room before a quiet envelops the two of you, the atmosphere taking a sudden shift.

“How about you, huh?” he suddenly asks, almost making you jump. You raise an eyebrow at him, still not quite past his earlier teasing.

He doesn’t react with hostility, though, only shrugging in response. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” you parrot lamely, shocked at his query.

To your disbelief, he doesn’t roll his eyes or shoot you a derisive quip, only nodding—an unmistakable, serious glint in his crimson gaze. You gulp despite yourself.

“It was pretty much the same for me, I guess. Except there weren’t as many people around…”

You falter, debating whether or not you should tell him the more incriminating truth. But then you make the mistake of meeting his penetrating stare and then suddenly, it all comes tumbling out.

“I—I was worried about you.”

That takes Bakugou by surprise, his brows shooting up in a profound display of bewilderment. An abrupt pang of embarrassment shoots through you at the sight, and you scurry to save face.

“Looks like there was no need, though, considering how you’re joking around and being an ass and all,” you jest, taking the hoodie you were meaning to get from the rack and closing your side of the wardrobe.

“I—”

“Good night, Bakugou,” you cut him off, plopping yourself on the couch with your back turned against him, effectively shooting the conversation down.

Needless to say, you struggle to sleep that night.

As if she knew you fell into a fitted slumber and needed more goddamn sleep, Omiru was already up and banging at your door five minutes earlier than usual the morning after, ripping you out of your sluggish haze. It didn’t help that it was your turn on the couch that night—which, even after all this time of dozing there, still proved to be quite unforgiving to your neck and lower back, especially. Once you were all ready and had opened the door, though, your usual routine was done but not before a rundown on what was to happen that day. You were to pack your things and prepare to leave the headquarters by the time Bakugou was done producing the last batch of bombs.

She conveniently didn’t say when that was, opting to whisk Bakugou away instead.

So without any idea as to when you were making the move, you tried your best to keep busy—a task that proved to be herculean, seeing as how the number of people present had dwindled significantly, you could count them with just your fingers and toes.

It didn’t take you long to figure out why that was. The people who’ve gone—they were all teleported to their posts to prepare for tomorrow’s attack.

By batches.

Because, as it turns out, you were right. Kouki’s quirk does have a limitation.

He can only muster enough power to teleport a certain number of people—across a certain distance—a handful of times a day. It all depends on three factors: number, distance, and frequency.

And because Bakugou’s got important business as the organization’s very own human-bomb factory, you two will be transported later in the day as part of the last batch.

You mull over this newfound information—again and again, mainly because there really isn’t much else to do other than pack—until, unbeknownst to you, the clock on the wall strikes five. You jump from where you are seated on the sofa when, as if on cue, the door bursts open, revealing a yet again sweaty Bakugou, with Kouki and the twins tailing closely behind him.

“Just let me take a quick shower and finalize my stuff,” Bakugou offhandedly says, eyeing you as he picks up his towel, not wasting even a modicum of a second. “Then we’ll get going to my place.”

His what?

“Sorry?” you manage to ask, acutely aware of the panic that’s rising in your throat—fast.

Bakugou peers at you for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. But then he’s chuckling—oh so naturally, like your reaction was adorable to him rather than potentially detrimental to your covers—as he walks toward you.

And then he’s leaning down and into your space, a warning look in his eyes. You barely catch a glimpse of it before he leans even further and kisses your cheek, smiling as he pulls away.

“My place, baby,” he coos, “Where we’ll stay the night.”

“Here we are,” Kouki announces just as the floor beneath you rematerializes, light and markedly spotless as compared to the nicked, hardwood floors you’ve grown to be familiar with over the past weeks. You look up, a faint trace of dizziness clouding your mind still, although it’s quickly replaced by awe as you take in the rest of the room.

Dropping your luggage to the side, you make quick work of what can only be Bakugou Katsuki’s living space.

Well, it’s just what you’d expect from the guy. Purposively designed, no-nonsense, and exceptionally pristine.

And closer to the Prime Minister’s Office. At least, as compared to your more modest home, which is why you’re even here in the first place.

Regardless, you were about to compliment the man for being an outlier of the male population when you suddenly remember that you’re supposed to be well-acquainted with his high-rise apartment unit. You know, as his girlfriend?

You slam your mouth shut, just as Kouki steps forward and turns to face the rest of you like a commander in the military. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“Big day tomorrow,” he declares, his trademark haughtiness heavy in his tone. “The four of you, review your assignments and be ready by 6 AM sharp. I’ll pick you up here.”

Then, a pointed look toward you and Bakugou. “Don’t be late.”

And just as quickly as you teleported into the pro-hero’s unit, Kouki vanishes, leaving the two of you with the twins.

Silence.

“That man’s got a bug up his old ass, that’s for sure.”

You whip to face Bakugou, surprised and equal parts amused. He only tosses you a smug look, as if daring you to question him.

You don’t, similar to how you don’t dare spare either of the twins a worried glance.

“We should order,” Bakugou says not a minute later, effortlessly picking up your belongings and transferring them to an empty spot beside a door. “I cleared out the ref two weeks ago. ‘m out of groceries.”

“Sure,” you reply, seating yourself comfortably on his sofa like you’ve been here countless times. You sense all three pairs of eyes studying you as you burrow into the plush cushion, willing every neuron in your system to relax. “How ‘bout from that restaurant we went to with the squad? I’m craving some curry.”

“Aha,” Bakugou smirks as he walks over and throws his butt down way too close beside you. “So you did want to switch.”

You bristle, if not at being unceremoniously caught then at how he just slung an arm over the backrest behind you. “T–That’s beside the point,” you argue, before swiftly turning to Hiroto. “Can we have our phones for just a sec, please? We need to order.”

If Bakugou noticed your smooth segue slash redirection just now, he doesn’t point it out, instead letting you take your smartphones from the absurdly tall man without much of a hassle. You quickly place your orders—even asking the twins what they want despite how badly they’ve treated you since your first meeting at that dingy club.

You’re not a monster, after all.

They seem to think you are, though, because they blatantly ignore your kind offer.

Well, then. If they have a hard time falling asleep because of hunger later then that’s not your problem anymore.

Not even thirty minutes after ordering, your food arrives, and the twins end up allowing Bakugou to go down the lobby by himself to fetch the delivery. You almost groan when he walks through the door with the goods in tow, the strong waft of curry sauce filling the air and making your stomach churn in budding anticipation.

“You’re not helping your case, babe,” Bakugou teases as you excitedly pore over the takeout bag, reaching into it to grab your share and then his.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over this glorious smell,” you quip, which grants you a chuckle.

No more words are exchanged as you get started on your feast, too wiped out from today’s activities—Bakugou and his bomb production and your…well, trying not to go crazy—to even start, let alone maintain, a steady conversation. The room is silent aside from some slurping and quiet chewing here and there, with neither Omiru nor Hiroto saying anything to break the monotony.

And you think it must be that—the quiet—that spurs the abrupt observation mid-spoonfeed of how domestic everything is. You wouldn’t have ever thought you’d be eating a meal with Bakugou in his dining room—high schooler you definitely wouldn’t have—but as it turns out life’s got a funny way of pulling the rug from underneath you and messing with your head.

Just like these muddy ass feelings.

No, you think to yourself. Now’s not the time.

Not when you’re barely able to stomach your food, anyway. You were—are hungry—if the incessant rumbling of your abdomen since late afternoon was any indication—but you forgot you’ve been sickeningly nervous the entire day. Still, you force each bite down. The last thing you need is to be frail tomorrow.

“Here,” Bakugou reaches out from across the table a few moments later, “Give me your plate.”

“No,” you say as you lift the empty ceramic further from him, “Let me help.”

Your plea falls on deaf ears, however, because Bakugou leans closer and snatches the dish from your hands before you can even scream a strangled wait! You must be looking stupefied, because Bakugou only smirks at you as he quickly gathers the dishes, beaming with pride as if having a ridiculously wide wing span is something he earned rather than was unjustly given.

“Unfair…” you mumble as you resort to gathering the trash instead, collecting it in the bag that the delivery came in.

“Just leave it there,” he calls out from the kitchen a few feet away, scraping the scraps off the platters. And when he’s realized you’re not listening: “Babe.”

You lift your hands like you’re a contestant in Master Chef and Gordon Ramsey just called time’s up, a petulant frown on your face. “Jeez, I’m just trying to help.”

“And I’m trying to be a gentleman,” comes his snarky retort. You bite back the urge to snort. “Go unpack in the bedroom while I finish up here,” he orders, “I’ll be quick.”

Please don’t be is your visceral reaction, although you manage not to say it out loud. You need at least ten minutes—give or take—of being alone in his bedroom to come to terms with this precarious situation you’ve been dealt with. You manage to reply with a small ‘okay’ before heading over to grab your things, very much cognizant of the ticking clock.

But then it dawns on you that you don’t have any idea where his fucking bedroom is.

You pause mid-bend, pretending you’re studying the hard case of your luggage for non-existent scratches. You know that there are three doors, not counting the one Bakugou went in and out from to get your food. One has to lead to the common restroom, another to his home office slash gym that you’ve heard him talk about once during your lunches at the headquarters, which leaves the last one as his bedroom’s entryway.

Hurry up, your brain tells you. You’re getting suspicious.

Wait.

You let your mind flash back to a while ago, a few moments after you arrived here. ‘We should order,’ was what Bakugou said, as he conveniently hefted your bags to this spot here, which must be right beside…

The bedroom door.

Bingo.

You repress a sigh of relief when you’re greeted with the sight of a massive mattress upon turning the knob, wasting no time as you squeeze into the threshold with your belongings. You were about to shut the door behind you when a female voice calls out your name out of nowhere, and you startle. Turning to face who must’ve been Omiru, you’re quick to put on a nonchalant facade, as if she didn’t just scare you in your metaphorical boots.

“Your tracker,” she says flatly when you don’t move an inch.

“O–oh. Right.”

You stand in place as she goes over the motions while Hiroto does the same with Bakugou. You’ve gone through this so many times that you don’t even wince when she rips out the device, instead only giving her a quick thanks and a rare good night when she steps away.

She doesn’t say it back.

You take that as your cue to go back into Bakugou’s sleeping quarters, and only when the weighty slab of wood is closed behind you do you let out a heavy exhale, suddenly feeling the fatigue that’s been looming over you since last night in its entirety.

But then that’s immediately booted out with a shot of adrenaline when you see it.

The couch.

Or the lack thereof.

You're still standing there—mortified—by the time Bakugou enters the room with his stuff, shutting the door and consequently granting you your first semblance of privacy for the day.

“What,” he says more than asks a minute later, when you still haven’t said anything.

“There’s no couch,” you croak-whisper.

You were not about to sleep on the floor.

You were not about to share a bed with Bakugou, either.

Not after you’ve spent the last two weeks slaving over your high-maintenance sleeping arrangement.

“Relax, dumbass,” comes his fluid retort. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man is finding this shit funny. “I have a futon.”

Turns out, he wasn’t lying—what feels like a huge burden lifted off your shoulders when he opens a cabinet to his right and pulls out a moderately thick cushion. You waste no time in assisting him, taking two corners while the pro-hero handles the other two, coordinating as you place the futon perpendicularly, right at the foot of the bed.

“Thanks,” you tell him when you’re done, dusting off your hands. “Do you have a blanket I can—”

“Too late,” he cuts you off, lightly diving into the mattress.

You gawk at the man. “Wha—”

“It’s your turn on the bed tonight,” he says as a matter of factly, not even bothering to look you in the eye. You splutter, but ultimately relent. As much as you want to argue, you do need some proper rest, especially after last night’s sorry attempt at recharging.

Thankfully, though, Bakugou doesn’t rile you up any further as you each go through your nightly routines and take turns in the built-in bathroom, careful not to invade each other’s spaces. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes and you’re already both plastered and tucked in your respective beds, the occasional noises from the traffic tens of floors below you the only thing filling the otherwise empty air.

But as it turns out, the getting ready for bed part isn’t the problem.

By the time it’s 10 PM, you’ve already tossed and turned roughly twenty times, agonizingly nowhere near asleep despite the luxurious bedding beneath your limbs. It’s after the 21st time, though, that you finally let your mind wander to the man on the floor and whether or not he’s asleep. He must be—having been tuckered out from producing explosives for two days straight. Still, your mind refuses to let go of the thought—brimming with boredom-fueled curiosity that’s begging for visual confirmation.

Sitting up carefully, you strain to peek at Bakugou. He’s been awfully quiet, you think to yourself.

Just a little bit more—

“Can’t sleep?”

You freeze. Shit.

“Uh, no,” you reply, aborting mission and lying back down as silently as possible. “Not really.”

“No shit. I heard you, the last twenty times.”

“Twenty-one,” you correct him. “But who’s counting?”

That earns you a laugh. “What, you scared?”

Your face reflexively contorts in offense, although it’s quick to fall when you realize you’ve actually no right to be offended. “If I told you I was, would that make me a loser?”

To your surprise, his answer is instant. “Nah.”

At that, your brows furrow. “That’s it? Just nah? No what do you think, princess, or some other equally lame taunt?”

“Oooh.” Jesus, you can practically hear him smirking. “You want me to call you princess?”

“There it is. Welcome back, Bakugou.”

A chuckle. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

You snort. “So I’ve been told.”

Then, a pause.

“Hey,” you start again a few beats later, gaze fixed—unwavering—on the gray ceiling, “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

You gulp. “Are you scared?”

This time, the answer is not as instant, but it appears to remain the same. “…No.”

“Really?” you ask, voice inadvertently teeming with incredulity.

You hear some rustling, like he’s shrugging against the bedsheets. “I’ve gone through much worse.”

Oh…

Right.

He did die and came out as one of the most important heroes of the Great War, alongside formidable people—the very people you tapped to help you just a few days ago. Maybe he’s right not to be scared.

“Is it my turn now?” he pipes up suddenly.

Huh? “Your what?”

“My turn to ask a question.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were taking turns.”

“Well, we are now.”

You roll your eyes, comfortable in the knowledge that he can’t see you. “Okay, then. Go ahead.”

Now—don’t go ahead, is what you would have said, had you fucking known what he was going to say next.

“That day before winter break—” he begins, and you find yourself instantly tensing.

Fuck, no.

He huffs. “—You were gonna confess to me, weren’t ya?”

Fuck.

A deafening silence falls upon the room.

A silence that goes on for what must be a decade.

Then—

“…Is this some hidden camera prank or something?” you laugh dryly.

“No,” he says so seriously your eyes widen. “I was just…thinking about it.”

Well, fuck. Now he’s done it.

What are you supposed to do? Or say to that? Deny it and say, dude, no, you’re delusional? Or ask him where he got the motherfucking audacity and call it a day?

But then the strangest thing happens and an inexplicable feeling washes over you, one that is too nostalgic it’s almost painful.

Ah, yes.

You remember this one.

It wasn’t the first one to show up in the scene, but it was quick to envelop every other emotion afterward, lingering with you until the soothing balm that is time did its magical work and helped you forget.

The regret of not being able to admit your feelings.

And now, a full ten years later, you’re suddenly thrust with the opportunity to finally do what you failed to do then.

You don’t even have to think about it.

“Yes,” you rasp out, heart thrumming frantically against your chest. “I mean, the answer is yes, I was going to. Luckily you didn’t let me get to the embarrassing part, though, huh?”

“Look, I—”

“If you’re gonna apologize,” you cut him off, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Bakugou. That thing’s in the past now. I’ve moved on, as fucking cheesy as it sounds.”

You then chuckle, ignoring the way your hands are stubbornly shaking. “That was just a silly high school crush, anyway.”

“Yeah, well—” he clears his throat, “I get it if you don’t want to talk about it. But…I do still want to apologize, though. For that first day, around two weeks ago.”

“What about it?”

“You don’t remember? I was an ass to you.”

First day? You don’t—

But then it all comes rushing to you—the intimidating looks, the backhanded remarks, the outright insulting comments.

He sniggers. “You just remembered now, didn’t you?”

You blanch. “I—”

“Don’t try to be nice,” he preempts. “I know I fucked up. It’s just—it was a lot to take in, and I took it out on you.”

He heaves a heavy sigh. “First it was having my past rehashed, and then when I met you I got reminded of how arrogant I was as a kid and it just felt like—”

“A slap to the face?”

Another huff. “Exactly.”

You smile—genuinely—this time wishing you were face to face so he could get a good view of it. You try to let it show in your voice instead.

“Thank you for telling me, Bakugou. Apology accepted.”

A sigh of relief. You feel your smile grow bigger.

“Now go to sleep, dumbass,” he spits, the vulnerability from just a second ago long gone, now replaced by his signature snark. “You heard the old geezer. Big day tomorrow.”

You can’t help it—you laugh.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin | @junehasnotbeenfound @sugalarity @haechansbbg @sikuthealien @reiniella3 @ita606 @xoxoblueyy @mutsu422 @eyesforbkg @kalulakunundrum @venus-xxoo @lemuhr @pinkpantheris @ashers-playpen @bakugouswh0r3 @certaindreampost @3ve88 @tsumuus @4acoffee @anonymity-222 @lousypotatoes @homeless-clown @sk8wh33l @jungkookslittlecarrothoe @jax-the-oregonian @shosuki @reisore @babylambdietcoke @sleepyyhabii @adherethecomingofage @hakvyxo @squishybabei @gin-n-chronic-illness | @matchat3a @harryzcherry @h0nestly-though @cc1306 @gold24fish @bakukags @zennypiee @wannabewolf @kameko-ko @lovra974 @arc6021 @kooromin @surprisemodafakas @ilovedenk-i @st4ntwic3 @j1tterbugaboo @call-memissbrightside @arael-asuka @bakugosgothhoe @biancatomlinson @reads-stuff-quietly | @js-favnanadoongi @stxrrielle @panikk-attackkk @lotusstarr @ordola @simpforeveryone @typsichryle @arsonfrogger | @vitoshi @floverisland @confusedmomfriend @poemzcheng @cheezemanz @cax-per | @rorel1a @astolary @trashyforashy @sunaraii @reisore | @beepboopcowboy @kyluskaye | @moonz33

[leclerity]

stupid gets you killed

Charles Leclerc x Girlfriend!Reader count: 1.1k words summary: Charles and you have an emotional conversation after his reckless driving at a race. a/n: a short but angsty one, with a happy ending!

It could’ve been the end.

The way it felt, it almost was.

You watch as the red of the Ferrari and the green of the Aston Martin come close, inches apart, with Stroll nearly putting it in the back of your boyfriend’s car. Everyone around you gasps and for a split second, you see them touch and Charles’s car fly off into the grandstands – but that doesn’t happen. They don’t touch. Charles drives away unscathed, though you know that won’t be the end of it.

“That was too close,” says Arthur, shaking his head at the screen.

“He won’t like this too much,” you say and grab a pair of headphones lying around, listening in.

Everything is okay with the car, Bryan Bozzi says.

That was not okay! Charles screams. Who does he think he is?! Driving like an idiot… He should know better!

Keep your head calm, you’ve got forty laps to go.

You take off the headphones and tell Arthur what you just overheard. He shakes his head again, but you both know there’s nothing the two of you can do about it. Charles has been under pressure, ready to burst at any given moment, running second in the championship with maybe—maybe—a chance at something more. Anything that threatens it… Well, it throws him off.

You’re just waiting for the moment it happens.

The race keeps running, you listen in to the radio every so often, and his complaints and agitation are getting more obvious. He’s driving riskier, not caring enough about tyre management, and there’s a few moments when his car gets a little too close to another car.

He finishes in fourth. It’s not where he wanted to be but it’s better than out of the race, you tell yourself. There was a few moments where you held your breath, waiting to see if the anger is going to slip into careless mistakes, and it made you angry. Your boyfriend is better than this.

When he finishes the race, you run straight into his arms. “You did so well! I’m proud of you.”

“I could’ve done better,” he says.

“I know,” you say, and kiss him again. “Next time.”

Charles kisses you, too, before going to speak to others in the garage, keeping one eye on you at all times. You know he’s being hard on himself, but you see his clenched jaw, sunken shoulders, and you know this is going to be a tougher one than usual.

He’s in your orbit the most of the evening, glancing at you even when he’s in the media pen. You can hear some of the questions he’s being asked and a lot of them are about the incident and about his dangerous driving he nearly got a penalty for, and you can already hear the regret in his voice. He looks at you every time it comes up, as if he already knows how much it upset you.

At your side, Arthur gives you a nudge. “Are you going to talk some sense into him when you’re back at the hotel?”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”

“That was scary.”

You nod. “Too scary. I get the pressure and all, but…”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, “I don’t want to feel like I might lose my brother because he’s being angry and stupid.”

When you get home, you get dinner – he does the perfunctory celebrations and goes back to the hotel, where you’re waiting with him with your guys’ favourite takeaway. He had some time to hang out with the other drivers and now it’s time to hang out with you… But not before you give him a piece of mind.

He knows something’s wrong the moment he enters the hotel room.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you say.

He frowns. “Okay. You sure?”

You give him a long look.

Charles sits down next to you, looking exhausted but ready to devour the food – but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits with his elbows on his knees, hands held together. “It’s the race.”

“Mhm.”

“That’s why you’re giving me attitude.”

“Mhm.”

“Is it because of the Stroll incident?”

You shake your head. He should know better and he does, it will just take him a moment.

He sighs and leans into the couch, a defeated look on his face. “I should’ve handled it better, right?”

“Yeah.” You put a hand on his thigh. “Driving like that, Charles… You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I would’ve been fine.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Babe—”

“Don’t babe me,” you say, shaking your head. “You got angry and…. Anger makes you stupid. Stupid gets you killed.”

Charles opens his mouth and closes it, knowing fair well that there’s nothing he could say in his defence that would make you change your mind. He sees it all on your face, you know it – the terror you’d gone through waiting to see if his anger will make him slip up, make a mistake; the threat of losing him.

He takes your hand in his and kisses the back of it, before placing it on his chest, right where his heart is. “Y/N,” he says, gently. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me.”

“I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know.”

“It frightens me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I just—The thought of you—”

“I know. C’mere.”

Charles gives your hand a gentle tug and then your head is on his chest and his arms are wrapped around you, keeping you warm and safe. “I’m sorry for scaring you. My job is scary, but I shouldn’t make it any more difficult than it already is.”

He kisses the top of your head and you feel a few tears escaping down your cheeks, and he holds you even tighter.

“I’ll be less angry next time, I promise,” he whispers. “Less stupid. For you. Okay?”

You nod instead of answering, and he pulls your chin up with a gentle finger, and then he’s wiping your tears and kissing you gently, promising over and over again to never make you feel like that again – and he doesn’t.