#imagine one day they walk down the street and they hear someone talking bad shit about itto because he's an oni and why does Kamisato

[princessbrunette]

bountyhunter!rafe finally trusted you to sit behind him on the horse. he knew you weren’t going to jump off and take off. where would you go? you were in the middle of nowhere.

for a while you were lethargic, cheek pressed to rafe’s warm back with the only sound for a long time being the clip-clopping of horse shoes on the desert sand. you had a hat balanced on your head today. one like the ones rafe wore, all cowboyish. he said he wouldn’t be able to deal with you getting all sick from the sun. after a while, rafe breaks the silence — which is surprising, because usually he’s too grumpy to converse.

“collectin’ another bounty today… by the way.” he informs you, and you lift your head, glancing at the small town appearing on the horizon before you.

“hm?”

“yeah uh, some chick. ‘bout your age. apparently shes been stickin’ her nose where it doesn’t belong so uh, yeah. gotta hand her off to some outlaw.” he shrugs, focused on what’s infront of him. an unfamiliar and grotesque feeling slides down from your chest and settles in your stomach. a girl. your age.

“why have you gotta do that? you don’t need to be catching more bounties. where’s she gonna go anyway? there’s no more room on the horse.” you huff, still a little disorientated from being in and out of a nap against rafe’s back.

“we’re not going anywhere on the horse, kid. she’s up in this town here. did some real bad stuff, i’m talkin’ real slimy criminal shit. gonna hold her up in a motel with me ‘til the guy comes n’gets her. i’ll get my pay and — and don’t worry alright, you’re not gonna be in any danger you’ll be waiting in the diner across the street so… it’s fine.” he sounds a little irritated to be explaining it all to you. the thought of him in a motel alone with this girl pushed some immature feelings to the surface, some that you weren’t proud of.

“what do you need more money for?” you’re getting whiny now and you see his jaw clench.

“you think it’s cheap draggin’ you from town to town? paying for— for your little motel trips and food? no. i gotta take care of us ‘cause you’re no good for any of that.” he lectures you, and you dig your fingernails into the saddle.

“you don’t need her! find someone else.” you raise your voice a little, and surprisingly— rafe doesn’t say a thing. however, the silence does little to soothe you. in a moment, he arrives to a fence and jumps off before yanking you down and ropes up his horse to the wooden panel, planning on leaving it there for the day with the trough and bowl of water nearby. when he’s set the horse up, he turns back to you — looking at you like he’d just noticed you were there as he walks right up to you, wiping his hands on his jeans. leaning down to your height, he speaks more quietly with a pissed off edge to his voice.

“i’on wanna hear any more jealous tantrums today, a’ight? i’m doin’ this — for, for— hey—” when you look away shamefully with a pout he grips your jaw and turns you back to look at him. “i’m doin’ this for us. for you. alright so… so you should be thanking me if anything.” he blinks grouchily before letting go and swaggering past you, assuming you’d follow. you did.

you sat in that diner for hours. he’d set you up with a platter of buttered waffles and grits and sausages— all things that were considered a luxury when travelling out on the open desert. he’d taken one more glance at your sad little face peering up at him before heading out the door, with no more than a demand not to talk or look at anyone whilst he’s gone. it was a risk leaving you there, you both knew it — but some things just had to be done. it was more of a risk to take you with him anyway.

you felt all sick and anxious the whole time he was gone. not just because you were on your own surrounded by strangers and mysterious cowboys, but because you couldn’t stop imagining rafe in there with that girl. a motel room. you wondered if they both sat on the bed together. whether they talked, shared experiences. maybe he showed a bit of remorse to her, like he did with you. she was a criminal after all, just like him — perhaps he’ll decide she’s a more worthy partner to travel with, now that he’d decided to keep you all to himself instead of handing you off. maybe they’ll kiss. maybe he won’t come back to get you.

your spiralling thoughts are interrupted by rafe arriving back at your side hours later. he glances at the plate of untouched food and presses his lips together, about to tell you off for wasting his money. when you look round at him, your eyes are all red and there are tears on your cheeks. whatever words he was about to spew die in on his tongue and he sighs, crouching down beside where you sit in the booth.

“hey. what happened?”

you don’t say anything, opting to look at your hands instead. he sighs, biting his tongue before standing back up to full height. “alright. move up.” he gives you a light push to signal you to move up along the worn leather bench and you do so.

once sat besides you, he grabs your cutlery and starts to fork up a mouthful to feed you. “you gotta eat, okay? i paid for this shit.” he speaks softly, lifting the fork to your lips and shovelling it in as soon as you open them just a little.

“its cold.” you garble miserably as he shovels a few mouthfuls past his own lips, hungry after the day he’d had.

“should’ve thought of that, alright— open.” he feeds you another mouthful. you give in, realising now that you were so hungry that you didn’t even mind the food being cold. relaxing a little, you lean against his shoulder slightly, deflating as he feeds you. “yeah, see. spoiled.” he mutters.

you head back to the motel as the sun goes down, your skin feeling relieved of the constant beating down of the sun, replaced by a cooler breeze over the dunes. the motel is an old and rickety one, but it would do. rafe had purchased the room until tomorrow, so the two of you figured you’d use it and get a good nights sleep. he dumps the bags by the door when you enter, and you walk in slowly — taking a look around. your stomach cramps with that feeling again as you look at the bed. the sheets were still tidy, and made — but you still wondered.

rafe follows your eyes as he walks in behind you, glancing between you and the bed. “what? not good enough?” he shrugs a shoulder.

“did she sit on the bed?” you ask quietly and he squints.

“wh— who? the bounty?”

you nod and he scoffs, wandering past you. “no. locked that bitch in the bathroom, alright — she wouldn’t shutup.”

you know it’s wrong, and you shouldn’t. but you feel this sick sense of pride, like in a way you’d won something. you were not sure what exactly, but it satisfied a side to you that you didn’t know you had.

he clocks onto the small, prideful smile on your face and he blinks, resisting an eye roll.

“jesus christ. c’mere, yeah?”

rafe sits on the bed, spreading his legs and patting a knee for you to sit down. you do so without question, in disbelief that there was a time that you’d scream, cry and refuse anything like that. once you’re perching on him, he speaks.

“not getting rid of you, alright— i can see that look on your face. y’know it’s a little ridiculous getting jealous i—i kidnapped you, kind of. okay? but that’s… in the past now. i’m with you. just… behave… and cheer up. paid for the food, paid for the motel — you’re lucky i don’t put you to work to earn your keep.” he pats your ass, signalling for you to stand. “now go shower. we’re leavin’ this place at sun up.”

you wander towards the screen bathroom door before turning back round to look at him with a small and demure smile.

“i’m just happy you came back to get me.”

rafe raises an eyebrow. “the hell are you talking about? i will always come back for you.”

[pidgeeepombo]

Flowers and inconvenient first meets.

Sinopsis: jason is having a bad day, you too, but it doesent stop you to be kind

Fluff!Jason Todd x civilian florist!reader.

A/n: i try to make the Y/n the most neutral as i can! You can imagine any gender for them.

Warnings: hiper cliché, my frist actually romantic x reader fic, i love Jason so much hadhhahshsheheh. English isn't my frist language! Im sorry to any ortografic errors! I hope you like it!

You were at your small flower stand, there wasn't much movement, after all, who has a reason to buy flowers in Gotham city? The cloudy weather left the air feeling depressed, but nothing you weren't used to. The movement of people rushing to get to their appointments ended up causing the vase of tulips that was right in front of their tent to fall, spilling the flowers across the sidewalk.

You hadn't seen who had dropped them, and the person probably didn't even realize they had done it, all you could do was get up from your plastic stool and go gather the poor flowers, in these difficult times losing merchandise meant having the light of a house cut down again, As you bend down to gather the flowers, suddenly a thump happens and you fall back, only hearing a "holy shit" giving the situation some intencity.

Jason Todd was having a rough day. Of course, today was the anniversary of his death, he was definitely not in a good mood to talk, everything had gone wrong for him today, he hadn't slept well, he was quite injured from last night's patrol, and the next day he still had Forcing themselves to go shopping to their safe house, definitely going to the supermarket during rush hours and interacting with people who are just as unhappy as he are is not one of Jason's favorite things. Now, walking home with a rather flimsy paper bag full of supplies, he trips over someone on the street and all their purchases spill onto the floor, *great*

-holy shit.

He looks at the person he bumped into, apparently they weren't in a situation very different from his. Even so, he got frustrated and soon opened his mouth to say something sarcastic. Until the person on the ground comes forward and says:

-I'm really sorry, sir! Did you're hurt? You should take better care of where you're going.

Jason, without much patience, bent down and started to gather his things, while you were gathering your flowers.

-And you shouldn't sit in the middle of the sidewalk.

Jason says with a bitter tone in his voice, you, who perhaps felt worried about having knocked him over, as soon as you finish gathering your flowers you start to help him with the shopping, realizing that his bag had torn, you get up and takes a bag from behind the counter and gives it to the man with black hair, who gets confused, but accepts the kindness, you start helping him gather his purchases.

-I'm sorry again...

-its okay.

he replies dryly, but you really don't care, he must be having as bad a day as you. But you decide to try to give sympathy a chance.

-What's your name?

-...Jason.

- I'm Y/N, nice to meet you. you say, smiling softly as you hand him the last fruit that was lying on the floor

-rouge day, right?

-kind of

He notice that you was trying to make the situation less unconfortable. Jason felt a little uncomfortable at first, he hated interactions with people he didn't know, but he became more relaxed as the other person didn't appear to be a potential threat. He glanced at the florist, their seemed tired, but Gotham does that to people. If he himself wasn't busy with his own problems, he would even find the person on his side pretty.

When they finished gathering things, Jason gets up to leave, but you say:

-Hey sir! Wait a minute.

he stopped and looked at you, you smile gently and hand him a single tulip.

-It's for the inconvenience, sorry again!

-ah... No problem. Thanks.

He leaves holding the flower and analyzing it on the way home, he found it funny in a way, the last time he received flowers was at his funeral. And maybe that made him a little happy, it was hard to find someone kind to strangers in Gotham. He thought a lot about that florist and maybe he wanted to run into them again.

A/n: HEYYY MY SPACE READERS! my frist fic on tumblr? Im kinda pround of myself. This was inspired by a Character A.I boot.... (My favourite one btw) im gonna put the name here later! Byee! I hope you all like it! Take care of yourself!

[danikamariewrites]

Hello! Can you please write a story where someone insults Azriel, and the reader is ready to beat that person up because of it, and Azriel is very impressed that the reader is so upset just because someone insulted him? Thanks!

I want to tell you that your stories are very well written and I enjoy every time you post.

What Did You Say?

Azriel x reader

A/n: thank you anon that means a lot to me. This was sm fun to write bc I love imagining Az with a feisty partner who will defend him.

Warnings: some swears

Today was a rare day off for you and Az. Instead of spending the day inside, Az decided to treat you to lunch and shopping in town. As you got up from the table Az offered you his arm, taking you back out to the bustling streets.

So far you had been to five of your favorite shops and Azriel was holding your bags. You told him you could carry them but he insisted he do it, “My love, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t carry the for you.” You giggled at his dramatics.

Passing a bar to head to your last stop of the afternoon, you saw a group of males lingering outside. They were staring at Azriel and it made you uncomfortable. People would usually stare because of his wings and his height, but you had a bad feeling about these guys.

You knew Az hated attention so you grabbed his arm. He smiled down at you and you just kept walking straight. As you pass the males one speaks up, clearly not hiding his comment about your boyfriend, “It’s such a shame to see our kind with an Illyrian brute. No matter what title they hold.”

You could tell Azriel wanted to keep walking and ignore them, but you froze, your back going stock straight. Azriel leaned forward slightly, “Love, let it go.” Your eyes were wide, anger took over your features.

Turning slowly towards the males, who were now snickering, you were ready to rip into them. You weren’t usually a confrontational person but when it came to Azriel you were fiercely protective of him.

“What did you say?” One of the males faces you was still laughing. The one who made the comment speaks up, “He’s an Illyrian brute, you shouldn’t be with him it’s not natural.”

At the point you were seeing red. Azriel’s arm wrapped around the front of your waist, holding on to your hip. You could hear him speaking but couldn’t make out his words.

“Come fucking say that to my face.” You stomp over to the male, getting in his face. “You’re a real piece of shit you know that!” That male was shocked that you were in front of him. He and his friends were silent as you were yelling at them.

Before you could really tell them how you felt, Azriel pulled you into his arms and took off. Before you knew it he was landing on the balcony of the House of Wind. He quickly brought you into one of the sitting rooms, placing you on the ground and dropping the bags.

You began pacing the room. Clenching and unclenching your fists. All Az could do was stand there and let you calm down. He was truly shocked by your reaction in the street. But at the same time he was impressed. The only people who would’ve done that were his brothers. It was heartwarming in a way, to see you stand up for them.

You let out a frustrated sound, your pacing slowing down. You finally stop and sit on the couch forcefully. Fidgeting with your fingers, you look up at Az. “I’m sorry but that just really pissed me off.” You huff out. “I just - ugh - I just hate when people talk about you like that. I know you’ve dealt with it for years but, Cauldron! That was just…”

Az sat down next to you taking both of your hands in one of his large ones. “Y/n, it’s ok.” You lean on his shoulder brushing a kiss on your temple. “It was actually sweet. I've never seen you so angry. It was kinda hot.”

You playfully slapped his chest, “Hush you.” Az throws his head back and lets out a belly laugh. He pulled you into a hug placing another kiss on your head. “Want to go unpack all your stuff?” You give Az an enthusiastic nod, pulling him off the couch.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane

[starlightnorris]

unanswered questions - charles leclerc

synopsis: the one where you run into your first love and there's a ton of unanswered question and a whole lot of feelings there.

word count: 1k

read part two

they say you never truly get over your first love. you believed them for a while, the first year or so after charles broke up with you, you were a mess. everything reminded you of him, from the places you used to go together, to the simplicity of seeing a car on the street. and it shouldn’t have hurt so bad, you were just teenagers, young love is always bound to crash and burn, but that first year was brutal.

but eventually you got over it. you moved to new york city to go to university, at some point meeting the person you wanted to spend your life with. it was funny, just how quickly your perception of everything changed. one day, it was you and charles together, only teenagers, but making small comments about the future. and you had believed that the two of you would end up together, but people change, plans change, and eventually, you move on.

there wasn’t a moment that you could identify that “ruined” your relationship with charles. it was just two people moving on from something that was once so real. it was weird to think about it now, you were 25 and that was nearly a decade ago. but there was always that nagging thought in the back of your mind that kept saying that if it could happen with charles, it could happen with justin. there didn’t have to be a big moment, one day he would just come to you and say that he didn’t feel the same anymore.

justin was lovely. talking about the future with him genuinely made you excited, but there was still a part of you that wondered what charles was like now. sure, you saw him on tv, and you still kept up with races, something your boyfriend took notice in. but he just thought you loved formula one, he didn’t know about the Ferrari driver who had once held your heart in his hands. but you didn’t know the charles of today. he seemed different, but he also seemed like the same boy you were in love with all those years ago. but that didn’t matter now, you’d moved on, even if your heart still yearned to know him.

---

“i think we should go out tonight,” justin says one day. it’s a friday, the two of you are already off work, both having left earlier than normal. “there’s a new restaurant i’ve been wanting to try.”

“yeah, that would be great,” you say, a soft smile on your face as he walks over to press a kiss to your forehead before the two of you start to get ready for the night.

you’re walking hand in hand down the street, a slight breeze in the air as you take in the area around you. moving from monaco to new york city was a big difference for you, being a place that was so small to a city that was constantly filled with so many people. but you loved it here, you loved to anonymity of being in the big city. monte carlo was too small, and when you were dating charles, people took notice of the two of you as it was becoming more clear that he was fully on his way to formula one.

but you didn’t want to think about that today. you were here with justin and as if he could hear your thoughts, he looks down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks at you. you could get lost in that smile and the way his gaze is so soft as he looks at you, so much love and adoration in the look. and it only takes you running into someone to take your eyes away from him.  

justin makes sure to steady you and you mutter a “shit, i’m so sorry,” before looking up to see who you ran into. and you know that moment in the romance movies where two people look at each other and everything around them stops.

that’s exactly what happened when you saw charles in front of you. everything around you seemed to stop. you were in new york city, a place that was constantly busy and alive, and all you could do was stare at the man in front of you. you’d imagined what he’d look like if you saw him up close again, were there any marks on his skin that you couldn’t see through a screen? were his eyes soft in the same way that they were when you were teenagers?

“holy shit, you’re charles leclerc,” you hear justin say from beside you, but your eyes still rest on charles, and you can tell from the look on his face that he knows exactly who you are. it takes him a moment to tear his eyes from you before they move to your boyfriend and then down to where the two of you are holding hands and you catch a flicker of something… regret, maybe? but no, he broke up with you. he had full control in that situation, he doesn’t deserve to have any regrets.

“uh, yeah,” charles mutters, his eyes snapping back up to your boyfriend. “yeah, i am.”

they chat for a moment, but you don’t hear a single word, especially when his eyes keep moving to where you are standing, a lifetime of questions swirling in his eyes. “it was nice to meet you both,” charles says after a bit, and his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and you want him to say something. you want to take the time to talk about almost a decade of distance between you, but he gives you a small smile, continuing to walk in the direction that he was heading.

“that was so cool,” justin says, a starstruck look on his face as he looks back at you. “i can’t believe we just ran into him.”

“yeah,” you say, but your heart’s not in it. instead, you’re thinking about years of unanswered questions with charles. you’re thinking about all the things you never got to say, and you’re thinking about why the hell your heart is beating so fast for a man you don’t even really know.  

[enjoythesilentworld]

Simon's Month - Home (Improvement)

day 30 @youngroyals-events one more to go i could cry

Simon owns a home renovation business with his sister. Wille has recently purchased a fixer-upper.

read below or on ao3 (T, 1.3k)

“You have to be nice,” Sara says as they drive down the unassuming backroad, lined with thick vegetation.

Simon scoffs, staring out the window and peeking between the gaps in the trees to get a glimpse of the types of homes around here. That one needs a new roof, but that one's got some good landscaping.  

“I am nice.”

“You’re nice in a special Simon way. Once someone has had time to get to know you.” Sara puts on the blinker, turning up a gravel street. “There’s a reason I usually bring Ayub with me— Get out and open the gate for me, please.”

Rolling his eyes, Simon climbs out of the car and swings open the simple metal gate, which could really use some oil on the hinges. The fence has a few nearly broken posts, too. If this is what the entrance looks like, he can only imagine the actual house. It must be further up the hill, but it’s way too overgrown for Simon to be able to see anything yet.

Usually, Ayub went with Sara on these consultations, because, allegedly, he's the better at talking to the clients. Apparently it didn’t matter that, technically, Simon was in charge of the construction half of his and Sara’s business. Not that it really bothered Simon. At the end of the day, he trusted Ayub to do the initial walkthrough and markup, allowing Simon to focus on getting everything ready to start the actual construction. Today, though, Ayub is busy, so Simon’s been tagged in.

“I’m just honest,” he says, once back in the car. “You are, too, Sara. That’s why people like you as a designer. Because you'll tell them if their shit is ugly.”

She pulls further up the drive and the house comes into view. That is, if it can even be called a house. Simon barely hears Sara’s response, his mind already flitting through the long, long to-do list that will be required to get this pile of wood back to living standards.

“Yes, but I do it in a nice way. This is Felice’s very good friend, okay? She said he’s great. Don’t make him go back to Felice with a bad review.”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t,” Simon waves her off, stepping out of the car to get a better look at the building. “This place looks like a piece of shit.”

“Hey, that’s my piece of shit you’re talking about.”

Simon turns at the sound of the new voice. In the front doorway of said piece of shit, there’s a tall, handsome man with auburn hair and a crooked smile. It’s quite the paradoxical image, this pretty, clean-cut man walking down the porch steps of such a dirty, overgrown house.

Sara steps up to greet him, apologizing for her brother's snark, while Simon hangs back, still assessing the integrity of the columns holding up the overhang roof. Most of the shingles are in place, at least, and he doesn’t see any sagging that would indicate leakage. Not yet, at least.

“Good to see you again, Wille,” Sara smiles, using that sweet customer-service voice of hers.

“You, too, Sara. Thank you for agreeing to take on this project. I know it’s a bit of a mess.”

“Well,” Simon cuts in without introduction, “she’ll only be able to do her part once we make sure this place won’t blow away in the first storm.”

Wille turns to him and smiles brightly, somehow rivaling even the midmorning sun that shines above them. “You must be Simon.” He extends a hand. “I’m Wille. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Simon takes his hand and shakes it once. They’re bigger than Simon’s, but less calloused. He probably works for some stupid finance company and sits in a fancy ergonomic chair all day, drinking filtered water and fucking off to business lunches with Sweden’s elite.

“Yep. I’ve heard almost nothing about you. Shall we take a look inside?”

If Wille’s surprised by Simon’s attitude, he doesn’t show it. He just nods, still smiling like the sun.  

Sara hisses at him as Wille leads them inside, telling him to cool it. Simon nods distractedly, but he really can’t be bothered to be nice because he’s already annoyed with this rich kid who’s probably bought this house to fix up and turn into a 20,000kr per night rental.

It’s not as bad inside, thankfully. The remaining yellowed wallpaper is peeling, and there's random trash scattered around, but there are no cracks in the walls or water stains on the ceiling. Wille leads them through, pointing out which rooms are which. The whole tour doesn’t last more than ten minutes as it’s only a two-bed, two-bath. The windows are half-boarded, and there are a few unnecessary walls, and Simon is already itching to get started. 

“I want to keep as much of the original structure as possible,” Wille explains when they stop again in the kitchen. He runs a hand over the dusty countertop, looking lovingly around the small, cramped space. “I might want to add an extension in the future, but it’s just me here, so this is definitely plenty of space for now.”

“You’re going to live here?” Simon asks, surprised.

Wille tilts his head at him. “Yes?”

Simon hums, crossing his arms and leaning back on the archway that leads into the living room. “Damn. I would’ve thought you’re more of a city high-rise type. You seem too posh for country living. You know, I don't think take-out drivers come out here. And the nearest Michelin restaurant isn’t for, like, 100 kilometers.”

“Simon!” Sara glares at him.

“It’s okay,” Wille chuckles. “No, I’m not the high rise type. I prefer the quiet of the countryside, and I also prefer to cook my own food. Michelin restaurants are way too overhyped, anyway.”

He’s smirking through his smile and has met Simon’s challenge, and so Simon decides he can let up a bit.

He and Wille spend the next two hours walking through the space again, more slowly this time, while Sara steps outside to make a few calls. She can’t do anything yet, anyway. Not with the house in this state. This part is Simon’s job, his specialty.

“Knocking down this wall will open up the space a lot, especially if you still want to be able to host while in the kitchen. It’ll give you a good view out of the front of the house, too,” Simon rambles, marching through the space and gesturing as he goes. Wille is hot on his heels, nodding along. “I’d put a countertop bar here, though, for some extra seating and to break up the space a bit. We’ll have to rip out all of these cabinets, though. I’ll need to get my plumber out here, too, to check the piping. These old builds are a little iffy sometimes on how well things have held up.”

Simon continues to talk, and endless stream of consciousness and notes about electrical wiring and comments about the state of the hardwood floor. Wille follows him all the way, making notes in a little notebook and asking the occasional question.

They finish just as Sara’s car pulls back up the driveway. Simon hadn’t even realized she’d left.

“I brought lunch,” she tells them, holding up a brown bag. “You two were pretty distracted, so I figured I shouldn’t bother.”

Wille thanks her graciously, and they all sit on the porch together to eat. Simon starts to make notes in his phone, setting reminders to call certain inspectors and logging how many people he’ll need for demo-day.

After lunch, they take a loop around the outside of the house, inspecting the gutters and stonework. Now that the initial tension has faded, he and Wille get distracted a few times by other topics. Simon learns that Wille is actually not an insufferable spoiled brat. In fact, he’s quite nice and quite funny. He keeps up with Simon’s jokes, and when Simon pushes him, he pushes right back.

Simon tells Wille he’ll have to check with his team, but he’s pretty sure most everyone is in between jobs and will be able to start in the next few days. Wille agrees to meet them at the house for the first day of demolition, and Simon and Sara leave for the day.

“You like him,” Sara says once Simon’s back in the car after closing the front gate behind them.

He shrugs, refusing to give her the satisfaction, and casually admits, “He doesn’t totally suck.”

Perhaps, Simon thinks, this renovation job won’t be too bad.

[mikopikopon]

And I imagine Itto being completely unaware how important his new friend is. Like imagine befriending a prime minister and not knowing he's a prime minister. It's just some guy, we play Pokémon together sometimes.

Also having no idea what a relief his mere sight is for Ayato, who for once doesn't have to keep up an appearance, doesn't have to calculate every single of his moves, weight his words. He's just present there in the moment, having fun in a good company.

I really love the dynamics of friendship among ayaitto ahahah I imagine Ayato, very rich and bored, surrounding himself with the presence of handsome and vigorous men and then one day while walking through the streets, he sees this big guy and it was love at first sight. However, their relationship remains just one of friendship and mutual company

[xspeter]

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝟎𝟎𝟐: “the lucky one.”

reminder that this fic is written like the book, ‘daisy jones and the six’, so it is written in interview format.

m.list ⇦ previous chapter next chapter ⇨

Y/N L/N (lead singer of, "Silver Springs"): Talent isn't always something that comes naturally. Lots of times there's years of hard work that's put into it- but not for me. I was born talented. Everyone knew it too.

This isn't just me having a big head, either. I could fucking sing. Why do you think I was as successful as I was?

Jessie Biles (biographer, author of "Y/N L/N: Wildflower"): You've got a rich, beautiful, teenage girl living in LA in the 70's. She's gorgeous- even as a child, and once you get to know her, you find out she's talented too.

She's born with all the money in the world and access to whatever she wants- artists, drugs, clubs- anything and everything at the tips of her fingers.

But she's alone. She's got no siblings, no extended family. Her parents are so focused on whatever bullshit they've got going on that they hardly notice she exists.

So, she acts out. She starts going to clubs, getting high with older men, starts doing some real illegal shit.

We love broken, beautiful people. And it doesn't get much more obviously broken and classically beautiful as Y/N L/N.

Y/N: I think the first time i went to a club I was thirteen. My parents were having some bullshit business party and locked me in my room.

I was done with their bullshit, so I opened up my window, pushed out the screen, and left.

I was barefoot, cold, and the only place I could think to go was downtown.

Johnny Marcum (owner of 'The Golden Fleece'): The first time that girl walked into my bar, I thought she was the most beautiful thing i'd ever seen.

Now, I didn't know she was thirteen when she walked in there! On my life, I thought she was at least 23. She just had this mature aura about her.

Y/N: The first thing I hear when I step into that dingy bar, is, "Hey, where are your shoes?" *laughs*, like, that's your biggest concern? Everyone can say that I looked so much older than i really was, but they knew.

Anyway, so I sit down at this booth with a couple older men. They're all strung out, and they're buying me drinks, and at some point, one of the men pulls out a baggy full of pills.

I don't remember which one of them offered, but i was in such a bad place that I- I took it, and it just exploded from there. I mean, that was just the start. I started going out at least six times a week after that, and if my parents noticed they sure as hell didn't care.

     

Johnny: Y/N was at The Golden Fleece pretty much from sunrise to sundown. She'd be singing, dancing, talking, hell some days she'd just come and sit in silence.

      A lot of the girls who came walking around town back then were always trying to be something they weren't. skinny, pretty, funny- you name it, they wanted to be it.

      Y/N was never like that though. She was never anything except for herself, and I imagine that's why people were drawn to her like they were.

Y/N: Being involved in that kind of life like I was, and at the age that I was, well it taught me about sex and love the hard way.

      I remember there was this one night, there was this older guy there. I don't even remember his name but... he took my virginity. We were at the golden fleece and he led me across the street to some random motel to do some lines. Said I was, "The girl of his dreams."

      I was drawn to him because he was interested in me. I wanted someone to actually look at me, y'know? I had just wanted someone to see me, and I thought he did.

      When he was done he got up, told me to get dressed, and did another line. Then he says, "If you wanna go back down to The Golden Fleece, that'd be fine." I knew he meant he wanted me to leave, and so I did.

      I never even saw him again.

Shyla Rode (R&B star): The first time me and Y/N met, we were at a party that some rich old guy was hosting at his house.

Y/N: These men, they'd invite me to these random parties they were having and of course i'd say yes. most the time I just went for the drugs.

Shyla: Y/N was just a baby. She's a baby at a grown up party, and she's got herself involved in some shit she shouldn't even know exists. The men that I saw her with when we met? They were pigs.

Y/N: When I met Shyla, she practically rescued me from this dude who was trying to get me in bed. He was practically dragging me away and I was so high I just let him.

Shyla: The guy had to be at least twenty years older than her. So I walk up to them and i'm like, "Hey, babes, you ready to go?" and she stares at me and her eyes... it was like they were staring through you. Like- like she couldn't even actually see you.

Y/N: I was confused, but I was high, so I shook my head and I said I wasn't ready to leave, but Shyla was having none of it.

Shyla: I grabbed her hand and I said, "I think you are." But she kept trying to push me off her while we were walking and she just kept saying, "No i'm fine! I don't wanna go!"

Y/N: I know I was being difficult.

Shyla: The guy she was with was following us, trying to get me to let her go, and get this- he says, "You can't make her do anything she doesn't wanna do!"

      Like, what!? He was literally about to have sex with a minor who was high out of her mind! What does he know about consent? Like, come on. It's laughable.

Y/N: Shyla forced me to leave, and once we got in her car she asked me for my address, but I refused. I said, "Why should I tell you?"

Shyla: When she said that, it took everything in me to not kick her out of my car. But, no matter how hot headed she made me, she needed help.

Y/N: Since I wouldn't tell her where I lived, she just took me back to her place.

Shyla: What else was i supposed to do? She was high, she was barefoot, and she was refusing to let me take her back to her house.

Y/N: The next morning when I woke up, I was sober. I hated being sober. So I get up off the couch and start looking around the apartment for... well anything I could get my hands on. Pills, alcohol, weed- anything.

Shyla: I woke up because someone kept slamming my cabinets, and I walk out and of my room, and there's Y/N, walking around my place like she owned it.

Y/N: I didn't even notice she was up until she yelled, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

      My first instinct was to run, but I didn't. I closed the cabinet, cleared my throat, and said, "I'm hungry."

     

Shyla: I knew she was lying, but I went with it anyway.

Y/N: She made me some of best pancakes i've ever had. After that I knew this woman was about to be my best friend.

Shyla: I think I became like, almost her mother. I was basically her guardian. She stayed the night at my house for like, weeks at a time.

Y/N: My parents never even noticed I was gone. I mean i'd come back to get some clothes or for whatever I needed, they'd glance at me, watch me leave, and never say anything.

Shyla: During the week, I would be at the studio working on my debut album, so I couldn't watch her, and a lot of the times when i'd get home she'd be higher than a kite.

Y/N: I don't know if I remember a time where I wasn't either high or thinking about getting high. Whenever shyla was gone, i'd go up to The Golden Fleece, do some pills, maybe do some weed or do some coke if anyone had any, and then i'd go back home.

Shyla: Honestly, it was starting to get... exhausting.

Y/N: So, one day shyla comes home and i'm obviously high out of my mind, and she'd obviously had enough of my bullshit.

Shyla: I said to her, "You need to get your fucking act together. If you wanna live here, you're gonna get your ass in school."

Y/N: I was never... good at school, and my parents never paid enough attention to me to know if I was going or not, so when shyla started making me go, I almost moved out.

Shyla: Her grades were always right on the cusp of failing and passing, but I did my best to help her out whenever i could.

      It wasn't like she didn't try, either. There were a lot of nights she would be sitting at the kitchen table until the late hours of the night, doing her homework or studying for exams.

Y/N: When I graduated, the only person who showed up was shyla. She was the only person who cheered for me, yet she was louder than all the other families.

Shyla: After Y/N graduated I released my first album and... it was a flop. The record label dropped me, and since that was our only source of income, Y/N was forced to get a job at some roundabout diner.

Y/N: The job at the diner didn't pay enough to keep paying for the apartment we were at though, so we were forced to downsize.

Shyla: Sometimes, when Y/N did the dishes or she was showering, she'd sing this little tune to herself. Sometimes they were songs i'd heard, but usually they were songs she'd made up

on her own.

Y/N: I started to really get into writing my own music. Usually it just a chorus or a bridge. I never really finished a song start to finish.

Shyla: I was determined to get Y/N to do something with that voice of hers, but one thing about Y/N, you can't force her to do something she doesn't wanna do.

      She'd really come into herself back then too. s

Stopped letting these men do whatever they wanted with her.

Y/N: I was seeing this guy named Aiden Bower. He was some upcoming solo singer or some shit. But, he definitely loved me more than I loved him.

      This one night we're lying in bed and he says, "I don't understand why you don't love me as much as I love you." And I just layed there in silence. I mean, what the fuck do you say to that?

      So, once he finally falls asleep, I get this idea for a song. I take out my journal and I write down some lyrics for a few hours, and then I finally fall asleep.

      When I wake up he's got the journal in front of him and his guitar in his lap, and he's reading over my songs. More specifically, the one I had written the night before.

      He says to me, "You know, you can go professional with a lot of this shit." But I just shrugged him off. 

      A couple weeks later, I hear my song on the radio. But get this, it's not me singing it.

Shyla: That bastard took her song and never even fucking credited her for it.

Aiden Bower: Look, that never fucking happened. this is why i cant stand Y/N L/N. She spreads all these lies about me. I wrote that song, end of story.

Y/N: It was starting to become a pattern. This one time, i'm having breakfast at this little rundown diner with this director guy. Now, back then I would always order a glass of champagne with my breakfast. But, I was also always tired because i didn't get enough sleep. So I needed coffee, but obviously I couldn't just order coffee cause I was already amped up from the pills I was taking. And drinking the champagne would put me to sleep- you see my problem? So I used to order champagne and coffee together, and at the places servers knew me, i'd just call it an 'Up and Down.' And this guy i was with thought it was hilarious. He says, "I'm gonna use that in something some day." and he wrote it down on a napkin and put it in his pocket.

      That's how it was back then. I was always gonna be the inspiration for some man's great idea. But you know what? Fuck that.

      That's why I decided to start putting my own shit out there.

Shyla: I was the only one who wanted her to do something with herself- do something with her talent. Everyone else would just make something of themselves with what she had.

Y/N: I had absolutely no interest in being anybody else's muse.

      I am not the muse.

      I am the somebody.

      End of fucking story.

Shyla: Next thing we know and it's 1982 and       Y/N's started wearing these big hoop earrings. She never wore shoes either.

      Y/N started seeing this guy, he was just like everyone else in LA- trying to make a name for himself, and he drags me and Y/N down to this karaoke bar.

Y/N: He practically begged me that entire night to get up on stage with him. Eventually, I gave in.

      It's pretty nerve-wracking. The first time you get on stage in front of all those people, and they're all looking at you like they're expecting you to amaze them.

      And it feels so good when you do.

Shyla: She was a fucking natural on that stage. took all the attention away from whatever shit head she was seeing at the time. Around the second chorus, she just let it rip.

Marcus Jennings (lead singer of Amor): When I went up there with Y/N, I had no idea that her voice was that powerful. I’d heard her in the shower before but- on that stage? she was fucking amazing.

She had this incredible voice. Gritty, but never scratchy. It made everything she sang complex and a little unpredictable. You know, i’ve never had much of a voice myself, but you don’t need a voice to be a singer if your songs are good enough- but Y/N? She had the whole fucking thing.

She had the talent of someone who had been practicing for years- decades even- and it was just natural. I was always trying to get her to sing with me, and that was the first night she actually agreed.

I told Y/N, “The biggest thing your songs have going for them is that you might sing them.” But she always hated when people tried to help her.

She yelled at me for a while, and then eventually, she asked me where she should try and play some gigs.

Y/N: I wanted- no I needed to get my songs heard. So I started going around to different karaoke bars, I even did some backup vocals on Shyla’s album that she was working on.

Suddenly, it was like there was so many people trying to convince me to do a demo. All these men wanted to be my manager but I knew what they really wanted. All they saw was this naïve girl that would believe anything they said- but I wasn’t that girl anymore.

There was this dude named Martin Brenner, and he was the only one I could tolerate. Mostly because he was the only one actually interested in my music.

Shyla: Something Martin hadn’t put into account though, was that Y/N couldn’t stand when people tried to tell her what to do.

Y/N: Brenner gave me this song by some song writer I had never even heard of, and he asked me to record a demo of it.

I show up to the studio, I read over the song, I sing it how I wanna sing it, Brenner asks me, “Can you sing it a little smoother?” I said, “Nope.” And I left.

Shyla: She got signed to Upside-Down Records right after that.

Y/N: I didn’t care about the singing. It was the songwriting that I loved. So when Brenner started to try and dictate what I sang and what I didn’t sing- it made me mad.

So, Brenner shows up to my house and he asks for a compromise. I say, “I either sing my own songs- or i’m not signing your contract.”

Shyla: I wish I could’ve seen Brenner face when she said that.

Y/N: He barely even argued with me. I told him what I wanted, and I wasn’t letting up. So eventually, he told me I needed to write some real songs. Not just the half-assed songs I was writing at the time.

So that’s what i did.

ppl should honestly write more books in this format. it’s easy to write and easy to read.

[restinslices]

Before y’all ask, YES I am working on Everything pt4.

However, I wanna rant real quick. TW for shitty ass feelings.

Idk if this is just me, but I have such a love hate relationship with the fact that I take meds for my depression and anxiety. On one hand it’s like “dude, you really need these meds. They help you. For fucks sake you’ve been hospitalized before”. On the other hand it’s like “why do you need meds to feel ok? Why can’t you just be normal? For fucks sake, you’ve been hospitalized before and kept bouncing between hospitals for over a year”. Surely this can’t just be me that’s felt this way right? I know I need these meds, but I hate that I need them. I went without meds for months and felt fine, but then the depression hit and I had to go on them again, so idk, I kinda feel like “damn. I’m never gonna be normal” and that’s so ass. And my shit is BAD. The persona I have online may seem very free and “I don’t give a fuck. Imma do me” but that is so not me irl. I’ve had to leave class because my panic attacks. School (before I went to an alternative school) was extremely difficult because so much of it was social work and for some reason my brain just shuts down. I’ll legitimately start shaking if I gotta talk to someone I don’t know. I get anxiety when I think about crossing the street. My brain is dumb as hell and I know this. And bitch the depression? Just take me out the game cause shit gets wild. I’ll neglect my responsibilities, my hygiene, I’ll just sleep all day so that I don’t have to think about how much I wanna control alt delete.

So believe me, I KNOW I need meds. I just hate that I can’t function like a normal person without meds. When it came to my ptsd, it got better. I can stay home alone, I don’t panic as much as I did when I hear cars passing, I can walk by myself without worrying about getting attacked, if my dad were to text me right now I’d be annoyed instead of scared, shit like that. It took like, 4 years but it got better. I don’t see me ever getting better when it comes to this and being what’s considered normal. Some days I’m ok with that. Some days I’m not.

And bitch while I’m typing, peep game. So my dad was abusive, hence the ptsd. Once I got away from him, I never spoke to him again as you can imagine (he kept harassing me through text but speeding past that-). But I never imagined that my dads side of the family would never speak to me again as well. And don’t get me wrong, they’re not my favorite people. One cousin in particular can never come around me again for a specific traumatic reason but we’re gonna move past that and focus on the bigger picture. And I’ve tried to keep in touch with certain people and my mom even asked one of my cousins that I actually like to check in on me because it isn’t fair that everyone dropped me, but no one is doing their part. That cousin never contacts me and I’m always reaching out. It’s always me calling. Me checking in. Why can’t y’all do the same? I’m the bitch with trauma. So I stopped calling and we’ve stopped speaking. And apart of me is like “Slices, they’re your grandparents so maybe technology is hard” but another part is like “they have multiple phones. How hard would calling me be? What about my cousins and aunts and uncles that never make the effort with me too? Why am I doing all the work and these grown ass people aren’t doing shit to keep our relationship growing?”. It’s just not fair. And I know “not fair” sounds childish because life isn’t fair, but that’s the only way I know how to describe it. It’s just not fair. The whole court shit happened when I was 14. I am 18 now and none of y’all have tried. And it’s not like I would just visit so our relationship ain’t that deep. Nah. I’ve lived with these people. Our family was close. So like?? And all my dad had to do legally for us to possibly start talking again was go to counseling, and he hasn’t done that yet and never will. So it’s like, why am I not worth holding onto or fighting for to anyone on that side of the family? What’s wrong with me?

I’m getting sad as fuck so imma end this here and go watch some edits or smth. This isn’t some cry for help, I promise. I’m not finna take myself off the Census. And this isn’t me fishing for anything. I’m just ranting. It’s a lot easier to do online, yk? I don’t feel like I’m bothering anyone with my shitty ass feelings because you can always just skip it. Sorry for bitching on main. I’m still the strong leader of our bread slices cult💪🏾🍞

Also the beginning is NOT an attack on people waiting for Everything pt4. I just know people are waiting for it and I’m working on it, but I feel like buns and those chapters are longer so they take longer to put out.

[prvtocol]

cyberpawn​ ( V ) —

    The phrase of ‘lack a no kill policy’ got a quirk of Vale’s eyebrows and a surprised, suspicious squint up towards Bri. Vale heard through the grapevine that certain North Oak estates were more ruthless about people breaking in, like Kerry Eurodyne. For cryin’ out loud, he had robots with guns patrolling the place! People who had money would spend it on the most fuckin’ wild stuff before even thinking about putting it into the hands of others. Sorry Kerr. Just a bad financial decision since Vale could outrun those tin cans any day!

    “Defensive homicide, huh? Doesn’t sound so scary.” It’s unfortunate to say that Vale sees that as a challenge more than a warning they should heed. Fate couldn’t even kill the merc, so who’s to say some pencil pusher from the upper floor of a corpocracy could manage to take them down. Even the dumb turrets were no match for them! They were walking on air and tearin’ shit apart any day of the week if they knew it’d blow a hole wide open in someone’s overly selfish budget. Who needed multiple turret guns in their home? People with too much money, that’s who!

    “At least I know one Corpo who is my buddy! You! You aren’t a jerk who makes me wait in a lobby to talk with you! Or one of those weird corpos who won’t let people show up in their office without a full patdown and weird security details. At least Clare Bear doesn’t do that kinda shit when I show up! I usually get the ol’ stare and sneer!” 

    Gloss, perfection, personas, it all rang true to Vale’s life too! “Ooh! We do that stuff too! In my line of work we’re all makin’ our own personas! Criminals and mercs want to make names for ourselves! That’s why I’m V! V’s badass and mysterious and I leave you anticipating an asskicking! I don’t act completely the same out there. I can’t let other mercs know when I’m scared. S’bad for business. We all wear masks out in public, but it’s important to know when to lower the mask and let people in.”

Whatever a person fancies or (as some crudely say) gets them off. Who is she to point the finger when doing some of her own questionable activities with her extortionist? Still, making a hobby out of breaking and entering people’s private homes, stealing their property, and causing them stress in the process is the whole reason for the ridiculous security measures that surround her and her neighbors’ abodes. A security detail patrolling the periphery, a state-of-the-art security system, numerous bots, and continuous updates for an overpriced safety blanket that in reality, can’t keep her safe. V here proved as much, as have others who broke or more like jumped the mechanized gates. Frustrating that people cannot seem to stay in their lane.

Hearing the nickname for Clarence, her chief of security, gains a low chuckle, turning her thoughts (though she doubts that stern man would take similar amusement). “Well, the old stare and sneer is effective in its own right. And security is always watching.” She points to two security cameras hidden with the lights in the recesses of the ceiling to further make that point. “Can’t really blame us when there are mercs breaking into our homes, hm.” A small dig but Brianne is not naive; V is not as trusted in this house as they think. “And if you did show up at my office, a pat down would be conducted as is protocol. Anyone without security clearance is given that treatment. It’s not really meant to be offensive.” It’s common sense.

Imagining how this mask must provide the confident swagger they often proffer, an agreeable smile finds her. “This superhuman persona suits you very well. I can only imagine those you interact with on the streets, having to prove yourself bigger, stronger, faster. Smarter too, I bet. But finding people you can trust to remove that mask beyond immediate family, near impossible. You have your father and some good friends, I hope. Those that know your real rather than your merc name, perhaps? You could tell me about them, if you like.”

[jolalibrary]

can we kiss forever?

bucky barnes x fem! reader

summary: he wants you, he just doesn't want to admit it. [fluff, HEA] word count: 4k prompted by anon, using 'I love kissing you' + 'I just want to take care of you.' an: yes, the the title is a song

“You don’t even like him.”

He shouldn’t have let you go on the date.

The moment you’d mentioned it, he should have put his hands in your underwear and kissed away all talks of you dating someone else. Should have thrown you over his shoulder, listened to your minimal protests before he turned them all into moans.

But he didn’t.

Because he was a martyr.

He swallowed his words, his growing annoyance, and nodded when you asked if he thought it was a good idea.

Even if he likes you, Bucky Barnes honestly believes he deserves this. Even if all he thinks about is kissing you between the act of actually doing it.

Because he's been crazy about you since you first slid into the stool beside him, forcing him to engage in conversation because 'what's the problem with people wanting to be friendly these days?'.

Anyone else, he'd have ignored. But there had been something different about you, as cliche as that sounded. Something he didn't understand. That and the fact you didn't seem to care that he was staring or that he said very little for the first ten minutes.

Now, it's torturous being so close, but not quite having you.

Because if he had you, he’d cherish you. He’d love you like you’d never been loved; he'd climb literal towers to get to you, not that you'd ever need him too.

The reason he ignores all of this is very simply because he's seen what happens when people like him give in. The people they love are put in danger, like Sarah when Sam and him dealt with the Flagsmashers. He couldn't do that to you.

He'd hate himself knowing you’d never be able to walk down the street with your head held high. You’d never be able to plan ahead and enjoy normal things like dates. How your entire life would implode because of him. Even after all the good he’s done.

Things he never thought of when he slid yes or no on dating sites.

Because even with all the forgiveness he’s gained, the pardon he received, there were still many who would cross the street than walk down it with him. There's some who say shit on the internet, just because they can.

"That's your argument, I don't even like him?"

He shrugs, fighting rolling his eyes. "You said he was boring."

“Well, I like him more than I like you right now.”

“Well... fucking ouch.”

You tilt your head, grabbing his drink as you drain the bottle down your throat. “Play silly games, win silly prizes, Bucky.”

He frowns, running his hand through his hair. “What?”

“You didn’t want me, you were very clear—“

“—I don’t think that’s exactly what I sai—“

“—so I went out and… actually, that’s exactly what you said, Barnes. You said, ‘I can’t let anything bad happen to you’, and then you ghosted me for a week. Which, by the way, is still a horrendous thing to do, if we've not covered that.”

He frowns deeper.

Because he did say that. But it was in context.

He was also sure he explicitly told you he wanted you. Fuck, you are all he thinks about. Each time his phone buzzes, he wishes it was you. Hating it a bit when Sam sends him a short video of some kind.

The problem being he wants you so bad, but wanting and having are different things. And, he can’t have you. He can’t.

Even if each time he hears a certain song, he imagines you singing your own version of the lyrics. The ones you make up, that annoyingly get stuck in his head. Even if he always remembers your coffee order when he goes downstairs, to the vendor you love, that he now also loves.

“Look I didn’t come to split hair, Barnes. I came here to drink and maybe fuck—I’m sure on the former, less on the latter,” you say, swirling the bottle of beer. “But, I’m up for negotiations.”

Running his tongue over his teeth, he sighs. “Honey, you don’t get to go on a date with another man and then come here for a quick fix.”

Smirking, you sip from your own bottle.

And fuck you’re beautiful.

The glint of your smirk travelling to your eyes.

And it does something feral to him. Makes him want to dash his bottle into some distant corner and throw you over his shoulder. You know you do this to him.

He’s adamant he does something to you too.

It’s why you’re never too far from him; he’s never too far from you. The two of your orbiting, but never colliding. Not really, not fully. Just enough to keep moving, to keep spinning.

“Honey, is it? I do love that you're changing your pet name for me. But, honey, let's get one thing straight, because you could date me. But you’d rather reap the rewards of someone else fluffing me, than you biting the bullet and seeing if a date with me is as good as the sex is.”

Shrugging, you drain your bottle, slamming it down on his kitchen counter. Peeling the sheer fabric over your head, as you throw it at his feet.

“So, since you’re reaping…”

Hands moving behind your back as you undo your bra, before letting it slide down your arms.

“… reap away.”

Your smile.

That’s what first caught his eye.

Even if your mouth was moving a mile an hour as you did so, he could see it behind your words. It's not the reason he didn't ignore you, that's still unexplainable. Something he can't put his finger on, but secretly thinks deep down it's the thing he's been running from since he met you.

It made the corners of his own lips tug upwards, his heart do a double take as his throat went dry.

Then, it was your laugh.

All sweetness and light without trying. As if you weren’t weighed down by your day or the things you saw.

And then, before he could notice your curves or your legs, he saw your eyes, and he’s sure with that fleeting glance, you placed a hook in him. One which pulled him closer and closer until he learnt your name, your favourite colour and your favourite drink.

He knows you’re it.

He’s known it for a long time.

But as annoying as it is knowing it, it’s worse being in your orbit but not able to crash into you. Because he wants too.

The nights where you’re just his friend, eating takeout with him, feet on the coffee table you forced him to buy. Then there’s the nights when you’re more than friends, when you don’t care whether he wraps fingers around your neck with his flesh hand or his metal.

Now, you keep meeting his eyes through the coffee shop window. Fingers fussing with hair, jacket or your phone. He wonders if your cheeks are warm.

Wonders whether if he runs a finger over your cheek, and his lips over yours, whether you’d feel like you’re blushing from his gaze.

Because he knows he stares, he watches.

You’re beautiful, it would be silly of him not to.

You render him useless, even more so as you walk towards him, two cups in hand. His throat goes dry, his heart beating a little quicker, lips curling up into a smile as you open the door.

“You’re staring.”

“I don’t think I am,” he smirks, taking the coffee cup from your hand. “Thank you, for this.”

Rolling your eyes, you smirk. “It’s a coffee. Not an organ.”

It took you a while to buy him something. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you wanted to and he wouldn’t let you. He fought you at every turn, in the end only relinquishing to silence you.

Except it didn't.

It never did.

Your kindness showing no bounds, turning up to his with food or a lamp; a bottle or a piece of art. Something to brighten his place, not realising you were the only light it ever needed.

“You’re staring again.”

He smirks, bringing the cup to his lips. “Just thinking about the other night.”

“How I beat you at Mario Kart?”

Snorting, he nudges you. “No. How I had your back to my chest and I did that—“

His words stolen from his throat when you violently shove into him, grinning, but shaking your head.

“Oh ouch. You wounded me, the Winter Solider.”

You smirk wickedly, bringing the cup to your lips. ��Former. You were him. But, I can knee you between your thighs if you prefer? So you always remember.”

“You’re an awful woman.”

Laughing, you nudge him with your elbow. And he fights putting his arm around you, pulling you close. Not wanting to care, not wanting to mind if everyone stares as he does.

“I am. But, you continue to hang out with me all the same, Barnes. So what does that say about you?”

He smiles.

Then he swallows, before he takes a large gulp.

Because he knows it says that he’s in love with you.

You text him you aren’t going to come over anymore. You’re busy. You have plans. Even if originally you had plans with him.

He'd been thinking.

He was going to order your favourite food, maybe even get you a bottle of wine over his usual fridge full of beer. He'd have kissed you, because he could kiss you forever, and then maybe, when he was hovering between your thighs, he'd tell you. Before he silenced your questions and your 'I told you so's' with his tongue.

But you're not coming.

And you’re sorry.

Not that it matters, his stomach almost falls out of his ass the same as if you weren’t apologising. Because you’re going on another date.

Not with the same person. Not the boring one.

A different one. An interesting one as he recalls. How they're normal and nice. You'd mentioned it briefly—because he asked. Because he enjoys being tortured; he enjoys lying awake imagining what the man who is normal looks like and whether he has appendages made of metal like him.

It didn’t stop him from ringing to make sure you didn’t need him to be on duty in case. To hover in the corner—ensure he looks like his picture.

But you don’t need him. And, he’s annoyed that you are desperate to get off the phone.

So he stews.

Silently at first. Then it becomes groans and gruffs; then he becomes irritated, agitated.

And in time, when he knows you’ll likely be laughing at someone else’s jokes, Bucky feels very close to full blown jealousy, throwing on his jacket, heading to the bar to gain a buzz and be distracted.

Only to see you in the corner.

You grinning and laughing.

In the same place he often comes with you.

The place which is always the go to for the both of you. And it ignites something inside of him.

And then you laugh again.

Someone can't be that funny. Not really. Not ever.

Unless he's a comedian, but he doesn't look like your favourite comic or someone who could impersonate them. And as your laugh rings through his ears, his feet are moving.

His body charging, dashing across to you, only stopping short of you and the man you’re sat with. The one you’re smiling at, the one making you laugh.

“Outside.”

“Hey man, we’re in the middle—“

“Please. Can we... just... Outside. Now,” he directs at you, and you narrow your eyes, lifting your drink as you take a slow sip. “Fine. You, leave.”

The man, to his surprise, moves.

Rather quickly too. He knows people know his face. He also knows he’s without his gloves, and likely has a look of thunder.

But he’s surprised it works.

And then it’s just the two of you.

And you’re standing up from the bar stool, stepping down as you glare daggers into.

“Look.”

“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to come over here with an epiphany I didn’t ask for.”

Running a hand over his face, he sighs.

Because he knows you wouldn’t make this easy.

If anything, you make his life harder. It's impossible sometimes, because you see him. Always seeing through his bullshit and his issues, and not caring what's really there. Even if sometimes its trauma and nothingness.

You just make him laugh, or force him to watch a TV show or play a game. Sometimes, you curl into him, not caring how he tenses when you do, waiting until he softens, his hand or arm coming around you.

Because he can’t stop thinking about you. And when he’s with you, he can’t stop thinking about never letting you go. And yet he does, and then the cycle begins.

“Unless someone is dead, James—“

“James… wow. Not even a Barnes?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not in the mood.”

He rolls his eyes. “Look, i know, alright? I’m bang out of order. I’m rude. I’m an asshole. A fuckface. Whatever name you want to call me, I know I am. So. How about we skip to the part where you kiss me and I do that thing you like where I get on my knees—“

You land a slap on his chest, forcing the rest of his words to die in his throat. And the music silences in his mind, his eyes focusing on yours—watching how they shimmer. Not from joy. Not from wanting to laugh like they usually do.

But with hurt.

Pain.

And he does his best to keep his face blank.

To pretend he doesn’t want to burn the world ground because of that look in your eyes.

“No.”

“No?”

“One. You don’t get to kiss me again. And if I ever let you, which I won’t, please—please—understand I’m desperate.”

He tries not to look wounded.

But he is.

He’s just been knifed. Not once. Not twice.

Countless times. All stabbing him simultaneously as he struggles to breathe normally from how much it hurts.

Not that it’s real.

Never believing words could hurt, but now he knows they do. They hurt worse than bullet wounds and knife fights.

“And, most importantly, two: if you ever, ever come over here and interrupt my date, I’ll ask Ayo to show me how to do that thing with your arm, and I’ll shove it so far up your asshole, your fingers will tickle your oesophagus. Are we fucking clear?”

“Ba—“

“No,” you snap, the coldest stare spreading over your features. So unlike you. “No baby. No honey. No sweetheart. Zilch. Nada. You’re done.”

“I’m done?”

Grabbing your drink, you throw it back, glaring at him as you do. “Yes. Because I cannot do this anymore. I can’t keep hoping one day you’re going to want me like I want you. I can't keeping pretending it’s sex, and then wanting to never let go when you fall beside me and pull me close.”

Your expression shifts, softening. Your words crossing your features as they show the depth of your pain. Of your hiding.

“And I can't keep telling myself that you don’t want me because you’re a martyr and an asshole. Because it's not worth it anymore. But the truth is, Buck, I don’t want to be your age, sowing my seed with a man who thinks loving me is too much. I want an oven I hate cleaning in a house that always needs fixing and a partner to do it all with. And, since I don’t have super serum, I don’t have a century to figure it all out.”

Sighing, you grab your bag. “We can be friends, I’ll miss you otherwise. But for now, just… leave me alone. Okay?”

His hand reaches out, slowly brushing yours, a soft attempt at stopping you. “What—Baby, I’m—“

“Please?” You look at him, and all of your walls are gone. A drained, shadow of a person staring at him—pleading with eyes and your tongue. “Please… for me.”

He can’t speak, not even if he tries.

And his fingers release your forearm, heart thundering in his ears. His chest aching as the rest of him threatens to undo, falling away from himself as you turn on your heels.

Not even looking back.

Not even waving, like you always do.

And fuck.

He’s fucked up.

He’s fucked everything.

Bucky lasts three whole days.

And even that’s difficult.

He tries. He does. He busies himself, goes for a run, even heads to the gym. He considers swimming, but even if he knows he can swim with his arm, something in his mind tells him it’s weird. So he doesn’t. But he does wander.

Aimlessly walking down the sidewalk, passing your favourite coffee shop, finding himself on the street of your favourite takeout.

Then he tries to sleep.

And then he wakes, trying to do it all over again.

He considers flying to Sam’s. To busy himself there, but he can’t leave. Not when you’re mad.

So he doesn’t.

And he fights going round to make it better, wanting to respect your wishes. Wanting to make it easier and not any harder.

But everything reminds him of you, and each minute feels harder to get through as they build up.

Because like an idiot.

He told you to move closer when your lease was coming to a close. He told you that living so far across the city was foolish, when you were always round his place. He let you help him buy furniture and decorate his place, so now everything is touched by you.

And even then, you were just friends, and nothing more. Now, he’s not sure how to describe the two of you.

Because even if he hates it, he knows he more than likes you. He knows he’s in love with you, because it’s suffocating how big it all feels. And he’s also sure to fix this he’ll need to say the four letter word, which he’ll need therapy just to cough it out.

So he basks in what could be. Remembering memories of you; replaying conversations the two of you have had, both good and bad.

The problem, he finds, with this particular thought process is that it highlights how fucked it all is. How he fucked up everything.

And his feet wander down the street, his mind so full and heavy, that unbeknown to him, he finds himself outside your door.

Even when you asked for time.

He understands why you did. He can see it from your point of view, that the pretending it was all fine and the way he pushes you away to protect you. It hurt you, when all he was doing was trying to protect you.

It’s the only reason he doesn’t put his key—the one you gave him. He doesn’t want to hurt you even more.

Instead, he listens to the theme tune of your favourite sitcom. He presses his forehead against the door, half-wanting to knock and the other half just be close, until he hears your elevator chime and he sees your neighbour frowning at him.

The one who he recognises, but doesn’t know.

“I’m just…” Bucky begins, but the man shakes his head.

“I don’t care, man.”

“I mean—“

“Still really not caring.”

Usually, he’d be glad. Happy that he didn’t need to go into some lengthy explanation of why he was here. Not sure how he'd explain it.

But, his voice—and your neighbours–had alerted you. The door yanking open, eyes puffy and red staring at him, jaw tightening and tightening as you try to narrow your eyes.

Any other day, he’d make a joke that if you try to glare any harder you’ll combust.

But he knows not too. He’s learnt.

“James.”

“Honey.”

All of the fight in you, fades. He watches it, diminishing like the air from a balloon if it’s let go. And it hurts.

It hurts to see you so sad.

“I just needed to see you were okay, is all.”

You swallow, folding your arms. “Well… No. No, I’m not.”

It wounds him. Your honesty, how you say it without all your usual fight. How brutal it is when it lands.

“So, since I’m not,” you continue, your voice cracking, “What do you want?”

“I…”

The word catches on his teeth.

His tongue feeling heavy in his mouth.

“I don’t want…”

“You don’t want, what?”

Bucky places his hand on your doorway, watching you watch him. Wishing he could wipe the disappointment from your eyes—wishing he could undo time and tell you from the start.

He taps his fingers on the frame, and then he sighs. “I should just go.”

His hand dropping, your brows furrowing but he swallows and nods.

His feet turning him.

And he wants to walk away, but as soon as he’s about to. He can’t. Even if he’s hearing your door approach closing, that horrid squeak he’s been promising to fix.

“I like being around you," he says, head dipped, fingers flexing uncomfortably as he bites the inside of his cheek.

And he listens to see if the door meets the frame. It doesn’t.

Bucky licks his lips. “I like sitting with you. Even if we don’t speak. I like it when I wake up next to you.” He looks up, not wanting to see your face—not yet. “And, I did want you. Do, want you. I always have.”

He hears you sigh, softly.

“But if anything,” he says, turning, heart thumping in his throat as he flexes his fingers, “Anything ever happens to you. I couldn’t… I wouldn’t be… I just want to take care of you. And I can’t do that if I’m the reason.”

He looks up.

And your eyes are on him.

Shimmering, shining, tears hanging from your lashes as your arms remain wrapped around yourself. As if hugging yourself; as if holding yourself together.

“I’m selfish. I’ve done horrible things. But, you’re good. You’re so damn good.”

You smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shakes his head moving closer, frowning. “It’s not. It’s really not.” His fingers instinctively cupping your cheek as you stare into your eyes. “It’s just…”

“You’d rather watch me be with other people than tell me you’re scared?”

And he smirks.

Because you’re right, even if he hates it.

And he doesn’t know what to do now you’ve pointed it out.

Your hand moves from your arm, placing itself on his hip. Staring into him, wanting to kiss you, as he finds the corners of his lips tugging.

“I love kissing you.”

Smirking, a tear falls down your cheek. “I don’t think you just love kissing me.”

“No… No there’s a lot I… a lot I love about you.”

Your eyes widen, just a little.

Your cheeks rising as you smile greater, bigger.

And he moves his palm further up your cheek, your hand tightening on his hip as the other hand slides from your other arm as he moves into the space.

And it’s right. So right.

He’s not even sure why he’s been running from this, from you.

“Not today,” you say, clearing your throat as his thumb wipes your cheek. “But tomorrow, I’m going to tell you all the ways you’ve been an idiot.”

Snorting, he nods. “Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

“Do you want to come in?”

Bucky strokes your cheek, watching you curl into him.

And he just kisses you.

His mouth sliding over yours, his cool, metal fingers brushing your other cheek as he feels you hold him close. Feels your heart thudding against his chest, as he smiles against your lips, finding you do the same.

"I could kiss you forever..." he whispers, before kissing you again.

You don't say a thing, just kiss him back.

And it's enough.

He knows it's enough.

[fortuositywritings]

Collide

Part 1 Wanda x Reader

Summary: You bump into Wanda Maximoff at a grocery store. Wouldn’t be a problem if either of you were anyone else but you two were no ordinary people.

You would think having the ability to take anyone’s power would be awesome. It’s not.

With a simple touch, you could take any person with special abilities’ special powers from them. You figured this out in grade school when you high-fived one of your friends for the first time. Suddenly you could see through walls. That same year, you figured out they could take those powers back. 

A few years later you found out they could only take those powers back if they wanted them. You tried giving someone their invisibility back but they would not have it. Now you are stuck with it. You are stuck with a few others too, like walking through walls and mimicking voices. Those you got from random strangers on the street. 

Obviously, you tried to give them back. You wouldn’t take what isn’t yours, but it was an impossible task. Finding a stranger you bumped into in New York is kind of hard. 

You’ve tried passing off powers to other people but it never worked. You could only return them to the person who gave them to you. To give them back, all you had to do was touch them again and they had to want the powers back. It was that simple. 

So when you bump into Wanda Maximoff at the grocery store, things get a little complicated. 

You’ve made a friend recently who turns out to be Sokovian. Seeing as his birthday is coming up, you thought it would be cool to cook him a traditional Sokovian meal. A few searches on Google and you print out a list of what you need. 

You leave to the nearest store that would have all you need. You check off your list, heading toward the aisle of spices. You finally find the one the recipe calls for and lucky for you, it’s the last one. You reach for it but you feel someone else’s hand touching yours, reaching for the same thing. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. You look at the woman who is standing really close to you for a stranger. She has intense green eyes, you notice. She pulls her hand away. 

“It’s alright,” you say. 

“Was that the last one?” she asks, awkwardly.

“It seems so,” you confirm. “But we can ask an employee if they have more somewhere?”

You flag down an employee two aisles down and ask. They shake their head and then tell you they won’t be getting more until next week. The woman with the green eyes sighs. 

“We can split it,” you suggest. “I don’t need the whole thing. At least I don’t think so? I just need it to make a Sokovian dish that calls for it. I probably won’t be using it for anything else.”

“I don’t know. Sokovian food is delicious if I may say so. You’ll get a taste and might regret sharing this with a stranger,” she teases. 

You smile and ask, “Oh, are you Sokovian?”

She nods and you add, “Well, then I insist on sharing it with you. Maybe you can actually give me a few tips on this recipe?”

“What are you making?” she asks you. You show her the recipe on your phone and she kindly shares some of her expertise which you’re grateful for. She follows you around the store making conversation as you grab the rest of what you need. Technically, you follow her around as she suggests you other stuff to add to the recipe. 

You add a mini mason jar to your cart. You both head to pay and outside pour some of the spice into your mason jar and give her the rest of the bottle. You thank her for all the help and wish her a great day. 

Wanda gets back to the tower in a positive mood. Everyone notices and asks her what happened. She replies that she just had a nice interaction with a stranger and it made her day. 

Though her day was made, the rest of her week was hell. She doesn’t know what is wrong with her. Her powers have been failing her. She doesn’t understand. At first she thinks it’s just the more difficult things she can’t do but then she notices how no one’s thoughts appear in her head. It’s quiet. She only hears her own. 

Something was definitely wrong.

You thought you were imagining things but after guessing what your friends’ were thinking for the umpteenth time, you knew you had taken someone else’s power. 

You don’t think it’s too bad at first. Only your friends’ heavy thoughts made their way into your head. Unfortunately, some of those thoughts you can never unhear again. 

The problem comes when you go to the library for the first time with this new power. The library is hell. It’s full of people who are just thinking loudly. See in public, there are people who are thinking loudly of course, but there are more people distracted and speaking without thinking, which you never thought you would be so grateful for. 

You don’t last in the library for very long. So libraries are on your list of places to avoid. Soon, movie theaters are also on that list and then so are museums. Any place where people are meant to be quiet is where it’s loudest in your head. 

You wish you knew who you touched to get these powers. You begin to think back at everyone the past few weeks that you might have had direct contact with. A hand you shook or an arm you bumped into. You’ve always been cautious about your surroundings so these things wouldn’t happen.

Everyone you greeted at your Sokovian friend’s party you’ve greeted before. No one was new there. The Sokovian at the store!

Damn it. You never got her name or anything. Maybe you’ll encounter her at the store again. The next few days, you spend hours at the same store. People begin to think you’re an employee and you almost feel like one, knowing exactly where everything is from spending so much time there. 

You’ve even made plans with one employee to go hangout. But no green eyed Sokovian makes an appearance. 

Three weeks you have this power when you find that not only can you read people’s thoughts, but you hold things without actually touching them. It happens when you drop something in the kitchen. You reach for it to catch it before it hits the floor but it’s nowhere near your grasp. However, it never hits the floor. 

You then notice a red mist-like substance coming from your hands floating in the direction of the object. You see that it’s holding it up. After that, you start practicing with random things around your apartment. You begin with lighter things, thinking you would only be able to hold weight that you could in your actual arms, but it is not so. 

You work your way up to lifting your car in the air and in that same moment you learn you could do multiple things like lifting your car and replacing the flat tire. 

Two months with these abilities and you feel you start getting the hang of it. You still can’t go to the library. You’ve tried again but the voices are too loud. You still go to the store where you met the woman that unintentionally gifted you these powers to try and return them. She seemed like a decent person and you don’t know what she used these powers for. Maybe she needs them.

You still have yet to find her. 

Wanda hasn’t been on a mission in three months. Instead, Bruce has been poking and prodding her with needles and running countless tests trying to figure out what happened with her powers. Three weeks ago she began to go to a therapist because Steve thought it might be a mental block of some sort that she had to work through.

Though therapy was doing wonders for her, they weren’t getting her anywhere near having her powers back. Bruce’s tests weren’t helpful either. She’s been stuck in the tower for three months and her days have never felt so repetitive until now- train, go to therapy, undergo tests. Rinse and repeat. 

The media had begun to notice as well. She turns to another TV channel where the news anchor asks “Where is Wanda Maximoff?” as if she’s disappeared from the face of the earth. In a way she has.

Fortunately for her, you are watching that same channel. You are cooking dinner and have the television channel on for background noise. You hear them talking about the Avengers. They’ve never been of much interest to you, although they should be seeing as though you live in the same city and something is always going down here because of that reason.

“For those who have been living under a rock,” the new anchor starts, “Wanda Maximoff is one of the newer additions to the Avengers.”

“She’s the one with the red magic, isn’t she?” the co-anchor asks. That grabs your attention. You turn to look at the screen. “That’s right. She joined about a year ago after the fall of Sokovia.”

That had to be a coincidence, right? 

“She hasn’t been reported to be on any missions the last three months,” the reporter continues. That definitely couldn’t be a coincidence, you think, counting back the time you’ve attained these powers. 

“Here is a clip of Maximoff using her magic to save diplomats at the embassy five months ago when…” You don’t hear the rest as you watch the clip play. 

It’s the green eyed Sokovian who helped you out at the market. Your suspicions about it being her who had these powers were correct. You just didn’t think you took powers from an Avenger. Someone who definitely needs these powers to do her job and save people like the clip shows. Shit.

You smell the food you’re cooking burning. 

“Shit!”

Wanda pounds her hand on the mat. Sweat clings onto her shirt. She’s tired and out of breath. 

“Again,” Nat commands. Wanda huffs and stands up, getting back into her fighting pose. She takes a swing that the Black Widow easily dodges. Not two moves later, she hits the mat again.

“Again,” Nat repeats.

“Natasha, give the kid a break,” Steve says, watching from the side. 

“It’s okay,” Wanda assures him.

Natasha explains, “If therapy and tests aren’t working, maybe self defense will.”

Steve seems doubtful but allows it. They really need Wanda to work through whatever is blocking her from using her powers. He winces seeing Wanda hit the mat.

“Again.”

“I’ve told you for the millionth time. My name is Y/N L/N and I need to speak to Wanda Maximoff. Or any of the Avengers, really. Or even one of their assistants or something. It’s vital,” you try helplessly. 

“Unless you have clearance, I can’t let you up,” the guy at the desk says to you for what feels like the hundredth time. You’ve been coming in the past few days trying to get someone to let you see Wanda. 

“Look, it’s really important. Can’t you, like, give her a message or something?” You’re desperate at this point. He laughs. 

“Ah, yes, let me just text her real quick. ‘hey Wanda. It’s that one guy you said hello to once downstairs. There’s some girl here that needs to talk to you’,” he acts out sarcastically, which you do not find amusing. 

“Listen, buddy. If you do me this favor and get your boss or whoever can give me clearance to see her, I promise she’ll be so grateful for you helping me get to her that she’ll come and thank you herself,” you vow. 

“I can’t help you, Miss. Now please go or I’ll have to call security,” he warns.

You rub your temple in frustration. “Fine. There’s no need for that...Michael,” you read his name. “I’m going.”

You turn around as if to head for the door but then do a 180 and sprint past a security guard who shouts at you to stop. You make your way for the elevators as the security guard runs after you. You press the button for the elevators but you notice they’re nowhere near the ground floor. 

The security catches up to you and in panic, you push him away with Wanda’s powers. He goes sliding across the floor and you bolt for the stairs.

You don’t even know which floor you would find Wanda in but you assume it would be somewhere up top. You begin your ascend. You reach the fourth floor and realize you should start using the StairMaster at the gym. You hear multiple security guards quickly making their way to you. You panic and walk through the wall, not knowing what was on the other side. 

You’re in some kind of engineering lab. You don’t think anyone saw you walk through the wall, so you try to act casual and stroll through the lab trying to find an exit. Then you hear someone call you. “Hey, you.”

You ignore them and act like you didn’t hear. They tell you to stop walking, loud enough that you can’t ignore it. You turn around to see a woman in a lab coat. She asks, “You’re not allowed on this floor. Who let you up here?”

“Oh, uh. Michael sent me,” you lie. “Sorry, I’m new. I must have gotten off on the wrong floor. Maybe you could help me find my way?”

“Where are you meant to be working?” she inquires and you’re stuck not knowing anything about the Stark Tower or Avengers Tower, whatever it’s called. 

“The lab,” you say. Your vague answer obviously creates another question. “What lab?”

“They haven’t told me yet? I’m not actually working in the labs. I’m doing more secretarial duties, taking notes and scheduling stuff.”

“For whom?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at you. You can feel her catching onto you and it’s the only reason why you try this.

“For the big guy, obviously,” you say and then focus really hard trying to read her mind, hoping that a name will pop up in her head. Did Bruce get an assistant? You smile. “Bruce.”

“Well then you are way off. He’s usually working on the 87th floor,” she tells you. 

“Well, thank god there’s an elevator,” you chuckle nervously, pointing behind you. “Well, I should get going before I’m any later. You turn around confidently but as you walk away she stops you once more. You think you got caught but she says, “Elevators are that way.”

She points to the opposite way you came from. You laugh to play off your mistake, “Duh. Sorry, the lab is so big. Thanks.”

You head the right way. You speed walk to the elevators and then jog when you hear a rougher voice telling you to stop. “She’s on the fourth floor.”

You assume they spoke into their walkie, and you know you don't have much time before they catch you. You think quickly. You can’t make your way to the elevator because then obviously they’ll just stop the elevators. You don’t want to walk through a wall; the dangers of that are extreme given this is Stark Tower. You could accidentally walk into an ongoing experiment. 

You had to hide. And suddenly, you had the perfect plan. 

The security guard runs to you. He thinks you’re running for the elevator but then you turn before you get there. He sees you dive behind some clunky machine, presumably to hide behind. You clearly never have won a game of hide and seek in your life, he thinks as he goes around the machine to catch you. 

He’s left utterly confused when you aren’t there. The only trace of you are your clothes down to underwear on the floor. Four other guards make it to the floor. One asks him, “Where is she?”

He doesn’t know how to answer. “She was right here. Search the floor. She’s hiding and I think she’s naked.”

They disperse taking your clothes with them. You let out a breath of relief at not getting caught but then mentally curse that they took your clothes. You still haven’t learned how to make other things invisible yet. You never really used this power. Maybe you should start practicing.

You hustle your naked ass to the elevators, feeling incredibly exposed even though you know no one can actually see you. You press the elevator button and wait impatiently. It dings and opens. 

“The elevators!” You hear one of the guards yell. Two run your way as you step into the car. You put all your energy into staying invisible. It would be really awkward if you were suddenly exposed. You hold your breath when one of them looks in the elevator. You keep yourself in the corner furthest away from them. In their eyes, there is no one in the elevator. 

“She’s not here.” They leave and the doors close. You click the button for the 87th floor.

____________________________________________________

This will probably have 3 parts. 

[collecting-stories]

Inventory - Daryl Dixon

Request: you can write anything tbh! just something small and sweet, if you don’t mind :) (daryl anon)

A/N: This is honestly just random established relationship fluff or something.

The Walking Dead Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You weren’t entirely sure that you liked Alexandria. It felt like someone had captured the old world in a time capsule and you were viewing all the things that you had forgotten about. Shower pressure and hot water and actual running water weren’t things that you took for granted and you’d practically cried in the bathroom when the toilet flushed but all the other parts felt uncomfortable. Like clothing that didn’t fit you anymore. You weren’t Daryl, waiting with his hand on a gun for the moment everything went to shit, but you certainly weren’t about to done a cardigan and act like a soccer mom getting ready for a bake sale either. You would let Carol handle the assimilating and gossip. Or at least the former, the latter, you couldn’t escape.  

“I wouldn’t’ve pegged him as your type.” Olivia mentioned, hellbent on making inventory a gossip session.  

“What?” You looked away from the open garage door to where Olivia was stacking cans of corn and writing down their number in her composition book.  

“Daryl. I noticed you watch him a lot...is that like, you guys got a thing going on or you just looking?” She asked.  

You paused in your rearranging of cans to look back out the garage door again. Daryl was across the street talking to Aaron and Michonne and you tried to formulate an answer that made sense for Olivia and for you. She hadn’t technically asked if you were ‘together’ (that ominous word that felt so weighty when you said it to yourself) but she was definitely asking for a definition. Were you more than friends, absolutely. That wasn’t even something you needed to think about. You certainly weren’t sharing beds with your friends the way you did with Daryl. But he’d never given any definition to your togetherness and somehow, even defining it felt like such an archaic thing. Another piece of the old world pulled from the time capsule.  

“I mean...” you shrugged, “both I guess?” There was a thing, for lack of a more concrete term, but you also liked looking at him a whole lot. You’d been enjoying looking at him for a while now and sometimes on the road you’d thought, if something happened, who would you look for in a crowd. It wasn’t just that you liked the view, it was that feeling of something that anchored you into the moment, made your head a little less dizzy, made all this more bearable.  

“I guess he’s not bad looking.” Olivia laughed a little, her cheeks reddening at the thought and you wanted to agree. He most certainly was not bad looking. And you had told him so plenty of times, in the privacy of your own room. “He doesn’t seem very...” she paused, looking over at you as if she had caught herself speaking out of turn.  

Small talk and social etiquettes felt like something you’d left behind too, far too used to being direct with people. It almost felt odd for her to be so unforthcoming.  

“Friendly?” You asked. She didn’t need to say it for you to know what she was thinking. It seemed to be a consensus throughout Alexandria. The community had differing opinions about all of you but the one thing they all agreed on was Daryl’s lack of acceptable behavior. He wasn’t particularly friendly with any of them (aside from Aaron maybe) and he acted more like a caged animal than someone who was grateful for shelter and protection.  

“Uh, yeah.” Olivia nodded, pink cheeks staining darker, “I mean, I’m sure he talks to you, of course...it’s just, I’ve never found him to be particularly...warm.”  

Warm, you felt like the word echoed in your mind once she said it. You’d never really spent too much time thinking about the way you would describe Daryl, he was just, himself, and that was it. You didn’t linger on what he was, what you expected him to be. Even if you didn’t ever think of yourselves as ‘together’ you knew exactly what you were.  

You thought about offering up a defense for him, explaining that he was warm. He was being wrapped in a blanket on a cold night or feeling the sun on your shoulders in the early morning. It wasn’t something you considered often, that you felt like you needed to name, but you knew it right away. The words came on the tip of your tongue, like you’d been waiting to think them. But you didn’t get the chance.  

Daryl came up the driveway while you were staring at him and the softest of smiles graced your features as you watched him, giving a small wave. Maybe you wouldn’t have thought about it if you hadn’t been talking to Olivia but, as Daryl held your gaze the whole up the drive, you were reminded of when you might’ve categorised his behaviour as more shy than reserved. Now it felt like he held back because he chose to, deciding what parts of himself other people got to see. When you’d first known him it was more a defense mechanism than an ordinary occurrence, and he’d never been comfortable meeting your eye.  

“Did you come to help with inventory?” You teased, already hearing the grumbled response in your mind before he said it.  

“Just passing by,” he replied, glancing over to the far corner where Olivia was still sitting, notebook open in her lap. “Morning.”

You wondered if she was scrutinising the interaction. Trying to see for herself what you saw in Daryl, as if that was possible.  

“I’ll go check to make sure we’ve got all the dry foods from upstairs.” Olivia announced, standing from her spot and bumping her chair back against the sorting table. It rattled but nothing fell over and she went so quickly out of the room she looked like she was power-walking.  

“What’s a matter with her?” Daryl asked, taking your water bottle from the ground by your chair and unscrewing the cap so he could drink some.  

“She was asking about you, weren’t your ears burning?” You joked.  

He glanced down at you, unamused, before finally taking the bait, “why’s she asking?”  

“Said I stare at you all the time.”  

“So quit staring.” He capped the water bottle and set it back in its place before fiddling with different cans on the shelves, pulling them off and reading the labels.  

“Easier said then done,” you replied, grabbing your notebook off the shelf in front of you, “besides, I don’t wanna forget what you look like.”  

“Why? You going somewhere?”  

You scrunched your nose at his words and shook your head, “no, but you are right…saw you talking to Aaron.”

“Think ya watch me just ta spy on what I’m doing.”  

“I’m right though, you two are headed out?” You asked.  

“Don’t make it something it ain’t…I’ll be back in a few days time.”  

Daryl was good at coming back when he left, you knew it from experience. He’d come back when he’d left with Merle, he’d come back when he’d left to find Beth, when he went off on his own to hunt he always came back. As sure as you were that he would leave, you were just as sure he would find his way back again. It wasn’t something you had to think about or reassure yourself of but sometimes it was easier to give in to that worst case scenario that sat in the back of your mind.  

“I know,” you said it like you were promising him, “but that’s a few days without seeing you…who am I supposed to look for?”  

Daryl set down the can of beets he was looking at and walked the short distance back to you. His hand wrapped around the end of your ponytail and he gave a gentle tug, guiding your head all the way back so you were looking straight up at him. You thought it was probably a good thing Olivia wasn’t here, she’d seemed scandalised enough at his presence in the room, you could imagine all the things she’s knock over if she saw him now, one hand holding your ponytail and the other on your neck as he leaned down and kissed you.  

It was a softer kiss than the hold implied and you considered the juxtaposition of Daryl’s softness and roughness your favorite thing about him. It’d taken a while, to see the soft bits, but now you saw them all the time. How he kissed you so comfortably, like he’d always been doing it. His tongue brushing your bottom lip almost teasingly but he pulled away before you could do more, standing back up straight and dropping his hands. He gripped the back of your folding chair and you leaned against his hand, feeling them press into the skin between your shoulder blades, bare from your tank top. You kept your head tilted back, a little more comfortably though.  

“When do you leave?” You asked, half expecting him to tell you he was headed to the gate now. Your brain still felt a little dizzy from the kiss but that was a normal occurrence.  

“Tomorrow morning.” He replied, letting go of the chair to run his knuckles along your spine. “Shouldn’t be longer than a day or two.”  

There was a quieter bumping noise and a soft curse as Olivia peeked back into the doorway, a few boxes of pasta haphazardly held in her arms. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”  

“It’s alright,” you replied but truthfully you were just being nice. Because Daryl had already retracted his hand you felt goosebumps on your skin in his absence, as if your body was trying to chase the sensation of him.  

“Ya need help?” He asked, motioning to the boxes as she dropped them onto the sorting table.  

“Would you mind? I’ve got another laundry basket full of them to bring down here and I dropped like five on the staircase.” She explained, following after him to point them out.  

Daryl disappeared through the door, Olivia right behind him, and you went back to organising the latter half of the alphabetically arranged cans. Olivia tended to be more loose-lipped than her other Alexandria counterparts and you couldn’t help imagining her asking him questions, trying to dig out some part of a person under the cold exterior he’d given off while he was here. Searching for the warmth she thought was lacking. They weren’t gone long, Olivia’s chipper voice carrying down the stairs.  

Daryl came through first, laundry basket piled high and the slightest hint of a glare as his eyes met yours, as if you’d somehow put him up to the task of helping.  

“You can set them on the sorting table,” Olivia instructed, “I’ll go through them once I’m finished the canned goods.”  

Setting them down, Daryl just nodded in agreement. You stopped from saying you’d see him tonight, in case that information was somehow on a need to know basis. But he was obviously being less purposefully withdrawn than you’d thought because he took another sip from your water bottle before telling you the exact thing you’d been too reserved to say.  

“I’ll see ya tonight,” he promised, putting your water bottle back and giving your ponytail a playful tug before leaving back down the driveway.  

You watched after him until he turned the corner and was out of eyesight.  

“I can see why you like him so much…” Olivia finally said, getting your attention as you looked back at her.  

“What?” You asked, wondering if he’d said something to her that changed her mind.  

Her cheeks tinged pink again and she looked down at her notebook, “I wasn’t trying to spy or anything…just, you know, wanted to bring those boxes in.”  

You nodded, prompting her to continue.

“I saw him kissing you…” she let out an airy sigh, “I’d be staring at somebody all day if they kissed me like that.”  

[bluecookies02]

When they make you cry

pairings: Hawks x Reader, Dabi x Reader, Bakugou x Reader, Aizawa x Reader, Izuku x Reader, Tamaki x Reader

Tamaki, Bakugou and Hawks are in a female!reader perspective, the rest of them are Gender Neutral

warnings: angst to fluff

masterlist

Hawks will get cocky, laughing in your face when he sees your shocked expression.

Both of you were going at each others throats, spitting insults to one another, just your recent daily routine.

Now Hawks knew you were a tough gal, which in his head made it alright for him to strike a really painful nerve into your chest.

As you remained speechless he turned around, a winning smirk plastered on his lips.

Just as he took a few steps forward, sobs wrecked your body as you hid your face in your hands.

"I d-don't think I can take this anymore Keigo" your broken voice reached his ears.

A pang of guilt pierced his chest once he turned around to face you.

He did this. He made you cry. He completely drained your happiness out. He hurt you.

His teeth dug into his lip, his eyes stinging as tears picked at them.

At that point, he didn't give two shits about who's right and who's wrong, his arms reaching for you and wrapping themselves around your shaking form.

He held you there for a while, listening to your cries that gradually turned into soft sniffles against his chest.

"I-" He opens his mouth but his words remained stuck at his throat.

"I don't want us to end..." you mumbled, your own words throwing you into another sobbing fit.

"We won't end here kid, I've got you...shit...I'm a fucking idiot...of course we won't end sweetheart...c'mon look at me" he raised your chin up gently, looking into your red eyes.

"I'm sorry, fuck I'm sorry...not just for today, for every day before this, I-, God... don't leave kid, p-please"

You stared at his face, tears now streaming down his cheeks as his grip on you tightened.

You swallow the lump in your throat, grabbing his hands in yours.

"Something has to change Keigo...I miss you...we've been distant for months. Sometimes you don't even come home to me, do you know how that feels?"

"I know, I know, I swear... I miss you too. I'll tell you about everything I promise. Let's go home please."

You hesitantly nod, putting your heart on the line for the last time.

And now looking back, you're glad you did.

//quirk: flesh manipulation (the reader can manipulate the molecules in a person's flesh just by touching it, making them useful mid-battle to make the other heroes ready to fight again in a matter of seconds, but also making them a threat to their enemies )

If there was one thing he despised about you, it was your guts.

Hell curse him for falling in love with someone so stubborn.

To live through a relationship with Dabi meant that you had to have though skin. You had to be strong enough to bite your cheeks and endure the issues that people in regular relationships never face.

He enters your home, covered in bruises and cuts, asking for your first aid kit.

You sigh to yourself, your usual nagging and yelling never reaching his ears.

You place the first aid kit onto your bedside table, turning your back to him, tiredly walking out of the room.

"Hey-" his voice calls out to you, quiet and confused.

You close the door behind you, making your way to your couch.

One of these days it'll be the last time he walks into your home, the last time you help him clean his cuts and the last time you hear his voice.

The weight of uncertainty pulls at your chest harder with every passing day.

He chose to continue living like this, he is the one that keeps ruining his own life, it's his ambitions that are making you this miserable.

Once he patches himself up, he sits on your bed for a while. Your silance meaning one thing and one thing only. You finally realized how pointless being with him is, you finally got it through your thick skull that he's nothing special to dwell about.

Time passes by quickly, a few hours already gone yet he's still glued to the same spot, not having the strength to leave your room, too scared to face your rejection once he gets out.

He should be happy for you, you won't be hurting anymore, you'll be able to find someone better.

He slowly twists the knob, taking slow steps through your living room.

You are laying on your couch, tear stains on your face and a tissue crumbled in your hand.

His chest tightenes at the sight. You cried yourself to sleep. He wonders... how many times did you cry over him? How many times would you just lay here as he carelessly roamed the streets?

He should leave...he should spare you the pain he brings. You were the only good thing in his life and by continuing this he'll ruin you, piece by piece.

You showed nothing but kindness to him, you made him realize that some people are worth getting close to, you being a hero also making his resolves shake under his feet.

He stretched his arm out to your cheek, careful not to wake you up.

He left a soft kiss to your temple before leaving your house.

-----

You woke up to a persistent ring of your doorbell.

You felt terrible...your hair was a mess, your nose was all clogged up and your eyes burned from all the crying.

You opened your door with annoyance, mad at whoever decided to burst your sadness bubble.

"Hey doll, I would've let myself in but my hands are kinda busy"

Your boyfriend stood there with a backpack on his shoulder and a carton box in his hands.

"So...do you happen to have a room to spare for a year or two...maybe three?"

You stare in disbelief your hand covering your mouth.

"I know that me being a villain might be a setback but...I got some hair dye? I might even consider letting you fix my jigsaw face."

Your body crashed into his, the box dropping to the ground as you squeezed your arms around him.

Maybe he can make you as happy as you make him.

You knew he was rough around the edges, but you never even imagined that you would be the one his rage would be directed at.

As soon as insults came crashing your way you left the room.

You were just trying to calm him down, placing your hand on his shoulder as you urged him to stop shouting and just let it go.

His rough hands grabbed yours, throwing your hand away like you were a mere fly, his quirk burning your skin.

You tried calling out to him just for him to snap around and scream at you.

Once you reached your dorm tears freely rolled down your cheeks.

You yearned for a normal relationship, longed for some peace and quiet just for a week or two.

Yet you just couldn't let the blonde go, always hoping for some miracle to come your way and take ahold of his ego.

--------

It's around 2 am and he can't fall asleep for the hell of it.

You're not picking up his calls nor answering his texts and you've been inactive on social media for hours.

Kirishima has been urging him to go to your dorm for two hours already, spamming him massages about him not being manly enough to win you back.

It's not like he doesn't want to, he just has no idea how to. Should he get you something? Get you some food and flowers? Where the fuck can he find all these things at 2 am? Isn't that how people in movies apologize or something...

He hates when you're mad at him, he is scared shitless of actually scaring you off and pushing you away.

A knock at your door snaps you out of your thoughts and a small flame of hope warms your heart for a split second as you make your way to your door.

He's holding a gray hoodie and a pair of bento boxes.

"That's not gonna fix it Katsuki."

"I know shitty woman you didn't even give me a chance to speak!"

You're sure that that's the first time Bakugou said the word "sorry" in his whole life.

The way it rolled off his tongue was shaky but somewhat determined, his hand grabbing ahold of yours gently.

Guilt was evident on his face as he stroked the bandages covering your hands.

"It's not that bad Katsu, and I understand that it was an accident." you mumbled trying to pull from his grip so he can focus on something else.

He grabbed ahold of your wrists, bringing your palms to his lips.

"I'll work on it, I promise. It'll never happen again. I mean it." you just give a soft nod, leading him to the table.

"Good. Now let's eat, breakfast is the most important meal of the day!" you cheered, opening the bentos and stuffing your mouth with rice.

"Y/N...it's 4 am."

"Exactly, now eat, you're not gonna let me eat all of this by myself?!"

For this man, it was close to impossible to make his s/o cry.

He cherishes the relationship he has with you, making you feel special every single day at a time.

So when he sees you crying, he's confused and alarmed.

He reaches for you, trying his best to give you the comfort he thinks you need.

When you push his hands away and scream at him...Oh boy...

He's terrified.

Did he do something? Did he forget your anniversary? Your birthday? Did he eat your snack from the fridge??

You're pulling at the strands of your hair, your head buried into your knees as you sob.

He looks around, eyes widening when he sees a photo of himself and some girl kissing on the screen of your phone.

He wasn't there? He has proof! He was in a meeting! All of his colleagues could confirm that, he just needs you to listen! Please listen to him.

He's talking...blabbering...begging for you to just look at him.

As soon as you look up for a split second, he's hugging you, smothering your face in kisses as you weakly try to push him away.

Finally he leans his forehead against yours, letting out a long sigh of relief when he realizes that you're not crying anymore.

"Please Shouta, please, if you even have any respect for me, don't lie to me." you mumble out coldly, turning your head from him.

"Y/N, I would never, ever do that to you! Never! I love you so much, please, you have to know that, you do know that!"

You're too stubborn, but he calls all of his colleges one by one, putting them on speaker for you, asking about the time of the meeting or details of the meeting and they all have the same answer.

So now, your throat is dry and there's a lump in your throat, guilt eating at you as you try to apologize.

He couldn't give two shits about any of that, all he has to know is that you're okay and that you're still his.

He's not letting you go for the rest of the day, you're wrapped under the blankets with him as he makes sure you never believe the bullshit you see online.

"Sweetheart if I ever cheat on you, that's the day I cut my own dick off and bleed to death."

It makes you giggle and then laugh hysterically and he's just looking at you with the biggest heart eyes 🥺

Izuku would never do anything to make you cry.

He pays attention to every single detail in your relationship and he especially pays attention to your feelings.

What he is really bad at, is taking care of himself.

He doesn't take in consideration how you feel when he comes home all stitched up and tired, or how he stays up late to train and push himself further than his body can take.

However one day, he is exhausted from his training and he barely has any strength left. His phone rings and he is rushing out the door, already panting.

You don't reach him in time to stop him, so here you are, hours later next to his hospital bed.

The villain wasn't too powerful, but his state caused him to pass out in the middle of the bettle field.

As soon as he wakes up, you're yelling at him, but at the same time sobbing against his chest.

"I can't just stand here and watch you hurt yourself Zuku... I can't, I can't, I can't....O-one of these days you're just gonna slip away from my hands, I can't. Please" You're grip on him softens as you loose the strength in your hands.

His arms wrap themselves around you, trying his best not to flinch as you rub against his bandages.

His eyes are watering, realization dawning on him as he holds your tired body against him.

You're right...He sees the state of himself after a lowlife villain with a pathetic quirk sent him into the hospital. He doesn't even want to think about what would've happened if there was someone much stronger out there.

"Hey Y/N...I-...I might take a week off, to rest yeah? Does that sound good?"

You nod, wiping away the tears as you sniffle.

"And you won't be training at night anymore. And you won't be staying up late!" you scold as he rubs your cheeks.

"I won't. I promise." he places a kiss at your temple, pulling you onto the hospital bed next to him.

"Let's sleep for a bit yeah? I might owe you a few hours..."

You're crying, he's crying.

He's down on one knee and he's stuttering, his hands shaking as he hears you cry out a happy "Yes".

He barely gets the ring on your finger, burying his head into your neck as soon as he gets to his feet.

You always thought that he was going to propose to you at home, maybe some homecooked dinner with roses and candles. You didn't mind that option either.

You were surprised that he even suggested a walk in the park.

I mean, it was a really small park with little to no people in the area but it was beautiful nonetheless.

You're all giddy and happy as he takes your hand in his, his eyes always glancing at the ring on your finger.

Once you spot an ice cream stand you leap in happiness, rushing to get ice cream for the both of you.

The lady selling it smiles brightly at you.

"Is that the lucky guy?" you nod grabbing your icecream as Tamaki hides behind you.

"Good job sweetheart, you're making this lady very happy, I can feel it in my old bones" you laugh at her remark as you nudge Tamaki forward.

She hands him his ice cream and winks at him.

He's blushing and thanking the lady before running off to an empty bench.

”He’s a lil’ shy but he's got the spirit” you say to the lady as you rush off to get him.

You take the time to really study the ring, the beautiful blue crystal shining in the sun.

”I...I hope you l-like it...Nejire helped me out. Uhm I probably shouldn't have said that...S-she-"

"I like it Tama...I love it actually" you place a gentle kiss just at the corner of his lips, his hands grabbing your cheeks and kissing you deeply in return.

His cheeks are warm and his lips are slow against yours but you melt against him, letting him place you in his lap.

"Oh my God, I have a fiancé, oh my God, I have to call Mirio and tell him you said yes. You said yes, right?"

You laugh as you shake your head at him, playing with his hair as he fumbles with his phone.

All of the pictures are from the original anime/manga (please do correct me if I'm wrong in the comments below)

The Tamaki one has no angst in it because I had to heal from all of the emotional rollercosters.

___________

requests:closed

commissions:open

Ko-Fi | Patreon 

[cuti-romeros]

An anon requested carraville + stress—I had the prompt swirling around in my head for a little while, then Man United lost 4-0 and this was born

Set somewhere during Gary’s playing days after a bad defeat, established carraville because poor Gary deserves some comfort 🥺

-

He is completely, utterly numb. Mind. Body. Everything. He walks into the changing room like a robot, ripping off shin pads and boots and his kit. It’s red just like everything here is red, red red red, etched in his heart and body and soul.

Red like his blood. They’ll be calling for it, he thinks absently. Gary Neville, the one who gave it away. The thought is startling enough that it drags him out of numbness for a moment.

Only a moment. The shower, normally a stinging pressure, barely registers. He turns the knob as hot as it’ll go and stands beneath the water, lets it steam and turn him red, red, red, running in little rivulets across his body. There’s a speck of dirt on his knee that persists, and he’s halfway to ripping it off his skin when the water finally washes it away.

Out of the shower. In his bag there are two shirts, one black and one red. He stuffs the red one back into a corner, can’t imagine ever wearing the color again, and slips into the black. Feels appropriate, somehow. Like mourning.

Someone calls his name. They sound annoyed, like maybe it’s the third or fourth time, but his ears are hardly working, everything muted and muffled like he’s hearing it through a very thick wall.

“Gary!”

Any other day, he’d stop, turn around, talk to them. Try to find some words of wisdom, or even just a pat on the back and a commiserating smile. He’s the captain, after all. Captains don’t get to break.

Today he has.

Speaking to him won’t reassure anyone right now, and there are no words, anyway, only shards of glass stuck in his throat. So he keeps walking, lets their voice fade behind the changing room door.

No one stops him on his way to the car, and through the numbness he’s glad. The thought of someone offering him comfort now—a pitying hug, a desperate it wasn’t your fault, a hopeful it’s okay we move on—twists his stomach into something sick.

His seatbelt clicks, and the tears come. It’s hard to stop them, once they start, and he just sits there in the parking lot, sobbing until his eyes are red, red, red in the rearview mirror.

When he’s gathered himself enough that the road isn’t a blurry mess before him, he drives.

The soaring stadium fades away into the gray, well-worn streets of Manchester, a home he normally feels as deep as his bones. Today it’s all but suffocating, dark and tight, the red banners hanging above every other doorway a stark reminder of how these streets dreamed. He killed those dreams, tonight.

It’s a vicious thought, one he loops over and over in his mind like pressing on a fresh wound.

Many of the banners will be down by tomorrow, maybe the ones with his name shredded and burned. His mum will cry when she sees it, when she hears the abuse he’s sure to face. That hurts more than anything.

He drives on autopilot, barely conscious of the road. By the time he pulls the key from the ignition to figure out where he’s ended up, over an hour has passed and he’s most definitely not at his house. It’s a different doorway that greets him, deep maroon instead of slate gray, surrounded by browning shrubs barely clinging onto life.

Despite himself, he cracks a threadbare smile. Jamie has always been shit at gardening.

He tries to be surprised that driving on instinct, barely one eye on the road, led him here. It’s hard to be. The thought of seeing anyone right now hurts, but so does the thought of sitting on his couch alone with a bottle in hand, and he’s knocking faintly on the door before he has time to change his mind.

The door swings open, and Jamie stands before him just seconds later. He’s in gray sweatpants and a white shirt, not a fleck of red anywhere in sight, and Gary is absurdly grateful. He opens his mouth, tries to come up with something, anything, to explain why he’s here or what he needs, but comes up empty. There’s nothing.

But this is Jamie, his rival, his mate—his soulmate, he thinks sometimes in the privacy of his own head, deep in the middle of the night when no one has to know. Jamie just opens the door wider and lets him in without a word.

They don’t speak for a long time. Gary takes a seat on the couch he knows better than his own, a lumpy green monstrosity Jamie’s had since they first met. It’s seen them through hard times before, and Gary lets the familiarity of it wash through him, wonders if the ratty thing has got any of that healing touch left.

Jamie brings him tea, sweetened with honey and sharpened with lemon. His hands curl around the yellow mug, very pointedly not one of Jamie’s innumerable liverbird-emblazoned red ones, and he hopes Jamie can hear his thank you without the words. Such a small thing, but he knows it’s an intentional gesture because this is Jamie, who knows him better than anyone and thinks about little details just like that.

The telly is on, Gary notices as he takes another sip. Cartoon reruns, muted and grainy, volume turned up just enough to provide a steady hum in the background. The significance of that, in the house of the man who watches more football than anyone he’s ever met, isn’t lost on him.

Jamie returns with a mug of his own—plain white, chipped at the handle from being knocked off a table years ago while their hands were being put to better use—and takes a seat next to him. He’s close enough that Gary can feel his presence, and the perpetual warmth Jamie radiates like a furnace is the only comfort he allows himself. It would be easy to collapse into those shoulders, lean on them in the way he’s missed being able to this season, but knows he’ll be gone if he does. Right to pieces, a bawling, sniveling mess the way he only lets himself be in front of Jamie, and he can’t afford to do that right now.

Minutes pass. The silence is mostly comfortable, punctuated here and there by sips of tea and the sounds of cartoon characters running into each other on screen.

His phone rings. The shrill of it pierces the quiet like an arrow, and he jumps nearly off the sofa, cursing.

“Fuck—” he fumbles with it, fingers clumsy, searching for the off button. He doesn’t bother looking at the caller ID. The only person he’d even consider speaking to right now is sitting in this room.

“Here.” Jamie plucks the phone out of his hand, powers it off, and smoothly sets it face down on the table. “Forget about that.”

While he knows Jamie means the phone call, the word tumbles out anyway. “Can’t.” A small, broken thing, half buried in a sob he swallows away.

Jamie watches him with no trace of pity—and that’s why he came here of all places, isn’t it? Jamie’s the only one who might understand, who might be able to keep him company tonight without tripping one of the seventy-nine fuses all tangled up inside him.

But for all the lack of pity, Jamie’s eyes are so so sad, and suddenly Gary can’t do it.

“I’m sorry.” He looks away. “I shouldn’t have—I should—”

What right does he have to sit here on Jamie’s couch, looking pitiful and crying himself a river? Jamie who hates United with every single part of his red, red, wrong shade of red heart, who should be out on the town with his mates celebrating their loss tonight, who has his own problems and his own responsibilities and his own club to deal with, who is the strongest and toughest person Gary has ever met, who has never lifted a Premier League and maybe never will but has still never once thrown his success back in his face. What right does he have, to come here and complain after one bad defeat, wallowing like a child?

He feels sick.

“I should go,” he says, standing up.

Jamie blinks, expression frozen like he’s been slapped. Then it relaxes into something—tender, almost, and Gary’s traitorous heart skips a beat.

“Gary, lad,” Jamie says quietly, and his voice is only a little gentle. Gary could drown in the familiar rumble, rough words woven with so much affection. “You already did the hard part, drove all this way. Just come here.”

It wasn’t really that far of a drive, given that both of them regularly travel several hours a day for away matches, but that doesn’t matter. Gary hears come here and he does, can’t not when it’s Jamie looking at him like that, firm and steady. Like a drowning man to an anchor, a dying man to a priest, he goes.

And then Jamie’s arms are around him and it’s nice, so nice, to just close his eyes and sink into them. Gary lets his weight sag, lets the burden come off his shoulders for just a moment, and it’s so unbearably liberating that he has to push away.

Because Jamie shouldn’t have to shoulder these burdens. Jamie might be with him but he’s still Scouse, Liverpool through and through, and the only thing he asked for back when they first decided to give this thing a try was to keep the football on the pitch. United won the League that year, and Liverpool barely scraped their way to the end of the season—the promise came easy then. It isn’t fair to go back on that now.

Except then Jamie says, “Shh, shh, it’s okay”, tightening his arms, and Gary doesn’t have it in him to fight this anymore.

He lets go of the reigns, and sobs.

[makeste]

BnHA 326: What’s up Kids, It’s Me, Your Old Pal Stain

Previously on BnHA: Ochako shamed the U.A. Clown Mob into letting Deku go back inside his own fucking school by giving them an hour-long speech about how not to be humongous dickheads. Kouta and Gigantic Fox Lady saved the manga by being the only ones brave enough to give Deku a hug. Shouto was all “man, all this togetherness sure does remind me of that promise you made that we would handle Touya together which you immediately bailed on, doesn’t it, Dad.” Aizawa was all, “for the one and a half people out there who thought that my losing an eye and a leg might actually make me less sexy, I’m very happy to prove you wrong.” All Might was all, “[standing outside the U.A. fortress alone in the rain talking to someone or something??].” Like seriously, what was up with that though.

Today on BnHA: All Might is all “here I am in Kamino having a belated mid-life crisis because Deku abandoned me and I’m a terrible mentor and everything sucks and I hate myself.” Stain is all, “don’t make me come over there and give you a ten page speech about why you’re still the goat while menacingly holding you at swordpoint the entire time” because idk if you knew this guys, but Stain is pretty crazy actually. Anyway so he does that, and then All Might gets all emotional, and then the lady from chapter 92 shows up and gives All Might’s statue an encouraging pep talk, and then Horikoshi is all “and it even stopped raining lol can you believe this shit I’m not even a little bit subtle,” and he really isn’t. But I still got emotional anyway, because seeing people reassure All Might that everything he’s struggled for his entire life hasn’t been in vain just got to me okay. Horikoshi knows I am weak to the All Might feels and he just goes for the jugular every time, that bastard.

lmao. “in the neverending downpour, All Might is...” yeah, thank you, glad we’re getting right to that then

“All Might is driving 95 mph in his busted ass car in the pouring rain, is what he’s doing.” huh

so basically a day or two after his adopted child refused to accept the handmade bento that he packed with love, my man is out here acting like he’s got nothing to live for anymore. this sure bodes well for certain prophecies on which the clock is still ominously ticking down

his fucking face though omg. is it weird that I’m kind of hoping more people ambush him just because I think it’d be funny to see them get their asses kicked like the last bunch

(ETA: or maybe he will just stand there openly not giving a fuck and basically daring them to stab him!! get it together please All Might.)

side note, “anti-hero supporters” is such a strange way of saying “people who hate heroes”, which I’m assuming is what they actually wanted to say?? this makes it sound like it’s a group that really loves antiheroes. “these Hannibal stans have been a real menace lately. time to go deal with them”

ha ha ha, fucking ouch

are you really gonna do it Horikoshi you bastard. are you really going to let that be the final encounter between the two characters whose relationship you once described as the vertical axis of the entire fucking story. are you really gonna?? huh??

huh

you’re telling me you were driving 112 mph and you still didn’t get there in time. you’re losing your touch old man. lol Todo’s ice is almost fully melted already, how late were you

(ETA: so apparently this is taking place after the end of chapter 325, meaning he went to U.A., hung out for a bit, saw the kids come back with his bedraggled half-dead protégé in tow, watched as they shamed the civilians into some long-overdue character development, and then was all “welp, time to go argue with the hero-hating faction or something because I’m feeling useless.” and Edge just let him go, just like that. though to be fair I have to imagine it’s pretty hard to say no to All Fucking Might.)

also belated lol at the fact that the kids were all “yeahhhhhhh we are definitely not gonna touch that thing, let’s just leave it here, he doesn’t need it anyway.” probably the right call to make since they couldn’t get a hazmat team on such short notice

fuck. ha ha ha fucking ouch part two

All Might please put that thing down before you get gangrene. also yeah, you dropped the ball, good for you to acknowledge it. nobody’s perfect and you did your best. but yeah you could have handled a lot of things completely differently. but I still love you

is Horikoshi really putting this flashback here. are you serious. what kind of fucking sadist

look, I swear I’m not one of those people that runs up and down the street shouting “DEATH FLAG!!” at every third panel lol. but this shit screamed Death Flag when we originally got it, and it’s screaming DEATH FLAG!!! even more now. like with the capital letters and exclamation marks and all. and that’s just a fact. I don’t like it but that’s how it is

ffkdjslk

“DID YOU READ THE SIGN??!” Horikoshi asks while zooming in maniacally because he thinks we’re blind or something. lol what

-- though actually, it only just occurred to me that this sign is actually written in English. I never really paid attention up until now and had been assuming it was written in Japanese and translated by the scanlators, but the writing here is clearly part of the original image. anyway so maybe that’s why he’s zooming in?? just to make sure everybody pays attention lol

okay fuck this

see, this is the whole problem right here. once again All Might is all on his own. Deku’s self-destructive angst spiral was fortunately brought to a grinding halt because he actually has support from his friends and family and teachers and classmates. but All Might never had that same kind of support, and it’s made all the difference between the two of them, and not in a good way. Katsuki wasn’t wrong when he said All Might and Deku were both cut from the same cloth. but now when it’s All Might’s turn to go all “I WALK A LONELY ROAD~~” once again, there’s nobody in sight

just, after forty plus years of him carrying this torch, I just wish someone would finally come along to let him know he doesn’t have to. all those things that he wanted to say to Deku are also things that he needs and deserves to hear himself. Aizawa was making a little progress there, but now he’s got his sad zombie cloud boyfriend situation to deal with, and we can’t expect him and his perfect hair to solve all our problems. someone else has gotta step up

oh my god

“you rang?” never mind I take it all back sob

omg why am I laughing. shit

this man truly has the best PR game in the series. we were truly convinced he was gonna suddenly become a good guy and defend All Might against the other villains or some nonsense. as if this wasn’t the same man who decided on a whim that Iida Tensei deserved to be paralyzed, and that his fifteen-year-old brother deserved to die for daring to be upset about it

lol even All Might is all “I genuinely never saw this coming” lmao

just want to say, for the record, I have always harbored a very sensible hatred toward Stain. feeling very vindicated right now. good job Past Me

adsfklwkfsdwgkj

ffffwefjslkg. ghsdlkg. dsfkkkslkjldwkjrg

STAIN: heard you talking shit old man

ME: smh that’s what I thought you’d say you dumb fucking Stain

STAIN: how dare you talk about All Might that way

ME: gljfljgk

(ETA: in hindsight I have no idea how I didn’t clue in sooner that he didn’t recognize him -- or, well, ~didn’t recognize~ him, to be more accurate lol. I think it was the whole “is that a slight against the heroes?” thing that threw me. Viz’s translation makes it much clearer that he’s offended on behalf of All Might specifically, not heroes in general. anyways.)

sob. so All Might is all “yeah I don’t blame you for not recognizing me in this sweet leather jacket”

good thing he still knows how to do this party trick

A+ reflexes on Stain’s part presumably pulling the sword back a few inches to keep this dumbass from impaling himself with his whole pufferfish routine. can you imagine if that was the gruesome death Nighteye foresaw. and he was just too embarrassed to say anything

lol anyways guess I was wrong about Stain everyone

way to fucking go, Past Me. you really biffed this one

oh wait

Stain sure is one wacky rollercoaster ride

oh fuck me lol I forgot how much I did not miss this

(ETA: “this here is the sacred ground where All Might gave up the last of his power and turned into a shriveled old man!! please ignore the part where I admit to knowing all about that, and yet pretend not to recognize said man when he’s standing two feet in front of me.”)

Past Me, I know we’ve had our ups and downs these past ninety seconds, but I’m really starting to think you were on to something. this dude has always been kind of insufferable. always acting like his high horse is a fucking giraffe when it’s actually a Shetland pony

dammit now he’s got All Might going off on a depressed monologue

oh my god my heart

shit

why the fuck does that hit so hard. he became a hero because he couldn’t bear to just sit back and let bad things happen to people who didn’t deserve it. I mean that’s basically the same as every hero ever, right? so why does it still hit so fucking hard every single time though. what is it about seeing someone so determined to stand up for other people and fight on their behalf. it just never loses its impact no matter how many times I see that determination mirrored in so many of my favorite characters

“I wanted to make the world a better place.” omg. but you did, though. like seriously, I feel like people are always dogging on him for not being 100% perfect, and fandom really doesn’t give him enough credit for everything he still managed to accomplish. this man came of age at a time when Japan was by all accounts a total shitshow, and singlehandedly managed to bring about an era of peace that lasted for four fucking decades. can you imagine having peace for that long?? that’s longer than I’ve been alive. shit

and he gave people hope. he inspired them and protected them and made them feel safe. and no, he couldn’t save everyone, because he’s only one fucking dude (and also because the whole time AFO was also out there desperately working to undermine him so that he could keep preaching his narrative of “heroes are bad actually”). but you know what he did do, is inspire multiple new generations of heroes who, if they can all manage to work together, will finally be able to accomplish everything he never could

so yeah. forty years of peace, and inspired the “that’s how we all became the greatest heroes” generation -- that’s a fucking win in my book. talk about having a net positive impact on the world. lol anyways now I’m all fired up and ready to fight anyone who tries to talk any shit about you, All Might

“but what if I talk shit about myself” okay listen up All Might I’m gonna need you to try just a little bit harder to work with me here okay. please calm down and stop blaming yourself for every single bad thing that’s ever happened in the world. do you remember that time Bakugou was blaming himself for Kamino, and you gave him a hug and told him it wasn’t his fault, and that he was only a boy, and that even though he was strong, even strong people can struggle with the burdens they place on themselves, and that you were sorry for not seeing that earlier? do you remember all of that? that’s what I want someone to tell you too, dammit. anyway please stop breaking my heart please and thanks

wtf

are you dead All Might

um

I don’t even have the slightest idea what’s happening lol

oh snap did he grab him so they could hide??

hold the fucking phone. don’t tell me this person in the background with the umbrella is here to actually do something decent??

oh my godddd

and here come the feels. oh boy. okay don’t mind me, I’m just gonna sit here sobbing over this fictional lady and her simple act of kindness in this weekly shounen manga that I care about way too much

FUCKING DAMMIT AND HERE’S A SECOND HELPING

DON’T MIND ME, I’M JUST GETTING DISPROPORTIONATELY EMOTIONAL OVER THIS WOMAN’S DETERMINATION TO HONOR A MAN WHO SACRIFICED EVERYTHING TO SAVE HER AND COUNTLESS OTHERS. I’M JUST HAVING SOME FEELS OVER HERE ABOUT HER HEARTFELT, DOESN’T-EVEN-KNOW-ANYONE-ELSE-IS-WATCHING FEELINGS OF GRATITUDE THAT COMPELLED HER TO COME OUT HERE AND MAKE THIS SMALL BUT POWERFUL GESTURE. I’M JUST OUT HERE GETTING ALL PROFOUNDLY WORKED UP ABOUT STATUE MAINTENANCE AND THE HUMAN RACE. NEVER MIND. JUST IGNORE ME AND CARRY ON

holy shit. I was not even remotely prepared. you can’t just do that to me. you can’t just leave all these death flags on my lawn and then suddenly shift gears to show me the best of humanity in a chapter where I was expecting the worst. that fucks a person up lol

OH ARE WE STILL GOING

my heart. you see that, All Might. your legacy is so much more powerful and meaningful than you think

...has. has Stain actually been giving All Might a pep talk this entire time

I give up lol. this dude is a fucking enigma

YAYYY

it may just be a metaphor panel, but I’ll take it lol. I missed them. nice to see the traffic light trio front and off-center. I know the whole “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes” thing had left some questioning whether certain characters would continue to play a central role in the narrative, and hopefully this will help to ease those concerns just a bit

anyway, so idk if it’s getting a bit chilly down there in hell, but damned if Stain didn’t just give an actual decent fucking speech

I have to say, earlier when I was whining about All Might not having a support squad, I really was not expecting Stain to be the one to come over and pat his head and reassure him that he made the world a better place

-- okay LISTEN

YOU CAN’T JUST COME INTO MY HOUSE AND HIT ME WITH THOSE ALL MIGHT TEARS AGAIN GODDAMMIT THIS ISN’T FAIR. my god. first 317 and now this

holy fucking shit

“I’m just gonna pretend like I haven’t been stalking him for two days and didn’t see the entire Deku bentogate thing go down, and then I’ll give him the whole big speech that I rehearsed, and then I’ll turn around and be all ‘BUT IF YOU’RE A TRUE HERO’, and then I’ll toss him the super-secret AFO wifi password that I stole from Tartarus. god I’m such a badass. fucking give myself chills”

so basically what you’re telling me is that this whole time my “what’s up kids” characterization of Stain from this shitpost has actually been 100% accurate. just want to make sure I’m understanding this right. okay then

“and then I’ll dramatically spin around and be all NOW COME KILL ME BITCH”

it must be so much fun to write Stain. drawing this coked-out maniac who talks like a chatbot that was trained to speak by reading Alan Moore monologues. that must be a trip

anyway so All Might is still crying, the awesome lady from chapter 92 is admiring her handiwork totally oblivious to the batshit insanity going on fifty meters to her right, and it’s finally stopped raining lol

“THE RAIN WAS A METAPHOR YOU SEE” yes, yes, we got it lol. thanks for that Horikoshi. don’t think we needed any help putting the pieces together on that one but I appreciate the effort

so that’s the end! and as I mentioned in another post, I had the count off by one chapter, but next week should be cliffhanger week! so break out your U.A. Traitor bingo cards, friends and fiends. either that or something else happens that I’m completely not expecting at all. which, based on my success rate with Stain predictions, I’d say is more than likely lol

mmm but anyway, so now that the Hug Deku 2021 campaign has finally come to an end, what’s it gonna take to get a hug for my struggling bento-preparing jacket-rocking world-weary death-flag-waving husband who is the worthiest man to ever live and deserves the fucking world, goddammit

[beann-e]

“ honestly Suna sometimes it feels like your just sitting there — calculating — thinking of ways that you can piss me off” you let out in a huff of anger as you slammed your hand onto the arm rest placed in the middle of the car. Voice loud enough to be heard from a mile away and then some “ And then you don’t even fucking care “

“ I’m sorry you feel that way “

“ seriously ? seriously Suna “

“ oh I’m sorry would you like me to say it jokingly? “

The silence that towered over the both of you was tall and it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon “ WELL WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY “ his hand came up to run down his face as he sighed

“ look I'm sorry baby but — “

“ but nothing — I'm tired Rin—I'm tired of you screwing with me“ you groaned “ honestly at this point just fuck off “

he moved to pull the keys from the car unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door as your jaw hung open “ what the fuck Suna — “

“ I'm fucking off you ungrateful bit—“

“ you asshole — all of a sudden you take everything literal right ?? huh only when you want to right “

“ y’know what— no you fuck off —ok y/n “

“ see that’s what I'm talking about “

“ honestly I doubt you even know what you were talking about in the first place “

your steps quickened as you followed after the male who stopped at your front door imputing the code and opening your house door “ This is what I mean by you keep fucking with me Suna “

“ oh “ he moved to sit down on the couch arms flung behind it and legs spread wide out in front of him. “ is it really— because , the 40 minute argument in the car about your best friend hitting on me didn’t quite make that clear “ he scoffed shaking his head along with it “ your shitty reasoning must of gotten lost on one of the many streets of Japan y/n “

His eyes glowing body perking up with his next sentence “ yknow what how about you go find it hmm then we can have this little talk sometime later -- preferably when I'm sleeping id hate to be awake for another one of your hellish complaints babe.”

your anger was only growing as the argument continued “ you fucking douchebag I bet you don’t even know why I'm pissed off “

He let out a small sigh of a laugh his legs shaking and hitting each other in a wave before they resumed their earlier position “ I don’t“

“ and you don’t care either do you “

“ I don’t “

Your heart broke for the first time ever in your relationship with the stoic male after hearing his words and tone. In all the time you and your boyfriend had been together you two never argued about his lack of emotion or care.

It never bothered you

It never affected you

until it did

4 hours ago

You smiled up at the taller male as his mouth continued to run while talking to the rest of his volleyball team. This was the first time you’d ever seen him talk for more than 5 minutes with anything other then yeah’s and small mhmms.

The both of you had been invited to a class reunion and you only decided to go because of his new teams constant nagging

Suna had been telling you all week to find something else to do and that you didn’t have to go with him. That it would be too boring and long and that you would be better off having fun without him.

Of course you put up a fight but, ultimately lost and decided to hang out by yourself for the earlier half of the day spending last weeks paycheck on this weeks shopping spree

it felt nice to treat yourself but you couldn’t help but want to treat your boyfriend too. The thought of him being bored alone plagued your mind and you had to get it out.

The only way to do that was to go to the reunion.

Now how you imagined it would go is you show up in your fancy new dress surprising him smile a bit , talk up some of the host and sneak your way in and then mingle and go home and cuddle and kiss your boyfriend all night

funny thing is somewhere in that prewritten script you had created you didn’t realize imagination is not always reality.

The sight of your boyfriend leaning against a wall with a glass in his hand and his other on the string of your best friends dress had you reeling in the disgust that you wanted to spill so badly on the floor right now

All you’d done was go to the restroom but now you sat with your eyes widening while you watched his eyebrows come together in annoyance with the string that wouldn’t come undone.

Your best friend faced away from him back to his chest and a small smile on her face. Cheeks heated from his touch and in that moment you cursed her for having a look on her face that made it visible how much she enjoyed his warmth. You wished she didn’t make it so obvious how the closeness to your boyfriend was making her feel

how it was encouraging her

Your heart broke when you seen Suna finally relax and blow air out of his cheeks before nodding softly almost thanking the gods that he figured it out and it was over

Your feet moving before you could even process what to say to either of them.

“ y-y/—“

your hand came in contact with your best friends face before she could even finish the loud slap echoing through the room as everyone turned to find the source of the noise

Eyebrows raising when they noticed it was not only a slap but a full on one sided battle between you and the girl who everyone seen as nice and quiet during your school years

They never knew of the undercover bitch that was lurking behind the surface. They’d never see the way she was smirking as she took every hit given to her in stride. Your boyfriends hands wrapping around your torso as he looked down and seen that you were hovering over her ripping her to bits

You never letting go of the grip your thighs held around her own as she whispered to where only you could hear “ aw poor y/n’s defending someone that doesn’t even want em—gonna go to jail for someone so unloyal huh “

Your eyes lit up with pure hatred as the security made their way over to you reaching to take you from Sunas hold and lessening your grip on the woman beneath you

“ sir we need you to let her go “

“ don’t touch me until you actually make it all the way to police academy you fucking lowlife. “ you spit out “ how the hell do you only make it to security much less high school reunion security “

“ the hell do you know — you don’t even know how hard police academy is asshole “

“ ah I bet your kids’ll be real proud “ your eyes squinted at his name tag “ todd — you kiss your wife with that mouth “

you laughed eyes rolling from him to suna “ or are you like this asshole and kiss your mistress with it instead ? huh toodles ? “

“ ha — ‘m gonna have fun with you--ya little prick. sir — let ‘em go or else i’ll pull out the big guns — they snuck in here and now their disrespecting an officer “

“ big guns “ your laugh circulated through the room “ ‘k sure let me stop before I get pepper sprayed “

“ my hands already on the trigger you lil bitc— “

“ hey “ sunas voice growled behind you “ watch who the fuck your talking to toodles“

“ just— get—get the fuck off dude I didn’t go to police academy so I could avoid this — their full on disrespecting me come on man get off“ your face scrunched up in annoyance as you saw the security look like they were about to cry

“ well I mean — “ he sighed “ it’s not like your a real officer right“ suna sighed out as he began to bite his lip in worry “ I mean we can let this slide right ? “ he nodded looking towards the males name badge “ uh toodles“

He coughed “ todd — I mean todd “

“ I’m sorry but, even if I could “ his gaze dead set on you “ which I really don’t want to — seeing as though they disrespected me “

His voice sounding proud as he continued “ and I'll have you know I'm security guard of the mouth asshole “

“ oh whoop dee fucking do Tinkerbelle ”

“ y-fucking-/n “ you could feel the way Suna was seething above you breath hot and you could tell his face was made up in a snarl “ if you don't shut the fuck up I swear on Atsumu’s unwashed boxers ill leave your ass prison letters starting tonight “

“ see —— sir I'm trying “ he sighed “ I really am trying to let this go but — “

“ their with me — “

“sure “ he scoffed “ I'll need to see some relations or — “

“ their my s/—their my plus one “ his eyes moved to look at everyone surrounding you guys then back to the position he now held you in before finally dropping you to the floor. Your heart dropping and ears tuning everything out from that point on.

Everything on mute until you got in the car and were finally met with his low voice as he buckled you in and walked to his side turning the car on “ y/n “

You turned to look out the window “ y/n that — “

His voice was so hard but so weak “ y/n that was so fucking embarrassing “ Your body shivered at his words

“ having to watch my fucking s/o almost get fucking arrested “

His hands tightened their grip on the wheel “ then turning around and having to talk you out of it in front of our whole graduating class “

his voice went deadpanned as he swerved a bit on the road mixing lanes “ and — and my team — oh fuck my team “

he started to breathe a bit heavier as you began to feel bad hearing the sadness in his voice. His body shifting in his seat “ all so you could “

he laughed a bit at the situation “ all so you could take your ugly ass insecurities out on your friend ? “

he scoffed looking from you to the road and back to you “ when did you two even stop being friends huh ? did I miss that or ?? do friends just go out and leave bruises on each other or is that something new? What-- is it like a new TikTok trend -- a fashion statement huh ?? the fuck is it because, I'm not a friend person so maybe you know something I don’t “

He scoffed “ maybe — maybe I'll never be a friend person after something like that. If friends are just beating each other’s asses in broad day light out the fucking blue then I'll just stick with ‘tsumu at least I know I can beat his ass if he were to pull some shit like that “

‘ friend ‘ you thought silently

“ poor kid didn’t even see it coming “ he shook his head at you turning back to the road “ holy hell that’s shameful y/n “

he whispered “ I don’t even wanna think about the rumors that’ll spread about us tomorrow “

The car was quiet only for a minute as Suna re arranged his thoughts before he could beat into you again “ friend Suna ? “

your voice was dry “ Rin do friends help each other out of their clothes ? “

your eyebrows creased “ do they focus so intently on another woman while their own is in the same room “

“ I didn’t know you were there “

“ SO YOU ONLY TAKE FRIENDS CLOTHES OFF WHEN IM NOT THERE “

“ NO I “

“ YOU ONLY TOUCH OTHER WOMEN WHEN IM NOT THERE “

“ y/n jus— “ he took a deep breathe and let it out “ just shut up its not like that “ he let out an uncomfortable and tired scoff of a laugh “ it wasn't like that “

“ it’s always shut up Suna it’s never ‘ what’s wrong y/n ‘ ‘ are you ok y/n ‘ it’s just ‘ shut up I don’t wanna talk so you don’t wanna talk either ‘ “

you locked eyes with the male in front of you “ I'm done Rin I'm— I'm done “

“ you cant leave me-- heh not after that shit you pulled back there  “ 

“ fuck if I cant--you don't look like my legs to me and as far as I know their still Bluetooth connected to my mind so-- “

“ you'll be an overnight clown you-you need me y/n “ he shook his head “ we need each other “ 

“ no you need volley ball because you need money-- because guess what asshole as of right now-- your homeless”

“ fuck you as if “

“ we’re over Suna don't let my words finally hit you when you walk out the shitty door”

“ that’s fine by me “ he scoffed “ get the hell out for all I care — I'll pack your shit for you “

“ no— I'll pack your shit asshole your living  in my house bottom feeder “

“ if you don’t shut the fuck u— “

“ then what ? huh what — you’ll leave me “

“ I swear to god I'll —”

“ you’ll what cheat on me with my best friend ah I'm so scared — “ your voice holding nothing but mock enthusiasm “ I can just imagine the way you’ll kiss her when I'm not there — these thoughts for some reason almost feels real y’know “

you watched as the man you’d taught yourself to love for 7 years since high school finally walked out the door. His perfume from earlier still hanging in the air long after the door slammed. Your mind racing when you were finally brought to one thought

‘ how did we end up like this and how the hell do we get back ‘