#its up to you tho reader!

[littleplantfreak]

Midnight

So...this is a self indulgent Ume/Reader kinda not too much Ume about your cat passing away and going through it because that's where I'm at right now and I thought writing about it might help. (i named it after my cat too so)

Word count: 800ish (sorry i know that's a lot)

Cws: Hurt/Comfort (I tried to make it a little happy at the end), Animal Death, Grief

I only read it through once so no beta and under the cut :0 because I don't wanna make anyone sad who doesn't want to be.

It’s snowing again and the white powder muffles sound, making the walk from the car to your front door quieter than usual. Your keys jangle loudly in opposition when you take them out of your purse to unlock the door. 

“Hey, I’m home Mid-”

The words die in your throat, realizing there’s no one to call out to. Hajime is still at work, and your cat, who would normally greet you with trilling mews and a smack of his tail is gone.

His sickness came quickly and in the end it was better for him to go peacefully rather than to let things fail on their own, causing unnecessary pain. Logically, you know that, but you never realize how big the hole will be until it stares you in the face. 

Hajime had tried to stay strong until the very end, if not for you then to make sure the last time your cat saw your faces they wouldn’t be scrunched up in upset. You saw the shatter of his walls the minute the vet let you know it was over though.

The small funeral you held for him in the backyard had left both of you snotty and puffy faced. It’s a beautiful grave, especially once the two of you were through planting the flowers and placing painted stones in a few extra spots. Loved and certainly not forgotten, your cat’s absence is felt now more than ever when you’re by yourself. 

His cat tree is still in the living room, still fuzziest where he liked to rub off on it, and a little green mouse is still under a side table, only visible if you walk past it the right way.

By the time your boyfriend comes home, you’ve been on the couch for about an hour. You pet the white blanket around you as if it could possibly come close to feeling like your cat's fur. It doesn’t.

“Too quiet?” Hajime’s voice guesses as he sheds his jacket. He knows what’s wrong without you having to say it. He feels the spaces left behind too.

“I still expect him to come around the corner to look at me with those big green eyes,” you sniffle, pushing the tears back. Grief is not easy. It bubbles up when you least expect it, yet the world doesn’t stop turning and it rarely gives you a breather. You both pushed through the work day though if it’s any consolation. 

“Me too sweetheart,” he says, walking into the room. He curls up next to you as he brings you close, a blanket of warmth that you're so familiar with. It almost feels unfair to be comforted like this, but the thought is pushed quickly aside when his fingers thread through your hair to massage small circles, a pleasant distraction from the ache in your chest and the soreness of eyes that’ve cried too many tears. 

You rub and pat and feel his back and shoulders, molding them like putty in simple reciprocation as if the whole of you is saying to each other “I’m here, you can feel me, I’m not going anywhere.”

It begins there. With little comforts like a text to tell him you’re home or the radio left on throughout the day so that when you walk through the front door you just might be able to sing to the song playing. With a weekly pruning and upkeep of the little grave whose flowers are just starting to bloom. 

The wound doesn’t necessarily heal, but it gets stitched up. The scar doesn’t fade but if you run your finger down it, you don’t wince like you used to.

Which is why, when there’s two little mismatched eyes peeking at you from the top of an old cat tree, months and months past since the last time it’s been used, you can’t help but feel a dull throb.

It wasn’t planned; most cats aren’t in your experience. Still, she is quite cute with her eyes that remind you of Sakura and an orange glossy coat. At first you were afraid to forget your first cat, but the longer you have her, the more differences you pick out between the two. She’s an addition, not a replacement, and you both agree wholeheartedly. 

“Yowch! She’s climbing up my back again,” your boyfriend whines from the kitchen. You can hear small mews signalling she's made her way to her perch.

“If you hadn’t taught her to do that and ride on your shoulder everywhere, you might not have scratches on your butt that I have to keep disinfecting,” you sigh exasperatedly back at him as you fold the laundry. 

“She likes to be tall!” he defends and you can see that, considering her favorite spot to jump up on is the top of the fridge. She fills her own spaces, just like your cat before did, and you can’t help but be grateful for that.

[ohdeerfully]

I just read one of your works with Alastor ears and KAKAISKSNSMSDHJSJ IT WAS ADORABLE, can you write one about the reader finding out Alastor has a tail and he's all flustered and nervous about it because well HES THE RADIO DEMON HES SCARY and he can't be scary when his tail wags when the reader praises him (MAKE IT WHOLESOME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE)

HELLOOO I LOVE ALASTOR TAIL!! tail + more sleepytime = deadly fic combo THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!

Silky Fur

alastor x reader (comfort/fluff) TW: none? join my discord!

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After a year of being together, you and Alastor had fallen into a rather steady nightly routine, though sometimes he was too busy with Satan Knows What and would leave the hotel and you wondering if he would come back to you for the night. When this happened, you often didn’t see him till the next morning—or, even the afternoon.

Lately, that “sometimes” had turned into every night. For the past week. And it was starting to make you feel… kind of shitty, you couldn’t even lie to yourself. You spent so many hours reasoning and making excuses for him—he was an Overlord, after all. No wonder he was so busy! Plus, you just so happened to fall into his life; you shouldn’t expect him to just give up his duties for you.

You looked at the ceiling, arms spread out on either side of you as you tried to convince yourself to stop feeling bad for the sixth night in a row. You missed him next to you, and started to find it harder and harder to get to sleep without his company. You craved him, and you wondered if he craved you in the same way—if he even missed you.

You sat up with a groan after a few more minutes, letting your feet dangle off the side of the bed. It was pointless, you decided, just laying down doing nothing. If you couldn’t sleep, you might as well go do something productive. You threw on a hoodie and made your way down the long corridor, and then down the steps.

This late in the night, the sky had an eerie red glow. It filtered through the curtains of the large hotel windows, casting long, sharp shadows that made your skin crawl if you looked too long. No matter how long you lived in Hell, you never got used to the unfriendly ambience. You had to remind yourself that you were safe in the hotel. You stuffed your hands in the pockets of your hoodie and looked towards your feet as you walked.

There was some paperwork regarding a couple residents you promised Charlie you would help her process. So, you decided you could get a headstart on finishing them, although you didn’t really see the point in the paperwork itself; it was all just going to be horrible criminal records that Charlie would try desperately to ignore.

You opted for the hotel lobby over the cramped office, spreading out the papers across the low coffee table. It wasn’t very comfortable, but you were glad to at least be out of the room.

You sat for a mind numbing amount of time, only listening to the ticking of a faint clock as you processed the information for the residents. It was times like this that made you want to curse Alastor for refusing to allow any sort of modern technology into the hotel. You get it, of course, with Vox and all—but, man, what you wouldn’t give to just have an easy spreadsheet to type this all into.

If you weren’t tired before, you sure were now. Your eyes drug across the papers, blearily taking in the information. You blinked heavily, trying to rid your vision of the tears of exhaustion. You slumped back with a sigh, the pages loosely held in your hands as you rested your eyes for a moment.

Bad idea.

Almost immediately, sleep overtook you, papers slipping through your fingers and drifting across the floor in every direction as your consciousness faded away.

You woke again when you felt your body jostling, then suddenly lifted. It took a minute to wake up enough to peer through cracked eyelids and see that you were being carried up the hotel stairs. You felt familiar arms cradling your back and legs, and the firmness of a chest that your head rested against.

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. That staticy feeling in the air and prickling your skin was enough to know. You let your body relax again, but couldn’t seem to catch sleep again.

He hummed a gentle tune as he walked, using his knee to turn the doorknob to your shared room. He pushed it open with his shoulder and walked you in.

You felt the plush sheets of your bed as he sat you down, but you pushed yourself back up into a sitting position to look at him. Stare at him. You hoped he could pick apart your emotions just by the way you glared. If he did, he made no attempt at asking what was wrong, and merely looked back at you with his slightly glowing red eyes and wide grin.

“You’ll hurt your back, falling asleep on the couch like that!” He started to chastise you playfully. He turned his back to you and opened up a drawer against the wall.

“Where have you been, Al,” You asked, ignoring his comment. You looked towards your feet. It was hard questioning him, because he didn’t take much seriously, no matter how serious you felt. There was a lump in your throat as you spoke.

“Busy as usual, my dear,” He replied in a sing-song voice. A quiet jazz tune emanated from the microphone atop his cane. Or, would that make it a radio? Both, probably. He rummaged through that drawer for a moment, before pulling out a thin, plain shirt and fuzzy pajama pants.

He walked back over to you, and you noticed the way his eyes flicked across your face, examining your expression. Still, he said nothing. You’d like to think he felt guilty, and didn’t want to admit it—but, truly, you doubted it. He wasn’t one for guilt, after all.

“I’ve been pretty lonely for a week, you know,” You said, folding your arms. “I’d at least like a better explanation.”

You allowed your arms to fall when he pulled at your elbows. You lifted them above your head as he gingerly gripped the edges of your hoodie and pulled it off. He quickly replaced it with the shirt he had grabbed earlier. He followed similar motions with your pants.

As angry as you were, you appreciated intimate moments like this with him. Moments so close, so vulnerable and bare, but still comfortable and sensitive. It was weird, with him being the Radio Demon and all.

“Maintaining turfs and deals is exhausting work, ma moitie, and there’s a few souls that haven’t been keeping up with their side of our bargains,” Alastor explained rather indifferently. Though, you could tell by the strain in his smile and the clipping in the radio static that he was trying his best to be delicate and honest—as possible as that is with Alastor.

“Just– tell me something next time, at least, ‘kay?” You felt embarrassed by the practically begging tone in your voice, but Alastor didn’t seem to notice.

“I suppose it is wrong for a gentleman to leave his lady questioning,” Alastor joked. He meant it, though, and he carefully smoothed your hair in an attempt at comfort.

He stepped away from you, and you frowned at the sudden space. The frown was quickly replaced by a wide smile when you noticed Alastor removing his sharp coat and carefully hanging it by the door.

What a treat, you thought, as you watched him discard the layers of his outfit. Your mouth fell open when he turned his back to you.

“You have a tail?” You asked. Alastor’s ears twitched back for a moment, stiff.

Clear as day, right in front of your eyes, was a tail you had somehow never seen before. Delicate, fluffy, and red with black—just like his ears. You couldn’t stop the stunned laugh that escaped your mouth.

“Regretfully, I do,” Alastor responded. He quickly turned back to face you. His nose was scrunched in disdain and his lips were curled in a frustrated smile. “Don’t talk about it. To anybody.”

You laughed again and quickly beckoned him towards the bed. He complied and sat down next to you. He had noticeably sat in such a way that his waist was angled to keep his tail out of sight. 

You pouted at him, wordlessly motioning towards what you both knew you wanted.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I’m not a pet, nor a toy,” He said roughly. The static in his voice was heavy. You knew he was embarrassed, and that made your grin all the wider. It probably rivaled his own harsh smile.

“I’ll never, ever, ever ask again, ever,” You promised, holding out your pinky. Alastor’s eyes rolled at the motion. Alternatively, he held out his palm for you to shake.

You eyed his hand, then looked back up to him. You jerked your pinky towards him, urging him to take it instead. You weren’t about to actually bind your promise in a real deal. You knew in, like, a week you would probably beg him to see his tail again. 

“How incredibly childish,” He sighed. Still, he curled his hand into a fist and connected his sharp pinky with your own. “I won’t forget about this.” He threatened.

“Yeah, yeah, show me the goods,” You said with a sly smile. Alastor stared at you for a few seconds, narrowed his eyes, and roughly twisted his waist so that his tail turned towards you. He kicked his leg up and over the other, and folded his arms all sassy-like and impatiently waited for you to finish your very important mission.

You smiled gratefully, and gingerly settled your hands on the tail. It was so incredibly soft. As much hatred he seemed to hold for the thing, Alastor obviously took great care in the fur, keeping it silky smooth and combed. 

It seemed sensitive, and you noticed how his ears twitched and turned in response to your touch. His eyes were cast away from you, and his brows were furrowed. Was he blushing? No, probably a trick of the light.

“Your tail is super soft, Al,” You complimented. “Probably the best in all of Hell.”

“Are you quite finished,” He asked through gritted teeth, his eyes clenched shut. His own body betrayed him, though, as his tail wagged at you slightly. You held in a squeal of delight at the sight, knowing he would probably leave you right then and there. However, you had been at it for a few minutes and didn’t want to push your luck any further. You sighed in response, and removed your fingers from his tail. 

“I guess, for now,” You said playfully. This elicited a sharp look from the Radio Demon.

“For forever,” He claimed. “We shook pinkies.” 

You managed to hold in the laugh from his words. It was impossible to take him seriously as he said that, especially as he sat with a tail on full display and ears quirked backwards in embarrassment.

You yawned, opting to stop responding to him. You tugged at the hem of his shirt as you fell back into the mattress, and he easily let himself fall alongside you. He was settled next to you, and you practically magnetically attached yourself to him. He was stiff for a few minutes, but slowly unwound and relaxed next to you.

It didn’t take long at all for you to fall asleep. With the familiar heat and weight of his body in the mattress next to you, you were comfortable again for the first time in a week. The feeling of Alastor’s nails playing through your hair was the final straw as a deep sleep erased your senses.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

I never really made a request before so that's my first time wish u like it

So I was thinking about some fluff drunk y/n acting all stupid and flirty to bakugo who doesn't like drinking around her because he knows that they both won't have someone to send them home if they got drunk

[Secretly caring]

*Whispering* he also gets a bit touchy if she let's him

*friends to lovers thing*

Wish my explanation was good enough and can't wait for the next chapter of FBRC <3

can't say no to you . . (not that i want to)

katsuki takes you home after a night out

a/n: OUUU this is such a cute idea ! i’m so happy, this is my first request as well so we both have a milestone LMAOOO ! i tried to honour your request as best i could ! <3 (OU and AAAAA im glad you like FBRC ! i hope you’ll keep reading !)

bakugou katsuki considers himself a mature, mostly rational person.

despite what others, media outlets and even his own damn friends might say, katsuki thinks he’s really not that bad.

sure, he’s flipped off a camera man, cursed out another one…and another one—but who doesn’t have a bad day once in a while ?

he’s changed since he was a kid, he doesn’t get set off as easy anymore most days. he’s learned to be more patient, a little more levelheaded. that’s at least something his shitty friends will tell you.

he’s changed from when he was a kid, he’s grown now. he’s a man.

but right now katsuki feels like smashing your head in with a brick.

"kah-su-kiiiiiiiii... m'sleeppyy" you whine, leaning against his shoulder.

katsuki doesn't regret a lot, but he sure as hell regrets accepting to go out for drinks with you. again. you had said something about 'celebrating getting a day off after a while'.

"never should've accepted goin' out with yer ass." he laments grumpily. despite the fact he says this every single time he goes out to drink with you, he never seems to learn his lesson. he never seems to want to learn his lesson.

truth is, katsuki has grown a lot since his UA days but one thing he hasn't outgrown is his giant rampant crush on you. it's embarrassing how tightly you've got him wrapped around your finger, how easily you can get him to do whatever you want as long as you just asked him to.

he complains and grumbles about it but he'll never, ever, say no to you.

which is how he always, always, ends up in this predicament.

katsuki snaps out of his thoughts when he hears you sniffle.

"y-ya don't like.." you sniffle again " ya don't like hangin' out wif me ?"

fuck.

immediatly it's like a switch had been flipped. he moves his arm so he can wrap it around you and have you lean against his chest. you always got emotional when you were a little too drunk, that usually meant it was time to go.

"no—no, s'not that. i—" he sucks in a breath, cheeks heating up despite the fact he knows there's barely any chance you'll remember this. usually he'd remind you of your embarrassing drunk moments as revenge for making him take you home and taking care of your ass because you were too drunk to, but he'll refrain from mentioning this part.

"i do like hangin' out with you, dummy. quit talkin' stupid." he shushes you softly, unconsciously rubbing your arm comfortingly.

"b-but you said, you regretted goin' out wit me" you pout. fuck, you're cute. katsuki has to fight off the urge to lean down and kiss it away.

"i say a lot of stuff i don't always mean, sweets. you know that." he replies " 'f i didn't wanna hang out with ya, i wouldn't."

you hum pensively, leaning against his shoulder as you think. you smell like something sweet, he can't quite track down what it is, but it's making him dizzy. you've always had the ability to make him lose focus. you're so close and you smell so good and katsuki feels like he's drunk.

"mmyeah...guess that's true" you hiccup. you raise your hand up to trace his jaw line with your finger and he refuses to look at you but he can hear the cheeky little smile in your voice "you like hanging out with me, right ? that's why you always say yes when i ask !

he scoffs "i only say yes 'cuz i know you'd just end up goin' out anyway, you'd get yourself in trouble." he's stiff as a fucking board, he feels like if he moves a little too much he'll say something he shouldn't.

"no i wouldn't" you argue, then you reach your whole hand up to squeeze his cheeks "but even if i did, i know you'd come to save me, mr. dynamight" you giggle

he's so sick of you. katsuki's been in plenty of situations where he was this close to death, but he's certain you're gonna be the death of him.

"time for bed" he grumbles. he lifts you by your shoulders slightly until you can properly stand on your feet "m'getting you home, yer too drunk to be up right now" he asserts, chuckling when you pout at him when he flicks your forehead

"you're not the boss o' me ! 'm completely—oops" you trip forward but katsuki catches you with ease, he's always there to.

you look up at him innocently and he looks down at you with one eyebrow raised "you were sayin' ?" he sassed.

you roll your eyes at him and push off him slightly to stand more comfortably, you stick your tongue out at him. " i said—i'm fine..but if you wanna take me home that badly, i guess i'll allow it" you shrug. katsuki squints then shakes his head, smiling to himself. you catch him and giggle, he can't cover up his chuckle fast enough. you must look stupid to the other people in the bar just sitting there giggling at each other, he realizes. then he remembers he could honestly not give enough of a shit about what these other drunk losers thought, the only drunk loser he cared about was right here in his arms.

right where you belonged.

you're out like a light by the time katsuki's brought you back to your apartment, but he doesn't mind, he'd expected it anyway. he carries you like a sack of potatoes to your floor. he's glad he'd managed to grab your keys before you fell asleep, having to wrestle the keys from you and risk you getting cranky at him doesn't sound all that nice right now.

he helps you take off your shoes and he's extremely grateful you're just lucid enough to change by yourself. he helps you clean up and brush your teeth, then carries you to bed even though he knows damn well you could walk just fine. not before getting you to down a glass of water.

you're annoying when you're drunk and sleepy, you're whiny and everything is too much work for you. katsuki grumbles right along with you, calling you a pain in the ass, then promptly taking it back when he sees you tearing up again. he grumbles and complains but he knows he wouldn't let anyone else do it for him. not only because he's sure whoever it is wouldn't even be able to do this half as well as he does, but also because despite his better judgement, despite the fact you piss him off to no bounds, you're his to take care of. and he'd be damned if he let anyone else take care of what's his.

so you whine, and he complains, but he truly wouldn't have it any other way.

you insist on wanting him to stay with you and he knows he probably shouldn't. he likes you too much to just casually stay here with you, he knows he won't be able to sleep and he's just going to keep staring at your lashes fluttering as you dream. but you pout at him and plead him so sweetly, he really can't say no to you.

he likes you too much.

he steals one of your hoodies and a pair of sweatpants (he technically isn't stealing—since they're both his to begin with) and climbs into bed with you. you immediatly latch onto him, nuzzling into his shoulder before thanking him.

"for what ?" he mutters sleepily, slowly wrapping his arms around you.

"for.." you interrupt yourself with a yawn, he chuckles "for always takin' care of me..you're the best."

if you were more sober, he'd simply answer with a cocky "tell me something i don't know." but you're not and katsuki's already too far gone, so he squeezes your waist in appreciation then responds " i'm always gonna take care of you."

he's suprised by how soft and sappy he sounds but you suprise him even more when you lean up slightly to press a feather light kiss to the underside of his jaw and whisper a sweet little "love you."

he lays there for a good long while without response, you don't mind because you chose that exact moment to fall asleep. he lays there and he's sure he won't be able to fall asleep now. fuck you for knocking out and leaving him like this, he thinks. he's trying not to give himself false hope, maybe you meant it platonically. he keeps trying and he keeps thinking all night but he's still impossibly giddy.

he was contemplating not telling you anything about last night, but he can't help himself. he's nervous—god, he's so fucking nervous when you wake up while he's getting comfy in your kitchen like it was his, making breakfast. you look groggy and sleepy and hungover, but to him, you still look adorable.

when you're awake enough, munching away at the breakfast he's made, he tells you about last night and his heart slams against his chest when he mentions what you had told him.

though, when he sees how you choke on a piece of your toast, and how flustered you look, like a deer in headlights, his heart beats hard against his ribcage for a completely different reason.

the next time you go out for drinks, it's to celebrate the start of your relationship.

AAA first request done ! hope you liked this anon <3 if you guys have any request pleassseee lemme know !

[erwinsvow]

rare punishing r for going on the date with jj anyways

"you need to learn how to fuckin' listen, when- when you're told something-"

"rafe," you breathe back, exasperated at the exhausted dialogue. you two have had this conversation so many times. you love your best friend, maybe more than a friend should, but you're tired of being lectured by someone who regularly makes worse decisions than you going on a date with a pogue boy.

"no, m'serious." rafe moves over, getting closer to you, closing in the space in your bedroom. you don't know how he even knew you were home, since you hadn't talked to him since the club yesterday, before your date with jj.

the date had been fine. jj was nice, funny. you two got along well enough. if your friends weren't breathing down your neck about how much they don't like him, you think maybe you'd be more excited, more engaged, replying to his text immediately to plan the next day instead of letting him sit on delivered while rafe sits on your bed next to you.

"are y'listening to me? huh?" you blink up at him, snapped out of your daze. no, you're positive now, if rafe was supportive (then topper and kelce would be too, of course) then you'd feel better about the whole thing.

the truth was that if rafe didn't approve of the boy you wanted to date, you didn't feel like dating him. you wanted someone who would fit right in with your best friends, make himself comfortable in your group and get along. the sad reality was that no one like that existed, and rafe hadn't approved of a single one of your dates since you had first met him.

"sorry. what?"

"i said, you always do this shit."

"rafe, i don't feel like getting reprimanded like some kid right now-"

"no, that's just it. you are a fuckin' kid. you never listen to me, you fuckin' act out by going on dates with pogues-" he spits the word like there's nothing worse in the world you could do, maybe besides ignoring what he tells you to do.

"why should i listen to you?" you snap back, suddenly sick of the double standard. you'd never so much as questioned him when he had a new girl on his arm every week.

"why should you listen to me?" rafe repeats slowly, back at you. "i dunno, maybe because i know best for you. maybe because m'trying to take fuckin' care of you, watch out for you."

you groan, but rafe interrupts you.

"are you seein' him again?" you stare up at him. "answer me."

"no," you admit finally, bringing your knees to your chest and hugging them. "m'not."

"good." you don't look up, but rafe licks his lips. he sits back down next to you, swinging an arm around you. "m'right here. what else do you need, kid? hm?"

you roll your eyes.

"a best friend that doesn't act like my dad would be nice."

"yeah, well, tough shit. do not see him again. this is nice compared to what'll happen."

"rafe!" you protest, met to deaf ears.

"you think m'joking? try me. if i see you texting that pogue again i'll snap your phone in half." you sigh, but he still presses a wet kiss to your temple. "now c'mon. it's tee time."

[seiwas]

boyfriend iwaizumi hajime fixing your posture every time he sees you hunched over and slouching—the way he holds your shoulders and straightens it by rolling it back, thumbs pressing into your shoulder blades.

he gently pushes your lower back whenever he notices you curling into yourself, runs his fingers up your spine too.

and he does it all quietly, your only warning the feel of his hands on you.

it’s almost like he has a radar for it, some posture-sense that tingles every time your back is anything but straight.

when you complain about back pain, he snorts, mumbling a ‘wonder why’ before coming over to knead out the knots anyway.

he buys you an ergonomic chair to hopefully help out, even leaves x-rays and scans of bad backs lying around to give some subliminal message of what could happen if you don’t fix it now.

and when he takes you from behind, pushing down on your lower back to give him that arch he likes, he’s teasing, telling you that you only seem to listen when he has you like this.

he’s really starting to think, should he start fucking you with your back straight?

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Omg I loved your herald viktor epic line idea I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. If u have time and energy id love to read it sooo much ❤️❤️

Since the Ithica Saga dropped last night my brain has not known a single moment of peace. "Would You Fall in Love with Me Again" is just so insanely perfect for a Machine Herald Viktor x Reader AU it makes me physically ill. Like, seriously:

I am not the man you fell in love with

I am not the man you once adored

//

Would you fall in love with me again

If you knew all I've done?

The things I cannot change

Would you love me all the same?

//

Would you fall in love with me again

If you knew all I've done?

The things I can't undo

I'm not the man you knew

Viktor is so Odysseus coded it is PAINFUL. The pain of sacrificing so much of himself to survive. The regret of everyone he's had to leave behind, to betray. The ghosts of his legacy haunting his mind. All for his goal, the one thing he knows he's meant to do with every fiber of his being. Nothing, neither magic nor gods, will stop him from fulfilling that dream. He will not be the same once all has passed, and he will never regain all that he's lost. Can the person who loved him the most as he was before still love this version of him?

And the reader's answer...

I will fall in love with you

Over and over again

I don't care how, where, or when

No matter how long it's been

You're mine

Because what you loved about him is deeper than any of the ways he's changed. It's something at his core, in his soul, in the light of his eyes, no matter how tired they may seem now. It's your first kiss, it's the sound of his voice in your ear, it's the curve of his lips when he smirks, it's the way he looks at you like he falls in love all over again every day you're with him. Time may pass, and the world may change, but not this. Never this.

He is yours just as you are his, and that is the one thing that will never change.

[writermask-0807]

“heaven’s blessings.” {king baldwin iv x reader}

A/N: ahaha so yk how i said i'm gonna watch kingdom of heaven?? (it isn't available on bflix or any other website/app i checked 😭 someone pls help) i haven't yet 😅 (ALL HISTORIC AND KOH CRITICS PLS DONT COME FOR ME I DONT MEAN ANY HARM) so there's probably gonna be a lot of stuff wrong with this, and um. yk how i also said i was working on a koh fic?? yh this is not that one. for some reason i couldn't go any further than a couple of paragraphs, so here i am. with this absolutely shitty fic that looks even more horrible as I reread but. hope you enjoy?? 😭😭

warnings: hanahaki, some descriptions of hanahaki (?? it isn't that graphic or anything tho), also feel like i used 'bcos' too much, angst with no happy ending 😭 I promise the other one is happy!! 😭😭

word count: 322

thinking of king baldwin iv w hanahaki.

don’t you think that he would be the type that, as a man of strong faith, to think that this, too, is a blessing from god?

as a man of already frail health, this new illness is bound to take an even more horrible toll on his battered broken body;

taking root under his disfigured skin. fronds twining through his veins, greenery curling round his ribcage, twisting in his airways, stealing his very breath. blooming quietly in the darkness, petals like cremation ashes falling past his bruised lips like a prayer, some holy thing that can’t be attained.

because that’s what you are.

unattainable.

because knowing you - you with your tender smiles and your healing hands and your kind heart - you might probably still accept him, even with all of his ugliness, his ruined skin and broken bones, even with this blessing that’s really only a curse. but he can’t allow that. he can’t possibly be that selfish.

not to you, never.

it’s why he flinches away from your touch (no matter how much he yearns for it), soft and feather-light as it is, why he forces himself to look away from your wide eyes, your expression that’s hurt but you smile through it anyway because you wear your heart on your sleeve and you’re so gentle and kind and loving-

and he can’t.

and maybe that’s what his love for you is meant to be, in this lifetime. a love that seeps through skin and blood and bone. a love that lingers like an illness, because he can’t let you.

a blessing.

(and it’s only when the end is near that he gathers the delicate flowers into his arms, holds them close to his chest. this is the closest he can ever let you be.

and as his eyes flutter shut for the last time, he dares to hope-

perhaps, in another life.)

[yeyinde]

“When your need grows teeth” is so good I literally bite the pillow like a dog while reading it!!! I need to know more about Ghost and the ‘unlucky person was misfortune enough to unleash the muzzle on that particular dog’.!!!!!

haha i really didn't think people would pay much attention to it, tbh! i like adding little things like this into the stuff i write. a little story within a story, i guess. but i would love to flesh it out, since where it was this undertone of "oh, you..." (sort of cheeky, kinda sly when you looked at the bigger picture) with Price, it would more-so be, "oh, no..." with Ghost.

Price's original convo with Ghost would have been acknowledged as gospel and adopted into Ghost's own scripture for the longest time (since it's my weird little hc that Ghost uses Price as a yardstick for normalcy—or, almost like a needle in his morality compass), and then seeing Price give into those needs was sort of like this big moment that caused that compass to go haywire.

essentially, if Price is a starving dog, then Ghost is one on the verge of death, willing to sink his teeth into anything just to survive. and that's sort of the crux of it. in my head, Ghost would have been unleashed by this, but what took the muzzle off is his own MC, who thinks they're taking in this sick, old dog from off the streets, and helping it as much as they can, only to wake up and realise this dog is rabid. and it already bit them. but what really caused this poor person such misfortune was that little tossed in line by Price when he's volleying with Laswell about his status. Or damn near close to it. and that's what sealed their fate lmao. the implication that this baby is somehow more permanent than a ring.

idk! i like the idea of someone sweet, if a little naïve, being bit by him, a man who wakes up most days thinking he's still buried in a grave. or what happens when a living corpse feels heat for the first time in ages after being given a bed and a warm body with a soft touch. quite catastrophic, imo.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Young!John Wick x Model!Reader Imagine

Imagine you are the love of John Wick's life...

You meet in Paris when he’s a young man. You spend a mind-blowing night together, and watch the sun rise from Sacré-Coeur. He disappears, and you’re devastated because no one has ever made you feel that way, and you’re certain you’ll never see him again. But throughout the years he keeps finding you as you travel for work. He kisses you silly in the Gamla Stan of Stockholm, makes you cum on his fingers in a dark club in London, and when he leaves you utterly wrecked in Rome you know that you’re in love with this man. You don’t know exactly what he does for a living, but you’re not stupid. You’ve memorized every inch of his body, and you notice as his collection of scars multiplies over the years. You are half convinced he's a spy, but then there are the tattoos...ominous as they are captivating, they suggest membership in a darker world than the shadows of international espionage. You cannot reconcile it. How can this sweet man, this man who makes you laugh, who brings you joy and such exquisite pleasure, be a part of such a violent occupation? When you finally get up the courage to ask him he just shakes his head, and says it’s better you don’t know before kissing you in that way that utterly scrambles your brain cells.

-It all started in Paris with a broken heel... You nearly fell into traffic, but a strong arm around your waist snatched you back from death.

You hid against his chest for a long moment, even though he was a total stranger, because he felt so safe. You were in Paris for your first Fashion Week—and you were so lost. It’s the 1990s, a dark age in which we didn’t have handheld computers to pleasantly tell us where to go, and we used archaic documents to find our way known as paper maps...And you’d left yours in your hotel accidentally.  

You look up to see kind brown eyes fixed down on you. “Are you alright?” You hate to think it, but you are so relieved to hear an American accent. You have been yelled at no less than three times in French that day, and even if you totally deserved it, you're a bit gun shy now.

“Yes. Thank you. Jesus, I...” You look at the traffic barreling by at breakneck speed, a chill running down your spine. “Thank you,” you say again. You look up at him, really look at him, and realize you're in the arms of the most handsome man you've ever seen—and you work in fashion. 

“You're welcome.” 

He seems as taken by you as you are by him, and for a stretch of long moments you just stand there staring at each other like moon-eyed idiots. He looks down, suddenly shy. It's totally endearing. “Sorry,” he apologizes, releasing you slowly. You teeter on your broken heel, and you can tell he is ready to grab you again if he has to. This protectiveness makes a surprising warmth bloom in your heart.

“Do you...need help getting somewhere?” he asks. You wonder if it’s that obvious you’re lost. Usually you'd be wary of that question from a stranger. You've dealt with so many creeps throughout your life. But somehow you sense that he’s sincere. 

“I guess I'd better get back to my hotel.” 

Sebastiano was going to kill you. You broke a $600 pair of heels...well maybe Gucci should have made them better, the lazy bastards. 

“Can I get you a cab?” 

With your broken heel, you guess you’re not hoofing it back. “Sure.” He hails one down, and you’re delighted when he climbs in with you, speaking to the driver in perfect French, bless him.

“Where are we headed?” You give him the name of your hotel, and he repeats it the way it’s supposed to be said. Oh. No wonder the previous drivers gave you such contemptuous looks… You took Spanish in high school, ok? You can read French but have zero experience speaking it.

When you arrive at the hotel your savior thrusts a wad of Francs through the window before you have a chance to even open your purse, and helps you out of the cab. You are totally leaning against his arm more than you have to. You can feel the hard curve of his bicep beneath the fine fabric of his suit, and it makes you a little giddy. Only once you’re safe in the lobby does he seem willing to release you, though somehow your hand has ended up in his, and you find you don’t really want to let go. “Are you doing anything later?” you ask boldly, before he can disappear back into the bustle of Paris and you’ll never find him again.

He pays you a melancholy smile that squeezes your heart for some reason. “Unfortunately, I have to work,” he says. You make a pouty face that draws his attention to your lips. The intensity in those dark eyes is thrilling. “Maybe if I finish early…I could join you?”

You know you grin like an idiot at this suggestion. “I’ll be at the Versace afterparty. I could…have your name put on the list?”

This seems to amuse him for some reason, his mouth twisting in a smirk. “I can find you,” he says, and your heart flutters. In fact, when he presses his lips to your knuckles, your heart attempts to flutter right out of your chest.

He turns to go but you call, “Wait!” He pauses. “What’s your name?”

The smile he pays you is heart stopping. “Jardani,” he answers quietly. “But everyone calls me John.” You bite your lip, nodding, very pleased with this new bit of information, sensing that maybe he’s told you something just for you. “I hope I get to see you later.”

He nods too, touching your cheek lightly. “You will.”

It sounds like a promise.

-You should be beside yourself with excitement because you’re walking your first runway in Paris, and this could be the moment that makes or breaks your career, but the real reason for your nerves is the hope that you’ll see him again.

-The show goes great. You kill it. Sebastiano, your friend and the designer you’d modeled for, can hardly contain himself. But you find you’re just watching the clock ticking down the seconds until later.  

-John does find you later. You have a drink, and you dance, and from the adoring way he looks at you, you feel brave enough to ask if he wants to go someplace quieter. You go for a little walk, and even though it’s the wee hours of the morning you feel perfectly safe with this man. He kisses you on the Pont Alexandre, his hands in your hair, and your fingers curl in the lapels of his jacket to hold him to you. You ask if he wants to go back to your hotel, and he agrees. This man looks at you like you are something irreplaceably precious, and you don’t know how you’ll let him go.

-He is strong. In your hotel room he picks you up by your thighs and presses you into the wall, kissing you senseless before carrying you to the bed. His hands are calloused, but he’s so gentle with you. He touches you like you were made for him, like he was born knowing how to make you see stars. He claims you with his hands and his mouth and his big, beautiful cock deep inside you, and you know you’ll never be the same after this. You’ve been disappointed so many times that you almost don’t know how to handle an encounter going this well.

-When he stirs in the blue light of pre-dawn your arms tighten around him. You’re not even awake yet, but you don’t want him to leave. He kisses you behind the ear and you practically purr. “Want to see the second most beautiful sight in Paris?”

“Yes,” you agree.

“Bring your camera.” You’d told him about your interest in photography. Maybe modeling was paying the bills, but you’d actually majored in fine art, and minored in literature. Naturally, your interests make for shit at paying bills.  

Sleepily you get dressed. It takes a little longer than usual because you can’t stop kissing each other between pulling on garments. Soft, slow kisses that curl your toes. You sense deep down that every one of them is infused with apology, and goodbye. It breaks your heart, but greedily you’ll take every second with him you can get.He takes you to Sacré-Coeur in the heart of Montmartre, the very roof of Paris. You sit on the steps and watch the sun rise over the city, fiery oranges and pinks painting the sky and rendering the buildings aglow. It truly is beautiful, but you don’t lift your lens to try to capture it. You sit with your arm linked with his, and experience this moment with him as fully as you can. You want to remember everything.

“You didn’t take a picture,” he teases once the sun has cheerfully risen above the horizon.

You pull out the camera and frame him in your lens, his sleepy smile and bed-mussed hair. You feel something shift in your heart as your finger depresses the button. Click. You’re not sure if it’s the camera in your hand, or something settling into place in your heart that has always belonged there.

“Now I have the first most beautiful sight in Paris,” you say.

He laughs at that. “I meant that was you,” he insists, lacing his fingers with yours, kissing the back of your hand. He takes you to breakfast, and you enjoy dark coffee and delectably crafted pastries with your legs tangled together under the table. Afterwards he takes you back to your hotel, and in the gilt-appointed lobby somehow you know what’s coming.

“I have to go,” he says sadly. You actually believe his regret isn’t an act.

You nod, leaning into his large hand on your cheek.

“I’ll never forget you, y/n.”

A shuddering sigh escapes you, and you close your eyes. You are not going to cry.

“Likewise, I promise you.”

You don’t exchange any further information. You know that if it was possible to see him again, he would have offered it to you. There is something mysterious about this man. Something almost…forbidden, and a part of you knows that the little time you stole together was a precious gift.

He kisses you one last time, a passionate, soul-rending thing that leaves you utterly weak in the knees. He says nothing more, pressing his forehead to yours one final time before turning to go. You watch his tall, dark form exit the hotel into the Paris morning, and you know he’s taking a piece of your heart with him as he goes.   

-------------------------------------------------------------------

tbc because goddamn this got long...

part deux >>

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

IN THE DREAM I DON’T TELL ANYONE, YOU PUT YOUR HEAD IN MY LAP ; SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; ever since the battle in shinjuku came to its conclusion, nothing’s been the same as it used to. but you don’t think anyone is doing quite as badly as shoko. 

word count; 4.5k

contents; shoko ieiri/reader, gn!reader, canon-typical mentions of death (iykyk), angst, hurt/comfort (but not very heavy on the comfort), jjk spoilers (up to chapter 236!!), mild gore (mentions of blood, autopsies and general gore-ish imagery? nothing too bad tho), shoko ieiri deserves better, includes gojo slander (stay safe gojo nation)

a/n; first of all i just wanna apologize to the shoko girlies for writing angst when we’re already so starved of content, i have like 50 fluff drabbles planned for her but chapter 236 threw me into a mental angst pit so </3 yeah. i love my wife!!

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while.

the thought sneaks its way into your subconscious, as your feet carry you to her morgue — a rotten thought you just can’t seem to rinse away.

it’s not very hard to notice. she doesn’t talk as much, for one. not that shoko was ever much of a talker, but now the silence around her is deafening. thick and heavy like the spine of a knife. and she smiles even less.

you can’t remember the last time you heard her laugh.

the crescents beneath her eyes are darker than ever, darker than you thought possible. a murky purple that you’d find soothing in any other context, but like this it’s just revolting. her eyes are deep and dark, the same as ever, but now they’re glazed over with something you can’t quite put your finger on. 

apathy, maybe.

or bloodlust.

the scent of cigarette smoke that follows her is suffocating. indistinguishable from her natural scent. you don’t know if she’ll ever be able to scrub the tobacco stench off her skin.

(you’ve given up on counting the exact number of cigarettes she smokes each day. you’re not sure you want to know the answer.)

she doesn’t even look alive, anymore. like some part of her already reached its expiration date. a spectre, wandering the hallways, filling the air with the slow, ominous clacking of her heels.

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while — and it’s so obvious. her grief is so heavy, her sleep-deprivation so severe. you’d have to be blind not to notice it. 

so why hasn’t anyone said anything?

you gnaw at your bottom lip, trying to suffocate the bitterness swimming inside your veins. it’s a dumb question, really, because you already know. you don’t want to acknowledge it, because it’s so unfair, but you know. of course you do.

no one has the time to. it’s as simple as that. 

no one’s doing well, anymore. not since shinjuku.

not since gojo died.

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing. always with her, tucked away within those eyebags, in the pockets of her coat. in that smell of tobacco, never-fading, always lingering. it follows her like a ghost, like something she’ll never quite be rid of.

(like something she doesn’t want to be rid of.)

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing, and it always has been. but recently, it’s been downright overwhelming. it used to be subtle, the kind of thing you notice if you look close enough. if you squint. if you even care enough to try.

but now, it’s more like a haunting than a simple ghost.

(geto. nanami. yaga. and now gojo, too.

how many people does she have to lose before whatever’s watching is satisfied?)

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while, and it’s obvious, and it’s sickening. she still does her duty to a tee, but she isn’t quite there anymore. gaze always forlorn, as if she’s trying to convince herself of something.

and yet no one says a thing.

everything is one big mess, right now. you don’t want to blame anyone. everyone’s exhausted, completely and utterly spent, but they’re still planning it all out. even in the midst of their mourning. because they don’t have any other choice. 

this is not the kind of situation where you should be pointing fingers. a part of you is angry, livid even — but you know the others are doing just as badly. it’s not like you aren’t, either.

still, though. isn’t this just too unfair?

”i brought you coffee!”

making sure your voice doesn’t waver is tougher than you initially assumed. just the sight of her sends a tremor running through your ribs; sunken down in her chair, papers in hand, eyes scanning the pages methodically. papers of what, you’d like to ask — but you already know.

(she’s reading through the post-mortem examination report, again. searching for something you don’t understand. you’re not sure she does, either.)

and she looks exhausted.

try as you might, your voice ends up sounding a little stale, as it flows from your lips and reaches her ears. but the attempt is there — the attempt to sound cheerful, calm. normal. to give her something to hold on to.

shoko looks up at you, and her lips curl in a way you think is supposed to form a smile. it doesn’t. her eyes look into yours but it’s like she’s not seeing you at all.

when you go to give her the cup of espresso, your fingertips touch. only for a second, before she curls her fingers around the ceramic handle. she receives the coffee with a small murmur of thanks, but you don’t notice because you’re too busy thinking of how cold her skin feels.

(cold like a ghost. cold like death.)

shaking away the shivers down your spine, you allow your gaze to trail over the morgue. it looks the same as always. cold, empty. foreboding. today, you think it feels just a little chillier than usual. matching the temperature of the outside world, where everything lies buried in heaps of snow and frost.

hesitantly, you plop down in the seat right next to hers. with such a narrow distance, you can smell the tobacco sticking to her clothing. it makes you want to throw up.

(you try not to look over at the couch in the corner of the room, where a certain someone used to slack off. his awkwardly long limbs would dangle off the edges, and shoko would pretend that she didn’t enjoy his company. you were more than content with silently admiring the smile she was trying to hide.)

shoko doesn’t look at you, professional in the way her eyes run across the files. cause of death: damage to central intestines, subsequent loss of blood. from a cut to the stomach, right below the liver and spleen.

you look away before your eyes can read another line.

leaning back in your chair, you exhale a tiny sigh. desperate to fill the silence with something, anything at all. you scramble for topics, racking your brain.

(what could you possibly tell her that she doesn’t already know?)

”the others are still planning everything out,” you speak, playing with your fingers idly to distract yourself. ”i think it’s going well.”

shoko hums, unaffected. ”that’s good.”

she’s speaking to you, but that feeling of unease still won’t go away. her voice sounds still, flat. empty of emotion. but you can tell she’s trying to be polite.

that’s no surprise. shoko isn’t the type to ever show how she’s truly feeling. she’s not the type to ask for help, either. people come to her for help, not the other way around. that’s all she’s ever known.

(in that sense, the two of them were alike.)

but that just makes it all the more important for you to be there. even if you’re a little awkward, and even if you can’t do much. even if it’s only for a moment or two, you want to see her smile. you want to feel for yourself that she’s really there.

looking over at shoko, you wring your hands together, the cold air of the morgue nipping at your sweaty palms. she’s drinking from the cup, one finger around the handle as her other hand flips through the papers.

”does it taste okay?” you ask, softly. if only you could ask her that under better circumstances, with cups of espresso made with better coffee machines than those at jujutsu high. ”i made it myself, so…”

”it’s fine.” shoko takes a sip. dragging her syllables out, as if mustering the will to speak. ”don’t worry.”

short sentences. almost cold, but you know better than that. she just doesn’t have it in her to pretend that everything is normal, anymore.

and it makes you uncomfortable. this silence. 

a couple months ago, it would have felt comforting; a quiet, peaceful kind of solitude shared between the two of you. nostalgic, like the smell of morning dew. or the way moonlight feels on your skin when the world falls asleep.

the silence you had with shoko always felt so tender. a single moment of peace, before the other shoe dropped. just that one moment was enough to give you the hope you needed to make it through another day.

you loved being silent with shoko. you loved her silence, the way she could soothe your very soul without saying a thing.

but now it only stings your skin. you fear that you might drown in it.

there is nothing to say. you want to ask her how she’s doing, but you already know. you want to ask her why she’s still reading the files from gojo’s autopsy, but you already know.

you want to ask her if she can still keep going, like this. but you already know.

she doesn’t have a choice.

(something crumbles, deep inside your chest, like ashes cast into the sea.)

”hey. shoko?”

she hums, again. weak. quiet. absentminded, acknowledging your words but not really hearing them.

you take a deep breath.

”i think i’m going to quit being a sorcerer.”

silence.

for a moment, nothing happens. nothing moves, or speaks. the air is cold and crisp and carries no meaning, no words, nothing at all. 

like time is frozen. frozen like all the bodies shoko’s had to dig inside these past few months. frozen like gojo was when she found him in the snow.

frozen like your youth, a glass marble kept in your pocket for moments when you feel as if the ground beneath your feet is about to slip away. then you’d take it out, and look deep inside it. watch the swirling of greens and blues and purples. that streak of indigo right in the middle of the glass. memories of the past, to give you comfort.

to remind yourself of why you’re doing this. to give you a reason to keep moving forward.

(south or north, it doesn’t matter. stay as you are or move forward, look to the past or to the future — none of it matters if you aren’t alive. that’s the conclusion you came to.)

shoko’s expression, too, is frozen. it doesn’t change, even as you let those loaded words fall from your tongue. you watch her carefully, out of the corner of your eye. she doesn’t even look at you, gaze still glued to the tiny letters detailing exactly what gojo’s pulse was at when he got cut.

but something flickers, in the depths of her irises, so fast you barely catch it. something you can’t identify, but it’s still something. it’s movement. it’s alive.

”not right now, obviously,” you elaborate. suddenly a little nervous, now that the words have been made manifest. ”but… you know. once all this is over.”

not sure what else to say, you trail off, fidgeting with your fingers again. voice wavering pitifully towards the end of the sentence, because deep down you know it’s not a question of once, but a question of if.

(if this ever ends. if i don’t die tomorrow, or the day after that.)

you swallow the lump in your throat, and look at her. trying to find her eyes. trying to keep her alive for as long as you can, this sequence of motion, this moment frozen in time.

trying to reach her.

”you won’t ever have to worry about me dying,” you throw in, like the words are light and not heavy as bricks. but you know she needs to hear them. ”i’ll leave, and then — and then…” 

staring down at your lap, you link your hands together. exhaling, a little breathless. sheepish, in a way. ”… well. i don’t know. i haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”

you never had the chance to. you didn’t even really think of it as a possibility, as something you could do. and you know it’s not a possibility for shoko. the choice to be a sorcerer was never hers, from the very beginning.

a user of the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing almost any wound, more power and capability than a child should ever have. invaluable. she’s saved so many lives you’re sure she’ll be reborn as a god.

but the choice was never hers.

a soothing kind of ache blooms in both your palms, as your nails dig into the soft skin. hard enough to form crescents, like the ones under shoko’s eyes, that she’ll never be rid of no matter how much she sleeps. the choice was never hers.

isn’t that just too cruel?

they don’t deserve her. none of them do. the elders didn’t, the jujutsu world doesn’t — not even the students. no one deserves it; everything she does for everyone, day and night, just slaving away in the morgue or her office. cutting up curses and old friends. every second of the day, always that same buzzing of her name being called. 

shoko, someone needs healing, come quick! 

shoko, i know it’s 2 am and you have work tomorrow, but there’s a curse that i need you to dissect.

shoko, i think i got a paper cut, would you mind taking a look?

none of them deserve her.

you think of gojo. a flash of white hair, a grin brighter than the sun. a bloodstained smile — one shoko had to wipe away.

something ugly claws its way up your throat.

none of them deserve her. especially not him.

what were you thinking, leaving her all alone like this? so much for being the strongest. you couldn’t even stay alive.

why would you die with a smile on your face? do you have any idea how cruel that is to her?

you idiot. don’t you know how much she missed you?

— yeah. none of them deserve her. gojo doesn’t, the world doesn’t, and neither do you. no one does. 

what shoko deserves is to live a normal life. 

and she never will.

it’s foolish. it’s naive, a juvenile daydream. but you wish for it so, so badly. so much that even just the thought alone feels like too much to bear.

you wish you could bring her with you. 

you wish you could take her hand in yours, and run away. leave it all behind, every single thing, without caring about the consequences. you’d hold her hand and never let it go, and then you’d run and run until you were both high on adrenaline and breathless laughter.

maybe you could go somewhere, together. somewhere better. outside of japan, where there are less curses. money wouldn’t be an issue, you both have more than you know what to do with — one of the perks of having a job that’s bound to kill you. you could settle down in some smaller town, peaceful, maybe a little secluded. just to make sure no one finds you. 

maybe you could open up a little shop, together. or spend all your days tangled up beneath the blankets, catching up on lost sleep. talking and whispering, like you’d do back at the sleepovers you used to have. you’d make her coffee every morning, and tea every evening. you’d spend the rest of your life trying to make her laugh as loud as possible.

there’s nothing you want more. absolutely nothing. there never will be.

— but you can’t ask her.

you can’t ask her to come with you, no matter how much you want to. that’d be the cruelest thing you could possibly do to her.

she would never agree. you’d only be hurting her more. so selfish, all of these wishes. it was so much simpler back when you were just kids. when you didn’t have to care about duties or responsibilities. when your cognitive empathic abilities were just a little more lacking. 

a sigh flows from your lips. resigned, but somewhat hopeful, all the same. tainted with the murmurs of a memory that’ll never happen.

”maybe i’ll open up a bakery, or something.” you tap your fingers against the desk, smiling a little to yourself at the thought. or trying to. ”then you could come visit.”

shoko looks into her cup of coffee. watching the swirling of the vortex, the abyss that gazes back at her. she doesn’t look at you but you can tell she’s listening. then she puts the cup down, and you glance at her now-empty hand. 

shoko’s hands have always been pretty. even when they’re covered in grime, or stained with blood. thin, a little bony, smooth skin obscuring clear blue veins. moles litter her hands like stars in the sky; one right beneath her pinkie, another by her wrist. the more you look, the more you find.

tentatively, you broach the distance between you. curling your fingers around her slender ones, where they rest on her lap. linking hands. it’s a slow movement, drawn out and careful, accompanied by the heavy beating of your heart. 

(her skin is cold to the touch. your skin buzzes with unease, but you don’t let go.)

then you smile. a small thing, not really optimistic, but the attempt is there. something for her to hold on to. looking deep into her eyes, admiring the hazel glow that never quite left them.

”i’ll give you free pastries.”

a moment passes. shoko’s fingers squeeze around yours — weakly, but it’s there. movement, motion, life. a way of reaching out. a way to hold on.

her eyes continue to trail over the page, but you know she’s not reading any of the contents. you’ve caught her attention. a small victory, but you’ll take what you can get.

”i don’t like sweets,” she reminds you, leaning back a little in her chair. allowing her eyes to flutter shut, at last — and it’s not much but it’s something. a moment of relief for those tired, tired eyes. more tired than any 29 year old’s should be.

”i’ll change your mind,” you promise, mustering up enough will to sound smug. ”my pastries will be out of this world. you’ll get a sweet tooth in no time, sho.”

she exhales a breath, vaguely amused. your smile widens, hopelessly. her happiness was always the root of yours, wasn’t it?

then she looks at you, one eyebrow raised in lazy scepticism. ”can you even bake?”

”nope,” you deadpan. ”but i’ll learn. you’ll see.”

this time, shoko almost chuckles — and it’s more than you’ve gotten out of her in recent memory. god, you missed that sound. a little raspy, from all the cigarettes, but still so honeyed and smooth. hearing it makes you feel as if everything will turn out fine, in the end.

(what a powerful thing, for a voice to do. one so lovely it anchors you to the earth.)

a faux pout curls its way to your lips, and you squeeze her hand lightly. ”don’t laugh, i’m being serious!” your pout shifts into a soft grin, a little teasing. ”i’ll get you addicted to sugar instead of nicotine.”

”haha…”

shoko laughs. shoko laughs and it’s beautiful.

shoko laughs, a genuine laugh, and it’s so beautiful that you almost don’t notice the tears in her eyes. almost.

and then you realize your mistake.

a memory comes to you, then. you recall a hushed conversation, beneath a cloudy summer sky. the air was heavy with the scent of lilacs and cigarette smoke. two people were beside you, and all you cared about was listening to the tilt of their voices. that, and nothing more. a time before everything and everyone went south.

(”you know, shoko. you really should drop those death sticks of yours.”

”i don’t want to hear that from the guy who needs 40 grams of pure sugar every day just to function.”

”rude! and as far as addictions go, sugar is a cut above nicotine, don’t ya think?”

”whatever. just worry about yourself, gojo.”)

by the time you realize, it’s already far too late. the tears have already begun to fall. little droplets of grief, sticking to her skin.

they trickle down the contours of shoko’s face, and fall onto the paper in her hand, smudging the letters. she clutches it tightly, crinkling it, just to make the damage worse. her other hand is still holding yours, chipped nails digging into your skin gently.

but she keeps laughing. low, hazy laughter — pained. she sounds like she’s in pain, and that’s because she is. even if no one ever cares to mention it.

(how cruel, for her to be born with the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing any physical wound; leaving her with too many mental ones to count. never to be healed or acknowledged, in this life or the next.)

you can only stare. helpless to her sadness. her eyes are a little red, and she’s biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood — a drop of scarlet falls onto the paper, and you think of gojo again.

you think of shoko finding him. running to his side. doing all she could to heal him, to patch him up — getting blood all over her hands and clothes. red everywhere, staining the pure white of the snowfall. like something out of a painting.

she did all that she could. pressing down on his chest, positive cursed energy pouring out from her fingertips in tandem with the snow. pressing two shaky fingers to his pulse point, just in case. just to find any sign of life, absolutely anything. hoping so tenderly that she’d feel the flutter of his pulse. that he’d get up, and laugh obnoxiously, and ask her if she really thought he’d leave her behind so easily.

you’d never seen her look so scared. so desperate, a primal kind of fear you’ve learned to associate with self-driven survival. the way some animals can claw their way out of a predator’s stomach if they’re swallowed whole. but she did that to save him. trying to claw him out, herself. from the belly of the beast.

she did all that she could.

but gojo didn’t do anything. he just laid there, split in two. frozen in time, eternally young. watching the sky. smiling.

(what a wonderful way to die. what an awful thing for an old friend to find.)

before your mind can catch up, your body acts. muscle memory, in the way your arms curl around her midriff to bring her close. tucking her into your side while she sniffles and cries. still laughing, like she’s still trying to convince you that she’s fine. like she’s isn’t falling apart at the seams.

the dam breaks. the ice shatters. everything comes crashing down — and you’re there to pick up the pieces. despite everything.

it’s not enough, it never will be. but at least it’s something.

it’s heart-wrenching, the way she clings to you. like you’re the only thing she has. the dry laughter that spills from her throat devolves into sobbing, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, nails clinging to the fabric of your clothing like she’s trying to anchor herself. broken sniffles fill the space between you as she hides away, in the crook of your neck.

(the sound makes you feel like someone drove a knife from your sternum down to your stomach.)

all you can do is hold her. quietly, delicately. as if she could break if you squeeze her too hard. as if she’d shatter like a sheet of glass if you were to say the wrong thing again.

you hold shoko like she’s fragile. because she is, regardless of what anyone else says. because she’s a human being, and she’s grieving, and she needs this.

eventually, she musters up the will to speak — and it’s awful, raspy, broken syllables she has to force out of her throat. 

she chokes on the words like they’re poisonous. like she’s been carrying them around for decades, bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to be let out.

“don’t — don’t end up here,” shoko pleads, voice wavering through the syllables. full of fear. “please.”

you know what she means. she doesn’t have to say it, because you know.

don’t end up in my morgue. don’t end up on my autopsy table. 

shoko sounds meek. she sounds close to falling apart. you’ve never seen her like this before, clutching onto your sleeves as if begging you to stay. 

“you’re — you’re the only one i…”

she doesn’t finish, cut off by a broken sniffle. but she doesn’t need to. 

you’re the only one i have left. i can’t lose you, too.

please don’t die. please don’t leave me behind.

a shaky inhale. your arms tighten around her waist, tugging her closer. praying that she’ll feel the steady beating of your heart, the undeniable proof that you’re alive. that you haven’t left her yet. 

you blink away the tears in your eyes, grasping for control over your wavering voice.

“i won’t.”

and maybe it’s cruel, maybe it’s the cruelest thing you could do to her — making a promise you know you might not be able to keep. but you do so anyway. helpless to her sadness. at the complete mercy of her grief. you’d do anything to stop the tears from falling, to soothe the turmoil in her chest.

“i won’t let you be alone, shoko,” you murmur into her hair, with all the comfort you can possibly muster. ”not now, or ever.”

three words yearn to be spoken, resting on the tip of your tongue. three little syllables, desperate to be heard after living in the back of your throat for so many years. 

and for a second, you think you might say it. 

you think you might say it, breathe life into the statement. you can almost taste it, can almost hear it. can almost see what her expression would look like.

but shoko sniffles, and hugs you tighter. protective, like you’ll leave if she doesn’t. so tightly that it hurts a little.

and you swallow the words, once more. 

right now, this is enough. it’s enough that you’re alive, that you’re here. that’s what shoko needs, right now.

she doesn’t need your love. she just needs you to stay alive.

so you will. you decide that you will, no matter what. you’ll leave, and you’ll open up a shitty bakery that won’t get any customers — and you’ll give her free pastries for the rest of your life. you’ll get her so addicted to sweets that she’ll have no choice but to come back for more.

shoko cries like a child. filling the silence of the morgue with her shaky breaths and quiet sniffles, little hiccups and whimpers. the tears never seem to stop, and you wonder how long it’s been since she last let them fall.

you hold her in your arms, smoothing a palm down her back, counting the bumps of vertebra — and don’t say anything. there’s no need to.

for now, the soft patter of your heartbeat is enough.

ijichi stands just outside the morgue, unmoving. not saying a thing.

it’s muffled, hushed and quiet, but still audible. the sound of childlike crying. the kind all sorcerers do their best to keep to themselves.

in his arms lie a bundle of papers. the final pages of gojo’s autopsy report. it’s important that shoko sees them — vital, according to her. something about the six eyes, the possibilities they hold. the hope that maybe, just maybe…

— he clutches them tightly, and then walks away.

[vasito-de-leche]

hello!! your writing is so good i am perceiving it /pos. i'm not sure if you do familial/platonic requests so ignore this if you don't but may i request click with a reader who he sees as an older sibling? it can be headcanons or like general thoughts i don't rlly care. thank you!! <3

;R1999 CLICK - Familial Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons and analysis about Click and an older sibling figure.

ty for the ask, nonnie <3 and yes, I do write for familial/platonic stuff too, not just romance! check the rules if you have any questions!

As far as I know, there's no information about Click's family nor their dynamics, and he doesn't seem to fit any of the stereotypical youngest/middle/eldest child labels. So, going by personality alone, I'd say that for Click to consider someone as his very own older sibling figure, they'd have to be somewhat similar to him!

Not necessarily a carbon copy of him, mind you - they don't have to share his passion for photography nor agree with him 24/7! Just someone who he can relate to and who brings him a sense of security. Perhaps someone like Zima! Insightful, with a strong core and sense of self, aiming to broaden his horizons.

Someone who has also seen the darker aspects of life, lived through tragedies and come out stronger - Click is proud of his job, but he knows that talking about heavy subjects isn't everyone's cup of tea. So he'd like to know that his older sibling figure can understand or is trying to understand where he comes from, that he doesn't mean to bring the mood down whenever he happens to bring up the subject of war. It's part of his life and his experiences, and pretending that it didn't happen would be a disservice to all the things he's witnessed.

Alternatively, Click would gravitate towards anyone who shows extreme passion for their craft, regardless of what it might be - creative people who are dedicated and who experience the world through different artistic mediums are a big inspiration for him. Someone who drags him into all sorts of situations, allowing Click to capture many different points of view that he would've otherwise missed. Someone like Regulus or Diggers!

Click tends to wander and disappear a lot. It's always up to you to find him.

Younger siblings tend to either follow after their older siblings all the time like puppies, or disappear off the face of the Earth and mind their business (I'm the youngest of 6 siblings, I can vouch for this). Click fits the latter!

It's common for him to just wander around and disappear for days on end to focus on taking the best pictures across the Wilderness, with nothing but his camera and his thoughts. Somehow, he always seems to know whenever you call out to him - he'll manifest beside you right away, hoping he's not gotten into trouble. It's a weird feeling, knowing people expect him to keep in touch and come back safe and sound, that no matter where he goes, he'll still hear your voice calling out to him because he's going to miss dinner (not that he even needs to eat). But it's a very nice, warm feeling, so he doesn't mind.

I like to think Click - and pretty much any ghost within the universe of R1999 - can just become invisible to the human eye at will, with arcanists (especially those of Spirit and Intelligence afflatus) being able to sense their presence. During particularly bad days, where PTSD might be giving Click a hard time, he'll just fade away so that no one can see him. And then, he'll pick a spot to sit and wait for it to blow over.

Sometimes, you find him anyway, no matter how much he tries to hide. Sometimes, he lets you know where he is. Either way, he lets you know that he'd like for you to stay and keep him company - I imagine there's a system you two come up with, should he feel too overwhelmed to talk. Knock once for yes, two for no. Tug on your shirt if he wants to lead you somewhere quieter, pat your hand to sit down with him, etc etc.

Everyone begins to see you as Click's guardian.

On a less sad note, whenever someone needs Click for anything, they always go to you first and foremost! Either because you're the only one who can figure out where he may be, or because they want to run their plans through you first.

Vertin specifically makes sure to know if you'd like to accompany him during missions that require his presence, or if you'd like to know the details of his next solo mission. It's something she does out of politeness and as a a formality - and because Click just seems to perk up just a tiny bit if she tells him that you expect him to do a proper job. Whenever Lilya is planning to give Click a ride to take better pictures, she always jokes around, saying that she'll bring your precious brother back in one piece. Pavia always jokingly threatens Click to snitch on him and tell his "big scary sibling" that he's been taking pictures of people when they sleep.

From an outsider's point of view - those who do not belong to this group - it feels like everyone is infantilizing Click. He's 19 and a war photographer! But one has to remember that everyone in this suitcase has lost family and friends to the "Storm".

Aside from being displaced and forced into unfamiliar waters, everyone is dealing with so many things on their own, like losing their lives and all the people they once knew and cared for. So knowing that Click was able to form such a strong bond with you, to trust and see you as family, despite everything? It really brings them hope for a brighter future - Vertin's goal to create a place for those who have nowhere else to go starts to make sense for them. And hey, most of them are willing to stop with their little jokes and such should they bother you or Click!

This specific point comes from me seeing Vertin's group as one huge found family - there's no way everyone will get along, but at the end of the day, everyone trusts and relies and takes care of each other. The dynamics within this found family are much too complex for me to get into right now and for people outside of it to even understand, just know that it's a thing!

Click picks up on your mannerisms and speech pattern unconsciously.

Click isn't very talkative outside of the usual photography or artistic talk, he's more of a listener. And while he does become a little more talkative around you, opening up and whatnot, you tend to do most of the talking. And that's how he ends up picking up your mannerisms!

It's especially funny for everyone if you happen to have a very different and contrasting way of speech- the way Click just casually drops an F bomb in that soft-spoken voice whenever he fails to get the perfect shot will NEVER stop funny.

I like to think that, because of how observant he is, he also ends up picking up on your unique gestures. It's all an unconscious thing he does - if someone points it out Click won't even know what they're talking about, entirely oblivious to the fact that he now emotes and makes the same facial expressions as you do, the same gestures (at least when his hands are free, instead of clinging to that camera of his) and using the same phrases and whatnot.

[littleplantfreak]

umemiya’s pirate outfit is imo his hottest merch but if they made pirate chika he’d steal the show

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

♡ chronicle #3 : going home ♡

fem reader pronouns mentioned in this one !

wc : 7210

bakugou has been acting different after your conversation at work.

it's not like he's gotten any less annoying, far from it. but he's been a bit more...bearable lately.

sure, he still steals your food and nips at you when you pull it away from him. but he's started 'begrudingly" sharing his portion with you, to keep it fair. whether it be an energy bar from your pantry or the dinner he insisted he'd make for himself but ended up conveniently making enough for the two of you.

he's also way more touchy, almost on the brink of clingy. he follows you around your apartment whenever you leave the living room like an angry puppy with rabies, but then denies he is. "you were just headed the same way i was." was his favorite excuse.

you had caught on quickly when he simply stood by the door and watched you fold laundry, then growling about how you took to long before taking half of your clothes and neatly folding them like his life depended on it. perhaps he was simply a clinger. you don't mind much, you get your laundry done faster with him here.

he's started sitting closer to you on the couch. slowly, subtly at first, but now he doesn't feel the need to be subtle anymore it seems. he can't be when you're practically sitting shoulder to shoulder. you don't mind much, he's warm.

you've slowly started petting his head more and more often. you don't really remember why you did before, but he didn't seem to mind it the first time, so you figured you were in the clear to do it again. he jumped after you'd first done it again while you were watching the notebook, but he didn't say anything. you didn't either so as not to get your head chewed off. you saw in the corner of your eye how he leaned his head a little more towards you, and how he turned red from the tips of his ears all the way down to his neck.

since you'd come to find out he liked getting praised, you'd start implementing the act of affection here and there and now he expects you to do it every time. it was hard to understand what he wanted at first since apparently him being a powerful and mighty dragon made him unable to use his words correctly. he'd just stare at you, fiery red eyes locked onto your face and a small barely there pout forming on his face. you'd learned to do it every time since then, otherwise he'd get cranky. you don't mind much, his hair feels really nice.

he still hasn't called you by your fucking name though, but you're desensitized by now.

it's been about an hour since you'd gotten back from work. you're watching a movie you chose, which ended up being lady and the tramp. bakugou complained at first before quickly getting absorbed into the movie. you find it frankly hilarious that the big, serious and scary dragon man enjoys watching disney movies but you digress, it was a good movie.

you can hear the microwave's low hum and you're already salivating at the smell from the leftover dinner bakugou had made yesterday. you're a little, just a smidge jealous of his cooking skills, sure. but you will not miss the opportunity to eat his food up, you've learned to suck up your pride and live with his stupidly handsome cocky smirk as you practically devour his food.

you've gotten to the famous spaghetthi scene and you're curious to see how the dragon man reacts to it. you feel smugness pooling in your chest when you see him trying to hold back a cheesy smile. you really can't blame him, there's a smile forming on your face unconsciously, this scene is really fucking cute.

"i love this scene, it's so cute" you sigh dreamingly "if only human relationships were that easy" you lament, resting your head in the palm of your hand.

bakugou, who's sitting right next to you on the couch, scoffs to himself "you humans and your stupid mating rituals. i don't know why you make things so difficult for yourselves."

"you can't just assume all humans are like what you see in drama's. most humans aren't like that" you deadpan. he pokes at your ribs and chuckles when you jolt and glare at him, just as annoying alright.

"of course i know that, shitty human" he says, shuffling around on the couch to get more comfortable, his arm brushes against yours when he throws it back around the couch for a moment and you hate how easily it makes you shiver. " but those drama's are somewhat cemented in reality, aren't they ? so it's stupid."

you roll your eyes, but you can't really disagree. humans did seem to make things complicated for themselves.

but suddenly, you're curious.

"well, how do dragons.." you fumble around with your hands looking for the right word "..date, then ?" you ask. bakugou rolls his eyes at you "we don't date." he copies in a pitchy voice, you tug at his horn and he growls, snapping at you.

"what do you do then ?" you groan as you dodge him, he knocks his head against yours and headbutts you. he's such a sore loser.

"we mate." he huffs "mate ?" you ask curiously and he nods, looking towards the tv, grunting in acknowledgement. "s'like—what you humans call marriage" he mumbles, his voice and eye contact trailing off.

"oh, okay.." you hum, nodding "so, how do you break up ?"

"we don't. there's no need."

you tilt your head at him, silently asking for more info. he sighs like he's irritated but really it's because you're staring up at him so curiously. you're eyes are big and bright and so annoyingly pretty. and your scent's way too fucking strong, it makes him want to hold you and keep you close to him, away from dragons and humans and everything else.

" everyone has a soulmate." he starts, absentmindedly prodding at the material of your couch "wether you find them at birth or at the end of your lifespan, you have one."

"you're soulmates the one that was made for you. there's an old legend you and your soulmate are stars seperated by the gods and you're looking for each other reflexively—or something" he adds, seemingly uninterested, but he can feel his skin heating up after every word "they understand you on a level no one else can, and whenever you're with them.." he cuts himself off and suddenly looks down at you. you blink up at him, surprised, but you don't move an inch. it feels like you've gotten closer somehow. something in the air has changed.

"it" he gulps "it feels right."

katsuki has understood why he feels the way he does around you for a while now. he thinks he's always had somewhat of a hunch when he'd first blasted into your apartment and hadn't killed you the moment you'd raised your voice at him. but he knew for sure when you'd had your..moment at your office.

katsuki's convinced himself he doesn't have time for soulmates, he doesn't need one. no matter how hard his old hag had tried to force encourage him to find his. he simply couldn't find it in himself to care.

and yet, now that he's met you, it's so, so different. he wants you. he wants you more then he's ever wanted anything before. he needs you more than all the gold and every treasure he could lay his eyes on. he can't hand you over to anyone else now that he's met you and he wants to be bothered, especially because you're human. something he's been taught to look down on ever since he was a cub. and yet here he is, clinging to you like a puppy. cooking for you, helping you with your stupid human chores and groceries and he listens to you when you ask him something, although begrudgingly.

and katsuki wants to hate it, he wants to hate the way you make him feel, wants to hate how mushy and soft you make him, he wants to hate you. but he can't. can't hate the way you make him feel and he can't hate you because when he's with you he feels so good. he wants more, more of this feeling, more of you.

dragons are greedy creatures after all.

you're lips suddenly feel very dry as he looks at you and you look at him. his piercing gaze makes you forget you were supposed to respond to what he said.

"o-oh, that's really..romantic" you breathe out. he huffs and he's so much closer now because you feel the air hit your face when he does "s'corny if you ask me" he says evenly, gaze focused on you.

"i did ask you" you quip, but there's no smirk on your face when you do, your heart starts beating a little faster "you seem to know a lot for someone who thinks it's corny" you try to lighten to mood, booping his nose and you watch his face scrunch up, huffing out a laugh when he bops his forehead to yours somewhat harshly again, but not enough to hurt.

" my folks told me about it. and it's a common tale back where i'm from, everyone knows about it."

and that clears your head a little bit. his parents. the place where he comes from.

you'd been too scared to ask him anything after things turned awkward a few weeks ago. it wasn't that bad, but bad enough to scare you off from asking again. you suck in a breath, sucking up your confidence with it.

"where—" you start "where are you from anyway, bakugou?" your voice is soft, meek as you ask. it's so low you could barely hear yourself but you did, and so did he. his eyes narrow the slightest bit and you have to steel your nerves to stop from flinching. he leans his head away, just slightly, like he can't force himself to go any further "why'd you wanna know ?" he asks, and unreadable expression on his face.

you shrug "i wanna know more about you." you reply. he squints at you somewhere, then closes his eyes and sighs.

"my people are from a place called yuuei. it's a great kingdom" he huffs, clearly proud.

you nod "then..why'd you leave ?" you probably should've been more careful with your wording, but you found you don't find bakugou as menacing as you used to when he first arrived. you don't know if that's a good thing or not.

his eyebrows furrow as he looks down at the couch, you don't want to upset him and you're about to tell me he doesn't have to divulge any personal information when he speaks again.

"i'm...pretty important over there.” he mumbled "it's—it doesn't matter anymore. i'll probably be replaced."

"what ? what does that mean ?" all he does is furrow his eyebrows more, clenching his fists. as if it were a reflex, you reach up and run your fingers through his soft blonde hair. his closes his eyes the moment your hand makes contact with his head, you hear a happy little chuff come from him as you scratch a specific spot he rlly likes right below his nape.

"in my kingdom, you have to do this sort of..duel, it's for power an' stuff.." he replies after a bit , his eyes still closed but the pinch in his brows returns the more he speaks "i was supposed to win. i was gonna win, but i—" a heavy scowl is present on his face and you could tell it was something hard to talk about for him. you're so focused you don't notice your movements have slowed down, but bakugou has. he nudges his head against your hand and grunts. you offer him a little mumbled out "sorry" and continue to abide to his wordless demand. it's endearing as much as it's bratty, but you don't mind much.

"that fuckin' bastard played dirty..and i lost. th't's how i got here" he groused. your eyes widen in shock, completely stopping your movements in his hair despite the groans of complaint you hear from him. "how far away is yuuei ?!"

"far" he chuckles humorlessly "very far. but i've sparred with him before, he couldn't have gotten so strong so fast. must've gotten somethin' from a witch or whatever.”

"you got blasted all the way here ?!" you squeaked, cringing at the pain he must've felt. with the state he'd appeared at..your wall, it was honestly amazing he had healed so much that fast. dragons really are something else, you thought.

he scoffs, shoving his head against your hand as if to punish you for rubbing salt in his still very open wound. "s'not that big of a deal" he stops himself for a second "i'm gettin' better aren't i, doc ?" he jests. you roll your eyes, a small smile appearing onto your face. he had been healing pretty well from what you'd seen.

"i can give you that" you sigh. bakugou gives you a once over than raises and eyebrow "well, did i satisfy your curiosity, human ?" he goads sarcastically, you fight the urge to roll your eyes again because you feel they'll get stuck to the back of your head with how hard you'd be rolling them. instead you offer him a tiny giggle, you miss how his tail raises upwards the slightest bit.

you hum pensively, and he rolls his eyes at you this time, you laugh. "yeah, i think i'm satisfied for now" you smirk, returning to your activities of messing around with his wheat colored strands of hair, making it messier and spikier than it already was.

"for now ?" he asks amusedly. but there's a subtle hint of genuine vulnerablity in his eyes that you can somehow see so clearly, you're still a little shocked about how easy this literal other wordly, mythical being was to read. or maybe bakugou was just very obvious. or maybe it's because you feel like you've known him you're entire life when you look him in the eyes for too long.

"mhm" you hum, smiling softly at him, your hand trails lower to the hairs at the nape of his neck, you get goosebumps when you hear his low growl in response to your touch "for now" you whisper. a beat passes.

suddenly, you're pressed down on the couch and bakugou's on top of you.

it happened before you could even process it. before you could even blink he was staring down at you, hands on either sides of your head and so close that you could feel his breath every time he inhaled and exhaled. there's a low rumble sound that's coming from him, you don't know from where. you can barely hear anything over the sound of your heart beating fast against your ribs.

he's simply staring, and staring and a beat passes. then he huffs, pouting to himself.

"you piss me the hell off, you know." he mutters

"wh-wha?! bakugou—" you're not even sure you could've said anything more coherent than this if you tried. your brain's scrambled, your cheeks feel hot and you cannot hear anything but him and your beating heart.

he cuts you off "katsuki." he growls. "it's katsuki. say it." he demands, sounding almost desperate.

"..katsuki" you mumble shyly, testing how the new name he'd given you sounds. it's pretty, you like saying it, you decide. he inhales harshly when he registers his name falling from your pretty lips.

"you—" he speaks " you have no fuckin' idea what you do to me, do you." he asks but he doesn't give you a chance to answer as he continues "'f course ya don't." he smirks, leaning in more so he could bump his nose against yours. your lips part to swipe your tongue over them and you feel your fingers twitch when his eyes flit over to look at the movement for way longer than necesarry before he keeps speaking.

"you, you're probably...nah, definitely the most infuriating human i've ever met." you huff, forgetting the position you're in for a moment before pouting up at him " you're not the most amicable dragon i've met either." you huff petulantly. he chuckles, adjusting a little to lean back just barely and give you that infuriating smirk. "no trust me, i am. any other dragon wouldn't have let ya mouth off like that at them for more than a second"

"so what, i should be thanking you or something ?" you snarked hotly, you go to cross your arms reflexively, but he stops you halfway. holding your arms above your head with one hand. he leans in again and you gasp slightly. his hold on you tightens ever so slightly when you do.

"yeah, you should be actually. coulda blown yer fuckin' head off if i wanted to" he snickers "but that's the thing." he says somewhat seriously "i didn't"

"thanks." you deadpan. he tuts at you, rolling his eyes again "shut up, i wasn't finished. when you mouthed off to me when i first arrived here. you had every fuckin' right to." he admits begrudgingly, looking away from you. your eyes widen in surprise but you stay silent

bakugou sighs above you " as much as i hate to admit it, you saved my life...or whatever. and the first thing i did was threaten you. i haven't met that many humans, but most of 'em were weaklings. wether they talked a big game or not, they should be prepared for what happens when you mess with me and what's mine."

"but you weren't after my treasure, or my scales, or my life. you were after payment for your fuckin' wall" he chortles " i thought that was what caught me off guard about you, so i figured i could at least fix your wall up."

he stops and his smirks melt away when he makes eye contact with you again. "but then ya offered me to stay. and i said yes. and i didn't fuckin' know why i did, but it just felt right to." he admits "i went along with your stupid human reasons that i could honestly give less of a shit about, without even fucking knowing why." he spills, inhaling as he finishes "but now," he swallows, leaning down so his lips make contact with your neck, you gasp in surprise "now i do." he rumbles lowly.

you can barely speak, can barely think straight and yet it's like your body's taking full control "wh-why?" you hear yourself ask. he looks up at you from where he's hidden in your neck and leans up until your lips are a breath away from each other. it startles you, but you don't move.

he looks at your lips then back up at you. red eyes peering at you, asking for permission. you exhale and feel yourself nod just the slightest bit, but just enough for him to get your approval. you want this, you need this. you feel like you'll lose it if you he doesn't—

the sound of the timer makes you both jump.

"oh—shit !" you squeak, surprised at the sudden noise, you look at the tv, and back at him. his face is fully red and he refuses to look at you anymore. it makes your chest hurts a little bit. just as fast as he'd pushed you down onto the couch he's already off you, quickly mumbling "i'll go check it." before dissapearing into the kitchen, you can just barely catch the sound of his retreating footsteps over the sound of your beating heart.

what. just. happened ?

you don't know how you fell asleep last night but you did somehow, because the next morning you're off from work, it's ten am, and katsuki is gone. he'd left a note in suprisingly neat handwriting saying he had gone out to get groceries for dinner tonight. it was your turn to make dinner today, but you appreciate it nonetheless, despite your heavy, heavy heart.

you hear a knock at your door and you assume it's him, even though you find it odd of him to knock, since you had offered him a spare key. the knocking is insistent and loud. you grumpily stalk up to your door, swinging it open. expecting to be met with an extremely pushy telemarketer but instead you're met with an extremely tall, red haired man.

he had to be a little bit taller than katsuki, from what you can see. his hair spikes up and blends together so well it takes you a moment to notice those front pieces aren't hair, but horns. you look behind him for good measure and notice a long, red tail swaying from side to side like a cat's. he smiles wide, opening his mouth to speak and you're suddenly face first with an insanely sharp set off teeth. those are way sharper than katsuki's, by a long shot.

he's a dragon.

"hey !" he chirps happily. he doesn't seem like that big of a threat, you dare even say friendly. friendlier than your dragon friend that's for sure.

"hi.." you say wearily, tightly clutching onto your door preparing to slam it in his face should he give you a reason to. he seems to realise you're suspicious of him, as he backs up a little bit, raising his hands up in surrender.

"don't worry, i mean you no harm ! honest !" he reassures, looking you up and down. he seems to find something funny because he snorts but tries to hold it in. you look down and realise you're wearing your most ridiculous set of sanrio pyjamas, with cinnamoroll slippers to match.

great. very awesome. just perfect.

you look away from his and he seems to sense you starting to become flustered, (his senses sure are sharp, you'll give him that) lighthearteldly chuckling "i like your...footwear" he jests pointing with his chin towards your feet "very cute."

"did you need anything ?" you mutter, refusing to look at him because you feel like you'd explode from embarrassment. he jumps a little, seeming to remember what he came for and nods " yeah, actually ! i don't know if you'll believe me, but i'm a dragon."

"i can tell." you respond

"ya don't seem to be all the shocked.." he chuckles, looking a little dissapointed. it's kind of cute and you crack a small smile

"let's just say you're not the first dragon i've met." he nods, humming to himself and you can't tell if he actually heard you, let alone understood you.

"well, that makes things a little easier." he says " i'm actually looking for someone, a friend of mine. he's been missing for a little while and i'm looking for him." he explained

you raise and eyebrow in question "and what makes you think he'd be here?" you asked suspicously

"my buddy's real strong, so i could sense his mana output was somewhere around here ! i was gonna go from door to door, but it felt the strongest over here, so i decided to check your residence first !" he beams.

oh wow.

you don't even want to imagine what would've happened if someone had seem him like..that outside of their door. you can just thank the heavens above he came to your door first. nevertheless, he seems harmless. and he's pretty endearing, you're heart can't help but squeeze for him a little bit.

"oh, well—"

"what the fuck are you doing here ?!"

you and your new dragon friend both jump at the booming voice belonging to none other than your blonde dragon roommate, having just returned from doing the groceries. he doesn't look pleased, unlike his friend, who's breaks out into a grin seeing him.

"bakugou, man !" he rushes over to his friend, his tail happily following along. he clasps his hand behind his friends back, said friend doesn't budge and opts to glare from the corner of his eye.

"what the fuck are you doing here, shitty hair ?!" katsuki growls again, hands tightening around the grocery bags. you wince at the harsh nickname but his friend doesn't even flinch, probably already used to your dragon friends potty mouth.

shitty hair (?) simply laughs "what type of question is that ? i came here to get you !" his friend throws an arm around his shoulder and katsuki's jaw tightens.

you can't wipe the look of shock on your face fast enough because katsuki notices it. his eyebrows furrow as he's sure you'd heard what his mysterious companion had said, not that you could miss his frankly loud voice.

a beat passes and katsuki just shakes his head, grumbling at his friends words." i didn't ask you to come for me."

his hold loosens just slightly on the grocery bags in his hands and he sighs, shaking his friends shoulder off and walking past you both into your apartment, you both follow after him.

"c'mon man ! everyone's been worried about you !" kirishima pleads, accidently bumping past you to reach his friend. bakugou insists on ignoring him, stuffing the groceries in the fridge and the pantry "you've been gone for way longer than you usually are when you get mopey, so i just wanted to check up on—"

bakugou throws his friend a pointed glare, the heat of his stare causes his friend to flinch and his tail to drop. bakugou clenches his fists once, then twice and goes back to putting tonight's ingredients away "get lost. i don't need you to check up on me." he all but growls "i'm obviously fine, so tell the others to quit worryin.'"

"as if ! what am i supposed to tell them ? that you're suddenly working for humans ?" his friend seems to remember your existence and turns to you, waving his hands around " a— a nice human, of course !"

as confused as you are, you offer him a small smile "no offense taken." he smiles at you, sharp teeth on display, you miss the way bakugou slams the fridge door a little more harshly than usual. "i'm not workin for them ! as if i'd ever stoop that low, don't fuckin' insult me !"

"w-well what am i supposed to get from...this ?!" his friend gestures towards the now empty grocery bags in katsuki's hands. bakugou rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to respond when you cut in.

"uhm, excuse me ?"

this might be the stupidest decision you've ever made, standing in between two huge men who also happen to be dragons was definetly not something you expected to happen in your lifetime.

"i can tell you have..issues" you trail off "but i would like to get some things straight first, alright ?" you look to both men for answers. your unexpected guest nods obediently while your grouchy friend simply grunts in response, looking away from you. you sigh.

"alright first," you turn to the red haired dragon man " who are you ?" he jumps, rubbing at his nape, suddenly bashful "oh, right ! sorry, how rude of me !" he apologizes to you so easily. he's been suprisingly easy to deal with and you're starting to doubt what bakugou said about other dragons being meaner than him.

"the name's kirishima ! kirishima eijirou ! i'm sorry i didn't introduce myself sooner" you hear bakugou scoff behind you but you choose to ignore it, nodding at kirishima's words. "..alright kirishima, what do you want from bakugou here ?" you ask, nodding your chin behind your back towards your spiky haired roommate.

kirishima nods " bakugou suddenly went missing after an incident happened at our ten-year-tournament. i didn't bother looking for him at first, cuz he likes to be alone when he's brooding." he chuckles nervously "but he didn't show up after a few days and suddenly we realized he had dissapeared. i couldn't just give up on my bro, so i went looking for him." he explains.

"well ya found me, whoop-dee-fuckin'-doo." katsuki deadpans " so now you can fuck off—"

you fix bakugou with a sharp glare, and he clamps his mouth shut in suprise, before grumbling to himself, deciding to kick his shoes off. you sigh, focusing back on kirishima who looks shocked for a reason you don't know, then fixes his gaze on you again and straightens up, you look at him funny but you don't bother asking him about his behavior.

"ten-year- tournament ?"

"yeah !" kirishima bellows like you're a sergeant "it happens every decade between multiple different factions within our kingdom to avoid resorting to an all out war" he explains " we organize a tournament with representatives from every faction to take part in a sort of all out combat tournament !"

" the winning faction is granted a significant advantage and influence. the tournament serves as a means to determine a balance of power and settle disputes peacefully." katsuki adds on from behind you, with kirishima nodding along excitedly.

your jaw practically drops to the floor as you process the information. bakugou looks damn near constipated when you look back at him in shock. he squirms and shuffles around refusing to meet your eye.

bakugou scoffs for the umpteenth time today, shoving his hands in the pockets of the pants he chose out a few weeks ago when you'd went to the mall "...s'not that big of a deal.." he mutters, basically to himself but unfortunately for him both you and kirishima hear him.

"what ?!" you both exclaim, bakugou squints harder, his expression souring. you turn to kirishima and he doesn't need to be asked anything to know you want to know more. he continues nervously, despite having bakugou's glare concentrated on him as if telling him to be quiet.

"basically, bakubro over here fougth against someone from another faction, but it didn't end well."

"fuckin' bastard played dirty.." bakugou snarls behind you.

"right..and this is where we are now" kirishima finishes, sweatdropping.

you nod, eyebrows furrowed. you feel like the puzzle pieces are connecting, but you're somehow just as confused.

"so, what you said about that duel stuff yesterday, and you being replaced—" you turn to bakugou, who finally decides to look at you and it stuns you a bit, you try not to let it show too hard.

"replaced ?!" kirishima repeats "no way, man ! you're our best fighter, there's no way you'd get replaced"

bakugou's eyebrows furrow a bit more in response, his expression bitter as he looks off to the side, you can see the hurt he's trying to mask with anger " 'm obviously not the best if i fuckin' lost.." he chokes out lowly. your heart hurts for him and you want nothing more than to bury your fingers in his hair and have him purr into your touch to make him feel better.

" we all know that yuma guy didn't play fair ! maybe we could have some kinda—re-tournament or something !" kirishima tries encouraging his friend but it's futile as bakugou's jaw tightens again, glaring daggers at his friend, silencing him.

"don't be dumb. there's no way that's ever gonna happen, the elders are gonna see what they wanna see, whatever we have to say doesn't fuckin' matter." he says through his teeth.

" but—"

"enough, kirishima." bakugou snapped "forget it." it's all he utters before walking off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

it's so quiet you could hear a pin drop, kirishima and you hold your breath until he let's out a hopeless sigh.

"hooooh, maaann...i messed up bad.." he covers his face with his hands, groaning into them. you walk up to him to rub his arm comfortingly. you don't really know what else to do but try to comfort him.

"hey, it's alright just—give him some time to cool off, he gets cranky after being around humans for too long." you chuckle. kirishima offers you a tiny smile, letting out a huff of laughter "well, he doesn't encounter humans long enough to get cranky at them."

you tilt your head in confusion "what do you mean ?" you ask.

"bakubro doesn't like humans, he makes that..really clear.." he sweatdrops, his tail swishes slowly. "but i've never seen him take anything from a human before," he looks down at you and flashes you a cute grin "he must really like you !"

your heart skips too many beats.

it pulses like it did yesterday, when he'd been so close. with his breath against your face and his face so close to yours and his lips so close to-

"hey, you okay ? you look a little sick.." you feel something hard against your forehead, then realise it's his pressed against your own "do ya have a fever..?" he mutters almost to himself.

you jump back damn near five meters away from him as you process how close he is. he's way less shy about being physical compared to katsuki, by a long shot.

"i-i'm okay ! no need to worry about me ! m'fine !" he pouts at your response " we must have freaked you out, right ? m'sorry for the outburst." he apologizes, bowing his head a little. maybe it's because he's so nice or you've gotten used to petting dragons, but you place your hand against his spiky hair, rubbing at it softly "it's really not your fault, no need for apologies."

his eyes widen for a fraction of a second then dilate and his tail wags like a puppy's. "okay..f'you say so." he mumbles shyly, his voice now barely a fraction of what is was before " thank you, human.."

you're about to respond when the bathroom door opens and your met with bakugou, who's face morphs from his usual grumpy resting face, to confusion, to being damn near enraged. kirishima's about to talk again, possibly trying to convince his friend to return with him but katsuki marches over before he can even take a breath and proceeds to rip your hand out of kirishima's hair with a growl.

you gasp in surprise, his hand is so warm around your wrist. it makes you feel warm all over. kirishima tries to speak again but is interuppted yet again and if you could think straight you'd feel bad.

"kirishima." katsuki growls lowly, grip still secure around your wrist "come outside with me for a second."

kirishima looks at his friend, then to you and your arm in his grip. then nods, his eyes are a little wide "okay, sure." he says. katsuki grunts in acknowledgement and kirishima walks off ahead, not before offering you a wave and a cheery 'it was nice to meet you human !" you offer him a weak wave in return, still stunned.

before he leaves, katsuki turns to you. he looks down at your hand like he'd forgotten he'd grabbed it. he looks up at you, ears and face reddening, but he doesn't make any move to let go. instead, he harshly grabs your hand like a ragdoll and places it ontop of his head. his eyes remain fixed onto your face, your heart beats so fast your afraid it'll blast out of your chest at this rate.

it takes you a minute but almost reflexively, you curl your fingers to start scratching at the mop of hair on his head. he closes his eyes almost immediatly, chuffing into the air as he leans into you just slightly when you scratch at the spot right next to one of his horns.

the entire interaction takes up 5 seconds, but you feel like decades just passed by, and you really don't mind much. katsuki opens his eyes slowly to look at you. his eyes shine like he has something he wants to say, like he's debating if he should say something.

"i'll be back.." he whispers, voice low and gravely.

"okay.." you whisper back "don't be long. you're makin' dinner tonight, right ?" you giggle.

he huffs in your face and some smoke comes out, he let's out a barely there chuckle when you scrunch your nose up at him " dumbass, don't think i forgot it's your turn. you're lucky m'letting it slide tonight." he snickers. you tug at his horn and he snarls at you. before leaning back up again. he looks at you for just a moment longer then turns away out the door.

the butterflies in your stomach fly around in a fury, flapping their wings away as a dazed smile pulls at your face. you're satisfied enough for now to ignore the seed of doubt growing in your stomach.

" woah, there's tons of humans here, huh ?" kirishima says.

katsuki merely grunts in response. they had decided to settle down at a nearby park. it's crawling with humans and katsuki is somewhat dissapointed to realise he isn't all that bothered by their presence anymore. not as much as before at least.

"it’s annoyin." he mutters halfheartedly, leaning against the park bench they were sitting on, he sighs. kirishima chuckles kicking at some sand, frightening some pigeons nearby. "this place is real peaceful, i can see why you've been here for so long."

bakugou scoffs "wasn't originally what i was plannin’. you think i'd willingly spend my time mingling with humans, shitty hair ?"

"well, kinda seems like it's what you were doing with the human you're living with," kirishima quips, innocently shrugging to himself "just an observation." he adds.

"spell observation, then you can try to act smart with me, dumbass."

"hey, not cool ! i'm not stupid !" kirishima whines. he can't help himself and chuckles. bakugou cracks a faint smirk.

" i wasn't gonna live with that shitty human, just happened to blast through her apartment after losing that stupid tournament. was injured an’ she let me stay till i got better, or whatever." he explains. kirishima furrows his eyebrows, visibly confused.

"i mean, you woulda been blasted off pretty far, but it's been weeks, man.. have you gotten weaker or-"

"of course not, shitty scales !" bakugou growls "as if that weakling extra would've gotten me that bad."

"but..you're healed now, aren't you ?" his red haired friend asked. katsuki cringes at the way he's hesitant to answer him.

"yeah.." he utters.

both men stay quiet after that. katsuki sees a man walking his dog and a couple with a little girl in between them.

"you like that human a lot, don't you." kirishima speaks into the silence. katsuki doesn't respond. he sees two humans walking together, smiling and holding onto each other’s hands.

"tch. as if i could like that shitty human.." he says. kirishima can hear his friend doesn't sound completely sure of himself, despite being the last person he expected to ever be unsure of themselves. the blonde barely lasts a minute before sighing to himself. he leans his forearms against his legs.

"i think.. i think she's..y'know.." katsuki groans, grabbing onto his hair, trying to hide his face to cover up his embarrassment. kirishima only smiles to himself knowingly. kicking his feet up slightly in the air. he scratches his hair in the spot his horns usually are, it feels weird to hide them, he thinks.

"yeah, i know." kirishima answers "so, what do you plan to do ?"

"i don't know" katsuki huffs, letting his hands drop from his hair to back onto his lap. " i don't fuckin' know.."

katsuki returns about an hour later.

you're a little saddened to see that kirishima isn't there with him. "did kirishima leave ?" you ask loud enough so he can hear you from the entrance. he doesn't respond as fast as you'd like him to, the seed of doubt forms again. he walks up to you right infront of the couch and your eyebrows furrow when you see his expression. he refuses to look at you like he did yesterday, your heart squeezes.

"he's waitin' outside." his voice is barely loud enough for you to hear, you turn down the volume of the movie you're watching to hear him better. you see him squint at the floor like he's upset about it.

"oh." you snuggle into the couch, trying your hardest to get comfortable "is he coming over for dinner ?" you ask.

katsuki clenches his fists, taking a breath "no, he—listen." he looks up at you and his eyebrow furrow harder, it's heartbreaking and you want to reach out to him but you can't bring yourself to move.

"i..i have to go." he says, keeping his eyes on you.

you feel like someone just punched you in the gut.

you don't know how or what to feel. you knew he wouldn't be able to stay forever, you're both completely different. you have different lives, different routines—you're fully different beings. but somehow you'd tried to convince yourself that you weren't all that different from each other. that because you'd gotten used to watching movies, bickering, cooking for each other and folding laundry together, you'd thought maybe things could be different. you could've made this your routine.

"o-oh. oh." you say, voice wobbly "oh, yeah, okay..but your injuries.."

"it's fine i—" he cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. you don't like seeing him like this. katsuki decides he hates the look on your face more than anything. " i was supposed to leave a while ago."

your heart hurts, so so much. it hurts because the look on his face shatters you. it hurts because his words are shattering you. you can't help but feel a little stupid, dragons were really something else. they're not like regular humans, of course he wouldn't heal like one.

"okay..okay." your grip on the remote tightens so hard it starts to hurt. katsuki bites at his lip, he stands there like he's stuck to the floor. the conversation is over. no tears, no screaming, no fighting. it's over but his body won't allow him to move. like he should stay, stay where he feels right.

he should stay here with you.

without another word, katsuki turns around and leaves.

you sit there on the couch for a moment longer, watching his back as he walks away from you. going back to where he actually belongs.

back home.

you feel a giant lump in your throat, your eyes cloud up as you hear the door close behind him along with the low sound of the movie still playing on your tv. you lay down on your couch and cry. tears roll down your face as you shove your head deeper and deeper into one of the pillows and sob.

it seems it was your turn to make dinner tonight, after all.

AAAANNND it is done ! ngl i kinda felt a lil pain in my chest writing this LMFAOOO ughhh my love hate relationship w angst is doin number on me rn :(( welp anyway i had alot of fun writing either way , and i hope you enjoy reading as well ! sorries it took so long ml's <3

taglist ! : @sikuthealien @rosemarygalaxy @guccirosegold @slashersl0t @queenpiranhadon @k0z3me @katsuisbaby

[gifti3]

What if Asmo got gum stuck in his hair, like really in there and somewhere he cant see easily

But MC helps him get it out and they manage to without damaging or cutting his hair

[hauntedvintagelight]

How am I supposed to feel about this panel as someone who finished reading the webnovel.

This is gonna be the most difficult time for you my ASS.

[pickled-flowers]

Rereading the Mysqueery Gang and like. Who let me post this. Worst writing I've ever done like heck I'm so sorry to all my readers i should have been better 😭 these kids deserve a better story