#people still feel very distant but in a different way now

[kkoct-ik]

i think i might be loved

[seafarersdream]

The Art of Braiding (Cregan Stark x Y/N)

In the harsh, unfamiliar North, Y/N Tully struggles to understand the strange customs that surround her. One of them, however, her new husband Cregan Stark knows all too well—and he’s not above using it to his advantage. The Wolf of the North, as it turns out, has a cheeky side.

*Inspired by the braiding traditions of the Vikings

TW // Strong language and profanities, possessiveness, non-consensual restraint.

“Bloody wind,” Y/N muttered under her breath, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders as another frigid gust swept through Winterfell’s courtyard. The North had its own bite, and it wasn’t just the cold. It was in everything—the stone walls, the silence, and even the people.

Especially the people.

Especially Cregan Stark.

Her husband.

That cold bastard. Honorable, sure, but colder than the winds battering against her face.

Y/N blew a strand of hair from her eyes, resisting the urge to curse her luck again. The riverlands were nothing like this. In Riverrun, there was warmth. Rivers that didn’t freeze over in the middle of freaking summer. Men who smiled, told bawdy jokes, laughed loud enough for the gods to hear. Here, everything was different. Even the laughter, when it happened at all, felt muted by the heavy weight of the Northern sky.

But this was her life now. A wife of the North. Lady Stark. By the gods, it was still strange to hear it. She knew the match had been made for peace and alliances—marriage between a Tully and a Stark was good for the realm, or so her father had said. But no one had prepared her for the rest of it. The weather. The silences.

And Cregan himself.

He was unlike any man she had known. Rivermen were warm, boisterous. Cregan was the opposite. He was distant, cold at times, the weight of Winterfell and the North resting on his broad shoulders. But he was fair, she’d give him that. And gods be damned if he wasn’t handsome. He had that Stark look, all strong jaw and piercing eyes. If only he’d smile a little more, maybe she’d feel less like she was wed to a block of ice.

Not that he wasn’t good to her. No, Cregan was kind in his way. Gentle in the nights they shared, even if he was quieter than she liked. He was a man of few words, unlike the men of her home, who’d fill the halls with stories and laughter. Still, he made sure she had everything she needed. He listened, even when he didn’t have much to say.

But gods, she missed warmth.

The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow caught her attention, and she glanced up to see him approaching. Cregan. He walked like he owned the place—because he did, of course—but it was more than that. There was a confidence in him, a certainty in his steps. He didn’t need to announce himself. The wind, the snow, the very stones of Winterfell seemed to bend to his will.

He came up beside her, his breath clouding the cold air. “Still not used to it?” His voice was a low rumble, almost lost to the wind.

Y/N snorted, rubbing her hands together. “Used to it? It’s like a gods-damned frozen hell up here.”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “You’ll learn. In time.”

She shot him a look. “And when exactly will that be? Because I’ve been waiting for weeks, Cregan, and I’m about ready to march back to the riverlands and throw myself into the water. Ice be damned.”

His brows arched just slightly, amusement flickering in his gray eyes. “The riverlands? You wouldn’t last a day without the North, now.”

Y/N scoffed, turning to him fully. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Stark. I was born by water, not ice. I think I’d manage just fine.”

He said nothing, but the smirk returned. Silence fell between them again, but this time it was… different. More comfortable, somehow. She studied him, wondering what was going on in that head of his. He always seemed to have something weighing on him, some unspoken burden of being a leader at such a young age.

Before she could press further, he stepped closer, reaching out. Her breath caught, not because of the cold this time, but because of the unexpected closeness. His hand brushed against her hair, fingers moving with surprising gentleness.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hold still,” he murmured, focused on her hair. His fingers deftly gathered strands, working them with a skill that surprised her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, confused, but she stayed quiet, feeling the tug and pull as he braided her hair. Her pulse quickened as his fingers brushed against her skin, the sensation at odds with the chill around them. There was an intimacy in the act, in the silence that hung between them. And yet, it was just a braid.

Wasn’t it?

“There,” he said after a moment, stepping back. She reached up instinctively, fingers touching the braid he’d woven. It felt tight, but not uncomfortably so. She had no idea what to make of it. “What… is this?”

Cregan shrugged, that infuriating smirk still lingering on his lips. “Just a braid.”

“Just a braid,” she echoed, unconvinced.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable in their depths. “You’ll see.”

Y/N narrowed her gaze. “What exactly does that mean, Lord Stark?”

But Cregan was already turning, heading toward the main hall without another word. Y/N stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion. Just a braid? She huffed, shaking her head as she followed him inside. Northerners and their damn cryptic ways.

It wasn’t until they entered the hall that Y/N realized something was… off.

Eyes turned toward her. And not the usual fleeting glances. No, these were lingering, assessing stares. Several of the women whispered to each other, and a few of the men gave her respectful nods. She caught the eye of a servant who quickly dipped her head in what almost seemed like… deference?

Gods be good.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” she muttered under her breath, shooting a glare at one particularly nosy maid.

Cregan didn’t answer, his lips twitching as though he was trying very hard not to laugh. The bastard was enjoying this.

“What did you do?” she demanded, her voice sharper now.

Finally, he met her gaze, and there was that smirk again. “The braid.”

“What about the bloody braid?”

“It’s… a tradition,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the stone wall. “In the North, braids have meanings. Especially for women.”

Her stomach sank. “What kind of meaning?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “A braid like that? It tells everyone that you’re… claimed.”

Y/N blinked, feeling her face heat despite the cold. “Claimed?” she echoed, her voice rising a pitch. “By whom exactly?”

Cregan’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “By me.”

Her mouth fell open. “You—what?! You did that on purpose? You—sly, stubborn—”

His laughter was a rare, low rumble that warmed the cold space between them. “You’ll get used to it, my lady.”

“Used to it?” Y/N fumed, her cheeks burning as the reality of what he’d done sunk in. “You can’t just—ugh!” She shoved at his chest, but it was like pushing a damn wall. “This is the North, Y/N. My North,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And you are mine.”

A strange warmth bloomed in her chest, mixing with her frustration. The audacity. The nerve.

And yet…

Y/N's face burned hotter than the hearth fires in the Great Hall as Cregan’s words echoed in her ears: You are mine. Claimed. Oh, she was mortified.

She reached up, fingers fumbling to undo the braid that now seemed to burn against her scalp. “Absolutely not,” she muttered, her nails scraping against the tight weave as she tried to pull it apart. “I am not walking around Winterfell with everyone thinking—"

Before she could finish, Cregan’s hand shot out, closing around her wrist, firm but not rough. “What are you doing?”

She glared at him, teeth clenched. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m undoing this bloody braid before everyone in this hall assumes I’m some conquered—”

“You’re not,” he cut in, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. “And you won’t undo it.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the sudden command in his tone. “Excuse me?”

His eyes were intense, a storm brewing behind the calm gray. “The braid stays.”

She tried to yank her wrist out of his grip, but his hold was iron. Not painful, but resolute. “I didn’t agree to this—this.. this claiming nonsense,” she snapped, feeling a wave of embarrassment creep up her neck as she noticed more eyes turning their way.

Cregan leaned in slightly, his gaze unyielding. “In the North, it’s more than just words. It means something. You’re my wife. And you’ll wear that braid like it.”

Her heart pounded, heat flooding her chest. “I’ll wear what I damn well please—”

“Oi, Lady Stark!”

The loud shout from across the hall made Y/N freeze, her head whipping toward the source. One of the Northern men, a burly soldier with a wild grin on his face, pointed at her braid. “That’s a fine weave, my lady!” he hollered, winking.

The hall erupted into whistles, cheers, and hollers. Several of the men banged their fists on the tables, laughing and calling out words Y/N could barely make out. Some of the women were whispering behind their hands, giggling and exchanging knowing looks.

Y/N felt her face go crimson, her fingers still trapped in her hair, halfway through her attempt to undo the braid.

“Looks like the Warden’s laid his claim!” another man shouted, and more hoots followed.

Her stomach dropped. This was a nightmare. Mother save her, this is worse than a nightmare.

She tried again to pull at the braid, but Cregan’s hand didn’t budge from her wrist. “Cregan, I swear to the gods—”

His voice was maddeningly calm, but there was a cocky edge to it that made her blood boil. “You’ll leave it. And if you somehow forget, remember—we’ve got different gods, love. And mine? They’re backing me up.”

Y/N’s mouth opened to protest, but when she met his eyes, something in her faltered. He wasn’t just being possessive. There was something more there—something ancient, deep-rooted. A tradition that ran through his blood, through the very stones of Winterfell. She wasn’t just in his home. She was part of his world now.

But hell if she’d admit that to him.

“Cregan,” she hissed through clenched teeth, trying once more to yank her wrist free. “Everyone is staring!”

“And?” he asked, with that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. “Let them.”

Her eyes widened. “You—this isn’t funny! They’re hooting at me like I’m some prize at the fair!”

His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her pause. “You are no prize, Y/N,” he murmured, leaning close enough for his words to be for her ears only. “But you are mine. And in the North, we show it.”

Her breath caught at the warmth in his voice, even as her frustration grew. She had no idea what to say to that. What was she supposed to say? That she didn’t want to be claimed? That she didn’t want him? But the problem was… she did. And that was the most frustrating part.

The hall’s noise only grew louder. Some of the men had started clapping, whistling at them like they were some grand spectacle. Y/N wanted to sink into the stone floors.

“Let go of my wrist, Cregan,” she said, her voice quieter now, though it still carried her annoyance.

“Only if you stop trying to undo it,” he replied, his tone softening.

Y/N glared at him, her lips pressed into a tight line. But the heat of the stares, the teasing from the Northerners, was overwhelming. With a frustrated sigh, she dropped her hands from her hair.

“There,” she grumbled. “Now let go.”

He released her wrist, and immediately she wanted to punch him just a little bit. That cocky bastard.

“Was that so difficult?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “you’re lucky you’re my husband, or I’d throw you from the Wall.”

He leaned in, that smirk still present but softer now. “I’d like to see you try, wife.”

The word ‘wife’ sent another ripple of warmth through her, and she cursed silently under her breath. Why did it have this effect on her? And why did he have to look at her like that, with those damned Stark eyes, all cold and piercing but somehow still full of heat?

She crossed her arms, trying to hide her embarrassment under a glare. “Don’t expect me to be all smiles and sweet words because you’ve won this little battle, Stark.”

Cregan chuckled softly, his breath warm in the cold hall. “Who said I needed sweet words? You’re a Tully. I’d be disappointed if you weren’t fighting me.”

Despite herself, Y/N felt the smallest hint of a smile tug at her lips. Damn him. He knew exactly how to pull her in, even when she wanted to stay mad.

The cheers and whistles finally started to die down, though the teasing looks from the men and women of Winterfell didn’t. She sighed, looking up at Cregan. “You’re going to owe me for this.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Owe you?”

“Yes,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes. “For the embarrassment. You’ll owe me.”

Cregan grinned, his cold facade cracking just enough to show the warmth beneath. “Fair enough, wife. I’ll owe you.” He paused, a glint of mischief in his eye. “But that braid stays.”

She rolled her eyes. But a small smile tugged at her lips.

As they finally made their way to the high table, Y/N couldn’t help but glance at the braid once more. The claiming. It was still ridiculous. Still infuriating.

But gods help her… it felt good—brutishly, maddeningly good—to be claimed like this. She was going insane, because part of her didn’t mind it half as much as she pretended to.

A treacherous part of her silently hoped that Cregan would braid her hair again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the next. For as long as they both lived.

[sweetnans]

So I imagine a Reader and Bakugo are neighbours and their parents are friends so she’s known him since they were children but he dosent really care— anyways going to the future, reader confessed to Bakugo in middle school however since he dossnt get much attention from girls since they always ignore him he didnt know what to do and just reject her harshly, little did he know he started to develop feelings and it got worse when they both moved to UA💀. To make it worse reader made friends with Izuku lmao,,,

How do you think he would handle the crush thing and treat the reader before and after the war?

Before the war, he would definitely be super distant with Reader. Besides, Bakugo is the kind of guy who doesn't comprehend his feelings very well, so that leads him to suppress them until he explodes. Once he realizes he can't hold them anymore, he starts taking care of Reader in a super subtle way, like he makes sure she's good, she has eaten, that she doesn't strain herself too much on training, that she doesn't have any problem with tests and her assigments but if you think that if she has those problems he would approach her? You're wrong. If she's bad at training, he would send kirishima to train with her saying something very harsh like: "That loser can't fight for shit," and Kirishima would scold at him saying back: "that's not very cool, bro" and he would go and help you. He knows his people, so he knows how to play them.

After war, he realizes that everything can end in a second. After he dies and miraculously revives, he has a new vision of the world. He has a new vision of Deku, of his friends, of his family, and of course you. He needs to make amends.

Everyone is in delicate state after the war, physical injuries, and mental injuries. Every single person he knows is battleling with PTSD including you. After you heard him that he died and the tragic news spread almost as fast as the news of Todoroki taking down his own brother, you felt something breaking inside your chest. Your heart was ripped in two.

You knew that confessing your love to him wasn't very clever of you, and because of his response (or the lack of it), you thought that it'd be easier for you to forget him. You wished your feelings would be gone when you entered UA. But, just because the world hates you, they were still there, and even worse, they intensified.

So when you heard he had died and then revived, you decided to take a leap of faith and let your feelings be.

After the tumultuous end of the war, you haven't seen much of your classmates. Everyone was at home, including you, trying to heal wounds and getting a well-deserved rest.

You were admiring the ceiling of your room when a faint knock on your door snapped you out of your trance.

What you saw was like a mirage. Not even in your craziest dreams would you believe that this would ever happen to you.

"Are you busy or something?" He asks, taking a peak in between the door and the frame.

You are now sitting at the edge of the bed, shaking your head without talking.

"Then what are you waiting for? Come with me, " he huffs like it is the most obvious thing to do.

You two walked together to a nearby park where you used to play with Izuku when you were kids. He guided you to the swings, taking the one on the left, leading you to sit on the right.

The silence is heavy but no awkward.

"Are you feeling okay, now?" You ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," he says in a sigh.

You grab the chains of your swing and play with your feet until you reach some sort of rhythm that keep you swinging.

"I know you're wondering why I brought you here," he imitates you moving at the same tandem.

"I mean, we haven't been here since we were kids...is this some sort of reunion I'm not aware of? Is izuku coming too?" You ask with enthusiasm.

That was the thing with you, after you two kinda fell apart and took differents paths, you stayed with Izuku, you kept being his friend and that boiled Bakugo in a way that, in the past, he didn't understand. But now, everything was different. Now he understands that you needed Izuku and Izuku needed you.

"No. Just you and me, " he says. And he prays that in the near future it could stay like that.

"Oh," it is the only thing that comes out of your mouth.

Again, the silence.

In your skin, you could feel how he was fidgeting and turning every gear in his brain to say something, but Bakugo wasn't good at words.

"Okay, I'm gonna say it anyways," both his feet stop in the ground, doing a screeching sound that has you stopping your swinging too. "I was an asshole. I'm still an asshole I think, but I want to make this right. I apologized to Izuku, now you're next, so you're gonna listen to what I have to say. That day when you said those things to me and I made fun of you? I was wrong because since that day I can't get you out of my mind. I tried to, but I never could. Then everything was shit timing, and I didn't have the time to tell you this, but now, seeing what can happen I'm done fucking everything up. I'm sorry. I know I mistreated you, you didn't deserve that, and I'm sorry I did everything wrong"

The way he said that, like he was verbally puking on the ground, got you breathing like the air was limited. The first thought in your mind when he appeared at your bedroom door was that you were dreaming, and now you needed somebody to actually pinch you because you weren't understanding anything.

"Say something," he partly begs and grunts.

"What can I say? You appeared out of nothing, then dragged me here to say what I've been waiting to hear for like two years, and I've been picturing this in my mind for those years and in every scenario I know what I'm going to say but now I'm completely empty, nothing comes to my mind" you murmur more to yourself than him.

He was stoic. He didn't remember a time when he spoke that much to you, so he felt like it was the first time he had heard your voice in decades.

"In those scenarios, you cursed me?" He asks.

"Oh boy, I cursed you in languages that don't even exist." There's a mixture between a sigh and a laugh that erupts from inside of you, melancholy, you could tell, looking to the sky being the exact opposite of what you feel. Bright and blue, perfectly clear.

"Do you want to do it? I mean, I can take it without spatting back, " he shrugs nonchalantly. You raise both of your brows at him. "What? I can do that!"

"Sure," you say sarcastically. "So, that's it? You came here to say sorry? I accept your apologies"

You were being honest with him. There wasn't any bad blood between you two, and after what happened, you really wished that you two could get along again like old times.

Bakugo felt the same. He still had mixed feelings about you. Everything that happened made him realize how short life can be and how he shouldn't be wasting any more opportunities. He was about to verbalize that when he felt your hand on top of his.

"I hope we can be friends" you say.

Your smile is bright, and your eyes are sincere. And for the first time, he smiles at you, hoping and wondering that you could be more than just friends.

[a-kaash-me-outside]

˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto. 

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you. 

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.” 

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back. 

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in. 

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs. 

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable. 

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest. 

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin. 

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you. 

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?” 

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door. 

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient. 

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body. 

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait. 

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure. 

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration. 

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence. 

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now. 

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils. 

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question. 

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope. 

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think. 

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less. 

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view. 

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates. 

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes. 

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer. 

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest. 

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left. 

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me. 

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated. 

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along. 

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now. 

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?” 

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that. 

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want. 

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever. 

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it. 

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee. 

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee. 

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee. 

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee. 

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee. 

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt. 

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead. 

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful. 

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either. 

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession. 

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too. 

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too. 

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too. 

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again. 

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says. 

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips. 

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body. 

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs. 

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat. 

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act. 

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall. 

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?” 

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out. 

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure. 

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this. 

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out. 

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys. 

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen. 

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes. 

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere. 

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked. 

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?” 

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs. 

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face. 

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering. 

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost. 

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs. 

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together. 

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur. 

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree. 

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?” 

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow. 

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence. 

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump. 

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask. 

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not. 

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement. 

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before. 

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile. 

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak. 

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about. 

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree. 

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response. 

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh. 

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy. 

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case. 

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop. 

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word. 

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky. 

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too. 

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are. 

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles. 

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time. 

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you. 

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop. 

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back. 

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety. 

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur. 

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter. 

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates. 

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder. 

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

[cherrylovelycherry]

𓂅new order. "tarte aux fraises and a pain au chocolat."

Trios never work

pairing. Aventurine x gn!reader x Dr ratio (poly) cw/genre. angst, some slow burn, anxiety vomiting, drink, being left out, slight addiction issue. synopsis. you couldn't stand to be left out any longer. full menu

You watched the television disinterestedly, not paying attention to whatever is on that channel.

You, Aventurine and Ratio have been together for a little over a year now. At first, it was great, you three were inseparable and you did almost everything together. Moved in, split chores and expenses, that sort of thing.

That is, until you started being left out by them. You've always known they're closer to each other as they've been in love for time, but why did they even want you there if they'd just… forget about you?

Today is no different, unfortunately. You're stuck beside them, having to watch them cuddle and talk to each other while you just sit by yourself. Finally having enough, you stand from your spot, making your way towards the door.

"Is something wrong, my dear?" Aventurine asks as Ratio buries his face into his neck gently, his arms around his waist. Ratio looks up at you as well, his eyes taking in your expression, "You look upset. Is something bothering you?"

Your shoulders slump, eyes not quite meeting theirs. "Nothing." you reply softly, shifting uncomfortably. A slight lie.

Your throat tightens, "I was just going to go for a little walk," you murmur, a forced smile on your lips.

Ratio gives you a slightly skeptical look before sitting up to properly look at you, his arms still around Aventurine. "Why do you need a walk? Are you feeling unwell?" He asks.

"No, I just…" You stumble over your words, your voice growing shaky. "I just need a bit of air. Fresh air." They're so focused on you, eyes scanning you with hints of worry and curiosity, and yet—you still can't help but feel left out. It's the way they're still holding close to each other, not making any effort to reach out to you instead. It stings a bit.

There's a bit of a pause, the air between you turning a little tense as Ratio seems to think over your answer. He nods slowly, resting his chin on Aventurine’s shoulder.

"Alright then. Go on." He says, turning his head to press a kiss to Aventurine’s neck.

Your heart sinks a little at his words. It was so easy for him to just tell you to go. No offer to come with or ask if he should come with, nothing. It made the ache in your chest worse.

You nod silently, not trusting your voice. "I'll be going now. I'll be back soon." You murmur, slipping your shoes on and opening the door.

Aventurine opens his mouth to say something, but you’re already walking towards the front door. "Be careful on your walk," he calls out, "Don’t be out too late." You simply nod as you open the door, a small sigh of relief escaping your lips as you step outside.

You walk aimlessly, taking in the fresh air and the peaceful night sky. Still, your thoughts aren't very positive. Your mind keeps running back on how close they were, how lonely you felt being right next to them. It's exhausting, really, and it hurts more than you care to admit.

Both are left sitting together on the sofa, looking towards the door that you'd just walked out of. Aventurine hums gently. "They seemed a bit upset, don't you think?"

Ratio lets out a thoughtful hum, his expression a little grim. "Yeah…" He mutters, his eyes glued to the door. "I noticed too." His fingers begin to trace patterns on Aventurine’s waist, his touch almost absentminded as he thinks to himself.

"They've been acting a bit strange lately as well," he points out after a few moments of silence. "More down or distant, I think."

You walked leisurely through the cheerful and welcoming streets of Penacony. Which, despite being so, you did not find at all amusing.

It felt more, shall we say, boring.

You went up to the highest rooftops, seeing how pretty the lights looked and people enjoying themselves.

You felt jealous when you saw a couple taking pictures of each other. You shook your head, pushing those thoughts away.

To tell you the truth, the flat they bought here is only provisional since your boyfriends are on some kind of; mission? assignment?

You didn't really understand.

And of course, you being their partner, you're always with them wherever they go.

You sighed, crossing your arms a little as you leaned against the railings of the rooftop, looking down at the people below and the lights. The cool night air blew gently, gently brushing your hair with it.

You stayed there for a while, simply taking in the sights and sounds of the city around you. For a while it's peaceful and pleasant, a temporary distraction from the thoughts in your head. However, after a while, your mind drifts back to Ratio and Aventurine, and the ache in your chest returns.

Your mind drifts back to what's happening at home. Aventurine and Ratio. They're probably cuddling each other right now. Or they're watching a movie together. Or maybe they are kissing each other.

The thought makes your insides twist uncomfortably.

The entire place came to view before you as a chilly breeze passes you.

You let out a tiny shiver and cross your arms, hoping that it would help protect you from the cold air.

You check your phone. How long has it been since you left? Thirty minutes? An hour? Maybe two? Should you be getting back soon?

Above all, no messages or calls.

Just a few more minutes, you convince yourself. Just a few minutes more.

You let out a frustrated sigh, burying your head into your arms for a moment. The thoughts in your mind becoming louder with each passing minute.

This was unfair. They didn't even try to contact you. Not even a word.

However, you tried to cheer yourself up, thinking that maybe they had just fallen asleep. And that they were worried about you.

…Yeah, that must be it. They are probably sleeping right now. They are probably worried sick.

You try to convince yourself that they are worried just as much as you.

How can they not care? They love you, right? They care about you, right? You've been together for so long. There's no way they suddenly don't care anymore. Right?

You push yourself up, letting out a shaky breath.

You started walking again, with slow, leisurely steps.

Not to the flat, but to the bar you once stumbled upon while exploring.

Once you reached the bar, you push open the doors, stepping into the dimly lit room. There was a soft hum of music playing in the background, and several patrons were seated at the bar or lounging in the booths.

You took a quick glance around, taking in the cozy atmosphere of the place. It seemed like a nice place to relax and think.

You made your way over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools and leaning forward on the counter.

You didn't really realise how much time you spent there, at least you weren't falling or tripping over anything as you walked back to your temporary home.

However, you did have some alcohol in your veins.

You had fun, you met new people, including a Gallagher and a Siobhan.

And now you were slowly stumbling around the streets, your mind and body fuzzy from intoxication. The alcohol had definitely taken its toll on you, dulling your senses and affecting your judgment.

As you reached your temporary home, you fumbled with the keys, trying to find the right one to unlock the door. Finally, after a few failed attempts, you manage to open the door and stumble inside.

The living room was dimly lit, with just a few lamps lit around the room. Ratio and Aventurine were nowhere to be seen, and a quick glance around confirmed that they were probably in the bedroom.

You stumble over to the couch, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. You drop down onto the cushions with a soft thump, your body feeling heavy and tired.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting out a deep breath as you lean back against the couch. Your head was spinning slightly from the alcohol, but despite that, your mind suddenly became more clear.

All the thoughts you've been pushing down started flooding back in, and your chest clenches painfully as you’re reminded of why you went out in the first place.

Sighing deeply, you got up from the sofa, slowly taking off your shoes.

Then you made your way to the bedroom.

There you both were, sleeping face to face.

Without thinking too much and without changing your clothes, you climbed into bed, putting yourself in the middle of both of them, trying to make some space for yourself. Being careful not to wake them up.

Ratio stirred slightly as you settled yourself beside him, his arm wrapping around your waist unconsciously. Aventurine shifted closer to you, pressing his body against yours.

You were surrounded by them, their bodies warm and familiar.

For a while, you just lay there between them, feeling the rise and fall of their breaths, listening to the soft rustling of their limbs.

You felt a strange mix of comfort and pain at being here. Comforted by their presence, pained by how distant they felt.

You were tired, both physically and emotionally. Your body ached from the alcohol, and your heart ached with something else.

Lying there, between the two men you loved, you felt more alone than ever.

But, oh, the warmth they radiated made your eyes glaze over.

They were so close, yet so far away.

They clutched onto you, as if they needed you, but they didn't?

You couldn't help but watch them as they slept, Ratio's arm wrapped firmly around your waist, Aventurine's head resting on your shoulder.

Everything felt so familiar, yet so… distant.

Were you overthinking things? Were you making a big deal out of this?

They love you… right?

You watch as Ratio mumbled something in his sleep, his grip on your waist tightening slightly.

Your heart skipped a beat at the action, a strange mix of warmth and pain coursing through your body.

You knew you shouldn't be feeling like this. You shouldn't be doubting their love for you. They've been with you for so long, they've said they love you so many times.

But still, the doubts linger in your mind, whispering and gnawing at your heart.

Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was just your own insecurities, but you suddenly felt the urge to cry.

Maybe it was just the alcohol.

You opened your eyes slowly, almost as if you didn't want to wake up from your warm and peaceful sleep.

You found yourself lying on your back, your head resting on a firm yet comfy pillow. There was a comforting pressure on both sides of your waist, holding you carefully but firmly in place.

As you opened your eyes more, you realized that you weren't alone in bed. Ratio and Aventurine's bodies were pressed against yours from both sides, their limbs tangled with yours in a way that you were completely encircled between them.

Ratio's head was resting on your shoulder, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm and slow against your skin.

Aventurine's arm was draped over your waist, his hand resting firmly but gently on your hip. His forehead was pressed against your shoulder, his messy hair tickling your face.

"Morning…" Ratio mumbled groggily as you struggled in their grips, his arm tightening around your waist.

Aventurine stirred as well, nuzzling his face into your shoulder and mumbling something incoherent.

You could feel the warmth of their breath against your skin, the way their bodies were still pressed against yours with no signs of moving.

You groaned again, feeling like you were trapped in a warm, loving cage.

But despite the comfort, you felt frustrated.

"Stop…" You muttered, trying to push them off.

The two men responded with mumbled protests, their grips on your waist only getting tighter.

"Come on guys, you have work to do." You spoke, tiredly.

They both grumbled, starting to let go of you little by little.

"No offense," Ratio mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep, "But you smell like alcohol. Did you drink last night?" Aventurine opened his eyes slowly, looking up at you from his spot on your shoulder.

His voice was gentle but held a hint of concern. "Yeah, where'd you go?" He asked softly, rubbing at his eyes.

Great, just great.

You could already feel the hangover creeping in, and to add to your misery, there was a hint of concern in their voices.

You tried to brush it off, giving them a small smile.

"That doesn't matter…" You mumbled, avoiding both of their gazes. "What matters is you two have work to do."

Ratio sighed, letting his grip on you loosen completely. "We do have work, but we're more concerned about you," He said, propping himself up on his elbow.

Aventurine followed, propping himself up next to Ratio and looking at you with an expression that was a mix of concern and annoyance.

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. At the time they worried.

"I just needed some space." You replied, feeling like a child getting scolded, shifting slightly to try and sit up.

"Space, huh?" Aventurine said, his voice still slightly hoarse from sleep. "You could have at least told us where you were going."

Ratio chimed in as well, his voice carrying a hint of irritation. "Yeah, a warning would have been nice. We were worried about you."

This time you rolled your eyes quietly, but tried not to show them any obvious annoyance.

"I'm a grown adult," you retorted, a hint of defensiveness in your voice. "I can handle myself."

Ratio raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes searching your face. "That doesn't mean we're not going to worry." he said, his voice firm.

Aventurine sat up as well, propping himself up with one arm.

"It's not about you being able to handle yourself," he said, his voice a mixture of annoyance and concern. "We had no idea where you were."

Ratio nodded in agreement, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Oh. When I got home, they were sleeping peacefully." You said, with a hint of bitterness.

They both exchanged glances, the annoyance in their expressions not going unnoticed by you.

Ratio sighed, running a hand through his hair once more.

"That's not the point," he said, his voice still firm. "You were gone for hours. Do you have any idea how that feels?"

Aventurine joined in as well, his voice slightly more gentle than Ratio's. "We thought something might have happened to you."

You let out a heavy sigh, not saying anything.

Aventurine's voice still laced with concern. "You could have at least texted us."

Then he reached over and touched your arm gently. "It's just… we care about you. We want to know you're safe."

You bit back the urge to scoff at the hypocrisy.

"Yeah, well… I'm fine. See?" You gestured to yourself, trying to show that you were indeed in one piece.

You could feel the guilt creeping in, mixed with annoyance. Why did they suddenly care now?

"I just needed…", you paused, trying to find the right word to describe your current feelings. "space," you finished lamely.

Ratio and Aventurine exchanged a quick glance before looking back at you.

"Space from what?" Ratio asked, his tone slightly colder now.

You were starting to feel frustrated.

Why was it suddenly such a big deal? Why did they have to make such a big issue out of you needing some time alone?

"Space from…", you started to respond, but then you hesitated.

How could you possibly explain it to them without sounding needy or clingy?

You wanted to tell them what's been bothering you, but something held you back.

Maybe it was the guilt, maybe it was the fear of sounding like a needy child.

But before you could find the words, Ratio spoke up.

"Space from us, I presume." He said, his voice cool. "You needed space from us, didn't you?"

You felt a pang of guilt at Ratio's words, your heart clenching in your chest.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but you could feel the emotions starting to bubble up inside of you.

"No," you lied, immediately. "It's not that."

Aventurine raised an eyebrow at your denial, his grip on your arm tightening slightly.

"Then what is it?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Ugh, please don't do this." You said grabbing your head. The hangover was starting to affect you harder, combining with the stress you felt now.

Ratio chuckled quietly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Oh, so now we're being dramatic, huh?" he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Aventurine spoke up as well, his voice tinged with irritation. "We're not doing anything, we're just trying to understand what's going on with you."

Ratio leaned back, propping himself up against the headboard.

"You've been acting different lately," he said, his gaze focused on you. "More distant, less responsive."

You wanted to protest, to deny their accusations, but the words got stuck in your throat. They were right, and you knew they were right.

But you couldn't tell them why. Not yet, at least.

"I've just… been feeling a bit stressed," you replied vaguely, avoiding their gazes.

"Come on, don't give us that bullshit."

At Aventurine's words, your eyes widened slightly. He normally didn't say that kind of thing.

However, that didn't stop you from feeling uncomfortable and with a taste of pure bitterness in your mouth.

You proceeded to let out an unfunny laugh, as you got out of bed.

"My head hurts too much for this." You said, with some coldness in your tone as you left the room.

"You two should already be continuing with your work. That's why both came here." You raised your voice so they could hear you since you were heading towards the kitchen.

As they heard your words, Ratio and Aventurine exchanged a quick glance.

Ratio ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh.

"They are so damn… infuriating," he muttered, his annoyance evident.

Aventurine nodded, his expression mirrored Ratio's frustration. "I don't even know what's going on with them," he replied, running a hand over his face. "They are been acting weird for days now."

You could hear them both stirring in the bedroom, their voices lowered, but you knew they were talking about you.

"Probably bad things.", you thought.

You rubbed your temples as you entered the kitchen, the lights feeling brighter and only making your migraine worse.

You rummaged through the cabinets, looking for a painkiller or something, when you heard footsteps behind you.

"You shouldn't mix alcohol with pain killers, y'know," Ratio's voice was low and calm, but there was an edge to it.

You paused what you were doing, looking over your shoulder at him.

Ratio's face was set in a frown, and Aventurine's expression was stern.

He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

You didn't respond, continuing to rummage through the cabinets in search of pain medication.

Ratio watched you silently for a moment, his eyes studying your every move.

"You're being stubborn," he said after a while, his voice neutral yet laced with annoyance.

"Thanks." You responded dryly, in a murmur.

Ratio rolled his eyes at your response, his annoyance growing visible.

"You know that's not what I meant," he sighed, running a hand through his hair once more.

It was becoming a tic of his.

Aventurine spoke up as well, his voice a bit calmer than Ratio's.

"You're acting like a child." He said, crossing his arms over his chest as well.

Oh, Aeons.

You felt frustrated by their words and by the pain in your head.

You slammed the cabinet shut with more force than necessary and turned to face them.

"Both should stop wasting time here and concentrate on your work." You spat, rubbing your head with both hands, you felt like it was going to explode at any moment.

Ratio raised an eyebrow at your sudden outburst, his expression slightly surprised.

"And there it is," he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "The real Y/N, finally decided to show up."

Aventurine watched you intently, his eyes scanning your face.

"Oh, because we're wasting time by trying to check on your well-being?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Aventurine stayed silent, simply observing your interaction with Ratio. He was probably trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation.

Ratio took a couple steps closer to you, his gaze not leaving yours.

"You should stop being so goddamn stubborn and just talk to us." He said, his annoyance growing more noticeable.

Oh no. You started to feel the sudden urge to vomit. That was bad.

Your expression went from irritated to slightly dizzy.

"Guys, stop it, we can continue later." You said, as you grabbed onto the kitchen counter.

The nausea was the effect of the hangover and excessive stress you were feeling now.

Ratio immediately realized something was wrong as he noticed your expression changing. His annoyance was quickly replaced by concern.

"Y/N?" he asked, taking another step towards you, his eyes watching your hand clutching the counter.

Aventurine also moved closer, his gaze shifting between you and Ratio. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the nausea that was rising in your stomach. "I'm fine," you said weakly, but your trembling voice betrayed your words.

"Maybe I need—" Your words were cut off by the urgent need to throw up, causing you to cover your mouth, running towards the bathroom.

Ratio and Aventurine exchanged a quick glance before following hot on your heels. They hurried into the bathroom, just in time to see you hunched over the toilet, vomiting.

Ratio gently placed a hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles as you retched.

Aventurine appeared again in the doorway with a glass of water in hand.

"Here," Ratio said, grabbing the water from Aventurine and handing it to you. "Drink slowly."

You gripped the glass of water with trembling fingers, taking a few small sips as Ratio instructed. The cool liquid helped to soothe your burning throat.

After a while, your vomiting subsided, leaving you feeling even more weak and tired than before. You slumped back against Ratio, feeling completely drained and miserable.

"Sorry," you whispered, your voice raspy and weak.

Ratio shook his head, his hand still rubbing slow circles on your back. "Don't apologize," he said softly.

By the time you turned to look at Aventurine, he was gone.

You did the same to see Ratio who was next to you, he wasn't there either.

Oh, right. They were never here with you, they stayed in the kitchen. You never drank water, you never had your back rubbed.

You really wondered what the hell was wrong with you.

You stood up heavily from the ground, rinsing your mouth with the water from the tap, and flushing the toilet. Then with slow steps you returned to the bedroom.

You didn't care to know if they were still in the apartment.

You hated it when your body reacted to your stress.

They were engaged in hushed whispers, their voices too low for you to hear. They stayed in the kitchen, just like you thought.

When they saw you walk in the bedroom, they immediately stopped talking and turned to look at you.

Ratio's expression was a mix of concern and annoyance, his arms crossed over his chest. Aventurine, on the other hand, had a troubled look on his face, his brows furrowed in thought.

At least you would feel calm being alone in the apartment. Without showing each other affection every minute, in front of you, without giving you anything like that.

You climbed into bed, covering yourself with the covers, trying to relax.

A few minutes passed before Aventurine spoke out loud.

"Uhm, we're leaving, we'll be back soon." He said.

You heard the door open and close.

You were glad to hear the sound of the door closing behind, signaling that they were leaving. At least you could finally have some peace and quiet.

You closed your eyes and attempted to fall asleep, hoping to get some rest and recover from the hangover and the previous encounter.

You rested a little more, after a few hours you got up and tried to distract yourself.

You watched television, you played games on your phone, you ate the odd snack. That is until it got later.

While you were on the couch, you heard the door open. They had returned.

Ratio and Aventurine walked through the door, their expressions serious.

Aven, as usual, was the first to speak up. "Hey."

Hey, is that all they could say? It was as if they didn't realize that they were being insensitive.

But suddenly you were doing it too, so you ignored it.

Ratio spoke up as well, his expression slightly softer. "How are you feeling?"

You shrugged, not meeting their gaze. "Good." You replied coldly, trying to hide your annoyance.

Aventurine gave you a quick glance before sighing. "We brought food." He said, holding up a bag containing takeout food.

"Oh, uhm." You blurted out, feeling uncomfortable.

"Thank you, but I'm not very hungry." You got up from the couch, leaving the television on, while you stretched.

"I'm going out for a while again." You said, walking into the bedroom, and changing out of your sleepwear into something simple.

Ratio and Aventurine exchanged a quick glance as you left to change. They were both aware of the tension in the air and your mood.

Ratio let out a sigh.

"This is hopeless," he muttered, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Aventurine looked at Ratio, understanding his frustration.

"We just have to keep trying," he replied, though his voice had a tinge of uncertainty.

You left the room, going to put on your shoes, passing them.

"Well, I'll be right back." You said calmly.

Ratio couldn't help but roll his eyes at your words.

"Yeah, we'll see about that." He muttered under his breath. Aventurine gave him a stern look, silently warning him not to push things further. They both knew that this situation was quickly becoming a headache for all three of you.

You finished putting your shoes on and grabbed your keys, leaving the house without saying another word.

They watched as you closed the door behind you. The silence in the apartment became thick and uncomfortable. The television was on, being the only sound that could be heard.

This type of situation happened, once, twice, three times. And more.

A little routine of yours, like you try not to be in the apartment when they are there too.

Waking up tired and dizzy, saying cold and boring words between the three of them, waiting for hours for them to return and once they did, you went to the bar, returning hours later, tripping over things in the apartment, falling asleep on the couch or in bed.

And it was repeated, again.

Again, and again, and again, and again.

The cycle seemed endless, caught in a loop that seemed impossible to break.

Ratio and Aventurine were frustrated, frustrated by the walls you had built around yourself and the communication issues that prevented you from opening up.

They wanted to help you, but they didn't know how to approach the situation. They couldn't help but feel like they were doing something wrong.

But no, that couldn't be, they knew they weren't doing anything wrong. Right?

Ratio and Aventurine sat in silence for a while, both lost in thought. They knew they needed to address the situation, but it was hard, especially since you were avoiding them.

"I hate this," Ratio finally spoke up, breaking the silence. "I hate that they are behaving like this."

Aventurine nodded, a frustrated expression on his face. "I know." He said, holding Ratio's hand.

It was already nearing midnight, and there was no sign of you returning home, again.

The atmosphere was thick with tension and frustration. They had been talking about you, again.

This time they would wait for you, they were not going to rest until they could talk to you once and for all and stop making you avoid the conversation.

"I feel like we're going around in circles." Ratio spoke up again. "Every time we try to talk to them, they shuts us out. It's like they are not even trying."

Aventurine squeezed Ratio's hand, trying to comfort him. "There must be a reason why they are acting like this," he said, although even he seemed doubtful.

Ratio let out a bitter laugh. "Is there? Because I can't think of one that makes sense."

They waited, and waited, and waited.

Time dragged on slowly, tick, tock, tick, tock, the clock seemed to move slower every second.

They waited with anticipation and expectation, sitting motionless on the couch, their eyes fixed on the front door.

And then, finally, they heard the jingle of keys, the sound of the door opening, and your footsteps entering.

Ratio and Aventurine immediately sat up straight, turning to look at you as you stepped inside.

As a matter of course, you were drunk.

Ratio and Aventurine couldn't help but notice the way you swayed slightly as you walked, a slight flush on your cheeks betraying your intoxication.

Ratio let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you. "Where have you been all night?" he asked, his voice betraying his annoyance.

Aventurine, sensing the tension in the room, stayed silent but placed a calming hand on Ratio's arm, hoping to soothe the situation.

"Having fun." You said, smiling a little.

Ratio's eyes narrowed at your response. "Having fun? Is that what you call it? Drinking yourself into oblivion every day?"

Aventurine shot Ratio a look, silently urging him to calm down. Him speaking this time.

"We're worried about you, you know that?" he continued, his voice rising. "We—"

"Hah, like you said—don't give me that bullshit." Your voice came out almost with spit words.

Your mind was fuzzy.

Ratio clenched his fists, his irritation growing. "We're not giving you bullshit. We care about you, damnit."

You chuckled bitterly, your words slurring slightly. "Yeah, I'm sure you care, but only when it suits you both."

Ratio's eyes widened at your response, his anger rising. "Excuse me?"

"We're the ones who should be getting pissed off here. You're the one who's been acting like a complete mess."

Aventurine tried to interject again. "Ratio, this isn't—"

But Ratio wasn't having it. "No, Aven. They needs to hear this." He turned back to you. "You've been avoiding us, avoiding everything, and for what? So you can go get drunk every night?"

"Yeah, exactly. Because being around you two is so damn great." You retorted, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

Ratio's expression darkened even further, his next words cutting through the air like a dagger.

"Oh, is that right? I guess being with us is so unbearable that you have to go out and get drunk every night instead of staying here and facing your own damn problems."

Your eyes narrowed at Ratio's words, your own anger starting to boil over.

"Yeah, because it's better than dealing with your bullshit all the time."

Ratio let out a bitter laugh. "Bullshit? You think we're bullshitting you? We're the ones who've been putting up with your crap, your avoiding us, your reckless behavior."

Your eyes widened at Ratio's harsh words, hurt flashing across your face.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," you said angrily, your voice shaking. "You have no idea how I feel."

Ratio scoffed, his irritation reaching a boiling point. "Oh, really? Then why don't you enlighten us? Why do you feel the need to drink every night?"

"Seriously, you can tell us." Aventurine said, his brow now furrowed, a mix of worry and frustration on his face.

You let out a scoff, your words coming out in a rush. "And what, you want me to spill my heart out to you two, like it's some kind of therapy session? I didn't realize I was dealing with a couple of psychologists here."

Ratio let out a bitter laugh. "Well, it's not like you're giving us anything else to work with. You just keep drinking yourself into oblivion every night, avoiding us, avoiding any kind of conversation."

You clenched your fists, your frustration turning into anger. "Oh, aren't both of you so perfect?"

Ratio's expression hardened. "Don't try to turn this around on us. We never said we were perfect, but at least we're trying to communicate and have a conversation. You're the one who's refusing to listen or talk to us."

Aventurine interjected, his voice laced with concern. "Y/N, please. We just want to help you. We don't—"

"Help me?" You snapped, again cutting Aventurine off.

"Hey, watch your tone." Ratio said, at the shout you gave to Aventurine.

"Hah, just that.", You thought, looking at them with anger and irritation.

Your anger flared, your words coming out in a frustrated hiss. "Oh, and I'm supposed to believe that you really want to help me? Please. You're both probably just worried that I'm gonna ruin your perfect little lives."

Ratio's eyes widened at your accusation, stung by your words. "Is that really what you think of us? That we only care about ourselves?"

Aventurine spoke up again, his voice pleading. "No, that's not true at all. We care about you. We care about us."

"Yeah, right." You replied bitterly, crossing your arms.

Ratio's face twisted into a scowl. "We're just as messed up as you are. We have our own issues and problems to deal with. We don't need you acting like this, avoiding us, drinking excessively—"

"Yeah, because I'm the ONLY ONE who's being problematic, right?" You interrupted, sarcasm lacing your words. "Just because I don't sit next to both of you and start to fucking endure how both are so loving and happy between ONLY the two of you, I'm wrong here, huh?"

Ratio's jaw clenched tightly, his temper rising at your accusations.

"That's bullshit and you know it. We're a team, a relationship. We're supposed to be in this together, working through things together."

You felt the growing lump in your throat. "Fuck, no. We're not a team anymore, it's just you being a fucking couple."

You clenched your fists, trying to calm the wave of emotions that was washing over you.

Ratio's expression hardened at your words, his own emotions warring with his irritation.

"What the hell do you mean we're not a team anymore? We're still together, we're still—"

You cut him off, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "No, we're not. Not really. Not when you both spend all your time together, sharing moments, laughing, even in sex."

Ratio's eyes widened at your words, hurt evident on his face.

"Is that really what you think?" he asked, his voice low. "That we're just a couple and that you're not a part of us anymore?"

Aventurine's face fell, his expression pained. "No, that's not true. You're just as much a part of this relationship as we are."

"I'm just a third wheel," you said bitterly. "That's what I've always been."

Even though your words affected them, Ratio couldn't help but get more frustrated.

"And whose fault is that, huh? Whose fault is it that you keep pushing us away, that you keep avoiding us, that you keep getting drunk every damn night instead of dealing with the problem?"

You clenched your fists even tighter, your nails digging into your palms.

"Oh, so now it's MY fault, huh? It's MY fault that I feel left out, ignored, and sidelined?"

You didn't know if you wanted to laugh or cry at what he was saying.

"Yeah…maybe it's my fault." You spoke again, feeling your eyes sting. At any moment they would be filled with tears.

"It's my damn fault that both have sex secretly from me, it's my fault that both knew each other before, it's my fault that both are more affectionate with each other, it's my damn fault that both know each other much more than you two know me!"

And that's it, with that, your voice cut off. Being unable to see both men's faces as tears clouded your vision.

Ratio's expression softened at the sight of your tears, his irritation momentarily forgotten.

It was true, he and Aventurine had been more affectionate with each other lately. But that wasn't because they didn't care about you, it was just…

No, there really were no words to deny or defend the accusations.

He sighed, trying to find the words to explain themselves. "Look, we didn't mean for it to be like that. It just happened."

Aventurine spoke up, his voice soft. "We never wanted you to feel left out or ignored. We care about you, we really do."

Ratio stepped closer as well, his expression conflicted between anger and concern. "Y/N, we never wanted you to feel left out. That was never our intention."

But your emotions were running high.

"Then what was your intention, huh? To make me feel like an outsider in my own relationship?"

They both stayed silent, not knowing how to respond to that.

"That is what I thought." You blurted out, in frustration.

Ratio pinched the bridge of his nose, his expression shifting to frustration and guilt.

"That's not what we wanted, that's never what we wanted."

You let out a bitter, unfunny laugh, "Oh, shut it."

You were shaking, you really wanted to just not feel like that.

"It's always you two. Always Aventurine and Ratio. Always Kakavasha and Veritas."

"Fuck all that." You spat, as your tears began to come out like waterfalls.

"Where the hell was I there?" You sobbed, covering your face with both hands. You felt humiliated to be seen crying like that.

"I hate it so much." You mumbled, without a hint of stopping your crying.

Ratio's heart ached at the sight of your tears, realizing the depth of your emotional pain.

Aventurine stood beside him, visibly upset as well.

"Y/N, please…" He tried to reach out to you, his hand hovering in the air.

But you flinched away from his touch, your body shrinking back as more tears streamed down your face.

"Don't." You warned, your voice choked with sobs. "Don't touch me."

Ratio and Aventurine stood there, feeling helpless as they watched you cry.

"We never wanted to make you feel like this."

"You're lying." You retorted, your voice raw from crying.

Aventurine shook his head, his expression pleading. "No, that's not true. We love you, we truly do."

Ratio's hands were shaking slightly, torn between wanting to comfort you and respecting your wish not to be touched.

Aventurine looked like he was on the verge of tears as well, his shoulders slumped with guilt.

Ratio said softly. "We never meant for it to be this way."

But your words cut through the air between you all.

"Then why did it happen?" You asked, your voice laced with pain and anguish.

Ratio's jaw clenched as he struggled to find the words to explain.

"It just…happened." He said weakly. "We got caught up in our own relationship and didn't realize that we were neglecting you."

Aventurine nodded alongside him. "We messed up. We should have paid more attention to you, made more of an effort to include you in our activities."

Ratio winced, knowing how hollow those words sounded.

"But just because we made a mistake doesn't mean we don't care about you." Ratio was quick to add.

You let out a bitter chuckle through sniffles and sobs.

"…That 'mistake' is 3 fucking years old." You spoke in a muffled manner. Breathing heavily.

How they left you aside is not recent, it had been years. The bomb was accumulating until today it exploded.

The reality of the situation hit Ratio and Aventurine hard.

Three years. Three years of ignoring your emotions and needs. Three years of putting their own relationship before you, despite claiming that you were all equal in this relationship.

Both felt a pang of guilt and shame in their chest. How could they have let it go on for so long without realizing the harm they were causing you?

Aventurine looked equally devastated, his face pale and his eyes downcast.

"We…we never realized…" He began, his voice choked with emotion.

Ratio, seeing Aventurine's almost tearful state, rubbed his back slowly.

Ratio's head was spinning, trying to figure out how it had come to this. They had always thought that they were in a healthy and happy relationship. But clearly, they had failed to consider the impact their actions were having on you.

He looked at you, still crying and curled up on yourself. The guilt and remorse gnawed at his insides. He and Aventurine had been fools, blinded by their own selfishness and neglectful behavior.

Aventurine spoke up suddenly, his voice shaky. "Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell us how you felt?"

Ratio's eyes widened slightly. That was a fair question. Why hadn't you spoken up before now?

But he immediately realized the answer to that question. If you had tried to bring it up, how would they have reacted? Would they have dismissed your feelings, or maybe gotten defensive?

With your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body trying to catch the air lost through crying, you let out slight hiccups.

With one of your hands you wiped your wet cheeks.

Your head was beginning to ache from the alcohol in your veins and the dehydration from crying.

"Ah…it doesn't really matter anymore." You said, your voice hoarse.

And you were right, there was no point in questioning why, if you'd finished getting everything out that you'd been holding in for so long.

You felt their worried and trembling looks, you felt ashamed and humiliated for having exploded in such a way, your sobs had faded into sniffles and deep breathing.

They both listened to your words with a sinking feeling in their stomachs. Your voice was hoarse and strained, but the message was clear: you'd given up.

You stretched slightly in your seat, starting to walk towards the bedroom.

You wanted to simply rest from it all.

"I'm going to go to sleep now." You said, passing by both of their sides.

The conversation, or rather argument, had not ended well and just expressing yourself left you completely exhausted.

They both knew that they hadn't solved anything, that they'd done nothing more than reveal just how distant they had become from you.

Before you disappeared from his sight, Aven called out to you, making you turn around for a while.

"We love you, sweetheart."

That simple phrase made you let out a silent sigh.

As much as you wanted to smile at least a little, it only came out as a grimace.

"Uhm…okay, I guess." You said, not really feeling his words.

They felt totally empty.

You turned your head again, walking into the bedroom. Your mind was spinning, your thoughts were varying, the same with your feelings, they were all jumbled.

But at least one thing was clear to you; trios never work and never will.

©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[hfjonewiki]

a non-comprehensive list of my favorite brian koch cheese credit card answers

pickle wishes he never met taco

nickel needs balloon way more than he realizes

salt needs pepper way more than she realizes

if taco had the chance to do it all again differently, she would

fan's favorite game would be lego star wars

apple still has her pony from santa, which she named "dino brawler". this is presumably the toy she was holding in episode 16

knife tried harder to be good at video games than he lets on

suitcase is still a little annoyed with oj for eliminating her for no reason in episode 7

oj and bomb are on better terms now, but will never be best friends again

he sees soap and microphone having a more sibling-like relationship, since their voice actresses are sisters (judging by the 20+ private replies, someone had some opinions on this one)

mephone 3gs didn't know his crew very well. when he watched them die, he was surprised by how much he felt

pickle genuinely made taco laugh a few times during season one

evil paper liked playing checkers (this implies that this is a trait exclusive to him that paper himself does not share)

mephone x would probably use he/him pronouns, but cobs doesn't put that much thought or humanity into the mephones anymore

mephone4 wanted to impress cobs for a long time, but meeting 3gs recontextualized a lot of his negative feelings

if mephone4 wasn't hosting inanimate insanity, he would probably be a lost media archivist

taco doesn't have nearly enough hobbies. brian thinks that's part of the problem

nickel sees himself as more worthless than most would assume

mephone4 and oj's relationship is "honestly not great"

under the guise of "scheming", taco and mic would sometimes just hang out together when there wasn't anything game-related to do

trophy struggles to do push-ups

despite being an outdated medium, cobs still sends out discs with nothing but propaganda material on them

despite not sharing much screentime together, brian thinks knife and pickle are the best ii yaoi

yin-yang likes being in cars. yin will drive, and yang will pick the music

soap would play splatoon, since all of the messes are just virtual

mephone4 is iffy on physical contact due to his past experiences with cobs

salt genuinely thought her and oj were in a relationship

just like mephone4, mephone4s' favorite food is cookies

cobs doesn't see himself as evil, he's just giving the people what they want. "not what they think they want. what they ACTUALLY want."

if silver spoon and candle are occupying the same space, people will leave because they can't take seeing how silver acts when he's around her

for a long time, baseball was the only person nickel respected

if mephone5 could live an everyday life, he would be a public menace. (destroying property, going up the down escalator)

taco actually enjoys the taste of lemon

while characters like fan weren't originally written with the intent of being on the autism spectrum, he lines right up with it

on a scale of 1-10, the amount that mepad misses toilet is "off the charts"

toilet wanted to impress mephone4 like a son would want to impress a father. "the cycle repeats a bit."

lightbulb and paintbrush take turns feeding baxter, but paintbrush usually ends up doing it because lightbulb isn't particular enough about what she considers "food"

mepad's favorite colors are black and white. "very mesmerizing."

walkie talkie (and presumably other invitational characters) didn't attend the hotel oj party

knife doesn't need to work out. he's just naturally like that

when someone asked if fantube was canon, brian answered "what more do they have to do?!"

springy hasn't had their own cereal in a long time

microphone and taco have both never been closer to someone else than they were with each other

silver and candle are a bit more distant now, but they both agree it's for the best

when the eliminated contestants were still being kept in the hotel oj closet, mepad would "unfeelingly" deliver and check in on them at mephone's request

[harmonysanreads]

When you hug them for the first time.

characters : al haitham, neuvillette, scaramouche, furina

cw(s) : very gentle yandere themes, everyone is surprised pikachu in different styles

──⚝ al haitham

For the first time in his life, while being at least two consistent steps ahead of everyone — Al Haitham finds himself at a loss.

Perhaps that had been your intention as well, a part of him suspects. You were certainly not the first in this endeavor, seeing a usually composed person behave contradictorily to their nature is, unfortunately, the source of amusement for a specific group of people and, bewilderment for unsuspecting onlookers. Albeit, the Scribe doubts the former to be your main objective because, the last wicks of rebellion were snuffed out by his persistent hands. The mesolimbic pathway of the brain is known to regulate incentive salience and many reward related behaviors, Alhaitham knows this much because of continued perusal. Indeed, science can explain many things, logic can place things on a concrete scale.

The Scribe may also try to rationalize the feelings you create within him in ways that fit his comfort zone, but, more often than not, they fail to prove satisfactory. You alone have the supreme power of luring him out of his shell by simply existing beside him, and he, the foolish scholar parched in search of enlightenment, follows the mirage's call each time. Many have tried to tear his ataraxia to shreds and only one has succeeded. Which is why, he remains still, unmoving, muscles terse from the pull of his pride. Maybe giving a last chance to his ego, seeing, if ignoring this gnawing addiction would shoo it away for good, and of course, he is a foolish man.

He hadn't done anything in that precise moment but, later that night, he had held you tighter than he ever had.

──⚝ neuvillette

It is universally acknowledged that justice bends to no one, but, what verdict should be declared upon the person, who drives the very symbol of justice insane?

It is both Neuvillette's delight and agony the control you have over him. You keep him dangling by your finger and the odd thrill that spreads across his soul from it, entices him to further entangle himself in this intoxicating chase. Sometimes, he's yanked to awareness by his conscience, it should be insulting for a man of his stature to be so helplessly smitten. The thought that he, the mighty Sovereign of Hydro, is just as susceptible to temptation as an ordinary man is, should appall him. Perhaps, they did concern him initially. Would it not have been wise to uproot the source of this burgeoning obsession from his heart when he still had the chance? Before this exact scenario which he knows will plummet him to a trench he won't be able to—will not want to—return from?

Yes, that would have been a reasonable decision. But, it'd not be so exhilarating. A drowning man from whose fingertips the surface has already escaped, finds peace in the feeling of sinking to the unknown depths. Neuvillette embraces his fall and, you'd think such desperation was impossible from one single man if you didn't feel it pressed to every inch of your skin. The Iudex's sigh will blow over your hair and in your arms will he rediscover his breath. How utterly foolish of him, why did he deny himself this sanctuary for so long?

Neuvillette is so dazed from the peace that, he wouldn't mind dying in that moment, if only he could remain in your embrace.

──⚝ scaramouche

It really is a mistake to give a man an inch who unashamedly steals a mile, but, it's too late for you to reconsider now, isn't it?

Innocent Kabukimono likes the feeling of being in your arms, it reminds him of a distant night where his mother brushed his tears aside. But, a part of him knows the way your gesture translates to him isn't quite what he had felt from his creator. Your embrace makes him secure, just like hers — but, it makes tiny sparks bloom in his vacant ribcage as well. He doesn't know what it is, or, if he wants to know. All he's certain about is that, he wants to remain in your arms forever, tucked away from the merciless eyes of fate.

Kunikuzushi's wary eyes dart across you in anticipation of a dagger at his back or, a triumphant smile for having discovered his weakness. It's not that he doesn't like this, but, more so that he can't bring himself to not complicate the gesture. Why do you give him something that no one has bothered with? He thinks it's better he remains careful—though he doesn't pull away—because, it'd break him beyond repair if you betrayed him, too.

The Balladeer is startled, out of every one of your tricks to render him speechless, this one has been the most effective yet. You should probably stick to this from now on (not that he'll say it out loud). The Harbinger would rather swallow those tooth-rotting dango than admit that there is some genuine kindness left on this cursed planet. As much as he suspects you of fostering ulterior motives, he isn't as caught up in it as Kunikuzushi that every other detail eludes his judgement. He makes a show out of how annoying he finds it, how much inconvenience you're causing him by the grip of your arms. You'd believe his words and ‘irritated’ body language as well, had his fight with the curve of his lips wasn't so blatant. Perhaps, you should apologize for hugging him without permission with a kiss, hm?

The Wanderer wonders what beget this expression of kindness. In his lone vagrancy, he's encountered the sight of these gestures periodically. His curiousity yearned to know what significance was contained in an embrace, how it felt and why he was never at the receiving end of one. These questions were pushed at the depths of his soul—or whatever it is that lets him ‘live’—where they festered into want and then hunger. This slumbering appetite was emboldened on the day he willingly bore the memories of his past. But, the weight of a lifetime rendered him tired. For once, he did not want to think, suspect or tease ; he only wished to be held without restraint.

Which is why, Wanderer is the only version of this puppet who returns your embrace.

──⚝ furina

Not even acute mastery over the art of improvisation could've prepared Furina for this out-of-script situation.

It should've come as no surprise to her, she's been the center of a nation's adoration for five centuries, people of Fontaine flock in line for the chance of catching a glimpse of their Regina. You must've been unable to contain the immense affection you have for her, just like everyone else! But, for some reason, that thought feels bitter on her tongue when applied to you. She realizes that comparing your affection to the one her people shower her with leaves her with a howling dissatisfaction. The warmth of your being and the tentative tightening of your arms make her legs wobbly, send her heart prancing and her stomach twisting in the most pleasant way.

Of course... the citizens of Fontaine love her for her performance, for the role she plays ; not and never for herself. But, the percipience that you may love the cowardly, lonely and pathetic girl she truly is — tumble upon her like a plethora of bricks and almost make her faint. When she lifts her arms next, the notion of her returning the hug is tossed promptly in the flurry of tickles. You're forced to succumb to the enticement of hearty chuckles and, she joins you — hoping that, the raucous sound of laughter will conceal the tears streaming down her face.

And she prays that, just for this one moment, she wouldn't be judged guilty.

happiest new year to whoever is reading this, you are lovely and you'll continue to shine in the next year(s) as well<3

[p0orbaby]

Too Hot To Handle

summary: Alexia doesn’t want the past to repeat itself

warnings: a smidge of heatstroke, and a collapse, how fun

a/n: thanks for the request !

word count: 828

-

Record temperatures they said.

You can believe it.

The aircon was dearly missed as soon as you stepped off the bus.

“Aquí”. You turn to find a bottle of water being eagerly pushed into your empty hands. “Necesitas mantenerte hidratado”

“I’ve just finished one” you tell her, ready to put the bottle in your backpack for safe keeping. But the look she gives you tells you there’s no room for arguments. You roll your eyes at her stubbornness, “thanks, Ale”

“De nada”

Girlfriend, captain, synonyms of each other, really. Her protectiveness spans over both mantles. That’s Alexia for you, in control of every situation, regardless of whether football is involved or not.

You take the bottle from her with the intention of sipping on it as you get changed for warm-ups, but she grabs your wrist and stops you from following your teammates into the stadium.

“Ahora, cariño”

“Alexia,” you start, very aware of the horde of fans calling for the two of you. “I’ll be pissing like a horse if I have any more right now”

She looks at you with a furrowed brow and a tilt of her head. Her English has improved immensely since you’ve been together, but even now some phrases catch her out.

“Necesito el baño” you clarify.

She relents, partly because the sun is beating down on her, partly because she doesn’t want to make a scene in front of the sea of traveling blaugrana.

Their dedication is rewarded with a wave and a smile from her, and a shrug of the shoulders from you as you're whisked away towards the changing rooms.

-

The game started as usual, but the scorching sun quickly turned every movement into a struggle. The hydration breaks were a welcome respite, yet even those seemed insufficient as the match wore on. You pushed yourself, focusing on the ball, the strategies, and your teammates, but the heat was unrelenting.

With every sprint, your legs grew heavier, and your head pounded in rhythm with your racing heart. You caught glimpses of Alexia, her worry evident despite her composed exterior. She was always perceptive, always attuned to you, and now was no different.

You ignored the warning signs, convincing yourself you could handle it, that you had to push through for the team. But as the game entered its final stretch, your vision began to tunnel, and a wave of dizziness washed over you.

Just a few more minutes, you thought, trying to steady yourself. But your body had other plans.

The ground felt like it was moving beneath you, your legs buckling under the strain. You stumbled, hearing a distant shout, but before you could process what was happening, everything went dark.

-

She still blames herself, even after all this time.

You weren’t together then, not quite. The lines between teammates and more were starting to blur as your relationship blossomed in the shadows.

You know she feels guilty for not keeping a closer eye on you during that match, afraid that her concern would draw too much attention to the two of you. She didn’t want people to find out about your relationship before you were ready to go public. The secrecy made her hesitant, and she worries that her hesitation contributed to your collapse.

You’ve told her countless times that it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t have known. But Alexia, ever the leader and protector, took it to heart. Since then, she’s been extra vigilant, constantly checking in, making sure you’re taking care of yourself.

Today’s heat brings those memories back, and you can see the worry etched on her face despite her attempts to stay focused on the game.

You push yourself to play smart, to stay aware of your limits, knowing that’s the best way to ease her mind. As the match progresses, you find yourself glancing at her frequently, sharing small smiles and nods of reassurance. Each time your eyes meet, there’s a silent understanding between you, a promise that you’ll both be careful.

When the final whistle blows, signaling a hard-fought victory, you make your way over to Alexia. She’s already looking your way, concern and relief in her eyes. But before you can even say a word, she’s ushering you towards the shade near the bench, her hand firm on your back.

“Drink,” she says, shoving another bottle of water into your hand.

She must mean business if she's dusting off language number three.

“Ale, I’m fine,” you start, but she cuts you off with a determined look cutting through her sweaty features.

“Drink,” she repeats. Deadly serious.

You sigh but comply, taking a few sips to placate her. “¿Lo veis? I’m drinking”

She nods, but her eyes scan you from head to toe, making sure you’re really okay. “Bien. Continúa”

You know there’s no point in arguing, so you take another sip. “Happy?”

“Por ahora,” she mutters, still watching you closely. She doesn’t relax until you’ve downed half the bottle.

[gotham-daydreams]

How would it have gone differently if Reader didn't try to be an "overachiever" and instead just stayed quiet and didn't interact with anyone besides Alfred until they left? Their room they left being mostly blank, with only the music journals? Giving up on trying to get their attention.

I think what's so funny about this ask, to me, is that I already have a concept like this written down (along with 3 others since the current reader I'm writing for the "Not [ ]" series is one of them but with a few missing details), so this'll be fun!

I guess it generally goes how you'd expect? Which is different for the most part, but the reader's perspective on what's happening is also different.

Granted, I would like to point out that, at least for this particular concept and the idea I have for it of how this would go, does have more stuff going on pre-Batfam that do affect how they perceive what's happening, and that's what makes things interesting in my opinion. Because someone can be naturally shy or just overall more reserved either out of nature or because they feel a certain way, but still feel bad about being neglected and, despite their lack of effort, feel that pain just as much as someone who's tried. Which is valid! Besides, someone's definition of 'trying' can vary as well.

Everyone should have a chance to have a family, and form some kind of connection with people. Just because you aren't going above and beyond for one person, doesn't mean you're undeserving of certain things. Especially not a chance to have a family, or feel like you have one. That's what I think anyway.

Nevertheless, back to the reader!

From the original concept, I will be tweaking a few things to fit the ask, but the same general outcome remains! Though again, the reader's perspective on things is a tad different. But how about this- I'll show two versions of the reader.

One that's quiet and more reserved because they gave up much earlier, or just generally hopeless really early on because maybe they felt as if anything they'd do just wouldn't be enough, who'll be accurately named Quiet!Reader. With the other being more closely related to the concept I wrote for such an idea, that we'll refer to as Waiting!Reader.

Quiet!Reader would change up things quite a bit! I won't lie!

They might already have bad self-esteem that's quick to develop at the start of things, which is something to note as that doesn't get better with time. They grow more cold and distant from the family at a quicker pace both from personal and external reasons.

Put simply, they don't feel good enough, and even if they did- anything they could do to get the Batfam's attention would never be enough in their eyes. To which, they see very early on when they try to engage and do some things with the family, only to be turned down. What doesn't help is when Quiet!Reader sees Damian get adopted and almost immediately showered with love, (compared to them) and that really cements some ideas that were already developing in their head about the family.

When Damian comes into the picture, they feel replaced. Seeing him as someone to fill in the 'youngest Wayne' role instead of them, so that Bruce and the others actually have someone to acknowledge for such a title. Just someone else to further take away the little they had.

So, they further step out of the way, glaring at the Batfam with tired eyes before that eventually stops too. Envy clawing at their heart, hatred being sent through waves of pain all throughout their body. Hurt unmatched. Yet they still remain invisible. Quiet as ever. Unnoticed. Everything they ever felt dies down, and forms a cold numbness that they begin to associate with the family.

Maybe through that, they feel closer to the family in some twisted way. Now just as cold as them. Just as talkative, and just as engaging. Almost mirroring them, but they're honest about how they feel. Honest about what they think, and therefore better. At least when compared to the Batfam- and to them, even if it wasn't a high bar to reach anyway, at least it counts for something.

It was never Damian's fault, or really about Damian at all. It could've been anyone else and Quiet!Reader would've still reacted the same way, they know that. Though just seeing the Batfam show love and care to him and not them just makes them feel... worse.

Clearly they're capable of love, and can notice new additions to the family (to which they may have mostly believed that the Batfam's neglect was just something the family did for whatever reason, and thought that them being the youngest had something to do with it for a while) and that breaks the reader. It doesn't hurt, not as much as it would've, maybe, but whatever hurt is there dies down quickly as Quiet!Reader, well, quietly accepts their fate.

The Batfam clearly wants nothing to do with them, so why should they try to do all of these things for them? It's simple, they shouldn't. So they don't. Quiet!Reader gives up, and continues to live their life without them.

The Manor just becomes a place they sleep in, and nothing else. It isn't anything close to a home, and not even Alfred can help with that.

It's because of that little fact, however, that Quiet!Reader leaves much sooner than the reader in the "Not [ ]" series. Maybe once they get a friend they can trust, they essentially end up living with said friend, hence why their room remains so empty. The notebooks they even keep in the room they have in the Manor is from when they were way younger, instead of just being from a few months ago or so. We're talking years since Quiet!Reader has touched those things now.

Maybe they do 'officially' leave a month or so before they usually would as an overachiever in the "Not [ ]" series, having only bothered to return so often before because of Alfred. Though even then, they'd forget to return most nights- only being reminded to even try and go back once Alfred would personally call them, and ask them where they were.

However now, after a while of just the time between them basically living with their friend and sleeping at the manor, they stop returning altogether. Though this time around they instead personally go to Alfred to say they're goodbyes. Not explaining much, but just saying that while they might still try to come and visit him sometimes, they don't live in the Manor anymore. Alfred already knows this, and the embrace they share fully hammers in that fact.

Yet when Quiet!Reader turns away, and leaves the Manor for good- even through the front door at that. Alfred can't help but just... miss them already.

You see, while Quiet!Reader is indeed quieter and more reserved, especially towards the Batfam, with Alfred really being the only exception, they still made music.

Maybe they didn't have as many concerts or physical, grand, live performances compared to the reader in the "Not [ ]" series, they not only started earlier, but may have actually started out on a social platform such a youtube. They really started out small, but were able to find and start their passion much earlier!

Most of what they played was when they were in the Manor, but slowly they started to get involved with things music related outside of the Manor and in Gotham- and from there were able to build themselves up even more. Hell, I'd even say that Quiet!Reader is a little more well-known and popular than the reader in the "Not [ ]" series because of the amount of extra time they dedicated to their passion.

So basically, Alfred this time around has more recordings and such of Quiet!Reader actually doing something they love than with the one in the series. However! Funnily enough, they're gone for a shorter amount of time despite having left earlier than normal.

Alfred is just, extra fed up with this nonsense, and so pulls his tricks more early on, but also make them hit harder.

He doesn't clean Quiet!Reader's room to show how long they've been gone, adding onto the emptiness and almost abandoned feeling the room itself gives off because of how bare and empty it is. They're music haunts the halls, subtle, sure, but still noticeable- especially to those who are hyper aware all the time. Pictures of Quiet!Reader and Alfred begin to be hung up, and if he can manage- some with Quiet!Reader and their friends during important parts of their life.

No one is safe from the guilt and anguish Alfred seeks to cause to not only have the Batfam look for you, but most importantly, to finally notice you.

Let's just say, things work out a little too well.

---

As for Waiting!Reader? Oh man, I've been wanting to rant about them for a while!

Unlike the reader in the "Not [ ]" series and Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader had some semblance of a life before getting adopted into the Batfam. Though the idea and character themself isn't musically inclined/involved in music, or even all that interested in music for that matter- for the sake of this ask, lets say they are!

I won't dabble too much into the life Waiting!Reader had before the Batfam, as if I do end up writing them I'd also like to keep some details vague (for the sake of leaving it up to interpretation and everything), but just know that during the time they were still with their original family, they were essentially taught that they should 'wait their turn', and eventually their parents would spend time with them and care for them. Hence the little name I've given them.

So! When they get to the Manor and are officially adopted, only to be neglected and ignored during their first few attempts- because of their young age, they immediately think "oh! they're just like mom and dad!" So they 'wait' for 'their turn', believing that eventually, should they wait long enough, they'll be rewarded with bonding and such from the Batfam just as they were with their previous parents.

This mindset changes what they do as well, as Waiting!Reader even goes out of their way to not bother anyone, or "get in the way" of whatever they could be doing. Waiting!Reader treats the situation so much like their previous home life, that sometimes they might even forget that the Batfam are completely different people from their parents. The only real difference that they can think of is that they're not acknowledged at all and it seems like their 'turn' never comes. Though for a while that doesn't get them down. The Batfam is busy like they're parents were! Waiting!Reader is sure that when things die down then they'll have their time.

... Hopefully.

I can imagine that part of the reason why Waiting!Reader holds on to hope for so long is because, again, their own parents constantly reassured them that they would have their time eventually. That if they behaved, and stayed out of the way, then they would go somewhere fun with their parents and essentially be rewarded for their efforts. They were conditioned to wait, to be patient, and just comply until those around them decided to actually take care of them, and spend time with them.

Of course, as they grow up the reality of the situation does hit them eventually, but during that time they do try.

Waiting!Reader helps Alfred around the house, and so they mostly bond over doing chores, among other things. They are also more mindful, and try to keep the amount of noise they back down— so they actually don't play at the Manor all that often, and instead play literally anywhere else. If and when they do play outside, around the area of the Manor like in the gardens or something, they make sure no one is around before even thinking of playing.

Alfred does help them break a few of their habits that they got while living with their parents, but the one thing he can't seem to 'fix' is how absolutely quiet Waiting!Reader is when they walk around. Which, as on can imagine, doesn't exactly help in a situation where the whole family, except for the butler, is neglecting you.

The amount of times Waiting!Reader has caught Alfred off guard is more then you'd think for someone that works with the Dark Knight, and his various sidekicks and such, over the years. Which does say something, sure, but it's also funny!

Regardless, similar to Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader is able to start their musical career earlier than normal, and thuse becomes a little more popular than they would originally. However, they're more known for their live performances and giving back to the community. Seemingly just like Bruce as they attend charity event after charity event, and try to do good by the people.

Waiting!Reader also does genuinely try to become a vigilante as well, but they do so in a way where they only take care of the smaller/medium guys, and leave the bigger ones to the rest of the Batfam. This is because they want to remove possible distractions for their family, and while they would try to take on "bigger guys", they don't think they're skilled enough or experienced enough to even think about it. So they don't even try. (They also don't have the same theme as the Batfam- since they don't want to 'ruin' their reputation with what they're doing or something. Which does hell them further detach themself from the family later on.)

I'd say that with Waiting!Reader, the difference between them and the Batfam is more clear to them? Like, to them, the Batfam are just so good at what they do that they have no hope of reaching them. So instead of trying to reach for them, they just do their own thing and try to help in their own way.

Because Waiting!Reader takes care of smaller guys, they are kind of closer to Waiting!Reader as a vigilante.

The best way I can put it is that while the community trusts Batman and the members of the Batfam to save their city, they trust Waiting!Reader to save their homes.

So basically- Batfam is the bigger picture while Waiting!Reader focuses on the smaller picture.

Nevertheless! Also like Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader actually leaves earlier. Except when they leave, they leave.

Waiting!Reader straight up leaves Gotham City to attend the college that they want to go to, in an area that has more opportunity for them, that isn't close to where the Batfam lives or patrols.

So they not only leave earlier, but it also takes the Batfam longer to find them. Especially because Waiting!Reader does still do some things in Gotham, they just don't live there anymore.

I feel like out of all three readers, Waiting!Reader definitely feels like the kind of person that someone would assume is some kind of "Phantom of the Wayne Manor," y'know?

So Alfred definitely tries to make the Batfam feel bad like he does with Quiet!Reader. Except how anyone in the Batfam is reminded that Waiting!Reader even exists, and that they've been gone for a while now is through a letter that is accidentally sent to the Wayne Manor from one of Waiting!Reader's fans. From there, some research does start and the more the Batfam learns, the more they want to go and find the reader- you know the deal.

I hope this answered your question even if I really did ramble on this time- if you'd like me to clarify anything or go into more detail on a specific part, feel free to send in an ask!

[feenoire]

Heartfelt Veils I. New Dawn

stepdad!joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ minors dni

word count: 3.8k

warnings: slow burn-ish, age difference (18/50), brief sexual tension, sexual acts.

summary: moving to a strange, quaint little town isn't so bad after all, especially after meeting your soon-to-be stepdad, who’s very handsome and nice to you.

a/n: i never knew what it felt like to have a dad or father figure in my life. that’s why i wrote this silly little fiction to fulfill my fantasy. i use the character Joel because he’s my comfort character, and i see him both as a father figure and a lover. please read it with caution, as i know this kind of story is not for everyone. i’m currently writing the next chapters <3

series masterlist

A piercing ring shattered the surrounding silence, echoing in your ears. You don’t remember how you here sitting on the ground. But you can’t see anything, everything is black like the whole world goes dark. You struggle to open your eyes but it’s hard, but you persist until it opens.

You begin to breathe faster as you examine your surroundings. You’ve been here before, but you don't exactly remember when and what happened. All you know is that you can feel an unsettling fear creeping over you in this place, and you begin to cry.

You find yourself encircled by towering trees, as you sit on the cold, damp grass. You feel like someone is watching you, but there’s no one. As you attempt to bury your face in your hands, you notice a bruise on your wrists.

What happened to me?

From the fear, your hands begin to shake. As you try to stand, you hear footsteps behind you, but you don’t dare to look back. Your heart races, and despite the cold weather, you start sweating. Everything else is silent except for your own breathing until a deep and familiar voice speaks from behind you.

“You think you can run away from me?”

You close your eyes tightly. The voice starts low, then gets louder until it speaks directly into your left ear. Leaving goosebumps tingling across your skin.

“I’ll always find a way to get you. No one can stop me.”

There’s a faint, distant voice calling your name over and over until a hand touches your shoulder. You wake up with a gasp, finding yourself in a moving car, your lungs heaving with ragged breaths.

“Are you okay, flower?”

Your mind is still processing the nightmare and trying to make sense of where you are right now. You can feel the sweat clinging to your skin.

“W-where are we?”

“We’re almost there,” your mother says. “We’ll be at the house soon.”

“Oh… right.” Of course, you are.

It all makes sense now as you start to remember things. You admire the buildings, trees, and pleasant views of the small town that will be your new home, from the backseat, with your mother beside you. With a population of just three thousand, it feels almost like a ghost town. People walk here and there, stepping on fallen leaves amid the October fall.

You check the time on the car’s radio display, it reads 4 PM, but the foggy and cold weather makes it feel much later. Meanwhile “Just Like Honey” plays softly on the radio.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your mother asks.

“Yeah, I’m okay. It was just a nightmare,” you reassure her.

The car starts to enter the small neighborhood on the edge of the town. Most of the houses already have jack-o-lanterns on their porches, seems like this town loves Halloween so much.

“I’m excited,” your mother says with a smile, holding your hand on the seat.

You smile genuinely. “Me too, Mom.”

“A new dawn, a fresh start,” that’s what your mother had said when she told you about the move a month ago, to a quaint little town called Silvervale in the middle of Montana.

It came out of nowhere, and you still think about it. You miss your friend from your old school. But with your mother’s enthusiasm, you can’t say no to her, and you want to make her happy. And you like the idea of a fresh start. Why refuse it when you have the chance to begin anew?

A few minutes later, the car stops in front of the house. It radiates a cozy charm that you immediately appreciate. What you didn’t expect is that the backyard is a dense forest, with trees stretching as far as the eye can see. It would be easy for a wolf or serial killer to attack you, but you hope that won’t happen. Your mother told you that the neighborhood is safe.

The house is a two-story structure with a classic, early 20th century architectural style, a white-painted structure with a metal gabled roof and a chimney. It features a large wraparound porch supported by columns.

“Come on, flower.”

You and your mother get out of the car and grab your things from the trunk, with the cab driver helping to place them on the porch. After giving him a tip and thanking him, the driver leaves.

The two of you stand on the porch, with bags and suitcases on the floor. You tighten your jacket around your body to ward off the cold, realizing you shouldn’t have worn a dress above your knees. Meanwhile, all your other belongings are still on their way and are expected to arrive tomorrow.

“Where is he?” you ask.

“He’s not home yet, but he told me we could come inside.”

“Wait, are you sure?”

“Yeah, come on.”

You take your bags and go inside with your mother. Now all the stuff is in the living room. You take a look around the place. It’s cozy, with many books on the bookshelves beside the fireplace. There are guitars on the wall and some wood carvings on the table. You draw closer and touch them carefully, they’re beautiful. There’s a bear, a deer, a wolf, and a cowboy sitting on the horse.

Lost in a trance, you don’t hear another person enter the house until your mother calls your name.

“Yeah?” Your eyes are still trained on the carvings as you turn around until you see the man in front of you beside your mother, his arm around her shoulder. “Oh.”

Your mother, with a beaming smile, says, “Flower, this is Joel.”

Joel.

Joel is your mother’s boyfriend and one of the reasons she proposed to move here, to his house. He might’ve asked her to marry him after two years together. And she wanted to start fresh, away from your hometown. However, you have never met Joel. Your mother met him at the local bar in your hometown, Phoenix, when he was on a road trip with his brother. The rest is history.

You only recently learned that your mother dating him, she never told you about it or even mentioned anything about dating. Your mother was single, that’s all you knew since you were a kid. She was always busy working, so she never had time for a relationship. Until a few months ago, when she finally told you about Joel.

She said she wanted to make sure that Joel is a good man for both you and her, and that she wants to protect you. Now you understand why, sometimes every few months she would leave for like a week, over the past two years. She told you it was for work, and you believed her.

She said Joel’s the one, she never really went on a date with anyone since your father. Joel is a good and kind man, and she said she fell in love with him. It was kind of shocking when you heard the news, but you accepted their relationship. Actually, you’re kind of happy for her that she finally met someone she could spend her life with and who will take care of her. You’re almost eighteen, and you won’t be living with your mother forever.

It's the first time you’re seeing Joel in person.

You’ve only looked at pictures of him that your mother showed you or seen him during Facetime calls with her, when she told you to say hi to him.

You know Joel is a good-looking man from the pictures you saw, but you didn’t expect him to look this good in person. His salt-and-pepper hair suggests maturity. He has beautiful features: a rugged handsome face with tan skin, a strong jawline, warm brown eyes, and a sharp nose. Unbelievably handsome. He’s tall and broad, so you have to look up at him. His big arms stretch the charcoal flannel he wears.

In return, he looks at you, inspecting your face as if lost in a trance.

“Joel, meet my daughter,” your mother introduces.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, your voice a little breathless as you extend your hand.

Joel shakes your hand warmly. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You smile. “Nice to meet you too.”

“I’m so glad we’re all finally together,” your mother says.

“Me too, Daphne,” Joel says as he kisses her temple.

It’s kind of strange to watch the scene unfolding in front of you, you’ve never seen your mother this affectionate with anyone before. But you are happy for her.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I thought I’d made it on time. I bought your favorite cake, tiramisu, right?” Joel says to your mother, gesturing to the large paper bag he’s holding.

A soft blush tints her cheeks. “Oh my god, thank you so much, Joel.”

“I planned to surprise you with it before you got here, but my car broke down on the way.”

“It’s okay, Joel. It’s perfect,” she says as she hugs him.

“Okay… so, are we gonna eat the cake now?” you say, trying to ease the awkwardness of witnessing their intimate moment.

Joel and your mother laugh at your remark, breaking the embrace with a shared smile. Then, he leads you to the dining room. The table is full of delicious-looking food, and your stomach grumbles at the sight.

“This is amazing, Joel,” your mother says.

The three of you finally sit down and enjoy the food on the dining table. You can’t believe Joel actually cooked all of this, and it’s kind of sweet. You’ve never had someone cook for you, not even your mother, because she’s always busy. So, you either cook for yourself or buy takeout. Joel mentions that he has always loved cooking. Everything on the table is flavorsome, especially the ravioli with spicy cream sauce.

You’re too busy eating your food to notice Joel looking at you until you catch him. He quickly averts his eyes back to his plate, and you can feel a flush rising to your cheeks. But you quickly push the thoughts aside.

“Oh, yeah, mom. I was wondering how I’m gonna finish high school. You haven’t mentioned anything about it yet.”

“Don’t worry, flower. I’ve already taken care of it,” your mother says. “You start next week, but there’s no high school in this town, so you’re going to the one in Lakewood.”

You furrow your eyebrows, you have no idea about anything in this town. “Where?”

“Lakewood, it’s not too far from here. Twenty minutes tops,” Joel says. “Don’t worry, I can take you there and pick you up.”

It’s such a dad thing to say, you thought. You never knew how it felt to have a dad before, and the thought warms your heart and also your cheeks. You must be blushing right now because you can see a hint of a smirk on Joel’s lips, though he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say.

Joel smiles warmly. “I rented A Nightmare on Elm Street on VHS from the store. I thought it’d be nice to watch it together tonight. It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

Oh god. Wait, but how does he know? Uh… your mom must have told him, of course. Stupid you.

“But why?” you ask, puzzled. “We can just watch it on Apple TV or something.”

He smirks playfully. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You chuckle. “Right, okay.”

The two of you share a smile, locking eyes for a moment before you finally look away and return to your food.

“That’s very thoughtful,” your mother smiles and holds Joel’s hand on the table.

After everyone has finished eating, Joel leads you upstairs to show you to your room, carrying your bags. Meanwhile, your mother is having a phone call with her friend. As the two of you walk, you pass a wooden door adorned with painted blossoms and vines, with an “S” initial in the center, but you don’t ask about it. He leads you to the door on the left at the end of the hallway and turns on the night lamp.

“It’s your room, I hope you like it,” he says as he puts the bags on the floor.

It’s such a pretty room, it’s cozy with a vintage ambiance. The walls are covered with floral wallpaper, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. It’s very Joel but in a feminine way. The windows have white lace curtains, allowing you to see the forest. All the furniture is made of dark wood, including the bed frame, bedside tables, dresser, chairs, study desk, and vanity table. There’s a floral carving around the mirror. He placed some unlit candles around the room. The bed is full-sized, and you touch the soft pink bedding with your fingers, feeling the little flowers on it. It’s pretty, soft, and you. What you didn’t expect is the painting of “Fallow Deer with Fawn” above the headboard—your favorite painting.

You gasp at the sight of it and turn around to face Joel, who’s already looking at you. His pupils dilate as he looks at you. But there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes you feel safe and comfortable.

“Joel, how did you—”

He smiles warmly and looks back into your eyes. “I asked your mom if there’s something you like. She told me that you’re crazy about that painting, and even wrote an essay about it for school. So I found a very similar one and got it for y—”

You stride to him and hug him before he can finish his words, burying your face in his chest with your arms around his torso. You feel his arms enveloping you, holding you in a bear hug, and you can feel his face resting on your hair.

You feel emotional from the gesture, unable to believe that someone actually cares about you and your interests so much. It means a lot to you, even if it might mean nothing to Joel. You try to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall, closing your eyes tightly and taking a deep breath, the masculine scent of Joel fills your nostrils.

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper. “It means a lot to me.”

He caresses your hair with his other hand. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Joel’s deep voice is like music to your ears. After a few seconds in what feels like heaven, you realize what you’re doing and quickly break the hug, stepping back. Overcome with embarrassment, you don’t have the courage to look him in the face. You bow your head and focus on your socks.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you say.

Joel takes a step closer to you and caresses your soft cheek with his big hand. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart.”

His gentle voice soothes you, but you’re so embarrassed that your cheeks must be red. You still don’t dare to look at him. After waiting for a few moments and seeing your resistance, he takes a step back.

“Makes yourself comfortable, okay?” Joel says warmly. “If you need anything at all, just tell me. I’m gonna help your mom carry her bags.”

You nod, and Joel takes it as a yes. He leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

You curl up in your bed, quietly crying for almost an hour. Why did you do that? You feel so embarrassed and stupid about the moment earlier. Lost in your feelings, you didn't think twice before hugging Joel. Now, you can’t find the courage to face him. You just want to sleep and hide under your blanket forever.

But you still can’t believe Joel prepared all of this for you. The pink bedding, the flower-patterned details everywhere, the candles, the painting—all your favorite things. Not that you're ungrateful, but this is far better than your old space. You love this room Joel made for you.

You remove the blanket from your head and rest your head on the pillow. There’s a little something you didn’t notice earlier—a beautiful wood carving, much like the one in the living room, but smaller. It’s a wolf and a doe and is placed on your bedside table. You smile at the sight. Not long after that, you fall asleep, dreaming about resting on the forest floor with a big wolf hugging you.

The sky is dark outside when you wake up a few hours later. You change into your soft pink nightgown, which is sleeveless with a round neckline. Three small buttons run down the front, with small embroidered flowers beside them. You tie the delicate ribbon at the waist into a small bow. As you brush your hair, you hear a knock on the door.

You put the brush down and go to open the door, finding Joel on the other side. You don’t open the door all the way, keeping your hand on the handle. He looks so handsome, his curls falling into his forehead. He’s wearing a faded black t-shirt that hugs his frame, paired with flannel pants.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

In return, he looks at you. His once-brown eyes darken and dilate as he gazes from your right eye to your left, lingering on your lips. You notice him wet his lips, and then his eyes roam over your body, making you feel self-conscious. His intense gaze sends a hot sensation through your core.

“Joel?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly as if realizing what he is doing. “Uh… I’m sorry, sweetheart. I came here to ask if you’re still up for the movie night.”

“Oh, right. Um… yeah, sure,” you stutter.

“Okay. Uh, are you alright?” he asks.

You immediately know what he’s talking about.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m sorry, Joel, about earlier,” you bow your head.

“Hey, please don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You can come to me anytime you want,” he says, his voice sincere.

You nod.

“Alright, why don’t we head downstairs now? Your mom’s in the kitchen making popcorn. Or do you need more time?”

“No, I’m ready.”

You open the door and step out of the room.

“Do you want a chocolate or something? Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says as he walks down the stairs in front of you.

Your heart warms at his offer, and you smile softly. “Um… could I have hot chocolate and Oreos?” you ask shyly.

“Of course,” he replies with a smile. “Why don’t you sit on the couch and let me make it for you?”

“Okay.”

Joel walks to the kitchen and joins your mother. Meanwhile, you sit on the couch in the dim living room, waiting for them. You grab the VHS, still inside the box, and examine the back cover. It says, ‘If Nancy doesn’t wake up screaming… she won't wake up at all!’ and you smile as the words send a shiver of excitement down your spine.

A few minutes later, your mother shows up with Joel. He brings a steaming cup of hot chocolate with Oreos and two bottles of Corona beer. Meanwhile, your mother puts a bowl of chips and popcorn on the coffee table.

You can’t help but grin at the sight. “Thank you, Joel, Mom.”

Joel grins. “Excited?”

“Flower, why don’t you change into something a little more appropriate? Don’t you get cold dressed like that?” your mother says, her eyes looking sharply at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, puzzled. “But it’s my nightgown.”

“Just change, alright?” she says, her tone brooks no debate.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

Your smile fades as you stand up from the couch. You catch a glimpse of Joel’s face—his eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks confused as he glances at your mother. Quickly, you go upstairs to your room, holding back the urge to cry.

“Please don’t cry, please don’t cry,” you whisper to yourself like a spell as you look for more appropriate night attire in your suitcase.

You’re confused because your mother also wears a short nightgown too, with tin straps. So why is she upset with yours?

So you opt for your winter pajama set: long-sleeved button-up top and long pants. It’s light-colored with a pattern of small bear figures scattered on the fabric.

After changing, you take a deep breath, go downstairs, and sit on the rug with your hot chocolate in your hands, avoiding their eyes.

“I’m ready,” you say softly.

You’re glad your voice isn’t shaking because you don’t want to look vulnerable in front of them. Joel stands up from the couch, puts the VHS in the VCR, and plays the movie. You can feel his eyes on you, but you bow your head and focus on your hot chocolate.

The atmosphere is not as exciting as it was before your mother scolded you, but you try to enjoy the moment. A few moments into the movie you can’t help but giggle and blush at Glen Lantz's appearance, you’ve always had a crush on him.

“You sure your cheeks don’t hurt now, little girl?” Joel says with a smirk on his face, catching you smiling for not the first time.

Embarrassed, you lower your head and take a bite of your cookie. “No…”

Joel chortles. “Your cheeks got redder, sweetheart.”

You put the cookie down, curl up, and bury half of your face in your knees at his teasing. If your ears could work like a chimney in a cartoon, you are sure there would be fumes coming out from how warm your cheeks are right now. Damn Joel.

Near the movie’s end, you catch a glimpse of your mother kissing Joel’s face and neck—not the peck kind but the longing kind. You feel deeply uncomfortable and don’t want to look. You try to focus on the movie but can’t. You hold yourself together until the closing credits appear, and then you quickly stand up.

“I’m tired, I’m gonna go to my room,” you mutter before leaving and going back to your room.

Why did they have to do that in front of you? Are they drunk? You throw yourself onto the bed and turn off the night lamp, allowing the natural light from the night sky to illuminate your room as you try to sleep.

After what feels like twenty minutes, just as you doze off, you hear thumps and muffled moans coming from the other side of the wall behind the headboard. And you know exactly what they’re doing, which pisses you off even more, and you feel like you want to cry. So you clutch your pillow and blanket and go to sleep in your closet with your earmuffs on. You didn’t expect your first night here to be like this—sleeping on the closet floor. It takes a while to fall asleep again.

[ireneaesthetic]

Pointing out little moments and details of scenes that need to be remembered.

library scene • episode 1

their expressions softening and smiles growing bigger as soon as their eyes meet. oh the effect of each other’s presence!!!

wille's staring contest and the lip bite while approaching give off so much confidence. he leans in for the kiss like it's all he's been waiting for - everyone is watching and yet he sees and cares about anyone anything but simon.

simon dives into the kiss just as quickly. it starts out as shyyy but you can see the tension easing through his body language.

it’s a second first kiss for them in a way bc it's their first public one: the thrill, the excitement, the butterflies - it's all there. for this huge step to come from wille makes it even more special.

it’s a super tender kiss, with simon’s hand ending up on wille’s chest. background noises fading away to enhance the sound of their lips is so on point: none of that truly matters bc in this moment it's - them.

first they kiss and then greet with a proper hej *giggling*.

lip biting is serious business in this scene. simon's shows a lot of embarrassment tho - he comes out of their own bubble and suddenly becomes very aware of people's chatter.

shoutout to felice and maddie in the background not giving a damn about it ahsjsj.

wille pulling simon by the hand in such a hurry is funny and so him. he literally says 'ok folks you've seen enough, i want him just for myself now'.

ugh i love parallels in this show sooo much. they alone tell the whole story!

same spot but different point in their relationship: so distant in s2 - both physically/emotionally - and couldn't be seen or heard so they were hyper attentive; deeply connected on all levels in s3 instead, the focus is solely on each other, reaching for comfort by holding hands. the coloring tells the same plot too: cold and dull tones first but much warmer ones in s3.

simon side eyeing the hallway but turning to wille is enough to reassure him and ease the discomfort.

hands intertwined with the key chain in such a ‘fuck 'em, this is about us’ way is a genius move.

wille’s whole posture is extremely relaxed - one arm behind his back, the other hand holding simon’s, his legs crossed. it’s a breath of fresh air to finally see him acting this loose and unbothered around people. he's also the one who helps simon feeling much more comfortable here too.

not much to point out, i just needed to gif simon’s bambi eyes and wilhelm being mesmerized by his face.

hela terminen's line delivery is honestly *chef’s kiss*. they care to keep their voices low throughout the scene and then -

i have a thing for height difference so this shot is everything to me. it's peak head over heels boyfriends behavior!

wilhelm is stronger than me bc i would've kissed simon right on the spot if he tilted his head up like that.

shhh they’re cuddling.

the forehead touch with closed eyes and content smiles. this is basically what i've always loved the most about them - the state of pure bliss they're in only when with each other.

simon's eyes on him while wille is still keeping his eyes closed, slowly pulling away, to enjoy the moment a little longer.

simon's attention directed towards wille and the linked hands. it must feel the best kind of weird to experience the freedom of doing couple-things publicly - people's scrutiny no longer being something they have to hide from.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Wade's Adhd and rejection sensitivity. Getting upset about inconveniences he can't control even when not mentally small, just becoming irationally overly upset over things that don't really affect much.

How he's been talking about a certain sandwitch all day long. Since noon, throughout the entire mission, and now he's yapping about it again on the 6 block walk to said sandwitch joint ran by a small immigrant family.

He keeps talking about how great it is. Logan didn't have this place in his timeline, so Wade is ampled excited to show him. Logan jokes with him how he sounds more excited to eat this sub then he is to suck dick.

Wade, with the most serious face, goes, "I can get dick anytime. They're only open 4 days a week and only from 1 to 5."

Logan notes this in the back of his mind for the future.

Just as they get there, Wade is telling Logan that they used to be open 10-5 but their daughter went to college, so now they are on their own. How these people have been so kind to him and told him that they started this shop for their daughter specifically. To give her a good life, they've been working hard to send her to college since day one.

As they roll up to the door, Wade's face drops. All of the glee and joy from his body evaporates and immediately he's just staring at the sign.

"Sorry, we're closed. Come back -" and then a small plastic clock that shown when they opened again tomorrow at 1 pm.

They're too late.

"Oh... well, that sucks." Logan mutters, hands in his pockets as he watches Wade look so utterly disappointed that even he begins to feel bad for him.

He puts a hand on his shoulder. "We can always come again tomorrow."

"B-but I...i wanted.." He starts to tear up, quickly moving to wipe his eyes, sniffling and shaking his head. "It's fine... okay.. tomarrow." He whispers, not only feeling pathetic for being so upset over a sandwitch store being closed, but now they had to walk all the way back home.

"...are you okay?"

"Yeah.. it's fine.." But it's clearly not fine. He fully understands that they were late, and thats why they were closed. He's not angry at them. He's not angry at logan either. Not even himself, really. He must have miscalculated the time. A pure mistake.

But on the way home, it's very obvious that this is a big deal. He's quiet. Staring at the ground as he walks, biting his nails, wiping a tear once inawhile.

It makes Logan frown, uncomfortable with the silence, knowing his mind was no where near silent at the moment. He knew it was turmoil in there, a loud and pouting mess.

"....do you want to get something else?"

"...no..." He whispers.

Logan observes his body language, watching how his eyes kept flickering and filling with a tear every now and again. How distant he becomes and almost... hugs himself... at one point. He knows that this is a much different response from when small him throws a tantrum or sulks. He looks as if he genuienly didn't want to be upset but just... is. As if he couldn't stop his overwhelming emotions from flooding his mind.

He takes his hand. "...is it because you wanted to show me?"

"No.. I mean.. kinda? But I just... I really wanted it."

"We can get it tomarrow?"

"I know. I can't... its hard to explain."

Logan gives his hand a squeeze, talking quietly.

"... is it a safe food?"

Wade nods, wiping another tear on his sleeve. It was one of the few things he could eat without puking. But that still wasn't why he was upset.

"Do you want me to make you a sub?"

He shakes his head. "It won't be the same."

"Im sure I can make it the sa-"

"No.. I mean... yes?? Im sorry, Peanut. It's... It's an experience thing.. I've had it in my head all day to go and get a sub from them. And now I can't check it off until tomorrow."

Oooh.. that makes sense. He had a checklist in his head. Something he needed to finish before he could go to bed. And now that this wasn't finished? He would have a hard time moving forward.

When they arrive home, Wade goes to hide in the corner of their bedroom, quiet and trying to think of something else he could do to distract his mean brain from yelling at him.

'What are you doing? You were supposed to go to the shop! Stop being lazy and just go! Come on! We've been waiting all day for this! ... Logan said he would eat a sub with us...But we were so good today...' They said.

"I know.." he muttered, putting on his headphones, hoping to drown them out.

It doesn't work. Now hes just laying in bed, rotting and staring at the ceiling while tears travel down the sides of his face. He's breathing a bit shakily.

'Why are we crying? Its just a sandwitch. It has nothing to do with the sandwich dipshit!! Are we bad..? Did we misbehave? Is that why Logan dosn't want to eat with us? Hey! Hello?? Were kind of starving here. Haven't even had anything today since breakfast. Im not hungry anymore. You're really pathetic you know that? Almost 50 years old crying over a fucking sandwitch.'

They were so loud that even with the volume up so high, he didn't hear Logan come in.

"Wade?" He waves a hand in front of him, watching as he jumps, looking up with such puffy red eyes.

"W-what?"

He puts down a plate. It's a sub.

Looking at it, he glances between him and the food multiple times, watching as Logan takes it, taking a bite and sitting next to him.

He doesn't say a word.

Now, Wade is crying for a different reason, his eyes softening as he smiles, gently leaning into him. "... Can I have a bite?"

"Of my dick or my sub?" He asks, glancing to him with a teasing look painted on his raised brow.

Wade giggles, nuzzling into his shoulder as he takes a big breath, sighing. Glancing at the door, he mutters. "Do you see this shit? And you all call me the nasty one."

Logan only smirks, a bit too proudly. "Says the guy who once-"

"Woah woah woah peanut! That's enough. This episode is rated pg. Sorry about that. God, such a potty mouth." He snickers, sitting up as Logan lets him take a bite from the end of the sub, Lady and the Tramp style.

[byeuijoo]

am i in love? 𐀔 boynextdoor

genre : fluff ⋆ warnings : very, very cheesy ⋆ word count : 594

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ୨ ✩ ୧

⭒ park sungho

when he realized he loved you as more than just a friend, sungho tried to play it cool. which is funny because, in reality, you soon realized that something had changed : he was trying more to flirt with you and get your attention, while selling his merits by making you understand that he was better than the others. he'd show you a bit more of his muscles, show you his soccer skills.. and even though he tried to be discreet about his feelings, he failed miserably when you asked him directly if he had a crush on you.

⭒ lee riwoo

when he realizes he's fallen in love with you, sanghyeok tends to be more distant with you, but simply out of sheer shyness. but he'll still do his best to get your attention in subtle ways : he delivers flowers at your house with a little card and a hand-written poem, he tries to send you signals on social networks, hoping that miraculously you'll understand that he's talking to you.. he's a discreet admirer whom you've noticed and whom you like to panic by getting a little too close to him, just to see his cheeks redden because of your smile.

⭒ myung jaehyun

he was already clingy, but when he realizes he's developed feelings for you, oh boi, jaehyun is even more clingy. nevertheless, there are some changes that you can easily notice : the tips of his ears get redder when you flirt with him, he's always trying to hold your hand in his, even when you're doing nothing but sitting close to each other, he always tries to get your attention and gets sulky when you talk to other boys.. he's so down for you, he can't help reminding you that he exists all the time.

⭒ han taesan

to have spent so much time by your side, getting to know you and finding out more about you, dongmin realized that his heart was beating faster than normal when his eyes met your smile. he'll become more shy, without giving you radio silence. but let's just say that he laughs more easily at your jokes, that he observes you smiling like an idiot more often, and most of all, he'll share more of his favorite music with you. (he's probably trying to convey his feelings through the lyrics, but you're too blind to see it.)

⭒ kim leehan

to say that donghyun has had a crush on you since first sight would not be a lie — of course, his feelings built up gradually, but you were already running through his mind every day since you met. he's quite calm, and has no trouble keeping his feelings to himself, but he tends to look you in the eye in a different way now. more warmly, more tenderly, with a hint of shyness in his eyes. and he has to admit that your smile makes his heart skip a beat.

⭒ kim woonhak

woonhak is totally vocal about the fact that he loves you. he don't care about other people opinions, he just wants to make sure you know he likes you. so every day, he brings you a carton of his favorite chocolate milk, leaving a note on it, reminding you that he likes you — again. or he'll probably just show up when you least expect it, standing in front of you with the most dazzling smile, and you have to admit that hearing him say those words in person makes you all shy and smiley. even if you need time to make a decision, woonhak remains patient and does everything to keep your full attention on him.

⠀

reblogs & feedbacks are highly appreciated !

taglist ౨ৎ @wtfhyuck @florainnie @dazzlingligth @yuma-is-mine @lilriswife4life @leehanascent @wantmatthew

[ozzgin]

Hai, beloved....❤️✨

I've liked your blog for a long time and I came here to make a request With the six Handsome Yokai, muehehe ~

With fem reader who is the wife of the Yokai (separately) and is a woman who turns out to be a beautiful and elegant Oni please...❤️💋

Of course! My apologies for the delay, it always takes some time to get back into the mood for a certain story. This will be a yokai harem week hopefully. :D I'm very glad you're still around, Strawberry. 💕

Yandere! Yokai Harem AU: Oni! Reader

Featuring the six demon boyfriends - now husbands! - and a female oni reader.

Content: female reader, monster romance

[Main Story] [Character Guide] [Boyfriend Headcanons]

Murasaki

Murasaki needs time to accustom himself to any change in the relationship. You've gotten so close that you now wear his wedding ring, but strangely enough, he will be somewhat distant and shy in the first month after marriage. Mind you, he married you specifically because he cannot envision his life without your presence in it. Yet every time he glances at you, his cheeks burn in embarrassment, and he quickly looks away with a huff. It feels different. You're as beautiful as always, except now you bear the title of his wife. It's an intimacy he's never experienced before, making him nervous. Murasaki does not like uncertainty. How do people get used to it? Additionally, he will be extra protective and particularly caustic towards potential threats. You've had to hold him back from slashing a mere passerby once. "What're you looking at a married woman for? The road is straight ahead, asshole!"

Kiritsubo

Kiritsubo has always been a clingy and affectionate partner and you didn't think it could get any worse. Then you got married. On one hand, it has certainly helped his struggle of feeling insecure and inadequate. Can you blame him? You're stunning, often catching the eye of demons and humans alike. It was difficult to imagine someone like you would be pleased to have him as a partner. Yet here you are by his side, wearing the ring he's given you to tie the knot. He couldn't be any happier. A newfound sense of pride has flooded his entire being. Perhaps he is meant to be yours, after all. On the other hand, he's glued to your side even more so than before. You're married, which means you're basically one, right? It means you can be even more intimate. "Oh, you're preparing a bath for us? I can't wait!"

Suma

"Beauty and the Beast" is a fitting comparison for your relationship with Suma, and not just appearance-wise. You're elegant and well-mannered, while the yokai man is, well...nonchalant is one way to describe it. He is loud, carefree, and unapologetically violent. He loves fighting almost as much as he loves you. In the eyes of most people, you're an unusual pair. Despite everything, Suma can be very gentle, especially when it comes to you. And if he does get too enthusiastic, you're thankfully not as frail as one would believe. You are a powerful oni, after all. He's the kind of guy that will shout "This is my wife" so the whole perimeter knows not to mess with you.

Yuugiri

Yuugiri might just be the perfect match for someone of your status. He is equally good-looking, with androgynous features and distinguished manners. A perfect, charming husband according to many. He knows exactly how to sweep you off your feet and loves to spoil you with compliments. The snake yokai is very proud to have you as his wife. The downside to this is that he can be extremely jealous. If he suspects someone is trying to flirt with you, know that he is already planning their demise. He'll flash you a confident smile while pondering ways to torment the bastard. Don't worry, he will be equally ruthless if someone tries to get close to him instead.

Sakaki

Ah, Sakaki. Your very own gloomy husband, plagued by doubt and fear. Once again, an intriguing pair to outsiders. The depressed, melancholic yokai and his gorgeous, bright oni wife. Yet this is the very reason the demon has fallen in love with you: you're the light in his darkness, the hope in his despair. He proposed to you in the way most expected of him: a ring in one hand, and a noose in the other. "It's you for eternity, or death. You may seal my fate." Life with him won't change much after tying the knot. Although he might get a little more confident now that you have made things official. "Excuse me, you're flirting with my tomb partner. We'll be sharing a coffin one day; you don't stand a chance."

Sekiya

Sekiya will take forever to propose to you, mostly out of fear. Despite your best attempts to reassure him of your love, he is still very much crippled by the fear of rejection. What if you say no? What if you change your mind at the very last moment? You're an alluring, charismatic oni that could easily find someone better than him. His chances are slim. Thankfully it will tone down once you're officially married. He might even come out of his shell and dare to be a little more assertive. "That's MY ring on her finger, j-just so you know", he'll warn, proudly. (It was a jewelry maker asking you what style you prefer)

[spencerlicious]

Hi! I noticed your requests open and I had an idea rattling around my brain where Spencer is trying to break things off to protect reader from the dangers of his job but she won't let him and it's angsty but with a happy ending oh pretty please?!?

thank you for your request!! sorry it took literally forever lol

protect you

spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: use of y/n (one time, i'm so sorry it was necessary), a little bit of angst, that's it! lmk if there's anything i should add!!

w.c.: 0.8k

—

He was acting distant, and you could tell.

You were used to Spencer coming home from a case exhausted, but he would always kiss you softly, telling you how much he missed you and occasionally even sharing a few details from the case.

When he arrived to your apartment this time, however, it was different. You heard your door being unlocked, and you dropped the pan you'd been washing into the soapy water. "Hi, Spence," you say happily, going to greet him.

He kicks his shoes off gently, the slightly beat up converse landing next to your own shoes. Finally looking at you, Spencer forces a smile. "Hi," he says quietly, pulling his messenger bag off and hanging it above his shoes.

Your expression falters slightly- he's usually more enthusiastic about seeing you. "How was the case?" you ask, hoping to gain some insight as to why he's acting this way.

He takes a deep breath before responding. "Really rough." Spencer bypasses you and sits on the couch, picking a book up off of your coffee table and thumbing through it. You watch as he walks past you without touching you, your eyes narrowed in confusion.

In an attempt to make him feel better, you head back into the kitchen to make him a cup of tea. The water begins to heat as you put pieces together in your head. He'd barely called or texted on this case, didn't let you know when the jet had landed, and now he was very closed off. You drop the tea bag into the mug and walk over to the couch where Spencer is reading.

"I made you some tea," you say, offering the mug to him as you sit next to him on the plush sofa.

"Oh, thank you," he looks up from the book and takes the mug, barely even looking at you.

You sigh. "Spencer."

He looks at you finally, eyebrows raised. "Y/N?" he answers.

"What is going on with you? Even on really bad cases, you're still excited to see me..." your voice wobbles.

He frowns slightly, taking a sip of the hot tea. "I am happy to see you," he begins, "but I don't think we can stay together."

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. "What?" you stutter, your eyes becoming glossy. The atmosphere of your apartment - usually very warm and cozy - is suddenly cold and closing in.

Spencer looks at you awkwardly. "It's not that I don't like you, I really, really like you, but my job is so dangerous, and this case reminded me of how much danger I put you in by being in a relationship with you," he says, his eyebrows knit together as his lips turn into a frown.

Tears draw jagged paths on your cheeks, and it breaks Spencer's heart to see. "I don't understand," you finally say. "Your job has nothing to do with me."

He takes a deep breath and sets the mug down on the coffee table, before reaching for your hand. His fingers intertwine with yours. "On this case, the unsub was targeting the family members of people he'd perceived as doing him harm. Wives, children, pet...it was awful." He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. "I don't want you to ever be put in a position like that just because of my job. I look around the team and see how much some of my friends have lost, and I couldn't bear to lose you like that."

You bring your hands to your face, wiping away the tears that are falling. "So you want to break up?" Your voice is shaky as you try to come to terms with what Spencer is saying.

His head shakes. "No, no, I don't want to break up with you," he struggles, "but I'm scared for what could happen."

You push the tears away again, continuing the motion to also push your hair back. "I'm not scared," you say. "How could I be when I have my scary FBI agent boyfriend to protect me?"

You and Spencer both laugh, and it breaks the tension slightly.

"I can't always be there to protect you," he says.

"I can hold my own, you know?" you say, half laughing. "I really don't want to break up, Spence."

He nods. "I don't either."

You move across the couch and he pulls you into his lap. "Two out of two votes, I concur that we're not breaking up," you say, kissing his cheek.

Spencer grins at you softly, admiring your humor. His fingers come up to your cheeks to wipe away the paths that your tears carved. "I'm sorry I freaked out," he says.

You rest your forehead against Spencer's. "It's okay baby, I understand. I'm glad we talked about it. Maybe from now on we try to communicate more while you're away on cases that way you know I'm okay?" you say, cocking your head to the side with a small smile.

"I'd like that," Spencer says before kissing your lips gently.

--

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! not really sure how i feel about this one, i'm trying to get back into writing more consistently and i'm sure my fics will get better over time, haha.

i totally think spence would be suuuuper protective over reader, so this is totally a plausible scenario. than you again for your request <3

[scarfacemarston]

Bucky Barnes A-Z Fluff Alphabet!

Feel free to send in more requests for Bucky! Please think about "liking" and reblogging! These things take time. Also, I included a lot of 1940s Bucky as a comparison.

A - Affection (how do they show affection to their s/o)

Bucky has always been physically affectionate, but this changed after escaping his time in Hydra captivity. He's slowly beginning to experience positive touches again and quickly discovered how touch-starved he is, so physical touch is a significant way he shows affection, but there are days when he'll request not to be touched. He tries to be encouraging and complimentary, but he feels like it comes across as awkward and stilted. He'll try for quality time, but he does worry if he's overstaying his welcome. However, he does become less anxious as time goes on.

B - Best Friend (what are they like as a best friend?)

Look at Steve, for example! He's loyal to a fault. He will put his friend's well-being way beyond his own. He considers himself less of a decent friend than before, but he's wrong. He's just as great a friend as he used to be.  He's just as loyal and self-sacrificing. He will drop everything the moment you need help. The only reason he is ever distant is because he doesn't believe he's worthy of friendship, and his anxiety and depression get in the way. He will always doubt himself, but again, it improves in time.

C - Cuddling (do they like to cuddle? And how would they do it?)

Yes, physical touch with those he trusts is a soothing balm for him. He's always loved it when someone played with his hair, or he could hold hands, place an arm around his partner's waist - he loves it all, so loving to cuddle is really no surprise. He occasionally doesn't want to be touched, and that space is important to him, but otherwise, he'd be happy to be cuddled basically any time. It doesn't matter what position - he loves them all, but his favorite is lying on his back with your head on his chest.

D - Domestic (do they want to settle down? How good are they at cooking and cleaning)

In the 40s, he was expected to settle down at some point and probably would have in some form after the war. He still feels as though he has these expectations today, but it's more of a ghost memory than anything else. He'd be surprised that someone wants that with him - unless it's Steve. If it's Steve, he's not surprised at all and would consider it a continuation of their lives in Brooklyn. With a new partner, he can be convinced to settle down; he just wants to be sure that it's what you want. He knows how to clean and can cook simple meals, as we see in Romania. In the 30s and 40s, it was very much bachelor food like canned soup and a relatively clean, if not bare, apartment. Bucky can be a combination of messy and neat. It depends on his mental health. However, his residence is so devoid of decor that it's hard to make it messy. (This is seen with the comics as well.) He does improve when you move in with him. He enjoys cooking now in comparison to the 40s.

E - Ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He's very quiet but very gentle and kind about it. He doesn't expect you to understand why, and he is hard on himself for breaking it off. He is more likely to break it off because of his own self-doubt, but he does have boundaries that, if broken - he will break it off. He expects you to hate him afterward and understands if you do, but his mind will not change.

F - Fiancé (how do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

In the 40s, Bucky loved dating around - he wasn't a himbo, but he did enjoy pursuing different people. He didn't want to settle down yet - unless it was with Steve, which was something he didn't want to think about logistically. However, he doesn't take commitment for granted nowadays and realizes how valuable it can be. He's not sure about marriage as it's nothing he ever really thought about outside of his mother reminding him he "should" get married, but if it feels right and it's discussed, he might be convinced. 

G - Gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Bucky is very methodological physically and emotionally speaking. He is very tender and careful, but steady physically speaking.He is especially careful with his prosthetic. Emotionally, he is stronger than one would expect. He isn't a pushover, and will defend himself or anyone else who needs defending, but he is gentler now than before he was the Winter Soldier.

H: Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) 

Once there's trust between you, yes. He loves hugs. He loved them in the 40s, and he loves them now. He definitely loves to be greeted with a hug and likes to give you a hug before he leaves somewhere, like a mission or therapy. They're very firm but gentle.

I: I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It would take Bucky a while before he said he loved you. The problem is, he either plans how he'll say it—his preference—or accidentally blurts it out in an especially tender moment and then dies of embarrassment. I would say it takes about half a year, but it really depends on your bond. 

J: Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

The 1940s Bucky could get quite jealous. It wasn't a toxic masculinity thing, but it was definitely something he sometimes struggled with. He was never abusive about it, EVER, but it was something that bothered him, as seen with The First Avenger. Nowadays, he's less likely to be jealous because his confidence levels are a bit lower than before, but the more robust your bond, the more likely he is to get jealous because the two of you put so much work into it. He is definitely the type to give the death glare to end all death glares, make a snide comment, or generally find a way to stay by your side. 

K: Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you?)

It really depends on his mood, as it does with anyone. Sometimes, he can give playful kisses, peppering them all over your face as he refuses to let go, or they can be slow and tender, full of meaning and gratefulness, or they can be scorching, searing, and passionate.

L: Little Ones (How are they with kids?)

Bucky has always been good with kids, even in the 40s, and that's thanks in part to having three little sisters. We also see the children in Wakanda love him. He's very relaxed and more himself around children. In the 40s, his mother used to harass him about when he'd give her grandkids. 

M: Mornings (How are mornings spent with them?)

In the 40s, it was getting up at the crack of dawn to work at the docks for 9-12 hour shifts, with him sleeping in late on the weekends. Now, he still sleeps late because he feels like he doesn't have anything else to do. However, given a routine and responsibilities like helping the Avengers or going on missions, he is more likely to keep a decent schedule. It's also his insomnia that causes him to sleep in more, but not as late as he used to. Now, he'll spend the mornings trying to coax you to stay in bed with him, whether that's through cuddles or fun. ; )

N: Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Again, insomnia is his worst enemy. He tends to take late-night walks or read late into the night before staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep. Now, he does those things, but he can also enjoy sex with you, cuddling, or watching something stupid on TV. 

O: Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Bucky was semi-open about himself in the 40s, but he was actually more likely to ask about you than about him. Sure, he'd talk about his family, Steve, or his work, but that was about it. However, that was partially the toxic belief that men just don't reveal everything about themselves. Now, it's more about feeling safe to do so and what is "too much." What will chase you away? When will it happen? However, as usual, with trust, this changes, and while there is much he will never reveal, he slowly opens up. 

P: Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He could be a bit fiery in the 40s, but nothing compared to Steve. He was a saint in comparison to Steve. His anger is more biting and calling someone out, maybe raising his voice in the 40s. Now, it's more stormy and quiet. It can be biting, though, and there are still elements of him from the 40s with snide comments - but he hates to fight and would prefer to do anything to prevent it, or if there has to be a fight - find a resolution as soon as possible.

Q: Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every detail in passing, or do they kind of forget? )

In the 40s, he tried to remember as much as he could and actually impressed people with how thoughtful he could be. He remembered everything about Steve, his sisters, and the commandos, but also things about his enemies. Nowadays, he struggles with his memory, but he sometimes writes important things in his journal so he can remember them. However, the will is there, and he tries very hard.

R: Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first time you watched a movie together and you put your head on his shoulder. It was the first time someone had done that to him since before he fell off the train. That moment turned into full on cuddling during the movie and he was so anxious - but giddy, that he couldn't focus on the movie.

S: Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) 

1940s Bucky was very protective in about every way imaginable, but especially in the stereotypical 1940s ways. However, Bucky now isn't entirely too different from that. The main difference is that he is a little more modern in how he views women and that he is a bit more physically protective. Unsurprisingly, he is very concerned someone from his past might harm you. He's the type that wants you to text him when you get home safely and has similar habits. Emotionally, he has no problem standing up for you. It's something he's always been good at.

T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, and gifts?)

He's always been thoughtful about dates, anniversaries, and gifts from childhood to now. He never had much money, so every penny had to count. If he couldn't buy something, he would plan extensively for just the right type of event to attend. With dates, he was a bit more traditional and knew what worked, like dinner and a movie or the carnival, but that doesn't mean he didn't put thought into it. Bucky is the same now, except perhaps even more thoughtful about it. He was always observant, but now he listens more than he talks, whereas before, it was the opposite. He may have more money now, but he prefers to put a lot of thought into what he gets you or something that can help you. Nowadays, he overthinks what he should do for a date or anniversary, but it's always wonderful even when things don't go as planned.

U: Ugly (What would be a bad habit of theirs?)

His self depreciation is pretty bad. His low self confidence also tends to get in the way of things - but it is of no fault of his own! As for an actual habit, he grinds his teeth and clenches his jaw too often giving him jaw pain. 

V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Bucky could be quite vain in the 40s and spent quite a bit of time on his hair. He didn't have a choice about his appearance as the Winter Soldier and afterwards, he was too focused on survival and blending in to really care about his appearance. He is trying to get more into self care habits and rituals and you encourage him to spend time on himself, but he doesn't care like he once did. 

W: Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Bucky was surrounded by people in the 40s so he would notice it less if his partner was gone, but he would still feel it! I just think he would bounce back quicker depending on how the relationship was while with Bucky now; he always tries to prepare for the worst and prepare himself for if you do leave him. He would survive, but he would feel like a light was extinguished.

X: Xtra (A random headcanon for them)

Bucky really misses the Indiana house he had to sell. He really wanted to stay there, build a community, and potentially raise a family there, but it wasn't meant to be. (This is more comic verse-esque)

Z: Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Bucky used to be a stomach sleeper, but that quit when he joined the army. It was too uncomfortable to sleep on his stomach then. It's not as easy with his prosthetic, but he still sleeps on his stomach sometimes. (This is canon for Comic Bucky.)