#raine gets wet for hawks

[doublerainebow]

My hubsbandos sharing similar energies

🙏🙏😭😭💕💕🥴🥴

[hella1975]

LADY NAGANT!!!!!!

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

Today is shaping up to be bad <3

[shivunin]

How boy time to throw questions at my loooove.

For Maria: ✍ ⚡

For Emma: ♬

For Wen: ❤

Well hello love! 💗Thank you for the questions c:

(Headcanon Meme)

✍ : What is your muse’s handwriting like? Is it neat? Sloppy? Fancy?

Maria has very fancy, curly handwriting. She developed it that way so Carver would have a harder time stealing and reading her journal, but she kept writing in her ornate way even after she developed a cipher so he really wouldn't be able to read it. By now, it's a habit, but it comes in handy after she gets a lot of money and has to exchange notes and invitations with the rich folk.

⚡ : How does your muse feel about storms? Are they afraid of them, or do they calm them?

Storms keep Maria up, but she enjoys them. If she can, she'll sit outside under an overhang and watch the lightning flash. I wouldn't say they calm her, but she definitely isn't afraid of them.

(One time, a storm started after she and Fenris had already gone to bed for the night. She climbed out of bed and went downstairs in her nightgown and he followed her, of course. They watched the rain for the better part of an hour, holding onto each other, and eventually she convinced him to dance with her to the sound of the falling rain.)

♬ : Does your muse sing well? Regardless of whether they sing well or not, do they enjoy singing?

Emma has a lovely, husky singing voice. She doesn't sing super often---she prefers to hum, because humming frees up her mind to think of something other than lyrics---but whenever she does, it's beautiful.

❤ : What are your muse’s thoughts on love? If they are not in a relationship, do they believe that they will ever find a perfect someone for them?

Okay, so I answered the first part here, but I just realized I got so caught up in answering it accurately that I skipped the second part entirely D: So, for the second part of the question:

Pre-game, I think Wen would have thought the entire idea of a "perfect" someone was both absurd and clearly made up. Why should she need another person? Look what became of her father after her mother died. Why would she ever want to feel or act like that? The only people she really wants to be around at all are both her cousins, and whatever distant attraction she's felt to others in the alienage is surely not strong or interesting enough to pursue (if it can be called attraction at all, and not just idle interest).

Zevran changes her mind on many counts (she understands her father a lot better, for one), but honestly I think her own perception of romantic attraction never changes much. She is romantically attracted to him and him alone; sexual interest in anyone else is very dim unless it also involves Zevran in some capacity (in part because sex, to her, feels vulnerable in a way she's not interested in sharing with anyone else unless the one she trusts best is there).

[veenxys]

「Gentlemanly gestures BNHA Boys would do for you」

⤷ Bakugou

he always opens the doors for you: sometimes you are walking hand in hand or arms intertwined and it always leaves you a little confused when he leaves he takes his hand from yours only to walk a little faster towards the door and open it for you. you. he also always gets out of the car first just to open your door. it's become such a common habit for him that he only realizes what he's doing when you thank him or tease him about it. he smiles nonchalant, but with a warm heart.

⤷ Deku he always walks outside on the sidewalk: it's a way of protecting you that he does without even thinking. he likes to wrap his arm around your shoulder or waist, always pulling you close. he is also careful with puddles or anything that could get your clothes dirty; he cares about you so much that he would do anything just to protect you.

⤷ Kirishima he always carries the umbrella for you and always takes you home, no matter what; he loves walking with you and loves taking you home, both to ensure your safety and because he wants to spend more time with you. and, whenever it's raining, he takes great care so that you don't get wet or dirty; then he pulls you close and you intertwine your arm with his as he holds the umbrella for you.

⤷ Todoroki he always gives you flowers: it's become a routine for him to go to the flower shop every friday and buy you a bouquet of flowers - and also leaving a cute note that leaves you smiling every time. the flower shop employees have even become familiar with him, finding it strange when he doesn't come at the usual time. they also always leave the most beautiful bouquets reserved for him because they know him and know that he is a loyal customer; and that couldn't make him - and you - happier.

⤷ Denki he always offers you his seat (or invites you to sit on his lap); the moment he sees you standing or without a place to sit, he gets up and offers you to sit in his seat. he gently pulls out the chair for you and, when you sit down, he gives you a kiss on the top of your head and on your temple, making you feel at ease and comfortable there.

⤷ Tamaki he always turns off his cell phone when you two are together; he wants to have complete focus on you, paying attention to everything you have to say, your mannerisms, your jokes, your expressions, etc. he wants to be fully present there with you, enjoying every second by your side, which, for him, is very precious.

⤷ Shinsou he always gives you his jacket: at the slightest sign of cold, he takes off his own jacket and puts it on your shoulders with the intention of keeping you warm - sometimes you don't even want to or you're not feeling cold, but you'll break his heart if you refuse his jacket. he also places the jacket over your legs when you're sitting in a skirt or dress so you're not uncomfortable.

⤷ Hawks he always carries your bag or backpack; you don't even need to say anything, he just gently takes it from you and carries it to you everywhere. sometimes he jokes about you buying a bag that matches his clothes or something because he always carries it for you. he never complains about it though, in fact, he loves doing little things for you.

⤷ Dabi

he always puts you first, regardless of everything; it takes him a while to come up with the mindset of 'you before him' but once he does, there's no going back. he always puts your needs, desires and wishes before his because he loves to see you happy. it’s as if your joy was his joy. he doesn't feel bad doing it, quite the contrary, he loves you and would give you the world if you asked.

⤷ Shigaraki

he always gives you the last bit of what he is eating or drinking; It's an act of kindness and care that he shows towards you that always makes you happy. he wants to share with you what he likes, and he wants you to enjoy it as much as he does. sometimes you don't want to, and he just looks at you seriously for a few seconds before raising his eyebrow as if asking “are you sure? are you absolutely sure?” and when you agree, he sighs and finishes eating - but deep down he wanted you to eat.

[ameliaenya404]

Scars

Contents: post-war. Hurt/comfort. Fluff. Very sappy.

Word count: 1.8k

Pairing: Hawks x reader

“I look…sick,” Keigo mumbled, looking in the bathroom mirror hanging over the sink. You were both getting ready for bed, and you almost choked on toothpaste as you brushed your teeth when he said that. You rinsed out your mouth and glanced into the same mirror he was staring into. You didn’t see what he saw, you knew that much.

Sure, suppose you looked hard enough his skin was paler, and dark circles under his eyes from a lack of sleep. In that case, his now often night terrors waking the both of you up at ungodly hours of the morning-, the red angry scar that ran down from the peak of his cheek to his neck and exploding across his back where his wings used to reside. Angel wings stained with blood that you used to love to run your fingers through so much now gone, leaving only red scar tissue behind on his once unblemished skin. And he had a problem with it all, you knew he did. But you didn’t; you didn’t take issue with a single thing about him.

“I think you look handsome,” You insist, kissing the scar on his cheek gently, your hand gently running up and down his bicep. “C’mon, we need to put your scar cream on and blow dry your hair. I don’t want you going to bed with wet hair, you might catch a cold.” You giggle softly but there’s no trace of amusement on his face causing your smile to falter.

You take his hand, pulling him back into the bedroom, the wide windows that encompassed most of the left wall gave a view of the expanse of the entire city below. Rain gently tapped against the glass and the moonlight made a soft light in the room. You sat him down on the edge of the bed and flicked on the lamp that was on the nightstand, warm light illuminating the room better so you could see what you were doing.

You gently pulled out the drawer of the nightstand and took out a tub of off-white cream that the hospital had sent you home with for his scars to ensure they healed the best they could. Of course, they’d never leave his skin, it was important to make sure they healed properly to lighten the color of them and prevent any possible infection and such.

You try to take his hand in yours, always working on the scars on his palms first and then his cheek along with the small scar on his forehead and working to his back which required the most care. But he pulls his hand away stubbornly, making you sigh.

“I don’t like the way it feels…it’s too thick, it never rubs into my skin fully and it’s uncomfortable.” He complains. You understood, you didn’t like when your scented lotions were too thick because it also seemed like they never actually rubbed in fully. But there’s a difference between wanting to put scented lotion on and needing to put a cream on for burn scars. He debated you every time. It was practically part of the routine. It was more concerning when he didn’t debate, that was when you had to check up on him to make sure he was doing okay.

“I know you don’t, but it needs to go on. Please, for me?” You plead softly, kissing his cheek softly. You watched as he thought it through before he huffed softly and turned his head from you with a soft whine.

“Fine…You can do it…” He pouts. It’s so cute but you don’t push your luck, you could shower him with affection in a little. In a way, this was affection you supposed. Take care of him like this, how he did with you before the war. You took care of each other, it was mutual. That’s what you do for people you love. You and Keigo have a special kind of love.

You slab the ointment on his open palm, rubbing it into the lines of his palm. If you could palm read you’d say something sappy about heart line or fate line. But you don’t, so you stay silent as you focus on gently massaging his palm. When you’re done you glance at him, his soft gaze focused on your hand in his and you brush your thumb against his knuckle and his eyes snap up to yours.

“Hey,” You smile softly.

“Hey, pretty,” Keigo whispers, moving in to kiss your neck but you stop him. Your palm is flat against his chest.

“Not yet, later. Let me finish first, baby.” You giggle softly. He was always quick to try and distract you before you got the scar on his cheek. Even if he had to play a little dirty by trying to distract you with sweet words and kisses.

He pouted, about to protest before you gave him a quick peck on his cheeks and quickly put some ointment on his cheek before he could stop you. You can see the instant look of irk on his face. But you make fast work of gently rubbing it into his cheek and down to his neck. Moving behind him.

He was already shirtless from the shower you both took, only in his boxers which were old and worn barely hanging on by the seam. Maybe it was a thing with just Keigo, or maybe all men, But he clung to boxers and socks until they were nothing more than a string. You had to harass him to toss them and then drag him shopping to pick up new pairs.

It didn’t make it any more dignifiable that said boxers were quite literally his own merch, a limited edition thing his PR did. The same design as his belt on the waistband of them. If you had any say it was a little tacky but whatever made him happy, and people loved them. No more of that. Which saddened you. No more fun brand deals and such. But at least he still had his modeling gigs, now as the president of the commission. Which meant he wore more suits in them, focused on being more professional and sexy and not just ‘hot blonde playboy-esque’.

You weren’t complaining.

You took a moment to appreciate the expanse of his back. The muscles. His shoulder blades. You knew he was self-conscious of the scar tissue from the burns he got when his wings burned off which are now completely gone. But you didn’t mind. You missed his wings sometimes, of course, you both did.

How they’d protectively wrap around you whenever he got a little jealous. How they used to puff up whenever you’d kiss him or do something he deemed cute. His wings were a core part of him, his personality almost. An extension of his body language. And they were gone now. But that didn’t mean you stopped loving him.

You make fast work on massaging the cream onto his back scars, going quickly to avoid making him uncomfortable for too long.

When you finish you gently trace your finger down his spine and giggle when his posture straightens out. Leaning over to kiss his cheek and getting up to grab a towel from the bathroom. You drape the towel over his head, drying his hair with it. You gently comb your hands through his damp hair for a little while, sitting in silence as you play with his hair before you suck in a breath and pull out the blow dryer from under the bed. Plugging it in and taking your time until his blonde hair is poofy and fluffed up before you straighten it out with your fingers so it’s not as messy.

“All done,” You hum, flicking the dryer off putting it back in its box, and sliding it under the bed again.

“Thank you…c’mere.”

You knew what he wanted.

When he still had those bird avian instincts that accompanied his quirk, he’d always preen you. Sometimes when he was bored or if you had come home in a rough state. It was soothing for him, and you alike. Even now that those instinctual feelings left him, it was his way of having a semblance of normalcy even now.

You found purchase on his lap, and he went to work. His hands straightened out your hair and messed with your shirt until it sat evenly on your shoulders and he was satisfied.

You yelped softly when he pulled you up further onto the bed, pulling the covers up over your body and holding your back against his chest.

“I wanna see you,” You whine softly in protest, hearing him sigh as his arm leaves its tight hold on your waist and you turn over to look at him face to face. You lean far over him to flick off the lamp and then lay back down, the only light filtering through the window casting a light blue hue across his face from the moonlight.

He was so pretty.

You wondered what was going on in his head sometimes. You only knew what he told you, or what you could infer from how he acted.

“We should get married…” He whispered.

You stayed silent in thought for a moment before snuggling closer to him.

“Why now?” You ask.

“Why not now? We have peace…or at least we’re in the process of rebuilding it…I finally have some time on my hands. I want to slow down a little. With you. Maybe make a little family, a couple of chicks running around. But that’s an…entirely different conversation for another night.”

Your cheeks flush at the mention of children, not like it’s scandalous or anything but still. You lay in thought for a few seconds. Thinking it through. He has a point; you can both go slow now. Finally. After being the fastest man he can finally take a breath. So it makes sense he’s becoming a bit more family-oriented. And you guessed after everything he’s been through, his multiple near-death experiences. No wonder he wanted to marry you. You’d been together long enough.

“Okay…but just…propose to me properly, yeah?” You smile softly when he chuckles and nods. His hand comes to gently pet your hair.

“Yeah, I will…It’ll be kind of a surprise…I’ll find a way to make it a surprise, which will be hard since I already spoiled it but still…I’ll make it feel special. I’ll make you feel special because you are.”

“I look forward to it,” You giggle softly when he begins to pepper kisses all over your face before his lips lock with yours for a few seconds before he pulls back, tugging you close against him like you’re a stuffed animal or toy.

“Get some rest, baby. You have a long day of work tomorrow.” You whisper softly, hearing him yawn softly before he hums in agreement.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you too,”

[black-aurora-nora]

Give In | Platonic!Yandere!Hawks x Teen!Reader

This had to be the worst day of your life.

You didn't think anything would top being kidnapped, but here you were sunken into the couch of your 'home' weighed down by your own dejection.

Your entire body was cold.

Wet, muddied clothes clung to your body and there was an obvious trail coming from the door to the couch.

Everything was numb.

Your fingertips, your toes, your mind.

The sound of the door opening paused your inner monologue.

"Man, that rain is no joke today! I'm soaked!" Hawks' voice came from the front door, but you didn't bother looking at him.

He strolled over to you after taking his shoes off, but again you paid him no mind. You couldn't bear the sight of him.

He stilled for a moment, looking you over while a frown overtook his features, "(Y/N), my sweet little sister, did you go outside?" His voice was so soft yet unbearably sarcastic. He knew the answer.

He hummed unhappily when he received no reply, "You're gonna get sick if you sit in those wet clothes any longer. I'll go draw you a bat-"

"Yeah, I hope I get so sick that I die." You spat. But even that held no real emotion behind it. You couldn't even bring yourself to be angry at him.

You'd been angry at first.

You'd spent so long trying to figure out an escape plan, only to find the door unlocked when you didn't find a key. Then you anxiously ran out into the rain, screaming for help and looking for any other houses or even streets.

For miles, you ran.

For miles, you hoped and prayed that today was the day you'd be free again.

But as if your prayers were nothing but a joke, you found a tall wall at the end of your journey and it suddenly made sense why the door was left unlocked.

The image of Keigo laughing at you was the first thing that flashed in your mind and you felt something snap in your psyche.

You grabbed at the muddied ground, throwing clumps of mud and grass into the wall as if it were mocking you. Curses of Keigo's name left your mouth with fiery breaths and when the clumps of mud weren't enough, you hit and clawed at the walls.

It hadn't mattered that your fingers were bleeding or that a few nails were gone.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Nothing mattered except for Keigo.

"Okay, grumpy, you still have to take a bath."

You clenched your fists and took a deep breath, "Why didn't you tell me about the wall?"

Keigo stopped, turning back towards you. He had a cocky glint in his eyes, "Did you really think I was gonna let you go that easily? Or that someone wouldn’t find you and return you?”

"Why..." You trailed off, "Why did you let me think that I had a chance? I... I ran for miles... thinking I was free..."

A sound of pity left Keigo and you wished you could slap him, "(Y/N), you're a smart kid. I'm your older, smarter brother." You wanted to scoff at his ego, "Why wouldn't I or the Heroes' Commission plan ahead?"

Why wouldn't they plan ahead?

You felt so stupid.

Of course everything had been planned.

Your prior kidnapping from your home.

Your shipment to Japan.

And your 'rescue' accomplished by Hawks himself.

It was so obvious now that all of that had been an orchestrated to get you into Keigo's possession.

You were a business plan.

Something to keep Keigo occupied from losing his sanity.

"Y-... You're all sick... you're all fucking sick!" Your chest hurt and you clawed at your heart with mangled fingers.

"(Y/N), focus on your breathing for me." Keigo told you, ignoring your spiraling. When you couldn't calm down, he stalked towards you, "(Y/N), I said focus! Slow your breathing."

Violent sobs tore your throat.

Everything had been taken from you just so you could play house with some hero.

Keigo cooed softly and closed the gap between you to hold you close and slide you down to the floor, telling you to slow your breathing.

He uttered praises to you when you finally listened and slowly but surely, your breathing was dissolved into quiet sobs and sniffles.

He stroked the top of your head before grabbing one of your hands to look at your fingers. He gave a small sigh when noticed how bloodied and swollen they were. They were probably riddled with fractures and would surely bruise.

“Maybe,” he spoke, “If you’d let go…this whole thing would be easier.”

“I… I’m gonna go take a bath now…” Your voice was hoarse, grated raw from your sobs and you stood on wobbly legs to make your way to the bathroom.

Keigo only smiled reassuringly and before you closed the door, he spoke one more time, “I love you so much, (Y/N). Please don’t forget that.”

But how could you?

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 6

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.2k words - AO3 18+ Minors DNI. Explicit sex. Top Simon Riley. Bottom Johnny MacTavish. Praise kink. Darling is her own tag/warning. Angst, anxiety, relationship issues, nightmares, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff. Lots of feelings. Established throuple. Pov switch. The guys propose a field trip.

The rain tonight is fitting. 

It’s dreary, and sad, and if it was the middle of the day, the sky would be a soggy grey color, clouds full and punchy, waiting to burst open with their weight. 

The drops against the window are the only sound outside of Simon’s voice in the flat, his affirms and negatives bouncing around the room wildly, looking for somewhere, anywhere to land. 

He stares at his feet while he listens to his captain, counting the number of speckled flecks of dark wood in the floor. You won’t look at him, your eyes staring dully out the window, watching the rain drops. Holding your breath. 

Johnny watches him like a hawk though, those sharp, too keen eyes honing in on every syllable, every variance of inflection. He keeps one arm around you, tethering you to his body, like a leash, a landline, a connection unbreakable. 

“-not exactly sure yet, wanted to talk to ya first.” Simon nods. This may, quite possibly, be the absolute worst timing of their lives right now, but he’s unsure how to communicate that to the captain so he’ll understand. Price may not be entirely aware of their current predicament, but he does know about you, and he knows what it’s like to have someone at home, waiting. Wondering. Watching. 

“We’re moving this comin’ week.” He grits out, teeth gnashed so tightly he thinks they might break. Johnny’s hand moves up and down your arm, his pace anxious, and quick, instead of something slow and soothing that may be more appropriate, or helpful, in this moment. He’s panicking. He’s panicking, and you’re staring out the window like you can see the future through the glass. Price says something, a remark about them getting a new place and Simon nods robotically. “Can I call you back, sir?” 

“In the morning.” He answers, and Simon flexes his wrist before giving him another affirm and hanging up. 

He folds himself next to you on the couch, one hand reaching for Johnny’s, the other pulling your focus by lightly tracing a line down your jaw. 

“Darling.” He says and you face him fully, fresh tears in your eyes. 

“So.” You rub your cheek, and inhale deeply. “When do you leave?” 

“Yer thinkin’ about her.” Johnny grins, teeth split to reveal the flashes of pink and red inside his mouth. A delectable, delicious mouth that Simon wants nothing more to feel on him right now. On his own. On his skin. On his cock. “You been thinkin’ about ‘er?” He’s not wrong. Simon is thinking about you. He’s thinking about how he does wish you were here right now, in their bed, with them. He’s thinking about how you’re doing, if you’re feeling okay, if you’re thinking about them too. He’s thinking about how it would be, if he had both you and Johnny naked beneath him in this moment, your body wet and ready for them, your eyes wide with anticipation. But he’s not only thinking about you, too. He’s thinking about Johnny. He’s thinking about the way Johnny collapsed into bed this morning after they got home, but still couldn’t fall asleep until Simon was wrapped around him, pinning his body beneath his weight, safe. Secure. He’s thinking about Johnny earlier in the shower, his fingernails in Simon’s scalp, the warmth and shelter of his touch. He’s thinking about Johnny in the kitchen afterwards, naked save for a towel, water droplets streaking a course down his stomach that Simon followed with his tongue. 

“I’m thinkin’ about you, MacTavish.” He paws at Johnny on the bed, rotating him by his hips so he lays belly down. “And I’m thinking about her.” 

“We could call her.” He says dreamily, and Simon presses a thumb behind his knee, knocking his one leg out and to the side. 

“We could.” He doesn’t say he wants to. He doesn’t know if he wants to. He doesn’t know how to handle this… thing, that has happened. To both of them. Doesn’t know what to do with you, the girl that suddenly appeared in their lives so easily, like you’ve always fit there. 

It’s not like this would be easy. It’s not like it’s something they have experience with, either. Sure, they’ve brought additional partners to their bed in the past, but usually in passing, almost always to never be seen again. 

Until you. Until you became a “second time thing” and then a third, and then a fourth. Until they were calling you last month, home from an op and wondering about you, thinking about you, talking about you, like they are now. 

You… you would be, you are, different. Something new. Something fragile. Something theirs. 

Simon shoves it all down, packs it away for another time. 

They could get hurt. You could get hurt. Everything could go wrong. 

Johnny wiggles in front of him, rising up on his knees, back arched while he watches over his shoulder. The curve of his spine, swell of his ass sitting just so, right and perfect, ready for the taking. Ready for Simon. He ghosts his touch across his skin, smirking when Johnny draws a hot, sharp breath. His cock swells, already heavy with desire, desperate for Johnny. 

He presses a finger against his already slick rim, prepped with lube moments ago, and feels how Johnny twitches for him before pushing through, crooking it just so, just right that Johnny sputters, all logical thoughts emptying from his brain. 

“There it is.” Simon’s voice is low, dangerous, and it drives Johnny farther into a different headspace, the one that he desperately needs every now and then, the one that only Simon can give him. He strokes along the spot, and Johnny pulses with electricity, fully trembling beneath him. It’s a lovely sight for Simon, truly one of the sweetest things he’s seen, and he runs a thumbnail down the center of Johnny’s cock, just to tease him that much more. 

“Simon.” He whines, voice breathy and full of need, sitting on the cusp of shattering. 

“Hush. Need you ta be a good boy for me.” He admonishes, but reassures him with his touch, rubbing a hand up and down his spine before tracing a finger back down to his arse, where the tight ring of muscle waits. His Johnny, smart, gorgeous, deadly, perfect Johnny. His sweet, good boy. He strokes his cock languidly, watching his Sergeant squirm before he presses the crown of his cock to where he waits, his body worked open in the last hour while Johnny drooled on his cock, and Simon stretched him around his fingers. 

Johnny chokes when he pushes into him, his chest heaving for air and Simon smiles, taking his time, enjoying the thrum of Johnny’s muscles around his cock, grinding deep once he’s fully seated. 

“Fuck!” he yelps, and Simon folds himself forward, hand knotting into the mohawk, mouth kissing along the skin of his shoulder. 

“That’s it.” He croons, flexing his hips, thrusting in tiny, micro movements that makes Johnny’s skin slick with sweat. “That’s good, Johnny, so, so good. Openin’ up so nice for me.” His cock throbs, an involuntary shiver working its way up and down his spine while Johnny moans into the pillow. He’s beautiful, and Simon can’t not stare him, the flush of his skin, the color of his eyes, the way his tongue darts forward to lick his lips. So, so beautiful. And so, so utterly Simon’s. He thrusts harder, faster, skin slapping against skin until Johnny is crying so beautifully, groans falling from his lips while Simon splits him open on his cock. "My sweet, good boy. Takin' me like you were made for it." He grunts between thrusts, and Johnny keens.

Johnny’s hand flails wildly at his side, seeking purchase across the sheets, and Simon grabs it, snaking his own under his chest and pulling him upwards until his back is nearly pressed against his chest, spine curved and jaw slack. 

“I love you.” Simon murmurs in his ear, holding both of them completely still. “I love you, MacTavish. You’re mine.” He finds Johnny’s cock and strokes, hand already slick, and Johnny practically purrs in response, clenching around Simon, his body trying to draw Simon’s orgasm from him while Simon pulls Johnny towards his. 

“Yours.” He gasps in response. “All- shite- you, Si. You.” 

“Come for me, Johnny. Come on.” The encouragement is all it takes before Johnny’s tensing and then spilling all over Simon’s fist, his voice pitching deeper when he shouts his name. 

Simon pushes him back down onto the bed, arcing up over his body, fucking into him wildly, chasing his own end, his burning desire to fill him up with his come, mark him with everything he has, drowning him in his own orgasm. His Johnny. His, his, his- it’s all he thinks about when he pushes deep, the angle causing Johnny to cry out, and then he comes, sealing his hips to the swell of Johnny’s while he lets his cock leak every drop into his body. 

He cuddles Johnny close, breath fawning over his ear, one hand intertwined with his while he strokes his hair from his face, palm smoothing over his forehead and back in a repeated motion. He’s sweet, and sated, and limp in Simon’s arms, mouth gapped open while he slips in and out of twilight sleep. Simon’s nearly there too, brain carefully shutting down piece by piece until Johnny tenses, the muscles in his arms and back going rigid, signaling that he’s awake, and he’s thinking. Or worrying.

“What is it?” He whispers, eyes still closed.

“What if she misses us too?” Johnny whispers. “What if she needs us?” Simon sighs. 

“I don’t know, love.” He kisses his shoulder and holds him tight. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s not think about it until the morning.” You mumble, voice fatigued with exhaustion. “I don’t want to think about it… right now.” He can feel Johnny’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t return his gaze, instead keeping his own on you in this moment. You’re too aware, too observant, and you’d pick up on it. You always know when they’re exchanging glances, glances that communicate so much, and it never surprises, or frustrates him, when you grow exasperated with it, with them. They should be better about it, for you. He should be better. 

“You sure?” Johnny hums, his fingertips lightly caressing your belly before stroking across your ribs and up to cradle your face. His eyes catalogue you, noticing and tallying the same things Simon has. Your exhaustion. Your anxiety. The toll the past few weeks have taken on you. Their fault, the toll that this relationship has taken on you is completely their fault. He suddenly feels like he’s swallowed a stone’s worth of hot rocks. “You’re so tired, darling girl.”  Johnny fusses, and you nod sleepily, turning onto your side, waggling your fingers behind your back, the signal that you want your preferred sleeping position; Johnny curled behind you, his chest pressed to your back, and Simon partially underneath you, your ear pressed to his heart. You always hold Johnny’s hand, resting it across Simon’s abdomen, where he folds his own atop the two of yours. Your legs tangle together, and Johnny normally scratches Simon’s head before he falls asleep, something he’s carried home from ops, a self-soothing mechanism for both of them. It works differently, in the field, because they don’t normally sleep together and they’re always missing you, the lost puzzle piece in their mess of a life, but Johnny always somehow finds the time to sit or stand or lay near Simon at night, sneakily running his hands through his hair for a few moments before disappearing off to bed. 

They always have each other, even when they’re across the world. 

And you’re always the one left behind. 

Every time. You’re left here alone. It’s not like they call, or text, or even email. It’s not like you even know when to expect them back half the time. 

His chest feels tight. His body feels cold. You never asked for this. How is this fair to you?

A chilling thought creeps into his mind. Would you have been better off, if they had left you alone? Would you be happier? 

“Simon?” you whisper, and he shifts, tilting his chin downwards to where you’re peering up at him. “You… okay? Your heart is beating really fast.” Johnny moves, just slightly so he can look over, and Simon swallows. It’s dry, but he does it anyway. Doesn’t know what else to do. 

“I’m alright, knackered though.” You sigh, pressing a kiss to his chest, just above the jagged line of a scar, and he pulls you in tighter, shifting so that his body cages you in against Johnny’s. 

“Goodnight… I love you.” You mumble sleepily, the words meant for both of them, and Johnny kisses you tenderly behind the ear, while Simon leans down to brush his lips across the top of your head. 

“Love you.” Johnny whispers, eyes slipping shut. 

“Love you.” Simon is the last, as always, selfishly collecting both admissions and holding them close to his heart, where he replays them over and over, hands flexing against both of your bodies until he’s falling asleep, the two of you safe in his arms. 

“We’ll be fine.”  “Ah know, but...” Johnny trails off, eyes tracking to the closed bathroom door where the shower is running. “You’re recovering, and she’s… something’s goin on, Si.” He shifts his weight onto the crutch and leans forward, wrapping Johnny up with his free arm as well as he can before pressing their foreheads together. 

“I’m fine. Price needs ya.” 

“Dinnae like leaving either of you.” He snaps, pulling away, while Simon rubs an exasperated hand over his face. “I’ll miss ya two, too bloody much.”  He’s being reluctantly pulled away while Simon’s on medical leave, still healing from his last brutal bout of injuries that landed him on a med-evac and emergency surgery nearly a month ago, and he’s less than pleased.

But when the 141 calls, they answer. And since Simon can’t, Johnny must.

“We’ll miss you too.” 

“And ah am worried, ‘bout her.”  

“I know.” Simon doesn’t say it, because he doesn’t need too, but he’s worried too. You’ve been off kilter since he came home, quiet and more to yourself than usual. You spend a lot of time fussing over him, making sure he’s comfortable, asking if he needs pain meds, worrying about how he’s feeling, but he’s fairly sure you’re using it to cover up something else that’s going on with you, something murky that’s brewing in your mind. 

Johnny frowns, like he’s had a thought, and then motions to the bathroom. Simon counts the minutes in his head. 

It's been a bit too long. 

They push the door open, expecting to find it full of steam, the room usually too warm and fogged over from your showers, the scalding temperature that you prefer your water to be enough to peel the skin from their bones if they stood beneath it too long. 

Instead, the bathroom is cold. Clinical. Unwelcoming. 

They can see you, beyond the blur of the glass shower door, sitting on the ground, knees to your chin. Your hair is wet, even though it’s not close to being a wash day, that fact alone sending unease prickling up his spine, and he rips the shower door open as soon as he crosses, hobbles, across the room on the crutch. 

“Darling?” He calls, looking down at where you sit against the tile. 

You sigh. Long, loud. Heavy. 

“Yeah.” You whisper and Johnny reaches inside, hand under the water as he chokes on his breath, the temperature cold enough to startle him.

“Bleedin’ christ.” He hisses and reaches past Simon to twist the knobs to off. When you don’t move, don’t look up at them, Simon feels his heart crack. What is going on with you? 

“Get a towel.” He instructs, while leaning over, still supporting his weight on the crutch, and grabbing you by your upper arm. “Come on darling, up you get.” You don’t fight, your body near lifeless as he pulls you to stand, and then drags you closer, nestling you against his chest. 

“Your stitches.” You mumble a protest into his skin, while Johnny drapes a towel around your shoulders. “We’re not worried about my stitches right now, love.” He strokes your cheek, smoothing a thumb under your eye while you avoid looking at either of them. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing.” You mutter. 

“You were sitting in an ice-cold shower.” Johnny counters, and you shrug. 

Avoidance. Nerves tighten in Simon’s gut. 

“And yer hair is wet.” He murmurs, rubbing behind your neck, soft little circles meant to relax you, while Johnny works another towel on your ends, before drying you off below the waist. When you don’t say anything, he feels his composure start to fall apart. “Darling, please, tell us what’s going on. You’ve been like this for over a week. We’re worried, we’re-“ 

“Married?” you cut him off and he jerks back in surprise. 

“Who told you that?” He keeps his voice very even, very calm. No wonder you’ve been so shut down. He’s going to kill Price. He’s going to kill Gaz. 

He’s momentarily distracted by his anger, it’s gnawing rage building in the back of his throat, that he almost doesn’t recognize Johnny’s voice when he croaks; 

“I did.”

“Should ‘ave told me, darling.” They’ve finally convinced you to lay down with them, mid conversation, so they can hold you while they talk. It helps quiet some of the shrieking in Simon’s head, some of the panic and fear that’s running under the surface of the river that rips through him in this moment. 

“It felt… wrong. To be so worried about it, when Simon was in the hospital.” You sniffle, and Johnny shushes you, trying to soothe the frazzled tears that leak from your eyes. Simon watches warily from the opposite side. 

“We’re not married.” He tells you, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, where it certainly will not stay. “But the 141, and it’s bosses, thinks we are. We don’t correct them.” Your face twists up in confusion, and he sighs. “The base, that we fly in and out of… we have a room there. Sometimes we have to stay a day, or two, for after action reports. We don’t like to be separated so Price has worked it out so we can share.” 

“The only way that can happen is if we’re married…” Johnny supplies, trying to be helpful, but Simon can see how your face clouds. How it darkens, and the anxiety, the confusion mars it. 

“Which we’re not. But Price helps us, has made it so his boss, and others, think we’re married, so we can stay together.” 

“We’re next of kin, on each other’s papers as well. It all allows us privileges, like at hospital.” Johnny tries to explain, bringing it back to the earlier admission, when he explained how he had told the surgeon they were married, and he was next of kin if any decisions needed to be made. 

“So, pretty much you are married. Just without the certificate.” Simon winces. 

“No, love. It’s not like that, it’s-“ 

“Everyone thinks you’re married. Their perception is reality when you’re at work. Or anywhere else... and you’re each other’s next of kin.” 

“No.” Simon vows, but it doesn’t matter, you’re already pushing away, working yourself free from the tangle of them, shimmying off the bed. “Wait, listen-“ 

“No.” you repeat his denial back to him, and they both watch wordlessly as you yank a t shirt over your head, before sliding on a pair of leggings and slipping into sandals. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I don’t know. Out. For a walk… I can’t be here right now.” 

“Stop.” Johnny pleads. “Stop, please. Just let us explain.” 

“I think you have.” You quip over your shoulder. Simon’s out of bed now too, hot on your heels but you’re too fast for him on the crutch, and you’re already at the front door by the time he’s reaching for you. 

“Darling.” He breathes, and when you turn, he sees the pain in your eyes, the fractured sense of security, the shattering of your heart, that one thing that they were supposed to keep whole. The thing they were supposed to protect.

Johnny calls your name from a few meters behind him, pleading. "Darling, please, don't run from us."

“I need some air.” You whisper it to your feet, and then before either of them can say anything else, the front door is slamming in his face. 

“Fuck!” He shouts, at nothing. At the ceiling. At their own stupidity. “Fuck.” 

It’s the twitching, that has Simon’s eyes opening wide in the middle of the night. He can feel your body, restless, rocking against him, your breathing sharp and hurried. He knows what it is within a second, knows what monster has crawled into their bed and invaded your dreams. A nightmare. A symbol of the true state of your mind slipping through the cracks of your subconscious. It’s a barometer, and his heart sinks a little while he shakes his sleepy eyes open.  “Darling.” He whispers, smoothing a hand past your cheek to stroke some of your hair. Johnny sleeps soundly, still cradling you from behind, unmoved by your shuddering. He sleeps like a rock when home, safe and sound, comforted by the knowledge that all three of you are together. Simon usually gets close to that sense of safety, that feeling of security, but the vigilance, the undercurrent of fear, still simmers in his blood. It always will, if you and Johnny are around. It is the price of being in love, he supposes. 

The price of having it all, comes with the fear of losing everything. 

However, it comes in handy, in moments like these, when you’re trapped in your own dreams, trapped inside your own head. 

You whimper, the noise twisted and scared, and he tightens his grip, not firm enough to hurt, but enough to hold you still while you lurch. 

“Wake up, love. C’mon.” He speaks a little louder now, enough to wake Johnny, who flinches in his sleep before blinking his eyes wide. Simon watches how his free arm tenses, like he means to swing, before relaxing his muscles and meeting Simon’s gaze. 

You cry, a dismayed sob reverberating through the two of them, and Johnny wraps his arm around Simon’s back, sandwiching you beneath them tightly. You pant against Simon’s skin, and he uses the hand that’s snug between your spine and Johnny’s chest to rub your back, easing you as gently as possible, while Johnny whispers above your ear. 

“You’re alright, darling. You’re okay. You’re home, with us. Right here.” You’re still crying, still asleep, and Johnny frowns. Usually once you’re pressed between them, your nervous system soothes itself, and you wake easily. A little distressed at times, but not crying or thrashing like you are when the nightmares begin. 

“Shhh.” Simon tries, and he squeezes the nape of your neck, not hard, but firmly, enough to apply pressure at the base of your skull. It’s worked in the past, when you’ve been lost in a night terror, or awake but too deep in your mind, entrenched in your own horrors, stuck in the dark cycles of your own brain. The pressure is effective, and he’s not sure why, but it settles you easily in most moments, grounding you, bringing you back to them. Where you belong.

It does the trick. You’re blinking awake in the next moment, face foggy with sleep, eyes heavy and confused.  

“There she is.” Johnny hums, and you take a deep breath, trying to fill your lungs with as much air as possible. “That’s it. Just breathe.” 

“S-sorry.” You weep, voice wet and syrupy, sticky with your pain, with whatever hell was filling your dreams. 

“It’s alright.” Simon assures you Johnny shifts, moving to sit up, and your hand grasps for him wildly, seeking his touch. When he grabs it, you settle, and he rubs a thumb across your knuckles.

“Chamomile?” He asks you gently, and you nod into Simon. “Be right back.” He brushes a sweet kiss across your cheek, and then onto Simon’s before sliding out of the bed while you sigh forcefully. 

“Want to tell me?” Simon tries to probe, without pushing you too hard. You’re still half asleep, so when you give him a wispy no, he doesn’t push. There’ll be plenty of time later. “Okay darling, that’s alright.” He assures, and your eyes slowly slip closed while he lays there, not moving a single muscle. 

The kitchen light flicks on, and Simon blinks to adjust before the dimmer switch is lowered, the light echo of your tip toes sliding across the floor to where he sits at the counter, hunched over a lukewarm cup of tea. 

“Can’t sleep?” you hoist yourself onto the stool next to him, Johnny’s t shirt just coving your hips, hair twirled up like you’ve been in a wind tunnel. “Or bad dream?” 

“Can’t sleep.” He answers, and you make a sympathetic noise in your throat while you touch his mug. 

“Want me to make you a fresh one?” 

“No, that’s alright darling. You can go back to bed.” He knows you must be bone tired, between the last few days since they’ve been home and the two weeks before that, when they were gone, you haven’t been getting much sleep. 

“Can’t sleep either.” You whisper in the dark, words glum. He glances at the clock. 0207. 

“You need your rest.” He tries to encourage, and can make out the squint of glare on your face. 

“So do you.” 

“Aye, the two of ‘e need your rest.” Johnny quips from the hall, and you turn to see him padding towards the kitchen, pajama pants slung low on his hips. He settles between your bodies, pressing against each outward thigh, before sighing, and resting his head on Simon’s shoulder. “Just leaving me in bed all alone then?” He pulls your hand into his, brushing his lips across your skin and clucking his tongue with sympathy. “How about we all lay on the couch?” Simon perks up a bit at that, knowing that having something on the television will ultimately lull him back to sleep, and probably you as well. 

“Okay.” You agree, hopping off the stool and practically into Johnny before dragging him towards the living room. “But, I pick.” 

“You picked earlier.” Johnny huffs and Simon rolls his eyes. 

“’s true love, you did pick earlier.” You grumble something under your breath while you get situated on the couch, flexing yourself between him and Johnny, bending and stretching until you’re comfortable, and sandwiched, against them as always. Your face nestles in Johnny’s neck while he flick through the options, and Simon strokes a hand lovingly over your hip. 

“This is nice.” You whisper, and he’s not sure if you’re speaking to him, or Johnny, or just yourself. He’s not sure if you’re talking about being together on the couch, or being together after they’ve returned home, or just being together as the three of you are, in life. In everything. 

He agrees anyway. 

“Yes, darling. It is.” 

It’s still raining, when the morning comes. It’s something you note, miserably, when your eyes blink open and you realize the bed is empty, nearly cold on both sides. 

It’s still raining, and the bed is empty.

 Your head feels heavy, tired, from your restless sleep, exasperated from the nightmare, a small headache beginning to bloom and spread behind your eyes. Great.

You roll, burrowing into a pillow, breathing the scent left on the sheets as deeply as possible before the smell of coffee hits your nose, it's caramel, roasted flavor wafting under the door from the kitchen, and your toes practically curl against the sheets. 

When the door swings open, you prop yourself up on your elbows to see them both, standing hesitantly near the end of the bed. 

“Good… morning?” You leave the end with a question, a wondering, while Johnny steps onto the mattress with his knees and snakes an arm around your waist. He pulls you backwards, into his chest, safe and secure, but still sitting up, and Simon perches on the edge, cup of coffee waiting in his outstretched hand. “Thanks.” He presses it into your grip, and you smile at them, a little anxious. “What uh. What’s up?” 

“We wanted to ask you, if you’d be keen on a little field trip.” Johnny nuzzles your neck, mumbling the words into your skin. A field trip?

"We were hoping to bring you on base with us, during this next op.” Simon tries to explain when you frown. Your eyes widen, lips hovering above the coffee. 

“To base?” You take a sip and immediately wince, drawing away from the steaming liquid. Simon takes it from you, depositing it on the bed side table before taking your hands in his. 

“Yes. We’ve spoke to Price this morning, and he’s agreed to allow you to stay on base, in our room, if you'd like to come along.” On base. Go… on base. And stay in their room. A million emotions circle your heart in a quick pattern. But a few thoughts stand out the most.

They want to bring you with them. They don’t want to leave you behind.

“Okay.” You don’t need to think about it, your answer was already known by everyone in the bedroom. This is the first time they’ve ever offered to bring you to base, to include you in this way, and your heart trills in your chest. “Yeah.” You reaffirm, before a small, hopeful smile tugs at your lips. Simon cups a hand around your knee. 

“Unfortunately, this won’t be like a vacation. You’ll have to stay close, and when we’re not with you, you won't be able to leave base.” 

“That’s okay… I have my kindle. And I’m sure I’ll have work to do.” Your boss has been pushing you to take more time off anyway, right? You could totally swing this. 

“And you can wait, for us to get back if you want.” Johnny follows up, gently. You know he doesn’t really want to talk about how they’re leaving again, and you still haven’t gotten the details. 

“Yeah… how long-“ 

“It will be short.” Simon answers tersely. “Three, four days at the most, that’s why you can stay.” Four days? That’s like, more than short. That’s almost nothing. But Johnny nods against you, and you don’t question it. It’s not really your place, and you try not to pry regarding the ops. 

“It’ll be nice, havin’ you in the hangar when we land.” Johnny murmurs and your skin heats, realizing you’ll get to be there to say goodbye and welcome back. 

You’re silent, while you consider it, and the implications, something about this invitation soothing the wildness in your heart, like a balm to the wound that’s been bleeding out inside of you. 

“Darling?” Simon finally rumbles, after you sat in silence for probably too long, and you nod. 

“I’m here.”

[hawnks]

Alpha!Nanami/Omega!reader

Word count: ~2,800

warnings: a/b/o typical sexism, abuse of authority (from side character), mention of leg injury

……………………………………………………….

He brings the storm with him.

You learn him in whispers, along with a bevy of myth and rumor. He drifted here from the East. His clothing has been mended at least a dozen times, but his shoes are sturdy, expertly crafted. He makes no noise when he walks — hardly any noise at all. Rōnin, not samurai. And you can’t trust a man with no honor.

He killed his old master, I heard.

No, he was exiled.

Maybe he killed his master because he was exiled.

“He’ll be gone tomorrow once the rain lets up,” the innkeeper says, cutting off all further speculation. “Now, mind your work, not the guests.”

Beside you, someone grouses, “He chose a funny season to wander, if he’s afraid of the weather.”

…

The rain does not let up.

It puts everyone in a sour mood. The streets turn viscous and tacky, the air brutally cool. You draw the short straw, sent to fetch the days meat in the early morning, a long trek to the fishmonger that leaves you drenched down to your underwear.

It takes twice as long as usual — you lose your sandal a few times in the muck — and when you arrive the stand is vacant. The old man had come down with pneumonia.

Frustrated, you take the long way home. They can wait for the bad news, and you’re so soaked a few extra minutes won’t make any difference. You catch the eye of a few of the daimyō’s men, leering at you from beneath awnings, snickering as you walk by.

“Wanna hear a joke about wet omegas?” one of them calls to you.

You grit your teeth and keep walking.

You deliver the news about the fish to the innkeeper at the door to her room, so you can dart out again before she has a chance to say anything. God forbid she sends you out on another errand.

Soaking, furious, you change into your uniform, and begin your shift at the tavern.

The work is tedious, but decently lucrative. You like to talk to travelers, learn what’s happening beyond the boundaries of your town. It’s hard to put into words what you get out of this, hoarding information like you’re starved for it. Maybe the sheer notion that there is someplace else. That this town and its people are not the only things in the world.

The comfort of knowing away is still possible.

You expect to ask the rōnin the same, starry eyed questions, regardless of how the other server is avoiding him. It might even be enough to salvage this shitty morning.

But you don’t get a chance to ask him where he’s from, what he’s seen. You open your mouth to say something, and choke on air thick with the scent of wisteria.

He meets your gaze.

He won’t look away.

Your wet hair drips on his table.

You can’t feel your fingertips.

Shoving yourself away from the table so hard it rattles against the floor, you excuse yourself in a mumbled tumult. You recruit the other server to take over your tables for the rest of the morning. You must look as awful as you feel, because she doesn’t even question it as you retreat back to your room, throw yourself under the quilt. Close your eyes and pray for your heart to settle.

The one thing the gossip didn’t prepare you for — an alpha.

…

Another day of storms. Another morning you draw the short straw.

Another day you limp home through the mud, empty handed.

The soldiers don’t leer today. Instead, the daimyō is waiting for you. It feels like he’s always waiting for you, that he could swoop in any moment, as quick and ruthless as a hawk.

He’s said he could follow your scent straight to you, no matter where you’re hiding. Sometimes you believe it.

He’s leaning against a wall under an awning, but you know the casual stance is deceptive. He can be fast when he wants to be.

He calls your name, an inferred order to come.

You pretend you didn’t hear, keep walking.

He’s standing straight now arms at his side. Ready. Your insides feel leaden. It takes all your willpower to keep moving forward. To disregard an alpha is one, painful thing. To disregard the daimyō is simple insanity.

Water blurs your vision. You can’t tell from the corner of your eye what expression he’s making. Sometimes he finds your insolence humorous.

Sometimes not.

Just a dozen feet further and you’ll be at the bend in the road.

“You should greet me,” he says. Quiet, but you’re so hyper-vigilant, there’s no way you could miss it.

“Good morning, My Lord,” you whisper to your feet.

He doesn’t step out into the rain, but his voice follows you around the corner. Teasing, condescending. “That’s a good omega.”

He could kill you for your bad manners. A servant, ignoring their lord. No one would question it, no one would dispute it.

But then — he would be killing the only omega in the whole town.

As much as he resents your disobedience, he would resent the loss of you even more. An alpha must have an omega, he told you. That is his right.

Chin tucked and scurrying, you don’t realize you’re on a collision course until you’ve already run into the man. The impact sends you tumbling to the ground.

Through the buffer of the downpour, it takes you a minute to recognize him. His scent.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says. “I apologize.”

He bends to offer you a hand up. You just stare at his outstretched palm. Silent. Reeling.

You wait for him to give an order. Demand you take his hand, or that you come to stand on your feeble legs all on your own. It’s simply an alphas nature to wield their power like a cudgel, to bend everything and everyone to their will.

And now you have two of them to deal with.

Another moment of stillness. Your breath steams. Your pulse drowns out all other sounds.

He kneels.

Like this, on the same level, you can see the color of his eyes. So perfectly brown they’re almost black.

“Are you alright?” he says.

His voice is staid and calm. Not demanding. Not cruel. It — confuses you. You don’t understand what he wants from you.

You rise to your knees, shoving him with all your strength. He doesn’t budge. He remains solid and upright beneath your hands. You can feel the muscle, the innate strength. He’s warm, beneath the wet clothes. So incredibly warm.

You wonder if he could soothe your chill. You wonder if the touch of his bare skin would burn.

With a gasp, you tear away, appalled and mystified by your own reaction.

He stays kneeling as you rise and step away. He stays as you rush home, the scent of wisteria heavy in your lungs.

…

The innkeeper is displeased with your performance, of late. She gives you a stern warning that you shouldn’t let your “licentious nature” interfere with work.

“I don’t know why I agreed to take an omega on,” she sighs. “Not like you’ll be around for much longer, anyway.”

You wince. “Am I fired?”

The old woman laughs. “No, no. Not yet, anyway.” She waves at you, a full body gesture. A reference to the omega in you. “You’ll be wed to His Lordship soon, anyway. You won’t have to worry about the toil of work anymore.”

You excuse yourself shortly after.

…

The days are a monotony. Even the fear is so commonplace you lose track of it. The daimyō grows impatient with you. He calls to you from the shelter of the awning, each time a little bolder, a little less demure about his intentions.

“You know, I have a bad habit of breaking my things when I get bored of them,” he tells you. “I wonder what other tricks you have to keep me entertained.”

You hang your clothes to dry every evening, and the drip becomes a steady cadence, like the ticking of a clock.

This is your life.

The rain.

The rain.

The rain.

…

The decree is issued that afternoon. Marriage.

You’re to report to the royal estate before sundown, along with everything you own. You will not be coming back.

You pack your bag; you take the road out of town. With the city at your back, you’ll have to pass through the outskirt woods. Then across the river, a dangerous gambit when the water is this high, but that just means you won’t be followed.

You can’t imagine the consequences if they catch you.

The path grows looser the further you go, the mud deep, silt as slick as ice. Arduous and exhausting. And dangerous, too.

You don’t realize your footing is off until it’s too late. You slip, land badly. You cry out before you can stop yourself.

You struggle to your knees, get one of your legs beneath you. A shock of pain has you tumbling down again.

You can’t stand. You can’t run.

Just moments after you fall, a shadow overtakes you. And a man, looming, familiar, crouches before you.

“I heard your voice,” he says. “Can you walk?”

You shake your head, timid, overwhelmed.

“Pardon me,” he says, before hefting you up into his arms.

The ease he does it with is startling. An alpha’s superior strength.

He brings you to a small hunting cabin. Clearly abandoned, but decent enough. It’s dry, and a small fire is going in the hearth.

There’s no furniture except for a rudimentary pallet, which he sets you down on.

“May I?” he asks, hands hovering above your stockinged leg.

He takes your silence as answer enough, unrolling the material gradually, trying not to disturb your injury. He inspects it briefly, pressing carefully. You wince, he stops.

He reaches for his bag, retrieving a small tin. “Your ankle is sprained,” he tells you. “You should return to town in the morning.”

“I need to leave,” you return absently. “I have to get past the bridge.”

He frowns.

“The bridge has collapsed. The river is impassable.” He had tried to leave that morning, only to face the same dilemma. He considers you leg. “Besides, you won’t make it very far.”

The reality of your situation dawns on you, a slow tide of dread.

You missed your chance. You’ve lost your only opportunity at freedom.

You yank out of his grasp, dragging yourself across the floor, to the corner on the far side of the cabin.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you—“

“No. No.” You gnash your teeth at him, feeling wild with fear, unable to see past the dark curtain of it. “I have to go. I can’t be trapped in here with you.”

He raises a hand, a placating gesture, but all you see is motion, canting toward you. An alpha. A threat.

You grab whatever is closest. You throw it at him.

The stick doesn’t even hit him, but that doesn’t stop you. You throw everything within reach.

He just waits for you to give up, but soon enough he realizes how stubborn you can be.

“Enough,” he says. His voice fills the shack, not loud, but indomitable. The undeniable command of an alpha. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would appreciate if you would offer me the same courtesy.”

You drop the stone you were going to hurl at him, suddenly incapable of aggression. You feel — groggy, but less terrified now. Very nearly calm.

His pheromones, you realize.

The notion that he’s using them on you should incense you, but you can’t muster it. You close your eyes, exhausted.

Eventually, after long minutes of tepid silence, he murmurs, “I was here first, you are aware of that, right?” His tone is almost — sullen.

And for some reason, that very human show of petulance is enough to thaw you.

You laugh.

You can’t stop. You laugh so hard it’s hardly laughter anymore. It’s so intense it makes your ribs hurt, brings tears to your eyes.

It feels like the first time you’ve been able to think clearly in weeks.

When you finally calm to a few soft hiccups, you lay down and throw your arms out. Passive.

“Alright, swordsman,” you say, “Fix me.”

He’s slow to approach you, cautious of another rock coming at him. But you remain still.

His touch is gentle, so soft it’s like he’s barely handling you at all. He retrieves the tin of salve you kicked out of his hand, and begins to apply it. It’s cool, slightly astringent. Beneath that, the scent of wisteria.

His fingers are just as warm as the rest of him.

It’s over before you can get used to the sensation of him touching you. He pulls away, returns the tin to his bag. “That will help with the swelling. You should still avoid putting weight on it until it heals.”

“Thank you,” you force yourself to say.

You think you hear him chuckle.

…

Night blooms, full and dark.

Despite your anxiousness, the waiting has grown tedious. Unbearably so.

“Is there anything in that bag to alleviate boredom?”

He glances at you for a moment. Hesitating.

Finally he reaches inside, pulls out a small binding. He passes it to you.

A book of poems. You recognize the shape of the sentences, some of the words. You wonder what use a swordsman has for literature, but the swordsman is full of surprises evidently.

Th pages are worn, the edges soft from thumbing.

“I can’t read,” you say. You look at him. Expectantly.

You hold the book out. He takes it, slowly, gingerly.

He reads.

He’s not much of a performer, although you didn’t expect him to be. It’s clear he’s not used to reading aloud, but he knows these passages well. He’s tone is even, with little inflection. The words come out perfectly paced.

They’re love poems. Not flowery or decadent, but earnest, gentle.

It seems at odds with what you know of him, what you’ve assumed from his status, both as a rōnin and an alpha. You’re not sure what to make of him anymore, how to reconcile the image you built of him in your head and everything you’ve witnessed here.

His swords are leaned against the wall beside him, sure proof of a history of violence.

The question comes, unbidden. “Have you ever killed someone?”

He pauses, glances at you. He searches your face for something, the fear that should accompany those words. But your expression is blank.

Silence, fraught with the tense memory of how you ended up here. What were you running from? Why? He must understand, to some extent. No one reaches desperation without pretext.

“Yes,” he says, simply.

“If I asked you to kill someone,” you murmur. “If I paid you…”

The implication feels enormous within the tight confines of the cabin.

“I don’t believe that’s what you want.”

“What do I want?”

“To not be put in a position where you have to make that kind of decision.”

That makes something in your chest feel tight, on the verge of snapping. Another thing you can’t wrap your head around. Another emotion you can’t name. Uncomfortable, but not frightening. Not like before.

You feel displaced, unmoored.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m not being nice,” he says. “You need help. I’m in a position to provide it.”

And that seems wrong to you. Just because someone has the means doesn’t mean they’ll offer them, certainly not freely. Especially not when someone is a such a burden.

“I’ve never met an alpha who’s kind to an omega just for the sake of it,” you say despite his denial.

He mulls that over for a moment, head cocked as he decides how to respond.

“I didn’t know you were an omega until tonight,” he says, quietly. “I had my suspicions, but…”

“Were my bountiful charms not enough to tip you off?” You snort at his blank expression, too polite to disrespect you with an answer. “Why now?”

“Your scent. It’s…subtle. Easy to miss, especially under these circumstances.”

“What do I smell like?”

He smiles, for the first time since you met him. It softens his severe features, makes him look younger. Less world-weary. “You smell like rain.”

He continues reading as the sky continues to churn, until you can hardly keep your eyes open, just barely holding on to the soft thread of words.

“Sleep,” he says gently. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Despite yourself, you believe him.

[biggestsukunafan]

Rainy days… 🌧️

hawks x seraph quirk! reader (enjoy!)

The heavy rain had come out of nowhere, catching both of you off guard and forcing you to seek shelter under the awning of a nearby shop. The rain continued to pour down, creating a steady rhythm on the pavement as you stood there together, trying to stay dry.

He glanced sidelong at you, taking in your soaked appearance. Your hair was plastered to your forehead, and your clothes clung to your frame. But there was something strangely captivating about the way you looked, despite the fact that you were both drenched and annoyed.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief at the situation. Of course, you both just had to forgot your umbrellas on the one day it decided to pour. Typical.

"Well, looks like we're stuck here for a while.”

he quipped, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms across his chest, attempting to hide the effect your soaked appearance was having on him.

He watched you sigh, noticing the slight pout on your lips. Despite the situation, he found himself smiling at your expression - you were so damn cute when you pouted.

‘Hey, it's not that bad. Could be worse’

He remarked, trying to inject a bit of levity into the situation. He knew how much you hated being stuck like this, but he couldn't help but tease you at least a bit.

You stick your hand out and felt the droplets hit your palm as an idea popped into your mind. Your eyes now filled with a mischievous glint.

He noticed the change in your expression and immediately knew what you were thinking. He narrowed his eyes, a small frown on his face.

‘No. No, absolutely not.’

He knew that look. It spelled trouble every single time.

‘Please Hawks c’mon..’

You say in a pleading tone while giving him those puppy eyes that always makes his heart swell with warmth.

He let out a sigh, knowing that you weren't going to give up. Your persistence was infuriating and adorable at the same time.

‘Fine. But if we both end up sick, you're taking care of me.’

Despite his initial protest, he found himself unable to resist your enthusiasm. The sight of you running and laughing in a downpour of rain was infectious, and he couldn't help but join in on the fun.

He found himself chasing you around, both our wings getting more soaked by the minute, but he didn't care. The sound of your laughter made his heart skip a beat, and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so carefree and happy.

He couldn't help but stare at you for a moment, taking in the sight of you giggling and splashing around in the rain. Your drenched wings and wet hair made you look absolutely adorable, and he felt a strange fluttering sensation in his chest.

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

He said, shaking his head in amusement as he watched you frolic around.

As you grabbed onto his arm, you ran through the rain without any thoughts or care in the world. All that matters is the moment you’re in right now..

He let out a surprised grunt as you grabbed onto his arm, but he didn't resist. Instead, he adjusted his grip on you and started running with you, dodging puddles and laughing like fools in the rain.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt this free and happy. Running with you through the rain, just the two of you, felt like something out of a dream - a dream he never wanted to wake up from…

Author’s note!! :

Helloo!! Thanks for reading, it’s been years ever since i made a fanfic so sorry for the mistakes or if it’s bad! (^_<)

[lemonlover1110]

“no, it’s okay, you don’t have to leave - i don’t mind changing in front of you.” With Hawks please!

Pairing: Hawks x f!Reader

Part of this little prompt game I'm doing for the day (perhaps the week), come join!

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Your ideal date with Keigo fell into pieces the moment rain started falling onto the ground. Your date was going fine until you felt the water droplets on your skin, forcing you to run to shelter. You end up back at Keigo’s apartment, completely drenched. 

“Next time we have to do a better job at checking the weather.” He chuckles as he hands you a towel. You would be laughing along with him if your outfit wasn’t completely ruined. You take the towel from him and dry yourself off.

“Do you have anything I can wear?” You ask, hoping that he does. It’s too early in your relationship for you to have clothes in his place, but you pray that he has something. You absolutely hate the feeling of wet clothes on your skin.

“I’ll check.” He says before walking away, leaving you in the living room. You begin to shiver, the wet clothes making your situation worse. You look out for him, getting impatient. He finally appears, wearing some dry clothes as he brings out some oversized clothes that certainly aren’t your style– But you don’t care. “I’m sure these will work.”

“Thank you.” You take the clothes from his hands, putting them down on the couch before you lift up your shirt. You begin to get dressed without a shame, and the cold that once threatened his body goes away as his cheeks get warm. He doesn’t waste a second before turning around, about to leave to give you some privacy. 

Is he seriously nervous? He’s seen much more before… But not from you. He shouldn’t feel embarrassed at all. In situations like these he’s usually confident. He clears his throat before telling you, “I’ll be in my bedroom, call out my name when you’re finished.”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to leave– I don’t mind changing in front of you.” You mutter out, and you realize just how imprudent it sounds. You feel your face get hot as you hurry up and finish getting changed. You hear him chuckle, but he still remains turned around. “I’m finished, you can look now.”

“What do you want to do now?” He asks, feeling a little awkward after what just happened. It’ll go away in an instant though, he’s sure. 

“How about a movie?” You respond, and he nods in response. 

[a018233]

Captor! Yandere! Eli Clark headcannons .

Tw: Yandere content, Stockholm syndrome(?), Victim blameish, GN reader.

AN: you guys.. should totally fill my request box.

• Eli tries to justify this, saying how dangerous the world is. Telling you how he can't protect you if your out there.

• Eli loves you, and he wants you to love him just as much as he loves you!

• He knows what he's doing is wrong, but he can't help himself!

• Eli loves you so much it hurts, he eats, sleeps, and breathes for you. He wants you to do the same for him..

• He's feels like God himself is punishing him when you scream and hurl insults at him, when you look at him with both horror and disgust. But he's sure you'll return his feelings soon enough.

• In hopes of making you return his affections, he'd let you have free roam of his home. Of course, with the windows and doors bolted and various locks.

• I don't think he'd keep you restrained with any bindings. He wants you to feel as if this was your home as much as his.

• But if you were to try to escape? That's another story.

• To say he's disappointed would be an understatement. He'd use chains, long enough to walk around, but not long enough to escape.

• You lose some privileges you didn't realize was luxuries previously.

• He used to respect your boundaries by letting you have your own bed, trusting you enough to bathe yourself and dress yourself.

• But now, he sleeps alongside you, spooning you, the chains are off, but your hands and ankles are tied together with soft cotton binds.

• You can't even bathe or dress yourself, he does it for you. You have zero control of your life. He even tries to brush your teeth for you.

• You began to feel immense regret as your seated naked in front of of Eli in the bathtub, he'll hum to you as he messages your scalp with shampoo.

• He thought that you'd fall for him the more this goes on, but he could feel his heartstrings snap when you recoil from his touch.

• Why can't you love him? He's been oh so very patient, hasn't he?

• He tries to cheer you up by bringing you little tickets from town, maybe some pastries too.

• But nothing works, you don't even scream obscenities anymore . You have that vacant look, like your always somewhere else.

• He just wants you to react, to anything. Even if it's hatred towards him. But you don't even have the energy for that.

• He tries to give back your 'luxuries', letting you sleep in your own space, letting you bathe and dress yourself. But you don't even have the motivation to eat these days.

• Now you need him, but even then you still don't *want* him.

• Eli doesn't want to remove your chains or binds, but eventually, he does. Giving you free roam.

• Your eight month anniversary is coming up, your still distant. But at least you aren't spending the majority of the day rotting in bed.

• As a little reward, Eli places an order for a cake with some literature books. He kisses your hand before departing.

• As usual, you only ever wander around the house when he's not here. He's like hawk when you do.

• the soft pitter patter of rain hitting the window. Another ugly depressing day.

• But that's when you spot it, a way out. A window that was unlocked. A window that wasn't fucking deadbolted. This isn't a trick, is it?

• You waste no time before sliding through the window, you took quite a fall, you didn't even bother to grab your shoes.

• You'd wince as you stepped on rocks, sticks, you couldn't care less if your foot was bleeding or not. It didn't matter if it hurt with each step you took. You were out, free. You were actually outside.

• The white clothing Eli gave you all wet and stained with dirt from slipping on the mud, your hair wet from the pouring rain. You couldn't care where you were running, you just needed to get far, far from him. The only real danger was that captor of yours.

• That is until you found yourself face to face with a wolf. It snarls as it corners you.

• The moment your have your freedom back, your faced with death. It was a cruel joke, a cruel joke from life.

• Your going to be ripped to shreds, to unrecognizable pieces of flesh. All because you couldn't stay put.

• The world is dangerous, maybe you should've stayed put. You can't tell if your paralyzed by fear, or if you exhausted yourself from running so much. Even if you could run, you can't even move from all the fear. Genuine fear.

• Fear you've never felt before, you should've stayed put, stayed put in that house you despised so much. Your gonna die, because you couldn't listen.

• Before the wolf could come any closer, a flare goes off. Scaring off the wolf elsewhere.

• Your so exhausted, tired, your eyes watering from relief. To turn to your savior, Eli.

"Are you okay my love? What did I say about leaving? This world is dangerous..--" Before Eli could scold you more, all you could do was sob and fall into his arms, clinging tightly to him after your scare with death.

All he could do was smile, finally. You realized you wanted him, that you needed to be with him. He's the only one who can protect you in this world.

• After your little brush in with death, you put up no fight. Eli wraps his robes around you, carrying you bridal style back home.

• A nice warm shared bath soon follows, filled with suds and bath salts. Your sniffles echoed in the bathroom as he washes you throughly.

• Eli dresses you up in comfortable pajamas, then lays you down in bed. Before he could leave, your found yourself clinging deathly tight to him. Asking him not to leave, much to his surprise as much yours.

Eli's expression softened as your grip tightened around his wrist, so much it was hurting him. Before he could ask what's wrong, he heard the words he never thought he'd hear.

"Please stay.." You whispered through quiet sobs and hiccups, poor you. You hadn't stopped crying from the moment he found you.

Who is he to turn down his beloved? Eli hums in response before joining you under the covers. Wrapping his arms around you, spooning you as you willingly buried your face against his chest. Your tears staining his shirt.

"See? I told you the world is dangerous, as long you remain here, with me. Your safe. That's what you get for not listening, now, now. Go to sleep, alright my love?" He didn't mean to smile, he couldn't help it. Now Eli was certain you wouldn't want to be leaving. It's only a matter of time before you return his feelings.

[terrarain]

seasons of love

characters: todoroki shouto, bakugou katsuki, shinsou hitoshi, takami keigo

summary: four seasons, four guys. different drabbles based on the season.

notes: reader's pronouns unspecified, swearing, it's entirely fluff! mentions of a reader with a pollen allergy in keigo's, some possessiveness in bakugou's for like one line, ticklish reader in shinsou's

word count: 4.5k

ˏˋ°•*⁀☂️ spring; takami keigo

Keigo didn't see much appeal in the rainy showers that May would bring. The rain had an unpleasant tendency to wash away traces of villain activity; it was a criminal's best friend. Activity in the streets were always lower when it was raining. People weren't as alert.

So he doesn't really get it when you're tugging at his sleeve with a cute pout that. As he stares at your jutted out lip, he has the oddest desire to bite it.

"Please. It'll be fun."

"Alright, consider me convinced, birdie."

All you had to do was say please with wide eyes and pouty lips and he was done for. Keigo's sure that Miruko would laugh her ass off at how easily Keigo acquiesced to all of your requests. Good thing for him, then, that the rabbit hero was nowhere to be seen.

And so that's the explanation behind why Keigo, the number two hero Hawks who was currently on a break, is currently walking next to you. In one hand, he's holding a well-loved umbrella and his other hand...

Golden eyes linger on the free hand at your side, swinging forward and back as you practically skip along the rain-washed sidewalk.

The hand that's not holding the umbrella twitches.

"You really like the rain."

"It's the best part about spring."

The beaming smile that you send his way makes Keigo feel all melty inside with affection. A part of him is glad that his wings have been reduced to just a few feathers at the moment. He has a feeling that, if his wings had been full, they'd be puffing up an embarrassing amount right about now.

He cocks his head to the side slightly. "Not the flowers?"

"The flowers are nice, too. But they make my allergies act up and those aren't much fun."

Keigo recalls memories of you in past springs, nose all runny and red, eyes slightly teary.

"But you're cute when you're sniffling," he teases, trying for a flirty smile. You just roll your eyes playfully.

"You won't be saying that when I'm constantly blowing snot into tissues."

You'd still be cute in his eyes. He's seen you a snotty mess before, when you got sick one time, and Keigo couldn't help but think that you looked stunning.

"You look beautiful all the time."

"Yeah, yeah, you flirt," you laugh, unconvinced.

Shit, he thinks distantly. I'm down real bad.

Keigo hadn't been saying that just to flatter you. He really did think that you were the most beautiful person he's ever laid eyes upon. Anybody who said otherwise was just wrong. They'd have to be blind to not recognize your beauty.

"Seriously," he insists. A flush takes over your cheeks, faint but still there. Keigo smiles to himself.

"Anyways," you fluster, walking a bit faster. He quickens his pace as well, careful to make sure that the umbrella that he was sharing with you was still covering you. He could feel his shoulder getting a little wet, but he didn't really care.

"So," Keigo drawls, one bushy brow raised. "Didja drag me out into the rain just so we could walk? I know I'm irresistible," an eyeroll from you, "...and that you want to spend more time with me, but we could just hang out at your apartment like usual."

"You're such a homebody," you muse. "Who knew that the flashy, number two winged hero Hawks is a shut-in."

"Hey," he says, not all that offended. "Your place s'real comfy."

And nobody expects anything of him when he's in the comfort of your well-lived in home. He's just Takami Keigo in private, cracking jokes and play-wrestling with you. Just another average joe who's hanging out with the love of his life a friend.

" 'sides," Keigo continues, looking over to you quickly. "I'm out here with you, aren't I? Even though I have no clue what you're up to."

"Oh, I never told you, huh?" you muse. The look in your eyes is playful, almost childlike.

"What schemes are you cooking up in that pretty little head of yours?" he questions, eyes slightly narrowed. He moves up a bit more to walk next to you when he sees a car approaching from behind. There's no puddles for the car to splash the two of you with, but better safe than sorry.

"You said that you've never played in the rain," is your non-answer.

Keigo does faintly recall telling you this. It had been a while ago, if he's remembering things correctly. You were working your magic in the kitchen while he was sitting at the counter as he watched when he had let this bit of information slip.

Ah, he realizes. "That's what all this fuss is about?"

"You're missing out," you insist when you hear his perplexed tone. "Right now, it's raining. And you're on break. So... now's a great time to take you out."

Keigo almost makes a joke about you taking him out in a different context — for a date.

The joke doesn't come. Instead, he just says: "Chickadee, I've flown through the rain. You're actin' like this is my first rodeo out in the rain."

You let out a little (cute) frustrated huff, eyes narrowing. Your arms cross as you speak. "Put the umbrella aside. We're going puddle jumping."

Keigo cocks a brow in questioning, "Uh, you sure? You'll get—"

"—wet?" you interrupt him as you bring the hood of your raincoat over your head. "That's what the coats are for."

"If you say so," he says, giving up easily enough as he brings the hood of his own raincoat up before closing the umbrella. Keigo really can't say no to you.

The two of you stand there under the rain. It's not particularly harsh, but it's definitely not a light drizzle, either. A scarlet red feather flies up to carry the umbrella that he sets to the side.

"So, what now, professor?" Keigo says, grinning. "Please do teach me about the joys of rainy weather."

"Gladly," you say as you offer him a hand. It only takes a nanosecond before his hand is in yours, his gaze expectant. The raindrops that fall onto the exposed skin are cool.

You tug at his hand, gentle, and he follows behind you like a lost puppy. Keigo finds himself feeling glad that there's nobody out at the moment — that there's nobody to disturb this moment between the two of you.

"Just gotta find..." you trail off, eyes scanning up ahead for something. Eventually, your aimless wandering becomes directed as you let out a small 'aha!'.

You're leading him towards a recently formed, sizeable puddle on the sidewalk.

"Are we going to—"

"Yes."

"Chickadee, we'll be soaked."

"Didn't take you to be such a party pooper," you tease, stopping right at the edge of the puddle as you look over to him.

Keigo gasps, offended. "Me? A party pooper? Why, I oughta—"

You don't wait for him to finish that sentence, jumping into the puddle in front of him with a lot more force than he thinks is necessary. The water comes up and out of reflex, his arms rise in a futile defense against the liquid.

"You were saying?"

"You are so cheeky," Keigo says fondly before he joins you in the puddle, jumping into the rainwater just as a child would.

He hears you let out a little squeal as water flies up towards you and Keigo grins, kicking some water at you as a form of payback.

"That's cold," you giggle, eyes bright.

"I said it'd be cold earlier while you were trying to drag me out," Keigo replies, letting you tug him out of the puddle as you begin searching for another puddle to jump into.

"Worth it," you declare.

He tilts his head curiously. "You're having that much fun?"

Your reply catches him off guard and he almost stumbles.

"It got you smiling again," you say easily, turning around a corner. Your face lights up when you see another untouched puddle. "Not one of those safe smiles. A smile smile."

"A smile smile," he echoes with vague amusement. His heart is fluttering and his cheeks are warming. Keigo, pointedly, does not acknowledge it. "Your descriptions could use some work."

"Oh, please, you get the point," you grin. "Now, come and help me ruin our jackets and boots more, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," Keigo says, joining you in your adventures into the puddle of water while he thinks,

Maybe the rain isn't all bad after all.

ˏˋ°•*⁀☀️ summer; todoroki shouto

"Thank you! Come back again!"

Shouto one perfectly-shaped brow slightly as he glances over to you. You're waving to the person leaving with a sunny smile. In the sky, the sun had already started lowering.

"Are you doing this again tomorrow?" he questions. The hand that's waving stills momentarily before dropping back down to the table of the stand he sat at with you.

You lick your lips. On the table, you're twisting your fingers - Shouto recognizes it as one of your nervous habits.

"Um... well, you don't have to, if you don't want to."

Shouto shifts, gaze briefly flickering over to the bucket of icecream surrounded in his ice. He repeats his question, slightly reworded this time.

"Do you want to do this again tomorrow?"

Your eyes, Shouto thinks as he returns your stare, are something that he could gaze at for hours upon hours on end.

"I do," you admit, lips upturned in a shy smile. "Are you... free tomorrow?"

Shouto's hums as he leans forward a little towards you, chin in the palm of his hand. The darkening of your cheeks makes the smile on his face grow a touch wider. "I am, indeed, free tomorrow. I presume you will be enlisting my assistance as a personal cooler again?"

The little laugh that slips through your lips is light and breathless as you nod. "Mmhm. Really, thanks again for this, Todoroki."

"It's no problem," he says, and it really isn't. Although the request had been an odd one, he didn't particularly mind.

The request in question had been related to ice cream carts - which, to his understanding, are portable stands that sell ice cream. You had told him that you'd wanted to run one - but didn't have the money to rent one out. Shouto had been on the verge of offering to rent one for you when you had eagerly tugged him over to a makeshift stand.

"So, I decided to make my own!" you had told him a few hours ago. Your previously eager smile had turned sheepish when you made a request. "But I don't really have anything to keep the ice cream cool in the heat, so I.. I was wondering if you would be willing to be a cooler? You'll get half of the money the stand makes!"

Shouto would've provided his assistance regardless of whether or not you were paying him. He had said as much, but you insisted on paying him anyways.

"You're really sure you don't have anything else to do?" you question, frowning in concern. "It can't be that fun for you, sitting around at a table in the heat for most of the day."

"The heat doesn't really affect me," he says smoothly, smiling warmly as he looks at you. "And I think it's quite enjoyable. You're very good company."

"Oh-" you clear your throat, all flushed cheeks and giddy smiles. "You're good company, too, Todoroki."

His lips downturn. "Shouto."

The look you send him can only be described as bewildered.

"Call me Shouto," he clarifies. "We are close enough for you to refer to me as such, no?"

He tilts his head when you stare at him with wide eyes.

"Then - you can call me by my given name, too," you say shyly. When he says your name out loud, you nod slightly. "That's me!"

You then shuffle a little, turning to reach for the bag of ice cream cones. He watches with rapt attention as you scrape out the last remaining bits of ice cream in the bucket and drop it onto the cone. He retracts the ice he had around the bucket, seeing as there was no ice cream left to keep cool.

"You should have it." you say after watching him. When he looks at you, you're holding the cone out for him.

Shouto shakes his head. "It's alright. You can have it."

"Shouto," you huff. "Really, you should have it instead. You've been entertaining my whims 'n whatnot the entire day, so.."

The usage of his name has him hesitating; he wonders if you'll say his name again if he keeps refusing. The small pout on your face discourages him from that, though, and he decides to opt for a compromise.

He leans in to take a bite of the ice cream in front of you. Vanilla melts a little on his tongue before he swallows the bite, the coolness of the treat lingering. When Shouto pulls back, he observes your flustered expression with some amusement.

"There," he says simply. "I've had my fill. You can have the rest."

You open your mouth to protest and he just raises a brow in a silent question. He seems to conveyed his message well, because you bring the cone to your lips and take a small bite as you look away from him. Shouto gently pokes at your flushed cheeks, eliciting a giggle.

The smile on his face is fond. Shouto doesn't really have a favourite season - he didn't see a reason to have a favourite.

But, as the sun sets in the distance, last few rays of sunlight framing you in a picturesque scene as you finish off the ice cream cone in your hand - Shouto thinks that if he had to pick one season as his favourite, it would be summer.

ˏˋ°•*⁀🍁 autumn; bakugou katsuki

Katsuki doesn't indulge people. He doesn't entertain their whims. He gives absolutely zero fucks about the desires of other people.

(A lie, sort of. Katsuki is just a little soft towards his closest friends and he lets himself get dragged into their antics sometimes. But he would never openly admit that.)

That's what he says. That's what he told you, more or less, when you had thrown his coat at him and pushed him out the door of the dormitory. Which he let you do because he's particularly soft towards you.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud," you tease him with a playful grin. His expressions sours even further, which earns him the action of you poking him in the forehead with one finger. "You'll get wrinkles early if you keep frowning so hard."

"Stuff it," he says heatedly as he swats your hand away. It's an action that he immediately regrets, but his body doesn't relax in the slightest.

You don't seem to mind, laughing good-naturedly, which pisses him the fuck off because you should mind. He treats you so roughly and it's unwarranted, he thinks. Katsuki knows that he's an asshole and he knows he's far from being a nice person.

You should be treated kindly. Should be hanging out with someone just as bright and sunny as you.

But at the same time, he doesn't want you to do that. It's an unreasonable possessiveness, he thinks, because you're not even his. You don't belong to anyone.

Katsuki has no idea why you still hang out with him.

You're all soft touches, kind smiles, playful quips — and he's rough around the edges. He's a horrible person and he's done fucked up shit in the past that he regrets so, so deeply and he doesn't get you. Or any of the things he feels for you.

You're more resilient than he would've ever thought — because while you were all soft and shit, you knew when to stand up for yourself and you never let yourself be pushed around. You're firm with him and handle yourself well around him. Something about you, terrifyingly enough, disarms him.

His classmates — friends, they call themselves — are also weirdly eager to be around him, just like you. They actively insert themselves into his life and include him in their playful banter.

But you hang out with him the most. Some people have commented on it, in the past. He had just replied to them with a dark glare.

"Alright, this is a good spot!"

Katsuki cocks his head to the side, brows still furrowed. "Hah? Whaddya mean?"

The two of you are standing in a fairly open space, a few ways away from the dormitories. It's a clear part of campus with several trees hanging overhead.

"Pretty, isn't it?" you say, not answering his question at all. Your gaze is directed upwards, so he follows. Golden yellows, crimson reds, vibrant oranges act as a natural ceiling. Bits of the blue sky are peeking through.

"The fuck we standing here for?" he asks, all gruff as he looks back at you.

In one smooth motion, you pull out two rakes and what the fuck.

"Where the hell were you hiding those?"

"Trade secret," is your playful response as you press a rake to his chest. He grabs it out of reflex more than anything. "Less questioning, more raking."

"Hah? What's this shit even for?"

There's a glint in your eyes as you reply.

"Raking leaves," you state the obvious and he rolls his eyes. "We're making leaf piles to jump in."

"That shit's for kids," he grumbles, unmoving as he watches you fly around the leaf-covered ground, starting up a small pile of multi-coloured leaves.

"You're basically just a big baby," you coo and his glare sharpen. You don't seem to react because you're somehow never affected. "So I don't see the problem."

"That's—" he flounders, eventually deciding on a snarl. "Listen up. I'm not fucking making fucking dumb piles of fucking leaves just so you can fucking jump into them."

"Is fuck the only swear you know?" you question. You're teasing him.

He glowers.

"This is unfortunate," you sigh dramatically. He watches you carefully as you pause, looking down at the pile of leaves at your feet with a forlorn expression. "I didn't think that the Bakugou Katsuki would be so terrified of a few leaves. Guess I need to go get someone stronger to help me out."

Katsuki knows that you're trying to get him to rake leaves. He knows that you're poking at his ego and it's ridiculous because there's absolutely no reason for him to get competitive over a few fuc- shitty leaves. It's dumb, really—

"Fuck you," he spits as he starts raking up a pile of his own at record pace. Katsuki misses the painfully soft smile on your face, more focused on making his pile bigger than yours.

For a few minutes, it's just the sound of two students romping around and the scraping of the steel rakes against the ground that fills the air. Eventually, Katsuki comes to a halt when there's no more leaves in the immediate vicinity. He considers going out further to get more leaves for his pile.

"Damn," you whistle and his chest swells a little in pride at your impressed voice. "That is a big pile of leaves. I surrender."

"Ha. Did you think you could beat me to begin with?"

You snort, hand wrapping around his wrist. He can feel the sweat forming on the palms of his hands and he thinks that, if the lightning dumbass was around, he'd be making so much fun of Katsuki for the sweaty hands.

Katsuki has a few swears lined up, but none of them manage to leave his mouth because you're tugging him along.

Straight towards his pile of leaves.

(He could probably plant his feet firmly in the ground, making all of your attempts at moving him around futile.)

(He doesn't.)

Katsuki is stumbling into the mountain of leaves along with you as you destroy all of his hard work with a jump.

He's a little worried that you'll hit your head against something and before he knows it, one of his hands are resting against the back of your head as the two of you lay down on the ground.

The smile on your face makes him feel all soft and gooey and shit inside.

"Look," you say, and he glances up at the sky briefly as per your request. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Leaves are fluttering down gently around the two of you, warm tones unique only to autumn painting the air. It really is a sight to behold, he thinks, as he looks at your content expression.

The leaves eventually settle and you take it as your cue to stand back up. Katsuki looks at the hand that had been previously cradling the back of your head before he stands up roughly a second after you.

There's a golden leaf in your hair.

Without thinking, he reaches out slowly to pluck the leaf from your hair in one, easy motion.

"..Bakugou?"

"You had a leaf in your hair," he grumbles, flicking it off to the side. "Dumbass."

"That's mean," you say, but the smile resting upon your face with darkened cheeks makes him feel like you aren't so offended. Katsuki thinks he likes the way you look when blushing. "Round two?"

"Your pile is still there," he huffs. "Whaddya mean by round two?"

"But it's small," you lament, gazing upon your small pile of leaves. It definitely pales in comparison to the tower of leaves that Katsuki had cooked up earlier. "It'll be a lot more fun if it's bigger. Let's collect all of the leaves up into one big pile."

"This is dumb," he says, lips turning upwards in a slight smile.

"But it's fun!" you beam.

"...Whatever," he breathes out, turning away brusquely to hide his growing smile.

Katsuki's chest feels warm as he shoves a small bunch of leaves into the growing leaf pile.

ˏˋ°•*⁀❄️ winter; shinsou hitoshi

"Fuck, don't go in there. Are you a dumbass?"

Hitoshi shifts slightly. "Probably."

In all honesty, Hitoshi has no idea what's going on in the horror movie that you had put on.

There's some screaming, probably some ghosts or something - was the movie a ghost movie? He couldn't remember - which was all very cool. Probably. But he's more interested in you.

His best friend. That he's fallen irrevocably in love with.

You take a sip from your mug of hot cocoa, eyes watching the laptop screen with rapt attention. There's some sort of noise that comes from the screen that draws his own attention over. A rather ghastly, pale creature shows up behind the movie's protagonist.

"I told you so," you mutter, like the protagonist could hear you.

"Damn, someone doesn't leave the house," Hitoshi comments off-handedly, referring to the unnaturally pale, spindly creature currently chasing after the main character.

That draws a snort from you. A sound that has him wanting to poke at you so he can hear it again.

"Like you're one to talk, 'Toshi."

Now that has him actually poking at your sides. He takes the hot cocoa out of your hand and sets it down on his desk before he starts jabbing his fingers into your sides.

You break down into a mess of airy giggles as you try to pry his hands off of you and he grins.

"Hey. My complexion is way better than that thing."

"I don't know," comes your drawl once he stops tickling you, gazing up at him with an impish grin. "When was the last time you left the house and touched some grass?"

"There's no grass to touch," Hitoshi says, getting off of you to gesture at his window. Outside, a flurry of white storms on. "There's a fucking snowstorm. Its been snowing like crazy the last few weeks. Any grass out there is long-gone."

"Sounds like excuses to me," you chirp, settling back into your sitting position on his bed. He can't help but note that you're a lot closer this time. If he moves as much as an inch, his legs would bump into yours.

Hitoshi counts to three to calm himself down.

His heart beats thunderously against his chest anyways.

"Oh, she's definitely dead," you say, interrupting his thoughts. He raises a brow and turns his attention to the screen of your laptop.

Sure enough, there's a gory mess of fake blood and organs and a lot of screaming from the girl.

"You don't say," he drawls as the screams die down. You smack his arm playfully.

"Hush."

"Technically, you're the one who keeps initiating conversation," he snarks.

The smile on your face grows and he allows himself to think that you're smiling at him fondly. "Smartass."

"You know it and you love it."

Silence.

Hitoshi panics. What did he say, again? He definitely said the l-word. He hadn't been thinking. What did you think? You had suddenly gone silent and-

"That, I do," is your whispered response.

His body locks up and he just stares at you, but you aren't looking at him. Your gaze is resolutely fixed on the screen, acting all nonchalant - but he catches the darkened hue of your cheeks.

He smiles softly and turns his attention over to the screen, half-watching.

The scene had moved on from the girl's death. There was some arguing amongst people in a dingy little room. The only safe room in the house, if he recalled correctly.

Something to his side shifts and then he feels a warmth pressed up against him. His reaction is immediate, head snapping over to you.

"It's cold," is all you offer for an explanation, drawing the shared blanket closer to you.

The heating system had broken down a while ago, so the two of you had opted to share a blanket. It was a large blanket — big enough for two people to share without ever having to touch the other. He figures it could probably fit three.

Hitoshi continues to stare.

"You're always warm," you clear your throat, pulling your end of the blanket up around you to hide your flushed cheeks.

"What am I, your personal heater?" he manages to joke, trying to ignore the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

"Yes," you declare simply.

He rolls his eyes fondly. Boldly, he slowly snakes an arm around your waist to pull you closer against him.

For the body heat, he clarifies to himself.

There's no protest from your end, so he assumes he's in the clear. If anything, you're snuggling up against him and fuck if it isn't the cutest thing ever. It's getting harder to resist the urge to plant a kiss on your forehead.

"We should do this more."

Your voice comes out quiet, tentative. Hitoshi licks his lips as he hums nervously.

"What, cuddling?" he says, half-joking.

"Yes," you say, completely serious.

Oh, fuck me.

"It's not annoying, is it?" you question, a bit of hesitation flickering about in your gaze.

"No," Hitoshi replies immediately, arm around your waist tightening a little. "Nah, 's fine."

The hum he hears from you is happy as you turn your attention back to the movie. The horror movie you had put on was just background noise to Hitoshi as he relaxes into you.

And if the two of you don't move from your positions long after the movie ends, well — that's only for you and him to know.

a/n: still not super comfy with how i write bakugou gAH i want to do the boy some justice bc he's got a lot going on,,, hopefully i'll get it with time

[bluebelly-sun-serpentine]

August 28th, 2024

A couple days ago a fire started on the ridge above the big grove of eucalypts (picture number 4). Thankfully it was spotted quickly, a mild wind was blowing in the opposite direction, it had recently rained, and wildfire response resources were not deployed elsewhere; I watched the water tankers hovering over the spot for a while, grateful for everything, but especially for the fact that fire prefers to go up hill rather than down, and that this fire started in the ridge rather than the canyon. Eucalypts are not native to my area, and greatly increase the risk of out-of-control wildfires. They drop a ton of highly-flammable litter – tannin rich leaves that also leave an acidic, nutrient-poor soil few other plants can survive. So most of what's down in that grove is (also highly flammable) poison oak. Worse, if fire reaches the overstory, the whole thing can go up in what is basically one big explosion.

What you can see peeking through the afternoon fog in the first picture is over a century of cow-forward fire suppression; non-native grasses on (what is now public) land grazed by privately owned cows (damaging the watershed and increasing the risk of catastrophic fire in the long run). What you see in the bottom photo is an example of a more modern form of fire suppression: fire goats raised a couple counties away are hired to graze this field and clear small growth (mostly poison oak, since that's the most opportunistic plant around) annually in mid-summer, and it's mowed somewhat regularly. There have been attempts to thin or remove the eucalypts in the canyon entirely, but they are stubborn resprouters and starting from scratch poses its own dangers.

I think it's unlikely there won't be a catastrophic fire here in the next 50 years. There's just too much fuel. We just need an unseasonable lightning storm, a bad fire season with first responders deployed elsewhere, reckless smokers in the gully at night with the winds blowing west. Every year I prepare myself for this possibility. We've had wet winters and hot, dry summers, and that's probably only going to get worse. Why would I stay here?

I don't know. I can walk down into the canyon and the eucalypts, unaware of their own malignancy, yawn and groan as they bend to touch one another in the wind. I get to watch coyotes hunting for wild plums in the evening; the plums aren't native but I'd guess the coyotes don't know that, either. My neighbors plant gardens you couldn't grow somewhere without this much warmth and sea fog. Crows harass red-tailed hawks in the few redwoods planted here to evoke a recent, unreachable past. I know where the nearest great horned owl lives. I know what the arrival and departure of naked ladies means, which oaks are which and which I love most, when thimbleberries might arrive, how to scare a mountain lion, where to go to find cool elders and willows when I'm feeling hot and low, how to tell toyon from everyone impersonating toyon, when the newts migrate. One one side of the ridge I can hear the train screeching unmistakably, but if I hop over into the next watershed it's gone, replaced by bickering scrub jays, happy dogs, children playing near the creek far below me. Would you know how to leave?

[fluff-n-cookies]

Thunder Storms and Cuddles.

^that animation is amazing

ANYWAY

Keigo seems like the type of guy to babysit for a close friend because he owes them a favor from like really long ago

what he didn't expect was that that 'friend' now has a child and has been happily married for over 7 years.

what he didn't expect was that that 'friend' desperately needed someone to babysit said child for about 2 days

what he didn't expect was that he would be comforting a 3 year old at 4 in the morning on the couch to help them get through a particularly bad thunder storm.

the once soft pitter patter of rain had now turned into a raging storm. the rain droplets pounded at the glass of the windows, and the deafening clash of thunder could be heard all throughout the house, before simmering down to a light rumble.

whimpering, you cuddled further into keigo's pajamas, tightened your grip on his arm, and let out a little 'eep!' when you saw the lightning knowing what was to come next.

"now, now, (y/n), it's okay, it's only a sound, it can't hurt you." Keigo's voice seemed as smooth as butter as he gently petted your hair, patting it down and smoothing it out.

"how do you know Mr.Hawks!" you exclaimed a little pout slowly forming on your face.

"I'm Mr.Hawks, I know-" he was cut off by a loud clap of thunder that could only be described as boisterous, causing you to pull up one of his wings in defense,

if you listen closely, (which Hawks always does) you can hear the muffled sniffles from under Hawk's wing and if you concentrate, you can feel tears staining both his feathers and your cheek.

with a sigh, Hawks cupped your now slightly wet cheek making you face toward him.

"listen. I know it's scary, and I know you must be terrified, so please let me protect you. I want to help you, but first you need to calm down and tell me how I can help instead of crying okay? okay."

he picked you up and put you on his hip, "first let's get your little cheeks dry again and then you can have some cookies and we can talk about this."

that night was a good night.

that night, Hawks realized maybe your parents weren't the best people when it comes to raising a child. I mean, you're scared of thunder storms to the point you were crying when it thundered.

that night, Hawks realized murder isn't THAT bad.

that night, Hawks realized he wanted to be a father.

but only to you <3

[gayassbish]

Genshin Girls When They’re Late to a Date! Modern AU

Genre: Angst, Eventual fluff

Reader: Gender Neutral

Characters: Beidou, Yelan, Sangonomiya Kokomi, Ei

Beidou-

It’s raining. Your girlfriend is late. You wonder if she even forgot your anniversary. You’re sitting at the, now wet, picnic spot that you picked hoping to watch the sunset while eating the delicious home-made sandwiches you made for her. You hoped you guys would reminisce about past time while watching the warm sky finally turn blue. This was supposed to be a romantic outing, but instead you’re by your lonesome with no Beidou in sight.

You guys have been together for a while now, and Beidou has been so attentive of your every need, making sure you’re always comfortable, safe, and warm with her around. And what’s worse? The fact that she’s sent all your calls to voicemail and hasn’t answered your texts, or that she’s smiling… climbing the hill you’re sat on and bringing a hugeee umbrella to cover you, her, and the food.

“Hey love,” she calls out quietly. You remain silent as she places the umbrella down to protect you and the already soggy food from the rain. She doesn’t sit down yet, waiting for your permission.

“Won’t even look at me, huh?” She sighs, kneeling and looking in your direction. The soft rain outlining her figure.

You sigh, “Please make yourself at home, don’t want you to get a cold.” You say with an eye roll as you’re basically an ice cube away from turning into a snowman.

She chuckles a bit as you scoot over to make space for her. She grabs your hand and gives it a rub, trying to warm you up. You let her. This is her apologizing for her being late. You can tell she feels too bad to even mention an excuse as to why she’s late right now, but you ask anyway. “Why did you come so late? The suns already gone and the sandwiches are pretty much ruined…” You speak barley even audible, but Beidou catches it. She catches everything you say.

“Well… did you eat all the sandwiches or are they all actually soggy?” She reaches for the picnic basket, imagining the wooden protective cover would keep the sandwich’s dry, plus you put them in a zip log.

You slap her hand quickly before she can uncover the basket. “Well maybe I wouldn’t have eaten all of them if you came on time!” You huff angrily, finally looking her in the eyes to see her already looking at you, with her signature hearty smile. She watches your face soften at the sight of her.

“Oh there’s those sweet eyes,” she rubs a hand over your cheek. Practically holding you captive. You can’t refuse. “Why don’t we just make this a stargazing night instead, hmm? Would you like that?” Once you nod, she pushes you down the wet blanket you laid out, cupping your face as she starts to kiss you softly.

If only you weren’t so weak in the knees for her…

P.S. You eventually found out she was late cause she saw the weather forecast ahead of time (unlike you) and left half way in the drive to the picnic spot so she could grab a huge umbrella to keep you warm. She was actually really angry at herself she couldn’t beat the rain.

Yelan-

You’re scared. It’s dark out. The restaurant is closing and your ride, your girlfriend may I add, is no where to be seen. The dangers of waiting in the street in this city is just a fiasco already in motion.

And your girlfriend knows this, hence why she’s practically never late to anything. Yelan is always looking out for any possible danger like a hawk (she can be a little over protective sometimes). But it’s been maybe about two hours since your original meeting time? You wouldn’t know because your phone is dead… You have no idea where she is, and the restaurant staff is waiting on you so they can leave.

You sheepishly apologize to the waitress closing up as you exit the fancy restaurant that Yelan reserved. ‘Where the hell is she??’ You ponder. But just as you exit out the restaurant, you see the familiar expensive black car pull up.

Yelan doesn’t roll down the window, no, she jumps out the car and runs toward you. She frantically grabs your shoulders and starts shaking you. “Are you okay?? Why weren’t you home? Did something happen? I had to track you through your phone, gosh I was worried sick.” She starts to speak really fast while she gives you a quick look around to confirm to herself that you are alive.

Once she reassured herself that you’re okay, she noticed how fancy you’re dressed and looks up to the name of the restaurant, finally remembering this was the day she invited you out to eat. “Oh… oh baby I’m so sorry.” A look a guilt fills her face as she frowns.

“Did you forget?” You chime. The disappointment still lingers, but whatever anger you felt, dissipated from the look of panic on her face. She nods, resting her head on your shoulder as you rub her back. “It’s okay, it happens to the best of us.” She stiffens at your words. She looks back to make eye contact with you and your soft sympathizing smile melts her heart. How could she ever keep someone as sweet as you waiting?

Yelan takes another look at you. Letting the sight in front of her really sink in. “You dressed this nice for me?” She smirks and you heat up.

You always shy away when she gives you that look. “I just wanted today to be special and then to look special… for you.” Yelan’s heart probably skipped a beat at that.

“Then let me make it up to you.” She opens the passenger seat and holds a hand out for you. Nothing but determination set on her face as you accept the familiar warmth of her hand and climb in.

P.S. I bet she ended up taking you to Mcdonalds cause basically nothing is open late anymore (Thanks a lot COVID)

Kokomi-

You’re worried. The crowd of the movie theatre starts to disperse and there’s still no sign of Kokomi anywhere. It’s maybe about an hour after your meeting time and the movie is already halfway done probably. You decide to venture out the cinema to the busy street, sun hitting your eyes as it’s still bright out.

But this sunny atmosphere doesn’t help the fact that you’re worried sick, not for yourself but Kokomi. She actually planned this date and she isn’t picking up her phone. ‘God what if something happened to her.’ You’d never forgive yourself if something did. You made a promise to yourself to always protect her.

You knew Kokomi had a habit of over exhausting herself; that she tends to sorta just crash afterwards and needs time to recharge. This weekend was supposed to be a celebration for completing finals week, but maybe the cramming got to her.

After wandering around the city for a bit, occasionally calling out your lover’s name, you decide to head to her dorm. Luckily it’s not far away. It’s a 10 minute walk, but you make it five as you’re in a hurry to make sure she’s okay.

While rushing a flash of pink strides past you as it takes you a second to look back at the familiar backside of your girlfriend.

“Kokomi! Wait up!” You immediately dash as she turns around at the sound of her name. She pauses. The look of panic of her face turns into a scrunched up one as she starts to cry at the sight of you. There’s eye bags under her eyes, her hairs a mess, and she’s still in pajamas. She still looks like the princess she is though, but you can tell she was rushing to meet you.

She runs over to you and frantically exclaims, “I’m so sorry, I slept through my alarm and set so many to make it on time cause I really wanted to watch this with you but I didn’t hear the ring. You’ve been looking forward to movie weekend for so long cause of finals and so have I cause I needed to see you. But I’ve been so tired from all these all nighters and-“

“Kokomi calm down, it’s okay. You’re okay and that’s all that matters.” You grab her and give her a hug, trying to sooth her down as she bawls in your arms. “It’s okay, everything is okay now.” You rub her back as she eventually pulls herself together.

“Ugh sorry you had to see me like that. I look like a mess right now.” She looks at her feet and tugs at the shirt she’s wearing that has different toothpaste stains.

“Oh my god, don’t be ridiculous Koko.” She flushes at the sound of her nickname as you comfort her. “Even if you were covered in mud or fell into a trash can, you’d still be the prettiest girl in the world.” She blushes even more at your words and gives you another hug.

“I really missed you this week.” She says, hugging you even tighter.

“I know, so did I. Why don’t we just do movie night at your place?” You pat her head as she nods. You guys hold hands on the way back as Kokomi eventually returns to her passionate self in your presence.

P.S. She forgot her phone as she rushed out to get you.

Ei-

Your girlfriend doesn’t leave the house often. She’s really busy and tends to be a homebody anyway, so this weekend you wanted to take a road trip to the nearby beach and finally enjoy some sunlight with her. Don’t get me wrong, staying home with Ei makes for a passionate and cozy atmosphere, but you wanted more of a romantic environment sometimes.

Hence why you’re here, voice mailing Ei wondering if she’s still at the beach hotel. You guys would’ve walked to the beach together if it weren’t for the fact that Ei still has some work to finish up and told you that’d she’d meet you there soon.

At first you were having fun, playing in the water and sand, but it’s been a good hour since Ei said she’d be coming. Now, an hour might not seem too long on the beach given there’s a lot to do, but Ei said she’d be coming out soon. And while Ei isn’t very good with time management (she’s a perfectionist who takes the lasting seconds to perfect her work) she promised you that this weekend was just going to be you, her, and the big blue sea.

You sit on the sand, wet from the sea but not cold with the sun’s glare. You watch the waves go back and forth. The wishy-washy sea oddly reminds you of your relationship. There’s those times where it feels like the perfect relationship in the world, but then its goes back to times like these. You don’t like being mad at Ei, she has her reasons of course, but you just want to be the priority sometimes.

You get lulled out of your thoughts at the sound of your name. “Y/N! There you are, I’ve been looking for you. Are you ready for the beach?” You turn around to see her huffing and puffing from running. But once she sees a gloomy look on your face she asks, “What’s wrong?” She sits down next to you and looks to you for an answer.

“I…,” you sigh. You can’t say it. Ei works hard; not to play hard, but she works hard to provide. She’s paying for this trip and you just can’t bring yourself to complain. “No, sorry it’s nothing-“

“Y/N tell me. I know when something is troubling you.” She cuts you off and gives your hand a squeeze. She looks so attentively at you, searching your eyes for an answer.

“I just wish you’d spend more time with me… you promised it’d be just you and me, but you’ve spent more time with your laptop than me and I just… I just don’t get how I can miss my girlfriend when she’s right next to me.” You poor everything out in the open as a silence lingers in the air. You don’t meet Ei’s eyes, slightly worried she might be angry.

But you’re met with a hug instead. “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t feel nice to be put second. Work has been hectic lately, but I promise- no enough promises. I am going to be the best for you. You deserve nothing but the best. I’m sorry I kept you waiting, I didn’t realize the time passed by.” She doesn’t let go of the hug. “Please say something.” She burrows her head in your neck.

You wrap your arms around her back and feel her soften up in your arms. “I know you’re trying. You try every day to be your best not just for me, but for yourself too and that’s what I love about you. So it’s okay, I understand. Just can we put work aside this once and focus on each other?” She looks back at you with sparkles in her eyes and holds your hands.

“Really? You don’t want to scrap the whole thing?” She asks, cautious she fucked things up this time.

“No, of course not!” You get up as the look of shock still lingers on her face. “Common the waves are going to get cold soon!” You pull her hand as you get up and run to the waters. Laughter trailing behind you as you meet the waves again with your feet. The waves make you now realize that every relationship has its highs and lows, but the beauty of a relationship is working through those lows.

A/N: writing about women instead of doing my home work >>